%M Santbk0 m MnBxt-^JUmh ESSAYS UPON TOPICS OF INTEREST TO ALL MUSIC-LOVERS BY H. E. PARKHURST 1^ NEW YORK CARL FISCHER 1914 Copyright, 1914, BY CARL FISCHER New York International Copyright Secured T3 Wjf e/ ^ Uu^MA HMpXAOAA CONTENTS Prelude i Has Modern Music any Originality ? 2 How TO Listen to Music 10 What is the Use of Studying Harmony? 18 The Art of Phrasing 27 What is Counterpoint ? 32 Organ Versus Orchestra 47 The Downfall of the Fugue 52 Should the Standard of Church Music be Lowered TO Suit a Congregation's Taste ? 60 Preponderance of Concord over Discord in Music ... 64 The Constitution of an Orchestra 69 Should Religious Text be Sung to Secular Music? ... 94 Why do We have Four-Part Harmony ? 103 Quartet Versus Chorus Choir 108 How Two-Part Harmony can have the Force of Full Harmony 115 Is IT Advisable for Vocal Pupils to Sing in Chorus Choirs? 120 The Limitations of Harmony 125 The Relation of the Auxiliary to the Fundamental Chords 130 The Relation of Choir Singers to the Church 142 The Greatest Mystery in the Art 147 How is Music Composed ? 166 Why do We have Discord in Music? 176 bbs!6i.i4 Prelude ^I^N the vast domains of Music there are many ^1 broad routes, much frequented, so that they have ^^•^^ become quite familiar to the public. There are also countless bye-paths, inconspicuous and seldom trodden, that allure the steps of a rambler who en- joys secluded nooks and comers, as well as the imposing vista and the wide sweep of scenery. It is to a few of these hidden spots, quite unheralded in the book of fame, that the reader is brought, for the pleasure of an idle hour, in the following pages. RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Has Modern Music Any Originality? ^JTHE tonal art apparently culminated in Bach, ilL Beethoven, Mozart, Wagner, and a few other ^^ masters in composition, who have all passed away. Did originality cease with them, and are the works of their successors simply "reminis- cences" — echoes of old stories told in modern phrases? Solomon once observed that "the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done; and there is nothing new under the sun" — a rather original remark, by the way, that was uttered by this hlase and pessimistic king of old, who would doubtless have resented the imputation of his famous aphorisms having been reminiscences of older thought, just as any one in our day would be offended if another were to speak as disparagingly of him, as in mock humility he will speak in regard to him- self. The matter of present and future originality in art and in literature is a much mooted question; and yet the recognition of a few undeniable facts would simplify if not settle the dispute. The whole argument is usually obscured by the thoughtless assumption that, if an idea is to be original, it must be totally, in every point and particular, original; that nothing in the en- tire scope of the idea that is already familiar can enter into it, without upsetting its claim to novelty. But this is unreasonable; we do not argue in that way on other subjects. Such a position is as untenable as it is 2 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND to say that an apple, to be rotten, must be all rotten. If three-quarters or even seven-eights of it were entirely sound, we should still properly call it a rotten apple; it is radically different in its nature from a thoroughly sound apple. We thus characterize the entire fruit ac- cording to a small element that is distinctive. So of originality. If an idea -^ be it of truth or of beauty — contains a single novel element, or even a fresh arrange- ment of familiar elements, so that it presents a new as- pect, so far forth it is an original idea. Precisely as it now is, it has never been before. A terse, racy or pic- turesque way of putting a familiar truth imparts new life to it, and in that infusion of vitality there is a vein of originality, precisely as the re-arrangement of the same chemical elements results in a new substance. The self-same carbon, in one arrangement of its parti- cles is simply vulgar coal, and in another, a brilliant diamond. A striking instance of actual originality in the simple re-statement of a perfectly familiar truth is found in a notable remark of Emerson, who had a most graphic and fascinating way of recasting a well-known idea, and giving it the unique Emersonian flavor. As showing the greater significance of conduct, as compared with one's words, in estimating a man's character, he said, "What you do speaks so loud, I cannot hear what you say!" For several days after hearing that expression I thought it to be a brilliant way of stating an entirely original idea, until I recalled the very hackneyed aphor- ism, "Actions speak louder than words." No element in Emerson's thought, save that of an indefinable vi- 3 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND tality, is lacking in the well-worn phrase, but that new life recreates it, and gives it the stamp of originality. It is due to our ignorance that we attribute so much originality to the wise men of old — ignorance of those anterior thoughts that passed through their minds, and reappeared in novel form, coming down to our time as veritable creations of their brain. Thoughts, like all living beings, have an interminable line of ancestry; yet, like ourselves, each has that strange ingredient of super-added, independent personality which justifies the claim of being an original. The foregoing discussion is thoroughly relevant to our subject; for what is true, as regards the originality of a truth-idea, is equally applicable to the originality of a beauty-idea in any of the arts. The old composers were plagiarists — often unconsciously, but often consciously, openly and boldly. "Quotations" — to use the mildest term — which would now instantly condemn a com- poser's reputation, were often made without a shadow of criticism. There was no insisting that an idea or a phrase should be throughout original. In the epoch when musicians were revelling in the delights of the newly discovered art of counterpoint — harmonizing in various ways a given theme — it was not considered necessary that the theme itself should be original; any- one was at full liberty to take a theme, however familiar, as the basis of his composition, and in the elaboration of a hackneyed melody, the work in its entirety was re- garded as an original creation. Musical thoughts, like all other thoughts, are in part an inheritance from the past, and a very large amount 4 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND of what every composer has written, even the most famous and most original of them, is second-hand thought. Certain chord-progressions have been used over and over again by all the writers of the past, and will doubtless be reiterated through all future time. Even some of the characteristic phrases, melodic and harmonic, of the great writers, which we now regard as their own invention, were taken, in part or wholly, from their predecessors. We can say this with the more cer- tainty inasmuch as the greatest composers were the most assiduous students of others* writings, and ab- sorbed their spirit and more or less of their phraseology; even more, doubtless, than is done by modern writers; and such absorption inevitably meant the reappearance, more or less veiled by their own creative genius and in- dividuality, of the ideas of others. Even the famous Handelian cadence, occurring at the end of so many of his compositions, is found in other writings to which he doubtless had access. Bach so far eclipsed his prede- cessors and contemporaries that he now shines alone in his quarter of the heavens, like Sirius without a peer among the fixed stars, and we are disposed to regard him as sui generis, independent of the thoughts of others; yet analysis shows him not exempt from ex- ternal influence, and that his mind ran in pre-established grooves. It is his own confession that when he wished to be inspired to a mood of composition, he would study the scores of Handel ; and it would be inevitable that he would absorb and reproduce slight phases of that mas- ter's thought. It requires but very little to give a strikingly original 5 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND flavor to a most familiar phrase, and in a passage of several measures a fraction of a single measure is some- times sufficient to give it the distinctive feature of originality. As showing how a minute touch of novelty can trans- form a long succession of commonest chords into some- thing as beautiful as it is unique, take the following ex- ample of fundamental harmonies, so commonplace that they are repeated over and over again in a student's exercises : 9 rr- r~^ — 1 25 1 - speech. Articulate language, though pre-eminent ^^^ above all other modes, is totally inadequate to express certain ideas which lie quite beyond the power of any verbal utterance — a declaration to the mind and soul too subtle for words. "The heavens declare the glory of God," though they have "no speech nor language" — an eternal expression more sublime than any mundane form of oratory. Every one of the fine arts speaks its own ideas, and the universe is full of visible, audible, or inaudible messages from the Mas- ter mind to His creatures; and from one creative mind to another. Untranslatable as any art-idea is into human phrase made up of nouns, adjectives and verbs — the idea of a work in sculpture, architecture, painting or music — it is in some ways very analogous to an idea that comes to us through the medium of verbal expression; and no- where is the analogy carried so far as in the case of a musical idea. Indeed the analogy is so far perfect that we shall best arrive at the purpose of this essay, which is, to explain what is meant by phrasing in music, by first analyzing an ordinary verbal thought. Suppose I say, "The atmosphere is blue." We have here a single and complete idea, without modification of any sort. It is not a great thought, but may serve as the type of all simple thoughts expressed in articulate phraseology. It stands complete and alone in the 27 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND mind, isolated from every other thought, or any modify- ing aspect of that thought that might be in more or less close relation to it. If I say, "The atmosphere is blue, and of a deeper blue in winter than in summer," we have added to it a subsidiary thought; and thereby the original complete thought now seems incomplete; and only by grasping the double phase of the idea can we say that the thought is complete, and the sentence finished. In the ex- pression of this compound thought, we again have one complete sentence, but in two parts closely related. Suppose, once more, that I say, "The atmosphere is blue, and of a deeper blue in winter than in summer; yet the coloring is so slight that one must look through miles of it to perceive the color." Here we have a three- fold statement, not complete as before, at the end of the second phrase, but fully rounded out, by the newly added qualification in regard to the faintness of the coloring. This compound thought, then, is expressed in the three successive phrases; and in speaking it, the voice falls somewhat after each phrase. But it will be ob- served that there is a closer union of the first two phrases than of the second and third; and the proper delivery of the sentence calls for less falling of the voice, and for less of a pause, after the first phrase than after the second. This falling of the voice is a cadence; for the word cadence means a falling; and by the fall and by the slight delay before beginning the next phrase we have the proper separation of the several elements or phrases of the entire thought. This gives a suitable 28 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND distinctiveness to each organic fragment of the thought, thus making the whole idea easily intelligible to the listener. It is essential that each phrase should be grasped in its own individual entirety as well as in its coherence with the rest of the sentence, and this pur- pose is effected by the modulation of the voice, and by the delay in passing from one phrase to the next. As a visible sign of these two things, we have the marks of punctuation, which make it easier for the reader to see the structure of the sentence, and to express it properly. In the sentence quoted above we have a comma after the first phrase, but a semicolon after the second, showing the relative degrees of separation called for, in order to give due weight to each subordinate part of the idea. A period follows the third phrase, show- ing that the sentence is completed; and this indicates a still lower fall of the voice, and a still longer pause. We might say that after enunciating each phrase, or fragment of the thought, the mind, as it were, rests; and the amount of rest is proportionate to the relative significance of each phrase. In arriving at each partial resting place, it is instinctive for the voice to drop; and in gathering itself for entrance upon a new phrase, an instant of time must needs elapse. It has recently been demonstrated that in reading the written page, the eye does not glide along continuously, word by word, but takes in words by groups, so that its motion is inter- mittent, with an instant of rest after each movement. In somewhat the same manner the attention is focused from phrase to phrase, in grasping the sense of what is written. The punctuation corresponds to this division 29 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND of the sentence into its parts, and when it is long and intricate, the marks are of the greatest assistance in the understanding of the whole idea. The smallest organic parts are separated only by a comma; larger ones by a semicolon, then a colon, and finally a period. But none of these few marks have an invariable value. The differences in the amount of necessary separation are too numerous to be all matched by their proper signs. The period, for example, has a wide range of value, as indi- cating the completion of a thought. In a lengthy treatise upon any subject we have the whole work divided into chapters, each chapter into paragraphs, each paragraph into sentences; and chapter, paragraph and sentence are all punctuated with a period. But the successive thoughts, though complete, yet in a sense are not com- plete, and the voice falls more at the end of a paragraph than at the end of a sentence; still more at the end of the chapter, and most of all at the conclusion of the work. Thus the same mark signifies different degrees or stages of completeness of the grand idea. The accomplished reader is he who by proper pauses and modulation of voice indicates the respective values of the larger and smaller fragments of a complete but complex thought. We have taken pains to state the philosophy of verbal phrasing and punctuation, because it is equally appli- cable to the intelligent interpretation of music. A symphony or sonata is a lengthy musical treatise, divided into chapters — called movements — the chap- ters into distinct sections analogous to paragraphs, and each paragraph into a number of small fragments re- sembling phrases; and the true interpreter has his 30 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND cadence feeling and observes the pauses precisely as the orator or reader. The rounding out of a musical phrase so as to suggest a cadence feeling is effected by certain combinations of chords called cadences, and classified into authentic, half, plagal, etc., corresponding in strength to the various sorts of punctuation; and in proportion to the significance of each phrase must be its accompany- ing pause. The art of phrasing is simply musical elocution. The sense of the music depends just as much upon its proper phrasing as does that of the verbal page, and its render- ing demands the fullest insight into its structure — a quality of work upon a far higher plane than that of digital dexterity, and the crowning feature in an artist's interpretation. The playing of Hans von Biilow many years ago in this country did not excite the wild enthusiasm of many a subsequent artist; but it was a revelation of the significance of phrasing that was quite unknown before, and it probably produced a more instructive effect upon musicians than that of any other piano virtuoso. 31 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND What is Counterpoint? ^■JTHERE is probably no term in use connected a|L with any of the arts which to the popular mind ^^ seems so mysterious and profound as the word counterpoint. To the initiated, however, while the word is shorn of all its mystery, and is seen to have a very precise and easily understood signification, it becomes, on the other hand, one of the most pic- turesque and expressive words in the language, a verbal portraiture of past ages, a striking summary of ancient history, calling up the vision of monasteries, monks, and monastic occupations, in the dark period of the Middle Ages, when goodness, to keep itself uncontami- nated with the world, fled to those religious retreats wherein for a long period all the learning of Europe was sheltered as in an ark amid the ignorance and heath- enism that prevailed. That was a period that antedated the knowledge of printing, a time when all books were parchments, and when the sacred leisure of the monks was largely spent in slowly reduplicating in manuscript all works of religion, art and science, often with exquisite artistic decorations, in the "illuminated" copies that were to be the admiration of future generations. It was literally the pen — which is now supplanted by the press — that was wielded in laborious fashion, and has left the evidence of a patient zeal that was matched by an ignorance that was childlike, as com- pared with those discoveries of later date that make 32 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND so much of the wisdom of the Middle Ages merely purile. Music, like everything else, found its only cultivation in these monastic retreats, save as it was heard through- out the country from the lips and strings of the wander- ing bards, who charmed their listeners with their crude but poetic ecstasies, and found willing listeners to their tales of love and war even among the austere and peaceable monks. But the serious and systematic cul- tivation of music was only within these hallowed walls, and consequently sacred music was the highest type of the art in those olden days; and for centuries all the advance made therein was due to the unconquerable zeal of these few conservators of righteousness and truth ; and it was a zeal at which one can only be amazed, when we consider in how rudimentary a condition it so long remained, unable, as we should suppose, to inspire any ambition for its further prosecution. And to the student of musical history it is perhaps the greatest mystery that is anywhere revealed in all history, that the most universal and instinctive of all the arts, in its very nature the most spontaneous — the art of music — has been the last of the arts to culminate, and has reached its climax through so long a period of painful endeavors, to which there is nothing comparable in the development of painting, sculpture, or architecture. The Greeks produced masterpieces in stone, which, comparatively speaking, seem to have been arrived at by a bound, and which have been the admiration and despair of all subsequent times. And apparently, judg- ing from the very few remains of classic pictorial art, Z2, RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND whose masterpieces could not withstand the tooth of time like unyielding marble, the advance of the Greeks in painting was scarcely if at all inferior to that of sculpture. Their music, however, according to all avail- able evidence, despite the panegyrics of their poets, was crude to the last degree, and to modern ears would be but child's play, if not actual torture. Thus the buried civilization of antiquity left no heritage, as a substantial basis to build upon, and still less as models to emulate, to the early Christian centuries, in this art which at the dawn of our era began from the foundation its unique ■career, to become eventually more widely influential as a household possession than any other art. Without denying that the music of the first ten cen- turies of our era was in a way impressive to its hearers — otherwise they would have had no lasting impulse to cultivate it — it yet remains simply inconceivable how it could have been so, to any modern musician who analyzes its details, and reproduces in imagination its effects. For at that period it was quite devoid of what we regard as the two essentials of all music — which are, indeed, the sum total of the art to our ears — melody and harmony. At that time, melody, as we understand it, was absolutely unknown, what passed by that name being but a meaningless succession of tones unrelated in rhythm, and only obscurely related in scale; yet, we must confess, appealing to its auditors sufficiently to command their respect, and to inspire them to strive for its higher development. And this so-called melody was devoid of any artistic harmony, either vocal or instrumental, save as it was 34 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND incoherently and unsystematically supported here and there by additional tones that showed a groping for harmonic effects not less grotesque than were their strivings for melody. The monks all sang in unison in those early days, and their efforts to learn and to transmit the melodies of their service were certainly most arduous, for they had only the crudest system of notation — no staff as we have — and by placing notes higher and lower on the paper they tried to convey the idea how much the voice was to rise and fall. The result was that oral instruction was the only reliable means of securing the exact per- formance of any melody. Without the modern sense of precise rhythm, their efforts to indicate the duration of tones were equally unavailing, except as the singers imi- tated some person*s actual performance. The result was that the melodies were principally acquired by a parrot- like imitation of a monk who was competent to sing the music in the traditional way. It will be at once under- stood what a precarious method this was for the trans- mission of time-honored melodies to future generations. Doubtless they were measurably successful, for it was not with them so much a matter of artistic ambition as of religious principle; and. some of the melodies that have remained to the present day may certainly be re- garded as showing the style of their melodic thought, even though the thoughts themselves may have suffered alteration by the unreliable method of transmission. But the inherent musical nature of the more gifted monks who appeared from time to time, and were accounted as authorities among their contemporaries, in 35 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND the course of the centuries gave fresh impulse to the art; and the names of the great musicians of the Middle Ages are the names of churchmen who felt deeper and saw further than their companions, and succeeded in raising the musical element of the service to a higher plane of utility and artistic excellence. The vital principle of music is in the melody rather than in the harmony, and it was melody that was first seized upon and cultivated, to the exclusion of all syste- matic attempts at its harmonization. Yet a vague long- ing for that which, though it be but an adjunct, can alone give to melody its full significance, has, as we have said, been apparent from the earliest days. The harp, in primitive form, figures conspicuously in the minstrelsy of all ages, and the variety of instruments used in the ancient Jewish service must certainly be thought of as attempting, hov/ever crudely, a concord of sound. Yet many centuries rolled by before the mind grappled seriously with this essential element of modern music; and the raw, haphazard harmonies of the Greeks and of the early Christian church were but the dim and slum- bering presentiment of that long-delayed and mighty revolution in the art, when harmony should become the efficient and indispensable factor that it now is. More important than all the improvements in notation, essential as they were for precise indication of pitch and rhythm, and without which further progress would have been impossible, the most revolutionary step in the ex- pansion of the art was the first systematic attempt at harmony as now universally accepted. Elementary to the last degree, barbaric in some of its earliest effects, 36 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND faulty as all first attempts in a new art always are, we owe a debt of Jgratitude to the bold spirits that took the first steps