BEETHOVEN--IV. 205
I. BEETHOVEN'S HUMOR 205
II. SCHERZOS FROM BEETHOVEN'S SONATAS 209
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 22.
_Beethoven: Scherzo from the Twelfth Sonata_ 209
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 23.
_Beethoven: Scherzo from the Fifteenth Sonata_ 210
III. THE SCHERZOS OF BEETHOVEN'S SYMPHONIES 211
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 24.
_Beethoven: Scherzo from the Fifth Symphony_ 218
IV. GENERAL SUMMARY 221
THE APPRECIATION OF MUSIC
CHAPTER I.
ELEMENTS OF MUSICAL FORM.
I. INTRODUCTORY.
Of the thousands of people who consider themselves lovers of music, it
is surprising how few have any real appreciation of it. It is safe to
say that out of any score of persons gathered to hear music, whether
it be hymn, song, oratorio, opera, or symphony, ten are not listening
at all, but are looking at the others, or at the performers, or at the
scenery or programme, or are lost in their own thoughts. Five more
are basking in the sound as a dog basks in the sun--enjoying it in a
sleepy, languid way, but not actively following it at all. For them
music is, as a noted critic has said, "a drowsy reverie, relieved
by nervous thrills." Then there are one or two to whom the music is
bringing pictures or stories: visions of trees, cascades, mountains,
and rivers fill their minds, or they dream of princesses in old
castles, set free from magic slumber by brave heroes from afar. Perhaps
also there is one who takes a merely scientific interest in the music:
he is so busy analysing themes and labelling motives that he forgets
to enjoy. Only two out of the twenty are left, then, who are actively
following the melodies, living over again the thoughts of the composer,
really appreciating, by vigorous and delightful attention, the beauties
of the music itself.
Can we not, you and I, join the ranks of these true lovers of music?
Can we not learn to free our minds of all side issues as we listen--to
forget audience, performers, and scene, to forget princesses and
heroes, to forget everything except this unique experience that is
unfolding itself before our ears? Can we not, arousing ourselves from
our drowsy reverie, follow with active co-operation and vivid pleasure
each tone and phrase of the music, for itself alone?
One thing is sure: Unless we can do so, we shall miss the keenest
enjoyment that music has to offer. For this enjoyment is not passive,
but active. It is not enough to place ourselves in a room where music
is going on; we must by concentrated attention; absorb and mentally
digest it. Without the help of the alert mind, the ear can no more
hear than the eye can see. Sir Isaac Newton, asked how he had made his
wonderful discoveries, answered, "By intending my mind." In no other
way can the lover of music penetrate its mysteries.
Knowledge of musical technicalities, on the other hand, is not
necessary to appreciation, any more than knowledge of the nature of
pigments or the laws of perspective is necessary to the appreciation
of a picture. Such technical knowledge we may dispense with, if only
we are willing to work for our musical pleasure by giving active
attention, and if we have some guidance as to what to listen for among
so many and such at first confusing impressions. Such guidance to
awakened attention, such untechnical direction what to listen for, it
is the object of this book to give.
II. WHAT TO NOTICE FIRST.
It is no wonder, when one stops to think of it, that music, in spite of
its deeply stirring effect upon us, often defeats our best efforts to
understand what it is all about, and leaves us after it is over with
the uncomfortable sense that we have had only a momentary pleasure,
and can take nothing definite away with us. It is as if we had been
present at some important event, without having the least idea why it
was important, or what was its real meaning. All of us, at one time
or another, must have had this experience. And, indeed, how could it
be otherwise? Music gives us nothing that we can see with our eyes or
touch with our hands. It does not even give our ears definite words
that we can follow and understand. It offers us only sounds, soft or
loud, long or short, high or low, that flow on inexorably, and that too
often come to an end without leaving any tangible impressions behind
them. No wonder we are often bewildered by an experience so peculiar
and so fleeting.
Yet these sounds, subtle as they are, have a sense, a logic, an order
of their own; and if we can only learn how to approach them, we can get
at this inner orderliness that makes them into "music." The process of
perception which we have to learn here is somewhat akin to certain more
familiar processes. For example, what comes to our eyes from the outer
world is simply a mass of impressions of differently colored and shaped
spots of light; only gradually, as we grow out of infancy, do we learn
that one group of these spots of light shows us "a house," another "a
tree," and so on. Similarly words, as we easily realize in the case of
a foreign language, are to the untrained ear mere isolated sounds of
one kind or another; only with practice do we learn to connect groups
of them into intelligible sentences. So it is with music. The sounds
are at first mere sounds, separate, fragmentary, unrelated. Only after
we have learned to group them into definite melodies, as we group
spots of lights into houses or trees, and words into sentences, do
they become music for us. To approach sounds in such a way as to "make
sense" of them--that is the art of listening to music.
III. MUSICAL MOTIVES.
The first step in making sense of any unfamiliar thing is to get quite
clearly in mind its central subject or subjects, as, for example,
the fundamental idea of a poem, the main contention of an essay, the
characters of a novel, the text of a sermon. All music worthy of the
name has its own kind of subjects; and if we can learn to take note
of, remember, and recognize them, we shall be well on the road to
understanding what at first seems so intangible and bewildering.
A possible confusion, due to the use of terms, must here be guarded
against. The word "subject" is used in a special sense, in music, to
mean an entire theme or melody, of many measures' duration--thus we
speak of "the first subject of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony," meaning the
entire contents of measures 6-21. Now this is obviously a different
meaning of the word "subject" from the general one we use when we speak
of the subject of a poem or a picture, as the fundamental idea about
which it all centers. This long musical "subject" all centers about a
little idea of four notes, announced in the first two measures of the
symphony:
[Music: score]
But as we are already using the word "subject" to mean something else,
we must have another name for this brief characteristic bit out of
which so much is made, and for this the word "motive" is used. Here
again there is a difference of usage which must be noted. When we
speak of a "motive" or "leading motive" of Wagner, we mean not a short
group of this kind, but an entire melody associated with some special
character or idea; e. g., "the Siegfried motive." Let us here, however,
keep the word "motive" to mean a short characteristic group of tones
or "figure," and the word "subject" to mean a complete melody or theme
built up out of one or more motives.
The smallest elements into which we can analyze the subject-matter of
music are "_motives_"--_that is, bits of tune, groups of from two to a
dozen tones, which have an individuality of their own, so that one of
them cannot possibly be confused with another_.
"Yankee Doodle," for instance, begins with a motive of seven notes,
which is quite individual, and wholly different from the motive of
six notes at the beginning of "God Save the King," or the motive of
five notes at the beginning of the "Blue Danube" waltz. The three
motives are so different that nobody of ordinary musical intelligence
would confound them one with another, any more than he would confound
the subject of Longfellow's "Psalm of Life" with that of Browning's
"Incident of the French Camp," or the characters in "Dombey and Son"
with those in "Tom Jones." The whole musical individuality of each of
the three tunes grows out of the individuality of its special motive.
Here, evidently, is a matter of primary importance to the would-be
intelligent music lover. If he can learn to distinguish with certainty
whatever "motives" he hears, half the battle is already gained.
Four points will be noticeable in any motive he may hear. Its notes
will vary as to (1) length, (2) accent, (3) meter or grouping into
regular measures of two, three, or four notes, and (4) pitch. If he
can once form the habit of noticing them, he will have no further
difficulty in recognizing the themes of any music, and, what is even
more important, following the various evolutions through which they
pass as the composer works out his ideas. The importance of such active
participation in the composer's thought cannot be exaggerated. Without
it there cannot be any true appreciation of music; through it alone
does the listener emerge from "drowsy reverie, relieved by nervous
thrills" into the clear daylight of genuine artistic enjoyment.
IV. WHAT THE COMPOSER DOES WITH HIS MOTIVES.
Let us put ourselves now in the place of a composer who has thought of
certain motives, and who wishes to make them into a complete piece of
music. What shall we do next with these scraps of melody, attractive
but fragmentary? Now, one thing we can see at once from our knowledge
of arts other than music. We must somehow or other keep repeating
our central ideas, or our piece will wander off into mazes and fail
to have any unity or intelligibility; yet we must also vary these
repetitions, or they will become monotonous, and the finished piece
will have no variety or sustained interest. The poet must keep harking
back to the main theme of his poem, or it will degenerate into an
incoherent rhapsody; but he must present new phases of the root idea,
or he will simply repeat himself and bore his readers. The architect,
having chosen a certain kind of column, say, for his building, must not
place next to it another style of column, from a different country and
period, or his building will become a mess, a medley, a nightmare; but
neither must he make his entire building one long colonnade of exactly
similar columns, for then it would be hopelessly dull. In short, every
artist has to solve in his own way the problem of combining _unity of
general impression_ with _variety of detail_. Without either one of
these essentials, no art can be beautiful.
Here we are, then, with our motive and with the problem before us of
repeating it with modifications sufficient to lend it a new interest,
but not radical enough to hide its identity.
If we are making our music for several voices or instruments, or for
several parts all played on one instrument like the organ or the
piano, we can let these different voices or parts sound the motive
in succession. If, while the new voice takes the motive, the voice
previously brought in goes on with something new, then we shall have a
very agreeable mingling of unity and variety. This is the method used
in all canons, fugues, inventions, and so on, and in vocal rounds. For
an example, take the round called "Three Blind Mice" (see Figure I).
[Music: score]
FIGURE I. "THREE BLIND MICE."
Three blind mice, three blind mice, See how they run,
see how they run, They all ran af - ter the farm - er's wife, Who
cut off their tails with a carv - ing knife. Did you
ev - er see such a sight in your life as three blind mice.
One person, A, begins this melody alone, and sings it through. When
he has reached the third measure, B strikes in at the beginning.
When B in his turn has reached the third measure (A being now at the
fifth), C comes in in the same way. In a word, the three people sing
the same tune _in rotation_ (whence the name, "round"). And the tune,
of course, is so contrived that all its different sections, sounded
simultaneously by the various voices, merge in harmony. This kind
of literal repetition by one part of what another has just done is
called "imitation," and is a fundamental principle of all that great
department of music known as the "polyphonic," or many-voiced.
But now, notice another kind of repetition in this little tune.
Measures 3 and 4 practically repeat, though at a different place in the
scale, the three-note motive of measures 1 and 2. (In order to conform
to the words, the second note is now divided into two, but this is an
unimportant alteration.) The naturalness of this kind of repetition is
obvious. Having begun with our motive in one place, it easily occurs to
us to go on by repeating it, _in the same voice, but higher or lower in
pitch than at first_. The mere fact that it is higher or lower gives it
the agreeable novelty we desire, yet it remains perfectly recognizable.
We may call this sort of repetition, which, like "imitation," is of the
greatest utility to the composer, "transposition," to indicate that the
motive is shifted to a new place or pitch.
But suppose we do not wish either to imitate or to transpose our
motive, is there any other way in which we can effectively repeat it?
Yes:--we can follow its first appearance with something else, entirely
different, and after this interval of contrast, come back again and
_restate_ our motive just as it was at first. Looking at "Three Blind
Mice" again, we see that this device, as well as the other two, is used
there. After the fifth, sixth, and seventh measures, which contain the
contrast, the eighth measure returns literally to the original motive
of three notes, thus rounding out and completing the tune. This third
kind of repetition, which may be called "restatement after contrast,"
or simply "restatement," is also widely in use in all kinds of music. A
most familiar instance occurs in "Way Down upon the Suwanee River."
Let us keep distinctly in mind, in all our study, these three modes of
repetition, which are of radical importance to musical design: 1st,
the imitation of a motive in a different "voice" or "part"; 2d, the
transposition of a motive, in the same voice, to a higher or lower
place in the scale; 3d, the restatement of a motive already once
stated, after an intervening contrast. We shall constantly see these
kinds of repetition--imitation, transposition, and restatement--used
by the great composers to give their music that unity in variety, that
variety in unity, without which music can be neither intelligible nor
beautiful.
V. THE FIRST STEPS AS REVEALED BY HISTORY.
It must not be thought that these ways of varying musical motives
without destroying their identity were quickly found out by musicians.
On the contrary, it took centuries, literally centuries, to discover
these devices that seem to us so simple. All savage races are musically
like children; they cannot keep more than one or two short bits of tune
in mind at the same time, and these they simply repeat monotonously.
The first two examples in Figure II, taken from Sir Hubert Parry's "The
Evolution of the Art of Music," give an idea of the first stage of the
savage musician.
1.
[Music: score]
2.
[Music: score]
3.
[Music: score]
4.
[Music: score]
FIGURE II. TUNES OF PRIMITIVE SAVAGES.
The first is from Australia, the second from Tongataboo. Both are made
of a single motive endlessly repeated without relief.
In a slightly higher stage, two motives are used, but with little more
skill. Number 3, in Figure II, is an example. Then come tunes in which
one or more motives, repeated literally, are still the main feature
of the design, but in which a certain amount of variety is introduced
between the repetitions (see Number 4, in Figure II, a Russian tune).
Here the little characteristic figure of four short notes and a long,
marked N.B., is agreeably relieved by other material.
VI. A SPANISH FOLK-SONG.
From such primitive music as this to the beautiful "folk-song" of
the modern nations is a long step indeed. Even in the simplest real
folk-songs, the means of varied repetition of ideas that we have
been discussing are used with an ingenuity which places them on an
infinitely higher level than these primitive efforts of savages. It
is true that in folk-songs, which were sung by a single voice instead
of a group of voices, the device of "imitation" was used hardly at
all:--that is available only where there are several different voices
to imitate one another. But in order to see what good use was made of
"transposition" and "restatement" we need take only a single example,
from Galicia in Spain (see Figure III). Let us examine this tune in
some detail, as a preparation for a further study of folk-songs in a
later article.
[Music: score]
From Galicia in Spain.
FIGURE III. FOLK-SONG.
The tune, in spite of its impression of considerable variety, is
founded entirely on two motives--
[Music: score]
[Music: score]
In the sixth and seventh measures, (1) is so altered and transposed
that it ends on D instead of on C, and in the eighth, ninth, and tenth
measures (2) is transposed so as to end on G instead of on C. By these
transpositions the important element of _contrast_ is introduced,
and when therefore we have, at the end, the two motives given again
almost exactly as to first, we get, by this restatement after contrast,
a delightful sense of unity and completeness. The means here are
wonderfully simple, but the effect is truly artistic.
VII. BALANCE OF PHRASES.
An important principle of musical design is introduced to our notice
by this little melody. It will be observed that it divides itself into
three equal parts: the statement, measures 1-5; the contrast, measures
6-10; and the restatement, measures 11-15. (We may represent these
by the letters A, B, and A.) Now these three parts, being of equal
length and similar material, balance each other just as lines in poetry
do. One makes us expect another, which, when it comes, fulfills our
expectation. Thus we get the impression of regularity, order, symmetry.
This element of symmetry, or the balancing of one phrase of melody by
another, like the balancing of one line of poetry by another, as in the
verses
"The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me."
is a most important one, as we shall soon see, in all modern music.
This balance of one large section of a melody by another is often
referred to by the term "rhythm," owing to its analogy with "rhythm"
in architecture (in the symmetry, for example, of two halves of a
building). But it is simpler to keep the word rhythm, in music, to mean
rather a characteristic combination of tones, as regards their relative
length and accent, as, "the rhythm of the first motive in Beethoven's
Fifth Symphony" (see motive quoted on page 5). In the present articles
the word will be used in this latter sense.
VIII. SUMMARY.
In this chapter we have seen how music, in spite of its subtle,
intangible nature, has certain definite features called "motives,"
which we can learn to recognize and follow by noticing the length,
accent, metrical arrangement, and movement "up" or "down," of the tones
of which they are composed.
We have seen that these primary motives are worked up into complete
pieces of music by being repeated with such alterations as serve to
vary them pleasantly without disguising them beyond recognition. The
chief kinds of modified repetition we have noticed are "imitation,"
"transposition," and "restatement after contrast." All of these we have
seen illustrated in "Three Blind Mice."
We have remarked how very gradually musicians got away from monotonous
harping on their ideas by using these devices. In connection with
the Spanish folk-song, we have noted that, although imitation was not
available, transposition and restatement were most effectively used.
Finally, we have seen that music, like poetry, has its larger balance
of phrases, by which whole parts of a melody are set off against one
another and made to balance, just as lines do in verse.
In succeeding chapters we shall trace out all these principles in more
detail.
SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLATERAL READING.
_Parry: "The Evolution of the Art of Music," Chapters I and II;
Dickinson: "The Study of the History of Music," Chapter I; Grove:
"Dictionary of Music and Musicians," article "Form."_
CHAPTER II.
FOLK-SONGS.
In the first chapter we have traced the evolution of the formal element
in music, the element through which it gradually attained coherence. We
have seen that this element is an expression of that common sense which
rules in all things; that the various expedients adopted in music as
means of keeping the central idea before the listener, and, at the same
time, providing him with sufficient variety to retain his interest, are
dictated by that sense of fitness that operates everywhere in life. And
these simple formal principles, so conceived, will be found to underlie
the larger musical forms that will engage our attention in succeeding
chapters.
Let us always keep in mind that, while the psychological effect of
music remains a considerable mystery, and the appreciation of great
music must be a personal and individual act involving a certain
receptivity and sensitiveness to musical impressions, yet the
perception of the logic or sense in a piece of music is a long step
towards understanding it, and one of the best means of cultivating that
receptivity and sensitiveness.
Folk-songs have been described by an eminent writer[1] as "the first
essays made by man in distributing his notes so as to express his
feelings in terms of design." We shall shortly examine some typical
folk-songs in order to see how this design gradually became larger and
more various, and how, through this process, the foundations were laid
for the masterpieces of modern instrumental music. We shall see that
this advance has accompanied an advance in civilization; that as men's
lives have become better ordered, as higher standards of living and
thinking have appeared, the sense of beauty has grown until, finally,
this steady progress has resulted in the creation of certain permanent
types. It must be kept in mind, however, that these primitive types are
largely the result of instinctive effort, and not of conscious musical
knowledge. The science of music, as we know it, did not exist when
these songs were written.
I. FOLK-SONGS AND ART SONGS.
In order to distinguish between Folk-songs and songs like those of
Schubert and Schumann, musicians call the latter "Art" songs. The
folk-song is a naïve product, springing almost unconsciously from the
hearts of simple people, and not intended to convey any such definite
expression of the meaning of the words as is conveyed in modern songs.
While there are specimens[2] of the art song that closely approach the
simplicity and beauty of the folk-song, the art song in general is not
only of wider range and of wider application to men's thoughts and
feelings, but it also has, as an integral part of it, an accompaniment
of which the folk-song, in its pure state, is entirely devoid.
A further distinguishing characteristic of the folk-song is that it is
often composed in one of the old ecclesiastical "modes."
These modes were old forms of the scale that existed before our modern
harmonic system came into use. The following English folk-song, called
"Salisbury Plain," is in the "Aeolian" mode.
[Music: score]
FIGURE IV.
This song is written in the scale represented by the white keys of
a pianoforte beginning on A, and the peculiarly quaint effect of it
is due to the unusual intervals of that scale as compared with our
common scale forms. There are various modes[3] called "Phrygian,"
"Dorian," etc., each having its own peculiar quality. This quaintness
and characteristic quality to be observed in modal folk-songs almost
entirely disappears when an accompaniment of modern harmony is added,
as is often done.
Folk-songs occupied a much more important place in the lives of the
people who used them than is commonly supposed. When we consider that
at the time the earliest of them were written few people could read
or write, that books were printed in Latin, and that there were no
newspapers, railways, or telegraphs, we can understand how large a part
these old songs played in the scheme of life. The strolling singer was
the newspaper of the time. Furthermore, the general illiteracy of the
people made of the folk-song a natural vent for their feelings. With a
limited vocabulary at their disposal, it was natural that they should
use the song as a medium of expression for their joys and sorrows.
Gesture was also part of their language, and in a modified way, as a
means of expression, may be said to have performed something of the
function of song. Many of the oldest melodies existed as an adjunct
to dancing and religious ceremonials, and were, therefore, to some
extent utilitarian. But so intimate was their relation to the ideas and
feelings of the people who used them that, in spite of the crudeness
and simplicity of the medium employed, the songs of the various nations
are entirely distinct from each other, and to a remarkable degree
express the characteristics of the people who produced them.
The songs used with this chapter are chosen chiefly to illustrate the
various methods (already described) of attaining variety and unity
in music. If little space is devoted here to other considerations,
the reader must bear in mind that our purpose is to lead him finally
to as complete an appreciation as possible of the masterpieces of
instrumental music, and that this appreciation must begin with
a perception of the relationships between the various parts of a
primitive piece of music.
II. AN ENGLISH FOLK-SONG.
In Figure V is shown the old English song "Polly Oliver."[4]
[Music: score]
FIGURE V.
This is a traditional song handed down without any record of its
origin, from generation to generation. Its unknown composer has
managed very deftly to make it hang together. A good deal is made, in
particular, of the characteristic little motive of three notes which
first occurs at the beginning of the third measure.[5] In the very next
measure, the fourth, this is "transposed" to a lower position. Going
on, we find it coming in again, most effectively, in measure 7, this
time transposed upwards; and it occurs again twice at the end of the
melody. Thus a certain unity is given to the entire tune. Again, the
device of repetition after contrast is well used. After measures 1-9,
which state the main idea of the melody, measures 9-13 come in with a
pronounced contrast; but this is immediately followed up, in measures
13-17, by a literal repetition of the first four measures, which
serves to round out and satisfactorily complete the whole. We thus see
illustrated once more the scheme of form which, in the last chapter, we
denoted by the letters A-B-A.
This song presents a further element of form by means of which much
variety is imparted to music.
III. KEY AND MODULATION.
It will be noticed that the first phrase of "Polly Oliver" (measures
1-5) moves about the tone E-flat and ends upon it with the effect of
coming to rest, and that the second phrase (measures 5-9) similarly
moves about and comes to rest on the tone B-flat. The last phrase
(13-17), like the first, moves about E-flat. This moving about a
certain tone, which is, so to speak, the center of gravity of the
whole phrase, is called by musicians "being in the key of" that tone;
and when the center of gravity changes, musicians say that the piece
"modulates" from one key to another. Thus, this first phrase is in the
key of E-flat, the second modulates to the key of B-flat, and the song
later modulates back again to the key of E-flat. Here we have another
very important principle in modern music, the principle of "key"
or "tonality,"--important because it makes possible a great deal of
variety that still does not interfere with unity. By putting the first
part of a piece in one key, the second part in another, and finally the
last part in the original key, we can get much diversity of effect, and
at the same time end with the same impression with which we began. We
shall only gradually appreciate the immense value to the musician of
this arrangement of keys.
A further element of form is found in "Polly Oliver," namely, the
balance of phrases. This balance of phrases one against another is
derived ultimately from the timed motions of the body in dancing, or
from the meter of the four line verse to which the music was sung. And
this balance of phrases, derived from these elemental sources, still
dominates in the melodies of the great masters, although it is managed
with constantly increasing freedom and elasticity, so that we find in
modern music little of that sing-song mechanical regularity which we
may note in most folk-songs and dances.
IV. BARBARA ALLEN.
Let us now examine another old English song, "Barbara Allen."
[Score: music]
FIGURE VI.
In Scar-let Town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made ev' - ry youth cry "well-a-day,"
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death bed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.
Then slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said when there she came:
"Young man, I think you're dying."
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her heart was struck with sorrow.
"O mother, mother!--make my bed,
For I shall die to-morrow!"
She, on her death bed as she lay,
Begg'd to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day
That she did e'er deny him.
"Farewell!" she said, "ye maidens all,
And shun the fault I fell in.
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen."
This also is a traditional song. The words celebrate the emotion of
unrequited love, a favorite subject with the old ballad writers. In the
music, we shall find a further illustration of the use of the devices
already referred to.
We note first of all that there is throughout the melody a constant use
of one rhythmic motive. This figure appears in the first four notes of
the song, and is found at the beginning of every other measure save
the fifth and the last. While these transpositions are not so literal
as is that at the beginning of "Polly Oliver," they are nevertheless
sufficiently close to serve the purpose of preserving unity while still
providing variety. The tune is held together by this insistence on the
motive; there is considerable variety in the melody of the various
phrases, but through it all runs this persistent rhythm.
Although "Barbara Allen" does not, strictly speaking, contain a
modulation, since there is in the melody no note foreign to the key
in which the song is written, yet the first and last phrases center
round D, the key-note, while the second phrase (to the words "There
was a fair maid dwellin'") centers round and comes to rest on A, thus
producing the effect of a half pause, as if punctuated with a semicolon.
A very important point should be noted in reference to these half
pauses or modulations in a melody, namely, that they usually occur on
the fifth note of the scale of the original key, called by musicians
the "dominant." In the three songs we have considered thus far the
second phrase has so ended. This modulation to the dominant is the most
common one in music, and we shall often have occasion to refer to it in
later chapters.
Finally, a comparison of the third phrase of the music--"there was a
fair maid dwellin'"--with the last--"her name was Barbara Allen"--will
reveal a considerable similarity in both rhythm and melodic contour
or curve. By means of this similarity, and by the return, in the last
phrase, to the original key, our sense of proportion is satisfied and a
certain logic is imparted to the tune. It should also be noticed that
the melody is a perfect example of that balance of phrases already
referred to, the two halves (1-5 and 5-9) being of precisely the same
length.
V. NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS IN FOLK-SONGS.
"Barbara Allen" is like many other English tunes in being
straightforward, positive, and, in a measure, unromantic. It lacks the
soft, undulating, and poetic element to be observed in the Spanish
folk-song (see Chapter I), but has a vigor and somewhat matter-of-fact
quality characteristic of the race that produced it. The story was
evidently popular in the olden time, as many versions of it with
different music have been found all over England. All the important
events of the times were celebrated in song. There were, for example,
many songs about Napoleon and the danger of an invasion of England,
such as "Boney's Lamentation." Songs were written about political
affairs and about religion, and there were many dealing with popular
characters such as Robin Hood. Celebrated criminals became the
subjects of songs, while poaching and other lawless acts committed
by the peasants--which in those days were punished with the greatest
severity--were frequently used as the basis for the strolling singers'
ballads. Such titles as "Here's adieu to all Judges and Juries," "The
Gallant Poachers," and "Botany Bay" are frequently to be found.
From a perusal of a large number of the old songs one gathers a quite
comprehensive idea of the ways of life and the thoughts and feelings of
the people of "Merrie England." A kind of rude philosophy seems to have
evolved itself out of the mass of common sentiment. And the verses,
rude as they are, have a characteristic directness and vigor that gives
them a value of their own.
Plain, definite narrative characterizes most of the English songs.
The name of the hero and heroine are usually given with the greatest
accuracy, as are all the other details of the story. One old English
song, for example, begins as follows:
"'Twas the eighteenth of August,
The eighth month of the year."
while another is entitled:
"The Three Butchers; or, Gibson, Wilson, and Johnson."
Still another begins:
"Eli Sykes, in the town of Batley,
Killed his sweetheart, Hannah Brooke."
This quality is in marked contrast to the more romantic and poetic
element to be found in the songs of many European nations. This
energetic and straightforward quality in old English melodies does not
prevent them from being beautiful; they are true to human nature and
unspoiled by sophistry.
VI. AN IRISH FOLK-SONG.
Our next illustration is an Irish song called "The Flight of the
Earls," one of the most beautiful of melodies. (See Figure VII.)
In this illustration the curved lines represent the phrases and
correspond to the lines of the poem, while the brackets show the larger
formal structure of the melody, A being the statement, or clause of
assertion, B the clause of contrast, and A the restatement. A mere
glance at this music will show how certain phrases are used throughout
to hold the melody together. The first and second measures,[6] for
example, contain a phrase of which one part or the other will be found
in almost every measure of the song. The first half of the song ends
at 9 with a modulation to the fifth above, or dominant, while the
"restatement after contrast" (beginning on the last note of measure 13)
is quite clear.
[Music: score]
FIGURE VII.
Certain details may be pointed out for the benefit of the student. The
first phrase, ending on the note D (5), gives a sense of being poised
for a moment before proceeding to the next note, D not being a point
of rest such as is supplied by the C with which the second phrase
ends--at 9. The same device is used at the end of the third phrase
(13). The clause of contrast (9-13), while based on the rhythm of the
motive of three notes at the beginning of the song, is distinguished
from either of the other two parts by the absence of the characteristic
sixteenth-note figure of measure two.
This song justifies all that we have said about the poetic beauty
of folk-songs. Within its short compass are contained elements of
perfection that may well astonish those who look on folk-songs as
immaterial to the development of the art of music. For this melody is
as complete and perfect an expression of that natural idealism that
seems to have animated human beings from the earliest times as is the
present day music of our own ideals.
VII. A GERMAN FOLK-SONG.
The next illustration is a well known German folk-song called "Sister
Fair."
[Music: score]
FIGURE VIII.
This melody is one of great beauty and tenderness. Like many other
German folk-songs, it is full of quiet sentiment, not over-strained,
but sweet and wholesome. It contains certain formal elements with
which we are already familiar: (1) "Repetition," between the first
motive in measures 1 and 2, between measures 5-6 and 7-8, and between
measures 3-4 and 11-12; (2) "transposition," where the motive in
measure 9 is inverted in measure 10 (this is an imitation of rhythm
but not of melody); (3) "restatement after contrast," the last four
measures being, in effect, a repetition of the first four with the
first motive from measure 9 inverted; (4) "modulation," the first
phrase being in A-minor, the second in C-major, and the last in A-minor
again. This is a particularly clear example of a modulation, as the
three phrases distinctly centre round their respective key-notes, or
tonal centres. It should be noted that the modulation is not to the
fifth above the key-note, as in most of the other examples, but to the
third above. This is common in songs in the minor key.
Quite a distinct charm is imparted to the first phrase of this melody
by the use at the _end_ of measure 2 of the little rhythmic figure
that has already appeared at the _beginning_ of the first and second
measures. There is an unexpected charm in this shifting of a motive
from one part of a measure to another. We shall see this device of
musical construction in many of the larger works that are dealt with in
later chapters.
There are a great many beautiful German folk-songs which would be well
worth study here did space permit. The student is referred to such
collections as Reimann's "Das Deutsche Lied," where the best of them
will be found.
VIII. SUMMARY.
In this brief study of folk-songs we have noted that the stream of pure
native melody was independent of the art-song and followed its own
natural channel, but that, in spite of its limitation, presents to us
some well developed formal types.
We have seen how important a part modulation plays in the plan of a
piece of music, and how, by means of a change of key, a new kind of
variety may be imparted to a melody.
We have observed how closely the old songs reflect the characteristics
of the people who produced them, and how intimate was the connection
between the songs--with the verses to which they were set--and the
thoughts and feelings of those who used them.
In studying the German folk-song we have observed a subtle element of
form, namely, the shifting of a motive from one part of a measure to
another.
In the next chapter we shall take up the study of simple polyphonic
pieces, such as have already been referred to in dealing with the
round, "Three Blind Mice."
SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLATERAL READING.
_Parry: "The Evolution of the Art of Music," Chapter III; Grove's
"Dictionary of Music and Musicians," articles "Song" and "Form."_
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Sir Hubert Parry in "The Evolution of the Art of Music."
[2] Such as Schubert's "Haiden-Röslein."
[3] The reader will find an account of these modes in Grove's
Dictionary of Music under "Modes, Ecclesiastical."
[4] In Hadow's "Songs of the British Islands" (Curwen & Co., London).
[5] The first partial measure is counted as one.
[6] The partial measure at the beginning is counted as one.
CHAPTER III.
THE POLYPHONIC MUSIC OF BACH.
We have seen in the last chapter some typical examples of folk-songs,
which have served to give us an impression of folk-music in general,
since it always conforms, in all essentials, to the type they
illustrate. Folk-music is generally simple and unsophisticated in
expression; it is generally cast in short and obvious forms; and
it generally consists of a single melody, either sung alone or
accompanied, on some primitive instrument, by a few of the commonest
chords.
The prominence given to a single melody by music of this type,
however, makes it unsuitable for groups of different voices, such
as a vocal quartet or a chorus; and therefore when musicians began
to pay attention to music intended for church use they had to work
out a different style, in which several parts, sung by the various
voices, could be strongly individualized. This led to what is called
the "polyphonic," or "many-voiced" style. Another reason why the
ecclesiastical style always remained unlike the secular was that the
learned church musicians disdained any use of those methods which grew
up in connection with folk-songs and dances, considering them profane
or vulgar. Had they been willing to study them, they might have added
much vitality to church music; but they maintained an attitude of
aloofness and of contempt for the popular music.
I. WHAT IS "POLYPHONY?"
The peculiarity of the polyphonic style is that that portion of the
music which accompanies the chief melody is no longer a series of
chords as in folk-music, but a tissue of secondary melodies, like
the chief one, and hardly less important. (This arises, as we have
just suggested, from the necessity of giving each of the four voices
or groups of voices,--soprano, alto, tenor, and bass,--something
individual and interesting to do.) The difference between the two
styles is apparent even to the eye, on the printed page. A folk-song,
or any other piece in "homophonic" or "one-voiced" style, has the
characteristic appearance of a line of notes on top (the melody), with
groups of other notes hanging down from it here and there, like clothes
from a clothes line (the accompaniment). A Bach fugue, in print,
presents the appearance of four (or more) interlacing lines of notes.
(See Figure IX.)
[Music: score]
(_a_) Beginning of "Polly Oliver."
While the dawn on the mountain was mist - y and grey,
[Music: score]
(_b_) Passage from Bach Fugue in G-minor
"Well-Tempered Clavichord," Book I.
FIGURE IX. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "HOMOPHONIC" AND "POLYPHONIC" STYLE.
Historically speaking, the first great culmination of the polyphonic
style is found in the ecclesiastical choruses of Palestrina
(1528-1594); but it was not until somewhat later that this style was
applied to instrumental music. In the inventions, canons, preludes,
toccatas, and fugues of Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), we get
the first great examples of polyphony as applied, not to merely
ecclesiastical music, but to music which by its secular character and
its variety of emotional expression is universal in scope.
II. AN INVENTION BY BACH.
Such is the ingenuity and the perfection of detail in Bach's works in
the polyphonic style that a life-time might be spent in studying them.
They have that delicacy of inner adjustment more usually found in the
works of nature than in those of man; their melodies grow out of their
motive germs as plants put forth leaves and flowers; their separate
voices fit into one another like the crystals in a bit of quartz; and
the whole fabric of the music stands on its elemental harmonies as
solidly as the mountains on their granite bases. We can hope to see as
little of this august country of Bach's mind by analyzing a few pieces
as a man may see of the hills and moors in a day's excursion--but,
nevertheless, a beginning must be made.
The essential features of this music may be seen in even so simple
a piece as the Invention in F-major, number 7, in the two-voiced
inventions, though it is written for only two voices and is but
thirty-four measures long.
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 1.
_Bach: Two-voice Invention No. VIII., in F-Major._
The subject or theme of this invention is a melody of two measures'
length, first given out by the soprano, and consists of two motives or
characteristic figures, one in eighth-notes, staccato, making a series
of leaps, thus:
[Music: score]
and one a graceful descending run in sixteenth-notes, thus
[Music: score]
Notice how charmingly the staccato and the legato are contrasted in
these motives.
The entire invention is made out of this subject by means of those
methods of varied repetition discussed in Chapter I., especially
"imitation" and "transposition." For example, the lower voice, which
we will call the bass, "imitates," almost exactly, through the first
eleven measures, what the soprano says a measure before it. On the
other hand, in measure 12 the bass starts the ball a-rolling by giving
the subject (this time in the key of C), and the soprano takes its turn
at imitating. Then, from measure 29 to the end, it is again the soprano
which leads and the bass which imitates. The student should trace out
these imitations in detail, admiring the skill with which they are made
always harmonious.
There are many instances of transposition also, most of them carried
out so systematically that they form what musicians call "sequences."
A sequence is a series of transpositions of a motive, shifting it in
pitch either upward or downward, and carried out systematically through
several repetitions. Examples: measures 4, 5, and 6, transposition
of the motive in soprano, three repetitions; measures 21, 22, 23,
transposition of motives of both voices, three repetitions; measures
24, 25, transposition of motives of both voices, two repetitions. The
second of these sequences is shown in Figure X.
It will be noted what a strong sense of regular, orderly progress these
sequences impart to the melodies.
It is interesting to see that the same general scheme of keys is
embodied in this invention that we have observed in folk-songs: i. e.,
the modulation to the "dominant" in the middle (measure 12), and the
return at the end to the original key. This divides the piece into two
unequal halves, the first making an excursion away from the home key,
the second returning home--much as the King of France, with twenty
thousand men, marched up the hill and then marched down again. Such a
two-part structure is observable in thousands of short pieces, and is
called by musicians "binary form."
[Music: score]
FIGURE X. "Sequence" from Bach's Invention in F-Major.
The difference in texture between this piece and any folk-song or dance
will best be appreciated by playing over the bass part alone, when it
will be seen that, far from being mere "filling" or accompaniment, it
is a delightful melody in itself, almost as interesting as its more
prominent companion. Indeed, in the whole invention there are only two
tones (the C and the A in the final chord) which are not melodically
necessary. Such is the splendid economy and clearness of Bach's musical
thinking.
Before going further, the reader should examine for himself several
typical inventions, as, for example, No. I, in C-major; No. II, in
C-minor; No. X, in G-major, and No. XIII, in A-minor, in this set
by Bach, noting in each case: (1) the individuality of the motives
used, (2) the imitations from voice to voice, (3) the sequences,
(4) the modulations, (5) the polyphonic character, as evidenced by
the self-sufficiency and melodic interest of the bass, and (6) the
structural division of the entire invention into more or less distinct
sections.
III. A FUGUE BY BACH.
The same general method of composing that is exemplified in the
inventions we see applied on a larger scale in the fugues of Bach.
The definition of a fugue given by some wag--"a piece of music in which
one voice after another comes in, and one listener after another goes
out"--is true only when the listeners are uneducated. For a trained
ear there is no keener pleasure than following the windings of a well
written fugue. It is, at the same time, true that a fugue presents
especial difficulties to the ear, because of its intricately interwoven
melodies. In a folk-song there is not only but one melody, with nothing
to distract the attention from it, but it is composed in definite
phrases of equal length, like the lines in poetry, with a pause at the
end of each, in which the mind of the listener can take breath, so
to speak, and rest a moment before renewing attention. Not so in the
fugue, where the bits of tune occur all through the whole range of the
music, are of varying lengths and character, and overlap in such a way
that there are few if any moments of complete rest for the attention.
Perhaps this is the chief reason why fugues have the reputation of
being "dry."
As is suggested by the derivation of the word "fugue," from the Latin
"fuga," a flight, the characteristic peculiarity of the form is the
entrance, one after another, of the several voices, which thus seem to
pursue or chase one another, to go through a sort of musical game of
"tag," in which first one and then another is "It." First one voice
begins with the "subject" of the fugue, in the "tonic" key (key in
which the piece is written). Next enters a second voice, "imitating"
the first, but presenting the subject not in the "tonic," but in the
"dominant" key. Then a third, once more in the tonic, and finally the
fourth, again in the dominant. After these entrances all four voices
proceed to play with the subject, transposing it in all sorts of
ingenious ways, and straying off at times into episodes, generally in
"sequence" form, but finally coming back, towards the end of the fugue,
with renewed energy to the subject itself. All this may be seen in such
an example as the Fugue in C-minor in Bach's "Well-Tempered Clavichord."
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 2.
_Bach: Fugue No. 2, C-minor, in three voices. "Well-Tempered
Clavichord."_ Book 1.[7]
Like all the fugues in Bach's "Well-Tempered Clavichord," this fugue
is preceded by a prelude, in free style, like a series of embroideries
on chords, intended to prepare the nearer for the more active musical
enjoyment of the fugue to come. Parry, in the "Oxford History of
Music," says of the Prelude of Bach and Handel: "It might be a simple
series of harmonies such as a player might extemporize before beginning
the Suite or the Fugue, [such is the case in the present prelude]; or,
its theme might be treated in a continuous consistently homogeneous
movement unrestricted as to length, but never losing sight of the
subject" ... etc.
A fugal subject is usually longer and more pretentious than an
invention subject, and more nearly approaches what we should call a
complete melody. It may contain several motives. Moreover, while the
second voice is "answering" the subject, the first voice continues
with further melody, and if this is of definite, individual character
it may easily assume almost as great importance as the subject itself,
in which case we may give it the name of "counter-subject." In Figure
XI the subject and counter-subject of this fugue are shown. The long
brackets show subject and counter-subject; the short brackets show
the three chief motives, marked _a_, _b_, and _c_. The simplicity of
the melodic material is noticeable. Motive _a_, which, with its three
repetitions, forms most of the subject, consists of five tones, in a
charming and unforgettable rhythm of two shorts and three longs. Motive
_b_ is simply a descending scale, in equal short notes. Motive _c_ is
four equal long notes. Play the subject and counter-subject through
separately, several times, and get them well "by heart" before going
farther.
This fugue is a wonderful example of what a master-composer can make
out of simple materials; the whole piece is built from these three
motives. Our analysis may conveniently be made in tabular form, the
student being expected to trace out the development for himself,
measure by measure.
[Music: score]
[Music: score]
FIGURE XI. SUBJECT AND COUNTER-SUBJECT OF BACH'S FUGUE
IN C-MINOR (WELL-TEMPERED CLAVICHORD)
TABLE OF THEMATIC TREATMENT OF FUGUE IN C-MINOR
_Measures._
1- 2 Subject in Alto.
3- 4 Subject "answered" in Soprano ("imitation"), counter-subject
in Alto.
5- 6 Episode 1: Motive _a_ prominent in Soprano.
7- 8 Subject in Bass, counter-subject in Soprano, fragments of
motive _c_ in Alto.
9-10 Episode 2: Motive _a_ tossed between Soprano and Alto,
motive _b_ in Bass.
11-12 Subject, in key of E-flat major, in Soprano, counter-subject
in Bass.
13-14 Episode 3: Motive _b_ in Soprano, motive _c_ in other
two voices.
15-16 Subject in Alto, counter-subject in Soprano, motive _c_
in Bass.
17-19 Episode 4: Motives _a_ and _b_ variously distributed between
all three voices.
20-21 Subject in Soprano, in tonic key again, counter-subject in
Alto, motive _c_ in Bass,
22-25 Episode 5: Motives _a_ and _b_ in all voices.
26-28 Climax: Subject in Bass, motives _b_ and _c_ in other voices.
29-31 Coda: Subject in Soprano.
Note that all the episodes take the form of _sequences_, as, for
example, in the following instance (measures 9-10):
[Music: score]
FIGURE XIa.
A SEQUENCE FROM BACH'S FUGUE IN C-MINOR.
The general form of this fugue illustrates the same principles of
modulation, and of restatement of subject after contrast, that we
noticed in the folk-songs and in the invention. This may be tabulated
thus:
TABLE SHOWING STRUCTURE OF FUGUE IN C-MINOR.
A. | B. | A.
STATEMENT. | CONTRAST. | RESTATEMENT.
Measures 1-10 in | Measures 11-19 in various | Measures 20-31
key of C-minor. | keys, beginning with E-flat.| in C-minor.
The modulation in this case, however, is not to the "dominant" key,
but to what is called the "relative major" key, as is usual in pieces
written in minor keys, (see the folk-song, "Sister Fair," in Chapter
II), the reason being that the relative major affords the most natural
contrast to a minor key, just as the dominant affords the most natural
contrast to a major key.
The conclusion is emphasized by the finely rugged statement of the
subject in Bass at measure 26.
The treatment of this fugue, for all its consummate skill, is
comparatively simple. It does not employ the more subtle devices often
employed in fugues, of which may be mentioned the following:
1. "Inversion:" The subject turned upside down, while retaining its
identity by means of its rhythm.
[Music: score]
Original Subject.
[Music: score]
Inversion.
FIGURE XII. THE DEVICE OF "INVERSION."
[Music: score]
Original Subject.
[Music: score]
Augmentation.
[Music: score]
Original Subject.
[Music: score]
Diminution.
FIGURE XIII. THE DEVICES OF "AUGMENTATION" AND "DIMINUTION."
2. "Augmentation and Diminution:" The length of the notes doubled
or halved, while their _relative_ length, or rhythm, is carefully
maintained. (Figure XIII.)
3. "Shifted rhythm:"[8] The subject shifted as regards its position in
the measure, so that all the accents fall differently.
[Music: score]
Original Subject.
[Music: score]
Shifted.
FIGURE XIV. DEVICE OF "SHIFTED RHYTHM."
4. "Stretto:" The imitation of the subject by a second voice occurring
prematurely, before the first voice has completed the subject,
frequently with highly dramatic effect. (_b_) in Figure IX is an
example of stretto.
These devices are mentioned here not only because they occur in many
fugues, but because they are used in the symphonic music of Mozart and
Beethoven, as we shall later have occasion to see.
IV. GENERAL QUALITIES OF BACH'S WORK.
Perhaps the most exacting of all tests applicable to music is the test
of economy. Are there superfluous tones that do not enrich the harmony?
Are there unnecessary subjects not needed to fill the scheme of design?
If so, no matter how beautiful the music, it is defective as art.
Bach bears this test victoriously. There is not a note of his writing
which one would willingly sacrifice. There is not a melody that is
not needed. Each subject is not merely introduced and dismissed, but
is developed to the utmost, so that all that was implicit in its germ
becomes explicit in its final form. There is no confusion of the
outline, no overcrowding of the canvas, no blotchiness in the color. As
Giotto proved his supremacy among draughtsmen by the apparently simple
but really enormously difficult feat of drawing a complete, perfect
circle with one stroke of the pencil, so Bach constantly proves his
supremacy among musicians by making two voices satisfy the ear like
an orchestra. And this purity of texture is quite compatible with the
utmost richness. Indeed, Bach's polyphonic scores are inimitably rich,
since each voice sings its own melody, and the melodies all interplay
harmoniously like the lines of a well-composed picture. Those who
call Bach's fugues dry make an astonishing confession of their own
insensibility or crudity of taste. Bach's melodies are not, to be sure,
like "Annie Laurie" or "Home, Sweet Home." But neither is daylight like
candle light; yet we do not call it darkness because it is diffused
through all the atmosphere instead of concentrated in a single visible
ray.
Bach's daring has been the subject of the endless admiration of
students. Especially in the matter of harmony he did things in the
eighteenth century, and entirely on his own responsibility, that whole
schools of composers band together with a sense of revolutionary
courage to do in the twentieth. He is truly one of the most modern of
composers, and will always remain so. Composers who might have been
his grandsons are now antiquated, while he is always contemporary with
the best musical thought. Brahms, irritated at Rubinstein's persistent
patronizing of "Papa Haydn" in his book, "A Conversation on Music,"
remarked in his dry way: "Rubinstein will soon be Great-grandfather
Rubinstein, but Haydn will then be still Papa Haydn." The same might
be said even more truly of Bach, who will always be the father of
musicians.
Another way in which Bach is modern is in the variety of his musical
expression. It is not only that his range of different species of
works is so great, reaching from the ecstatically tender and exalted
religious choral compositions, such as cantatas, motets, oratorios, and
passions, through the grand and monumental organ toccatas and fugues,
to the intimate, colloquial suites and sonatas for orchestra and for
clavichord; it is even more wonderful that in a single work, such as
the "Well-Tempered Clavichord," he knows how to sound the whole gamut
of human feeling, from the deep and sombre passions of the soul to the
homely gaiety or bantering humor of an idle moment.[9] Bach might have
boasted, had it been in his nature to boast, that in this work he had
not only written in every key known to musicians, but in every mood
known to men. It is the musical "Comédie Humaine."
Bach lived quietly and in almost complete obscurity; for the last
quarter-century of his life he held a post as teacher of music and
church-music director in Leipsic.
He travelled little, sought no worldly fame, took no pains to secure
performances of his works, and, above all, made no compromise with the
popular taste of his day. He produced his great compositions, one after
another, in the regular day's work, for performance in his church or by
local orchestras and players. He never pined for a recognition that in
the nature of things he could not have; he wrote the music that seemed
good to him, and thought that his responsibility ended there, and that
his reward lay there. The cynic who said "Every man has his price"
was evidently not acquainted with the life of Bach. Steadily ignoring
those temptations to prostitute his genius for the public's pleasure,
which so materially affected the life course of his great contemporary
Handel, he followed his own ideals with an undivided mind. As always
happens in such cases, since it takes decades for the world to
comprehend a sincere individual, or even centuries if his individuality
is deep and unique, he was not appreciated in his life-time, nor for
many years after his death.
Indeed, he is not appreciated now, for a man can be appreciated only
by his equals. But we have at last got an inkling of the treasure that
still lies hidden away in Bach; and while Handel and the other idols of
the age sound daily more thin and archaic, Bach grows ever richer as
the understanding we bring to him increases, and still holds out his
promise of novel and perennial artistic delights.
SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLATERAL READING.
_W. R. Spalding: "Tonal Counterpoint." Edward Dickinson: "Study of the
History of Music," Chapter XX. C. H. H. Parry: "Evolution of the Art of
Music," Chapter VIII._
FOOTNOTES:
[7] Number the measures, and call the voices soprano, alto, and bass.
[8] The reader should examine the example of shifted rhythm given in
the second chapter in dealing with the German song, "Sister Fair."
[9] In Book I, for example, Fugue II is as light and delicate as XII is
serious and earnest; XVI is pathetic, XVII vigorous and rugged, XVIII
thoughtful and mystical, etc.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DANCE AND ITS DEVELOPMENT.
I. MUSICAL CHARACTER OF DANCES.
In the last chapter we studied the most important applications of the
"polyphonic" style, which originated in music for voices, to the music
of instruments. We saw how in such music the attention of the composer
was divided among several equally important voices or parts, and how
much he made of the principle of imitation; and in connection with the
fugue we remarked that the very complex interweaving of the different
voices in such music, one beginning before another leaves off, and all
together making an intricate web, presented certain difficulties to
the listener accustomed to the more modern style, in which a single
voice has the melody, and stops short at regular intervals, giving the
hearer a chance to draw breath, as it were, and renew attention for
what is coming next. Listening to modern music is like reading a series
of short sentences, each clearly and definitely ended by its own full
stop. Listening to the old polyphony is more like reading one of those
long and involved sentences of De Quincey or Walter Pater, in which the
clauses are intricately interwoven and mutually dependent, so that we
can get the sense only by a long-sustained effort of attention.
This more involved style, suitable to voices, but less natural
to instruments, had historically a very long life. Much of the
instrumental music of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth
centuries was in fact nothing but a transference to instruments of
music really conceived for voices. Thus, for example, in the sixteenth
century, when madrigals and canzonas, which were compositions for
voices in the polyphonic style but of a more secular character than
church music, were exceedingly popular, the composers for stringed
instruments and for the then very fashionable lutes, "when they
wanted something of a superior order, ... simply played madrigals,
or wrote music in imitation of any of the varieties of choral music,
not realizing that without the human tones ... which gave expression
to the rising and falling of the melodic material, the effect was
pointless and flat."[10] Even Bach and Handel, in the eighteenth
century, were, by their deeply-rooted habit of _thinking vocally_, in
some degree hampered in the search for a purely instrumental style.
Instrumental music, having to get along without words, must find some
principle of coherence, some kind of definite design, which will make
it intelligible without the help of words, and enable it to stand on
its own feet.
And here comes in the importance of folk-song, and of the folk-dance
which grew up beside it, to our modern instrumental music. For both
song and dance pointed the way to such a principle of independent
intelligibility, through definite balance of phrases (see Chapter I),
and through contrasts and resemblances of _key_ in the various phrases
and sections of a composition. Music intended to accompany songs or
dances _had_ to consist of balanced phrases of equal length--in the
case of songs, because it had to reproduce the verse structure of
the words, which of course were composed in regular stanzas of equal
lines, and in the case of dances, because it had to afford a basis for
symmetrical movements of the body. And when once it was thus divided
up into equal phrases, it took musicians but a short time to find that
these phrases could be effectively contrasted, and made the parts of
larger musical organisms, by being put into different keys (as we have
seen in the instances of modulation cited in Chapters II and III). How
vital these principles of structure in balanced phrases and sections,
and of contrast of keys, are to the entire modern development of music,
we shall realize fully only as we proceed.
Again, both song and dance have proved supremely important to the
development of the homophonic style (one melody, with accompaniment
not itself melodic). In the case of song the reason is obvious. A song
rendered by a solo voice, with instrumental accompaniment, naturally
takes the homophonic style, since it would be highly artificial to
make the subordinate element in the combination as prominent as the
chief one. Dance is less inevitably homophonic than song; indeed many
dances, as we shall see, are to a greater or less degree polyphonic;
but nevertheless the tendency toward homophony is always apparent.
In the first place, the interweaving of many melodies would tend to
obscure the division into definite phrases, since an inner melody might
sometimes fill up the pause in the main one, as we saw it constantly
doing in the fugue. Secondly, the mode of performing dances tends to
give prominence to a single melody. The old dances were generally
played by one melodic instrument, such as a violin or hautboy,
accompanied by chords on an instrument of the lute or guitar family,
and frequently by a drum to strengthen the accents. Such a combination
affords but one prominent "voice," and does not lend itself naturally
to polyphonic writing.
[Music: score]
FIGURE XV.
Viens dans ce bo- ca- ge, belle A- min - te,
Sans contrain - te L'on y for - me des vœux; Viens,
Viens dans ce bo - ca - ge, belle A- min - te,
Il est fait pour les plai-sirs et les jeux:
The "Tambourin," for instance, an old French dance of Provence, was
played by one performer, the melody with one hand on the "galoubet," a
kind of pipe or flageolet, and the accompanying rhythm with the other
on a small drum. The quotation in Figure XV, taken from Wekerlin's
collection, "Echos du Temps Passé" (Vol. III), is a good example of
this ancient dance. In this arrangement for piano, the left hand
imitates the drum, and the right hand the "galoubet" or pipe. This
quotation illustrates the common use of dance melodies in songs. Many
primitive airs were so used in the olden times.
II. PRIMITIVE DANCES.
The rude dances which spring up spontaneously in all communities,
savage as well as civilized, and of which we in America have examples
in the war-dances of Indians and the cake-walks of negroes, are thus
seen to be pregnant of influence on developed musical art, no less than
the folk-songs which we discussed in the second chapter, and the more
academic music in the polyphonic style which we treated in the third.
Both songs and dances, indeed, sometimes enter into artistic music
even in their crude form, but in most cases composers treat them with
a certain freedom, and in various ways enhance their effectiveness, as
Haydn, for instance, treats the Croatian folk-tune "Jur Postaje," in
the Andante of his "Paukenwirbel" Symphony. In Figure XVI the reader
will see both the crude form of the tune and the shape into which Haydn
moulds it for his purposes.
[Music: score]
"Jur Postaje."
[Music: score]
HAYDN'S Version.
FIGURE XVI.
In the long process of development which songs and dances thus undergo
at the hands of composers, they of course lose to some extent their
contrasting characters, until in modern music the dance and the song
elements are as inextricably interwoven as the warp and the woof of a
well-made fabric.
As imitation is only slightly available in homophonic music, the unity
so vital to all art is attained in dances chiefly by transpositions of
motives, often in systematic "sequences," by more or less exact balance
of phrases, and by restatement after contrast. In crude examples
these means are crudely used; in the work of masters they are treated
with more subtlety and elasticity; but always a careful analysis will
discover them. It will now prove enlightening to compare, from this
point of view, three dance tunes of very different degrees of merit.
[Music: score]
FIGURE XVII. A "Branle" or "Brawl" from Arbeau's Orchesographie, (1545).
Figure XVII shows an ancient "Branle" or "Brawl" of the sixteenth
century, taken from Arbeau's "Orchesographie," published in 1545.
The strong meter, causing a distinct accent on the first note of each
measure, will at once be noted, especially if it be contrasted with the
more moderate accentuation of the folk-songs of Chapter II. Such strong
meter is naturally characteristic of all dance tunes, intended as they
are to guide and stimulate the regular steps of the dancer.
The phrase balance, though marked, is not absolutely regular, but the
two two-measure phrases at the beginning and the single one at the end
suffice to give an impression of pronounced symmetry. The six-measure
phrase after the double-bar is generated by the sequential treatment of
the little motive of measure 5.
This sequence (measures 5, 6, 7, 8, 9) is worthy of note because of the
excessive length to which it is carried. Five repetitions are too many,
and grow monotonous. A more skilful composer would have secured his
unity without so great a sacrifice of variety--in a word, he would have
treated a device good in itself with less crudity.
The exact repetition of measures 3-4 at the end is an effective use of
restatement after contrast. Although the whole of the original theme is
not given, there is enough of it to give the sense of orderliness in
design.
A Gavotte in F-major by Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713), the famous
violin virtuoso of the seventeenth century, printed in Augener's
edition of Pieces by Corelli, will illustrate a distinctly higher stage
in the treatment of a dance form. This is well worth a brief analysis.
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 3.
_Corelli: Gavotte in F-Major._
Here the phrase balance, though entirely satisfying to the sense of
rhythm, is much more elastic than in the brawl. The measure-lengths of
the phrases are not all the same; they are as follows: 1, 1, 2, 1, 1,
1, 2, 2. This gives the tune an agreeable variety.
It will be noted, however, that the sequence is still treated rather
fumblingly. In the three measures after the double-bar, the same motive
is repeated thrice, each time higher than before, and to a fastidious
ear the third repetition grows slightly wearisome.
On the whole, nevertheless, the gain in elasticity and freedom over the
last example is marked.
The general structure and scheme of modulation in this little Gavotte
of Corelli deserves careful attention, because it is in these respects
typical of a very great number, indeed of the majority of the short
dances of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It is divided
into two distinct halves, and while each deals with the same musical
material, the two are strongly contrasted in the matter of key. The
first begins in the home key and leaves it to end in a contrasted
key, in the present case the "dominant." The second, beginning in the
dominant, modulates back again to the home key, and ends there. This
scheme, called by musicians "binary" or "two-part" form, is a very
simple and natural one for short pieces of this kind, and is to be
found in thousands of the movements of Corelli, Scarlatti, Couperin,
Rameau, Purcell, Handel, Bach, and other masters of their day. It is
even more common than the "ternary" form to which we shall come in a
moment.
III. A BACH GAVOTTE.
If the reader will now compare with these two dances the Gavotte in the
sixth English Suite of J. S. Bach, who had the advantage of living half
a century later than Corelli (besides being an immeasurably greater
genius), he will be amazed to see the power and originality with which
a master can treat a traditional form.[11]
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 4.
_Bach: Gavotte in D-Minor from the Sixth English Suite._
Before looking at matters of detail, we must notice the structure
of the piece as a whole, since it is not only highly interesting in
itself, but is an example--the first we have had on a large scale--of a
type of construction that is perhaps more popular with musicians of all
schools than any other.
This structural type is nothing but an application to an entire piece
of that three-part form which we have seen in little in the Galician
folk-song of Chapter I and in "Polly Oliver" in Chapter II, and to
which we may now give the name of "ternary form," to distinguish it
from the "binary form" discussed in Chapter III. Bach here writes
two distinct gavottes, repeating the first after the second: so that
Gavotte I is a _statement_, Gavotte II a _contrast_ (emphasized by
change of key from minor to major), and the repeated Gavotte I a
_restatement_. This practice is very frequent in Bach's suites, where
we often find two courantes, two bourrées, two passepieds, two minuets,
etc., combined in this way, the function of the second being to afford
contrast to the first. In some instances the second of the pair is
called "trio," probably because the earliest examples were written in
three-voice harmony, or "musette," from the French word for "bagpipe,"
in reference to the drone bass imitating that instrument. (This is the
case in the present gavotte, where the gavotte II bears the alternative
name of musette.)
In the sonatas and symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, as we
shall see later, this three-section structure is found in the minuet
with trio, and in the scherzo with trio. Nor is it less common in
modern music, occurring notably in the marches of Schubert, many of the
short pieces of Schumann, in the polonaises and some of the nocturnes
of Chopin, in the rhapsodies and intermezzos of Brahms, and in the
lyric pieces of Grieg. Indeed, its naturalness and clearness inevitably
commend it to all composers.
Looking more closely we see, again, that the same scheme is used by
Bach in each of the two gavottes, _considered separately_. In the
first, we note the structure A = measures 1-10, B = measures 11-27, A =
measures 27-35; in the second we find, A = measures 1-10, B = measures
11-19, A = measures 19-28. The student should verify this analysis for
himself.
Proceeding now to details, we notice first that Bach, supreme master of
polyphony that he is, writes even a gavotte in such a way that each of
its voices has its own melodic value. The gavotte itself is in three
voices throughout, and the musette in two, and while these voices are
not so purely melodic as in an invention or a fugue, and there is
little strict imitation, yet the general effect is polyphonic rather
than homophonic. In measures 27-31 the alto voice even has the theme.
The phrase balance is freer than even Corelli's, because Bach's mind
is quicker to seize upon and work out the latent possibilities of his
melodies. All begins regularly enough: the first four phrases are each
two measures in length; but after the double-bar the "plot begins to
thicken." First we find two more phrases just like the preceding ones
(measures 11-13 and 13-15); but in the next phrase, begun in the same
way, in measure 15, the yeast of Bach's fancy begins to work, and the
melody broadens out in a series of evolutions, first in the soprano
and later in the alto, not coming again to a point of rest (end of
a phrase) until measure 23. This extension of a phrase through the
germination or blossoming of the thought (in this case it all comes
from the bit of melody in measure 7) is a matter of supreme importance
in composition, and this instance of it, as well as another in
measures 23-27, should be carefully studied by any one who desires to
understand music. The power thus to develop or draw forth the hidden
potentialities of his motives is one of the most important of all the
gifts which go to make a composer. Still further instances of it should
now be found by the student himself in the musette.
The artistic freedom and felicity of Bach's way of working is further
illustrated by the manner in which, while using the general principle
of the sequence as a means of giving his music unity of idea, he avoids
those overliteral, mechanical transpositions of motive which we found
in the more primitive dances. There is just the contrast here that
there is between a poor speaker, who keeps repeating the same word or
phrase with futile emphasis, and the man of real eloquence, who follows
a train of thought no less closely, but manages constantly to cast
his ideas in new phraseology and fresh figures of speech, so that the
variety of what he says is quite as striking as its fundamental unity.
The element of variety introduced into the contrast-section of the
gavotte (11-27), by the free modulation through several keys, should
also be remarked. The plan of modulation is different from any we have
yet had. Instead of beginning in the relative major (which would be the
key of F), the section begins in the _dominant minor_ (A-minor). A good
many keys are then touched upon before the tonic or home key is reached
at the restatement (27-35), which, by a charming subtlety, begins with
the theme in the alto instead of the soprano voice.
In all these matters we detect the workings of an original and
inventive mind, which, far from being hampered by working in a
traditional form, is stimulated to constantly new solutions of old
problems, and so produces a piece of music at once perfectly clear and
fascinatingly interesting.
In the next chapter we shall see how composers combined groups of such
dances as this, with other pieces of a different character, into those
suites which were the most popular forms of instrumental music in the
eighteenth century.
SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLATERAL READING.
_Grove's Dictionary: article "Rhythm," and articles under names of
various dances, as "Gavotte," "Allemande," "Courante," "Minuet,"
"Gigue," etc._
_Other examples of dances may be found in a collection of twenty-five
old gavottes, published by Breitkopf and Härtel, and in a volume of
miscellaneous old dances in the Litolff Edition._
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Parry: Evolution of the Art of Music, page 115.
[11] For this analysis, number all the measures and parts of measures
consecutively, which will give 35 measure numbers in the Gavotte
proper, and 28 in the second Gavotte or Musette.
CHAPTER V.
THE SUITE.
I. DERIVATION OF THE SUITE.
Once musicians had begun to realize how dances could be developed into
finished pieces, like the gavotte of Bach, which we discussed in the
last chapter, they were quick to avail themselves of this advantage by
combining several such dances into a group, thus making a composition
of some length and dignity and yet of popular, easily comprehensible
style. Such compositions, known in England as "Lessons," in France as
"Ordres," and in Germany as "Suites" and "Partitas," became numerous in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The first historical step in the development of the suite was taken
when the great violin-makers of Cremona and Brescia, in Italy,
brought the violin to a wonderful mechanical perfection early in the
seventeenth century. Virtuosos on this brilliant instrument were not
slow to appear, and they dazzled their audiences with pieces known as
sonatas, though having little in common with what we nowadays call a
sonata. Their _sonata da chiesa_, or church sonata, was a group of
pieces, all polyphonic in character and derived from the old choral
madrigals and canzonas; the _sonata da ballo_, or dance sonata, was
a group of dance tunes; the _sonata da camera_, or chamber sonata,
combined both types. Gradually the first become obsolete, and the
second and third took respectively the names _suite_ and _partita_,
although the nomenclature was inexact, as suites often contained
movements of strict and severe polyphonic style as well as dances. The
greatest of the violin virtuosos was Arcangelo Corelli, whose "sonatas"
retain their charm even for our modern ears, as may be seen from the
sample of his work studied in the last chapter.
About the end of the seventeenth century the keyed instruments,
such as the harpsichord, the clavichord, the spinet, and other
precursors of our modern pianoforte, first reached the degree of
mechanical perfection which enabled them to rival the violin; and it
was accordingly not until then that important pieces for such keyed
instruments began to be written. At the end of the seventeenth and the
beginning of the eighteenth centuries, however, we find interesting
music for these instruments by composers of several nations. In France
Couperin (1668-1733) wrote what he called "Ordres," short series of
pieces "in dance style, piquant in rhythm, melodiously graceful,
profusely embroidered with embellishment;"[12] and he was followed by
Rameau (1683-1764) with similar works. A curious whim of these French
masters was the appending of picturesque titles to their pieces, such
as "The Tambourine," "The Hen," "The Return of the Birds," etc.--a
practice which anticipates the program music of to-day.
Italy had one extraordinary genius in this department of music,
Domenico Scarlatti (1683-1757). He was a most brilliant performer
on the harpsichord, delighted in all feats of agility, and loved to
surprise and astonish his audience. In short he was a virtuoso, and his
performances must have created the kind of sensation in the seventeenth
century that Liszt's did in the nineteenth. "For vivacity, wit,
irony, mischief, mockery, and all the category of human traits which
Beethoven's scherzo served so brilliantly to express," says Parry, "the
world had to wait for a full century to see Scarlatti's equal again."
Some of the preludes, sarabandes, minuets, courantes, etc., composed by
him, still retain their interest. His beautiful Pastorale in E-minor,
and his "Cat fugue," written on a theme played by a pet cat running
across the keyboard, are sometimes heard in recitals.
It was in the hands of the German masters, Bach and Handel,[13]
however, that the suite reached its highest state. These two great
composers, born in the same year, 1685, possessed not only the sense
of technical effect which made Scarlatti great, and the high spirits,
enthusiasm, and sense of proportion which are needed for the production
of idealized dance movements such as Couperin and Rameau have given us,
but they had great musical learning, and much experience in the use
of the strict choral style of polyphonic writing, which they showed
by introducing into their suites certain movements much more serious
in style and exalted in sentiment than dances. The English and French
Suites, so called, of Bach, and the Twelve Harpsichord Suites, or
"Lessons," as they were called in England, of Handel, deserve to rank
among the great masterpieces of musical art.
II. THE SUITES OF BACH.
The six English and six French Suites of Bach, which deserve a more
detailed study than any others, consist generally of from five to
eight separate pieces or movements. The first, derived from the
severer type of the _sonata da chiesa_, and thus, more remotely,
from the choral madrigal and canzona (see above), is always more
intricate and elaborate than the others. In the English Suite it is a
long contrapuntal prelude, with imitations and sequences such as we
studied in the invention and the fugue. In the French Suites it is an
allemande, less elaborate but still dignified and impressive. We see
this to be appropriate when we remember that the hearer is best able to
follow intricacies when his mind is fresh and unjaded.
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 5.
_Bach: Prelude to English Suite, No. 3, in G-Minor._
_The Motives_: The thematic material out of which this prelude is
developed is very simple, consisting of just two motives, which we will
call (_a_) and (_b_).
[Music: score]
Motive (_a_) (imitated through four voices.)
[Music: score]
Motive (_b_) (imitated by a second voice) measures 33-36.
FIGURE XVIII. MOTIVES OF BACH PRELUDE IN G-MINOR
Note the effective contrast between the bold, assertive character of
motive (_a_) and the more graceful character of (_b_).
_Structure_: The prelude divides itself into seven clearly marked
sections, each ended by a well-marked cadence. Let us examine these
briefly in turn.
Section I, measures 1-32, key of G-minor: Founded on motive (_a_),
with many sequences which the reader should now be able to trace for
himself.
Section II, measures 33-66: Begins in G-minor, modulates to B-flat
major, the "relative major." Motive (_b_) in soprano, measures 33-34;
in alto, measures 35-36; in bass, measures 43-44. Motive (_a_),
measures 35, 36, 37 (alto), 38, 39, 43, 44, 53, 54, etc.
Section III, measures 67-98, key of B-flat: An almost exact copy of
Section I, in a different key.
Section IV, measures 99-124: Begins in B-flat major, modulates to
D-minor, the "dominant" of the original key. Both motives tossed about
from voice to voice. (The reader should locate each instance for
himself.)
Section V, measures 125-160: Begins in D-minor, modulates to
E-flat major, thus giving variety of key in the middle part of the
composition, which we begin to see is an important principle of form.
(Compare the Gavotte of the last chapter.) Very similar in treatment
to Section II.
Section VI, measures 161-179: Modulates back from E-flat major
to the home key, thus preparing the way for the final statements
and conclusion. In measures 175-178 the insistence of the bass on
the tone D, the "dominant" of the original key, will be noticed.
Such an insistence on one tone is called a "pedal point," because
so frequently found in the pedal part of organ music, and serves
admirably here to prepare the mind for the triumphant return to
G-minor in the final section. The rest of Section VI is made up of
sequences, thus: 162-165, 166-169, 170-173; and then, 173, 174, 175,
176, 177, 178.
Section VII, measures 180-213: Almost entirely in the home-key,
thus emphasizing the sense of finality. The bulk of this section is
furthermore identical with Section I, thus affording a fine example of
the principle of _restatement after contrast_.
Altogether this is a most interesting movement. In the great effect
made with simple means we recognize again, as we did in the case
of the invention and the fugue, the splendid power of Bach's mind.
The principles of imitation of motives from voice to voice, of
transpositions of a single motive in a single voice giving rise to the
many sequences, and of restatement after contrast, all discussed in
the first chapter, are illustrated more brilliantly than by any other
composition we have thus far examined. Finally, in the variety of key
of Section V, placed in the middle of the piece, and in the unity of
key of the first and last sections, we get a striking anticipation of a
principle of construction which we shall later see to be at the root of
the most important of modern forms, the sonata-form.
After listening to such a movement as this we naturally wish to relax
a little; and we are, therefore, pleased to hear a series of dances of
various rhythms and qualities of expression, cast in simple "binary"
or "ternary" forms, and either frankly homophonic in style or not too
elaborately polyphonic. It is impossible to describe in detail here all
the dances found in suites, but the table on page 68 will give an idea
of the more important ones.
The gavotte studied in the preceding chapter gives an excellent general
impression of the livelier dances used, which may be farther defined
by a glance at such typical pieces as the bourrées of the first and
second English Suites, and the gavottes of the third English and fifth
French Suites. There is generally also to be found in Bach's suites,
introduced for the sake of contrast and in order to represent the more
emotional side of musical expression, a sarabande or other such slow,
stately, and sometimes truly noble movement. Let us take, as an example
of this element, the Sarabande from the second English Suite.
FIGURE XIX.--THE CHIEF DANCES USED IN SUITES
---------+----------+----------+-----------------+--------------------------
NAME | ORIGIN | METER | FORM | CHARACTER
---------+----------+----------+-----------------+--------------------------
Allemande|German |4-4 |Usually "binary" |Brisk, fluent.
Courante |French |3-2 or 3-4| " "binary" |Merry, energetic.
Sarabande|Spanish |3-2, 3-4 | " "binary" |Stately, serious,
| | | | sometimes noble.
Bourrée |French |4-4, 2-4 | " "ternary"|Lively.
Gavotte |French |4-4 | " "ternary"|Moderately quick,
| | | | well-marked.
Minuet |French |3-8, 3-4 | " "ternary"|Well-regulated gaiety,
| | | | courtly.
Passepied|French |3-4 | |Animated, brisk.
Loure |Old French|6-4 | |Slow, stately.
Anglaise |French |2-4 | |Lively, energetic.
Polonaise|Polish |3-4 | |Dignified, but animated.
Pavane |French |2-4 | |Stately.
Rigaudon |French |2-4, 4-4 | |Very lively, gay.
Gigue |Doubtful |6-8, 12-8 | " "binary" |Very rollicking and merry.
---------+----------+----------+-----------------+--------------------------
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 6. _Bach: Sarabande in A-Minor from English
Suite_ II
The melodic germ from which the piece is developed is the following
very serious and earnest phrase:
[Music: score]
FIGURE XX.--THEME OF BACH SARABANDE
a phrase in which great depth of almost tragic feeling is expressed.
Against this is set, for the sake of relief, the lighter and more
suave melody of measures 5 and 6, treated in freely sequential fashion.
The whole sarabande is built from these two brief melodic figures.
This sarabande serves as an admirable illustration of the type of
beauty common in the music of Bach. Its phraseology, if we may use the
term, is quite different from that in use in the music of to-day; it is
full of quaint and archaic turns of musical speech--formal sequences,
little motives that sound to us almost mechanical. It is like an
etching of Dürer's, full of detail, each line carefully drawn, and the
whole picture instinct with life. Thus its type of beauty differs so
materially from that to which we are accustomed that it often fails
in its appeal. Only by using our imagination are we able to project
ourselves, so to speak, into another _milieu_, another time, another
point of view. And this is the test with which any archaic work of
art confronts us. Without imagination in the beholder a picture by
Botticelli, for example, is a curiosity rather than a work of art. Its
strange allegory, its quaint idea of landscape, its figures with their
unusual posing--all these are beautiful or merely curious according as
we look at them. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
The repetition at a higher pitch of the main motive in measures 3-4 is
highly poignant; and throughout the expression is intensified by the
use of rich and often complex harmony, as particularly in the last four
measures of all.
Notwithstanding the earnest and impassioned character of this
sarabande, its derivation from the dance is clearly revealed in the
regularity of the balance of phrases consisting of equal measure
groups, which divide up as follows: 2, 2, 4, 4 (double-bar); 2, 2, 4,
2, 2, 4. The symmetry is much more precise than in an invention or a
fugue.
The form is binary or two-part. Part one, measures 1-12, begins in
A-minor and ends in the "relative major," the key of C. Part two,
measures 13-28, begins (with the original motive) in C-major, and
returns to A-minor.
The sequence of measures 23-24, with measures 21-22, is very beautiful
and deserves special notice.
Following the sarabande the reader will observe a more florid
version of it, bearing the caption, "Les agréments de la même
Sarabande"--"Ornaments for the same Sarabande." This is an example
of the practice, common in Bach's day, of weaving a net-work of
grace-notes, trills, and other decorations about a melody, a practice
due in part to the natural fondness of all musicians for "effect," and
in part to the fact that the instruments of that day were so small and
poor that a tone could only be sustained by being struck many times.
This custom of ornamenting melodies with all manner of embroidery gave
rise to the "theme and variations," a form which we shall study later.
All the other English Suites of Bach contain very beautiful sarabandes;
those in the French Suites are less interesting, though the first
contains a fine example.
All of Bach's twelve suites end with gay and vigorous gigues, the most
rollicking of all the dances used. This is natural enough, in view of
the desirability of closing the suite with an impression of energetic
vitality. These gigues are in the headlong 6-8 or 12-8 meter; they are
polyphonic in texture, and constructed in the binary form. Often-times
a high degree of contrapuntal skill is shown in their composition, but
usually this does not interfere with their light and almost careless
character. A curious feature of most of them is that in the second half
the motive is inverted or turned upside down.
EXAMPLE FOR ANALYSIS, No. 7.
_Bach: Gigue, from French Suite_ IV _in E-Flat_.
[Music: score]
Theme of Gigue, Bach's French Suite IV, and its
Inversion.
[Music: score]
Inversion of theme, beginning of second half.
FIGURE XXI.
The gay little theme is composed of two motives, as indicated in Figure
XXI, in which the long brackets show the theme and its imitation by
the second voice to enter, and the short brackets show its component
motives, of contrasting character. In measures 5 and 6 the theme is
again imitated by the third voice (left hand part). In the course of
the development a still more lively figure makes its appearance in
measures 19, 23, 24 and 25.
The now familiar sequences are found at every turn. The form is binary
(Part I, measures 1-26; Part II, measures 27-60). The inversion of
the theme, shown in Figure XXI, makes the subject of the second half.
The key-system is perfectly simple. Part I modulates from the tonic,
E-flat, to the dominant, B-flat; Part II begins there and returns to
the home-key.
III. THE HISTORIC IMPORTANCE OF THE SUITE.
In the course of the eighteenth century the suite gradually waned
in popularity, and gave place to the more highly organic sonata.
Modern suites, notable among which are such delightful works as
Bizet's "L'Arlesienne," Grieg's "Peer Gynt," Dvorák's Suite for small
orchestra, opus. 39, Tschaikowsky's "Nut-Cracker Suite," and Brahms's
"Serenades" for orchestra, are, after all, exceptional and infrequent,
and not the inevitable mould in which the composer casts his ideas.
But the historical importance of the suite was great, and it fell into
disuse only after its lessons had been thoroughly learned. Through it
musicians developed the dance element which must always be one of the
two main strands of all music; through it they learned to substitute
for the ancient polyphonic style which is suitable to voices the
homophonic style best adapted to the capacities and the limitations
of instruments; and through it they became familiar with those simple
binary and ternary forms in which such instrumental music is most
conveniently and effectively cast.
Thus the suite formed the bridge between, on the one hand, (_a_) crude
folk-songs, (_b_) primitive dances, and (_c_) strict polyphonic forms
such as the invention and the fugue, and on the other, the sonatas,
quartets, concertos, and symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven.
SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLATERAL READING.
_Dickinson: "The Study of the History of Music," Chapters XIII and XIV.
Parry: "Evolution of the Art of Music," Chapters VIII and IX; Mason:
"Beethoven and His Forerunners," Chapter IV._
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Edward Dickinson, "The Study of the History of Music," page 84.
[13] Handel, though he lived in England, was in his music a German.
CHAPTER VI.