103536068
103536068
com
https://ebooknice.com/product/data-driven-reservoir-
modeling-51768034
OR CLICK HERE
DOWLOAD EBOOK
ebooknice.com
ebooknice.com
ebooknice.com
ebooknice.com
(Ebook) Geostatistical Reservoir Modeling by Clayton V.
Deutsch ISBN 0195138066
https://ebooknice.com/product/geostatistical-reservoir-
modeling-2094530
ebooknice.com
https://ebooknice.com/product/geostatistical-reservoir-
modeling-4684238
ebooknice.com
ebooknice.com
ebooknice.com
https://ebooknice.com/product/modeling-survival-data-using-frailty-
models-1837992
ebooknice.com
Data-Driven Reservoir
Modeling
Data-Driven Reservoir
Modeling
Shahab D. Mohaghegh
Intelligent Solutions Incorporated and West Virginia
University
As of this printing:
http://intelligentsolutionsinc.com/Products/IMagine.sh
tml
2017
Disclaimer
ISBN 978-1-61399-560-0
http://www.spe.org/store
[email protected]
1.972.952.9393
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Turgay Ertekin. He was, is, and will always
be my mentor and role model. I consider myself fortunate to have
known him and to have worked under his supervision as a graduate
student. What I have learned from him has guided me not only in
reservoir engineering, but in life.
Acknowledgments
Turgay Ertekin
Professor of Petroleum and Natural Gas Engineering
Pennsylvania State University
University Park, Pennsylvania, USA
26 November 2016
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Foreword
1 Introduction
1.1 Reservoir Models for Reservoir Management
1.2 What Is Top-Down Modeling?
1.2.1 Role of Physics and Geology
1.2.2 Formulation and Computational Footprint
1.2.3 Expected Outcome of a Top-Down Model
1.2.4 Limitations of TDM
1.2.5 Software Tool for the Development of TDM
1.3 Paradigm Shift
1.3.1 Drilling Operation
1.3.2 Mature Fields
1.3.3 Smart Completions, Smart Wells, and Smart Fields
1.3.4 Production From Shale Assets
1.3.5 Reservoir Simulation Models
2 Data-Driven Problem Solving
2.1 Misunderstanding Data-Driven Reservoir Modeling
3 Reservoir Modeling
4 Data-Driven Technologies
4.1 Data Mining
4.2 Artificial Intelligence
4.3 Artificial Neural Networks
4.3.1 Structure of a Neural Network
4.3.2 Mechanics of Neural Network Operation
4.4 Fuzzy Logic
4.4.1 Fuzzy Set Theory
4.4.2 Approximate Reasoning
4.4.3 Fuzzy Inference
5 Pitfalls of Using Machine Learning in Reservoir Modeling
6 Fact-Based Reservoir Management
6.1 Empirical Models in the E&P Industry
6.1.1 Decline Curve Analysis
6.1.2 Capacitance/Resistance Modeling
7 Top-Down Modeling
7.1 Components of a Top-Down Model
7.2 Formulation and Computational Footprint of TDM
7.3 Curse of Dimensionality
7.4 Correlation Is Not the Same as Causation
7.5 Quality Control and Quality Assurance of the Data
7.5.1 Inspecting the Quality of the Data
7.5.2 QC of the Production Data
8 The Spatio-Temporal Database
8.1 Static Data
8.2 Dynamic Data
8.3 Well Trajectory and Completion Data
8.3.1 Two-Dimensional vs. Three-Dimensional Reservoir
Modeling
8.4 Resolution in Time and Space
8.4.1 Resolution in Space
8.4.2 Resolution in Time
8.5 Role of Offset Wells
8.6 Structure of the Spatio-Temporal Database
8.7 Required Quantity and Quality of Data
9 History Matching the Top-Down Model
9.1 Practical Considerations During the Training of a Neural
Network
9.1.1 Selection of Input Parameters
9.1.2 Partitioning the Data Set
9.1.3 Structure and Topology
9.1.4 The Training Process
9.1.5 Convergence
9.2 History-Matching Schemes in TDM
9.2.1 Sequential History Matching
9.2.2 Random History Matching
9.2.3 Mixed History Matching
9.3 Validation of the Top-Down Model
9.3.1 Material Balance Check
10 Post-Modeling Analysis of the Top-Down Model
10.1 Forecasting Oil Production, GOR, and WC
10.2 Production Optimization
10.2.1 Choke-Setting Optimization
10.2.2 Artificial-Lift Optimization
10.2.3 Water-Injection Optimization
10.3 Reservoir Characterization
10.4 Determination of Infill Locations
10.5 Recovery Optimization
10.6 Type Curves
10.7 Uncertainty Analysis
10.8 Updating the Top-Down Model
11 Examples and Case Studies
11.1 Case Study No. 1: A Mature Onshore Field in Central
America
11.2 Case Study No. 2: Mature Offshore Field in the North Sea
11.3 Case Study No. 3: Mature Onshore Field in the Middle East
11.3.1 Data Used During the Top-Down-Model
Development
11.3.2 Top-Down-Model Training and History Matching
11.3.3 Post-Modeling Analysis
11.3.4 Performing a “Stress Test” on the Top-Down Model
12 Limitations of Data-Driven Reservoir Modeling
13 The Future of Data-Driven Reservoir Modeling
References
Index
Chapter 1
Introduction
1.2.1 Role of Physics and Geology. Although it does not start from
the first principles of physics, a top-down model is very much a
physics-based reservoir mode. The incorporation of physics in TDM
is quite non-traditional. Reservoir characteristics and geological
aspects are incorporated in the model insofar as they are measured.