in the untrodden field, for it signified the utter transformation of the art, making possible its de- velopment and refinement in all its complex relations and ultimate details. Melody was no longer to stand alone; it was to have harmonic support which of itself indeed would be meaningless, but without which melody itself loses half its force, and must inevitably have withered like a plant in dry ground. Let us now trace the meaning of the term counter- point, and briefly illustrate the gradual development of systematic harmonization. A tone added to one already sounding, in a sense stands over against it, or may be called counter to it; one note, joined to another, and sounding simultane- ously, is a counter-note. But in those early days, when music was written and not printed, the natural term to use for note was point, being made by the pressure of the pen or quill. Thus in the addition of a series of tones to accompany a given melody, the notation of it was by a succession of points — that is, of counterpoints. Suppose the original melody to be the following series of whole notes, then the added notes constitute the counterpoint to that melody. i After the innovation of counterpoint, the original melody took the name of "Cantus firmus," as being the 37 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND unchangeable song which had been in use for centuries; the idea being that while different series of accompany- ing tones, by different composers, might be sung, the melody was always to remain unaltered. Another name given to the melody was "Plain Song," referring to the original simplicity of the melody as contrasted with the more florid effects introduced in the counterpoint, as the art progressed. As the novelty of the new art wore off, it fell to a subordinate position, and the fuller significance of melody became recognized. But for a period it almost monopolized the interest of the composer, and the in- vention of the accompaniment was the most fascinating part of his work. This extreme popularity of harmony explains how a composition whose melody was already well known was often attributed to one who had ably harmonized it. This is true in the case of many chorals attributed to Martin Luther, who often, by revising and harmonizing an air, adapted it to the service .:of the church. The definition of counterpoint is thus seen to be very simple. We may say it has two meanings; the one broad, the other limited and strictly technical. In the broad sense, all harmony accompanying a melody con- stitutes its counterpoint; just as applicable to the un- derlying parts of a waltz, or the jingling strains of a harmonized street song, as to a German choral or to a Bach fugue. In the technical sense it is limited to a special form of harmonizing, wherein the several under- lying voices have a large measure of rhythmical indi- viduality, so that they more or less approximate to, 38 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND even if they do not reach, the character of distinct melodies. In the broad sense, the accompaniment of the following melodic phrase constitutes its counter- point, as being tones counter to the melody. In the restricted sense the following is called contra- puntal, wherein the four voices show a marked degree of independence of each other in variety of rhythm, with some measure of melodic quality in each. J^J I i-J J ^^^ y2 m i^ ^ 1-^— ^ s 171 39 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND td: & f=f^ i e It is in the fugue that the contrapuntist is enabled to display the highest possibilities of his art — a species of composition that no longer holds the prominent position it once occupied, for reasons we will not here enumerate, although it affords a species of discipline not to be gained in any other form of composition. Such then is the signification of the term counter- point; the study of which is designed to make one pro- ficient in harmonizing a melody — not alone those melo- dies of the severe sort, known as fugue themes, but those which are such in popular acceptation. By a faithful study of Harmony, one can m^aster it in a comparatively short time, so that it would be super- fluous to linger longer upon it, after becoming adept in chord formation and progression. But Counter- point is limitless, it can profitably be studied forever in its higher ranges; for when the cantus firmus itself is elaborated, as in a fugue theme, the resources of counter- point are inexhaustible, and the student becomes ever more and more pr6ficient in the force, freshness and re- finement of harmonization. If the serviceableness of counterpoint were limited to its preparation for fugue writing, it would scarcely be 40 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND worth the labor in these days when the fugue no longer stands at the pinnacle in the composer's art. We will explain elsewhere the decadence of the art of Fugue. But Counterpoint is as essential as ever for giving one a mastery of all harmonic forms, whatever be the style of composition. All true music has melody, and that melody must be reinforced by harmony; and as the ''development'* — as it is called — of any species of theme consists largely in the variety of its harmonic reinforcement, the composer certainly needs all the equipment that the most rigid contrapuntal discipline can furnish. No melody, however fine, can hold its own against ineffective harmonizing, and the reaction against the strenuous course of study that was in vogue when the great masterpieces of music were being produced, seems to be due to the supposition, that because fugue has passed out of fashion, the art of harmonizing that was indispensable for fugue no longer needs cultivation. Students of the present day have no idea of the severity of preparation that was undergone by those of earlier times, and as a result, both as instrumentalists, as singers and as composers, they rush into public view ill-prepared for the r61e they assume to be able to fill, apparently thinking they have found a royal road, short and of easy grade, to that eminence up which all the composers of the past climbed slowly and laboriously. The higher the building the deeper and more substantial must be the sub-structure, and we may well doubt if we shall ever see another period of pre-eminence in composition until we see a disposition to revert to the well-tried and productive methods of past times. 41 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND We will add one more explanation in regard to coun- terpoint. It is of two sorts, simple and double. In simple counterpoint the voices or parts are so composed as to be in proper relation to each other just as they originally stand, without being capable of being trans- ferred one to another; in double counterpoint the parts are so written that they will also be correct when trans- posed; as, for example, that the soprano should be written an octave lower and be sung by the tenor, and the tenor part written an octave higher and be sung by the soprano. Such transposing of parts is called "inversion," and requires greater skill in the manage- ment of the voices. The following illustrates the ef- fect in two-part harmony, when the two parts are in- verted : i .rrr'W^j'V^'.''t^i:;rr Inversion m the octave , ^ I i i i^ , w Such inversion produces a somewhat similar effect, as the parts themselves are identical; and yet there is a difference, as the intervals between the voices are differ- ent throughout. This inversion is called "inversion in the octave," because one part has been carried higher or lower by just an octave; and this is the interval usually adopted at present in double counterpoint. In much 42 ) RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND earlier times, composers practiced inversions in all the intervals; but they were gradually reduced in number, until the intervals of the tenth and twelfth were the only ones ever used, in addition to the octave, and these but rarely; and some teachers at present make no mention of them at all. The following counterpoint is so written as to admit of inversion in the tenth: i ^ i j—^ r Inversion in the Tenth l-H^-) ^—»- frifrrr itbt ■^ u t * i? I J LI I I J J I J J 1 JTJ— T t=t -*—•■ ^ r^f The following is an example of inversion in the twelfth, in which it will be seen that the third is the safest in- terval to use, as it inverts into a third. i l^ ^ id^^^ \ ^ ' * \ i *t -¥^ ^ ^4- i-n ^^ r 43 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND i Inversion in the twelfth (i ;:F=F m ^ ^^^p — 1=- i i ¥ [^ #— ^ -i9- S=^ i=F =*=F If one would see a fine example of double counter- point in the octave, let him examine the famous quar- tet from Beethoven's Fidelio, and see the combination of unity and variety therein afforded by the use of this art. Another beautiful example, worthy of careful study, is in the Allegro movement of the Kyrie of Mozart's Requiem, wherein the theme of the fugue is accompanied by a part that appears at one time above and at another time below — an instance of skilful writing, in the application of an art in composition that has mostly passed out of use, through the indifference and incompetency of more modern composers. ^ w b^^ *t t=r- 44 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND (^^^^^^^^ (^^^^^^^ Inversion « 1^ ^^S5te^3 ^^g e n ararr r:. SB Lie' im "letc. We have thus presented in outline the nature of counterpoint, and the history of its origin and develop- ment. The account is too cursory to be of assistance to students, in furnishing the specific rules that would direct their studies; it is intended rather as a state- ment that will make even the novice somewhat intelli- gent as to the scope of this branch of theory. For one may lack even the slightest technical skill in an art, and yet have quite a clear understanding of its principles, 4S RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND and even be an authoritative critic in regard to the ap- plication of those principles. Such acquaintance with any subject, though superficial, gives breadth to one's intelligence and appreciation. In this way, one who is no musician, in the accepted sense, can, with small out- lay of time, understand the scope of every branch of musical theory and practice. 46 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Organ Versus Orchestra ^yrHE two pre-eminent instrumental forces in the ilL world — organ and orchestra — stand in peculiar ^■^ relation to each other. With points of resem- blance, so that the former often seems a somewhat pale and ineffectual imitation of the latter, there are even more points of contrast, the contrast being of a most contradictory sort. In fact, these two forces stand in a position of quiet but determined belliger- ency toward each other. At times pleasantly compati- ble, there is a strong undercurrent of antagonism which IS aptly expressed by some one who has called them both kings. Hector Berlioz amended and improved the simile by saying they are not two kings, but that the orchestra is king, and the organ, Pope — a strik- ing expression of the dominating spirit of what is popu- larly called "the king of instruments." Organists are constantly endeavoring to produce "orchestral effects," and extreme ingenuity is displayed by many concert performers in this direction by the various combinations of stops: as if the highest achieve- ment in an organ display were in showing its powers of imitation. And, of a truth, these imitations are often very successful, to be followed by others that are equally lamentable failures; which results from the con- fused resemblance and contrariety of the two instru- ments. There is no other instance in which two distinct types of instruments overlap each other in the legitimacy of 47 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND their range of effects, though in this respect the organ is more versatile than the orchestra. If an organist is thoroughly imbued with the orchestral spirit, while sometimes misusing the instrument in attempts at orchestral coloring, he will display many a beauty lying within the scope of the instrument not to be revealed by one whose imagination responds only to the severer or more profound forms of musical thought, which are by many regarded as the more normal type of organ music. This dual capacity of the organ makes the line of separation between the respective provinces of the two instruments an elusive one, and prolific in argumenta- tion, according to individual temperament. In the use of the organ one cannot possess too much temperament, but it must be held in restraint by sound judgment. Even the stops that most nearly resemble orchestral instruments — clarinet, flute and oboe, with certain "string tones" of more modern invention — lack a cer- tain human quality found in the originals, and are most effective when characterized by a true organ method of treatment, wherein the orchestral suggestion is quite secondary. The crowning effect of every musical instrument is in that personal touch that identifies the instrument with the performer. In this lies the pre-eminence of the human voice, the great God-given instrument, which is a vital part of the performer himself. Unique in this re- spect it stands supreme; and in proportion as the tone of any other instrument is under the immediate sway of the performer, responsive to his subtlest change of 48 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND mood, with the least possible intervention of mechanical appliance, in that proportion — the tone quality apart — is the tone capable of receiving the full impulse of the mind and heart of the performer. Violin and virtuoso seem blended in one corporeality, for there is the slightest possible barrier of the bow between the instrument and the musician. In wind instruments the breath of the player conveys his own spirit into the vibrating column of air, moulding the quality and volume of tone from the most delicate and tremulous to the most inspiriting and triumphant. In piano and organ, the intermediary mechanism puts the artist at a longer reach from the tone produced ; and in proportion as it is less responsive, it falls farther short of absorbing and expressing the full animus of the player. This, however, is not conclusive of the entire in- feriority of piano and organ to the voice, the violin and the orchestra, the last of which finds its stupendous power in being a multiple personality, every string and pulsation of air from thirty, sixty or a hundred per- formers being in the most immediate relation to the indi- vidual performers — a thrilling concentration of personal energy. Loss in one direction, however, niay be com- pensated by a gain in other directions, and in one re- spect the voice and violin — the grandest exponents of melody — are notably inferior to the piano and organ, being incapable of harmonic support of the melody. Harmony being an essential element of music, the piano gains a peculiar pre-eminence by virtue of a sing- ing quality of tone combined with a crispness, fullness 49 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND and virility of supporting harmony that measurably ap- proaches the characteristics of the stringed instru- ments, each element of the harmony also susceptible of the requisite emphasis, as in the orchestra, though lack- ing the differentiation of tone-color. This capacity of the piano, this unique sum total of qualifications, makes it inevitably the universal instrument of the musical world, whatever its shortcomings in many respects; available also, as no other instrument is, through its cost and size, for gratifying the general musical mood and temperament. But, with all its melodic and harmonic capacity, its flexibility and piquancy, its thrilling climaxes, and its superb diminuendos, this again lacks, as all other in- struments lack, the peculiar majesty, the tremendous power, and the surpassing serenity of a mighty organ — the instrument par excellence of spiritual enthusiasm, of deep devotion, and of the heart's truest peace. The piano is in the mood of home life, in the wide variety of its experiences; the organ has the churchly mood. Grave, but not necessarily sombre, there is an undertone of seriousness in all music congenial to this instrument, that is repugnant to any approach to frivolity. No other instrument is so nobly jealous of its dignity. Merriment is within the bounds of its versatile mood, but triviality and flippancy would be desecration. Indeed, there is no way so conclusive in which this in- strument is plainly seen to be unique among all others, as in the fact that however noble their effects at times may be, a trivial misuse of them does not essentially degrade them. In their frivolous employment they 50 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND still have something in their nature congenial to it. The violin may be for elegies, but it is for the dance- hall, too. The piano is the worthy exponent of Beetho- ven concertos, but one does not feel that it is being in- sulted when brought down to the level of a two-step. Both instruments have a composite nature, capable of the highest and the lowest in art. The two elements in their constitution may be at war with each other, but it is a union of the spiritual and the carnal. The organ alone has that singleness and loftiness of character that make it the grandest instrumental exponent of the soul's high- est aspirations. Whoever would be a master of this in- strument must have a reverent spirit. 5x RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Downfall of the Fugue ^^N the time of Bach the fugue was the consum- ^1 mate flower of musical composition. Other ^*^ styles of writing, as distinctive types, were few, and those few were ill-developed. The modern orches- tra, with its thousand charms of tone color, its maze of interwoven melodies, its brilliant and sonorous sweep of harmonies, was only in embryo. The fugue was the goal of all aspiring composers, and all the wealth of contrapuntal skill, all the resources of artistic inge- nuity, were lavished upon this supreme idol of the composer. Within this province, so contracted in many ways, so limitless in other ways, the most pro- found thinker could expatiate, with the consciousness of inexhaustible variety in harmonic combinations, in drawing ever closer to, yet never attaining, the su- preme ideal of the fugue, which makes it the unique, most difficult and crowning form of all composition, wherein each voice or part is at once a distinctive melody and an element of the harmony. Bach himself, that giant harmonist and contrapuntist, did not attain to the ideal. Every part was not of equal melodic signifi- cance, wonderful as the parts may have been in their harmonic aspect. It is no disparagement of the grandeur of his writing to say that he was the unsuccessful though foremost exponent^ of a form of composition that in- volves possibilities which, within the compass of the longest life of the most gifted genius, are absolutely unattainable. 52 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Yet the fugue, though infinite in extent, and unap- proachable in its ideal, was but one side of the entire art. It is no disparagement of mountain ranges and of oceanic masses to say that each fills its own place supremely in the display of nature, but that each is powerless to fill another's place as an exponent of beauty and grandeur. Like the material creation, musical art is a stupendous composite, a sublime organism, each member of which has its own indisputable function, and all conspiring in harmonious rivalry to aid the heart of man to express his deepest sentiments that transcend the power of articulate speech, in tones that sweep the gamut from the heights of heaven to the abyss of hell. The fugue, concentrated pabulum for even the most disciplined musician, must needs be beyond the ap- preciation of those less deeply versed in the art. With the development of other types of melody, less intel- lectual, more emotional, with the creation of new and distinctive sorts of instruments, and the gradual evo- lution of that greatest of all instruments — the modern orchestra — the scope of the art was wonderfully ex- panded; sentiments that had found no expression in that phase of art that was represented in contrapuntal harmonizing and in fugal forms, were warmed into a deeper glow by the sympathetic expression of more sensuous harmony and melody; and the fugue, from be- ing the Jupiter Tonans on the Olympian mount, became a comparatively inconspicuous member of an ever-in- creasing coterie of charming and graceful divinities, which, at the present time, hold such full sway in the world, that the once supreme god of the art is now al- 53 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND most forgotten; or, if spoken of, only mentioned in cold terms of traditional respect, if not boldly and flippantly ridiculed as an effete specimen of outlived antiquity. In one sense the day of the fugue is irrevocably past. The art is too many-sided to allow any one of its mani- festations to challenge undivided service or a preponder- ating admiration from the world at large. We may, per- haps, say that the world is a happier world now than when it was living in the long cast shadows of the sombre Middle Ages, and that form of art will find the widest and the heartiest response which is in accord with the world's more joyous sentiments. The fugue is too cold and serious a form of art expression to blend easily with the modern mood, to say nothing of the fact that it is a type that demands too much effort and too much technical appreciation to win its way into the heart that is not cast in a rather stem and rigid mould. The fugue, as an endj has had its day, but the fugue, as a means, is not and never will be a merely antiquated mode of art expression. The neglect of discipline in fugue writing can never be compensated for by efforts in other directions, and none have more fully appreciated its value than those composers whose names have been immortalized by their masterly productions in the more popular lines of composition. The essential demands for a well-written fugue are the skilful combination of har- monies, and that interweaving of voices which can be acquired only in the mastery of contrapuntal writing. A composition that rests upon fundamental harmonies that are ill-chosen, that are not, as we might say, coa- lescent, is, in its essential structure a weak, not to say, a 54 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND rotten structure, and no amount of brilliant decoration can hide the structural deformity. The compositions that are permanently enjoyable show always a lucid, simple, yet fresh and strong, harmonic basis; and the free and skilful handling of the voices, in all species of composition, as well as the choice of natural and effect- ive harmonies, is most thoroughly acquired in the long discipline of counterpoint and fugue. But "long disci- pline" is what the modern student is quite averse to. In the confidence that is engendered by ignorance, he believes that a smattering knowledge of the various de- tails of his art will be fully supplemented by his native genius, and that his nature is so much richer than that of his illustrious predecessors that he can reap golden fruit with very little laborious tilling of the soil. The ignorance, still more dense, of his friends, often confirms him in his self-laudatory opinion, and he confidently un- dertakes the vain task of rising without climbing; and he usually lays the blame of his ill success upon any reason whatsoever but the right one — the victim of circumstances — an unappreciative public, etc. What- ever the future of composition, it is safe to predict, that until students take the subject as seriously as it was taken by the eminent composers of past times, no en- during monuments will be produced that will hold a place in the category of standard productions. When an idol has ceased to be worshipped, it eventually falls to the point where it is regarded with interested curiosity; and for the sake of such as are ignorant of the precise nature of that species of composition that has been so widely cultivated in the past, and is now be- 55 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND coming more and more obsolete, we will endeavor, in few words, to explain its mode of construction. In general, a fugue has one short, melodic phrase, which is called the subject, or theme, just as any compo- sition has one predominant melody. But the "melody" of a fugue is of a very different sort from what passes under that name at the present day. It is not a catch- ing phrase, that one instinctively seizes and retains in his memory. It lacks the warmth, the emotional ele- ment, that characterize the popular melody of the day. It lacks color; it is cold; it is intellectual