Read Online The Sound Book: The Science of the Sonic Wonders of the World by Trevor Cox - Free Book Online

Wayland’s Smithy, a 5,410- to 5,600-year-old Neolithic long barrow (Figure 2.1).

    Figure 2.1 Entrance to Wayland’s Smithy.
    To arrive at the long barrow, I had trudged along the muddy Ridgeway, an ancient walking highway in central England, on a cold, clear winter’s day. Had I been on horseback, I could have avoided the quagmire under my feet and also tested the famous legend of Wayland’s Smithy, which claims that if you leave your horse tethered overnight along with a silver coin on the capstone, the next morning your steed will be reshod.
    The barrow is a large, low mound, fringed by a circle of beech trees. Most visitors poke their heads inside, snap a few pictures, and move on—examining the ancient monument through twenty-first-century eyes. But I felt compelled to explore the acoustics. I listened to my footsteps and how the sound changed as I crawled about. I talked out loud to myself to test whether my voice became distorted, and I clapped my hands to seek out echoes. I even plucked up the courage to sing a few notes, using the acoustics of the burial chamber to enhance my otherwise feeble bass. And of course, I burst my party balloons.
    Acoustic exploration is vital for understanding how our ancestors might have used these ancient sites. Back in Neolithic times, sound would have been even more important than it is today. In a time before writing, being able to listen to someone talking, remember the message, and pass it on was a vital skill. Acute hearing was crucial for avoiding predators, repelling attacks from rivals, and tracking and hunting animals for food. To overlook sound is to render the story of ancient monuments incomplete. We need to explore beyond the visual dominance of modern life and use our other senses: hearing, smell, and touch.
    A n obvious starting point for an exploration of ancient sites is the Greek architectural masterpiece, the theater at Epidaurus. A traveler in 1839 wrote,
    I could well imagine the high satisfaction with which the Greek, under the shade of the impending mountain, himself all enthusiasm and passion, rapt in the interest of some deep tragedy, would hang upon the strains of Euripides or Sophocles. What deep-drawn exclamations, what shouts of applause had rung through that solitude, what bursts of joy and grief had echoed from those silent benches! 2
    This is a vast, almost semicircular terrace of gray stone seats, banked steeply in front of a circular stage. Even today, tour guides delight in demonstrating the “perfect” acoustics, astonishing visitors as a pin dropped on the stage is heard high up on the huge bank of marble seats. “Few acoustical situations are so enveloped in myth as the antique Greek theatre,” wrote acoustic scientist Michael Barron. “For some, the Greeks are credited with an understanding of acoustics which still baffles modern science.” 3 Unfortunately, no extant documents reveal what the Greeks knew. But we are not completely bereft of written evidence, because Vitruvius, one of Julius Caesar’s military engineers, wrote extensively about the design of Greek and Roman theaters between 27 and 23 BC. 4 What is striking about Vitruvius’s book is that the overriding concern is for good acoustics, with less interest shown for visual appearance.
    Vitruvius provides simple design principles that still apply today. Greek theaters bring the audience close to the stage so that they can hear the sound as loudly and clearly as possible. This is why the audience seating is roughly semicircular. However, for the audience seated to the side of the stage in Epidaurus, the actors’ words would still have been rather quiet, because the voice naturally projects forward. 5 The solution to this problem was to give the side seats to foreigners, latecomers, and women—the ancient equivalent of cheap seats. 6
    Ancient theaters were built in very quiet locations, so that unwanted noise wouldn’t drown