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THE ROLE OF EXPECTATION 
 IN MUSIC 
 
 A STUDY IN THE PSYCHOLOGY 
 OF MUSIC 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR DART BISSELL 
 
 A Dissertation presented to the Faculty of the Graduate 
 
 School of Yale University, in candidacy for 
 
 the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 NEW HAVEN. CONNECTICUT 
 May 1st. 1921 
 
3 6- 
 
 GIFT 
 
 TO 
 
 GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD 
 
 In grateful recognition 
 
 1USHES PRINTS CO ST LOUIS 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ONLY a very few of those who show skill, or even attain celebrity, 
 in any form of art are expert students of the psychology of the 
 art they practice, or of aesthetical philosophy in general. All 
 artists are, of course, conscious of certain judgments and feelings 
 which impel and guide their practical achievements. They may also 
 suspect certain undefinable instincts and obscure impulses which co- 
 operate to the same end. But they have never collated and analyzed 
 or attempted to evaluate, the various phases of their conscious ex- 
 perience; even less have they uncovered the variety, force, and related 
 influence, of the rnental processes that hover about the borders of the 
 conscious mental life, or belong to the sphere of the properly so-called 
 "subsconscious." As to the metaphysical ground of the whole experience 
 and of the whole realm of aesthetical endeavor and achievement in its 
 relation to the world of reality, they have little interest. Indeed, they 
 may regard such cjuest for the foundations of reality in man's artistic 
 life and work as unworthy of serious study. 
 
 On the other hand, only a few of those who have written and 
 taught the psychological theory or metaphysics of any form of art, 
 or of aesthetics in general, have been of marked artistic temperament, 
 or have attained remarkable skill in any form of artistic achievement. 
 Their psychology is rather a matter of remote inference, than of near 
 and immediate experience. But the science of the aesthetical is not 
 like the sciences of the physical or chemical order. Nor can it in all 
 its most important and interesting phases be treated experimentally. 
 The greatest interest, as well as the greatest value, then, belongs 
 to the opinions of those who are both artist and psychologist, in dealing 
 with the psychology of any kind of art. And, on the whole, this 
 would seem to be most emphatically true of the art of music. This 
 is true because the art of music is so largely concerned with the 
 expression, control, and appreciation, of certain sounds that are born 
 of obscure origin, and no sooner born, rapidly die away, rather than 
 of permanent facts which vision can with steadiness contemplate, 
 and memory accurately record. The musician who is also a psychologist 
 has, therefore, his unique value. 
 
 Dr. Bissell, for a life-time, for fully forty years, has been a careful 
 student and teacher of psychology, and also a student, teacher, and 
 composer of music. For some time he has been definitely and diligently 
 studying the problem: "The Psychology of Music." As an expert, 
 he has studied this problem, not simply as it appeared in his own 
 experience, but as it appears in the musical compositions of many 
 scores of musical composers. 
 
 The psychology of music is a theme so vast and varied as to be 
 beyond the compass of any one man, no matter how well fitted for the 
 task. For a "Doctor's Thesis," however, it is required that some 
 definite theme shall be chosen, expressible and precise, and capable 
 of something approaching at least an answer which shall challenge 
 debate, but which shall, at the same time, promise some contribution 
 of distinct value to human knowledge on the subject. Much time 
 and great care were taken in selecting such a theme for treatment 
 in this thesis. Nowhere else, so far as I am aware, has this particular 
 detailed inquiry into a certain problem of the psychology of music 
 been attempted by any writer, whether competent or incompetent. 
 For the special competency of Dr. Bissell, and for the great amount 
 of expert knowledge which he has put upon the treatment, I bear 
 witness with pleasure. 
 
 (lEORGE Trumbull Ladd. 
 New Haven, August, 1920. 
 
 3 
 
 4Gi935 
 
PREFACE 
 
 A FEW WORDS of explanation seem called for, by way of preface, 
 as to certain features in the handling of material in this paper. 
 The bibliography contains no names of writers on this specific 
 subject becau se I was unable to find any. Works that were consulted 
 in an effort to define the problem have been noted, also others that 
 have contributed helpful suggestions. In discussions of attention and 
 rhythm where the subject matter is common property, so to speak, or 
 part and parcel of my own reflective thinking, I have not felt it neces- 
 sary to mention every writer who deals with the same material; the 
 aim in both is too general except where specific applications to music 
 are pointed out; and for those there are no authorities. 
 
 In the passages discussing the facts of music I have not deemed 
 it necessary to espouse any theory on such matters still in controversy as 
 degrees and nature of assonance, scientific theory of melody and 
 harmony, or any other. The aim has been to analyze the common 
 facts of the universal experience of music in the terms in common use, 
 leaving it for others to work out those problems to their ultimate 
 conclusion. Nor is my aim so Jjretentious as to present a comprehensive 
 or final explanation of musical experience; it is the more modest one 
 of calling attention to an important and as yet neglected factor in 
 that experience. In spite of differences of opinion in details involved 
 in such an analytical study — and there is always room for those — it 
 seems to me that the main contention is substantiated. 
 
 As a final word it should be said that the experience subjected to 
 analysis is that of the appreciative listener, not that of the composer 
 or the student of theory, much less that of the psychological analyst. 
 I have been in a more or less musical atmosphere all my life, as 
 listener, performer (piano, organ, voice), composer and student, and 
 have been much given to introspective observation. It is largely 
 the results of this last that have been gradually elaborated and are 
 here presented. 
 
 If I seem to refer to Beethoven frequently, my excuse is^that 
 his works are well-known and easily accessible, and personally I happen 
 to be best acquainted with him. 
 
Tlie Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I. SURVEY OF WORK IN THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MUSIC. 
 
 Many investigators have been engaged on the problems here 
 involved and much light has been thrown on many of these. The 
 purpose of this brief survey is not to present any complete or even 
 approximately complete statement of the work aecomplisliefl, but an 
 outline suf^cient to serve as a background for the investigation under- 
 taken in the present paper. The justification for this procedure lies 
 in the fact that while the elaborate studies made in many different 
 directions have necessarly some indirect bearing on the immediate 
 subject in hand, no one, so far as I have been able to discover, has 
 more than casually mentioned the latter; it is taken for granted as 
 obviously involved, so obviously as hardly to call for special study. 
 In fact, the only writer who deigns to give it more than passing 
 mention is not engaged in a psychological study at all, but a more 
 or less critical discussion of the aesthetics of music as illustrated in 
 certain composers;* and he dismisses it with a paragraph, and does 
 not consider it of sufficient importance to mention it in the index. 
 Even Mr. Britanf in a work that explieitely discusses the psychology 
 of music, devoting an entire division to it, seems not to, consider 
 expectation anything of a separate problem. Consequently there is, 
 as a matter of fact, no literature that bears directly on the problem 
 selected for discussion and the material as well as the method of treat- 
 ment were necessarily sought out and worked out independently. The 
 various elements involved in music have been more or less elaborately 
 treated in a series of studies that have added enormously to our 
 understanding of the mental processes involved and the typical re- 
 actions of musical experience. 
 
 Among the most important of these studies are those on Rhythm. 
 Bucherl undertook to prove the economic importance of rhythm as a 
 stimulus in labor, and others since have dealt with various aspects 
 of the same problem. Irksomeness and fatigue are much relieved by 
 the use of rhythm either in the labor or with it, while some tasks 
 are felt as actually pleasurable which without it would be unpleasant. 
 
 Wundt has an elaborate treatment not only of the numerous 
 elements that enter into the complete experience of rhythm**, but of 
 its originft and its development as well. Much of this has a direct 
 bearing on problems of music as has been fully brought out by Seashorett. 
 
 ♦Studies in Modern Music; Hadow, H. W., 1st Series, p. 64. Later ed. more fully. 
 
 tThe Philocophy of Music. 
 
 JArbeit und Rhythmus. 
 
 **Phys. Psych. 6th ed. vol. III. chs XV, XVI, XVIII, XIX. 
 
 ttThe importance in this process of the movements involved in walking had been pointed 
 
 out by me in an unpublished lecture before I read Wundt's full discus.sion. 
 ttPsychology of Musical Talent, chs. Ill, IV. V. 
 
 — iii — 
 
and all serves to present a background for the operation of the special 
 feelings and tendencies discussed in the present paper. The same 
 is true of the treatment of syncopated and irregular rhythms by 
 Patterson*. But none of these writers indicate the connection. 
 
 Attention in its special form of expectant attention is more direct- 
 ly applicable to the phenomena of music, but is not always considered 
 important enough for special study. Thus Pillsbury's elaborate dis- 
 cussion! does not mention the topic in any of the summaries at the 
 close of the chapters nor in the index. WundtJ has a brief account 
 of expectation and its correlatives of fulfillment and surprise, also 
 Ladd,§ but both these writers are concerned with the phenomena of 
 strain and relief involved in the experience and the modifying effect 
 that expectation exercises on subsequent sensations in the direction 
 of clearness on the one hand and illusion on the other, and neither 
 hints at any connection of these experiences with the enjoyment of 
 music. 
 
 Auditory phenomena of all kinds — with or without application 
 to music — have been made the subject of elaborate investigation ever 
 since the work of Helmholtz and' Stumpf. The sense of pitch, of 
 consonance and dissonance, of chord harmony, auditory space and 
 time, the auditory image, difference between major and minor, all 
 these have in turn occupied the field of inquiry and rival threoies 
 have been proposed to explain the facts for scientific psychology. 
 An admirable summary of this work, with practical applications, is 
 presented by Seashore**, for whose aims the controversies as such 
 are of secondary importance. It has been made clear, however, in 
 the process of these laborious studies that even the simplest of musical 
 experiences is a much more complicated affair than had been supposed. 
 One of the most fruitful results achieved is the clear evidence of how 
 vitally the nervous system is involved in all such experiences, from 
 the primitive to the most highly developed modern. This aspect of 
 the case is presented by Jentschft with some fulness, but is also treated 
 in the general works on physiological psychology. Studies of special 
 interest on the nature of melody as well as its effects have been made 
 by Weld,|:t Bingham, §§ and Meyer,*** with considerable differences in 
 conclusion, not however necessarily contradictory. An especially 
 stimulating discussion of the intellectual element in music is to be found 
 in the essay of Nortonfft. but if, as he says, that is a neglected aspect 
 of musical appreciation, expectation as an important factor in that 
 aspect is certainly deserving of mention. If there is some work or 
 review article in which this factor in the enjoyment and appreciation 
 of music is discussed with any fulness, I have simply overlooked it 
 in a rather careful search. For questions touching the history and 
 interpretation of music and composers I am much indebted to the 
 writings of Parryttf, Hadow§§§, Mason****, Rollandfttt and GrovcttJt 
 particularly to those of Mason. I also wish here to acknowledge my 
 direct indebtedness to Dr. George Trumbull Ladd, for personal encour- 
 agement and stimulating suggestions. 
 
 *The Rhythm of Prose 
 
 tAttention 
 
 JOp. cit. pp. 320f. 
 
 §Phys. Psychology, pp. 621f. 
 
 **0p. cit. passim. 
 
 ttMusik znd Nerven. 
 
 JJExperimental Study of Musical Enjoyment. 
 
 §§Studies in Melody. 
 
 ***Pshcyological Theory of Music; Exper. Studies in Psych, of Music. 
 
 TTtThe Intellectual Element in Music. 
 
 UtEvolution of the Art of Music 
 
 §§§Op. Cit. 
 
 **** Beethoven and his Forerunners, and the entire series. 
 
 TTTTJean Christophie; Beethoven. 
 
 tlttDicUonary of Music and Musicians; The Nine Symphonies of Beethoven. 
 
II. GENERAL FEATURES OF EXPECTANT ATTENTION. 
 
 Attention seems to be the name psycliology has agreed upon to 
 indicate the degree of mental energy, whether voluntary or involuntary, 
 actually engaged in presenting more or less vividly some sensation 
 or object or image or thought before the field of consciousness. The 
 difficulty involved in attending to an element of feeling lies in the 
 fact that there is a certain feeling-tone of interest always associated 
 with the attention, which is greater when this is voluntary, and that 
 feelling of interest tends to supplant the feeling to which attention 
 is directed. Severe pain might assert itself over against this feeling 
 of interest but it is itself too serious a disturbance of the process of 
 attention. There is also a motor accompaniment to attention which, 
 like the feeling of interest, is more marked with the voluntary atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Involuntary attention may be illustrated by such experience as 
 the following: I meet an acquaintance on the street and glance up 
 out of a brown study. Being so p re-occupied my mind receives only 
 a sort of confused impression: "face." I pass on without bowing and 
 a couple of seconds later the impression clears up, the features are 
 distinct, and too late to bow I recognize a familiar face. The interrup- 
 tion of my absorbing train of thought in glancing up released enough 
 mental energy to define the confused sensation content and took a 
 certain amount of time to do it. Or again, in the partly instinctive 
 effort to save myself from injury in a fall, I seize an object with my 
 hands; as before from the eye, so now from the hand, comes a confused 
 sensation content: "something." If no defining process had ensued 
 I could have reported nothing as to shape or hardness or position. 
 But here again, after the immediate preoccupation in connection with 
 the fall has abated, mental energy was released and the "object was 
 defined and I perceived the peculiar rounded shape and medium hard- 
 ness and recognized it. In neither of these cases cited does close 
 introspection reveal tlic presence of either voluntary effort or any 
 motor accompaniment, though tlie latter was no doubt present un- 
 consciously. From this involuntary stage to the closest voluntary 
 absorption in minute observation, or in following an intricate train 
 of thought, there are all shades and degrees of this mental energy with 
 corresponding variations of voluntary and motor elements. In the 
 case of voluntary attention, at least, there is involved a sort of selection, 
 a turning from some other would-be claimants to the field of conscious- 
 ness to this or that in particular: and the process of obervation or 
 thinking is more successful, other things being equal, in proportion 
 to freedom from disturbance by other interests that might intrude 
 on the field and so divide attention. Our bodily and mental mechan- 
 ism is so arranged that operations which at first reauired close and 
 divisive attention are relegated without our choice more and more 
 to the realm of habit and recede from the field of consciousness, thus 
 leaving energy free to deal with the new objects of voluntary selection. 
 It is from this mechanism that those phenomena have their origin 
 which we include under the general term of expectant attention. In 
 this class of mental experience the selection of the object of attention, 
 sensation or image or thought, is pre-arranged either by preceding 
 voluntary effort or by concomitant circumstances. The result is widely 
 divergent according as the expectation is met or not met. If on the 
 one hand the object previously selected is actually presented, not only 
 is the definition of it clearer than it would be if not expected but it 
 also takes less time than it otherwise would. According to Pillsbury*, 
 maximum quickness is reached when a signal is given about two 
 
 ♦Attention, p. 82. 
 
seconds before the stimulus is applied. If on the other hand some 
 other object than the one selected is presented, then the result re- 
 sembles the examples cited above: mental energy being engaged on 
 the selected object is less free for the unselected different object, 
 the definition is not so clear and takes more time. In fact the ob- 
 ject actually presented is liable to be distorted in consciousness, 
 and actual illusions may ensue as to size or intensity or other qualities. 
 The mental deception may even go so far as to replace the presented 
 object with the expected one. This is illustrated in the process of 
 reading, when an error is overlooked and replaced by the correct 
 expected word, or missing an error in proof reading; in the process 
 of writing the hand sometimes anticipates a future letter when cons- 
 ciousness for the present letter seems a blank, i. e., looking back one 
 cannot remember writing "ac" for "ca." On the other hand it is just 
 the alertness of this attention that conduces to rapidity of reading, 
 as the mind anticipates words and phrases, even clauses, and sometimes 
 from a mere glance can forecast the meaning of an entire sentence. 
 
 Like all attention this expectant phase is accompanied by a certain 
 feeling of interest that grows with the increase of expectation (up to 
 a certain point), and this interest may pass over into an experience 
 of pleasure if the object that had been selected is actually presented, 
 a pleasure varying in degree with the intensity of attention and interest. 
 From this point of view we have a rather close analogy here with 
 the reactions from rhythm, a point that will be treated later (I, 4, below). 
 As a matter of fact all expectaton is a state of growing tension that 
 may be heightened right up to the moment of relaxation or relief. 
 There is a point of intensity beyond which the tension becomes un- 
 pleasant, though even then the relaxation may bring a relief with 
 distinct pleasure tone. If the object presented be the one expected 
 there is along with quick and clear definition the pleasure of satis- 
 faction. If a different object is presented there will follow as intimated 
 above a slight mental confusion involving longer time for clear defini- 
 tion and with various possibilities as to feeling-tone. The term "sur- 
 prise" will serve in general to designate the feeling attitude, but this 
 may take the flavor of disappointment with varying degrees of dis- 
 pleasure, from simple failure to please, down to positive disgust; 
 or on the contrary, it may add to the keenness of interest and cause 
 positive pleasure. 
 
 Running parallel to the simple definition of the object is another 
 process that calls for closer attention and is more complex, so that 
 surprise results in greater demands on mental energy and requires 
 still longer time: namely, apperception. The relation of the object 
 that occasioned surprise to that which was expected and to the general 
 mental furnishings must be discerned and interpreted before there 
 is a sense of satisfaction. There is the less difficulty in accomplishing 
 this if some continuity has been maintained in presenting even the 
 tmexpected object; but if the continuity is broken, as for instance by 
 inserting a foreign word or some unmeaning sound in a sentence where 
 a definite word was confidently expected, the sudden demand on 
 mental energy involved in the difficulty of assimilation begets dis- 
 satisfaction and unpleasant confusion, which may be intensified if the 
 task is actually impossible, i. e., if the strange sound was inserted 
 on purpose because it had no assignable relation to either what preceded 
 or what followed. This is quite a frequent experience in listening to 
 public speakers when some word or phrase is mumbled so that it does 
 not present the expected word but an unmeaning sound; we bend 
 our energies for the moment in trying to define the sound in order to 
 fit its meaning into the context, and by the time we have succeeded 
 the sentence is so far advanced that we have lost the thread of it 
 and with it an essential link in the description or argument of the 
 speaker. 
 
It is within this range of experience that expectant attention finds 
 special application to the phenomena of music, its enjoyment and 
 appreciation. There is the quick defining of the auditory sensation 
 in consequence of the fixed attention, since preceding sensations have 
 served as a signal, and there may be under certain conditions partial 
 or complete illusions; and the former, at least (quick definition), is 
 contributoiy to the general effect produced. But the broad fact 
 that serves as the background for the whole series of processes in music 
 is this: we are so constituted physically, we that love music, and 
 through our experience of the facts of this art have become so habituat- 
 ed mentally, that certain sequences of sounds of a rhythmic, melodic 
 or harmonic nature beget definite expectation of other sounds to follow. 
 It may be an interesting problem to consider: what are the outside 
 limits in the sequence of sounds from which may result the faintest 
 expectation of subsequent sounds; important results might be secured. 
 In this paper I aim to assume the sequences of music as they actually 
 exist and point out and analyze the operation of expectation as it 
 enters into the enjoyment of the art. 
 
 It will be worth while to pursue a little further the analogy already 
 adduced above of the spoken sentence. A sequence of words uttered 
 in our hearing sets in motion a series of images that tend normally 
 or logically in a given direction. At several points we can anticipate 
 the next word, and may be surprised by some unexpected word. 
 We hear, for instance, the words: "The distance between": at once 
 we expect to hear the speaker give the names of two places and the 
 conjunction "and" joins the names. If the sentence proceeds: "Boston 
 and New York", there is so far satisfied expectation and we now 
 anticipate hearing the speaker announce a number of miles and expect 
 his next word to be "is". But suppose in place of any geographical 
 term the speaker substituted such words as "love and hate", or "heaven 
 and hell", at once a rapid re-adjustment of expectation is made neces- 
 sary and we no longer look for a statement as to number of miles. 
 There is a certain surprise in such a turn and it may not only be of 
 pleasurable interest, it may even be heightened to the point of ex- 
 citing laughter by careful preparation. It is very much in some such 
 way as this, as will be pointed out repeatedly, that a sequence of tones, 
 through the relations of tonality or pitch or what not that subsist 
 between them, leads to expectation of a certain tone to follow — for 
 instance, the tonic in a cadence after the leading tone has been heard. 
 When the expected tone is duly presented, the tension is relieved 
 and there is the pleasure of satisfaction, a pleasure that can be heighten- 
 ed by increasing the tension. If the expected tone fails to be heard, 
 then there are degrees of surprise and this maj'^ be pleasurable or 
 unpleasant according to conditions. If in spite of causing a surprise 
 the new tone can be readily assimilated to the foregoing material, 
 or if it starts a new continuity, the relation of which to the preceding 
 can be readily apprehended, there may be a keen pleasure added to 
 the antecedent interest of attention. But if the new sound is so 
 isolated from all foregoing sequence that no assimilation seems possible 
 and no other continuity is established, then even a sensuously alluring 
 sound may cause genuine and positive displeasure. 
 
 Since, as will be shown later*, succession and repetition enter as 
 integral elements into the experience of music, it follows that this 
 kind of expectation must be constantly operative in the complete 
 experience of enjoying and appreciating music. 
 
 *v. Intro. Ill, 1 and 2 below. 
 
 — "m — 
 
III. GENERAL GROUNDS FOR THE IMPORTANCE OF 
 EXPECTATION IN MUSIC. 
 
 1. As already intimated, the role expectation plays in music is 
 somewhat different from that of expectant attention in audition, a 
 subject that has been so persistently investigated. That succeeding 
 sensations and feelings do undergo modification by reason of it cannot 
 be questioned, but it is not that phase of the subject that I wish to 
 follow up, not the modification of sensation leading in the direction 
 of illusion or even of increased distinctness, with the consequent 
 feelings. It is rather the modifications of feeling that flow from a 
 sensation that may be a correct representation of the objective fact 
 but which is preceded by different kinds and degrees of expectation. 
 The sensation gives a correct report of the sound as objectively pro- 
 duced — or at least the illusory feature of it is unimportant and second- 
 ary for our purpose — but because of the antecedent expectant state 
 of mind the feeling of pleasure or other affective state accompanying 
 the sensation is markedly different. There is more or less clear cons- 
 ciousness that the sensation presented is — -or is not — what one expected 
 to hear, and a feeling of satisfaction or even stronger pleasure due to 
 the expectation and not to the sensation as such. The same sensation 
 in another connection or in no connection would have a very different 
 feeling tone. But so much of the material I have to present and 
 discuss will furnish constantly repeated illustrations of my meaning, 
 in so far as it lacks clearness, that I do not need to anticipate at this 
 point. 
 
 Other branches of art are subject to this same effect of expectation 
 in greater or less degree. But the one feature common to those most 
 affected by it is that of motion or succession. Thus poetry (especially 
 when recited), drama, oratory, dancing, fiction, all tend to excite 
 anticipation in varying degrees and various ways, and thereby modifj' 
 the attendant or succeeding emotional states. In dancing, for instance, 
 a consecutive flow of movement satisfies expectation, while a sudden 
 change or interruption is apt to excite surprise. In fiction one main 
 feature of the writer's art is the leading up to, preparing for, a climax 
 or d^noument; i. e., he builds up expectation to the point where 
 the satisfaction or surprise experienced shall be at a maximum and give 
 the highest pleasure. Similar things may be said of the other arts 
 above mentioned, and it is true of all of them that the very fact 
 of motion, succession, invites and even forces the reader or listener 
 or spectator (whichever it may be) to make a more or less definite 
 forecast of the word or motion or personal quality or event that is 
 to follow. And in all these cases the mere meeting of the expectation 
 in all its details affords pleasure of a kind. It may be no more than 
 the pleasure of gratified prophetism, that finds its expression in common 
 life in the "I told you so" of the gossip. But it may be also the pleas- 
 ure of satisfaction in a more aesthetic phase of the art; in the con- 
 sistent portrayal of a character in fiction, the faithfulness to real life 
 in describing emotion or conduct or conditions, or many another 
 that might be adduced. In the dance there may be satisfaction in 
 carefully and consistently represented symbolism, meeting the acme 
 of expectation. In poetry we may enjoy the consistent use of appro- 
 priate diction, maintaining of rhythm and other metric features, 
 handling of rhetorical figures — especially an elaborate simile such as 
 Goethe has, for example, at the beginning of Canto VII of his "Her- 
 mann," or De Musset in "Nuit de Mai" on the pelican. But great as 
 is the aesthetic pleasure arising out of even a heightening of expecta- 
 tion, a far greater degree of enjoyment may at times be attained by 
 a carefully planned surprise, the appropriateness and artistic skill 
 of which is recognized and approved. Especially is it true that sur- 
 
prise conduces to the effects called humorous, witty, comic; exact 
 following of expectation here would result in boredom and somnolence 
 of the audience. 
 
 It may even be contended that motion or succession is even more 
 essential to music than to any other of the arts. In speech a single 
 word, a sound not followed by another, leaves a perfectly clear image 
 or meaning in the mind of the hearer, a pose in dancing is apprehended 
 at a glance and has a beauty and meaning of its own quite apart 
 from any succeeding pose or movement. But a single tone, or even 
 two simultaneous tones or a chord, have no suggestion or meaning in 
 themselves; it is only when the tone is followed by one higher or 
 lower, or even at the same pitch, or when the interval or chord is 
 succeeded by another, that we have the beginning of music as some- 
 thing with meaning. And this succession must be one in time, not so 
 spread out in space that a considerable span of it can be apprehended 
 at a single glance. There is succession in design, but the purpose of 
 the very succession itself is that the mental grasp should include such 
 a span, then the succession may be observed as an afterthought in 
 the analysis of the pleasurable effect. In the case of poetry and the 
 like one fragmentary meaning is succeeded in time by others and 
 the mind is busy constructing and apprehending the relations of the 
 succeeding images; in music, on the other hand, there must be a 
 succession of sounds before even a fragment of musical meaning emerges 
 that can be joined to subsequent fragments. 
 
 2. But music possesses one point of great advantage over a'' 
 the other arts — with the possible exception of dancing-;-in this matt, 
 of expectation in its unique position as regards repetition. The oth. 
 arts allow of repetition (dancing particularly), but music calls for u, 
 demands it; it enters into music as an integral factor. It will be 
 instructive to glance at some of the possibilities of repetition in poetry. 
 The Hebrew poet regarded with great satisfaction a thought identical 
 in substance with the preceding line but different in expression; this 
 kind of parallelism is of the very essence of his poetry. In rnodern 
 and occidental poetry one of the commonest fonns of repetition is 
 the recurrence of a refrain at regular intervals or at the end of a stanza, 
 sometimes verbatim, sometimes with variations. Rosetti's "Lady 
 Helen" and many early and later ballads furnish striking examples 
 of this device. After the first repetition the mind is forced into the 
 attitude of expectation on the approach of the corresponding part o*" 
 the next stanza and pleasure is experienced in different degrees accc 
 ing to varying exactness of repetition of the refrain. Another 
 quent device is the repetition of the phraseology of one line i 
 subsequent line for the purpose of special emphasis on the diffe.. 
 ending of the second line. Tennj'son resorts to this quite frequent 
 in the "In Memoriam," several fine examples occurring in the prologut 
 He also repeats in one instance two entire lines verbatim; such a 
 repetition, however, stands alone (as far as I recollect) in his entire 
 poetical output. A third use of repetition in poetry — except in that 
 of the vers libre type — is in the rhythm, and this is where poetry- 
 makes its nearest approach to music. In his "In Memoriam" Tennyson 
 maintains the peculiar four-line iambic tertrameter stanza unaltered 
 to the end, with occasional breaks in the flow of a line. Spencer 
 adheres closely to the pattern set in the first stanza of his "Faery 
 Queen" all the way through the long poem. Dante repeats through 
 the three books of his "Divine Comedy" lines of the same general 
 rhythm, with the three alternating rhymes. The psychological ex- 
 planation of this phenomenon will be discussed below (I. 7). Now 
 while all these kinds of repetition are found in poetry and constitute 
 one important source of the enjoyment it furnishes, there is in one 
 respect a very marked iJiffercnce in music — e\-en more marked ab over 
 
against drama, oi-atory or fiction. When an author has expressed his 
 fundamental thought in fitting language he not only is not expected 
 to repeat it at once in the very same language but he would be severely 
 criticized for so doing. Except in rare cases, a poet is not expected 
 to repeat at all a thought once uttered, much less to use a beautiful simile 
 or metaphor repeatedly in the same poems — or even in different poems. 
 Even when a poet falls into the mannerism of using certain mellifluous 
 or high-sounding words — as Swinburne overdoes "flowers" in his shorter 
 poems; Shelley, "crystalline" and the rhyme "mountain, fountain"; 
 Hugo "les flots;" Schiller "ungliickselig" and "furchterlich" — they pall 
 on the poetic appetite, the words lose their force. In music, on the 
 contrarjs the significant thing is that the composer having stated his 
 subject may, or even in some cases must, state it again. The repetition 
 may not be exact (v. below, a.), though in many cases it is. And 
 even if he does not repeat it at once he is sure to do so a number 
 of times before the conclusion of the piece. And if he has a specially 
 beautiful chord or sequence or melodic phrase (comparable to a beauti- 
 ful simile or metaphor) he is expected to repeat it and would fail of 
 deeply aflfecting his audience if he passed on to ever new material and 
 never came back. Nor is it lack of invention that leads to this feature 
 of composition ; there is hardly any limit to the variety of rhythmic, 
 melodic, figured and harmonic material at the disposal of the com- 
 poser of music, and in some of the modernist composers of music 
 there seems almost to be a rivalry to see which shall have the greatest 
 variety and least continuity or repetition. It will take time to decide 
 whether repetition or constant variety will win out in the end; at 
 present, however, repetition has the field and a back-ground of count- 
 less generations of music-lovers. 
 
 a. But there must be a natural limit somewhere to repetition, 
 and it is found in the span of interest, which exhibits a certain degree 
 of periodicity analogous to the rhythm of attention. A child will re- 
 peat an interesting operation fifty times or more and then stop as 
 suddenl3- as it began, interest being transferred to something else. 
 But even the fifty will not be simple exact repetitions; there will be 
 some sort of variation at intervals that are approximately equal, say 
 from twelve to fifteen. The span of interest that appears in* these 
 experiments appears also in musical repetition. This is demanded 
 as a part of the treatment or development of a thought by the com- 
 poser, but too frequent repetition or too little varied will lessen and 
 finally kill interest. A fine example of repetition nearly to the limit 
 yet ending with intense interest is found in the Andante of Beethoven's 
 Symphony, No. V; the simple figured chord 1-3-5 followed by a short 
 scale passage 5-4-3 is repeated with its harmony 6 times with variations, 
 and then a new variation introduced in melodic and harmonic treat- 
 ment as a last instance. The passage will be discussed later (III. 7). 
 It is from this point of view that we must interpret the enthusiasm 
 shown at different times for sets of variations of a theme or air; such 
 a composition is fundamentally an effort to combine the pleasure of 
 repetition with the interest of variety.' It becomes possible to multiply 
 the variations almost indefinitely, some composers having gone into 
 the thirties. While some of these are mainly formal in their character, 
 others are elaborated into actual works of art, for instance Beethoven's 
 "Thirty-three Variations" on a Waltz by Diabelli. The acquaintance 
 with the theme on which variations are written constitutes the basis 
 of expectation of a new kind for each succeeding variation and a ready 
 means of preparing new pleasures of surprise in each. Now there is 
 nothing parallel to this in poetry or drama (unless Browning's "The 
 Ring and the Book" is an example); and the nearest approach to it 
 in any art is in aesthetic dancing. In this the same figures and 
 poses may be and must be repeated and it is a debatable question 
 
whether there is any limit to the interest in this kind of repetition; 
 though there is a decided limit in the capacity of the human frame to 
 . the variations that could be developed on a central succession of poses, 
 motions, figures and groupings, (v. below I. 7). 
 
 b. It is an interesting and important question at this point why 
 in the dance and in music so much of repetition is possible, while 
 in poetry and the drama it is impossible. The answer lies in the 
 difference of mental appeal of the two groups. In both poetry and the 
 drama (and the same may be said of oratory and fiction) the material 
 consists of words and sentences conveying definite intellectual images 
 and judgments to which the reaction must necessarily be intellectual 
 in its character. This must not be taken to intimate that there is 
 no appeal to the feelings in those arts. There is, often consciously, 
 and at tiines it becomes absorbing and powerful. Such a tragedy 
 as Hamlet or Lear, rousing or tender lyrics, the eloquence of a De- 
 mosthenes, stir the emotions as intensely as any music can; in fact, 
 it is to be doubted whether the emotions are ever so profoundly 
 excited by music alone — in its modern western form at least— as by 
 the higher forms of these allied arts. The difference lies in the direct 
 appeal and the means employed. Poetry, drama and the others, 
 in so far as they stir the emotions, do so by bringing images of real 
 life or imagination vividly before the audience or reader, creating a 
 convincing aesthetic illusion. The direct appeal is intellectual and 
 must be successful in securing a reaction in kind, i. e., the material 
 must be apprehended, in order to succeed in rousing the feelings. If 
 the sentences uttered are not understood there is no emotional response, 
 or it is negligible. Now in music there is no direct appeal to the 
 intellectual activity. In so far as intellectual reactions are released 
 by music they are secondary and incidental, by-products, so to speak, 
 and may not be alike for any two persons hearing the same music 
 and even deepl}' moved by it. It is not intended that such reactions 
 should be alike, whereas in the other case they must be, or there is 
 no affective response. The means employed in music to elicit in- 
 tellectual reactions are such special devices as certain kinds of repeti- 
 tion, modulation and especially form. The direct appeal is to the 
 feelings, it may be nothing more than sensuous delight over sweet 
 sounds or the higher more complex emotions growing out of aesthetic 
 enjoyment and approval. The end in view with drama or fiction 
 may indeed be to stir the emotions, at least the aesthetic approval, 
 but the means used are intellectual in their nature. Now when an 
 image or judgment has been presented to the audience or reader, 
 the very nature of intellectual activity demands that other images 
 and judgments be presented, and then the mind proceeds to assimilate, 
 discriminate, compare and otherwise apperceive the new material. 
 There must be, in brief, di.scursive intellection, the indispensable method 
 of grasping a unity in all these arts. Now while in the higher forms 
 of music sucli intellection is not ruled out — in fact, becomes necessary 
 for liighest aesthetic appreciation and enjoyment — the immediate 
 appeal and effect is of the affective type, pleasure of one kind or anoth- 
 er; and it is in the very nature of simple pleasure of this kind to 
 invite and enjoy repetition. "Do it again," the child keeps on saying, 
 and the audience demands an encore, this being enjoyed even if the 
 same selection is rendered note for note. The pleasure can be re- 
 peated a certain number of times without palling. But if a melody 
 or phrase that is recognized as one of transcendent beauty haunts 
 the Tuind persistently long enough it ceases to please, or at least the 
 usual enjoyment is for the time in abeyance. And the utter boredom 
 of airs from "Trovatore" or "Faust" on hand-organs or other mechanic- 
 al contrivances is a familiar phenomenon resulting from too frequent 
 repetition, j Mutatis mutandis the same thing may be said of the 
 
aestliPtii" dance; althougli there is no mechanical contrivance — unless 
 it is the picture screen — that can offend by such tiresome reiteration. 
 But in the dance itself the pleasure afforded by the beautiful rhythmic 
 motions is the direct effect and it is possible to repeat the same motions 
 a number of times without causing the kind of boredoifi the audience 
 of a drama would suffer if an entire scene, or even portions of it, 
 were presented again before the close of the performance, or a reader 
 of poetry if the author repeated a beautiful stanza or simile verbatim. 
 We do come back to a beautiful poem or drama with interest and a 
 certain kind of expectation then emerges as a direct result. The 
 greater the indirect appeal of the work to the emotions the more 
 repetition it will stand. 
 
 c. The suggestion may be offered even as an objection, that 
 repetition is a phenomenon of later growth, a consequence of higher 
 development of the art of music. The answer is that in all the folk- 
 songs of all nationalities repetition is omni-present. Even if a complete 
 song consist of a melody in which new material is being constantly 
 presented, it is bound to have an indefinite number of verses each of 
 which repeats the melody exactly or with slight changes of ornamenta- 
 tion or the like. And going much farther back in the development of 
 the art, to the music of the most primitive peoples known, the music 
 consists of little more than melodic phrases — -usually in intervals of 
 the triad — howled out over and over again with evident delight. All 
 of which leads inevitably to the conclusion that repetition is basic 
 and not incidental, a psychological necessity as postulate for all later 
 development. In fact, but for this peculiarity in the very foundations 
 of music all subsequent development must certainly have taken a 
 wholly different direction. For repetition is the basis for all that 
 side of musical art known as form. As this point will be fully treated 
 vmder the heading of "Form" (IV. 1) it will not be necessary to dwell 
 on it here. 
 