rather than sentimental; it is more like mathematics than like botany; it is more like a monument in stone than like an oil painting; it is stern and severe, rather than joy- ous and smiling. An expert theorist feels its power, and profoundly admires its grand simplicity, its wealth of latent harmony; but it is the admiration of an imposing iceberg, not of an Italian landscape; it is the admiration of a Hercules, not of a Venus. To speak technically, the subject of a fugue is a contrapuntal melody; that is, a series of tones, in a sense melodically coalescent, but whose pre-eminent quality is its adaptability for endless harmonizing. This quality, which is the most essential feature of a fugue theme, is marvelously lacking in what is commonly understood as a melody. The usual type of melody, even in the case of those that are most beautiful, and that are the inspiration of the highest genius, is wedded almost exclusively to one harmonizing; and however great the resources of the eminent composers in the line of harmony, they have very seldom attempted to re-harmonize their great arias. This union of the 56 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND modern type of melody with one harmony is inevitable from the peculiar character of the melody. The modern melody is a monogamist. The contrapuntal melody is a polygamist, and this states the inherent difference be- tween the two types. Consequently, it is only by pro- longed study in musical theory that one learns to ap- preciate the significance, the capacity, the versatility, of a good fugue theme; for its power comes from its un- limited adaptability to harmonic substructures. As a simple illustration, suppose a fugue theme to contain in itself the three following tones: i This would not appeal to any one as a "catching" phrase; he would never whistle nor sing it; but as in- troduced into a fugue melody, it can be used over and over again, from its capacity for diverse harmonizing, thus: i W=^ ^^ w iS>- m '^ I a m f 6 I :i ^^4 ^ I — r P^^f# 57 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The foregoing are re-harmonizings in purely funda- mental harmonies; with the use of auxiliary chords, the variations can be extended indefinitely. The theme, being first given out in one voice is, at Its conclusion, taken up by another voice, at an interval of a fifth above, or a fourth below, while the first voice continues in the form of an accompaniment. Then the third voice takes the theme, with accompaniment of two voices, and, lastly, the subject is announced by the fourth voice; fugues being mostly in four part harmony. After the announcement in the several voices, there is a sort of interlude passage, usually founded on some portion of the theme, or some phrase that has occurred in one of the accompanying voices; and this leads into the introduction of the theme again in the first voice, either in the dominant scale or some closely related scale, succeeded by its entrance into the other voices suc- cessively. It requires great skill to harmonize the melody when it is thus transferred from voice to voice, and the theme that admits of the greatest variety of associated harmonies makes the best fugue. The in- terludes afford opportunity for great variety; and to maintain perfect consistency throughout, with a proper balance of harmony, and the light and shade of various major and minor scales, is perhaps the most serious and laborious problem in composition. The acme of diffi- culty is reached in the more elaborate forms of the fugue that contain two, three, or even four subjects dis- tinctly contrasting and in double counterpoint. Proficiency in fugal composition is of the greatest utility in the less severe though doubtless more at- 58 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND tractive forms of writing; and the freedom and ap- parent ease with which the accomplished composer handles his voices and develops his motives in symphony, sonata, or any of the lighter forms of music, is very largely due to the technical training to which, through a course of years, he has rigorously and patiently sub- jected himself. 59 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Should the Standard of Church Music be Lowered to Suit a Congregation' s Taste? A DIFFICULT question; from time immemorial an unsolved problem; for one may answer it off-hand, yes, or no, and he will seem to be partly right and partly wrong. As for the doctrine inculcated in the preaching, there can be no argu- ment; that is not a matter of taste. The preacher must give them what they ought to hear, and not ask what they want to hear. But the music is not an affair of ethics nor directly of religion; it is religious art, and the element of taste properly enters into it. The audience must face the truth, whether palatable or not; but must they be forced to face a certain standard of art, whether they will or no? Can one say, if their taste is poor, that we can properly compel them to hear what is beyond their comprehension, un- til they rise to it? This is not simply an interesting question, it is a seri- ous one; for the musical service is a prominent feature of public worship, and the acceptability of the music measruably determines the satisfaction of the congre- gation, and therefore the effectiveness of church worship. Shall the audience be humored, or shall they be held rigidly to a line of art which it would be well for them to be brought into sympathy with, and which would give a nobler tone to the entire service? The question is the more puzzling from the fact that every audience is miscellaneous in its taste, that each 60 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND member of it has his own standard, and that in no solution of the question will there be unanimity. Over against the insistence of those who demand that we shall not fall below the highest ideals in order to gratify a more vulgar taste, and that the noblest and best in every contributive art appealing to the eye or the ear should adorn the sanctuary worship, it is main- tained that the church service can not properly fill the r61e of an art-training school, but that on each Sabbath the music should be a contributive factor to the spiritual helpfulness of the entire service. If it be above their com- prehension, does it not fail of its design, and become an intrusion and sometimes an irritation, rather than a help? In a concert one is free to go or stay away, according as he likes the program or the artist. But without that option in church service, should that which is repugnant be forced upon him, with the only consolation, that, if he endure it long enough, he may learn to like it? The foregoing states, we believe, fairly well the main argument on each side of the question, and expresses the dilemma of those who, on the supposition of a wide diversity of taste, according to the degree of individual training, feel the difficulties of the situation, and the hopelessness of a solution of the problem. It may simplify the matter somewhat to call attention to facts that bear strongly upon the point, and yet are gen- erally ignored in the argument. It is commonly assumed that those who feed on husks do so because they prefer them. But it is often, per- haps commonly, because, like the Prodigal in Scripture, they cannot get anything else ! Transport a fine quartet 6i RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND or chorus from a Fifth Avenue church to an East Side service, and what would the audience say? There can be no doubt that if the choir and the music they perform were noble, churchly and dignified, the very offscouring of the Bowery would be delighted. Poverty and illiter- acy are no criterion of the appreciation, in every human heart, of the universal art of song. Even artistic natures have been found in the slums, like jewels in the gutter, and the "common herd" are as quick to feel the magne- tism of a divine singer, as are the world's artists and im- presarios. One of this class has for years heard all the applicants for choir positions in my church, and out of twenty singers heard in succession he never fails to select the best — as keen a critic as nine-tenths of the congregation. I would say ten-tenths, except that it would not show proper deference to wealth and culture ! Even a music committee, proverbial for incompetency, and often having, as the most valuable credential for office, either wealth, social standing, or the fact of hav- ing once been a chorus tenor — even such a one is usually as quick to recognize a superior voice, although inferior to even the average organist, in judging of the other necessary qualifications of a soloist — intonation, sense of rhythm, ability to read, temperament and har- monious personality — points that do not show clearly in a prepared solo, and the lack of which often out- weighs a beautiful voice; and while a superiority of voice makes such an instant appeal to the untrained listener, he is by no means so insensible as is often sup- posed, if endowed with any musical instinct, to the more sterling merit of the higher grades of composition. 62 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The poor in this world's goods get the cheapest in art, very much as they buy inferior food and raiment — they cannot afford better. That the merits of fine authorship appeal to the "lower classes" as strongly as those of a beautiful voice, or that they adequately ap- preciate the latter in the many delicate details of in- terpretation — this we are far from asserting. One's taste may be fine in substance, but crude in finish. Our instinctive cravings, however, are cast in a wonder- fully uniform mould. Our classifications of humanity — are they not, after all, more superficial than intrinsic? Do we not differ far more in complexion than in texture? The laborer's thought of a grand cathedral, though not of so broad a scope, is quite akin to that of the archi- tect's; he is deeply though vaguely impressed. In all the grades of human life there is something deep down that responds to a noble sentiment in art, whether its expression is by the hands of a Raphael, or a Michael Angelo, or a Beethoven. The "Angelus" is a picture of universal plebian reverence for all that is high and holy, deeply hidden as it may be beneath a thick crust of illiteracy and vulgarity. Threads of gold run through the web of even the coarsest natures. Recent attempts to bring the works of the master composers to those whom we call the lower classes of this city have re- vealed an unexpected tide of feeling for the best, of longing for the greatest; and they justify the belief that the abounding cheapness in musical art, sacred and secular, is not because of the deficiency of a finer instinct, but from the prevalence of unawakened desires. 63 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Preponderance of Concord over Discord in Music JN another essay we attempt to explain why dis- cord is at all admissible in music: we are here considering how inconspicuously it is wrought into the texture of good composition. So long as the student is simply writing exercises from a figured bass in the use of ''fundamental chords" and of the first class of auxiliary chords, known as "suspen- sion chords," his task is only to assign the tones of the required chords to the proper voices, and the responsi- bility of the mixture of concord and discord belongs to the one who has written the figured bass. But when he comes to the second group of auxiliary chords, having passed beyond the limits of figured basses, he has reached a critical period of his work, and needs careful instruction. He is now at liberty — within reasonable bounds — to do as he likes in the embellishing of his simple, skeleton harmonies by tones utterly foreign to those chords, which mainly produce discordance, and he is taking his first steps in introduc- ing effects quite similar to those in actual composition. He is now in a position to be pitied, though he does not realize the need of pity — he is, on the contrary, quite exultant over the freedom that is suddenly allowed him; and, as if to make up for lost time, he simply runs riot among the discordant possibilities now within his reach, and will, as a rule, perpetrate more harsh and unmusical effects in a single exercise than Beetho- 64 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND ven would produce in a dozen symphonies. Indeed, a master of the art never produces a truly harsh effect: in the setting of a strong discord he puts, so to speak, the polished side outward. The only way to stem the tide, and keep him within any sort of bounds is to classify the auxiliary effects that are possible, in the way that has been adopted in ''A Complete System of Harmony," showing him a list of these effects gradu- ated according to their degree of discordance — for the auxiliary chords are essentially discordant, although the discordance, when it is rightly used, is artfully veiled by the happy effect they produce. It must be under- stood that the euphony of music is in the fundamental chords, and the virility of music — without which mere euphony soon becomes characterless — is chiefly in the discordances that are mostly produced by the auxiliary chords. Concord and discord in music are quite com- parable to vowel and consonant in articulate speech; and as the strength of a word is in its consonants, so the strength of music is very largely in its discords. Even the "common chord" and its inversions are not absolutely euphonious — the fundamental position con- tains a "fifth" that would not be quite acceptable if not partially concealed by the addition of the third ; and the first and second inversions contain a "fourth" that is even harsher to the ear. And so a succession of the simplest chords does not afford absolutely undiluted euphony. They resemble the "liquid consonants," half vowel, half consonant, that show the atmosphere of Italy rather than that of a northerly clime. And now the task of the pupil is — to state it in a word — to in- 65 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND fuse a pronounced virility into his chord progressions, without destroying the due proportion of euphony and discord — a great task, requiring long experience and an ever increasing refinement of his musical sensibilities. His first efforts are an utter failure, of course. He seems insensible to the crude combinations. There is motion for the sake of motion, discord for the sake of discord — jargon under the name of music. The root of the difficulty is in the inability to appreciate the normal proportion of euphony and discord. He thinks that be- •cause discord is in a sense the most striking part of the harmony it must be made the most prominent; and his •cultivation will be in the direction of discovering how to infuse the foreign and discordant element into the con- tinuous current of euphonious harmony; permeating it, so as to be felt throughout, yet kept in the background ; so that one*s pleasure in concord — which is the only thing that in itself is pleasurable — shall receive no rude shock — harmonious yet virile, mellifluous yet strong. After his first essays in the art, if his now awakening sense of what is required does not sufficiently control his first unlicensed, prodigal use of discord, he should be set to work analyzing the harmonies of stand- ard composers, where he will be amazed to find what an inconsiderable part of the harmonic texture is discord- ant, how large a part of what is discordant is the unac- cented passing tone, the least obtrusive of all dissonant effects. After deluging his exercises with an unbearable amount of irritating harmonies, he will begin to smooth away the harsh angles, substitute the unaccented for the accented auxiliary, and bring out the euphony into 66 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND pleasurable relief. This process will be gradual, the work of patient study and years of application, for it reaches forward to the attainment of that perfected harmony in which the two elements of concord and dis- cord are brought into ideal relation — when he has learned that the only ground for permitting discord is, that it shall enhance the effect of what is concordant, that it shall make euphony more euphonious. Music is not permanently pleasing, unless the un- derlying concordant harmonies shine clearly through the interweaving of the several voices. Whatever is composed along other lines may be the fashion of an hour, but the mind wearies of it; and in the present spasm of taste for music that makes discord predomi- nate over concord, the public still turns constantly for relief to the serene depths of those classic works wherein the masters of composition have followed the normal instincts of mind and heart. Spontaneous, delightful melody, supported by strong yet simple harmonies — this sort of composition is fast becoming a lost art. In lieu thereof, and to gain ad- miration, the so-called "advanced" composer is resort- ing to all sorts of bizarre effects, startling the listener, rather than winning him, into attention, giving him galvanic shocks of brass and drums and strange dis- cords that excite wonder, but leave no satisfying mem- ories. Yet amid all the clamor of a public insatiable for novelties, Beethoven, the exponent of instrumental song, serenely maintains his foremost place in the modern program, for he gives what the heart most longs for, in genuine flood of melody and nobly sustaining har- 67 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND mony, revealing his art-soul through the characteristic message of every string and pipe. There will always be an abundance of curious, entertaining and sensational composition, of distinctly earthly inspiration, the fashion of the hour; but only the music that in some measure seems heaven-born wins enduring admiration, and echoes through the mind in grateful, loving memory. 68 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND m The Constitution of an Orchestra 'ANKIND is very much in love with himself: he is his most interesting study: he regards himself as the supreme object in nature, and ever delights in projecting his personality into all sur- rounding objects wherever he can detect his own moods and traits more or less clearly mirrored. The oak, the vine, the falling leaf, the angry sky, the rest- less billows — these and countless other details of the external world, make a peculiar appeal to him who finds in them a parallelism to his own life, in its strength, its frailty, or its passions: and we catch these reflections wherever we can: it is thus that nature becomes responsive. Possibly it is from a desire for companionship that we thus transform the things around us into half- images of ourselves, but it is assuredly the instinct of all thoughtful minds. Our estimate of all musical instruments, also, is guaged by their capacity to speak, in the subtlest of all languages, what is in us, to sound in our ears an echo of our hearts; this fact will be felt as we analyze the various factors in the greatest instrumental ensemble, the orchestra. Instrumentation is the description of the character and function of these several instruments. Although this knowledge is of practical importance chiefly to one who aims at orchestral composition, it cannot fail to interest any musician whose ambition reaches beyond the narrow scope of his individual instrument, and it 69 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND will make somewhat more intelligible any performance wherein a large number of instruments are involved, as it will differentiate the total and complicated effect into its distinct and diverse details; and the following is a brief account, free from technicality, of the constitution of an orchestra, and of the most essential features of its several instruments. A full orchestra may be approximately defined as the combination of three very distinct groups of instruments, viz., the stringed, the wood-wind, and the brass instru- ments. The quality of tone and the function of these three sets are so different that neither set can do the work of either of the others, and hence no orchestra can be complete without the ample representation of all three groups. It may further be said, that each of these sets com- prises a quartet of instruments, so that it is mainly from twelve instruments, more or less reduplicated for the sake of greater power, that the variety in tone-color is derived. A brief account of the range, tone-color and individual effectiveness of the four instruments in each of the three sets will enable one better to understand the possibilities of that gigantic instrumental ensemble, unique in its own sphere, and a formidable rival of all that is possible in the fullest scope of vocal art — the modern orchestra. Among the three distinct sections of this great com- bination stands foremost the group of stringed instru- ments — the foundation of the structure, all in all the most serviceable, though not appealing to the ear "by such striking and sensational effects as can be obtained 70 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND from other parts of the orchestra; and yet, in the long run, the most satisfying of all the sections, with a quality of tone that never becomes tiresome, with a capacity of sentiment in its widest range, and a versatility in tech- nique, that give to this group undisputed supremacy in instrumental interpretation. The Stringed Section. Foremost in this group stands the violin, ideally the nearest rival of the human voice. This instrument has four strings tuned to G, D, A, E. I ^ '*«*^'> « a n As is noted In the illustration, the highest string, E, is usually called the first string, but it is the second string, A, which is first tuned, and from that all the others. The strings, when not modified by placing a finger upon them, are called open strings, in which the tone is more sonorous than that which is produced when the string is pressed by a finger, and accordingly the lower signatures, leaving more of the strings open for the production of tones, are more favorable for the in- strument than the higher signatures. For producing certain unusual effects, some virtuosi have sometimes tuned their instrument differently, but the circum- stance is so rare that it needs only passing mention. The range of the violin varies with the skill of the performer, the precise intonation of the highest tones 71 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND being beyond the ability of the average player. For the grade of orchestral players the range is as follows: With all the semitones -&-i2. _ i -Tg^- ^^^^ For perfect intonation the highest must, of course, be approached gradually, as the slightest displacement of the finger would be noticeable. The greatest performers can exceed this range by several tones. Throughout this range of three and a half octaves the trill is possible, though hazardous in the highest notes. Only two tones can be held simultaneously, as the strings do not all lie in one plane; but if taken in arpeg- gio form, three or four can be played, a practise that is limited to loud effects. Throughout the range double notes can be played, but with increasing difficulty above the staff. Anyone who examines orchestral scores will often see the word divisi on one or more of the staves occupied by the violin part. This is where, for the ful- ness of the harmony, three or four simultaneous notes occur, and different violinists take different notes, so as to maintain them all. This is also necessary in the case of double notes occurring between the fourth and third strings, as they can only be produced on the lowest string: i 72 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Remarkable effects are produced by the use of tremolo, through the rapid drawing of the bow back and forth on the string. This will express a variety of sentiment, ac- cording to the loudness and the location of the tremolo in the range of the instrument. There is no instru- ment capable of producing such a sense of terror, agi- tation, or a wild and stormy sentiment as a mass of violins in tremolo. A peculiar effect is produced by drawing the bow across the string when it is lightly touched, without pressing it toward the fingerboard, which produces a higher octave. It is to the violin very much what falsetto is to the voice, and the extremely high tones heard in a violin performance are often produced in this way. The quality of the tone is peculiarly softened and muffled by the use of the sordine or mute, a little wooden implement placed on the strings at the bridge. This effect is most advantageous in slow and soft effects. And lastly, the attentive listener cannot have failed to notice the peculiar effect of pulling the string, instead of using the bow, called pizzicato; a staccato effect that perceptibly alters the quality of the tone, very effective in short passages, and at times when the harmony is sustained by other instruments. The Viola. This closely resembles the violin, but its four strings are tuned a fifth lower; ^^ 73 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND its range is about three octaves: With all the semitones i^^^^^^-^^^ .