Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy (Eastman Studies in Music)

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Jeremy Day-O’Connell is Assistant Professor of Music at Knox College and author of ^ “The Rise of 6 in the 19th Century” in Music Theory Spectrum (2002).

P

Pentatonicism from the

Eighteenth Century to “Like the pentatonic idiom itself, this book is readily accessible yet surprisingly rich in evocative associations. Music theorists and historians alike will find much of value in this sophisticated exploration of a largely neglected topic.” —-William Caplin (McGill University), author of Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven “Jeremy Day-O’Connell has produced a richly textured study of the influence of pentatonicism in the central repertoires of European music. The topic bears on many crucial issues, from sacred music to the exotic, and it is handled with proper concern both for musical technique and for signification. This is a book that needed to be written.” —Julian Rushton (University of Leeds), author of Mozart and The Music of Berlioz “From the late Middle Ages onward, mainstream theorists have regarded resolution by semitone as the hallmark of directed motion in music. In this fascinating and deeply researched book, Jeremy Day-O’Connell welcomes us to the anhemitonic counterculture. The catalogue of musical examples alone (an anthology in all but name) is worth the price of admission.” —William Rothstein (City University of New York), author of Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music

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ISBN-10: 1-58046-267-7 ISBN-13: 978-1-58046-267-9

Debussy jeremy day-o’connell

entatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy offers the first comprehensive account of a widely recognized aspect of music history: the increasing use of pentatonic (“blackkey scale”) techniques in nineteenth-century Western art-music. A more extensive and complex trend than has been acknowledged, pentatonicism in nineteenth-century music encompasses hundreds of instances, many of which predate by decades the more famous examples of Debussy and Dvoˇrák. Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy weaves together historical commentary with music theory and analysis in order to explain the sources and significance of this important, but hitherto only casually understood, phenomenon. The book introduces several distinct categories of pentatonic practice—pastoral, primitive, exotic, religious, and coloristic—while also demonstrating their frequent interaction. It shows how each of these categories derives from musical, aesthetic, and ideological developments of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Finally, the book examines pentatonicism in relationship to changes in the melodic and harmonic sensibility of the time. In revealing multiple derivations and fluid meanings, the book ultimately distinguishes pentatonicism from the octatonic and wholetone materials with which it has been conventionally associated. Central to the book’s interest and arguments are the copious discussions of excerpts from repertoire both familiar and forgotten. The generously illustrated text concludes with an additional appendix of over 400 examples, an unprecedented resource that demonstrates the individual artistry with which virtually every major nineteenth-century composer (from Schubert, Chopin, and Berlioz to Liszt, Wagner, and Mahler) handled the seemingly “simple” materials of pentatonicism.

Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy

Eastman Studies in Music Ralph P. Locke, Senior Editor Eastman School of Music Additional Titles of Related Interest Analyzing Wagner’s Operas: Alfred Lorenz and German Nationalist Ideology Stephen McClatchie Aspects of Unity in J. S. Bach’s Partitas and Suites: An Analytical Study David W. Beach Berlioz: Past, Present, Future Edited by Peter Bloom Berlioz’s Semi-Operas: Roméo et Juliette and La damnation de Faust Daniel Albright “Claude Debussy As I Knew Him” and Other Writings of Arthur Hartmann Edited by Samuel Hsu, Sidney Grolnic, and Mark Peters Foreword by David Grayson Debussy’s Letters to Inghelbrecht: The Story of a Musical Friendship Annotated by Margaret G. Cobb Explaining Tonality: Schenkerian Theory and Beyond Matthew Brown The Gamelan Digul and the Prison Camp Musician Who Built It Margaret J. Kartomi

Historical Musicology: Sources, Methods, Interpretations Edited by Stephen A. Crist and Roberta Montemorra Marvin Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair Annegret Fauser Music’s Modern Muse: A Life of Winnaretta Singer, Princesse de Polignac Sylvia Kahan The Poetic Debussy: A Collection of His Song Texts and Selected Letters (Revised Second Edition) Edited by Margaret G. Cobb Schumann’s Piano Cycles and the Novels of Jean Paul Erika Reiman Substance of Things Heard: Writings about Music Paul Griffiths Wagner and Wagnerism in Nineteenth-Century Sweden, Finland, and the Baltic Provinces: Reception, Enthusiasm, Cult Hannu Salmi

A complete list of titles in the Eastman Studies in Music Series, in order of publication, may be found at the end of this book.

Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy JEREMY DAY-O’CONNELL

UNIVERSITY OF ROCHESTER PRESS

Copyright © 2007 Jeremy Day-O’Connell All rights reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation, no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded, or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. First published 2007 University of Rochester Press 668 Mt. Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA www.urpress.com and Boydell & Brewer Limited PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK www.boydellandbrewer.com ISBN-13: 978–1–58046–248–8 ISBN-10: 1–58046–248–0 ISSN: 1092–5228 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Day-O’Connell, Jeremy. Pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy / Jeremy Day-O’Connell. p. cm. -- (Eastman studies in music, ISSN 1071–9989 ; v. 46) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN-13: 978-1-58046-248-8 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 1-58046-248-0 1. Pentatonic scales. 2. Music--18th century--History and criticism. 3. Music--19th century--History and criticism. I. Title. ML3812.D33 2007 781.2'65—dc22 2006036187 A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Disclaimer: This publication is printed on acid-free paper. Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. Printed in the United States of America. To view these images please refer to the printed version of this book.

For Sarah, Micah, and Gabriel

Contents List of Illustrations

ix

Acknowledgments

xvii

Introduction

1 Part 1: Scale

1

The Rise of 6 in the Nineteenth Century A. Theory: 6 in the Major Mode B. Practice: Classical 6 C. Practice Against Theory: Non-Classical 6 D. Implications E. Conclusion: Hearing the Subtonic 6

13 13 21 28 34 40

Part 2: Signification 2

3

The Pastoral-Exotic Pentatonic A. The Imported Strain of Pentatonicism B. The Domestic Strain of Pentatonicism (I): Incipient/Intuitive Sources C. The Domestic Strain of Pentatonicism (II): Overt Sources D. Crosscurrents: The Pastoral-Exotic Pentatonic in Practice The Religious Pentatonic A. The Nineteenth-Century Restoration of Sacred Music B. The Pentatonicism of Older Sacred Styles C. The Theory and Rhetoric of the Chant Revival D. Other Connections E. The Religious Pentatonic

47 47 60 84 92 99 105 108 116 124 130

Part 3: Beyond Signification 4

The Pentatonic Glissando A. The Harp in the Nineteenth Century B. The Pentatonic Glissando

145 145 152

viii

5

❧

contents

Debussy and the Pentatonic Tradition A. The Tradition of Signification B. The Tradition of Non-Classical 6 C. Beyond the Pentatonic Tradition: Debussy and the Twilight of Tonality

Afterword: Beyond Debussy

158 158 160 167 183

Catalogue of Pentatonic Examples Preface to the Catalogue

195

Chronological Index of Catalogue Examples

197

Catalogue of Pentatonic Examples

205

Notes

475

Bibliography

499

Index

515

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view these images please refer to the printed version of this book.

Illustrations Music Examples I.1 The pentatonic scale I.2 The pentatonic scale compared to the major scale 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6

1.7 1.8 1.9 1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 1.14 1.15 1.16 1.17 1.18 1.19 1.20 1.21 1.22

Raga Miyan-ki-Mallar From Rameau, Génération harmonique (1737), p. 65 From Heinichen, Der Generalbass in der Composition (1728), p. 745 The essence of the major mode Bach, Well-Tempered Clavier I (1722), #21 (with reduction) Classical 6: typical contexts (a) Mozart, Mass, K. 167 (1773), Gloria, end (reduced score); (b) Mendelssohn, Symphony #1 (1824), ii, mm. 1–3; (c) Brahms, Symphony #2 (1877), iii, mm. 1–4; (d) Mozart, Magic Flute (1791), Quintet, #5 mm. 200–203; (e) Beethoven, Piano Sonata, op. 79 (1809), iii, mm. 5–8 Chromatic chords in the major key with 6 Chopin, Prelude in D major (1839), mm. 1–4 Mozart, Piano Sonata, K. 281 (1775), i, mm. 5–8 Mozart, Piano Sonata, K. 330 (1783), iii, mm. 15–16 Haydn, String Quartet, op. 50 #6 (1788), Minuet, mm. 6–9 Beethoven, Symphony #6 (1808), i, mm. 67–74 Chopin, Prelude in F major (1839), mm. 1–2 Schubert, Piano Sonata, D. 664 (1819), ii, mm. 1–5 Chopin, Waltz, op. 18 (1832), mm. 22–27 Johann Strauss, Jr., Donauweibchen (1888), #2, mm. 5–10 Fauré, Barcarolle, op. 44 (1886), mm. 99–101 Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde (1908), “Der Abschied,” end (⫽P292). Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), i, end (with reduction) Chopin, Etude, op. 25 #8 (1837), end Chopin, Nocturne, op. 32 #2 (1837) (a) Beginning of theme (m. 3); (b) Codetta of theme (m. 10) Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Gute Nacht” (a) (⫽P191) mm. 71–75; (b) mm. 7–11

3 4 13 15 15 17 20

22 23 23 24 24 25 25 26 26 26 26 27 27 28 31 32 33

x

❧

1.23 1.24 1.25 1.26 1.27 1.28 1.29 1.30 1.31 1.32

1.33 1.34 1.35

2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 2.10

list of illustrations

(⫽P283). Mahler, Symphony #1 (1888), iv, reh. 26 Joplin, Maple Leaf Rag (1899), beginning (⫽P302). Brahms, Schicksalslied (1871), mm. 64–69 (⫽P304). Mahler, Symphony #5 (1902), i, mm. 9–14 (⫽P99). Wagner, Lohengrin (1848), I/3, mm. 42–44 (⫽excerpt of P325). Liszt, Requiem (1868), “Dies irae,” end (⫽P321). Puccini, Messa di Gloria (1880), “Et incarnatus est,” end (⫽P295). Tchaikovsky, Romeo and Juliet (1869), mm. 517–24 Vaughan Williams, “See the Chariot at Hand” (1930), mm. 4–9 Dvor¤ ák, Symphony #9 (1893), ii (a) Cadence of first period, mm. 9–10; (b) Cadence of first paragraph, mm. 17–19; (c) (⫽P210) “Signature” cadence to end A section, mm. 38–40; (d) Final cadences, mm. 112–20 Binchois, Chanson, “Adieu m’amour” (15th century) Two possible reductions of the cadence in example 1.33 “Speech thirds” (a) From Campbell, Songs in Their Heads: Music and Its Meaning in Children’s Lives, 18; (b) From Heaton, “Air Ball: Spontaneous Large-Group Precision Chanting,” 81; (c) The author’s transcription; (d) From Massin, Les Cris de la ville, #277; (e) The author’s transcription (⫽P1). Lully, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (arr. Weckerlin, 1883), Turkish scene (⫽excerpt of P2). Vogler, Pente chordium (1798), beginning Croubelis, Symphony in D, “Dans le goût asiatique” (1780), beginning (⫽P3). Domenico Corri, The Travellers (1806), I/3, beginning (⫽excerpt of P4). Weber, Incidental music to Turandot (1809), mm. 19–22 Rossini, “L’Amour à Pekin” (1857–68), Gamme chinoise (⫽P40). Handel, Il pastor fido (1712), II/1, “Caro Amor,” mm. 24–35 (⫽P41). Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Frühlingstraum,” mm. 5–8 (⫽P42). Liszt, Weihnachtsbaum (1876), #3, “Die Hirten an der Krippe,” beginning Beethoven, An die ferne Geliebte (1816), #5, “Es kehret der Maien,” vocal entrance

33 34 35 35 35 36 36 37 38

39 41 41

42

47 55 56 57 58 59 61 62 62 62

2.11 2.12 2.13 2.14 2.15 2.16 2.17 2.18 2.19

2.20 2.21 2.22

2.23 2.24 2.25 2.26 2.27 2.28 2.29 2.30 2.31 2.32 2.33 2.34 2.35 2.36 2.37

❧


xi

(⫽P46). Johann Christoph Pez, Concerto pastorale (1700), Adagio, beginning 63 (⫽P49). Handel, Messiah (1741), Pastoral Symphony, beginning 63 The overtone series 64 Haydn, Die Jahreszeiten (1801), Herbst, #29, “Hört! hört das laute Getön” 65 Schubert, Symphony #9, D. 944 (1828), iv, beginning 65 Handel, Water Music Suite in F major (1717), Jig, end 65 (⫽P51). Gade, Comala (1846), #1, “Chor der Krieger und Barden,” beginning 65 (⫽P54). Liszt, Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses (1836), mm. 454–55 66 Traditional hunting call, “Zum Wecken.” From Josef Pöschl, Jagdmusik: Kontinuität und Entwicklung in der europäischen Geschichte, ex. 212 67 (⫽P58). Giovanni Punto, Rondeau en chasse (1790s), beginning 67 The amateur hornist’s basic scale 68 Schubert, Piano Trio in B major, D. 898 (1828), i (a) First theme, mm. 1–3 (b) Second theme, mm. 12–13 (c) (⫽P63) Transition to second group, mm. 51–53 69 (⫽P64). Gounod, Mireille (1864), IV/14, “Chanson,” beginning 70 Ranz des vaches, transcribed by Baumann in “Switzerland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Muicians, 2nd ed. 70 (⫽excerpt of P70). Rossini, Guillaume Tell (1829), Overture, mm. 176–80 71 (⫽P80). Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), I/1, “Choeur des montagnards,” beginning 72 Two “news” carols (a) “Tidingës true”; (b) “Nova, nova” 73 (⫽P93). Schoenberg, “Ei, du Lütte” (ca. 1898), beginning 73 (⫽P104). Brahms, “Wiegenlied” (1868), beginning 74 (⫽P112). Massenet, “Bonne nuit!” (1872), mm. 15–19 74 Anonymous, “Sumer is icumen in” (13th century), end 75 (⫽P127). Schumann, Album für die Jugend (1848), “Gukkuk im Versteck,” beginning 76 (⫽P135). Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in A major, “Il cucu,” RV 335 (1719), i, mm. 18–23 76 Liszt, transcription of Berlioz, “Scène aux champs” (third movement) from Symphonie fantastique (1833), mm. 134–37 77 (⫽P148). Loewe, “Thomas der Reimer” (1860), m. 33 78 Electric doorbell 78 (⫽P158). Schumann, “Der Nussbaum” (1840), beginning 79

xii

2.38 2.39 2.40 2.41 2.42 2.43 2.44 2.45 2.46 2.47 2.48 2.49 2.50 2.51 2.52 2.53 2.54 2.55 2.56 2.57 2.58 2.59 2.60 2.61 2.62 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5

❧


(⫽P169). Chopin, Ballade in A major (1841), beginning Weber, Der Freischütz (1821), I/3, Bohemian Waltz, beginning Beethoven, Ländlerische Tänze, WoO 15 #3 (1802), beginning (⫽P182). Beethoven, Deutsche, WoO 13 #5 (1797), mm. 17–24 (⫽P188). Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #3 (1869), “O die Frauen,” beginning (⫽P72). Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), iii, beginning (⫽P191). Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Gute Nacht,” mm. 71–75 (⫽P195). Mahler, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (1883–96), end J. C. Bach, Keyboard Concerto, op. 13 #4 (1777), iii, end of theme, mm. 25–28 Haydn, setting of “Does Haughty Gaul” (1803), end Haydn, setting of “Willy’s Rare” (1792), end Beethoven, setting of “The Pulse of an Irishman” (1813), end Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), i, beginning (⫽P217). Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), iii, mm. 9–16 (⫽excerpt of P241). D’Indy, Symphony on a French Mountain Air (1886), beginning (reduced score) (⫽excerpt of P242). Chopin, Krakowiak (1828), beginning Polish folk melody, from Oskar Kolberg, Piesńi ludu polskiego (1857), #441 (⫽P243). Borodin, Prince Igor (1869–87), I/1, choral entrance, m. 29 (⫽P262). Rimsky-Korsakov, Sinfonietta on Russian Themes (1884), reh. D (⫽P265). Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), Ballad of the People of Vseslavitch, reh. 27 (⫽P266). Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition (1874), “Promenade,” beginning (⫽P24). Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila (1859–77), I/6, Philistine chorus to the spring, end Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila (1859–77), I/6, “Dance of the Priestesses of Dagon,” beginning Bizet, Djamileh (1871), #7, “L’Almée,” beginning (⫽P23). Bizet, Djamileh (1871), #10, Duet, m. 255 (⫽excerpt of P338). Fauré, Requiem (1877), “In paradisum,” mm. 1–15 Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 17–20 (with reduction) Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 36–40 (with reduction) Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 51–end Donizetti, La favorite (1840), opening chorus

79 80 81 81 82 82 83 83 85 86 86 87 89 89 90 91 91 93 94 95 95 96 96 97 97

100 101 102 103 104

❧

xiii

Gospel tone (LU, 114) Psalmodic “prototype melody” Gloria Patri Introit, 1st mode (LU, 12) Agnus Dei, In Dominicis Adventus et Quadragesimae (LU, 66–67) Agnus Dei, In Festis Duplicibus 4 (LU, 38–39) Gloria, In Festis Duplicibus 4 (LU, 36–37) Examples of “pentatonic residue” in Palestrina motets Choron’s “Ionian” specimens. From Choron and La Fage, Nouveau Manuel complet de musique vocale et instrumentale, 2:177, figs. 11 and 12 Two versions of Ein feste Burg (a) Das Babstsche Gesangbuch (1545); (b) Hauschoralbuch (1844) Censured passing tones (from Janssen, Les Vrais Principes du chant grégorien, 1845) Two Sanctus openings The intersection of the religious pentatonic and the primitive pentatonic (a) (⫽P348) Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Hirtengesang an der Krippe,” beginning (b) (⫽P349) Liszt, “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” (1882), m. 120 Strauss, Death and Transfiguration (1889), final cadence (⫽P269). Bruckner, Os justi (1879), end (⫽P281). Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Aloysii (1777), Gloria, beginning The “Dresden Amen” in three versions (a) (⫽P283) Mahler, Symphony #1 (1888), iv, “breakthrough” theme, reh. 26 (b) (⫽P284) Wagner, Parsifal (1881), Prelude, “Grail motif,” m. 38 (c) Mendelssohn, “Reformation” Symphony (1830) i, m. 33 “6–8” Amens in two nineteenth-century liturgical books (⫽P293). Brahms, Alto Rhapsody (1869), end (⫽P296). Puccini, Gianni Schicchi (1918), “O mio babbino caro,” end (⫽P322). Beethoven, Missa Solemnis (1823), “Dona,” mm. 26–31 Liszt, two versions of the same plagal cadence (a) (⫽P323) Adagio for organ (1867), end; (b) Consolation #4 (1850), end (⫽P326). Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Resurrexit,” m. 357 Two cadences from Niedermeyer and D’Ortigue, Gregorian Accompaniment (1857), pp. 62, 77

109 109 110 111 111 112 114


3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.12 3.13

3.14 3.15 3.16 3.17

3.18 3.19 3.20 3.21

3.22 3.23 3.24 3.25 3.26

3.27 3.28

115 120 122 124

127 128 131 131

132 134 134 135 136

136 137 137

xiv

❧

3.29

(⫽ excerpt of P344). Wagner, Die Walküre (1856), III/3, Brünnhilde’s sleep, 17 from end (⫽P356). Bruckner, Te Deum (1884), “In te, Domine, speravi,” mm. 55–64 (⫽P363). Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), II/5, Elisabeth’s death prayer, m. 42 (⫽P367). Liszt, “Invocation” from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (1848), mm. 52–59

3.30 3.31 3.32

4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9 4.10

5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12


Félix Godefroid (1818–97), Etudes mélodiques (posthumous), #2, “Les Arpèges,” m. 9 (⫽P368). Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 (1846), mm. 30–31 Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin, op. 84 (1846), mm. 18–20 Bochsa, La Valse du feu (1847), mm. 17–19 Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin (1846), mm. 28–30 (⫽P379). Parish-Alvars, Fantasia, op. 35 (1838), 51 after Allegro con fuoco (⫽P383). Parish-Alvars, La Danse des fées (1844), 26 after Allegro Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini (posthumous; 1850), end (⫽P388). Thalberg, Nocturne, op. 16 #1 (1836), mm. 34–35 (⫽P414). Debussy, “Feux d’artifice,” from Préludes, book 2 #12 (1913), mm. 17–18 Debussy, Printemps (1887), i, mm. 1–5 Ravel, Daphnis et Chloé (1912), “Lever du jour,” 1 before reh. 157 Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” from Préludes, book 1 #8 (1910), beginning Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” cadences Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” reduction Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” climax and retransition (mm. 19–24) Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” end Debussy, La Mer (1905), i (“De l’aube à midi sur la mer”), end Debussy, La Mer, ii (“Jeux de vagues”), mm. 249–54 Debussy, La Mer, ii (“Jeux de vagues”), end Debussy, La Mer, iii (“Dialogue du vent et de la mer”), mm. 266–70 Debussy, La Mer, iii (“Dialogue du vent et de la mer”), mm. 254–56

139 140 142 142

146 147 149 151 153 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 162 163 164 165 165 166 166

5.13 5.14 5.15 5.16 5.17 5.18 5.19 5.20 5.21 5.22 5.23 5.24 5.25 5.26 5.27 5.28 A.1 A.2 A.3 A.4 A.5 A.6 A.7 A.8 A.9 A.10 A.11 A.12

Debussy, Khamma (1912), ii, “Première danse,” mm. 3–6 Common tones between pentatonic and whole-tone scales Debussy, Voiles (1909). (a) mm. 22–24; (b) mm. 40–43 Debussy, Images pour orchestre (1909), “Rondes de printemps,” mm. 161–63, with analysis of pitch content Debussy, Images pour orchestre, “Rondes de printemps,” mm. 60–62, with analysis of pitch content Debussy, Pagodes (1903), mm. 1–6 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 7–18 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 19–26 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 27–29 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 33–36 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 37–38 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 52–53 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 68–77 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 78–81 Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 87–89 Debussy, Pagodes, end Stravinsky, Le Chant du rossignol (1917), #1, reh. 6 Britten, Prince of the Pagodas (1956), Prelude, beginning Vaughan Williams, The Lark Ascending (1914), beginning Barber, Knoxville: Summer of 1915 (1947) Argento, To Be Sung upon the Water (1972), #2, reh. 1 Honegger, Pastorale d’été (1920), mm. 36–38 Jerome Kern, “Ol’ Man River” (1927), refrain Gershwin, “Nice Work If You Can Get It” (1937), verse “Smokey” Robinson, “My Girl” (1964) Jimi Hendrix, “Purple Haze” (1967) Jimmy Page, “Stairway to Heaven” (1971), beginning of guitar solo Paul Simon, “Still Crazy After All These Years” (1975)

Figures I.1 The pentatonic and chromatic as balanced about the diatonic I.2 Musical elements of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy, and their sources I.3 Conceptual elements of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy, and their sources 1.1 1.2

Mode within the continuum of the melodic domain John Curwen, Standard Course (1880)

❧


xv

168 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 175 176 176 177 178 179 181 184 184 185 186 187 188 189 189 190 190 191 191

3 8 9 14 16

xvi

❧

1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 1.7

The major mode according to Zuckerkandl The major mode as a “tonal terrain” The “tonal terrain,” with octave equivalence Tonal pitch spaces (after Lerdahl, Tonal Pitch Space, 161) Pentatonic pitch space

3.1

The statistics of table 3.1 interpreted: A heptatonic mode-6 chant reveals a pentatonic core

113

Summary analysis of Debussy’s Pagodes

180

5.1


Tables 1.1 Major-mode terminal plagal cadences to 1828 1.2 Plagal cadences with melodic 6–8 (terminal, except as indicated) 3.1

3.2 4.1 4.2

Some pentatonic statistics of example 3.11, Gloria (LU: 36–37). Parenthetical data include ornaments (a) and internal phrase markings (b). The data on motion between f and d (c) include all such leaps within a single phrase A structuralist interpretation of the religious pentatonic Tonal and melodic capabilities of the single- and double-action harps Enharmonic glissando capabilities of the single- and double-action harps

Plates 3.1 Jean-François Millet, L’Angélus (1858–59) 3.2 François-André Vincent, La Leçon de Labourage (1798)

18 18 19 21 31

29 30

113 129

148 154

125 126

Acknowledgments This book began its life as my PhD dissertation, and so I would like to first acknowledge my doctoral committee at Cornell University. Thanks go above all to my advisor, James Webster, who provided constant support, patient tutelage and a humbling example; whatever good that I absorbed in my graduate years as a thinker, a writer, and a teacher, I owe in greatest measure to him. Kofi Agawu, though my teacher at Cornell only briefly, inspires me even years after our studies together; his ghostly presence—sometimes welcome, sometimes not—sternly accompanies me whenever I sit down to write. Steven Stucky’s keen musical intuition and astounding knowledge of repertoire, as well as his refined editorial sensibilities and eagle’s eye for detail, improved my work in very many small but crucial ways. Finally, my thoughts turn to Ed Murray, whose involvement during the early stages of this project was cut short by his illness and then death in 2000; I cherish the memory of an incorrigible music lover and an unusually humane, classy guy. It was a great honor and a great benefit to study with these four teachers. This book was completed in the four years since my doctorate. My postdoctoral fellowship in the Lilly Fellows Program in Humanities and Arts at Valparaiso University provided an ideal transition to the academic profession, with its unique combination of the intellectual, the spiritual, and the collegial. I want to offer a special word of thanks to Mel Piehl, Dean of Christ College at Valparaiso, for encouraging me at that time to see my research through to completion as a book. That postdoc and especially my subsequent appointment as Postdoctoral Fellow in Music Theory at the University of Chicago afforded me the time and the resources to do so. Many individuals over the course of many years have contributed ideas and critique that have shaped the present work. Of these, the three anonymous reviewers for Eastman Studies in Music, along with the series editor Ralph Locke, should be singled out: their comments steered me toward important revisions that have enhanced both the substance and the coherence of this book. The considerable production costs entailed by a book of this nature have been mercifully defrayed by subventions from several sources: the Music Department of the University of Chicago, the Society for Music Theory, the Otto Kinkeldey Publication Endowment Fund of the American Musicological Society, and above

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acknowledgments

all the Dean’s Office of my home institution, Knox College. Whatever may otherwise be the merits of this book, its treasury of musical examples owes its existence and beautiful appearance to the generosity of these supporters, as well as to the expert engraving of Jürgen Selk. Thanks are also due to designer Priscila De Lima for her help with diagrams. A version of chapter 1 was first presented at the annual meeting of the Society for Music Theory (Atlanta, November 1999) and appeared in Music Theory Spectrum (Jeremy Day-O’Connell, “The Rise of 6 in the Nineteenth Century,” Music Theory Spectrum 24, no. 1 [Spring 2002], 35–67). A version of chapter 2 was presented at OXMAC 2000: British Music Analysis (Oxford, September 2000) as “Pentatonic Exoticism Reconsidered.” A version of chapter 3 was presented at both the annual meeting of the American Musicological Society (Kansas City, November 1999) and the triennial joint meeting of the British Musicological Societies (Surrey, July 1999) as “ ‘The Idea of the Infinite’: Pentatonicism as a Religious Topos in Nineteenth-Century Music.” A version of chapter 4 was presented at the annual meeting of the College Music Society (Quebec City, November 2005) as “Harps, Harpists, and the History of Harmony.” My final work on this book was accompanied by the maddening exhilaration of new fatherhood. My wife and two sons, to whom I lovingly dedicate the book, have given me more than any dedication could tell.

Introduction 1. Pentatonicism in European Art-Music Throughout the world musicians routinely, inevitably, eschew the vast continuum of musical pitch in favor of scales—modest collections of discrete, more or less fixed, notes. And among the limitless variety of potential scales, one, the pentatonic, has long impressed commentators for its “truly extraordinary diffusion” in world music.1 First described by Westerners variously as the “Chinese” or the “Scotch” scale, the pentatonic scale figures prominently in such diverse musical cultures as those of the British Isles, West Africa, Southeast Asia, and aboriginal America, among many others. The apparent ubiquity of pentatonic systems throughout the world contrasts with the veritable monopoly enjoyed by heptatonic tonality in the “commonpractice” tradition. Yet, however stylistically insular seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury European concert music was in this respect, composers in the nineteenth century undertook notable experiments using pentatonic materials. In their quest for originality, nineteenth-century composers relaxed stylistic boundaries and, in their engagement with certain aesthetic and ideological projects, grew increasingly attracted to pentatonicism, culminating especially in the music of Dvo¤rák, Debussy, and Ravel. While some of these compositional forays are familiar, the larger phenomenon has scarcely been recognized in anything more than a superficial and anecdotal way in the literature. Instead, the current musicological account of this well-known facet of music history consists mainly in the perpetual recycling of conventional wisdom, such as that contained in the first edition of The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians : “Pentatonicism has been explored by several European composers, notably Chopin, Debussy, Puccini, Ravel, and Stravinsky, often in pursuit of an exotic flavour. . . . ”2 This attribution of exoticism is prevalent in the literature and is reasonable as far as it goes, but it neglects a great many examples that have more complex, even altogether different, motivations. Equally mistaken is the erroneous, but again typical, suggestion that pentatonicism represents a strictly late nineteenth-century development, with Chopin an anomalous forerunner.3 More successful accounts can be found occasionally among French musicologists, but we ultimately encounter similar limitations.4

2

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introduction

Nineteenth-century pentatonicism in fact embodies a development in compositional style whose history and prehistory call for serious examination in ideological, analytical, and theoretical terms. Jacques Chailley understood the breadth and depth of this topic, declaring, “It would be the subject of a deep study, which certainly deserves to be undertaken.”5 This book answers Chailley’s call. In it, I offer a complete reassessment of European pentatonicism, taking as my starting point an extensive catalogue of pentatonic excerpts from music both familiar and unfamiliar. This catalogue (included at the end of the book, and indexed with “P” numbers) provides a hitherto unavailable resource that helps us to discern a European pentatonic tradition, one whose extent, sources, and significance are both wider and more complex than has been supposed. The catalogue reveals a pentatonic sensibility in virtually every major composer of the nineteenth century; it includes fascinating, little-known early works such as Vogler’s Pente chordium of 1798; and it indicates subtle stylistic continuities that extend back to incipient melodic devices of the eighteenth century and earlier. (Selections drawn from the catalogue have been copiously reproduced within the text itself so as to aid the reader without undue interruption. They are intended to be adequate in supporting the argument at hand. The more curious reader, however, will also find cross-references to further items in the catalogue.)

2. Definitions and Disclaimers: Pentatonicism Although pentatonicism appears to be a musical universal,6 claims of universality minimize the many historical, theoretical, and ethnographic problems involved in generalizing about scales. Even within certain famously “pentatonic” musical traditions, some apologists have questioned the accuracy and the aptness of so totalizing a label;7 hence, what Trân Van Khe called the “king” of scales may be better thought of as a great royal family.8 At the very least, one should speak not of the pentatonic “scale” in world music (by which is typically meant the scale corresponding to the black keys of the piano keyboard), but rather of pentatonic “scales.” Asia itself contains a host of pentatonic systems, revealing widely varying melodic usage. Whereas the Chinese system features a pentatonic core plus two “pien-tones”—passing-tones that fill in the minor thirds—Japanese gagaku, ostensibly founded on this same system, favors a different use of the pien-tones, which sometimes assume the role of metabole—i.e., substitution, rather than elaboration. The slendro tuning of metallophones in the Javanese gamelan is pentatonic, though in this case the intervals are more nearly equidistant, with “large” major seconds and “small” minor thirds incompatible with any conventional Western temperament.9 (This very incompatibility may explain Debussy’s fondness for both the whole-tone and the pentatonic scales, each a rough approximation of slendro within twelve-tone equal temperament.) Given the diversity of pentatonic styles throughout the world, then, any attempt at defining pentatonicism is fraught with theoretical (to say nothing of

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introduction

3

Example I.1. The pentatonic scale. political) difficulties. But define it we must, and the reader is asked to bear in mind that the definition adopted here applies primarily to the rather circumscribed musical tradition studied in this book: the concert music of eighteenthand nineteenth-century Western Europe. I define the pentatonic scale as the following subset of the major scale: 1–2–3–5–6–(8) (ex. I.1). Note that this nomenclature retains the seven diatonic scale degrees even when referencing the pentatonic scale per se: since my project is an examination of pentatonic technique within the Western art-music tradition, I acknowledge a constant tension between the pentatonic and the diatonic.10 (Consequently, I also measure intervals according to standard diatonic measures, for example, 3–5 as a minor third; any exceptions to this practice will be signaled with scare quotes, as in “pentatonic step.”) This reflects my frank assessment of the pentatonic scale as marginal in the context of nineteenth-century musical life. Marginal though it was, however, both statistically and conceptually, many of its practitioners were themselves far from marginal, and their compositional endorsement of pentatonicism, as it were, albeit limited, is warrant enough for serious consideration. Although certain features are shared between the diatonic scale and its pentatonic sub-scale (namely, the stepwise 1–2–3 and the neighbor-note relation 6–5), the pentatonic will appear “gapped” as compared to the diatonic scale—a common, if somewhat ethnocentric, description. Scruples over that term are nevertheless unwarranted here, given this book’s purview: within the context of common-practice music, the pentatonic scale’s musical and stylehistorical import does reside precisely in these “gaps.” Melodically, they stand as “omissions” of the two most implicative degrees of the major scale, 4 and 7; intervallically, this results in a scale containing neither minor seconds (a so-called anhemitonic scale) nor tritones. Hence the pentatonic not only differs from the diatonic but can be further viewed in opposition to the chromatic, the three scales situated conceptually as in figure I.1. Nineteenth-century pentatonicism thus represents both a subtle shift in melodic sensibility away from common-

pentatonic 1 ⇑ diatonic 1 ⇓ chromatic 1

1/2

2

3

2

3

4

3

4

2

2/3

4/5

5

6

5

6

5

5/6

6

8

6/7

7

8

7

8

Figure I.1. The pentatonic and chromatic as balanced about the diatonic.

4

❧

introduction

!

diatonic

infra-diatonic diatonic

! non-diatonic

Example I.2. The pentatonic scale compared to the major scale. practice diatonicism, and at the same time a reaction against what must have seemed the cloying tendencies of chromaticism. The scale steps in the pentatonic system, as in the diatonic, come in two brands, in this case measuring a major second and a minor third. The adjacency relations in the pentatonic scale are hence distinguished by its minor third “steps,” most importantly in the case of the tonic note: the lower adjacency to the tonic, much celebrated in the diatonic system as the “leading tone,” 7, is served in the pentatonic subsystem instead by 6. Some implications of this crucial property will be explored in chapter 1. The minor third 3–5, though a structural feature of diatonic tonality (part of the arpeggiation of the tonic triad), is notable for being in a scalar sense infra-diatonic. The distinctiveness of certain aspects of the pentatonic scale vis-à-vis the diatonic recommends a less absolute definition of our subject of study. For while the pentatonic scale is easily defined, it will be useful to refer more generally to pentatonicism: a set of features peculiar to the strict pentatonic system. Example I.2 summarizes these features by classifying various portions of the pentatonic scale vis-à-vis the diatonic. In addition to the precise scalar definition, then, I will also recognize degrees of pentatonicism, gauged not only according to an adherence to the five notes in question but also according to the prominence of melodic motion highlighting the pentatonic “gaps.” Depending on the context, then, collections involving fewer or more than five notes may nonetheless qualify as pentatonic. Furthermore, the pentatonicism I describe will more often appear in the melody alone than suffuse an entire texture (the pentatonic scale, after all, supports only two triads, I and vi); it will more often characterize a single passage than govern an entire piece; it may be thematic, ornamental, or accompanimental. While its many localized appearances have long escaped the notice of musicologists, in favor of paradigmatic examples such as Weber’s Turandot or Debussy’s Voiles, it is sometimes these appearances that provide the most fruitful ground for interpretation. Considering such disclaimers, the reader may begin to wonder if pentatonicism, as defined here, constitutes a viable subject after all. In using a single term to describe all the phenomena under investigation, I make an ostensibly convenient simplification, but no less a simplification than that embodied by the terms

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introduction

5

“diatonic” or “chromatic”: in each case the terms allow a broad interpretation beyond their strictest definition, to the point that each ultimately represents some segment of a theoretical continuum.11 If my reluctance to advance a more dogmatic notion of pentatonicism strikes the reader as allowing undue subjectivism, my catalogue of pentatonic and, as it were, pre-pentatonic examples is offered in the interest of greater explicitness and as a potential site of contention. The various connections revealed therein stand as a mute (or rather, wordless) justification of the topic as I have conceived it. According to my definition, the pentatonic “scale” is, properly speaking, a “mode,” that is, with tonic 1. Although no nomenclature for the five pentatonic modes has gained widespread acceptance, it seems reasonable to speak of the “major” (1–2–3–5–6) and “minor” (6–1–2–3–5) pentatonic modes, owing to the quality of their respective tonic triads. The remaining three modes might be termed “Dorian” (2–3–5–6–1), “Phrygian” (3–5–6–1–2), and “Mixolydian” (5–6–1–2–3) by extension, but these are less satisfying solutions—for instance, the “Phrygian” pentatonic omits the very 2 that otherwise distinguishes the Phrygian diatonic mode. (Equivalently, these modes may also be construed in relation to the major scale as follows: Minor, 1–3–4–5–7; Dorian, 1–2–4–5–7; Phrygian, 1–3–4–6–7; Mixolydian, 1–2–4–5–6.) Although each of the five modes has been observed in various cultures, only the major and minor modes support a tonic triad (of the conventional sort). Furthermore, in my research I have not found any but the major pentatonic to have interested Western composers, at least not before the late nineteenth century.12 For this reason, perhaps, it has been widely granted special status as the “usual pentatonic,” the “common pentatonic,” and the “tonal pentatonic.”13 To reiterate: throughout this book, it will be referred to as “the major pentatonic” or, more often, simply “the pentatonic” scale. The pentatonic scale enjoys a host of acoustical and structural properties that may be psychologically desirable.14 It is, first of all, a proper “system,” which is to say that an interval may be reliably measured either in equal-tempered semitones or in scale steps without contradiction.15 (The harmonic minor scale fails this test: the distance of three semitones may either outline a scalar step, 6–7 or, paradoxically, a scalar third, 1–3.) Among five-note subsets of the twelve-tone aggregate, the pentatonic scale is “maximally even,” containing the most uniform possible distribution of pitches within the octave.16 Considered as a pitchclass set (i.e., 5–35) the pentatonic scale’s interval content ( in vector notation) features “optimum tonal consonance”17 compared with other possible pentads, and a “graded distribution” of intervals,18 otherwise known as “unique multiplicity.” The pentatonic scale may be generated by a cycle of perfect fifths, and it exhibits the “f to f property”: pentatonic keys with tonics a fifth apart differ in their scales by precisely one note displaced by a semitone.19 All of these attributes secure certain advantages for composer, performer, and listener, and therefore it is unsurprising that they are all shared by another scale popular the world over, the diatonic.

6

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introduction

3. Definitions and Disclaimers: Signification As we have seen (and as will be discussed further in chapter 1), the scalar structure of pentatonicism subverts certain conventions of diatonic tonality. Consequently, as a signifier, it may embody domains at the margins of traditional Western experience. In the course of this book, I will introduce and document several broad categories of pentatonic usage, beginning with the patently signifying modes discussed in part 2. Here, pentatonicism will be shown to engage with such antirationalist, anticultivated realms as the pastoral, the “exotic,” and the “primitive” (chapter 2), as well as the spiritual (chapter 3). In short, the pentatonicism of the nineteenth century largely referenced “lost” aspects of human culture, the perceived utopias of a pastoral and spiritual past no longer possible with the encroachment of urban, industrial lifestyles on the one hand and Enlightenment humanism on the other. To recognize these various modes of signification, however, is not to assume a divisive taxonomy. On the contrary, a frequent implication of my heuristic is the fluid manner in which signification can be shown to operate via a network of mutual interrelations among the categories, at times creating potentially complex webs of meaning. Semiosis, the mechanics of meaning, is generally understood in terms of relations among a number of semiotic operators, whether two (Saussure), three (Peirce), or five (Morris).20 In this book I focus primarily on referential meaning and hence rely on the simplest model, which locates semantic content in the correspondence between signifier and signified. Since a great deal of the pentatonic practice that I document predates the emergence of “pentatonicism” as either a term or even (except in the most specialized circles) a concept, we are confronted with something of a historical vacuum, and thus neither the “poeietic” (intended by the composer) nor the “aesthesic” (understood by the listener) aspects of signification can be taken for granted. Rather, meaning must be deduced from contextual cues (such as titles, performance indications, programs, and sung texts) as well as from the historical testimony of theorists and critics. In any case, pentatonicism’s signifying modes and their historical genesis sometimes need to be carefully teased out from historical facts and documents, as in chapter 3 especially. The semiotic mechanism may be described in a slightly more refined way by enlisting one of Peirce’s trichotomies: his categorization of the sign-function as “iconic” (signification via resemblance), “symbolic” (via convention), or “indexical” (via direct physical or causal connection). Both the iconic and symbolic modes (but not the indexical) will be relevant here. For instance, insofar as a pentatonic passage shares the quality of pentatonicism with a certain other musical object—say, Chinese music—the similarity will render an iconic mode of signification. For the listener, of course, this iconic semiosis would, strictly speaking, depend upon a working knowledge of Chinese music. Nevertheless, composers’ habitual use of such a sign could also foster a symbolic mode of signification. That is, a listener might take note of the music’s difference (its “markedness”) along

❧

introduction

7

with its associative context (for instance, its coupling with a Chinese locale in an opera); and having acquired this learned convention, that listener would possess the capacity to infer the sign’s signification through the symbol alone, without necessarily being aware of its status as icon. Whether iconic or symbolic, the passage described here could be understood, then, as “Chinese.” As Peirce points out, however, semiosis does not end there, for “Chinese” is itself a sign and as such generates a further layer of signification—and theoretically so on ad infinitum. In practice, this formalized model may be tolerably simplified by invoking the concepts of denotation (primary meaning) and connotation (implied or consequent meanings), concepts that will underlie many of my semantic observations and interpretations. Finally, I will also allow for the possibility of innovative or ironic applications of otherwise stable signs, a domain of inquiry linguists distinguish from semantics as “pragmatics.”21 We may further qualify icons according to the specific type of similarity exhibited between signifier and signified. Pentatonicism generally functions as the simplest type of icon, the “image,” in which the resemblance is salient and literal. A more abstract iconic relationship is that of the “metaphor,” in which the resemblance is conceptual or somehow mediated, “an extended parallelism of qualities and relations.”22 For instance, insofar as the diatonic system is understood to embody tonal “forces,” such forces operate via a self-evident metaphor of spatiality and physicality; and insofar as the pentatonic subsystem annuls these forces, it too conveys a metaphoric meaning, as will be particularly important in chapter 3. It should be pointed out that the semantic mechanism I have described—a mapping between signifier and signified—manifests the same types of ambiguities and redundancies exhibited by spoken language. For one thing, since pentatonicism is capable of denoting multiple signifieds, context will often be necessary to establish its precise meaning in a particular instance. Conversely, any one signified discussed in this book could be roughly conjured through either pentatonic or non-pentatonic means. Still, subtle distinctions of meaning will also be explored; as in language, there are no true synonyms in music. Furthermore—and now in distinction to speech—composers, whatever their semantic intentions, are always guided in greater or lesser measure by purely musical concerns. It is clear that the inherent properties of pentatonicism, above all its relative stasis, are incongruent with such venerable Western aesthetic priorities as harmonic progression and thematic development. For this reason a composer, having broached a semantic realm with an initially pentatonic theme, might quickly devolve to diatonicism without necessarily compromising the original effect. By the same token, a composer aesthetically disposed to the tonal ambiguities of pentatonicism (Debussy, for instance) might choose to sustain a pentatonic passage for its own sake, with apparently little regard for the referentiality of the device. Indeed, part 3 concerns ostensibly non-signifying uses of pentatonicism, chiefly in coloristic roulades and glissandi (chapter 4) but also in more properly syntactic-structural capacities (chapter 5).

8

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introduction

4. Summary and Prospectus In short, pentatonicism, even within the context of European concert music, is not an absolute but rather a nexus of compositional tendencies and expressive modes. There are degrees of pentatonicism as well as a constellation of historical instances and ancestries. Indeed, an important contribution of this book will be its engagement with the manifold ways in which pentatonicism has been used and may be understood. It will elucidate the commonalities of these various strands and hence demonstrate the utility of my synthesizing term and concept. In particular, pentatonicism will be shown to exist as a musical, aesthetic, and ideological foil to the conventional diatonic language inherited from the eighteenth century on the one hand, and the increasingly chromaticized language of nineteenth-century music on the other. It is not my claim that pentatonicism represented a central practice in the nineteenth century, nor that the pentatonic techniques illustrated by the catalogued examples participated in a single, identifiable lineage, whether historical or stylistic. My intention, rather, is to identify certain pentatonic procedures— ones that were used discursively and in myriad ways—and to investigate both their sources and their consequences for music and meaning. By way of anticipating— but at the risk of oversimplifying—the results of this investigation, I present here two figures distilling the chief musical elements (fig. I.2) and conceptual elements (fig. I.3) of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy.

Consonance, stasis chs. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Overtone series

Calling dyads

“Horn scale”

^ 1

ch. 2

^ 2

^ 3

^ 5

^ 6

^ 8

chs. 1, 2, 3

Black keys Harp pedals chs. 2, 4

Diminutions of tonic triad chs. 1, 2

Hexachordal melodies chs. 1, 2

Figure I.2. Musical elements of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy, and their sources.

❧

introduction

9

“Other”: Transcendent ch. 3

Religious chant chant theory acoustical image of spirituality

“ancient tonality” “noble savage”

Nativity “Good Shepherd”

Pastoral simplicity consonance rustic instruments calls

Scotland

Primitive simplicity consonance

music Exotic Asian Asian music theory

Greek theory

“Cradle of civilization”

“Other”: Earthly ch. 2

Figure I.3. Conceptual elements of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy, and their sources.

In this book, I will follow the various manifestations of this complex phenomenon, which went largely unnamed by its practitioners or their contemporaries. (The English term “pentatonic” first appeared in 1864, and German analogues only ten years later.) I will elucidate and clarify composers’ motivations for their pentatonic practice, but frankly, I intend to complicate things a bit as well. While commentators naturally gravitate toward the clearest examples of a phenomenon, I believe it would be wrong to take such examples as most representative of the act of musical composition. After all, when faced with a blank sheet of staff paper, composers do not normally reach for the textbook (whether real or figurative) but draw upon a lifetime of musical experience and a set of organically formed intuitions concerning what note goes next. While Debussy’s Pagodes or Dvo¤rák’s “American” Suite certainly epitomize pentatonicism, the largely un-self-conscious excerpts discussed here are no mere predecessors. Pentatonicism, with its fluidity of meaning and multiplicity of derivations, resembles traditional musical elements more than it resembles the comparatively recondite whole-tone and octatonic scales, with which it is so often unthinkingly lumped in present-day writing.

Part 1

Scale

Chapter One

The Rise of 6 in the Nineteenth Century A. Theory: 6 in the Major Mode Ethnomusicologists and theorists of non-Western music maintain a useful distinction between “scale,” and “mode”: that is, between an abstract collection of tones in a given musical tradition, and the actual conventions of melodic practice in that tradition. Example 1.1, for instance, illustrates the tonal hierarchy and motivic dispositions that transform the undifferentiated pitch material of a Hindustani that (“scale”) into a raga (“mode”), the governing syntax for a piece or improvisation.1 In short, mode “is more than merely a scale.”2 While typical inquiries into unfamiliar musical systems engage mode as a matter of course, recent studies of the Western major scale have more often concerned scale as scale, investigating group-theoretic and acoustic properties.3 These studies help to explain the relative prevalence of a handful of scales throughout the world, and to delimit those scales’ structural potentials, but they fail to address melodic practice. Setting out along the musical continuum pictured in figure 1.1, we may begin to explore the question of scales “in/as” music. Western music, to be sure, has no proper equivalent of raga, and since the Renaissance its theoretical and compositional discourse has been dominated by harmony, rather than melody. Nevertheless, “modal,” or “syntactic,” aspects of the major and minor scales reside firmly within the intuition of competent musi-

(

)

Example 1.1. Raga Miyan-ki-Mallar.

14

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the rise of 6 in the nineteenth century

SCALE TUNE “particularized “generalized scale” tune”

Figure 1.1. Mode within the continuum of the melodic domain.

cians, and we may therefore strive to delimit these aspects, with the hope of illuminating analytical and style-historical issues. In this chapter I will discuss such melodic principles, examining in particular the theory and practice of 6 in the major scale (the most important degree of the pentatonic subsystem; recall ex. I.2). By tracing the history and, as it were, the reception of this degree, I will reinforce some well-worn formulations and at the same time offer new evidence of what might be called a “second practice of nineteenth-century melody.”4 In later chapters, I will extend my observations beyond the realm of syntax into that of semantics (thus adding a further layer of correspondence with raga), providing the framework for hermeneutic insights.

1. Older Theories of the Scale Technically, 6 was not 6 until the emergence of the major mode, and hence a history of 6 might begin sometime during the seventeenth century. However, we do well to recall the system of hexachordal solmization, which (alongside modal theory) had dominated musical pedagogy for centuries before the seventeenth.5 During this time, the universe of diatonic material was conceptualized as superimposed transpositions of a stepwise unit encompassing not an octave but only a major sixth: the hexachord. The hexachord embodied pedagogical considerations in containing a single, uniquely positioned semitone, while it also represented a theoretical boundary in that the hexachord was the largest collection which, when transposed from C to either G or F, introduced no new tones into the gamut but stayed within the realm of musica recta.6 The hexachord must have befitted the restrained ambitus of the monophonic repertoire for which Guido d’Arezzo invented solmization in the first place. (Guido’s famous paradigmatic melody, the Hymn to St. John, not only features successive hexachordal pitches at the beginning of each phrase—the very property that satisfied Guido’s mnemonic purposes—but in fact remains within the range of the hexachord throughout.) Furthermore, several compositions attest to the hexachord’s conceptual status as a self-sufficient musical entity: keyboard compositions by Sweelinck, Byrd, and Bull, and a Mass movement by Avery Burton, whether meant as self-conscious didacticism or not, use as cantus firmus the archetypal sequence ut–re–mi–fa–sol–la.7 The reality of heptatonicism, of course, entailed the frequent application of hexachordal mutation. Finally, around 1600, a new solmization degree, si, gained increasing acceptance, though not without heated

❧


15

objection from conservatives: even as late as the eighteenth century, controversy surrounded the relative merits of hexachordal versus major-minor thinking.8 Eventually, as the major-minor system coalesced, the leading tone became a defining component of tonality, and the heptatonic octave finally emerged as the unqualified foundation of musical pitch. But as important as 7 became in common-practice harmony, it presented certain problems from the standpoint of scale, at least when reckoned as the step above 6.9 In Jean-Philippe Rameau’s model of the major scale (ex. 1.2), the step from 6 to 7 confounds the fundamental bass: in the course of harmonizing an ascending melodic scale, his normative harmonic progression by fifths breaks off at this point.10 The succession of three whole tones, 4–5–6–7, strikes Rameau as “not at all natural,” and he gives, therefore, a more roundabout octave ascent, which begins on 7, apparently a compensation for an irregularity in the higher register, where 6 returns to 5 before a leap to the conclusive 7–8.11 A similar reluctance to bridge 6 and 7 characterizes Heinichen’s pedagogical schemata modorum for the figured bass (ex. 1.3): although the bass line touches upon all the scale degrees, it does so within a scale bounded by 7 on the lower end and by 6 on the upper.12 Over a century later, Moritz Hauptmann’s aversion to a rising 6 would echo Rameau’s, but with a characteristically Hegelian twist: since 6 is associated with subdominant harmony and 7 with dominant, a succession from one to the other implies a harmonic progression between chords that do not share a common tone, contrary to the very foundation of Hauptmann’s theory. Hauptmann goes so far as to describe a gap between the two degrees; and although he admits that the interval in question is no larger than that between 1 and 2 or 4 and 5, his dialectical system requires that, in the case of 6–7 the interval be considered a leap—even one comparable in difficulty to the tritone.13 (Both Rameau and Hauptmann

*

Example 1.2. From Rameau, Génération harmonique (1737), p. 65.

6

Reg. 3.

56

6

Reg. 5. Reg. 4.

56

6 4 2

6

6

Reg. 6. Reg. 2.

Example 1.3. From Heinichen, Der Generalbass in der Composition (1728), p. 745.

16

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ultimately relax their prohibitions through the introduction of secondary triads, but in each case 6–7 enters with excuses.) The tradition continued into the twentieth century, with Rudolf Louis and Ludwig Thuille again postulating a “gap” between the major scale’s 6 and 7.14 Descriptions of the major scale, then, have historically cast 6 as something of an upper boundary, notwithstanding the assumption of a seven-note octave. The “modal” analogue of this view, moreover, emerged in the conception of 6 as a tendency-tone directed toward 5. The notion of tendency-tones initially concerned only the leading tone and, later, its tritone partner, 4, but starting in the nineteenth century, theorists and pedagogues attributed melodic energy to 6 as well. The English pedagogue John Curwen describes the non-tonic degrees as tones of “suspense and dependence,” where not only 4 and 7, but 6 as well “leaves no doubt as to its resting tone [5].” Curwen depicts 6 as a skyrocket, which, “having reached its height, shines beautifully for a moment, and then softly and elegantly descends.”15 Meanwhile, Curwen’s chironomy visually underscores the character of each degree in the scale (fig. 1.2): here a down-turned palm and sagging wrist (note the visual similarity with 4) signal the sixth degree, “LAH. The sad or weeping tone. . . .”16 Simon Sechter’s account of scalar tendencies

Figure 1.2. From John Curwen, Standard Course (1880).