Although interpretations are intentionally left out during the model
development, reservoir engineering knowledge plays a vital role in
the construction of the top-down model. Furthermore, expert
knowledge and interpretation are extensively used during the
analysis of model results. Although fluid flow through porous media
is not explicitly (mathematically) formulated during the development
of data-driven reservoir models, successful development of such
models requires a solid understanding and experience in reservoir
engineering and geosciences. Physics and geology are the
foundation and the framework for the assimilation of the data set that
is used to develop the top-down model. The diffusivity equation has
inspired the invention of this technology and was the blueprint upon
which TDM was developed.
The data (enumerated above) that are incorporated into the top-
down model show its differences from other empirically formulated
models. Once the development of the top-down model is completed,
its deployment in forecast mode is computationally efficient. A single
run of the top-down model is usually measured in seconds or in
some cases in minutes. Size of a top-down model is determined by
the number of producer and injector wells. The small computational
footprint makes TDM an ideal tool for reservoir management,
uncertainty quantification, and field development planning.
Development and deployment costs of TDM are a small fraction of
that for numerical reservoir simulation.
1.2.3 Expected Outcome of a Top-Down Model. Data-driven
reservoir modeling can accurately model a mature hydrocarbon field
and successfully forecast its future production behavior under a large
variety of operational scenarios. Outcomes of TDM are forecast for
oil production, GOR, and WC of existing wells as well as field
development planning and infill drilling. When TDM is used to identify
the communication between wells, it generates a map of reservoir
conductivity that is defined as a composite variable that includes
multiple geologic features and rock characteristics contributing to
fluid flow in the reservoir. This is accomplished by deconvolving the
impact of operational issues from reservoir characteristics on
production.
The definition that will be provided for data mining will underline the
main reason behind referring to the set of activities that are
presented in this book as data-driven modeling rather than data
mining. It is true that we are using data mining (among other tools) to
perform the analyses (building reservoir models) that are presented
here, but, as will become more and more clear, our objective is not
merely to identify the utility of yet another newly popularized tool in
the oil industry (a task that by itself may have merit and may be
treated as an academic exercise), but rather to offer a solution and a
tool that can be used by professionals in our industry today. Ever
since its introduction as a discipline in the mid-1990s, Data Science
has been used as a synonym for applied statistics. Today, Data
Science is used in multiple disciplines and is enjoying immense
popularity. Application of Data Science to physics-based (such as the
oil and gas industry) vs. nonphysics-based disciplines has been the
cause of much confusion. Such distinctions surface once Data
Science is applied to serious industrial applications rather than to
simple academic problems.
When Data Science is applied to nonphysics-based problems,
such as social networks and social media, consumer relations,
demographics, politics, and medical and/or pharmaceutical sciences,
it is merely applied statistics. This is because there are no sets of
governing partial-differential (or other mathematical) equations that
have been developed to model human behavior such as the
response of human biology to drugs. In such cases (nonphysics-
based areas), the relationship between correlation and causation
cannot be resolved using physical experiments and the results of the
data mining analyses are usually justified or explained by scientist
and statisticians, using psychological, sociological, or biological
arguments.
Applying Data Science to physics-based problems such as
reservoir modeling is a completely different story. The interaction
between parameters that are of interest to physics-based problems,
despite their complex nature, has been understood and modeled by
scientists and engineers for decades. Therefore, treating the data
that are measured throughout the life of a hydrocarbon reservoir as
just numbers that need to be processed in order to learn their
interactions is a gross mistreatment and oversimplification of the
problem, and hardly ever generates useful results. That is why many
such attempts have resulted in poor outcomes, so that many
engineers (and scientists) have concluded that Data Science has
few serious applications in our industry.
Given the excitement that has been generated by the application
of data analytics and data mining in other industries, such as retail
and social media, a number of professionals have contemplated the
usefulness of these technologies in the oil and gas industries. The
results have been a good number of articles in several oil- and gas-
related conferences, journals, and magazines. However, some of
these authors lack domain expertise in the upstream oil and gas
industry, while others lack a reasonable and fundamental
understanding of data-driven technologies such as machine learning
and pattern recognition. As such, they do not usually offer impressive
studies that can be used in the industry by professionals to address
their day-to-day issues and problems. Many professionals in our
industry, who have listened to the presentations on the general
theme of artificial intelligence and data mining in the oil industry,
have expressed a common complaint. They claim that they have
hardly ever heard presentations (especially from the larger
operators) that have anything substantial to offer. The main theme of
these presentations can be summarized in the following statements:
Reservoir Modeling
Data-Driven Technologies
I
Polyphony was practically foreign to the music of the Greeks. They
had observed, it is true, that a chorus of men and boys produced a
different quality of sound from that of a chorus made up of all men
or all boys, and they had analyzed the difference and found the
cause of it to be that boys’ voices were an octave higher than men’s;
and that boys and men singing together did not sing the same
notes. This effect, which they also imitated with voices and certain
instruments they called Antiphony, and they considered it more
pleasing than the effect of voices or instruments in the same pitch
which they called Homophony. The practice of making music in
octaves was called magadizing, from the name of a large harp-like
instrument, the magadis, upon which it was possible. But
magadizing cannot be considered the forerunner of polyphony, for,
though melodies an octave apart may be considered not strictly the
same, still they pursue the same course and are in no way
independent of each other; and the effect of a melody sung in
octaves differs from the effect of one sung in unison only in quality,
not at all in kind.