 3. There is one universal fact of mental life that is of the utmost 
 importance as a basis of expectation, that is habit. As it concerns 
 us here I may confine discussion of it to two phases. 
 
 a. First, habit as subconscious or reflex. Of this type are the 
 reactions of our nervous system to rhythm, to melodic intervals, to 
 volume and rapidity of sounds articulate or inarticulate, to absolute 
 pitch, in the same class with the instinctive reactions of animals 
 to a great variety of stimuli. Even before these responses emerge 
 above the threshold of consciousness they are effective in contributing 
 to the action of music in giving pleasure; but there must be some 
 antecedent experience of that pleasure before such habit can become 
 a basis of expectation with the new effects in producing pleasure to 
 which it leads. A fuller discussion of some of these points will be 
 undertaken later (I. 2; II. 1, and 2, and 6, c). 
 
 b. Second, habit as a result of conscious experience and voluntary 
 activity. As applied to music this will manifestly lead to great variety 
 in expectation. If the habit is the outgrowth of long-continued ex- 
 perience, e. g., of hearing of a certain form of scale from childhood, 
 the expectation will follow along the lines of that experience, any tone 
 lying outside of that scale would occasion a shock of surprise. To 
 cite another example, if the harmony actually heard from childhood 
 has been of the simplest, say of the fifth below the melody (v. Ill, 1, 
 below), the appearance of the third is likely to give a shock. Further 
 applications in detail will follow later. 
 
 But in addition to the general effect of habit long established 
 there is also what I may term incipient habit. By this I mean the state 
 of mind induced at the beginning of a piece of music when the rhythm, 
 melody and harmony (if it is modem enough), have so far advanced, 
 say three or four bars, as to impress a sort of musical pattern on the 
 
mind of the listener so that succeeding appearances of the pattern 
 liave an aspect of familiarity. A further stage of this incipient habit 
 is reached when a listener begins to get accustomed to the language, 
 the idiom, or even the mannerisms of a given composer. E.xpectation 
 in listening to his works takes more definite shape in proportion to 
 familiarity with his ways. When it forecasts with considerable exact- 
 ness the line of development in a new piece, the treatment of a new 
 subject, then the interest and pleasure is lessened; while the composer 
 who can keep in advance of expectation without too severe shocks 
 of surprise, amounting to a mannerism of a different kind, will be able 
 (other things being equal) to maintain interest and satisfaction. The 
 c|uestion how far such habit can be voluntarily modified so as to 
 result in the acceptance of bizarre, not to say abnormal, combinations, 
 will be raised at a later stage (III, 5 below). 
 
 It remains to indicate briefly some possible applications of this 
 form of habit in the kindred arts. The particular form of poetic or 
 dramatic art to which one has grown accustomed, establishes the habit 
 of mind and resulting attitude toward all new experiments. One who 
 for this reason demands accurate rhythm and rhyme in poetry stumbles 
 over tlie apparent lawlessness of the vers litre style, or even at some 
 of the uncouth lines or rhymes uf a Browning; such treatment runs 
 seriously counter to expectation. Temperament in the reader has 
 its share in this result. And it is hardly to be doubted that persistent 
 voluntary effort might lead to an incipient and finally well-established 
 habit in consequence of which the strangeness disappears and one 
 experiences actual pleasure in that which was formerly regarded not 
 as poetry, but rather dull prose chopped into arbitrary lengths. An- 
 alogous situations are frequent in music and in the other arts. 
 
 c. Finally it should be noted that all these conditions growing 
 out of habit are equally valid facts for any and all systems of music, 
 whether pentatonic, whole tone, modal or diatonic, whether harmonized 
 or unharmonized, primitive or most highly developed modern. The 
 facts and phenomena indicated are not peculiar to music as an art 
 but are characteristic of mental activity generally as manifested under 
 the particular conditions prevailing in this and the kindred arts. 
 
EXPECTATION 
 
 I. EXPECTATION AS IT APPEARS IN RHYTHM 
 
 1. The subject of rhythm has been so extensively and thoroughly 
 investigated by psychologists, although without any direct bearing 
 on the subject of the present paper, that it is unnecessary to do more 
 than present a somewhat sketchy account of its general characteristics 
 as preliminary to the special study in hand. Rhythm, as it is in- 
 volved in music, is in its essence a grouping of discrete units of time 
 into larger units. The individual units, as well as the groups, are 
 theoretically equal respectively to each other; but not only are the 
 groups sometimes lengthened or shortened in actual experience, even 
 the smaller units, as proven by mechanical time measurements, of 
 mental grouping, vary in length. Within the limits of a group there 
 is alternating retardation and acceleration, especially if the span be 
 somewhat long. As the point that divides one group from the next 
 is approached, the units tend to be slightly accelerated. After that 
 point is passed, they are slightly retarded. In both cases they remain 
 equal for subjective experience. Nor is this the only difference between 
 rhythm as regarded subjectively and objectively. All the discrete 
 units of a mechanically equal time series may be marked by equal 
 stress, so that objectively there is no grouping; and yet subjectively 
 these can be grouped in a variety of ways: by two, or three, four or 
 even five, and the rhythm in each case can be steadily maintained 
 in thought or changed at will from one grouping to another. 
 
 But an experiment of this kind brings out the great range of 
 difference between individual subjects in respect to capacity for group- 
 ing. At one extreme is the subject who falls into any desired rhythm 
 by a sort of instinct, whose regularity and steadiness can be counted 
 on; who can shift the grouping readily; who can keep several group- 
 ings going simultaneously, like two and three and four against each 
 other. At the other extreme is the subject who cannot even march 
 in time with a company with all the assistance that comes from the 
 suggestion of others keeping step, who is apt to drop out a beat or 
 two from a perfectly simple and regular rhythm all unconsciously 
 and who cannot even distinguish an objective grouping that is plainly 
 rhythmical and one that is not. And between these two extremes 
 there are all degrees. This is due in part, at least, to the fact that 
 the rhythmic experience is by no means a simple one; indeed, it is a 
 highly complex mental fact, and into it enter not only perceptive and 
 motor elements, but time sense and the alternation of tension and 
 relaxation. Subjects who are keenly perceptive may be lacking in 
 time sense or vice versa, and of these various elements there can be 
 all kinds of combinations of varying degrees and for each combination 
 there is a corresponding difference in the rhythmic experience. It 
 follows as a matter of course, that the degree to which expectation 
 as begotten of rhythm enters into the enjoyment and appreciation 
 of music will depend very largely on the particular combination of 
 the several elements that happen to be represented. One deficient 
 in time sense may, indeed, be susceptible to the sensuous appeal of 
 interval or timber or harmony, but he would be at a decided dis- 
 
The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 advantage in the matter of anticipation based on rhythmic grouping. 
 Either extreme may be regarded as to a certain extent abnormal, 
 and is in reaHty rather uncommon so that it occasions remark. The 
 present discussion needs only to consider the fairly normal listener 
 to music, who is pretty well balanced in possession of time sense 
 and perceptive and motor elements. 
 
 One factor that has a larger share in the interest of rhythm than 
 it is usually credited with is more truly intellectual in its appeal, 
 and is closely akin to the operation involved in the psychological 
 experience of number. When a child attains to the ability to combine 
 mentally several discrete things as units in a larger unity, which is 
 of the very essence of number, there is created for it a fresh interest. 
 It enjoys the effort to extend the range or span of the larger unity 
 until hundreds are a thing of the past, and the child boldly ventures 
 upon thousands and millions. While unable, of course, to grasp these 
 larger numbers apperceptively, it has a certain sense of power in 
 embracing more and more in the larger unity that has a striking 
 attraction for the child mind. The primitive man, even before he had 
 advanced to a grasp of any but the smallest group-units in number, 
 found a corresponding intellectual interest in rhythm, in which there 
 is a definite grouping. This was an important factor in leading to 
 the fuller development of rhythm as an isolated experience independent- 
 ly of other musical elements. With us the intellectual interest is 
 abundantly supplied from other sources, and that fact, together with 
 the greater interest developed in melody, especially in conjunction with 
 harmony and form, has led to a comparative neglect of rhythm as 
 a separate exercise and means of enjoyment. 
 
 2. Although the claim might be set up on plausible reasoning 
 that rhythm in its isolation is not entitled to the name of music, 
 that term being reserved to designate the combined product of rhythm 
 with melody, or with that and hannony, it is nevertheless that one 
 of the three elements that came earliest to some degree of develop- 
 ment. And this development was quite advanced before melody was 
 consciously combined with it in primitive singing. Doubtless the 
 beginnings of melody antedated the full development of rhythni, 
 (v. II, I, below), but even before that the play instinct led to activities 
 with the two feet and two hands that resulted soon in the characteristic 
 reactions of rhythm. And no other element of music is so distinct 
 in its somatic reaction as this. The pleasure primitive man experienced 
 in this exercise led to repetition and cultivation of it even before 
 there was any conscious artistic impulse. Some degree of proficiency 
 in it had been acquired as a prerequisite to its use in obedience to 
 aesthetic longings. It was also the same pleasure that led to its 
 continued exercise independently of melody even after the latter 
 began its course. There is no question as to the correctness of the 
 intimation by Mr. Patterson* that rhythm, as the savages of today, 
 and even of early times, know it, is to us in our civilized sophistication 
 largely a lost art. The rhythmic patterns set up by a drum corps on 
 a city comer are far more simple and regular than some that are 
 found in actual music, or are practiced by tribes that approximate 
 primitive man in some of their activities. 
 
 In the passage above referred to, attention is called to the ease 
 with which the American Indian falls into syncopated rhythms where 
 three-beat groups are pitted against two-beat or four-beat. Any piano 
 teacher can testify to the difficulty involved in trying to train a pupil 
 to play a melody that proceeds by twos against a base figure that 
 proceeds by threes, much more when the melody doubles the speed. 
 
 ♦The Rhythm of Prose, W. M. Patterson, pp. XIX and 6-7. 
 
Rhythm 3 
 
 "Primitive rhythms," a discussion by John Comfort Fillmore,* speaks 
 of the rich variety and complexity of rhy thm in the music of the 
 Omaha Indians. Mr. Fillmore has told in my hearing of an observa- 
 tion made on a sort of drum corps of Negroes from D ahomey in Africa. 
 Five men were pounding out a rhythm with clubs, each one in a 
 different grouping, with a resultant that might be indicated by the 
 following notation: 
 
 (4) (3) (t) (3) (4) 
 
 It took careful listening to assign to each club its exact grouping. 
 He finally arrived at the following solution: A big club with one heavy 
 
 pound united the whole series, represented above by ~P ; another 
 
 (8) ^ (3) 
 
 divided that in two J another into three J another into four 
 
 (4) 
 
 ^ ' The time on tlie grouping 
 
 J another into three J a 
 
 "^ (5) '^ 
 
 _n and the last into five ^ J 
 
 into five has to be slightly re-adjusted to make the five beats equal in 
 length, but with that allowance the above rhythm is heard. With some 
 practice I have worked it out with the five fingers of the right hand, both 
 with and without the readjustment; there is some little difference but the 
 freer treatment of the syncopation gives a more pleasing effect. A city 
 drum corps would find that method of evoking a rhythmic pattern exceed- 
 ingly difficult; fives against fours and threes all given simultaneously, seems 
 beyond the limits of possibility. But for those Dahomey Negroes 
 such complicated co-operation, each one going his own more or less 
 independent way, was so easy that they laughed while keeping it 
 up with regularity and evident enjoyment. In the same spirit the 
 Dravidians of India beat out as a special dance a rhythm that has 
 seven approximately equal beats in each larger group This rhythm 
 is sustained by the participants until they are wrought up to a high 
 pitch of excitement. The excitement amounting almost to frenzy 
 often observed in religious gatherings of the untutored, or others not 
 wonted to the inhibitions of civilized life, is promoted if not largely 
 caused by the swaying, clapping, stamping and other rhythmic exer- 
 cises—including singing— that are indulged in by the devout. 
 
 3. More or less discussion has gathered about the question as 
 to the original rhythm and time used in music, and also to the origin 
 of the various rhythms. Both questions seem to find a satisfying 
 answer in two general facts. The fundamental fact is that of man's 
 physical constitution, namely, that he possesses limbs symmetrically 
 by pairs, two arms and hands and two legs (to say nothing of ears, 
 eyes, lips, nostrils, etc.) Now a quadruped in its locomotion, whether 
 deliberate or hasty, handles the legs in a sort of rhythm — sometimes 
 quite pronounced. And so man for his purposes of locomotion fell 
 by necessity into a grouping by twos. And as the legs move back 
 and forth in propulsion, so also the arms swing at the side to the same 
 rhythm by way of balancing the body, while at the same time they 
 are available for other movements in which alternation made the 
 same grouping. It might seem strange, since rhythm and number 
 
 *Cong. Rep. Anthrop.. 1893. p. 172; quoted by Patterson I. c. 
 
The Role of fexPECTATioN in Music 
 
 are so closely akin in their psychological nature, that two and its 
 powers did not become the base of further mathematical calculations as 
 man's grasp of number units enlarged its span. The simple explanation 
 is that on each of the two hands were very conveniently situated 
 five digits which furnished a definite span as a starting point and one 
 that was doubled by the digits of the other hand. Barefoot man is 
 so facile in the use of toes for prehensile purposes that they with the 
 fingers may very possibly have furnished the score of twenty that 
 was the limit for counting for so long. In any case the prime number 
 five with its multiples — and eventually their powers — developed into 
 our mathematical system because of man's possession of five digits; 
 and rhythm started out by two-beat movement and kept that as its 
 base because of the convenience of two legs and two arms. 
 
 The other general fact is that in actual music as it has been 
 developed, everything is based on two and its multiples. Not that 
 all measures have an even number of beats; but even where they have 
 three or five or seven beats the measures are grouped by twos and 
 fours. Or if a three-beat measure is found to be grouped by threes, 
 the effect is precisely that of a 9/8 measure, and these larger groups 
 are in still larger groups of two and four. It does not follow that 
 all music, all pieces and songs, have an even number of measures. 
 But it does follow that in those specimens of music that represent 
 the form from which it is possible for creative art to deviate for aes- 
 thetic purposes, the symmetrical grouping by fours and eights is strictly 
 adhered to. This appears in all simple varieties of the song-form, 
 (v. IV, 1 and 2, below). 
 
 Subdivision of a beat into smaller units was an early exercise of 
 the rhythmic sense, and it is from that that the three-beat time had 
 its origin. When the small boy starts clapping in a crowd the rhythm 
 
 usually adopted is I J I J^ J I J J I J^ J 
 
 but 
 
 some more inventive boy varies the monotony by dividing the third 
 beat into three shorter beats, which interests others as a novelty and 
 the crowd joins in. He is but a replica of primitive man. For him 
 the transition from such a subdivision to the use of three longer beats 
 was an easy matter, but as in that subdivision the larger grouping 
 still remained that of two or four. Aside from the song-form in 
 the historical progress of music evidence is abundant in the popular 
 songs that have an appealing rhythm, as most of them do. Very seldom 
 do they have any time more difficult than 3/4 or 6/8 because difficul- 
 ty of any kind, rhythm or signature or intervals or harmony, is a 
 great obstacle to popularity. But any larger grouping other than 
 by fours is hardly to be found; it is too puzzling and defeats expecta- 
 tion too seriously. 
 
 4. The motor response released by a rhythm is manifested in a 
 variety of ways. It appears in the toning up of the muscles that 
 are used in work or play or marching to accompanying rhythm. It 
 appears again in the tendency to follow along with the stressed beats 
 by tapping of the feet, beating time with the hand, nodding the head 
 or even swaying of the whole body. Such accompanying movements 
 add to the pleasure of the rhythmic experience, though the subject 
 is often not conscious of making them. They are instinctive in their 
 nature and need long continued habit of inhibition in order to be 
 overcome; it is doubtful if they are ever entirely inhibited. The 
 motion synchronizes in its climax with the occurrence of the stressed 
 beat and this coincidence is due to the discharge of nervous energy, 
 that attends the stressed beat. Experiments of Wundt and others 
 have shown that there is a process of increasing tension that begins 
 
• Rhythm o 
 
 immediately after the accent and reaches its climax just before the 
 next stress. This latter brings almost instant relaxation, and the 
 process begins all over again. The increasing tension is storing up 
 energy, which is discharged with the stress and the conditions are 
 thus most favorable for some motor response. 
 
 Such a regularly recurrent phenomenon is bound to become the 
 basis of a subconsious expectation even before conscious expectation 
 is evoked. The expectation then reacts on the motor response to make 
 it more active and marked and this in turn reacts on expectation to 
 make it more definite. At last a thorough-going habituation strengthens 
 expectation in various directions until a sort of norm is established, 
 existing often long before it is consciously recognized. 
 
 5. In order that expectation may become actively operative in 
 rhythm, it is necessary that some such norm, as has been referred to, 
 be established by dint of constant repetition and habituation, though 
 conscious recognition of it as a norm may be long delayed. Granted 
 now that the grouping whether of few or many units be based on twos 
 and fours, the important question presents itself: what sequence of 
 beats within a smaller group, a measure, is the norm on the strength 
 of which expectation becomes operative? In as much as no answer 
 is possible from records of primitive times, we must resort to primitive 
 music that still survives, and to actual usage in the development of 
 our modern system. But before we come to music at all, there was 
 a constant practice of a sort of rhythm that tended to grow more 
 regular, that of the legs in walking. In the very nature of the case 
 the simplest grouping here is of two approximately equal beats, which 
 would be easily doubled for a larger group, making a measure of four 
 approximately equal beats. Any deviation from this succession of 
 equal beats would result either from a change in the mode of walking 
 or from use of the legs in dancing involving irregularities, or from the 
 use of the hands. But when hands began to be used to accompany 
 walking or dancing with clapping, the first impulse would be to repeat 
 with the hands the rhythm already grown common and familiar in 
 walking, and that is substantially what the small boy does in his 
 rhythmic clapping. The subdivision of one of the beats into two or 
 three shorter beats is about the first deviation from the simple norm 
 thus suggested. But this first step results at first in a smaller group 
 of beats that are intended to be equal, whether two or three, and this 
 line of analysis seems to point to the group of equal beats as the norm 
 which forms the basis of expectation. To such a conclusion, however, 
 there seems to rise a strong objection in the available records of 
 primitive music, which show comparatively few examples in which 
 such an even rhj-thm is used. The force of this objection is weakened by 
 two considerations. In the first place all such music is vocal and is obliged 
 to conform to the exigencies of words which are intended to be metrical 
 in a large way, but in which there is no strict regularity as to the 
 number of syllables in a given metric group. In the second place — 
 and this is of more weight — the peoples of whom we have records are 
 already at a point in the development of rhythm where complicated 
 forms are already in use, and that reacts on their treatment of rrielodic 
 phrases. But while the melodies themselves are not of the simpler 
 type with equal undivided beats, there is often to be found a drum 
 beat accompanying the singing that is just of the simple pattern. 
 A part of the enjoyment of the melody lies in its more or less free 
 deviation from the pattern rhythm given out by the drums. The follow- 
 ing folk songs are good examples of this norm (with slight modifications 
 in some); they are presented in a collection edited by Gran\nlle Ban- 
 
The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 tock.* "The Vicar of Bray" (No. 3), "The Ash Grove" (No. 15), 
 "Early-Strolling" (No. 22), "In_ Cellar Cool" (No. 33), The old 
 English song, "I've Been Roaming" is a specimen. Quite a large number 
 of old church chorales, represented in our hymn books by "Old Hun- 
 dred", "Dundee", "Yorke" and others, and much more frequent in 
 the German church music, are of this normal rhythm of equal beats 
 in the measure. Beethoven has a number of striking melodies of the 
 same type, among them three-beat Scherozs and Allegros of the Second, 'f 
 Third,^ Sixth,' Seventh^ and Ninth* Symphonies, the theme of the 
 Allegro Vivace of the Fourth* (first movement), and the chorale of 
 the Ninth' as the voices take it up. In many varieties of music 
 there are passages occurring in which this normal rhythm is strictly 
 followed, the alternating contrast between that and the freer rhythm 
 before and after it being one special source of pleasure and interest. 
 6. Now a rhythm that adheres exactly to such a norm satisfies 
 expectation and affords corresponding pleasure, the kind of pleasure 
 that such satisfaction can afford. That it is not permanently and ex- 
 clusively pleasurable is proven by the multiplication of minor deviations 
 of great variety and also by the radically different patterns as a whole 
 that have been invented; patterns that cover not only the span of a 
 single measure but an entire group of measures. As indicated above, 
 one of the simplest variations is that which subdivides a beat into 
 two or three equal parts. In the Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony, 
 for instance, Beethoven subdivides the second beat in the odd measures 
 
 ..follows: IJ J3IJ j IJ J]|j J 
 
 etc. If the chords of 
 
 that Allegretto were given with equal beats it would sound decidedly like 
 a funeral march*, but the doubling of the second beat adds a lightness 
 to the movement even if it is taken in rather slow time. Variety is 
 introduced later by subdividing into three parts, and by a pitting 
 of twos and threes against each other. The accented beats retain 
 the stress throughout and this type does little more than add the interest 
 of variety without the shock of a surpnse. The movement and interest 
 are added to in the rhythm that divides both beats into two equal 
 parts, as Beethoven does in the finale of Sonata No. 6,' varying it 
 still more by doubling the number of smaller units at irregular intervals. 
 Mozart does nearly the same thing in the overture to "Magic Flute."'" 
 These are in two beat and four-beat measures respectively; Sonata 
 No. 1 has in the Trio a like subdivision in a three-beat measure, i' 
 while the finale of No. 3'^ and the first movement of No. 4'^ break 
 up a f measure into the six units, amounting practically to two beats 
 split up into three each. 
 
 In all the modified rhythms thus far mentioned, there is no regular 
 lengthening of the stressed beat, which helps to add to its importance. 
 That is found in a three-beat measure when the first two beats are 
 united on one tone, as in the theme of the first movement of Beethoven's 
 
 Third vSymphony, I J JJ J J JJ J Jl ' ^^ ^^ found in the 
 
 same proportion but on a smaller scale when two of the six beats are 
 united on the stressed note, \J^J-J^J-J^J-J^' as they 
 
 are in so much of music in f time. In a two-beat or four-beat 
 
 ♦Folksongs of all Nations, O. Ditson & Co. 
 
 tThese small figures refer to music exaiRpleB on the final pages. 
 
Rhythm 
 
 measure three of the beats or subdivisions arc united on the first note 
 for a two-beat written thus: 
 
 )\- for ^[J^J- J I ), 
 
 IH I ■^" ' I 
 
 for a four-beat This modification interferes more de- 
 
 cidedly with the norm, carrying the first tone over the expected beat; until 
 the third beat is heard there is uncertaintv, as all three or four beats may 
 be united in the first tone, but as soon as the third or fourth beat is heard 
 there is instant expectation of the next stressed beat, and any interference 
 with that rhythmic sequence would be a decided surprise. Occasionally 
 the time on the stressed beat is still longer, as at the beginning of 
 
 the Trio in 
 
 Beethoven's Fourth Symphony: y J J • J J J 
 
 etc.; in this, when at last the short beat is heard, expectation of the 
 next stressed beat is heightened. 
 
 The effect of the quicker movement in the first mentioned deviation 
 is often combined with the greater importance given the stressed 
 note by lengthening, and this is a still more radical departure from the 
 norm. In a three-beat measure the effect is as follows: 
 
 etc.; 
 
 a two-beat measure, 
 
 M= 
 
 an 
 
 etc. in a I measure. The first is represented in a passage in the Andante 
 of the First Symphony of Beethoven, just before B in the upper parts and 
 beginning at 13 in the basses (| measure.) The second appears in quite a 
 long passage in the final 3 of the Seventh Symphony before and after B. 
 The third is used repeatedly in the first movement of the Seventh. 
 The short note just preceding a stressed (or comparatively stressed 
 note) heightens expectation of the latter and makes the sense of the 
 larger rhythm more marked. For this reason — though all unconsciously 
 — this particular type, in one or two beats at least, is frequently used 
 in march music; it is a decided aid in accurate keeping of step. Even 
 the funeral march in the Sonata in A flat No. 12,''' as well as that in 
 the Third Symphony'^ and in the Chopin Sonata in B flat minor ", 
 has parts of measures broken up in this way. In fact, a piece in 4/4 
 measure with some beats of measures divided up thus is thereby 
 stamped as of the march music type, and is liable to set in motion 
 the marching impulses, just as an alluring waltz rhythm makes the 
 lover of dancing feel the impulse of rythmic movement. In the 
 regular march movement the first strongly accented beat is not usually 
 broken up; the stress is fortified by the longer time given it. Mention 
 may be made here of the fact often observed that without long con- 
 tinued drill a company of men marching is quite apt to accelerate the 
 tempo by degrees, especially if it began slow. The slight acceleration 
 noted above just before the stress (v. I, 1, above) is increased by this 
 special form of subdivision of the measure and not balanced by a 
 corresponding increase of retardation. The longer time given to the 
 first part of a beat rouses expectation to the point of impatience 
 and hastening on to the stress. 
 
 These and a number of other rhythms (which it is not necessary 
 to describe in detail) agree in a fundamental adherence to the norm 
 in this respect that no normally unstressed beat is given the stress; 
 
The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 they can be combined in a great variety of ways, and as a matter 
 of fact most rhythmic patterns used by composers are a combination 
 of several of the above or of them with others yet to be mentioned. 
 So long as the stress is felt on the beat where it is expected there 
 is fundamentally satisfaction; interest there is in variety, but no 
 element of surprise. This enters in the moment a normally unstressed 
 beat is accented, which is done in what is called syncopated time. 
 The simplest form of this is that in which the second beat, normally 
 weak, is accented and held over the normally stressed third beat in 
 a four-beat measure. In a | measure the result is as follows: 
 
 |>J J^\^j J^l '''■■' ^" ^ - [iJ J|JJ J| ' '''■■' i" ^ 
 
 three-beat measure, J J J J > ^^c. or , Sj K J etc.; doubling 
 
 the last gives a f measure treated this way. The hearing of the 
 first beat leads to expectation of an unstressed beat to follow, 
 but instead of that we meet suddenly the real stress of the measure, 
 and as compared with any changes heretofore mentioned this gives 
 a genuine surprise. This surprise, the defeat of expectation, is the 
 fundamental and characteristic feature of the syncopated rhythm, 
 and it retains the piquancy and interest growing out of the fact even 
 though we hear it so often that we know definitely what is coming. 
 That is, a piece whose rhythmical character is based on surprise does 
 not lose its interest from familiarity; but that does not imply that 
 the element of surprise cannot be overworked. It is a surprise be- 
 cause the other rhythm is the norm and the staple. If now for the 
 sake of attaining piquancy and interest we turn the surprise into the 
 staple, trying to create a new norm, then by the very nature of our 
 minds it ceases to surprise, loses the very piquancy sought. Instead 
 of being used as a means to higher aesthetic ends it is really sought 
 as an end in itself. Eventually that which is now the norm will be 
 introduced to give interest to a jaded appetite. The economy exercised 
 by a master like Beethoven in this matter is instructive even for a 
 student of the psychology of music. He uses syncopated time with 
 entire freedom but remains its master. In the theme of the "Lenore" 
 overture, he gives in three successive measures three contrasting rhythms, 
 the last one being the norm while the first is the syncopated: 
 
 In the course of the overture the 
 
 syncopated measure is repeated about ten times in succession, working up 
 to a climax in which the theme is heard again with its quota of normal 
 time. We are not allowed to forget the normal in the interest of the 
 surprising. He also treats the melody of the chorale in the Ninth 
 Symphony by syncopation, omitting the stressed beat repeatedly,* 
 but later he takes it up again with strong normal rhythm. t But even 
 when a composer uses a quasi syncopated rhythm throughout a piece, 
 as Mozart does in one of his quartets, it is manifestly for a special 
 aesthetic purpose; for it stands alone in all his vast range of creative 
 work. And yet he, too, resorts with some freedom to syncopation. The 
 
 time in that quartetj is as follows: F j. Fj . Fj. j j. j j. Fj. 
 
 *Alla Marcia, in Finale, between N and O. 
 
 tibid. at R. 
 
 +Trio, Quartet No. 11- 
 
Rhythm 
 
 9 
 
 which is quite a different type from that in the "Lenore" overttire; 
 here the norm calls for full time on the stressed beat while the surprise 
 is caused by the stressed beat being much shorter. Much Scotch 
 and Irish folk music has this peculiar rhythm. Other nationalities 
 have adopted a sort of syncopated rhythm in their folk music. The 
 Hungarian has a good deal of the type described above in the "Lenore" 
 overture in a | measure, but by no means exclusively of that kind. 
 Spanish dances in a three-beat measure often have syncopated measures. 
 It remained for music in the United States to develop an almost 
 exclusively syncopated type of rhythm with the not very descriptive 
 name of ragtime. Some have risen in its defense against charges of 
 insincerity and inanity and claim for it real artistic value as well as 
 a fresh piquancy characteristic of the country. From the psychological 
 standpoint pure and simple — into the other controversy it is un- 
 necessary to enter — ragtime is without doubt open to the charge of 
 overworking the element of surprise in its rhythm. Piquancy is sought 
 as an end in itself, and as suggested above, the surprise is in a fair 
 way to become the staple and cease to surprise; in that case piquancy 
 will result from occasional return to the norm. The cycle may even 
 be completed and the saturated ragtimer try to regain a lost piquancy 
 by_using the neglected norm so freely that it again becomes the staple. 
 One syncopated rhythm still awaits mention, that which arises 
 from the sudden substitution of one more or less exact norm for 
 another temporarily, the effect being that in the rhythm that is dis- 
 placed from its right of way an unstressed beat suddenly takes the 
 accent and upsets expectation. It often happens that the listener 
 is- obliged to wait a measure or two (or even longer) before catching 
 the new rhythm. In the first movement of Beethoven's Third Sym- 
 phony a three-beat measure undergoes the following changes: 
 
 J JJ JIJJJIJ J represents the starting rhythm of the 
 theme; it is doubled in time,} JJJJJJjJJJJJ I • etc.; out of 
 
 that emerges a partly syncopated effect I J J • J u J J^- J > ^^len sudden- 
 ly the short eighth note is omitted and the accented beat is held to 
 the end of the measure, the rhythmic stress begins the next measure, 
 but the third beat now is stressed and held over the normal stress 
 
 of the next measure, being written thus: | J J J J I J J I J 
 
 and in effect interrupting the modified three-beat measure by substitut- 
 ing a strongly marked normal two-beat that might be written thus: 
 
 J J I J J I '* ^*^- Similarly Brahms in his song "Von ewiger 
 
 Liebe" changes a f measure into a f measure 
 
 I J jS^NjI J J^^NjI equivalent to 
 
 as follows: 
 , etc. Again, 
 
 in the finale of Beethoven's Sonata No. 17, about half way 
 
 in the first section a | rhythm is replaced by one equivalent to -f " 
 
 Such substitutions are surprises in their very essence and subject to 
 
 *After G io recapitulation; also early in first fiertioTi. 
 
10 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 the same psychological limitations as all syncopation in rhythm. They 
 lose their effect as surprises and fail to interest either if they are 
 carelessly, mechanically used, or if the device is worked too hard. 
 7. In spite of what has been said above of the syncopated rhythm, 
 it must be admitted that the sense of rhythm, both separately and as 
 conjoined in music with melody and harmony, is long-suffering, far 
 more so than either of the other elements. A body of men, after a 
 long march during which the drum has been tapping regularly its 
 
 monotonous time \ J i jMjJJi 
 
 still respond to the rhythm 
 
 and march better with it than if they were allowed to straggle 
 along. But that tapping stands for the norm of a four-beat measure, 
 the missing beats being supplied in the consciousness of the marchers. 
 And the same fact holds true in music. Provided the melody and 
 harmony furnish material of interest the normal rhythm can be 
 maintained throughout and still be effective at the end. In fact, 
 provided the rhythm is strongly maintained a weakness of melody 
 or harmony may be helped out. And whatever may be said as to 
 those two elements in the popular ephemeral songs and dances of 
 the day, at least these have an appealing rhythm; and many a song 
 that is lamentably weak in both melody and harmony — commonplace 
 and utterly conventional as well as insincere — has beaten its way 
 into a brief vogue by its strong rhythm. 
 