^ ^^ The technique of this instrument is the same as that of the violin. In the string quartet it plays the part of the tenor, the alto part being taken by the second ■\dolin. The viola part is always written on the alto clef, a familiarity with which is necessary for any one who would read orchestral scores or string quartets. As compared with the location of notes on the soprano clef — which, by the way, is really the violin clef, but now used in vocal music — the following shows how the same tone would be indicated in the two clefs. Identical XT Z^ ft? The viola is inferior to the violin in the quality of its tone, although the quality is such as lends itself with especial effect to a mournful mood. It is held in some disparagement, and, in the opinion of Hector Berlioz, ' the great authority on the subject, this disparagement is not well founded. He mentions some reasons for its rather poor reputation, and the reasons are sufficiently interesting to be quoted. Berlioz says, "Of all the in- struments in the^ orchestra, the one whose excellent, qualities have been longest unappreciated is the viola. It is no less agile than the violin, the sound of its strings is peculiarly telling, its upper notes are distinguished by 74 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND their mournfully passionate accent, and its quality of tone, altogether, of a profound melancholy, differs from that of other instruments played with the bow. It has, nevertheless, been long neglected, or put to a use as un- important as ineffectual — that of merely doubling, in octave, the upper part of the bass. There are many causes that have operated to induce the unjust servitude of this noble instrument. In the first place, the ma- jority of composers of the last century" — the i8th — "rarely writing four real parts, scarcely knew what to do with it, and when they did not readily find some filling-up notes in the chords for it to do, they hastily wrote the fatal col Basso — with the bass — sometimes with so much inattention that it produced a doubling in the octave of the basses, irreconcilable with either the harmony or the melody, or with both one and the other. Moreover, it was unfortunately impossible, at that time, to write anything for the viola of a promi- nent character, requring even ordinary skill in execution. Viola players were always taken from among the refuse of the violinists. When a musician found himself in- capable of creditably filling the place of violinist, he took refuge among the violas. Hence it arose that the viola performers knew neither how to play the violin nor the viola. It must even be admitted that at the present time this prejudice against the viola part is not altogether destroyed, and that there are still, in the best orchestras, many viola players who are not more profi- cient on that instrument than on the violin. But the mischief resulting from this forbearance toward them is daily becoming more felt and little by little the viola 75 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND will, like other instruments, be confided only to compe- tent hands. Its quality of tone so strongly attracts and captivates the attention that it is not necessary to have in the orchestra quite as many violas as second violins; and the expressive powers of this quality of tone are so marked, that, in the rare occasions when the old mas- ters afforded its display, it never failed to fulfill their intention.'* This eulogy, from a master in instrumentation and orchestration, cannot fail to arouse a higher respect for an instrument which, to this day, is spoken of with a distinct tone of disparagement. But notwithstanding its peculiar and effective quality in certain uses, its limitations will probably always forbid its being ranked in the same class as the violin and 'cello. Having considered the two instruments that take the part of soprano, alto and tenor, in the string quartet, we come to the one that fulfills the function of bass in the group; namely, The Violoncello. This universally admired instrument, filling a province so distinct from that of the violin, is a close rival of its soprano congener, by many preferred to it, and: with its vein of masculine yet tender seriousness, the noble and indispensable companion of its more airy and ethereal sister. This instrument, like the two fore- ~^' ^. going, has also four strings, turned in fifths: jgL 76 RAMBLES IN MUSIC -LAND Its compass, even for the grade is three and one-half octaves : of orchestral players, -^: -rr^ &- ^ - _^^ _ ^j ^ : tn '^ '^ ^ a ^ n ^ ^ II ^ ^ <^ ^ 11 ^ ^ g "-^ ^ U For the most part, this instrument, when in use, plays the same notes as the 'cello, with, of course, the octave effect; but not infrequently it plays a simplified *cello part, as in the case of rapidly reiterated notes, which it would be cumbersome for the double-bass to execute; in very soft effects of strings, this instrument may often be omitted altogether, and certainly its effectiveness is enhanced by not keeping it in constant use. Owing to the great spread of the fingers, in strings of such length, a rapid succession of notes, which would be feasible for the *cello, is not only impossible, but unsuited to the dignity of this ponderous instrument; but a striking effect is produced by playing a short series of grace notes like the following, which is done by simply sliding the finger along the string, with no attempt to give in- dividual intonation to the several tones: -f^^ rr^ Tfr^ rr -^ ^ This example is quoted from an opera by Gluck to illustrate the harking of Cerberus. In the Pastoral 79 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Symphony, Beethoven uses the same device in depicting the storm. It is to be noted that on several occasions, Beethoven has used notes lower than the instruments of to-day can execute, extending the scale down to C, while the present limit is E. Whether he had instru- ments regularly tuned to reach so low, or whether his instrument was like that of the present day, and es- pecially tuned for certain passages, can not now be determined. The pizzicato and tremolo are no less serviceable on his instrument than on the violin and 'cello, but the sordine is of far less worth. Virtuosi occasionally introduce this instrument in solo; but while such a use of it may redound to the glory of the player for his phenomenal dexterity, it adds noth- ing to the credit of the instrument to make it play a r6le for which by nature it is totally unsuited. The Wood-wind Section. With this brief account of the four stringed instru- ments of the orchestra, we pass on to the second section, where we also find a quartet of wood-wind instruments, indispensable for their coloring, and each of them possessed of special and beautiful characteristics. No invidious comparisons are legitimate between this group and the one we have just described. Each in- strument has its own nature and province, and the orchestra would be impoverished by the loss of any one of them. In the wood- wind group we find the flute, the oboe, the clarinet, and the fagott or bassoon. 80 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Flute. This is, in a sense, the child in the orchestra; it has a peculiarly bright, light-hearted disposi- tion, not serious, yet not flippant, just as a child is not serious nor flippant, for it takes maturity to be either. It is the fringe of a merry smile that the flute gives to the har- mony of undertones, like a ray of sunlight on the printed page. As Berlioz remarks: *'The quality of tone of the medium, and of that of the high portion, has not a very special or decided expression." Not having, in the main, a very pronounced characteristic, save that of brilliancy, it can be used with more freedom than other instruments of its class, in association with various moods, amplifying the harmony, without especially modifying the sen- timent that is being expressed. In the hands of a master, it may, indeed, show more versa- tility, and be used, as has been done by Gluck, to convey even a sad humor; but, in general, it has very limited powers of expression. Its facility in rapid and graceful execution gives it, however, a distinct and valuable place in the orchestra, and its tone-color makes it often in- dispensable, sometimes in isolated solo pas- sages, sometimes to reduplicate other wind or stringed instruments an octave above. a Thanks to the inventions of Boehm, whose rittbrs- flutes are now considered the standard make, flutb 8i RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND the intonation is very accurate, and the range slightly increased, which is given below, and comprises three octaves: though the very lowest tones are seldom ad- visable, and the two highest cannot be sustained pianis' simo. .yo. .^2. ^1 __: i -A sr^ =^^^^ The trill is feasible throughout the range, and the in- strument is capable of an agility in chromatic passages, in arpeggios, and in rapidly reiterated notes that sur- passes that of all other wind instruments, and easily makes it a favorite with those who are most in favor of its peculiar genius. In this connection, a word may be said concerning the piccolo flute, or piccolo, which is a flute whose pitch is an octave higher than the one here described. With its low notes feeble and its highest ones shrill, it must be used with great discretion and only incidentally. The Oboe. The oboe, clarinet and bassoon — the remaining mem- bers of the wood-wind group — are distinguished from the flute by being reed instruments, wherein the vibra- tion of a reed at the mouthpiece gives a peculiar color- ing to the tone. The quality of the tone in the oboe is 82 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND what Berloiz aptly calls "acid sweet." There is an atmosphere of tender melan- choly inherent in this tone, which fits it marvelously well for graceful cantabile. It can even be made to take on a playful and joyous humor, — almost like one smiling through his tears — as it has done in the hands of Beethoven; but as this is naturally associated with a quick and sprightly move- ment, it must not be pushed in this direction too far, for its execution is not fluent, and its tones do not glide into one another as they do in the flute and the clarinet. An air of reminiscence is associated with the oboe, and this usually means a touch of sadness. Vir- tuosi may do wonderful feats upon this instru- ment, but they cannot conceal its inherent nature, and their greatest successes in brilliant exploitation will be artistic — or inartistic — travesties. The range of the oboe is a little over two octaves, as shown below: but the very high- est tones are hazardous. mi ISZ^ A^ g* ^ •&--GL. o gg - -zr-&- H RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The trill is not particulariy suited to this instrument, though often used. The chromatic tones are produced with some difficulty, and there are many which are absolutely impossible, and still others that are not feasible. In large tone-masses, this instrument, like all others, need not be kept so scrupulously within the limits of its special genius; but where its individuality can assert itself, it is not well to extend its compass below G, or above its highest E, and it is most successful in keys of low signature. Somewhat allied to the oboe, but with much larger range, of distinct tone-color, much more versatile in mood, and more fluent injexecution, is The Clarinet. While there is but one oboe, that in C, whose natural scale accords with that of the piano, there are four clarinets, in different scales, C, B-flat, A and E-flat, so that at the beginning of an orchestral score the kind of clarinet is indicated. There is a double advantage in this variety of clarinets; the tone-color is somewhat differ- ent in eaqh; those in the higher keys are more brilliant or piercing, those in the lower keys more mellow; but the chief advantage is in CLARfNYx giving more facility in execution. The natural 84 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND scale in all orchestral instruments, i.e., the scale requiring no sharps or flats, is the easiest to play, and affords the best quality of tone; consequently, by choosing the clarinet whose natural scale lies as far on one side of the C scale as the scale of the composition lies on the other side, the part for this instrument can be written in the scale of C. As the natural scalie of the B-flat clarinet has a pitch one whole tone lower than the normal C scale, its scale of F thereon will be iden- tical to the scale of E-flat on the piano; and if the com- position is in the key of E-flat, the part for this clarinet will be written in F, with a signature of only one flat; or if the piece be in A-flat, this clarinet will be written in B-flat. Again, the A clarinet has its natural scale a minor third below the normal C scale; hence, if the com- position is in E, the part for the A clarinet will be in the much simpler scale of G; and if the piece be in A, this clarinet will play in its C scale. Again, if the piece be in E-flat, the E-flat clarinet would play in the C scale. Thus we could play a part that is to sound in E-flat by using either an E-flat clarinet playing in its C scale, or a B-flat clarinet playing in its own F scale; but the latter is preferable; for, as before stated, those clarinets whose natural scale is below C are more satisfactory than the C or E-flat instruments. When the key of the compo- sition changes, a change in the clarinet is often indicated ; otherwise the instrument might be obliged to play in a very difficult signature. The reading of the clarinet, as of some other instruments, in a different key from that of the composition, is one of the difficulties in orchestral writing, and in reading the score. 8s RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The range of the clarinet is fully three octaves and a half; XT IZT with the semitones This is divided into four registers; 3rd 2d 4th ff5> as"- The first and third are the most satisfactory, the four tones in the second are usually dull, and the highest register is shrill, the extreme notes being difficult and hazardous. Throughout its range it admits of a large number of trills, major and minor, with an intermixture of many that are difficult. To use the expression of Berlioz, "It is the one of all the wind instruments which can best breathe forth, swell, diminish and die away its sound. Thence the precious faculty of producing distance, echo, an echo of echo, and a twilight sound." Its quality is veiled, as compared with the oboe; noble, tender; manly, yet delicate; serious, but not gloomy. 86 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Bassoon. The bass, in the quartet of wood-wind instruments, is afforded by the bassoon, which has the tone-color of the oboe — in reality its lower extension. With a range of over three octaves, it must be written in two clefs : i A Modern Bassoon but the highest tones are hardly serviceable. It is subject to the limitations of its ally, the oboe, and, with many impossible trills at the two extremes of its range, the possible ones are often grotesque. Like the oboe, it is not a transposing instrument, and its best scales are those whose signat.ures do not exceed three sharps and three flats. The Brass-wind Section. We now come to what we may, with some license, call the quartet of brass-wind instruments, though it contains but three types of instruments, trumpet, French horn and trombone. In this brief account, it will suffice to say that the trumpet is practically superseded by the cornet, which plays the part assigned to the trumpet in A Modern Besson Cornet 87 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND orchestral scores. Formerly, the part assigned to the trumpet was very simple, as one will see by examining the scores of the older writers, owing to the great limi- tations of that instrument. But the cornet, whose tone is so good a substitute for that of the trumpet, has in late years been so improved in its mechanism that the ''trumpet part" can now be scored much more elabo- rately than formerly. Cornets in different keys, like clarinets, were once in vogue far more than at present, but they are now brought to such perfection by their pistons that they are practically non-transposing instru- ments, though the Bb cornet is commonly used. The range is about as follows, with the semitones: i The brass instrument of the most delicious quality in the orchestra is the French horn. Formerly a transpos- ing instrument, like the clarinet, it was in different keys, but its mechanism has been improved, like that of the comet, so that it can adapt itself to all scales, though the F horn is usually employed. Being, like the cornet, in its orchestral use A Modern French , , - . , ., ^ •• Horn vcry largely a harmonic rather than a melodic instrument, its best mode of use can be learned most easily by studying scores, rather than from verbal directions. In its present perfection it can render a simple melody very effectively. 88 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The trombones, which afford the most majes- tic and resonant element of color and strength in the orchestra, were formerly of four kinds — soprano, alto, tenor and bass; but only the tenor is in general use. The earlier writers did not use this instrument with the frequency of the later ones, and Berlioz remarks that in his day the tenor trombone was practically the only one used in French orchestras. The slide, which the instrument possesses, enables the player to vary instantly the length of the tube, and thus to produce all the semi- tones, so that this instrument can adapt itself to all scales. The best compass of the three instruments is given below. The alto has its part written on the true alto clef, like the viola, and the tenor is writ- ten on the old tenor clef, or on the bass clef. Of the three, the tenor is much the best, with a quality of tone superior to that of the alto and more capable of rapid execution than the ponderous bass, whose use is too fatiguing Alto ^ a. y^ — bg ^— ^ er — z? Tenor ^ :zL ;2i •iSh Bass t:^ i 89 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND for most players, so that long pauses must be inter- spersed in its part. At the present time, when three- part harmony is required from this instrument, it is usually played by three tenor trombones. Cornets and horns are regularly used in pairs, form- ing a brass quartet, whereas the employment of trom- bones is variable. In this brief summary of the distinctive characters of the chief orchestral instruments, a word must be added regarding two that are quite outside the foregoing category, namely, The Kettle-drums and the Harp. The kettle-drum is the only instrument of percussion that holds a permanent place in the modern orchestra, being distinguished from all other drums in having a distinct intonation, and therefore more intrinsically musical than all others of its class. As a rule, an or- chestra has two or three, but for special effects, more are sometimes added. Berlioz, in his work upon Instru- mentation, quotes a passage from his Requiem in which he used eight pairs of drums, at one point six drums being used simultaneously. Where there are but two, they are tuned usually to the key-note and the fifth; but as there are long pauses, the drummer has time, when the key changes, to fune them to the new key. The effect of these instruments is to give an atmos- phere^ a resplendence J rather than to increase the volume of musical tone; suffusing the whole orchestra with a 90 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND new color which could not be secured by any instru- ment that localizes itself by a more distinct intonation. A brilliant, ethereal and picturesque adjunct of the orchestra is the harp, whose tone-color most beautifully differentiates it from all other instruments, giving a dis- tinctive glow of color to the entire aggregation, and at the same time contributing an important melodic and harmonic element. The range of the harp is: J2- •:&- i -TS- It has seven pedals, each affecting all the strings of one letter throughout the range. Each of these pedals has three positions; with all of them in their middle position, the instrument is tuned to the key of C. Raise a pedal to its highest notch, and it flats the corresponding strings. Depress a pedal to its lowest notch, and it sharps the corresponding strings. Have all the pedals in the middle notch, and then depress the F pedal, which sharps every F, and the harp is in the key of G: or raise the B pedal, which flats every B, and it is in the key of F. One of the most difficult things in the technique of this instrument is the manipulation of the pedals, to provide for all accidentals and changes of key. As its name signifies — from the Greek arpa^ meaning arpeggio — its music is predominantly of this sort, but it is capable also of beautiful melodic effects supported 91 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND by arpeggio accompaniment, which render it a superb solo instrument, as well as an enchanting feature in a full orchestra. We have thus passed in hasty review the chief char- acteristics of the most important orchestral instru- ments. There are many others which we have not named that are occasionally called into requisition for the more unusual effects. Some of these are of the same quality as those herein described, such as the double bassoon, an octave below the ordinary instrument, and other clarinets of lower range than the usual ones. There are, besides, other brass instruments, and instru- ments of percussion, like the long drum, cymbals, triangles, etc., but their use is too incidental to warrant the incorporation of such instruments in the permanent organization of an orchestra, and their description would be of little or no interest to the general reader. A source of great enjoyment is in store for all who will pursue the study both of individual instruments, and of their concerted effects, which can be done to a consider- able degree by following the score of what is being played where an orchestra is used, and by learning to ready as one would read a book, the written page of symphonies and overtures, which will inform one of the various effects and proper use of the several instruments far better than any amount of verbal description. Or- chestral scores can now be obtained at comparatively small cost, and there is nothing that will add more to the general musical intelligence and appreciation of any one, whatever his own specialty in the art, than a course of study in this direction. It is hoped that this short 92 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND account, superficial as it is, from the standpoint of an advanced orchestral student, may turn the attention of some who have never thought of bestowing any time upon it, to one of the most attractive lines of musical study. 