FUGUE IN E-FLAT MAJOR, NO. VII, IN THE FIRST BOOK.

[Music: Subject

Counter-subject

Answer]

This fugue in three voices begins with a graceful subject, announced in the upper voice. In the third measure this is answered by an imitation of the subject in the alto; while the opening voice continues with a contrasting part called the counter-subject.[40] As the whole subsequent fabric is organically derived from these two motives, both subject and counter-subject should be played frequently and so committed to memory. Observe also the contrasts in rhythm and melodic outline between the subject and counter-subject. In measures 4 and 5 we have a short sequential passage leading, in measure 6, to the third entry of the subject in the bass. Then after another sequential passage, which includes an emphatic assertion of the subject in the soprano (measures 11 and 12), we enter upon a long episode which leads, at measure 17, to our first objective point of rest—a cadence in C minor. With the entry, in this measure, of the subject in the alto we have an interesting example of what is termed "shifted rhythm;" the subject beginning on the third beat instead of the first, as at the outset. In the middle portion of the fugue we have two appearances of the subject in the related keys of C minor (measures 17 and 18) and G minor (measures 20 and 21). Then, following two very vigorous sequences, a modulatory return is made to the subject in the home key, and with its normal rhythm at measure 26. A repetition, in more brilliant form, of one of the previous episodes, in measures 31 and 32, gives a strong impression of unity; leading in measures 34 and 35 to a last appearance of the subject, with a beautiful change in one of the intervals (E-flat-G-flat). The closing measures establish the main tonality of E-flat major, rendered still more expressive by the counterpoint associated with the last chord. As to the general structure of this fugue, it is evidently tripartite, the first part A presenting the material, the second part B affording variety by modulating into different keys, and the third part A' reasserting the material of A and bringing the composition to a logical close in the home key. (See Supplement Ex. No. 15.)

[Footnote 40: It is left to the teacher to explain to the student the key-relationship of Subject and Answer, and the difference between fugues, tonal and real; for as these points have rather more to do with composition they play but a slight part in listening to a fugue.]

We should now acquaint ourselves with the more subtle devices of fugal treatment; although but one of these is employed in the fugue just studied, which is comparatively simple in structure. I. Inversion; the melodic outline is turned upside down while identity is retained by means of the rhythm, e.g.

[Music: BACH: 3rd English Suite

Theme

Inversion]

An excellent example from an orchestral work is the theme of the third movement of Brahms's C minor Symphony, the second phrase of which is an Inversion of the opening measures, e.g.

[Music: Inversion]

II. Augmentation and Diminution; the length of the notes is doubled or halved while their metrical relativity is maintained, e.g.

[Music: BACH: Fugue No. 8, Book I

Theme

Augmentation]

[Music: BACH: Fugue No. IX, Book II

Theme

Diminution]

Augmentation is very frequent in modern literature when a composer, by lengthening out the phraseology of a theme, wishes to gain for it additional emphasis. Excellent examples are the closing measures of Schumann's Arabesque, in which the reminiscence of the original motto is most haunting, e.g.,

[Music: Motto]

[Music: Motto augmented]

the Finale of Liszt's Faust Symphony, where the love theme of the Gretchen movement is carried over and intoned by a solo baritone with impressive effect, e.g.

[Music]

[Music: In augmentation

Das ewig Weibliche]

III. Shifted Rhythm; the position of the subject in the measure is so changed that the accents fall on different beats, e.g.

[Music: BACH: Fugue No. V, Book II

Subject

Shifted]

IV. Stretto; (from the Italian verb "stringere," to draw close) that portion of a fugue, often the climax, where the entrances are crowded together, i.e., the imitating voice enters before the leading voice has finished, e.g.

[Music: Fuga giocosa, J.K. PAINE, op. 41

Subject]

The effect is obviously one of great concentration and dramatic intensity—with a sense of impending climax—and its use is by no means limited to fugal composition; being frequently found in all large symphonic works of the classic and modern school. For a magnificent example of the climactic effect produced by a Stretto, witness the last part of Bach's Fugue in G major (see Supplement, Ex. No. 16).

Although there is considerable complexity in any complete fugue, and although it requires great concentration on the part of the listener, we should avoid thinking of the form as mechanical in any derogatory sense, but rather as a means to a definite artistic end. Certainly no greater mistake can be made than that of considering Bach, the supreme master of polyphonic writing, as too austere, too involved, for the delight and edification of every-day mortals. Bach means brook, and the name[41] is most appropriate; for Bach is a never ceasing stream of musical life, the fountain-head from which spring the leading tendencies of modern music. In these days when stress is laid on the romantic element in music, on warm emotional appeal, it is well to consider the quality so prevalent in Bach of spiritual vitality. Exactly because the romantic element represents the human side of music, it is subject to the whims of fashion and is liable to change and decay. Bach carries us into the realm of universal ideas, inexhaustible and changeless in their power to exalt. Schumann says that "Music owes to Bach what a religion owes to its founder"; and it is true that a knowledge of Bach is the beginning of musical wisdom. By some, Bach is considered dry or too reserved for companionship with ordinary human beings. Others carelessly assert that he has no melody. Nothing can be further from the truth than these two misconceptions. Bach surely is not dry, because his work abounds in such vitality of rhythm. As Parry says, in his biography, "No composer ever attained to anything approaching the spontaneity, freshness, and winsomeness of his dances, such as the gavottes, bourrees, passepieds and gigues in the suites; while many of his great choruses and instrumental fugues are inspired with a force of rhythmic movement which thrills the hearer with a feeling of being swept into space out of the range of common things." The charge of a lack of melody is the same which used to be brought against Wagner. Instead of there being no melody, it is all melody, so that the partially musical, who lack the power of sustained attention, are drowned in the flood of melodic outpouring. A strong claim, in fact, may be made for Bach as a popular composer in the best sense of the term. Many of his colossal works, to be sure, are heard but seldom, for they require the most highly trained executive ability. But if the average music-lover will become familiar with the French and English Suites, with the Preludes and Fugues of the Well-tempered Clavichord, with some of the Violin Sonatas, he will find for his imagination and mental machinery a food which, once enjoyed, becomes indispensable. For his music has that greatest of qualities in art as in human relationships—it wears well and lasts. We all know that books which reveal everything at a first reading are soon thrown aside, and that people whose depth of character and sweetness of disposition we discern but slowly, often become our life-long friends. Music which is too easily heard is identical with that which is immediately forgotten. The first impulse created by any great work of art is our longing to know it better. Its next attribute is its power to arouse and hold our steady affection. These observations may be applied literally to Bach's music, which can be heard for a lifetime, never losing its appeal but continually unfolding new beauties. Furthermore, in Bach, we feel the force of a great character even more than the artistic skill with which the personality is revealed. In this respect Bach in music is quite on a par with Shakespeare in literature and Michael Angelo in plastic art. With many musicians, there is so disconcerting and inexplicable a discrepancy between their deeds as men and the artistic thoughts for which they seem to be the unconscious media, that it is inspiring to come into touch with one who rings true as a man whatever demands are made upon him; whose music is free from morbidity or carnal blemish, as pure as the winter wind, as elemental as the ocean, as uplifting as the stars. In Bach let us always remember the noble human traits; for the universal regard in which his work is held could never have come merely from profound skill in workmanship, but is due chiefly to the manly sincerity and emotional depth which are found therein. The revival of his works, for which the world owes to Mendelssohn such a debt, has been the single strongest factor in the development of music during the 19th century; and their influence[42] is by no means yet at an end, as may be seen from the glowing tributes paid to him by such modern composers as Franck, d'Indy and Debussy.[43]

[Footnote 41: Beethoven, commenting on the name, majestically said: "He is no brook; he is the open sea!"]

[Footnote 42: For a very suggestive article on this point by Philip Greeley Clapp see the Musical Quarterly for April, 1916.]

[Footnote 43: Some eloquent comments on Bach's style and significance may be found in Chapter III of The Appreciation of Music by Surette and Mason.]

Two additional fugues are now given in the Supplement (see Nos. 17 and 18) for the consideration of the student: the Cat-Fugue of Domenico Scarlatti, with its fantastic subject (said to have been suggested by the walking of a favorite cat on the key-board) and the Fuga Giocosa of John Knowles Paine, (the subject of which is the well-known street-tune "Rafferty's lost his pig"). This latter example is not only a brilliant piece of fugal writing but a typical manifestation of American humor.

Several eulogies of the fugue are to be found in literature; three of the most famous are herewith appended.

"Hist, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues! Answer the question I've put you so oft: What do you mean by your mountainous fugues? See, we're alone in the loft."

—Browning, Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.

Throughout, a most fantastic description of fugal style.

"Whence the sound Of instruments, that made melodious chime, Was heard, of harp and organ; and who mov'd Their stops and chords was seen; his volant touch Instinct through all proportions, low and high, Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue."

—Milton, Paradise Lost, Book XI.

"Then rose the agitation, spreading through the infinite cathedral to its agony; then was completed the passion of the mighty fugue. The golden tubes of the organ which as yet had but sobbed and muttered at intervals—gleaming amongst clouds and surges of incense—threw up, as from fountains unfathomable, columns of heart-shattering music. Choir and antichoir were filling fast with unknown voices. Thou also, Dying Trumpeter! with thy love which was victorious, and thy anguish that was finishing, didst enter the tumult; trumpet and echo—farewell love and farewell anguish—rang through the dreadful Sanctus."

—From De Quincey's Dream Fugue in the "Vision of Sudden Death."

Truly a marvellous picture of the effect of a fugue in a great medieval cathedral!