The allegiance of theorists to Greek culture all through the Middle
Ages and the Renaissance has tended to conceal the actual origin of
polyphony, but as early as 1767 J. J. Rousseau wrote in his
Dictionnaire de musique, ‘It is hard not to suspect that all our
harmony is an invention of the Goths or the Barbarians.’ And later:
‘It was reserved to the people of the North to make this great
discovery and to bequeath it as the foundation of all the rules of the
art of music.’
The kernel from which the complicated science of polyphony sprang
is simple to understand. One voice sang a melody, another voice or
an instrument, starting with it, wove a counter-melody about it,
elaborated by the flourishes and melismas which are still dear to the
people of the Orient. Some such sort of primitive improvisation
seems to have been practised by the people of northern Europe, and
to have been taken over by the church singers. The later art of
déchant sur le livre or improvised descant was essentially no
different and seems to have been of very ancient origin. The early
theorists naturally took it upon themselves to regulate and
systematize the popular practice, and thereupon polyphony first
comes to our notice through their works in a very stiff and ugly form
of music called organum, which in its strictest form is hardly more to
be considered polyphony than the magadizing of the Greeks.
The works of many of the ninth century theorists such as Aurelian of
Réomé, and Remy of Auxerre, suggest that some form of part-
singing was practised in their day, though they leave us in confusion
owing to the ambiguity of their language. The famous scholar Scotus
Erigena (880) mentions organum, but in a passage that is difficult
and obscure. Regino, abbot of Prum in 892, is the first to define
consonance and dissonance in such a way as to leave no doubt that
he considers them from the point of view of polyphony, that is to
say, as sounds that are the result of two different notes sung
simultaneously. In the works of Hucbald of St. Amand in Flanders,
quite at the end of the century, if not well into the tenth (Hucbald
died in 930 or 932, over ninety years of age), there is at last a
definite and clear description of organum. The word organum is an
adaptation of the name of the instrument on which the art could be
imitated, or, perhaps, from which it partly originated, the organ; just
as the Greeks coined a word from magadis.
Of Hucbald’s life little is known save that he was born about 840,
that he was a monk, a poet, and a musician, a disciple of St. Remy
of Auxerre and a friend of St. Odo of Cluny. Up to within recent
years several important works on music were attributed to him, of
which only one seems now to be actually his—the tract, De
Harmonica Institutione, of which several copies are in existence. This
and the Musica Enchiriadis of his friend St. Odo are responsible for
the widespread belief that polyphony actually sprang from a hideous
progression of empty fourths and fifths. Both theorists, in their
efforts to confine the current form of extemporized descant in the
strict bounds of theory, reduced it thus: to a given melody taken
from the plain-song of the church the descanter or organizer added
another at the interval of a fifth or fourth below, which followed the
first melody or cantus firmus note by note in strictly parallel
movement. The fourth seems to have been regarded as the
pleasanter of the intervals, though, as we shall see, it led composers
into difficulties, to overcome which Hucbald himself proposed a
relaxation of the stiff parallel movement between the parts. In the
strict organum or diaphony the movement was thus:
II
However, before considering the new diaphony, we have still to trace
the further progress of the organum of Hucbald and Odo. The next
theorist of importance was Guido of Arezzo. To Guido have been
attributed at various times most of the important inventions and
reforms of early polyphonic music, among them descant, organum
and diaphony, the hexachordal system, the staff for notation, and
even the spinet; but the wealth of tradition which clothed him so
gloriously has, as in the case of many others, been gradually
stripped from him, till we find him disclosed as a brilliantly learned
monk and a famous teacher, author of but few of the works which
possibly his teaching inspired. He has recently been identified with a
French monk of the Benedictine monastery of St. Maur des Fosses.
[66] He was born at or near Arezzo about 990, and in due time
became a Benedictine monk. He must have had remarkable talent
for music, for about 1022 Pope Benedict VIII, hearing that he had
invented a new method for teaching singing, invited him to Rome to
question him about it. He visited Rome again a few years later on
the express invitation of Pope John XIX, and this time brought with
him a copy of the Antiphonarium, written according to his own
method of notation. The story goes that the pope was so impressed
by the new method that he refused to allow Guido to leave the
audience chamber until he had himself learned to sing from it. After
this he tried to persuade Guido to remain in Rome, but Guido, on the
plea of ill-health, left Rome, promising to return the following year.
However, he accepted an invitation from the abbot of a monastery
near Ferrara to go there and teach singing to the monks and choir-
boys; and he stayed there several years, during which he wrote one
of the most important of his works, the Micrologus, dedicated to the
bishop of Arezzo. Later he became abbot of the Monastery of Santa
Croce near Arezzo, and he died there about the year 1050. During
the time of his second visit to Rome he wrote the famous letter to
Michael, a monk at Pomposa, which has led historians to believe that
he was actually the inventor of a new division of the scales into
groups of six notes, called hexachorda, and a new system of
teaching based on this division.