93 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Should Religious Text be Sung to Secular Music ? ^I^S there any inherent incompatibility between ^1 sacred words and music originally composed for ^^ secular text? Or, as some would put it, can re- ligious thought ever be adequately set to worldly songs? Can operatic airs ever become suitable hymn-tunes? There is an apparent incongruity in the combination: but are they essentially incongruous? Firstly, be it observed, there is no religious or irre- ligious quality in music per se.. It stirs emotion, but emotion of itself involves no specific thought. A recent magazine article contains this expression: '*A deep devoutness pervaded the first theme" of Beethoven's Adagio beginning as follows: Adagio The expression sounds well, and is a fine tribute to the music in question ; but such characterization shows an utter misconception of the nature of devoutness itself, which is a religious attitude of mind, and not predicable of pure art-sentiment. The foregoing instance of the 94 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND misuse of terms reminds me of a similar mistake made by the noted naturalist, John Burroughs — when he said, in "Wake Robin," describing the song of the hermit thrush, '*As its evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene exaltation of sentiment, of which music j literature and religion'' — mark the words, the itaUcs are mine! — "are but faint types and symbols." I yield to none in my admiration of the hermit thrush — it is an angel in feathers — and am fully persuaded of the immeasurable religious efficiency of noble music. This art is indeed the chosen and incomparable hand- maid of religion ; but music is not religion — the hand- maid has a distinct individuality from the mistress! In fact, music is the chameleon of the arts — all things to all men: at one time the daintiest pressure of the Great Mind and Heart upon the human soul, its angelic ministrant; and anon it shows itself the seduc- tive fairy in the very haunts of crime. But in our most sacred, sad, or rapturous moods it flashes like a wire- less message from the Eternal Throne. Potent, mys- terious and contradictory enough to be a feminine divinity ! Yet the most inspiring instrumental effects will not purify one's moral nature — will not reform a thief into an honest man, nor make a miserly man generous. Neither will the most contemptible creations of the art debase an honorable mind. It is the association of dis- tinct thought, or the uplifting or degrading environment appropriate to the music in question, that will induce these results respectively. No other art shows such ex- 95 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND tremes of noble and ignoble; yet the suitability of the one kind for the sanctuary does not prove it to be in- trinsically virtuous, neither does the suitability of an- other kind for the vulgar dance-hall prove it to be in- trinsically vicious: but each is strangely in harmony with its sacred or its degraded surroundings. In sentiments of nobility, of sublimity, of adoration, the quality of the emotion, barring its more specific coloring, is essentially the same. The emotions of a re- fined moral nature, in the wide range of affections, de- sires, joys and sorrows, are fully akin to those of religion; they are of the same lofty strain, and lacking only, if they lack at all, in the measure of intensity. There is indeed, the very odor of sanctity in the upper ranges of all moral thought, and, as in the eloquent outburst of Coleridge in his Apostrophe to Mont Blanc, a great mind's gravitation is ever upward to the Infinite. A secular poem, written by one who contemplates the grandeur of creation, as borne in upon him by the spec- tacle of the heavens studded with the stupendous array of worlds, is of kindred mould with David's distinctly devout appreciation of "the heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and stars which Thou hast ordained," and will inspire a musical setting of kindred spirit. It is even true that an impressive thought, of a distinctly secular character, may awaken a more impassioned and elevated sentiment than one that is less profound, yet characteristically religious ; for even religious sentiments do not all appeal with equal force to the mind and heart. In the absolute harmony between a thought and the emotion it evokes it may be possible that each thought 96 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND has a finely individual shade of color in its accompany- ing sentiment, yet a shade too subtle to prevent its blending with another thought of the same general quality; just as the same music may properly accom- pany successive verses, each with a somewhat distinct cast of meaning. Nay, as we shall see presently, the sentiment of a musical composition may, in fact, more finely harmonize with some other thought than with the one that directly called it into being. For with that power of conceiving a musical idea entirely independent of all verbal text, which is possessed by every composer, it may well happen that the sentiment of the music may be superior to that of the accompanying words. It is a natural but unwarranted assumption for the layman to suppose that in the setting of religious text the composer is necessarily in a corresponding vein of sentiment. The mass of rubbish annually put forth by all the leading music publishers under the guise of sacred music is sufficient refutation of that idea. With a fair amount of composing technique, the most me- chanical and worldly-minded musician can reel off yards of colorless religiosity, of too cheap a quality to be a fitting accompaniment to even a worldly sentiment of sterling merit. The text is deep enough to float the music, but the music is too shallow to emphasize the text. The worthy setting of a noble secular hymn is vastly more in the mood of the Psalms or of any modern religious poetry than are the commonplaces of much of the so-called sacred music which is linked, in rhythm only, to the songs of the church. While we often find a music-mechanic thus essaying 97 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND a vein of authorship that is too lofty for him, it also sometimes occurs that the noble harmonies of a great composer — partially inspired by his purely musical sentiment rather than by the text — are ignobly wedded to thoughts that are beneath the dignity of their ac- companiment. In all musical literature there is no song of more de- vout impressiveness, or of grander simplicity, than Handel's "Largo," now canonized by the church as the worthiest type of sacred music. Its present text — Trust in the Lord ; His name we ever bless, In grief and happiness, with one accord Until our journey's end. O Lord, our souls defend With watchful care. — breathes a sentiment most nobly matched by the setting of the Miltonic tone-poet. But to no such thought did it owe its origin. It is an excerpt from the opera ** Xerxes," and we must thank the composer's inherently religious mood for the matchless production, unless it be thought possible that he drew inspiration from the original text, which is simply this: No tree gave with its branches Such a blessed shade(!) The most secular music of some composers shows a sanctity that is far beyond the artificial fervor of many a professedly sacred writer. In the same mood is the famous Air from Handel's "Rinaldo." 98 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND i Largo J J. i ^^^J' i .^ 63 Wl-i^i^^ rrr m f- f- £ etc. :^=1?: ^ f This was originally attached — one can hardly say wedded — to these words: Here let my tears flow! Let hope my soul know, My heart is longing for freedom dear! But the aria seems to come to its own when mated to the following text: "O, Lord! correct me not in Thine anger: Have mercy upon me, and blot out all my sin." Beethoven, like Bach, stands for that quality of senti- ment that is so super-earthly that it almost glorifies whatever text it touches, and his quartet in "Fidelio," with the following melody running through all the voices, etc. i k i t X X f ±=# admirably accompanies and reflects the serious mood of the following text, as now sung in church : O, Lord, veil not Thy face, Thy smile on us bestow. Thou art the fountain of all grace From whence our blessings richly flow. 99 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND It was originally composed to the words of Marcelline, speaking of her lover: How strange a mood is mine; My heart's pent up in me. He loves me, I divine, How happy I shall be. A very churchly hymn-anthem has been formed out of the following harmonized melody of a well known song by Robert Franz, entitled "Widmung," beginning as follows: m t ^ mm ^=Tf i n-^ i B 1 1^ 1 k: ^ ite ^ ^ which fits the following text: Lord, I am Thine, entirely Thine; Purchased and saved by blood divine; the words first set to it are as follows: Oh, thank me not for what I sing thee: Thine are the songs, no gift of mine, Thou gav'st them me: I but return thee what is and ever will be thine. ICO RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Such illustrations amply justify the assertion that the quality of the music may possibly be superior to the thought that is supposed to inspire it, and that vocal music is sometimes of a noble sort, despite the text, not because of it. The instinctive mood of the composer is an unseen power governing his harmonic and melodic in- vention more or less independently of the textual claims. One of Mendelssohn's most devotional arias, "O, rest in the Lord," at the time of its composition is said to have been so suggestive, in some of its phrases, of a then popular song, that he felt impelled to make sufficient alteration to conceal the original resemblance. There is nothing more infused with genuine religious fervor, nothing that seems more spontaneously the ex- pression of a divine efflatus in song, than the old German choral — in breadth, dignity and churchliness the pride and masterpiece of the foremost musical nation of the world. It is a grievous blow to those who insist upon having all church music born in the church to know that these most potent aids to worship were not born in the church, but in the very streets of worldliness; in fact, many of them are rehabilitated songs of a low order, in their original form of a decidedly frivolous and vulgar description, seemingly past redemption for all moral, not to say holy, purposes; yet so transformed in tempo and rhythm that, — something like kimonos dyed black and converted into choir vestments — however flagrant sin- ners and companions of sinners they may have been in the Middle Ages, at present, with their sins washed away, they are standing in spotless robes, doing wel- come service within the precincts of the sanctuary. lOI RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND A melody, worthy of a Psalm, may originally come to the composer's mind as a purely instrumental strain ; or, as we have already seen, it may first link itself with poetry that is distinctly inferior to its own sentiment, and, like an unhappy marriage, live a long life of mesal- liance, only to come to its own in after ages. True musical instinct will judge of the fitness or unfitness of vocal settings, not according to the accidental circum- stances of origin and past association, but according to the natural compatibility of text and song, without cast- ing aspersions upon the latter for having lived some of its life out of a state of grace. Such criticism, under the guise of zeal for artistic morality, is in reality a species of pharisaical snobbishness. There are strains in the Prize Song from "The Meister- singer" which would well match the devout sentiment of our hymnology, but whose use, for the present, at least, is forbidden by the secular atmosphere of its original setting. As such an objection in the lapse of time ceases to be valid for the exclusion of so-called secular music from the repertory of the church, such compositions will properly find entrance where their intrinsic nature thoroughly harmonizes with their new surroundings. 102 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Why do We have Four-part Harmony ? ^^♦HY is the prevalent form of vocal music the T Jl quartet, whether for single voices or for choral "^^ masses? Why is the string quartet the model for the purest, the most satisfying form of concerted instrumental effects? To say that herein we are adapting ourselves to nature's provision of soprano, alto, tenor and bass, is to treat the matter superficially. We seek a more fundamental solution — a solution, in fact, that will explain why nature herself has deemed it wise to give us just these four ranges of voice. The search for an answer brings many interesting facts to view. The pleasure derived from music is a complex affair; it comes from several sources; and that form of music which most successfully avails of the different means of effectiveness will, of course, be the most generally pop- ular. For illustration, let us briefly revert to another matter. A color has its own intrinsic beauty. The eye revels in every pure, rich shade; it is a feast to our vision; but it affords still keener delight when seen beside another beautiful color, each of the two as satisfying as before, but the pleasure enhanced by their mutual reaction; the contrast makes the individuality and charm of each more vivid; the ensemble gives an added element of pleasure. In a splendid cloud effect at sunset — nature's apotheosis of the day — the eye delights to wander from one tint to another, finding a fresh enjoyment at each 103 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND return to the gorgeous red from the tender blue, the deHcate pink, or the wondrous green — each hue in- comparably exquisite, yet with some effect of monotony, if it were but one broad expanse filling the sky alone, and becoming most ravishing through the successive glances of an eye that roams over a variety of color. • The analogy of such ensemble as we find in the sun- set clouds, and that of music in the several voices of its harmony, is quite close; but an important difference is to be noted. In such a cloud view the colors mean nothing, either individually or collectively, except as a delicious impression upon the eye. No thought fills the scene. It is simply superb but sensuous beauty. Music, however, carries an idea, and the ensemble of well ordered harmony appeals not only to the ear but to the mind; and while the contrast of the cloud colors is far more vivid than that of the voices in harmony, and therefore has more power of intensifying the beauty of each, as a mere sensuous impression, the musical ensemble — the harmony — by the higher quality of its suggestiveness atones for the lack of striking difference in tone quality. A painting, too, though devoid of nature's inimitable tints, in the same way compensates for this deficiency by the idea conveyed in its combination of colors; and thereby becomes a close analogue of music. The first element in the one is mere color; in the other mere tone. The second element in the one is the ensemble of contrasting colors; in the other the ensemble of con- trasting tones; and the third element in each is the idea conveyed — in the music by the sense of the mel- ody and of its sustaining harmony. 104 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND But a painting may be too highly wrought in color. If it shows all the hues of the rainbow, it may indeed be interesting as a mere color-study, but it would fail to produce a broad and restful effect, it would becloud the idea, it would confuse and weary the mind. The con- tents of two well painted pictures, if compressed into one, instead of making It doubly beautiful, would make it a failure by a surfeit of colors, of contrasts, and of ideas, even though each color were as rich and delicate as nature herself in her happiest moods could produce. This helps one to understand the requirements and the limitations In a musical art-work, for the principle is the same in both. If too much be crowded into the texture of the composition, there will similarly be con- fusion of mind, and a blurring of the beauty. The im- pression here, as well as in the painting, must be broad and restful. It must not be overloaded with diverse tone-colors — that is, with too many parts in the har- mony; for if the harmony is too full the ear is surfeited, just as the eye is, in a superabundance of diverse tints. Each of these sorts of art-work must be measurably simple and transparent, the individuality of the parts or voices must not be drowned in a bewildering excess of parts or of colors; there must be in each case a com- promise whereby the three elements — individual voice or color, ensemble of harmony or of colors, and an easily apprehended idea in each, will have its due quota of at- tention. A masterpiece of a composer, like the masterpiece of any writer, has for its greatest charm what may best be expressed by the word transparency, wherein there is RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND the greatest possible utilization of the various sources of pleasure to be derived from the composition. The at- tainment of that compromise is reached only by long experience. Just as there must not be too many melodies in any one composition, so there must not be too many parts in the harmony. There must be a satisfying ful- ness, free from fatigue, sufficiently forceful to be an easy and adequate support for the melody. A beautiful solo may be compared in some degree to a broad expanse of one delightful color filling the western sky at sunset — a unique effect, and not to be de- preciated; even indispensable in the demands for musical variety; yet monotonous, in a way, like a marine view that shows only a limitless expanse of ocean. It offers none of the contrast of ensemble, ex- cept as that is found in the accompaniment. In a duet, the honors are divided, but without sufficient harmonic contrast and richness to make it a satisfactory com- bination of all the resources available. The trio ap- proximates to the proper balance, but with an inevitable thinness that is a marked defect. In four-part harmony, the distinctiveness of the individual voices is consider- ably more obscure than in the trio, but, according to the consensus of opinion, more is gained by the more satisfying fulness of the ensemble than is lost in the obscuring of the several parts. In the quintet the in- crease of harmony is notably fine on occasion, but the increased complexity soon wearies the ear, and the transparency is seriously marred. For many striking effects we are indebted to the sextet and to the double quartet or double chorus, but even in compositions so 1 06 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND denominated there is very frequent recurrence to the standard number, four. As our minds are constituted, we do not seem able to be permanently satisfied with any adjustment of the matter other than that which is in accord with nature's provision of soprano, alto, tenor and bass, as what may be called the normal fulness of harmony, whereby the greatest aggregate of pleasure from all possible sources is obtained. In some other sphere the conditions may be altered. The most clearly musical range of tones may then be increased from about four octaves, as at present, to an indefinite number; what now seems complex to our minds may hereafter become simple. If we shall ever be able to detect tones in the vibrations of the colors of the spectrum, which are so rapid that their intonation is now too acute for our ear, what a wonderful revolution might result through such an opening of the heavens in the blending of Light and Song! No one can forecast what changes there may be in the principles of the art to match our own increased capabilities. All such dreams are purely speculative, yet we may well believe that the limitless future has in store such progress in every one of the arts, and especially in this most intimate and emotional of them all, as shall make the grandest attainments in this mortal sphere seem as but the shadow of that which is to come. 107 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND ^artet Versus Chorus Choir ^^yfHE indispensable element of song in church ser- IlL vice presents many difficulties, according to the ^^ taste — or, more often, the financial disabilities — of the several congregations. The problem has taxed the ingenuity — and often the temper — of multitudes in every century, and a page from the records of the earliest 'churches upon this point reads like modern history. Matters of theological belief may modify, to some extent, the ritual of the various branches of the church; but there seems to be no good reason why there should not be, throughout the entire Christian body, at least a consensus of opinion as to the highest ideal of musical worship, even though circumstances may forever prevent the universal attainment of that ideal. Of the three general forms of service in vogue — con- gregational singing, quartet choirs, and chorus choirs — we will speak only of the last two, as the first is not ex- cluded through the adoption of the others, and as its exclusive use — at least in this country — is only from sheer necessity. Without contradiction, the most appropriate and im- pressive form of musical worship is the choral service of a large choir. Majestic and solemn harmonies, con- sonant with the atmosphere of the day and of the sur- roundings, can be adequately rendered only by the vol- ume of numerous voices; and apparently no modern church music, of whatever form, has inspired the devout io8 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND enthusiasm that was aroused by the immense Temple choirs of the ancient Hebrews, if we may judge by the tribute of praise from the royal Psalmist, the poet- musician of that gifted race. Volume of tone is not synonymous with loudness. A hundred violins may be subdued to the softness of one, but with a quality of tone that tells of a blended multitude. And thus in the pianissimo of a great chorus there is a subdued yet thrill- ing fulness of tone, like the suppression of gigantic power, which is even more impressive than the loud out- burst of jubilant harmonies; and these are the strains whose ethereal echoes linger the longest in the memory. A large choir combines the magnetism and even the intensification of personality with the effectiveness of personal effacement. The personal element pervades, but does not intrude. In the concentration of many voices is that surcharged force which is only found where one thought and one sentiment sways a multitude — a dynamic energy which sweeps the congregation into the same tide of feeling. No heart is so dull as to be unre- sponsive to such cumulative utterance of inspiring thought — an irresistible power to soften and to solem- nize the auditor, lifting the entire service to a lofty plane of holy meditation and of high resolve. Such music penetrates the congregation with that rare sabbatic at- mosphere which gives a clearer vision of the things un- seen in the world's common light, adding persuasive em- phasis to all that lies within the preacher's power to say. This, without exaggeration, is the efficiency of an ideal chorus, as one hears its jubilant acclaim or gentle bene- diction breaking the venerable silence of long ages in. 109 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND some vast Old-world cathedral. The potency of mul- titudinous song is unrivalled in all other arts, ever the supreme expression of adoring praise or prayer, from the remotest paean of the "Morning Stars" to the wondrous final outburst of recorded prophecy from the angelic host, with whose last strains the Seer of Patmos closes his sublime account. But how are we to compare quartet with chorus? It is impossible, for things that are not in the same cate- gory do not admit of comparison. We may compare the oak and the elm, but not the oak and the clinging vine; or, one gem with another, but not a diamond and a lily; or, the oratorios of Handel and of Mendelssohn; but neither "The Messiah" nor "Elijah" with a delicious song of Schubert or of Brahms. How can one speak of a string quartet and of a full orchestra in terms of com- parison? It is quite as futile as to compare beauty and utility — the glory of a sunset with the tidal power of the moon, or the Alps with the ocean. All of these ob- jects are intrinsically diverse; they are not rivals, and only rivals can be compared. An ideal vocal quartet! What an exquisite work of nature and of art ! — the harmonious rivalry of the four supreme instruments of the Lord's own make, and steeped in personality. Here grace replaces choral majesty — the airy, the substantial; the ethereal, the massive. An ideal quartet adorns a mighty chorus just as the capital adorns the column, or brilliant clouds a landscape. It shines with lunar ray, and not with sun- light's searching power. Its mood is playful, more than serious; it stirs the mind to fancy rather than to medi- IIO RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND tation; it is an aquarelle and not an oil. A chorus is as ill-fitted for the more elegant and subtle accomplish- ments of a fine quartet, as ponderous Jove would be for the nimble tasks of wing-footed Mercury; and the quar- tet makes no less of a failure in feebly vieing with the chorus. Not rivals, let them be like the mountain range that looms above the placid lake, the grandeur of the one a foil to enhance the other's grace, each con- tributing to the other's charm and power. But the realism of this world falls far short of its idealism, and necessity often drives us into strange straits. In the approval of the good there may be entire unanimity, while in the necessary choice of evils there is large room for argument; and thus throughout the church we see such wide variety in the attempt to gain the end through insufficient means; here a good quartet, there a good chorus; or the one bad, and the other bad; or lastly, the unequal yoking of the good and the bad; and almost all of this variety of failure directly traceable to that cause of so much woe, pecuniary limitations. As between a poor quartet and a poor chorus, the ad- vantage is on the side of the latter; for at least it best conforms to the ecclesiastical spirit — in form if not in substance; less pretentious, it provokes less criticism. The efforts of a quartet are more likely to be judged by a high standard of art, and a predominant spirit of art criticism will largely nullify the spiritual purpose of the music. In a chorus the disparity between what it is and what it might be is less obtrusive; it avoids the distinctly personal element, often so objectionable in a group of solo voices; there is no display of vanity, self- III RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND consciousness and ambition which brings too often the work of a quartet to the level of a concert performance. Crudity of voice and of style are less apparent in a chorus; for it is a singular and a fortunate fact that a dozen voices on any part, individually raw and irritating, will often blend into a homogeneous tone, clear, agreeable and musical; the individual qualities largely eliminated, the good remains and the bad disappears. An im- portant consideration, too, is the fact that there is a large amount of choral music, simple, easy and churchly, which a very inferior chorus can be trained to render effectively, but which would be unsuitable for per- formance by four voices. As regards the relative efficiency of quartet and chorus, it must be said that the success of the latter, more than that of the former, depends upon the ability and fidelity of the director, the musical education of the chorus being as a rule inferior; but as the director is often more zealous for ease than for the best effects, his preference for a quartet is often open to suspicion, and his advice is to be received with allowance; as in the case of a director once prominent in New York choirs, who said, in choosing a singer for his quartet, that he did not care what kind of a voice she had, if she were only a good reader! In the choice between these two forms of choirs, a consideration of increasing importance is the fact of the comparatively limited repertoire available for quartets, and the great abundance of suitable music for a chorus. A volume of tone, or that peculiar solidity of tone, even in piano passages, obtainable only from an aggregation 112 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND of voices, which makes many a simple anthem stately and dignified in choral rendering, is so painfully lacking in the performance of four voices, however strong, that much of the present quartet work in our churches is pitiable and grotesque. Harmonies may be treated in such a way that their meaning can be amply interpreted by four solo voices; but the composer of church music, if he have the ecclesiastical spirit, will find the natural expression of his thoughts in a vein of harmonies re- quiring the interpretation of a chorus. Moreover, the difficulty of doing justice to the service through quartet work is constantly increasing, since the trend of composition, especially in this country, which was formerly more in the direction of suitable quartets, is more and more in the line of heavier choral works; so that the problem of a quartet director, in the selection of his Sunday program, is the problem that made my own management of a quartet choir a constant source of anxiety, viz., whether to give something that was old and familiar, and yet good, or to satisfy the desire for novelty by presenting something new, but inferior. The unchurchly taste for concert display, which years ago made quartet choirs almost universal, is giving place to a growing recognition of the intrinsic superiority of choral performance in church worship; and with the elimination of high-priced soloists, and the subordina- tion of incidental solo work, the same expenditure is found adequate to pay for a good chorus. And yet, with the present critical taste of our audiences, and the de- mand for good solo voices, it is usually impossible to meet the requirements of the case quite as economically 113 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND as in the days of the quartet's popularity; at the same time the success of a church service is felt to be increas- ingly dependent upon the attractiveness of its music; and herein is stated the present aspect of the problem. We have not yet reached, in this matter, the stand- ard of taste shown by the English, who, it must be confessed, take their church music a little more seri- ously than we are wont to do. But with the practical good sense of the American people, and a growing ap- preciation of the noblest type of church music, we can hope that this question, like so many others, in our young national life, will eventually find a satisfactory solution. 114 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND How Two-part Harmony can have the Force of Full Harmony ^iT is said that any impression on the eye remains ^1 one-ninth of a second. This is the reason that, ^^ however brief the time during which the impres- sion is being made, like a flash of lightning, there is a perceptible continuance of the picture on the retina, so that the actual vision seems to be correspondingly lengthened. The same fact is true, in a sense, in the hearing of tones. Whether it has been scientifically determined or not how long the drum of the ear continues to vibrate after the impact of sound-waves, it is easily demon- strated, and it is a fact of the utmost importance in musical art, that, if the ear itself does not appreciably prolong the impression made by a tone, certainly the memory retains the effect, and for a much longer time than the eye retains an impression. It occasionally happens that this retention of tones in the memory pro- duces embarrassment, and is the occasion of some of the important rules of harmony; but the advantage of such retention outweighs a hundredfold its disadvantage, and the inability to retain in the mind the impression of sounds that have ceased to be audible would be a most serious and probably a fatal injury to the entire art. We will attempt to show briefly the effect and advantage of retaining or remembering previous tones, and the proof of the following statements must be found in the consciousness of the reader, who will easily recognize "5 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND the existence of certain mental processes as soon as they are brought to his attention. Play the following: i (b) w and one will recognize that there remains in his mind an impression of all four tones; so that, if played rapidly, the effect is very much the same as the chord at (b). This means that by striking the tones of a chord suc- cessively, those that have ceased to sound still linger in the mind, and are associated with each new tone. Thus, the following passage, in two-part harmony, is almost as fully three-part harmony as the passage beneath it. ^—J-^ ^^ m p -r=f The following is practically in four-part harmony, although only two tones are sounding simultaneously: ii6 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND $ ^ ^^T-* t t ^^^N^ i. This mode of producing harmony has several advan- tages. First, it presents it in a more lively and brilliant way, without having the chords succeed each other any more rapidly. Secondly, it makes the composition more transparent, lighter and more graceful. A succession of full harmonies may easily become heavy, and fulsome to the ear, whereas the foregoing way of presenting them affords ample harmonic basis, without filling the ear with such a mass of sound. As fundamental harmonies cannot acceptably follow each other with great rapidity, this arpeggio method of presenting the chords enables the composer to combine the necessary moderate pro- gression of the harmonies involved with the utmost rapidity of tone-succession; and the possibility of such a mode of writing rests back upon the fact of the re- membrance of past sounds. 117 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND In another way, too, this fact is of the most essential importance in composition. There could be no such thing as melody unless the mind retained a distinct sense of the relation of successive tones, which involves the memory of past tones. It would be impossible to state how far back the remembrance extends, as it becomes more and more ill-defined with the lapse of time; but much longer passages are retained than would be sup- posed. A proof of this is the following fact. If a melody of eight measures is to be effective, it must, as a rule, have a range of nearly or quite an octave; otherwise, there is felt to be a monotony in the narrowness of the melody's compass. Now, if, at the end of a long melody, there is felt to be such monotony, it can only be because the mind is conscious of the entire range, from beginning to end. There is, therefore, an ill-defined remembrance of the tones that have been sounded from first to last. Another evidence of the same fact is found in the case of "cross-relation," which is often very distinct and offensive. Cross-relation is the antagonism of two tones on the same degree of the scale heard, one after the other, in different voices; thus. shows antagonism between C, in soprano, and C sharp, in bass. The worst cases of cross-relation are those in ii8 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND which the contradictory tones are in two adjacent chords, for the remembrance of an immediately preced- ing chord is very distinct; but there are instances where there is felt to be a conflict between such tones, where there are intervening chords. i Different persons have different degrees of sensitive- ness to this class of effects, and if the second of the above examples is played slowly, perhaps no one would feel the contrariety of F and F#. This matter of memory reveals a degree of mental activity in the intelligent hearing of music that usually escapes one's notice entirely, and goes to show that the appreciation of musical effects is a more complicated affair than the critical perception of any other species of art-work. 119 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Is it Advisable for Vocal Pupils to Sing in Chorus Choirs? 3T depends on the pupil and on the chorus. First, as to the pupil. In the initial stage of vocal study the all-essential thing is that the voice be properly placed. Very seldom does it happen that the natural placement is the proper one; and according to the intel- ligence of the pupil, the adaptability of the vocal organs, and the skill of the teacher will be the time required for correct tone production ; and until this has become some- what instinctive, it is not advisable for the pupil to prac- tice alone, or to sing at all, except under the immediate supervision of the teacher; for one can easily frustrate all the good results of instruction from lesson to lesson by reverting to the original faulty method of vocaliza- tion. For a period, the most careful teacher limits all use of the singing voice to the lesson hour, until the pupil can be safely trusted to follow directions in his private practice. But even when this point is reached, it is necessary for the pupil to exercise great caution in at- tempting to sing unfamiliar music; for in proportion as his mind is diverted from the first essentials of his art will be the liability of undoing the work already ac- complished. Add to this the probablity of association, in chorus work, with those whose methods are incorrect ; for the contagion of bad example is often mischievous. The liability of retarding one's progress through such influence, and the ability to guard against the adverse conditions of general chorus practice, are matters of con- 120 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND sideration whose importance varies with the individual, so that no general rule can be laid down. The judg- ment of a competent teacher is the best guide. The compensation for such work is sometimes an important feature of the case, and this will only make a difficult problem still more difficult. The most fragile instru- ment in the world is the voice; it may be injured, and yet recover; ruin it, and it is not only beyond repair, but it cannot, like other instruments, be replaced. The responsibility of a vocal teacher is scarcely less than that of a physician. The foregoing presents fairly well the main objection to mingling in chorus-practice in the earlier stages of voice culture. : On the other hand, there is much to be said in favor of systematic choral practice, when the conditions re- ferred to above will admit of it. Everything that will increase a singer's musicianship is very desirable, for it is a deplorable fact that singers, as a class, are, of all musicians, the most illiterate in the art, seldom knowing anything but their own little part, and generally without a supreme mastery even of that — in street parlance, doing business on less capital than any one else in the trade; and what many a vocal teacher does not know of his art would fill a dozen encyclopedias. I once had a soloist in my choir who was also a teacher of repute in New York City. He sang at fashionable functions, had a wealthy clientele, a beautiful studio, and, from necktie to boots, possessed all the external signs of a true artist. One Sunday before church we were discussing musical matters, when the subject of the vocal cords was touched 121 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND upon. Turning to me, with all seriousness he pro- pounded this amazing question: **Does what we eat go through the vocal cords?'* I think he still has a studio up-town. Among the chief advantages of concerted practice, with the proviso of a competent drill master, is the cul- tivation of rigid tempo, in which most singers are sadly deficient. Exact rhythm is the most mechanical and the most unemotional feature of the art, but it gives distinct structural outline and virility to the entire com- position; and the failure to adhere, in the main, to mathematical precision, in the rhythmical swing of a composition, tends to make the rendering limp, inverte- brate, characterless. The listener, whether more or less musical, feels the effect, though he may not be distinctly conscious of the reason. Solo work, unassociated with ensemble work, has a demoralizing influence in this matter. As soloist, responsible to no one, supported by an accompaniment that is ever to be subordinate to him- self, he naturally becomes a law unto himself, and, unless a great artist, trifles more or less with even the fixed principles of his art. In his freedom of interpretation, he is at all times able to deviate from mechanical exact- ness of tempo, which, when occasion calls for it, is the necessary thing to do. But, in well written compo- sitions, the occasions are rare where the meaning of the music requires liberties in tempo, and it too often happens that even an aftist yields to a meaningless impulse to disturb the steady movement of the piece, and especially will indulge in rallentando with such frequency that it becomes a conventional habit, which destroys much of 122 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND its fine effect when really legitimate. A rallentando is the easiest method of simulating sentiment, and seems to be the principal stock in trade, with some performers, both vocal and instrumental. This disease — for it is nothing else — is counteracted to a considerable degree in ensemble work; and one of the greatest advantages of concerted singing is, to inspire a proper respect for strict tempo. Church chorus singing also acquaints the young stu- dent with a more serious side of the art than is gained in secular or operatic work. There is very much of our present church music that falls far below the proper standard, yet even with this subtraction, the discipline in this branch of music will be profitable for all young singers, in its more sostenuto style of rendering, which is characteristic of all church music, even the most shallow. Even the simplicity of such compositions, as compared with the greater brilliancy of secular music, will quickly expose certain deficiencies in vocal technique: and con- fessedly an oratorio aria demands a breadth of style and a repose of execution that would be found lacking in many an operatic artist of the highest repute. We will refer to one more advantage derived from such practice by all young singers, viz., the greater fa- cility in reading music, which cannot fail to be acquired in any choir whose repertoire is being constantly enlarged by the use of new compositions. One of the most fatal de- ficiencies of singers, as a class, is their inability to read. They are so absorbed in tone-production that they find little interest in any other side of the art, and seem un- able to realize the significance of a knowledge of the rudi- 123 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND ments of music, and of the ability to read, as related to their future success as vocalists. A vocal teacher once told me that if he attempted to make his pupils learn to read they would all leave him. This explains the fact that out of a hundred singers who can sing a song prettily in the parlor to a company of friends, and may even be valuable members of choral societies, or even of fine church choirs, probably not more than one will rise to the distinction of being a distinguished soloist either in church or elsewhere. The necessary quality of voice for such distinction is of course presupposed ; but quality of voice is not so exclusively the necessary element in the outfit of a vocal artist as many suppose; and that lack in the temperament of young singers which allows them to drift along without laying a solid foundation for great work, is really the barrier that thwarts the aspirations of the multitude of fine voices that leave no mark upon the public mind. The voice is the instrument, but be- hind the instrument is the mentality of its possessor, and that mentality infuses a certain potent quality into the voice, and a something that is equally potent into the control of the voice, that gives a masterly stamp to the rendition, and raises the performer to the rank of a true artist. 124 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Limitations of Harmony ^^jy^IS study alone will never make one a composer, I I L notwithstanding all the advantage accruing from ^■^ it when properly pursued. This fact often brings disappointment to the pupil, who, as he compares his most accurately written exercises with actual composi- tions, is surprised to find so many things allowed, which he has been strictly forbidden to do, and is in doubt whether his teacher has been at fault, or whether the entire system is erroneous. He may feel assured that "the system," as far as it goes, is correct; but he must understand that the scope of Harmony, though it affords the most fundamental principles of the art, is not broad enough to consider numerous requirements in actual composition. In a word, it is the difference between foundation and super- structure ; and while foundation- work is amply sufficient for the mastery of chords in their construction, con- nection and meaning, it teaches nothing beyond this. In the following example, what does the student find, as compared with what he has been taught to do, and what he has been doing most conscientiously? Moderato -^ ^ PB^ 125 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND M^'rMP^ s^c ^ r T _L r f HU 5^ ^^i ^W 1^ :.t=t ii4i- i^ f ^ ^ ^~- — cresc. •« •! ^s PedT^ 9 ^ I Adagio, I ei^ 4 X 1 -- As a rule the foreign tones are shorter in proportion as their discordance is more emphatic; a suspension discord may often be a half note, but a foreign tone taken by a leap, whether accented or unaccented, would be unendurable if so prolonged; relatively such tones would be eighths or sixteenths. With a reasonable amount of skill in these embellish- ing chords, one can take up the study of Counterpoint with distinct pleasure and success; but if he has fluency in fundamental harmonies only, his exercises in the higher branches of theory will be laborious and ex- tremely crude. He will not have mastered the art of making the several voices of the harmony flowing and distinctive, his chord-progressions will be stiff and un- wieldy, and it will be only with long patience and much discouragement that he will gain that freedom and musicianly effect that would have been attained with so much greater ease and enjoyment by a progressive and systematic study of the auxiliary chords in their proper place in Harmony. 141 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Relation of Choir Singers to the Church ^^JTHE charge is sometimes brought against choir sing- IlL ers that they do not enter at all into the interests ^^ of the church which employs them; that they show a very discreditable mercenary spirit, working only for the stipulated salary, and averse to rendering any gratuitous service, either religious or secular, which in some churches it is thought incumbent upon them to ren- der. It is certainly an unpleasant surprise to the major- ity of paid singers to be asked to do anything more than is distinctly specified in the bond, and they commonly feel entitled to extra compensation for every ounce of effort that is not involved in the original contract; yet there are instances where they have willingly, or at least with politic acquiescence, yielded to requests for pro- fessional service without remuneration. But it must be acknowledged that singers, especially in city churches, regard their connection with the church from a purely pecuniary standpoint, and consider it a mild impo- sition to be asked to render any service gratuitously. This is certainly not the ideal relation to exist be- tween the church and those on whom depends the suc- cess of a very important part of the service. While the laborer is worthy of his hire, as much in singing as in preaching, it cannot be said that the work of the church is being carried^ on with the utmost possible efficiency, when there is such a distinct feeling, both in the con- gregation and in the choir, that the latter are simply a body of hirelings imported into the church, sometimes 142 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND so unsympathetic with the purpose of a worshipful service as to make it seem that their work is simply perfunctory and mercenary. The criticism for this state of things may be some- what due to the singers themselves, among whom one will sometimes be found who is, in the fullest sense of the term, a hireling, giving as little and getting as much as possible, with neither religious impulse nor artistic pride to do his best work. But probably such in- stances are extremely rare, and it is without question the ambition and the effort of the great mass of church singers to do their work conscientiously, to the satis- faction of the congregation, and with musical credit to themselves. But it cannot be denied that their artistic ideals dominate their performances more than religious zeal or sympathy with their audience. There is thus an estrangement between them and their auditors which puts their co-operation in the service upon a distinctly business basis, and this is considered very reprehensible by some worthy members of the church. It would be well for such church members to under- stand, that in thus regarding themselves as apart from the church instead of a part of the church, singers are only putting the same estimate upon themselves which they have been taught to put by the treatment they re- ceive from the church. If a singer will leave one church for another from the lure of a little higher salary, does he show a more mercenary spirit than the choir com- mittee show in their engagement of the singer? Does not the singer know perfectly well that the only hold he has upon his position is the musical satisfaction his 143 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND work affords, that his engagement is as purely a business deal as any transaction on Wall Street, and that he is not to look for very much commendation while he re- tains his position, but that as soon as his work falls below the required standard he may speedily expect a very practical sort of criticism by being dropped at the end of his year? In this mercantile relation of singer and church, as cold-blooded as that of the sexton or of the scrub woman who washes the floor week by week, is there anything to evoke great warmth of cordiality in the singer toward his employer? Personally considered, he is simply an item of expense. In country churches the situation is often different, especially when the singer is originally a member of the congregation, with social interests that are a very distinct sort of bond. But in city churches there are, as a rule, no social relations whatever between the choir gallery and the pews, and if by chance they were thrown together, the singer would often be made to feel his social inequality. It only remains, therefore, for the singer to accept the position practically assigned him by his audience, and to regard himself as simply a paid laborer, like a car- penter or plumber, rather confident of his position just as long as he does good work, but perfectly aware that there is no sentiment involved, and that, if not satis- factory, he may expect as cool a dismissal as a kitchen servant. It must be understood, then, that singers find their chief satisfaction in their art and their salary. But they are also extremely appreciative of approval, and a word now and then from the audience or the pastor is gratefully received, and is an added impulse 144 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND to good service. Yet such expression of approval is so rare that it usually creates unfeigned surprise in the recipient. As some singers look down into the devout faces of the congregation, it is little wonder if an oc- casional thought of hypocrisy flits through their mind; and this may have been true in the case of the parent whose child was asked if his father was a Christian. **0h, no!" he replied, in surprise, "he sings in the choir.'