❧


17

revolved around the question of tuning: because of the “dubious fifth” between 2 and 6, treatment of the sixth degree, at least when supported by a ii chord, requires preparation and downward resolution, as if a dissonance.17 Louis and Thuille also characterize 6 as a downward-tending degree and for this reason regard the minor subdominant as the consummation of subdominant function, its flattened 6 magnifying the melodic tendency present in the natural 6.18 To this day, our adoption of Rameau’s term “submediant” (sous-médiante) for 6 reflects primarily structural, as opposed to phenomenological, sensibilities, whereas Fétis, true to his more melodic outlook, abandoned the term in favor of the stepwise connotations of “superdominant” (sus-dominante).19

2. A Working Model of the Major Mode Today a discussion of the major scale’s dynamic nature has become a near-obligatory component of harmony textbooks, if only a token one. A broad consensus exists concerning these dynamics, in which the “active”/“dynamic”/“dependent” degrees progress stepwise to the “stable”/“static”/“principal” degrees of the tonic triad.20 These features, summarized in example 1.4, embody two important aspects of what we may properly call the major mode: the primacy of the tonic triad and the primacy of stepwise motion. While the former is a veritable axiom of tonality, the latter is no less crucial a theoretical assumption. To Heinrich Schenker, steps are “the true bearers of the contrapuntal-melodic element,” critical to the transformation of pure harmony into living music.21 On a practical level, stepwise motion correlates with the realities of vocal production, the ultimate basis of melody; hence Hugo Riemann insists that “[melodic] progressions by step are always preferable to those by leap,” an oft-repeated prescription related to Anton Bruckner’s and J. N. A. Dürrnberger’s more general “law of the shortest way.”22 Indeed, the normative status of conjunct motion in tonal melody partially explains our habitual, but ill-advised, equation of “mode” with “scale.” Finally, an additional property indicated by example 1.4 is the primacy—again, vocally derived—of melodic descent, what Hindemith calls “undoubtedly the most natural [motion] in music,”23 which is trumped only in the case of 7, by the “law of the half step.”24 One could improve upon this simple model by first of all recognizing a hierarchy of stability among the three tonic-triad degrees: for instance, while 3 may

Example 1.4. The essence of the major mode.

18

❧


Figure 1.3. The major mode according to Zuckerkandl. (©1956 Bollingen, 1984 renewed. Reprinted by permission of Princeton University Press.)

Figure 1.4. The major mode as a “tonal terrain.”

serve as the resolution of 4, a weaker but persistent attraction toward the distant tonic note will remain to be satisfied. The forces, then, approximate a sort of “tonal gravity,”25 with melodic pitch wending its way about the ridges of a rolling hill, as in Victor Zuckerkandl’s diagram (fig. 1.3).26 Zuckerkandl offers a useful illustration of 6’s double function as an upper neighbor to 5 as well as a passing tone within motion from 5 to 8. The diagram, however, with its hump on 5, suggests an effortless motion (visually, a descent) from 5 to 8, and thus accepts as unproblematic the interval from 6 to 7. I prefer to recognize the unique nature of the “terrain” in this upper fourth by placing the hump between 6 and 7, as in figure 1.4. Figure 1.4 takes account of 7’s attraction toward 8 as well as 6’s attraction toward 5, while accounting also for motion between 6 and 7. Motion from 5 to 8, then, requires a certain investment of energy in overcoming 6’s downward pull, but this investment is quickly paid off by the cadential impulse accrued by 7 toward 8. Conversely, motion down the scale from 8 must first escape the semitone attraction, after which the descent continues with comparatively less effort. (The steepest inclines of the terrain, moreover, correspond to the half steps 3–4 and 7–8.) Finally, we might complete the topographical metaphor by recognizing

❧


19

Figure 1.5. The “tonal terrain,” with octave equivalence.

the paradoxical nature of octave equivalence: the scale’s linear progression is potentially circular (with 8 and 1 both tonics), and yet according to the precept of “obligatory register,” not all tonics are created equal. The Escher-esque play with perspective in figure 1.5 attempts to convey these competing ideas simultaneously: by some measures, 8 is “higher” than 1, while by other measures, the two points are found to be at the same height after all, both enjoying the stable state of tonic.27 This model of stepwise dynamics is, to be sure, just that: a model against which to consider the reality of melody. Actual melodies trace circuitous routes through the scale, enlivened with leaps and all manner of delayed resolutions. Melodic behavior that diverges from the model’s prescriptions may represent not a lack of cogency, so much as the exercise of artistic expression; the analyst compares musical specimens to musical models precisely in the hope of gaining insight into that artistic expression. Analysis, by addressing those context-specific details that contribute to a given piece’s individuality, reveals the myriad ways that cogent melodies adhere to the spirit of the law, as it were, if not the letter. The behavior of 6 in measure 2 of example 1.5, for instance, suggests three compositional justifications for a non-stepwise resolution of this tendency-tone, illustrated in the accompanying linear reduction: 1. the continuation of an established motivic pattern (6–8 echoes the earlier unfoldings 3–5 and 1–3); 2. the ultimate recapture of 6 in the next beat, followed by its proper resolution to 5; 3. the presence, albeit at a deeper level of contrapuntal structure, of a polyphonic melody (6–8 as an arpeggiation within subdominant harmony).

(vi

N

IV)

N

Example 1.5. Bach, Well-Tempered Clavier I (1722), #21 (with reduction).

I

N

ii

V7

I

octave

1

triadic

1

diatonic

1

chromatic

1

❧


21

8 3 2 1/2

2

2/3

5

3

4

3

4

8

5 4/5

5

6 5/6

6

7 8 6/7

7

8

Figure 1.6. Tonal pitch-spaces (after Lerdahl, Tonal Pitch Space, 161).

This last factor, while the least salient of the three, is perhaps the most relevant to the current discussion, as arpeggiation may be thought to represent stepwise motion of a higher order, the ad hoc bestowal of “honorary adjacencies” among a harmony’s otherwise disjunct tones. Moreover, such honorary adjacencies may operate on a number of levels, chiefly those enumerated in Lerdahl’s model of hierarchical pitch-space, figure 1.6.28 Tonal distances thus become contingent upon context, for a given note’s adjacencies may be an octave away (as measured in octave space), a third or fourth away (in triadic space), or a second away (in diatonic space). These levels express three basic aspects of common-practice melodic orientation, namely octave equivalence, arpeggiation, and stepwise motion. The model also formalizes the status of 6, which, like its upper adjacency, 7, appears no higher than the diatonic level, but whose lower adjacency, 5, appears one level higher. Both the orthodox Schenkerian understanding of melodic motion—as an idealized force within the substrate of harmony—and the concept of hierarchical pitch space help explain the relationship between stepwise and non-stepwise motion, and both will return later in provocative ways when considering a particular brand of unusual motion from 6. First, however, it will prove useful to document and discuss the “classical” behavior of 6, that is, its normative role as the upper adjacency to 5.

B. Practice: Classical 6 1. Typical Contexts Example 1.6 reviews the conventional syntax of 6 in some typical harmonic contexts. Just as the dominant cadence exemplifies 7’s normative role in the major mode, the plagal cadence exemplifies that of 6 (ex. 1.6a). The chromatic sibling of the embellishing plagal, the common-tone diminished-seventh chord (ex. 1.6b), also finds 6 falling to 5, while in another idiomatic harmonization, 6 dutifully descends as the seventh of a leading-tone seventh chord (ex. 1.6c). In pre-dominant

a

a

5 3

men,

7 6 4

a

6 4

5 4

men, a men, a

3

men, a

men.

6 5

b

c

d

e

Example 1.6. Classical 6: typical contexts. (a) Mozart, Mass, K. 167 (1773), Gloria, end (reduced score); (b) Mendelssohn, Symphony #1 (1824), ii, mm. 1–3; (c) Brahms, Symphony #2 (1877), iii, mm. 1–4; (d) Mozart, Magic Flute (1791), Quintet, #5, mm. 200–203; (e) Beethoven, Piano Sonata, op. 79 (1809), iii, mm. 5–8.

❧


23

contexts, 6 may rise to the leading tone (Sechter notwithstanding), but a supertonic seventh chord does necessitate 6–5 motion (ex. 1.6d) to avoid doubling 7, which will follow instead as the resolution of the chordal seventh. Finally, in chords applied to V, 6–5 motion becomes 2–1 motion (ex. 1.6e), and indeed, the pivot relation 6⫽2 offers a favorite means of modulation and tonicization. The sixth degree’s tendency to descend is commonly amplified through the chromatic alteration 6. In fact, virtually all the favorite chromatic devices within the major key—the Neapolitan, the diminished seventh, the minor subdominants, and the family of augmented sixths—arise at least in part from this chromaticization of 6–5 (ex. 1.7). The property of amplification explains why a minor-tinged plagal cadence so frequently follows (and rarely precedes) a standard plagal; the use of 6 as a rhetorical exclamation point after 6 can even assume motivic status in the course of a theme, as in example 1.8. By contrast, 6 in major occurs infrequently, the much-discussed c in the first theme of Beethoven’s “Eroica” Symphony providing the exception that proves the rule.

II 6

V7

vii 7

I

ii 65

I

Ger

Example 1.7. Chromatic chords in the major key with 6.

Example 1.8. Chopin, Prelude in D major (1839), mm. 1–4.

6

V7

24

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2. A Semantic Digression Stemming from its position as a de facto scalar extremity, classical 6 often plays an important role in cadential formations, particularly in music of the Classic era. Encapsulating both the melodic function of descent and the harmonic function of subdominant, 6 catalyzes the subdominant-dominant-tonic progression traditionally associated with tonal cadences, which helps to explain why Mozart’s stock cadential scales often feature a high note on 6 (ex. 1.9).29 While this cadential 6scale capitalizes on the 6–5 progression, certain other cadential gestures simply highlight the contour reversal implied by 6’s position at the outer reaches of the major mode: in a particularly ubiquitous closural device, for instance (ex. 1.10), 6 is endowed with chromatic emphasis from below before descending within a subdominant arpeggiation. Finally, example 1.11 illustrates a rather different cadential cliché, a potentially awkward, but in fact idiomatic leap from 6 down to 7; this enterprising device represents a compromise which at once facilitates a swift return to obligatory register, accommodates 6’s gravitational tendency, and enjoys the stepwise connection between 6 and 7 (modulo the octave) while avoiding the supposedly problematic ascending “gap” 6–7.30 These observations regarding 6’s cadential usage correspond to what has been termed “introversive semiosis,” a sort of interface between syntax and semantics.31 In the coming chapters, we will turn to “external semiosis” that is, to fully referential meaning, of the sort alluded to by Deryck Cooke, who characterizes 6 as expressive of “pleasurable longing” and 5–6–5 as expressive of “the innocence and purity of angels and children.”32

3

3

3

3

3

3

Example 1.9. Mozart, Piano Sonata, K. 281 (1775), i, mm. 5–8.

Example 1.10. Mozart, Piano Sonata, K. 330 (1783), iii, mm. 15–16.

❧


25

Example 1.11. Haydn, String Quartet, op. 50 #6 (1788), Minuet, mm. 6–9.

cresc.

V65

I

Example 1.12. Beethoven, Symphony #6 (1808), i, mm. 67–74.

3. Nineteenth-Century Extensions Classical 6 appears to have grown in popularity in the nineteenth century, for instance as a versatile appoggiatura, whether 6–5 over I or 9–8 over V7 (ex. 1.12). The figuration in example 1.13, however, a tonic arpeggio decorated with 6, resembles something more like an undifferentiated tonal set—the added sixth appears not as the highest note, but as part of a continuous descent. The behavior of the note itself, resolving down to 5, adheres to the tradition, of course, but its coloristic use displays an innovative and distinctly Romantic sensibility. Another indication of 6’s expanded use is example 1.14, where Schubert’s elegant appoggiaturas open each phrase, in blithe disregard for the conventions of musical beginnings. The sixth degree, indeed, became a veritable hallmark of the salon and ballroom styles: the waltzes of Chopin and Strauss (exx. 1.15 and 1.16) are peppered with these characteristic appoggiaturas on 6 (again, over both I and V7), no doubt harking back to the spirit of folk dance

delicatissimo

Example 1.13. Chopin, Prelude in F major (1839), mm. 1–2.

Example 1.14. Schubert, Piano Sonata, D. 664 (1819), ii, mm. 1–5.

3

Example 1.15. Chopin, Waltz, op. 18 (1832), mm. 22–27.

Example 1.16. Johann Strauss, Jr., Donauweibchen (1888), #2, mm. 5–10.

❧


27

8va

I add6

Example 1.17. Fauré, Barcarolle, op. 44 (1886), mm. 99–101.

I add6

Example 1.18. Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde (1908), “Der Abschied,” end.

and the world of Schubert’s Ländler (see chapter 2). The Strauss example (ex. 1.16) demonstrates an increased freedom in usage—more “harmonic” than “melodic”—but an eventual resolution to 5 does occur. The flourishing of added sixth chords in the nineteenth century hardly required deliberate cultivation: in reference to triadic harmony, the sixth is, after all, the only chordal additive that forms a consonance with the root. Although we cannot always distinguish between appoggiaturas and true added sixths, the two concepts are useful ones; if the Chopin Prelude discussed earlier (ex. 1.13) and the Strauss here represent stepping-stones from the one technique to the other, example 1.17 continues this trend, while the famous last chord of Mahler’s “Der Abschied” (ex. 1.18) represents its apotheosis: the added sixth does not resolve, but remains forever, “ewig.” We will revisit the tonic added sixth in chapter 4, in connection with harp music. Nineteenth-century composers’ seeming infatuation with 6, and the evolution from 6–5 appoggiaturas to the use of additive harmony, are but two remarkable

28

❧


strands in the history of 6. An apparently unnoticed, but even more fascinating strand—6’s non-classical behavior—will concern the rest of this chapter.

C. Practice Against Theory: Non-Classical 6 1. Preliminary Examples Ever since its premiere in 1830, Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique has commanded attention for its revolutionary approaches to orchestration, harmony, form, and program. One small innovation may be added to this list, a detail that appears at the end of the first movement (ex. 1.19): a plagal cadence with melodic 6–8. Although one may discern a more classical 6–5 just below the contrapuntal surface—and the final chord, I/5 encourages this (see the reduction in example 1.19)—the foreground melody in these unassuming measures constitutes the highly notable public debut of cadential 6–8.33 Indeed, table 1.1’s sampling of plagal cadences before Berlioz reveals an unwavering preference for stepwise or oblique motion in the melody, whether 6–5, 4–3, or 1–1, the three melodic paradigms given by A. B. Marx.34 This preference reflects the modal norms established above and underscores the essentially ornamental nature of these cadences as voice-leading prolongations of tonic harmony. Nineteenth-century composers, on the other hand, embraced the leaping 6–8 cadence as a novel and compelling gesture in its own right. Table 1.2 cites several instances, some of which will be discussed below.35 (To obviate any potential confusion: what I refer to in the remainder of this book as the cadential “6–8” [melody] should

religioso

Example 1.19 (⫽P292). Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), i, end (with reduction).

❧


29

Table 1.1. Major-mode terminal plagal cadences to 1828. Soprano

Arcadelt Bach Handel

Haydn Monteverdi Mozart

Palestrina Purcell Schubert

Ave Maria B-minor Mass, Credo Messiah, “And the Glory” Messiah, “Lift Up Your Heads” Messiah, “Hallelujah” Anthem “O Be Joyful in the Lord,” HWV 246 #5 “O Go Your Way” #8 “As It Was in the Beginning” Anthem “I Will Magnify Thee,” HWV 250a Anthem “I Will Magnify Thee,” HWV 250b Anthem “As Pants the Hart,” HWV 251a Anthem “As Pants the Hart,” HWV 251b Anthem “As Pants the Hart,” HWV 251d Anthem “My Song Shall Be Always,” HWV 252 Anthem “Let God Arise,” HWV 256a Anthem “Let God Arise,” HWV 256b Missa brevis in F, Benedictus Missa brevis in G Vespers, SV 206, i Mass, K. 49, Agnus Dei Mass, K. 167, Agnus Dei Mass, K. 167, Gloria Mass, K. 192, Agnus Dei Mass, K. 258, Agnus Dei Missa Papae Marcelli Te Deum and Jubilate in D, Z. 232 Mass #1 in F, Gloria Mass #1 in F, Benedictus “German Mass,” D. 872b Antiphon for Palm Sunday, D. 696 #3 Antiphon for Palm Sunday, D. 696 #6 Salve regina, D. 386

1–1 4–3 4–3 6–5 1–1 4–3 6–5 4–3 4–3 4–3 4–3 4–3 4–3 1–1 4–3 4–3 1–1 6–5 6–5 6–5 6–5 6–5 6–5 4–3 1–1 6–5 6–5 1–1 6–5 4–3 1–1

not be mistaken for the cadential “6–8” [contrapuntal intervals] of medieval music.) As will be explained in chapter 3, the 6–8 cadence embodied a uniquely Romantic spirituality for Berlioz and many others: the Protestant “Amen” conflated with the minor-third shapes of Catholic liturgical intonation. But the

30

❧


Table 1.2. Plagal cadences with melodic 6–8 (terminal, except as indicated). Berlioz

“Hélène” (P231) Requiem, Introit (mm. 164–65) (P306) Rob Roy (4 after reh. 7) (P226) Symphonie fantastique, i (P292)

Brahms

Alto Rhapsody (P293) Schicksalslied (mm. 68–69) (P302) Etude in D major, op. 25 #8 Nocturne in C minor, op. 27 #1 (P305) Requiem, “Pie Jesu” (P300) Comala, #1 (mm. 2–3) (P51) Messe solennelle #4 in G minor, Agnus Dei (P316) Messe brève in C, Gloria (mm. 41–42) (P317) “Les Naïades” (P98) Requiem, “Pie Jesu” (P318) “Bell-Ringing,” op. 54 #6 (P152) Sposalizio (P301) Hungarian Coronation Mass, Sanctus (P303) Marche funèbre (P308) Organ Mass, Credo (P309) St. Cecilia (reh. N) (P311) “Herr, wie lange” (P313) Missa solemnis, Sanctus (P314) Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (P195) “Lève-toi” Gianni Schicchi, “O mio babbino caro” (P296) Messa di gloria, “Et incarnatus est” (P321) “À un Berceau” (P216) “Le Matin” Piano Concerto #5, i Romeo and Juliet (P295) Lohengrin, Prelude to Act 1 (P315)

Chopin Fauré Gade Gounod

Grieg Liszt

Mahler Massenet Puccini Reyer Saint-Saens Tchaikovsky Wagner

cadence is found in a wide variety of pieces, not always explicitly programmatic, and in general the 6–5 foreground connection is altogether absent—both indications of the extent to which this development earned its place among the fundamentals of musical procedure. A contrapuntal reduction of example 1.20, for instance, would necessarily describe a connection between the melodic 6 and the ensuing inner-voice 5,36 but this connection requires of the listener slightly

❧


31

8va

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

Example 1.20. Chopin, Etude, op. 25 #8 (1837), end.

(!)

triadic

1

3

5

pentatonic

1

diatonic

1

2

3

5

6

8

2

3

5

6

7 8

chromatic

1 1/2 2

2/3 3

4

8

4 4/5 5 5/6 6 6/7 7 8

Figure 1.7. Pentatonic pitch space.

more imagination than does the Berlioz (or more still, than the Bach above, ex. 1.5). In fact, the melodic 6–8 here acts as a salient cadential “answer” to the preceding, inversionally related 5–3 (itself a quasi-cadential Ländler gesture— more on this in chapter 2). By its very nature—that of an ending—a 6–8 cadence typically lacks any subsequent opportunity to evince the implicit neighbor relation 6–5. That is, short of an extension-cum-explanation (as in the Berlioz), one must imagine the descent to 5 (or settle for its fulfillment in an inner part), rather than merely await it—a not uncommon circumstance in contrapuntal music, but one that helps to gauge the congruity of theory with practice and, by implication, to gauge the expressive content of such moments.

2. A Theoretical Accommodation The 6–8 cadence appears to violate the “law of the shortest way,” and more to the point, it undermines the plagal cadence’s conventional role as a neighborchord formation. In short, taking 6–5 as our analytical “foil,” we observe a qualitatively new brand of deviation from that foil. Moreover, the precise nature of this deviation illustrates the potential interaction of scale and mode, both of which are, after all, abstractions of melody. Bearing in mind Powers’s formulation quoted earlier (mode as “particularized scale”), figure 1.7 represents its logical extension in light of “non-classical” 6: scale as “generalized mode.” That

❧

32

the rise of 6 in the nineteenth century b

a

3

3

3

3

3

3

Example 1.21. Chopin, Nocturne, op. 32 #2 (1837). (a) Beginning of theme (m. 3); (b) Codetta of theme (m. 10).

is, this novel modal feature impels us to infer a new stratum of pitch-space alongside our existing family of chromatic, diatonic, triadic, and octave spaces: pentatonic space.37 By retaining the fundamental (scalar) principle of adjacency, this model accommodates the possibility that composers actually construed 6–8 as a veritable “step,” and this possibility is borne out further in examples below. Through our theoretical response to a subtle but pervasive change in practice, we thus shift focus away from implicit, unheard adjacencies and celebrate instead a new kind of adjacency. The cadential 6–8 offers the clearest demonstration of pentatonic space, but the “subtonic 6” may be implicated in non-cadential contexts as well, including the neighbor chord par excellence, the common-tone diminished-seventh. The progression in example 1.21, for instance, frames the piece’s theme, opening with a tense chromatic neighbor 3–2–3, but later confirming the cadence with the relaxed pentatonic neighbor 8–6–8. Example 1.22a gives a similar commontone progression, and although its 6–8, like that of the previous example, appears to result from motion between two independent contrapuntal voices, a comparison with its minor-mode prototype (ex. 1.22b) reveals another factor that must have guided the composer’s decisions. Schubert’s two versions differ precisely in their treatment of the submediant; hence, while middle-ground counterpoint could have yielded a melodic leap in either case, it seems that melodic proximity (b–d compared to b–d) provided the critical justification for the leap in the major version.38 Furthermore, as should be expected, pentatonic space also posits the other type of adjacency, the passing tone. For instance, the chorale theme of Mahler’s First Symphony (ex. 1.23) accomplishes a pentatonic voice exchange: the prolongation of tonic harmony through “stepwise” contrary motion spanning the “pentatonic third” between 5 and 8 (5–6–8/8–6–5).39 Such pentatonic passing tones are unremarkable and in fact idiomatic structures in many musical traditions, as is indicated by Scott Joplin’s execution of his own Maple Leaf Rag, transcribed in example 1.24.40 Just as Joplin can be seen to have integrated vernacular “African retentions” into his music, European composers’ traversal of

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33

a

Will dich im Traum nicht

stö

ren, wär schad um dei

ne

Ruh,

b

Fremd bin ich ein ge

zo

gen, fremd zieh

ich wie

der

aus,

Example 1.22. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Gute Nacht.” (a) (⫽P191) mm. 71–75; (b) mm. 7–11.

(P)

3

3

sempre

Example 1.23. (⫽P283). Mahler, Symphony #1 (1888), iv, reh. 26.

pentatonic space relates in part to a growing interest in music outside of the sphere of modern Europe, from the plainchant revival to exoticisms both Northern (Ossianism) and Eastern (chinoiserie) to primitivism, each of which will be explored in part 2. The various interactions of these influences with the Romantic imperative of artistic originality and the inherent possibilities of

34

❧


(as published, 1899)

(L.H. as played by Joplin, 1916)

Example 1.24. Joplin, Maple Leaf Rag (1899), beginning. Western diatonicism produced a subtle but momentous broadening of melodic sensibility during the nineteenth century.41

D. Implications Within pentatonic space, the progressions in examples 1.19–1.24 remain neighbor or passing progressions, with 6 replacing 7 as the tonic’s lower adjacency, a surrogate leading tone for the “plagal generation” of the nineteenth century. We have thus arrived at a curious twist in the story of 6, where according to conventional theory 6–7 resembles a leap, while according to practice 6–8 resembles a step. Of special importance in the emergence of non-classical 6 are its various implications in the realms of harmony, rhetoric, and structure.

1. Plagal Empowerment First of all, 6–8 cadences embody a decidedly stronger version of the classical plagal cadence, a means of “compensation”42 for the otherwise static quality of these progressions. The voice leading in the classical plagal, with its parallel motion of 6–5 and 4–3, and the absence of any motion to the tonic, produce a somewhat pale harmonic effect by comparison.43 The relative strength, then, of this “plagal leading tone,” particularly its introduction of both contrary motion and motion to the tonic, proves useful in accomplishing modulations, as in Brahms’s Schicksalslied, example 1.25. Furthermore, 6–8 implies a unique harmonic progression: whereas 6–5, 4–3, and 2–1 may each suggest either plagal or dominant cadential harmony, 6–8 determines plagal closure unambiguously, precisely analogous in this regard to the authentic closure of 7–8.44 In this way 6–8 satisfies the principle of “redundancy,” one of Leonard Meyer’s conditions for stylistic stability.45 The implications of this property manifest themselves at the beginning of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony (ex. 1.26), when an unharmonized 6–8 negotiates a dramatic tonal shift to A major.46 Not unrelated, the migration of 6–8 to the bass

3

dolce

3

3

3

B : I

vi = E : iii

ii

I

Example 1.25 (⫽P302). Brahms, Schicksalslied (1871), mm. 64–69.

3

A: (IV)

c ? f ? A?

I

Example 1.26 (⫽P304). Mahler, Symphony #5 (1902), i, mm. 9–14.

Leb’ wohl!

vi

I

Leb’ wohl!

vi

I

mein

lie

ber Schwan!

vi

I

Example 1.27 (⫽P99). Wagner, Lohengrin (1848), I/3, mm. 42–44.

36

❧


A

men.

vi

I

Example 1.28 (⫽excerpt of P325). Liszt, Requiem (1868), “Dies irae,” end.

cresc.

et

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

cresc.

et

ho cresc.

et cresc.

et cresc.

et

cresc.

Example 1.29 (⫽P321). Puccini, Messa di Gloria (1880), “Et incarnatus est,” end.

represents another significant development, in the quasi-progression vi–I: notwithstanding the two common tones, a vague sense of progression, and even of cadence, is possible. Wagner’s Lohengrin (ex. 1.27) employs such a progression, and here we find 6 at the intersection of the pastoral and the religious. The Dies irae from Liszt’s Requiem (ex. 1.28) ends with a series of bass 6–8 progressions, the closest thing to a structural cadence anywhere in the movement.

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37

2. Harmonic Innovation Perhaps most important among its harmonic implications, melodic 6–8 allows for a crucial new cadential harmonization. Namely, the danger of parallel fifths now averted, 2 can serve as the bass of the cadential harmony, yielding the increasingly common ii–I and ii7–I cadences, as in the Brahms above (ex. 1.25), or the Puccini in example 1.29. Composers’ endorsement of the ii–I progression consummates the gradual divergence that I have been describing between prototype and practice. That is, through its own inherent possibilities, 6–8 came to renounce its very origins by rendering the underlying classical 6–5 defunct. These supertonic cadences thus illustrate the unfilial tendencies often latent within style-history.

3. The “Picardy Sixth” Beyond its consequences for the history of harmony, the emergence and acceptance of 6–8 also gave rise to rhetorical possibilities, in the explicit opposition of pentatonic with chromatic. Especially when juxtaposed with 6 mixture, the upward-leaping 6 generates an extraordinary effect, what might be called the “Picardy sixth.” The coda of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet (ex. 1.30), for example, expresses an overwhelming sense of catharsis due to the cadential reversal of the 6–5 motion: 6 is “redeemed,” or “lifted up,” first through its reinterpretation

8va

(8va)

Example 1.30 (⫽P295). Tchaikovsky, Romeo and Juliet (1869), mm. 517–524.

38

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as 5, and continuing as 6 rises to 8. (Incidentally, both the Symphonie fantastique and the Liszt Requiem discussed earlier also feature the Picardy sixth, a more widespread phenomenon than might be suspected.)

4. Structural Resonances Example 1.31 shows a simple antecedent-consequent period with a straightforward “interruption structure” based on a pentatonic lower neighbor, demonstrating non-classical 6’s relevance to phrase structure.47 If 6 can act as a subtonic cadential agent in its own right—taking the place of 7, the very cornerstone of common-practice tonality—then what deeper structural consequences might follow? The Largo of Dvo¤rák’s “New World” Symphony provides an illustrative case study, as the cadences in this movement exhibit an unorthodox approach to closure (ex. 1.32). The three cadences of the A section (ex. 1.32a, b, c) trace a progressive shift away from authentic closure toward plagal closure, even as each successive cadence assumes greater structural weight. The 6–8 cadence in

See the cha riot at hand here of Love, Where in

Each

that draws is a swan or a

my la

dove, and well

dy

the car

ri

deth.

Love gui

deth.

Example 1.31. Vaughan Williams, “See the Chariot at Hand” (1930), mm. 4–9. (Music adapted from the opera Sir John in Love. ©1934 Oxford University Press. Used by permission. All rights reserved.)

a

ii 65

V7

I

b

V “11”

I

ii 65

I

ii 65

I

ii 65

I

c

d

Ob.

vii 43

I

Vln.

ii 65

I

(IV) I

Example 1.32. Dvo¤rák, Symphony #9 (1893), ii. (a) Cadence of first period, mm. 9–10; (b) Cadence of first paragraph, mm. 17–19; (c) (⫽P210) “Signature” cadence to end A section, mm. 38–40; (d) Final cadences, mm. 112–120.

40

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example 1.32c, what proves to be the signature cadence of the movement, receives a ii65–I progression to close the A-section of an ABA form. Depending on one’s perspective, then, the cadence near the end of the piece (ex. 1.32d)—a leading-tone analogue of this signature cadence—may be heard either as a longoverdue, greatly anticipated return to classical norms of scalar behavior, or else as a disruption of an idyllic pentatonic sound-world. According to the first interpretation, the 6–8 gap had represented a curious anomaly mercifully filled in by the all-important leading tone, and the structurally required dominant discharge prevails, notwithstanding its unusual form as a viio43. I strongly favor the second interpretation, which understands this inverted diminished-seventh chord as a dissonant substitute chord that necessitates the gesture of continuation embodied in the elided oboe and violin lines. True closure then arrives only with the unharmonized 6–8 cadence at the end of the excerpt; a structural plagal cadence thus emerges, a token of Dvo¤rák’s Arcadian pentatonicism.48

E. Conclusion: Hearing the Subtonic 6 In the absence of the leading tone, will a competent listener, conditioned to expect that leading tone, welcome a 6–8 cadence as merely the next best thing? Will the specter of 6–5 haunt such a cadence, creating that quintessentially Romantic sense of openness that “reverberate[s] in the silence of subsequent time”?49 Or can intra-opus considerations actually lead one to revise one’s tonal understanding to such a degree as to accept 6–8 unconditionally? In short, to what extent and under what circumstances can a listener negotiate between the pentatonic and the diatonic strata of pitch space given in figure 1.7 above? These rhetorical questions beg the delicate matter of musical ambiguity: I believe that the incongruity between 6–8 as a “pentatonic step” and a “diatonic third” confronts the listener as a musical-interpretive problem, for which I hesitate to offer a single solution.50 This very ambiguity plays itself out in accounts of the fifteenth-century so-called “under-third” or “Landini” cadence (ex. 1.33). Salzer and Schachter, writers strongly informed by traditional views of tonal voice leading, interpret this characteristic formula as a decorated leading-tone cadence (as indicated in ex. 1.34a), while Sachs instead discerns the remnants of a venerable melodic style, a “deeply inrooted principle of chained thirds,” thus minimizing the leading tone (an interpretation that would correspond to my hypothetical reduction in ex. 1.34b).51 Such equivocation is no doubt more appropriate to fifteenth-century polyphony (a repertoire, after all, commonly recognized by historians of tonality as transitional) than to a nineteenth-century symphony. To be sure, notwithstanding its increasing currency in the nineteenth century, 6–8 challenges common-practice norms only from the margins. Nevertheless, the legitimacy of the subtonic 6 certainly benefits from its analogy to 7, and it benefits as well from the ambivalent status of the minor third as a leap—thirds, for instance, are the only leaps in Fuxian counterpoint that do not

A

dieu m’a

mour et

ma

mai

strais

❧


41

se,

Example 1.33. Binchois, Chanson, “Adieu m’amour” (15th century).

a

ant.

becomes

N

becomes

N

b

ant.

becomes

N

becomes

N

Example 1.34. Two possible reductions of the cadence in example 1.33.

require melodic reversal. And while 6–8 forms the larger of the two types of pentatonic “steps” (i.e., three semitones versus the two spanning 6–5), and hence violates the “law of the shortest way” even in pentatonic space, the size ratio between the two steps is relatively moderate in the pentatonic system (3:2) compared to the diatonic (2:1), implying a commensurate reduction in this law’s forcefulness. On a more fundamental level, the acceptance enjoyed by 6 as a subtonic alternative to 7 in nineteenth-century Western art-music raises the provocative question of “naturalness” in music. Although in our present intellectual climate we regard “naturalness,” “universals,” and “absolutes” as constructions, we do so too hastily—too “absolute-ly”—for there is often reason to judge some phenomena less constructed than others. Scale degrees offer an interesting case. The semitone, after all, boasts less of a claim to acoustical pertinence than does the third. Moreover, ethnomusicologists, in discerning a musical “common denominator” of our species, cite “music that uses only three or four pitches, usually combining

42

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the rise of 6 in the nineteenth century a

You

are

a

tat

tle

tale!

b

Air

ball!

c

Ex

tra!

Ex

tra!

Os,

fer

rail’,

cuiv’.

Read all

a

bout

Right

Left!

it!

d

e

Left!

Left!

Left

Example 1.35. “Speech thirds.” (a) From Campbell, Songs in Their Heads: Music and Its Meaning in Children’s Lives, 18; (b) From Heaton, “Air Ball: Spontaneous Large-Group Precision Chanting,” 81; (c) The author’s transcription; (d) From Massin, Les Cris de la ville, #277; (e) The author’s transcription.

major seconds and minor thirds.”52 Indeed, the apparent suitability with which the bare minor third executes quasi-speech interjections—its “logogenic” status as “the basic singsong interval,”53 whether among children, sports fans, street vendors, or marching soldiers54 (see ex. 1.35)—raises the possibility of a connection between the 6–8 cadence and Leonard Meyer’s principle of musical “acontextualism” in the nineteenth century.55 That is, beyond the obvious ideological attractiveness of “primitive” musical structures to the Romantic sensibility, it is conceivable that these structures satisfy deeper psychological or anthropological principles that themselves explain composers’ affinity to non-classical 6. In any case, the story of 6 in the nineteenth century may ultimately amount to little more than a footnote in a larger story, namely the story of plagal harmony. But while 6–8 may be first and foremost a symptom of a shift in harmonic sensibility, an inevitable experiment by plagal-loving composers in search of new possibilities, the melodic dimension still offers a unique perspective on the history of tonal music. For while the nineteenth-century tonal palette became crowded with all fashion of chromatic “color”—rampant applied leading tones, modal scales, symmetrical divisions, and enharmonic trapdoors—the bald omission of a note from the common major scale represented a quiet counterrevolution, waged only

❧


43

intermittently, no doubt in part subconsciously, by many of the same composers who ultimately brought common-practice tonality to its moment of greatest crisis.

*** The examples cited and discussed in the remainder of this book will display varying approaches to the treatment of 6, showing pentatonicism to be by turns conservative and radical as a melodic style. Nevertheless, as I have tried to demonstrate in this chapter, these poles may be thought of as loosely connected by a continuum of musical practice. Such a conception resonates with my historical understanding of pentatonicism as both a strange and a strangely familiar musical resource. In part 3 of this book, I will return to the more purely style-historical questions raised in the current chapter. In the meantime, I will concentrate on historical and ideological questions in part 2, in order to establish and explain the signifying functions of pentatonicism. I begin with a consideration of what has been the pentatonic’s chief association in the Western mind—as an “exotic” scale— before expanding our hermeneutic horizons to embrace the full scope of the nineteenth-century repertoire.

Part 2

Signification

Chapter Two

The Pastoral-Exotic Pentatonic A. The Imported Strain of Pentatonicism The famous Turkish ceremony from Lully’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (1670) is a seminal instance of musical exoticism, boasting a modest assortment of conventional exotic signifiers: a solemn march, a minor-mode aria accompanied in parallel octaves, a handful of harmonic and melodic indelicacies, and perhaps most notably, the unrefined monotony of the choral interjection shown in example 2.1. This excerpt further contains a time-honored cliché of “otherness,” but one for which Lully was not himself responsible: the orchestra’s pentatonic countermelody (reduced here for piano), is in fact the work of J. B. Weckerlin, who prepared the 1883 vocal score. This countermelody has little to do with Turkish music, and more to the point, it has little to do with the seventeenth-century lexicon of “exotic” signifiers: not only does it contradict the widespread notion of “exotic” music as

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

Example 2.1 (⫽P1). Lully, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (arr. Weckerlin, 1883), Turkish scene.

48

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the pastoral-exotic pentatonic

unaccompanied, but its unusual scalar material would have been scarcely known to Lully and his contemporaries. Weckerlin’s creative but obtuse alteration belongs squarely in the late nineteenth century, when pentatonicism had fully taken hold in the imaginations of European composers. What happened in the two hundred years between Lully and Weckerlin will constitute the subject of this first section.

1. Musical Exoticism in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries The postmodern critique of Western culture has focused on patterns of belief characterized by the principle of “alterity”—structures that construct or amplify differences among groups and hence maintain systems of dominance and marginalization.1 These structures may operate both within a society and between societies, and they often contain a cultural dimension, acquired modes of thinking and behaving that serve to define, endorse, and perpetuate political disparity. While in principle literary, visual, or musical depictions of foreign peoples and places need not carry political implications, cultural scholars have tended to assume that depicting difference necessarily fetishizes that difference and entails either a valuing or a denigrating of what is different.2 According to this interpretation, such depictions participate in ideology and therefore constitute an “ism,” namely exoticism. In contrast to its cousins in the other arts, musical exoticism saw only a limited practice before 1800. The exoticism normally associated with music differs fundamentally from that of the plainly depictive arts such as literature or painting— or rather, the latter arts allow for at least two distinct modes of exoticism, corresponding to subject on the one hand and execution on the other. Hence, Orientalist painting of the nineteenth century portrays its sultans, harems, and minarets using the classically Western techniques of realism.3 This distinction between form and content, though admittedly oversimplified, is less relevant still for music, whose meaning flows directly from its materials. At a given time, then, music’s capacity for novel “signifieds” relates to the flexibility of its materials. As Jonathan Bellman points out: “Eighteenth-century musical convention required outside influences such as dances, or evocations of specific national styles, to be better assimilated into the prevailing style. In the nineteenth century, the idea of a prevailing style was becoming outmoded.”4 Miriam Whaples has offered two further factors to explain the apparent historical lag in musical exoticism: the near-unanimous contempt displayed by exegetes toward the unfamiliar musics they discussed, and the often sympathetic stance of librettists toward exotic heroes and heroines, which precluded composers’ musical “distancing” in opera.5 Hence, while the early eighteenth century saw the birth of the French “oriental tale,” its would-be musical analogues relied chiefly on nonmusical means for the exotic content. One detects not a hint of exoticism from the “Chinese Man” of Purcell’s The Fairy Queen, for instance, and one assumes that none was intended, the episode’s exotic atmosphere being

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49

achieved instead by staging, including a fantastical garden scene with a parade of monkeys. This example is not atypical, furthermore, in the ultimate insignificance of the exotic episode to the plot. Nevertheless, musical exoticism, like program music in general, does trace its history from well before its famous nineteenth-century exemplars, albeit in limited and varying degrees. The first foreign musical culture to have left a tangible impact on western Europe was that of the Turks, the one-time besiegers of Vienna about whom suspicions lingered well after the establishment of peaceful relations in the middle of the eighteenth century. The Turkish military bands that would have been heard initially as sinister and later as fashionable came to be associated with Turks more generally and, by extension, with the Muslim world at large. Turkish music, sufficiently strange while at the same time sufficiently familiar, achieved a curious vogue, and a vocabulary of musical devices (only sometimes derived from the ever-patronizing accounts of travelers and historians) ultimately crystallized into one of the most characteristic topoi of the Classic Era. Thus emerged the first recognizable exoticism in music, the “Turkish style.”6 In the late eighteenth century, the Turkish style coexisted alongside a closely related incarnation, the style hongrois. As the Turkish style waned along with virtually the entire arsenal of Classical topoi in the early nineteenth century, the style hongrois flourished, proving versatile and germane throughout the century. Bellman describes the style as more sophisticated and mature than its predecessor, no longer a “topic,” but rather a full-fledged “musical language”: “the first wholesale and conscious embrace of a popular music associated with a lower societal caste by the composers and listeners of more formal, schooled music.”7 In the hands of Weber, Schubert, Liszt, and Brahms, this language—the musical styles of Hungarians and/or Gypsies, together with the popular associations surrounding these “exotics within”8—served as poignant musical commentaries and ultimately as badges of pride for the Romantic artist, who felt a strong kinship with a misunderstood, oppressed, and (supposedly) musically gifted nomadic people. The nineteenth century witnessed experiments with all manner of exotic effects, most notably in connection with the Orientalism (i.e., exoticization of the Middle East) that took hold following Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign, but also including exoticist treatments of Spain and the Far East. In contrast to many of musical exoticism’s common devices—“irregular, jerking modulations,” “the thrill of illicit pitches,” “sliding or sinuous chromaticism,” in short, the “ ‘wrongnote’ principle”9—pentatonic exoticism contains no “wrong notes” and therefore holds a special place among markers of cultural difference. Let us now turn to an exploration of its history and meanings.

2. West Meets East: Scholarly Pentatonicism from Du Halde to Riemann Europeans’ first awareness of pentatonicism apparently originated with the missionaries’ increasingly detailed accounts of China in the eighteenth century.

50

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Matteo Ricci, the pioneering missionary of the late sixteenth century, reported very little concerning Chinese music, and what he did report was uninstructive and unfavorable. Ricci’s contempt for monophony, for percussion, and for what he identifies only as “a lack of concord, a discord of discords,”10 strongly resembles contemporary accounts of Turkish music. The whole art of Chinese music seems to consist in producing a monotonous rhythmic beat as they know nothing of the variations and harmony that can be produced by combining different musical notes. However, they themselves are highly flattered by their own music which to the ear of a stranger represents nothing but a discordant jangle.11

Over one hundred years later, Jean-Baptiste Du Halde’s four-volume Description . . . de l’empire de la Chine et de la Tartarie chinoise (1735) improved on Ricci with three pages on the subject of Chinese music, albeit a music still deplored as “so imperfect that it hardly deserves the name.”12 Despite this authorial condescension, Du Halde represents a significant milestone with his inclusion of five transcribed “Airs chinois,” three of which are strictly pentatonic in the major mode (with the remaining two strongly minor-pentatonic). Du Halde does not comment on these examples, however, and the only description he gives regarding musical detail concerns certain Chinese monks who “never raise and lower their voice a semitone, but only a third, a fifth, or an octave.”13 This formulation falls just short of coherence, for while he explicitly excludes the semitone, he also implicitly excludes the whole tone, thus apparently describing a triadic (or at least tertial) music. If it was pentatonicism that Du Halde attempted to convey, this was a near miss. Inadequate as Du Halde may have been as an analyst (to say nothing of an ethnomusicologist), his short essay became required reading for later writers, for whom the transcriptions no doubt provided an incalculable entrée. The first of Du Halde’s airs would become famous through its adoption by Rousseau in his dictionary article “Music,” offered so as “to put the reader in a position to judge the different musical accents of peoples. . . .”14 Rousseau himself added nothing by way of comment on the tune and in fact introduced some confusion with the erroneous and inopportune inclusion of an f within what had been a strictly G-pentatonic melody. Rameau, whose interest in Chinese music was entirely theoretical, made passing reference to Du Halde in his last major work, the 1760 Code de musique pratique, which contained an appendix, “Nouvelles Réflexions sur le principe sonore.” Here the theorist explicated both Pythagorean and Chinese music theory and their common foundation in the progression triple, which is to say, scale generation by perfect-fifth chains. (The triple proportion 3:1 corresponds to the interval of a perfect twelfth, while the ratio 3:2 gives the perfect fifth.) Rameau appears to have been the first to claim that the Chinese “want there to be only five tones in their Lu,”15 but pentatonicism per se interested him less than did the question of tuning, for the “triple progression” yields intervals at odds with those of Rameau’s cherished corps sonore (essentially, the overtone series). The systems of the ancients thus

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51

prove the universality of the triple progression while also demonstrating the additional need for the quintuple progression, which yields the pure thirds of just intonation, in accordance with the corps sonore.16 In the course of these observations, Rameau did pause to describe the Chinese system. Apparently working from an inadequately translated Chinese treatise—this the product of the young missionary Joseph Marie Amiot’s premature efforts17—Rameau produced two competing schemes, a whole-tone scale and a pentatonic scale: One of [the Chinese sources] gives it in this arrangement sol 3

la 27

si 243

ut dièse 2187

re dièse 19683

mi dièse 177147

one of the most ludicrous arrangements imaginable. But another author gives it as follows, in which only two missing notes are needed to agree with our scale, except for the thirds, which are found to be out of tune compared to two major seconds. sol dièse 6561

la dièse 59049

ut dièse 2187

re dièse 13683[sic]

mi dièse 17714718

Fortunately Rameau’s abstract speculations were complemented by a rare organological specimen whose tuning matched the second of these scales, an Orgue de Barbarie, brought from the Cape of Good Hope by M. Dupleix, who was kind enough to give it to me, and upon which can be executed all the Chinese airs copied in music in the 3rd volume of R. P. du Halde . . . which sufficiently proves that this last Lu has reigned for a long time in China.19

Although these claims are in fact mutually contradictory—certain non-pentatonic passages in Du Halde’s airs would be unplayable on the instrument described— Rameau provides the first explicit account of pentatonicism, one that touches upon both theory and practice. Abbé Roussier took up Rameau’s investigation of ancient music, placing the pentatonic scale within a succession of scales, from the primordial three-note “Lyre of Mercury” to the diatonic “Lyre of Pythagoras.”20 Roussier differed with Rameau, however, on a most fundamental level: whereas Rameau interpreted the Chinese triple-progression as referring to frequency, Roussier insisted that it refers to string length, thus prescribing a descending scale in the minor pentatonic mode, mi–re–si–la–sol–(mi).21 That so profound a disagreement could exist between these two thinkers gives some indication of the dearth of practical knowledge on the subject at the same time that it underscores the modal ambiguity inherent in the few pentatonic examples in circulation at the time. The disagreement ran deeper still, as the question of ancient scales impinged on a lightning-rod issue of the Enlightenment: the extent to which different

52

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cultures share an ancient cultural past.22 Rameau had supposed that the Chinese and the Pythagoreans developed their systems independently of one another, but Roussier, with his unflappable skepticism toward Chinese music, proposed instead the following sweeping historical inference: “The defect of this [wholetone] system and the imperfection of their [pentatonic] scale, whose gaps always seem to call for other tones, make it quite easy to see that these two remarkable systems are each but as debris of a complete system, which I attribute to the Egyptians.”23 This “complete system” is none other than the twelve-tone scale, which supposedly spawned both Chinese pentatonicism and its tonal complement, Western diatonicism. In fact, as Joseph Marie Amiot revealed in his 1780 Mémoires concernant l’histoire . . . des Chinois, the twelve-tone scale had always been a chief preoccupation of Chinese theorists.24 Intending to redress misconceptions arising from his earlier work, Amiot offered a considerably more careful and nuanced treatment than any previous expositions, the fruits of his two subsequent decades living among the Chinese and studying their music. Amiot described the Chinese system in detail as an essentially heptatonic scale within a twelve-tone universe, from which two notes—the auxilliary “pien” tones—had been banished by the “coarse scholars.”25 Continuing the ethnomusicological debate, Amiot concluded in direct opposition to Roussier that it was the Chinese system that traveled to the ancient West, not vice versa. In any case, for a musician who devoted his life to China, Amiot displayed no more sympathy for the music of his adopted home than did his less informed predecessors. I can say that [Chinese airs] greatly bored me, I hope that they will not have the same effect on those who take the trouble to decipher them. Here are several others that I give notated only in our [i.e., the Chinese] manner. From all I’ve said until now, I conclude, and the reader will no doubt agree with me, that the Chinese are enormously little advanced in an art that today has been taken to its highest point of perfection in our France in particular.26

As for practical information concerning Chinese music, Amiot transcribed only a single example into Western notation, a pentatonic “Hymne en l’honneur des ancêtres.”27 Nevertheless, Amiot represents the beginnings of an earnest treatment of Chinese music theory. Charles Burney, also seeking to correct and clarify previous writers, declared Rameau’s major-mode interpretation of the five-note scale to accord with the Chinese music he had studied, including the most famous of Du Halde’s airs.28 Burney introduced further elements to the anthropological questions surrounding pentatonicism. For one thing, he appears to have been the first to equate the Chinese scale with what he called “the Scots scale.”29 Furthermore, according to Burney’s reading of Plutarch’s reading of Aristoxenus, the original Greek Enharmonic genus probably corresponded to a gapped diatonic scale, which in certain modes could have displayed this same anhemitonic five-note

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53

construction. Apparently wary of anthropological speculation, Burney exercised caution in drawing conclusions, but he is the first writer for whom pentatonicism bridges, rather than divides, East and West. He considers the pentatonic scale both “natural” and “ancient,”30 as well as immune from the intonational difficulties presented by 4 and 7.31 It must be said, then, that Burney stands as the first commentator to demonstrate any sympathy to either Chinese music or to the pentatonic scale, a fact that can perhaps be explained by the associations he perceives with the more “legitimate” musical cultures closer to home. Nevertheless, his attitude is ultimately derogatory, dismissing ancient scales as “mutilated” and likening their practitioners to the “Lipogrammatists of antiquity, who wrote long poems without the admission of a particular letter.”32 Whatever cultural interconnections Burney detected apparently escaped Benjamin de Laborde, whose 1780 Essai sur la musique ancienne et moderne contained among its musical spoils twelve mostly pentatonic Chinese tunes as well as a strictly pentatonic Irish tune (the latter begging for comment). Laborde rehearsed the involved theoretical derivations of Roussier and Amiot, as well as the by now conventional interpretation of Chinese practice as (what we would today call) pentatonic. It is understandable that future interpreters of Chinese music would emphasize the latter more than the former, when the simplicity of pentatonicism is so easily described: in correcting Rousseau’s errant f, Laborde firmly claims that most Chinese music “is composed of only five notes, and has as elements only that which the Chinese call the five tones, and which are here sol la si re mi, in which there is neither fa nor ut.”33 Notwithstanding such unambiguous simplifications, the understanding of Chinese scales seems to have been far from unanimous even in the nineteenth century, judging from two prominent writers. Berlioz, reporting on a concert in London, admitted both his ignorance and his curiosity regarding Chinese scales: “My interest in hearing [the famous Chinese singer, the ‘Small-footed Lady’] centered in the manner of the Chinese tonality and division of the scale. I meant to find out whether, as so many people have said and written, they differ from ours. After my experience I concluded that there is no truth in the report.”34 (Unexplored by Berlioz is the question of what, precisely, would constitute scalar difference. If the music he heard contained pentatonic scales—a fair, if unknowable possibility—one cannot say to what extent the open-minded composer would have deemed them exceptional.35) Meanwhile, in 1840 Fétis issued an expanded edition of his La musique mise à la portée de tout le monde, in which a new chapter on exotic scales describes the “Chinese and Indian scale” as F-Lydian.36 Later in his career, however, Fétis developed a deeper interest in non-Western scales and described Asian music in greater detail, referring to its lack of semitones as its “most distinctive feature.”37 Unlike his predecessors, Fétis’s disdain for this feature derived unabashedly from his own theoretical outlook, in particular his insistence upon what he felt were absolute laws of tonality. Thus the Chinese “underestimated the necessity of this interval of the semitone, without which no musical art is possible, no sentimental emotion

54

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aroused by melody, no modulation, no means to avoid the incessant return of the same forms, and thus, monotony.”38 Fétis’s doctrinal convictions were matched at the time by more empirical writers such as Carl Engel and Hermann von Helmholtz, who celebrated what they understood to be the pentatonic scale’s curious ubiquity. The substantial discussion of the pentatonic scale in Engel’s 1864 The Music of the Most Ancient Nations (apparently the originator of the term itself 39) is notable for being organized around the scale per se, rather than around a particular musical tradition. Engel calls the resemblance of Chinese and Scottish music “quite inexplicable,” while acknowledging the common “traces” of the pentatonic scale in each tradition. He further identifies the scale in Burmese and Javanese music, children’s songs, and an Ethiopian harp.40 This apparent universality even caused Engel to remark upon the lack of pentatonicism in printed music from Calcutta, attributing this to Western “corrections.”41 We thus observe a recognition of the validity and value of other musical cultures (even if ultimately a “totalizing” one), indeed, a concern with authenticity.42 Although both the universalist and primitivist tropes gained widespread favor in the twentieth century,43 commentators at the end of the nineteenth century had learned to be less decisive in their theorizing, humbled by a sharp increase in data. Hence Alexander Ellis, as if in response to Fétis and Helmholtz, concludes that the world’s scales are “very diverse, very artificial, and very capricious,”44 while Hugo Riemann, alluding to the problems confidently tackled by Rameau and Roussier, self-consciously evades the question of scalar priority among the ancients.45 No doubt contributing to this trend was an increase in opportunities like the one Berlioz described: performances of non-Western musics more or less unmediated by scholasticism. These same performances inspired the most famous upsurge of Western pentatonicism, that of the Impressionists. And while the more canonical examples of nineteenth-century pentatonicism occurred around the same time and later, the history of pentatonic usage among Western composers in fact extends back to the final years of the eighteenth century. That history forms the subject of the next section.

3. Armchair Anthropology: Pentatonic Exoticism from Vogler to Debussy To my knowledge the first Western composer to use the pentatonic scale in a thoroughgoing fashion was not Carl Maria von Weber, as is sometimes supposed, but rather that eccentric musical alchemist, Abbé Georg-Joseph Vogler. His 1798 Pièces de clavecin, a veritable compendium of character pieces in various national styles, contains a thoroughly black-key piece entitled simply, and enigmatically, Pente chordium (ex. 2.2). The title ostensibly refers to an ancient, exotic instrument, though one not listed in contemporary dictionaries. (Only Johann Gottfried Walther’s 1732 Musikalisches Lexicon comes close, defining

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55

Example 2.2 (⫽excerpt of P2). Vogler, Pente chordium (1798), beginning. (From Georg Joseph Vogler: Pièces de clavecin (1798); and Zwei und dreisig Präludien (1806), Madison, WI: A-R Editions, Inc., 1986. Used with permission. All rights reserved.)

“Pentachordum” as “an arrangement or series of five strings. . . . ”46) Perhaps Vogler encountered in his studies or on his travels a pentatonically tuned fivestringed instrument (presumably one of Greek origin), or else he merely imagined such a thing, inspired by writers like Roussier. In any case, as noteworthy as Vogler’s experiment was for its time, the musical style is in fact tellingly conservative, even retrogressive: throughout the piece, the harmony alternates between tonic and dominant, and 6 behaves classically, as a complete upper neighbor to 5. Vogler’s undeniably deliberate and self-conscious restriction to the keyboard’s five black keys, therefore, results not in a saliently pentatonic piece, but rather in an essentially triadic one. Conservative though he was as a pentatonicist, Vogler’s active engagement with the pentatonic scale contrasted starkly with the timidity of his contemporaries. None of the writers discussed above imagined the pentatonic scale to hold any value as compositional material, but rather only as a theoretical curiosity or as evidence for anthropological speculation. The relatively slow adoption of pentatonic exoticism by composers suggests a similar skepticism on their part. Simoni dall Croubelis, for instance, apparently intended to satisfy “Asian taste” through the simple, even puerile cast of the theme in example 2.3. Like some rudimentary etude, the glaringly predictable stepwise melody advances in a

Allegro con spirito Ob.