 But this fact is paralleled by another equally striking. A rhythm 
 adopted by a composer as the time substratum of a certain work, may 
 likewise be repeated and maintained unchanged to the end without 
 causing a sense of monotony, providing again the superstructure of 
 melody and harmony is worthy and well handled. In the Allegretto 
 of the vSeventh Symphony referred to above (6 above), the rhythm 
 adopted, a simple modification of the norm, is sustained practically 
 unbroken to the end, covering five pages in piano score; melody and 
 harmony meant'me having changed radically. Again, in Sonata No. 19, 
 
 the finale has a stirring rhythm, equivalent to 6 J S J j)\ J j^ J j^[ 
 
 with most of the beats subdivided, and with few pauses this remains 
 unchanged to the end, while new melodic subjects and various modula- 
 tions come and go. 
 
 Now it would be impossible to maintain interest, to avoid the 
 effect of monotony, if either a melodic subject or a chosen harmonic 
 sequence, no matter how entrancing they might be in themselves, 
 were simply repeated practically unchanged to the end of a piece. 
 The few exceptions that might l^e named, such as the old time musette 
 or some more modern imitation of that, or cradle songs, like Chopin's 
 Berceuse'*, the avowed object of which is a certain soporific monotony, 
 are evidently nothing but exceptions with a definite aesthetic purpose. 
 This marked difference between rhythm on the one hand, and melody 
 and harmony on the other, finds its explanation in the more marked 
 somatic reaction of the former. To quote briefly from Dr. Seashore*, 
 "rhythm not only adjusts the strain of attention, it also gives a feeling 
 of bala.nce, a sense of freedom and power; it stimulates, and at the 
 same time lulls." . . 
 
 A large share of what somatic resonance results from melodic 
 phrases and harrnonic sequences is to be credited to the rhythm in 
 which they are embodied. Present the same sequence of interval 
 or harmony in a haphazard irregular way, and most of the effect they 
 
 ♦Psychology of Musical Talent pp. 118-123. 
 
Rhythm 11 
 
 once had is dissipated. The mere auditory image of a stirring march 
 melody loses out in stimulating' effect in the effort to single out for 
 separate thought devoid of any rhythmic sequence the chords and 
 intervals that are in its actual movement. Such an experiment with 
 the "Tannhauser March," for instance, is very instructive on this 
 point. 
 
 The ragtime and "jazz" movement seem to be an instinctive 
 effort to renew interest in rhythm by special devices that have a start- 
 ling effect. The interest in rhythm as such, is evidenced by the at- 
 tention attracted by a drum corps with its many varieties of groupings, 
 by the clapping of fiat pieces of unmusical wood in a band or orchestra, 
 tapping with light sticks, almost anything to accentuate the rhythm. 
 Without any abatement of what has been said as to the psychological 
 unsoundness of the device of surprise as an end in itself, of its too 
 constant use, it must be admitted that the jerkiness and sudden transi- 
 tions in rhythm of "jazz" bear a striking resemblance to the rhythm 
 of certain prose sentences with their sudden changes in the grouping 
 of syllables. The sentence from Walter Pater, selected by Patterson*, 
 is soothing in comparison. 
 
 8. In the opening measures of a work of music the composer 
 sets forth a rhythmic grouping, which serves as a pattern for the 
 listener, which is consciously or .subconsciously present as a basis of 
 expectation and comparison to the end. Because of the well understood 
 use of repetition in composition, not only is there expectation of the 
 return of the pattern a number of times, but as soon as the first few 
 tones of it are heard lively expectation is excited as to the sequence 
 within the pattern. Even though the melody and harmony suffer 
 considerable change, the rhythmic pattern is expected, and repetition 
 does not weaken its effect. Because of the constantly renewed somatic 
 response, the pleasure of satisfied Cvxpectation with which it is greeted 
 can suffice without change almost indefinitely. And composers have 
 counted on it and do count on it. The frothy popular songs and 
 dances that keep the market well stocked depend on it, and if their 
 melodic and harmonic content is more nearly on a level with the 
 rhythmic they enjoy a longer lease of life. 
 
 The x^llegretto of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, already cited. 
 
 starts our with the pattern: 
 
 { J JJ I J J I ; it is on a two measure 
 
 scale, and is heard throughout the movement. Expectation here joins 
 hands with somatic resonance in securing the pleasure in this phase 
 of it, and it is fresh still at the end. The same composer in the 
 Scherzo of the Third Symphony, gives a vigorous three-beat rhythm 
 
 J J J J J J J ^^^■' ^"* makes the general pattern of twelve 
 
 measures irregular to the extent of inserting two extra measures, 
 interrupting the expected flow by fours. That pattern is the basis of 
 expectation, and its own deviation from the norm of twelve or sixteen, 
 together with the deviations introduced later, are part of the jest 
 (Scherzo) played on the listener. But one of the most remarkable 
 examples of a persistently repeated pattern, is in the frrst movement 
 of his Fifth; in this a single measure suffices. It begins on an un- 
 stressed subdivision of the first beat of a i measure and ends on the 
 stressed beat of the next measure. As announced this last beat is 
 held,- but as it is taken up and developed it has the following figure: 
 
 ♦ 
 *0p. Cit. p. 62. 
 
12 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 ■y J J J I J^ J J J j ^ . etc. But again, it is given in such quick tempo 
 that the stressed beats group themselves in a larger scheme of both rhythm 
 and melody, the former with this effect: ^J J JJJJ 
 
 which is also used repeatedly in the movement and stands out clear 
 through the subdivision of the beats. It even reappears only slightly 
 modified in the second subject, which also has close kinship with the 
 
 t:* :=* ra- 
 
 melodic phrase involved: J J J J J J J • Every time one of 
 
 these patterns begins with its characteristic three short notes and a 
 stress — as if some one were knocking — we have clear expectation of 
 the entire sequence, and should experience quite a shock or surprise 
 if its career were suddenly checked; and it is to be doubted whether 
 it would be a pleasurable surprise, the only justification. The pattern 
 of the "Lenore" overture (referred to above) has more of variety with a be- 
 
 :> > 
 
 ginning in syncopated time; IJ J JJ.JlJjJJI (• Each 
 
 return of that syncopated measure arouses expectation of the rest of 
 the pattern, and while there is far greater variety (a series of syncopated 
 measures in quick succession, subdividing, and other changes of interest 
 to the listener) the entire pattern is heard over and over again. Schu- 
 mann begins the finale of his Quartet in A with an unusual and strik- 
 ing rhythm lasting two measures. By repetitions, with decided 
 changes of melodic and harmonic sequence, he extends it into a period 
 of fourteen measures, the exact rhythm with dotted and syncopated 
 notes recurring seven times. Six times in the course of the movement 
 the same pattern is given unchanged, each time following' contrasting 
 material; at the first announcement of each we are confidently ex- 
 pecting not only the two measures that make up the pattern but the 
 entire series of seven pairs of measures. Twice he stops at the eighth 
 measure, and at the end in a fort of coda he enlarges on the pattern 
 with further melodic material leading into a rismg cadence. The 
 pattern is as follows: 
 
 IlJTJini^iJ JIJTD- 
 
 etc. 
 
 In the Cujus Animan, from the "Stabat Mater," Rossini has 
 maintained the pattern he set at the beginning almost unchanged 
 
 to the end: J . Xj I J . J ♦ ^ I J . I > etc. ; and he further accentuates 
 
 the march-like rhythm by breaking up the longer note in the ac- 
 
 ipaniment: \( \\ J^ j J l/'j'^ J7^ J J ( }\ .etc. The occas- 
 
 ional departures from the pattern serve but to strengthen expectatioii of 
 its consistent return unchanged. 
 
 ^ It is not at all uncommon to have two concomitant rhythms which 
 divide attention somewhat as two voices in polyphonic harmony 
 (V. Ill, 3, below), and each starts its own series of expectations. Thus 
 Elgar in the "Dream of Gerontius" has on page 2 of the Prelude, 
 the following trwo patterns in the uppe^r sAd lower parts reepectiveJy : 
 
Rhyihm 
 
 13 
 
 U-JM-A- 
 
 and 
 
 S S S 
 
 J-3JJJ J 
 
 ; each has its 
 
 own modifications that move quite independently; each reappears a 
 number of times through the work (not always conjointly), and in 
 every case renews expectation, which is not always fully met, i. e., a 
 new variation adds interest, while the harmony is also shifted. 
 
 In the ultra-modern composers there seems often to be a dis- 
 inclination to set any clear rhythmic pattern that can be followed 
 easily, even by trained listeners, though close analysis would in many 
 cases reveal a subtle undercurrent, which amounts to a pattern. But 
 for the uninitiated the effect is more of bewilderment than pleasure; 
 there is no chance allowed for the releasing of any expectation. And 
 frequently, when there seems an opening and expectation begins to 
 operate, it is followed by a state of mind that is less a pleasurable 
 surprise psychologically than a painful thwarting, a geniune disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Folksongs and other pieces of a popular nature have their rh^-thmic 
 patterns, often so marked that the mere tapping of the rhythm will 
 suggest the melody; and here, too, nationality has its differences. 
 The following may stand as representative of this type: 
 
 Ij. jSJ JIJ .J^J J I . "All through the Night;" 
 
 |;g^j^J^|,^J^J^>^ 
 
 "Yankee Doodle;" 
 
 "Star Spangled Banner 
 
 •■JjJJjJ 
 
 Strauss 
 
 derson" a specimen of what may be called a double pattern; 
 
 "Annie Laurie." The slight variation 
 
 preceding or attending a cadence or cadence-like pause, is not of the 
 nature of a surprise, but is quite in keeping with expectation. 
 
 In bringing this study of rhythm to a close, it is in place to re- 
 mark on the presentation of the subieot. Neither here nor in the sub- 
 sequent studies of melody, harmony and form, was it the intention 
 to prepare a complete statement that should be exhaustive in detail 
 of all the numerous ramifications of expeccation. An entire paper of 
 this extent would not exhaust the subject of rhythm alone. It has 
 been the purpose to make a representative selection of material 
 and point out by analysis the constant and essential operation of 
 expectation in rhythm. Nor was there any intentional implication 
 that expectation in connection with rhythm was dissociated in music 
 as ordinarily experienced from that growing out of melodic or harmonic 
 sequence. The elements mentioned are separated only for psychological 
 analysis, even though indissolubly bound together in fact. Especially 
 is this true of melody, a union of rhythm with interval, which is 
 practiced apart from harmony by far the larger majority of the earth's 
 population. To them melody without the explicit harmony of occidental 
 music is a reality, a thing of beauty and a joy forever. But any 
 attempt to incite interest in melodic sequence that is entirely free of 
 any rhythmic tie, a haphazard connection of intervals with arbitrary 
 
14 The Roi.n: of Expectation in Music 
 
 time for each, would prove the necessity of some kind of rhvthm that 
 shall group the intervals so that they require some sort of "coherence 
 and meanmg. It may even be that the subtleties of modem harmony 
 are accountable, in part, for the indiflference to rhythmic patterns, 
 referred to above. Such an attitude would certainly not be tolerated 
 where melody in its freedom from explicit harmony is the only music 
 known. 
 
Melody 15 
 
 II. EXPECTATION AS IT APPEARS IN MELODY. 
 
 1. Origrin of melody. 
 
 Turning now to the phases of expectation that spring from 
 melody, let U3 raise first the question as to the origin of melody. 
 In the absence of all records we can at most but set up plausible 
 conjectures from careful study of the most primitive forms of music 
 now in existence and from the observation of the efforts of children, 
 who furnish much instructive material. Fruitful suggestions may be 
 gathered from a study of the process by which children gradually 
 acquire voluntary control of movements of limbs. There must precede 
 a long period of random movements which are largely (if not wholly) 
 reflex reactions on a great variety of stimuli, andser\'e along with 
 vocal utterance as a vent to feelings of varying tone and intensity. 
 Then ensues a period of tentative effort at voluntary movement when 
 an object is aimed for but missed by a wide margin. Then repeated 
 effort improves the aim until finally a single direct movement is all 
 that is needed. The same process may be observed in the control 
 of the vocal organs. At first the cries and screams of pain or delight 
 are without purpose or control, mere reflex responses to different stimuli. 
 Gradually the infant learns that certain exertions of the vocal cords 
 result in the satisfaction of hunger or soothing of pain, and it makes 
 use of the lesson thus earned. During a long subsequent period it 
 tries out the larnyx in various ways without intent to either convey 
 meaning or imitate. Then follows more or loss conscious imitation, 
 before long with voluntary' effort to put some meaning into the sounds, 
 and finally closer imitation until we hear the germ of a word. Usually 
 the effort to imitate musical intervals is postponed several years, but 
 in exceptional cases children under two years of age have reproduced 
 melodic phrases correctly; this simply evinced exceptional organization, 
 a peculiarly fine co-ordination of the auditory sense organ and the 
 mechanism of the throat. 
 
 From the musical efforts of primitive peoples, which have been 
 carefully studied in phonographic records, we gather that the earliest 
 melodic elements were the simplest intervals; but even the most 
 primitive imply a long antecedent period during which these intervals 
 were gradually selected out of the many sounds which men discovered 
 themselves to be capable of producing. Long before that their feel- 
 ings under different degrees and kinds of excitation found vent in 
 multitudes of groans and whines and outcries and calls and screams 
 and roars and gurgles and laughs and other sounds. Before the 
 development of articulate speech, when such sounds as the above 
 were depended upon for what little communication existed between 
 individuals and groups, a considerable variety and shading of such 
 inarticulate utterances must have grown up, more than were subse- 
 quently needed. As a dog notes the difference between a play growl 
 and the real thing, when it may escape the human ear, so the slight 
 modifications vvould serve to convey differences of feeling. Now, of 
 course, all these vocal efforts conformed to the laws of sounds produced 
 at the orifice of a tube as they have since been formulated by physical 
 science; and there is no reason to suppose that the bodily constitution 
 of man, the human organism, has undergone any essential changes, 
 
16 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 that would affect the production of tone, from that day to this. It is 
 to be taken for granted that then, as now, the high tension induced 
 in the vocal cords by great intensity of emotion resulted in tone of 
 high pitch, and a change in the emotional intensity would change the 
 pitch of the tone and the result would be an interval. The range 
 of such intervals is limited by the very nature of the vocal mechanism 
 and there are two sets of range in the male and female voices respective- 
 ly. Out of the various intervals accidently hit upon in the involuntary 
 (or partly voluntary) sounds some were felt to be more fitting or 
 satisfying as a vent to excitement of feeling than others, and this 
 preference gave rise to a process of gradual elimination_ and selection, 
 until certain intervals like the 5th, its complement the' 4th, and the 
 3rd, were heard so frequently as to receive a sort of recognition, of 
 custom alone at first. In the most primitive melodies of which we have 
 any records there is no thought of the quality of tone, which is nearer 
 the howl of a cayote than anything else; but there is clearly discernible 
 the labored purpose of the howler to produce certain intervals, the 
 5th and the 3rd. While music, properly speaking, as conscious art, 
 can hardly be said to have a beginning until the voluntary eflfort was 
 made to repeat a series of such intervals at a different pitch — an 
 achievement which no animals seem to show even the impulse to attain 
 — there might very well have preceded a series of intervals truly 
 deser\'ing the name melodic, but as yet without the impulse to keep 
 the same intervals in the same succession at a different pitch. 
 
 2. Control of the simpler intervals in singing. 
 
 When definite intervals, such as the 5th and 3rd, were well es- 
 tablished and in common use, they already served to give rise to a 
 series of simple expectations. This would appear clearly in one peculi- 
 arity common to primitive music, namely the falling cadence. The 
 melody almost invariably begins on a high note; if it happens to be 
 the fifth — as it often is — the voice would descend occasionally to 
 3rd or to the tonic, and eventually come to a close on the latter. 
 Accordingly when the melodic phrase began, the feeUng as a matter 
 of habit that it was the fifth leads to the anticipation of the 3rd to 
 follow. This tone being heard the expectation may be said to be 
 divided between the possibility of a return to the 5th and a descent 
 to the tonic. But at any point before a manifestly concluding cadence 
 the descent to the tonic would immediately rouse expectation of 
 a rise to the 3rd or 5th again. And thus these three tones would 
 be played oflf one against the other with slightly varying degrees of 
 expectation. The opportunity for heightening expectation would be 
 chiefly in postponing a tone that would be normally next in order; 
 but both this and the chance of surprising are manifestly rather limited. 
 But of one thing the listener was entirely confident: he expected 
 the voice to fall to the tonic in the cadence. Whether a soloist or 
 composer ever even conceived the possibility of disappointing his 
 audience on that point we can with high degree of probability deny; 
 it implies too self-conscious an attitude at that stage of the art. But 
 some time in that dim past a venturesome composer surprised his 
 audience by letting his voice rest half-way between the 3rd and the 
 tonic, and probably gave some of them a marked pleasure by the 
 surprise of the intermediate step. Some considerable time must then 
 elapse — as in similar circimstances it always has elapsed in later stages 
 of progress — before such an innovation received the recognition it 
 merited. But as it gradually made its way into the ears and hearts 
 of the community it gave room for great expansion of expectation 
 ^d consequent aesthetic pleasure. On hearing the 3rd, for instance, 
 
Melody 17 
 
 the primary expectation now would be of a descent to the 2nd; as 
 this amounted in its origin to a postponement of the inevitable tonic — 
 with increase of final pleasure — so now the descent to the 2nd itself 
 can be postponed. The same device can be resorted to in passing 
 from the 2nd to the tonic. It is not intended to imply that all this 
 was consciously done with malice aforethought by the primitive composer; 
 this is simply our analysis of why he found enjoyment in that move- 
 ment of the melody. If now the melodic phrase happens to begin 
 with the tonic there is an added possibility in the ascent to the 2nd 
 as an alternate, and that heightens expectation of the 3rd to follow. 
 By repeating 2 we make the effect of postponing 3 and intensifying 
 suspense of expectation, or nearly the same effect is obtained by raising 
 the melody to 5 before it passed to 3. With this heightening of ex- 
 pectation also comes the opportunity of a more decided surprise with 
 its peculiar aesthetic effect. 
 
 All these opportunities are increased in geometric ratio by the 
 discovery of the next interval to be introduced, the 6th. This resulted 
 in the pentatonic scale, so-called, to the analysis of which we may now 
 devote a few paragraphs. 
 
 3. The pentatonic scale. 
 
 The fivT-tone scale, with the tones 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, is so widely dis- 
 tributed geographically, and in countries having no intercommunication, 
 that it may well claim to be a necessary stage in the progress of the 
 art of music. To the intervals before possible, it adds one more fourth 
 (3'6), a minor third (6-8), and a fifth (2-6). This manifestly adds to 
 the number and variety of expectations that may spring up, but more 
 significant still is the far greater opportunity for intensifying expecta- 
 tion, and preparing a possible surprise. It is evident from the extent 
 to which 6 is followed by 5 in pentatonic melodies,-* that this re- 
 presents a sequence for which there is a special call, so to speak. 
 It indicates a sort of melodic dependence of 6 on 5, as if the former 
 afforded no resting place in itself, and 5 were the natural tone to 
 pause on. The interval from 3 to 6 is frequent and evidently grateful, 
 but the reverse step is far more rare; though the movement from 
 3 to 6 through 5 as an intermediate step, is of very frequent occurrence, 
 either at the beginning of a melody, or as a phrase in the course of it. 
 It amounts essentially to a pleasing variation on the interval 3-5 with . 
 a heightened expectation of the latter after the dependent 6. The 
 ascent from 6 to 8 (the tonic octave) is never by way of a cadence, 
 doubtless because the absence of the leading tone (7) creates too little 
 expectation. This movement (6-8) is found when the melody passes 
 in an episode to the octave and beyond. In the return to the lower 
 level the pitch of 6 serves as an intermediate step between 8 and 5, 
 and again heightening of expectation results with keener pleasure. 
 But postponement may be further added as a means of creating still 
 keener expectation. 
 
 There are two important innovations that seem to have been 
 introduced in the pentatonic period. The first appears in the fretjuent 
 use of a lower pitched tone as the beginning of a melody, and hence, 
 more frequent movement of melodic phrases upward than before. 
 Another lies in the use of the 3rd in a cadence as a substitute for 
 the tonic. The latter must have come at first as a delightful surprise, 
 and it constitutes an important change, not only in setting the melody 
 free from the tyranny of the tonic cadence, but in the new psychological 
 effect secured; it has a more calming effect than the tonic. 
 
18 The Role of ExpfecTATiON in Music 
 
 The ascent of the melody to the region beyond the octave at 
 once rouses keen expectation of return to the octave — preferably 
 through the intermediate 9 — and from there to the resting places of 
 ,1, 3 or tonic. Here again is fine opportunity for postponing the in- 
 evitable or evading it as a surprise. One frequent method of post- 
 poning is the repetition either of one tone before that which is ex- 
 pected to follow, or of two or more. For from the octave ultimate 
 descent to a lower pitch is indispensable as yet for a cadence; there 
 is no leading tone to make a rising cadence to the octave seem in- 
 evitable. 
 
 4. Greek Modes. 
 
 Before the modal system of the Greeks was possible, two 
 more tones were added between the tonic and its octave, thus 
 making the full complement of tones in our diatonic scale. These 
 are the 4th and the 7th, or leading tone. The interval of a fourth 
 had been represented even before the pentatonic scale, which added 
 another, but neither of these had that relation to the tonic. Each 
 of the new tones adds a third to possible intervals; 4 adds a minor 
 third (2-4), and each furnishes a semitone (3-4, 7-8), which so far 
 had been lacking. This is of great significance for our purpose as the 
 expectation of a tone separated only by a half step from the preceding, 
 is far more definite than of any other tone. Although the ground 
 seemed all ready, the material all on hand, for the creation of harmony, 
 the Greeks somehow failed to make the necessary start. But they felt 
 the need of a greater variety in the expression of emotion and built 
 on a feature of the pentatonic scale that has already been mentioned; 
 substituting the 3rd for the tonic in a cadence. They carried it to 
 the extent of substituting any tone of the scale for the tonic, not only 
 in a cadence, but as the rea' fundamental of the entire melody. Each 
 new fundamental sets the semitones in a new place and furnished great 
 differences of emotional value. Another consequence of vast importance 
 was that in addition to three scales in which the first three tones 
 were identical with the diatonic (pentatonic also) they secured three 
 others in which the interval of the third was less by a half step, i. e., 
 three minor scales, beginning on 2, 3 and 6 respectively. The last 
 of these is the nearest approach to our modern minor — identical with 
 it, in fact, for five consecutive tones. It is a fact of incidental interest 
 that our modem diatonic scale was not in high favor among the Greeks, 
 who charged it with being effeminate in its effect. But the point 
 that concerns us most here is that in so far as any one of these modes 
 was used for the composing of melodies, after they had been commonly 
 recognized, each had its own peculiar series of expectations founded on 
 the relation of the several tones to the one chosen for fundamental 
 of the particular melody. The location of the semitones in each 
 .several scale made marked differences in the expectation in melodic 
 phrases. The expectation of a cadence returning to the chosen funda- 
 mental (or related tone) was nearly as definite and strong as for our 
 diatonic scale. Since aside from some of these peculiarities expectation 
 follows largely along the line of our diatonic and minor scales, we may 
 well leave further analysis to the discussion of those scales. 
 
 5. Whole-tone scale. 
 
 The whole-tone scale in use in Siam need not occupy us long. 
 It is evidently an artificial construction on a theoretical basis and is 
 witness to the fact that the human ear can accustom itself to strange, 
 even abnormal intervals. In this scale there is no interval correspond- 
 
Melody 1^ 
 
 ing to our fifth or fourth, only approximately what we call an augmented 
 fifth or fourth. On the other hand, it abounds in major thirds, each 
 successive tone of the scale having a tone at such an interval above 
 it. It is hardly necessary to say that no harmony based on degrees 
 of fusion is possible, for just as soon as we leave the third every other 
 interval (except of course, the octave), is what we term a dissonance, 
 and two dissonances are not like two negatives in neutralizing each 
 other. The use of a similar scale in some of DeBussy's compositions, 
 and the favor they seem to find in some quarters, are further evidence 
 of the possibilities of habituation. But that composer, while he depends 
 on mild blends of discord so constantly as to amount to a pronounced 
 mannerism, very skillfully avoids the harsh combinations that grow 
 out of the scale. But the Valkyries of Wagner would be in their 
 element in the whole-tone scale, dividing the octave as they do 
 into three equal parts. Any deviation from the full step or full major 
 third would involve a semitone, which would be a distinct surprise; 
 also the interval of a fifth or fourth. Again, aside from these pe- 
 culiarities, there would be expectation in certain fundamental and 
 general forms very much as in the diatonic scale, to the analytical 
 study of which we now pass on. 
 
 6. The Diatonic Scale. 
 
 It will be simpler to deal at first with the major scale, leaving 
 the minor for separate treatment. There are three preliminary con- 
 siderations that need to be borne in mind. 
 
 a. A melody may be direct in its progress or it may be circuitous. 
 That is, it may include only tones that are essential, omitting any 
 transitional or ornamental tones that either fill out an interval, or are 
 of interest as affording a sort of variation; or, on the other hand, it 
 may employ many such tones, which often give the effect of finish, 
 but often are nothing more than padding. 
 
 To the first type belong large numbers of church chorales and 
 simple melodies of many composers. The fact that many a melody 
 which would be unattractive in its simple or crude form''" becomes 
 charming with the appropriate finish, does not alter fundamental 
 expectation in the least. 
 
 b. The direction of expectation, whether to a tone below the 
 first tone of a melody or above it, depends largely on the absolute 
 pitch of the latter. In general, the lower this is the less will the melody 
 be expected to descend on the next following tone; while corresponding- 
 ly the higher it is the less will the melody be expected to rise on the 
 next tone. In primitive music (as above noted) it is quite common for the 
 melody to start on a high pitch, even the highest tone that appears in the 
 melody at all, in which case a descent to lower tones would be definitely 
 expected. Since all such music is vocal, the range of the voice has 
 much to do with these conditions. 
 
 c. In modern music there is the far greater range of instruments 
 that afi'ects the situation regarding expectation of tones to succeed 
 the first, and naturally in all succeeding movement of melody. As a 
 full discussion in detail of all these possibilities would lead us too far 
 afield, we must content ourselves with a sort of average, making due 
 allowances for limitations or extensions according to circumstances. 
 
 a. For the sake of following some natural order, we may consider 
 first melodies that begin with the tonic. If this is of rather low pitch 
 a higher tone will be expected to follow. But certain general restrictions 
 may be noted. Any tone beyond the octave would be felt as a distinct 
 surprise, the higher the more of a shock. Within the octave 7 would 
 be least expected, especially for essential melody, though it would be 
 less of a surprise as a mere transition. Of the remaining tones of the 
 
20 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 scale 4 and 6 have a less degree of expectation than 3, 5, or 2, and 
 these three are not far apart. The octave is hardly expected, unless 
 it be as an essential after some transitional tones. Of the lower 
 octave 7, only a semitone removed from the tonic, has about the same 
 degree of expectation as 4 and 6 above, while tones of still lower 
 pitch — like 6 or 5 below the tonic — recede in degree of expectation, 
 principally because with the voice they reach nearer the limit of 
 range. If now the melody begins at the octave there is quite a change 
 in the situation. The 7th then may readily be anticipated, though 
 not quite as easily as 5; 3 is not far behind; then next in degree of 
 expectation follow 6, 4, 2 in that order. The tonic, at the remove of 
 an octave, is less within the range of expectation, while any tone below 
 would have the effect of a surprise, as much so as the corresponding 
 leap upward when the melody began with the tonic. As the tonic is 
 higher in pitch, in other tonalities, certain analogous changes of ex- 
 pectation would result. 
 
 This is as convenient a point as any to consider a question that 
 may already have risen, namely, how does the listener know on hear- 
 ing the first tone of a melody whether it is the tonic or any other? 
 Nothing can be definitely settled until the next tone or several tones 
 are heard, and a succession noted. The answer is that the ear ac- 
 customed to melody has quite a definite series of expectations with 
 regard to the first tone, which then react in turn on the next to follow. 
 As presented here, the statement of this series is based on an actual 
 examination of over two thousand melodies, ranging from Bach to 
 Grieg, Brahms, Liszt and Saint-Saens in time, and including all classes 
 of music. Fugitive pieces, suites, sonatas and symphonies, as well as 
 chamber music in sonata form, represent the instrumental melodies; 
 while for voice, there were included folksongs (some as far back as 
 the thirteenth century), chorales and other church melodies, anthems, 
 cantatas, oratorios and a variety of songs. The results of this statistical 
 investigation differed in certain details from a priori judgment but con- 
 firmed it in the main. Of the melodies inspected over 96 per cent, 
 begin with one of the three tones of the tonic chord, i. e., with 1, 
 5 or 3. Because of the importance of the tonic in our modern system, 
 especially from Bach down, I had fully expected 1 to stand in the lead: 
 as a matter of fact, it is in the lead in the works of Bach so far as 
 examined, nearly twice as frequent as 5 in the organ works, and in 
 about the same proportion in the preludes and fugues of the "Well- 
 tempered Clavichord." But in his lighter pieces and suites for piano 
 there are more of 5 and 3 in proportion, and in subsequent composers 
 5 is far in the lead as compared with 1. But one point seems to be 
 conclusively established, namely, that the first tone of a melody is 
 expected to be some member of the tonic triad, and in that triad 
 3 is less expected than 5 or 1. The latter two together make up 
 slightly over 75 per cent of the total, while 3 is 21 K per cent — with 
 a tendency to increase in the modern music. The tone 5 increased 
 heavily over 1 in later music, so that in the totals it shows just about 
 40 per cent as compared with 35 and a fraction per cent for 1. In 
 music since Bach this proportion would be not far from 43 per cent, 
 for 5 as against 32 per cent for 1, or about in the ratio of II to 8. 
 We may fairly regard the actual usage of composers as reflecting 
 the mental attitude of the mUsic-loving public, and on the basis 
 of the above statistical study the inference is that the first tone of 
 a melody is in general expected to be a 5 or 1 or 3, in order of degree 
 of expectation — 1, of course, including 8, as both the others include 
 their respective octaves. In this conclusion it is not necessary to in- 
 clude any consciousness on the part of the listener of what he expects, 
 
Melody 21 
 
 as, in fact, much of expectation in all musical experience is subicona- 
 cious. Of the remaining tones of the j:calc, 6 and 2 arc just about 
 equally frequent; half as frequent are 7, 4 (about equal to each other.) 
 That is, the accustomed ear would expect the first tone of a melody 
 to be any other tone of the scale before 4 or 7. To this may be added 
 three remarks. First, in any case of repetition of the melody, there 
 is at once renewed expectation as regards initial tones. Second, the 
 degree of expectation of any initial tone unites with that of the next 
 fallowing to heighten expectation of tones in later succession. And 
 third, in a vast number of cases a prelude or previous setting gives 
 sufficient indication of tonality to fix expectation. But what was 
 predicated as to expectation regarding the initial tone must not be 
 understood as implying that ultra modem composers observe that 
 order: merely this, that in so far as they deviate from it, at the present 
 stage of musical development of the average audience, they excite 
 varying degrees of surprise. There are certain outside limits, however, 
 more or less vaguely defined, beyond which not even the boldest dare 
 venture. No writer for the piano, for instance, would begin a melody 
 with either the highest or lowest tone of that instrument, nor would 
 a writer for the voice compel the performer to strain the vocal cords 
 to the limit on the initial tone of a melody. It is hardly necessary 
 to say that I cannot include, when speaking of expectation as developed 
 in melody, those composers for whom melody in general is an evidence 
 of. reactionary tendency in music, and who never deign to introduce 
 genuine melodies at any point in their compositions. The future may 
 be theirs; the present certainly is not. From the extreme limits above 
 indicated, for piano or voice respectively, we might move up or down 
 toward the central range of each, and finally reach a tone which would 
 mark the outside limit of adventure in beginning a melody, the greatest 
 allowable shock of surprise. 
 
 But it is possible in our system of music to go outside of the list 
 of tones in the scale to continue a melody; we can resort to the semi- 
 tones between consecutive whole tones of the scale. The term "acci- 
 dentals" used for these as they occur in music, is in so far appropriate 
 that such a semi-tone is almost invariably not an essential tone in 
 the melod}-, but a transitional tone preliminary to the next following 
 tone of the scale which is essential. Here again, the extreme modern- 
 ists, with their disregard of tonality, are a law to themselves; but they 
 cannot legislate for an unsophisticated public nor for psychological 
 analysis. A study of their work along the same line as the present 
 cannot be undertaken until a constituency is habituated to the point 
 of really developing expectation of a new kind. 
 
 But all these expectations are readjusted when the initial tone 
 of the melody is other than the tonic. In case it is 2, with a tonic 
 of low pitch, expectation of 4 and 6 stands on a higher level, though 
 not as high as that of 3 or 5 or the tonic. The 7 below the toriic 
 may readily be anticipated, not so readily the octave 7 or 9; while 
 farther leaps would be more surprising. In proportion as in other 
 tonalities 2 has higher absolute pitch, we find changes corresponding 
 to those above suggested when the tonic is higher. Tones below the 
 tonic are brought within the range of expectation, while tones above 
 the octave recede in the same proportion. What was said above on 
 semi-tones applies equally in this case; and it should also be noted 
 that 2 as the initial tone of a melody is frequently non-essential. 
 
 The 3rd, being a member of the tonic triad, very frequently begins 
 a melody. When the tonic is of low pitch, expectation of the next 
 following tone would bring the other tones of the scale in approximately 
 the following order: tonic, 5, 2 (these three with little divergence), 
 4, 6 (not far apart), next the octave and '7 below tonic, and last 
 
22 The Role OF Expectation IN Music 
 
 7. Other tones below the tonic and those above the octave recede 
 in proportion to distance. 2, 4 and 6 are far more frequent as non- 
 essential than otherwise. The relation of the accidental semi-tones 
 is somewhat altered here. 2# and 1# are felt to be satisfactory, 
 though less so as essential tones; 4ft, 5#, 6# are about at the limits 
 of the range of expectation, even as non-essentials, 5ft and 6ft being 
 unexpected because they seem to be preliminary to dependent tones, 
 6 and 7; yet the same two may be taken as 6b or 7b respectively, 
 in which case the former rises in degree of expectation. When the 
 tonic is of higher pitch further tones below come more within range 
 of expectation. So the 5 below is of very frequent occurrence as the 
 second tone of a melody beginning with 3. Other tones of the lower 
 octave recede as in cases above in proportion to the span of the 
 interval, and the same is true of the upper octave. 
 