* An incident that once came to my notice illustrates this entire matter better than whole pages of generalities. A prominent and most effective soloist, conscientious to the last degree, and highly artistic, was for many years employed in one of our prominent city churches. His salary was small, although a line of millionaires were sitting at the head of their pews in the center aisle. The members of the music committee and those in the congregation who knew the disparity between his work and his wages — no unusual circumstance — were fre- quently congratulating themselves that they were able to retain one who was so universally popular, and they were fearful, from year to year, that they would lose him. At last he received a handsome offer from another church, and as it was in every way to his advantage to accept it, he did so, although regretfully. It was to be expected that common courtesy, if not the impulse of Christian politeness, would have prompted the music committee to give him a word of farewell, and to ex- press to him their regret that, after his eminently satis- factory and poorly remunerated service, he was to leave them. But this was not their attitude at all. They felt 145 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND they had lost a good bargain, and greatly regretted it; but as for taking the trouble to speak to him, or as for wasting a two-cent stamp in writing their regrets — they might have done it on a postal card — that was quite out of the question. Having gotten out of him all they could, why should they pay him any more at- tention? And so they remained consistently selfish to the last. Can that singer be expected to entertain cordial sentiments for the church he works for, when he knows that it is simply the voices not the singery that they care anything for? A singer is apparently an in- strument, not dc person. This being 'the situation, the church cannot blame the singer for regarding his position as simply a means of livelihood, a connection to be severed just as soon as a better position offers. From policy, if from no higher motive, it would be well that more of a personal interest were shown in the members of our choirs, and more approval manifested for faithful work; for, as a rule, they fulfill their task from year to year with little more evidence than what is inferred from silence that their labors are satisfactory. This general neglect may be due to indifference, or it may be prompted by fear that assurance of their success might induce them to strike for a little higher salary! In too many cases the singer*s task is such a thankless one that it is no wonder that they regard the church as a strict taskmaster, from whom they are to expect only the stipulated pay, and to whom in return they have no impulse to contribute anything beyond the letter of the contract. 146 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND The Greatest Mystery in the Art ^JTHE most subtle, difficult, and, when understood, IIL perhaps the most interesting, detail in composition ^^ is modulation, which, in text-books, is too often treated superficially, or even presented in a manner fun- damentally erroneous. The subject is usually relegated to the closing pages of Harmony, and discussed so briefly and vaguely that the pupil either realizes the inadequacy of its treatment, or derives the comfortable impression that he has learned much more about it than is the case. It is in reality worthy of a short treatise de- voted to its exposition, rather than to be passed over so superficially that the pupil is left to grope his way, in its use, by the uncertain light of an uncultivated instinct. A full treatment of the subject would be out of place in these pages : we can call attention to only a few of its most interesting features: but the further one explores the matter, the more wonderful it appears, and the more sensitive, too, his ear will become to the proper use of modulation, and the keener his enjoyment of a fine composition in its illustration of this the most brilliant and masterly device in the composer's art. What then, in the first place, is modulation? The current definition, properly understood, is perfectly accurate — it is a change of scale; but that phrase, apparently simple and lucid, conveys but a scintilla of all that is involved in the process. One is likely to think of it as the mere flitting from scale to scale — as 147 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND artless and as thoughtless as the flitting of a butterfly from flower to flower; never dreaming of the mental activity involved, until he becomes conscious of what goes on in that wonderful thing we call our sub-con- sciousness, where the most remarkable feats of the mind are performed, as if it were a power more master- ful than ourselves. For modulation is a purely mental actj — not a change of signature; it does not even depend upon the intro- duction of new tones or chords; for there may be no suggestion of a new scale when foreign tones are heard, and, on the contrary, without a foreign tone, there may suddenly be felt a wonderful change, a different light and atmosphere, pervading the very tones and chords that were just before sounding in the old scale, yet the old scale has utterly disappeared — we have modulated ! The novice little dreams of the magical power that can thus cast a spell over familiar tones and harmonies, so transforming them that one cannot realize that they are the same. It is much the same as that hidden association of thought that constitutes so much of the intrinsic impression of all material objects, such that, while the objects themselves remain the same, inert, dead, and of themselves almost meaningless, those airy things we call thoughts gather about them, and, ac- cording as those thoughts are grave or gay, reminiscent of past pleasure or of past pain, those mere masses of matter absorb and give back to us the corresponding emotions. The whole material world thus absorbs and gives out what is as infinitely more spiritual than itself, as the soul of man is more spiritual than his body. In 148 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND the same way we shall find that tones, even the most beautiful and ravishing, have a sort of material nature that absorbs and gives back something that is even more rare and refined than itself; and what that subtle and elusive something is, we shall discover later on. Before proceeding to explain how we modulate, or pass from one scale to another, let us consider another question, quite related to it, but seldom thought of; a very interesting question, too, the solution of which is a direct help in answering the main question; and that previous question is, how do we remain in any scale ; or, how do we keep from modulating? It will strike many a reader as not only a very peculiar question, but as a perfectly useless one. But its answer will be of great assistance in solving the main problem. It is at once evident that throughout a piece of music lying in any scale, the fundamental harmonies are ex- clusively or almost exclusively those that belong to that scale; that is, they are the seven common chords and the seven chords of the seventh, which, with their inversions constitute the entire harmonic basis of the composition. A casual inspection of these fundamental harmonies will convince any fairly musical ear that they are not all of equal value ; some are evidently much more pleasing than others ; some show themselves much stronger than oth- ers; in whatever light we look at them, they at once begin, on analysis, to show marked differences; so that these chords, comparatively few though they be, soon reveal a very broad and interesting range of capacity and effectiveness. The harmony student will at once under- stand the way in which they show their strength and 149 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND weakness, according to the intervals existing between the several tones of each chord; and he will recognize major chords as showing peculiar strength, and the mi- nor chords as distinctly weaker. It will thus be found that the most assertive and, in a sense, characteristic chords of any scale are its major chords — those on the tonic, on the dominant, and on the sub-dominant. These we may properly call the representative chords of the scale; and, with their es- pecial strength, one would naturally suppose that they would be made especially prominent, in order to give strength to the composition, in whatever key it chanced to be written. They are the great foundation har- monies of all the masterpieces of the art; and, in a less effectual way, they are the substructure of all lesser music that is not outre^ and striving, by various devices of eccentricity, to atone for, or to hide from view, the absence of solid and sustained musical thought. It would be interesting and convincing to the reader to present illustrations from different composers, show- ing the relative amount of use of the stronger and the weaker chords. Space will not admit of more than one such, but we must first notice in how many ways a chord can make itself emphatic. The first way that would suggest itself is that of greater frequency; and it will be seen, in the analysis of compositions, how distinctly the major chords outnumber the minor chords, although, in the scale they are in the minority. But there are two other ways of being conspicuous that count for quite as much as that of numerical pre- dominance. Without occurring any more frequently, ISO RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND or even used less often, one chord may have more in- fluence — may leave a stronger impression on the mind. This comes from the fact that all parts of the measure are not of equal importance. There are points of accent, of emphasis, and other points which the mind to a de- gree slurs over with less attention. Whatever occurs on the accented point makes a double impression on the mind. In all species of rhythm that go under the ge- neric name of "double time" there is always one, quite commonly two, points of emphasis in the measure, and accordingly one or two points lacking the emphasis: j^1 I , I 1,-^ i :^ d: ^ ^ -& a ^ -tS- ^ ^- (S Thus it is evident that if the major or primary chords are no more numerous, or are even less numerous, they acquire a marked prominence by occurring at the points of accent: and to illustrate how the harmonies occurring on the accented points make a peculiarly strong im- pression on the mind, play an entire passage, like the following: 151 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND and then play only the chords that get the accent, and we find that we are really getting much the larger part of the whole effect with half of the chords: j-^td^j -(2- ^ & - points of greater significance in the thought that is being expressed. For a musical idea is a compound affair, as much so as an idea that finds its expression in verbal language; and in its complexity it 152 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND has its various subordinate, correlated ideas, all con- spiring to complete the one grand and all-embracing idea. In verbal language we call these subordinate ideas "sentences" and "phrases." In musical language we also have "phrases," which is a very common ex- pression; and we have, just as much, musical "sentences," though that term is not in vogue. In this structural aspect of music, it will also be seen how often the primary chords occupy the prominent positions — the opening and closing of the phrase, and that point within the phrase that may be called the climax of the elemental idea. In short, it will be found, if one will take the trouble to examine passages taken from different composers, like the one given later, that in the three ways above cited, the primary chords are distinctly predominant, but particularly the tonic and the dominant chords. In theory we should naturally expect such prominence of the strongest chords, and in practice we find the theory confirmed. Now observe to what a discovery this leads us. In continuing a musical composition in any given key, the tonic and dominant chords are being con- stantly emphasized in one way or another, not inten- tionally by the composer, for probably he has no sus- picion of it; doubtless few if any of the great composers ever analyzed the chord contents of their own or any other music, to see what chords occurred most frequently; this reiteration of the two chords above named, is an unconscious act of the mind; in other words, music founded on scale relationship springs naturally into the composer's mind, with this disproportionate use of 153 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND chords, and nought else accords with his instincts or with the instincts of the listener. The hearer sub-consciously feels this due proportion, and as long as it is maintained, with approximate ex- actness, the scale remains undisturbed in his mind, though he be utterly unconscious of such a thing as scale or scale-relation. We are therefore warranted in saying that in main- taining this disproportionate use of the chords, the orig- inal scale continues in force, and it will be impossible to induce the feeling of any modulation. We are therefore prepared to answer the question, "How do we remain in any given scale?" by saying that it is by keep- ing the tonic and dominant chords of that scale promi- nent in the mind through numerical frequency, by the emphasis that comes from the natural accent in each measure, and by what we might call the structural accent of the phrases. Transfer the emphasis to other chords, and something important happens, and some- thing serious, unless the matter be managed artistically; for the foundation fact in the mind of the listener, so far beneath his surface thoughts that he is quite una- ware of it, is the scale in which melody and harmony are progressing; it is their scale relation that gives them their musical sense; the hearer is constantly breathing a scale-atmosphere; when he loses the scale there is little left to cling to, as regards pure music. Now let the prominence be shifted from the tonic and dominant, and instinctively the listener casts about to find what chords are having special emphasis, for they axe now to become his new tonic and dominant chords. If the new selection 154 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND be not instantaneous, there will be a period of suspense — if managed properly and not of too long duration, a not unpleasant, nay, perhaps an exhilarating suspense — like that of a well-written story, wherein no small part of the interest is due to the uncertainty of the plot. But the suspense of scale-relation can have no long duration, and it would be as repugnant to the com- poser as to the listener. The following example shows the prominence of the tonic and dominant chords in the ways above named. It must be remembered that the inversions of the chords are as assertive of the real nature of the chords as are their fundamental positions; that is to say, the chord of the sixth on E, or the chord of the sixth and fourth on G, gives the same prominence to the C chord as does the fundamental position; and the same is true of the inversions of the dominant chord on G. This must be remembered in estimating the amount of emphasis of the various chords in the following illustration: Largo, Beethoven Op. 2 No. 2. mf^ wm i :* -#- -&- ^ite^^^ m. -i&- g*qy^q^q^^-^g^^ iSS RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND i *Ei5 3" i •-!!:. ^W^ ^ ^Pf^ r i s g a 1^1 rt? T 1^ ( aM— J ^ ■?:>- i • — ^ qr-qy^-q-^ ^ f ^l -« ^g ^ r^ 3^ I This example shows the special emphasis of tonic and dominant in a really surprising manner, and to an ex- treme degree. Reckoning three beats to the measure, the passage contains twenty- three beats; the funda- mental harmony of fourteen of the twenty-three is that of the tonic chord; that of seven beats is the dominant chord, leaving only two beats, whose harmony is that RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND of the subdominant. Yet no one in hearing it has any impression of the paucity of diverse harmonies, and the immense predominance of the tonic chord. The absence of monotony, in this surprising reiteration of the tonic and dominant chords, evinces the satis- faction of the hearer in having the scale strongly em- phasized. Of course, the mere repetition, apart from pleasing melody, would at once become tiresome, and the reason for very much of the modern frequency of modulation is due to the lack of melodic invention based upon the foundation chords of a scale. As soon as the latter-day composer finds himself at the end of a melodic thought — and the end is apt to be very near the beginning — he hopes to start the flow of melody again by plunging into another scale, with probably some success from the melodic point of view, but such shifting from scale to scale makes the composition incoherent. We may, therefore, consider that a prolonged emphasis of the main scale in which the composition lies is the first demand in a genuine art-product. But, ere long, the craving for variety, which is as strong as that of unity, asserts itself, and we have now reached the point where we must needs change the scale. At this point, however, we must allude to a peculiar fact that is not very generally recognized. Every long composition con- tains many modulations, and each one may seem to be so complete that we are apparently as fully established in each new scale, as in the one in which the piece began. But we are not thus established as firmly as we were in the first scale. We think we have utterly forgotten that 157 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND "— ■^~~"^^~— "— ~~^™~~^^~"'"^""^""'~~*~'"^"'^^^~"~^^~~*~^~~'~"~~'~"^^~~""^^~""^^ first scale — with all our endeavors we cannot call it up — yet there remains an impression of it deep down in our mind which a dozen or twenty succeeding scales can never quite eradicate. And it is not from any arbitrary dictum of the acknowledged authorities in mu- sical composition, it is from no fashion of "musical form," but simply because of this unfailing remembrance of the first scale that possessed our minds, that the com- position ultimately returns to its original key, and the hearer has something of that "home" feeling come over him, in getting back to his first key after all his scale wanderings, that the traveller has, after years of foreign life, when he returns to the scenes of childhood. All of the other scales that have been touched, or have been continued for long passages, are on a par, as regards their transient impression on the mind; they were adopted fully and satisfactorily, and the finest passages in the whole piece may have lain in one or another of them, but however cordially accepted, none of them left an abiding impression — each was dropped absolutely xin entering upon a new scale — it is a case of "out of sight, out of mind." A composer feels this abiding im- pression of the original scale quite as distinctly as any of his hearers, and it is sometimes a matter of surprise to him, and confirmatory of the preeminent force of the original scale, that he can return to it so easily, and feel its old force so powerfully on suddenly returning to it from some extremely remote scale — a quick transition that would be impossible, if he were not entering a scale that is made easy of entrance by the quality of familiarity. It is probable that the period of absence RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND from that first scale might be so prolonged that the last vestige of remembrance of it would be lost. It would be interesting to know how long it can be retained in the memory; certainly longer in some minds than in others, but there must be a limit for even the most retentive memory. In sonatas and symphonies, consisting of several distinct movements, each of considerable length, it is thought necessary to have the last movement > in the same key as the first, though it may well be doubted if one in a thousand would feel any lack of proper unity, if the last movement were in a different key. It is not impossible that an indefinable lack might be felt, with- out at all realizing the ground of it. It is by no means claimed that such prominence of the tonic and dominant chords as we find in the above example from Beethoven is to be found at the beginning of every composition, or that it is maintained in the sequel of the composition cited. But it is conclusively proved by the examination of well constructed music that in one or another, or in all of the ways above men- tioned, a conspicuous emphasis is placed upon the two most important chords of the scale in use. Remembering that the dominant chord of any piece is already emphasized, it would seem to require some length of time to show that it is being so much more emphasized than formerly that the hearer would be in- clined to accept it as the tonic of a new scale. Now, as a matter of fact, it does require more time to modulate into the dominant, under ordinary circumstances, than into any other scale that stands in somewhat close con- nection with the original scale, and if one will carefully 159 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND watch his own feelings in many passages where there seems to be a drifting into the dominant, he will become conscious that he is more or less perplexed to know whether to construe the dominant chord as still the dominant, or to accept it as a new tonic. This waver- ing in his mind may not for a brief time be disagreeable, for the music may be intelligible and pleasing under either interpretation, but it cannot be continued be- yond a certain point, and it is one of the necessary in- stincts of the composer that the suspense shall not be unduly prolonged. Many a musician has had the im- pleasant experience of trying to get into the dominant scale, and of encountering precisely this difficulty of not being able to inject the tonic quality into the dominant, although, if the same music had begim in that dominant scale, the whole passage would have been construed therein. It makes all the difference in the world whether the mind is already prepossessed by a scale. The first chord in a piece is instinctively accepted as the tonic chord; and the mind will continue to regard it so, until the necessity of accepting another key-note becomes imperative. It may even happen that when a key-note has been accepted, the dominant chord of that scale may for a short time occur more frequently than that of the tonic, without inducing the hearer to sub- stitute the dominant for the tonic, i.e., to modulate, r Nothing is further from the truth than that an acci- dental can produce a modulation. It no more throws a scale out of the mind than a pebble will throw a railway train off the track. A multitude of pebbles might do it, and any accidental, repeated frequently, may also lead i6o RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND to the derailment of a scale; but a scale once possessing the mind is too firmly fixed to be dislodged by a trifle. We can go from the scale of C to that of G without a single accidental, and again we can remain in the key of C in a passage that contains F sharp many times, thus: m — 4 — J — s#*r — ^ w^^^=m ^^^^m- ^ ^ l^^^^^gi it One of the difficulties of listening to an unfamiliar composition is in the occasional uncertainty in regard to the scale. After becoming acquainted with the music, we have learned to interpret doubtful passages in their proper keys. Of course, the suspense in regard to un- familiar passages must not be so prolonged as to be in any wise disagreeable, but there is certainly involved a mental effort that afterward is not required. In the case of these