The case of Guido is typical of the period in which he lived. Very
evidently an unusually gifted teacher, as Hucbald was a hundred
years before him, his influence was strong over the communities
with which he came into contact, and spread abroad after his death,
so that many innovations which were probably the results of slow
growth were attributed to his inventiveness. The Micrologus contains
many rules for the construction of organum below a cantus firmus,
which are not very much advanced beyond those of Hucbald and
Odo. The old strict diaphony is still held by him in respect, though
the free is much preferred. To those intervals which result from the
‘free’ treatment of the organizing voice, however, he gives names,
and he is conscious of their effect; so that, where Hucbald and Odo
confined themselves to giving rules for the movement of the
organizing voice in such a way as to avoid the harsh tritone even at
the cost of other dissonances, Guido gives rules to direct singers in
the use of these dissonances for themselves, which, as we have
seen, in the earlier treatises were considered accidental. This marks
a real advance. But there is in Guido’s works the same attempt
merely to make rules, to harness music to logical theory, that we
found in Hucbald’s and Odo’s; and it is again hard to believe that his
method of organizing was in common practice, or that it represents
the style of church singing of his day. From the accounts of the early
Christians, from the elaborate ornamentation of the plain-song in
mediæval manuscripts in which it is first found written down, and
from later accounts of the ‘descanters’ we are influenced to believe
that music was sung in the church with a warmth of feeling,
sometimes exalted, sometimes hysterical even to the point of
stamping with the feet and gesticulating, from which the
standardized bald ornamentation of Guido is far removed.
Furthermore, the next important treatises after Guido’s, one by
Johannes Cotto, and an anonymous one called Ad Organum
Faciendum, deal with the subject of organum in a wholly new way
and show an advance which can hardly be explained unless we
admit that a freer kind of organum was much in use in Guido’s day
than that which he describes and for which he makes his rules.
But before proceeding with the development of the early polyphony
after the time of Guido, we have to consider two inventions in music
which have been for centuries placed to his credit. In the first place
he is supposed to have divided the scale, which, it will be
remembered, had always been considered as consisting of groups of
four notes called tetrachords placed one above the other, into
overlapping groups of six notes called hexachords. The first began
on G, the second on C, the third on F, and the others were
reduplications of these at the octave. The superiority of this system
over the system of tetrachords, inherited from the Greeks, was that
in each hexachord the halftone occupies the same position, that is,
between the third and fourth steps.[67] It is not certain whether
Guido was the first so to divide the scale, but he evidently did much
to perfect the new system.
There has long been a tradition that he was the first to give those
names to the notes of the hexachord which are in use even at the
present day. Having noticed that the successive lines of a hymn to
St. John the Baptist began on successive notes of the scale, the first
on G, the second on A, the third on B, etc., up to the sixth note,
namely, E, he is supposed to have associated the first syllable of
each line with the note to which it was sung. The hymn reads as
follows:
Ut queant laxis
Resonari fibris
Mira gestorum
Famuli tuorum
Solve polluti
Labii reatum
Sancte Joannes.
Hence G was called ut; A, re; B, mi; C, fa; D, sol; and E, la. These
are the notes of the first hexachord, and these names are given to
the notes of every hexachord. The half-step therefore was always
mi-fa. Since the hexachords overlapped, several tones acquired two
or even three names. For instance, the second hexachord began on
C, which was also the fourth note of the first hexachord, and in the
complete system this C was C-fa-ut. The fourth hexachord began on
G an octave above the first. This G was not only the lowest note of
the fourth hexachord but the second of the third and the fourth of
the second. Therefore, its complete name was G-sol-re-ut. The
lowest G, which Guido is said to have added to perfect the system,
was called gamma. It was always gamma-ut, from which our word
gamut. The process of giving each note its proper series of names
was called solmisation.
The system seems to us clumsy and inadequate. We cannot but ask
ourselves why Guido did not choose the natural limit of the octave
for his groups instead of the sixth. However, it was a great
improvement over the yet clumsier system of the tetrachords, and
was of great service to musicians down to comparatively recent
times. One may find no end of examples of its use in the works of
the great polyphonic writers. As a help to students in learning it, the
system of the Guidonian Hand was invented, whereby the various
tones and syllables of the hexachords were assigned to the joints of
the hand and could be counted off on the hand much as children are
taught in kindergarten to count on their fingers. That Guido himself
invented this elementary system is doubtful, though his name has
become associated with it.