CHAPTER IV

THE MUSICAL SENTENCE

Before passing on to an explanation of the fundamental types of musical structure, we must give some idea of the constituent parts of the Period in music. Every art has its units of expression: the straight line, the curve, the arch, the poetic stanza and the prose sentence. Just as poetry and prose are a series of stanzas or sentences, so a musical composition is a succession of definitely organized portions of thought and emotion, in terms of rhythm and sound. In the heart of a composition, to be sure, we often find a great freedom in the phraseology, comparable to blank verse or to a rhapsodic kind of prose; but with few exceptions, such as a Fantasie, every composition always begins with one or two periods which, in regard to subdivision, balance and directness of statement, are carefully planned and are complete in themselves. Before it is possible to follow intelligently the structure of a musical sentence we must gain a clear idea of what is meant by the frequently used terms Tonality and Modulation. Since the evolution and acceptance of our three modern scales:[44] the major, the minor and the chromatic—which gained their sanction chiefly through the investigations and compositions of Bach and Rameau—every melody and the accompanying harmony are said to be in a certain "tonality" (or "key") which takes its name from the first tone of the scale in question, e.g., C, E-flat, F sharp, etc. Hence this first tone is called the Tonic or chief tone and from it ascend the other tones of the scale. That is, a melody in E-flat major will employ only those tones found in the scale of E-flat major, and is said to be in that "key," or "tonality." The same would be true of the harmony involved, i.e., the chords would consist of combinations of the different tones of this scale. When a melody, as is often the case, employs tones not found in the scale in question, these are called chromatic[45] changes, and may or may not effect a "modulation" or departure into another key, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 44: It is assumed that the music-lover has, as his birthright, an instinctive knowledge of the grouping of tones and semitones in our modern scales. Those who may wish to refresh their knowledge are recommended to the second Chapter in Foote and Spalding's Harmony, and to the chapter on Scales in Parry's Evolution of the Art of Music.]

[Footnote 45: Color in music is brought about chiefly through their use.]

The most important means of gaining unity and coherence in a composition is to have it written in a clearly defined tonality, especially at the outset. This definite tonality is the "centre of gravity," so to speak, about which the whole composition revolves. If this tonal centre were uncertain or wandering, we should have a feeling of vagueness and perplexity which, except for special dramatic effect, is never found in works of the great composers. Thus we speak of a Symphony in C minor, of a Quartet in F major and of a Sonata in B-flat minor;[46] this foundation key being comparable to the basic color-scheme of a painting. There is also a particular aesthetic effect and color-appeal associated with each key; and the listener should train himself to be sensitive to the brilliance of such keys as D major and E major, the richness of B major, the dignity of E-flat major, the almost cloying sweetness of D-flat major and of G-flat major and the tragic depth of B minor and G minor. No piece, however, should remain for long in the same key; for music cuts so deeply into the consciousness that there would result an intolerable monotony.[47] Even in the simplest folk-songs, therefore, we often find manifested an instinct for those changes of tonal centre which are technically called "Modulations." All the keys founded on the twelve semitones of the chromatic scale are related—though in varying degrees of closeness; and in modern music, no matter how complex the modulations often sound, we may be sure that the composer plans them as carefully as the painter adjusts his color-scheme. For definite acoustical[48] and harmonic reasons, however, the keys most closely related to a given tonal centre are those situated a perfect fifth above—the Dominant; a perfect fifth below—the Subdominant; and the Relative Minor, the key-note of which is a minor third below, e.g., A minor in relation to C major, C minor to E-flat major. The relative minors of the Dominant and Subdominant also bear a close relationship to a given tonic; and into these five keys is made a large majority of the modulations in any piece of music.[49]

[Music:

Subdominant Tonic Dominant

Relative Relative Relative Minor Minor Minor]

[Footnote 46: As for example the famous one of Chopin.]

[Footnote 47: Even great composers have at times made this mistake, e.g., Mendelssohn in the first movement of the Scotch Symphony, where the interminable length of the portion in A minor (of all keys!) is simply deadening in its effect. Compare also the Prelude to the Rheingold; where, however—for dramatic purposes—to depict the world as "without form and void" Wagner remains in the key of E-flat major for some 150 measures!]

[Footnote 48: It is left to the teacher to explain, by the ratios found in the overtones of the Harmonic Series, the validity of this statement.]

[Footnote 49: Some modern theorists, e.g., Calvacoressi (see the New Music Review for September, 1909) have thought that the dominant relationship was "overworked." It is true that the great charm of modern music is its freedom and boldness in modulation; but the dominant keys can never be entirely abandoned, for the relationship between them and a tonic is as elemental as that between the colors of the spectroscope.]

Beginning with Beethoven, a modulation into what are known as the mediant keys became frequent; and is, in fact, a favorite change in all modern music—the mediant keys being those situated half-way between a Tonic and Dominant or a Tonic and Subdominant, e.g.

[Music: Sub-mediant Mediant]

Anyone at all familiar with Beethoven's style will remember how often his second theme, instead of following the more conventional line of dominant relationship, is in a mediant key. Good examples may be found in the first movement of the Waldstein Sonata and in the first and last movements of the 8th Symphony. A little thought will make clear that the relationships just set forth include nearly all the possible ones save those of 2nds and 7ths. Even into these apparently distant keys, e.g., to D-flat major or to B major from C major, modulations may easily be made by means of the "enharmonic"[50] relationship found in that frequently used modern chord—the Augmented Sixth, e.g.

[Music: C major B major C major D-flat major]

[Footnote 50: Two tones are said to be "enharmonic" when, although written differently, they sound the same on an instrument of fixed temperament like the pianoforte, or organ, e.g., D-sharp and E-flat, E and F-flat. A violin, however, can make a distinction between such notes and often does.]

Next to rhythm, modulation is the most stimulating and enchanting element in music. No composition of any scope can be considered truly great unless it abounds in beautiful modulations. Certain composers, to be sure, have in this respect more genius than others—notably Schubert, Chopin, Wagner and Franck whose music seems to waft us along on a magic carpet of delight. But just as Unity depends upon a definite basic tonality, so Variety is gained by this very freedom of modulation. Without it is monotony; with too much modulation, an irritating restlessness. By the perfect balance in his works of these two related elements a genius may be definitely recognized.

The simplest and on the whole most frequent type of musical sentence or period consists of eight measures, subdivided into two balancing phrases of four measures[51] each—the component parts plainly indicated by various cadences and endings soon to be explained. These four-measure phrases are often, though not invariably, still further subdivided into two sections of two measures each. Let us now corroborate these statements by an examination of the opening sentence of the Scherzo of Beethoven's Second Sonata for Pianoforte. This concise sentence is an epitome of the chief principles of organic musical expression. At the outset[52] we see the leading motive, which consists of an ascending broken chord twice repeated. We see also

[Music]

the first phrase of 4 measures and the second phrase[53] of similar length, alike subdivided into two sections of 2 measures each. In the third measure we find a modulation into the dominant key (indicated by the D-sharp) and in the fourth measure a cadence with a feminine ending in this key. The second—or after—phrase corresponds exactly to what has gone before: we have the same repetition of the motive in a different part of the scale; and finally, in the 8th measure, a cadence in the home key, also with feminine ending.

[Footnote 51: This assertion holds for most of our Western European music; though in Hungarian and Scotch music we find a natural fondness for phrases of three measures, and the Croatians are known for their phrases of five measures so often used by both Haydn and Schubert. But it is true that we tend to think in groups which are some multiple of 2, i.e., either 4, 8, 12 or 16 measures.]

[Footnote 52: Always count the first complete measure as one.]

[Footnote 53: The two phrases are often designated Thesis and Antithesis.]

[Music]

When the sentence is played, it is evident how unsatisfactory would be the effect if a complete stop were attempted at the 4th measure; and how symmetrical and convincing is the impression when the eight measures are considered an unbroken sweep of musical thought.[54] There are, in fact, a few complete compositions in musical literature which contain but a single sentence of eight measures. As an example may be cited the song from Schumann's Lieder Album fuer Jugend, op. 79, No. 1. (See Supplement No. 19.) For purposes of practical appreciation[55] it is enough to state that a cadence is an accepted combination of chords (generally the tonic, dominant and subdominant) which indicates that some objective, either temporary or final, has been reached. When the dominant chord or any dominant harmony is immediately followed by the tonic the cadence is called perfect or final, and may be compared to a period in punctuation, e.g.

[Music] [Music: CESAR FRANCK]

[Footnote 54: In listening to a clock it is impossible to think of the ticks singly, or otherwise than in groups of two: an accented beat and an unaccented; although the beats are of equal strength and duration. This principle of dual balance is derived from the rhythmic pulsation of the human heart and, as we shall see, runs through all music.]

[Footnote 55: Whenever this book is used in class, the teacher can easily explain, on the pianoforte and by charts, the different cadential effects. For those who have sufficient harmonic insight Chapter XIV in Foote and Spalding's Modern Harmony is worth consulting.]

A reversal of this order produces what is called the half-cadence, akin to the semicolon, e.g.

[Music]

The union of the subdominant and tonic chords is known as the Plagal Cadence, e.g.,

[Music]

and always gives a feeling of religious dignity and impressiveness. Magnificent examples may be found in the closing measures of Wagner's Overture to the Mastersingers and of Brahms' First Symphony in C minor. In the final cadence of Debussy's humorous piece for pianoforte, Minstrels, the effect is burlesqued, e.g.