doubtful passages, we really hear them in a double sense, finding one meaning as considering them i6i RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND in the original scale, and another meaning as being in the new scale, and each effect may be perfectly musical ; but we finally adopt that which seems most consistent with the context. Each one makes his own conclusions, which are authoritative for himself alone. My opinion is no rule for another. Where / find a new key-note, there is a new key-note for me, but no one else can be bound to my decision, nor can I be bound to another's decision. Musicians of equal ability may disagree as to the point where the change of scale occurs, and it will often happen that one cannot tell where he has made the exchange of scales. At a given spot he knows he is in the old scale; at another point, a few measures further on, he knows he is in the new scale; and perhaps the most he can ever do will be to bring those two points a little nearer together, leaving a short passage of de- batable ground where the transition is unconsciously effected. When we wish to modulate into the subdominant, the problem is comparatively easy; for the subdominant chord is so far inferior to that on the dominant, that its use is comparatively rare. The result is, that as soon as we emphasize the subdominant chord, the mind quickly feels the disproportion in its use; and, having been of infrequent occurrence in the original scale, its emphasis compels the mind to surmise at once that it is indicative of a transition in scales, and one readily adopts the new keynote. We will only allude to one more interesting fact con- nected with the subject, namely, that at the opening of a composition the mind, though awake, is not as alert i6a RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND as when it has become, so to speak, warmed up by its own exercise, and is more ready to respond to the sug- gestion of modulation than it can be at first. It is pre- cisely the same as in listening to an oration or discourse, wherein the writer must adapt himself to the less re- ceptive and responsive mood of the auditor, and lead him along gradually to the more subtle and difficult treatment of his subject. Thus it results that when the middle part of a long composition has been reached, the mind easily grasps and enjoys a frequency and boldness of modulation that would be most mal a propos at an earlier point, and will flit from scale to scale with sur- prising dexterity and with no fatigue. Where there is any such rapid series of modulations, the phrases which lie in the successive scales will be correspondingly brief, as it will only be from phrase to phrase that the new scalesare introduced. For this rapid alternation of scales, without bewildering the hearer, nothing is more service- able than the sequence form of composition, which is re- ferred to in another essay; for each phrase in the se- quence is short, and, if it be of the sort favorable for mod- ulation, each repetition of the initial phrase instantly puts the mind into a new scale. The entire course of a well-written composition illus- trates the numberless ways of maintaining interest by a constant succession of new effects, of one sort and an- other; and this device of modulation, though of less frequency, is one of the most important and pleasing. Finally, the reason why a change of scale is pleasur- able calls for a moment's attention. The scale — the tone-alphabet of music-language — is an organism of 163 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND seven tones, and not a mere series of adjacent but un- related tones. In the scale each tone has its peculiar color and effect, and each succeeding octave, above or below, re-echoes the same color and effect. This qual- ity that appears in tones from such organic relation we call the scale-color of the tone — a color entirely distinct from that which distinguishes, for example, the tone of a violin from that of a flute or clarinet. Thus the scale can be compared to the solar spectrum with its seven distinct colors; and a little experiment shows how the seven colors in our tonal spectrum may be made to appear successively in any tone one may produce by making that tone to appear, first in one, then another of the seven positions of the scale. Thus, if the chord of C be played, establishing the scale of C in the mind, B will show the color that is peculiar to the seventh of every scale, with its peculiar "leading'* quality that makes one expect to hear the tone above after it. Now put yourself into the scale of B, and that same tone takes on a distinctly different color — that of the tonic. It will require but little practice to go through all the tones of the scale and learn their especial "scale color," which is more pronounced in some tones than in others, but all of them perfectly individual to an experienced ear. As the significance of each tone is found in its scale color, the "meaning" of a passage remains essentially the same, whether it be performed by human voices, or by stringed, reed, or brass instruments. The main force of the tone is derived from its scale position. We can now understand the philosophy of modula- 164 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND tion, as a means of giving variety to the composition. Modulation is not primarily so much for the purpose of introducing new tones to the hearer, as to shift the colors on the same tones, and show those tones in a new light. Thus, in going from any scale to its dominant, or to its subdominant, all the tones remain identical except one, but all of the remaining six have taken on a fresh effect, by occupying different positions in the new scales ; thus the dominant of the old becomes the ruling tone of the new, with all the mastery inherent in the tonic color; the "leading tone" of the old becomes the third of the new, with that restful quality that always inheres in the third of the scale. These tones are virtually new to the ear, heard with this new light cast upon them. In modu- lating into the remoter scales we also get tones not heard before, and this variety is also pleasing, but in any com- position there is more use of the scale founded on the dominant, than of any other, when resorting to modu- lation for the sake of new effect; and in the identity of all the tones but one in a dominant scale with those of the original scale, we find ourselves fairly justified in claiming that the mind is as well pleased to hear familiar tones in a new light, as to hear utterly new tones. And is not this in accord with our feeling in other lines of thought? Are we not as pleased and surprised to have an old and hackneyed thought presented in a fresh aspect and with unwonted virility, as to have an essen- tially new thought? The world does not crave new ideas a whit more than it does the infusion of new blood into the old ideas. In the best sense of newness we get it in the re-vitalizing of old truths. i6s RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND How is Music Composed? A COMPOSER never feels more helpless than when he is confronted by the oft-repeated ques- tion, "How do you write music? and he may well be embarrassed ; for the process is as indescribable as the essence of music itself is intangible and evanes- cent. Yet, after all, is this mysterious process of com- position, this reaching forth for strains that never yet have sounded in a mortal ear, this capturing of what sometimes seem like the very echoes of a heavenly masterpiece — is this more wonderful than the unimag- inable process by which any writer or thinker grasps a thought that lies outside of him? Who has the slight- est conception of the modus operandi of the universal art of thinking — doing, we know not how, to get, we know not what. But we are all accustomed to think in verbal language, and from the very constancy of the act we stupidly lose the sense of its mystery. In an indefinable way, understood only by Him who made the mind, an idea comes to a trained intellect, marvel- ously embodied in a crystalization of words — verbal forms to one thinker, spacial forms and colors to another, melodic and harmonic forms to a third: the first thinker is a litterateur, the second, a sculptor, architect, or painter, the third, a musical composer. The only thing that is comparable to the nature of the Divine Being is the marvellous enginery of the human mind. The experience of the mystery of mental crea- tion leaves no trace of the method, and in its broad i66 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND reach the question, how we think, must for mortals re- main unanswered. Intricate as the process is, in musical invention, we will venture to call attention to one trick of the art, which can be comprehended even by the ordinary music- lover, namely, that of Sequence and Imitation. Of all the devices in composition none is more im- portant, nor of more frequent use, than that of sequence. Quite unbeknown to the listener, it produces an effect that is always welcome when judiciously used, and he may never realize how much of the pleasurable effect of music is due to this very simple art. Sequence may be defined as a parallelism of ideas; something like suc- cessive statements of the same thought in verbal ex- pression, where the same idea is presented in short and pithy phrases by way of definition or of illustration. But in such reiteration of a thought, the musical com- poser has the best of it; for in large degree the thought that is at the basis of the sequence is one and the same, either in the melody or in both melody and harmony. It is more or less precise reiteration; but variety is afforded, without effort to the composer, by placing the successive phrases higher and higher, or lower and lower in the scale, so that each phrase acquires an aspect of its own, combining novelty with reminiscence. The labor of composition is thereby materially lightened; for, if the idea to be repeated is two measures long, and it recurs twice, the composer, in producing those two measures, has really produced six. Of course, this manner of treating an idea must not be carried to excess; and it is not every thought or every phrase that can be 167 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND thus reiterated ; but it is a most important requirement of a writer that he be able to introduce this effect from time to time; and many a modern composition suffers, both in unity and in strength, from a lack of skill thus to repeat existing material. For one element of success in all writing is, that the hearer shall be able easily to grasp an idea, and this he never does so perfectly as in the reiteration of phrases in sequence form. It is also to be noted that the sequence comprises in itself the two essential requirements of every composition — unity and variety. Sequence phrases are extremely variable in length; sometimes only a small fraction of one measure, at other times from one to two measures long. The fol- lowing illustrations will make the nature of sequence perfectly clear: \T=t fe ^^^ ^^ f=H=i= u d=F 9± ^ r.smjYr.iTr i^^^^^^ i68 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND (3) J^i ', ^1 '^ ^ ^ "^ i -* — «- ^t — X- fL 9-^ If one will play the first phrase of any of the above sequences, he will recognize how readily the mind grasps the thought in its repetition. Indeed, the listener out- strips the performer, and unconsciously composes the repetition for himself. This ability pleases him, and making the hearer pleased with himself goes a long way toward making him pleased with the music. It will be seen in the last example that we have a compound sequence ; for the melody of the first measure is repeated three times at a descending interval of a third, while the entire melody of the first four measures is repeated one degree higher. Note also that many a phrase which, used once only, would receive little or no attention, and would possess no remarkable strength, gathers force in the repetition, produces a sort of climax, and may become a point of 169 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND peculiar interest in the composition. The weakness of much modern writing is perhaps due less to the poverty of the initial thought than to the lack of ability so to treat the thought as to develop all its force. In examining the above illustrations it will be seen that each successive phrase stands at a uniform distance from the preceding phrase. More commonly, each new entrance is on the next degree of the scale, either higher or lower; and the distance is determined, not by the composer, but by the nature of the phrase — by its natural drift. Sometimes the interval is a third, rarely a fourth or a fifth. And whether the trend of the phrase is upward or downward is also determined by its in- herent drift; an ascending sequence cannot usually be made to descend, nor vice versa. A phrase that can thus be employed in sequence form has almost invariably two repetitions. If repeated only once, it commonly fails to develop its full significance; and the listener is disappointed, in the semi-conscious- ness that its entire force has not been brought out. But beyond a third occurrence of the phrase there is a sense of monotony; so that it is rare for the phrase to be heard four times. The greatest master of the art is Se- bastian Bach, a few of whose sequences are here presented : 170 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND i «* ^ JLAjL.. 4 I ^ ^^ s ^ ^ -^ ^r=:i> T ^^^ ^J ^iifc^ s^ i J J y-^ ^ i—*—* — ^ ^ 1 ' ^ • ' ' ^-riT,. h-T-HM-r I ' I ( J- §i^ ^ r T I I I r=^ ^ ^^^^^^:^^d^^^^. ^§S l^^ti+t S^^T^^^^tSg^ ^iife 6%^^^ S?^ =? i ^^ S3it -5?rir-r^ ^-"-» r- i ibll' I «lh^ -It * » Sil- ^^i^ ^ ^ ^ r-^— ^ I 171 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Sometimes the melody alone carries out the sequence idea, as in the following: 3=p: SS atzt S -i^— ^ 75^ ^-^- -g- t>^ ^a At other times the harmony is repeated with equal exactness. Yet even if the harmony shares in the sequence form, there is likely to be a deviation from it in the last repetition, which obviates the effect of mere mechanical precision. This imitation of a given phrase, which finds its ex- treme illustration in the strict sequence, appears in less degree in passages like the following, wherein the original phrase is copied in its rhythm and in the direction of its melody, yet without absolute identity of the correspond- ing intervals, as in strict sequence. This sort of imi- tation is illustrated in the following: a is w (^ ^ 172 RAMBtES IN MUSIC-LAND i aj ¥ f-^-^ t==t 1 i -^ i=^ 3-^ ^^ ^ =^;=^ f^ ^ la the imitation of one phrase by another, there may be all degrees of resemblance in the direction of the melody, and in the intervals between the successive tones, or there may be absolutely no resemblance in either of these respects; but the rhythm, i.e., the values of the corresponding tones, must be identical: and wherever this identity is found one will feel a distinct resemblamce to the original phrase, as in the following examples : ?=i^ ^i^i^i^ ^=^ -• =1- i ^^—i^-^ ^m • — jh '"^- f 173 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND f^^ta*^^^^^^ ^ e 113=^ :^=?t SE? ^^ S ^ i ?±^ :its=3t -tzz^i: -• • d a i :^ f q -•-7- -*=# ^^ The essence of a musical idea will sometimes be found more in its rhythm than in the interval relations of its tones. It is simply the difference of rhythm that con- ceals, in the following, a beautiful symphonic melody of Beethoven. m ^ -w — r - a=rt :t=at ^ t=3t fe ^ f- * . 1 ^ y^^^g^ ^^ ^^^ EXt ^p::?: ^ 'LTh r " 174 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Moreover, a peculiar sense of unity and coherence in a melody is often due to the prevalence of a minute rhythmical element throughout the melody; as in the above quotation from Beethoven, where one of its most characteristic features is presented in the very first two notes. ^^ Such mode of composition is, in reality, the elabo- ration of some musical idea which constitutes, as we might say, the kernel of the music, and which can be fully expanded only by its reiteration in varied form. To do this successfully shows a master's skill, and re- quires long and patient discipline. Composition of this sort has enduring value, as it possesses naturalness, and is pervaded by a pleasing and indispensable unity. The greater one's skill in producing imitative effects along the lines presented in the foregoing analysis, the less new material he needs in any given composition, and the more homogeneous, logical, and easily apprehended that composition will be. The classic writers were masters of the art, and should be studied as models in this respect by all who aspire to high rank as com- posers. Fluency in melodic invention is an inestimable gift, but it is not so large a part in the total requirement of a successful composition as is commonly supposed. 175 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND Why do We have Discord in Music? ^FffHE problem we have chosen as the last of the IIL series seems the most perplexing of all. Discord ^^ is universally accepted as a matter of course. Its very frequency seems almost an explanation of its necessity. This is a trait in human nature: the more familiar we become with any situation in life, the more unquestioningly we accept it, less and less inclined to inquire into its reason or propriety. But if one applies his mind directly to the anomaly of discordance as an integral factor of our ''harmonies," he cannot fail to be surprised at the apparent incon- sistency, and may labor long before an explanation is forthcoming. The realization of what "concord of sweet sounds" and the jargon of conflicting tones signify makes them appear utterly incompatible in an art one of whose highest purposes is to give us unmingled pleas- ure. It seems to make the art a "bitter-sweet" that can never be an unalloyed delight. Some attempt to overcome the difficulty by recogniz- ing two kinds of discords — the pleasing and the dis- pleasing ! — an easy subterfuge for one who lazily seeks to evade what'seems to be an insurmountable difficulty, but it is too fallacious for those who are willing to look the facts plainlj^ in the face. We cannot square facts to theories, we must square theories to facts. Before assuming to solve the problem, one thing should be made clear in regard to what we call a discord, which 176 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND is interesting to consider, though it does not in the least lessen the difficulty of the matter in hand. Such a combination of tones as the following, i is called a discord ; yet while the entire group of tones is stamped — or stigmatized — as a discord, it is far more of a concord than of a discord, for it is a "common chord," with all the concordance of such a tone-group, plus one tone that stands in antagonism to a single member of the group, viz., the root. Thus the pre- ponderance of effect is thoroughly harmonious — it is a perfect concord with a small infusion of discord, and takes its name from that subordinate element. There is no discordance in music, with the rarest exceptions, that does not thus show a predominance of pure concord in immediate association therewith. It is thus evident that in the use of discords the "harmony" of a com- position is not so seriously disturbed as might be imagined. This, however, does not at all explain why the least possible element of discord can ever properly find its way into music, though it proves how comparatively slight the infusion of the inharmonious is, even in what we call the strongest discords. The so-called discords are simply tinged, not saturated, with the objectionable element. To return to our main discussion — no other art in- volves this problem. In painting we have shadow as a foil for sunlight; but shadow at its worst is not an un- 177 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND mixed evil, it is often welcome and restful, and the eye will sometimes linger longest on the darkest portion of the picture. But the ear is forever antagonistic to discord; it wants it, and cannot do without it; but it is a case of welcoming pain; and no sooner does it hear it than it recoils and seeks to escape it. It is lured to it as the bird is lured by the fatal magic of the serpent's charm, and even^'struggles like the bird to gain the joy of liberation. ^^ It is like Satan in the councils of heaven, as described in the Book of Job.^^How shall we explain the anomaly? The difficulty of understanding the matter is largely due to the fact that our minds act so easily and spon- taneously in their complex operations that we often do not realize fully what our own thoughts are; just as the pianist is quite unconscious of the simultaneous motion of all his fingers in the most rapid execution, yet his mind prompts every single motion. It is done by what we call our subconscious mind ; and a little reflec- tion leads one to believe that our subconscious mind is by far the most active and brilliant part of our mentality. When one has acquired the faculty of distinct intro- spection — and it is much harder to know what is within us than what is without us — he will be aware of the close resemblance between the discordances and con- cordances of music and those of life; and naturally so, for music symbolizes our life better than any other art; and he will find that when hearing a discord the mind instantly looks forward to that compensating harmony that shall be to the discord like the poet's "Rest after toil, port after stormy seas," 178 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND that somehow, in the retrospect, makes even past labor sweet, and puts a gilded edge upon the sailor's very struggle for deliverance; while rest itself is never blessed rest except as it follows toil, and only stormy seats can make the "port" a paradise. Who is there that cannot look upon some painful ex- perience of the past, and find it strangely although faintly brightened by a light that falls upon it from the happy outcome of that experience? Thus it is our minds are made; and thus discord and concord both in life and in music react upon each other — the discord brightened by its joyous sequel, the concord intensified and often made glorious by the dark background of what in its own nature is only painful. Thus it is that we find reflected pleasure in discord, by intimate asso- ciation in our mind with its delightful solution — called in music "resolution;" and thus, too, the force of pure concord comes to us in all the power of its meaning, with the foil of a darksome past, without which we should never experience in its fulness that "Rest after toil, port after stormy seas." Music, like life, is planned, not for the greatest happi- ness of moment by moment, but — with a broader out- look — for the most beneficent and satisfying aggregate of effect. It is the strain that strengthens, the under darkness of the cloud that makes the silver lining fair and welcome, bringing great rejoicing at the end. Our days are brighter for the alternating nights, and a perfectly cloudless day can never reveal the utmost splendor of the sun. A special experience is needful to make one realize the supernal grandeur of light. I 179 RAMBLES IN MUSIC-LAND once had that experience at Lake George. A severe storm had left the entire sky overcast with a pall of clouds that were almost black. The lake and the ad- jacent range of lofty mountains responded to the mood of the day, and were robed in the mournful garb of night. Just as the sun was about to drop below the western hills, a long, narrow rift suddenly parted the veil, and a slend^ band of rich gold, a mile in length, lay upon the wooded eastern shore, sharply separating the purplish-black of the rugged mountain sides from the broad surface of the leaden, sullen lake. Sunlight was an old story with me. I had thought I knew all that it meant; but now I realized in that one glimpse that I had never truly seen sunlight before. It found its transfiguration in the gloom. The impression was as in- tense and lasting as it was brief. One moment of such experience is worth a whole day of universal sunshine. Many years have elapsed since the incident occurred; but when I hear the threatening tones of a sharp, over- powering discord melt into the brilliant light of a glo- rious harmony, my mind reverts to that impressive solar revelation at Lake George. i8o il lliitaiUi;'i']!li!'L:.'!illllillllllllll!lliiiUifflilliilllll!llilllIllliy THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FiN^ OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. OCT 29 19' R^C'D LD MAfi 14 igisAUG 7 1957 FEB 3 1939 APR 27 m 18Nov'5^TF NOVl 6 '954 18May'56VL| 2lAug'57CRi JUL 2 4 195a AUG 2 1958 pEC'D MUS • 2 1958 Li/UG LD 'J.l-30)ii-8,'3'2 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY ■iiiiiilliilWM^^^