Hn. in D

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Cb.

I Ob.

I Hn. in D

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Cb.

Example 2.3. Croubelis, Symphony in D, “Dans le goût asiatique” (1780), beginning.

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57

Example 2.4 (⫽P3). Domenico Corri, The Travellers (1806), I/3, beginning. square and steady eighth-note rhythm. While the hexachordal theme thus neglects the recent discoveries of actual Asian music, its childish style nevertheless alludes more generally to “a people of simple manners during the infancy of civilization.”47 For others, including Purcell (noted earlier) and Rameau, Asian musical exoticism was apparently eschewed altogether.48 With the exception of Vogler, the first instances of pentatonic exoticism consisted of borrowed, not composed, melodies, these garnered from the eighteenthcentury sources discussed earlier. Joseph Marie Amiot’s “Hymne en l’honneur des ancêtres” served Domenico Corri in his 1806 opera The Travellers (ex. 2.4), while two different tunes originating with Du Halde provided the requisite material for character pieces by Weber and Friedrich Kalkbrenner. And despite the best efforts of eighteenth-century writers, these practitioners demonstrated only the most limited understanding. Weber’s knowledge of Chinese music apparently ended at Rousseau’s Dictionnaire and its errant rendering of Du Halde’s “Air chinois” (see above). No doubt oblivious to Rousseau’s mistake—and to its subsequent correction by both Laborde and Burney—Weber harmonized the theme as it stood, wayward f and all, as the theme to his Turandot (ex. 2.5).49 Weber’s unwitting compliance with this corruption gives some indication of the helpless ignorance that was apparently typical of the early nineteenth century. Still, the inadvertent “blue note” aside, the theme displays a thoroughgoing pentatonicism, notable for having seized a Western composer’s quill, if not his affections. Weber’s program note constitutes a forceful vote of “no confidence” in an overture that in fact achieved some degree of popularity in Germany:50 Pipes and drum introduce the strange, bizarre melody which is taken up by the whole orchestra and presented in a number of different shapes, figurations and keys. The impression on the listener is not exactly pleasing, for this would mean going against the nature of the melody, but it must be acknowledged to be a respectably conceived character piece.51

58

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Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Example 2.5 (⫽excerpt of P4). Weber, Incidental music to Turandot (1809), mm. 19–22.

Beyond ignorance and ill will, another tendency in evidence among early pentatonicists is the assimilationism practiced by Kalkbrenner, who raised the leading tones in one of Du Halde’s minor-pentatonic tunes (P5). The scarcity of Chinese subjects in either dramatic or program music in the first half of the nineteenth century places these pieces as exceptions within an exoticism that normally connoted the Arab world, not the Far East. Nonetheless, motives from Weber’s Turandot theme would later return in Cherubini’s Ali-Baba (P6), a testament to musical exoticism’s inattention to geographical fidelity.52 Further echoes of the theme may be heard in André Messager’s Madame Chrysanthème (P7); the theme of Saint-Saëns’s La Princesse jaune (P8) (also G pentatonic) is perhaps a distant relative. One of the earliest examples of a newly composed Chinese evocation owed no less a debt to written treatises than did the musical borrowings just mentioned. Rossini’s “L’Amour à Pekin,” from his late collection Morceaux réservés, suggests a fetishization of scales, a kind of special compositional challenge (akin to the one found elsewhere in the collection, the single-note melody of “Adieux à la vie”). The curious form of “L’Amour,” actually a suite of seven short pieces, is explained in the composer’s dedication: SCALES Some Ascents and some Descents Two Chinese Scales, followed by an analogous melody The whole thing dedicated to my friend M. Jobart Millionaire (Ever the Humbug) Rossini, 1867 53

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59

Andantino mosso

cresc.

cresc.

Example 2.6. Rossini, “L’Amour à Pekin” (1857–68), Gamme chinoise.

The “ascents” and “descents” in question systematically traverse a chromatic octave, while the ensuing “Chinese scale” to which the vocal melody strictly adheres comprises a whole-tone scale, recalling Rameau’s description from a century earlier (ex. 2.6).54 A stronger impetus to composerly pentatonicism than published accounts were the increasingly available performances of music from distant lands— proof, as it were, of the scale’s musical feasibility. The Paris Expositions of 1867, 1878, and 1889 represented a momentous shrinking of the world, one enthusiastically welcomed by many contemporaries.55 Julien Tiersot proudly heralded this unique situation in the very first line of his report on the 1889 Exposition: “Rome is no longer in Rome, Cairo no longer in Egypt, nor the Isle of Java in the Oriental Indies. All of these have come to the Champ de Mars, the Esplanade des Invalides, and the Trocadéro.”56 But if the exotic presence at the Expositions was ultimately meant to flatter the hosts through an unavoidable if implicit comparison to the high culture of modern France,57 it also produced the opposite effect. Composer and professor L. A. Bourgault-Ducoudray foresaw in the 1878 Exposition the promise of a “rejuvenation” of Western music, whose “two modes, the major and the minor, have been so thoroughly exploited”: “No element of expression existing in a tune of any kind, however ancient, however remote in origin, must be banished from our musical idiom.”58 Polemicists like Debussy found in the musical diversity a seemingly limitless source for their contentious barbs. “Remember the music of Java which contained every nuance, even the ones we no longer have names for. There tonic and dominant had become empty shadows of use only to stupid children.”59 Further comparisons to the Javanese cast Palestrinian counterpoint as “child’s

60

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play” and European music in general as “not much more than a barbarous kind of noise more fit for a traveling circus.”60 These remarks appear directed as much toward Debussy’s contemporaries as toward what must have seemed the closed-minded historians of previous generations, by invoking the primitivist trope while turning it on its head. Debussy’s opinion of exotic music contrasts as much with Weber’s as his pentatonic usage contrasts with Vogler’s. And Debussy’s pentatonicism became so integral as to legitimize the precarious distinction offered earlier, exoticism as content versus exoticism as technique: like his contemporary Vincent Van Gogh, Debussy incorporated exotic devices more for their own aesthetic sake than as signifiers per se.61 (According to Mervyn Cooke, Pagodes is the only “Oriental” piece in which Debussy employed pentatonicism.62) Debussy’s exoticism, of course, embraced any number of approximations of non-Western musical devices, from pentatonic and whole-tone scales (both related to the more or less equal-tempered Javanese slendro) to toneclusters and shimmering, quasi-metallic timbres, each of which satisfied certain aesthetic priorities of Impressionism. The extent of Debussy’s pentatonicism has been noted by many writers; its place in nineteenth-century music history will be considered in chapter 5.63 Later we will refine our understanding of the exotic pentatonic, of which further examples are found as P9–P39. Meanwhile, another vital strain of nineteenthcentury pentatonicism, seemingly distinct but in many ways related, is introduced in the next section.

B. The Domestic Strain of Pentatonicism (I): Incipient/Intuitive Sources 1. “Haven’t We Met?”: Pentatonic déjà vu Earlier I presented Vogler’s Pente chordium (ex. 2.2), an unusually systematic use of the pentatonic scale apparently arising from speculations on the music of antiquity. Whatever Vogler’s motivations may have been, however, the black-key nature of that piece reminds us of the simple fact that pentatonicism, foreign though it was vis-à-vis European art-music, had been right under the noses of keyboard musicians for centuries, all the while patiently awaiting their fingers. Furthermore, we are reminded of pentatonicism’s status as a veritable corollary of Western tonality: the stark appearance of those five notes upon the most popular Western instrument is, after all, an ironic result of the privilege bestowed upon the diatonic scale within a twelve-tone universe. While black-key pieces are rare, a broader lesson should nevertheless be taken to heart: both as the “negative space” of the diatonic scale and as a basic elaboration of the tonic triad, the pentatonic scale is for Europeans an unassuming musical native. In fact, long before Vogler’s Pente chordium (to say nothing of Debussy’s supposed epiphany at the 1889 Paris Exposition), Western composers had

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61

possessed a generic, one might say an intuitive pentatonicism derived from the tonal minimalism of pastoral and faux-pastoral music. Indeed, Western pentatonicism has generally favored pastoral subjects over exotic ones. The two characterize ostensibly separate historical strands, an “imported” strand measuring the distance between Orient and Occident and a “domestic” strand measuring the distance between countryside and city, the distance between antiquity and modernity serving as a common metric for both. As revealed in this section, the domestic sources of pentatonicism are subtle and manifold.

2. Music of Meager Means: Drones, Triads, and Hexachords Example 2.7, from Handel’s opera Il pastor fido, presents a simple pentatonic invocation by Mirtillo, the “faithful shepherd” of Guarini’s pastorale.64 Handel’s pentatonicism, striking in its own way and notable for its time (1712), nevertheless hardly appears self-conscious or deliberate: rather, a modest triadic melody has been outfitted with sparing diminutions, producing what might be called “incidental” or “circumstantial” pentatonicism. Still, the programmatic intent seems clear, the compositional execution perfectly straightforward; over a century later, a similarly decorated triad would characterize another pastoral lover during a rare moment of merriment (ex. 2.8).65 The simplicity of triadic diminution, however, is complicated by a peculiar asymmetry: in a diatonic context, the span between chordal fifth and root (i.e., the interval of a fourth) normally involves

Ca ro A mor,

la

scia in pa

ca ro A mor,

ce

l’al

ma

mi

sol

per

mo

men

ti

a,

Example 2.7 (⫽P40). Handel, Il pastor fido (1712), II/1, “Caro Amor,” mm. 24–35.

62

❧


Ich träum te von bun

ten

Blu

men,

so wie sie wohl blü hen im Mai,

Example 2.8 (⫽P41). Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Frühlingstraum,” mm. 5–8.

Allegretto pastorale

marcato

un poco marcato

Example 2.9 (⫽P42). Liszt, Weihnachtsbaum (1876), #3, “Die Hirten an der Krippe,” beginning.

Es

keh ret der Mai en, es blü het die Au’, die

Lüf te, sie we hen so

Example 2.10. Beethoven, An die ferne Geliebte (1816), #5, “Es kehret der Maien,” vocal entrance.

two passing tones, whereas a single passing tone suffices for each of the triad’s other spans (the major and minor thirds). The ostinato in example 2.9, then, shows how a desire for straightforward symmetry within the inherently unsymmetrical triad yields a pentatonic passing tone between 8 and 5, a result that typifies a whole class of such melodies (ex. 2.10; see also P43–P45).

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63

These examples all illustrate the relationship between pentatonicism and the major triad. An equally significant feature of the Handel aria (ex. 2.7 above) is the tonic drone, perhaps the quintessential marker of rustic scenes. Drones signify through their allusion to the bagpipe and through their sonic representation of folklife as carefree, simple, and slow. But one should also acknowledge the non-pastoral contexts in which drones appear. The ponderous, dissonant, and chromatic pedal point sections of a Bachian coda, for instance, make it clear that pastoral pedal points owe their effect as much to the melody’s pretensions (or lack thereof) as to the drone itself. It is the conjunction of melodic consonance with the drone that generates the occasion for incidental pentatonicism. In this regard it should be recalled that, of the secondary (i.e., non-tonic-triad) scale degrees, 6 alone forms a consonance with the tonic, making it an ideal melodic accessory to pastoral drones—and, as it happens, one suitably accompanied in the parallel thirds typical of the pastoral topic (ex. 2.11; see also P47, P48). The hexatonicism of the preceding examples acquires a further degree of simplicity when restricted to the stepwise confines of the hexachord itself (ex. 2.12; see also P50). As well as satisfying the principles mentioned thus far, hexachordal melodies represent the modesty of range that might be associated with primitive instruments.66 Moreover, the hexachord would have contained an ideological dimension relevant to its depiction of nature scenes. As was mentioned in chapter 1, the eighteenth century saw the completion of a long historical

Pastorale Adagio

Example 2.11 (⫽P46). Johann Christoph Pez, Concerto pastorale (1700), Adagio, beginning.

Example 2.12 (⫽P49). Handel, Messiah (1741), Pastoral Symphony, beginning.

64

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process that transformed the interlocking, mutating hexachords of medieval music theory into the complete heptatonic octave. The transformation, though virtually irreversible by the eighteenth century, was by no means settled, as vestiges of the hexachord (“the first elements of music,” according to John Hawkins67) endured quietly in both theory and practice; some conservatives even continued to favor a hexachordal understanding of pitch-space.68 Thus the hexachord, like folklife itself, was a revered but obsolescent facet of European culture. By adopting music of meager means to depict the simplicity of both rural life and its primitive instruments, composers easily approximated (and in many cases, actually produced) pentatonicism. The transparent, unpretentious tone of these examples represents a calculated exaggeration of diatonicism, and it was this tonal and melodic simplicity that formed the least conspicuous source for nineteenth-century pentatonicism.

3. Nature’s Call Horn calls The preceding examples, in contrast to those related to the imported strand of pentatonicism, depend not on mimicry but on exploiting certain natural principles inherent in the diatonic system. Example 2.13 illustrates another, more truly “natural,” principle available to musicians the world over: the “scale” that is the overtone series, to which natural wind instruments are more or less bound. From the hunting ground to the pasture to the postal route, this series has served as the essential substance of horn signals. In practice, of course, only a subset of the harmonic series is relevant to the hornist. The technical difficulty of producing the higher harmonics restricts natural horn calls to the disjunct intervals prescribed by the lower harmonics. The most humble instruments (for instance, those fashioned from an actual animal’s horn) might produce but a single note and perhaps its octave, bearing information by virtue of a distinctive rhythmic profile. More memorable are those calls partaking further of the overtone series to produce a complete major triad (ex. 2.14). While the triadic core of the horn style might seem unremarkable within a common-practice tonal system in which, after all, the triad reigns, distinctive traits nonetheless emerge, including the open-ended calling dyad 1–3

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Example 2.13. The overtone series.

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

❧


65

Example 2.14. Haydn, Die Jahreszeiten (1801), Herbst, #29, “Hört! hört das laute Getön.”

3

3

3

3

Example 2.15. Schubert, Symphony #9, D. 944 (1828), iv, beginning.

Example 2.16. Handel, Water Music Suite in F major (1717), Jig, end.

Andante

Hn.

Example 2.17 (⫽P51). Gade, Comala (1846), #1, “Chor der Krieger und Barden,” beginning.

used as a summons to attention (ex. 2.15), and its inversion, the characteristic gesture that came to be thought of as the “Ländler cadence,” 3–1 (ex. 2.16). It is not surprising to also find rather loose interpretations of these horn thirds, such as the pentatonic corruption shown in example 2.17, its 6–8 magically

66

❧

the pastoral-exotic pentatonic 8va 3

3

rit.

3

Example 2.18 (⫽P54). Liszt, Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses (1836), mm. 454–455.

synthesizing the rising contour of the summons call with the closure of the Ländler cadence. The notion that 6–8 represents a logical—if not acoustical— extension of the horn style is shown in two examples from Haydn, where instruments other than the horn fill in what the natural horn might do, were it better able (P52, P53). Putting aside the tonally awkward seventh partial (approximately, 7), the next new pitch-class to appear in the overtone series is the ninth partial, the inclusion of which represents a qualitative leap forward in musical interest. This 2 introduces a more compelling dichotomy of tonic and dominant than was possible with the triadic notes alone. The resulting tetratonic “scale” 1–2–3–5 exists conceptually between the triadic and pentatonic spaces and contains that quintessential progression associated with the horn, the cadential duet in so-called “horn fifths” (ex. 2.18). Further extending the horn’s range produces a harmonic which, though often used for 4, is in fact closer to 4, one reason, surely, that it is sometimes leapt over to the twelfth partial (the upper 5) yielding a higher range in the 1–2–3–5 scale (P55, P56) and another prominent Ländler cadence, 5–3 (P57). As for the thirteenth partial (also mis-tuned), the amateur hornist would encounter this rarely, but significantly, as Josef Pöschl explains with respect to hunting signals: The highest note, written a2, which in hunting calls in fact appears only twice, has the highest information content as well. It is technically more difficult to reach, for which reason it is reserved for expressive calls. “Zum Wecken” [Pöschl’s ex. 212, my ex. 2.19] is one of the examples in which this a2 is reached straightaway by ascending motion. The call lies this high so as to be heard distinctly and clearly by all.69

Such an effect is captured by the dramatic, quickly executed 6–5s in example 2.20 (see also P59–P61). The register above this high a appears to have been the domain of professionals (Mozart demanded notes as much as a seventh higher).

Wa chet auf,

Hun de laut

hab ich nicht

Ihr Ge

bel

len, vor

Zeit,

sel

len, schon grüßt uns

bei ist die

Hift horn mit

Nacht!

der

Mor gen son ne Pracht.

Lieb chen, zu

min nig li cher Lust

sil ber hel lem Klang ruft zum Ge

jaid!

Example 2.19. Traditional hunting call, “Zum Wecken.” From Josef Pöschl, Jagdmusik: Kontinuität und Entwicklung in der europäischen Geschichte, ex. 212. Allegretto I Hn. II

I Hn. II

Example 2.20 (⫽P58). Giovanni Punto, Rondeau en chasse (1790s), beginning.

68

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the pastoral-exotic pentatonic tetratonic nucleus calling dyads

practical pentatonicism

Example 2.21. The amateur hornist’s basic scale.

And although hornists from the mid-eighteenth century onward explored techniques to circumvent the harmonic scale through the use of hand-stopping, the horn’s enduring identity depended on those tonal idiosyncrasies derived from the overtone series. In short, the notes that are both natural and most practical on the horn comprise the gapped set illustrated in example 2.21: a five-note collection distinguished by a tetratonic nucleus 1–2–3–5, with an occasional 6–5 decoration at the uppermost extent. These features, along with conventions of key (especially E and D) and rhythm (the triple meters suggestive of the instrument’s equestrian roots) coalesced into a well-defined topic, virtually unique among eighteenth-century topics for its continued vitality throughout the nineteenth. But as the associations with nobility (the “hunting class”) receded in the nineteenth century, horn calls came to imply the mystery and freedom of the forest, “as the favorite musical topic of a restricted and decadent social group turned into an artful interpretation of nature which belongs to all of mankind.”70 This explains the appearance of a stylized horn call in a Chopin Nocturne (P62)71 or the transplanted horn figure that gradually reveals itself as the basis for the thematic material of the first group of Schubert’s Piano Trio in B (ex. 2.22). Although the distinction is not always obvious, a more exotic type of pastoral call is that associated with cattle-herding, most famously the Alpine ranz des vaches. In this case the English horn (less often, the French horn) generally assumes the place of the rustic alphorn, to which the same acoustical principles apply as above. In the ranz des vaches, though, the eleventh partial is more often construed as f than as f, a peculiarity that yields a decidedly Lydian flavor in many cases, while in other cases the note leaves behind a pentatonic wake through its omission; the echo duet (another common device) of example 2.23 explores both possibilities in alternation. The upper octave’s 6–5 generally assumes more prominence in the alphorn than in the hunting horn, offering a characteristic registral extension, as in a ranz transcribed by Max Baumann (ex. 2.2472); this “hexachordal peak” appears also in P65 and, in a more abstract, stylized form, in P66. Also typical is the “horizontalizing” of horn fifths to produce leaps between 2 and 5, as in the Appenzeller ranz borrowed by Grétry, Rossini,

a

Allegro moderato

3

3

3

3

b

3

3

3

3

c 3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3 3

3

3

Example 2.22. Schubert, Piano Trio in B major, D. 898 (1828), i. (a) First theme, mm. 1–3. (b) Second theme, mm. 12–13. (c) (⫽P63) Transition to second group, mm. 51–53.

Andante

Très modéré

dim.

Example 2.23 (⫽P64). Gounod, Mireille (1864), IV/14, “Chanson,” beginning.

3

3

Example 2.24. Ranz des vaches, transcribed by Baumann in “Switzerland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Muicians, 2nd ed.

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71

Andante EHn.

3

3

dolce

Example 2.25 (⫽excerpt of P70). Rossini, Guillaume Tell (1829), Overture, mm. 176–180.

and Liszt, likely via Rousseau’s Dictionnaire (P67–P69).73 Rossini’s more extended ranz from Guillaume Tell, this one newly composed, epitomizes both features (ex. 2.25).74 (More examples of the ranz appear as P71–P77.) Although violins rather than double-reeds play the themes in P78 and P79, the proto-pentatonicism and cyclic treatment of their motives suggests a connection with the other examples of the ranz discussed here.

Vocal calls In example 2.26, a rudimentary dyadic call 6–5 inspires a spirited hornlike response by the choir, featuring the tetratonic nucleus and a Ländler cadence. Such “vocalizing” of horn calls is a convenient option in dramatic music and has been used since the Renaissance.75 Vocalized horn calls may embody simple commands (P81), generic yelps (P82), or narrations that cleverly conflate the story with its telling (P83). The vocal pentatonicism of Schubert’s “Rückblick” (P84) shows itself to be horn-related only in the final line, with its characteristic galloping triplets. (See also P85–P88.) In addition to these evocations of the horn is a whole class of intoned calls more native to the voice, what we may refer to as cries. Although the human voice is exempt from the scalar limitations of natural horns, cries often display features that are fortuitously congruent with the horn’s, notwithstanding their apparently linguistic derivation. As discussed in chapter 1, the cries of street vendors, the intoned speech used to call someone by name at a distance, and the sarcastic chorus heard too often at high-school basketball games (“Air ball!”), all suggest that dyads of roughly a minor third seem to occupy a realm somewhere between music and language. Such thirds figured conspicuously in the potpourris of street cries fashionable in the Renaissance, no doubt owing in part to their congruence with the fifteenth-century chanson’s imitative textures and “emerging triadic tonality.”76 A strictly ethological/linguistic explanation of such thirds must account for their suitability as heightened speech. I suppose that they represent a compromise between the constraints of amateur vocal production on the one hand—the larger the interval, the more difficult to project a consistent tone on both notes—and the constraints of melodic “scene analysis”

72

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the pastoral-exotic pentatonic dolce

S. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et

mus et

te.

mus et

te.

mus et

te.

dolce T. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et dolce

B. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et

dolce S. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

dolce T. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

dolce B. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

Example 2.26 (⫽P80). Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), I/1, “Choeur des montagnards,” beginning.

in noisy real-world situations on the other hand—the smaller the interval, the more difficult to extract it from other environmental sounds, such as the bustle of the marketplace. Such is presumably the impulse behind the opening calls of two traditional “news” carols (ex. 2.27).

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73

a Burden

Ti

dingës

true

there

buth

Ti

dingës true

there

buth

come

come

b Burden

No

va,

no

va:

A

VE fit

ex

E

VA.

Example 2.27. Two “news” carols. (a) “Tidingës true”; (b) “Nova, nova.”

Ei,

du

Lü te Sö te, Wit te, ei, du

Lüt te, weerst du

min!

Example 2.28 (⫽P93). Schoenberg, “Ei, du Lütte” (ca. 1898), beginning.

While street cries do not appear to have interested composers much since the Renaissance,77 speech-melody has nevertheless endured in subtle ways. The animal beacons of P89 and P90 and the reveilles of P91 and P92 could all be said to derive from voice and horn in equal parts, but the childlike flirtations of example 2.28 (see also P94, P95) conjure first and foremost the world of premusical vocalization. Cries may serve a wide variety of purposes, from robust rallies (P96–P98) to farewells (P99–P101) to ecstatic expressions beyond words (P102, P103). As will be explored in chapter 3, liturgical chant represents another genre of purposefully heightened speech, likewise distinguished by a “pentatonic residue.”

Lullabies In a more intimate context, the heightening of speech may produce the calming coos and entreaties that comprise the vocabulary of lullabies. Although lullabies

74

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often favor chordal melodies (including arpeggiations of the dominant seventh), strategically placed motives, like those by now familiar to the reader, imbue the tunes with a tender directness: calling thirds (ex. 2.29; see also P105–P107), gentle 6–5 appoggiaturas (P108–P110), and the hornlike tetrachord (P111). A string of calling motives quickly approaches pentatonicism (ex. 2.30; see also P113–P117). Schubert’s “Des Baches Wiegenlied” (P118) provides a telling synthesis of two genres: entitled a “lullaby,” it contains what must surely be meant as a yodel (that is, a call) with the sudden leap into the falsetto register and the quintessential calling dyads 6–5, 3–1, and 5–3. Finally, soothing pentatonic codas aptly represent the attainment of sleep (P119–P122), poignantly in the case of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder (P122); the harmonic placidity of pentatonicism hence becomes a sort of tonal analogue to whispering.

Zart bewegt

Gut en

A

bend, gut

Nacht,

Example 2.29 (⫽P104). Brahms, “Wiegenlied” (1868), beginning.

poco rit.

Bon ne

nuit,

bon ne

nuit,

a tempo

bon ne nuit!

poco rit.

a tempo

Example 2.30 (⫽P112). Massenet, “Bonne nuit!” (1872), mm. 15–19.

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75

Birdsong One of the most codified markers of the pastoral is stylized birdsong, whose dyads are often indistinguishable from the vocal and instrumental calls discussed thus far. The cuckoo, no doubt thanks to its harmonically unobtrusive descending thirds, has held pride of place in the musical aviary, with a history extending back to well before the transcription in Kircher’s 1650 Musurgia universalis.78 In fact, cuckoos were invoked in performance as early as the thirteenth century: the famous round “Sumer is icumen in” (ex. 2.31; third voice from the top) even features the untamed 8–6–8 variety, which was rendered all but extinct by the regularization of 6 in the Baroque era. The most typical latter-day cuckoo calls are hence those navigating the notes of the tonic triad, as is the case with the children’s instrument used by Leopold Mozart in his “Toy” Symphony: the Kuckuck in G plays nothing but the dyad 5–3.79 The 6–5 dyad has been used to mimic the nightingale and other unspecified birds (P123–P126). A juxtaposition of various dyads produces a more tuneful elaboration of the basic style (ex. 2.32; see also P128–P130), or else it may convey a virtual ornithological dialogue (P131, P132). Vivaldi developed a veritable formula for bird cadenzas, with rapid fluctuations between 5 and either 1 (8) or 6 (P133–P135.) Such a cadenza in example 2.33 includes an improbable quasi-pentatonic escape-note figure, 5–6–1. These lively cadenzas evoke both the bird’s spontaneous spinning of melody as well as the brisk fluttering motion of its wings, which, when sustained, constitute

Wel

sing

Cu

es

thu

cu,

Cu

cu,

Cu

Mu

rie

sing

Cu

cu.

Bul

loc

ster

teth,

buc

sing

Cu

cu,

sing

Cu

cu

Ne

cu,

swick thu

na

ver

nu.

Wel

es

thu

Cu.

sing

Cu

ke

ver

nu,

teth,

Mu

cu,

rie

sing

Cu.

Cu

cu.

sing

Cu

cu.

sing

Cu

cu.

Example 2.31. Anonymous, “Sumer is icumen in” (13th century), end.

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the pastoral-exotic pentatonic Immer sehr leise

1.

Example 2.32 (⫽P127). Schumann, Album für die Jugend (1848), “Gukkuk im Versteck,” beginning.

Example 2.33 (⫽P135). Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in A major, “Il cucu,” RV 335 (1719), i, mm. 18–23.

instances of Klangfläche, the device of simulated motion within harmonic stasis that Dahlhaus has identified as the essence of nineteenth-century musical nature-imagery.80 (See also P136–P138.) Klangfläche likely inspired the artistic license of Liszt, whose transcription of Berlioz’s “Scène aux champs” from Symphonie fantastique augmented the original with an extended measured trill on 5 (ex. 2.34). Perhaps the most distinctive and famous birdsong of the nineteenth century, from Wagner’s Siegfried (P139), epitomizes all the traits discussed here, but in its languorous duration and suspension of time it breaks from the stylized dyads of the eighteenth century, embodying a more Romantic conception of birdsong as “a form of infinity” (see also P140, P141).81 (More bird calls are given as P142–P147.)

Bells The tonal requirements involved in depictions of bells have less to do with the details of the overtone series than with bells’ sustain and consequent need to

6

❧


77

6

6

6

dolce calando

5

6

6

6

quasi niente

Example 2.34. Liszt, transcription of Berlioz, “Scène aux champs” (third movement) from Symphonie fantastique (1833), mm. 134–137.

mutually harmonize. They are therefore often portrayed with familiar thirds (ex. 2.35; see also P149), but also with 5–6–5 neighbors (P150, P151). (See also P152.) Large church bells will peal at wider intervals still (P153, P154), or else toll monotonously, providing a hospitable accompaniment to a pentatonic melody (P155, P156). In Ravel’s “La Vallée des cloches,” the rich overtones of bells inspired the use of quartal harmonies that in turn generate a pentatonic melody (P157).

78

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Glö

cke

lein, 8va

Example 2.35 (⫽P148). Loewe, “Thomas der Reimer” (1860), m. 33.

Example 2.36. Electric doorbell.

Other calls The foregoing sections beg for synthesis. In short, I understand prominent dyads of the major second and major and minor thirds as signs of a “vocative” (“calling”) mode of communication, as well as of simplicity, innocence, and naturalness in general. A modern suburban descendent of these vocatives is given in example 2.36.82 Understood generically as a call, its precise derivation— whether as a cuckoo, a horn call, or a chimes—is unclear and unimportant.83 By the same token, generic calls, absent of semantic cues of text, performance instruction, or instrumentation, echo throughout European music in subtle ways. Musically these calls are distinguished by their delicate balance between openness and closure, and hence resonate with Romantic conceptions of musical time. Such calls may establish or enhance a pastoral mood (ex. 2.37; see also P159–P161), reflect a childlike simplicity (P162, P163), or “freeze” time through ostinato-like repetition, creating an evocative sonic tableau (P164, P165). They may enact an actual call generated “within” a piece, as from a chorus of peasants welcoming the spring (P166), or they may function more abstractly, indicating, for instance, a distant “swell of music on the wind” (P167) or an unnamed sound of nature (P168). Furthermore, calls may operate on an entirely different level of musical meaning when understood as a rhetorical device: they may communicate “to without,” placing the listener as the “called,” and pricking the ears to an intangible, intriguing message. This almost subliminal device suffuses the opening of Chopin’s Ballade in A (ex. 2.38; see also P170).

Allegretto

Es

grü

net ein

Nuss

baum

vor

dem

Haus,

Example 2.37 (⫽P158). Schumann, “Der Nussbaum” (1840), beginning.

Allegretto

mezza voce

Example 2.38 (⫽P169). Chopin, Ballade in A major (1841), beginning.

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4. Dance One of the most common sites of intersection between art-music and its folk inspirations is that of dance music. Dance forms are normally distinguished by purely rhythmic characteristics,84 but tonal idiosyncrasies may figure as well. One instance of this is the prominent use of 6 in the waltz and related forms, a feature whose rustic derivation is suggested by certain of Schubert’s Ländler (P171, P172; see also P173–P175). In addition, a strictly practical function for the waltz 6 may be inferred from Marx’s comments on Weber’s Freischütz waltz (ex. 2.39): “We see in the above piece auxiliary tones placed before the pure chord tones in the melody in order to set the first step in relief; every other melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic sharpening . . . serves the same purpose.”85 Strategically placed neighbors and appoggiaturas, that is, impel physical motion in dancers (P176–P181), just as they depict the physical motion of birds. This, along with the tendency in dance music toward symmetrical structures and a pronounced tonic-dominant polarity, makes 6 the ideal melodic adjunct: 5, the tone common to I and V, is often a melodic anchor (ex. 2.40), to which 6 serves as the most natural accessory (ex. 2.41; see also P183).86 It is therefore difficult to know whether it is the Viennese influence or the Scottish (see below) that accounts for the prominence of 6 in several écossaises by Beethoven and Chopin (P184–P187). In any case, it was in the Austrian dance genres that the conventionalization of 6 led to its gradual emancipation during the nineteenth century, its melodic tendency rendered increasingly abstract (ex. 2.42; see also P189, P190).

Example 2.39. Weber, Der Freischütz (1821), I/3, Bohemian Waltz, beginning.

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81

Example 2.40. Beethoven, Ländlerische Tänze, WoO 15 #3 (1802), beginning.

Trio

dolce

Example 2.41 (⫽P182). Beethoven, Deutsche, WoO 13 #5 (1797), mm. 17–24.

5. Irony and Tragedy The essence of pastoral pentatonicism’s signification lies not chiefly in specifics but rather in the semantic commonalities of those specifics. That is, beyond conveying an actual bagpipe, ranz des vaches, lullaby, or rustic dance, the pastoral pentatonic conveys more generally the innocence, purity, and simplicity of the outdoors and its (supposedly) childlike inhabitants. But the depiction of pastoral subjects also contains the possibility of a more nuanced, personal mode of expression, that of a nostalgic longing for innocence. Moreover, the expansiveness and mystery of the natural world, which so enthralled the Romantics, may

82

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T. O

die

Frau

en,

o

die

Frau

en,

O

die

Frau

en,

o

die

Frau

en,

B.

I

II

Example 2.42 (⫽P188). Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #3 (1869), “O die Frauen,” beginning.

Adagio EHn.

marcato Ob.

Example 2.43 (⫽P72). Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), iii, beginning.

provoke feelings of loneliness as much as feelings of peace and merriment, just as horn calls may act as “symbols of memory—or, more exactly, of distance, absence, and regret.”87 Such loneliness is palpable in the case of Berlioz’s “Scène aux champs” from Symphonie fantastique, a long-distance shepherd duet that ultimately (and tragically) devolves to a solo (ex. 2.43; see also P76 cited earlier). And after all, cries do include farewells (P99–P101, cited earlier).88 The pentatonicism that surfaces periodically throughout Schubert’s Winterreise offers an even more complex invocation of pastoral primitivism, from the jaded singer’s love-struck innocence (P84, cited earlier) to his bitter sarcasm, describing, as if through clenched teeth, the peaceful dreams of his

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83

beloved (ex. 2.44).89 (Other instances in Winterreise include P41 and P59, cited earlier, and P192–P194.) Both the music and the poetry invoke pastoral love only to expose it as a sad illusion: the journeyman emerges as a pitiable bumpkin, his spells of optimism as pathetic delusions, and his innocence as tragic naiveté. Mahler’s Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (ex. 2.45) and P196–P198 partake of this same brutal irony. (See P199–P216 for more pastoral-primitive examples.)


stö


ne

Ruh,

Example 2.44 (⫽P191). Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Gute Nacht,” mm. 71–75.

Al

les!

Lieb’

und

Leid,

und

Welt,

und

morendo

Traum!

Example 2.45 (⫽P195). Mahler, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (1883–96), end.

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C. The Domestic Strain of Pentatonicism (II): Overt Sources 1. South Meets North: Scottish Pentatonicism Although some have cautioned against overestimating the pentatonicism of traditional Scottish music,90 this trait is surely its most famous. As noted earlier, Burney was the first to observe (with some amazement) the pentatonic commonalities of Scottish, Chinese, and ancient Greek music.91 Understandably, British writers demonstrated slightly more familiarity than did their Continental counterparts with this “beauty . . . that has so long pleased, though men scarce know why.”92 Burney, Hawkins, and Busby all name the lack of semitones as a distinctive feature, and the term “Scotch-Scale” comprised an entry in Busby’s dictionary: “A Scale differing from that of the other nations of Europe by its omission of the fourth and seventh. . . .”93 Robert Burns even recounted a sort of pentatonic party trick: Mr. James Miller . . . was in company with our friend [Stephen] Clarke; and talking of Scotch music, Mr. Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a Scots air.94

The theoretical reception of Scottish music on the Continent was somewhat less settled. Perhaps because of its presumptive familiarity, Scottish music garnered little of the theoretical inquiry brought to bear on more patently exotic traditions. Laborde, who spent over twenty pages on the history and theory of Chinese music, neglected any specifics in his discussion of Scottish music.95 Although Burney’s connections were disseminated in Germany by G. W. Fink,96 Fétis had a different understanding, offering two scales supposedly common to Scotland and Ireland: a Dorian hexachord (a–b–c–d–e–f) and a LydianMixolydian hybrid (c–d–e–f–g–a–b–c).97 In short, Scottish music engendered little more interpretive consistency than did Asian music. Nevertheless, Scottish music (unlike Asian music) could legitimately boast of an audible presence in the musical life of Europe. Scotland’s nationalistic “bardic revival” emerged as a flexing of cultural muscle against England around the time of its losing its parliament in 1707.98 But it was England itself that first demonstrated an insatiable interest in all things Scottish, a craze that would eventually migrate to the Continent on a tide of Romanticism. To Londoners in the seventeenth century, Scottish music was essentially a popular music, well loved and ubiquitous at the theater, concert hall, and dance hall. At home, too, they would have encountered Scottish music in John Playford’s The English Dancing Master, an enormously popular collection of traditional tunes for violin or recorder; since its publication in 1651, fifteen subsequent editions contained an increasing proportion of Scottish tunes among the rustic fare. Around the turn of the eighteenth century began a long string of published collections devoted exclusively

❧


85

to Scottish tunes, favorite examples of which routinely made their way into ballad operas such as John Gay’s 1728 The Beggar’s Opera or Allan Ramsay’s 1729 The Gentle Shepherd, which represented a “reaction to the dominant Italian style of urban classical music. . . .”99 Continental composers working in London did their part to satisfy this Scottish fever: from Francesco Geminiani, whose 1749 ornamentation manual, A Treatise of Good Taste in the Art of Musick, took its musical material entirely from Scottish folk song; to Domenico Corri, whose eclectic 1795 anthology, A Select Collection of the Most Admired Songs . . . , contained anonymous folksongs of the British Isles standing side by side with famous opera arias; to J. C. Bach, whose opus 13 keyboard concertos featured variation movements on such popular songs as “The Yellow Hair’d Laddie” (ex. 2.46). Later in the century the popular demand for Scottish music led even to the “outsourcing” of commissioned accompaniments from abroad, such as the collections published by George Thomson, who negotiated contributions from Haydn, Beethoven, Pleyel, Hummel, and Kozeluch.100 Thomson provided the tunes, for which his composers furnished accompaniments, often including preludes and postludes. Although Thomson invited Beethoven to “improve” any melody as he saw fit,101 it is impossible to judge whether or to what extent any of these composers may have altered the given material, as Thomson’s written prototypes do not survive. (Meanwhile, other printed sources are, predictably, as

6 4

6 4

5 3

Example 2.46. J. C. Bach, Keyboard Concerto, op. 13 #4 (1777), iii, end of theme, mm. 25–28.

86

❧


variable as the oral tradition they sought to reify.) We can say, however, that any newly composed music in the settings remains firmly within the realm of common-practice voice leading, and occasional tendencies toward assimilation are in evidence as well. Haydn’s piano postlude to “Does Haughty Gaul” (ex. 2.47), while alluding to the tune’s vocal cadence in its rhythm and its use of thirds, converts the theme’s 6–8 into a more conventional 7–2–1; the violin part of Haydn’s “Willy’s Rare” (ex. 2.48) accompanies the vocal 6–8 cadence with a passing tone, 6–7–8; and Beethoven’s setting of the Irish song “The Pulse of an Irishman” (ex. 2.49) ends not with the 6–8 of the theme’s cadence, but with an additional

Ere we per

mit a

fo reign

foe

on

Bri

tish ground to

ral

Allegro

rall.

ten.

Example 2.47. Haydn, setting of “Does Haughty Gaul” (1803), end.

O!

6

gin

e’er

he

mar

7

ry’d

o

ny.

6 4

5 3

Example 2.48. Haydn, setting of “Willy’s Rare” (1792), end.

ly

-

❧


87

cresc.

cresc. 8va

cresc.

Example 2.49. Beethoven, setting of “The Pulse of an Irishman” (1813), end.

diatonic turn on the tonic, to produce the requisite 7. Nevertheless, I have found that these composers were generally more or less hospitable to Scottish idiosyncrasies, including pentatonicism, even if the actual imitation of such idiosyncrasies would be left to others. By the turn of the nineteenth century, Scottishness in the European imagination had begun to epitomize many of the values of the emerging Romantic movement—heroic endurance of oppression, wildness, and freedom—associations due in large part to the figure who enthralled artists for much of the nineteenth century, the legendary Celtic bard Ossian. Ossian and his poetry had been “revived” through the supposed collecting and translating work of the learned Scottish patriot James MacPherson. It is a testament to both the literary quality and the aesthetic timeliness of MacPherson’s 1760 Fragments of Ancient Poetry and subsequent works that they took immediate hold on the Continent through German, French, and Italian translations (Herder and Goethe themselves each had a hand in translation). Even greater testament, perhaps, is the degree to which the poems and their stories endured a prolonged controversy surrounding their authorship: the true authorship, in MacPherson himself, was all but established by 1805.102 The question of “authenticity,” so dear to the Romantic sensibility, was ultimately more a matter of spirit than of fact, a situation that left some Romantics on the wrong side of truth. Herder, for one, pronounced that “Poetry of this kind could not possibly be composed in this century,” judging from its “clarity” and “directness.”103 In the end, this historical hoax partly inspired Herder’s own influential historicism, according to which each age “displays a new and remarkable aspect of humanity,” as well as his general conclusions on the “songs [i.e., poetry] of ancient peoples”: Know then, that the more barbarous a people is, that is, the more alive, the more free, the closer to the senses, the more lyrically dynamic its songs will be, if songs it has. The

88

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more remote a people is from an artificial, scientific manner of thinking, speaking, and writing, the less its songs are made for paper and print, the less its verses are written for the dead letter.104

Herder’s professed embrace of culture in all its historical diversity, however, stopped short of the present, and his implicit partiality for the latter of the two extremes described in this quote is made clear in his sarcastic ultimatum, “Let the remnants of the old, true folk poetry vanish entirely with the daily advance of our so-called culture. . . .”105 Ossianism also represented a decided shift in European self-understanding, for now European luminaries looked not southward to Greece as an object of filial reverence and a source for inspiration, but northward. As Sulzer wrote, “Fingal was the better Achilles”—a comparison similar to those made between Ossian and Homer.106 And not only the Germans, who proudly claimed common blood with the Celts,107 but the French as well partook of a surrogate nationalism based upon reverence of the North.108 One of most successful Ossianic operas, Jean-François Le Sueur’s Ossian, ou Les bardes (1804), was dedicated to Napoleon, who “was fascinated with Celtic mythology: it provided for the French state an alternate pseudohistorical tradition that had nothing to do with the legitimate historical tradition that Napoleon and the Revolution had overthrown.”109 This “pseudohistory” was disseminated as well through the poetry of Robert Burns and the novels of Sir Walter Scott, which found great favor among the Romantics on the Continent. One symptom of the increased ideological significance of Scottish music is seen in composers’ treatment of Scottish themes. The popular styles of domestic music and the lighter movements from instrumental cycles (noted above) gave way in the nineteenth century to large-scale instrumental and dramatic works like Berlioz’s concert overtures Waverley and Rob Roy, or Boïeldieu’s La Dame blanche. It is worth bearing in mind John Daverio’s distinction between the dark gothicism of Ossian—so-called “Nordic character”—and the more popular and cheerful “Scottish style.”110 The dominance of Ossianism in European conceptions of Scotland and Scottishness explains the prevalence of melancholy minormode themes such as the opening of Mendelssohn’s “Scottish” Symphony (ex. 2.50). But beyond the misty shadows of ancient lore lay a merry pastoralism as well, and Mendelssohn, who once called national song “notorious, out of tune trash,”111 composed a very plausible pentatonic jig for the sprightly scherzo of this same symphony (ex. 2.51). Thus the Scottish strain of nineteenth-century pentatonicism represented a vestige of pre-Ossianic Scottishness, a “rude sweetness”112 that contrasts with the Romantic overtones of its brooding cousin. We find, therefore, depictions of innocent merriment and thanksgiving (P218–P222), of pastoral subjects (P223–P229),113 of idyllic love (P230–P237), and of dance (P238–P240). English folksong, though less Romantically alluring than the Scottish variety, is similarly pentatonic and was embraced by an emerging school of nineteenth-

❧


89

Andante con moto

Example 2.50. Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), i, beginning.

sempre

Example 2.51 (⫽P217). Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), iii, mm. 9–16.

century English composers, notably opera composer George Macfarren. In Nicholas Temperley’s view, Macfarren’s stylistic progression from Italianate to self-confidently English was typical of musical nationalism, particularly in a country lacking a native art-music tradition (as was also the case in Russia).114 The (re)discovery of native folk music, and the national pride encompassed therein, accounts for one further source of nineteenth-century pentatonicism. It is the subject of the next, final section.

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2. West Meets West (“High” Meets “Low”): European Pentatonicism While Ossianism quickly inspired the collecting—and sometimes, the concocting—of folk poetry on the Continent, such as Johann Gottfried Herder’s 1778–79 Stimmen der Völker and Clemens Brentano and Achim von Arnim’s 1805–8 Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the collecting of native folk-song lagged somewhat behind that of the British Isles.115 As late as 1825, A. F. Thibaut expressed his admiration for the British in their efforts at preservation and called for their emulation.116 Nevertheless, Western art-music has long felt the influence of folk music, and the distinction is, after all, largely anachronistic, having been articulated strongly only since the late eighteenth century. Folk influence has been discerned in such canonic composers as Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, and Brahms.117 Purely pentatonic folksong is “not especially typical” in Continental Europe,118 but pentatonic and quasi-pentatonic features do occur, making their way into art-music in the subtle manner discussed earlier, as well as through the wholesale borrowing of folk melodies, which was prevalent in the context of late nineteenth-century French nationalism (ex. 2.52). The folk music of eastern Europe displays somewhat more pentatonicism than that of France and Germany, but still in varying degrees. The connection

Solo EHn. espr. avec sourdines Vn. I poco avec sourdines Vn. II poco avec sourdines Va. poco avec sourdines Vc. poco Cb.

Example 2.52 (⫽excerpt of P241). D’Indy, Symphony on a French Mountain Air (1886), beginning (reduced score).

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91

8va

legato e semplice

Example 2.53 (⫽excerpt of P242). Chopin, Krakowiak (1828), beginning.

1.

2.

Example 2.54. Polish folk melody, from Oskar Kolberg, Piesńi ludu polskiego (1857), #441.

between Czech folk music and the extensive pentatonicism of Dvo¤rák seems clear enough, though “there can be little doubt that his interest in pentatonic inflections was at its strongest in America.”119 Although the long-celebrated influence of Polish music upon Chopin has been disputed,120 his Lydian fourths, drone fifths, dance rhythms, and occasional pentatonicism can be said to delimit the beginnings of exoticism cum nationalism. Best known in this regard are Chopin’s mazurkas, but his early Krakowiak, op. 13 (ex. 2.53) equally celebrates a Polish dance form that enjoyed widespread popularity in the nineteenth century. The composer performed the work several times to great acclaim, and while his letters of 1828 and 1829 make frequent reference to the piece, his only description of the music concerns not the Krakowiak proper, but its slow introduction: “The introduction is original; more so than I myself even in a beige suit.”121 He refers, no doubt to the introduction’s impressive confluence of five exotic markers: a pentatonic melody set above a drone accompaniment, in a high register and in parallel octaves, and proceeding in a steady, almost “puerile” eighth-note rhythm. We cannot know what might have served as Chopin’s inspiration—the explicitly Polish content of the piece is reserved for the ensuing duple-meter dance—but rhythmic similarities at least may be shown between this introduction and folk waltzes transcribed by Chopin’s contemporary Oskar Kolberg (ex. 2.54). While pentatonicism is said to be “unknown” in the Carpathian region of Poland (which includes Kraków), it is found in the Kurpie region of Chopin’s birthplace.122 The pentatonicism in Chopin’s

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mazurkas could potentially arise from folk influence, but, as has been discussed earlier in this chapter (§B2, “Music of Meager Means”) it may also be attributed to a fundamental attitude of composerly simplicity. Pentatonic inflections are not uncommon in nineteenth-century Russian music and derive more clearly from folkloristic motivations.123 Ironically, it was the imported Western ideology of nationalism, with its Herderian overtones, that stimulated the emergence of a distinctively Russian school of composition, for which traditional music provided an esteemed source of material (ex. 2.55; see also P244–P266).124 During the nineteenth century, the relationship between Russian and Western music went from one of dependence (Russia upon the West) to one of symbiosis. Berlioz admired Glinka’s Russian songs, citing “the charming turn of their melodies, which were completely different from anything I had ever heard before.”125 Liszt, who like Berlioz was accorded great pomp in Russia (more so than were his Russian contemporaries) in turn demonstrated a knowledge of and reverence for the works of Glinka, Borodin, Balakirev, Moussorgsky, and Rimsky-Korsakov. As has been described by Jim Samson, it was these Russians’ chromatic practice that was their chief contribution to the West.126 The rise of pentatonicism appears to have been more or less simultaneous in the two worlds. Nevertheless, certain idiosyncratic uses of pentatonicism found in Russian composition may have had some impact on the Impressionists. For instance, example 2.56 shows the possibilities of pentatonic mutation (see also P263, P264); example 2.57 shows the juxtaposition of two favorite devices of the Impressionists, pentatonicism and the dominant ninth chord; example 2.58 shows how mutating pentatonicism can serve the Russian proclivity for, as Abraham puts it, musical “brooding” or “mulling over.”127 Rimsky-Korsakov was the first composer I know to have incorporated the pentatonic harp glissando (see chapter 4) into orchestral music.

D. Crosscurrents: The Pastoral-Exotic Pentatonic in Practice Domestic and imported pentatonicism, though arising from distinct historical sources, would have inevitably interacted in the minds of composers and listeners. This interaction is easily described and in fact resonates with existing theories of exoticism. Two moments from Saint-Saëns’s Samson et Dalila—the brief pentatonic postlude to the Philistines’ chorus to the spring (ex. 2.59), contrasted with the chromatically ribald dance later in the same scene (ex. 2.60)— will demonstrate how the musical duality of pentatonicism versus chromaticism correlates with the exoticist duality identified by Ralph P. Locke as “sentimentalpastoral” versus “diabolical and threatening.”128 The chorus is “uncivilized” in a “good” way, which is to say that Europeans approve of, and in fact partake in, paeans to the spring; but in the case of the seductive dance, the exoticism of the Philistines is base and menacing, “uncivilized” in a “bad” way. Pentatonicism

Allegro moderato e maestoso S. To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

A.

T.

B.

S. to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

A.

T.

B.

Example 2.55 (⫽P243). Borodin, Prince Igor (1869–87), I/1, choral entrance, m. 29.

I Solo Hn. in F

Vn.

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

I Hn. in F

Vn.

Va. div. Vc.

Cb.

Example 2.56 (⫽P262). Rimsky-Korsakov, Sinfonietta on Russian Themes (1884), reh. D.

❧


95

Moderato assai

Choir

T. Take

your

Gus

li and strum so

sweet

ly

Take

your

Gus

li and strum so

sweet

ly

B.

Example 2.57 (⫽P265). Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), Ballad of the People of Vseslavitch, reh. 27.

Allegro giusto, nel modo russico; senza allegrezza, ma poco sostenuto

Example 2.58 (⫽P266). Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition (1874), “Promenade,” beginning.

thus emerges as the innocent, pastoral half of the exotic duality. The same dichotomy may be observed in Bizet’s Djamileh, with a hedonistic Almée dance (ex. 2.61) representing the decadent, “Oriental” tendencies of Haroun on the one hand, and a final duet representing his nobility and ultimate redemption through the higher ideal of true love on the other (ex. 2.62). The precise meaning of pentatonicism in these examples encompasses, as it were, a higher iteration

96

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of exoticism: a distancing both from “our” world and from “their” world, a sort of exotic common-ground—“loin du bruit, loin du monde,” in the words of Lalla-Roukh (P21, cited earlier). Pastoral exoticism may explain as well the almost Scottish sound of certain cheerful moments in Brahms’s otherwise exoticist Zigeunerlieder (P267, P268).

tou

jours!

tou

jours!

Example 2.59 (⫽P24). Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila (1859–77), I/6, Philistine chorus to the spring, end.

Allegretto

sempre pianissimo

Example 2.60. Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila (1859–77), I/6, “Dance of the Priestesses of Dagon,” beginning.

Andante quasi andante

Example 2.61. Bizet, Djamileh (1871), #7, “L’Almée,” beginning.

Moderato

espressivo

Ta

mien!

lè

vre par

fu

mé

e,

Example 2.62 (⫽P23). Bizet, Djamileh (1871), #10, Duet, m. 255.

Ta

98

❧


By the same token, the japonaiserie and chinoiserie in the decades surrounding the turn of the twentieth century, with their childlike heroines named “Butterfly” and “Iris,” often employed an aesthetic congruent with the pastoral. We are not surprised, for instance, to find the pentatonic theme in Saint-Saëns’s La Princesse jaune marked Allegro giocoso (P8, cited earlier); nor to find the most sustained pentatonicism of Puccini’s Turandot in the children’s hymn to the moon (P39, cited earlier); nor to observe, in Ravel’s L’Enfant et les sortilèges, how easily the child’s pentatonicism blends into that of the Chinese teacup (P37 and P38, cited earlier). In short, nineteenth-century exoticism offers more than the dramatic seriousness that Dahlhaus has described as “the dignity of tragedy.”129 Conversely, pastoral pentatonicism’s domestic origins should not obscure the fact of its own potential exoticism, which is to say, its opposition to the mundane realities of urban European life. Unlike the proto-pentatonic birds of Vivaldi or Beethoven, with their predictable and stylized coos, the exotically pentatonic birdsong of Wagner’s Siegfried (P139, cited earlier) conveys more than the picturesque: “Du holdes Vöglein,” Siegfried declares upon hearing the magical creature, “dich hört ich noch nie.” Such transcendence can also result when the childish fantasy-world of lullaby is equated with the patently unreal experience of dreaming: in fact, the ironic pentatonicism of Schubert’s Winterreise mentioned above coincides almost entirely with references to dreams. In each case, pentatonicism serves as a mechanism not for literal transport, but for something more fundamental, the blissful suspension of reality. The conceptual extreme of this principle constitutes the subject of the next chapter, the religious pentatonic, in which the implicit archaism of the pastoral-exotic pentatonic comes to the fore. In summary, the musical, historical, and semantic aspects of pentatonicism are diverse, and one may identify a larger aesthetic category that encompasses notions of musical “simplicity,” within which pentatonicism may be thought to dwell along with other musical styles and features. In the end, the dual recognition of pentatonicism’s specific connotations—both its domesticated foreignness (the primitive innocence that acts as a foil to exotic threat) and also its more general connotations of an exoticized European bourgeois experience— represents a more useful notion of both exoticism and of pentatonicism than is normally acknowledged in nineteenth-century musical semantics.