 Assuming next 4 as the initial tone, 3 is the tone most definitely 
 expected to follow, largely because of the half-step at that point in 
 the scale. Next to 3 in range of expectation come 6, 2, 7 (below the 
 tonic), the tonic or its octave, then rather low in degree of expectation 
 9, 7 and 5 last. There is here a marked re-adjustment of accidental 
 semi -tones; some that follow 3 or the tonic quite naturally are in this 
 instance on the border line. And hardly any can follow as an essential, 
 and not more than two or three as transitional (5ft as leading to 6, 7 b 
 with the same tendency, 1ft leading to 2). But one peculiar feature 
 is the barrier that seems to separate 4 from 5 as initial and second 
 tones of a melody. I do not now recall any such beginning of a 
 melody, though 5 may serve as transitional to 6 or even 3. Doubtless 
 the status of these two tones, 4 and 5, as bases of two of the major 
 triads in the scale has some influence. As the tonality is transferred 
 to a higher pitch the 5 below is quite possible, the 4 then taking its 
 place in a dominant chord as 7th; 6 of the lower octave is easily in 
 range. Lower tones as well as higher follow about the course indicated 
 in the case of 3 and 2 as initial tones. 
 
 Coming now to 5 as initial tone, with tonic of low pitch, we find 
 a situation differing totally from that of the last-named assumption. 
 In this case the tonic or its octave, 3 and its octave, may any one of 
 them follow with about equal ease of expectation, while the next group 
 is not far behind, viz: 2 and 7 either above or below the tonic, 6 and 4. 
 Two peculiarities of 5 stand out here. First: the melody can pass from 
 it to 4 with ease and satisfaction, but cannot reverse the movement 
 at the beginning. And second: this tone, 5, is the most indeterminate 
 initial tone of a melody that can be chosen. It belongs to the tonic 
 triad and is itself the base of the so-called dominant triad, which in- 
 cludes the leading tone of the scale, and also builds with 4 (above 
 octave) the dominant seventh chord. Thus it looks in all directions 
 from a sort of central eminence and no one can tell which way the 
 melody starting there is going to leap. Moreover, all the accidental 
 semi-tones follow readily, even in some cases as essentials, in the same 
 degree of expectation approximately as the nearest tone of the scale. 
 As the tonic is higher in pitch (in another tonality) the tones below it 
 rise more above the threshold of expectation until 5 is reached, i. e., 
 the lower octave of the initial tone itself; beyond that there is little 
 expectation. If the tonic is high enough (and often even when it is 
 low) 5 below is frequently used for initial tone and has a wide range 
 of choice within the range of an octave; beyond that the leap would 
 occasion surprise. The tonic itself is of most frequent occurrence, 
 3 either above or below follows close behind, and 2, 6, 7 and 4 (the 
 last either above or below the tonic) do not lag far behind. The ac- 
 cidental semi-tones stand in about the same order as when 5 above 
 the tonic w,as the initial* tone. 
 
Meldoy 23 
 
 After what was said about the dependent character of 6 it will 
 be readily seen that the position it occupies as candidate for the initial 
 tone is wholly diflercnt from that of 5. It is practically a non-essential 
 that tends either down to an essential 5 or up to an essential 8 (through 
 7). The melody may rise to 7 quite readily or descend to 2, or 7 
 below the tonic. The latter and 4 have about equal expectation, 
 3 a little less, but 9 and 11 (all above the octave) are readily anticipatc<l. 
 These latter recede as the pitch of the tonic rises, while 6 below 
 (lower octave of the initial tone) comes within range. But in both 
 cases 3 or its octave 10 are rather low in degree of expectation, doubt- 
 less because they are too suggestive of the minor, where they become 
 the corresponding equivalent of 5 of the major scale and are accordingly 
 high in degree of expectation. The use of accidental semi-tones after 
 6 remains fairly free, but they are almost invariably transitional, 
 heightening expectation of the next essential melodic tone to follow, 
 which it merely postpones just so long. 
 
 The remaining tone of the scale, 7, is even less used than 6 as 
 an initial tone of a melody, and is just as apt to be a non-essential. 
 The tone most definitely expected to follow it is the octave, a semi- 
 tone above; but the tonic itself is almost out of range. There is very 
 little expectation of 4, not much more of its octave 11; 3 is rare, 
 yet not beyond range; 2, 6, 9, 10 and 5 stand in about that order 
 but not very high. In case of a higher pitched tonic there is little 
 change in the relative standing; some below the tonic rise above the 
 threshold of expectation, while some above recede. An accidental 
 has about the same relation as after 6 as initial tone. 
 
 If now the melody begins with one of these same semi-tones 
 l\ing between tones of the scale, that initial tone is very apt to be 
 a non-essential. The direction which the melod}'- takes with the next 
 following tone, whether to the tone below or to the one above, depends 
 on which of these is to be the first essential tone. 2b descends to 
 tonic, whereas Iji ascends to 2; the movement from 3b and 2^ is to 
 2 and 3 respectively. 5b is hardly a possibility (except in modernist 
 composers), but 4?? leads to 5 and is not uncommon. 6!> and 5# lead 
 to 5 and 6 respectively, 7!> and 6|r to 6 and 7 respectively, (last hardly 
 possible). In the case of 6 and 7 both initial and next following are 
 liable to be non-essential. 
 
 To turn now briefly to the minor scale: it is 6 that usurps most 
 of the functions of the tonic and may be regarded from the stand- 
 point of psychology as equivalent in its effect to the tonic. The essential 
 difference of this scale from the major is the lower pitch of 3 (by a 
 semi-tone), and it is on this point that expectation is focussed. As 
 established in modern music, the pitch of 6 (from minor tonic) is the 
 same as in the major or a semi-tone lower, according as the movement 
 is up or down respectively. 7 has usually the same relation to the 
 tonic (as leading tone) as in the major scale. Aside from these differ- 
 ences, which lead to their own series of expectations, there will be a 
 general correspondence as to the nature of initial succession of tones 
 in a melody. But one interesting fact bearing on our discussion 
 deserves to be noted. A composer often purposely postpones defining 
 his tonality (whether major or mmor". until expectation is raised to a 
 considerable intensity. He begins the melody on 5 empty of harmony, 
 and follows it with tones that would fit in with either major or minor.* 
 It might be objected at this point that to one who is famililar with 
 the composition there is no longer any expectation or surprise. Grant- 
 ed; but the fact remains even after familiarity has dulled the edge of 
 expectation, a large element in our enjoyment of the composition is 
 
 •Beethoven at beginning of Fifth Symphony" and Sonata No. 26.-^ 
 
24 The Role of Expectation ik Music 
 
 the result of the expectation and surprise, the relaxation following 
 upon tension, that entered into it as an original factor. It is analogous 
 to the well-known fact in an illusion of sense; it takes effect even 
 when the subject knows it is an illusion. But this point will find fuller 
 illustration in the chapter on harmony. 
 
 The whole situation is at once complicated and yet rendered more 
 definite when we pass on to consider possible expectation following 
 two essential tones at the beginning of a melody. It will be impossible 
 to discuss all such expectation or even to enumerate them. It may 
 suffice us to point out certain general principles of limitation within 
 which expectaton moves and analyze certain typical or characteristic 
 cases. 
 
 1) The two tones must be in some time relation to each other, 
 and to the scheme of the piece, i. e., they start a rhythmic pattern, 
 and that may in many instances turn expectation one way or the other. 
 This will appear repeatedly in examples cited. Much depends also 
 on whether the initial tone is accented or not, and on the way the 
 next following joins on. 
 
 2) When the second tone of the melody is adjacent to the initial 
 tone, it starts a movement of the melody either up or down the scale, 
 that rouses considerable expectation of a continuation in the same 
 direction. This is especially the case if the second of the two is an 
 unaccented short tone. With a different rhythmic arrangement the 
 same succession up or down is wholly satisfactory, but a departure 
 from it is less noticeable. 
 
 3) If the first two are tones of a triad, especially the tonic triad, 
 expectation of the third tone of the triad is quite definite; the same 
 rhythmic relation as was suggested under 2) helps to heighten expecta- 
 tion, but this is not confined to any one rhythmic pattern. Nor is 
 the expectation developed so strong as to occasion any marked surprise 
 at a deviation. 
 
 4) When the second tone is an accidental it is usually (as above 
 suggested) a non-essential transition tone. Its function then is to height- 
 en expectation of the next essential tone of the melody. A fine example 
 of this is Wolfram's song in praise of pure love in Tannhauser.^^ 
 The real movement of the melody is 1-3-5-8, the tonic triad, followed 
 by the octave. But the composer, by the intervention of 2#, postpones 
 the next tone of the triad and increases our pleasure at hearing it. 
 But then, instead of proceeding at once to 5, he postpones that as 
 well by rising to 6 from which we again expect to descend to .5; 
 some composers would have made the mistake of trying to increase 
 our enjoyment of the octave by a similar device, but Wagner lets it 
 stand clear on its own merits, so to speak, and it gives the effect of 
 virile honesty fitting the character. 
 
 5) When the melody starts on some tone not in the tonic triad, 
 expectation is normally developed of an eventual return to some tone 
 of that triad. The third tone of the series, or in fact all three of 
 them may be selected for the express purpose of intensifying such 
 expectation, and so securing greater pleasure of relief when, at last, 
 the tonic triad is reached, or interest of surprise if it is evaded. A 
 similar movement often is introduced in the course of a melody; a 
 pause on some tone not in the tonic triad makes us look forward to a 
 subsequent pause on a tone of that triad, which causes high degree of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 6) The initial tone may be merely repeated, a case which was 
 not included in the discussion above. In that case the melody has 
 about as wide a latitude for the third tone as when -following the initial 
 tone. If the repeated tone is in the rhythmic relation mentioned in 
 
M elody 25 
 
 2} above, it is transitional in character, and for our purposes may be 
 disregarded; it hardly modifies expectation one way or the other. 
 
 7) There is the same limitation as above on extended leaps 
 reaching an octave or over, the greater the leap, the less it isi ex- 
 pected and the greater the surprise. When rcsorteil to in compositoiis 
 for the voice, they conduce sometimes to a humorous effect. But tihey 
 are much more frequent in compositions for instruments — includng,, 
 of course, combinations like the orchestra. The modernist composers 
 are far more free in the use of such extended intervals than the earlier 
 composers, though some are to be found in the classics. But as it 
 took long periods of time for the average music-lover, who was habituat- 
 ed to the longer unfilled intervals of the pentatonic scale (or still 
 earlier forms), to learn the superior pleasure of the short intervals 
 of semi-tones that appear in the diatonic scale, so it will not be a 
 short process to one feeling that pleasure to learn to enjoy the great 
 leaps we find in the modernists. 
 
 S) Certain sequences arc especially frequent in the cadence. 
 The most common is .3-2-1 in many varieties of rhythmic arrangement. The 
 composer Handel, uses this sequence repeatedly in all kinds of composi- 
 tions. The 3 of this sequence is sometimes preceded by 4^*, sometimes 
 by 8-' or 1, occasionally by 5; it is almost invariably characterized 
 by tonic chord on the 3 with 5 of that chord as the bass. This position 
 of the chord cannot serve as final and of itself rouses expectation of 
 the dominant chord to follow; this again strengthens expectation of 2 
 in the melody, and when 4 is heard as the dominant seventh expecta- 
 tion is thoroughly confident of tonic (or 1) in the melody as the closing 
 tone. The same cadence is found in Haydn, but he uses quite a 
 variety, one which has since been used often; 5-6-7-8,'* the same 
 sequence that is so frequent in both Haydn and Mozart,^' (also earlier 
 works of Beethoven) as a sort of flourish just before a pause. As 
 suggested before, the introduction of 7 as the leading tone made the 
 rising cadence possible and quite satisfactory. In this particular case 
 the dominant harmony is usually sustained after 6 is heard in the 
 melody, rousing expectation of 7 to follow as belonging with that 
 chord. With 7 is heard usually the full dominant seventh chord, and 
 whatever position it takes, the tonic is fully expected to close the 
 cadence. Both of these sequences with numerous variations have 
 maintained themselves to the present day and still satisfj'. One 
 much more modern sequence reverses the order of the first of the two 
 above specified, making a rising cadence 1-2-3. Gounod has used 
 this several times, notably in the closing chorus of his "Redemption;"-* 
 expectation of 3 after 2 is heightened by emphasizing the dominant 
 seventh chord (or some chord with a sharper dissonance) with 2 so 
 that 3 with tonic harmony is welcome. Another cadence very fre- 
 quent in Beethoven, 2-1, with a pause on 2, will be discussed later 
 (v. Ill, 7 (b) below). The sequence 7-1 (or 7-8) preceded by 5 or 11 
 or 9 (or 4 or 2 or 1) is fairly frequent. 
 
 Another that has been popularized and sterotyped to the point 
 of affectation is in intent a prolonging of suspense by postponing the 
 inevitable tonic, but in effect it is a display of vocal powers on a high 
 tone with suspense in reality eliminated because expectation is at the 
 point of certainty. This cadence is 7-9-8,-' with dominant seventh 
 harmony on both 7 and 9. and a pause on 9. An alternate is 5-9-8. 
 
 b. To what has already been said as to the extent of intervals 
 expected at the beginning of a melody, a few further points may be 
 added as to intervals in the further flow of the melody. . A succession 
 of wide leaps without intermediate steps at any point would occasion 
 marked surprise, but it is doubtful whether the shock would be pleasur- 
 
26 The Role of Expectation ik Music ^ 
 
 able. In those melodies in common use in which the interval of an 
 octave appears, it is almost invariably preceded or followed (or both) 
 by shorter intervals. Bach makes use of intervals of nearly an octave 
 quite frequently and in one instance at least gives a shock or surprise 
 by the sequence 2-7-1;'* in this case the melody rises from 2 to the 
 leading tone, which raises full expectation of the octave, but he disap- 
 points us by dropping to the tonic. In his Db Fugue (Well-tempered 
 Clav. Book 1)'^ for piano, the same sequence excites less surprise 
 than it does for the voice. Beethoven in a song lets the melody 
 leap from the tonic to 10, taking a new start, as it were; but he follows 
 it up with diatonic intervals down to 7.^^ In the Gloria of the Missa 
 Solemnis, he lets the voice leap from the octave of 5 to 5 and again 
 from there to the tonic.'' But he leads up to the highest tone with 
 a series of chromatic intervals. But both these writers are wisely 
 economical in the use of such leaps and sequences, as well as in the use 
 of marked shocks of surprise generally. 
 
 Certain melodic sequences may be pointed out which indicate 
 by their frequent use, even in some of the modernist composers, a sort 
 of universal appeal. 
 
 1) 1-2-2-3 is a great favorite. The reversal, 3-2-2-1, or a similar 
 movement at any part of the scale, are equally popular. It is to be 
 found in such diverse types of music as the following: No. American 
 Indian,''' Beethoven,'* Rheinberger,'* Max Reger." Its charm is 
 due in large measure to the postponement and thus heightened ex- 
 pectation of 3, or whichever tone happens to be last in the series 
 by repeating 2 or the corresponding tone. 
 
 2) Another almost as popular sequence is 5 (below tonic) -1-2-3, 
 with or without transition tones that postpone 3 and thus heighten 
 expectation of it. Beethoven uses this with profound effect in the 
 Andante of both Second'* and Fifth" Symphonies. Brahms has it 
 in both Andante*" and Finale** of the F. min. Sonata, in other 
 piano compositions, and in songs,*- with varieties of postponing notes 
 and rhythm; also in reverse order. Max Reger uses it.*' In fact, 
 it is of such frequent use in both rising and falling sequence with 
 great variety of transformation in composers of widely different type 
 that the expectation involved is evidently of a highly pleasurable charac- 
 ter. The interval 5-8 (or its equivalent) is itself grateful, and the two 
 tones of the tonic triad rouse expectation of the remaining tone 3. 
 But the interposition of 2 serves to heighten this expectation and 3 
 is then especially pleasurable. 2|t as a transitional tone is often in- 
 serted and serves to still further intensify expectation. As a figure 
 extending in passages up and down the piano, Chopin is quite fond 
 of it. It is almost equally common in minor and major. 
 
 3) A scale passage or a figure approximating the diatonic or 
 minor succession of tones raises pretty definite expectation in the 
 direction of movement. In some cases the surprise comes from a 
 sudden interruption before it seemed due to stop, sometimes from 
 continuing it beyond expectation. Chopin has several instances of the 
 latter with tricky modifications of sequences. He uses also numerous 
 figurations that depart more radically still from the scale sequences; 
 each of these as it continues and is resumed from time to time excites 
 the same sort of expectation which becomes more fixed with each 
 repetition. 
 
 4) The sequence 7-6-5 with varieties of harmony and rhythm is 
 evidently grateful. The tendency of melodic movement is from 7, 
 the leading tone, to the octave; the movement downward to 6 gives 
 the effect of an evasion and heightens expectation of 5 to follow. 
 Certain harmonies can reduce this expectation to a practical certainty.** 
 The reverse of this has a totally different effect. 
 
Melody 27 
 
 5) In popular music hardlj- any melodic sequence har, seen such 
 wear and tear as 3-4-4#-5." The natural interval 3-5 is filled in with 4; the 
 upward movement thus started rouses high expectation of 5, but that 
 tone is postponed by the insertion of the semi-tone, which intensifies 
 expectation of 5 and makes it grateful relief. This sequence may be 
 reversed with a somewhat similar effect, but it is not in such common 
 use. 
 
 6) A sequence made famous by Wagner as the slumber motive 
 in the magic fire music,*" namely 6-5-3, is exceedingly pleasing, and 
 almost as frequent as the preceding. It is susceptible of any rhythmic 
 treatment, but like 4) above, the reverse sequence is of entirely differ- 
 ent efTect. The dominating tone in this is 3, the descent to which from 
 5 — even without intermediate tones, — is quite in keeping witli ex- 
 pectation and brings out the psychological value of 3. We have already 
 seen liow readily melody passes from dependent 6 to strong 5, a 
 descent that can l)e easily postponed with resulting increase of expecta- 
 tion and pleasure; that interval from 5 to 3 with its calming quality 
 thus becomes particularly pleasing. 
 
 C. The psj'chological value — what a recent writer in the Scientific 
 MontJTly terms " tone-color "*^-of the several tones of the rliatonic 
 scale has been touched on incidentallj' in several connections already 
 (a and b); a few details may be added at this point. Such values 
 grow out of two relations in which each tone stands; first its relation 
 to the tonic and to adjacent tones, and second its suitability to serve 
 as the final tone of a cadence. 3 and 5 being tones of the tonic 
 triad have a more direct connection with their base and enjoy a cor- 
 responding independence, either being possible as final tone of a cadence. 
 The tonic itself is, of course, most satisfying in this latter position, 
 3 next because of the semi-tone 4-3, and 5 has the least efTect of finality. 
 When 5 is thrust into this final position it is almost always with the 
 full step 6-5, or the half 61>-5, which heightens the expectation at that 
 point. A cadence with the sequence 4-5 would be so unexpected as 
 hardly to be assimilated; it is suggestive of the Phrygian mode in 
 Greek music. A Hindu melody seemingly fashioned in that mode, 
 contains such a cadence,*^ which is enjoyed by the musicians of that 
 country. The quasi barrier between 4 and 5 referred to above (6,a). 
 seems to be operative at the cadence as well as at the beginning. 
 But no tone outside of this triad in the diatonic scale (and the cor- 
 responding triad in the minor scale) can serve as final in a cadence. 
 Even modernists hesitate to infringe on this custom — if it be termed 
 nothing more. (v. also III, 5, below). In a cadence 2 (or 9) may lead 
 to either tonic or 3, the former being more solid and satisfying, the 
 latter more soothing. 2 itself as final would be reminiscent of the 
 Greek minor mode known as the Phrygian. Another approach to 3 
 as final is from 4, either in the so-called ecclesiastical cadence or as 
 the 7th in the dominant seventh chord. A final sequence 4-3-1 is 
 quite rare, but 4-2-3 or 4-2-1 are both quite common and according 
 to definite expectation. But 4 itself as final in a cadence, while possible 
 in the Greek major mode called the Hypolydian, is practically unknown 
 in diatonic music. A cadence on 6 is at once interpreted as minor, 
 where 6 becomes the equivalent of 1. It can serve as a transition 
 tone for cadence either on 5 direct or on the octave through 7, which 
 is wholly satisfying to us, though hardly known in pre-diatonic melodies; 
 the half-step 7-8 is what makes it seem complete. For further dis- 
 cussion of cadence as affected by harmony, v. below, III, 4 and 5. 
 
 Now this psychological value, rising out of the relation of a given 
 tone to the tonic and its suitability as final tone in a cadence, is 
 
 *Dr. J. Proctor Hall. Sc. Monthly for Feb.. 1920; pp 142-149. 
 
28 The Role of Expectatiok ik Music 
 
 determinative to a large extent of expectation in melodi* sequence 
 But the evidence that can be adduced for it in any special instance 
 would hardly convince the non-musical of a sceptical turn of mind, 
 though the musician feels it as a primal fact, just as he does tonality 
 in a composition. Experimentation, even if were applicable, could 
 but report oti the habituation of various subjects without furnishing 
 convincing evidence of the ultimate fact. A consensus of opinion as a 
 result of a questionnaire would do little more. The best evidence is 
 in an analysis of the actual use made by composers of all types 
 of the various tones to secure the aesthetic or even sensuous pleasure 
 they all aim to create in the listener. In a large majority of cases 
 it is quite out of the question to assume that the composers themselves 
 were conscious of discerning any psychological value in the notes they 
 wrote; if asked why, they would either turn from the question with 
 a sort of contempt, or answer that those tones gave them pleasure, 
 seemed indicated as suitable, or the like. An analogous inquiry is to 
 ask a poet why he chose certain sequences of words or rhymes or 
 rhythms; he would be the last to explain why, on any psychological 
 grounds. 
 
 From the use of 5 in music it stands out as the tone of confidence, 
 brilliant self-assertion, as of a bold venture forth, even though there 
 must be a return somehow to the starting point of the tonic. To seek 
 evidence for this by asking a number of people taken at random to 
 intone the interv^al l-o vigorously and note the effect, might secure 
 no result other than degree of habituation to the effect of intervals. 
 But that composers feel it clearly appears from the following facts. 
 When in an orchestra a full volume is sought the 5 is most frequently 
 assigned to such brilliantly timbred instruments as the trumpet or 
 cornet. This is even more the rule in popular music (witness the 
 Sousa marches and other dance music passim!) than in standard writers, 
 where it is frequent enough. In neither, of course, was it chosen with 
 any clear thought of its psychological value, but this was felt or the tone 
 would not have been used. Further is the constant use of 5 in popular 
 and pretentious music as a tone to pause on in a turn of the melody, 
 when some other tone would be more consistent in melodic sequence. 
 There is corroboration also in the fact pointed out above that when 
 .5 is the initial tone of a melody there is the widest range of expectation 
 as to the next tone. Moreover (to anticipate), it is the connecting 
 link in harmony between the two more important triads, tonic and 
 dominant, being base of the latter. And finally, primitive man in 
 the search for self-expression through the medium of tone, settled on 
 this as the first definite interval, the tone preliminary to all the series 
 in the scale. The fact that mathcmaticallj^ it represents the simplest 
 ratio to the tonic, (3:2), and the highest degree of fusion with it (stand- 
 ing close to the octave in this respect), doubtless has some connection 
 with the psychological effect; but about all we can do is to note 
 the two parallel facts. 
 
 The psychological value of 3 is in marked contrast to 5. The 
 difference can be felt most clearl}' by intoning the interval 1-5 or 8-5 
 vigorously, and then follow it up with 5-3 much softer. But here 
 again, we observe the use made by composers of this tone of the 
 scale. It is more common in cradle songs and other music intended 
 to soothe and calm. Note the frequency of it at important points 
 (beginning, modulations, temporary cadences) in the cakning Andante 
 of Beethoven's Fifth.''* Bach*' and many later composers have it in 
 lullabys. Handel substitutes it for minor in his "Dead March."*" But 
 another important feature is that it gives character to the triad; 
 omit either 5 or 1 and sound the other tone (1 or 5) with 3 and we 
 
Melody 29 
 
 have no sense of emptiness or barrenness, but sound 1 and 5 together 
 without 3 and the difference is very marked. This fact is of special 
 importance in the expectation that centers upon it. 
 
 The triad that has 5 as its base includes 2, which bears the same 
 relation to its base as 5 to 1; but its value in the diatonic scale results 
 from its relation to the adjacent tones 1 and li. While incapable of 
 serving as final tone in a cadence, it points to either I or 3 and in 
 eertain sequences raises expectation to the pitch of certainty and 
 corresponding satisfaction. Witness the long cadence to the first 
 movement in Schumann's Fantasie Op. 17."' The melody is finding 
 its way (and we with it) back to the tonic, as in many similar cases. 
 The value thus indicated may be registered in consciousness by the 
 following experiment: strike together 1, 5 and 10 (preferably in low 
 pitch) several times and note the grateful relief when at last 2 is 
 replaced by 1 or 3.*- A similar relief is experienced if 2 is in the 
 melody at the rhythmic accent in a cadence and the expected tonic is 
 postponed. For fuller anaylsis of this v. Ill 7 b. below. 
 
 The second tone of the dominat triad, 7, which has the same office 
 here as 3 has in the tonic triad, was not in use until long after the 
 time of the pentatonic scale, but it will be convenient to deal with it 
 at this point. It serves to fill in the long interval 6-8 in the pentatonic 
 scale, just as prior to that 2 filled in 1-3. That interval 6-8 is not 
 satisfactory in a cadence, but the intermediate tone 7 provides a semi- 
 tone 7-S and gives definite expectation and hence is more satisfactory, 
 expecially since it leads to the tonic or its octave. In fact, this leading 
 is so definite that 7 when sustained (except in certain pauses) has a 
 quality of suspense about it that may amount to irritation.* 
 
 This is in marked contrast to the quality of 4, which is sobering, 
 not to .say solemn. It is the base of the remaining major triad, of 
 which the tonic is the fifth, and this relation to the tonic is partly 
 responsible for its value in the scale. It is the upper tone of one of 
 the two half-steps in the diatonic scale, but that does not qualify ii 
 to serve as final tone in a cadence. It may lead, however, to a cadence 
 nearly as satisfactory' as that introduced by 7, as indicated above, 
 with 3 as final tone; the sequence may be either from the dominant 
 seventh chord to the tonic or from the sub-dominant, the former being 
 a more perfect cadence. But it is the latter that exhibits the sober 
 value of this tone, for it is almost universally employed in church 
 music as the concluding amen, even though the piece (hymn or anthem) 
 had a previous cadence from the leading tone. The added cadence 
 from 4 seems to be more appropriate to the solemn mood of worship, 
 to restore it. Another evidence of its quality is that the calming 
 trio separating two brilliant sections of a march or minuet or other 
 similar composition is almost invariably a modulation to 4 as the new 
 tonic. A modulation to 5 would be a decided surprise and would fail 
 to produce the sobering or quieting effect. All the popular marches 
 have this intermediate section, always in the same modulation, seleeteii 
 because of the feeling if its appropriateness and not by arbitrary or 
 con.'^cious choice. 
 
 The quality of 6 is primarily that of dependence, which appeared 
 even in the pentatonic scale, where it had a strong tendency to pass 
 the melody on to 5. Moreover, it can not serve as a cadence, except 
 in minor, though it can lead to a fairly satisfactory cadence either 
 superimposed as 9th on the dominant seventh chord or as middle tone 
 of the sub-dominant. The former emphasizes its dependent quality 
 and rouses high expectation of the tonic chord and 5 in the cadence. 
 Its chief significance as well as much of its value is due to the two 
 following facts: First, it is the characteristic tone of the triad built 
 *Dr. HaU, 1. c. 
 
30 The Roi.I' of Expectation in Music 
 
 on 4; and second, it is the lower tone of the important minor third 
 of the pentatonic scale, 6-8. In that scale the upward movement 
 of the melody from 6 was always to 8 (in the absence of a leading 
 tone), but not for a cadence. The frequent occurrence of the intervals 
 6-8 (oi" 8-6) in modern music is doubtless a survival of the pentatonic 
 period. The use of 6 in later music as the base of the minor scale 
 has served to emphasize its dependent character. Its early appearance 
 in the scale is due to the fact that it was in common use and still 
 is, even in undeveloped peoples, in the expression of grief, or pain or 
 anxiety. The whine, the moan, the fretful tone, are all in minor in 
 the succession of their tones. Other uses of minor will be touched 
 on under the subject of harmony. 
 
 It must be admitted that these values of the different tones of 
 the scale as just discussed, do not appear so clearly in some modernist 
 music. There are two reasons that may be given for this loss of value. 
 One is the attitude toward tonality, in consequence of which before 
 there is any opportunity for the value of a tone to assert itself in its 
 relation to the tonic, the latter has suffered change and expectation 
 has no basis. Frequently after giving a definite signature, which 
 supposedly is to beget expectation, the opening phrases are in quite a 
 distant, even alien tonality, and confusion as to expectation and values 
 cannot fail to ensue. In this respect, as in a case pointed out above, 
 there must be opportunity for new habits to be established before 
 expectation can be develped. The other reason is the persistent use 
 in much modernist music of discordant blends of tone, the seeming 
 reluctance to present a chord undiluted.' This goes so far in many 
 cases as to leave us even with a discordant cadence. It is impossible 
 under this treatment for the normal value of a tone to assert itself 
 in consciousness and time alone can tell whether this is an episode in 
 the development of music or a real step forward which will eventually 
 create its own new habits and expectation. 
 
 d. The use of accidentals at the beginning of a melody, has 
 already been discussed (under a. above). Their function in melody 
 in general is about the same as at the beginning, i. e., to heighten 
 expectation of the next succeeding essential tone, and hence increase 
 the pleasure of hearing or surprise in not hearing it (v. Ill, 6. b., below). 
 The greater pleasure thus secured, like all intense pleasure, is apt to 
 be dissipated by two frequent indulgence; it palls on the taste like 
 too long or frequent eating of sweets. Franz Liszt and Dudley Buck 
 may be noted as great sinners against the psychological principle of 
 "too much." In some of Beethoven's greatest melodies there is little 
 resort to the accidentals, pleasure being procured in other ways that 
 bear repetition better, or even without repetition. Wagner has noble 
 melodies, also Schumann, free from accidentals in the ordinary use, 
 though they are frequent in enharmonic modulation where they main- 
 tain interest by well-planned surprises. The modernists use accidentals 
 so freely in both ways (and all ways), sudden modulations, transition 
 tones, turning the melody aside, enharmonic changes, that an unsophis- 
 ticated listener has for some time a sense of confusion, and until there 
 has elapsed the time necessary for new habituation, expectation be- 
 comes non-operative. 
 
 e. Just as was the case in rhythm (v. I, 8, above), a certain 
 melodic succession, the intervals with special essential and non-essential 
 tones, sets a melodic pattern which serves as a definite basis of ex- 
 pectation for the particular composition. Any deviation from that 
 pattern, whether the latter was consciously noted or not, has a certain 
 esthetic effect in a repetition, and the effect is increased almost in 
 proportion as the deviation is clearly perceived. A notable instance of 
 a pattern set at the beginning and abruptly broken (after several 
 
Melody 31 
 
 repetitions) is to be found in Son. op. 31 No. 1 of Beethoven." The 
 composer chose the rondo form for this final movement, which involves 
 recurrence of the general pattern at definite intervals. At the ex- 
 pected time he starts the melody allegro as in the pattern, but after 
 the first figure he retards and then halts the melody entirely; the usual 
 response (of the pattern) is then started, but in the same way retarded 
 and halted. This is repeated nearly in toto, but then the melody 
 is turned aside and led into an elaborate coda in which the initial 
 figure of the pattern is a main feature. In another instance, he post- 
 pones the final tone of a rising cadence twice by a sudden halt on 
 the leading tone — the second time an octave lower — and so maintains 
 suspense of expectation for the final tonic, which he at last gives an 
 octave lower yet. Son. Op 53, close of first movement.^'' In both of 
 these the aesthetic effect on the listener is due in large measure to 
 the reaction (different in the two instances cited) on his expectation. 
 f. The point just named in e. above has a special application 
 in the device known in composition as imitation, when a melodic 
 pattern announced in one voice (or part) or by one instrument, is 
 repeated by another instrument, or in another voice (or part). The 
 expectation of the various intervals and rhythm of the pattern in this 
 repetition has a large share in the pleasure derived from this treat- 
 ment of a subject. And for genuine enjoyment of polyphonic music 
 in its thoroughgoing forms (canon, fugues and the like) there is an 
 alertness of expectation demanded that amounts to an intellectual 
 challenge. Here the appreciation of music on the intellectual side 
 has a large opportunity. Memory of the original pattern — the sub- 
 ject — must be vivid, and attention must be alert to discern the return 
 in a new voice, and note any deviation from the pattern. Yet imita- 
 tion of phrases in a more emotional fashion is quite common in com- 
 posers whose general method is far from polyphonic, such as Beethoven, 
 Schumann, Brahms. But many listeners, perhaps the majority and 
 including real lovers of music, fail utterly to catch the purpose of the 
 tomposer and the meaning of the music becavxse they have no hint 
 of direction in focussing their attention and thus giving expectation 
 a fair chance. The difficulty of following imitation, the intellectual 
 effort required, is even greater in the case of so-called inversion, in 
 which the direction of intervals (up or down) is reversed, while the 
 rhythmic pattern is retained. Expectation follows the same lines but 
 closer attention is called for. 
 
32 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 III. EXPECTATION AS IT APPEARS IN HARMONY. 
 