[Music]

When dominant harmony is followed by some unexpected chord we have the so-called Deceptive Cadence, which is not unlike the mark of interrogation (?) or even exclamation (!) e.g.

[Music: WAGNER: Overture to the Mastersingers]

[Music: TCHAIKOWSKY: 5th Symphony]

This last cadence gives an effect of dramatic surprise—certainly an exclamation of great force. One of the glories of modern music is the daring novelty of cadential effect which has been achieved by such composers as Franck, Debussy and Ravel; the student should try to become more and more familiar with such harmonic combinations. A beautiful example[56] is cited from Cesar Franck's Sonata for Violin and Pianoforte.

[Footnote 56: See also the strikingly original cadences in Debussy's L'Isle joyeuse.]

[Music]

The two endings for phrases are classified as Masculine and Feminine and they correspond exactly to the same effects in the metre of a poetic stanza. When the second chord of the cadence, whatever it may be, coincides with a strong beat, i.e., the first beat of the measure, the ending is Masculine, e.g.

[Music]

When the chord is carried over to a weak beat of the measure the ending is Feminine, e.g.

[Music]

We now give two more examples of the eight measure Sentence which clearly exemplify the principles just stated, e.g.

[Music: BEETHOVEN: 3rd Sonata]

In this vigorous and clear-cut sentence we find in the 4th measure an effect of surprise and suspense; for the chord on the first beat is an inverted position of the dominant chord in the dominant key. Both the endings are masculine, i.e., the chords which end the phrases coincide with the strong beats.

[Music: BEETHOVEN: 1st Sonata]

This graceful sentence is noteworthy for the clear division of the first phrase into two contrasting sections; whereas, in the second phrase, a climactic effect is gained by having no marked subdivision. In the fourth measure occurs a good example of a half-cadence. All the endings are feminine, i.e., the cadential chord occurs on a weak beat of the measure.[57]

[Footnote 57: Another interesting eight-measure sentence may be found at the beginning of the slow movement of Beethoven's Eighth Sonata, in which every section differs from any one of the others; in the opening sentence of the first movement of the Tenth Sonata—noticeable for the indefiniteness of the cadences until the final close is reached in measure 8, and in the first sentence of the Allegretto of the Sixth Sonata which is one long sweep, with only the faintest indications of subdivision.]

Music, however, would be very rigid and would seem measured off with a yard-stick if the sentences were equally of eight measures. The "sing-song" effect of much so-called popular music is due to the stereotyped metrical pattern. You can always tell just where and how you are coming out. In order to gain a free and elastic phraseology, composers early began to combine three four-measure phrases into a twelve measure sentence. It is obvious that with three phrases there can be more subtle effects of contrast and balance than with two, as the following chart makes plain:

__ / A Contrast B Contrast C \__/ (4 measures) (4 measures) (4 measures) balance \_______/

[Music: BEETHOVEN: 6th Sonata]

In this sentence it is evident that we cannot stop at the 8th measure and that our first definite conclusion is in measure 12. Let the student observe the varied melodic outline in the three phrases, and question himself as to the types of cadence and ending.

MINUETTO OF BEETHOVEN'S FIRST SONATA.[58]

[Footnote 58: Lack of space will prevent hereafter the citation in actual notes of the examples from Beethoven. His works are readily accessible, and it may even be assumed that every music-lover owns the Pianoforte Sonatas.]

In this beautifully constructed twelve-measure sentence we have the main motive of the entire movement set forth in measures 1 and 2; then a contrasting secondary motive in measures 3 and 4. The second four-measure phrase, i.e., measures 5, 6, 7 and 8, repeats the material exactly, but with a modulation into the relative major. In measures 9 and 10 we find the secondary motive appearing in the alto voice (which should be brought out in performance), and in measures 11 and 12 a free ending in the relative major. The closing measures, 13 and 14, give an echo-like effect, which will be explained when we come to extended sentences. Such a sentence is not to be considered as one of 14 measures, although the literal counting gives that number; for the first complete cadence occurs in the 12th measure at the end of the third four-measure phrase; the remaining measures being supplementary.[59]

[Footnote 59: Another excellent example of a 12 measure sentence with an extended cadence may be found at the beginning of the first movement of the Third Beethoven Sonata.]

The last type of simple, normal sentence is that of 16 measures, divided into 4 phrases of 4 measures each. A clear distinction must be drawn between two successive sentences of 8 measures and the long sweep of a genuine 16 measure sentence. In the latter case there is no complete and satisfactory stop until we reach the cadence in the 16th measure.

FIRST SENTENCE OF THE FIRST MOVEMENT OF THE TWELFTH SONATA.

No difficulty will be found in following the cadences and endings of this sentence, the long-drawn out lines of which give an impression of repose and tranquillity. Two more excellent examples of 16 measure sentences may be found in the Adagio of the Fifth Sonata, and in the Scherzo of the Third; the latter movement is remarkable for the polyphonic treatment of the opening motive.

Although the three types of sentence just studied, i.e., of 8, 12 and 16 measures are the normal ones, and would include a majority of all sentences—especially in smaller works—in large compositions there would be an unendurable monotony and rigidity were there invariably to be cadential pauses at every 4th measure. We all know the deadening effect of poetry which has too great uniformity of metric pattern; and verses of "The boy stood on the burning-deck" type are considered thoroughly "sing-song." It is obvious that elasticity may be gained, without disturbing the normal balance, by expanding a sentence through the addition of extra measures, or contracting it by the logical omission of certain measures or by the overlapping of phrases.

The simplest and most common means of enlarging a sentence is by the extension, or repetition, of the final cadence—that effect which is so frequent in the chamber and symphonic music of Haydn, and which has its comic manifestation in the so-called "crescendo" of the Rossini Operatic Overture.[60]

[Footnote 60: For a burlesque of this practise see the closing measures of the Scherzando movement of Beethoven's Eighth Symphony.]

[Music: HAYDN: Quartet, op. 74, No. 2]

As Haydn was an important pioneer in freeing instrumental structure from dependence on the metre of words, his periods are always clearly organized; the closing measures of this example seem, as it were, to display a flag, telling the listener that the first breathing-place is reached. Very often both the fore-phrase and the after-phrase have cadential prolongations, an example of which may be found in Haydn's Quartet, op. 71, No. 3. The two following illustrations (the first movement of Beethoven's Fifth Sonata and the third movement of the Fourth) furnish remarkable examples of extended 16 measure sentences; each sentence being normal and symmetrical at the outset and then, as the fancy of the composer catches fire, expanding in a most dramatic fashion. Sometimes the additional measures, in an extended sentence, are found at the start; a clear example of this is the first sentence (with its repeated opening measure) of the Largo of the Seventh Sonata. Sentences are also often expanded by the insertion of one or more measures in the middle of the phrase, e.g., the beginning of the first movement of the Seventh Sonata and the corresponding place in the Fourth. In the former sentence the first phrase is perfectly regular, but as we reach our final cadence only in the tenth measure, we must account for some additional measures. The polyphonic imitation of the descending motive of measure 5 makes clear that this measure has two repetitions. In the latter case we reach the end of the sentence in the 17th measure and careful counting, and consideration of the melodic outline, will convince us that the 9th measure, emphasized by the sf mark, is repeated.

When an extra measure is systematically introduced into each phrase of 4 measures we have what is known as "five-bar rhythm"—so prevalent in the works of Schubert and Brahms.

[Music: SCHUBERT: Sonata in E[flat] major]

[Music: BRAHMS: Ballade in G minor]

As everyone is familiar with the latter composition, only the melody is cited. This propulsion of the mind forward beyond the accustomed point of rest always produces a stimulating rhythmic effect.[61]

[Footnote 61: Other charming examples of five-bar rhythm may be found in Schubert's Quartet in A minor, op. 29, and in the opening choral (St. Anthony) of Brahms's Orchestral Variations, op. 56a.]

The normal phraseology of four and eight measures is altered at times by the omission of certain measures. This often takes place at the beginning of the sentence, as may be seen from the structure of the so-called Anglican chant, familiar to all Protestants, e.g.

[Music: SAVAGE]

The beginning of Mozart's Overture to Figaro is also well known, e.g.

[Music]

The elision of a measure often takes place in the middle of a phrase as may be seen from the theme of Mendelssohn's familiar Spring-Song.

[Music]

Just as in the case of the systematic insertion of an extra measure, which produces "five-bar rhythm," so when a measure is omitted in each phrase which would usually consist of four measures, we have "three-bar rhythm." This gives an effect of great concentration and intensity and is a prevalent feature in Scottish and Hungarian folk-music, e.g.

[Music: Scotch]

[Music: Hungarian]

Additional examples of three-bar rhythm may be found in the Scherzo of Beethoven's Tenth Sonata and in the Minuet of Mozart's G minor Symphony—the latter, one of the most striking examples in literature.

When a measure is systematically omitted from the normal structure of the 8 measure sentence we have "seven-bar rhythm"; of which beautiful examples may be found in the Scherzo of Beethoven's Sonata in B-flat major, op. 106, and in Mozart's Quartet in F major, No. 23. As these examples are readily accessible they are not quoted. The humorous effect produced, in the Beethoven example, by the unexpected elision of the 7th measure is very marked.

Flexibility in the structure of a sentence is often gained by what is known as "overlapping"[62] of phrases, i.e., where the closing measure of a sentence, the 8th or 12th for example, is identical with the first measure of the following phrase. A clear example is this passage from the first movement of Beethoven's Third Sonata, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 62: This effect is clearly brought out in symphonic music where one portion of the orchestra, with a certain tone color, may be ending a phrase at the same moment at which another part, with a contrasting tone color, begins. An excellent example is the first theme of the Slow movement of Schumann's Second Symphony (measures 7-8).]