III
Hardly a trace has survived of the development of music during the
fifty years after the death of Guido, about 1050. The next works
which cast light upon music were written about 1100. One is the
Musica of Johannes Cotto, the other the anonymous Ad organum
faciendum mentioned above. In both works a wholly new style of
organum makes its appearance. In the first place, the organizing
voice now sings normally above the cantus firmus, though the whole
style is so relatively free that the parts frequently cross each other,
sometimes coming to end with the organizing voice below. In the
second place, contrary movement in the voice parts is preferred to
parallel or oblique movement; that is, if the melody ascends, the
accompanying voice, if possible, descends, and vice versa. Thus the
two melodies have each an individual free movement and the
science of polyphony is really under way. Moreover, they proceed
now through a series of consonances. There are no haphazard
dissonances as in the earlier free organum of both Hucbald and
Guido. The organizing voice is no longer directed only in such a way
as is easiest to avoid the hated tritone, but is planned to sing always
in consonance with the cantus firmus. The following example
illustrates the movement of the parts in this new system:
Cotto is rather indifferent and, of course, dry about the whole
subject of organum. It occupied but a chapter in his rather long
treatise. But the ‘Anonymus’ is full of enthusiasm and loud in his
praises of this method of part-singing and bold in his declaration of
its superiority over the unaccompanied plain-song. Such enthusiasm
smacks a little of the layman, and is but another indication of the
real origin of organum in the improvised descant of the people, quite
out of the despotism of theory. The Anonymus gives a great many
rules for the conduct of the organizing or improvising voice. He has
divided the system into two modes, determined by the interval at
which the voices start out. For instance, rules of the first mode state
how the organizing voice must proceed when it starts in unison with
the cantus firmus, or at the octave. If it starts at the fourth or fifth it
is controlled by the rules of the second mode. There are three other
modes which are determined by the various progressions of the
parts in the middle of the piece. The division into modes and the
rules are of little importance, for it is obvious that only the first few
notes of a piece are definitely influenced by the position at which the
parts start and that after this influence ceases to make itself felt the
modes dissolve into each other. Thus, though the enthusiasm of the
Anonymus points to the popularity of the current practice of
organizing, whatever it may have been, his rules are but another
example of the inability of theory to cope with it. Still this theoretical
composition continued to claim the respect of teachers and
composers late into the second half of the twelfth century.
A treatise by Guy, Abbot of Chalis, about this time, is concerned with
essentially the same problems and presents no really new point of
view. He is practically the last of the theorizing organizers. Organum
gave way to a new kind of music. In the course of over two hundred
years it had run perfectly within the narrow limits to which it had
been inevitably confined, and the science of it was briefly this: to
devise over any given melody a counter-melody which accompanied
it note by note, moving, as far as possible, in contrary motion,
sinking to meet the melody when it rose, rising away from it when it
fell, and, with few exceptions, in strictest concord of octaves, fifth,
fourths, and unison. Rules had been formulated to cover practically
all combinations which could occur in the narrow scheme. The
restricted, cramped art then crumbled into dust and disappeared.
Again and again this process is repeated in the history of music. The
essence of music, and, indeed, of any art, cannot be caught by rules
and theories. The stricter the rules the more surely will music rebel
and seek expression in new and natural forms. We cannot believe
that music in the Middle Ages was not a means of expression, that it
was not warm with life; and therefore we cannot believe that this
dry organum of Hucbald and Odo, of Guido of Arezzo, of Guy of
Chalis, which was still-born of scholastic theory, is representative of
the actual practice of music, either in the church or among the
people. On the other hand, these excellent old monks were pioneers
in the science of polyphonic writing. Inadequate and confusing as
their rules and theories may be, they are none the less the first rules
and theories in the field, the first attempts to give to polyphony the
dignity and regularity of Art.
Meanwhile, long before Guy of Chalis had written what may be taken
as the final word on organum, the new art which was destined to
supplant it was developing both in England and in France. Two little
pieces, one Ut tuo propitiatus, the other Mira lege, miro modo, have
survived from the first part of the twelfth century. Both are written in
a freely moving style in which the use of concords and discords
appears quite unrestricted. Moreover, the second of them is distinctly
metrical, and in lively rhythm. It is noted with neumes on a staff and
the rhythm is evident only through the words, for the neumes gave
no indication of the length or shortness of the notes which they
represented, but only their pitch. Now in both these little pieces
there are places where the organizing voice sings more than one
note to a note of the cantus firmus or vice versa. So long as
composers set only metrical texts to music the rhythm of the verse
easily determined the rhythm in which the shorter notes were to be
sung over the longer; but the text of the mass was in unmetrical
prose, and if composers, in setting this to music in more than one
part, wished one part to sing several notes to the other’s one, they
had no means of indicating the rhythm or measure in which these
notes were to be sung. Hence it became necessary for them to
invent a standard metrical measure and a system of notation
whereby it could be indicated. Their efforts in this direction
inaugurated the second period in the history of polyphonic music,
which is known as the period of measured music, and which extends
roughly from the first half of the twelfth century to the first quarter
of the fourteenth, approximately from 1150 to 1325.
IV
Our information regarding the development of the new art of
measured music comes mainly from treatises which appeared in the
course of these two centuries. Among them the most important are
the two earliest, Discantus positio vulgaris and De musica libellus,
both anonymous and both belonging to the second half of the
twelfth century; the De musica mensurabili positio of Jean de
Garlandia, written about 1245; and at last the great Ars cantus
mensurabilis, commonly attributed to Franco of Cologne, about
whose identity there is little certainty, and the work of Walter
Odington, the English mathematician, written about 1280, De
speculatione musices. As the earlier theorists succeeded in
compressing a certain kind of music within the strict limits of
mathematical theory, so the mensuralists finally bound up music in
an exact arbitrary system from which it was again to break free in
the so-called Ars nova. But the field of their efforts was much larger
than that of the organum and the results of their work consequently
of more lasting importance.