 Harmony, which seems to us that are habituated to its meaning 
 and charm an elemental factor in the art of music, is really of quite 
 recent development. The question of its origin wears a totally different 
 aspect from the same question with regard to melody. Whereas melody 
 ran its independent course more or less concurrently with rhythm until 
 all the resources of the diatonic scale and the Greek modal scales were 
 at its disposal, harmony waited for this culmination before even its 
 earliest manifestations. The inquiry whether it is really subsconsciously 
 implicit in melody need not occupy us here, although it is of great 
 interest in itself. But at any rate the raw material, so to speak, of 
 the most intricate harmony of the modernist was actually present 
 in the commonly used intervals of the scale as they appear in melody. 
 But for some reason, the novelty of letting two voices run up and 
 down the melodic phrases together, but a fifth or a fourth or a third 
 or sixth apart, seems to have occurred to none. And yet there was 
 really a foundation laid for just that when men and boys or men and 
 women sang the same melody. They thought of it as singing in the 
 same pitch, unison, but as a matter of fact it was in octaves and it 
 was already habituating them unconsciously to the simultaneous use 
 of two voices. The long period during which this was done before 
 its significance dawned on the musician is a witness to the perfection 
 of fusion in the octave. But during all that long period it can hardly 
 be doubted that two tones at other intervals would be accidentally 
 sounded together and give an unwelcome sense of roughness to ears 
 accustomed to the smooth octave. But it was not- until long after 
 the Christian era that any other interval came to be used in con- 
 current singing. To be practially available an interval must meet 
 two conditions; it must be free from roughness, which would offend 
 the ear, and it must be convenient for high and low pitched voices 
 of the same sex, so that two men or two women could use it. The 
 highest degree of fusion — ^smoothness — next to the octave is furnished 
 by the fifth, and this interval met the other condition also. This was 
 all the harmony used for a long period subsequent to its introduction. 
 Barren as it sounds to us now, it marks a new era and a long step 
 in advance on the century-long road to the modern achievements of 
 harmony. The ear began now to be habituated to simultaneous sounds 
 not octaves, and comparisons could not fail to be instituted between 
 the two kinds of intervals. The point of significance for our purpose 
 here is that to the purely melodic expectation already developed is 
 now superadded a slight expectation of a fundamentally harmonic 
 character. Attention was henceforth divided between the tone of the 
 melody and the accompanying tones a fifth below, an important element 
 in itself in the development of music appreciation. The absence of 
 the lower tone, or any deviation from it, introducing another interval, 
 would be noted at once and come as an unpleasant shock of surprise. 
 One great aid in the habituation to two tones was the twanging of two 
 strings tuned a fifth apart, and another use of the same device led 
 to wholly unexpected but momentous results. The singing of melodies 
 in one part had not ceased, but the constant accompaniment of the 
 two strings gave something of the effect of the harmony a fifth below. 
 But as the melody moved up and down the special Greek mode 
 that happened to be employed, tones would be sounded that were 
 discordant, rough even to our ears. The ear would simply accept 
 
Har>iony . 33 
 
 these as temporary and expectation would be fixed on the smoother 
 combinations to follow. But there were differences in roughness and 
 some attentive ear caught the combination 1-3-5, i. e., a tonic triad, 
 possible in several of the Greek modes. The same point was reached 
 by another route as well, by experiments with other intervals in sing- 
 ing,, and with additional voices accompanying the melody. Both ad- 
 vanced very slowly, but were aided finally by experiments in greater 
 independence of the lower part or parts. These, instead of following 
 along at a fixed interval from the tone of the melody, were allowed 
 some freedom of movement, either changing pitch while the melody 
 remained fixed or vice versa, or ascending when the melody descended 
 ^or kept the same pitch), or vice versa. Each successive advance 
 made in these various ways had to undergo its period of habituation 
 with resulting development of- expectation. With increasing variety 
 there was still further strain on attention with expectation heightened 
 more readily and interest more easily maintained." Each lower part 
 came more and more to have characteristics of melody with the typical 
 interest and expectation of melody. In this slowly developing polyphonic 
 treatment of the voices the harmony was not a consciously sought end, 
 but rather a sort of by-product. The interest seemed to be centered 
 on the conduct of the several voices and while resulting harmonies 
 added to pleasure and gave abundant opportunity for surprise, this 
 latter effect was incidental. But there are limits to the polyphonio 
 method pure and simple, arising out of the span and range of attention, 
 and after its culmination in the works of Palestrina (1524-94), it was 
 replaced by a method that had a rather unpromising origin early in 
 the seventeenth century, but made the innovation of accompanying 
 the melody with chords played by instruments. 
 
 2. Here for the first time appeared the full value and importance 
 musically of the third tone, or 3, in the triad, giving content and 
 chara.cter to the accompaniment which the empty fifth left so un- 
 meaning. And the use of the major triad was followed by that of the 
 minor, and aside from the increased expressiveness that could be lent 
 to a melody by supporting it with full chords there was vastly in- 
 creased range for expectation. At the same time, the range of atten- 
 tion being more restricted interest was better focussed. But both of 
 these triads passed through a long period of probation before they 
 were, sufficiently accepted to be used freely and thereby beget expecta- 
 .tion. The minor triad especially was regarded as rough, and long 
 after it was in current use it was not expected in the final chord of 
 "a cadence, its sound was as yet too unpleasant. Although the prevail- 
 ing harmony of a composition was mmor and the closing strains to us 
 would inevitably end in the minor chord, it was customary even down 
 to the time of Bach to replace the minor third with the major in the 
 final chord. This being merely a concession to the prejudice of un- 
 habituated ears, did not have the aesthetic effect of a surprise as it 
 now would. The majority of the minor preludes and fugues of Bach's 
 "Wohltemperierte Clavichord" have this kind of a cadence; but a good- 
 ly number of them, surprised the musicians of the day by retaining 
 the minor third, and they are among the finest. Others had anticipated 
 him in the use of final minor chords, but it was in accompanying" a 
 sung melody. 
 
 The great variety that becomes possible through the current use 
 of the triad appears from the fact that each tone of the scale is a 
 member of three major and three minor triads. Any tone in the melody 
 is, therefore, open to be supported in those six different ways, at least. 
 And as each triad has certain distincti\e qualities growing out Of the 
 relation of its base to the tonic, it modifies the particular tone it. 
 supports with sQmething pf its own value. 
 
34 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 3. The fact just stated not only shows how harmony as it 
 gradually developed furnished a powerful instrument for the re-inforce- 
 ment of melody, thus giving more adequate expression to emotion; 
 it also suggests the great significance there is for our present inquiry 
 in the great opportunity opened up for the heightening of expectation, 
 and resulting satisfaction and pleasure in its fulfillment or corresponding 
 surprise and interest in non-fulfillment. This is evident even in the 
 early stages of the harmonizing era during which there came into being 
 what we may call the obvious or simple harmonic treatment. Not 
 that all composers observed this; Bach was anything but obvious at 
 times. But a large part of his contemporaries and immediate follow- 
 ers (in tune) were far less intricate and subtle than he. In fact, he 
 anticipated an age far in advance of his own. The early obvious 
 harmony may still be found reproduced in some of the most popular 
 common songs, where subtlety would be decidedly misplaced and would 
 fail of exercising any charm. Looking over any collection of favorite 
 songs of almost any country, where the author of the melody is also 
 the harmonizer, one can find abundant models of the obvious harmonic 
 scheme which has very definite characteristics and expectations. 
 
 The tonic triad is confidently looked for to open the harmonic 
 series, and whatever triad may follow next there is equally confident 
 expectation of return to the tonic. The scheme most frequently to 
 be found is that in the melody attributed to Rousseau and in common 
 use in hymnbooks under the name "Greenville."** It is, subject, of 
 course, to changes due to different melodic sequence: tonic — dominant — 
 tonic (in this particular instance repeated) — tonic — subdominant — tonic 
 (also repeated) — tonic — dominant — tonic. The particular form in this 
 air is not as general as the sequence. The essential feature of the' 
 scheme is that the first departure from the tonic is to the dominant 
 and after the return to tonic there is a departure to the subdominant 
 before the cadence. This appearance of the subdominant before the 
 cadence is of special importance as the same sequence in essence 
 has maintained itself in some of the largest and more intricate forms 
 like the sonata. In the simpler forms it is so regularly used this way 
 that it has the effect of a signal that the cadence is not far away. 
 There may be no return to the tonic before the actual cadence, but 
 expectation is definitely excited of either the tonic followed by dominant 
 leading in the cadence to tonic again, or of dominant with cadence, 
 in the tonic. 
 
 Another simple harmonic pattern followed in many particular 
 songs is that which passes into subdominant at the first, leaving 
 the dominant for a later sequence. Tonic — subdominant — tonic — 
 dominant; the same repeated except that there is apt to be a cadence, 
 following which comes an episode. Here again, the essential thing 
 is the early appearance of the sub-dominant, which seems to give 
 a sober, less lively spirit to the entire song. "Annie Laurie" and 
 "Suwanee River" may serve as types. 
 
 Both of these simple schemes have undergone numberless modi- 
 fications — not including as yet modulation. Among these are intro- 
 duction of some minor triads where tones of the melody admit, the 
 change of the triad while the melody sustains or repeats the same tone, 
 or conversely the sustaining of a triad while the melody moves, post- 
 poning the expected change in harmony or substituting some other 
 chord for the one expected. But indulgence in much of this is apt 
 to give the general effect of subtlety rather than of the obvious. A 
 good example of considerable variety on the basis of rather obvious 
 harmony is the popular "Largo" of Handel. Minor triads are rather 
 frequent, there is even a threatened modulation, frequent inversion 
 
_ _ Harmony 36 
 
 of triads and the like, all without crossing the border-line and becoming 
 subtle. And withal he manages a fine and very effective postpone- 
 ment of cadence, a case of heightened expectation and surprise. The 
 melody has the leading tone, 7, in the octave, at a point seemingly 
 fitting for a cadence on the tonic above. The composer makes exr 
 pectation of cadence doubly strong by using the chord of the dominant 
 seventh, which calls for cadence on tonic chord. But while the next 
 tone of the melody is the tonic (octave), it is the subdominant triad, 
 with its third the lowest tone, that supports it, and the expected 
 cadence is evaded.'* Handel satisfies expectation in a few measures 
 after his surprise with a conventional cadence.^* Raff, at the beginning 
 of the march movement from the "Lenore" Symphony, has an effective 
 turn from the obvious harmony he seems to inaugurate. The obvious 
 triad for the fourth beat of his melody, with the tone 2, would be 
 dominant, followed normally by tonic triad; but he slips in a minor 
 chord with 2 as its base, while the nominal bass remains the tonic. '^ 
 Being unexpected adds to the natural plaintiveness of the minor. 
 
 One of the finest examples of entirely obvious harmony, following 
 from tonic to dominant and back again with firm precision, is in the 
 first six measures of the Finale of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony."* 
 The stately melody rises from tonic through 3 to 5, the harmony 
 being the tonic triad; in descending back to tonic again the melody 
 has the sequence: 4-3-2-1-2-1, the accent thus falling on S and 1. 
 The harmony for the off -beats is the dominant, for the accents the 
 tonic. This is quite in keeping with expectation and the effect is that 
 of great positiveness of affirmation, decision without a quaver. Any 
 attempt at a subtle handling of the harmony in this passage at once 
 changes its character. I have been interested to compare with it the 
 climax which Tschaikowski works up in the third movement of his 
 Symphony No. VI. (Patetica). The melody has a like grandeur of 
 assertion, but the effect of descision is somewhat weakened by the 
 harmony changing more frequently and subtly; the bass moves into 
 subdominant while the melody remains on the tonic, and descends 
 by semitones from 6 to 5.^' It is a tremendously effective passage, 
 but it has not the decisiveness that is so marked in the other. 
 
 A comparison of the three successive composers Haydn, Mozart 
 and Beethoven, shows a steady progress in complexity and subtlety 
 of harmony. Haydn seems to us of the twentieth century decidedly 
 naive. His Symphony known as the "Surprise" has very little in the 
 way of harmony that seems unexpected to us, while the burst of 
 doubled thirds on the "Light!" near the beginning of his oratorio,. 
 "Creation," is pretty obvious if effective. It is even a question whether 
 acquaintance with Bach would have deepened his incorrigible tran- 
 quility, whether the latter was not really too far in advance of his age. 
 But one service of great value Haydn rendered, from which both 
 his successors profited. He did for the sonata form, particularly in 
 his chamber music and symphonies, what Bach had done so thoroughly 
 for the fugue and other polyphonic forms, in elaborating his subjects 
 by thematic development. We have already' seen above (.II, 6, £) 
 how imitation and inversion both react on expectation; what we have 
 to note here is the fact that increasingly composers have made use 
 of imitation and inversion to add special interest to the harmony 
 in the newly developed sonata form. In the canon and fugue forms 
 all the harmony there is is furnished by the theme and its develop- 
 ment in the different voices, whereas in the other forms there is a 
 complete harmony supporting the one voice of the melody (therefore 
 called homophonic). Now, when the theme itself or some modification 
 of it is made an intregal part of the harmony it has the effect of 
 drawing special attentiori to itself with new interest. The effort 
 
^ The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 to follow it more closely does not strain the attention as in the poly- 
 phonic method, but the harmony which heretofore gave rise to expecta- 
 tion only in connection with the melody or upper part, now takes on a 
 sort of independent life and has transferred to it and infused into it 
 whatever expectation the theme had given rise to as the upper support - 
 eil voice. 
 
 On account of its importance in this connection it will be desirable 
 to point out the principal operations involved in what has been called 
 development. The simplest is straight repetition which, as pointed 
 out in the discussion on repetition, is quite allowable and often demanded. 
 More interest is aroused if the intervals represented in the theme are 
 left unchanged (or nearly so) and the entire sequence is transposed to 
 another part of the scale; this seems to add to the freshness of the 
 theme, to hear it on a different pitch. If this is restated in another 
 voice, we have a special case of imitation. But the theme may 
 be modified either by doubling the length of the notes composing it 
 or by halving it, so that it requires more of an effort of attention to 
 recognize it. These operations of augmenting and diminishing are 
 not the only possible rhythmical changes;, the accents of the theme 
 may be shifted, giving a more or less altered rhythmic pattern, or the 
 succession of tones may be made to yield a pattern of wholly different 
 effect. But the most powerful effect of all, the most difficult as well, 
 and attained successfully only by comparatively few even of the 
 greatest masters, is the progressive extension of a theme by utilizing 
 different portions of it, building it up from point to point to a majestic 
 climax. I refer to such passages as that in Beethoven's Sonata Op. 106 
 first movement soon after the development has been taken up; 
 the composer leads up to the key of Gb for his climax. Schumann 
 has two such in the F sharp min. Sonata Op. 11, one in the first 
 movement leading to a fortissimo in F. sharp major, the other the 
 clasing two pages of the finale. The significance of all this for us 
 lies in the fact that in each and every type of development expectation 
 is • unfailingly active, following each new announcement of the theme 
 from point to point on the basis of its first announcement. Pleasure 
 of satisfaction accompanies each return of a familiar sequence, and 
 each fresh turn as it is noted adds the new thrill of interest. While 
 few moments in music are so full of emotional content, of unalloyed 
 rapture, as a climax such as I have described. It is as if some great 
 aspirations were being brought to their consummation. 
 
 ., Now all these various forms of development — with the possible 
 exception of the last — may be made a part of the harniony supporting 
 a. melody; a theme or sequence that had already appeared in the melody 
 being repeated as a sort of response in a lo.wer part. Very skillful and 
 beautiful instances are to be found in the' Andante in Bb from 
 Tschaikowski's First Quartette,*" the imitative responses having often 
 considerable freedom. 
 
 To tome back to Haydn; his work in thematic development is 
 not his onlj' anticipation of or contribution to his successors; he has 
 some harmonic feats that must have made his contemporaries jump 
 with surprise. Some will be discussed later (6 a. and b. below). But 
 these are so rare as not to change the general verdict given above. 
 
 Mozart learned all that Haydn could teach him and out of his 
 own fertile imagination (in ignorance of Bach) evolved far greater 
 variety and subtlety of harmonic treatment, so much so that for multi- 
 tudes of music lovers of today, even in Germany, he represents almost 
 the limit of intelligibility. His imitations in the harmony in double 
 thirds not only strain the attention but involve sharp dissonances* ^ 
 which he does nothing to relieve. Such passages are endured for two 
 special reasons that concern us. In the first place- the ■ movement of- 
 
• • • . Harmoky ■ • ■ ■: - • •• 87 
 
 the voices in imitation begets expectation and -so interest in following 
 the double voice; and secondly, the dissonance heard during the move- 
 ment of the several parts raises expectation of a harmonj- to relieve 
 it, and such relief is a real source of pleasure (v. 6. below). — The de- 
 gree of subtlety he attained is seen at its highest in the opening strains 
 of the C major quartet,*- where he starts out with repeated notes on 
 the tonic, whereupon the listener expects some tone of the tonic triad 
 to follow; instead he hears 6b come in at the close of the measure. 
 Then wc liear 3(> and the appearance is rather of something in the 
 tonality of Gb; but this expectation is defeated at once bj- 6 natural 
 in the violin, the sharp dissonance with G fiat below being avoided by 
 the shift of that voice to 5, from which there is suggested a modulation 
 to r^. But before we feel at home in that tonality the 3(B) is flatted 
 and the entire sequence is repeated a whole tone below the former 
 statement; and this time expectation follows it closely from point to 
 point to see how exactly' it is repeated and how it is followed up. 
 Even Haydn's "Chaos" is not so subtle as that passage. 
 
 But a simpler test of subtlety in the waj'^ of meeting expectation 
 is to 'be found in the tonality used by different composers in their 
 works. But in statistics on this point it is evident that Bach's Well- 
 tempered Clavichord should not be included, because it is a deliberate 
 attempt on his part to cover all the tonalities, and quite a number are 
 not to be found in his other works, a number more very rarely. In 
 his works so far as examined, sixteen of the thirty possible tonalities 
 were observed, only four of which had more than three flats or sharps 
 in the signature, and only four had as much as three. C and G were 
 most numerous, minors and majors about equal. In the works of 
 Haydn examined only twelve tonalities were found. Of these G and 
 D -were most numerous, C and E flat next. Only one tonality was 
 represented with more than three sharps, also one with more than 
 three flats. But majors were in overwhelming majority over minors. 
 The difference between Mozart and Haydn is less marked than between 
 Bach and Haydn. In Mozart there is much more even distribution 
 in the use of tonalities, less of difference between majors and minors; 
 on the w-hole more balance but not much expansion. Beethoven 
 represents a marked expansion with no loss of balance. In his works 
 that were examined there were nineteen tonalities represented with 
 a considerable increase in those of more than three sharps or flats. 
 So far as noted he is the first to use A flat, D flat, E flat minor, 
 C sharp minor, A flat minor and F sharp minor* freely. Since his 
 day there has been growing freedom in the use of tonalities, with such 
 writers as Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn and Lizst pointing th^e 
 way. The last named in the compositions examined has nothing in 
 the following keys: C, G, F, D, E flat, and favors the tonalities with 
 complicated signature. By that time, and in later composers to a 
 large extent, the value of tonality as a test of subtlety is much dimin- 
 ished, as the fashion begins to gain ground to multiply sharps and 
 flats in the signature as having a certain romantic flavor. It is a 
 would-be subtlety that leads a would-be composer to choose D flat-, 
 when as a matter of fact he has not a D flat theme! Hence a truer 
 test of subtlety is to be found now in the handling of harmonic se- 
 quence, the way in which expectation is met or thwarted and pleasure 
 of satisfaction or surprise secured. And here we must again exercise 
 a limiting selection because of the wealth of material. 
 
 Composers have made great progress since the day of Haydn in 
 appreciation and use of the chromatic scale, in both melody and 
 harmony. Some of its functions in melody have been pointed out-; 
 
 *Mozari has one case of F tharp minor — so far a* noted, and aUo of A flat. 
 
88 The Role of Expectation in Music . 
 
 and much of the same inheres in its value in harmony. The move- 
 ment of a harmonic part by semitones rouses added expectation for the 
 following tone of that part just as truly as it does for unaccompanied 
 melody. It has a stronger divisive effect on attention and calls for 
 greater alertness of expectation, but for that very reason secures a 
 higher degree of satisfaction when skillfully handled. Two examples 
 from Beethoven may be noted, though all composers of rank use the 
 expedient. In Sonata No. 12,*' in the fifth and sixth measures from 
 the beginning, the bass has the sequence 6-5-4#-4-3, the 4|t even suggest- 
 ing for the moment, a different tonality. And it is this 4# that by 
 postponing 4 and 3 heightens expectation of both. It would be correct 
 and not unsatisfactory harmony to omit that half-step altogether, 
 give 4 double time and then proceed to 3, which would be expected. 
 But performance of this sequence followed by the one Beethoven 
 wrote shows the vast superiority of the latter. Again in Symphony 
 No. 2, in the Larghetto,** the fourth measure from the beginning gives 
 the same sequence in the bass while the upper parts are stationary; 
 and in the sixth measure'* the sequence 7-1-2 is changed to 7-lft-2, 
 with the effect of heightening expectation of 2. A similar effect is 
 secured later in measure nineteen by giving half-steps in two parts.** 
 But the danger pointed out above in speaking of melody is present 
 almost in the same degree in the lower parts. Spohr is a composer 
 who seems to delight in the chromatic scale for its own sake, and 
 his music suffers in consequence. Some of the modernist writers show 
 a kindred weakness and suggest vacillation and uncertainty. And the 
 popular caterers to passing taste exhibit their mastery of chromatic 
 intervals in the bass (or other parts) ad nauseam. 
 
 Another point of prime importance in this connection is the con- 
 trasting use, for aesthetic purposes, of major and minor. Bach is 
 pioneer here — as in so many ways — and there are few finer passages 
 in organ music than that in the great Fantasie in G minor where 
 the bass moves down by whole steps and half steps, interposing a 
 minor chord when a major was expected, but soon restoring the ex- 
 pected major, and continuing this alternation in a sort of majestic 
 procession," and surprising us at the end by a harsh discord. But 
 more eflfective in kindling and conveying emotion is the change from 
 a prevailing major to a minor, or vice versa. Of the latter one of the 
 finest and best known exarnples is that in Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, 
 and a brief analysis of his procedure in that work will serve as an 
 illustration of the treatment of the same change by him in other 
 works and by other composers before and since. Others had used it, 
 but it is through Beethoven largely that the possibilities of this aesthetic 
 effect have become familiar and available. For his monumental work 
 the composer chose the tonality of C minor (the same used in the 
 Sonata Pathetique.) The first movement being in sonata form calls 
 for a change of key in the second subject, and quite in keeping with 
 expectation he presents that subject in the relative major E fiat, 
 which comes almost as a relief after the ominous, almost threatening 
 exordium. It is further expected in the sonata form that the first 
 section of the movement should have its cadence in the key in which 
 the second subject was announced, and this condition is met.* The 
 ominous tone returns with the recaptitulation and is brought up to 
 a towering climax in the remote key of D fiat, a quite unexpected move. 
 At the point where in due course, the second subject is to return, 
 he gives some premonition of his ultimate purpose by presenting it 
 in C major. Now while these changes to a major tonality are so 
 much in accordance to usage that to the habituated listener they seem 
 
 ♦Evasion .is not imcomBnon but oecaeionB some degree of surpriee; v. IV., 6 (c) below'. 
 
^ Harmoky ■ 39 
 
 quite the expected thing, to one- comparatively fresh in orchestral or 
 other elaborate music both changes would come as a strikingly beauti- 
 ful surprise. But that is not all that Beethoven is aiming at. Nor 
 is his appropriate choice of tonality .and harmony m the second move- 
 ment — Andante in A flat major — his essential thought in this symphony; 
 for he has the same change in the Sonata No. 8 (Pathetique) and No. 5 
 for piano. And the tonality of the third movement — Allegro — is 
 quite conventional, C m.inor (same as first movement); only there is 
 something disturbing and exciting abotit the rhythm and the melodic 
 material, that suggest unknown possibilities. It is this exciting element 
 that is carried to the highest pitch of expectation by the composer, 
 as he approaches the final movement. While the full dominant seventh 
 chord is being persistently and vigorously asserted in the upper parts 
 the tonic is with equal, vigor asserted in the bass by drum beats, 
 making a sharp dissonance, until the ear and mind both fairly ache 
 with suspense. Then comes the great surprise for which the whole 
 work has been preparing us. The usual tonality for the finale is the 
 same as that of the first movement, and in Sonatas No. 1, 5, 8, 14, 17 
 and 23 for the piano, all of which begin in a minor tonality, the finale 
 does not change it. But here, after raising expectation to such a 
 pitch, he bursts out into a sort of triumph song in C major, a tonality 
 quite unexpected, because the prevailing tone of the preceding move- 
 ment is minor until within a few measures; and the hints of major 
 there are quite compatible with a return to minor in the Finale; 
 hence it is quite a complete surprise. And entire familiarity with th« 
 structure of the whole work and with the frequent use of the same 
 device by Beethoven (in Symphony No. IX, Sonata No. 32, and else- 
 where) and other composers, does not interfere with our enjoyment of 
 its uplifting power at each new performance. "Age cannot wither 
 nor custom stale" its deathless charm. 
 
 The same change which is here connected with the transition into 
 a new movement (also in the IXth Symphony) has often been intro- 
 duced by composers within the limits of a single movement or composi- 
 tion. So in the great Largo of Sonata No. 29 (op. 106), after maintain- 
 ing a deep and tragic mmor (except in episodes) nearly to the end, 
 Beethoven prepares and completes the cadence in major. Nearly 
 the same plan is followed by Brahms in the Finale of his Third Sonata, 
 in F minor. Schumann has two of the three earlier movements of 
 his F sharp minor Sonata (op. 11) in that key, with episodes in major; 
 the Finale starts out according to expectation in the same key, and it 
 is only on the last pages that he verges toward the major and closes 
 in a great climax. All these cases are far more subtle and elaborate 
 and consequently with deeper aesthetic effect from the surprise in- 
 volved than the naive and ingenuous manner of Schubert in such songs 
 as the "Serenade," "The Nun," "Death and the Maiden," and others. 
 To habituated ears particularly they come to have an effect of same- 
 ness. And manj' tjTos in composition use the device because they 
 feel its fascination and expect it to please, not because they are im- 
 pelled to it by some deep aesthetic impulse. But as indicated above 
 in other connections, depending too mucli on the expectation and 
 surprise causes it to lose its effect, to pall. 
 
 Comparatively few composers have taken the contrary direction, 
 i. e., beginning in major have ended in minor. A temporary excusion 
 into minor with return to niiijor is quite common; for instance in the 
 rondo,* or in a set of variationsf but in such cases there is quite 
 
 *V. IV. 6. (b) below. 
 XV. IV, 4 below. 
 
4d The Role of ExpEt'TATi'oN in Music . 
 
 definite expectation of the return to major, and a failure to return 
 would occasion surprise. 
 
 Tschaikowsky, in his Symphony No. VI. (Patetica), has a near 
 approach to the contrary direction". The first movement having begun 
 in minor closes with long sustained chords in major, as many composi; 
 tions prevailingly minor do close. The second movement takes the 
 relative major of the first movement and maintains it. The third 
 movement is likewise major and has _ a bright atmosphere, and the 
 composer works up his great climax in this mood. The sequence of 
 tonality thus far, is B minor, D major, G major. But in the Finale 
 he goes counter to expectation on two points: first, he reverts to the 
 minor tonality of the first movement and the main subject is persistent- 
 ly minor to the end; second, the symphony really closes with the slow 
 movement. Adagio. And in addition to that, since he closed the 
 preceding Allegro in major, fortissimo, there is quite a strong ex- 
 pectation developed of. eventual return to major, but here the composer 
 has other thoughts, and the disappointment he furnishes is evidently 
 intentional and has its aesthetic value. 
 
 4. To all the expectation which had ever gathered about the 
 cadence, the finishing touch was given by the fixing of the principle 
 of tonality and the accepted use of harmony. It was no longer possible 
 to let the melody come to a final pause on any tone of the scale that 
 happened to be fundamental of the particular mode used. The modes 
 were definitely abandoned and the diatonic scale reigned supreme, 
 with its implied minor. The melody was now expected to close on 
 one of the tones of the tonic triad, either 1 or 3 or 5, with tonic 
 harmony. There are several possible closing melodic sequences, the 
 most satisfactory being the descending sequence 2-1, the ascend&g 
 sequence 7-8 (or the lower octave), and 4-3. The heightenmg of ex- 
 pectation that resulted when harm.ony furnished its background to 
 melody was due to the fact that the presence of the leading-tone, 7, 
 in the penultimate chord made the succeeding tonic chord inevi- 
 table. Even the cadence 4-3, semitone though it be, has far greater 
 expectation if it is supported by dominant harmony; then, however, 
 in the chord of the dominant seventh, no matter what position it is in, 
 the cadence seems assured beyond a doubt. And the completeness of 
 expectation when this chord appears can be measured by the satis- 
 factoriness of the tonic chord when it finally enters. The cadence 4-3 
 with subdominant triad supporting 4 is quite allowable on account of 
 the semi-tone; but it is not final. It seems possible for the melody 
 to move in more than one direction. In the other case there seems 
 no escape from the final tone. It is even possible to make the sequence 
 6-5 seem satisfactory by supporting 6 with the dominant seventh 
 chord; the tendency inherent in 6 to lead to 5 is here reinforced by the 
 concentrated expectation of that chord, and 5 with tonic harmony 
 is accepted, indeed seems inevitable. This expectation based on 
 dominant seventh can be still further intensified by repetition or 
 interruption and postponement. A fine instance of repetition is in 
 the cadence of the first movement of Schumann's Fantasie in C, 
 Op. 17*1. After a suggested close 4-3 he seems to give a real cadence 
 9-8; but even a repetition of the latter fails to satisfy the composer, 
 and a third time he anticipated the 9 with a 10 from which the melody 
 descends after a pause to 9, which is sounded repeatedly while the full 
 dominant seventh chord is held suspended, as it were, above it, and 
 then finally comes to rest on the tonic. An example of postponement 
 after interruption is found at the close of the first movement of Sonata 
 Op. 53 of Beethoven. The melodic sequence, as it has appeared 
 several tim.es during the movement, is 5'6-7-8, all supported "with domi- 
 
' : ;• •" ■ ■ • HARMey? • • . - ' r ' • 41-. 
 
 nant seventh.. harmony to which 7 finally adds the, finishing . tpuch 
 of the leading tone. But .after bringing the melody to the 7, instea(3. 
 of satisfying expectation at once, the composer sustains the tone, and 
 then gives the whole sequence an octave lower with the one alteration 
 of 6b« pausing as before on 7 and as before failing to give the expected 
 tonic. Again the. entire sequence is transposed an octave lower, 
 and this time after longer pause on both 6 and 7, the longed-for tonic, 
 follows. 
 
 5. It can be concluded from what has just been said, that about 
 the greatest shock of surprise a composer can administer to his audience 
 would be the evasion of a cadence. Some possible forms of evasion 
 are quite beyond the range, of what we can assimilate at all, to say 
 nothing of experience pleasure over. A writer who, for. instance, 
 prepares a regular formal cadence with the melodic sequence 3-2 sup- 
 porlT^d by dominant seventh chord and then suddenly gave the chord, 
 of Ij^ as final,*' or worse still, if following on the same sequence he 
 closed with the chord of 4tf, or 7b**: would practically forfeit claim 
 to consideration as a composer. It might be done once as a mere- 
 jest, but the habit would be fatal. As a curious experiment I have 
 tried the first of the two evasions above suggested repeatedly on my- 
 self and found strangely enough that the abnormal freakishness of it 
 seemed gradually to wear off to a certain degree, though not to the 
 point of actually conferring pleasure. And no matter how far afield 
 a composer has wandered through the tonalities and harmonic sequences 
 that the system permits, the approaching close of his work acts on the 
 m.elody and harmony as tte north pole does on the magnetized needle 
 and they verge inevitably by some route — it may be purposely circuit-, 
 ous — toward the close on the tonic triad. The evasion of what we mav 
 call a simulated cadence in the course of a work is a very different 
 matter and may give a high degree of pleasure. Witness the beautiful 
 passage in the first movement introduction to Beethoven's Sonata 
 in Efc> No. 26. The melodic sequence 3-2-1 is given complete, really 
 a nepetiticm of the opening notes of the introduction. Then the only 
 harmony supporting 2 was the open fifth and 1 was met by a minor 
 chord. This second time 2 has the full dominant seventh chord and 
 expectation fastens on the tonic chord to follow; instead of that we 
 hear a wholly new chord in a remote tonality," 6I7, and this tonality 
 is asserted for a few measures to make us familiar with it before we 
 are led back. But it may be well to point out a couple of instances 
 in which tonic harmony does not appear as expected. One such is the 
 close of the theme of Schumann's Symphonic Variations; we are left 
 with the dominant chord resting on its middle tone,** 7. If it were 
 intended as the last thing to be heard explanation might be more 
 difficult; but the moment one hears the first chord of the variation 
 immediately following, one realizes that the dominant chord with the 
 leading- tone so prominent is only preparatory to the returning tonic. 
 The same composer closes a song with an unresolved discord in a 
 remote key,*' and this is a more radical departure and is only partially 
 explained by the statement that it is one of a series of songs, that the 
 series finds a satisfactory close in the last song, and that the next 
 song of the series furnishes in its opening chord a satisfactory resolution. 
 What has just been said does not apply to numbers in opera or oratorio 
 where the change of movement or mood necessitates changes of tonality- 
 and where disappointment over cadence may be the very aesthetic 
 effect aimed at by the composer. This is one of the radical innovations, 
 of Wagner on the conventional opera, which was little more musically, 
 than a series of set pieces each with its complete satisfying climax 
 and cadence. The case is wholly different in a detached composition. - 
 not a member of a series. Disappointment with- reference to a- proper: 
 
42' . The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 cadence would here come perilously near the line which maflcs off that 
 which is beyond the power of apperception. We have learned to 
 assimilate sudden changes of tonality without preparation through 
 m.odulation — though many who listen carry away very vague feelings 
 as to the meaning and value of it all — but to wait with full expectation 
 all through a composition of some length for the haven of safety and 
 then find oneself at sea. is most disconcerting, to put it mildly. Some 
 such §oal may be no farther from us in the music of the future than 
 the dissonant blends and sudden modulations of our day are distant 
 from the naive simplicity of a Haydn, or even from popular music 
 of today, and it may require no more of eflFort and habituation. 
 