Chapter Three

The Religious Pentatonic The final movement of Fauré’s Requiem, the “In paradisum,” is an extraordinary piece, befitting its subject. It is both a prayer for redemption and at the same time a mystical glimpse of that redemption, a gracious answer to the prayers of the other six movements. Whereas the preceding “Libera me” ended in utter bleakness—with its stern D minor, its painful diminished-seventh cadence, and its oppressive march-rhythm—the present movement leaves no doubt as to where the soul now rests. (The movement is reproduced in its entirety as P338.) The movement opens with a curious bass-line ostinato, the pentatonic incipit 6–5–8–6–5 presented in the organ against delicate string chords; and when the sopranos enter, their sweet hymn turns out to be pentatonic as well (ex. 3.1). The unison vocal texture recalls that of liturgical chant, while the gender and register further suggest the chorus angelorum mentioned later in the text. Throughout the exposition of the sopranos’ theme, even as the harmony changes, the ostinato remains fixed, its trancelike repetition only amplifying the otherworldly flavor of its pentatonic contour. Although more fully diatonic (and even chromatic) passages follow, these represent departures from the tranquillity of a prevailing pentatonicism. The subtlety of Fauré’s pentatonic sensibility can be seen at the first appearance of melodic chromaticism in measure 17: the d acts as a chromatic upper neighbor to the tonic d while the bass counters with a pentatonic lower neighbor (ex. 3.2). This disruption is then immediately dispelled with a reversion to pentatonic melody as the full choir enters to begin a prolonged cadential approach. The ensuing dominant-seventh cadence in measure 29 leaves the sopranos hovering on 5, behavior that accords well with the prevailing aesthetic: 5 is both unstable and yet eminently consonant, smugly exempt from melodic protocol. The second half of the movement begins with a return of the pentatonic ostinato and an abridged version of the angelic theme. Once again a chromatic disruption (m. 36) is elegantly mitigated by a pentatonic inflection: this time a pentatonic figure in the soprano (6–5–3) accompanies a half-step lower neighbor in the bass (7–8) (ex. 3.3). At the cadence in measure 49, the sopranos again linger on 5, softening the impact of the close. The music of the coda becomes even more relaxed, more ethereal, with the repetition of the final line “aeternam habeas requiem” (“may they have eternal

Andante moderato

dolce

S. pa

In

ra

C.

T.

B. sim.

dolce

4 S. di

sum

7 S. de

du

cant

An

ge

li:

Example 3.1 (⫽excerpt of P338). Fauré, Requiem (1877), “In paradisum,” mm. 1–15. (© 1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.)

10

sempre

S. in

tu

o

ad

ven

ty

res,

tu

su

13 S. sci

pi ant

te

Mar

Example 3.1. (continued)

sempre dolce

17 S.

et

per du

cant

te

in

ci

vi

ta tem

20 S. san

ctam

= Example 3.2. Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 17–20. (with reduction) (© 1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.)

❧

102

the religious pentatonic

36 S. et

cum

La

za ro

quon

dam

39 S. pau

pe

re,

= Example 3.3. Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 36–40. (with reduction) (© 1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.)

rest”) over a hypnotic alternation between the two triads of the pentatonic scale, I and vi (ex. 3.4). The harmonies proceed gently, all the while supporting the pentatonic ostinato. Notice also the behavior of 6, which in measures 52–53 progresses simultaneously to each of 5, 8, and 3—in the soprano, a pentatonic échappée, 5–6–3. The prayer ends, ppp, with 3 in the soprano, underscoring the central rhetorical point of the piece: that rest is not final, but is eternal. In this analysis I have focused on Fauré’s peculiar interpretation of tonal pitch space; it is this aspect, I believe, that gives the piece much of its serene, arresting character. The movement offers an unusually sustained example of a semantic category that I call the “religious pentatonic.” Just as pentatonicism may signify the distant realms of the pastoral and the exotic, so too may it signify that furthermost realm: the spiritual. The religious pentatonic afforded nineteenthcentury composers the means for evoking a mystical ambiance, but one distinct from the somber hues (and the “wrong notes”) of the medieval modes. Rather, it was—importantly and uniquely—a major-mode depiction of spirituality, and one that may be further distinguished from the “innocent” or “noble” simplicity that “dominated the ‘middle style’ of church music for the entire nineteenth century,” as, for instance in example 3.5.1

51 S. ae

ter

nam

C. ae

ter

nam

ae

ter

nam

ae

ter

nam

T.

B.

54 S. ha

be

as

ha

be

as

ha

be

as

ha

be

as

C.

T.

B.

Example 3.4. Fauré, Requiem, “In paradisum,” mm. 51–end. (© 1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.)

57 S. re

qui

em.

re

qui

em.

re

qui

em.

re

qui

em.

C.

T.

B.


Bel l’al

vel

lo,

la

no

stra pre

ba

ghie

fo

ra

rie

ra

co min

d’un so

cia

le

per te.

no

Del

calando

pa

dre,

del

du

ce

fia il vi

spar

so

di

lu

ce

chi lie

ver

più

ti

bel

ne

Example 3.5. Donizetti, La favorite (1840), opening chorus.

lo,

fe’

fia

❧


105

The simplest explanation of the religious pentatonic is suggested by the “In paradisum” theme itself: though not an actual quotation from plainchant, this modest melody is clearly evocative of the style. A careful assessment of the nature of plainchant and its musical and conceptual resonances is therefore in order, and this will require a substantial digression. In the following sections I will discuss various historical and ideological factors through which to understand the phenomenon of the religious pentatonic, in order to explain its emergence and to analyze the mechanics of its distinctive signification. We will return to further examples at the end of the chapter.

A. The Nineteenth-Century Restoration of Sacred Music 1. The Nineteenth-Century Religious Revival The place of religion in nineteenth-century life demonstrates many of the paradoxes and contradictions typical of that century, reminding us that Romanticism was at once an extension of, and also a reaction against, the Enlightenment. Enlightenment thinkers stressed personal freedom and responsibility, supplanting the external authority of institutions with the light of inner reason. As Kant proclaimed, “Sapere aude! [‘Dare to know’]—that is the motto of enlightenment.”2 This attitude, however, left religion in a precarious state, and insofar as intellectuals “dared to know” Christian truths, doctrinal compromises often resulted—whether Newton’s rejection of the “irrational” Trinity, or Lessing’s impeachment of biblical authority. Religion, both in thought and practice, consequently gravitated toward humanism.3 Meanwhile, knowledge, in the form of scientific and industrial progress devoid of cosmic grounding, occasioned humanity’s alienation from the natural world: the sterility of science and the mundane practicality of technology preempted any deeper advancement in the realm of existential knowledge. For the Romantics, on the other hand, the thirst for individualism and understanding, while inherited from the Enlightenment, found fulfillment in emotional subjectivity and the recognition of the supernatural within the natural. Christian mysteries, so problematic for Men of Reason, “hold no enigmas for men who experience the radiance of God both in nature and in a woman’s smile.”4 This Romantic antirationalist sensibility went hand in hand with a general religious revival associated with such pietistic values as subjectivity, esotericism, rebirth, and femininity.5 Instilled with gothicism, moreover, Romantic Christianity assumed perhaps its most classic expression in a Roman Catholic revival, one that boasted Friedrich Schlegel among its many famous converts. Ever since Johann Gottfried Herder had critiqued the received notion of a “Dark Ages,” the Romantic historical imagination thrived, and medieval Europe became just as precious an ideal as Classical Greece had been to the Humanists. Novalis, in his 1799 Christenheit oder Europa,

106

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prophesied a renewed, glorious Europe, united and Catholic once again in the spirit of the Middle Ages, a hope shared by others, especially in post-Napoleonic France.6 But more than its alleged universality, the Catholic Church’s antimodern associations generated great interest from both within and without. These archaizing and irrationalist tendencies were manifest in neo-Gothic church architecture and in the liturgy, through a renewed focus on mystery and sacrament.7 “Romantic aestheticians valued religious liturgies in part because they seemed playful, ingenuous, childlike, natural, primitive, or ‘eastern.’ ”8 Sacred music, no less than other aspects of religious culture, was influenced by this same philosophical trend.

2. Sacred Music in the Eighteenth Century: The Need for Reform These developments intersected with concerns about the proper character of music in church. At the end of the eighteenth century, the musical categories formulated by Marco Scacchi a century and a half earlier—church, chamber, and theater—though still theoretically operative, had in practice become weakened by the frequent interpenetration of the three domains, most notoriously through the infiltration of opera styles into church. In the course of the eighteenth century, grievances frequently arose concerning the unsuitability of secular styles in sacred compositions. With respect to composition, Catholic Church music up until several years ago still had much of its own special character. But nowadays operatic music also forces its way into churches everywhere, and, what is worse, [it is] the insipid Italian opera music of the new style. In Vienna, too, I found it all too conspicuous. During many a Credo or Benedictus I knew not whether I was hearing music from an Italian opera buffa.9

Haydn and Mozart shouldered similar objections, which however seemed to make little impression on either them or the majority of their audiences. Despite protestations by popes and emperors, many liberties were taken: witness the XII Ariae seu Offertoria, a 1795 collection of Dittersdorf operetta tunes furnished with liturgical Latin texts by an anonymous “Lover of Church Music”;10 or Alessandro Capuana’s Mass based on opera music of Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, and Mozart (its Credo opens with the tune of “La ci darem la mano”). “Moreover,” reported a Viennese critic after a thoroughly operatic Mass one Sunday, “an undertone of Bravo, Schön, and che viva was heard from most of the listeners.”11 Even in the Church’s own music, problems arose—quite naturally, as chant, being a liturgical and hence explicitly functional music, had always been a somewhat unstable repertory. In the two centuries following the consolidating efforts at the Council of Trent (1545–63), whatever musical unanimity Catholic liturgy may have enjoyed weakened considerably. Musical variants of orthodox chant, newly composed chant (the French plainchant musical and Italian canto fratto), and the practice of improvisation (chant sur le livre), all irritated civic and ecclesiastical authorities. In Vienna modern taste could be blamed for the regular disregard

❧


107

of both liturgy and tradition: “Chants were omitted, and other music substituted for the day’s Proper or played during liturgically required silences.”12 The situation in France in the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries was particularly striking. Neo-Gallicanism, a nationalistic anti-Papal movement born in the sixteenth century, brought efforts at liturgical reform, essentially advocating a specifically French liturgy. Louis XIV’s tensions with Rome continued the trend, which were reversed only after the Revolution. The 1801 concordat between Napoleon and Pope Pius VIII was a first step toward reconciliation and reunification. But in those prior two centuries, a certain freewheeling spirit characterized the practice of liturgical chant, and when Louis XVIII sanctioned the return of Paris to the Roman liturgy in 1814, he instituted a restoration that would be accomplished only gradually. Joseph d’Ortigue in 1853 reflected on that prior decadent age and its tenacious legacy: Let us speak now of the corrections of the Graduals and Antiphoners, which have so often been revised from the seventeenth century to our time, and thanks to which nearly everywhere in France, our plainchant was so completely disfigured and mutilated that it happens quite often that someone used to the chants of such-and-such diocese will no longer recognize them if he happens to go to a neighboring diocese.13

It was not until the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries that conservative outrage such as this began to influence the views of composers and musicians. The reform, or (in the contemporary mind) the restoration, of sacred music then became a priority, one driven by the larger gothic revival.

3. The Nineteenth Century: A Medieval “Renaissance” Early indications of the shift to a more Romantic sacred music were the calls by influential thinkers around the turn of the nineteenth century advocating the older a cappella styles. Palestrina had no shortage of Romantic devotees—Ernst, from Ludwig Tieck’s 1812 Phantasus, was among the first to eulogize this music that “evokes in our soul the image of eternity.”14 Ernst’s aesthetic epiphany upon hearing the Papal choir typified Romantic attitudes toward the “transcendent” music of the past. E. T. A. Hoffmann concurred: With Palestrina began what is indisputably the most glorious period in church music (and hence in music in general); in ever-increasing plentitude it maintained its pious dignity and strength for almost two hundred years, although it cannot be denied that even in the first century after Palestrina that lofty simplicity and dignity sank into a sort of elegance for which composers strove.15

Hoffmann lamented such lost innocence even in the sacred works of his own heroes, Mozart and Haydn, whom he accused of falling victim to “the contagion of mundane, ostentatious levity.”16 In the realm of religious music, even these giants were no match for Palestrina.

108

❧


As infatuated as many became with the Italian polyphonic masters, however, an equally fervent interest in medieval music also emerged, which gained increased prominence in the course of the nineteenth century. In most circles the project of chant restoration commanded the greatest attention. Paris was an important center of activity, home to one of the earliest chant restorers, Alexandre-Étienne Choron (1771–1834). “[The French] have no writings on the subject,” complained Choron, “which is not surprising, as the French chapelmasters understand so little of the plain-chant, that I have seen the most experienced of them mistake the tone of the chant.”17 To correct this problem, Choron published widely on the subject and founded in 1816–17 both the Institution de Musique Classique et Religieuse, and the École Royale de Chant et de Déclamation, the ancestor of the famous and influential École Niedermeyer. Choron’s protégé Louis Niedermeyer deepened the emphasis on chant, and the latter’s collaborator Joseph d’Ortigue completed the reversal of Enlightenment values, actually favoring the Middle Ages over what he called the “pagan Renaissance.”18 In Germany, the medieval revival found its most influential voice in Franz Xavier Witt’s Allgemeiner Cäcilienverein. Founded in 1868, the organization actually represented a late flowering of the aesthetics contained in A. F. Thibaut’s 1825 Ueber die Reinheit in der Tonkunst. Thibaut, a Lutheran, demonstrates the ecumenical nature of neo-Gothicism, calling for the adoption, among Protestants, of “Ambrosian and Gregorian tunes, those . . . truly sublime and heavenly songs and intonations which, originated by genius and improved by art in the youngest and grandest days of the Church, impress the soul more deeply than many of our modern compositions which are specially designed for effect.”19 Perhaps the most enduring product of the nineteenth-century chant revival was the Solesmes project, which issued the Liber Usualis in 1894, crowning the century’s passion for authenticity and the archaic.

B. The Pentatonicism of Older Sacred Styles The nineteenth-century chant revival compels us to examine the melodic style of liturgical chant. To begin with, the calling third (familiar from chapter 2) is a veritable staple of liturgical intonation, as in the Mass tone for the Gospel (ex. 3.6).20 Elsewhere the minor third is sometimes filled in, though more often in descent than in ascent. The rising pentatonic cell M2–m3 is so pervasive as to have invited a designation, the “Gregorian incipit.”21 It forms the intonation for the second and third psalm tones and also begins the “prototype melody” that Michel Huglo has identified as “one of the commonest . . . of the antiphoner” (ex. 3.7).22 More or less pentatonic chants may be readily found, as in example 3.8: this modest Introit features a stepwise ascent from f to the tenor a, followed by a pentatonic turn a–c–a–g–a for the intermediate closes, and a single cadential leap

❧


V. Dó mi nus vo bís cum. R. Et cum spí

ri

tu

tú

o.

Se quén ti

109

a sánc ti

Punctum

´ E van gé

li

i

´

se cún dum Mat thaé

um. R. Gló ri

a

tí

bi Dó mi ne.

´ In íl lo tém po re:

Quod si

sal

e

Dí xit Jé sus dis cí pu lis sú is:

va nú

e

rit,

in quo sa

li

é

Vos és tis sal tér

tur?

Ad ní

rae.

hi lum

´ vá let ul tra, ni si ut mit tá tur fo ras,

In fine: Qui

au

tem

fé

ce

et con cul cé tur ab ho mí ni bus. . .

rit

et

do

cú

´ hic

má

gnus vo

cá

bi

tur

in

ré

e

rit,

´ gno

cae

ló

rum.

Example 3.6. Gospel tone (LU, 114).

(

)

Example 3.7. Psalmodic “prototype melody.”

from f to the final d. Although one rarely encounters such pure pentatonicism in chant, a certain “pentatonic residue,” in the words of Chailley, is common enough.23 The Agnus in example 3.9 features a typical mode-5 framework, with leaps from d to f filled in only upon descent; these passing e’s are the sole

110

❧


Gló

ri

Sán

cto.

sem

per,

vel E

u

a

Pá

tri,

*Sic

et

o

u

a

et

Fí

ut

in

e.

é

li

o,

et

rat in prin cí

pi

saé cu la sae cu

vel E

u

o

Spi

rí

tu

o,

et

ló rum. A

u

a

nunc,

i

et

men.

e.

Example 3.8. Gloria Patri Introit, 1st mode (LU, 12).

interpolations into an otherwise pentatonic chant. Moreover, the skips d–f and a–c can occur in modes other than D and F: the mode-8 Agnus in example 3.10 restricts itself to the Dorian pentatonic scale until near the end, when b supplies a modal confirmation of the final, g. Even in the longest chants, which tend to make greater use of all seven notes of the mode, an underlying pentatonic core is often evident: in example 3.11, the relatively weak role played by e and b, and the prominence of the third d–f suggest a structure that Egeland Hansen has dubbed “pien-pentatonic.”24 (See table 3.1 and figure 3.1.) Before we conclude this section, a brief mention of older sacred polyphony is warranted, given the nineteenth century’s high regard for the Renaissance masters. Palestrina’s music, notwithstanding its basically triadic, diatonic, and tonal orientation, still exhibits something of an archaic melodic sensibility in the individual lines. (As Choron himself noted, “he points in a more distinct manner to the principles of the modern tones, without discarding those of the ancients.”25) Example 3.12 illustrates that under the influence of medieval modality, some trace of a “pentatonic residue” endured well into the high Renaissance.26

*** We tend to think of the older sacred styles (and their subsequent imitations) as “modal,” by which is usually meant a reliance on ostensibly obsolete diatonic modes—the use of “Dorian” sixths, “Phrygian” seconds, “Lydian” fourths, etc. The present discussion, however, has demonstrated that medieval melody is distinguished from common-practice melody not only through its use of unusual

A

gnus Dé

mi se ré re

i,

nó

pec

cá

ta

i,

* qui

tól

* qui

tól

bis.

mún di:

lis

A

lis

cá

cá

gnus Dé

mi se ré re

pec

pec

nó

ta

i,

bis.

mún di:

ta

* qui

A

mún di:

tól

lis

gnus Dé

dó na nó bis

pá

cem.

Example 3.9. Agnus Dei, In Dominicis Adventus et Quadragesimae (LU, 66–67).

A

ta

mún

Dé

ré

lis pec cá

gnus

Dé

di:

mi se

i,

i,

* qui

re

ta

mún

tól

ré

re

tól

nó

* qui

lis

bis.

di:

pec

A

dó na

nó

bis.

cá

gnus

nó

lis

ta

mún

pec

cá

A

gnus

di:

Dé

mi se

i, * qui tól

bis

Example 3.10. Agnus Dei, In Festis Duplicibus 4 (LU, 38–39).

pá

cem.

Gló ri

ra

a

pax ho

mus

mí ni

te.

Glo ri

cae

stis,

A gnus

Dé

gé ni

cá ta mún

di,

Pá

te

di,

sú sci

Al

ri

só lus sán

tís si mus,

tu,

in gló

ní

Chrí

ste.

Tu

Jé su Chrí

a

se

ré

i

Qui

re

Cum

Pá

te.

Dó

nó

bis.

Sán

tris.

Example 3.11. Gloria, In Festis Duplicibus 4 (LU, 36–37).

Rex

mi ne Fí

ne Dé

tól lis

stram.

bi

ne Dé us,

us,

Qui tól

só lus Dó mi nus.

ste.

Dé

ens.

Dó mi

ó nem nó

dá

gi mus tí

tris.

nó bis.

mi

á

pot

Lau

rá mus

Dó mi

us Pá

ctus.

ri

am.

pe de pre ca ti

tris,

as

tér

tis.

A do

om

li

Et in

tá

te.

ter

ré re

des ad déx te ram Pá

am tu

vo lun

tú

Jé su

Fí

mi se

o.

Grá ti

am

i,

Dé

bó nae

te.

us

Dé

sis

ci mus

má gnam gló ri

u ni

mún

bus

cá mus

lé

li

cél

Be ne dí

fi

pro pter

in ex

lis pec

pec cá ta

Qui

sé

Quó ni

Tu

só lus

cto Spí

A

men.

❧


113

Table 3.1. Some pentatonic statistics of example 3.11, Gloria (LU, 36–37). Parenthetical data include ornaments (a) and internal phrase markings (b). The data on motion between f and d (c) include all such leaps within a single phrase. (a) incidence

(b) phrase endings

(c) “f–d motion”

f g a d e c b

f d a

f–d or d–f

7

d–c–f, f–g–d, d–g–f

7

f–e–d or d–e–f

5

80 (82) 80 (83) 65 (67) 26 11 10 2

17 (8) 7 (6) 4 (3)

c

1

g, e, b

0

a

b

c

d

Figure 3.1. The statistics of table 3.1 interpreted: A heptatonic mode-6 chant reveals a pentatonic core. (In these analyses, the structural weight of a given note is indicated through quasi-Schenkerian notation, by analogy with note-length.)

scales, but in its distinctly unusual treatment of those scales—namely, an observance of pentatonic “gaps” within the diatonic modes. In a very general way, we may describe a large portion of chant as pentatonic.27 This observation revives a motivating concept from chapter 1, the distinction between scale and mode; this sense of “modality” emerged in European music theory only during the twentieth century.28 Nevertheless, Choron himself was well aware of the distinction, as is demonstrated by his discussion of the Ionian mode. “Here the scale of sounds is indeed our modern scale of C major, but the tournure of the melody is quite different, one can be assured by studying fig. 11 and 12” (ex. 3.13).29 Choron unfortunately discussed the matter no further, but it is worth pointing out the use of the Gregorian incipit in his “fig. 12,” a decidedly medieval

Si

i

gno

ras

te, o pul

chra in ter mu

li

e res,

“Si ignoras te” (Cantus, opening)

flo

res

ap

pa

ru

e

runt in

ter

ra

no

stra,

o

nis

“Surge propera” (Quintus, 29–33)

in

ter

ra

no

stra, tem

pus

pu

ta

ti

“Surge propera” (Tenor, 36–9)

de

de

runt

od

o

rem

su

um.

“Surge propera” (Cantus, end)

per

vi

cos

et

pla

te

as,

“Surgam et circuibo” (Tenor, 21–4)

a

mi

ca

me

a,

su

a

vis

et

de

co

ra,

“Pulchra es, amica mea” (Altus, 12–16)

et

ger

mi

nas

sent

ma

la

pu

ni

ca,

“Descendi in hortum” (Bassus, 56–9)

et

ap

pre

hen

dam

fru

ctus

e

ius;

“Quam pulcra es” (Cantus, 47–50)

Example 3.12. Examples of “pentatonic residue” in Palestrina motets.

To

ta

pul chra es,

a

mi

ca

To

me

ta

pul chra

es,

a

“Tota pulchra es” (opening)

sic

ut

ae

sic

ut

tur

tu

ris,

ae

sic

ut

tur

tu

ris,

ut

tur

tu

ris,

ut

tur

tu

ris,

sic

sic

tur

tu

sic

ut

sic

sic

ris,

tur

tu

ris, col

lum

ut

tur

tu

ris,

col

ut

tur

tu

ris, col

lum

col

lum

“Pulchrae sunt genae tuae” (12–16)


fig. 11.

fig. 12.

Example 3.13. Choron’s “Ionian” specimens. From Choron and La Fage, Nouveau Manuel complet de musique vocale et instrumentale, 2:177, figs. 11 and 12.

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“turn” indeed. As will be shown in the next section, nineteenth-century theories of pre-tonality progressed beyond even Choron’s capable intuition, elucidating in their own terms the unique nature of plainchant modality.

C. The Theory and Rhetoric of the Chant Revival Evidence of Gregorian pentatonicism is clearly central to our topic, but the issue deepens considerably when we take account of the discourse surrounding chant in the nineteenth century. For while historians, journalists, and conductors were making the case for a revival of the old sacred styles, some theorists for their part introduced a technical language to the polemic. If the liturgical abuses of the eighteenth century did not immediately wane in the nineteenth, at least the later critics, armed with tonal theory, source-criticism, and historiography, could wage more boldly the war against musical sacrilege. In the nineteenth century, a new philosophy as well as a new aesthetic informed thought about liturgical chant. Let us then explore the theory and rhetoric of the chant revival, in the hope of uncovering contemporary attitudes toward the musical style of plainchant.

1. “Modern” versus “Ancient” Tonality “It is nearly impossible to explain in a satisfying manner the modality of plainchant.”30 This rhetorical overstatement, from Alexandre Choron and Adrien de La Fage’s 1836 Nouveau manuel complet de musique vocale et instrumentale, reveals a characteristic frustration (even as it otherwise contradicts the writings of each author). To be sure, modal theory had continued to be transmitted by theorists such as Johann Joseph Fux and Daniel Gottlieb Türk, and by historians such as Johann Gottfried Walther and Jean-Jacques Rousseau.31 But according to some Romantic chant scholars, the modal system, which represented music in its purest state and which was uniquely suited to its intended purpose—the sincere and humble praise of God—had become thoroughly alien, a relic from a utopian past. “Religious music consists first of all of plainchant . . . deriving from a musical system of ancient peoples, differing essentially from modern music, today disfigured by detestable performance, and scorned because its beauties are no longer understood.”32 The dichotomy of these two systems—ancient and modern—and the condemnation of the latter, became a rallying cry in the Gothic revival. E. T. A. Hoffmann and A. F. Thibaut had sounded the call, with their antitheses of “old and new church music,” and the “old church modes” versus the “modern scales.” These polarities would become even more sharply drawn, as well as more value-laden. Joseph d’Ortigue observed a host of terms—including “secular” or “modern” tonality—for what he considered the antithesis of “ancient” tonality.

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E. de Coussemaker, in his history of medieval music, equated the tonal style of modern music with that of medieval secular music (“musique vulgaire”), both of which he placed in opposition to plainchant.33 Finally, for F. Danjou the issue was quite simply, plain-chant versus musique, a stark opposition echoed by many of his contemporaries.34 Furthermore, in Danjou’s view, only the ancient tonality offered a suitable environment for sacred music, while modern tonality was best confined to “dramatic” works. “Must we sing the praises of God in the same tone we use for human passions? . . . Respectable clergymen and prelates have sided with worldly music against Catholic music.”35 P. Couturier branded modern music “pagan,” because “it immorally violates the natural law of harmony by admitting dissonance equally with consonance.”36 Finally, La Fage chided, “It is inexcusable to alter a plainchant to the point of destroying entirely its modal character and to cause it to change, with no further ceremony, into the condition of modern melody.”37

2. Chromaticism, the Leading Tone, and the Tritone What more can be said concerning the details of these two supposedly opposed tonal systems? Notwithstanding Choron and La Fage’s cautious statement above, they and many others did in fact devote a good deal of effort to articulating precisely those features that distinguised ancient tonality from modern tonality. In his 1853 Introduction a l’étude comparée des tonalités du chant grégorien et de la musique moderne, D’Ortigue, perhaps the most outspoken and virulent opponent of modernism in church music, summed up much of what was on the mind of the nineteenth-century reformers. D’Ortigue’s explicit distinction between the tonalities of ancient and modern music amounted to the following: The first is founded on the principle that the intervals of the scale, numbering eight, diatonic and natural, have no necessary relation to one another, nor any affinity or attraction between them. Hence it happens that each degree may be the final of the succession, potentially carrying the idea of rest and of a sense of completion. Such is the construction of the systems of religious music and particularly of Gregorian chant. . . . The second is constructed such that the degrees, the same as those of plainchant tonality, can each give rise to two new intervals, the one by the property of the sharp, the other by the property of the flat ; which brings to twelve the number of sounds included in the scale, [and] which likewise brings to twelve the number of scales or tones belonging to our tonality. The manner of succession between the intervals is determined by different affinities and attractions that pertain to them, and that, if we may speak thus, incite them, one to descend to the lower degree, another to rise to the higher degree, a third one to remain, as on a point of rest. . . . Hence it follows that each isolated degree, not holding in itself a feeling of completion, far from being able

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to be arbitrarily the final of the succession, it would be regarded as only an element in that succession.38

D’Ortigue’s oppositions are twofold and related: diatonicism and modality on the one hand versus chromaticism and tonality on the other. The distinguishing features of the modern system include the twelve-tone scale, the notion of scaledegree function, the related notion of tonic, and the possibility of modulation. Also important for D’Ortigue and others was the use of the leading tone. Concerning the famous Credo of Henri Dumont, We will say that by the frequent use of the leading tone, by the modulation which returns on the principal periods, by the cadence that ends this modulation, this Credo belongs to modern tonality. . . . We will add that this Credo is not in the first mode of plainchant, but in the key of D minor.39

Related to the question of the leading tone, the application of musica ficta elicited sober injunctions from contemporary theorists, who declared the practice over-used. Concerning the raising of g to g as a neighbor-note to a, La Fage wrote, “It is a very wrong habit, which must not be tolerated.”40 In some regions they descend only by a semitone below the tenor and sing

Di

xit

Do mi nus.

Cre di

di.

Di li gam te.

it is a misplaced imitation of modern music which should not be endured at all, as it introduces an absolutely foreign degree to the scale of the old mode and soon leads, as we will see, to other alterations.41

Similarly, D’Ortigue and Niedermeyer contemptuously proposed: “If some musicians make use of the half-tone so naturally and without reflection, does it not imply that in their methods they are susceptible to the influence of secular tonality?”42 Hoffmann’s view was compatible: “The melody must flow directly from the pious mind. . . . But chromatic, intricate figures . . . are alien to all church music.”43 D’Ortigue the historian went further, blaming the death of ancient tonality on the very pillar of modern tonality, the tritone. It happened that this diabolus in musica, this thing that, to repeat, did horror to nature, did violence to organization, and that art banished from its realm; it happened that this subversive element, destructive of the ancient tonality, became the basis, the foundation, the keystone of modern tonality. . . . Hence, the absence of the tritone being the necessary and essential condition of ancient tonality, and the presence of this same tritone being the necessary and essential condition of modern tonality, it follows that there is a radical incompatibility between the two tonalities.44

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D’Ortigue’s discourse on tonality owes much to F.-J. Fétis who, after all, popularized the term.45 Fétis, like D’Ortigue, spoke of forces among tones: the tension-filled harmonic tritone and the melodic charge of the leading tone. In his view, the resulting possibility of modulation transformed music from unitonique to transitonique, replacing religious music’s “solemn and majestic character,” its “soft and calm affections” with the dramatic style of modern secular music. “The expressive, passionate, dramatic accent is inseparable from the attraction among tones and could not exist without it.”46 Musical ultra-conservatism extended beyond the limits of Catholic circles. Thibaut, again, had this to say about Protestant chorales: Everyone who is acquainted with music knows how these melodies have latterly been translated into modern scales, and overloaded with sudden changes and modulations. . . . Indeed, so long as the people [of Bach’s time] were content to remain in utter ignorance of the old church tones, no real remedy for the evil was possible, for the theoretical works on the subject then in existence threw but little light on the matter.47

Although Thibaut gave no examples, “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” would appear to embody just such an offending melody. To this day, this favorite of all Lutheran hymns is better remembered in its Baroque redaction than in its decidedly “modal” original, and the modern changes provide an excellent window onto the nature of Thibaut’s and his contemporaries’ atavistic longings (ex. 3.14). For one thing, the “common-practice” version includes applied leading tones (“sudden changes and modulations”). Still more intriguing, however, is a more subtle alteration: passing tones filling in the pentatonic gaps 6–8 (of the first phrase) and 5–3 (of the penultimate phrase).48 This all-important matter of passing tones and thirds constitutes the final component of nineteenthcentury chant theory, to which we now turn.

3. Leaps versus Steps: The Third In 1741 Jean Lebeuf published his Traité historique et pratique sur le chant ecclésiastique, the sort of treatise that would become much more common in the nineteenth century. Although chastised posthumously by D’Ortigue for engaging in misguided “corrections” of chant, Lebeuf’s work expressed a concern for authenticity, critically engaging textual discrepancies among earlier editions. The Belles Lettres began once again to flourish in the kingdom 200 years ago, which is to say, under the reign of François I, but the Chant of the Church didn’t appear to gain much perfection. While barbarism disappeared little by little in the colleges, certain inflexible voices in the choirs of many churches still corrupted the sweetness of Gregorian Psalmody. These cantors of the sort which Théodulfe, bishop of Orléans in the ninth century, called Vox taurina [bull voice], feeling that at the end of certain

a

Ein fe ste Burg ist un Er hilft uns frei aus al

und Waf be trof

fen, fen,

Der alt

ser Gott, ein gu te Wehr ler Not, die uns itzt hat

bö

se Feind, mit Ernst

er’s itzt meint, groß Macht und viel List sein grau sam Rü stung

ist

auf

Erd

ist

nicht seins glei

chen.

b

Ein fes te Burg Er hilft uns frei

Der alt

bö

List sein grau sam Rü

ist un ser Gott, ein gu te Wehr und Waf aus al ler Not, die uns jetzt hat be trof

se Feind, mit

fen. fen.

Ernst er’s jetzt meint, groß Macht und viel

stung ist, auf Erd’ ist nicht seins Glei

chen.

Example 3.14. Two versions of Ein feste Burg. (a) Das Babstsche Gesangbuch (1545); (b) Hauschoralbuch (1844).

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121

psalmodic terminations it was more convenient for them to descend by a third than by stepwise degrees, changed the motion by seconds into thirds; for example for the 1st mode, instead of

they put æ u o u a

e.

æ u o u a

for the 3rd mode, instead of

e.

they put e u o u a e.

e u o u a e.

for the 6th mode, instead of

they put e u o u

a e.

e u o u

for the 7th mode, instead of

a e.

they put e u o u a e.

e u o u a e.

And as the semitones appeared more difficult in practice because of the harshness of their voice, they made the following change at the mediation of even the seventh mode: instead of singing as had been done previously in Dixit Dominus

Do mi no me o: 49

they sang. . .

Do mi no me o:

In characteristic Enlightenment fashion, Lebeuf favored modernity (the Belles Lettres) over medieval “barbarism,” in this instance associating stepwise melody with the former, and simpler disjunct motion with the latter. A hundred years after Lebeuf, Adrien de La Fage, in his Cours complet de plainchant, warned of precisely the opposite tendency in local variants of chant, as the following excerpts demonstrate. There is another formula of ferial oration which differs from the preceding only in the drop of a minor third, sung on the last syllable of the oration and on the last of the conclusion.

Con ce

de mi

se

ri cors De us fra

gi

li

ta

ti

no stræ præ si

di

um...

re sur ga mus. Ou re sur ga mus. Per Chri stum Do mi num no strum. A men. Ou A men.

They also use, at will, the inflection of the third in the Dominus vobiscum. This second ferial formula was often altered in the following manner, which merits no praise:50

O

re

mus. Con ce

de

no

bis... Chri stum Do

mi num no

strum.

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When the Pater is recited at the end of Nocturne and in some other cases, only the first words and last words are intoned aloud, making on the last syllable an inflection of a minor third, reproduced in the conclusion by the choir.

Pa ter no ster. Et ne nos in du cas in ten ta ti on em.

R. Sed li be ra

nos

a ma lo ou ma lo.

The second conclusion is bad.51 Of the four intonations of the Magnificat, the third seems the best to us; the first two are tolerable, but the ornament placed at the end of the fourth gives it a completely ridiculous aspect.52

Mag ni

fi cat.

Mag ni

fi cat.

Mag ni

fi cat.

Mag ni

fi cat.

Each of La Fage’s admonitions addresses the unscrupulous interpolation of steps, objections that find support from N. A. Janssen: “The si is apparently a passing tone, which was arbitrarily introduced.”53 Janssen continues more strongly, regarding example 3.15a, “The two semibreves are, again, notes of filling-in: and, consequently, they constitute a mistake.”54 Concerning the end of the Pater noster (ex. 3.15b), he gives an alternate, stepwise cadence, with a succinct rebuke, again seconding La Fage on the same point.55 a

b

Sic ca

ni tur pun

ctum.

mauvais

nos

à

ma

lo.

ma

lo.

Example 3.15. Censured passing tones (from Janssen, Les Vrais Principes du chant grégorien, 1845). Another chant scholar, F.-J. Fétis, provides further illumination on the question of minor-third leaps. Fétis emphasizes the need to distinguish ornamental semibreves from the more structural breves, a principle that he illustrates using a characteristic Gregorian motive:

One sees thus that it completely denatures successions of this type to give to each note the same value; for, in the example in question, the melody rests on these notes:

the others are but ornament.56

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123

Fétis contended with a great deal of what he considered textual infidelity, for instance the discrepancy between two versions of a Gloria: One will see that the simplicity of the primitive chant, so well conceived by the composer, by reason of the length of the hymn and the quantity of words, was spoiled by a multitude of superfluous notes, which rendered the chant languid and monotone in this edition. . . . For example, who will not be disagreeably affected to see this form, so simple and so noble:

Do

mi

ne

De

us Rex cœ

les

tis.

replaced by this redundancy of notes?

Do

mi

ne

De

us

Rex cœ

le

stis.

The whole Gloria in the French editions is full of absurdities of the same sort; sometimes even there is no likeness between the form of the ancient chant and that of the modern. I will take for example this passage:

A

do

ra

mus te.

which the editors have changed into this:57

A

do

ra

mus

te.

The complaint here involves melodic extravagance, while “simplicity” is deemed the sine qua non of authentic chant. Even two isolated passing tones, apparently added to a certain Regina coeli, draw censure from Fétis: In putting two notes on the first syllable of the first alleluia, and two more on the third syllable, [the editors] take away the natural grace of this passage. . . . With regard to the second alleluia, no one could fail to see that all the notes joined by intervals of seconds give a dull form, in comparison to that of the original chant. It is the same with the third alleluia, which is a model of elegance in the ancient chant and whose form is tedious in the French editions.58

Finally, consider Fétis’s analysis of the Sanctus in example 3.16, whose original (pentatonic) opening is supposedly “a good deal more gracious and original” than the later (stepwise) one.59

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Sanc

tus,

Sanc

tus,

Example 3.16. Two Sanctus openings.

4. Conclusions One must proceed cautiously when assessing the comments of polemicists like La Fage, Janssen, and Fétis, for while the question of thirds versus steps clearly engendered a certain amount of attention—and a decided preference for the former—it is equally clear that any number of considerations were involved, from prosody to scalar integrity. Nevertheless, these quotations, along with those above concerning chromaticism, leading tones, and tritones, demonstrate a pronounced yearning for melodic and scalar purity in sacred music, a purity (it will have been noted) exemplified by the pentatonic scale. Although this connection was not explicitly made at the time, the discourse remains highly suggestive.60 The meticulous scrutiny exhibited by these chant-lovers, their obsession with authenticity, and their fierce opposition to major-minor tonality, to the modern accretions of chromaticism, and to melodic opulence in general, represent an essential component in the history of sacred music in the nineteenth century. In such a climate, composers would have naturally internalized a deeper awareness of plainchant modality. Although the ideological revolution of the Cecilians remained largely a theoretical endeavor, composers exposed to their ideas, even if not directly converted by their recommendations, must have become both acutely sensitive to the infradiatonic style of chant, and increasingly concerned with the melodic demands of their own sacred music.61

D. Other Connections 1. Primitivism qua spirituality Thus far I have discussed Gregorian pentatonicism and its aesthetic and theoretical implications in the context of the nineteenth century, in the hope of clarifying the motivations behind composers’ use of the religious pentatonic. Beyond this, I would like to advance one more brief discussion, which will shed further light on our topic and draw connections to chapter 2: Romantic conceptions of the “primitive.” Rousseau’s famous dictum, that society corrupts Man’s inherent goodness, only gained in pertinence as the Industrial Revolution marched on. The notion, an extension of the Enlightenment precept of human equality, became transformed in the Romantic imagination such that some were “more equal than others”: for

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125

the Romantics, “high” and “low” met at the infinity of the divine. A related notion that would blossom in the nineteenth century was the equation of nature with the supernatural. The Romantic fascination with rural life is perhaps best demonstrated in painting, which abounds in pastoral scenes of human simplicity and purity, images whose religious content can be more or less explicit. “Collectively, [peasant-religious paintings] tell us that peasant man, the most basic of men, lives his life in the service of God.”62 Millet’s L’Angélus (1857–59) is one exemplary depiction of the communion between God and the meek of the earth (plate 3.1). An earlier and even more emphatic expression of this Romanticized view is Vincent’s La Leçon de labourage (1798), in which a wealthy family has brought their son to the country to be tutored by a rugged plowman (plate 3.2). The old farmer educates the boy in place of the child’s own father—indeed, with his sage and severe presence he stands as the Eternal Father, to whom the biological parents respectfully defer. The imposing aura of this patriarch conveys at once the earthly and the divine— a divinity amplified by a commanding outstretched arm, an allusion to the God of Michaelangelo’s Creation of Adam.63

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

Plate 3.1. Jean-François Millet, L’Angélus (1858–59). (Paris, Musée d’Orsay. Used by permission).

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Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

Plate 3.2. François-André Vincent, La Leçon de Labourage (1798). (Bordeaux Musée des Beaux-Arts. © Cliché du M. B. A. de Bordeaux. Photo Lysiane Gauthier. Used by Permission.) Writings about music also invoked this elevation of the primitive. Thibaut, condemning what he thought to be elitist, intellectual art, observed, On the other hand, all the melodies that spring from the people, or are retained by them as favorites, are generally chaste and simple in nature like a child’s. It is in this sense quite possible for a learned man to rank below a child.64

Hoffmann claimed that only those musicians “gifted with a childlike and pious mind” would appreciate the subtle beauties of Renaissance music.65 As Dom Prosper Guéranger, disciple of Lamennais and grandfather of the Solesmes project, wrote, “Plainchant is the sung prayer of the people. . . . Its prosody bears the people’s accent, its modes are natural scales, the people’s.”66 According to the Nouvel eucologue en musique . . . , a book owned by Liszt: “In effect, plain-chant is the melody of all, intelligible to all, at the same time that it expresses faithfully and with more ability than any other song, the long prayer of the Church militant and the solemn thoughts of hearts far from their native land.”67 To be sure, the pastoral topic’s frequent appearance in religious contexts antedates the Romantic movement, in part owing to traditional depictions of the Nativity. Thus Liszt’s pentatonic “Hirtengesang an der Krippe” (ex. 3.17a) in fact exists within a larger tradition of pastoral-religious music that includes Corelli’s Christmas Concerto and Handel’s Pastoral Symphony. But in the absence of an

a

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127

Allegretto pastorale tranquillo

ten.

dim.

rall.

smorz.

b

dim.

Example 3.17. The intersection of the religious pentatonic and the primitive pentatonic. (a) (⫽P348) Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Hirtengesang an der Krippe,” beginning. (b) (⫽P349) Liszt, “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” (1882), m. 120.

explicitly rustic program, a passage like the pentatonic dolcissimo con grazia from Liszt’s “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” (ex. 3.17b) makes a more complex statement, suggesting a broader category of primitivism qua spirituality. That is, in the case of the first three pieces mentioned, pastoral musical devices directly express the pastoral content of the program, whereas in Liszt’s “Angélus,” that expression involves an additional, unstated association: the Romantic conflation of sacred and pastoral. Clearly the blurring of boundaries between primitivism and religiosity implies an inherently reciprocal connection between the primitive pentatonic and the religious pentatonic.

2. “The Idea of the Infinite”: The Pentatonic Construction of Spirituality Finally, and before at last surveying the repertoire of the religious pentatonic, I wish to argue that spirituality in some sense resides “in” the pentatonic scale, as it were, at least vis-à-vis the major scale. That is, beyond its associations with plainchant or with the “noble savage,” pentatonicism serves as a fitting vehicle for the idea of spirituality through its particular tonal aberrations. This construction of spirituality, already alluded to by some of our informants above, hinges on a few aesthetic and philosophical points, which I will now elucidate. Conspicuously absent from the pentatonic scale, the tritone and leading tone have routinely elicited metaphors related to tension and implication. Fétis’s exposition of the concepts is highly revealing, and his anthropomorphic

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language would be echoed by such theorists as Kurth and Schenker. Concerning the tritone between 7 and 4, Fétis explains: “The attraction of these two notes, the necessity for the seventh degree to rise while the fourth degree falls, is the peculiar character of the leading tone, which received its name from this tendency.”68 A similar interpretation attends Fétis’s disallowance of a triad on iii, which he blames on the seventh degree, “of which the natural attraction toward the tonic cannot be satisfying to the conditions of repose.”69 This metaphor of tonal energy may be understood as extending to any worldly force—for instance, the attraction embodied in human desire. The notion of desire as the burden of a fallen humanity is a familiar component of the JudeoChristian religious tradition, among others. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit, the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. (Romans 8:5–6)

In nineteenth-century philosophy, Schopenhauer epitomizes this belief: All willing arises from need, therefore from deficiency, and therefore from suffering. The fulfillment of a wish ends it; yet for one wish that is fulfilled there remain at least ten which are denied. Further, the desire lasts long, the demands are infinite; the satisfaction is short and scantily measured out. . . . Therefore, as long as our consciousness is filled by our will, as long as we are given up to the urgent prompting of desires with their constant hopes and fears, as long as we are the subject of willing, we can never have lasting happiness nor peace.70

In this view, spiritual peace comes not from the consummation of desire, but rather from its negation, its transcendence. Not surprisingly, then, Schopenhauer describes the essence of Christianity as “the surrender of all volition . . . the suppression of will, and with it of the whole inner being of this world.”71 Given the “willful” nature of 4 and 7, the implications for musical aesthetics are obvious and surely account to some degree for the phenomenon of the religious pentatonic.72 The transcendent denial of leading-tone tendency must have been precisely what Richard Strauss had in mind at the final cadence of Death and Transfiguration (ex. 3.18). Here a prominent leading tone “resolves” down to 6 and then to 5, and in so doing the melody conjures up the unfathomable, paradoxical world of the

Example 3.18. Strauss, Death and Transfiguration (1889), final cadence.

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129

hereafter. In contrast to the religious pentatonic, Strauss’s design draws upon the aesthetic of the heroic, representing transcendence through struggle: the leading tone is introduced only to be confounded. A similar sense of transcendence, however, assumes a more spiritual, more pacific expression through the religious pentatonic, where melodic leading tones remain emphatically absent. The very absence of the leading tone—the single most powerful tendencytone—may thus be understood as a musical metaphor for the divine, and the degree to which this absence is emphasized will largely determine the strength of the metaphor. According to this interpretation, one may hear the consonance of the pentatonic scale as a reflection of existential peace; the behavior of 6 as a “deliverance” from that degree’s traditional tonal servitude; the leap to 8 as an impossibility that nevertheless flows effortlessly as a miraculous reversal of 6’s tendency to fall. Especially at cadences, the “miracle” of 6–8 (compounded with the traditional associations of melodic ascent) evokes that heavenly world in which attractions cease to operate. These qualities resemble precisely those that D’Ortigue so admired in the musical world of plainchant, where “the idea of succession is lost and is absorbed by each degree into the idea of the infinite, since the succession brings to each chord the sentiment of fullness, of permanence, and of abstract unity.”73 To complete our interrogation of nineteenth-century scalar ideology, consider Fétis’s description of Arab “scales of sounds in small variable intervals,” which entail “a languorous and sensual music . . . amorous songs and lusty dances.” On the contrary, among the harsh and serious peoples of the yellow race, or Mongols, music, solemn and monotone, strange and difficult for Europeans, is produced from a tonal system where the semitone often disappears, and of which the incomplete scale is composed of only five sounds placed at intervals of a tone from one another, with the gaps where the semitones of the scale called diatonic are.74

Fétis’s opposition, while not consistent—music of small intervals is “sensual” and “lusty,” while that of large intervals is “solemn and monotone,” “strange and

Table 3.2. A structuralist interpretation of the religious pentatonic. human earthly temporal corporeal teleological dramatic desire leading tone major-minor

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

divine heavenly eternal spiritual discursive/spatial religious transcendence no leading tone pentatonic

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difficult”—nevertheless strongly supports the possibility of a religious pentatonic. This interpretation seems to imply “chromatic ⫽ erotic,” from which equation may be inferred the opposite one, “pentatonic ⫽ spiritual.”75 In summary then, the foregoing notions yield the network of oppositions given in table 3.2.76

E. The Religious Pentatonic I will now introduce examples of the religious pentatonic. As will be expected by now, these examples vary widely both in extent and manner of usage. For this reason they have been arranged in subcategories as follows: minimal examples; cadential 6–8; bass 6–8; pentatonic themes; and pentatonic scales.

1. Minimal Examples The pentatonic “step,” 5–3, though by far the less conspicuous of the scale’s two minor thirds, can nevertheless serve as a potent allusion to pre-modern sacred music. Example 3.19 ends with just such an allusion, which is strengthened by a tonic triad drone ultimately giving way to monophony. (See also P270, P271.) By the same token, the diatonic upper neighbor to 5 can serve as a marginally pentatonic device (P272, P273), but it is when 6 abandons its stepwise allegiances that the more archaic minor third 6–8 arises. The opening of Bruckner’s Te Deum (P274) uses 7 in descent, but with an ensuing 6–8 leap, as is typical in chant; the first instance of 6–7 represents a tonal intrusion, occasioning a shift from C major to the distant key of B major. Quite often 6–8 motion approaches the nature of cadential action (P275–P280); fully cadential 6–8 comprises an important element of the religious pentatonic, to be discussed later. As mentioned above, a particularly common pentatonic formula is the Gregorian incipit, a rising succession of a major second and a minor third. The formula naturally turns up when chant is quoted, as in the canonical intonation that composers such as Michael Haydn sometimes incorporated into their Gloria Mass movements (ex. 3.20). Haydn’s Missa Sancti Hieronymi (P282) also displays the composer’s well-known sensitivity to this melodic style: in the Benedictus, the theme’s initial 1–3–5 is answered imitatively as 5–6–8, rather than the more typical tonal answers 5–7–8, 5–8–2, or 5–8–3. Other eighteenthcentury usage of the Gregorian incipit, however, tended not to traverse 6–8: the Credo of Mozart’s Mass, K. 192, for instance, renders it as 1–2–4. The Gregorian incipit sometimes goes unharmonized (in keeping with its origins), though plagal progressions provide an obvious harmonic accompaniment. Mahler responded ingeniously to the incipit’s harmonic implications and the possibilities of pentatonic voice leading: in the “breakthrough” theme of his Symphony #1, bass and melody accomplish what might be described as a pentatonic voice

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

Choral

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Example 3.19 (⫽P269). Bruckner, Os justi (1879), end.

Allegro ma non troppo

Glo

ri

a

in

ex cel

sis

De

o

Example 3.20 (⫽P281). Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Aloysii (1777), Gloria, beginning.

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132


exchange (P283, mentioned in chapter 1). That this gesture can be heard as a (major/pentatonic) transformation of the movement’s initial minor-key theme suggests the notion of spiritual transcendence and calls to mind the programmatic title contained in an early version of this movement, “Dall’Inferno al Paradiso.” Clearly, though, the theme relates to Wagner’s “Grail motif” from Parsifal in sharing a common source, the so-called Dresden Amen tune (ex. 3.21a, b). Tellingly, the more classically oriented “Reformation” Symphony of Mendelssohn (ex. 3.21c) presents only the second half of the theme, i.e., omitting the Gregorian incipit— perhaps a judgment upon non-classical 6 as musically and religiously “unreformed.” (Similarly, though perhaps more surprisingly, Mendelssohn’s paraphrase of “Ein feste Burg” later in this symphony transforms Luther’s 6–8 into 7–8.) Referring to Wagner’s “Grail motif,” Liszt once confessed, “Those intervals are very well known to me, as I have written them time and time again! . . . However,

a

3

3

sempre

b

c

Example 3.21. The “Dresden Amen” in three versions. (a) (⫽P283) Mahler, Symphony #1 (1888), iv, “breakthrough” theme, reh. 26, (b) (⫽P284) Wagner, Parsifal (1881), Prelude, “Grail motif,” m. 38, (c) Mendelssohn, “Reformation” Symphony (1830), i, m. 33.

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133

they are old Catholic intervals, and so even I did not invent them myself.”77 Liszt found no shortage of uses for the incipit, whether as part of a freely invented allusion to chant (P285), or as a bona-fide parody (P286). (The latter melody shows how the pentatonic scale can be constructed from the incipit together with an inversionally related pitch-class set.) Borrowed or not, the formula’s appearance in the Dante Symphony sports Liszt’s original contribution of a harmonization that boldly overturns conventional harmonic syntax, V–IV–I (P287); also contained in this excerpt is an equally bold gesture that is the subject of the next section: a 6–8 cadence. (See also P288–P291.)

2. Cadential 6–8 One distinctive innovation of Romantic harmony was the increased use of plagal progressions at all levels of formal structure, a stylistic trait related to a general reorientation toward “flat-side” harmony and what might be called the “coda aesthetic.” Leonard Meyer has asked why this came about. Why, that is, were plagal cadences chosen by Romantic composers but not by those of the Classic period (although the cadences were just as available then)? One reason, suggested by Ruth A. Solie (in a personal communication), is that plagal endings are related, through the “Amen” aspects of the cadence, to the sacred. From this point of view, the choice of plagal progressions at the end of works can be related to the religious aura surrounding artists, works of art, and aesthetic experience.78

Certainly, eighteenth-century composers did choose plagal cadences on occasion (see table 1.1, p. 29), but Meyer’s question could be extended to the important question of voice leading: Why is it that the 6–8 cadence, which was stylistically unavailable in the eighteenth century, emerged and thrived in the music of the Romantic era? One explanation for its later appearance involves the ideological factors discussed in the present chapter: I propose that the 6–8 melody, via its allusion to chant (as in the liturgical Amens of ex. 3.22)79, contributed an additional degree of spiritual significance to the increasingly conventional plagal cadence. The bona-fide religion of Christianity could thus be distinguished, via 6–8, from Meyer’s metaphorical “religion” of absolute music. Among the earliest Romantic 6–8 cadences that I know of appears in the Religiosamente concluding the first movement of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique (P292), the style-historical importance of which was discussed in chapter 1. Having now established the interpretive framework of the religious pentatonic, we can better understand the cadence in relation to the symphony’s program, in particular the hero’s “religious consolations.” The delicate homophonic orchestral texture, the hushed dynamics, and the purity of C major, all create an ethereal tone that amplifies the humble aesthetic of the pentatonic figure. Moreover, this section engages a certain “play” between a and a (as does the piece’s idée fixe itself) but resolves the matter in favor of the pentatonic ascent:

134

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Janssen (1845)

re

gnas

in

sæ

cu

la

sæ

cu

lo

rum.

R. A

men.

Haberl (1865/1900)

Su

per

te

or

ta

est.

In

sæ ´

cu

la

sæ

cu

ló

rum. A

men.

Example 3.22. “6–8” Amens in two nineteenth-century liturgical books.

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

dim.