The first attempts were toward the perfecting of a system of
measuring music in time, and the outcome was the Perfect System,
a thoroughly arbitrary and unnatural scheme of triple values. That
the natural division of a musical note is into two halves scarcely
needs an explanation. We therefore divide our whole notes into half
notes, the halves into quarters, the quarters into eighths, and so
forth. But the mensuralists divided the whole note into three parts or
two unequal parts, and each of these into three more. The standard
note was the longa. It was theoretically held to contain in itself the
triple value of the perfect measure. Hence it was called the longa
perfecta. The first subdivision of the longa in the perfect system was
into three breves and of the breve into three semi-breves. But in
those cases in which the longa was divided into two unequal parts
one of these parts was still called a longa. This longa, however, was
considered imperfect, and its imperfection was made up by a breve.
So, too, the perfect breve could be divided into an imperfect and a
semi-breve.
Let us now consider the signs by which these values were
expressed. The sign for the longa, or long, as we shall henceforth
call it, was a modification of one of the old neumes called a virga,
written thus ; that for the brevis or breve came from the punctum,
written thus . The new signs were long and breve . The semi-
breve was a lozenge-shaped alteration of the breve, . This seems
simple enough until we come across the distressful circumstances
that the same sign represented both the perfect and imperfect long,
and that the perfect and imperfect breve, too, shared the same
figure. The following table illustrates the early mensural notes and
their equivalents in modern notation.
V
Regarding the relations of the voice parts, one is struck by the new
attitude toward consonance and dissonance of which they give
proof. In the old and in the free organum only four intervals were
admitted as consonant—the unison, the fourth, the fifth, and the
octave. The third and the sixth, which add so much color to our
harmony, were appreciated and considered pleasant only just before
the final unison or octave. The mensuralists admitted them as
consonant, though they qualified them as imperfect. For, true to the
time in which they lived, they divided the consonants theoretically
into classes—the octave and unison being defined as perfect, the
fourth and the fifth as intermediate, the third and later the sixth as
imperfect. So far did the love of system carry them that, feeling the
need of a balancing theory of dissonances, these were divided into
three classes similarly defined as perfect, intermediate, and
imperfect. We should, indeed, be hard put to-day to discriminate
between a perfect and an imperfect discord. Of the imperfect
consonances the thirds were first to be recognized, the minor third
being preferred, as less imperfect, to the major. The major sixth
came next and the last to be consecrated was the minor sixth,
which, for some years after the major had been admitted among the
tolerably pleasant concords, was held to be intolerably dissonant.
The fact that these concords, now held to be the richest and most
satisfying in music, were then called imperfect is striking proof of the
perseverance of the old classical ideas of concord and discord
inherited from the Greeks. Again, one must suspect that theory and
practice do not walk hand in hand through the history of music in
the Middle Ages.
The admission of thirds and sixths even grudgingly among the
consonant intervals is proof that through some common or popular
practice of singing they had become familiar and pleasant to the
ears of men. We have already mentioned the possible origin of
organum in the practice of improvising counter-melodies which
seems to have existed among the Celts and Germans of Europe at a
very early age. There is some reason to believe that in this practice
thirds and sixths played an important rôle; in fact, that there were
two kinds of organizing or descant, one of which, called gymel,
consisted wholly of thirds, the other, called faux-bourdon, of thirds
and sixths. These kinds of organizing, it is true, are not mentioned
by name until nearly the close of the fourteenth century, but there is
evidence that they were of ancient origin. Whether or not these
were the popular practices which brought the agreeable nature of
thirds and sixths to the attention of the mensuralists has not yet
been definitely determined. The reader is referred to Dr. Riemann’s
Geschichte der Musiktheorie im IX-XIV Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1898),
and the ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. I, by H. E. Wooldridge (Part I,
p. 160), for discussions on both sides of the question. The word
gymel was derived from the Latin gemellus, meaning twin, and the
cantus gemellus, or organizing in thirds, in fact, consists of twin
melodies. Faux-bourdon means false burden, or bass. The term was
applied to the practice of singers who sang the lowest part of a
piece of music an octave higher than it was actually written. If the
chord C-E-G is so sung then it becomes E-G-C, and whereas in the
original chord as written the intervals are the third, from C to E, and
the fifth, from C to G, in the transposed form the intervals are the
third, from E to G, and the sixth, from E to C, of which intervals
faux-bourdon consisted. The origin of this ‘false singing’ offered by
Mr. Wooldridge,[68] though properly belonging in a later period, may
be summarized here.
By the first quarter of the fourteenth century the methods of descant
had become thoroughly obnoxious to the ecclesiastical authorities
and the Pope, John XXII, issued a decree in 1322 for the restriction
of descant and for the reëstablishing of plain-song. The old parallel
organum of the fifth and fourth was still allowed. Singers, chafing
under the severe restraint, added a third part between the cantus
firmus and the fifth which on the written page looked innocent
enough to escape detection, and further enriched the effect of their
singing by transposing their plain-song to the octave above, which,
as we have seen, then moved in the pleasant relation of the sixth to
the written middle part. Thus, though the written parts looked in the
book sufficiently like the old parallel organum, the effect of the
singing was totally different. However, this explanation of the origin
of the term faux-bourdon leaves us still unenlightened as to how the
sixth had come to sound so agreeably to the ears of these rebellious
singers.