 6. (a). Modulation is essentially the outgrowth of simple harmonic 
 sequence and like that needed as prerequisite the principle of tonality 
 and the tempered scale. It is the effort to hold for continuous im- 
 pression some one of the chords that might follow in natural sequence 
 from a given tonic. This view of the case is corroborated by the re- 
 sults of a statistical study of modulation in the same composers that 
 furnished data concerning melody. We have seen above that the 
 chord most readily anticipated in sequence from the tonic at the 
 beginning of a composition is the dominant based on 5; now if the 
 above view is correct we should infer that the modulation most ex- 
 pected at or near the beginning was that to 5 as a new tonality, 
 temporary indeed, yet real. So in the statistical inquiry of which a 
 report is to be presented, there was no thought of proving to what 
 different tonalities composers might and do modulate; the only question 
 raised was this: what is the first modulation most apt to be introduced 
 after the opening of a piece or a new theme in a piece? In this 
 investigation no fugues were included because it is in the very structure 
 of the fugue, as will be pointed out below (v. IV, 6, (a) below), that 
 the second statement of the subject is in the dominant; hence there is 
 no choice about it, though it has some weight as confirming the result.- 
 Moreover, cases of m.odulation from minor to relative major or from 
 major to minor are treated as a special class, because such transitions 
 are so readily made and do not involve any alteration of the scale 
 intervals as do the modulations to 5 or other tones. 
 
 Over seven hundred miscellaneous compositions were examined' 
 for this purpose, the composers ranging from Bach down to Liszt, 
 Grieg, Tschaikowsky and the modern French; including works from the 
 strictly classical to the lighter and the silliest popular, the aim being 
 to secure as many-sided testimony as possible. Including provisionally 
 the changes involving minor (either to or from) the modulation to 5 
 is the first to occur in over seventy-three percent, of the compositions; 
 and if those cases of minor be omitted 5 is the new tonic in ninety-two 
 per cent. Those cases of minor amounted to less than twenty-one per 
 cent, of the total, while all other modulations combined amounted to 
 only about six per cent. (N. B. as the first modulation to occur in a 
 piece or theme.) 
 
 There are two interpretations of which these facts are susceptible, 
 both of which are valid and point to the same conclusion. First, 
 the composers in resorting to that modulation with such overwhelming 
 frequency, as compared with any other, are in reality reflecting the 
 mind of the music-loving public. And second, their frequent use of 
 the modulation has had its share in habituating the present generation 
 so that it is the one expected. There is also a certain significance of 
 another kind in the modulations represented in the six per cent, (or 
 eight per cent excluding the minors). Out of forty-two, twenty or 
 nearly fifty per cent were to 3 as the new tonality, and eight were 
 to 4. That is, the remaining tone of the tonic triad, 3 (the tonic 
 and 5 being respectively original tonality and most frequent modula- 
 
• Harmon^' • 43 
 
 tion), has nearly as many cases as all the other tones of the scale, and 
 next in order of frequency stands the base of the subdominant chord. 
 It should be explained with regard to the latter that no cases of 
 transition to 4 in passing from first section to trio in marches, minuets 
 a:nd the like was considered as modulation in the present inquiry, for 
 a reason analogous to that which ruled out the fugue; i. e., the almost 
 invariable tendency in such cases, amountmg to custom, is to use 4 as 
 the new tonality, the exceptions being changes from minor to major 
 or vice versa, or retention of the same tonality. Another significant 
 fact is that it is the more recent composers who show more freedom 
 (I refer, of course, to composers of rank; the caterers to public favor 
 hardly seem to be awake to anything but the dominant) in the use of 
 modulations and some seem to feel and even express a sense of tyranny 
 exercised by the dominant. Wagner was a conspicuous innovator in 
 that direction, but his treatment occasioned greater surprise and protest 
 at disregard of well-established rule and precedent, than of pleasure. 
 But he by no means throws m.odulation to dominant into the discard; 
 it stil' remains the first place in many of his works, though more 
 frequent in the earlier. 
 
 In the works of Liszt that were examined, the modulation to all 
 other tones exceeded in frequency those to 5, but the latter occurred 
 more frequently than any one other one. In Grieg, on the other hand, 
 5 is far in the lead. Now whatever may be said as to the desirability 
 of freedom in modulation, of its place in the progress of music as an 
 art, the inference seems to be justified from the facts above adduced 
 that the definite expectation of the music-loving public in listening 
 to a new piece of music is fully satisfied on hearing the modulation 
 to 5 before that to any other of the eleven other possible modulations 
 of the tempered scale. This expectation is often heightened in com- 
 
 Eosers who very rarely use any other modulation early in their works 
 y an apparent start in another direction, which proves after all 
 to be a mere postponement and adds to the pleasure and satisfaction 
 when finally it is heard. " -' 
 
 It is implied in the above that not only any tone of the diatonic 
 scale but any of the intermediate tones as well can become in turn 
 the fundamental of a new tonality. The relation of the tones of the 
 new scale to the new tonic is the same as in the former tonic or in 
 the standard scale of C;* they have the same tone-color or psychological 
 value, plus whatever difference may result from change of pitch. 
 This does not imply, however, thsct the new tonic itself has the same 
 psychological value (except as base of the scale) as the former tonic 
 or the standard C. The value of the new tonic depends on two 
 circumstances; first, the psychological value of the tone, which has 
 become tonic, in the standard scale of C; and Second, the ease of 
 transition in the modulation. Thus the value of G as tonic in the 
 signature of one sharp depends both on the tone-color of G in the 
 scale of C and on the ea,se.with which one can modulate from C to G. 
 The latter point also appears when one modulates from, say B flat, to 
 D: the tone-color of D in the scale of B flat has its share in the value 
 of D as tonic in such a,. modulation. 
 
 The ease of modulation as an element in fixing expectation needs 
 further elucidation. The change to 5 as new tonic is accomplished 
 by simply substituting ^^ for 4, which then serves as a leading tone to 
 5. The change thus resulting from a rise in pitch and establishing 
 the brilliant tone 5 as new tonic has an exhilarating, freshening, .some- 
 times almost exciting eflfect, appropriate to the psychological value of 
 
 *The convenience of the tone C for voices, a sort of meelini; place of male" and fe- 
 ' male compass, had' its influence in selecting it as standard. 
 
44 
 
 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 a in the original tonality. The emergence of this modulation so 
 frequently early in a composition seerns to indicate a sort of instinctive 
 demand for something stirring, for bright color comparatively soon 
 after the beginning. A corresponding change by lowering of pitch, 
 i. e., by substituting 7 flat for 7 and making that the 4 of a new 
 scale, brings the tonality to the fifth below the former tonic, to its 4. 
 That 7 flat becomes the upper tone of a new dominant seventh chord 
 from which we pass easily into the new tonic. But the eflfect of this 
 is in strong contrast to the effect of the change to 5 and is in keeping 
 with the psychological value of 4, which we saw to be sobering, calming. 
 For this reason in spite of the ease of transition it is rarely resorted 
 to early in a composition, and the eflfect of it can be clearly felt when 
 used as, for instance, in Beethoven's Quartet in E flat major, in which 
 that new dominant seventh chord formed by flatting 7 follows im- 
 mediately on the tonic chord.^" But the calming eflfect is sought 
 toward the end of a piece and then this modulation is heard very 
 frequently. It is this same sobering eflfect that is sought as a pleasing 
 contrast after the bright and inspiring movement in minuets, marches 
 and the like, after which the trio is therefore almost always on 4 as. 
 the new tonic. But the trios themselves need brightening within 
 their own limits, as shown by the fact that in them in the great 
 majority of cases tonality passes first to 5, before any other modulation. 
 This same process of sharping 4 and flatting 7 can be successively 
 repeated until finally the two processes moving in opposite directions 
 meet on the same tone — this being a consequence of the tempered 
 scale. The entire series of twelve tonalities can be represented by a 
 circle traversed by six diameters dividing the perimeter into twelve 
 equal arcs. Each end of a diameter stands for a different tonality. 
 Let the diameter ending at the topmost point of the circle stand for 
 the standard scale of C, then the points to the right may represent 
 the tonalities formed by successive sharping of 4, the points to the 
 left those fomied by successive flatting of 7. There are six of each and 
 in a keyed instrument the sixth of each coincide, G!> (for six flats) 
 and F^ (for six sharps) being identical. The signature of seven sharps 
 is found, but in keys of the piano it is . identical with five flats; so,, 
 likewise seven flats is identical with five sharps; these are found in 
 both major and minor. From such a plotting of the twelve (or fifteen) 
 possible tonalities it is possible to tell by simple inspection how many 
 
 A 3* 
 
 6^G» Fl 6t 
 
 times 4 must be successively sharped or 7 be flatted (as the case rnay 
 be) in order to reach any given tonality from any given starting-point. 
 If the signature already, has sharps or flats- then progress . to the ; right 
 
Harmony • • 4r» 
 
 (from the top, following the hands of a clock) involves adding a sharp 
 or deducting a flat for each successive step, while progress in the 
 opposite direction involves adding a flat or deducting a sharp, and the 
 sixth such change is always the meeting place of the two series. \ow 
 if the expectation of the modulation to 5, as it appears in the statistics 
 given above, held strictly around the circle, the degree of expectation 
 of any given modulation from any given starting-point could be exactly 
 measured by the number of intermediate steps to the right, each of 
 which represents one ' modulation to 5. On that basis, the expectation 
 of a modulation to 2 would be twice as strong as of modulation to 3 
 us it involves only two changes to 5 while the latter involves four 
 such changes. But here the statistics seem to almost contradict 
 each other; for as was pointed out above, there were twenty cases 
 of modulation to 3 in the seven hundred compositions examined, 
 but not a single instance was noted (though there are cases) of the 
 modulation to 2. The importance 3 enjoys as a member of the tonic 
 triad, seems to offset the number of intermediate steps in affecting 
 expectation. 
 
 But when a composer introduces a modulation involving several 
 such steps, it does not follow that all the intermediate steps are ex- 
 plicitly taken; there are ways of leaping. The efficient means of 
 modulating most often used is the dominant seventh chord which 
 through the two half steps it suggests (7-8 and 4 to 3) rouses confident 
 expectation of the new tonic to follow. But the circle shows at a 
 glance what steps are implicit in ariy effected modulation, and the two 
 signatures' at the two ends of any diameter represent the tonalities 
 that are farthest removed from each other, i. e., that require the 
 greatest number of intermediate steps. Modern writers have worked 
 out many short-cuts that facilitate quick changes to remote tonalities, 
 and the rapid shifting some of them present is like a series of dis- 
 solving views, the relation of tonalities to each other and to the move- 
 ment of a composition being reduced to a sort of fluid condition; 
 one is conscious of movement, shifts of key relationship, but somehow 
 e.xpectation is held more or less in abeyance, and there is little or no 
 surprise at changes that otherwise would almost shock. It must be 
 said that some composers have resorted to sudden changes of tonality 
 as a cover for poverty of invention or weakness of elaboration. Schu- 
 bert notably shows in many longer works a lack of sustained construct- 
 ive power and seeks to maintain interest by substituting for it (not 
 consciously of course) frequent and sudden change of tonality. One 
 chknge that is quite frequent with him is that to 6 flat; for instance, 
 from C to A flat in the Finale of the Symphony in C,^i and from 
 D to B flat in the Sonata in D". He does not stop for a dominant 
 seventh chord, but just takes a leap. To those habituated to the more 
 staid or solid modulations of a Mozart or a Beethoven, these surprises 
 of Schubert may be delicious in their interest; but his frequent use 
 of the device betrays its essential poverty and does not replace thematic 
 development as a permanent source of interest and satisfaction. Another 
 composer who frequently encounters the same pitfall was one of the 
 foremost musicians of the nineteenth century, Franz Liszt.' In his 
 original works, those in which he is not merely presenting in ' em- 
 bellished fonn the ideas of others, he no sooner announces a subject 
 but he seems at a loss what else to do with it except to repeat it 
 intact half a dozen times in as many different tonalities, the more 
 remote the better. There is use of modulation with its surprise as 
 an end in itself, and as a consequence many of his works seem un- 
 substantial and hardly compensate in interest the energy demanded 
 to master the technical difficulties involved. In such cases the surprise 
 is occasioned by passing over the dead of the dominant seventh chord 
 
46 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 in modulating or by leaping beyond the expected 5 to some remoter 
 tonality without the intermediate step; in either case it degenerated 
 very readily into a mannerism and the surprise loses its interest. 
 
 After the expected first modulation to 5 there is at once confident 
 expectation of eventual return to the original tonic. Often this ex- 
 pectation is met at once by removing the sharp on 4 and restoring 
 that tone to its place in the dominant seventh chord, and this is en- 
 tirely satisfactory, other things being equal. But very often we are 
 allowed to move for a time in the new tonality and are led farther 
 afield, especially in the recapitulation section of a piece in sonata form. 
 This is recognized subconsciously or consciously as a postponement 
 of the inevitable, a keeping up of Ifhe suspense (not to say, prolonging 
 the agony), until the final restoration of 4 (instead of 4#) gives the signal 
 that the original tonality is to be in force again, which is a pleasant 
 relief. After other modulations also the same expectation of return 
 to original tonic is equally operative, but sometimes the return is 
 accomplished without the signal of the dominant seventh chord. But 
 in many and many a sonata form movement that signal is given 
 with great emphasis when the main subject is to be resumed in its 
 original tonality. The failure to return to the original tonic, the 
 entire and final evasion of this conformity to expectation is about as 
 rare as the evasion of a cadence and is found most often in works 
 where continuity of parts and change of mood is demanded, as in 
 operas, oratorios and the like. Such an evasion in a detached piece 
 is about as disconcerting as the evasion of a cadence. The entrance 
 of a subject the second time in a lower or higher tonality is a surprise 
 that may have a desired aesthetic effect and may charm, but there 
 is still expectation of the return of the original tonic, and in the vast 
 majority of cases, it is satisfied — even by the modernists. The evasion 
 is of that class of sequences that turn very readily into an unpleasant 
 mannerism. 
 
 The modern freedom of modulation as compared with the sobriety 
 and restraint — some are inclined to call it stiffness — of the eighteenth 
 century is well illustrated in a short passage from the Pilgrim Chorus 
 in "Tannhauser", immediately following the modulation to 5, not far 
 from the beginning, which the composer uses first quite in keeping 
 with expectation. Instead of returning at once to the original tonic, 
 he lets the melody leap an octave from B to B as if to start a little 
 excursion in the new tonality. But he shifts suddenly in the next 
 chord to minor, letting us hear the subdominant of B minor, the E minor 
 chord; slides from that into the temporary minor tonic chord and 
 follows it up by its dominant chord of F sharp with the leading tone 
 A sharp in the melody. On hearing the latter, we fully expect return 
 of the B minor chord, but are surprised by the melody dropping a semi- 
 tone instead, while the bass rises a semi-tone; and we find ourselves 
 in the relative major of B minor, D major, which is quite satisfactory 
 in spite of the pleasing surprise. Beginning again with the leap of an 
 octave seemingly in the key of D, Wagner makes the same shift to 
 D minor as before to B minor, and repeats in that pitch the exact 
 sequence entire, landing us in the key of F. Again a third time the 
 same start is made and the same sequence follows up to the point 
 where the melody dropping a semi-tone while the bass rises would 
 give the key of A flat; but the expectation developed by a sort of 
 mcipient habit is not fulfilled, for the bass continues to descend by- 
 half steps resulting in the chord of B major, which slides into a domi- 
 nant seventh chord with flattened 5 (P natural instead of F sharp). 
 This rouses expectation of returning original tonic of E major; it is 
 fulfilled, but not for long. That chord of E is treated as the dominant 
 of A minor into which we are led, only to shift again to its relative 
 
Harmony 47 
 
 major of C. From this through a quick transition chord of A minor 
 we find ourselves back in the B major chord with which the whole 
 process started.^' In the repetition of the process that now is begun 
 expectation can follow from step to step, finding exact fulfillment up 
 to the return into E major; here a new turn is given by retaining 
 D sharp in the melody and entering by the simplest sequence into the 
 same chord of B major which is now manifestly dominant to E; 
 and so, the original tonic is restored in full sway. 
 
 As intimated above, Wagner v/as a great innovator in such treat- 
 ment of modulation, though Schumann has pasages that are almost 
 if not quite as venturesome.* 
 
 Since then the later composers have in some instances carried 
 modulation to the point of hardly waiting to define the tonality of a 
 work before they begin to depart from it by such devious wanderings 
 that it becomes difficult to follow them. Max Reger, for instance, 
 seems to be fairly restless in any tonaUty with which he starts out, 
 and frequently with any into which he leads us; he is always on the 
 move, and while he does not neglect thematic development (as some 
 do) he seems to enjoy exhibiting his virtuosity in modulation. The 
 merely sensuous effect is often pleasing in an unexpected sonority 
 of sound that falls on the ear. But it gives the impression of having 
 no starting-point, no terminus a quo, and in the course of its seemingly 
 uncertain tentative steps, appears to have no terminus ad quern. 
 This is not to be taken as impugning the sincerity of all such composers; 
 it is simply looking at their work from the standpoint of the audience, 
 the unsophisticated would-be musical public. The perplexity of mind 
 with -which they listen to music of this type is sufficient evidence 
 of their lack of habituation; there was nothing to serve as a pou sto 
 for expectation, and but for the power of public opinion known as 
 fashion, the majority would frankly admit that they had been in- 
 sufferably bored. 
 
 b. One of the short cuts resorted to in modulation, to which 
 reference has been made, calls for special mention. It is that which is 
 termed the enharmonic change. The basis of this is the fact that 
 each tone of the tempered scale and the intermediate tones as well — 
 the entire chromatic series — may belong to three major and three 
 minor triads, besides ser\'ing in four dominant seventh chords and a 
 diminished seventh chord. Any one of the six triads may become the 
 tonic triad of a tonality and each of the dominant seventh chords 
 and the diminished seventh chord may introduce to a new tonality. 
 When any tone is approached from a certain harmonic or melodic 
 sequence, the listener expects that tone to keep its place in the tonality 
 that led to it and act in turn as transition to other tones and harmonies 
 that are at home in the same tonality. But the plans of the composer 
 conflict with this expectation; by a sudden turn and without any of 
 the intermediate steps of a modulating series that would be an aid to 
 expectation, he leaps at once from the tonality in which the tone was 
 first heard to one tnat may be quite remote, and the interest and pleas- 
 ure of this maneuver are due largely to the surprise. The listener 
 finds himself transported to new realms rather suddenly, and re-ad- 
 Justments of attention are frequently necessary. The degree of surprise 
 is dependent largely on the remoteness of the tonality chosen. 
 
 This is manifestly a marked advance in subtlety and power of 
 expression and is more frequent in the modern phases of music. Yet 
 Haydn makes use of it more than once, perhaps the most striking 
 example being in the Fifth Symphony. The subject is quite in Haydn's 
 style, likewise the bulk of the harmony, although he postpones the 
 
 *Se« tfaa aualysia of hia Sonata in F gharp minor undar IV, &, Cc) below.. . . 
 
48 Thij: Roll: of Bxpectation in Music 
 
 usual modulation into 5 until after two short repeats. But having 
 modulated he starts off as if he meant to continue in the new tonality, 
 for which also he uses a second subject. With this he modulates 
 easily into the relative minor of the original tonality, B minor, and 
 from there by an easy series of progressions to F sharp minor, the 
 chord by which he enters being the dominant, C sharp. Several 
 repetitions of a part- of his main subject in this chord serve to empha- 
 size it and he fixes the base of the chord in our minds by reiterating it 
 
 t n [J n'lj 
 
 with the following rhythm : — ♦ — # — — j-J # — J ■ 1 J — with leaps of 
 
 an octave. The same figure is continued in the basses alone, and then 
 suggestions of it pianissimo, still on C sharp, leaving the definite 
 expectation that after the brief silence he would resume in the same 
 tonality. And then comes the true surprise for which he has but been 
 preparing us. Having entered the chord of C sharp by onei route, 
 puddenly he indicates that its base is to resume its former function 
 ^s leading-tone to the original tonic, D, by giving the end of the above 
 
 figure ^ J J I J fortissimo on D,'* in all parts. Then with 
 
 ho further ceremony he starts up his first subject again as if da_ capo* 
 A somewhat similar sequence is given 9.gain but a few measures later. 
 The rarity of such moments in Haydn enhances their aesthetic value; 
 but by contrast the frequency of them in Max Reger tends to make 
 ithem common-place. In some works he hardly allows the listener 
 time to get adjusted to one tonality into which he has just leaped 
 before it turns out to be a mere springboard for the new leap, with 
 consequent confusion. Bach, Beethoven, Schumann and Brahms reveal 
 in their works entire familiarity with the device, but do not use it for 
 its own sake, 
 
 c. When there appears in connection with a chord (or two tones 
 of a chord) another tone that is discordant, expectation is immediately 
 aroused of a chord to follow with the discord eliminated. For instance, 
 the combination C-F-G leads us to expect either C-E-G, or C-P-A, 
 gnd other things being equal the one is as satisfactory as the other. 
 About the mildest form of discord is the so-called dominant seventh 
 chord, in which the base of the triad may be adjacent to the dis- 
 cordant 4 or separated by nearly an octave: Oiir ears are so thoroughly 
 habituated to hearing this combination G-B-D-F — or its equivalent in 
 different positions and tonalities — in cadences and other sequences, 
 that it hardly gives us the impression of being discordant; especially 
 when it is supported by a good bass. But sounding adjacent F and G 
 together, with nothing to take off the edge of the discord, betrays 
 its true nature; and doubtless more delicate ears were offended by it 
 on its first introduction than were by the third in a tri^d when it 
 first found its place. One means of reconciling music-lovers to it was 
 the delightful change when the expected tonic chord followed after. 
 And it is the element of mild discord in it that creates the expectation 
 of change,! an expectation still operative to listeners who are sophisticat- 
 ed and who might deny that it wds discordant at all. The change 
 from such a discordant combination to one free from discord, is what 
 
 *'For a somewhat different interpretation of this passage, see "Beethoven and his 
 
 Forerunners," by Daniel Gregory Mason, p. 207. 
 tThe baU^stepa B-C and F-£ indicate the direction of «hange; th« discord as such 
 
 ealls for B9io« change. . ....... 
 
^ Harmony '_ 4d 
 
 musicians have termed "resolution" and the tima during which the 
 discord is held is "suspension." 
 
 Now there was the material for suspension at a very early stage 
 of music, when, for instance, a melody touched upon tones that made 
 a dissonance with the fifth or triad sounded by instruments. There 
 was strong expectation that such a melody would not tarry long on 
 those discordant tones; but if a composer or artist had so tarried there 
 would have been, along with the surprise of it, expectation heightened 
 to impatience that he pass on to the next tone of the melody. And 
 that is exactly the effect of suspension now.* The degree of expecta- 
 tion is measured in part by the intensity of the dissonance. 
 
 In the Fifth Symphony just before the entrance of the Finale, 
 the mild dissonance of the dominant seventh chord is much sharpened 
 by sounding the tonic at the same time. When consecutive semi-tones 
 are heard together, the irritation of the dissonance not only creates 
 displeasure but lively expectation as well; and it must take a long 
 disciplinary course of ear-training before successive leaps from one 
 strident discord to another — like those affected by Leo Ornstein — 
 can afford anything but acute displeasure to the sensitively endowed. 
 7. (a) The keenness of expectancy noted in suspension above is 
 at its height when to the discord is added the weight of the stressed 
 beat and a more or less prolonged hold in some part. An illustration 
 of this is found in Beethoven's Sonata No. 14, in the first movement, 
 the sixteenth measure. The harmony indicated in the previous measure 
 is B major (dominant of E, which in turn is relative major of the tonali- 
 ty of the movement, C# minor), and the harmony of the figured ac- 
 companiment passes here to R minor; but the melody passes from 
 B to C natural, while the bass sustains B for a beat, and the first tone 
 of the figure is also B, these being both in sharp dissonance with 
 C natural of the melody. Now while in the bass the successive tones 
 of the E minor triad (E and G natural) relieve the tension at that 
 point, the B in the figured accompaniment (B-E-G) is repeated at 
 each beat so that the ear is reminded of the dissonance with the 
 sustained C of the melody. On the fourth beat the melody shifts 
 while the figure is continued, but a new dissonance takes the place of 
 the old, A# against B; then follows in the next measure the resolution 
 to the ch(5rd of B major.'" I suspect that the Aft takes the place 
 of a repeated C natural; the dissonance was dying away with that 
 sustained tone and the A^ renews it, at the same time adding more 
 interest than a mere repetition. The main point is that in this measure 
 the expectation is intensified by the combined action of rhythm — the 
 stressed beat — melody — the sustained tone — and harmony — the discord; 
 the chord of B in the next measure is a relief after rather prolonged 
 suspense. Such cases are entirely apart from a cadence, though in the 
 first movement of the B flat Sonata (Op. 106), there is a long series 
 of suspensions in which the sustaining appears in the figured bass, 
 beginning twenty measures before the end and preparing for the cadence, 
 which then follows in the straight B flat chord. '^ 
 
 b. The cadence with suspension as it is frequently used in classical 
 music, seems to have been discovered by Haydn — I recall no instance 
 in Bach or other earlier writers. In it is centered all the expectation 
 just spoken of with some added features that are worth analyzing. 
 As used frequently by Beethoven, it involves several elements of 
 suspense and expectation not found in the ordinary suspension. In 
 the first place, the preceding melodic sequence points definitely to a 
 
 *The transition made- by Beethoven into the Finale of the Fifth Symphony, described 
 under 3, above, ia really a case of suspension and resolution; the object of that 
 analysis was to point out the effect of change from minor to major. 
 
50 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 cadence, with some tone of the dominant seventh chord preceding the 
 tonic; the most frequent is 2, but 5 occurs in the First Sonata,* 
 7 in the Fifteenth,! and 4 in the Thirtieth.^'* To this is added the 
 presence of the full chord (usually), which of itself leads to expectation 
 of the tonic. Then thirdly, the tone of that c^ord is heard on the 
 rhythmic accent, just when the tonic was expected, i. e., expectation 
 of the tonic is heightened by postponement. But, finally, while the 
 dominant seventh chord is sustained through one (the accented) beat, 
 and sometimes more, the tonic is heard at the beginning of the beat, 
 i. e., on the rhythmic accent, in sharp dissonance with that chord. 
 With the habituated the sense of form, that according to melodic 
 structure the cadence is due, adds enough to the intensity of the con- 
 centrated expectation to make the tonic a grateful relief when it does 
 come. It is worth noting that Beethoven does not use this cadence 
 in the great sonatas after No. 19, except in No. 28 and 30, whereas 
 before No. 19 it occurs nearly thirty times. It is also quite rare in 
 his symphonies. He may have realized instinctively that it was 
 possible to overdo it and experimented with other cadences, of which 
 he has a great variety.*" The charm of this one as it appears in the 
 Andante of the Kreutzer Sonata for violin and piano cannot be gain- 
 said. But it must also be said that Beethoven has his own manner 
 of introducing this cadence so that it sounds far less formal than in 
 either Haydn or Mozart. 
 
 *End of first aection of first movement.^^ 
 
 tEnd of Andante."* 
 
 {End of theme of Andante,^' also end of last Variation. 
 
Form $1 
 
 IV. EXPECTATION AS IT APPEARS IN FORM. 
 
 1. While form as a creative aesthetic principle in the elaborate 
 structure of a composition is of recent development, having followed 
 even the development of harmony and being very largely dependent 
 on it, it has a life of its own in dim pasts when melody was struggling 
 to make its way. 
 
 As was suggested under the subject of repetition above (Intro. 
 Ill, 2, c), there seems to be a basic impulse born with a melody or 
 melodic sequence to repeat it. Many a bird has its particular little 
 phrase of a few tones and sits by the hour repeating the same catch 
 on the same pitch. Man even as primitive learned early the delight 
 of varying a sequence, but having invented a new pattern of rhythm 
 and intervals he also enjoyed hearing himself repeat the new pattern, 
 and others enjoyed listening to him. Being accompanied frequently — 
 if not invariably — by dancing, the time of phrases came to be determined 
 by the rhythm of the dance, and since that is primarily movement by 
 twos (v. I, 3 above) the repetition of phrases fell into the same swing. 
 Thus the melody had impressed upon it a rhythmic pattern of the 
 simplest kind; it might consist of a single phrase of two or three 
 intervals repeated at regular intervals twice, or of two phrases that 
 went together and were repeated by pairs. In this primitive stage 
 the expectation roused by rudimentary form — for that is what it was 
 all unconsciously — merged with that roused by the rhythm as such. 
 However that may be, this arrangement by twos is basic in modern 
 form, even though it has been elaborated and modified in a great 
 variety of ways. In very many cases departures are more apparent 
 than real and where they are real it is with conscious purpose for 
 definite aesthetic ends. Even the five-beat measure in Tschaikowski's 
 Symphony Patetica^^ — second movement — starts off by twos and fours, 
 whatever liberties he may take with them later. And when we look 
 at the simpler forms, popular or classical, of the age of Bach and 
 Haydn or of the twentieth century, we find the phrases recurring in 
 their various modified repetitions by twos and fours. It would be an 
 interesting experiment to challenge some present-day song writer of 
 undoubted popularity to put one of his most captivating creations into 
 an irregular form, so that the expected accents would fail and turp 
 up a measure or two late, the whole melody including a number of 
 measures not divisible by four. It would undoubtedly pro^•e a failure 
 because of the persistent failure of expectation. Even ragtime with 
 all its atrocities sticks religiously to the two-four scheme; though 
 whether "jazz" pretends to or knows what it does or claims is much 
 to be doubted. 
 
 The Greeks gave some little impulse to the development of form 
 by the use of melodic intoning in reciting their poetry. The length 
 of the phrase was accomodated to the length of the verse and so 
 phrases of equal length prevailed. Something of the same custom 
 prevailed in the services of the medieval church, where also the Greek 
 modes continued to hold their place. But one of the freest turns in 
 the development of form was in the phrases of melody with words 
 with which laborers in all countries have accompanied their work. 
 For convenience in concerted action as well as for the sense of ex- 
 hilaration the operations were rhythmically arranged and the song was 
 fitted in antiphonally, so that phrases of equal length were joined in 
 twos. This simplest form appears quite clearly in some of the early 
 
^2 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 secular songs, contemporary with the use of fifths in harmony by 
 the church, but themselves all innocent of any such seemingly foreign 
 element. But it needed freer use of harmony, and principally the 
 emergence of tonality, to give the needed impulse to the modern develop- 
 ment of form. And it was the simple song as used in various national 
 dances that became the pattern for the simple instrumental composi- 
 tions and have even left their imprint in the name "Song Form." 
 
 2. In the few varieties of Song Form that have been developed 
 one thing is common and fundamental, i. e., repetition of melodic 
 material after intervals or even immediately. The repetition dots 
 invariably found in the minuets, waltzes, gavottes, marches, polonaises, 
 gigues, bourrees, and the rest, were neither accidental nor arbitrary; 
 they were merely adopted by the composers from the songs they heard. 
 As a certain figure of a dance was repeated, the melody that accom- 
 panied it the first time was also repeated. If the dance was elaborate 
 enough to have an episode of a different figure, this latter lasted 
 the same number of steps and had its different melodic phrases; but 
 it was confidently expected that the first figure would then be repeated 
 and with it the music as before. When a composer adapted some such 
 popular air for performance on an instrument, the repetitions were in- 
 cluded as a matter of course. And he followed the same pattern 
 if he invented a melody that might accompany a minuet or bourree, 
 and gave it the name as well as pattern of the dance. 
 
 Now in the case of simple repetition of the intervals and phrases 
 of a melody, expectation would be more or less alert and anticipate 
 them from point to point. In similar cases even at the present day 
 people can be seen tapping with the foot or beating out time with 
 finger or head, and even fuller breathing ensues at the same turn 
 in the melody. The expectation is that no alteration in intervals or 
 rhyt^im shall interfere with the satisfaction of exact repetition. 
 
 3. In case there is to be an episode with different melodic material, 
 this will be followed with the general expectation noted for all melodies 
 and interest for its new phrases. But after it has come to its cadence 
 and has been repeated with much more alert expectation, then the 
 return of the original melody is looked for confidently; and here as 
 above (2) exactness in all details from initial tone to cadence is fully 
 expected. Even if a minuet had a sort of pause, with or without 
 special dance figures to fill it in, at the close of the music (called 
 a Trio and usually in a quieting, sobering tonality, 4 of the original 
 tonality), the entire figure of the dance with all its music would be 
 repeated as before, and each separate section of it as well as the de- 
 tails of phrase and interval give rise to appropriate expectation as 
 before. Many composes have enlarged on this pattern in a great 
 variety of ways from the simple adding of a coda that seems to suggest 
 appropriate meditation after the dance, to such elaborate variations 
 as Raff gives in his "Rigaudon" from the Suite in Bb Op. 204. Bee- 
 thoven's great Scherzos are founded on the same scheme. 
 
 4. The so-called Variation form, once exceedingly popular and 
 not wholly obsolete yet (witness Elgar's "Enigma" variations, and 
 d'Inty's "Istar" variations), grew out of a desire of composers to invest 
 such repetitions as have been indicated with some fresh interest, 
 to escape the monotony of sameness. Doubtless singers of the dance 
 tunes were wont to amuse themselves and the listeners with occasional 
 departures from the set pattern. It was material ready furnished for 
 the composer when he used one of the common dance tunes for a set 
 of variations. Moreover, a set pattern like this, not too elaborate 
 and easily followed, was a distinct advantage in the working out of 
 variations. The composer had the double duty of arresting attention 
 and creating interest by the freshness of his improvements — or at 
 
Form 53 
 
 least changes — of the familiar melody and at the same time not tax 
 their attention too severely by complexity of form. So it has remained 
 the rule for good psychological reasons to start out with a simple 
 pattern for theme, simple too in rhythm, melody and harmony, no 
 matter how elaborately they enlarged upon it and even stretched it 
 to almost unrecognizable dimensions. Moreover the variations begin 
 with one that makes comparatively slight demands on the attention 
 as if the composer wished to lead the hearer by gradual steps to the 
 more intricate modifications of the theme, so that he would not then 
 be bewildered as if wandering in a labyrinth but could still follow 
 the general clue furnished by the original pattern, which underlies 
 even the most complex variation. The hearer is further aided by 
 the composer in that the several parts of a variation are repeated 
 just as those of the theme were, and this permits of better grasping 
 and following the intent of the variation the second time, its relation 
 to the original. 
 