Example 3.23 (⫽P293). Brahms, Alto Rhapsody (1869), end. the melodic 6–8 “redeems,” as it were, the inner-voice 6–5.80 This technique of the “Picardy sixth” (introduced in chapter 1)—the 6–8 cadence as an audacious foil to prior chromaticism—thus consummates the rhetorical meaning of religious pentatonicism. The device functions in two distinct semiotic modes: in addition to its direct evocation of liturgical chant, it serves as a tonal metaphor of salvation, a seemingly miraculous deliverance of 6 from its tragically downward-tending (which is to say, earth-bound) existence.81 The Picardy sixth accounts for much of the feeling of consolation in the final chords of Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody (ex. 3.23), which involves both melodic and inner-voice chromaticism prior to the plagal 6–8 (see also P294). A still more emphatic catharsis attends the coda of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet (P295, also mentioned in chapter 1), in which a prominent and pathetic 6, reinterpreted as 5, forms an appoggiatura to the ensuing, celestial 6.82 Clearly,

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135

rit.

Lauretta

Bab bo, pie tà,

pie

tà!

(piangendo)

bab bo, pie tà,

pie

tà! . . . rall.

Example 3.24 (⫽P296). Puccini, Gianni Schicchi (1918), “O mio babbino caro,” end. evocations of the sacred have fruitful applications to ostensibly secular music as well, here expressing the religious sentiments proper to the subjects of death and reconciliation.83 Overtones of pentatonicism’s associations with the primitive merge seamlessly with the religious pentatonic in example 3.24; by using the 6–8 cadence here, Puccini foregrounds the allusive nature of the text as both a childish plea (“babbo”) and a solemn prayer (“pietà”). (See also P297–P321.)

8 3. Bass 6–8 In the recurring cadential formula of the “Dona nobis” from Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis (ex 3.25), the bass leap 6–8 forms a sort of appoggiatura—or rather, a harmonization of the sopranos’ appoggiatura—which explanation renders the nonclassical voice leading no less remarkable. In the nineteenth century, the adoption of 6–8 (or 6–1) motion in the bass does sometimes serve a cadential role in its own right and thus forms another distinctive component of the religious pentatonic. Consider Liszt’s Adagio for organ (ex. 3.26a), a faithful transcription of his own Consolation #4 for piano (ex. 3.26b). Among the handful of subtle revisions applied to the earlier piece, the most significant occurs at the final cadence, where

136

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S. cem, do

na

no

bis pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

A. cem,

do

T. cem,

do

B. cem, do

Example 3.25 (⫽P322). Beethoven, Missa Solemnis (1823), “Dona,” mm. 26–31. a

b

Example 3.26. Liszt, two versions of the same plagal cadence. (a) (⫽P323) Adagio for organ (1867), end; (b) Consolation #4 (1850), end.

Liszt replaces the standard plagal with a bass 6–8 cadence. The change demonstrates, perhaps, a more religiously oriented use of this religious instrument, or else the older composer’s more sensitive interpretation of the expressive marking con divozione. These cadences can function either in low-level foreground articulations (P324), or in more structurally significant contexts (P325). Above all, the

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

❧


137

Example 3.27 (⫽P326). Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Resurrexit,” m. 357.

Example 3.28. Two cadences from Niedermeyer and D’Ortigue, Gregorian Accompaniment (1857), pp. 62, 77. consonant status of 6 with 1 makes for a softening of the cadential energy, even in as unusual a succession as the cadence in example 3.27, vi7–I–ii7–I. As it happens, cadences such as these—typically IV6–I or vi–I—conform to the guidelines established by Niedermeyer and D’Ortigue for the accompaniment of chant. The two pedagogues forbade dominant seventh chords and discouraged 5–1 bass leaps, insisting that even the bass line should obey the “laws” of “plainchant melody.”84 In fact, some of the harmonizations they propose make copious use of third motion in the bass (ex. 3.28).85 (See also P327–P337.)

4. Pentatonic Themes While the foregoing examples have displayed varying degrees of pentatonic inflection, the present section includes material of a more assertively pentatonic nature

138

❧


and/or of greater thematic importance—of which Fauré’s “In paradisum” discussed above (P338) offers a classic example. Both the Kyrie and Christe of Liszt’s Missa Choralis are pentatonic, the former an ambiguous modal theme suggesting both minor and relative major, the latter more firmly planted in the major (P339, P340). Liszt’s pentatonic themes comprise a majority of these examples;86 in addition to his many newly composed themes, others have been taken from other sources. A leitmotif of his St. Elisabeth (P341) comes from the chant “Quasi stella,” while his organ eulogy Am Grabe Richard Wagners (P342) borrows Wagner’s “bell motif” (P343), a tetratonic theme (1–5–6–3) to which Liszt added a cadential 2–1. In Wagner’s original (the conclusion to act 1 of Parsifal), the bells toll repetitively under gentle C-major chords, underscoring the choir’s words “Selig im Glauben.” Repetition likewise amplifies the pentatonic theme of Brünnhilde’s sleep concluding Die Walkürie (ex. 3.29). As Wotan’s magic spell plunges Brünnhilde deeper and deeper into the realm of the unconscious, a seventeen-measure decrescendo (p dolce to ppp) accompanies a gradual abandonment of dominant harmony, even as the 6–5 appoggiaturas remain.87 The signification here is multifaceted: via the religious pentatonic (sleep as otherworldly, the spell as supernatural) and via the primitive pentatonic (the sleeper as innocent, the music as lullaby). (See also P345–P355.)

5. Pentatonic Scales A still more powerful effect results when the pentatonic scale is used not thematically, but rather as purely sonorous material. Pentatonic scales—as scales per se—sometimes act as a fleeting sign of the supernatural. This subcategory, then, further encourages the acceptance of the larger category of the “religious pentatonic” as a topos in its own right, more than a mere circumstantial corollary of “noble simplicity.” A particularly touching example occurs in the final movement of Bruckner’s Te Deum (ex. 3.30). A formidable double fugue has been building in intensity, culminating in one of the movement’s few cadences, to the global dominant, G major. The climax involves a crescendo from p to ff and a rising sequence in which the sopranos trace a fully chromatic octave ascent, g⬘–g⬘⬘. Following the downbeat of the cadence, the entire texture immediately drops out, and the first violins play a descending pentatonic scale spanning three octaves. Loud is answered by soft, rising is answered by falling, and, most importantly, chromatic is answered by pentatonic. In short, humanity’s desperate and frenzied plea, “Let us not be confounded,” meets divine grace in all its surprising tranquility. (Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass sets apart its final Amens in a similar, if less dramatic, way; see P357.) Pentatonic scales were a favorite device of Liszt’s (P358–P367). The striking pentatonic scales of the misterioso within the Faust movement of Liszt’s Faust Symphony (P358) have eluded the piece’s many commentators, who prefer to label the passage in purely formal terms (“episode,” “development,” etc.). Constantin Floros alone has advanced a hermeneutic reading of the passage:

(Er wendet sich langsam zum Gehen.)

8va

dolce

(8va)

più

(8va)

sempre più

(Er wendet sich nochmals mit dem Haupt un blickt zurück.)

(8va)

(8va)

Example 3.29 (⫽excerpt of P344). Wagner, Die Walküre (1856), III/3, Brünnhilde’s sleep, 17 from end.

poco a poco cresc.

te

Do

mi

ne

spe

poco a poco cresc.

Do

mi

dar,

ne,

non

Do

con

fun

mi

dar,

poco a poco cresc.

ter

num,

non

con

fun

dar in

ae

ter

num,

non

con

poco a poco cresc.

cresc. sempre

ra

vi,

spe

ra

ne,

vi,

Do

non con

fun

spe

ra

mi

ne,

dar,

non con

non

fun

con

dar

marc.

fun

dar

in

ae

ter

num,

in

ae

ter

cresc.

Example 3.30 (⫽P356). Bruckner, Te Deum (1884), “In te, Domine, speravi,” mm. 55–64.

❧


141

vi:

fun dar in ae ter

in

ae

ter

num,

non

num,

num, non

non

con

fun

dar

con

fun

in

dim.


“This passage, which has something Impressionistic, atmospheric-ethereal about it, can only point to the symbol of the Macrocosmos, which Faust finds in Nostradamus’s book.”88 An acknowledgement of the religious pentatonic can confirm Floros’s intuition, as Faust’s beholding the sacred symbol marks his turning from philosophy to religion, or at least, from Mind to Spirit. The pentatonic scale in Liszt’s Sposalizio (P360)—traversed via échappées—is organically related to the thematic material of the piece, lending the coda the character of an understated apotheosis. In this piece, as in the “Miracle of the Roses” from Liszt’s St. Elisabeth (P361), the pentatonic scale may serve a dual function in signifying the pastoral as well as the divine. Descending scales seem to be Liszt’s preferred use, but rising scales are also found, and the difference appears to be significant. In the first verse of Liszt’s St. Cecilia cantata (P362), for instance, we are told of the famous musician who offers holy songs night and day, which image occasions a shift to D and a rising pentatonic scale, marked dolce ; likewise, two of St. Elisabeth’s prayers are punctuated by rising added-sixth lines (ex. 3.31; see also P364). Hence, if descending pentatonic scales represent a glimpse of heaven, it seems that ascending scales represent human (or more specifically, saintly) petitions to God. All of the examples discussed here have been associated with delicate textures and soft dynamics (dolce is a common indication). The choral climax of Liszt’s

142

❧


poco rit.

ja,

a tempo

rall.

ich kom me bald!

Example 3.31 (⫽P363). Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), II/5, Elisabeth’s death prayer, m. 42.

grandioso

6

con forza

6

6

con forza

6

6

6

6

6

Example 3.32 (⫽P367). Liszt, “Invocation” from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (1848), mm. 52–59.

Ossa arida (P365), however, involves an ecstatic outpouring: accompanying the last of three exhortations to “Audite verbum Domine” (“Hear the word of the Lord”), the organ presents repeated pentatonic scalar figures, fortissimo and doubled in four octaves, as an overwhelming confrontation with divine majesty. Something of the same nature occurs throughout Ordo from Septem Sacramenta (P366). The fetishization of pentatonic scales in these examples and others (for instance, ex. 3.32) is related to a final category of pentatonicism that we will explore in the next chapter, the coloristic pentatonic glissando.

Part 3

Beyond Signification

Chapter Four

The Pentatonic Glissando In the last two chapters, I have focused on pentatonicism as signifier, a network of musical and extramusical signs derived from a multitude of historical sources and marshaled by nineteenth-century composers for the purpose of representation. It would be doctrinaire, however, to suppose that compositional decisions were solely the product of ideological forces and programmatic tendencies: musical elements don’t just stand to impress a composer as (conceptually) right, but also as (acoustically) good. And even granting that “sounding good” entails aesthetic (and hence, ideological) assumptions, we must acknowledge a broad class of pentatonicism whose derivation can be said to be in some sense “purely musical.” The subtle change in melodic sensibility traced in chapter 1, after all, arose as much from within composers’ fertile imaginations as from a self-conscious assimilation of foreign elements. Meanwhile, we have also encountered some of Liszt’s extravagant pentatonic scalar passages which, whatever their programmatic motivations, bespeak a certain infatuated celebration of sound for its own sake. In this chapter I will describe a prominent and influential tradition of nonsignifying pentatonicism, the coloristic pentatonic harp glissando, which I believe inspired Liszt’s and others’ virtuoso pentatonic pianism, and which was an important forerunner of the use by the Impressionists of pentatonicism “en soi” (as Serge Gut termed it), the subject of chapter 5.1

A. The Harp in the Nineteenth Century It was noted in chapter 2 that a technical peculiarity of the piano—the arrangement of its twelve notes into black and white keys—furnished pianists with a direct introduction to the pentatonic scale. The modern harp possesses a similarly fortuitous design feature that likewise affords a handy, if less obvious, illustration of pentatonicism. Ironically, the development of this feature—the so-called “double action,” patented by Érard in 1810—was motivated by a desire to make the harp more fully chromatic. It fell to harpists to explore the unique implications of Érard’s design; their curiosity and ingenuity led to the discovery of musical resources that rank among the most characteristic elements in the harp’s vocabulary.

146

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the pentatonic glissando

1. The Harp: History, Construction, and Performance At the turn of the nineteenth century, the piano and the harp were more equal in musical stature than they are today, thanks in part to the popularity endowed to the latter by one of its most famous aficionados, Marie Antoinette.2 Describing musical life at the French court, Leopold Mozart mentioned harp composers as prominently as keyboard composers.3 Beethoven, whose Variations on a Swiss Song, WoO 64, were published by Simrock “pour la harpe ou le fortepiano,” once wrote to the piano maker Streicher, “I hope the time will come when the harp and the pianoforte will be treated as entirely different instruments.”4 Pratt has even speculated that certain of Haydn’s piano sonatas and Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words were originally conceived with the harp in mind.5 In the nineteenth century, the harp became, along with the guitar, an important feature of domestic music making and of salon life, offering a relatively inexpensive alternative to the piano.6 Judging from the quantity of potpourris and variations on operatic themes written for the harp, the instrument shared with the piano a large body of popular repertoire. The most celebrated harp virtuoso of the century, Elias Parish-Alvars (whom we will discuss shortly), was also an accomplished pianist who published many of his works in versions intended for either instrument. This rivalry notwithstanding, the harp and the piano are, from a technical perspective, very different instruments. The rather perplexing assembly of notes in example 4.1, for instance—technically, an augmented-seventh chord—is a peculiar response to the instrument for which it was written, the modern harp.7 With seven strings to the octave, the harp is first of all a diatonic instrument; chromatic notes, which are produced by a pedal action, occur only as alterations of the seven diatonic pitch-classes. (Harp designs with twelve strings to the octave had been attempted but proved impractical for both builder and player.) Hence, the enharmonicism of this example (what harpists call a “homophone” or “synonym”) is more than a notational anomaly, but a practical reality: in contrast to the enharmonic conflations of the piano keyboard, the harp’s a and b sound on two adjacent strings.

8va

Example 4.1. Félix Godefroid (1818–97), Etudes mélodiques (posthumous), #2, “Les Arpèges,” m. 9.

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147

Moreover, this contrived arpeggio bespeaks further technicalities that confront the harpist in performance, namely: (1) the fact that the harp, being a plucked instrument, is inhospitable to the re-articulation of a vibrating string; (2) the harpist’s use of only four fingers (the little finger, on account of its shortness and weakness, is not used); (3) the difficulty in quickly repositioning the hand. The enharmonic a, then, transforms a desired triadic flourish into a four-note pattern, which falls happily under the hands and ensures a consistent fingering in each successive octave.8 While this idiosyncratic arpeggio may appear to be little more than a novelty, similar motivations surely account for the arpeggio in the second measure of example 4.2, a tonic added-sixth chord. Importantly, this straightforward four-note arpeggio is obtainable without enharmonicism and the conceptually esoteric augmented seventh. We will return to the added-sixth arpeggio later. For the time being, we can note an impulse among nineteenth-century harp composers to devise fournote approximations of triadic consonance in their arpeggiated passages, analogous to the ubiquitous (and likewise, four-note) dominant-seventh and diminished-seventh arpeggios of the eighteenth century (and as in the first measure of example 4.2). This impulse represents a step toward a momentous innovation in nineteenth-century music: the development of additive harmony. A more decisive step depended on an advance in harp design perfected by Sébastien Érard in the early 1800s, a historical detail that warrants some digression.

con forza

Example 4.2 (⫽P368). Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 (1846), mm. 30–31.

148

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2. The Double-Action Harp The harp as it existed at the turn of the nineteenth century had suffered from deficiencies of which even its devotees were acutely aware.9 The pedal apparatus in general use at that time was a “single action” mechanism that allowed the player to raise any pitch-class a semitone. Although all twelve tones of the equal-tempered chromatic scale were thus available, certain common melodic successions would require the rapid repedaling of a single string, a difficult and ultimately unsatisfactory maneuver. (A melodic minor scale, for example, is not possible without undue pedal changes.) And because only sharpwards chromatic modifications were possible, key choice and modulations were likewise constrained: in the conventional open tuning of E major, the harp could accommodate the most often encountered major keys (E, B, F, C, G, D, A, and E), but any keys outside of this orbit would not support a complete scale. Such melodic and tonal limitations captured the attention of the celebrated piano builder Sébastien Érard, who developed and perfected an improved design for the harp during the course of over twenty years, starting around 1790. Thanks to Érard’s musical vision, technical ingenuity, and business sense, the harp remained competitive during the rapid ascendancy of the piano in the early nineteenth century. His chief innovation was the introduction of an action capable of raising each pitch-class not just one semitone, but as many as two. Thus, when his “double-action harp” (harpe à double mouvement) was tuned in C major, it became possible to play in any flat or sharp key: depressing all the pedals halfway yields the scale of C major; depressing them fully yields the scale of C major; and particular pedaling configurations exist for each of the other keys, even with two options for most pairs of enharmonically equivalent keys.

Table 4.1. Tonal and melodic capabilities of the single- and double-action harps. enharmonically duplicable pitches

semitones

3-note chromatic clusters

4-note chromatic clusters

f–g–a g–a–b c–d–e

none

all but:

Single-action harp in E

Double-action harp in C

e⫽d a⫽g

all but: g, a, d

f–f b–b c–c

all

all

a–b–c–d b–c–d–e c–d–e–f d–e–f–g e–f–g–a g–a–b–c

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149

Moreover, the double-action harp yields many more potential enharmonic redundancies than does the single-action harp, and the harpist thereby acquires a greater flexibility of pedaling options in many situations, which ultimately increases the playability of chromatic passages. Table 4.1 illustrates these new resources by enumerating the many chromatic spans that became practical only on Érard’s harp. Conceptually, the new design was but a logical extension of the old—Érard’s achievement hinged mainly upon overcoming mechanical and intonation issues—but the benefit to the player was immense. And although Érard’s improvements failed to fulfill an admirer’s prediction that “the rivalry between piano and harp will undoubtedly be settled in favor of the harp,”10 Érard’s basic design of 1811 gradually gained widespread acceptance and has been the standard ever since. Nevertheless, the double-action harp’s expanded chromatic palette conceals an inevitable deficiency it shares with its older sibling: it can sound no more than seven pitch-classes at any given time, for which reason Berlioz (a champion of Érard’s harp) called both instruments “essentially antichromatic.”11

3. The Enharmonic Glissando “Antichromatic,” indeed! Pedalings that produce fewer than seven pitch-classes constitute a great and unexpected benefit for the harpist, as a calculated coordination of synonyms may yield extraordinary effects. Perhaps the simplest application of this capability is the device sometimes called martellato, the rapid reiteration of a single pitch by essentially “trilling” adjacent strings that have been pedaled into a unison.12 In example 4.3, the harp thereby mimics the tremolo picking of a mandolin. This

(F E )

Example 4.3. Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin, op. 84 (1846), mm. 18–20.

150

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technique achieved its consummation in the significantly more ambitious “enharmonic glissando.” Berlioz, though he seems never to have used the device himself, gave the following excited account in his orchestration treatise: It is truly incredble what today’s great harpists can exploit from these double notes, which they called “synonyms.” M. Parish Alvars, possibly the most extraordinary virtuoso of the harp ever heard, plays figures and arpeggios which appear at first sight to be absolutely impossible, but whose difficulty exists solely in the ingenious use of the pedals. He plays passages like [the following] with extraordinary rapidity. Allegro assai 8va

etc.

The ease of this passage becomes obvious when one realises that the player has only to slide with three fingers from the top strings downwards, without fingering individual notes and as fast as he pleases, since by using synonyms the instrument is tuned completely in a series of minor thirds, producing a chord of the diminished seventh. Instead of a descending scale of C major

it has13

To be more precise, the pedals in this case would be set to a–b–c–d–e–f–g, effectively eliminating three of the harp’s seven notes. The technique Berlioz described has been called variously the sdrucciolando, the “Aeolian flux,” the “four-toned enharmonic scale,” the “enharmonische Septimenakkorde,” and, colloquially, “one of the harp’s big bags.”14 It is without a doubt the most distinctive tool the harpist wields, and as such it has perhaps been overused: “Some composers, it has been said, demand of their Harpists not fingers, but brooms.”15 Nevertheless, the genesis of the enharmonic glissando appears to have been purely accidental, a fortuitous consequence of Érard’s chromatic improvements combined with the increasing popularity of the glissé. The earliest reference that I have found for this resourceful application of synonyms is from the harpist, composer, and pedagogue Nicholas Charles Bochsa,

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151

who in 1832 described not a glissando, but an “enharmonic arpeggio.” This device, “more Showy than difficult,” was fingered as a scale, but sounded as an arpeggiated chord of either the dominant seventh or diminished seventh.16 Yet, in the more than fifty works of his that I have been able to examine (compositions, arrangements, and collections of exercises) I have found only one that exploits the harp’s enharmonic resources in this way: his La Valse du feu: Impromptu fantastique of fifteen years later uses diminished-seventh glissandi to depict the “subterranean noises” of Mt. Vesuvius (ex. 4.4). Bochsa may have normally adopted a more conservative mode in his published compositions, so as not to alienate the many players at the time who owned only a single-action harp (for years the instrument of choice at the Paris Conservatoire, thanks to the dubious political influence of the Naderman family, purveyors of single-action harps). His most famous pupil, on the other hand, Elias Parish-Alvars (the English prodigy mentioned above by Berlioz), boldly explored the musical possibilities of his instrument throughout an extensive and successful career of touring and composing. The illustrious harp patriarch Alphonse Hasselmans assessed Parish-Alvars’ importance with the simple epithet, “our Paganini.”17

Bruit souterrain Allegretto Near the sounding board G

B

D

veloce

glissando

Example 4.4. Bochsa, La Valse du feu (1847), mm. 17–19.

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B. The Pentatonic Glissando 1. Parish-Alvars and the Pentatonic Glissando In his own day, Parish-Alvars (1808–49) enjoyed another flattering epithet, this one offered by Berlioz: “The man is the Liszt of the harp.”18 Berlioz heard him play on at least two occasions, in Dresden and in Frankfurt, and reported having been “mesmerized” by his music.19 In the course of the harpist’s concert tours throughout Europe, Russia, and the Near East, he had occasion also to meet Thalberg, Czerny, Field, Mendelssohn, and Liszt, the latter of whom likewise described the Englishman in reverent tones: “His face is comparatively mature for his years, and from underneath his prominent forehead speak his dreamy eyes expressive of the glowing imagination which lives in his compositions.”20 (Liszt supposedly made a habit of imposing on his one-time flame Rosalie Spohr to favor him with private performances of Parish-Alvars’ fantasies.21) Upon Parish-Alvars’ untimely death in 1849, he was eulogized by the Oesterreicherische Courier : “Who in the musical world did not know him, love him, and honor him?”22 Parish-Alvars popularized many novel harp effects, including the use of harmonics, damped notes, and the “pedal slide.”23 In addition, it has been speculated that Thalberg’s renowned “three-hand technique” on the piano was inspired by the harpist’s similarly ambitious textures.24 Above all, Parish-Alvars’ pursuit of the harp’s enharmonic possibilities effected a small revolution for the instrument. While Bochsa apparently used enharmonic arpeggios sparingly and theorized only the diminished-seventh and dominant-seventh varieties, Parish-Alvars made more extensive use of the device and entertained such unlikely pitch-sets as that shown in example 4.5; this glissando has the peculiar property of sounding “out of order,” on account of a doubly diminished second, b–c, which produces a seeming 4–3 appoggiatura.25 Diminished-seventh and dominant-seventh glissandi were certainly ParishAlvars’ favorites, but pentatonic and added-sixth sets are the next most frequent. His experiments with glissandi in additive harmony may ultimately relate to the four-note fingering patterns mentioned above: in Parish-Alvars’ oeuvre appear several added-sixth arpeggios (P369–P376) and a few added-ninth arpeggios (P377–P378). (These fingered patterns occur most often in descent, as is technically easier for the player.26) As enharmonic glissandi per se, the four-note sets of Iadd6 (ex. 4.6; see also P380–P382), viio7, and V7 are abundantly available on the double-action harp, but not at all on the single-action (table 4.2).27 The pentatonic glissando (ex. 4.7; see also P384–P387), available on the double-action harp in all chords, is available on the single-action harp in only those four chords that would have been avoided as tonics. (Added-ninth glissandi are not possible on either instrument.) The four- and five-note sets of Iadd6 and Iadd6,9 represent the “optimum tonal consonance” of the modern harp, to borrow David Huron’s term and to formalize what I meant earlier by “sounding good.”28 In short, some incalculable combination of Érard’s innovation, Bochsa’s and

to be played

B F

Example 4.5. Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin (1846), mm. 28–30.

(G )

19

(D ) (B ) glissando

glissando

19

Example 4.6 (⫽P379). Parish-Alvars, Fantasia, op. 35 (1838), 51 after Allegro con fuoco.

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Table 4.2. Enharmonic glissando capabilities of the single- and doubleaction harps.

Single-action harp in E Double-action harp in C

viio7

V7

Iadd6,9

Iadd6

Iadd9

I

none

none

none

none

none

all

E, B, G, D, A

A, B, C, F all

E, B, G, D, A

none

none

8va loco

sdrucciolando

E G

Example 4.7 (=P383). Parish-Alvars, La Danse des fées (1844), 26 after Allegro.

Parish-Alvars’ inventiveness, and the aural and digital currency of the addedsixth chord together generated a unique source of pentatonicism, one heard throughout the salons of Europe. Such pentatonicism serves a primarily coloristic function, a mildly dissonant substitute for tonic stability in a wash of sound somewhere between melody and harmony. As such, the major added-sixth chord represents the limit of the harp glissando’s consonant potential. If this pursuit of consonance was Parish-Alvars’ ultimate purpose, he achieved it only late in his career, exceeding the addedsixth limit through an additional contrivance: his posthumous Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini prescribed tuning the f-string a semitone low. This nonstandard tuning (what string players refer

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155

8va

(8va)

{G }

Example 4.8. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini (posthumous; 1850), end.

to as scordatura) yields the possibility of an extra (triple) synonym and an unadulterated triadic glissando on A major: a–b–c–d–e–f–g (ex. 4.8).29

2. The Larger Impact of the Pentatonic Glissando It is difficult to ascertain the immediate impact of Parish-Alvars’ enharmonic glissandi among composers and theorists. Berlioz, while captivated by the enharmonic glissando, never called for the device. Liszt did, though only in diminishedseventh form, in keeping with the turbulent drama of his harp cadenzas.30 Orchestration manuals provide but a limited record. Berlioz’s account quoted above appeared only in the second (1855) edition of his orchestration treatise, which mentions only in passing the possibility of “chords . . . other than those of the diminished seventh.” F. A. Gevaert, too, is silent on the topic in the first of

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his two treatises (1863), though the later volume’s exposition of the enharmonic glissando (1885) adds considerable depth as compared to Berlioz, explicitly enumerating the means of producing not only the three diminished-seventh chords, but also five dominant-seventh chords, five minor-seventh chords, and five halfdiminished seventh chords.31 Even Parish-Alvars himself mentioned only the diminished-seventh glissando in his unfinished harp method.32 The failure of these and other writers to broach pentatonic or added-sixth harmonies surely reflects more the inadequacy of contemporary theory to document these structures than it does the rarity of these glissandi in practice.33 It also seems likely that harp pentatonicism was performed more often than it was published. As Bochsa and Berlioz implied, the chordal glissando furnished a technically trivial means of producing a dazzling effect. Thus, any harpist inclined toward improvisation would have no doubt reckoned such a device an essential crowd-pleaser.34 It is equally difficult to ascertain the relationship between harp pentatonicism and nineteenth-century pentatonicism more generally, but I think it likely that pianist-composers such as Liszt were influenced by their now-forgotten harpist contemporaries. In any case, more or less concurrently with the development of the harp’s pentatonic glissando, composers began to explore added-sixth and pentatonic flourishes for the piano as well. The piano, of course, has nothing of the harp’s capacity to rectify chordal gaps; rather, scalar bravado requires a virtuosity that is more than mere illusion. For this reason too, pianistic cascades remain somewhat closer to the realm of melody, compared to the sonorous opulence of the true glissando. Thalberg’s frequent and flamboyant arpeggio passages are occasionally enlivened by added notes (ex. 4.9), a circumstantial pentatonicism found also in Chopin and, more extensively, in Liszt. (See P389–P412.) These arpeggios faithfully reflect scale-degree function, whereas Parish-Alvars’ glissandi interpret the structures more harmonically. The black-key piano glissando, of course, gives the pianist the closest thing to the harpist’s “big bag.” We have seen an incipient version in the fingered passagework of Chopin’s “black-key etude” (P394 cited earlier; see also P413); the true glissando is far from trivial to execute but has been prescribed by several composers (ex. 4.10). (See also P415, P416.)

8va

loco

cresc.

Example 4.9 (⫽P388). Thalberg, Nocturne, op. 16 #1 (1836), mm. 34–35.

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157

8va

glissando

8va

Example 4.10 (⫽P414). Debussy, “Feux d’artifice,” from Préludes, book 2 #12 (1913), mm. 17–18.

3. From Sound to Signification Coloristic pentatonicism represents an important innovation in nineteenth-century harmonic practice. Still, meaning is not so easily excluded from our discussion, and mention must be made of the pentatonic harp glissando’s adoption in film music: no doubt by virtue of both the exotic and religious connotations of pentatonicism, pentatonic glissandi have come to serve as a sign of suspended reality, marking “flashback” or “dream” sequences. The convention has assumed the status of cliché and even the stuff of parody. At the time of this writing, for instance, the program “Car Talk” on National Public Radio (NPR) has been employing the device in a tongue-and-cheek manner, consistent with the show’s self-conscious flippancy. In a segment called “Stump the Chumps,” the resident automobile gurus are put to the test by revisiting their diagnoses from a prior week; for the listeners’ sake, these deliberations are recalled as a flashback, framed by pentatonic glissandi. I asked NPR composer B. J. Leiderman about his choice of this sound effect for the segment. The harp gliss was simply performed on my electronic keyboard (set to a harp sample) by glissing up and down the black keys while holding the sustain pedal. I’d be interested to hear what you’ve dug up about the history of the harp gliss, as my only reference . . . is from cartoons and film[:] anytime there is a “dream sequence,” there seems to be that mandatory gliss.35

Chapter Five

Debussy and the Pentatonic Tradition The nineteenth-century harp pentatonic (leaving aside its more recent incarnations) and its analogue in piano music are exceptional among the diverse repertoire considered thus far for their ostensible non-signification. The explorations in consonance that were pioneered by Parish-Alvars anticipated a late-century aesthetic concern with sheer sonorous beauty, one distinctive aspect of the pentatonic style of the Impressionists. At the same time, programmatic music was also of great concern to these composers, who inherited the traditions of pentatonic signification outlined in part 2 of this book. Moreover, for all their compositional daring, the Impressionists wrote tonal music after all and hence partook of a certain musical tradition as well, including the style-history outlined in part 1 of this book. I would like to revisit these traditions in the context of Impressionism, before exploring Debussy’s more radical practices.

A. The Tradition of Signification The rustic theme of Debussy’s early suite, Printemps (ex. 5.1), is straightforward, self-contained, and classical in its melodic style, resembling the plainest examples of nineteenth-century pentatonicism. Many other examples could be given, from the tetratonic “Alleluias” concluding Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien (religious pentatonic), to the pentatonic invocation to Pan of Six Épigraphes antiques (primitive pentatonic), to the extraordinary pentatonicism of Pagodes (exotic pentatonic), of which a detailed analysis will be given below. Debussy, that is, continued to employ the same pastoral, exotic, and religious pentatonicism as his predecessors. And Debussy was not alone in this; pentatonic primitivism and exoticism in Ravel have been mentioned in chapter 2.

Très modéré

Example 5.1. Debussy, Printemps (1887), i, mm. 1–5.

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debussy and the pentatonic tradition

159

There is no question, however, that many of these later examples exhibit a qualitatively more imaginative handling of pentatonic material. The “Lever du jour” from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé, for instance, employs an idyllic pastoral pentatonicism (complete with pentatonic birdcall—see P141), but one deftly manipulated in the service of a singular programmatic effect: the depiction of a sunrise. Ravel poetically captures the paradoxical drama of this daily occurrence through the “resolution” of a G-pentatonic set to a D-pentatonic set (ex. 5.2). The moment is astonishing—musically, the culmination of a large, prolonged crescendo and a harmonic release by means of a plagal cadence—but at the same time subtle, understated, and ill-defined, even anticlimactic—the harmonic resolution in question entails no fewer than four common tones and a pedal bass that further softens the voice leading. (Incidentally, those common tones are especially obvious in the harps’ pentatonic glissandi, not shown here.) This unique programmatic task profited from an earnest and original engagement with the pure structure of a pentatonic “sound-world.” Nevertheless, Debussy’s and Ravel’s copious pentatonic usage in music of all sorts calls into question the primacy of program: regardless of signification, pentatonicism clearly fascinated these composers as a pure musical resource. Some of the fruits of that fascination will concern the rest of this chapter, and Debussy, doubtless the most famous pentatonicist, will be its main focus. I hope to clarify

D maj: IV64 (pentatonic)

I (pentatonic)

Example 5.2. Ravel, Daphnis et Chloé (1912), “Lever du jour,” 1 before reh. 157.

160

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Debussy’s place in pentatonic history, demonstrating both commonalities with and distinctions from the approaches of his predecessors.

B. The Tradition of Non-Classical 6 Debussy is rightly considered a preeminent musical innovator and one of the most decisive influences on twentieth-century musical styles. His pentatonic practice certainly ranks among the important components of his musical language. This practice, while at times radical, nevertheless also participates in a dialogue with the more general nineteenth-century tendency described in chapter 1: a resourceful preoccupation with 6 (and subdominant harmony) at the expense of 7 (and dominant harmony), epitomized by the “non-classical 6” of the plagal leading tone.

1. La Fille aux cheveux de lin Debussy’s prelude La Fille aux cheveux de lin certainly minimizes the role of the leading tone. On the other hand, the great importance assumed by 6 in the piece is matched by a notable ambivalence in its treatment, an ambivalence foreshadowed by the initial motive, a minor-seventh arpeggio suggesting both G major and E (Aeolian) minor. In the context of G (which shortly emerges as the unambiguous tonic), the arpeggio extends from 5 down to 6 and back again; in this way it emphasizes those two degrees but obscures their conventional adjacency relationship by fracturing a major second into a minor seventh (ex. 5.3). The theme confirms its tonality with a plagal leading tone, and the rest of the piece is punctuated with additional 6–8 cadences in several varieties (ex. 5.4): conventional plagal (IV–I), “mixed” dominant-plagal (V11 –I), deceptive plagal (IV–vi), and others. In each instance, however, the cadential melody continues by retreating down the tetrachord from 8 to 5 (with the exception of measures 18–21, to be discussed

Très calme et doucement expressif

sans rigueur

Example 5.3. Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” from Préludes, book 1 #8 (1910), beginning.

3

12

15

(très peu)

18

30

35 3

perdendosi

Example 5.4. Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” cadences.

162

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below). Classical and non-classical 6 thus mingle, but in both cases the melodic motion disavows the convention of true leading-tone ascent. At the same time, a simple audit of the melodic peaks in the piece reveals a structural soprano that ascends in consistently pentatonic motifs, driven locally by plagal leading tones (ex. 5.5). The piece’s climax in measure 21 (at mf, the dynamic pinnacle of this serene prelude) represents a crisis in this ascent. This jarring C-major triad grows out of a 6–8 cadence in E major and its three subsequent repetitions—first in the original tenor register, then an octave higher, and finally, though abortively, an octave higher still, in the register of the structural soprano (ex. 5.6). That last, feigned repetition breaks with its model

G : I m. 1

(VI ) 6

8

12

13

15

IV

VI

IV

I

ii I

16

18

21

28

35 36

Example 5.5. Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” reduction.

Un peu animé

!

3

cédez 3

Example 5.6. Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” climax and retransition (mm. 19–24).

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163

precisely at the moment of cadence, skipping 6 altogether and leaping instead from 5 to 8; in so doing, it avoids what would have been the first chromatic intrusion into the structural line (c) and hence reverses the tonal trajectory of the piece in preparation for the recapitulation. Moreover, the requisite post-cadential descent also skips this note, using instead the gapped motif e–d–b. Pivotally, the sudden insertion of a C-major triad at this moment turns 1 in the key of VI into 6 in the key of I. The curious neglect of melodic c, and its sublimation harmonically into c, function to destabilize the plagal leading tone of the submediant (6/VI), just as a classical retransition destabilizes the classical leading tone of the dominant (7/V)—in both cases global scale degree 4. (Further play between the raised and natural form of 6 ensues in the inner voices in measures 22–23.) To this point, the structural line has outlined a span of a ninth from 5 up to 6—that is, a reversal of the opening motive’s distinctive boundary tones. Whereas 5–6 existed just beyond the upper and lower bounds of the opening motive, it exists comfortably within the ninth in question, once at either extreme. This neighbor motion was in fact instantiated in the lower portion of the structural line (m. 6); the higher 6, which was so dramatically highlighted at the piece’s climax, soon connects with 5 in a final, octave-transposed statement of the theme (m. 28), creating a satisfying parallelism and invoking a resumption of classical behavior. From a more explicitly Schenkerian perspective, the piece to m. 28 represents an interruption structure elaborated by a large-scale transfer of register (again, see reduction, ex. 5.5). The final cadence of the piece, then, consummates this (pentatonic) interruption, extending the structural line to its highest point and featuring 6–8 in both melody and bass, ii64–I (ex. 5.7). The bare octave on 5 that follows as a seeming afterthought again stubbornly challenges melodic closure and further indicates Debussy’s idiosyncratic construal of 6 as a deeply conflicted degree. Nineteenth-century composers’ long-sought emancipation of 6, though championed here by Debussy, is also reconsidered and reinterpreted in the interest of tempering melodic directedness. In a strange way, the pendulum has swung.

3

perdendosi

Example 5.7. Debussy, “La Fille aux cheveux de lin,” end.

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2. La Mer In La Fille aux cheveux de lin, Debussy deploys 6 with uncommon imagination and with a commitment to long-range design. His La Mer, though subtitled “symphonic sketches,” likewise contains details involving the skillful and far-reaching regulation of the submediant, particularly at the ends of its three movements. If the first movement opens with an unremarkable 6—the modest 5–6 ostinato that comprises the initial melodic idea—the movement ends by showcasing this degree through an astounding sleight of hand (ex. 5.8). The final measures’ lumbering alternation between I and vi seems to set up a straightforward (if nonclassical) tonal polarity, but the culminating chord is actually a combination of the two, Iadd6. In the end, 6 is neither resolved nor retained (as happens,

retenu

ww., str.

a tempo

brass, timp.

Example 5.8. Debussy, La Mer (1905), i (“De l’aube à midi sur la mer”), end.

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165

memorably, in Mahler’s “Der Abschied,” ex. 1.18), but simply dissolves by means of a brazen feat of orchestration. The major triad that is left makes a slightly unconvincing ending, and in any case can scarcely be heard as an arrival per se. The second movement ends with a superimposition of weakly competing keys. The tonic E is suggested by the cadential bass leap b–e into the final section (m. 245), which accompanies the resolution of a whole-tone set (and its altered dominant-seventh subset) into a long-sustained Eadd6 chord. On the other hand, two subsequent melodic figures suggest B as tonic, if only by implication: the piccolo’s diatonic line and the harp’s pentatonic gesture both break off in the course of their would-be cadential ascents, at 7 of B (d–e–f–g–a) and at 6 of B (c–d–f–g), respectively (ex. 5.9). The opposition between the two tonics

B:

? 3

Picc.

B:

Hp.

Tpt. 3

8va

Str.

E: I add 6

Example 5.9. Debussy, La Mer, ii (“Jeux de vagues”), mm. 249–254.

Vn.

B:

E: 3

Hp.

Fl.

Glock.

Example 5.10. Debussy, La Mer, ii (“Jeux de vagues”), end.

?

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comes to a head with the enigmatic melodic fragments of the final measures (ex. 5.10). Measure 258 is the crucial convergence of three events, which, ingeniously, attain and then swiftly annul melodic closure: (1) the high b in the violins seems to resolve the harps’ dangling g pentatonically, as 6–8 of B; (2) simultaneously, however, the flutes, in imitation of the harp, land on g and sustain it until the end; (3) the glockenspiel, which, like the violins offered a downbeat b and hence a mild endorsement of tonic B, continue to c—that is, the same 6 of E that was highlighted in the previous (apparently tonic) added-sixth chords. In short, the moment compels the listener to consider two different notes as unresolved submediants.1 These two pitch-classes connect with the tonality of La Mer as a whole, which, judging from the endings of the outer movements, can roughly be considered D major: d (⫽c) and a (⫽g) are 1 and 5 of D. More significantly, the melting together of E-pentatonic and B-pentatonic recalls the opposition, and then melting together, of I and vi at the end of the first movement. The third movement, on the other hand, does finally achieve a forceful resolution in its structural cadence (ex. 5.11): the majestic vi–I not only serves as a triumphant Picardy sixth in response to the equivocating motif that pervades the movement, 6–5–6–5 (ex. 5.12), but also recalls, and decisively settles, the elusive close of the first movement. While La Fille involved a constant equivocation between classical and non-classical resolutions of 6, the dramatic impact of La Mer surely

3

3

3 3

vi

I

Example 5.11. Debussy, La Mer, iii (“Dialogue du vent et de la mer”), mm. 266–270.

3

3

3

Example 5.12. Debussy, La Mer, iii (“Dialogue du vent et de la mer”), mm. 254–256.

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167

depends in part on how it teasingly reserves a straightforward non-classical resolution until the end of a multi-movement work.

C. Beyond the Pentatonic Tradition: Debussy and the Twilight of Tonality These discussions have concerned Debussy’s affinity for the contrapuntal potential and the distinctive sound of the submediant within major-minor tonality. This affinity was shared by many nineteenth-century composers and, as I have maintained throughout this book, relates integrally to the story of pentatonicism per se. But beyond this, Debussy certainly explored and exploited the musical possibilities inherent in the pentatonic scale itself, no less than he did those of other “exotic,” “archaic,” and “synthetic” scales.

1. The Scalar Craftsman I will briefly mention a number of such possibilities. As described in the introduction, the pentatonic scale contains the “f to f property,” which facilitates mutations between pentatonic scales a fifth apart (as occured in Ravel’s “Lever du jour,” discussed earlier).2 On a more general level, this property emerges at the intersection of the pentatonic and the diatonic, since the major scale can be constructed from the pentatonic scales of I, IV, and V; David Kopp has shown how just such a derivation motivates the harmonic design of Debussy’s Les Collines d’Anacapri.3 Above all, the harmonic flexibility and modal ambiguity of pentatonicism (and infrapentatonicism) must have appealed to Debussy; as instantiated in Pagodes (see below), pentatonic textures lacking an assertive bass can easily dissolve into harmonic obscurity. It is for this reason also that subsets of the pentatonic scale occupied Debussy perhaps even more than the full five-note set itself. Furthermore, one such subset, set-class [025], as well as the related [0257], can generate the pentatonic scale through transposition by fourth/fifth, an abstract combinatorial property that Debussy often makes quite audible (ex. 5.13; see also La Mer, ex. 5.8 above, antepenultimate measure). Pentatonicism’s potential combinations and interactions, notably, are not confined to such diatonic contexts. It is with Debussy that the opposition assumed throughout this book between pentatonic and chromatic finds both its clearest expression and its occasional disintegration. Indeed, the various structural relationships among Debussy’s favorite scales provided rich opportunities for this sonic craftsman. As a configuration of three major seconds divided between two groups (1–2–3 and 5–6), the pentatonic scale offers an obvious interface with a rather different scale, the whole-tone. In particular, any given pentatonic scale will share three

168

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debussy and the pentatonic tradition pentatonic (= [02479])

pentatonic (= 2 x [0257]) 3

3 3

Example 5.13. Debussy, Khamma (1912), ii, “Première danse,” mm. 3–6.

pentatonic

whole-tone (c) whole-tone (c )

Example 5.14. Common tones between pentatonic and whole-tone scales.

notes with one brand of whole-tone scale and two notes with the other (ex. 5.14). Debussy’s prelude “Voiles,” for instance, uses the motive a–b–a–f as a pivot from a whole-tone to a G-pentatonic collection and uses those same pitches again as a pivot back (ex. 5.15). Debussy’s enthusiasm for the two scales may relate to the rough congruence of each with the slendro tuning of the Javanese music Debussy so admired: a five-tone scale like Debussy’s pentatonic, slendro nevertheless employs equal spacing, like Debussy’s whole-tone.4 A different set of commonalities exists between the pentatonic and octatonic scales: an octatonic scale will contain four major added-sixth chords separated by minor thirds and can be partitioned, as it happens, into two such chords separated by a tritone. This fact is applied in the final section of Debussy’s “Rondes de printemps” (from Images). The sprightly B-pentatonic dance that begins this section contrasts starkly with the ponderous octatonic (b–c–d–d–e–f–g–a) phrase that preceded it (ex. 5.16a). Nevertheless, the

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169

a

très souple

b

serrez

cédez

dim. molto

3

3

3

8va

En animant (rapide)

cresc.

molto

Example 5.15. Debussy, Voiles (1909). (a) mm. 22–24; (b) mm. 40–43.

tonal shift between these two sections is impelled by their common bass pedal and their four shared notes, b–d–f–g—in fact, this added-sixth chord is the very set that opens the pentatonic passage (ex. 5.16b). Moreover, the chief melodic cell of the octatonic passage, a–c–d, prefigures the melodic ostinato of the pentatonic passage, which relates as a transposed retrograde, g–f–d; the accompanying bass ostinato further elaborates this relationship through another form of the cell, the transposed retrograde inversion f–g–b. Those two motives, g–f–d and f–g–b, balance within the added-sixth set across its axis of reflective symmetry (ex. 5.16c). A precarious confluence of pentatonic, whole-tone, and octatonic writing occurs elsewhere in “Rondes.” The ethereal G-pentatonic chord struck in measure 60 supports an octatonic English horn melody by virtue of the two scales’ four common tones,5 and this chord then proceeds in parallel motion through F-pentatonic to D-pentatonic (ex. 5.17). The latter goal is perhaps motivated by the capacity of Gadd6 and Dadd6 as partitions of the octatonic scale in question. In any event, the motion is facilitated by a descending whole-tone scale which voices the 3–2–1 of G-, F-, and D-pentatonic, in nested succession.

3

octatonic

3

3

3

cresc. poco a poco

expressif, marqué

Au mouvement

pentatonic

Example 5.16. Debussy, Images pour orchestre (1909), “Rondes de printemps,” mm. 161–63, with analysis of pitch content.

c

b

a

❧


171

Whole-tone (Harp)

Octatonic (English Horn) Hp.

2

2

2

EHn.

più

G pentatonic

F D pentatonic pentatonic

G add 6 F

Octatonic (English Horn)

D add 6

Whole-tone (Harp)

G

D

Example 5.17. Debussy, Images pour orchestre, “Rondes de printemps,” mm. 60–62, with analysis of pitch content.

2. Radical Pentatonicism: Pagodes The examples discussed so far have incorporated pentatonic elements with fluidity and imagination. In a way, Debussy’s non-dogmatic usage actually represents a more earnest and thoroughgoing commitment to these novel compositional alternatives, as compared to the strict, unadulterated pentatonicism of Vogler (Pente chordium, P2) or Liszt (e.g., the coda to Sposalizio, P360). In some exceptional situations, though, Debussy’s ambitious pentatonicism distinguishes itself not only in its refinement and nuance but in its sustained use and its utter suffusion of textures. One of Debussy’s most famous pentatonic efforts, Pagodes, is such a work, exemplary for its subtle, atmospheric—in a word, Impressionistic—use of pentatonicism. David Kopp has detailed the almost minimalistic shifts of pitch-content throughout the piece, gradual additions to and deletions from a pervasive B-pentatonic scale.6 My analysis here (which shares much with Kopp’s) further emphasizes these shifting pitch-sets by observing how

172

❧


Debussy’s precise melodic and textural decisions undermine even the weak tonality of major-pentatonicism. The pentatonicism of the opening texture (ex. 5.18) is divided between the bass pedal tone (1) and the tetratonic (2–3–5–6) melodic motive. The melody, that is, not only lacks the implicative forces of 4 and 7, but also lacks the most tonal portion of the pentatonic scale, 1–2–3. In particular, it lacks the repose of the tonic, however conspicuously the latter is provided by the accompaniment. This tetrachord (set-class [0257]), is a favorite infrapentatonic resource of Debussy’s, one that avoids the sweetness and triadic-tonal associations of the major third but instead features the austere intervals of the second and fourth. Beneath this repeating tetratonic theme, the stepwise countermelody (b) of measures 7–10 at first appears to offer some measure of tonal normalcy, providing the missing 1 as well as 7, but diatonicism is destined to be an anomaly in this piece (ex. 5.19). Indeed, a fully pentatonic theme (c) soon emerges in measure 11, and as it does, the bass makes its first move away from the tonic, to a submediant pedal. The contrasting material at measure 15 (d) presents an

Modérément animé

2 délicatement et presque sans nuances 3

8va

(a) 3

rit.

8va 5

a tempo

3

rit.

Example 5.18. Debussy, Pagodes (1903), mm. 1–6.

8va 7

a tempo

(b)

3

rit.

8va a tempo

9

3

3

3

11

3

3

3

(c)

2 3 3

3

14

(d)

3

16

Example 5.19. Debussy, Pagodes, mm. 7–18.

3

3

3

174

❧

debussy and the pentatonic tradition Animez un peu

19

21

poco cresc.

Toujours animé 23

3

3

3

3

3

3

3 3

3 3

25

3

3

3

3

3

3

3 3

3 3


understated scalar shift to the pentatonic scale of V or, equivalently, iii—the precise harmonic identity is obscured by inner-voice chromaticism and the disappearance of the bass. When the fully pentatonic theme (c) returns (mm. 19–22), it is accompanied by a descending bass line whose retransitional function depends ultimately upon an illusion: it conveys an increased harmonic rhythm even as the chameleon-like versatility of the pentatonic upper voices precludes a straightforward sense of harmonic identity or progression (ex. 5.20). The varied return

❧


175

of the main theme (m. 23) at first appears to offer a pentatonically “complete” rendition of the tetratonic material, as all five tones are present in the upper voices. However, a closer look reveals a juxta- and super-imposition of two intervallically identical tetratonic sets (2–3–5–6 and 1–2–5–6), a result of the canonic treatment of the theme; thus, within each phrase, each individual voice evades the pentatonic scale, in favor of a less tonal subset. The codetta to the first main section (mm. 27–30) exposes a new tetratonic theme (e) accompanied above by familiar Debussian “organum” (ex. 5.21). This tetratonic collection (2–3–5–6, as in the opening theme) proves peculiarly apt for this polyphonic device, as the resulting counterpoint in parallel “thirds” (i.e., 2/5, 3/6, 5/2, and 6/3) contains only perfect intervals; a fully pentatonic organum of this sort would contain a single major third (1/3) beside its four perfect fourths (2/5, 3/6, 5/1, and 6/2), a perhaps overly differentiated interval structure for Debussy’s purposes. (It is precisely the differentiation of intervals in a scale that contributes the tonal principle of “position-finding.”7) Compare Ravel’s opulent pentatonic organum cited above (ex. 5.2). The e in measure 33 (ex. 5.22) renders a curious effect (f), one that capitalizes on the pentatonic circumstances, for it represents the chromaticization of a scale degree not yet heard melodically (both e and e have occurred in the lower parts). At the same time, it appears alongside the pitches of the home pentatonic

revenez au 1 Tempo 27 3 3

3 3

(e)


33

(f)

Sans lenteur


176 37

❧

debussy and the pentatonic tradition dans une sonorité plus claire

(g)


retenu

Tempo 1

52


scale, forming an unprecedented melodic tritone with the crucial incipit d–c–b, the very segment of the home pentatonic scale that has not sounded all these thirty-some measures (with the exception of its appearance in the diatonic b). Nevertheless, both of these new developments prove short-lived when the main theme returns as figuration over yet another tetratonic/pentatonic melody in measure 37 (g), again with no clearly projected tonal center (ex. 5.23). This theme begins as if a transposed version of c (a transposition that does not transgress the original pentatonic boundaries of the theme) and otherwise vaguely resembles prior material, with its simple declamatory rhythms and octave voicings. Debussy, that is, has not endeavored to distinguish these pentatonic fragments, which by now have acquired the quality of caprice, revealing their essential musical emptiness beyond their common scalar identity. A forceful restatement of g and a return of theme f precedes the recapitulation, measure 53, which is elided with f’s concluding d–c–b (here, 3–2–1), thus producing at this critical juncture a fleeting hint of a straightforward, tonal pentatonicism (ex. 5.24). The recapitulation proceeds as before (in abridged form) until the statement of g in measure 73, which now retains the c–d neighbor ostinato of the preceding measures (ex. 5.25). This ostinato had accompanied the chromatic/pentatonic material of d, associated with the pentatonic scale of V; there, the congruence of the ostinato’s pitches with the pentatonic scales of both I and V

Animez un peu 68

70

cresc.

72

74

76

toujours


molto

178 78

❧

debussy and the pentatonic tradition 8va

dim.

79

(8va)

dim.

1 Tempo 80

(8va)

8va

5

81

5

8va

5

5

5

5

8va

5

5


had mediated the transition from the one scale to the other (mm. 18–19, repeated in 68–69). These pitches serve the same function here, with the introduction of dominant pentatonic figuration in measure 78 (ex. 5.26); following prior practice, this figuration is fragmented into two pitch-class-set-equivalent tetrachords, 2–5–6–7 and 3–5–6–7 (set-class [0247]). Unlike all prior pentatonic material, however, these tetrachords both contain the major-third trichord [024] (here, 7–6–5, or local 3–2–1) and hence stand to project harmonic function more strongly; on the other hand, and again typically, this opportunity for harmonic clarity is defeated by the sudden absence of a bass note.

❧


179

In measure 80, this dominant-pentatonic figuration meets a final restatement of the opening material, that is, a tonic bass note with the remaining tetrachord of the home pentatonic scale in the melody (ex. 5.26). Even more than the ostinato, this tetrachord is a melodic switch-hitter, containing precisely those four notes common to both the tonic and dominant pentatonic: it lacks the root of the former (1) and the third of the latter (7). The recapitulation of diatonic b (m. 84) takes on a slightly different meaning this time, then, as its (tonic-oriented) trichord 3–2–1 seems to answer the 7–6–5 of the figuration, while its sustained 7 seems to endorse the dominant. In place of c’s recapitulation is its pentatonic stand-in, g, whose appearance (m. 88) occasions the transformation of the continuing dominant pentatonic figuration into the familiar tetratonic set 2–3–5–6: 7 simply and unceremoniously disappears while its four surviving comrades effortlessly assimilate into the home pentatonic (ex. 5.27). The bass now lingers

87

8va

8va

5

5

5

5

88

più

3

3

3

3

89

3

3


3

3

Figure 5.1. Summary analysis of Debussy’s Pagodes.