As the principles of sentence-formation are closely involved with the general subject of rhythm, something must be known about the number of beats within the measure itself. While it is true that we Anglo-Saxons tend to think in terms of 2 and 3 or their multiples, i.e., our customary measures consist of 2 or 4 beats or of 3, 6, 9 and 12, in modern music—particularly that of other races (the Slavs, Hungarians, etc.)—we often find measures with 5 and 7 beats and even phrases containing a mixture of rhythms. Three excellent examples of compositions with measures of 5 beats each are the Slow Movement of Chopin's Sonata in C minor, op. 4, the F-sharp major portion of d'Indy's Symphonic Variations, Istar, and the second movement of Tchaikowsky Sixth Symphony, e.g.

[Music]

A delightful example of a melody with 7 beats a measure is the Andante Grazioso of Brahms's Trio in C minor, op. 101—the result undoubtedly of his well-known fondness for Hungarian music, e.g.

[Music]

The following theme from Tchaikowsky's Quartet in F major, notwithstanding the time signature, certainly gives the effect of a long, seven-beat measure, e.g.

[Music]

Those who wish to do a little investigating of their own in the field of modern music will find interesting examples of 5/4 and 7/4 metres in Ravel's Daphnis and Chloe, in d'Indy's Sonata for Violin and Pianoforte and in the Ballet music of Stravinsky.

We even find passages where, for special effect, the usual beats are elided or extra beats inserted. Schumann was one of the most daring experimenters in this respect and such fantastic effects are frequent in his pianoforte works—notably in the Carnaval, op. 9, and in the Phantasiestuecke, op. 12, e.g.

[Music: SCHUMANN: Carnaval]

With reference to all the foregoing principles and comments the music-lover is cautioned against the assumption that music, from the standpoint of the composer or the listener, is merely a matter of mechanical counting; or that the "swing" of music is as regular as that of a sewing-machine. But, as order is Heaven's first law, it is true that music tends to move in definite, symmetrical groups; and where departure is made from this practise the effect is one most carefully planned. The matter deserves earnest consideration, for, in what is known as the "rhythmical sense," Americans—as a people, in comparison with foreign nations—are still woefully deficient. As rhythm is the basic element in all music, there is nothing in which the listener should more definitely train his faculties than in intelligent cooperation with the freedom of the composer.



CHAPTER V

THE TWO-PART AND THREE-PART FORMS

Now that a clear insight has been gained into the formation of the normal sentence, we are in a position to understand how sentences may be combined to make complete compositions. The simplest and most primitive structure is that which contains two complete sentences; dividing itself naturally into two parts and hence known as the Two-Part Form. This form by reason of its simplicity and directness is often found in the short pianoforte pieces of Schumann, Tchaikowsky, Brahms, Grieg and Debussy. For a long period there was no attempt at differentiation between vocal and instrumental style; music, in fact, during the 15th and 16th centuries was often entitled "buon da cantare ou suonare," i.e., equally well suited for voices or instruments. When instrumental players were in search of pieces, they simply transferred to their instruments the voice-parts of the Madrigals and Canzonas which were then so fashionable.[63] With the development of instruments—especially of the Violin family—and with the desire for an instrumental style which should be independent of words, principles of coherent design had to be evolved; and they were suggested by the definite metre in the stanzas of the Folk-song and, above all, by the symmetrical phrases of the Folk-dance, used to accompany the rhythmical motions of the body. By a utilization of these principles of balanced phrases, of contrasted keys and of periodic themes, instrumental music gradually worked out a structure of its own,[64] of which we find examples in National dances and in the compositions of such pioneers of instrumental style as the Italians Corelli and Vivaldi, the Frenchmen Lully, Couperin and Rameau, and the Englishman Purcell.

[Footnote 63: For a complete account of this process see Parry's Evolution of the Art of Music, p. 115 seq.]

[Footnote 64: This book makes no attempt to give an historical account of the development of instrumental form. The subject is set forth comprehensively in the article on Form in Grove's Dictionary (Vol. II, p. 73) and in the Fifth and Sixth Chapters of Parry's Evolution of the Art of Music.]

[Music:

Viens dans ce bocage belle Aminte, Sans contrainte L'on y forme des voeux; Viens, Viens dans ce bocage belle Aminte, Il est fait pour les plaisirs et les jeux.]

In this rhythmic and sprightly dance of exactly 8 measures (an old French Tambourin taken from Weckerlin's Echos du Temps Passe) we see clearly the influence of the metrical stanza of words and of the balanced phrases in the instrumental part, necessary to accompany the steps of the dancers. The melody of the accompaniment was played on a flute or some simple kind of pipe, and the bass on a Tambour de Basque—a rude form of drum, which repeated continually the tonic and dominant of the key; the same effect which we associate with the Bagpipe and Hurdy-gurdy.

[Music: PURCELL: Jig.]

In this Jig, which was a favorite type with the English peasantry—divided into three sentences of exactly 8 measures each—the dance rhythm is very sharply defined. From various dance-patterns a structural type was gradually evolved, of which the chief features will now be indicated. The music was divided into two distinct halves and it became the convention to gain length by repeating each half—in the early days of the form, literally (with a double bar and sign of repeat); later, as composers gained freedom, with considerable amplification. Each half presented the same material (it was a one-theme form) but the two halves were contrasted in tonality, i.e., the first part, beginning in the home-key, would modulate to some related key—generally the dominant; the second part, starting out in this key, gradually modulated back to a final cadence in the original key, and often—especially in Haydn and Mozart—repeated the entire main sentence of the first part. The general effect of such a form has been wittily described[65] as resembling the actions of "the King of France who, with twenty thousand men, marched up the hill and then marched down again"—but he surely had no exciting adventures in between! It is evident that this form, while favorable to coherence and unity, is lacking in scope and in opportunity for variety and contrast. It did, however, emphasize the principle of recapitulation; in fact it became the convention (as we shall see in the dances of the Suite) for the closing measures of the second part to be an exact duplicate in the home-key of that which had been presented at the end of part one. We shall observe, as we continue our studies, that the trend of musical composition gradually swung over to the Three-part form, the essential feature of which is restatement after intervening contrast.

[Footnote 65: See The Appreciation of Music by Surette and Mason, p. 36.]

For illustrations of the Two-part Form see the Supplement Nos. 20, 21, 22, 23, 24.

Only in such comparatively simple examples as those just cited is found this perfect balance in the length of the two parts. We often observe extended sentences in the first part; and it became the custom for the second part to be considerably lengthened, to include modulations into more remote keys and even to display certain developments of the main material. For a striking example of a movement which, although definitely in Two-part form, (i.e., it is in two clear divisions and has but one theme) is yet of considerable scope and variety, see the Allegretto of Beethoven's Fourth Sonata. It was, in fact, this instinct for contrasting variety in the second part[66] which (as can be shown from historical examples)[67] gradually led to the developing and establishment of the Three-part form.

[Footnote 66: As an illustration of this tendency see the Scherzo of Beethoven's Second Sonata, the second part of which has a new theme of its own, although the movement as a whole is clearly in Two-part form.]

[Footnote 67: See The Sonata Form by W.H. Hadow, Chapter III.]

The essentials of this structure, so frequent in all pianoforte literature, are the existence of three distinct parts—hence the name: a clause of assertion in the home-key; a second clause, affording a genuine contrast to the first part in regard to key, melodic outline and general treatment, and a third clause of reassertion, which shall repeat—either literally or in varied form—the material of part one.[68] In the Three-part form, as employed in the classic Minuet and Scherzo, each of the three parts taken by itself is in complete Two-part form; and as the third part was generally a literal repetition of part one, it was not written out, but at the end of the middle part (called the Trio, because it was originally written in three-voiced harmony) we find the direction "Minuet or Scherzo da capo," meaning a return to the first part. A coda or tail-piece is often added to round out the form. As the student will become thoroughly familiar with the Three-part form, in connection with the classic Symphonies soon to be studied (each Minuet, Scherzo or Trio being an example), our illustrations show the use of this form in independent pieces and are chiefly taken from modern literature; the object being so to interest the student in the beauty of these compositions as to convince him that in all good music content and design go hand is hand. For examples[69] see Supplement Nos. 25, 26, 27.

[Footnote 68: The three-part form is derived partly from the Italian "da Capo Aria" and partly from the fundamental instinct for restatement which we have seen in the Folk-song.]

[Footnote 69: Additional illustrations, which will repay study are the following: the Allegretto of Beethoven's Sixth Sonata; the Schubert Impromptu, op. 90, No. 4; Brahms's Intermezzo, op. 117, No. 1 and the Ballade in G minor, op. 118, No. 3, and for orchestra—in extended treatment—Debussy's Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un Faune.]



CHAPTER VI

THE CLASSICAL AND THE MODERN SUITE

No sooner had the Two-and Three-part forms become accepted as definite means of instrumental expression, than composers were eager to try their skill in combining dance-movements in such forms into larger groups. These compositions—known in France as Ordres, in Germany as Suites and Partitas and in England as Lessons—though all the movements were in the same key, yet showed considerable variety by reason of the contrast in the dance rhythms. They were, moreover, simple, direct and easily understood of the people.[70] This development was furthered by the perfecting of two groups of instruments: The violins, by the great Italian masters; and those precursors of our modern pianoforte, the harpsichord, clavichord and spinet. We find, consequently, the Italians—of whom Corelli was most prominent—combining these dances into groups called Sonate da Ballo: and the French composers Couperin and Rameau, developing the possibilities of keyed stringed instruments in graceful pieces to which fantastic titles, such as La Poule, Le Rappel des Oiseaux, etc., were often given. The greatest master of instrumental style in these early days was the Italian, Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757). He was famous both as composer and performer—the first, in fact, of the long line of key-board virtuosi—and in his compositions in dance form and in those of a more abstract type there is a sparkling fancy and an adjustment of the thought to his instrument, which will keep them forever immortal.[71]

[Footnote 70: For an interesting and comprehensive account of this development see Grove's Dictionary, Volume IV, article on the Suite.]