Having perfected a system of notation, and having admitted the
intervals pleasantest to our ears among the consonances to be
allowed, having thus broadly widened their technique and the
possibilities of music, we might well expect pleasing results from the
mensuralists. But their music is, as a matter of fact, for the most
part rigid and harsh. Several new forms of composition had been
invented and had been perfected, notably by the two great organists
of Notre Dame in Paris, Leo or Leonin, and his successor, Perotin. It
is customary to group these compositions under three headings,
namely, compositions in which all parts have the same words,
compositions in which not all parts have words, and compositions in
which the parts have different words. Among the first the cantilena
(chanson), the rondel and rota are best understood, though the
distinction between the cantilena and the rondel is not evident. The
rondel was a piece in which each voice sang a part of the same
melody in turn, all singing together; but, whereas in the rota one
voice began alone and the others entered each after the other with
the same melody at stated intervals, until all were singing together,
in the rondel all voices began together, each singing its own melody,
which was, in turn, exchanged for that of the others. Among the
compositions of the second class (in which not all parts have words),
the conductus and the organum purum were most in favor. Both are
but vaguely understood. The organum purum, evidently the survival
of the old free descant, was written for two, three, or even four
voices. The tenor sang the tones of a plain-song melody in very long
notes, while the other voices sang florid melodies above it, merely to
vocalizing syllables. The conductus differed from this mainly in that
such passages of florid descant over extended syllables of the plain-
song were interspersed with passages in which the plain-song
moved naturally in metrical rhythm, and in which the descant
accompanied it note for note. In the conductus composers made use
of all the devices of imitation and sequence which were at their
command. Finally, the third class of compositions named above is
represented by the Motet.
The Motet is by far the most remarkable of all forms invented by the
mensuralists. In the first place, a melody, usually some bit of plain-
song, was written down in a definite rhythmical formula. There were
several of these formulæ, called ordines, at the service of the
composers. The tenor part was made up of the repetition of this
short formal phrase. Over this two descanting parts were set, which
might be original with the composer, but which later were almost
invariably two songs, preferably secular songs. These two songs
were simply forced into rhythmical conformity to the tenor. They
were slightly modified so as to come into consonance with each
other and with the tenor at the beginning and end of the lines. Apart
from this they were in no way related, either to each other or to the
tenor. So came about the remarkable series of compositions in which
three distinct songs, never intended to go together, are bound fast
to each other by the rules of measured music, in which the tenor
drones a nonsense syllable, while the descant and the treble may be
singing, the one the praises of the Virgin, the other the praises of
good wine in Paris. This is surely the triumphant non plus ultra of
the mensuralists. Here, indeed, the rules of measured music preside
in iron sway. Not only have the old free ornaments of the early
church music been rigorously cramped to a formula and all the kinds
of metre reduced to a stiff rule of triple perfection, but the quaint old
hymns of the church have been crushed with the gay, mad songs of
Paris down hard upon a droning, inexorable tenor which, like a
fettered convict, works its slow way along. A reaction was inevitable
and it was swift to follow.
L. H.
FOOTNOTES:
[65] See Riemann, Handbuch der Musikgeschichte, I², p. 144 ff.
[66] See article by Dom Germain in Revue de l’art chrétien, 1888.
[67] Strict ‘imitation’ would be extremely difficult in the tetrachordal system. A
subject given in one tetrachord could not be imitated exactly in another, because
the tetrachords varied from each other by the position of the half-step within
them. Compare, for instance, the modern major and minor modes. The answer
given in minor to a subject announced in major is not a strict imitation. If, on the
other hand, the answer to a subject in a certain hexachord was given in another
hexachord, it would necessarily be a strict imitation, since in all hexachords the
half-step came between the third and fourth tones, between mi and fa.
[68] Op. cit., Part II.
CHAPTER VII
SECULAR MUSIC OF THE MIDDLE AGES
However slim the records of early church music they still suffice to
give some clews to the origin and nature of the first religious songs.
But, when we turn to the question of secular song at the beginning
of our era, we are baffled by an utter lack of tangible material. For
the same monks to whom we are indebted for the early examples of
sacred music were religious fanatics who looked with hostile eyes
upon the profane creations of their lay contemporaries. Yet we may
be confident of the continued and uninterrupted existence not only
of some sort of folk music, but also of the germs at least of an art
music, however crude, throughout that period of confusion incident
to, and following, the crumbling of the Roman empire.