 But what we have in the variation is not what was spoken of 
 above as thematic development, though some of the earlier samples 
 are not much more. It is a deliberate effort to present several elements 
 presented by the theme, chords, melodic and harmonic sequences and 
 phrases, in such new and strange guises as to both satisfy and baffle 
 expectation. A melodic phrase is put into a lower voice, which gives 
 it a new aspect; or successive phrases are presented in different octaves. 
 A chord is replaced by a figure in which the several constituent tones 
 are given consecutively and the ear has to reconstruct the chord effect 
 in imagination. Or whereas the melody in the theme followed the 
 rhythmic accents closely, a variation will let the tones come lagging 
 in half a beat late, to which expectation has to adapt itself. Or the 
 few tones of a melody may be multiplied by two or three or four and 
 the pattern filled out while the accented tones of the varied melody 
 are strongly reminiscent of the original. This is what Beethoven 
 does for the opening theme of the Andante of his Fifth Symphony.** 
 Or a very simple chord motive or pattern is made the basis of wholly 
 new thematic material more or less elaborate, and here expectation is 
 centered on the chords of the pattern as they are presented under new 
 conditions and often in new guise. The same composer does this for 
 the slow movement of his Sonata Op. 57*' (Appassionata). In his 
 "Thirty- three Variations" on a Waltz by Diabelli, he practically invents 
 new thematic material, often only remotely suggested by the simple 
 self-satisfied theme, for each successive variation, merely keeping some 
 faint semblance of the original structure as a background. This 
 pattern keeps itself before us also in the almost unfailing repetitions 
 of the variations, only a few being more free in deviating from the 
 pattern. Some of these, especially the grand fugue with double 
 subject (No. 32) and those that call for some special virtuosity in 
 rendering, demand careful study to reveal the substantial conformity 
 of structure with the theme. 
 
 When a set of variations is in a major tonality one of the set, 
 at least, is apt to be in minor, usually with the same tone serving as 
 minor tonic. If, however, the theme is announced in minor, then one 
 variation at least is apt to be in major with the same tonic, and it may 
 have a finale in major as well. Scharwenka (X.) has a theme and 
 variations in D minor; two of the latter are in D major,'* and the 
 finale has the same key. In both of these cases expectation has the 
 same problem to deal with, and the new meaning intervals acquire with 
 the different harmonic support is a constant source of surprise and 
 interest. 
 
 One special bearing of the whole matter of form in music on 
 expectation may be mentioned here, as it appears very clearly in the 
 
54 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 simpler variations. The expectation that centers on the cadence, as 
 we have seen above (III, 4), is confirmed still further and made more 
 definite by the expectation that grows out of the consciousness of the 
 form. A cadence is fully expected, of course, for any and everj'^ 
 species of musical composition, and its approach can be often forecasted 
 some time in advance, especially by one trained in the technique of 
 composing. But with the more complicated forms there is no certainty 
 in advance as to the length of a work and the listener must wait 
 for such indications as the unfolding structure of the work affords. 
 But in the simpler variations, at least, and often in the more elaborate, 
 the song-form with its definite length and its repetitions is the basis 
 of all. The very place where the cadence must appear is assigned by 
 expectition in advance, and any evasion of it or, worse still, omission of 
 it entirely, would pass beyond the line of pleasant surprise or shock. 
 The only possibility would be one like that already mentioned above 
 (III, 4), that the chord expected as final in the cadence of one varia- 
 tion becomes the opening chord of the next, so that one merges with- 
 out complete cadence into the other; even this is very rare. But in 
 compositions that are professedly in the song-form, such as simple 
 minuets, waltzes and the like, the place of the cadence is definitely 
 assigned by expectation and an evasion or omission amounts to repudia- 
 tion of the form. A composer who undertakes to lift a waltz, gavotte 
 or other dance of the song form type, into an elaborate work of art, 
 is not bound by the same narrow limits, but frequently his work is 
 nothing more than a multiplication of units of the same type and 
 permits of a good deal of the same forecast. The Strauss waltzes 
 and some of Chopin's (C# Minor) are of this type. 
 
 5. The special manner of announcement of a melodic subject, 
 the figuration that appears at the beginning of a composition, or even 
 any striking harmonic sequence, set definite expectation in motion 
 that does not cease until the close of the work. Many of Bach's 
 Preludes in the Well-Tempered Clavichord (notably No. 1 in C*^) , 
 Preludes and Etudes of Chopin, Schumann's great Fantasie in C*^ 
 in the first and third movements, some of Brahms' shorter piano 
 compositions, and the scale subject in the Scherzo of Schumann's 
 piano Quintet,^^ may serve as samples of what is meant. The figure 
 that ushers in the work, the peculiar pattern of the subject, creates 
 a sort of atmosphere that pervades it and is definitely felt throughout. 
 It may not be incessantly repeated, though it often is; but the hearer 
 confidently looks for its return and greets it with satisfaction. Every 
 deviation from the pattern can be readily noted, whether it be trans- 
 posing to a different part of the scale or even into a different tonalit3% 
 or inverting the intervals from ascending to descending or vice versa, 
 or changing time relations enough to make the progress of the move- 
 ment interesting without making the figure unrecognizable. This 
 does not allow of any such freedom as was noted in the variation 
 form; we are dealing not with a series of phrases woven into a complete 
 melody and eventually constituting a finished composition, but with 
 independent units that are identical (or nearly so) and by their success- 
 ion make the character of the piece, something like the repeated 
 figures in an ornamental design. Standing out against this as a back- 
 ground may appear a melody, either composed of successive accented 
 tones of the figures or carried independently. Then the expectation 
 roused by this melodic succession joins with that centered on the 
 figuration; and here attention may be divided or may be voluntarily 
 fixed on the melody alone, leaving the figured accompaniment to 
 provide its under-current. The spinning songs of Mendelssohn, Raflf 
 and others furnish examples of such treatment, also some cradle songs. 
 The XQonotojjy of exact repetition, completely satisfying expectation 
 
Form 55 
 
 to the end, may be just the effect aimed at by the composer, or it 
 may suit his purpose better to surprise and interest in ways suggested 
 above. In the latter case the psychological limit of variety he sets 
 for himself is fair recognizability of the figure. 
 
 6. The song-form and its e.xtension in variations presents to the 
 composer a rather limited field of operations and the effects he pre- 
 pares and works are necessarily on a limited scale. It is in the larger 
 and more complicated forms that he has an opportunity to build 
 up to climaxes of expectation, and by satisfying it duly or by well- 
 managed surprises to add to the intensity of enjoyment. To see 
 how some composers have achieved this end we may proceed to some- 
 thing of an analysis of the three forms that permit of elaboration on 
 the largest scale, namely the fugue, the rondo, and the sonata. 
 
 (a) The Fugue. This is a special case of imitation with more 
 elaborate treatment, and its peculiar character may be best discerned 
 in distinction from the canon to which it is most closely related. 
 The regular canon starts out with an announcement of a subject in 
 one voice with no accompanying harmony. After a number of measures 
 — or it may be in the very first measure — the same subject is announced 
 again, the intervals and rhythmic value of the original being quite 
 rigidly followed. The composer may, at his option, let the second 
 announcement begin on the octave of the first, on the third or fifth, 
 or for that matter any tone of the scale, with slight modifications of 
 interval. But having once set out as second subject it is supposed to 
 "follow the leader" point for point through any elaboration or modula- 
 tion; and the two voices with the implications of their intervals furnish 
 all the harmony. It is supposed to terminate just as many beats 
 behind the original as it began, though for the sale of a more satisfy- 
 ing cadence in unison a few tones may be added to the original or cut 
 off from the follower. During the course of such a composition atten- 
 tion shifts from one voice to the other and a sequence noted rouses 
 expectation of tones to follow in the second part. In the original 
 there is nothing but general melodic expectation, but the sequences 
 etc. already given by it form a more definite basis of expectation for 
 the second voice. Klengel has a long series of such canons in which 
 he seems to be making a deliberate attempt to show what can be done 
 in' this form, different ones being on fifth or octave, etc. But there 
 is not enough chance for variety of interest to compensate for the 
 strain of attention that is necessitated; while the ear is busy trs'ing 
 to follow the second voice, the first voice starts in with new material 
 which in turn must be followed in the second. The two-part In- 
 ventions of Bach follow quite closely the canon form and are not long 
 enough to weary the ear and mind from the effort, but the elaborate 
 canons above referred to are not much more than curiosities of music. 
 The fugue, however, especially as developed by Bach in his great 
 works for chorus, organ and piano, has so much opportunity for creat- 
 ing a diversion and fresh interest that despite a rather severe strain 
 on the attention, it can hold its own as enjoyable music and on oc- 
 casion move deeply. One voice announces the subject as in the canon, 
 but whereas that form introduced the response on any chosen tone of 
 the scale, the fugue is limited to the fifth — or its equivalent — so that 
 the first suggested modulation is always to 5. Again the fugue is 
 freer in the number of voices, and may have four or more; some 
 fugues even have two subjects moving along side by side without 
 interfering with each other, each with is complement of voices. In a 
 strictly handled fugue for instrument the interplay of voices (as in the 
 canon) furnishes all the harmony; in the choral fugue there may be 
 an instrumental accompaniment that furnishes a harmonic background 
 for the • voices carrying the subjects of the fugue. The general plan 
 
The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 of the fugue determines the point at which the second voice gives 
 the response to the subject, usually waiting for the first voice to 
 announce it in full. If there are more than two voices all of them 
 must be allowed to announce the subject in full successively, a third 
 voice on the octave of the first and a fourth on the octave of the 
 second; and until all have had their say there is no tampering with 
 the intervals or rh5rthmic relations of the subject as at first announced, 
 though the accompanying parts (i. e., the first voice after the second 
 begins its course, or first and second after the third qpters, and so on) 
 may furnish new material in figures or phrases that become available 
 for later development. Up to this point attention and expectation are 
 focused on the successively entering voices repeating the same burden 
 with its new meaning in the new pitch; not wholly oblivious to the 
 material introduced by the other parts, which has a familiar sound 
 when it is utilized in subsequent development. After all the voices 
 have stated the subject there follows a passage of more or less freedom 
 in which isolated phrases or figures of the subject may appear, with 
 some admixture of the new material, before the entire subject is heard 
 again. Here the composer has practically the whole range of tonalities 
 to choose from, the only desideratum being satisfactory preparation 
 for the new tonality. A very common change is from major to minor 
 or vice versa, with the fresh light that throws on the subject. But here 
 again a full announcement is likely to be followed by response on the 
 fifth as at first, and the full complement of voices may take a turn 
 again. Or one voice may play around the subject, taking characteristic 
 phrases of it in different parts of the scale, while another voice gives 
 appropriate accompaniment. Or while one voice is repeating the sub- 
 ject in its original form another may give it out in diminution or 
 augmentation, or two voices may join in such modification. Or the 
 series of voices may begin giving the subject in inversion. Usually 
 there is full announcement as at first toward the end, sometimes with 
 a stretto, i. e., one voice hastening on the heels of the next (without 
 waiting the usual time), so that in a couple of measures or less the 
 full quota of voices is piled up. A more or less elaborately prepared 
 cadence brings the fugue to a close. 
 
 This is by no means intended to be a complete analysis of the 
 possibilities involved in the rather intricate form of the fugue. There 
 are often rather long episodes in which only a part of the voices are 
 employed, a sort of dialogue, while others are in abeyance. But nothing 
 is possible that rises above the mere sensuous pleasure in the melodies 
 and harmonies the composer happens to introduce, no appreciation 
 of its artistic and aesthetic value, unless expectation is wide awake 
 and operative throughout. And in general it may be said that the 
 aesthetic pleasure is directly proportionate to the alertness of expectation. 
 Melodic expectation in nearly every possible form is represented in 
 the announcement of the subject, and this becomes more definite 
 still in the responses of the other voices. Up to this point, until all 
 the voices have been heard, expectation is fully met, with corresponding 
 pleasure. But in case of three or more parts more or less definite 
 harmonic relations have already been established and expectation along 
 that line joins forces with the other lines already in operation. Thus 
 at the close of the first reponse there is the suggested modulation to 5, 
 a sort of provisional cadence; this of itself begets expectation of return 
 to tonic, which is duly met. In a two-voiced fugue, such as that in 
 E rninor of Bach, the harmonic relations are largely suggested by 
 the intervals, a method in which he surpasses any other composer; 
 "but the sequences and modulations are clearly indicated, in some cases 
 quite in accordance with expectation (in that fugue), in others with 
 varying degrees of surprise. With three voices the triad relations 
 
Form 57 
 
 are clearly established as soon as the third voice enters and the com- 
 poser has the harmonic expectations indicated above (III, 3. and 6). 
 It is possible at various points in the development of the voices and 
 accompanying parts to heighten expectation and either give the in- 
 creased pleasure that comes from its being exactly met, or the new 
 int'^rest, or even shock of a genuine surprise. For instance the main 
 subject may be started up and at once expectation anticipates the 
 entire subject, as at first, to be followed by response on the fifth; 
 having roused expectation to a high pitch the composer suddenly 
 breaks off half way through the subject and begins over again, repeat- 
 ing a few phrases or figures of the subject several times, with the same 
 phrases following along a few beats behind in another part, or with 
 material taken from some of the earlier accompanying parts used as 
 a foil. These phrases may be presented in several different tonalities, 
 which affords other opportunities for surprise of varying degrees. 
 Then again, the entire series of voices may enter in succession as at 
 first, only in a new series of tonalities, adding new interest to each 
 while expectation is fully met from one voice to the next. In one 
 case, at least, the Bb fugue of Book I, Bach gives a response toward 
 the end on the fourth, giving a sobered touch to the subject and 
 permitting a preparation of the cadence. But, however fertile and 
 ingenious Bach is in creating interest in his numerous fugues — and 
 no other writer in this form can compare with him either for those 
 qualities or for his logical consistency in working them out — there 
 is one kind of surprise or shock which he studiously avoids, evidently 
 regarding it as equivalent to a confession of weakness or defeat: 
 namely, he never introduces (so far as I have been able to examine 
 his works) any additional part or parts for the sake of filling out 
 harmony. In the instance above cited of a fugue in two voices the 
 cadence is made to indicate harmony by the rapid succession of tones 
 3-5-8;" with three or more voices the device is unnecessary. 
 
 The fugue is really a triumph of constructive genius, combining 
 as it does the polyphonic treatment of voices with entire freedom 
 in the harmonic sequences and modulations. But it calls both for a 
 certain type of gift and high technical achievement to keep it from 
 getting unwieldy and seeming a strain, a sort of tour de force. Of 
 composers subsequent to Bach, Mozart has some examples of the 
 form, handled with great skill though sometimes with more freedom 
 as regards material; the overture to the opera of "Magic Flute" is 
 a brilliant fugue. Beethoven has som.e rather ponderous efforts; one 
 double fugue in his great "Missa Solemnis" in D with two subjects, 
 another with two subjects is No. 32 of the "Variations on Waltz" 
 by Diabelli, one with one subject is the finale to the great Sonata 
 Op. 106. But he evidently feels the limitations of the form as a 
 constraint instead of an opportunity; to Bach it was as much a native 
 idiom as the sonata form was to Beethoven. It is to be doubted 
 whether Max Reger will be followed by many in his great exhibition 
 of contrapuntal learning given in the closing chorus of his cantata, 
 "The Hundreth Psalm", also a fugue with a double subject, to the 
 complicated movements of which the chorus of brass instruments 
 proceeds to intone Luther's great hymn "Ein' feste Burg. ' The treat- 
 ment of the voices as well as of harmonic sequences and modulations 
 is such as to leave expectation practically at a standstill; and not only 
 for the listener, but even for a humble participant after severe re- 
 hearsing. I sang in it in Leipsig and speak from experience when I 
 say that the marvelous fugue choruses of Bach's Mass in B minor 
 are crystal clear when compared with that one of Max Reger. As 
 hinted above, no other form calls for such close attention in listening 
 and no other has such a definite intellectual flavor and appeal. 
 
58 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 (b) The Rondo. This is an outgrowth of the song-form and 
 calls for much the same kind of repetition, but it is not only much 
 more elaborate but gives larger opportunities for originality of treat- 
 ment. Indicating the several sections of a three-part song -form by 
 letters of the alphabet, we may represent it by the formula ABA, 
 where the first section is repeated in full after the second. If a second 
 episode of the same length is added, still there would be expectation 
 of the return of the first and the resulting formula would be A B A C A. 
 To this may be added a D, which again would be followed by A. 
 It can be seen readily that if this form were carried out rigidly and 
 expectation were fulfilled to the end, there would be so much repetition 
 of complete melodic sections as to result in loss of interest, not to say 
 monotony. As early as Haydn accordingly considerable freedom was 
 allowed in the treatment of the returning section A, even to repeating 
 B in part or in full after the C A or D A. It was quite a favorite 
 form for composers for a long period, partly for its own sake, partly 
 as the finale of the sonata. Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven all have 
 quite a number, but the last named has the most original and elaborate 
 development of the form, particularly in sonata Op. 31, No. 3, and in 
 Sonata Op. 53. I shall make the latter the basis of the following 
 analysis. 
 
 This rondo has seven parts and may be represented by the formula 
 A B A C A B A. The second A repeats the first without the change 
 of a note, meeting expectation at every point. Both B and C furnish 
 new contrasting material both of melody and harmony, and before 
 the return of A the opening phrase of it is introduced suggestively 
 as a transition passage. This latter phrase is expanded to some 
 length after C and evidently stands as a substitute for the first half 
 of returning A, only the second half being given as it appeared before. 
 B on its return is expanded and instead of containing the minor 
 episode it had before, modulates to 4 and suggests in that tonality 
 the final return of A. The latter is then expanded to more than 
 twice its former length; modulations are introduced, the rhythmic 
 plan is changed, and the theme or suggestions of it are given out in 
 different octaves, all of which leads up to a powerful climax and 
 satisfying cadence. 
 
 From the plan of the work it will be seen the composer makes 
 it yield abundant opportunity for the satisfying of ordinary expectation, 
 for heightening it to great intensity, and for striking interest from sur- 
 prise. Part of the interest comes from the contrast between the 
 theme of A and those of B and C respectively. The former has as 
 its characteristic opening phrase the tone 5 unaccented followed by 
 the same tone repeated on the accent; the melody, after this strong 
 announcement of the strong tone drops at the end of the measure 
 to 3, from which it passes on the accent to 2, then to the lower 5, 
 and returns through 1 to a pause on 3.^^ (a) That is, it deals with 
 one exception in tonic chord intervals, and the composer indicates a 
 discordant blend for his harmony by keeping the pedal down and 
 sustaining both tonic and dominant harmonies to the end of the 
 phrase. The accompaniment is, however, such a gentle murmer at 
 first that the discord seems not to intrude itself. In sharp contrast 
 the melodic phrase at the basis of B is just hinted at by the higher 
 tones of broken chords (given in triplets) as follows: 3-4-3-2-2#-3-2-l; 
 i. e., it is in consecutive steps and half steps. *^(b) After a repetition 
 (beginning on 5)*''(b) a minor episode is introduced, at the close of 
 which two tones on 5 of the minor tonic usher in the melodic phrase 
 of A in the minor *^(a) rather unexpected but very convenient as 
 opening for a modulation back to the original tonality. Here ex- 
 pectation is fully met to the close of A, and the nature of the material 
 
Form 59 
 
 used allows of such repetition without loss of interest. C begins and 
 develops a melodic phrase in minor in which consecutive intervals 
 are promment."(c) This is extended to about the length of B and 
 leads to a complete cadence in which the closing minor tonic is vigorous- 
 ly asserted. Suddenly the opening phrase of A is sounded fortissimo 
 in heavy chords in the tonality of 6b, *'^*^ and the accented tone 
 5 is raised an octave above the unaccented, with bass chord leaping 
 also by octaves. This is a complete and delightful surprise and is 
 well worth the two-fold repetition accorded it in the triads of 6 minor 
 and 4 (related to the 6l> above). The 4 is then accepted as a new 
 tonality and a long series of broken chords is started flashing up and 
 down, through all tonalities of which the bass part keeps sounding 
 at each change those two tones, unaccented followed by accented,"^'^ 
 suggestive of the opening melodic phrase of A. This is by way of 
 preparation for return to A, to the tonality of which we are led after 
 a final reminiscence of the 4 from which the series started. This is 
 presented at first under the guise of minor, but after the dominant 
 seventh chord is heard distinctly the original phrase of A leaps forth 
 as suddenly as above but fortissimo and at a later phrase of A instead 
 of pianissimo in the gentle murmur of the beginning. The response 
 in the dominant brings back the expected pianissimo, but now with 
 an entirely new effect after the preceding unexpected fortissimo. 
 Section A is brought to a close just as at first and is followed by the 
 first part of B. Instead of leading as before into an episode in minor 
 the composer builds the second part of B into an expansion of the 
 broken chords of part one, presenting them in octaves and developing 
 them to another strong climax transposed to 5. Through a series of 
 heavy chords he leads again to the dominant seventh chord such as 
 preceded the return of A. after C; and A does actually make its final 
 entn,', only under quite a new guise. The murmuring accompaniment 
 which before included the four tones 5-1-3-o''(^a) jg here limited to 
 3-5, and the melody is given out two octaves higher; but the pedal is 
 sustained through the change of chord as before. But the impression 
 of a sort of miniature copy of A is confirmed by the prestissimo of 
 the tempo as well as by the changes above named. The m.elody is 
 altered in character by figuration and the way is paved for a repetition 
 of the miniature and figuration in the new tonality 4. Without hold- 
 ing this long the characteristic dominant seventh response of the melody 
 of A is given out again pianissimo and certain intervals of it, 3-1-7-2,*'(a) 
 are used for a descending passage, from the depths of which come 
 flashing up and again down broken chords like those after C while the 
 two characteristic initial tones of the melody A — accented followed 
 by unaccented on same pitch" (a) — are constantly suggested in the 
 bass. These lead into a passage of descending and ascending scales 
 in octaves which lead up to that insistent dominant seventh, repeated 
 several times during a sustained trill on 5. The murmur begins again 
 in broken chords and while the trill is sustained the original melody 
 of A appears in the upper octave in a kind of augmentation. This 
 rearrangement is carried through the absolute minor to 6b, from that as 
 a new tonality to its relative minor and finally to the original key 
 with the melody of A with full chords.*' (*'• From this point to the 
 end he builds up an elaborate cadence with the tones of that melody 
 and their figuration as before employed, ending in a several times 
 repeated tonic. The variety shown in introducing the melody of A. 
 the figuration, the changes in the quality of the murmur, the heavy 
 chords with their modulation, the broken chords, all these are of the 
 nature of surprise with which again expectation blends most naturally 
 and easily. The Rondo as thus developed by Beethoven stands a 
 close second in the homophonic type to the fugue of Bach in poly- 
 
60 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 phonic music as a field of exercise for genius. Each has its limitations 
 different from the other; each has its special opportunities; it takes 
 a master to make the best use of both. 
 
 (c) Sonata. The sonata form, technically speaking, is used 
 only in the first mov^ements usually of works of the type. Symphony, 
 concerto, quartet, trio, as well as sonata for piano, violin, or cello, 
 have a first movement built on this plan; sometimes more than one. 
 The idea of a succession of movements grew out of the so-called 
 suite, which was much cultivated in the XVIIIth century, and which 
 amounted to little more than a succession of dance pieces arranged 
 in a great variety of ways, beginning usually with a free prelude 
 and often containing an air not tied down to the rigid dance form. 
 Among these dances were often some of a three part song- form, ABA, 
 in which the original melody or theme was re-asserted, often quite 
 strictly following the first statement. As skill in developing a subject 
 was acquired by composers, and still more as freedom and the use of 
 harmony and modulation grew, it was found that this three part 
 song-form had great latent possibilities of expansion and expression. 
 One of the first innovations that established itself was the introduction 
 of a second subject in A, and the rule was to put it into the tonality 
 of 5 by an easy modulation. In the return of A (after B) this second 
 subject was left jfi the original tonality; and A having led the first 
 time to a cadence in 5 now in its return leads easily to cadence in 
 original tonality. The first time all following the entrance of the 
 second subject is in the modulated tonality down to the cadence; 
 the second time it is all in the original. Thus if the sonata began in 
 the key of G, the second subject and following cadence would be in 
 the key of D; on the return of that second subject it would be in the 
 key of G and would lead to cadence in that key. This first part, 
 containing two subjects and cadence in 5 was as religiously repeated 
 as any dance form. Then follows the second important innovation, 
 the treatment of B. A had besides the two subjects certain other 
 figures or scale passages to make transition smooth from one subject 
 to the other; and B was made a sort of free exercising field for all 
 of the material already presented in A. Either subject and any of 
 the figures or scale passages were presented complete or :n fragments, 
 in new combinations and guises. This ended in a dominant seventh 
 chord prolonged, after which the first subject of A re-asserted itself. 
 The principal chance for free modulation was in this middle section, 
 taking the place of B. The repeat was not for B separately, on 
 account of that dominant seventh, but for both B and A. 
 
 Rigid as this simple form seems to us after the freer handling of 
 the sonata form to which we have become habituated, it will be seen 
 that it is a great advance on the simple ABA song-form. It is 
 capable of considerable extension and something approaching architect- 
 ure, while the chances for creating heightened expectation and fresh 
 interest are far greater. One disability it suffered from is the inevitable 
 modulation to 5 for the second subject. This will appear from the 
 following statistics compiled from sonatas for piano and for violin 
 and piano, and symphonies and concertos of Haydn, Mozart and 
 Beethoven. Two hundred and twenty-five compositions were examined; 
 out of these one hundred and seventy-five had that modulation to 5 
 clearly marked. Of the remaining fifty twenty-one were from minor 
 to major (in some cases then to 5), which hardly count as exceptions; 
 eleven were from major to minor, which amount to an evasion; and 
 the balance were all in Beethoven's later sonatas, including four modula- 
 tions to 4, one to 31?, one to 4, one to 7, two to 6 and one to 61?. 
 It should be stated that not all the movements thus inspected were in 
 sonata form; the list includes also slow movements, minuets and scherzos 
 
Form bl 
 
 with their trios, and the rondo-form finales as well. The probabilities 
 are that a full examination of all symphonies and chamber music of 
 Haydn and Mozart would not reveal as large a proportion in move- 
 ments of strict sonata form where any other modulation was used; 
 minor to relative or absolute major not counting. As noted above 
 Beethoven broke through the convention in a number of his greatest 
 works and later writers have added still more to its flexibility in the 
 matter of modulation. 
 
 In the statement above it was not meant to assert that Haydn 
 and Mozart do not use other modulations; in the freer section of the 
 sonata known as development they resort to quite a variety of tonali- 
 ties. But in the first section preceding the repeat— when it is sonata 
 form — in the overwhelming majority of works the first modulation 
 presented is that to 5, and in about the same number of cases the 
 second subject and cadence are given in that tonality. With Beethoven 
 the majority is only slightly smaller, i. e., for that particular point. 
 Taking these facts into account it is not any exaggeration to say that 
 the expected modulation in the first section of a sonata-form move- 
 ment is that to 5, and that the aesthetic effect of a different modula- 
 tion is based largely on this expectation. It is not always presented 
 at or even ver>' near the beginning of the section, though Haydn 
 seldom does anything else. Mozart shows more ingenuity in his way 
 of introducing it, seeming at first to lead away from it by suggesting 
 more remote modulations; but it is merely a postponement with 
 resulting heightening of expectation and pleasure of satisfaction when 
 it is fulfilled. Beethoven shows even greater ingenuity and boldness 
 in suggesting remote tonalities suddenly, as in the opening of Op. 31, 
 No. 2, Op. 53, and Op. 57. In the first of these he announces his 
 first subject in the dominant chord,'" but after the response that 
 comes to a quasi cadence in the same chord he suddenly announces 
 it again in 7b,'° 7 having just appeared in the previous chord. From 
 that rather remote tonality he leads by a series of runs suggested by 
 the response into the tonic where the formal announcement is repeated 
 and this time is brought quite directly into the dominant minor. In 
 the second (Op. 53) the announcement of the subject seems to land 
 us in the dominant at once for a response; but without continuing 
 in that tonality he suddenly repeats the entire announcement, response 
 and modulation included, in 7b, like the last mentioned. But he comes 
 back presently to the announcement in a higher pitch, and this time 
 brings us by easy stages to the tonality in which the second subject 
 is to be presented, which is not 5 in this case, but 3. 
 
 In the third of the above sonatas. Op. 57, after stating the subject 
 in the minor tonic, followed by response in dominant, he restates both 
 a half-tone higher in major, 2b." By an equally sudden leap he comes 
 back from the dominant of that response to the former tonality, 
 and then proceeds to prepare for his second subject which is introduced 
 in the relative major. A somewhat similar course is taken in his 
 G major Concerto; here after announcing his subject in the tonic and 
 coming to a pause in the dominant he leaps suddenly into the tonality 
 3'* and takes up passage work leading to the second subject, this 
 time in 5. The charm of these different innovations — for such they 
 are — lies, to a large extent, in their departure from, the expected 
 modulation to 5. 
 
 But there is another point in which expectation has grown to 
 rather definite shape in the classic sonata, especially as treated for 
 the pianoforte, though it appears also in chamber music and somewhat 
 in symphonies. It is the nature of the passage work which furnishes 
 the transition from one subject to another, or from subject to cadence. 
 Haydn limits himself almost exclusively to scale phrases andj-runs 
 
62 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 and they are used so persistently' and regularly as to grow monotonous; 
 too much repetition and not enough of fresh interest (for us.) Mozart 
 is much more fertile in invention and often inserts a new melody 
 instead of a scale; or he has runs of a different character with often 
 a fresh tonality suggested. In Beethoven's earlier sonatas the scales 
 still predominate, but in later ones he has far greater variety of figura- 
 tion, depending on that rather than on fresh melodic material. More- 
 over, he connects his figuration with phrases of his subjects, thus 
 exhibiting these in new lights and securing greater unity of impression, 
 while maintaining wise economy of melodic material. Schubert, 
 though usually prodigal with his melodies, is not closely logical in his 
 structure, and scale passages are used almost like padding in some of 
 his sonatas, though others are comparatively free of them. It re- 
 mained for Schumann to compose an elaborate sonata, as long as the 
 longest of Beethoven (Op. 106), without a trace of a scale passage 
 strictly speaking from beginning to end, that in F sharp minor (Op. 
 11.). In this course he has been followed by others, notably Brahms 
 in the F minor, Op. 7. Such an innovation is especially noticeable 
 in the first movement as transitions are more in demand than in 
 minuets, scherzos or rondo-form finales. In order to point out the 
 difference more clearly in works of different type it will be helpful 
 to subject two first movements to a somewhat closer analysis; choosing 
 two mentioned above, namely the Op. 53 of Beethoven and the Op. 11 
 of Schumann. 
 
 As already stated in another connection Beethoven announc- 
 es his subject in the tonic, then at once repeats it a whole tone 
 below with the tonality 7b". Out of this he leads easily through 
 scale passage ending in a long descending run to tonic, suggested in 
 minor. But the subject is resumed an octave higher (it was quite 
 low at first) and in figured chords, two slight surprises. But the 
 repetition is more of a surprise, being raised a whole step and given 
 in minor, and the provisional modulation leads to the relative minor 
 of the original tonality. From that minor we pass on to its dominant, 
 still in minor through scale passages. But at the end of these the 
 change to major is made, resulting in 3 of the original tonality. In 
 this key the second subject is announced, a simple melodic phrase 
 3-2-1-7-6, with return in response back to 3, all with heavy chords. Re- 
 peated an octave lower it leads to a complete rising cadence. Then 
 while the left hand repeats the entire subject the right gives a light 
 variation of it an octave higher. After the cadence some of the chords 
 used in the subject are made the basis of prolonged figuration all in 
 the same key, slightly reminiscent of the cadence; these lead into 
 scale passage work which in turn leads into a provisional cadence, 
 still in the same key. But the passages following that .lead into 
 minor and thence by an easy transition to original tonic, from which 
 repeat da capo is natural. The second section (after the repeat) 
 is ushered in by easy modulation to 4, in which tonality the main 
 subject is restated. The first part of it, rapidly repeated chords, 
 is then dropped out of sight and the second part consisting of a short 
 melodic phrase (1-3-2-1) is then elaborately developed; repeated in 
 upper and lower octaves, extended by adding 5-4 to 3-2-1, and the two 
 phrases are given alternately, all this in nine different tonalities in rapid 
 succession. In the later stage of this the left hand has taken up the 
 broken chord figure- foreshadowed in tbe first section and this is now 
 developed in both hands passing through a series of modulations each 
 successive one with an added fiat until an enharmonic change results 
 in five sharps, B. B. minor brings us through G back to the tonic 
 and after a passage, in which melodic fragments of the main subject 
 appear, a long descending scale plunges us without any pause into the 
 
• PoRtJ 63 
 
 rapidly repeated chords of that subject. Instead of proceeding from 
 this point to the second subject just as in the first section, he lays his 
 lines before long for the changed tonality of the second subject and 
 then from this vantage ground the melody with full chords is made 
 to seem inevitable in the subdominant of the former tonality. The 
 higher pitch as well as the new key relation give it a fresh beauty, 
 and we fully expect to hear it repeated an octave lower. But here 
 Beethoven gives us a sudden surprise by dropping it into absolute 
 minor, and then consoles us by giving the variations and left-hand 
 melody in the original major tonality of the sonata. From this point 
 for some space the figured chords (following the cadence of this melody) 
 and passage work resemble very closely the corresponding part of the 
 first section. But another surprise awaits us; for after making ready 
 apparently for a cadence he introduces the first subject half a tone 
 higher than before and presently it is heard in the bass against the 
 high chords of the right hand. This is the opening of an extended 
 crescendo with the main subject urgently reiterated in left hand rising 
 step by step, while the right hand accompanies it with ascending and 
 descending scale passages. After a powerful climax the passages 
 bring us out on two long-sustained dominant seventh chords. From 
 them flows in the original tonality of C the melody of the second 
 subject, first at low pitch, then an octave higher — reversing the order 
 that was given before in both sections and so surprising us with charm- 
 ing effect; and now follows the twice interrupted cadence already 
 described above (III, 4 at the end.) But complete as this is the third 
 time, it is too quiet for a work of such impetuosity and dimensions. 
 The entrance of the tonic is the signal for a brief restatement of the 
 main subject and its little melodic phrase, then after a converging 
 scale run in both hands there follow a few ponderous chords in the 
 sequence sub-dominant, dominant, tonic, dominant, tonic; this last 
 closes the movement. It is evident that the composer has in reality 
 comparatively little thematic material: the main subject and the second 
 subject in strong contrast with each other. For his abundant passage 
 work he resorts to phrases of one or both of these subjects and depends 
 on the novel setting of each to maintain interest. Expectation is 
 repeatedly fulfilled quite exactly, but quite as often foiled with great 
 pleasure of surprise. In the climax described there is a piling up of 
 expectation from point to point; while in the interrupted cadence it 
 becomes acute in a different way after waiting twice in vain. This 
 study shows the possibilities of a close and logical structure — architect- 
 ture, we may well call it — in working up a powert'ul emotional effect. 
 It is one of the noblest truimphs of form as an aesthetic principle, 
 making available for high and pure enjojTnent material that in an 
 isolated existence or rolled together carelessly would have at best 
 but a mild sensuous pleasure to yield us. The careful elaboration of 
 inconsiderable material into a work of art that gives everj-where the 
 impression of abundance is an achievement for the few. A comparison 
 of this sonata with the Op. 11 of Schumann shows marked contrasts 
 in method and type of workmanship. Not that Schumann is careless 
 or indifferent about form; for there is closer unity of structure in this 
 sonata than it usually has credit for. One striking difference, is that he 
 announces at the outset two strongly contrasted subjects which he 
 proceeds to play off against each other through the large part of the 
 movement. But not satisfied with these, he introduces two other 
 important subjects, while yet a third is of some weight in the total 
 structure. Another difference is the total absence of scale passages, 
 their place being taken by material furnished in the main from the 
 various subjects. Yet another difference is in the attitude toward 
 modulation, as if it were a more fluent and native vehicle of expression. 
 