[Footnote 71: For extensive comments on Scarlatti's style see The History of the Pianoforte and Pianoforte Players by Oscar Bie, pp. 68-90.]

The grouping together of dance forms reached its highest development through the genius of Sebastian Bach in the so-called French and English Suites.[72] In these compositions—in the Partitas and in the orchestral Suite in D major, which contains the well-known Aria, often played in transcription for Violin solo—the dance-forms are not employed literally but are made a vehicle for the expression of varied types of human emotion and sentiment. Nor should we overlook the twelve Harpsichord Lessons of Handel—especially the superb Fugue in E minor in the Fourth Suite—which are noteworthy for their vigor, though, in freshness and delicacy of invention, not to be compared with Bach's.

[Footnote 72: These titles, according to Parry (see his life of Bach, Chapters IV and XII passim), were not given by Bach himself but were assigned, in the case of the French Suites, to denote the delicacy of treatment found therein, and in the English, a certain massive style.]

We now give a tabulated list of the customary dance forms, both as found in the Classic and the modern Suite or used as independent pieces; and we shall then analyze those which have the most characteristic rhythmic pattern.

LIST OF DANCES

NAME ORIGIN METER FORM CHARACTER Allemande Suabian 4/4 Two-part Moderately quick; flowing, with a rather rich harmonic texture. {Courante French 3/4, 3/2 Two-part Running, lively; the 2/2 {Corrente Italian type always with a change of meter at the cadences. Sarabande Spanish 3/2, 3/4 Two-part Stately, dignified; often noble and even dramatically pathetic. Hornpipe English 4/4 Two-part Rapid, merry, energetic. {Gigue Italian 6/8, Two-part Very lively, rollicking, {Jig giga, an 12/8, even jocose. early violin 4/8 Gavotte French 4/4, 2/2 Two-part Moderately fast; well-marked rhythm, often stately. Bourree French 4/4 Two-part Lively, vigorous. Minuet French 3/4, 3/8 Two-part Moderately fast; dainty, graceful, courtly. Passepied French 3/4 Two-part Light, delicately animated. Loure French 6/4, 4/4 Two-part Rather slow, stately. Pavane Italian 2/4 Two-part Solemn, impressive. Galliard Italian 3/2, 2/2 Two-part Lively, merry. {Branle French 4/4, 3/4 Two-part Lively, with great abandon. {Brawl English Polonaise Polish 3/4 Varied Dignified and courtly, but with life. Mazurka Polish 3/4 Varied Great range of speed and effect; at times sustained and pathetic, often bright and lively. Polka Bohemian 2/4 Generally Merry, animated. three-part Furiant Bohemian 3/4 Varied Very lively, even frenzied. Waltz German 3/4 Two-part Graceful; varied in effect; or at times lively, often three-part slow. Bolero Spanish 3/4 Three-part Brisk, well-marked rhythm. Tarantella Italian 6/8 Varied Very lively, impassioned. Saltarello Italian 6/8, 3/4 Varied With quick, jumping rhythm. Rigaudon French 2/4, 4/4 Varied Lively, gay. March Found in 4/4 Varied Stately, with marked every nation rhythm. Csardas Hungarian 3/4, 2/4 Varied Impassioned; with great variety of effect. Halling Scandinavian 2/4 Varied Fresh, vigorous, out-of-doors atmosphere. Tango Mexican Varied Varied With reckless abandon. Habanera Spanish 2/4 Varied Graceful; with characteristic rhythm. Seguidilla Spanish 3/4, 3/8 Varied Fantastic; sometimes stately, sometimes gay and lively. {Jota, Spanish 3/4 Free A kind of waltz, but with {often more freedom in the {Jota dancing, and of a vigorous {Aragonesa and fiery nature. Malaguena Spanish 3/8 In couplet A dance of moderate form movement, accompanied by guitar and castanets; languorous and sensual in mood. Siciliano Sicilian 6/8, Two-part, Graceful; of a Pastorale 12/8 three-part, nature. often a Rondo

The four indispensable movements of the classic or 18th century Suite were the Allemande, the Courante, the Sarabande and the Gigue; and, between the last two, it became customary to insert an optional number of other dances—the most usual being the Gavotte, Bourree, Minuet and Passepied. In effect, the Suite was a kind of "international Potpourri" of the dances most in vogue, and affords us a vivid reflection of the manners and customs of the period. Many of the English Suites begin with an elaborate polyphonic Prelude. We shall not give a detailed analysis of all these dance movements; for the main characteristics the tabulated list will suffice, and in the book of Supplementary examples (see No. 35) will be found the 6th French Suite complete. It will be more useful to center attention on those dances which, in rhythmic pattern, are especially typical and are most frequently employed in modern music; and we shall select, as examples drawn from various sources, those dances which make a direct appeal. The most characteristic of the dances are the Sarabande, the Gavotte, the Minuet and the Gigue; and with the last, as exemplifying the same spirit, may be grouped the Rigaudon, Furiant, Tarantella and Saltarello.

The Sarabande is a slow, stately dance; always in triple meter indicated by 3/2 or 3/4. Its striking features are the frequent occurrence of the rhythmic pattern

[Music] or [Music]

in which it is evident that there is a strong accent on the weak beats; and the prevalence of feminine endings in the cadences. The Sarabande always displays great depth of emotion—often of a tragic and impassioned kind; and, in the Suite, seems to have served the composer for the same outpouring of feeling which we associate with the slow movement in the later Sonata or Symphony. The example cited in the Supplement (See No. 28)—taken from one of Bach's Sonatas for 'cello—is considered one of the most beautiful in existence. Other eloquent Sarabandes may be found in the Second and Third English Suites and in Handel's noble Air "Lascia ch'io pianga" from the opera of Rinaldo. Two fine modern examples of this dance are the second number in Paderewski's Humoresques de Concert, op. 14, and the second number in the set of pieces by Debussy, Pour le Piano—Prelude, Sarabande, Toccata. Composers sometimes employ the Sarabande rhythm for its inherent beauty, or for dramatic purposes without indication of the fact. Examples are the theme for variations in Beethoven's Sonata, op. 109, and the opening measures of the Egmont Overture where, by means of the characteristic Spanish dance-rhythm, an atmosphere of oppression and dejection is established, e.g.

[Music]

The Gavotte is an energetic yet dignified dance in duple rhythm (it is almost always played too fast)—the characteristics of which are its beginning on the half-measure and its strongly marked cadences. One of the most stirring examples is that cited from the Third English Suite (See Supplement No. 29) which, with its subdued middle portion, La Musette,[73] is an early example of tripartite arrangement. Other gavottes[74] are the favorite one from the Fifth French Suite, that from Handel's opera Ottone (so often played in organ or pianoforte transcriptions) and, from modern literature, the charming one in d'Albert's Suite for Pianoforte, op. 1.

[Footnote 73: So-called because it is written on a sustained bass note or pedal point; a feature of the Musette (the French name for Bagpipe) being its persistent drone bass on the tonic and the dominant.]

[Footnote 74: An interesting example may also be found in Grieg's Holberg Suite for Pianoforte.]

The Minuet is of particular interest, not alone because of the many beautiful examples of its use but because it is the only dance which, carried over from the Suite, has remained an integral movement of Symphonic compositions. The Minuet, in its older form, was a stately dance; the derivation of the term (French menu) referring to the dainty steps of the dancers, always in 3/8 or 3/4 metre and beginning on the first beat of the measure. By Haydn the character of the Minuet was considerably changed; the tempo becomes much faster, the music begins on the third beat of the measure instead of the first and the mood is one of playful humor—at times even of downright jollity. In the Minuets of Mozart the peculiar characteristics are grace and tenderness rather than rollicking fun, e.g., the charming examples in the E-flat major and G minor Symphonies. Concerning the transformation by Beethoven of the Minuet into the Scherzo, with its fantastic and freakish atmosphere, we shall speak more fully in connection with his Symphonies. Of the examples cited in the Supplement (see Nos. 30 and 31) the former, from the first Finale of Mozart's opera Don Giovanni, remains one of the most famous minuets in existence; and the two from Rameau's opera, Castor and Pollux, are of inimitable spontaneity and rhythmic grace. They are grouped in contrasting, tripartite arrangement. In modern literature every one knows of the melodious example for Pianoforte by Paderewski (No. 1 of the Humoresques de Concert) and the Menuet Italien by Mrs. Beach; that in the last scene of Verdi's Falstaff is also well worth acquaintance.