❧


181

retenu 97

3

aussi

que possible

3

3

3

(laissez vibrer)

Example 5.28. Debussy, Pagodes, end.

on 2, its eventual lone descent to 1 in measure 95 the only sign of harmonic finality amidst the persistent figuration, which undercuts the progression through its assiduous retention of 2. The piece’s closure consists mainly in the simple cessation of motion and the indication laissez vibrer, a stillness that quietly invites the listener at last to behold the home pentatonic set as one complete entity, no longer endlessly fragmented, manipulated, and given unstable or ambiguous harmonic support (ex. 5.28). (A summary analysis is given in figure 5.1.)

*** In chapter 1, I argued that Dvo¤rák’s extreme pentatonic melodic style called into question certain assumptions of common-practice tonality. In the end, though, his and others’ extensions of scalar practice, while melodically and harmonically novel, left the more salient aspects of tonality intact: namely, the priority of the triad and the essentially dramatic use of harmonic progression and contrast. Dvo¤rák’s pentatonicism represents a tonally viable, ultimately triadic style corresponding to that of certain conservative twentieth-century composers like Copland and Vaughan Williams. In contrast, the pentatonicism of Debussy’s Pagodes (written the year before Dvo¤rák’s death) exists in a sort of dim, pre-tonal world, in which distinctions between consonance and dissonance, between a harmony and its successor, are projected so weakly as to preclude any drama of the sort normally associated with tonality in the strict sense. The idealism of Dvo¤rák becomes the nihilism of Debussy.

Afterword

Beyond Debussy Debussy was not alone in relishing the syntactic-structural resources of pentatonicism “en soi.” The pentatonicism of Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, long associated with the work’s Chinese-inspired texts, has been shown to involve far-reaching structural functions.1 Bartók and Kodály have been credited with pioneering an “organic synthesis of the music of East and West,” namely, the melodic thinking of pentatonicism and the harmonic thinking of the “acoustic scale”;2 Bartók himself referred to the pentatonic scale as “the most suitable antidote for the hyperchromaticism of Wagner and his followers,” even as he also instructed that “the simpler the melody the more complex and strange may be the harmonization.”3 Pentatonic applications to post-tonal vocabularies have likewise been noted in the music of Ives, Villa-Lobos, Milhaud, and Crumb.4 There is also clear evidence in twentieth-century music of the persistent influence of nineteenth-century signification—the exotic (exx. A.1, A.2), the pastoral-primitive (exx. A.3–A.5), and the religious (ex. A.6). A distinctly twentieth-century extension of this heritage is seen in the use of pentatonicism in allusions to African American music, such as the faux spiritual of example A.7. Today pentatonicism has become something of a commonplace for Western listeners, owing chiefly to its ubiquity in various genres of popular music (exx. A.8–A.12). Such popular music would seem to constitute the current musical mainstream, and recording artists at the turn of the twenty-first century find themselves in a position roughly analogous to that of musicians at the turn of the nineteenth century: possessing a robust and cosmopolitan musical language with broad appeal. Likewise, stylistic and conceptual incursions periodically enliven this music and its attending culture, in a manner reminiscent of early Romanticism: from George Harrison’s sitar to Eric Clapton’s blues, from the perennial reincarnations of “Latin rock” to the pop-marketed, best-selling recordings of Benedictine chant. Despite these broad historical similarities, however, the case of pentatonicism is altogether different in the two contexts: Anglo-American pop-rock derives its pentatonicism largely from African sources and frequently assumes a minor-mode form. Furthermore, in the present context, pentatonicism is neither a signifier per se, nor a quaint vestige of prior styles, but a vital fount of musical material. After all, pentatonicism suits well the terse, riff-based melodic style that is conducive to improvisation, group composition, and directness of communication—the hallmarks of popular music. Grounded

184

❧

beyond debussy

in (more or less) conventional diatonic harmony, pop-rock pentatonicism actually achieves the opposite of Debussy’s ambiguity and expansiveness. Just as tonal music in general continues to entertain and inspire a hundred years after some proclaimed tonality exhausted, there is no reason to suppose that composers, even in the twenty-first century, will deplete the possibilities of pentatonicism. But should pop-rock composers ever grow tired of the bluesbased pentatonic scales that have served these genres for half a century, a stripping down to a sub-pentatonic structure would seem unlikely. Five notes may be a lower limit (or at least a significant threshold) for melodic interest and variety. In this respect, the particular compositional circumstances of nineteenth-century music seem to have been unique to that time.

8va

marcato

Example A.1. Stravinsky, Le Chant du rossignol (1917), #1, reh. 6. 3

3

3

3

3

3

Example A.2. Britten, Prince of the Pagodas (1956), Prelude, beginning.

Andante sostenuto

Cadenza sur la touche

senza misura

Example A.3. Vaughan Williams, The Lark Ascending (1914), beginning. (© 1925 Oxford University Press. Used by permission. All rights reserved.)

2

It has be come that time

rock

ing gen tly and talk

of eve

ning

ing gen

when

tly

peo ple

sit on their porch es,

and watch ing the street and the

sempre legato

2

stand ing up in to their sphere of pos

ses sion

of the trees, of birds’ hung

espr.

ha

vens,

hang

ars.

Example A.4. Barber, Knoxville: Summer of 1915 (1947). (© 1949 (Renewed) by G. Schirmer, Inc. [ASCAP]. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by Permission.)

But list en!

a voice is near;

lontano, semplice

3

Great Pan him self

low whis per ing

3

through the reeds,

Example A.5. Argento, To Be Sung upon the Water (1972), #2, reh. 1.

Example A.6. Honegger, Pastorale d’été (1920), mm. 36–38.

Cb.

Vc.

Va.

Vn. II

Vn. I

Hn.

Bsn.

Cl.

Ob.

Fl.

subito

subito

subito

subito

subito

subito

subito

subito

un poco animando

Animez, mais très peu

Refrain (very slowly, with deep expression)

Ol’

man riv er,

dat

ol’ man riv er,

He

must know sump in’, but

molto legato

don’t say noth in’, He

jus’ keeps roll in’, He

keeps on

roll in’

a

long.

Example A.7. Jerome Kern, “Ol’ Man River” (1927), refrain. (© 1927 UniversalPolygram International Publishing, Inc. Copyright Renewed. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.)

Moderately Verse: G

The man

who on

ly lives

G

for

Em7

Em6

Am7

mak

ing

mon

3

Am7

Em7

lives

a

life

that is

n’t

nec

es sar

i

ly

sun

D7

ey D7

ny.

Example A.8. Gershwin, “Nice Work If You Can Get It” (1937), verse.

Slowly

I’ve got

on

a

cloud

y

sun shine

day;

Example A.9. “Smokey” Robinson, “My Girl” (1964). (© 1964, 1972, 1973, 1977 [Renewed 1992, 2000, 2001, 2005] Jobete Music Co., Inc. All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI April Music Inc. All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured. Used by Permission.)

3

3

Example A.10. Jimi Hendrix, “Purple Haze” (1967). (© 1967, 1980 by Experience Hendrix, L.L.C. Copyright Renewed 1995. All Rights Controlled and Administered by Experience Hendrix, L.L.C. All Rights Reserved.)

Am

C/G

Am

F

C/G

Am

F

C/G

Fmaj7

Fmaj7

F

Fmaj7

Example A.11. Jimmy Page, “Stairway to Heaven” (1971), beginning of guitar solo.

Moderately

I

met my

old

lov

er

on the

street last night;

Example A.12. Paul Simon, “Still Crazy After All These Years” (1975).


Preface to the Catalogue This Catalogue illustrates the phenomenon of pentatonicism from the eighteenth century to Debussy. Its musical examples have been ordered according to “P” number—identifiers that serve as cross-references from the text, where each example has been discussed (or at least mentioned). Each of these examples is cited in the book’s main Index, which provides page references to the examples’ every mention and appearance, whether in the text or in the Catalogue. In addition, a Chronological Index of Catalogue Examples appears beginning on p. 197. As was explained in the Introduction, “while the pentatonic scale is easily defined, it will be useful to refer more generally to pentatonicism: a set of features peculiar to the strict pentatonic system.” The casual reader who refers to the catalogue without also reading the text will thus occasionally be surprised to find examples on the periphery of the pentatonic style—for instance, the hexachordal theme of P50 or the third dyads of P104. Such examples are included as illustrations of particular musical influences relevant to the history and meaning of pentatonicism and have been reproduced here when it would have been impractical to do so in the course of the text. Dates given in the example captions (whether in this catalogue or the text itself), refer to composition whenever practical, and otherwise to publication (as for all of Parish-Alvars’ works). In some cases, only rough dating estimates have been possible.

Chronological Index of Catalogue Examples ca. 1700 1712 1719 1720s? 1725 1728 1741 1741 1756 1757 1777 1777 1778 1781 1785 1785 ca. 1790s 1791 1791 1795 1797 1798 1801 1804 1806 1806 1806 1806 1808 1809 1816 1816 1819 1819

Johann Christoph Pez, Concerto pastorale [P46] Handel, Il pastor fido [P40] Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in A major, “Il cucu,” RV 335 [P135] Heinichen, Pastorale per la Notte della Nativitate Christi [P47] Vivaldi, La primavera [P133] Vivaldi, Flute Concerto in D major, “Il gardellino,” RV 428 [P134] Handel, L’Allegro, il penseroso, ed il moderato [P128] Handel, Messiah [P49] Leopold Mozart, Sinfonia di caccia [P55, P60] Handel, The Triumph of Time and Truth [P48] Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Aloysii [P281] Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Hieronymi [P282] Rosetti, Sinfonia pastoralis [P125] Haydn, Symphony #73, “La Chasse” [P53] Haydn, Symphony #88 [P173] Knecht, Le Portrait musical de la Nature [P131] Punto, Rondeau en chasse [P58] Grétry, Guillaume Tell [P67] Mozart, The Magic Flute [P50, P101] Haydn, Symphony #104 [P174] Beethoven, Deutsche, WoO 13 #5 [P182] Vogler, Pente chordium [P2] Haydn, Die Jahreszeitzen [P52, P82, P166] Lesueur, Ossian [P238] Beethoven, Écossaise, WoO 83 #1 [P184] Beethoven, String Quartet, op. 59 #2 [P43] Domenico Corri, The Travellers [P3] Méhul, Uthal [P78] Beethoven, Symphony #6 [P132, P159] Weber, Incidental music to Turandot [P4] Schubert, “Jägers Abendlied” [P85] Schubert, “Wiegenlied” [P105] Rossini, La donna del lago [P57] Schubert, “Trost” [P83]

198

❧

1820s? 1822 1822 1823 1823 1823 1824 1824 1825 1825 1827 1828 1828 1828 1828 1828 1828 1828

1829 1829 1829 1830 1830–32 1831 1832 1832 1832 1832 1833 1833 1833 1834 1834 1834 1835 1835 1836 1836 1836 1836 1837 1837 1838

chronological index of catalogue examples Kalkbrenner, “Hymne des dix mille ans” [P5] Schubert, “Gott in der Natur” D. 757 [P200] Schubert, “Der Musensohn” [P86] Beethoven, Missa Solemnis [P322] Loewe, “Vogelgesang” [P136] Schubert, Die schöne Müllerin, “Des Baches Wiegenlied” [P118] Schubert, Ländler, D. 814 #1 [P171] Schubert, Ländler, D. 814 #4 [P172] Boieldieu, La Dame blanche [P80, P81, P218, P225, P239] Schubert, “Die junge Nonne” [P150] Schubert, “Frühlingslied,” D. 919 [P199] Berlioz, Waverley [P233] Chopin, Krakowiak [P242] Chopin, Rondo, op. 73 [P398] Schubert, Piano Trio in B major [P63] Schubert, Sonata in A major, D. 959 [P177] Schubert, Symphony #9 [P175] Schubert, Winterreise, “Frühlingstraum” [P41]; “Gute Nacht” [P191]; “Die Krähe” [P193]; “Der Lindenbaum” [P59]; “Mut!” [P194]; “Die Post” [P192]; “Rückblick” [P84] Berlioz, Irlande, op. 2 #2, “Hélène” [P230, P231]; #7, “L’Origine de la harpe” [P232] Chopin, 3 Écossaises, op. 72 #3, #1 [P185]; op. 72 #3, #2 [P186]; op. 72 #3, #3 [P187] Rossini, Guillaume Tell [P68, P70, P79] Franz Lachner, “Das Waldvöglein” [P87] Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique [P72, P292] Berlioz, Rob Roy [P226, P227] Chopin, Etude, op. 10 #5 [P394] Chopin, Nocturne, op. 9 #1 [P62] Chopin, Nocturne, op. 9 #3 [P393] Chopin, Waltz, op. 18 [P176] Cherubini, Ali-Baba [P6] Chopin, Introduction and Rondo, op. 16 [P395] Loewe, “Die Oasis” [P16] Loewe, “Das Muttergottesbild im Teiche” [P161] Mendelssohn, “Jagdlied” [P88] Parish-Alvars, Tema con variazioni, WoO PA1 [P374] Chopin, Nocturne in C minor, op. 27 #1 [P305] Chopin, Waltz, op. 34 #1 [P183] David, “Aux Filles d’Égypte” [P19] Glinka, A Life for the Tsar [P248, P249, P250, P264] Liszt, Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses [P54, P69] Thalberg, Nocturne, op. 16 #1 [P388] Berlioz, Requiem [P306, P307, P324] Chopin, Etude, op. 25 #5 [P396] Liszt, “Au Lac de Wallenstadt” [P202]

1838 1838 1838–61 1839 1840 1840 1840 1840 1840 1840 1840 1841 1842 1842 1842 1842 1842 1842 1842 1843 1843 1843 1843 1844 1844 1844 1844 1844 ca. 1844 1845 1845 1845 1845 1845–74 1846 1846 1846 1846 1846 1847 1847 1848 1848 1848 1848 1849

❧

chronological index of catalogue examples

199

Liszt, Chapelle de Guillaume Tell [P299] Parish-Alvars, Fantasia, op. 35 [P372, P379] Liszt, Sposalizio [P301, P360] Chopin, Nocturne, op. 37 #2 [P44] Liszt, Transcendental Etude #1 [P399] Liszt, Transcendental Etude #6 [P400] Loewe, “Die Mutter an der Wiege” [P113] Schumann, Liederkreis, op. 24, “Morgens steh’ ich auf” [P196] Schumann, “Der Nussbaum” [P158] Schumann, “Unter’m Fenster,” op. 34 #3 [P236] Thalberg, Fantasy on Oberon, op. 37 [P392] Chopin, Ballade in A major[P169] Chopin, Mazurka, op. 50 #3 [P45] Franck, Piano Trio in F minor, op. 1 #1 [P413] Liszt, Albumblatt in Walzerform [P190] Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony [P217, P219] Parish-Alvars, Fantasia on Themes from Weber’s “Oberon,” op. 59 [P381] Thalberg, Andante Final de “Lucia di Lamermoor,” op. 43 [P390] Thalberg, Fantasy on Don Juan, op. 42 [P391] Chopin, Ballade in F minor [P170] Franz, “Schlummerlied” [P115, P119] Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58 [P375, P378, P382] Parish-Alvars, Grande Fantaisie et Variations de Bravoure, op. 57 [P373] Chopin, Berceuse [P120] Gade, Symphony #1 [P77] Loewe, “Alpins Klage” [P221] Loewe, “Der Mohrenfürst auf der Messe” [P17] Parish-Alvars, La Danse des fées [P383] Massé, “Le Muletier de Calabre” [P90] David, “Éveillez-vous” [P92] David, “Le Pêcheur à sa nacelle” [P111] Liszt, “Es rufet Gott uns mahnend” [P351] Parish-Alvars, Scenes from My Youth, op. 75, “Gipsies March” [P380] Liszt, St. Cecilia [P311, P330, P347, P362] Chopin, Nocturne, op. 62 #2 [P397] Gade, Comala [P51, P220] Parish-Alvars, The Farewell, op. 68 (⫽Romance #20) [P370] Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin [P371, P384] Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 [P368, P369, P385] Loewe, “Lied der Königin Elisabeth” [P228] Schumann, “Das Hochlandmädchen,” op. 55 #1 [P235] Liszt, “Invocation” from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses [P367] Liszt, Mass in C minor [P278, P288] Schumann, Album für die Jugend [P127] Wagner, Lohengrin [P99, P315] Liszt, Ballade #1 [P402]

200

❧

1849 1849 1850 1850 1850 1851 1851 1851 1851–66 1852 1852 1853 1853 1853 1854 1854 1854 1855 1855 1855 1855 1855 1855 1855 1855 1855 1856 1856 1856 1856 1856 1856 1856 1858 1858 1858 1858–81 1859 1859 1859–65 1859–77 1860 1860 1860 1860 1860s?

chronological index of catalogue examples Nicolai, Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor [P222] Schumann, “John Anderson,” op. 145 #4 [P234] Liszt, Consolation #3 [P404, P405] Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini [P376, P377] Schumann, Symphony #3 [P160, P178] David, La Perle du Brésil [P106] Liszt, Transcendental Etude #9 [P401] Reyer, “À un Berceau” [P216] David, “Au Couvent” [P208] Gounod, “Les Naïades” [P98] Schumann, Incidental Music to Manfred [P65] Cornelius, “Wiegenlied” [P121] Gounod, Messe aux Orphéonistes [P298] Liszt, Ballade #2 (autograph ending) [P403] Massé, “La Chanson du printemps” [P143] Reyer, “Adieu Suzon” [P76] Wagner, Das Rheingold [P96] Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass [P280, P291, P297, P327, P353, P357] Liszt, “Églogue” [P204] Liszt, “Pastorale” [P203] Liszt, Les Préludes [P205] Liszt, Rigoletto (concert paraphrase) [P406, P407] Offenbach, Ba-Ta-Clan [P18] Saint-Saëns, “La Cloche” [P155] Saint-Saëns, Le Lever de la lune [P229] Saint-Saëns, “Viens” [P164] Bruckner, Ave Maria [P272] Cornelius, “Am Morgen” [P165] Cornelius, “Simeon” [P162] Cornelius, “Vorabend” [P100] Liszt, Dante Symphony [P287, P310] Saint-Saëns, Mass, op. 4 [P337] Wagner, Die Walküre [P344] Chipp, Twilight Fancies #2 [P167]; #3 [P211] Liszt, “Herr, wie lange” [P313, P334] Liszt, Missa solemnis [P314] Balakirev, Overture on Three Russian Themes [P259] Gounod, Faust [P328] Meyerbeer, Dinorah [P56, P71] Liszt, Missa Choralis [P273, P331, P332, P339, P340] Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila [P24] Brahms, “Gesang aus Fingal,” op. 17 #4 [P237] Liszt, “Die Himmel erzählen” [P352] Liszt, Les Morts [P345] Loewe, “Thomas der Reimer” [P148, P224] Gounod, “Choral” [P154]

1861 1861 1861 1862 1862 1862 1862 1862 1863 1864 1866 1866–72 1867 1868 1868 1868 1868 1868 1869 1869 1869

1869 1869 1869 1869 1869 1869–87 1869–1902 1870 1871 1871 1872 1872 1872 1874 1874 1874 1874 1874 1874 1874 1875 1875 1876 1877

❧


201

Brahms, “Darthulas Grabesgesang,” op. 42 #3 [P223] Liszt, Faust Symphony [P346, P358] Liszt, “Mein Gott” [P336] Chabrier, “Ronde gauloise” [P102] Cornelius, “Abendgefühl” [P109] David, Lalla-Roukh [P20, P21] Liszt, St. Elisabeth [P279, P289, P335, P341, P361, P363, P364] Thalberg, Fantasy on Il Trovatore, op. 77 [P389] Gounod, “Les Champs” [P97] Gounod, Mireille [P64, P74, P103] Bruckner, Mass in E minor [P276] Liszt, Christus [P326, P333, P348] Liszt, Adagio for organ [P323] Bizet, “Rêve de la bien aimée” [P142] Brahms, “Wiegenlied” [P104] Liszt, Requiem [P325, P329] Massenet, “Lève-toi” [P91] Thomas, Hamlet [P240] Balakirev, Islamey: Oriental Fantasy [P260] Brahms, Alto Rhapsody [P293] Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #3, “O die Frauen” [P188]; #6 “Ein kleiner, hübscher Vogel” [P144]; #13, “Vögelein durchrauscht die Luft” [P129]; #15, “Nachtigall, sie singt so schön” [P124] Chabrier, “Ivresses!” [P180] Liszt, Hungarian Coronation Mass [P303, P350] Saint-Saëns, Marche Orient et Occident [P22] Tchaikovsky, Romeo and Juliet [P295] Wagner, Siegfried [P139] Borodin, Prince Igor [P243, P244] Fauré, Pièces brèves, op. 84 #7, “Allégresse” [P408] Wagner, Siegfried-Idyll [P140] Bizet, Djamileh [P23] Brahms, Schicksalslied [P110, P294, P302] Massenet, “Bonne Nuit!” [P112] Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune [P8, P9, P10, P11, P12, P13, P14, P15] Tchaikovsky, Symphony #2 [P258] Brahms, “Der Abend” [P108] Brahms, Neues Liebeslieder, op. 65 #8, “Weiche Gräser” [P201] Liszt, Anima Christi [P277] Massé, “Berceuse” [P114] Massé, “Dans les Bois” [P126] Massé, “Eho!” [P89] Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition [P266] Fauré, Nocturne, op. 33 #2 [P409] Grieg, Peer Gynt Suite [P75] Liszt, Weihnachtsbaum [P42] Fauré, Requiem [P270, P275, P300, P338]

202

❧

1877 1879 1879 1879 1879 1879 1880 1880 1880 1881 1881 1881 1882 1882 1882 1882 1883 1883 1883 1883–96 1884 1884 1884 1884 1884 1885 1885 1885 1885 1886 1886 1886 1886 1886 1887 1888

1888 1888 1888 1888 1889 1889 1890 1891 1891

chronological index of catalogue examples Gounod, Messe brève in C major [P317] Bruckner, Os justi [P269] Liszt, Organ Mass [P309] Liszt, Ossa arida [P365] Liszt, Pater Noster [P312] Liszt, Via Crucis [P286] Chausson, “Les Papillons” [P138] Grieg, “Vaaren” (“Spring”) [P145] Puccini, Messa di Gloria [P321] Chabrier, Pièces pittoresques, “Menuet pompeux” [P179] Fauré, Messe basse [P320] Wagner, Parsifal [P153, P284, P343] Borodin, Symphony #1 [P247] Liszt, “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” [P349] Liszt, Marche funèbre [P308] Liszt, Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe [P116] Chausson, “Réveil” [P130] Liszt, Am Grabe Richard Wagners [P342] Lully, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (arr. Weckerlin, 1883) [P1] Mahler, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen [P195] Bruckner, Te Deum [P274, P356] Liszt, Eucharista [P285] Liszt, Matrimonium [P271] Liszt, “Ordo” from Septem Sacramenta [P366] Rimsky-Korsakov, Sinfonietta on Russian Themes [P262] Liszt, O Sacrum Convivium [P359] Liszt, Salve regina [P290] Reinecke, Harp Concerto [P386] Sullivan, The Mikado [P25, P26] Delibes, “Bonjour, Suzon!” [P207] Delibes, “Églogue” [P73] D’Indy, Symphony on a French Mountain Air [P241] Fauré, Barcarolle, op. 44 [P410] Saint-Saëns, The Carnival of the Animals, #13, “The Swan” [P137] Borodin, Symphony #2 [P245, P246] Brahms, Zigeunerlieder #3 “Wisst Ihr, wann mein Kindchen” [P95]; #5, “Brauner Bursche führt zum Tanze” [P267]; #9, “Weit und breit” [P268] Gounod, Messe solennelle #4 in G minor [P316] Mahler, Symphony #1 [P283] Rimsky-Korsakov, La Grande Pâque russe [P257, P387] Johann Strauss, Jr., Donauweibchen [P189] Chabrier, “Ballade des gros dindons” [P181] Chabrier, “Toutes les Fleurs” [P206] Hahn, “Paysage” [P94, P209] Fauré, “En Sourdine” [P123] Grieg, “Bell-Ringing” [P152]

1892 1892 1892 1893 1893 1893 1893 1894 1895 1895 1896 1896 1896 1898 ca. 1898 1899 1900 1900 1900 1901 1901 1901 1902 1902 1903 1904 1904 1905 1905 1906 1906 1906 1908 1911 1911 1912 1913 1913 1915 1918 1925 1926

❧


203

Bruckner, Psalm 150 [P319] Hahn, “D’une Prison” [P156] Hahn, “L’Heure exquise” [P168] Dvo¤rák, Symphony #9 [P210] Gounod, Requiem [P318] Messager, Madame Chrysanthème [P7, P27, P28] Tchaikovsky, Symphony #6 [P251] Fauré, “Une Sainte en son auréole” [P354] Lyadov, Etude, op. 37 [P411] Lyadov, Mazurka, op. 38 [P261] Chausson, “Ballade” [P163] Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko [P252, P253, P254, P255, P256, P263, P265] Saint-Saëns, Piano Concerto #5, “Egyptian” [P29] Ravel, Shéhérazade [P35] Schoenberg, “Ei, du Lütte” [P93] Mascagni, Iris [P30, P31, P32, P33] Mahler, Symphony #4 [P146, P212] Rachmaninoff, “The Lilacs” [P214] Rachmaninoff, “Melody” [P117] Mahler, “Ich bin der Welt” [P198] Mahler, “Um Mitternacht” [P149] Ravel, Jeux d’eau [P415] Mahler, Symphony #5 [P304] Rachmaninoff, Spring [P213] Cui, Prelude in A major, op. 64 #17 [P412] Mahler, Kindertotenlieder [P122] Nielsen, Sleep [P107] D’Indy, Jour d’été à la montagne [P147] Ravel, Miroirs, v, “La Vallée des cloches” [P157] Rachmaninoff, “Before My Window” [P215] Rachmaninoff, “Let Me Rest Here Alone” [P197] Suk, Asrael [P355] Ravel, Gaspard de la nuit [P416] Coleridge-Taylor, A Tale of Old Japan [P34] Ravel, Ma Mère l’oye [P36] Ravel, Daphnis et Chloé [P141] Debussy, “Feux d’artifice,” from Préludes, book 2 #12 [P414] Rachmaninoff, The Bells [P151] Richard Strauss, Eine Alpensinfonie [P61, P66] Puccini, Gianni Schicchi, “O mio babbino caro” [P296] Ravel, L’Enfant et les sortilèges [P37, P38] Puccini, Turandot [P39]


P1. Lully, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (arr. Weckerlin, 1883), IV/9, Turkish scene, 2nd Entrée, m. 20.

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

hou,

206

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples

P2. Vogler, Pente chordium (1798), beginning. (From Georg Joseph Vogler: Pièces de clavecin (1798); and Zwei und dreisig Präludien (1806), Madison, WI: A-R Editions, Inc., 1986. Used with permission. All rights reserved.)

5

9

13

17

20

P2. (continued) 23

26

29

31

❧


207

208

❧


P3. Domenico Corri, The Travellers (1806), I/3, beginning.

P4. Weber, Incidental music to Turandot (1809), mm. 19–31. Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


209

210

❧


P5. Kalkbrenner, “Hymne des dix mille ans” (1820s?). Moderato

Dix

hon neur, neuf

Rois, à

de

ses

leur

ay

mille ans de bon

fois

sa

ge

eux

hon

vain

heur, de gloire à

neur!

queur,

les

au

Dix

â

mes,

mille

du

l’Em pe

dé

reur,

fen

ans

haut

seur

de

bon

des

des

heur!

Cieux,

❧


211

P5. (continued)

l’é

clai rent de

leurs pu res

flam

mes:

hon neur, neuf

fois

hon

cresc.

neur!

queur.

fils

du

Ciel!

sois

tou

jours

vain

212

❧


P6. Cherubini, Ali-Baba (1833), #3, 11 from end.

P7. Messager, Madame Chrysanthème (1893), Prologue, Yves’ fantasy. Allegretto

Pierre

Eh oui... c’est vrai!

Yves

Je me ma rie

rai Aus si tôt

ar ri

vé là bas! . .

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P8. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), overture, mm. 74–86. Allegro giocoso

P9. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), #5, mm. 19–30. Dans la coulisse.

ï

A

na

ta

ma

si

ta!

wa

dô

A

na

na

ta

sa

213

214

❧


P10. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), #5, mm. 282–94. dolce graziosamente

Sur l’eau claire

et sans ri

de

Il a le ha sard pour gui

Glis se mon ba teau

de;

Moi je re gar de dans

l’eau

quil

Au des sus du flot tran

le

Est le grand ciel

ar gen

té

❧


215

P11. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), #5, mm. 401–4. Kornelis

In

do

cile

a

man

te,

Tu m’o bé

i

ras

appassionato

P12. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), between #5 and #6.

C’est ain si que ton i

a mour ap par tient,

Se re flé

ma

Com me le ciel,

te en mon coeur,

ge,

et

hum ble mi roir

O beau té pure à qui mon

l’a stre, et le nu age

du

tien!

216

❧


P13. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), between #5 and #6. Mais non je ne trouve plus Au front de l’impassible image Les rayonnements d’amour entrevu—, O Léna, sur ton doux visage.

Oui, le rêve est vaincu par la réalité.

Il manque à ses yeux l’étincelle L’éclair que tu leur as prêté.

Et je sens qu’elle n’est plus belle O Léna que de ta beauté Je t’aime!

❧


P14. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), #6, mm. 71–76. Léna

Non!

Kornélis

Mé

chan

te en

Le

Ja

fant

C’est

Léna

Korn. j’ai

me

pon

est

char

mant

toi

que

217

218

❧


P15. Saint-Saëns, La Princesse jaune (1872), end. cresc.

stringendo

P16. Loewe, “Die Oasis” (1833), beginning. Adagio tranquillamente

dolce

P17. Loewe, “Der Mohrenfürst auf der Messe” (1844), mm. 17–21.

P18. Offenbach, Ba-Ta-Clan (1855), Introduction, mm. 27–37. Moderato

P19. David, “Aux Filles d’Égypte” (1836), secondary theme.

❧


219

220

❧


P20. David, Lalla-Roukh (1862), Overture, mm. 13–17. Andantino

P21. David, Lalla-Roukh (1862), II/8, “Loin du bruit,” end. a tempo

dim.

P22. Saint-Saëns, Marche Orient et Occident (1869), 3 before reh. 4.

Fl. I

Fl. II

Tri.

❧


221

P23. Bizet, Djamileh (1871), #10, Duet, m. 255. Moderato

espressivo

Ta

mien!

lè

vre par

fu

mé

e,

Ta

P24. Saint-Saëns, Samson et Dalila (1859–77), I/6, Philistine chorus to the spring, end.

tou

jours!

tou

jours!

222

❧


P25. Sullivan, The Mikado (1885), Overture, beginning. Allegro

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P26. Sullivan, The Mikado (1885), Overture, third section.

P27. Messager, Madame Chrysanthème (1893), III/7, Danses, Allegro moderato. Allegro moderato

cantabile

P28. Messager, Madame Chrysanthème (1893), III/7, Danses, Più vivo. Più vivo

223

224

❧


P29. Saint-Saëns, Piano Concerto #5, “Egyptian” (1896), ii, Poco più mosso after reh. 26. 8va

cantabile

(8va)

(8va)

(8va)

cresc.

P29. (continued) (8va)

(8va)

(8va)

dolce

❧


225

226

❧


P30. Mascagni, Iris (1899), Overture, “L’Aurora,” reh. 5. Largo calmo e sostenuto

trattenuto

a tempo

3

subito

sostenendo a poco

P31. Mascagni, Iris (1899), reh. 3. rall.

a tempo 3

3

en tro un ce

spo

di

ro

se. dolce 3 3

3

3

3

3

3

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P32. Mascagni, Iris (1899), 1 after reh. 7. (alzando le braccia verso il cielo)

Largo sostenuto

attaccando con slancio

Ma,

Sol,

tu

vie

ni

8va

rall.

P33. Mascagni, Iris (1899), reh. 25. (occupandosi dei fiori del suo piccolo giardino)

Iris

Andantino recitando

In

re

pu

stil

le,

ga

ie

scin

til

le

Il Cieco Tu mi hai tolto la vista,

ma io

(le Mousmè scendono nel ruscello a lavare)

legatissimo

sostenendo

a tempo sempre

rit. Iris scen Il C.

de

la

vi

ta!

L’ac

qua

vedo la Tua Gran dezza;

s’ef

fon

de . . . . la tua Gran

a tempo

rit.

sempre

227

228

❧


P34. Coleridge-Taylor, A Tale of Old Japan (1911), 5 after reh. 3. L’istesso tempo 3

3

Chorus

S. Ki mi, the child of his bro ther, 3

Bright as the moon

in May,

3

A. Ki mi, the child of his bro ther,

Bright as the moon

in May,

3

3

3

3 3

3

3 3

3

❧


P35. Ravel, Shéhérazade (1898), mm. 75–82. cresc. 3

3

Perse,

et l’Inde,

et puis la

Chine,

Allegro 3

Les

3

man da rins ven

3

trus

sous les om

3

3

3

brel les, Et les prin ces ses aux mains

3

3

fi

nes,

Et les let

3

3

229

230

❧


P35. (continued) 3

trés

qui se

que rel lent Sur la

3

po

3

é

sie

et sur la beau

3

3

P36. Ravel, Ma Mère l’oye (1911), “Laideronette, Impératrice des Pagodes,” beginning. Mouvement de marche

m.d.

❧


231

P37. Ravel, L’Enfant et les sortilèges (1925), mm. 20–27. L’enfant

J’ai pas en vie de faire ma pa

pro me ner.

ge,

J’ai en

J’ai en vie d’al ler me

vie

de man ger tous les gâ

teaux

232

❧


P38. Ravel, L’Enfant et les sortilèges (1925), Chinese Teacup. La Tasse (à l’Enfant, en le menaçant de ses doigts pointus et dorés)

espressivo, portando

Keng ça

fou,

Mah

jong,

Keng

ça

8va

3

fou, (8va)

Puis’

3

kong kong

3

pran pa,

3

3

Ça

oh

râ,

❧


P39. Puccini, Turandot (1926), I, reh. 19 (children’s hymn). Andantino Ragazzi (interni, avvicinandosi)

Là,

su

i

mon

ti del

l’est,

la

ci

8va

co

gna can

tò,

Ma

l’a

pril

8va

ri

fio

rì,

ma

la

ne

ve non sge

lò

non

233

234

❧


P40. Handel, Il pastor fido (1712), II/1, “Caro Amor,” mm. 24–35.

Ca ro A mor,

la

scia in pa

ca ro A mor,

ce

l’al

ma

sol

per

mi

mo

men

ti

a,

P41. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Frühlingstraum,” mm. 5–8.

Ich träum te von bun

ten

Blu

men,

so wie sie wohl blü hen im Mai,

P42. Liszt, Weihnachtsbaum (1876), #3, “Die Hirten an der Krippe,” beginning. Allegretto pastorale

un poco marcato

marcato

P43. Beethoven, String Quartet, op. 59 #2 (1806), finale, beginning. Presto

P44. Chopin, Nocturne, op. 37 #2 (1839), mm. 28–33. sostenuto

P45. Chopin, Mazurka, op. 50 #3 (1842), mm. 45–48.

mezza voce

❧


235

❧

236


P46. Johann Christoph Pez, Concerto pastorale (ca. 1700), Adagio, beginning. Pastorale Adagio

P47. Heinichen, Pastorale per la Notte della Nativitate Christi (1720s?), beginning. 2 Oboes (Flutes)

Organo (Cembalo) 6 4

6 4

5 3

6 4

5 3

7

P48. Handel, The Triumph of Time and Truth (1757), “Pleasure,” beginning. Vn. I Ob. I, II

Vn. II

Va. Bsn.

Cb.

P49. Handel, Messiah (1741), Pastoral Symphony, beginning.

❧


237

P50. Mozart, The Magic Flute (1791), I, Quintet, mm. 3–10. sotto voce

Drei Knäb

chen,

jung,

schön,

hold

und

wei

se, um

Drei Knäb

chen,

jung,

schön,

hold

und

wei

se, um

schwe

ben euch

auf

eu

rer

Rei

se,

sie wer

den eu

re

schwe

ben euch

auf

eu

rer

Rei

se,

sie wer

den eu

re

Füh

Füh

rer

sein,

folgt

ih rem Ra

te

ganz

al

lein.

rer

sein,

folgt

ih rem Ra

te

ganz

al

lein.

238

❧


P51. Gade, Comala (1846), #1, “Chor der Krieger und Barden,” beginning. Andante

Hn.

P52. Haydn, Die Jahreszeiten (1801), #29, Herbst, “Hört! hört das laute Getön,” mm. 84–89.

Jetzt hat er die Hun de ge täuscht;

Jetzt hat er die Hun de ge täuscht; Hn.

Hn.

Cl., Bsn.

P53. Haydn, Symphony #73, “La Chasse” (1781), iv, mm. 37–41.

P54. Liszt, Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses (1836), mm. 454–55. 8va 3

3

rit.

3

P55. Leopold Mozart, Sinfonia di caccia (1756), i, beginning. Allegro Solo

❧


239

240

❧


P56. Meyerbeer, Dinorah (1859), #16, “Chant du Chasseur,” beginning. (Le chasseur, sur le haut des rochers, regarde si les camarades arrivent)

Allegro Le Chasseur

En

(il donne du cor pour appeler les camarades)

chas se, en

chas se, en chas

se!

En

(il donne du cor)

chas se, pi queurs a

droits!

Sui vons sa tra

marcato

La bê te pas se,

ce

Jus

qu’au

fond des bois,

P57. Rossini, La donna del lago (1819), I/1, m. 163.

fi

gli

P58. Punto, Rondeau en chasse (ca. 1790s), beginning. Allegretto I Ob. II

Hn. I in F II

I Ob. II

I Hn. II

di mor

rea

❧


241

242

❧


P59. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Der Lindenbaum,” beginning. Mäßig

3

3

3

3

3

3

P60. Leopold Mozart, Sinfonia di caccia (1756), ii, beginning. Hn. I in D II

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Cb.

P61. Richard Strauss, Eine Alpensinfonie (1915), “Der Anstieg,” reh. 18. I

a2

I III Hn. in F

a2

II IV

a 2 marcatissimo I III Hn. in F II IV cresc. (Jagdhörner von ferne)

a3

hinter der Scene

I III V

3

3

3

a3

Hn. II in E IV VI

3

a6

VII to XII

Tpt. in C

I II

Hn. in F

I II

a2

3 3

3 3

3

3

3

❧


243

244

❧


P61. (continued) a3 I III V a3

hinter der Scene

Hn. II in E IV VI VII to XII

a3

a6 Tpt. in C

I II

Tbn.

I II

a2

Ob.

Hn. in F

I II

P62. Chopin, Nocturne, op. 9 #1 (1832), mm. 61–66.

legatissimo

sempre pianissimo

❧


245

P63. Schubert, Piano Trio in B major, D. 898 (1828), i, mm. 51–53. 3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3 3

3

3

P64. Gounod, Mireille (1864), IV/14, “Chanson,” beginning. Andante

Très modéré

dim.

P65. Schumann, Incidental Music to Manfred (1852), #4, “Alpenkuhreighen,” beginning. Nicht schnell

(Echo)

EHn.

Man

fred.

Horch,

der Ton!

246

❧


P66. Richard Strauss, Eine Alpensinfonie (1915), “Auf der Alm,” 3 before reh. 51, English horn. EHn.

P67. Grétry, Guillaume Tell (1791), Overture, beginning. Adagio 3

3

3

3

3

3

Allegro

3

3

3

3

❧


247

P68. Rossini, Guillaume Tell (1829), I/2. Andantino

Ranz des Vaches Hn.

Allegretto 3

3

3

3

P69. Liszt, Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses (1836), mm. 45–49. 8va

Allegro pastorale

dolcissimo ma sempre marcato

(8va) 8va

poco cresc.

248

❧


P70. Rossini, Guillaume Tell (1829), Overture, mm. 176–92. Andante EHn.

3

3

dolce

Fl.

3

3

EHn.

3

Fl.

3

3

P71. Meyerbeer, Dinorah (1859), #13, “Villanelle des deux pâtres,” beginning. (deux petits pâtres descendent du haut de la montagne, jouant sur leurs chalumeaux)

Plus lent

pressez a capriccio

(en écho)

doux

P72. Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), iii, beginning. Adagio EHn.

marcato Ob.

3

❧


249

P73. Delibes, “Églogue” (1886), beginning. Andante 8va

P74. Gounod, Mireille (1864), Overture, beginning. Andante 3

3

3

3

3

3

3

3 3

3

3 3

3

3 3

3

250

❧


P75. Grieg, Peer Gynt Suite (1875), “Morning Mood,” beginning. Allegretto pastorale

dolce

P76. Reyer, “Adieu Suzon” (1854), mm. 6–8. a tempo

jours

P77. Gade, Symphony #1 (1844), iii, beginning. Ob. I dolce div. Va. dolce div. Vc. dolce

Cb. dolce

Ob. I

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Ob. I

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


251

252

❧


P78. Méhul, Uthal (1806), Overture, mm. 9–21.

Va. I

Va. II

Solo Cl.

Hn. in C

I Bsn.

Vc.

Cb.

Va. I

Va. II

I Cl.

Hn. in C Solo Bsn.

Vc.

Cb.

P79. Rossini, Guillaume Tell (1829), I/1, mm. 9–16.

dolce

❧


253

254

❧


P80. Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), I/1, “Choeur des montagnards,” beginning. dolce S. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et

mus et

te.

mus et

te.

mus et

te.

dolce T. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et dolce

B. Son nez!

Son nez!

Son nez cors et

dolce S. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

dolce T. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

dolce B. Les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, les mon tagn ards, sont ré

u nis.

P81. Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), III/16. Allegro moderato S. Chan tez,

joy eaux mé ne strel.

Chan tez,


Chan tez,


T.

B.

❧


255

256

❧


P82. Haydn, Die Jahreszeiten (1801), #29, Herbst, “Hört! hört das laute Getön” mm. 111–16.

Ho,

ho,

Ho,

ho,

Ho,

ho,

ho,

ho!

Ta

Ho,

ho,

ho,

ho!

Ta

ho!

Ta

jo,

ho,

ho!

ho!

Ta

yo!

ho,

ho!

jo,

ta

jo,

ho,

ho!

yo,

ta

yo!

ho,

ho!

❧


P83. Schubert, “Trost” (1819), mm. 10–14.

Hör ner klän ge ru

fen kla gend aus

des For stes grü

ner Nacht,

257

258

❧


P84. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Rückblick,” mm. 59–69.

Ich zu rü

ich

zu

cke wie der

rü

wan ken, vor ih rem Hau se

cke

wie

der

wan

stil le stehn,

ken, vor ih

3

rem Hau se stil le

stehn,

vor

decresc.

stil

le

stehn.

dim.

möcht

ih

3

rem Hau se

❧


259

P85. Schubert, “Jägers Abendlied” (1816), beginning. Sehr langsam, leise

Im

Fel

de

schleich

ich

still

und

wild,

P86. Schubert, “Der Musensohn” (1822), mm. 5–14.

Durch Feld und Wald zu schwei fen, mein Lied chen weg zu

pfei

fen,

so geht’s von Ort

zu Ort,

so geht’s von Ort

zu Ort.

260

❧


P87. Franz Lachner, “Das Waldvöglein” (1830), mm. 16–20.

Das

Wald,

im

Vög

lein hat ein

schö nes Los

im

Wald.

P88. Mendelssohn, “Jagdlied” (1834), end.

so

dim.

gilt’s das

Le

ben

mein.

❧


261

P89. Massé, “Eho!” (1874), refrain.

au

E

ho!

Les a

gneaux vont aux

plaines

E

ho!

sans respirer

Et les loups sont aux bois

Et

les

loups

sont

aux bois

dim.

E ho!

dim.

dim.

Et les loups sont aux

bois

E

ho!

dim.

262

❧


P90. Massé, “Le Muletier de Calabre” (ca. 1844), mm. 24–28.

Ahu!

mes mu

les

sec

Sans

é

mu

les

sec

P91. Massenet, “Lève-toi” (1868), beginning. Lent et expressif

Lè dim.

sost. assai

toi,

lè

ve toi, chère en se ve

dim.

li

e!

ve

P92. David, “Éveillez-vous” (1845), beginning.

E

bel

le,

Ma

belle,

veil

aux

lez vous,

grands yeux bleus,

P93. Schoenberg, “Ei, du Lütte” (ca. 1898), beginning.

Ei,

du

Lü te Sö te, Wit te, ei, du

Lüt te, weerst du

min!

❧


263

264

❧


P94. Hahn, “Paysage” (1890), 4 before E major.

ne,

Chè

re

à

vous

em me

ner!

P95. Brahms, Zigeunerlieder, op. 103 (1888), #3 “Wisst Ihr, wann mein Kindchen,” mm. 10–11. Allegro S. A. Schä tze

lein,

du

bist mein,

Schä tze

lein,

du

bist mein,

T. B.

non legato

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P96. Wagner, Das Rheingold (1854), i, m. 1. Woglinde

Wei

a! Wa

ga!

Wo ge, du Wel

wa ga

la wei

a!

wal

la la, wei

le,

a la

wal le

zur Wie

wei

a!

P97. Gounod, “Les Champs” (1863), refrain. rit.

Viens!

les champs les champs ont aus si leurs

colla voce

a

mours!

a tempo

ge!

265

266

❧


P98. Gounod, “Les Naïades” (1852), end.

Fu

yons,

ta

ruis

yons

vers

la

3

3

3

fu

3

gne

Où

seaux

clairs.

morz. affatto.

8va

dans

les

mon

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P99. Wagner, Lohengrin (1848), I/3, mm. 42–44.

Leb’ wohl!

Leb’ wohl!

mein

lie

P100. Cornelius, “Vorabend” (1856), mm. 7–8.

Nun, Lieb ster, geh’, nun schei

de!

P101. Mozart, The Magic Flute (1791), I, Quintet, mm. 23–24.

So

le

bet wohl!

wir wol

len gehn,

So

le

bet wohl!

wir wol

len gehn,

So

le

bet wohl!

wir wol

len gehn,

ber Schwan!

267

268

❧


P102. Chabrier, “Ronde gauloise” (1862), m. 72. long

ô

gué!

Ah!

ô

gué!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

❧


269

P103. Gounod, Mireille (1864), IV/14, “Chanson,” end. (en s’éloignant)

ah!

ah!

dim.

ah!

270

❧


P104. Brahms, “Wiegenlied” (1868), beginning. Zart bewegt

Gut en

A

bend, gut

Nacht,

P105. Schubert, “Wiegenlied” (1816), beginning. Langsam

Schla

fe,

schla

fe,

hol der, sü

sser

Kna

P106. David, La Perle du Brésil (1851), Entr’acte, “Le Rêve,” beginning. Allegretto moderato

il canto

dolce ed espressivo

be,

P107. Nielsen, Sleep (1904), 2 before reh. 15. molto tranquillo

Drøm

me

svin

der,

Drøm

me

svin

der,

Drøm

me

svin

der,

Drøm

me

svin

der,

molto tranquillo

P108. Brahms, “Der Abend” (1874), 4 before reh. G.

ru

het,

ru

het und

lie

bet!

ru

het,

ru

het und

lie

bet!

ru

het,

ru

het und

lie

bet!

ru

het,

ru

het und

lie

bet!

❧


271

272

❧


P109. Cornelius, “Abendgefühl” (1862), end. 3

Ganz wie ein Schlum mer lied vor.

P110. Brahms, Schicksalslied (1871), 16 before reh. I.

Stät

te

zu

ruhn,

Stät

te

zu

ruhn,

Stät

te

zu

ruhn,

Stät

te

zu

ruhn,

P111. David, “Le Pêcheur à sa nacelle” (1845), refrain (m. 7). sostenuto

Où tout

s’en

dort,

Où tout

s’en

dort!

P112. Massenet, “Bonne Nuit!” (1872), mm. 15–19. poco rit.

Bon ne

nuit,

bon ne

nuit,

a tempo

bon ne nuit!

poco rit.

a tempo

P113. Loewe, “Die Mutter an der Wiege” (1840), vocal entrance (m. 6).

Schlaf,

hol

der Kna

be, süss und

mild!

❧


273

274

❧


P114. Massé, “Berceuse” (1874), vocal ending. a piacere

Dors!

dors!

mon

en

fant.

P115. Franz, “Schlummerlied” (1843), beginning. Andante con moto

Ru

he Süss

lieb

chen, im

Schat

ten

la melodie ben marcato

P116. Liszt, Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe (1882), “Der Wiege,” beginning. Andante

una corda

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P117. Rachmaninoff, “Melody” (1900), mm. 35–36. cresc.

rapt

in

bliss

ful

dreams,

to

wa

ken

ne

ver

more . . . 8va

P118. Schubert, Die schöne Müllerin (1823), “Des Baches Wiegenlied,” mm. 34–38.

bis das

Meer

will

trin

Meer

will

ken

trin

die

ken die

Bäch

lein aus,

Bäch

lein

aus.

bis das

275

276

❧


P119. Franz, “Schlummerlied” (1843), end.

dich ein.

smorzando

P120. Chopin, Berceuse (1844), end.

P121. Cornelius, “Wiegenlied” (1853), end. im Tempo

nachahmend

1. 2.

P122. Mahler, Kindertotenlieder (1904), end.

sempre

3.

❧


277

278

❧


P123. Fauré, “En Sourdine” (1891), vocal ending.

Le

ros

si

gnol

3

sempre

sempre

chan

dim.

ra.

sempre

te

❧


279

P124. Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #15 (1869), “Nachtigall, sie singt so schön,” beginning. dolce S. Nach dolce

ti

Nach dolce

ti

Nach dolce

ti

Nach

ti

A.

T.

B. 8va

I

dolce

II

dolce

S. gall,

sie

singt

so

schön,

gall,

sie

singt

so

schön,

gall,

sie

singt

so

schön,

gall, (8va)

sie

singt

so

schön,

A.

T.

B.

I

II

280

❧


P125. Rosetti, Sinfonia pastoralis (1778), i, mm. 14–17. Allegro molto

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P126. Massé, “Dans les Bois” (1874), vocal entrance (m. 13).

Au

chan

sa

prin

te

N’a

temps

vez

vous

l’oi

seau

pas ou

naît

et

ï

voix?

P127. Schumann, Album für die Jugend (1848), “Gukkuk im Versteck,” beginning. Immer sehr leise

1.

281

282

❧


P128. Handel, L’Allegro, il penseroso, ed il moderato (1741), “Sweet Bird,” mm. 22–26. ad libitum

Sweet bird,

sweet bird, that shun’st the noise of I Solo

fol ly,

most

mu si cal,

most mel an chol y.

I

6 4

5 3

P129. Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #13 (1869), “Vögelein durchrauscht die Luft,” beginning.

S. Vö

ge lein

durch rauscht die Luft,

durch rauscht

die Luft,

Vö

ge lein

durch rauscht die Luft,

durch rauscht

die Luft,

A.

I

II

poco

❧


283

P130. Chausson, “Réveil” (1883), beginning. Mouvement modéré

1st Voice

2nd Voice

Mon coeur,

lè ve

toi!

poco rit.

Dé jà

la lou

et

te

Se

cone en chant ant

son aile

a tempo

Mon coeur,

leil.

au so

cresc.

lè ve

toi!

Dé jà

là lou

et

te

Se

284

❧


P131. Knecht, Le Portrait musical de la Nature (1785), i, mm. 37–39. Fl. dolce I Ob.

Bsn.

Hn.

Vn. I dolce Vn. II dolce Va. dolce pizz. Vc. Cb.

P132. Beethoven, Symphony #6 (1808), ii, mm. 129–32. Nachtigall

cresc.

Kuckuck

Wachtel

❧


285

286

❧


P133. Vivaldi, La primavera (1725), i, mm. 21–26. e

Vn. princ.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Augei

Vn. princ.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Vn. princ.

Vn. I

Vn. II

con

lieto

canto,

Festosetti

La

Salutan

gli

❧


287

P134. Vivaldi, Flute Concerto in D major, “Il gardellino,” RV 428 (1728), 1, mm. 13–18. a piacimento

P135. Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in A major, “Il cucu,” RV 335 (1719), i, mm. 18–23.

288

❧


P136. Loewe, “Vogelgesang” (1823), mm. 5–7. cresc.

rau

rau

schen und

schen und

lär

men,

schwär

sin

gen

und

schwär

men,

men,

P137. Saint-Saëns, The Carnival of the Animals (1886), #13, “The Swan,” end. rit.

Lento

a tempo

Vc. 8va

Pno. I

rit. Vc.

Pno. I

Pno. II

❧


289

P138. Chausson, “Les Papillons” (1880), beginning. Vif

Les

pa

pil

très léger

3

lons

cou leur de

nei

ge

vo

lent par

es

290

❧


P139. Wagner, Siegfried (1869), II/2, forest bird. (Siegfried’s Aufmerksamkeit wird endlich durch den Gesang der Waldvögel gefesselt.)

sempre

❧


P140. Wagner, Siegfried-Idyll (1870), 4 after Lebhaft. Fl. I

3

Cl. (lustig)

Hn.

3

3

Fl. (lustig) I

3

Cl.

Hn.

3

Fl. cresc.

3

I Cl. 3

Hn.

cresc.

3

cresc.

291

292

❧


P141. Ravel, Daphnis et Chloé (1912), “Lever du jour,” 11 after Lent. 3

Picc. 6

Fl.

Fl. in G

Picc. 6

Fl.

Fl. in G

P142. Bizet, “Rêve de la bien-aimée” (1868), mm. 17–21.

Qui chan tait

sur ses

ri

ves.

❧


293

P143. Massé, “La Chanson du printemps” (1854), beginning. Allegretto semplice

P144. Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #6 (1869), “Ein kleiner, hübscher Vogel,” reh. D. dolce

Der

Vo

gel

kam

in

Der

Vo

gel

kam

in

der

Vo

gel

kam

in

Vo

gel

kam

in

dolce

dolce

Der

Vo

gel

kam,

dolce

Der

8va

I

dolce

II

dolce

❧

294


P144. (continued)

ei

ne

schö

ne

Hand,

ei

ne

schö

ne

Hand,

ei

ne

schö

ne

Hand,

ei

ne

schö

ne

Hand,

(8va)

I

II

P145. Grieg, “Vaaren” (“Spring”) (1880), mm. 26–32.

mot Sol

og mot Su mar.

3

8va

e con Ped.

P146. Mahler, Symphony #4 (1900), i, reh. 10. Fliessend, aber ohne Hast a4 Fl. deutlich BsCl. in A

Alle Betonungen zart Vc. pizz. Cb.

a4 Fl.

BsCl. in A

Vc.

Cb.

sempre

❧


295

296

❧


P146. (continued) a4 Fl.

BsCl. in A

Bsn. I dim. zarte Betonungen Vn. I

zarte Betonungen Va.

Vc. sempre

Cb. sempre

a4 Fl.