We need but point to our discourse upon the music of primitive
peoples (Chap. I), the traces of musical culture left by the ancients
(Chap. II), and especially the high achievements of the Greeks
(Chap. IV), as evidence that, whatever the stage of a people’s
intellectual development, music is a prime factor of individual and
racial expression. Furthermore, at almost every period there is
recognizable the distinction between folk music proper—the
spontaneous collective expression of racial sentiment—and the more
sophisticated creations which we may designate as art. Thus the
music transmitted by the Greeks to the Romans, if added to ever so
slightly, no doubt was continued with the other forms of Greek
culture. The symposias, scolia, and lyrics of Hellas had their progeny
in the odes of Horace and Catullus; the bards, the aœds, and
rhapsodists had their counterpart—degenerate, if you will—in the
histriones, the gladiators, and performers in the arena of declining
Rome. Turning to the ‘Barbarians’ who caused the empire’s fall, we
learn that already Tacitus recorded the activities of the German
bardit who intoned war songs before their chiefs and inspired them
to new victories; while Athenæus and Diodorus Siculus both tell of
the Celtic bards who had an organization in the earliest Middle Ages
and were regularly educated for their profession.
I
Because of the fact that our earliest musical records are
ecclesiastical, the impression might prevail that modern music had
its origin in the Christian church. But, although almost completely
subjected to it as its guardian mother, and almost wholly occupied in
its service, the beginnings of Christian music antedate the church
itself. Pagan rites had their music no less than Christian. Just as we
find elements of Greek philosophy in the teaching of Christianity, so
the church reconciled Pagan festivals with its own holidays, and with
them adapted elements of Pagan music. Thus our Easter was a
continuation of the Pagan May-day festivals, and in the old Easter
hymn O filii et filiæ we find again the old Celtic may day songs, the
chansons de quête which still survive in France. We here reproduce
one above the other:
[PNG] [Listen]
O fi-li-i et fi-li-æ
Rex cœ-les-tis rex glo-ri-æ.
[PNG] [Listen]
But with isolated exceptions like this one all the early epics were
written in Latin; even the early songs of the first crusaders (eleventh
century) are still in that language. Their origin may in many
instances have been ecclesiastical; written by some monk secluded
within his monastery walls, they may never have been sung by the
people; their melodies, akin to the plain chant of the church, may
never have entered into the popular consciousness. Yet it is in the
popular consciousness that we must look for the true origin of
mediæval secular music. In folk song itself we must seek the germs
of the art which bore such rich blossoms as the Troubadour and
Minnesinger lyrics and which in turn refreshed by its influence the
music of the church itself.
II
As folk songs we are wont to designate those lyrics of simple
character which, handed down from generation to generation, are
the common property of all the people. Every nation, regardless of
the degree of its musical intelligence, possesses a stock of such
songs, so natural in their simple ingenuity as to disarm the criticism
of art, whose rules they follow unconsciously and with perfect
concealment of means. Their origin is often lost in the obscurity of
tradition and we accept them generally and without question as part
and parcel of our racial inheritance. Yet, while in a sense
spontaneous, every folk song did originate in the consciousness of
some one person. The fact that we do not know its author’s name
argues simply that the song has outlived the memory of him who
created it. He was a man of the people, more gifted than his fellows,
who saw the world through a poet’s eye, but who spoke the same
language, was reared in the same traditions, and swayed by the
same passions and sentiments as they who were unable to express
such things in memorable form. This fellow, whose natural language
is music, becomes their spokesman; their heartbeats are the accents
of his song. His talent is independent of culture. A natural facility, an
introspective faculty and a certain routine suffice to give his song the
coherence and definiteness of pattern which fasten it upon the
memory. Language is the only requisite for the transmission of his
art. Once language is fixed and has become the common property of
the people, this song, vibrating the heart-strings of its makers’
countrymen, will be repeated by another who perchance will fashion
others like it; his son, if he be gifted like himself, will do likewise and
so the inexhaustible well of popular genius will flow unceasingly from
age to age.
In the sentiments and thoughts common to all, then, we will find the
impulses of the songs which we shall now discuss. Considering the
different shades of our temperament, sadness, contentment,
gladness, and exuberance, we find that each gives rise to a species
of song, of which the second is naturally the least distinctive, the
two extremes calling for the most decisive expression. Now sadness
and melancholy have their concrete causes, and it is in the narration
of these causes that the heart vents its sorrow. Hence the narrative
form, the complainte, whose very name would confirm our
reasoning, is the earliest form of folk song in the vulgar tongue. In a
warlike people this would naturally dwell upon warlike heroic
themes, and we have already pointed out the early origin of the
epic. The musical form of epic was perhaps the simplest of all,
taking for its sole rhythm the accent of the words, one or two short
phrases, chanted much in the manner of the plain-song, sufficing for
innumerable verses. It is notable, too, that the church, adroitly
seizing upon popular music as a power of influence, adopted this
form to another genus, the légende, which, though developed by
clericals, struck as deep a root in the people’s imagination. Thus we
see in the ninth century the ‘Chant of St. Eulalia,’ and in the tenth
the ‘Life of St. Leger,’ which already shows great advance in form,
being composed in couplets of two, four, and six verses, alternating.
Possessed of better means of perpetuation this religious epic
flourished better and survived longer than the heroic complainte.
Still another genus was what we might call the popular complaintes,
the chansons narratives, which dealt with the people’s own
characters, with the common causes of woe; the common soldier
and the peasant; the death of a husband or a son. Such a one is the
Chanson de Renaud, which is considered the classic type of popular
song. It is sung in every part of France, and its traces are found in
Spain, Italy, Sweden, and Norway. It is unquestionably of great age,
though its date cannot be fixed.
[PNG] [Listen]
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade
Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.
ebooknice.com