The last of the particularly characteristic dances is the Gigue with its counterparts mentioned above. This is a rapid, animated dance in 6/8, 3/8, 12/8, 12/16 (sometimes 4/4) with marked rhythm; the term being derived from giga (German, geige)—an early name for fiddle—on account of the power of accent associated with the violin family. The Gigue is always the closing number of Bach's Suites, in order to give a final impression of irrepressible vitality and gaiety, and is treated with considerable polyphonic complexity; in fact, his gigues often begin like a complete Fugue. They are all in clear-cut Two-part form; and it became the convention for the second part to treat the motive in inverted form. The example cited from Bach's Fifth French Suite (see Supplement No. 32) is unsurpassed for rhythmic energy; the closing measures sound as if all the bells of heaven were ringing. The example of Mozart (see Supplement No. 33) is noteworthy for its daring use of the dissonant element and for its free modulations. Of the counterparts of the gigue the following are excellent examples: The Rigaudon—the Finale of Grieg's Holberg Suite, the vigorous one from Rameau's opera Dardanus, and MacDowell's independent piece in this form, op. 49, No. 2; the Furiant—the Finale of Dvořak's Suite for Small Orchestra, op. 30 (accessible in an effective pianoforte arrangement for four hands); the Tarantelle—Chopin's independent piece in this rhythm, op. 43, and the brilliant Finale of Rheinberger's Pianoforte Sonata for four hands, op. 122; the Saltarello—the last movement of Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony and the main portion of Berlioz's Carnaval Romain Overture. One additional example is cited (see Supplement No. 34), a Courante by D. Scarlatti, to give an example of his pianoforte style. In connection with these dances, especially the Sarabande, Gavotte, Loure, Pavane, Polonaise and Tarantelle, there should be read the articles treating of each dance in Grove's Dictionary; for these dances are so closely connected with human activity that a knowledge of their development broadens our horizon in many matters pertaining to social life and civilization in general. As to specific examples of the less usual dances, many of the quaintest are found in the works of the early English composers: Byrd, Bull, etc., in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book, e.g., The Lord of Salisbury his Pavan. An excellent example of the Loure is the well-known arrangement from Bach's third 'Cello sonata. Chopin, in his works, has glorified both the Polonaise and the Mazurka; Bizet, in his opera Carmen, has used the Habanera and the Seguidilla, and there is a wonderful use of the Habanera rhythm in Debussy's descriptive piece Soiree dans Grenade. The French composer Ravel in his pianoforte piece Pavane pour un enfant defunt has used with remarkable effect the stately rhythm of that dance. The Spanish composers, Albeniz and Granados, frequently employ national dance rhythms in their pieces. The French composer Chabrier's Bourree Fantasque is a dazzling modernization of the old form; and his Espana for full orchestra fairly intoxicates us with its dashing rhythms based upon the Jota and the Malaguena.[75] Debussy's well-known piece Hommage a Rameau is in the style of the Sarabande. The allusions in literature to these dances are so frequent that only a few can be cited. The very spirit of the Jig is given in Pope's line "Make the soul dance upon a jig to Heaven." In speaking of the antics of Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night, Shakespeare remarks—"I did think by the excellent constitution of thy leg that it was formed under the star of a Galliard." One of the most remarkable works of the English composer John Dowland (born 1562) is entitled Lachrymae, or Seven Teares, figured in seven passionate Pavans.

[Footnote 75: For a vivid description of these dances see Chabrier's Lettres a Nanette, Paris, 1910.]

The Suite, by reason of its freedom in combining different rhythms and moods, has appealed vividly to modern composers; and the literature of our times contains a number of Suites which should be known to the music-lover. In these modern Suites no attempt is made to conform to the old conventional grouping of dances. The movements are in different keys, are often based on rhythms of an exotic or ultra-nationalistic type—as in Tchaikowsky and Dvořak, or may employ any material suggested by the fantastic imagination of the composer—as in Debussy and Ravel. Among the most attractive modern Suites may be cited: The Peer Gynt (put together from incidental music to Ibsen's play) and the Holberg by Grieg; the two L'Arlesienne Suites by Bizet (written to illustrate Daudet's romantic story)—the first, with its dainty Minuet and brilliant Carillons (Peal of bells); Dvořak's Suite for Small Orchestra, op. 39, with its sprightly Polka and impassioned Furiant; Tchaikowsky's five Orchestral Suites of which the best known are the Casse-Noisette with its exotic rhythms and novel orchestral effects, the Mozartiana and the third which closes with a brilliant Polonaise; Brahms's Serenades for orchestra; Charpentier's Impressions of Italy in which there is an effective use of Italian rhythm and color; MacDowell's Indian Suite, with several of the themes based on native tunes; the fascinating orchestral Suite Adventures in a Perambulator by John Alden Carpenter; Arthur Whiting's Suite Moderne for pianoforte; Stevensoniana, (based on stanzas from Stevenson's Child's Garden of Verses) an orchestral Suite in four movements by Edward B. Hill; Debussy's Suite Bergamasque in which is found the oft-played Clair de Lune; Ravel's[76] Mother Goose, a delightful work—and by the same composer the Daphnis and Chloe Suite, the material drawn from an opera of the same name. In modern literature easily the most celebrated and brilliant example of this type is the Scheherazade Suite (based on the Arabian Nights) for full orchestra by Rimsky-Korsakoff. This work in the genuine poetic quality of its themes, in its marvellous descriptive power and in the boldness of its orchestral effect remains unsurpassed.

[Footnote 76: See also Le Tombeau de Couperin in which is a very novel Rigaudon.]



CHAPTER VII

THE OLDER RONDO FORM

One of the earliest instrumental forms to be worked out[77] was the Rondo, which is merely an extension of the three-part principle of "restatement after contrast" and which, by reason of its logical appeal, has retained its place to this day. Originally the Rondo was a combination of dance and song; that is, the performers sang and danced in a circle—holding one another's hands. The music would begin with a chorus in which all joined, one of the dancers would then sing a solo, after which all would dance about and repeat the chorus; other solos would follow, the chorus being repeated after each. The characteristic feature, then, of this structure is the continual recurrence to a principal motive after intervening contrasts—hence the name Rondo (French, Rondeau); exemplifying a principle found not only in primitive folk-songs and dances but in literature, e.g., many of the songs of Burns and the Rondeaux of Austin Dobson. For it is obvious that the form answers to the simplest requirements of unity and contrast. Frequent examples of the Rondo are found in all early instrumental composers: Bach, e.g., the charming one in C minor in his third Partita; Couperin, Rameau, Haydn and Mozart. It is found also in vocal works, e.g., Purcell's well-known song "I Attempt from Love's Sickness to Fly." From the standpoint of modern taste, however, Beethoven was—with few exceptions—the first to treat the form with real genius; and so our illustrations are taken chiefly from his works and from those of his successors. Although there need be no arbitrary limit to the alternation of the chief part with the subsidiary portions—in fact, Beethoven's humorous Rondo Capriccio, On a Lost Farthing has as many as eleven sections—it gradually became conventional for the form to consist of five parts: a first presentation and two repetitions of the main theme together with two contrasting portions called Episodes, to which a free Coda was often added. The form would then be A, b, A', c, A'', Coda—A' and A'' indicating that the repetition need not be literal, but often varied rhythmically and harmonically; not, however, so as to obliterate the original outline. For in a well-constructed Rondo the main theme must be one of such direct appeal that we look forward to hearing it again; and the successive repetitions must be so planned that we can easily enjoy this pleasure of reminiscence. It also became customary not to block off the sections with rigid cadences but often to insert modulatory passages, thus securing a continuous flow of thought. This practise we see particularly in Beethoven and Schumann. The form which we are discussing is the so-called Older Rondo Form, clearly derived from the dance described above. Beginning[78] with Beethoven, however, we find numerous examples of a different kind of rondo treatment which developed in connection with the Sonata Form—to be explained later. The Rondo-Sonata Form, as it is generally called, is in fact a hybrid type, with certain features derived from rondo structure and certain from the pure sonata form. The Finales to Beethoven's Sonatas, when entitled Rondos, are—with few exceptions—of this Rondo-Sonata type. An excellent example, which should be well known, is the Finale of the Sonata Pathetique. Although there are many cases of free treatment of the rondo principle, they are all based on one or the other of these two fundamental types. Schumann was extremely fond of this Older Rondo Form, as may be seen from his frequent practice of writing two Trios to the Scherzos of his Symphonies. A moment's thought will make clear that a Scherzo with two Trios and the customary repetitions will conform exactly to the pattern given above, i.e., A, b, A', c, A'' Coda, e.g., Scherzo, First Trio = First Episode, First return, Second Trio = Second Episode, Final return and Coda—five portions in all, or six when there is a Coda. For convincing examples see the Scherzos of the First and Second Symphonies. Schumann's well-known Arabesque for pianoforte, op. 18, is a beautiful, clear-cut example of the form; with an interpolated modulatory passage between the first episode and first return, and a poetic Coda which has, for its closing measures, the chief motive in augmentation (already referred to on p. 45). To show Schumann's partiality for this form the student may be referred to Nos. 2 and 8 of the Kreisleriana (op. 16) and to Nos. 1, 2 and 3 of the "Nachtstuecke" (op. 23). The third of the Romances (op. 28)—a remarkably free example in the grouping of the material and in the key-relationship—is cited in the Supplement (No. 37). An excellent example (readily accessible), popular by reason of its freedom of treatment, as well as for its inherent sparkle and dash, is the Finale of Weber's Sonata in C major, op. 24—the so-called Moto Perpetuo. The most famous example of this form in classical literature is undoubtedly the Finale of Beethoven's Waldstein Sonata, op. 53, with its melodious and easily remembered first subject, e.g.

[Music]

[Music]

its two episodes in A minor and C minor (which afford most dramatic contrasts to the lyric quality of the main subject) and its glorious, long-extended Coda of about three pages.[79]

[Footnote 77: For a complete account of the historical development see the article on Form in Grove's Dictionary Vol. II and Hadow's Sonata Form, Chapter IX.]

[Footnote 78: There is an early example in the Rondo of Mozart's Sonata for Pianoforte in B-flat major.]

[Footnote 79: For a complete detailed analysis of the movement see Prout, Applied Forms, pp. 120-121.]

As stated above, the Older Rondo-Form has not become obsolete; indeed, by reason of its possibilities for emphasis and contrast it has commended itself to modern composers. Striking examples may be found in the Finale of Brahms's Pianoforte Sonata in F minor, in the Finale of Tchaikowsky's Fourth Symphony and, above all, in the Symphonic Poems of Strauss, Don Juan and Till Eulenspiegel, in which the form is admirably adapted to the dramatic needs of these descriptive works. Additional examples, which can be readily procured, are the Slow Movement of the Sonata Pathetique, op. 13, Beethoven's well-known Andante in F major—remarkable for its brilliant Coda—and his Rondo, already cited, On the Lost Farthing. (See Supplement No. 38). Although there is a certain stiffness in this form these examples afford the student excellent rudimentary practise in ease of listening.



CHAPTER VIII

THE VARIATION FORM

Monotony, as previously suggested, is more unendurable in music than in any of the other arts. We should therefore expect to find musicians inventing new devices to vary their thoughts so that the interest of the hearer might be continually sustained and refreshed. Thus there gradually grew up the form known as the Varied Air—a term meaning the presentation of the same musical material under different aspects. As far back as we can trace the development of instrumental structure, there appears this instinct for varying a simple tune by embellishments of a rhythmical and melodic nature. Examples abound in the works of the early Italian masters, in the harpsichord pieces of the English composers Byrd and Bull[80] and in the music of Couperin and Rameau. But all these Variations, however interesting from a historical point[81] of view, are very labored and lack any real poetic growth. They are, moreover, often prolonged to an interminable length—one example, as late as Handel, consisting of an Air with sixty-two Variations; prolixity or "damnable iteration" being as bad a blemish in music as in any of the other arts. In the early days of instrumental composition, about all that composers could do was "to put the theme through its paces." That is, there was no unfolding of the poetic possibilities of the melody. The successive variations were all in the same key; the harmonic basis was practically unchanged and the treatment consisted of dressing up the theme with stereotyped embellishment-figures and of systematic rhythmic animation—produced by the addition of more and more notes to each time unit. A standard illustration of this type of Variations is the so-called Harmonious Blacksmith of Handel from his Suite in E Major. This piece owes whatever popularity it may have preserved to the sturdy swing of the main theme and to the fact that it makes no demand on the attention of the most untrained listener. In fairness we should state that on the harpsichord—with its contrasting stops and key-boards—for which the piece was composed, there is possible more variety of effect than on the modern pianoforte.

[Footnote 80: We would cite the piece entitled Les Buffons by Bull, and Byrd's variations to the popular tune the Carman's Whistle, which latter have considerable archaic charm and distinction; for Byrd was a real genius. These are readily accessible in popular editions.]

[Footnote 81: Consult the comprehensive article on Variations in Grove's Dictionary, Vol. V.]

Three collateral early forms deserve a passing mention because, notwithstanding a certain rigidity of structure, they have been used by the great masters for the expression of sublime thoughts. These are the Ground Bass (or, as it is sometimes called, the Basso Ostinato), the Chaconne and the Passacaglia[82] which, in modern literature, is well represented by the magnificent "tour de force" that serves as the Finale to Brahms's Fourth Symphony. By a Ground Bass is meant a theme, continually repeated, in the lowest voice, each time with varied upper parts. An excellent example (see Supplement No. 39) is the Aria "When I am laid in earth" from Purcell's Opera Dido and Aeneas. It is evident that the persistent iteration of a striking phrase in the bass gives an effect of dramatic intensity, as may be seen in the sublime "Crucifixion" of Bach's Mass in B minor.[83] The Chaconne and Passacaglia are old dance forms (examples of the former being found in Gluck's Ballet Music) and are closely related to the Ground Bass; since, in the majority of cases, we find the same procedure in the announcement of the theme and in its subsequent treatment. Two examples of the Chaconne from standard literature are the famous one of Bach in D minor for solo violin and Beethoven's thirty-two Variations in C minor for Pianoforte. The Passacaglia is of importance as shown by the striking example for organ in C minor by Bach on the following theme:

[Music]

Whoever has heard this majestic theme, which seems to bear the sorrows of the world on its shoulders, announced on the deep-sounding pedals will gain a lasting impression of the grandeur of Bach's style.

[Footnote 82: For the derivation of the term consult the interesting article in Grove's Dictionary, Vol. IV.]

[Footnote 83: A work before which Schumann said every musician should prostrate himself in adoration.]

By the time of Haydn, the technical skill of composers had improved sufficiently so that we find in his works some genuinely interesting examples of the Variation form, e.g., the set on the well-known Austrian hymn from the Kaiser Quartet in C major—in which each of the five variations has a real individuality—and the Variations in F minor for Pianoforte: remarkable as an early example of the varied treatment of two themes.

Most of Mozart's Variations are based upon popular themes and, in general, may be considered as virtuoso pieces to show off the agility of the performer. We find occasional examples, as in the Clarinet Quintette and in the Sonata in D major, which are of more intrinsic worth.

The genius of Beethoven first revealed the full possibilities of the form. In fact, so remarkable was his work that such creative composers as Cesar Franck and d'Indy consider the basic principles for our modern development of music to be found in the Fugue of Bach and the Varied Air of Beethoven. For, deadly dull as is the Variation form when treated in a stereotyped manner, by very reason of its freedom from arbitrary rules it may be a most elastic medium for the expression of poetic genius. The composer has but to invent a striking characteristic theme, rich in potential development, and then to let it develop for as long as he can retain the interest of his hearers. Likewise for a great orator the simple rule is to state a theme on which something worth while may be said and then by presenting it in new lights and with copious illustrations to drive the truth home. The principal and significant changes which we owe to Beethoven are the following: complete freedom in variety of key, so that at times (as in his op. 34) each variation is in a new key; a frequent omission of the rigid stops at the end of each variation, e.g., the Slow movement of the Fifth Symphony and the third movement of the Trio, op. 96, so that a continuous flow of thought is preserved; the practice, so often followed in modern literature, of founding variations on a double theme—of which the Finale of the Heroic Symphony is a striking example. But the chief advance in Beethoven is the entirely new conception of what variations should be; not, according to him, mere mechanical manipulations of the subject matter, but vital products of the imagination, as varied as the members of a human family having the same mother. Beethoven's variations, in fact, often seem like a series of character-pieces, each with its own individuality and yet retaining an organic relationship to the main thought. His fondness for the form and his mastery over it is seen by the frequency of its use in the last Sonatas and String-Quartets. Every composer since Beethoven has written one or more works in the Variation form; but we can mention only the most beautiful examples and then pass on to the daring conceptions of the modern school. The Variations by Schubert in his String-Quartet in D minor on the Song, Death and the Maiden, will amply repay study, and so will the Variations Serieuses, op. 54, for the pianoforte by Mendelssohn. As for Schumann, he was very happy in the use of this form, and his Symphonic Etudes, op. 13—in wealth of fancy and freedom of treatment—are quite unparalleled. His Variations for two pianofortes, op. 46, deserve also to be known. Among the finest examples since Beethoven are the numerous sets by Brahms, remarkable alike for emotional power, for free and yet logical treatment of the material and for solidity of workmanship. They include the Variations on a theme from Handel for pianoforte, op. 24; the set for orchestra, op. 56a, on the St. Anthony Choral of Haydn; and the two sets, op. 35, on themes from Paganini—universally conceded to be the most brilliant examples for the pianoforte in recent literature.

To speak now particularly of the modern school, there are five compositions in this form which, for their daring novelty and sustained eloquence, should be familiar to every music-lover and heard as often as possible. For they are elaborate works which must be thoroughly known to be understood and loved. (1), There is the set in Tchaikowsky's Pianoforte Trio in A minor, op. 50; noteworthy for freedom of modulation and for the striking individuality given to the different transformations of the theme—two of the changes being to a Waltz and a Mazurka. (2), The Symphonic Variations for Pianoforte and Orchestra of Cesar Franck, based on two contrasting themes, one in the minor mode and one with modulations to the major. The variations are not numbered and there are no rigid stops; throughout the work Franck's marvellous power of modulation and rich harmonic texture are eloquently manifested. (3), The Istar Variations for orchestra by d'Indy is one of the most original works in the whole field; in that, for dramatic reasons connected with the subject, the usual order is reversed and the variations come first, gradually becoming more and more simple until we reach the theme itself, pure and unadorned. (4), The Symphonic Poem, Don Quixote, of R. Strauss, a complex set of Variations on three themes which typify respectively the characters of Cervantes' story; the Knight, his attendant, Sancho Panza and Dulcinea. The variations are not confined to a merely abstract or formal treatment of the material but set before us a picture of the attributes of the characters and a description of some of their spectacular adventures. (5), Lastly the Enigma Variations for orchestra by Elgar, so-called because the identity of the basic theme is not revealed. The variations are character-pieces which for individuality and charm are a lasting glory to the genius of the composer.[84]

[Footnote 84: For a detailed account see the third volume of D.G. Mason's Appreciation of Music series.]

We shall now analyze, with suggestive comments, two[85] of the well-known sets of Beethoven: the first movement of the Sonata, op. 26, and the Six Variations on an original theme, op. 34. The variations from the Sonata are an early work; but, although definitely sectionalized and with only one change of tonality, they clearly reveal Beethoven's freedom of conception and his aversion to stereotyped treatment. The theme itself is a suave, appealing melody, already cited as an example of a sixteen-measure sentence, and admirably suited for variation purposes, since it arouses at once the expectation of the listener.[86] The first variation is a kind of shadowy, mysterious outline of the theme just presented, as if the composer were musing upon the latent possibilities of his material. There is a quickening of interest in the second variation which, with the theme in the bass, may be likened to a 'cello solo of a mildly bravura nature. (Note the fantastic accents on weak beats in measures 18, 22, 23, and 24.) In the third variation comes a complete contrast in mood; the key is changed to A-flat minor and the theme is transformed into an elegy, all its joy crushed out. The movement abounds in impassioned dissonances, always emphasized by sf marks, and the throbbing pulsations of the bass—in the second phrase—give a tragic intensity of feeling. With the fourth variation there enters that spirit of playfulness so characteristic of Beethoven—the movement being, in fact, a miniature Scherzo. The fifth and last variation is an idyllic revery in which the composer reviews and amplifies the many beautiful fancies which his imagination has conceived, and closes with a coda, based on the motive of the main theme, of tranquillity and satisfaction.

[Footnote 85: These compositions are not printed in the Supplement, as it may be assumed that the student can readily procure them. They are published in a number of editions.]

[Footnote 86: For some illuminating comments on the whole Sonata see Baxter Perry's Descriptive Analysis of Pianoforte Works. (The Theodore Presser Co.)]

The set in F major, op. 34, is a striking illustration of Beethoven's fondness for mediant relationship, since no two variations are in the same key; the tonic of each being a third below that of the preceding. The Key-scheme is F, D, B-flat, G, E-flat, C minor; and then, through the descent of a fifth, back to the home-key, or in actual notes:

[Music]

The first variation is a highly embellished treatment of the opening theme; the melodic outline being merely hinted at in unimportant parts of the phraseology, e.g.

[Music: original theme]

[Music: 1st Variation]

Written in the old ornate style, it is of interest chiefly for the pianistic effect. In the second Variation we have a change both of time and key; the impression being that of a distant march for men's voices or for soft trombones. The third Variation, again with change of time and key, illustrates Beethoven's fondness for a subtle outlining of the theme. In the fourth Variation the theme is transformed into a Minuet of graceful swing; and in the next Variation a strong contrast is afforded by the Funeral March, the minor mode being used for the first time. The last Variation—in the home-key—gives a brilliant summing up of the characteristic features of the theme. Note especially the reminiscent effect of the closing measures.



CHAPTER IX

THE SONATA-FORM AND ITS FOUNDERS, EMMANUEL BACH AND HAYDN

We have now set forth, with representative illustrations, all the fundamental forms of instrumental music, i.e., the Canon, Fugue and Invention, the Two and Three-part forms, the Rondo and the Varied Air. Through the perfecting of these means of expression music became a living language of communication, ready for that development which, through the genius of the Classic and Romantic masters, it was destined to show. The essential feature of all the above forms is the emphasis laid on one theme. This is strictly true of the polyphonic forms, the Canon, Fugue[87] and Invention and of the Two-part form; and although in the Three-part form we have a second theme, this is merely for contrast and is often of rather slight import. The same comment holds true of the Rondo where, notwithstanding the new contrasting themes of the episodes, the centre of attraction is the single main theme, to which constant recurrence is made. Obviously the Varied Air is the expansion of a single theme. But the principal characteristic of the Sonata-Form, now to be studied, is that we find therein two themes of coequal importance, which may well be compared to the hero and heroine of a novel or the two leading characters in a drama. It is true that a composer will often in the creations of his imagination show a marked preference for one theme over the other; just as, in the family group to which the child owes its life, either the man or the woman is likely to be the stronger character. But as there can be no child without two parents, so the organism of the Sonata-Form derives its vitality from the presence and interaction of two living musical personalities, the first and second themes. The first theme is so called because it is the one first presented and because it generally furnishes the prevailing rhythmic pulse of the movement. Yet the second theme,—exactly as important in its own way, is often of a greater beauty; its title of "second theme" implying nothing of a secondary nature, but merely its position in order of appearance. No greater step was ever taken in the growth of musical structure than this introduction of a second coequal theme; for the principle of duality, of action and reaction between two forces, runs throughout nature both human and physical, as is seen from the import of the terms: man and woman, active and passive, positive and negative, heat and cold, light and darkness. The first theme, in fact, often resembles, in its vigor and directness, a masculine personality; while the second theme, in grace and tenderness, resembles the feminine. As long as music confined itself to the presentation of but one main theme it was hampered by the same limitations which beset the early Greek tragedians, in whose primitive plays[88] we find but one chief actor. The introduction of a second theme can not be attributed to any single man; indeed it resulted from a tendency of the times, the demand of which was for more homophonic melodies rather than for an elaborate polyphonic treatment of a single one. Embryonic traces of a second theme we find in D. Scarlatti (see Supplement No. 40) and in Sebastian Bach himself.[89] Scarlatti,[90] in fact, was often hovering close to the Sonata-Form and in the example just cited actually achieved it. The systematic employment of the second-theme principle, however, is commonly attributed to Emmanuel Bach (1714-1788), although an undue amount of praise, by certain German scholars, has been given his achievements to the exclusion of musicians from other nations who were working along the same lines. Any fair historical account of the development of the Sonata-Form should recognize the Italians, Sammartini and Galuppi; the gifted Belgian Gossec, who exercised such a marked influence in Paris, and above all, the Bohemian Johann Stamitz (1717-1757), the leader of the famous Mannheim Orchestra, of whom we shall speak further when we come to the orchestra as a medium. In many of Stamitz's Symphonies we find the essential first-movement structure (i.e., tripartite grouping with a clear second theme) and, as Riemann says in his Handbuch der Musikgeschichte, "Their sincere phraseology, their boldness of conception and the masterly thematic development give Stamitz's works lasting value. Haydn and Mozart rest absolutely upon his shoulders."[91]

[Footnote 87: Except in the comparatively rare cases where we have a Fugue on two subjects.]

[Footnote 88: Illuminating comments on this point will be found in Outlines of Musical Form from W.H. Hadow's Studies in Modern Music (2nd Series).]

[Footnote 89: See the prelude in D major of the second book of the Well-tempered Clavichord.]

[Footnote 90: For further information consult the first chapter of J.S. Shedlock's The Pianoforte Sonata.]

[Footnote 91: For an extended account of this development see the second chapter, Vol. II, of The Art of Music (The National Society of Music, N.Y.). See also Chapter XIX of Pratt's History of Music.]

The other marked characteristic of the Sonata-Form is the second part which is known as the Development Section; for, as we shall soon explain, the structure as a whole is tripartite. In this portion of the movement the composer has an opportunity to improvise, as it were, with his material, using one theme or both as already presented. Dry and labored development sections may, of course, be found in certain Sonatas and Symphonies, but in the great works of such masters as Beethoven, Brahms, Tchaikowsky and d'Indy the development is the most exciting part of the movement. The hearer is conducted through a musical excursion; every device of rhythmic variety, of modulatory change and polyphonic imitation being employed to enhance the beauty of the themes and to reveal their latent possibilities.

Before going further, it is well to point out a confusion which often arises between the terms Sonata and Sonata-Form. When we speak of Sonata-Form we mean invariably the structural treatment as to number of themes, key-relationship, etc., of any single movement within a series.[92] By the term Sonata is meant a composition generally in three or four movements, e.g., First Movement, Slow Movement, Minuet or Scherzo and Finale; of which, in most examples of the classic school, the First Movement—and often the last—were in Sonata-Form. An alternative name, indeed, for Sonata-Form is First Movement Form. Beginning with Beethoven, however, composers began to exhibit great freedom in the application of the Sonata-Form. We find Sonatas of Beethoven, notably the set op. 31, in which every movement (even the Scherzo) is in Sonata Form or a modification thereof; on the other hand, there are compositions, entitled Sonatas, in which not a single movement is in pure Sonata-Form, e.g., Beethoven's Twelfth Sonata, op. 26. These comments apply equally to many other large instrumental works. For a symphony is merely a Sonata for Orchestra, a String-Quartet a composition—of the same general type—for four solo instruments[93] and there is, furthermore, a large group of ensemble compositions: Sonatas for Violin (or any solo-instrument) and Pianoforte; Trios, often for unusual combinations, e.g., Brahms's Trio for Violin, Horn and Pianoforte; Quintets and even Septets—in all of which the distinction must be made between the terms Sonata and Sonata-Form. Nor is there any rigid rule in regard to number of movements or the moods expressed therein. The classic Sonata, Symphony or Quartet, as we have stated above, generally contained three or four movements, of which the first would be direct and vigorous in nature—a summons to attention—cast in sonata-form, with a wealth of material organically treated, and requiring from the listener concentrated attention. The second movement was generally much simpler in form, affording relief after the tension of the preceding movement—its themes of a lyric nature, often with great depth of emotion, sometimes even of tragic import. The third movement, Minuet or Scherzo, would portray the light, humorous side of life; and the Finale, joyful and optimistic—its themes often bearing strongly the sense of finality—would close the work with a general feeling of satisfaction. It was Beethoven who first modified these principles to suit his own poetic needs. Thus we find some of his Sonatas with only two movements; some have three, some have four. One of Schumann's Symphonies contains five movements and Rubinstein's Ocean Symphony seven! When we reach the modern school, we shall see further freedom as to number, order and type of movements.