64 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 Moreover Schumann handles chords more massively, thickly sometimes, 
 than Beethoven; while he is even more repetitious in one particular 
 way, in that having presented a beautiful phrase he repeats it notatim. 
 This last he avoids, however, in great climaxes as carefully as does 
 his predecessor. His manner of treating his material in this particular 
 sonata is due no doubt in part to his effort to suggest two comple- 
 mentary personalities, Florestan and Eusebius. 
 
 He chose the key of F sharp minor and begins by announcing his 
 first subject, which we shall call here I, in the dominant. This is not 
 so capricious as it sounds, for a long introduction has preceded the 
 main movement with a sort of suspended cadence in F sharp minor, 
 from which that dominant comes more naturally. The second subject, 
 which we shall distinguish as II, is given immediately in the tonic, 
 but the responses in the bass lead into several modulations before 
 the tonic is reached again; the last modulation is to the dominant, and 
 at once both hands in octaves re-assert the first subject I. The entire 
 passage beginning with the subject II with its responses and modulations 
 IS repeated, with slight changes, up to and including the octave re- 
 assertion of I. The two subjects are given together once in the tonic 
 and soon we hear the first announcement of III; this leads up to a 
 pause that leads us to expect the dominant as new tonic; but the 
 tonality is evaded and subject IV is announced in a tonality a half- 
 tone lower. The kind of broken chord figuration used for this serves 
 almost as a disguise and the real character of the phrase is discerned 
 only by careful attention to the accents indicated by the composer. 
 It amounts to the following melodic sequence in minor: 8-7-11-10, 
 and after being exacty repeated descends by the steps 8-7b-6b-5 and 
 comes to a pause with 3-2-4-3; the tones in all these being virtually 
 of the same length throughout. It may as well be mentioned here 
 that the entire sonata receives an impression of a large unity, of 
 being rounded off to a completeness, from the fact that this subject IV 
 is introduced in the closing passage of the last movement and made 
 the starting point, in major this time, of a powerful climax. It is so 
 prominent in the first movement in minor that its return with more 
 easily recognizable figuration and in major is particularly pleasing. 
 The tonality of IV is Eb minor which is virtual relative minor to the 
 major of the original tonality of the work, a major that seems several 
 times on the point of emerging and in fact does emerge in the second 
 section of this movement. In that key of Eb minor subject II returns 
 by itself, passes by whole steps to G# minor and B minor and by an 
 easy transition we are brought to what from one point of view is 
 subject V in A major, relative to the original ¥^ minor. When closely 
 examined, however, it turns out to be identical with the descending 
 phrase of IV, only in major: 8-7-6-5 in tones of equal length. The 
 entire passage from this point to the close of the first section is built 
 on that sequence, which is repeated at different parts of the scale, 
 in inversions, and appears ascending twice in succession thus giving 
 the only semblance of a scale in the entire section. Here Schumann 
 uses a device that is found often in his works, but hardly ever in 
 Beethoven; he reinforces the melody of this last subject by giving it 
 in three places at once an octave apart, the right hand giving it in 
 octaves and the left supporting it an octave lower; and this entire 
 apparent scale passage is repeated in full, like so many in the whole 
 sonata. A complete cadence follows in A major after a series of 
 descending chords, with a reminiscence of subject I in the low bass; 
 the melody tone of the cadence is 3, instead of 1. In the develop- 
 ment section now taken up, the four subjects of the first section furnish 
 all the material. After a brief reminder of subject II in the original 
 minor an easy modulation restores the A major of the preceding 
 
Form 65 
 
 cadence and subject III is restated in that key, leading to a fascinating 
 conclusion with leaps of chords. This is repeated in the key of D 
 (one sharp less). The same sequence serves for an original restatement 
 of subject I; while the right hand is playing a broken chord accompani- 
 ment the left plays I alternately above in high treble and then two 
 octaves below m A major and again in D major. This is one of the 
 freshest surprises in the entire work. Then follows in the last mentioned 
 key and half hidden in the middle voice the descending scale phrase 
 of subject IV; it is repeated twice, each time a whole tone higher and 
 in minor, then the entire subject IV is restated in full as in the first 
 section but in the key of C sharp minor. In this last key subject II 
 is restated in full very much in the same way it was at the beginning 
 of the first section in P sharp minor, and in the process the F sharp 
 major glimmers through. Subject II starts out again in the same key 
 (C sharp minor) but by a series of surprising modulations works 
 up to another powerful climax. It passes through E fiat minor, 
 F minor, G minor, B flat major, B flat minor, ancf ends at F minor) 
 during all which subject II is relegated to the left hand and the lowest 
 part. The dominant chord in the closing key of this series has just 
 sounded, leading us to expect resumption in the tonic, but the surprise 
 awaiting us is entire suspension of this interplay of subjects while 
 the broadly sweeping melody of the introduction is carried through a 
 few phrases leading to a quasi cadence in G sharp minor. Here 
 follows in cognate tonalities almost an exact replica of the passage 
 just after the close of the first section; subject III following a brief 
 reminder of II, proceeding by those sudden chord leaps, repeating in 
 the related tonality, then the statements of I alternately above and 
 below the broken chord accompaniment. And this as before is followed 
 by the same hidden re-statement of IV, beginning this time in E major 
 but swerving into the original minor of F sharp, then modulating as 
 before by whole steps into F sharp major, and G sharp minor and 
 enharmonically into B flat minor and finally into E flat minor, in 
 which last key the other phrase of subject IV is given twice entire. 
 Then the former phrase (4 descending scale tones) is taken up anew 
 as the upper tones of broken chords, the phrases are given alternately — 
 all this in the key of F sharp major — then while the broken chord work 
 continues as a sort of accompaniment suddenly subject I is heard 
 as the lowest part, first in its original shape 2-5,-2-5, then in full 
 octaves with octave leaps in F sharp and suddenly repeated in part 
 in the key of G (dominant seventh chord) and again in P sharp, 
 after which a short passage of leaping octaves brings us to the subject 
 I stated with ascending interval. 5-8-5-8-5-8, in major and full chords 
 in both hands; creating the most powerful climax as well as surprise 
 in the whole movement. From this point to the cadence Schumann 
 follows closely his course at the close of the first section. Subject II 
 is resumed so quietly as at first to seem almost like an anti-climax, 
 but as it proceeds, back in minor again, it becomes evident that 
 any elation of expectation based on the major climax was misplaced 
 and we are to close in sombre, not to say melancholy, mood. The 
 scale phrase of subject IV is again made to serve as closing subject 
 in the original minor, with the same doubling of octaves when it rises 
 in close semblance to a scale passage more than an octave, and closes 
 as the first section did with the tones of subject I heard from the 
 depths pianissimo while the melodic cadence is on 3. After 
 that great climax this descent is far from expectation and the effect 
 of it for that reason is deeply impressive, though sensuously it is a 
 less pleasing close than that of the first section. 
 
 Whatever verdict may be reached as to the comparative perfection 
 of form of these two sonata movements — and it can hardly be denied 
 
g6 T he Role of Expectation in Music , 
 
 that Beethoven's has a closer logical texture and coherence — from our 
 point of view there is little to choose. The interest of expectation 
 and surprise which the older composer secures by ingeriious, even 
 imaginative, elaboration of a small amount of actual melodic material, 
 the later gains by playing off more material in fresh combinations; 
 moreover in this particular instance he has the advantage of starting 
 out in minor which gives more easy opportunity for rousing expectation 
 and preparing surprise in connection with turning to major. Further, 
 whereas Beethoven depended largely on scales for passage work, 
 Schumann avoids them altogether and resorts to rather fresh broken 
 chord work with double notes, and close inspection shows that he is 
 at the same time giving a fresh turn to his subjects in the process. 
 To get the full benefit of this by way of expectation a very intelligent 
 rendering and also intelligence in following is more called for than 
 in many sonatas, but it is all there for delightful appreciation. There 
 is also a sort of unconcerned freedom about his treatment of modula- 
 tion that Beethoven had not acquired, though it appears less labored 
 with him in the first and third movements of his Op. 106, than in 
 this Op. 53. On the other hand the postponed cadence with its 
 tensity of expectation is not equalled by anything in the sonata of 
 Schumann, if the latter's climax in major is beyond anything in the 
 older work. Both are fine examples of the capacities latent in the 
 sonata form in the hands of a master for massing effects and especially 
 for utilizing expectation, even though it be built up more freely, less 
 according to precedent, as Schumann did construct his. 
 
 As hinted before the first movements of violin and violoncello 
 sonatas, of chamber music for trios, quartets and other combinations, 
 and also of all symphonies and concertos for piano or violin with 
 orchestral accompaniment, are more or less closely of sonata form. In 
 all of these the composer has far ampler opportunity for rousing ex- 
 pectation and for preparing surprises. The different timber of instru- 
 ments in the statements and restatements of subjects, in all kinds of 
 imitation and thematic development, are one source of pleasure in 
 such works. If a clarinet begins a melodic phrase that has been heard 
 in the violins, it is fully expected that the phrase or subject will not 
 be chopped up and different fragments be distributed to different 
 instruments. This is but another way of saying that some kind of 
 continuity in the handling of instruments is fully expected as well as 
 in the treatment of thematic material. If, for example, the little 
 halting melody characteristic of De Bussy's '"L'Apres-midi d'un Faune" 
 after being heard entire on the flute should later be heard part way 
 on the flute — say two notes — then were continued on the clarinet, 
 then picked up by cornet and finished by violins, it would so far 
 defeat expectation as to lose its character and effect entirely; it would 
 seem like a musical jest that might have its place as a jest under 
 some circumstaces but would hardly be in keeping with the spirit and 
 atmosphere of a characteristic work of that type. 
 
Interpretation 67 
 
 V. EXPECTATION AS IT APPEARS IN INTERPRETATION 
 
 1. Rhythmic Accent. It has already appeared in our discussion 
 above (v. I) that rhythm is a fundamental and pervasive element 
 in music and is a basis constantly for expectation. Such expectation 
 is naturally most alert and operative with those listeners who have a 
 considerable capacity of subjective rhythm so that any series of tones 
 and harmonies falls for them into some sort of rhythm. But a per- 
 former cannot depend on many in an audience having this capacity; 
 indeed some are quite deficient in that direction, and for them the 
 rhythmic accents need to be strongly marked, or else the music seems 
 defective, amorphous. For many, who are utterly incapable of originat- 
 ing a rhythm subjectively, respond quite readily to its force when it is 
 objectively clear. It is not meant that time must be marked by 
 twos or threes or fours, just as it is indicated at the beginning. And 
 yet it cannot be denied that such marking of time is at the root of 
 the whole matter. Many who are wholly incapable of following the 
 broader sweep of a subtle yet real rhythm, whether in music or speech 
 (poetry or prose), have this simple accentuation and its appropriate 
 response deep-seated in their constitution. In fact, so inveterate is 
 this inherited bent or gift that any attempt to set music before them 
 without any rhythm, a sort of sensuous sweetness in more or less con- 
 tinuous flow, without light and shade or high and low of intensity, 
 would prove a total failure; it would not be music for them. And if 
 we may judge by the persistent hold that prevailing popular songs 
 and instrumental pieces for piano, or small orchestra and band, have 
 on public favor, it must be admitted that except in the ranges of 
 serious and sincere art the easy, straight rhythms by twos and threes and 
 fours occupy the field, that the less obvious and subtle rhythms must 
 for some time yet endure the general reproach of the "highbrow." 
 And yet, when we are studying the psychology of music as a universal 
 phenomenon the obvious and easily intelligible must be subjected to as 
 searching an analysis as the more profound, which we may recognize indeed 
 as the higher type of art and more worthy of cultivation by serious- 
 minded students, but which is much more limited in its range of 
 appreciative appeal. While we may leave to the theory of aesthetics 
 the question whether there is any reality of art where appreciative 
 reponse is lacking, it is a question of direct importance to us from the 
 psychological side whether to rule out of court as inartistic and not 
 worthy of consideration the musical activities of those who depend 
 for their aesthetic enjoyment on the simpler and more direct appeal. 
 They are just as truly within the scope of such a study as the serious 
 artist, and for them without question a failure to hear definite and regu- 
 lar rhythmic accents would interfere with enjoyment, and largely 
 because expectation would not be satisfactorily met. 
 
 2. For the primitive man, and likewise for the student of voice 
 today, there is close connection between intensity and pitch. It is 
 found to be difficult to increase the volume of tone when the pitch is 
 stationary or descending and conversely to lesson the volume when 
 the pitch is rising. This is a natural basis of expectation for singing 
 and the same expectation is transferred to instrumental progressions. 
 A chorus or any orchestra seldom need special training for a light 
 crescendo in a rising sequence or dimiuendo in a falling sequence; 
 but the contrary procedure would call for careful training. The 
 
6S The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 listener is also under the same law and conformity to it would bring 
 satisfaction, while special attention with degrees of surprise and interest 
 would result from an infraction of it. A crescendo in a descending 
 series of tones or diminuendo in an ascending series is more efTective 
 with the same difference of intensity involved than the opposite, just 
 because it is contrary to expectation. 
 
 3. Owing to the prevalence of repetition in the structure of musical 
 compositions expectation is active not only for the melodic and harmonic 
 sequences as they recur but for the way they are rendered as well. The 
 first rendering of a phrase that is to be repeated a number of times 
 sets an interpretive pattern for the whole series, and when the phrase 
 begins the second time the more or less clear memory of the first 
 leads to expectation of close following of the pattern, and satisfaction 
 as this is noted step by step. But just as the composer can create 
 fresh interest by modifying the sequences, so too the performer may 
 introduce a new shading, a slight change in tempo, and avoid the 
 effect of sameness and monotony. A group of perfojmers is, of course, 
 subject to the same restrictions as one, being under the direction of 
 one leader; and personality can make itself clearly felt in the thoughtful 
 use of variety of rendering for the same sequences. 
 
 4. Custom has its large influence in interpretation as elsewhere. 
 In some nations where harmony is not in use Its place is partly supplied 
 by a use of the voice which to cultivated audiences would be distasteful. 
 Thus in India singers in public seek to give expression and variety 
 to a melody by numerous intermediate tones with a sort of quaver 
 in the voice; this is expected and is listened to with far deeper satis- 
 faction than a different style would be: the full steady tones and 
 clean-cut intervals such as occidental audiences of advanced culture 
 called for in the singer. The latter type of audience Would be likely 
 to greet the former type of artist with laughter; the surprise would 
 be so keen as to pass the line into the pdiculous. 
 
Analogies 69 
 
 VI. ANALOGIES IN OTHER ARTS 
 
 Expectation plays a role in every-day life, in such matters as 
 social conventions, manners, costume and the like. In many cases 
 surprise occasions less of pleasure than of disgust or ridicule in these 
 spheres of life. The necessary conformity to well-established custom 
 or rule to maintain comfort in smoothness of mutual relations causes 
 us to feel keenly any disregard of convention. We are here even on 
 the border line where the ethics and aesthetics of daily life meet; 
 for many customs of one country involve gross insult and even moral 
 obhquity in the eyes of those from another country. This is the realm 
 where habituation accomplishes its work for social intercourse and finds 
 its way by fine gradations into the nicer distinctions of art. Reference 
 has been made (especially in the Introduction III, 1 and 2) to certain 
 differences between music on the one hand and some of the other 
 arts on the other hand. It will be of interest to point out briefly 
 some closer analogies. 
 
 1. In poetry the closest analogy appears between the recited poem 
 and song rendered. In both there is the rhythmic utterence of intervals 
 which even in the spoken sentence have melodic phrases. In both 
 there is rise and fall of voice following the emphasis of thought. In 
 both finally is a cadence at the close, which is felt to properly conclude 
 the series of sounds. Among the Greeks the two virtually merged in 
 one. But with our elaborate system of music the song has its ac- 
 companiment fitted to the melody and its series of expectations on 
 the musical side is quite independent of those growing out of the 
 sequence of thought, though a careful interpretation will avoid marking 
 the difference too clearly. In the spoken sentence the melody sequence 
 may be repeated with very close exactness a number of times without 
 causing monotony of effect, because a certain type of inflection— with 
 fall at the close — is best adapted to express the thought in a simple 
 declarative sentence; and while the rhythmic flow has its element 
 of pleasure, the principal aim of the listener is to secure a clear suc- 
 cession of images and thoughts. A faulty inflection, such as leaving 
 the voice on a high pitch in a positive statement, or dropping or raising 
 the pitch suddenly without occasion at some hap-hazard point, or 
 a falling cadence in a question or some negations, would interfere 
 so decidedly with expectation that the thought would often be practical- 
 ly lost, and always weakened. In the reciting of prose, in oratory, 
 the rhythm would be less regular and subtler, approaching at times 
 what we know in music as syncopated rhythm* with rubato effects, 
 and also with occasional more or less regular swing. In the matter of 
 sentence- melody and inflection (including especially cadence) there 
 would not be so much difference. Sudden changes and departures 
 from a simple inflection could be made to combine with peculiar 
 words or far-fetched images to secure a humorous appeal with laughter. 
 It is a point well worth investigation how far music, without any 
 words to evoke clearly defined images or thoughts, can convey or 
 embody humor that is generally recognizable as such. I have had 
 music described to me as deliciously humorous in which I had never 
 discerned that quality. In songs and music-dramas, where words 
 and action combine to define images or thoughts it becomes an entirely 
 
 *Patt<er8on, Op. cJt. passim. 
 
70 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 different question; with such images in mind or actually before our 
 eyes the apropriateness of musical surprises would be felt, when without 
 the images the majority of an ordinary audience would simply wonder 
 what on earth the composer was tr\Mng to do. 
 
 2. Drama. Here the acting adds another element of succession 
 to the spoken word and thereby opens up a new source of expectation, 
 while on the side of utterance what has been said above would apply 
 with equal justice. Habituation and convention both play an im- 
 portant part and in different nationalities they present striking differ- 
 ences. In the Chinese drama it excites no surprise to see attendants 
 changing properties while the action still goes on; but in European 
 and American drama for the most part the effort prevails to keep the 
 machinery out of evidence as interfering with the illusion. Then in 
 the action itself there are stereotyped gestures for certain emotions or 
 efforts. In the Hindu drama strong excitement is commonly expressed 
 by an actor by a leap into the air while his feet nearly touch each 
 other. This attitude is often depicted in paintings of heroes of the 
 Hindu drama and is expected fully in the drama itself, yet during 
 many years residence in that country I never saw a man in that attitude 
 in actual life. The classic drama in France held the convention that 
 no act of violence should be represented on the stage, and it was 
 felt as an outrage on the fundamental principles of dramatic construct- 
 ion when the Romanticists indulged themselves to the point where it 
 was hardly felt to be dramatic unless there was violence. Then in 
 the matter of the unities some playwrights and audiences were satis- 
 fied with what others felt as an unwarranted restriction. But hardly 
 in any branch of the drama are conventions so strorig or numerous 
 as in the opera, where actors are allowed with no expression of sur- 
 prise, but rather with the highest satisfaction, to do what nobody 
 ever thinks of doing in actual life. Audiences prove how little they 
 care for the real meaning of the action by compelling the hero to sing 
 his declaration of love or his death-song encore; which is fully as absurd 
 as to have properties changed during action and interferes more with 
 the movernent of the drama. Judging from observation the majority 
 of an audience in the ordinary play, or even in many a serious drama 
 that aims to present a convincing illusion of real life, are better 
 convinced of lofty spirit in a man by the stagey pose, or of strong 
 emotion by the affected strut and loud declamation, than by the 
 simplicity of demeanor they see ever>' day. It is as if these somewhat 
 extraordinary attitude and action were accepted as visible symbols 
 of unseen mental states which would not seem to be present if the 
 appropriate _ symbol were wanting. 
 
 But aside from these conventions there is constant expectation 
 operating in the demand for continuity and consistency of action, 
 and corresponding satisfaction, or surprise, with attendant pleasure or 
 disappointment, according as the action meets the expectation or falls 
 below it. When, for instance, an occasion for violent passion is taken 
 too tamely, or a mild excitement is turned into a sort of riot, the 
 discrepancy jars unpleasantly. And as the play proceeds the suspense 
 both of uncertain questioning and of confident expectation are heighten- 
 ed by the combining of different threads of action until a climax is 
 reached and relaxation with relief follows the denoument. And 
 there_ is aesthetic pleasure in that even though there were painful 
 emotions stirred by the special character of the ending — as in a tragedy. 
 On the screen expectation from the very beginning of a six-reel feature- 
 film_ holds constantly before the spectator's mind the conventional 
 •closing scene — with variations only in minutiae — where all difficulties 
 are overcome and the struggling hero and heroine are united, and he 
 feels a ,real lack if he does not actually see the prolonged kiss. It is 
 
Analogies 71 
 
 doubtful whetlier any producer would dare to disappoint the audience 
 by a genuine tradegy, though they all aim to produce fantastic sur- 
 prises with humorous intent in their comedies. 
 
 3. In fiction, the effort of the author is to conjure up the scene 
 and action to the reader's imagination; but in portraying character 
 and in dialogue and representing life the purposes are fundarnentally 
 akin to those of the drama, and many conventions and habituation 
 enter in to modify the operation of expectation. One special advantage 
 fiction enjoys grows out of the abundant opportunity it affords for 
 the analyzing of situations and character; it makes it possible to 
 heighten expectation by pointing out the potentialities involved and 
 by postponement. Suspense can thus be rendered almost painfully 
 acute. The author can play on the feelings of the reader by emphasiz- 
 ing his doubts and fears until the relaxation at the climax which clears 
 all difficulties brings a real thrill of relief. This resort to the imagina- 
 tion is denied to music and such violence of feeling can hardly be 
 created without its powerful aid. Moreover the dread and hope roused 
 by a well wrought illusion of real life are of a nature foreign to the 
 aesthetic expectation that operates in music or the plastic arts. The 
 musician who experiences a thrill of relief when the suspense of a long- 
 sustained discord is ended has felt neither hope nor dread of good 
 fortune or calamity which involve himself or people in whom he has 
 become interested. It is of the essence of the novelist's art^ — and the 
 same holds tme to a certain extent of the dramatist — to so engage 
 the reader's interest in the characters and their destinies that he in a 
 measure indentify himself with them. For such results the stimulation 
 of the imagination by vivid and definite pictures, which must be 
 intellectually apprehended, is indispensable. 
 
 Hope and dread are akin to the expectation in music in this 
 respect, that they occasion (like it) a nervous tension which then is 
 followed by relaxation when the denoument brings relief. But 
 the rhythmic feature so prominent in musical expectation is wholly 
 lacking in fiction (in the high emotion, not in the arrangement of words 
 or sentences) ; whereas the expectation in music may recur with clock- 
 like accuracy and please repeatedly. 
 
 4. In the plastic arts there is absent the succession which gives 
 the opening for expectation in music and those above discussed. The 
 aim of a work of painting, sculpture, architecture or design is to present 
 a certain collocation of objects (colors, lines, etc.) that are to be ap- 
 prehended as a unit within the span of vision. In this unit the 
 symmetry, the light and shade, the composition, the color scheme, are 
 visualized in their completeness and achieve the intended aesthetic 
 eflfect only under that condition. Then the observer may let his gaze 
 pass from point to point — if it is a plane surface — or from side to 
 side — if it is a solid — , and so create a subjective succession; in this 
 there is a possibility of a slight degree of expectation and mild surprise. 
 The connoisseur or artist would find a certain delight in perceiving 
 by what handling of material the effect was secured, how far regularity 
 and exact symmetry were observed. But the ordinary observer, who 
 corresponds to the ordinary listener in a concert, hardly develops 
 a minimum of expectation or feels the least surprise at anything he 
 sees. It is hardly natural that he should; if he enjoys or is inspired 
 by the ensemble, the chief — if not only — aim of the artist is fulfilled. 
 But the composer counts on the essentia? succession of sounds, on 
 the series of spans necessarily involved in the creation of his work 
 of art; he chooses one order of succession rather than another because 
 it is, or is not, definitely expected, and secures the effect he seeks 
 accordingly in the satisfaction or surprise. 
 
72 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 SUMMARY 
 
 1. Expectation, and its correlates of fulfillment and surprise, 
 constitute a basic and universal element in the enjoyment and ap- 
 preciation of music. 
 
 2. As a source of aesthetic gratification it differs from the sensuous 
 appeal, the somatic response of rhythm, interval and chord and their 
 combinations, in that attention is more alert and the intellectual factor 
 more prominent. 
 
 3. The operation of expectation is not confined to any one system 
 of music but has its place in them all. 
 
 4. The more complex the system of music the more opportunity 
 for expectation and its effects. 
 
 5. The operation of expectation in any given case is largely 
 dependent on habituation, in degree and kind of action. 
 
 6. There are special reasons in the facts of succession and repeti- 
 tion why expectation is more active in music than in any other art, 
 dancing being the nearest approach. 
 
 7. The difficulty experienced in securing recognition for irmova- 
 tions in music is due largely to the necessary re-adjustment of ex- 
 pectation when it is thwarted by the strange, as well as the mere 
 difficulty of habituating the ear. 
 
 8. Aesthetic pleasure and interest can be much increased by the 
 heightening of expectation whereby both satisfaction of relief and 
 surprise are heightened. 
 
 9. There is opportunity for expectation in each of the constituent 
 elements of rnusic, rhythm, melody, harmony and form — and likewise 
 in interpretation — and development in any element gives larger scope 
 for its operation. 
 
 10. The combination of these elements in modern occidental 
 music makes it possible to create climaxes of intense suspense with 
 corresponding relief and aesthetic delight. 
 
 11. Expectation may not be consciously sought by the composer 
 or its operation consciously noted by the listener who enjoys his work. 
 But it is the operation of it that leads the composer to adopt one 
 sequence rather than another, and that contributes a. vital share to 
 the enjoyment of the listener. 
 
 12. Even after one is familiar with a composition so that there 
 is intellectual certainty as to sequence, i. e., no suspense, the en- 
 joyment is not lessened; that part of jt which gre^v out of expectation 
 is still active. " 
 
Bibliography 73 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 AwRAMOFF, D. Arbeit u. Rhythmus, Philos. St. XVIII, 1903. 
 
 Bingham, W. V. Studies in melody. Psy. Rev. Monog. Suppl. XII, 
 1910. 
 
 Britan, H. H. The philosophy of music, N. Y., 1911. 
 
 BucHER, K. Arbeit u. Rhythmus. 4th ed. Leipzig, 1909. 
 
 DuRR, E. Die Lehre v. d. Aufmerksamkeit, Leipzig, 1907. 
 
 Ebbinghaus, H. Grundzuge d. Psychologic, Leipzig, 1911. 
 
 Fillmore, J. C, and Fletcher, Alice C. A Study of Omaha Indian 
 Music, Cambridge, 1893. 
 
 Gn.MAN, L. Nature in Music, N. Y., 1914. 
 
 Grove, G. Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 
 
 Hadow, W. H. Studies in Modem Music; First and Second Series. 
 London, 1896-7. 
 
 Helmholz, H. L. F. Die Lehre v. d. Tonempfindungen. Braunschweig, 
 1896. Trans, by Ellis, A. J., London, 1875. 
 
 Hohenemser, R. Zur Theorie d. Tonbeziehungen. Zeits. f. Psych, u. 
 Phys. d. Sinnesorgane, 26. 1901. 
 
 Indy, d', V. Cours de composition musicale, Paris, 1912. 
 
 James, W. The Principles of Psychology, N. Y., 1890. 
 
 Jentsch, E. Musik u. Nerven. Grenzfr. d. Nerven u. Seelen-Lebens. 
 Heft. 78, 1911. 
 
 Kemp, W. Methodisches u. Exper. z. Lehre v. d. Tonverschmelzung. 
 Arch. f. d. ges. Psych. 29, 1913. 
 
 Ladd, G. F. Psychology Descriptive and Explanatory, 4th ed. N. Y., 
 1911. 
 
 Ladd, G. T. and Woodworth, R. S. Elements of Physiological 
 Psychology., N. Y., 1911. 
 
 Landormy, p. La logique du Discours Musical. Rev. Phil., 1904. 
 
 Lipps, Th. Aesthetik, MUnchen, 1913. 
 
 Marx, A. B. Kompositionslehre, vol. I, edited by Riemann. 
 
 Beethoven, sein Leben u. Schaffen, 5th ed., Berlin, 1901. 
 Die Musik d. neunzehnten Jahrhunderts? 
 
 Mason, D. G. Beethoven and His Forerunners, N. Y., 1918. 
 
 The Romantic Composers, N. Y,, 1919. 
 
 From Grieg to Brahms, N. Y., 1902. 
 
 Contemporary Composers, N. Y., 1918. 
 
74 The Role of Expectation in Music 
 
 Meyer, M. Experimental studies in the psychology of music. Amer. J. 
 Psy. XIV; 1903. 
 
 Contributions to a psychological theory of music. Univ. of 
 Mo. Studies I, 1. 
 
 Some points of difference in the theory of music. Psy. Rev. 
 X, 1903. 
 
 More, H. T. The genetic aspect of consonance. Harv. Psy. St. 4, 1915. 
 
 Norton, E. L. The intellectual element in music. Studies in Phil, 
 and Psych. Commemorative volume, Boston, 1906, p. 167. 
 
 Patterson, W. M. The rhythm of prose. N. Y., 1916. 
 
 PiLLSBURY, W. B. Attention, N. Y., 1908. 
 
 Riemann, H. Grosse Kompositionslehre, Bd. 1, Berlin, 1902. 
 
 RoLLAND, R. Jean Christophe. Trans, by Cannan, G., N. Y., 1910- 
 1913. 
 
 Musicians d' aujourd'hui, Paris, 1908. 
 Trans, by Blaiklock, Mary, N. Y., 1915. 
 
 Seashore, C. E. The psychology of musical talent. Boston, 1919. 
 
 Siebeck, H. Ueber d. musikalische Einfiihlung. Zeits. f. Phil. 127, 
 1906. 
 
 Stumpf, K. Tonpsychologie. Leipzig, 1890. 
 
 Die Anfarige d. Musik. Leipzig, 1911. 
 
 Weld, H. P. An experimental study of musical enjoyment. Amer. J. 
 Psy., XXIII, 1912. 
 
 Wundt, W. Grundziige d. physiologischen Psychologie. Leipzig, 1911. 
 Volkerpsychologie. Leipzig, 1900-09. 
 
COMPOSERS 
 
 (Studied orv.Considered) 
 
 Abt 
 
 MacDowell 
 
 Arenskv 
 
 Mendelssohn 
 
 Bach, j. S. 
 
 Merkel 
 
 Bantock ,.|»- g 
 
 IW^^EM-^ Meyerbeerl 
 
 Barnby 
 
 Ll [ i.-. t. ^f Monteverde 
 
 Beethoven 
 
 Moszkowski 
 
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 Mozart 
 
 Bishop, Sir H. 
 
 R. Nicod6 
 
 Bizet 
 
 Ornstein 
 
 Brahms 
 
 Paderewski 
 
 Bntch 
 
 Palestrina 
 
 Buck 
 
 Parker, Horatio 
 
 Chabrier 
 
 Piem6 
 
 Chadwick 
 
 Purcell 
 
 Chopin 
 
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 Di Lasso 
 
 Reubke 
 
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 Rheinberger 
 
 Dvorak 
 
 Rossini 
 
 Elgar 
 
 Rubinstein 
 
 Faure 
 
 Saint-Saens 
 
 _FIotow 
 
 Scarlatti, D. 
 
 Foote 
 
 Scharwenka, P. 
 
 Foster, S. C. 
 
 Scharwenka, X. 
 
 Franck 
 
 Schubert 
 
 Franz 
 
 Schumann 
 
 Gade 
 
 Sousa 
 
 Gaul 
 
 Scott, C. 
 
 Gluck 
 
 Scriabine 
 
 Goldmark 
 
 Shelley 
 
 Gounod 
 
 Sibelius 
 
 Grieg 
 
 Spohr 
 
 Guilmant 
 
 Strauss, J. 
 
 Handel 
 
 Strauss, R. 
 
 Haydn, F. J. 
 
 Sullivan 
 
 Heller 
 
 Suppe 
 
 Herbert 
 
 Thiele 
 
 Humperdinck 
 
 Tschaikowski 
 
 d' Indy 
 
 Verdi 
 
 Jensen 
 
 Wagner, R. 
 
 Kirchner 
 
 Weber, C. M. 
 
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 *=* 
 
 Owin^' to the number ot relerences to the two Sonata> here analyzed, it was 
 thouglit best to omit examples and refer the student to the copies of the 
 works to follow the analysis 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 KETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 MUSIC LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 This book^s Q ^^ ^^.^^ renewed. 
 
 Renewed EcSks are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 N0Viri968 
 
 ?EbT81972~ 
 
 MAR il 1976 
 TPR"4l977 
 
 KejMusic__-_l 
 
 LD 21A-10ot-5,'65 
 (F4308sl0)476 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley