HARMONY AND COUNTERPOINT.
"Whilst I was in Florence, I did my utmost to learn the exquisite
manner of Michaelangelo, and never once lost sight of
it."--_Benvenuto Cellini._[43]
On any important music subject Schumann has something to say. So with
this:
"Learn betimes the fundamental principles of harmony." "Do not be
afraid of the words theory, thorough-bass, and the like, they will
meet you as friends if you will meet them so."
We now begin to feel how definitely these rules treat everything. They
pick out the important subjects and tell the simplest truth about
them. The meaning of these two rules is this: From the beginning we
must try to understand the grammar of music. Some of the great
composers could in childhood write down music with the greatest
fluency. Handel, even as a boy, wrote a new church composition for
every Sunday. Mozart began to write music when less than five years
old, and when he was yet a boy, in Rome, he wrote down a
composition,[44] sung by the choir of the Sistine Chapel, which was
forbidden to the public.
Harmony and counterpoint stand to music very much as spelling and
grammar stand to language. They are the fundamentals of good writing
and of good--that is, of correct--thinking in music. Harmony is the
art of putting tones together so as correctly to make chords.
Counterpoint has to do with composing and joining together simple
melodies. A modern writer[45] on counterpoint has said: "The essence
of true counterpoint lies in the equal interest which should belong to
ever part." By examining a few pieces of good counterpoint you will
readily see just what this means. The composer has not tried to get
merely a correct chord succession, such as we find in a choral. Let us
play a choral; any good one of a German master will do.[46] We notice
that the soprano is the principal part, and that the other voices,
while somewhat melodic, tend rather to support and follow the melody
than to be independent. If, now, we play a piece of counterpoint like
the G-Minor Prelude by Bach,[47] we shall have quite a good piece of
counterpoint, as far as separate melodies being combined is concerned.
Let us play the voice-parts separately. We shall find equal melodic
interest in each. The chords grow out of the music. Comparing this
with the choral, the main difference between harmony and counterpoint
should be clear to us. We shall observe that the three voices do _not_
proceed in the same way. If one part moves quickly, as in the bass of
the first two measures, the other parts are quieter; if the bass
ceases to move rapidly some other voice will take up the motion, as we
see in the third and following measures. As a general thing no two
voices in contrapuntal writing move in the same way, each voice-part
being contrasted with different note-values. This gives greater
interest and makes each voice stand forth independently.
At first contrapuntal music may not seem interesting to us. If that is
so, it is because we are not in the least degree conscious of the
wonderful interest which has been put into every part. The truth is,
that in the beginning we cannot fully understand the thought that has
been put into the music, but by perseverance it will come to us little
by little. This is what makes great music lasting. It is so deftly
made, yet so delicately, that we have to go patiently in search of it.
We must remember that gems have to be cut and polished from a bit of
rock.
In this case the gem is the rich mind-picture which comes to us if we
faithfully seek the under-thought. And the seeking is polishing the
gem.
Music written entirely by the rules of counterpoint is called
contrapuntal music; that written otherwise is known as free harmonic
music. In the one case the composer desired to have a beautiful
weaving of the parts--clear as the lines in a line-engraving. In the
other, the intention is to get effects from tones united into chords,
such as is obtained from masses of color in a painting. Neither form
may be said to be the superior of the other. Each is valuable in its
place, and each has possibilities peculiarly its own, which the other
could not give. Pure counterpoint could not give us such a charming
effect as Chopin obtains in the first study of Opus 10; nor could the
plainer and more free harmonic style give us such delicate bits of
tracery as Bach has in his fugues.
If now you will take the trouble to learn two long words, later in
your study of music they will be of use to you. The first is
Polyphonic; the other is Monophonic. Both, like many other words in
our language, are made up of two shorter words, and come from another
language--Greek. In both we have "phonic," evidently meaning the same
in each case, limited or modified by the preceding part--_poly_ and
_mono_. Phonic is the Anglicized Greek for _sound_. We use it in the
English word _telephonic_. Now if we define mono and poly we shall
understand these two long words.
Mono means one, poly means many. We say _mono_tone, meaning one tone;
also _poly_gon, meaning many sides.
In the musical reference monophonic music means music of one voice,
rather than of one tone, and polyphonic music is that _for many
voices_. Simple melodies with or without accompanying chords are
monophonic; many melodies woven together, as in the Bach piece which
we have looked over, are polyphonic.
In the history of music two men surpassed all others in what they
accomplished in counterpoint--that is, in polyphonic writing. The one
was Palestrina, an Italian; the other was Bach, a German. Palestrina
lived at a time when the music of the church was very poor, so poor,
indeed, that the clergy could no longer endure it. Palestrina,
however, devoted himself earnestly to composing music strictly adapted
to the church use. The parts were all melodic, and woven together with
such great skill that they yet remain masterpieces of contrapuntal
writing. Later Bach developed counterpoint very much more in the
modern way. He did with polyphony for the piano and organ much the
same as Palestrina did for the voice. There have never lived greater
masters than these in the art of polyphonic music.
There is still another form of writing which is neither strictly
harmonic, nor strictly contrapuntal,--it is a combination of both.
There is not the plain unadorned harmonic progress as in the simple
choral, nor is there the strict voice progression as in the works of
Bach. This form of writing which partakes of the beauties of both the
others has been called the free harmonic style. It has been followed
by all the great masters since the time of Bach,[48] even before,
indeed. If you can imagine a beautiful song-melody with an artistic
accompaniment, so arranged that all can be played upon the piano, you
will understand what the third style is. It is wonderfully free,
surely; sometimes proceeding in full free chords, as in the opening
measures of the B flat Sonata of Beethoven,[49] again running away
from all freedom back to the old style, until the picture looks as old
as a monkish costume among modern dress.
All of the great sonatas and symphonies are of this wonderfully varied
form of writing. How full it can be of expressiveness you know from
the Songs without Words by Mendelssohn, and the Nocturnes of Chopin;
how full of flickering humor you hear in the Scherzo of a Beethoven
symphony; how full of deep solemnity and grief one feels in the
funeral marches.[50]
This school of composition has been followed by both the greater and
the lesser masters. Every part is made to say something as naturally
and interestingly as possible, being neither too restricted nor too
free. Then, in playing, both hands must be equally intelligent, for
each has an important part assigned to it.
The great good of study in harmony and counterpoint is that it
increases one's appreciation. As soon as we begin to understand the
spirit of good writing we begin to play better, _because we see more_.
We begin, perhaps in a small way, to become real music-thinkers. By
all these means we learn to understand better and better what the
meaning of true writing is. It will be clear to us that a composer is
one who thinks pure thoughts in tone, and not one who is a weaver of
deceits.