BsCl. in A

Bsn. I

Vn. I

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


297

P147. D’Indy, Jour d’été à la montagne (1905), i, “Aurore,” woodwinds after reh. 4. Solo Picc.

3

3

I Solo Fl. 6

I Solo Ob.

I Picc.

3

3

Fl. I Ob.

P148. Loewe, “Thomas der Reimer” (1860), m. 33.

Glö

cke

lein, 8va

298

❧


P149. Mahler, “Um Mitternacht” (1901), beginning. Tranquillo, con moto eguale

P150. Schubert, “Die junge Nonne” (1825), mm. 70–74.

Horch!

Glöck

lein

vom

fried

Turm;

lich

er

tö

net

das

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P151. Rachmaninoff, The Bells (1913), beginning. Allegro, ma non tanto

cresc.

P152. Grieg, “Bell-Ringing” (1891), end.

molto

morendo

P153. Wagner, Parsifal (1881), I, end.

299

300

❧


P154. Gounod, “Choral” (1860s?), mm. 13–19. 8va

cresc.

P155. Saint-Saëns, “La Cloche” (1855), mm. 5–10.

Seu

le en ta som bre

tour

aux faî tes den te

lés,

P156. Hahn, “D’une Prison” (1892), beginning. Pas trop lent

Le

avec la plus grande tranquillité

ciel

est par des sus le

toit,

si bleu,

si

cal

me . . .

P157. Ravel, Miroirs, v, “La Vallée des cloches” (1905), beginning. Très lent

très doux et sans accentuation

un peu marqué

❧


301

302

❧


P158. Schumann, “Der Nussbaum” (1840), beginning. Allegretto

Es

grü

net ein

Nuss

baum

vor

P159. Beethoven, Symphony #6 (1808), ii, mm. 17–18.

dem

Haus,

P160. Schumann, Symphony #3 (1850), ii, end.

dim.

P161. Loewe, “Das Muttergottesbild im Teiche” (1834), end.

P162. Cornelius, “Simeon” (1856), end.

Das Knäb lein wun

der bar.

poco rit.

❧


303

304

❧


P163. Chausson, “Ballade” (1896), end.

Dans

une

i

gno

ran

ce

blan

che.

retenu

❧


305

P164. Saint-Saëns, “Viens” (1855), beginning. Allegro moderato

sotto voce

S. Viens!

Viens! sotto voce

B. Viens!

sotto voce

S. U

ne

flûte in

vi

si

ble Sou pi re dans les ver gers.

B. Viens!

U

306

❧


P165. Cornelius “Am Morgen” (1856), beginning. Langsam

Die Nacht

Hör’

ver

geht

mein Ge bet,

nach

All

sü

mächt’

ßer Ruh.

ger,

du!

❧


307

P166. Haydn, Die Jahreszeiten (1801), #2, “Komm, holder Lenz!” mm. 5–8. Chor der Landleute S. Komm,

hol

der

Lenz!

des Him mels Ga

be,

komm,

Komm,

hol

der

Lenz!

des Him mels Ga

be,

komm,

Komm,

hol

der

Lenz!

des Him mels Ga

be,

komm,

aus

Komm,

hol

der

Lenz!

des Him mels Ga

be,

A.

T.

B.

P167. Chipp, Twilight Fancies #2 (1858), end. diminuendo

ritardando

308

❧


P168. Hahn, “L’Heure exquise” (1892), beginning. Tranquillo e dolce possibile

La lu

ne

De cha

que

2

blan

che

Luit

dans les

bois;

2

bran

poco

che

Part

u

ne

voix

Sous la ra

mé

re.

P169. Chopin, Ballade in A major (1841), beginning. Allegretto

mezza voce

P170. Chopin, Ballade in F minor (1843), mm. 11–13.

❧


309

310

❧


P171. Schubert, Ländler, D. 814 #1 (1824), beginning.

P172. Schubert, Ländler, D. 814 #4 (1824), beginning.

con sordini

con sordini

P173. Haydn, Symphony #88 (1785), iii, trio.

P174. Haydn, Symphony #104 (1795), iii, beginning (reduced score).

❧


311

312

❧


P175. Schubert, Symphony #9 (1828), iii, mm. 5–12. I I Fl. II

I Ob. II

I Cl. II

I Bsn. II

I Hn. II

Timp. in C-G

I I Fl. II

I Ob. II

I Cl. II a2 I Bsn. II

I Hn. II

Timp. in C-G

P176. Chopin, Waltz, op. 18 (1832), mm. 22–27.

3

P177. Schubert, Sonata in A major, D. 959 (1828), scherzo, m. 13.

P178. Schumann, Symphony #3 (1850), ii, beginning. Sehr mässig ten.

ten.

ten.

ten.

❧


313

314

❧


P179. Chabrier, Pièces pittoresques, “Menuet pompeux” (1881), mm. 68–73.

a tempo

rall. poco a poco

P180. Chabrier, “Ivresses!” (1869), mm. 118–20. Moins vite très expressif

airs!

Ai

mons

nous

ai

mons

nous,

dolce

P181. Chabrier, “Ballade des gros dindons” (1889), mm. 19–20.

Les

gros

din

dons!

Mouvement de Valse

e con grazia

P182. Beethoven, Deutsche, WoO 13 #5 (1797), mm. 17–24. Trio

dolce

P183. Chopin, Waltz, op. 34 #1 (1835), mm. 33–40.

P184. Beethoven, Écossaise, WoO 83 #1 (1806), beginning.

❧


315

❧

316


P185. Chopin, 3 Écossaises, op. 72 #3 (1829), #1, beginning. Vivace

brillante

P186. Chopin, 3 Écossaises, op. 72 #3 (1829), #2, beginning.

3

3

3

P187. Chopin, 3 Écossaises, op. 72 #3 (1829), #3, beginning. 3

3

P188. Brahms, Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #3 (1869), “O die Frauen,” beginning. T. O

die

Frau

en,

o

die

Frau

en,

O

die

Frau

en,

o

die

Frau

en,

B.

I

II

❧


317

P189. Johann Strauss, Jr., Donauweibchen (1888), #2, mm. 5–10.

P190. Liszt, Albumblatt in Walzerform (1842), beginning. Allegro

8va

cresc.

8va

P191. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Gute Nacht,” mm. 71–75.


stö


ne

Ruh,

318

❧


P192. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Die Post,” mm. 7–11.

Von der

Stra

ße

her

ein

Post

horn klingt.

P193. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Die Krähe,” mm. 16–17.

Krä

he,

wun

der li

ches Tier,

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P194. Schubert, Winterreise (1828), “Mut!” mm. 8–9, 15–16. 8

schüttl’ ich ihn

her

un

ter.

15

sing’

ich hell

und

mun

ter.

P195. Mahler, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (1883–96), end.

Al

les!

Lieb’

und

Leid,

und

morendo

Traum!

Welt,

und

319

320

❧


P196. Schumann, Liederkreis, op. 24 (1840), “Morgens steh’ ich auf,” mm. 33–36.

träu

mend

wand

le

ich

bei

Tag.

P197. Rachmaninoff, “Let Me Rest Here Alone” (1906), 13 before end. 2 2

Well

I

know

thy

en dear

8va

dim.

part

ing . . .

rapido

cresc.

ments

at

❧


321

P198. Mahler, “Ich bin der Welt” (1901), mm. 11–14. tranquillo

Ich

bin

der

Welt

ab

han den ge kom

men,

3 3

P199. Schubert, “Frühlingslied,” D. 919 (1827), mm. 79–82.

und

je

des Herz

mit

Won

3

schwellt,

mit

Won

ne

schwellt

decresc.

ne

322

❧


P200. Schubert, “Gott in der Natur,” D. 757 (1822), Allegro molto vivace. in E

Allegro molto vivace

in E

Es

regt in den Lau ben des Wal des sich schon,

Es

regt in den Lau ben des Wal des sich schon,

P201. Brahms, Neues Liebeslieder, op. 65 #8, “Weiche Gräser,” (1874), beginning. Ruhig

dolce

Wei

che

Grä

ser

Wei dolce

che

Grä

ser

Wei dolce

che

Grä

ser

Wei

che

Grä

ser

dolce

dolce

dolce

P201. (continued)

im

Re

vier,

im

Re

vier,

im

Re

vier,

im

Re

vier,

❧


323

324

❧


P202. Liszt, “Au Lac de Wallenstadt” (1838), beginning. Andante placido

dolce 3

dolcissimo egualmente cantabile

P203. Liszt, “Pastorale” (1855), mm. 20–27.

P204. Liszt, “Églogue” (1855), mm. 6–9.

P205. Liszt, Les Préludes (1855), mm. 201–4. Allegretto pastorale Cor.

dolciss.

❧


325

326

❧


P206. Chabrier, “Toutes les Fleurs” (1889), mm. 13–17. a tempo

re!

dolce

Les

pâ

les lys

aux sa

luts

espress.

sempre

Les lys flu ets dont

le

sa

tin

se

do

re,

P207. Delibes, “Bonjour, Suzon!” (1886), mm. 9–15.

Bon jour, Su zon, ma fleur des bois! a tempo

lan gou reux,

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P208. David, “Au Couvent” (1851–66), refrain. rall.

Et

des fo rêts

Hu mer l’air frais,

Et des fo rêts Hu mer l’air frais!

rall.

P209. Hahn, “Paysage” (1890), end.

De sa basse in

fi

ni

e!

8va bassa

P210. Dvo¤rák, Symphony #9 (1893), ii, mm. 38–40.

327

328

❧


P211. Chipp, Twilight Fancies #3 (1858), end. 3

P212. Mahler, Symphony #4 (1900), iii, mm. 318–25 (horns only). Pesante 3

Schalltrichter auf

3 3

Schalltrichter auf

3

❧


P213. Rachmaninoff, Spring (1902), Più vivo. Più vivo

Und

Und 3

3

3

3

3

3

Spiel end durch die Lüf te

streicht der

Spiel end durch die Lüf te

streicht der

3

ke

cke,

fri

sche

Wind.

ke

cke,

fri

sche

Wind.

cresc.

3

329

330

❧


P214. Rachmaninoff, “The Lilacs” (1900), beginning. Allegretto

sempre tranquillo

At the

red

of the dawn,

un poco ten.

Where I meet the new day like a

O’er the dew span gled lawn,

cantabile

P215. Rachmaninoff, “Before My Window” (1906), beginning. Lento

cantabile

Be fore my win dow stands

a

3

3

flow’r ing cher ry

tree,

P216. Reyer, “À un Berceau” (1851), mm. 11–14. rit.

par mi

les fleurs

d’A vril

par

mi les fleurs d’A vril

P217. Mendelsson, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), iii, mm. 9–16.

sempre

❧


331

332

❧


P218. Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), III/16, “Choeur et Air écossais,” mm. 9–20.

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

des

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

des

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

voi

ci ven ir

la ban nie

re

des

che va liers,

des che va liers,

des che va liers d’A ve nel

des

che va liers,

des che va liers,


des

che va liers,

des che va liers,


des

che

va liers,

des che

va liers,

des che

va liers d’A ve nel

che

va liers,

des che

va liers,

des che


che

va liers,

des che

va liers,

des che


❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P219. Mendelssohn, “Scottish” Symphony (1842), iv, mm. 396–99. Allegro maestoso assai divisi

P220. Gade, Comala (1846), #9, “Chor der Krieger,” mm. 31–33.

T. Ent

flohn

ist

der Feind’ Ge

tö

se,

Ent

flohn

ist

der Feind’ Ge

tö

se,

B.

333

334

❧


P221. Loewe, “Alpins Klage” (1844), mm. 47–54. Allegretto

3

3

3

3

Ryno.

Vor

Wind

und

bei

Re

sind

gen,

P222. Nicolai, Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor (1849), Overture, beginning. Andantino moderato

tremolando 3

❧


P223. Brahms, “Darthulas Grabesgesang,” op. 42 #3 (1861), mm. 48–53. Poco animato

mezza voce

Wach

auf,

3

wach

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

mezza voce

Wach

auf,

Früh ling

ist

3

wach

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

Früh ling

wach

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

Früh ling

ist

mezza voce

3

Wach

auf,

mezza voce

Wach auf, mezza voce

wach

Wach auf, mezza voce

wach

Wach

wach

auf,

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

Früh ling

ist

3

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

Früh ling

ist

3

auf,

Dar

thu

la!

Früh ling

3

molto dolce

ist

3

3

ist

335

336

❧


P223. (continued) 3

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

te

säu

seln,

te

säu

seln,

säu

seln,

säu

seln,

3

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

te 3

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

te

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

te

säu

seln,

drau

ßen!

die

Lüf

te

säu

seln,

3 3

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P224. Loewe, “Thomas der Reimer” (1860), mm. 93–97. Allegretto

Sie

rit

ten durch den grü nen Wald, wie glück lich da

wie glück lich da

der Rei

der Rei

ritenuto

P225. Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), Overture, mm. 13–17.

mer war,

mer war!

337

338

❧


P226. Berlioz, Rob Roy (1831), 4 after reh. 7.

poco

P227. Berlioz, Rob Roy (1831), 14 after reh. 9 (reduced score).

❧


339

340

❧


P228. Loewe, “Lied der Königin Elisabeth” (1847), mm. 45–48. Andantino idilliaco

P229. Saint-Saëns, Le Lever de la lune (1855), end.

P230. Berlioz, Irlande, op. 2 #2, “Hélène” (1829), beginning.

❧


P231. Berlioz, Irlande, op. 2 #2, “Hélène” (1829), end of verse.

Ré

pé

tait

cha

que

ber

ger.

P232. Berlioz, Irlande, op. 2 #7, “L’Origine de la harpe” (1829), end of verse. a tempo

Son

a

mant

par

mi

les

ro

seaux.

341

342

❧


P233. Berlioz, Waverley (1828), reh. 2.

unis. pizz.

div.

espress.

pizz.

3

P234. Schumann, “John Anderson,” op.145 #4 (1849), beginning. Langsam

John

An

der son,

mein

Lieb!

John

An

der son,

mein

Lieb!

John

An

der son,

mein

Lieb!

John

An

der son,

mein

Lieb!

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P235. Schumann, “Das Hochlandmädchen,” op. 55 #1 (1847), beginning. Nicht schnell Solo S. Nicht Solo

Da

men tönt von

ho

hem Rang

mein kunst

los länd li cher Ge

Nicht Solo

Da

men tönt von

ho

hem Rang

mein kunst


Nicht

Da

men tönt von

ho

hem Rang

mein kunst


Da

men tönt von

ho

hem Rang

mein kunst


A.

T.

Solo B. Nicht

S. sang;

mir

blei

be fern

so

eit

ler

Stern; geht mir

mein Hoch land

sang;

mir

blei

be fern

so

eit

ler

Stern; geht mir

mein Hoch land

sang;

mir

blei

be fern

so

eit

ler

Stern; geht mir

mein Hoch land

sang;

mir

blei

be fern

so

eit

ler

Stern; geht mir

mein Hoch land

A.

T.

B.

Choir (without Solo voices) S. mäd

chen!

In

grü

nen Tha

les

Schat

ten,

o,

auf

mäd

chen!

In

grü

nen Tha

les

Schat

ten,

o,

auf

mäd

chen!

In

grü

nen Tha

les

Schat

ten,

o,

auf

mäd

chen!

In

grü

nen Tha

les

Schat

ten,

o,

auf

A.

T.

B.

343

344

❧


P236. Schumann, “Unter’m Fenster,” op. 34 #3 (1840), beginning. Allegretto

Wer ist

vor mei

ner Kam mer thür?

Ich

bin

es,

ich

bin

es!

❧


P237. Brahms, “Gesang aus Fingal,” op. 17 #4 (1860), mm. 69–78. espress.

Tre

nar,

der

lieb

li

che

Tre

nar

starb,

starb!

nar,

der

lieb

li

che

Tre

nar

starb,

starb!

espress.

Tre

o

Mäd

chen

von

I

ni

store!

o

Mäd

chen

von

I

ni

store!

P238. Lesueur, Ossian (1804), III, “Entrée des chasseurs dansants,” mm. 10–17.

345

346

❧


P239. Boieldieu, La Dame blanche (1825), I/1, “Choeur des montagnards,” mm. 66–73.

P240. Thomas, Hamlet (1868), “Pas des chasseurs,” mm. 14–17.

❧


347

P241. D’Indy, Symphony on a French Mountain Air (1886), beginning (reduced score). Solo EHn. espr. avec sourdines Vn. I poco avec sourdines Vn. II poco avec sourdines Va. poco avec sourdines Vc. poco Cb.

EHn. dolce

dim.

Vn. I più

dim.

Vn. II più Va. più Vc. più Cb.

dim.

348

❧


P242. Chopin, Krakowiak (1828), beginning. Introduction Andantino quasi Allegretto Hn. in F 8va

legato e semplice

Pno.

Vn. I sempre legato Vn. II sempre legato Va. sempre legato Vc. sempre legato Cb. sempre legato I Hn. in F (8va)

Pno.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


349

P243. Borodin, Prince Igor (1869–87), I/1, choral entrance, m. 29. Allegro moderato e maestoso S. To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

To the

sun

a

bove, glo

ry,

glo

ry,

Glo

ry,

vic to

ry

A.

T.

B.

S. to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

to no ble

Prince I

gor, glo

ry,

glo

ry.

To Rus sia,

glo ry and fame!

A.

T.

B.

350

❧


P244. Borodin, Prince Igor (1869–87), end. cresc.

Hail,

Prince cresc.

I

Hail,

Prince cresc.

I

Hail,

Prince cresc.

I

Hail,

Prince

I

cresc.

gor!

gor!

gor!

gor!

P245. Borodin, Symphony #2 (1887), iii, 6 before reh. O. Vn. I

Vn. II

Va. 3

3

3

3

Vc. 3

Cb. 3

Vn. I rall. Vn. II rall. Va. rall. Vc. rall. Cb. rall.

❧


351

352

❧


P246. Borodin, Symphony #2 (1887), iv, mm. 10–12 (strings only).

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

P247. Borodin, Symphony #1 (1882), iv, end (reduced score).

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


353

354

❧


P248. Glinka, A Life for the Tsar (1836), I/1, Peasants’ Chorus. S. A. O

schö

ne

Len

zes

zeit,

Wie

uns

dein

S. A. Na

hen

freut!

Der

Vö

ge

lein

S. A. lässt,

Will

kom

men ihr

lie ben, fro hen

Gäst’.

Schar sich blic

ken

P249. Glinka, A Life for the Tsar (1836), III/12, 1 afer reh. 30.

Wei

se

walt’

er

im

Va

ter

land,

Wei

se

walt’

er

im

Va

ter

land,

Wei

se

walt’

er

im

Va

ter

land,

Wei

se

walt’

er

im

Va

ter

land,

riten.

walt’ er

im

Land!

walt’ er riten.

im

Va

walt’ er

im

Land!

walt’ er riten.

im

Va

walt’ er

im

Land!

walt’ er riten.

im

Va

walt’ er

im

Land!

walt’ er

im

Va

❧


355

356

❧


P250. Glinka, A Life for the Tsar (1836), Epilogue, #23. Allegro maestoso S. A. Heil

dir

Russ

land, du

hei

li

gen

Land!

Heil

dir

Russ

land, du

hei

li

gen

Land!

Heil

dir

Russ

land, du

hei

li

gen

Land!

T.

B.

P251. Tchaikovsky, Symphony #6 (1893), i, 2nd theme. Andante teneramente, molto cantabile, con espansione

❧


P252. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), reh. 37. Allegro non troppo

Choir

T. Clair

est

le

so

leil

bril

lant

de

mi

di,

Clair

est

le

so

leil

bril

lant

de

mi

di,

B.

T. gai

le

beau

fes

tin,

quand

il

est

en

train!

gai

le

beau

fes

tin,

quand

il

est

en

train!

B.

357

358

❧


P253. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), 12 after reh. 144. Choeur (Les marchands et le peuple de Novgorod) S. Oh!

voy

ez

gens

de

Nov

go

rod

le

grand,

Oh!

voy

ez

gens

de

Nov

go

rod

le

grand,

Oh!

voy

ez

gens

de

Nov

go

rod

le

grand,

Oh!

voy

ez

gens

de

Nov

go

rod

le

grand,

A.

T.

B.

P254. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), Venetian Song, end.

❧


359

P255. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), 3 after reh. 182. Niej.

lac

Il men est

la mai son

sur la

ri

ve tout au

bord du lac, la mai

P256. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), Indian Song, beginning.

P257. Rimsky-Korsakov, La Grande Pâque russe (1888), 1 before reh. C. Cadenza I Solo

dolce e piacere ten.

colla parte

360

❧


P258. Tchaikovsky, Symphony #2 (1872), iv, theme. Allegro vivo

P259. Balakirev, Overture on Three Russian Themes (1858–81), end. Andante

morendo

morendo

P260. Balakirev, Islamey: Oriental Fantasy (1869), 13 after Allegro vivo.

8va glissando

P261. Lyadov, Mazurka, op. 38 (1895), mm. 62–70. Più mosso

3 3

3

❧


361

362

❧


P262. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sinfonietta on Russian Themes (1884), reh. D. I Solo Hn. in F

Vn.

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

I Hn. in F

Vn.

Va. div. Vc.

Cb.

❧


363

P263. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), reh. 157. Niéjata

Allegro non troppo

Vi

ve

Nov go rod

le grand!

Vi

en

tier!

ve

tou jours,

Les Pèlerins

monde

P264. Glinka, A Life for the Tsar (1836), III/14, Bridesmaids’ Chorus, beginning. Con moto

dolcissimo e commodo

364

❧


P265. Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1896), Ballad of the People of Vseslavitch, reh. 27. Moderato assai (Niejata joue sur ses gousli et chante le lai de Volkh Vueslavitch.)

Choir

T. Fais

vi

brer

les cor des d’un

doux

ac

Fais

vi

brer

les cor des d’un

doux

ac

B.

P266. Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition (1874), “Promenade,” beginning. Allegro giusto, nel modo russico; senza allegrezza, ma poco sostenuto

❧


365

P267. Brahms, Zigeunerlieder, op. 103 (1888), #5, “Brauner Bursche führt zum Tanze,” beginning. Allegro giocoso

Brau

ner Bur

sche

Brau

ner Bur

sche

Brau

ner Bur

sche

Brau

ner Bur

sche

ben marc.

3

3

führt

zum Tan

ze

sein

blau äu

gig

schö

nes

Kind,

führt

zum Tan

ze

sein

blau äu

gig

schö

nes

Kind,

führt

zum Tan

ze

sein

blau äu

gig

schö

nes

Kind,

führt

zum Tan

ze

sein

blau äu

gig

schö

nes

Kind,

366

❧


P268. Brahms, Zigeunerlieder, op. 103 (1888), #9, “Weit und breit,” mm. 21–24. Più presto

nur mein Schatz der

soll mich lie ben,

soll mich lie ben

al

le

zeit,

nur mein Schatz der

soll mich lie ben,

soll mich lie ben

al

le

zeit,

nur mein Schatz der

soll mich lie ben,

soll mich lie ben

al

le

zeit,

nur mein Schatz der

soll mich lie ben,

soll mich lie ben

al

le

zeit,

legg. R.H. non legato

❧


367

P269. Bruckner, Os justi (1879), end.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

et

non sup

plan

ta

bun

tur

gres sus

e

jus.

Choral

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

Al

le

lu

ja,

al

le

lu

ja.

P270. Fauré, Requiem (1877), “Pie Jesu,” end. (© 1977 by C. F. Peters) Corporation. Used by permission.)

368

❧


P271. Liszt, Matrimonium (1884), beginning. Lento S. II

Choir

T.

B.

Org.

dolcissimo

Solo S. II Sa

cra

T. Sa

cra men tum

hoc

ma

gnum

est.

Sa

cra men tum

hoc

ma

gnum

est.

B.

Org.

S. II men

tum hoc

ma

gnum est.

T.

B.

Org.

dolcissimo

❧


P272. Bruckner, Ave Maria (1856), beginning. Andante

A

ve Ma

ri

a,

gra

ti

a

ple

na,

Do

mi nus

A

ve Ma

ri

a,

gra

ti

a

ple

na,

Do

mi nus

A

ve Ma

ri

a,

gra

ti

a

ple

na,

Do

mi nus

P273. Liszt, Missa Choralis (1859–65), Benedictus, end. Two solo voices

ho

san

na!

369

370

❧


P274. Bruckner, Te Deum (1884), beginning. Allegro S. Te

De

um lau

da

mus, te

Te

De

um lau

da

mus, te

Te

De

um lau

da

mus, te

Te

De

um lau

da

mus, te

A.

T.

B. Feierlich, mit Kraft

S. Do

mi num

con

fi

te

mur.

Do

mi num

con

fi

te

mur.

Do

mi num

con

fi

te

mur.

Do

mi num

con

fi

te

mur.

A.

T.

B.

❧


P274. (continued) S. Te ae ter num

Pa trem o

mnis

ter

ra

ve

ne

ra

Te ae ter num

Pa trem o

mnis

ter

ra

ve

ne

ra

Te ae ter num

Pa trem o

mnis

ter

ra

ve

ne

ra

Te ae ter num

Pa trem o

mnis

ter

ra

ve

ne

ra

A.

T.

B.

Solo ausdrucksvoll S. tur. A. tur. T. tur. B. tur.

Ti

bi

371

372

❧


P275. Fauré, Requiem (1877), Sanctus, m. 43. (©1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.) T. Ho san

na

in

ex

cel

sis,

Ho san

na

in

ex

cel

sis,

I B. II

sempre

❧


P276. Bruckner, Mass in E minor (1866), “Et resurrexit,” beginning. Allegro

Et

re

sur

Et

re

sur

cresc.

Et

re

sur

re

xit

ter

ti

a

Et

re

sur

re

xit

ter

ti

a

re

xit

ter

ti

a

di

re

xit

ter

ti

a

di

373

374

❧


P276. (continued)

di

e,

se

cun

dum

Scri

di

e,

se

cun

dum

Scri

e,

se

cun

dum

Scri

e,

se

cun

dum

Scri

P277. Liszt, Anima Christi (1874), beginning. Andante non troppo lento T. I A

ni ma

Chri

sti,

san

cti

fi

ca

me,

A

ni ma

Chri

sti,

san

cti

fi

ca

me,

A

ni ma

Chri

sti,

san

cti

fi

ca

me,

A

ni ma

Chri

sti,

san

cti

fi

ca

me,

T. II

B. I

B. II

T. I cor

pus

Chri

sti,

sal

va

me,

cor

pus

Chri

sti,

sal

va

me,

cor

pus

Chri

sti,

sal

va

me,

cor

pus

Chri

sti,

sal

va

me,

T. II

B. I

B. II

❧


375

P278. Liszt, Mass in C minor (1848), “Dona nobis,” mm. 11–14.

do

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

P279. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), II/5, Elisabeth’s prayer for Hungary (postlude).

lan

des

Au

en!

cresc.

376

❧


P280. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), “Et resurrexit,” beginning. cresc. molto

Et

re

sur

re

xit,

re

sur re

xit

re

sur

re

xit,

re

sur re

xit

Et cresc. molto

re

sur

re

xit,

re

sur re

xit

Et

re

sur

re

xit,

re

sur re

xit

cresc. molto

Et cresc. molto

cresc. molto

ter

ti a

di

e

se

cun

dum Scri ptu

ras,

ter

ti a

di

e

se

cun

dum Scri ptu

ras,

ter

ti a

di

e

se

cun

dum Scri ptu

ras,

ter

ti a

di

e

se

cun

dum Scri ptu

ras,

❧


377

P281. Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Aloysii (1777), Gloria, beginning. Allegro ma non troppo

Glo

ri

a

in

ex cel

sis

De

o

P282. Michael Haydn, Missa Sancti Hieronymi (1777), “Benedictus,” beginning. Tutti

Be

ve

ne

nit

di

in

ctus qui

no

ve

mi ne Do

nit

qui

mi

ni,

ctus qui

ve

Tutti

Be

ne

di

378

❧


P283. Mahler, Symphony #1 (1888), iv, reh. 26. 3

3

sempre

P284. Wagner, Parsifal (1881), Prelude, “Grail motif,” m. 38.

P285. Liszt, Eucharista (1884).

gra

ti

a,

et

fu

tu

rae

gra

ti

a,

et

fu

tu

rae

gra

ti

a,

et

fu

tu

rae

P286. Liszt, Via Crucis (1879), beginning. Andante maestoso

❧


379

380

❧


P287. Liszt, Dante Symphony (1856), Magnificat, beginning. L’istesso tempo dolce

Ma

gni

fi

cat

div. a 3

div. a 3

me

a

Do

mi

num.

a

ni

ma

P288. Liszt, Mass in C minor (1848), Gloria, beginning. Allegro alla breve

Glo

ri a

in

ex

cel sis

De

o.

Glo

ri a

in

ex

cel sis

De

o.

Glo

ri a

in

ex

cel sis

De

o.

Glo

ri a

in

ex

cel sis

De

o.

P289. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), Crusader’s theme, I/3, m. 19.

In’s

heil’ ge Land,

in’s

Pal men land,

In’s

heil’ ge Land,

in’s

Pal men land,

P290. Liszt, Salve regina (1885). ma

ter

mi

se

❧


381

382

❧


P291. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), Kyrie, beginning. Moderato, quasi Andantino

P292. Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique (1830–32), i, end. Religiosamente The whole orchestra as soft as possible Picc.

Fl.

Ob.

Cl.

Bsn.

Hn.

Sponge-headed drum-sticks Timp.

Vn. I

Vn. II div. Va.

Vc.

Cb.

P292. (continued) Picc.

Fl.

Ob.

Cl.

Bsn.

Hn.

Timp.

Vn. I

Vn. II

Va.

Vc.

Cb.

❧


383

384

❧


P293. Brahms, Alto Rhapsody (1869), end.

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

qui

cke

sein

Herz!

dim.

P294. Brahms, Schicksalslied (1871), mm. 23–25. espress.

3 3

3

P295. Tchaikovsky, Romeo and Juliet (1869), mm. 517–24. 8va

(8va)

P296. Puccini, Gianni Schicchi (1918), “O mio babbino caro,” end. rit.

Lauretta

Bab bo, pie tà,

pie

tà!

(piangendo)

bab bo, pie tà,

pie

tà! . . . rall.

P297. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), “Benedictus.”

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

qui ve

nit

in

no mi ne

Do

mi

ni:

❧


385

386

❧


P298. Gounod, Messe aux Orphéonistes (1853), Sanctus, beginning. Andante maestoso

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus

Do

mi

nus

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus

Do

mi

nus

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus

Do

mi

nus

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus

Do

mi

nus

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus,

San

ctus

Do

mi

nus

San

ctus,

P299. Liszt, Chapelle de Guillaume Tell (1838), end.

cresc.

❧


387

388

❧


P300. Fauré, Requiem (1877), “Pie Jesu,” end. (© 1977 by C.F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.) poco rit.

sem

pi

ter

nam

sempre

re

qui

poco rit.

P301. Liszt, Sposalizio (1838–61), end. Adagio

P302. Brahms, Schicksalslied (1871), mm. 64–69. 3

dolce

3

3

3

em.

Solo

P303. Liszt, Hungarian Coronation Mass (1869), Sanctus, end.

san

na

san

na

san

na

san

na

in

ex

cel

Solo

verhallend

sis

ho

san

ho

san

na.

na.

P304. Mahler, Symphony #5 (1902), i, mm. 10–14. 3

❧


389

390

❧


P305. Chopin, Nocturne in C minor, op. 27 #1 (1835), end. Adagio

P306. Berlioz, Requiem (1837), Introit. unis.

lu

ce

at

e unis.

lu

ce

at

e unis.

lu

ce

at

e 8va

poco cresc.

cresc.

is, cresc.

at

e

is,

e

is,

cresc.

is, (8va)

lu

ce

at

❧


391

392

❧


P307. Berlioz, Requiem (1837), end. unis.

a

men,

a

a

men,

a

a

men,

a

3 3

3

3

3

men,

a

men,

men,

a

men,

men,

a

men,

P307. (continued)

a

men,

a

men,

a

men,

3

perdendo

a

men,

a perdendo

a

men,

a perdendo

a

men,

a

perdendo

3

❧


393

394

❧


P307. (continued)

men.

men.

men.

P308. Liszt, Marche funèbre (1882), end.

P309. Liszt, Organ Mass (1879), Credo, end.

ritenuto

P310. Liszt, Dante Symphony (1856), end.

hal le

lu

ja!

❧


395

396

❧


P311. Liszt, St. Cecilia (1845–74), final line. Moderato solenne, ma non Lento

riten.

du

haut

des

cieux.

❧


P312. Liszt, Pater Noster (1879), end.

nem. Sed

li

be ra

nos

a

ma

lo.

A

men.

P313. Liszt, “Herr, wie lange” (1858).

wohl

an

mir

ge

than.

wohl

an

mir

ge

than.

wohl

an

mir

ge

than. 8va

397

398

❧


P314. Liszt, Missa solemnis (1858), Sanctus, end.

ho ho

cel

sis

ho

san

cel

sis

ho

san

cel

sis

ho

san

cel

sis

ho

san

perdendosi

P314. (continued)

san san

na! na!

na!

na!

na!

na! 8va

P315. Wagner, Lohengrin (1848), Prelude to Act 1, end. 8va

8va

❧


399

400

❧


P316. Gounod, Messe solennelle #4 in G minor (1888), end.

cem,

do

na

no

bis,

do

na

cem,

do

na

no

bis,

do

na

cem,

do

na

no

bis,

do

na

cem,

do

pa

cem.

pa

cem.

pa

cem.

pa

cem.

na

no

bis

P317. Gounod, Messe brève in C major (1877), Gloria, end.

De

us,

Rex

coe le

stis,

De us

Pa ter o mni

po

tens.

De

us,

Rex

coe le

stis,

De us

Pa ter o mni

po

tens.

stis, De us, De us

Pa ter o mni

po

tens.

us, Rex coe le

P318. Gounod, Requiem (1893), “Pie Jesu,” end.

A

men.

A

A

men.

A

men.

men.

❧


401

402

❧


P319. Bruckner, Psalm 150 (1892), end.

Ha

le

lu

Ha

le

lu

Ha

le

lu

Ha

le

lu

8va

3

3

3

ja!

Hal

ja!

Hal

ja!

Hal

ja!

Hal 8va

3

3

3

❧


P319. (continued)

le

lu

le

lu

le

lu

le

lu

3

3

3

ja!

ja!

ja!

ja! 8va

3

3

3

403

404

❧


P320. Fauré, Messe basse (1881), end. sempre

pa

cem,

do

no

bis,

do

na

na

no

bis,

do na sempre

no

bis,

no

bis,

do

no

bis,

na

sempre

do

na

pa

do

na

pa

cem,

cem,

do

na

pa

cem.

do

na

pa

cem.

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P321. Puccini, Messa di Gloria (1880), “Et incarnatus est,” end. cresc.

et

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

ho

mo

fa

ctus

est.

cresc.

et

ho cresc.

et cresc.

et cresc.

et

cresc.

P322. Beethoven, Missa Solemnis (1823), “Dona,” mm. 26–31.

S. cem, do

na

no

bis pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

na

no

bis

pa

cem,

A. cem,

do

T. cem,

do

B. cem, do

405

406

❧


P323. Liszt, Adagio for organ (1867), end.

P324. Berlioz, Requiem (1837), Sanctus, beginning. Andante sostenuto

San

ctus, san

ctus,

san

ctus, san

ctus

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P325. Liszt, Requiem (1868), “Pie Jesu,” end. T. I re

qui

em,

do

na

e

is

re

qui

em,

do

na

e

is

re

qui

em,

do

na

e

is

re

qui

em,

do

na

e

is

T. II

B. I

B. II

Org.

T. I re

qui

em.

A

men.

re

qui

em.

A

men.

re

qui

em.

A

men.

re

qui

em.

A

men.

T. II

B. I

B. II

Org.

407

408

❧


P326. Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Resurrexit,” m. 357.

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

Ho

san

na

P327. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), Gloria, end.

A

men,

A

A

men,

A

A

men,

A

A

men,

A

Adagio

men,

A

men.

men,

A

men.

men,

A

men.

men,

A

men.

❧


409

410

❧


P328. Gounod, Faust (1859), IV/19, “Apotheosis,” m. 9.

Christ

est res sus

ci

té!

Christ vient de re naî

tre!

Christ

est res sus

ci

té!


tre!

Christ

est res sus

ci

té!


tre!

3

3

❧


P329. Liszt, Requiem (1868), “Libera me.” dolce

Re

qui em ae

ter

nam

do

na

e

is,

Do

mi ne:

ter

nam

do

na

e

is,

Do

mi ne:

ter

nam

do

na

e

is,

Do

mi ne:

qui em ae

ter

nam

do

na

e

is,

Do

mi ne:

et

lux per

pe

tu a

lu

ce

at

e

is.

et

lux per

pe

tu a

lu

ce

at

e

is.

et

lux per

pe

tu a

lu

ce

at

e

is.

et

lux per

pe

tu a

lu

ce

at

e

is.

dolce

Re

qui em ae

dolce

Re

qui em ae

dolce

Re

411

412

❧


P330. Liszt, St. Cecilia (1845–74), end. 8va

8va

❧


413

P331. Liszt, Missa Choralis (1859–65), Kyrie. crescendo

son,

e

le

i

son,

e

le

i

crescendo

son,

e crescendo

le

i

son,

e

le

i

son,

e crescendo

le

i

son,

e

le

i

son,

e

le

i

son,

e

crescendo

son,

son,

e

le

i

son!

son,

e

le

i

son!

son,

e

le

i

son!

e

le

i

son!

le

i

414

❧


P332. Liszt, Missa Choralis (1859–65), “Christe.” G.P.

a

men,

a

men.

a

men.

a

men.

a

men.

G.P.

a

men, G.P.

a

men, G.P.

a

men, G.P.

P333. Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “The Beatitudes.” più ritenuto

Be

a

ti,

Be

a

ti, Be

a

unis.

rum,

re

gnum coe lo

rum,

re

gnum coe lo

rum.

rum,

re

gnum coe lo unis.

rum,

re

gnum coe lo

rum.

rum,

re

gnum coe lo

rum,

re

gnum coe lo

rum.

rum,

re

gnum

coe

lo

rum.

❧


415

P334. Liszt, “Herr, wie lange” (1858).

wohl

an

mir

ge

than.

wohl

an

mir

ge

than.

wohl

an

mir

ge

than. 8va

P335. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), Introduction, 23 from end. poco riten.

3

3

3

3

3

416

❧


P336. Liszt, “Mein Gott” (1861).

mein

Gott,

❧


P337. Saint-Saëns, Mass, op. 4 (1856), “Quoniam,” beginning. Poco allegro

Récit.

(più tosto moderato)

Quo

sanc

ni am

tu

so

lus

417

❧

418


P338. Fauré, Requiem (1877), “In paradisum.” (© 1977 by C. F. Peters Corporation. Used by permission.) Andante moderato

dolce

S. pa

In C.

T.

B. sim.

dolce

4 S. di

sum

7 S. de

du

cant

An

ge

li:

ra

❧


419

P338. (continued) sempre

10 S.

in

tu

o

ad

ven

ty

res,

tu

13 S. sci

16

pi ant

te

Mar

sempre dolce

S. et

per du

cant

te

su

❧

420


P338. (continued) 19 S. in

ci

vi

ta tem

san

ctam

Je

ru

sa

C.

T. Je B. Je

22

cresc.

S. lem,

Je

ru

sa

lem,

Je

C. cresc. T. ru

sa

lem,

Je

ru

sa

Je

ru

sa

cresc. B. ru

sa

lem,

❧


P338. (continued) 25 S. ru

sa

lem,

Je

C. Je

ru

T. lem,

Je

ru

lem,

Je

ru

B.

28 S. ru

sa

lem.

sa

lem.

C.

T. sa

lem.

sa

lem.

B.

421

❧

422


P338. (continued) 31

dolce

S. Cho

rus

An

ge

lo

rum

34 S. te

su sci

pi

at,

et

cum

37 S. La

za

ro

quon

dam

pau

pe

❧


423

P338. (continued) 40 S. re,

43

et

cum

La

za

ro

cresc.

S. quon

dam

pau

pe re

ae

ter

nam

cresc.

46 S. ha

be

as

re

qui

C. re

qui

re

qui

re

qui

T.

B.

❧

424


P338. (continued) 49 S. em,

ae

C. em, T. em, B. em,

52 S. ter

nam

ha

be

C. ae

ter

nam

ha

be

ae

ter

nam

ha

be

ae

ter

nam

ha

be

T.

B.

P338. (continued) 55 S. as

re

as

re

as

re

as

re

C.

T.

B.

58 S. qui

em.

qui

em.

qui

em.

qui

em.

C.

T.

B.

❧


425

426

❧


P339. Liszt, Missa Choralis (1859–65), Kyrie, beginning. Andante

Ky

Ky

ri

e

e

le

i

ri

son,

e

P340. Liszt, Missa Choralis, “Christe,” beginning. Un poco più moderato dolce

Chri

ste

e

le

i

son,

ste

e

le

i

son,

ste

e

le

i

son,

ste

e

le

i

son,

dolce

Chri dolce

dolce espressivo

Chri

Chri

P341. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), leitmotif at beginning. Andante moderato

dolcissimo

e

le

P342. Liszt, Am Grabe Richard Wagners (1883), end.

perdendo

P343. Wagner, Parsifal (1881), I, end.

❧


427

428

❧


P344. Wagner, Die Walküre (1856), III/3, Brünnhilde’s sleep, end. (Er wendet sich langsam zum Gehen.)

8va

dolce

(8va)

più

(8va)

sempre più

(Er wendet sich nochmals mit dem Haupt un blickt zurück.)

(8va)

(8va)

P344. (continued) (8va)

(Er verschwindet durch das Feuer.)

(8va)

più

(Vorhang fällt.)

(8va)

❧


429

430

❧


P345. Liszt, Les Morts (1860). Heu - reux les morts

qui meurent dans le Seigneur! 8va

legatissimo

sempre tenuto

P346. Liszt, Faust Symphony (1861), i, third Faust theme. Grandioso, poco meno mosso

3

3

3

marcato

3

3

3

3

3

P347. Liszt, St. Cecilia (1845–74), verse 3.

Sain

te

est

la

pa

Cé

ci

tron

ne

le

des

in

spi

res.

P348. Liszt, Christus (1866–72), “Hirtengesang an der Krippe,” beginning. tranquillo

ten.

dim.

rall.

smorz.

❧


431

P349. Liszt, “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” (1882), m. 120.

dim.

Coro

Solo

P350. Liszt, Hungarian Coronation Mass (1869), “Hosanna.”

cel

sis

ho

san

na

in

ex cel sis

cel

sis

ho

san

na

in

ex cel sis

cel

sis

ho

san

na

in

ex cel sis

cel

sis

ho

san

na

in

ex cel sis

cel

sis

ho

san na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

cel

sis ho

san

na

ho

san na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

cel

sis ho

san

na

ho

san na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

cel

sis ho

san

na

ho

san na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

432

❧


Coro

Solo

P350. (continued)

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

san

na

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

san

na

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

sis

ho

san

na

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

sis

san

na

ho

san

na

in

ex

cel

sis

P351. Liszt, “Es rufet Gott uns mahnend” (1845), beginning. Marziale

ten.

ten.

P352. Liszt, “Die Himmel erzählen” (1860), initial orchestral tutti.

❧


433

434

❧


P353. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), “Et vitam venturi,” end.

Et

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li,

et

Et

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li,

et

Et

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li,

et

Et

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li,

et

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li.

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li.

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li.

vi

tam

ven

tu

ri

sae

cu

li.

❧


P353. (continued) cresc.

A

men,

A

men,

A cresc.

A

men,

A

men,

A cresc.

A

men,

A

men,

A cresc.

A

men,

A

men,

A

cresc.

dim.

men. dim.

men. dim.

men. dim.

men.

dim.

435

436

❧


P354. Fauré, “Une Sainte en son auréole” (1894), beginning. Allegretto con moto

dolce

U

Sainte en son au ré

o

le,

U

ne cha te

laine en

ne

sa

❧


P355. Suk, Asrael (1906), op. 27, 13mm. from end. I

sempre legato

I Fl. II a 2 perdendosi Cl. I in A II sempre legato div. Vn. I

div. Vn. II

div. Vla

I II Vc. Solo III IV

437

438

❧


P356. Bruckner, Te Deum (1884), “In te, Domine, speravi,” mm. 55–64. poco a poco cresc.

te

Do

mi

ne

spe

poco a poco cresc.

Do

mi

dar,

ne,

non

Do

con

fun

mi

dar,

poco a poco cresc.

ter

num,

non

con

fun

dar in

ae

ter

num,

non

con

poco a poco cresc.

cresc. sempre

ra

vi,

spe

ra

ne,

vi,

Do

non con

fun

spe

ra

mi

ne,

dar,

non con marc.

fun

dar

in

ae

ter

num,

in

ae

ter

cresc.

non

fun

con

dar

❧


439

P356. (continued)

vi:

fun dar in ae ter

in

ae

ter

num,

non

num,

num, non

dim.

non

con

fun

dar

con

fun

in

440

❧


P357. Gounod, St. Cecilia Mass (1855), final Amens.

cem.

A

men,

A

men,

cem.

A

men,

A

men,

cem.

A

men,

A

men,

cem.

A

men,

A

men,

cresc. molto

dim.

cresc. molto

men. dim.

cresc. molto

men. dim.

cresc. molto

men. dim.

A

A

A

A

men.

cresc. molto

dim.

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P358. Liszt, Faust Symphony (1861), i, misterioso. Meno mosso, misterioso e molto tranquillo 6 6

6

6

dolce 6

6

6 6

6

P359. Liszt, O Sacrum Convivium (1885).

et

fu tu

rae

glo

ri ae

no

bis pi

gnus

et

fu tu

rae

glo

ri ae

no

bis pi

gnus

da

tur

da

tur

dim.

441

442

❧


P360. Liszt, Sposalizio (1838–61), m. 120.

8va

poco a poco riten. e smorz.

P361. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), “Miracle of the Roses.”

P362. Liszt, St. Cecilia (1845–74), first verse. a tempo

dolce

P363. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), II/5, Elisabeth’s death prayer, m. 42. poco rit.

ja,

a tempo

rall.

ich kom me bald!

P364. Liszt, St. Elisabeth (1862), Elisabeth’s prayer for her homeland.

lan

des

Au

en!

cresc.

❧


443

444

❧


P365. Liszt, Ossa arida (1879), end.

T. B. Au

di

des

Herrn

te

ver

bum,

ver

Wort,

des

Hern

Sei

gneur,

T. B.

T. B. le

sempre

sempre

ver

be

du

❧


445

P365. (continued)

T. B. bum

Do

mi

ni,

ver

bum

Do

T. B. Wort,

des

Herrn

T. B. le

ver

be

du

446

❧


P365. (continued) T. B. mi

ni!

T. B. Wort! T. B. Sei

gneur!

un poco ritenuto

un poco ritenuto

P366. Liszt, “Ordo” from Septem Sacramenta (1884).

sempre

❧


447

P367. Liszt, “Invocation” from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (1848), mm. 52–59. grandioso

6

con forza

6

6

con forza

6

P368. Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 (1846), mm. 30–31. con forza

P369. Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 (1846), m. 66.

6

6

6

6

448

❧


P370. Parish-Alvars, The Farewell, op. 68 (⫽Romance #20) (1846). 3

2

1

+

3

2

1

+

8va

legato

P371. Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin (1846), m. 74.

B les arpèges

F

P372. Parish-Alvars, Fantasia, op. 35 (1838), 6 before Andantino.

con forza

17

❧


449

P373. Parish-Alvars, Grande Fantaisie et variations de bravoure, op. 57 (1843), m. 14.

legato

P374. Parish-Alvars, Tema con variazioni, WoO PA1 (1834), m. 78.

450

❧


P375. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58 (1843), mm. 31–32.

ben marcato il canto

8va

loco

8va

P376. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini (posthumous; 1850), 11 after L’istesso tempo. 8va

P377. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini (posthumous; 1850), m. 19. 8va

25

❧


451

P378. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58 (1843), m. 33. loco

8va

loco

8va

P379. Parish-Alvars, Fantasia, op. 35 (1838), 51 after Allegro con fuoco. (G )

19

(D ) (B ) glissando

19

glissando

P380. Parish-Alvars, Scenes from My Youth, op. 75 (1845), “Gipsies’ March,” mm. 59–61. 8va

cresc.

452

❧


P381. Parish-Alvars, Fantasia on Themes from Weber’s “Oberon,” op. 59 (1842).

carezzando

gliss. F

35

8va loco

37

P382. Parish-Alvars, Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58 (1843), 5 after a Tempo. 8va

sostenuto cresc.

(8va) loco

glissando

P383. Parish-Alvars, La Danse des fées (1844), 26 after Allegro. 8va loco

sdrucciolando

E G

P384. Parish-Alvars, Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin (1846), end. 8va

8va

sdrucciolando

❧


453

454

❧


P385. Parish-Alvars, Serenade, op. 83 (1846), end.

31

8va

sdrucciolando

30

(E )

(8va)

32

(A )

P386. Reinecke, Harp Concerto (1885), i, 3 after reh. C. 8va

B

F

❧


455

P387. Rimsky-Korsakov, La Grande Pâque russe (1888), 10 after reh. D (harp and clarinet only). solo

15

15

cresc.

15

15

P388. Thalberg, Nocturne, op. 16 #1 (1836), mm. 34–35. 8va

cresc.

loco

456

❧


P389. Thalberg, Fantasy on Il Trovatore, op. 77 (1862), beginning. Andante 8va

8va

6

6

leggerissimo

6

(8va)

8va

6

(8va)

6 6

8va

P390. Thalberg, Andante Final de “Lucia di Lamermoor,” op. 43 (1842), end. 8va

8va

precipitato

8va

P391. Thalberg, Fantasy on Don Juan, op. 42 (1842), mm. 39–40.

cresc.

❧


457

458

❧


P392. Thalberg, Fantasy on Oberon, op. 37 (1840), 39 after cantabile. leggiero

10

13

P393. Chopin, Nocturne, op. 9 #3 (1832), end. 8va

dim.

Adagio legatissimo

rall.

smorz.

8va

rall.

P394. Chopin, Etude, op. 10 #5 (1832), end.

8va

cresc.

(8va)

8va

P395. Chopin, Introduction and Rondo, op. 16 (1833), end. 8va

smorzando

(8va)

❧


459

460

❧


P396. Chopin, Etude, op. 25 #5 (1837), end.

P397. Chopin, Nocturne, op. 62 #2 (1846), mm. 25–26.

P398. Chopin, Rondo, op. 73 (1828), end. 8va

8va

(8va)

sempre (8va)

8va

❧


461

462

❧


P399. Liszt, Transcendental Etude #1 (1840), end. Non troppo presto

legatissimo

8va

8va

cresc.

(cresc. sempre)

8va

5

poco rallentando

❧


P400. Liszt, Transcendental Etude #6 (1840), end. 8va

rinf.

dim.

18

12 12

12

6

12

12

6

cresc. molto 36

8va 6

18

6 36

6

6

36

6

6

463

464

❧


P401. Liszt, Transcendental Etude #9 (1851), end. 8va

34

3

8va

25

8va

(8va)

8va

sempre più

(8va)

5

5

dolcissimo

smorz.

❧


465

P402. Liszt, Ballade #1 (1849), m. 45. 8va

leggierissimo

(8va)

smorz.

ritardando

P403. Liszt, Ballade #2 (autograph ending) (1853), end. 8va

(con 8va bassa) 8va

466

❧


P404. Liszt, Consolation #3 (1850), mm. 22–23.

P405. Liszt, Consolation #3 (1850), end. 8va

(8va) rit.

perdendosi

P406. Liszt, Rigoletto (concert paraphrase) (1855), m. 47. 8va

a tempo

il canto ben marcato ed espressivo dolce

(8va)

❧


467

468

❧


P407. Liszt, Rigoletto (concert paraphrase) (1855), end. 8va

8va

8va accelerando

cresc.

a tempo 3

3

3 3

8va

P408. Fauré, Pièces brèves, op. 84 (1869–1902) #7, “Allégresse,” beginning. Allegro giocoso

leggiero

3

3

3

3

3

3

❧


469

470

❧


P409. Fauré, Nocturne, op. 33 #2 (1875), end. Allegro moderato

8va

8va

8va

8va

8va

❧

catalogue of pentatonic examples P410. Fauré, Barcarolle, op. 44 (1886), mm. 66–68. a tempo

P411. Lyadov, Etude, op. 37 (1895), beginning. Con moto 5

5

dolce

5

P412. Cui, Prelude in A major, op. 64 #17 (1903), mm. 16–18. poco accel. rit. molto

a tempo

471

472

❧


P413. Franck, Piano Trio in F minor, op. 1 #1 (1842), Finale, mm. 25–36.

❧


P414. Debussy, “Feux d’artifice,” from Préludes, book 2 #12 (1913), mm. 17–18. 8va

glissando

8va

P415. Ravel, Jeux d’eau (1901), m. 48. 8va

8va long

10

10

(8va)

glissando

473

474

❧


P416. Ravel, Gaspard de la nuit (1908), i, “Ondine,” mm. 74–75.

sempre

3

glissando

au Mouvement (Un peu plus lent qu’au début) 8va 6

glissando

3

6

6

Notes Introduction 1 Jacques Chailley, Formation et transformation du langage musical, vol. 1, Intervalles et échelles (Paris: Centre de documentation universitaire, 1955), 111. See also Percy Scholes, rev. Judith Nagley, “Scale,” in The New Oxford Companion to Music, ed. Denis Arnold, 2 vols., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983): 2:1622; Lajos Bárdos, “Natural Tonal Systems,” in Studia memoriae Belae Bartók sacra, ed. Benjamin Rajeczky, 3rd ed., 207–46 (New York: Boosey and Hawkes, 1959). 2 Stanley Sadie, ed., “Pentatonic,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 1980), 14:354. In the revised edition, I was able to redress the deficiencies of the prior edition; my entry alludes to many of the results of this book (Jeremy Day-O’Connell, “Pentatonic,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell, 19:315–17 [London: Macmillan, 2001]). 3 These assumptions are made more explicit by David Beveridge: “For Dvor¤ák, as for Moussorgsky, Debussy, and other composers of diverse lineage in the late nineteenth century, pentatonicism with its related techniques opened up new creative possibilities” (“Sophisticated Primitivism: The Significance of Pentatonicism in Dvor¤ák’s American Quartet,” Current Musicology 24 [1977]: 35). Most egregiously, the rosters of representative composers in New Grove and Beveridge are typical in their omission of Liszt, one of the most enterprising pentatonicists of the entire century. 4 Jacques Chailley cites a dozen or so pentatonic passages from Chopin, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Moussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Fauré, and more from Dvor¤ák, Debussy, Ravel, and a handful of twentieth-century composers (Formation et transformation, 111–28). He is wrong, however, to have singled out Chopin’s “black-key” Etude, op. 10 #5, as the vanguard of this pentatonic “renaissance,” and he fails to recognize the substantial category of the religious pentatonic. 5 Ibid., 128. 6 Bruno Nettl, The Study of Ethnomusicology: Twenty-Nine Issues and Concepts (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1983), 42. 7 Sin-Yan Shen, Chinese Music and Orchestration (Chicago: Chinese Music Society, 1991), 3; Francis Collinson, “Scotland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 1980), 17:70. 8 Traˆ n Van Khe, “Is the Pentatonic Universal? A Few Reflections on Pentatonicism,” World of Music 19, nos. 1–2 (1977): 83. 9 Chang-Yang Kuo, “The Pentatonic Characteristics of Chinese Folk Melodies,” in Proceedings of the Second Asian Pacific Music Conference, 25 November–2 December 1976, Taipei, Republic of China, ed. Dong Whan Lee, 18–21 (Seoul: Cultural and Social Centre for the Asian and Pacific Region, 1977); William Malm, Six Hidden Views of Japanese Music

476

❧

notes to pages 2–7

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 39; Martin Hatch, “Slendro,” in The New Harvard Dictionary of Music, ed. Don Randel, 753 (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1986). Bence Szabolcsi has consequently advanced the notion of pentatonic styles, represented throughout the world by six large musical regions (A History of Melody [London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1965]). 10 Such nomenclature is routinely adopted with respect to other more strongly five-note traditions as well, for instance the Javanese. 11 Strictly speaking, “diatonic” and “chromatic” refer to genera, which is to say, interval structures, whereas the corresponding terms “heptatonic” and “dodecaphonic” refer to note count per se. By contrast, the term “pentatonic” must serve both functions. 12 The minor pentatonic appears to be important in the music of early twentieth-century composers such as Bartók and Stravinsky. Bartók and Kodály discovered its substantial use in native Hungarian music. See Béla Bartók, Béla Bartók Studies in Ethnomusicology, ed. Benjamin Suchoff (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997); and Zoltan Kodály, “Pentatonicism in Hungarian Folk Music,” trans. Stephen Erdely, Ethnomusicology 14, no. 2 (May 1970 [1917]), 228–42. 13 Respectively, John Clough and Jack Douthett, “Maximally Even Sets,” Journal of Music Theory 35, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Fall 1991): 163; David Huron, “Interval-Class Content in Equally Tempered Pitch-Class Sets: Common Scales Exhibit Optimum Tonal Consonance,” Music Perception 11, no. 3 (Spring 1994): 300; and Scholes, “Scale” (1983): 1622. Leonard Bernstein, without support, further declared this particular collection “humanity’s favorite pentatonic scale” (The Unanswered Question [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976]: 29). 14 Some of these have been summarized in Carol Krumhansl, Cognitive Foundations of Musical Pitch (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 275–76. 15 Carl Dahlhaus, Studies on the Origin of Harmonic Tonality, trans. Robert O. Gjerdingen (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 172. This condition is equivalent to that of “well-formedness,” formulated by Norman Carey and David Clampitt, “Regions: A Theory of Tonal Spaces in Early Medieval Treatises,” Journal of Music Theory 40, no. 1 (Spring 1996): 133. Eytan Agmon’s “coherence,” a similar but weaker condition, is also satisfied (“Coherent Tone-Systems: A Study in the Theory of Diatonicism,” Journal of Music Theory 40, no. 1 [Spring 1996]: 43). 16 Clough and Douthett, “Maximally Even.” 17 Huron, “Interval-Class Content.” 18 Robert Gauldin, “The Cycle-7 Complex: Relations of Diatonic Set Theory to the Evolution of Ancient Tonal Systems,” Music Theory Spectrum 5 (1983): 39–55. 19 Paul Zweifel, “Generalized Diatonic and Pentatonic Scales,” Perspectives of New Music 34, no. 1 (Winter 1996): 142. 20 See Robert Innis, ed., Semiotics: An Introductory Anthology (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), and especially Ferdinand de Saussure, “The Linguistic Sign,” 24–46, and Charles Peirce, “Logic as Semiotic: The Theory of Signs,” 1–23; Wilson Coker, Music and Meaning: A Theoretical Introduction to Musical Aesthetics (New York: Free Press, 1972), 1; and Raymond Monelle, Linguistics and Semantics in Music (Philadelphia: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1992). Charles Morris is quoted in Coker, Music and Meaning, 1. 21 Gennaro Chierchia and Sally McConnell-Ginet, Meaning and Grammar: An Introduction to Semantics, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000), 5. 22 Coker, Music and Meaning, 31.

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477

Chapter One 1 Walter Kaufmann, The Ragas of North India (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1968), 3, 404. 2 Harold S. Powers et al., “Mode,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 16:776. 3 The most recent such studies include John Clough, Nora Engebretsen, and Jonathan Kochavi, “Scales, Sets, and Interval Cycles: A Taxonomy,” Music Theory Spectrum 21, no. 1 (1999): 74–104; René van Egmond and David Butler, “Diatonic Connotations of PitchClass Sets,” Music Perception 15 (Fall 1997): 1–29; Eytan Agmon, “Coherent Tone-Systems: A Study in the Theory of Diatonicism,” Journal of Music Theory 40, no. 1 (Spring 1996): 39–59; Norman Carey and David Clampitt, “Regions: A Theory of Tonal Spaces in Early Medieval Treatises,” Journal of Music Theory 40, no. 1 (Spring 1996): 113–47; David Huron, “Interval-Class Content in Equally Tempered Pitch-Class Sets: Common Scales Exhibit Optimum Tonal Consonance,” Music Perception 11, no. 3 (Spring 1994), 289–305; George Hajdu, “Low Energy and Equal Spacing: The Multifactorial Evolution of Tuning Systems,” Interface 22, no. 4 (November 1993): 319–33; Jay Rahn, “Coordination of Interval Sizes in Seven-Tone Collections,” Journal of Music Theory 35, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Fall 1991): 33–60; John Clough and Jack Douthett, “Maximally Even Sets,” Journal of Music Theory 35, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Fall 1991): 93–173. 4 I paraphrase the title of William Kinderman and Harald Krebs, eds., The Second Practice of Nineteenth-Century Tonality (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996). 5 A good overview of hexachordal thinking, particularly as regards the significance of its solmization syllables, is given in Lionel Pike, Hexachords in Late-Renaissance Music (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 1998). 6 Equivalently, hexachords “have the function of representing the range within which coincide the surrounding intervals of fifth-related tones.” Carl Dahlhaus, Studies on the Origin of Harmonic Tonality, trans. Robert O. Gjerdingen (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 172. 7 See compositions in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book (#51, #101, #118, #215) and Burton’s Missa Ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la. Pike mentions other pieces as well in Hexachords, 192–210. 8 Johann Joseph Fux, for one, insisted upon the hexachord, and the system formed the basis of Haydn’s choirboy education under Fux’s successor Georg Reutter (not under Fux himself, pace Joel Lester, Compositional Theory in the Eighteenth Century [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992], 171). Walter Schenkman has described vestiges of the hexachordal orientation in Baroque music in “The Influence of Hexachordal Thinking in the Organization of Bach’s Fugue Subjects,” Bach: The Quarterly Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute 7, no. 3 (July 1976): 7–16. 9 Daniel Harrison surveys this issue in Harmonic Function in Chromatic Music: A Renewed Dualist Theory and an Account of Its Precedents (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 73–126. 10 Jean-Phillipe Rameau, Génération harmonique (Paris: Prault fils, 1737), 65, example VI. 11 Ibid., 66. 12 Johann David Heinichen, Der Generalbass in der Komposition (Hildesheim and New York: G. Olms, 1969 [1728]), 745. Christoph Schröter’s octave is similarly disposed, as is Francesco Gasparini’s. In contrast, Mattheson gives the straightforward 1–8 version that has become the standard “rule of the octave”—unsurprisingly, considering his outspoken opposition to hexachords. See F. T. Arnold, The Art of Accompaniment from a Thorough-Bass (London: Oxford University Press, 1931).

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13 Moritz Hauptmann, The Nature of Harmony and Metre, trans. and ed. W. E. Heathcote (London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1893 [1853]), 34–38. 14 Richard Schwartz, “An Annotated English Translation of Harmonielehre of Rudolf Louis and Ludwig Thuille” (PhD diss., Washington University, 1982), 47. 15 John Curwen, The Teacher’s Manual of the Tonic Sol-Fa Method, ed. Leslie Hewitt (Clarabricken, Ireland: Boethius Press, 1986 [1875]), 114. 16 John Curwen, Standard Course of Lessons and Exercises in the Tonic-Sol-Fa Method of Teaching Music (London: Tonic Sol-Fa Agency, 1880), reproduced in Bernarr Rainbow, “Tonic Sol-Fa,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 25:606. The Kodály pedagogy employs these same signals. 17 Simon Sechter, The Correct Order of Fundamental Harmonies, trans. C. C. Müller (New York: Pond, 1880 [1853]), 22. 18 Schwartz, “Translation of Harmonielehre,” 194. 19 F.-J. Fétis, Traité complet de la théorie et de la pratique de l’harmonie, 4th ed. (Paris: Brandus, 1849), 2. 20 See, respectively, Robert Gauldin, Harmonic Practice in Tonal Music (New York: Norton, 1997), 34 (also Edward Aldwell and Carl Schachter, Harmony and Voice Leading, 2nd ed. [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1989], 9); Yizhak Sadai, Harmony in Its Systematic and Phenomenological Aspects, trans. J. Davis and M. Shlesinger (Jerusalem: Yanetz, 1980), 3; and William Mitchell, Elementary Harmony, 3rd ed. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1965), 6. Although all writers agree on the stepwise dependency of active tones upon stable tones, the precise characterization of that dependency varies. Sadai, paraphrased in example 1.4, offers the simplest model, which is confirmed by Fred Lerdahl’s algorithm for calculating melodic “attraction.” Sadai, Harmony, 4; Lerdahl, Tonal Pitch Space (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 163. William Drabkin differs only in his additional inclusion of an upward tendency for 2. “Degree,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 7:138. Gauldin (Harmonic Practice, 35) and Aldwell and Schachter (Harmony, 9) further complexify the model with an upward-tending 4 and the inclusion of motion from 5 to 8; this latter motion will be taken up presently. Steve Larson also characterizes melodic tendencies in terms of a triumvirate of forces: “gravity,” “magnetism,” and “inertia” in “ScaleDegree Function: A Theory of Expressive Meaning and Its Application to Aural-Skills Pedagogy,” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 7 (1993): 69–84. 21 Heinrich Schenker, Free Composition, trans. Ernst Oster (New York: Schirmer, 1979 [1935]), 30. See also his Counterpoint, trans. John Rothgeb and Jürgen Thym (New York: Schirmer, 1987 [1910]): part 1, p. 94; part 2, p. 58. 22 Riemann continues, “Leaps are not, indeed, excluded in melody . . . but they entail subsequent complete or at least, partial, filling up of the gaps by means of single-step progressions”; see his Harmony Simplified, or The Theory of the Tonal Functions of Chords, trans. H. Bewerunge (London: Augener, 1896 [1893]), 18. See also Robert Wason, Viennese Harmonic Theory from Albrechtsberger to Schenker and Schoenberg (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985), 70. 23 Paul Hindemith, The Craft of Musical Composition, trans. Arthur Mendel (New York: Associated Music Publishers, 1942), 188. 24 Allen Forte, Tonal Harmony in Concept and Practice, 2nd ed. (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1974), 12. 25 Such “tonal gravity” clearly underlies the melodic descent of Schenker’s three Urlinien, the necessity of which, however, has been questioned by David Neumeyer in “The Ascending Urlinie,” Journal of Music Theory 31, no. 2 (Fall 1987): 274–303.

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26 Victor Zuckerkandl, Sound and Symbol, trans. Willard Trask (New York: Pantheon, 1956), 98. 27 The gravitational metaphor, as applied to stepwise dynamics, thus resolves a difficulty observed by Carol Krumhansl, that of depicting temporal ordering in visual-spatial models of pitch-space. Cognitive Foundations of Musical Pitch (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 111. 28 Lerdahl’s complete space contains an additional level comprising only 1 and 5; this “fifth” level is omitted in his discussions of melody. See his Tonal Pitch Space, 47. 29 It will be noticed that I use “subdominant” to refer to a family of chords: ii, IV, and their mixture versions. (I eschew the term “pre-dominant” as a chordal designation in order to avoid confusion in the many instances in which I describe plagal progressions, i.e., pre-tonic uses of these chords.) 30 6–7, both with and without the registral shift, may contain structural significance. Neumeyer, “Ascending Urlinie.” 31 V. Kofi Agawu, Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 23. 32 Deryck Cooke, The Language of Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959): 154. This oft-cited work offers many such interpretations of scale degrees and their combinations, but it lacks the sort of explanatory grounding provided in my chapters 2 and 3. 33 This coda does not appear in the first complete draft of the symphony (which ends some twenty measures earlier), and in fact, the corresponding theme of “religious consolation” does not appear in the earliest versions of the program. Liszt’s widely circulated piano transcription of 1833 and an undated program leaflet (no later than 1834) are the first surviving indications of this Religiosamente, which was most likely added for a performance of December 1832. See editor Nicholas Temperley’s critical notes to Hector Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique, vol. 16 of New Edition of the Complete Works (Kassel: Barenreiter, 1972), 204, ix. This historically significant cadence was preceded, though just barely, in Berlioz’s own oeuvre by two minor works: his Rob Roy (composed 1831, performed 1833, rejected and unpublished in the composer’s lifetime) and his song “Hélène” (composed 1829, published 1830) contain two other early 6–8 cadences (see P226 and P231). 34 A. B. Marx, Theory and Practice of Musical Composition, trans. and ed. Herrman S. Saroni (New York: Mason Brothers, 1852 [1837]), 290–91. The inner voices of the cadences in table 1.1 likewise all display classical voice leading, with the single exception of the fivevoice Handel anthem HWV 251a. 35 The list in table 1.2 could be lengthened greatly with the inclusion of twentiethcentury and popular musics. 36 “Whatever else may be happening in a plagal cadence, one can be sure that the 6–5 connection is being made.” Harrison, Harmonic Function, 91. 37 With respect to the behavior of 6, hexatonic space (1–2–3–4–5–6–8) is also a viable model. The 6–8 “step,” after all, embodies the chief distinction of both spaces, as the pentatonic’s 3–5 already exists in the realm of triadic space. It is important to note, however, as have Dahlhaus (Harmonic Tonality, 172) and others, that pentatonic space alone constitutes a system per se, owing to the hexatonic’s “self-contradictory” disposition of step sizes. See my Introduction. 38 The improbability of the succession 6–8 is attested to by Donald Tovey, writing on its appearance in the main theme of the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony #5: “Great harmonic distinction is given to this theme by its first note. Those who misremember it as B [i.e., 5] will learn a useful lesson in style when they come to notice that this note is C and not B.” Essays in Musical Analysis, vol. 1, Symphonies and Other Orchestral Works, new ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 514.

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39 This distinctive harmonization of the Dresden Amen reflects Mahler’s peculiar sensitivity to the quasi-Gregorian theme. See chapter 3. 40 The ossia in example 1.24 is my transcription from Scott Joplin, “The Entertainer” (Biograph BCD101, 1987). Samuel A. Floyd Jr. and Marsha J. Reisser have proposed an African origin for ragtime pentatonicism. “The Sources and Resources of Classic Ragtime Music,” Black Music Research Journal (1984): 51. 41 Echoes of non-classical 6 resound throughout the twentieth century, for instance in sentimental popular songs like Richard Rodgers’ “Blue Moon,” with its final 6–8 cadence. The nineteenth-century pedigree, however, is often overshadowed by more direct influences from folk and popular musics. See my Afterword. 42 The term is Deborah Stein’s, whose discussion of the subdominant, however, fails to consider the possibility of 6–8. “The Expansion of the Subdominant in the Late Nineteenth Century,” Journal of Music Theory 27, no. 2 (Fall 1983): 166. 6 43 The less common ii(5) –I / 2–1 does contain melodic motion to the tonic, albeit parallel motion; more often the upward “resolution,” 2–3 will occur. 44 “This resolution [7–8] could itself imply a harmonic progression V–I; for this reason the leading note may be thought of as the most characteristic melodic scale degree.” Stanley Sadie, “Leading Note,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Sadie and John Tyrrell, 14:418 (London: Macmillan, 2001). Admittedly, even 7–8 tolerates a seemingly “mixed” chord such as viiø43 or viio43 (as discussed in the Dvo¤rák below), but in general, cadential 7–8 presupposes dominant-tonic motion. 45 Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 140. 46 For another salient, unharmonized 6–8, see the end of the Sanctus of Liszt’s Hungarian Coronation Mass (P303). 47 See also Rimsky-Korsakov, Fairy Tale, in Sadko (P255). 48 The notion of a structural plagal cadence is, of course, patently heterodox. Arnold Schoenberg, for instance, writes, “Plagal cadences . . . are only a means of stylistic expression and are structurally of no importance.” Structural Functions of Harmony (London: Williams & Norgate, 1954), 14. This widespread view, though justified in the vast majority of cases, surely needs further qualification with respect to the late nineteenth-century repertoire. 49 Leonard B. Meyer, Explaining Music: Essays and Explorations (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 117. 50 According to Kofi Agawu, such “ambiguity” exists only in the mind of the lazy analyst. In my view, this position arises from a needlessly “strong” definition of analysis. “Ambiguity in Tonal Music: A Preliminary Study,” in Theory, Analysis, and Meaning in Music, ed. Anthony Pople, 86–107 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 51 Felix Salzer and Carl Schachter, Counterpoint in Composition (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), 398; and Curt Sachs, “The Road to Major,” Musical Quarterly 29, no. 3 (July 1943): 386. 52 Bruno Nettl, “An Ethnomusicologist Contemplates Universals in Musical Sound and Musical Culture,” in The Origins of Music, ed. Nils L. Wallin, Björn Merker, and Steven Brown (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000), 468. 53 Alexander Ringer, “Melody,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 16:363. 54 Clifford Alper refers to the descending minor third as the “universal chant of childhood,” though with no further discussion or citation. “Early Childhood Music Education,” in The Early Childhood Curriculum: A Review of Current Research, ed. Carol Seefeldt (New York: Teachers College Press, 1992), 247. For the use of the minor third among sports

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crowds, see Cherill Heaton, “Air Ball: Spontaneous Large-Group Precision Chanting,” Popular Music and Society 16, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 81–83. 55 Meyer (Style and Music, 167) describes nineteenth-century music as characterized by “acontextualism,” in which “inheritance was to be replaced by inherence.”

Chapter Two 1 Lawrence Kramer, Classical Music and Postmodern Knowledge (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 34. Edward Said speaks similarly of “exteriority” in his Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 20. 2 See, for instance, Jonathan Bellman, Introduction, in The Exotic in Western Music, ed. Bellman (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998), xii. 3 This observation is made by Ralph P. Locke in “Constructing the Oriental ‘Other’: Saint-Saëns’s Samson et Dalila,” Cambridge Opera Journal 3, no. 3 (November 1991): 268. 4 Jonathan Bellman, The Style Hongrois in the Music of Western Europe (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1993), 65. Or, as Miriam Whaples puts it, the stylistic “paradise” of the eighteenth century prevented the longing for greener musical grass that would later lure composers of the stylistically progressive nineteenth and twentieth centuries. “Exoticism in Dramatic Music, 1600–1800” (PhD diss., Indiana University, 1958), 264. 5 Whaples, “Exoticism in Dramatic Music,” 264. More precisely, as Mary Hunter has shown, it was the female exotic who inspired dramatic and musical sympathy, the musical exoticisms reserved for the “general barbarity” of the exotic male. Mary Hunter, “The Alla Turca Style in the Late Eighteenth Century: Race and Gender in the Symphony and the Seraglio,” in The Exotic in Western Music, ed. Jonathan Bellman, 43–73 (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998). Such barbarity, however, was generally comic, or “parodistic.” Carl Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, trans. J. Bradford Robinson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 304. 6 See Hunter, “The Alla Turca Style”; Bellman, The Style Hongrois, 13–45; Whaples, “Exoticism in Dramatic Music,” chapter 2, “Turkish Music and ‘Turkish Music’ ”; and Bence Szabolcsi, “Exoticisms in Mozart,” Music and Letters 37, no. 4 (October 1956), 323–32. 7 Bellman, The Style Hongrois, 12. 8 Bellman, Introduction, in The Exotic in Western Music, x. 9 Respectively, Szabolcsi, “Exoticisms,” 327; Susan McClary, Georges Bizet: Carmen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 55; Derek B. Scott, “Orientalism and Musical Style,” Musical Quarterly 82, no. 2 (Summer 1998): 327; Bellman, The Style Hongrois, 41. Scott (“Orientalism,” 327) provides one of the most extensive lists of “Orientalist devices, many of which can be applied indiscriminately as markers of cultural difference. . . . ” 10 Matteo Ricci, China in the Sixteenth Century: The Journals of Matthew Ricci, 1583–1610, trans. Louis J. Gallagher (New York: Random House, 1953 [1615]), 335. 11 Ibid., 22. 12 “Elle est maintenant si imparfaite, qu’à peine en mérite-t-elle le nom.” Jean-Baptiste Du Halde, Description . . . . de l’empire de la Chine et de la Tartarie chinoise, 4 vols. (Paris: Le Mercier, 1735), 3:265. 13 “Mais en chantant ils ne haussent et ne baissent jamais leur voix d’un demi ton, mais seulement d’une tierce, d’une quinte, ou d’une octave. . . . ” Ibid. 14 “Pour mettre le Lecteur à portée de juger des divers Accens musicaux des Peuples . . . ”Jean Jacques Rousseau, Dictionnaire de musique (New York: Johnson Reprint,

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1969 [1768]), 314. Du Halde’s section on music also reappeared nearly unaltered in Abbé Prevôt, Histoire générale des voyages . . . (Paris: Didot, 1749), 22:379–85. 15 “Ils veulent qu’il n’y ait que cinq Tons dans leur Lu. . . . ”Jean-Philippe Rameau, Code de musique pratique (New York: Broude Brothers, 1965 [1760]), 191. 16 See Jim Levy, “Joseph Amiot and Enlightenment Speculation on the Origin of Pythagorean Tuning in China,” Theoria 4 (1989): 63–88. 17 Amiot’s translation is lost. See ibid., 64. 18 “L’un d’entr’eux le donne dans cet ordre . . . ordre des plus vicieux qu’on puisse imaginer. Mais un autre Auteur le donne dans celui-ci, où manquent seulement deux notes pour s’accorder avec notre gamme, aux rapports près des tierces, qui s’y trouvent faux par les deux Tons majeurs de suite. . . . ”Rameau, Code, 191–92. Notice in these numbers the powers of 3; 13683 is no doubt a misprint for 19683 ⫽ 39. 19 “une Orgue de Barbarie, apportée du Cap de Bonne-espérance par M. Dupleix, dont il a eu la bonté de me faire présent, & sur laquelle peuvent s’exécuter tous les airs chinois copiés en Musique dans le IIIe Tome de R. P. du Halde . . . ce qui prouve assez que ce dernier Lu règne depuis long temps dans la Chine.” Ibid., 192. 20 Pierre Joseph Roussier, Mémoire sur la musique des anciens (New York: Broude Brothers, 1966 [1770]), ix–x. 21 Ibid., 14. 22 Levy, “Joseph Amiot,” 70. 23 “Le vice de ce dernier systême des Chinois, & l’imperfection de leur gamme, dont les lacunes semblent toujours attendre d’autres sons, font assez voir que ces deux singuliers systêmes ne sont chacun en particulier, que comme des débris d’un systême complet, que j’attribute aux Egyptiens.” Roussier, Mémoire, 33. 24 Joseph Marie Amiot, Mémoires concernant l’histoire . . . des Chinois, vol. 6, De la musique des Chinois tant anciens que modernes (Paris: Nyon, 1780), 163. A summary of Amiot’s treatise also appeared in the Musikalischer Almanach für Deutschland (Leipzig, 1784), 233–74. 25 “les Lettrés vulgaires.” Amiot, Mémoires, 6:161. 26 “Je puis dire qu’ils m’ont fort ennuyé, je souhaite qu’ils ne fassent pas le même effet sur ceux qui se donneront la peine de les déchifrer. En voici quelques autres que je donne notés seulements à notre manière. [¶] De tous ce que j’ai dit jusqu’ici, je conclus, et on le conclura sans doute avec moi, que les Chinois sont énormément peu avancés dans un art qui de nos jours a été porte [porté?] dans son plus haut point de perfection dans notre France en particulier.” Ibid., 6:146. 27 Ibid., 6:184–85. 28 Charles Burney, A General History of Music, critical and historical notes by Frank Mercer, 2 vols. (New York: Dover, 1957 [1776–89]), 1:46. 29 A similar notion may have inspired an observation made by Henry Timberlake regarding certain Native American melodies, which are “extremely pretty, and very like the Scotch.” Henry Timberlake, Memoirs, 1756–1765, ed. Samuel Cole Williams (Marietta, GA: Continental Book Co., 1948 [1765]), 83. 30 Burney, History of Music, 1:46. 31 Ibid., 1:51. 32 Ibid., 1:425. 33 “Cet air Chinois, ainsi que plusieurs autres morceaux de Musique Chinoise, n’est composé que de cinq notes, et n’a pour élémens que ce que les Chinois appelent les cinq tons, et qui sont ici sol la si re mi, dans lesquels il n’y a ni fa, ni ut.” Benjamin de Laborde, Essai sur la musique ancienne et moderne (New York: AMS Press, 1978 [1780]), vol. 1, book 1, p. 146. 34 Hector Berlioz, The Art of Music and Other Essays, trans. from A travers Chants and ed. Elizabeth Csicsery-Rónay (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 246.

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35 Berlioz’s involvement with Scottish pentatonicism (well before the quoted episode) is noted below. 36 F.-J. Fétis, Music Explained to the World, ed. Bernarr Rainbow (Clarabricken, Ireland: Boethius Press, 1985 [1844]), 24. See also idem, Traité complet de la théorie et de la pratique de l’harmonie, 4th ed. (Paris: Brandus, 1849), 248. 37 “Le phénomène le plus singulier.” F.-J. Fétis, Histoire générale de la musique (Paris: Firmin Didot, 1869), 1:78. 38 “ . . . méconnu la nécessité de ce même intervalle du demi-ton, sans lequel il n’y a pas d’art musical possible, pas d’émotion sentimentale éveillée par la mélodie, pas de modulation, aucun moyen d’éviter le retour incessant des mêmes formes et, par suite, la monotonie.” Ibid. 39 Engel himself implies that the term is his invention, and the Oxford English Dictionary concurs. Carl Engel, The Music of the Most Ancient Nations (London: Reeves, 1909 [1864]), 15. The scale first appears as an entry in Continental music dictionaries soon after: Mendel’s 1874 Musikalisches Conversations Lexikon lists the “Fünf-Tonleiter oder fünfstufige Tonleiter” and, like Engel, associates it with such ancient civilizations as the Assyrians, Chaldeans and Egyptians, as well as the Chinese and Celts. Riemann invokes this terminology until the 7th ed. of his Musik-Lexikon (Leipzig: Max Hesse, 1909), in which he adopts a Germanization of Engel’s term, “Fünfstufige (pentatonische) Tonleitern.” Meanwhile, however, Schuberth’s Musikalisches Conversations-Lexikon (Leipzig: Schuberth, 1892) reveals the novelty of both terms: they are not only absent as entries but even as descriptors within the entry “Tonleiter,” which in fact illustrates a pentatonic scale, naming it only with respect to its associated nationalities (Chinese, Indian, New Zealand, and Scottish). The earliest mention of pentatonicism I have found in French dictionaries is as late as Brenet’s 1926 Dictionnaire pratique et historique de la musique (Paris: Armand Colin), s.v. “Gamme” (“La g. pentaphonique ou le g. de cinq sons . . .”). 40 Engel, Most Ancient Nations : 124–75. 41 Ibid., 134. 42 Could this sense of authenticity have motivated Weckerlin to “correct” Lully’s nonpentatonic Turkish scene (ex. 2.1, above)? 43 Joseph Yasser claims that pentatonicism “has its roots deep down in the subconscious human mind at a certain stage of musical development, and probably represents one of the organic forms of musical perception and musical thought in general.” A Theory of Evolving Tonality (New York: American Library of Musicology, 1932), 40. According to Yasser’s and others’ views, musical systems naturally evolve through the accumulation of new notes. Thus, certain infrapentatonic formulas—for instance the minor third dyad, or the three-note “Celtic beginning”—represent the “first music,” with the pentatonic, the diatonic, and the chromatic following in historical succession. Brailoiu and Sachs attribute a deep psychic significance to the simplest of these scales, imagining their “ontogenic” origin in a sort of universal collective unconscious, what Szabolcsi has called a “musical ‘primary thought’ of mankind.” See Constantin Brailoiu, “Concerning a Russian Melody,” in Problems of Ethnomusicology, trans. and ed. A. L. Lloyd, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 259–83; Curt Sachs, The Rise of Music in the Ancient World, East and West (New York: Norton, 1943); and Bence Szabolcsi, “Five-Tone Scales and Civilization,” Acta Musicologica 15, nos. 1–4 (1943): 24. “Our children continue to repeat melodic embryos that we did not teach them but which, like them, the inhabitants of Oceania, the Eskimos, and the black races know. . . . They defy space.” Brailoiu, Problems of Ethnomusicology, 129. 44 Alexander Ellis, “On the Musical Scales of Various Nations,” Journal of the Society of Arts 33, no. 688 (March 27, 1885): 526. 45 Hugo Riemann, Catechism of Musical History, translator unknown (London: Augener, 1892 [1888]), 59–60.

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46 “Eine Stellung oder Reihe von fünff Saiten. . . . ”Johann Gottfried Walther, Musikalisches Lexicon (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1953 [1732]), 471. 47 Burney, History of Music, 1:49. 48 See Rameau’s unremarkable Les Paladins, III/2 (“Air pour les Pagodes”) and III/4 (“Entrée des Chinois”). 49 The fate of the f lay next with Hindemith, who retained the note, even capitalizing on its tonal disruptiveness, in the Symphonic Metamorphoses on Themes of Carl Maria von Weber. 50 Kii-Ming Lo, “In Search for a Chinese Melody: Tracing the Source of Weber’s Musik zu Turandot, Op. 37,” in Tradition and Its Future in Music: Report of SIMS 1990 Osaka, ed. International Musicological Society (Tokyo: Mita Press, 1991), 515. 51 Carl Maria von Weber, Writings on Music, trans. Martin Cooper and ed. John Warrack (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 171. 52 The connection was first pointed out by Ralph P. Locke, “Cutthroats and Casbah Dancers, Muezzins and Timeless Sands: Musical Images of the Middle East,” in The Exotic in Western Music, ed. Jonathan Bellman (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998), 109. 53 “GAMMES / Des Montées et des Descentes / Deux Gammes Chinoises, suivies / d’une mélodie analogue / Le tout dédié à mon ami / M. Jobart Millionnaire / (Toujours de la Blague) / Rossini, 1867.” Quoted in Gioacchino Rossini, Mélodies françaises: French Songs for Voice and Piano, English translations by Robert Hess (Melville, NY: Belwin Mills, 1981), iv. 54 Although Rossini writes of “deux gammes chinoises,” he refers simply to the wholetone scale in its ascending and descending forms. 55 Earlier, less ambitious Expositions occurred in London (1851) and Paris (1855). Elaine Brody, Paris—The Musical Kaleidescope, 1870–1925 (New York: George Braziller, 1987), 78ff. 56 “Rome n’est plus dans Rome, le Caire n’est plus en Egypte, ni l’île de Java dans les Indes orientales. Tout cela est venu au Champ de Mars, sur l’Esplanade des Invalides et au Trocadéro.” Julien Tiersot, Musiques pittoresques: Promenades musicales à l’Exposition de 1889 (Paris: Fischbacher, 1889), 1. 57 Glenn Watkins, Pyramids at the Louvre: Music, Culture, and Collage from Stravinsky to the Postmodernists (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1994), 19, 21. 58 Quoted in ibid., 60. 59 Letter to Pierre Louÿs (January 22, 1895). Debussy Letters, ed. François Lesure, trans. and ed. Roger Nichols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 76. 60 Article in the Société Internationale de Musique (February 15, 1913). Translated in Debussy on Music: The Critical Writings of the Great French Composer Claude Debussy, trans. Richard Langham Smith, ed. François Lesure and Richard Langham Smith (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), 278. 61 Which is not to deny the considerable importance of exotic subjects in Debussy’s oeuvre—not least in the cover art that he helped choose for his editions. Brody, Paris, 63. 62 Mervyn Cooke, “ ‘The East in the West’: Evocations of the Gamelan in Western Music,” in The Exotic in Western Music, ed. Jonathan Bellman (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998), 260. 63 Constantin Brailoiu, “Pentatony in Debussy’s Music,” in Studia memoriae Belae Bartók sacra, ed. Benjamin Rajeczky, 377–417 (New York: Boosey and Hawkes, 1959). 64 The aria was replaced in the opera’s 1734 revision. 65 Note as well the mutual support of the siciliano rhythms and the proto-pentatonic neighbor notes. 66 One of the most popular “rustic” instruments to be cultivated by educated (often noble) Europeans in the eighteenth century was the musette, a simple bagpipe whose

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range described a ninth from 5 to 6—a heptatonic instrument, but one that necessarily brought 6–5 into relief. 67 John Hawkins, A General History of the Science and Practice of Music, 2 vols. (New York: Dover, 1963 [1853; 1776]), 1:3n. Tartini actually describes the octave (in “the usual Italian solfeggio”) as ut, re, mi, fa, sol, re, mi, fa. Enrico Fubini, ed., Music and Culture in Eighteenth-Century Europe: A Sourcebook, trans. Wolfgang Fries, Lisa Gasbarrone, and Michael Louis Leone, translation ed. Bonnie J. Blackburn (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 145. 68 See chapter 1. 69 Josef Pöschl, Jagdmusik: Kontinuität und Entwicklung in der europäischen Geschichte (Tutzing: Hans Schneider, 1997), 245–46. 70 Alexander Ringer, “The Chasse as a Musical Topic of the 18th Century,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 6, no. 2 (Summer 1953): 159. 71 This theme appears elsewhere in the piece (m. 51) with the inclusion of the horn’s seventh harmonic, 7, in an inner voice. 72 Max Peter Baumann, “Switzerland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 1980), 18:421. 73 The melody is cited in the same article, “Musique,” that contained Du Halde’s air. Rousseau, Dictionnaire, 314. In this case, however, the domestication of the ranz in P67 cannot be blamed on Rousseau, who faithfully transmitted the Lydian f, pace Grétry. 74 In literature on Rossini’s opera, reference is often made to a ranz des vaches, but one rarely knows which ranz is meant, the borrowed one or the composed ones. 75 The flexible harmonic language of Janequin, for instance, even allowed for calling thirds below the local tonic; see his La Chasse (Secunda pars, from m. 115). 76 Don Randel, “Emerging Triadic Tonality in the Fifteenth Century,” Musical Quarterly 57, no. 2 (January 1971): 73–86. 77 One notable exception is Berio’s Cries of London. 78 Athanasius Kircher, Musurgia Universalis, 2 vols. (Hildesheim and New York: G. Olms, 1970 [1650]), 1:xiv. See also Matthew Head, “Birdsong and the Origins of Music,” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 122, no. 1 (1997): esp. 13–14; Edward A. Armstrong, A Study of Bird Song, 2nd ed. (New York: Dover, 1973); Hawkins, A General History, 1:2. 79 This piece was at one time attributed to Haydn. Other cuckoos include Lemlin, “Der Gutzgauch”; Dacquin, Rondeau, “Le Coucou”; Kerll, Capriccio sopra il Cucu; Handel, Organ Concerto #13 in F, ii; Bach, Keyboard Sonata, BWV 963, v, “Thema all’imitatio gallina cuccu”; Saint-Saëns, Carnival of the Animals, #9, “Le Coucou au fond des bois.” 80 Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, 307. 81 Head, “Birdsong,” 20. 82 Transcribed from British Broadcasting Corporation, “Sound Effects Library” (Princeton, NJ: Films for the Humanities and Sciences, 1991), disc 3, track 10. 83 The cuckoo clock represents a similar merging of calling genres. For instance, Janequin’s Le Chant des oyseaux is intended as a reveil. 84 Wye Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983). 85 Quoted in ibid., 65. 86 Cuban montuno playing also features a “sixth degree emphasis,” which is no doubt explainable in the same way. Rebecca Mauleón, Salsa Guidebook for Piano and Ensemble (Petaluma, CA: Sher Music, 1993), 132. 87 Charles Rosen, The Romantic Generation (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 116. 88 See also the “farewell” horn fifths in Beethoven’s Piano Sonata, op. 81a, “Les Adieux.” 89 See also the discussion in chapter 1, §C2, pp. 32–33.

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90 See. for example, Francis Collinson, “Scotland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 1980), 17:70. 91 Burney, History of Music, 1:48. Later British writers (Crawfurd, Raffles) would make a similar comparison between Scottish and Javanese music. 92 Hawkins, A General History, 2:563n. 93 Burney, History of Music, 1:45–46. Hawkins, A General History, 2:562n. Thomas Busby, A Complete Dictionary of Music (London: R. Phillips, 1786). Hawkins’s rather vague descriptions of Scottish pentatonicism are made more forceful in the posthumously published annotations of the 1853 edition. 94 Letter from Burns to George Thomson, November, 1794, quoted in David Johnson, Music and Society in Lowland Scotland in the Eighteenth Century (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), 188. 95 Laborde, Essai, 2:419. 96 Gottfried Wilhelm Fink, Erste Wanderung der ältesten Tonkunst als Vorgeschichte der Musik (Essen: Bädeker, 1831), 78ff. 97 Respectively, Fétis, Traité complet, 248; Fétis, Music Explained, 24. The second of these scales corresponds to what Ernö Lendvai calls the “acoustic scale.” The Workshop of Bartók and Kodály (Budapest: Editio Musica, 1983), 394. 98 Much of the information in this paragraph is based on Roger Fiske, Scotland in Music: A European Enthusiasm (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 99 James Porter, “Europe, Traditional Music of,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 8:430. 100 See Barry Cooper, Beethoven’s Folksong Settings: Chronology, Sources, Style (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994); Fiske, Scotland; Johnson, Lowland Scotland; Karl Geiringer, “Haydn and the Folksong of the British Isles,” Musical Quarterly 35, no. 2 (April 1949): 179–208. 101 Cooper, Beethoven’s Folksong Settings, 103. 102 Fiske, Scotland, 38. MacPherson’s fieldwork, however, may have been underestimated. John Daverio, “Schumann’s Ossianic Manner,” 19th-Century Music 21, no. 3 (Spring 1998): 252. 103 Johann Gottfried Herder, “Extract from a Correspondence on Ossian and the Songs of Ancient Peoples,” trans. Joyce Crick in German Aesthetic and Literary Criticism, vol. 3, ed. H. B. Nisbet (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 155, 158. 104 Ibid., 3:158, 155–56. 105 Ibid., 160. 106 Quoted in R. Larry Todd, “Mendelssohn’s Ossianic Manner, with a New Source—On Lena’s Gloomy Heath,” in Mendelssohn and Schumann: Essays on Their Music and Its Context, ed. Jon W. Finson and R. Larry Todd (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1984), 138. 107 Fiske, Scotland, 44. 108 Todd, “Mendelssohn’s Ossianic Manner,” 138. 109 Charles Rosen, Introduction to Jean-François Le Sueur, Ossian: Ou les bardes (New York: Garland, 1979). 110 Daverio, “Schumann’s Ossianic Manner,” 253. See also Todd, “Mendelssohn’s Ossianic Manner.” 111 Fiske, Scotland, 142. 112 Ibid., 13. 113 The specifics of Berlioz’s program to Rob Roy (P226, P227) are not known, though the pastoral resonance of this theme is attested to by its reuse in Harold en Italie, i: “Harold aux montagnes.”

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114 Nicholas Temperley, “Musical Nationalism in English Romantic Opera,” in The Lost Chord: Essays on Victorian Music, ed. Temperley, 143–58 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989). 115 Eric Sams has exposed the Wunderhorn collection as largely inauthentic. “Notes on a Magic Horn,” Musical Times 115, no. 1577 (July 1974): 556–59. 116 A. F. Thibaut, Purity in Music, trans. John Broadhouse (London: Reeves, 1882 [1825]), 38ff. 117 Respectively: Lucia Perkins, “Use of the Folk Idiom in Mozart’s German Operas,” MM thesis (Memphis State University, 1991), and Daniel Heartz, “Mozart’s Sense for Nature,” 19th-Century Music 15, no. 2 (Fall 1991): 107–15; David Schroeder, “Melodic Source Material and Haydn’s Creative Process,” Musical Quarterly 68, no. 4 (1982): 496–515, and David Cushman, “Joseph Haydn’s Melodic Materials” (PhD diss., Boston University, 1973); Kurt Dorfmüller, “Beethovens ‘Volksliederjagd,’ ” in Festschrift für Horst Leuchtmann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Stephan Hörner and Bernhold Schmid, 107–25 (Tutzing: Hans Schneider, 1993); Virginia Hancock, “Johannes Brahms: Volkslied/Kunstlied,” in German Lieder in the Nineteenth Century, ed. Rufus Hallmark, 119–52 (New York: Schirmer, 1996). 118 Timothy Rice, “The Music of Europe: Unity and Diversity,” in The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, vol. 8, Europe, ed. Timothy Rice, James Porter, and Chris Goertzen (New York: Garland, 2000), 9. 119 Jan Smaczny, “The E-flat Major String Quintet, Op. 97,” in Dvo¤rák in America, 1892–1895, ed. John Tibbetts (Portland, OR: Amadeus, 1993), 239. I have chosen not to dwell on Dvo¤rák, since his well-known pentatonicism has been discussed elsewhere. See, for example, Michael Beckerman, “Dvo¤rák’s Pentatonic Landscape: The Suite in A Major,” in Rethinking Dvo¤rák, ed. David Beveridge, 245–54 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996); and David Beveridge, “Sophisticated Primitivism: The Significance of Pentatonicism in Dvo¤rák’s American Quartet,” Current Musicology 24 (1977): 25–36. 120 Barbara Milewski, “Chopin’s Mazurkas and the Myth of the Folk,” 19th-Century Music 23, no. 2 (Fall 1999): 113–35. 121 Letter to Titus Woyciechowski, Dec. 27, 1828. Chopin’s Letters, collected by Henryk Opienski, trans. and ed. E. L. Voynich, (New York: Knopf, 1932), 47. Ashton Jonson explains the oblique reference to a certain unflattering coat of Chopin’s, which apparently provoked great teasing from his friends. A Handbook of Chopin’s Works, Giving a Detailed Account of All the Compositions of Chopin, 2nd ed., revised (London: Reeves, 1908), 115. 122 Jan Steszewski, “Poland, II. Folk Music,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 1980), 15:32. 123 Mark Devoto, moreover, has identified an emphasis on 6 as characteristic of nineteenthcentury Russian music. “The Russian Submediant in the Nineteenth Century,” Current Musicology 59 (1995): 48–76. 124 Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 3. Volga music, which was a chief inspiration for Russian composers, is strongly pentatonic, as are other several other local traditions. See Gerald Seaman, History of Russian Music, vol. 1, From Its Origins to Dargomyzhsky (New York: Praeger, 1967), 2. 125 Quoted in Vladimir Stasov, Selected Essays on Music, trans. Florence Jonas (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1968), 146. 126 Jim Samson, Music in Transition: A Study of Tonal Expansion and Atonality (London: Dent, 1977). 127 Gerald Abraham, Studies in Russian Music (Freeport, NY: Books for Library Press, 1936), 12. This example is also notable for its exploration of the pentatonic scale’s tonal

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weakness: it is difficult to know whether the theme’s cadence is half or full or, similarly, whether the mode is the “common” major pentatonic or the Mixolydian pentatonic. 128 Locke, “Cutthroats,” 107. 129 Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, 304.

Chapter Three 1 Carl Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, trans. J. Bradford Robinson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 179. Examples of the religious pentatonic have been observed in Liszt; see Márta Grabócz, Morphologie des oeuvres pour piano de Liszt: Influence du programme sur l’évolution des formes instrumentales (Paris: Kimé, 1996); Serge Gut, Franz Liszt: Les éléments du langage musical (Paris: Klincksieck, 1975). Grabócz’s study is a largely theoretical endeavor (rooted in Peircian semiotics) that takes the existence of the semantic categories for granted. I will bring to light more examples—primarily by Liszt, but by many other composers as well—and, more importantly, I will elucidate their common aesthetic and historical sources. 2 Immanuel Kant, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals and What is Enlightenment? trans. Lewis White Beck (New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1959), 85. 3 Kant, himself avowedly agnostic concerning God’s role in human history, formulated what amounted to an essentially secular and pragmatic ethics, an exemplar of the humanistic “reduction of Christianity to morality” that Voltaire also endorsed. See Carter Lindberg, “European Christianity Confronts the Modern Age,” in Christianity: A Social and Cultural History, 2nd ed., ed. Howard Clark Kee et al. (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Simon and Schuster, 1998), 354. German Enlightenment theologians “worked to present a socio-ethical interpretation of Christianity. They depicted Jesus as the great teacher of wisdom and virtue, the forerunner of the Enlightenment, who broke the bonds of error (not sin!)” (p. 353). 4 Vilhelm Grønbech, Religious Currents in the Nineteenth Century, trans. P. M. Mitchell and W. P. Paden (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1964), 97. 5 Conrad Donakowski, A Muse for the Masses: Ritual and Music in an Age of Democratic Revolution, 1770–1870 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), 112. 6 In France, the turmoil of the age of Napoleon at once destabilized the local churches and engendered a renewed desire for ecclesiastical centralization, the so-called ultramontanism exemplified by Joseph de Maistre’s polemic: “In Europe there is no religion without Christendom. There is no Christendom without Catholicism. There is no Catholicism without the pope.” Quoted in Lindberg, “European Christianity,” 364. 7 Terry Tastard, “Theology and Spirituality in the 19th and 20th Centuries,” in Companion Encyclopaedia of Theology, ed. Peter Byrne and Leslie Houlden (New York: Routledge, 1995), 602. 8 Donakowski, A Muse for the Masses, 137. 9 Quoted in Bruce MacIntyre, The Viennese Concerted Mass of the Early Classic Period (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1986), 54. 10 Karl Gustav Fellerer, The History of Catholic Church Music, trans. Francis Brunner (Baltimore: Helicon, 1961), 161. 11 The anonymous critic quoted in MacIntyre may have been Joseph Richter (The Viennese Mass, 53n128). Compare Liszt’s strong opinion on the matter: “Do you hear, at the solemn moment when the priest raises the sacred host, do you hear the wretched organist execute variations on Di piacer mi balza il cor or Fra Diavolo? O shame! O scandal!” Quoted in Paul Merrick, Revolution and Religion in the Music of Liszt (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 221.

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12 MacIntyre, The Viennese Mass, 52. 13 “Parlons maintenant des corrections des Graduels et des Antiphonaires, qui se sont si souvent renouvelées depuis le XVIIe siècle jusqu’à nos jours, et grâce auxquelles, presque partout en France, notre plain-chant a été si complètement défiguré et mutilé, qu’il arrive fort souvent qu’une personne habituée aux chants d’église de tel diocèse ne les reconnaît plus si elle vient à passer dans un diocèse voisin.” Joseph d’Ortigue, Intoduction à l’étude comparée des tonalités du chant grégorien et de la musique moderne (Paris: L. Potier, 1853), 171–72. 14 Cited in E. T. A. Hoffmann, E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Musical Writings, trans. Martyn Clarke, ed. David Charlton (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 352. 15 E. T. A Hoffmann, “Old and New Church Music,” (AMZ, 1814), quoted in Hoffmann, Hoffmann’s Musical Writings, 357. 16 Ibid., 370. 17 Alexandre Choron, “Summary of the History of Music,” in A Dictionary of Musicians . . ., ed. John Sainsbury (London: Sainsbury, 1825 [1811]), lxv. 18 Donakowski, A Muse for the Masses, 149. D’Ortigue’s 1853 Dictionnaire liturgique, historique et théorique de plain-chant (Paris: Migne) came on the heels of Lambillotte’s revolutionary edition of the St. Gall MS two years earlier (in De l’Unité dans les chants liturgiques [Paris: Vve. Poussielgue-Rusand, 1851]). 19 A. F. Thibaut, Purity in Music, trans. John Broadhouse (London: Reeves, 1882 [1825]), 8. Between Thibaut’s work and that of Witt, another notable German, Kaspar Ett, published an edition of the chant in his Cantica sacra (Munich, 1827). 20 For convenience I cite the Liber Usualis (henceforth LU) throughout this section. Benedictines of Solesmes, Liber Usualis (Tournai: Desclée, 1956). I do so despite the potential anachronism: the LU was published only in 1894. Nevertheless, it represents the culminating work of the chant revival described in the previous section. Where possible I have confirmed my results against contemporary sources: Catholic Church, Processionale romanum . . . (Brussels: Huberti-Francisci t’Serstevens, 1805); Cantus Gregorianus . . . (Brescia: Weber, 1807); Graduale romanum . . . (Liège: Spée-Zelis, 1857); Graduale de tempore et de sanctis . . . (Regensberg: Pustet, 1877). 21 Constantin Brailoiu, “Concerning a Russian Melody,” in Problems of Ethnomusicology, trans. and ed. A. L. Lloyd (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 259–83. Lajos Bárdos similarly identifies this incipit as the “psalmodic ternion.” “Natural Tonal Systems,” in Studia memoriae Belae Bartók sacra, ed. Benjamin Rajeczky (New York: Boosey and Hawkes, 1959), 223. 22 Michel Huglo, “Antiphon,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie, 1:473–74 (London: Macmillan, 1980). The bracketed and parenthetical notes are optional, depending on the requirements of the particular text. For the psalm tones, see the LU, 121–22. 23 Jacques Chailley, Formation et transformation du langage musical, vol. 1, Intervalles et échelles (Paris: Centre de Documenation Universitaire, 1955), 116. 24 Finn Egeland Hansen, The Grammar of Gregorian Tonality: An Investigation Based on the Repertory in Codex H 159, Montpellier, trans. Shirley Larsen, 2 vols. (Copenhagen: Dan Fog, 1979), 1:30. According to Egeland Hansen’s analysis, pentatonic structure exists in a great many of the melodies found in the Montpellier Codex. See also Gustave Reese, Music in the Middle Ages (New York: Norton, 1940), 160. 25 Choron, “Summary of the History of Music,” xxxv. 26 In the interest of clarity I have quoted mostly individual lines, with preference given to complete phrases. The pentatonic effect will, of course, be considerably weaker in the context of the full polyphonic texture.

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27 The point has been made elsewhere, with varying degrees of prudence. Viret refers to the “substrat pentatonique,” Chailley, to the “residue pentatonique,” of plainchant. Egeland Hansen’s is a particularly meticulous examination. Jacques Viret, La Modalité grégorienne: Un langage pour quel message? (Lyons: Éditions à coeur joie, 1996), 52; Chailley, Formation et transformation, 116; Egeland Hansen, Gregorian Tonality, 1:30–146. John Shepherd has interpreted medieval pentatonicism as a social text, “the articulation of an ideal feudal structure.” Music as Social Text (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1991), 107. 28 Harold S. Powers et al., “Mode,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 16:776. 29 “Ici l’échelle des sons est bien notre gamme moderne d’ut majeur, mais la tournure de la mélodie est fort différente, on peut s’en assurer par l’examen des fig. 11 et 12.” Alexandre Choron and Adrien de La Fage, Nouveau Manuel complet de musique vocale et instrumentale (Paris: Roret, 1838–39), part 2, vol. 3, p. 177. They observe in a footnote, “The leading note of the dominant is avoided above all.” (In Choron’s fig. 11, a bass clef is surely intended for the left hand, yielding imitation at the fifth.) 30 “Il est presque impossible d’expliquer d’une manière satisfaisante la modalité du plain-chant.” Ibid., part 2, vol. 3, p. 182. 31 Kirnberger had even made a case for preserving the church modes in modern composition, but it seems that he was in the minority. See Joel Lester, “The Persistence of Modal Theory,” chapter 8 in Between Modes and Keys: German Theory, 1592–1802 (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon, 1989). 32 “La musique religieuse comprend d’abord le plain chant . . . dérivant du système musical des peuples anciens, différant essentiellement de la musique moderne, aujourd’hui défiguré par une exécution détestable et méprisé parce qu’on n’en comprend plus les beautés.” F. Danjou, “Introduction,” Revue de la musique religieuse, populaire et classique (1845, no. 1): 8. 33 E. de Coussemaker, Histoire de l’harmonie au moyen âge (Paris: Didron, 1852), 95–97. One of his examples is a fourteenth-century chanson, “où la tonalité d’ut majeur est parfaitement determinée.” 34 F. Danjou, “L’État actuel du chant dans les églises de France et des moyens d’en améliorer l’exécution,” Revue de la musique religieuse, populaire et classique (1845, no. 2): 49. 35 “Doit-on chanter les louanges de Dieu sur le même ton qu’on emploie pour les passions humaines? . . . Des ecclésiastiques respectables et des prélats ont pris parti pour la musique mondaine contre la musique catholique.” F. Danjou, “Introduction,” 11. 36 P. Couturier, Décadence et restauration de la musique religieuse (Paris: E. Repos, 1862). Quoted in Donakowski, A Muse for the Masses, 150. 37 “Il est inexcusable d’altérer un plain-chant au point d’en détruire entièrement le caractère modal et de le faire passer sans plus de façon à l’état de mélodie moderne.” Adrien de La Fage, Cours complet de plain-chant (Paris: Gaume frères, 1855), 534. 38 “La première est fondée sur ce principe, que les intervalles qui composent la gamme, au nombre de huit, diatoniques et naturels, n’ont aucune relation nécessaire les uns avec les autres, ni aucune affinité ou attraction entre eux. D’où il résulte que chaque degré pouvant être le terme de la succession, emporte virtuellement l’idée de repos et d’un sens complet. Telle est la constitution des systèmes de musique religieuse et particulièrement du chant grégorien. . . . La seconde est constituée de manière que les degrés, les mêmes que ceux de la tonalité du plain-chant, peuvent chacun donner naissance à deux nouveaux intervalles, l’un par la propriété du dièse, l’autre par la propriété du bémol; ce qui porte à douze le nombre des sons compris dans l’échelle; ce qui porte également à douze le nombre de gammes ou de tons appartenant à notre tonalité. Le mode de succession entre les intervalles est déterminé par diverses affinités et attractions qui leur sont

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propres, et qui, si nous pouvons ainsi parler, les incitent, celui-ci à descendre sur le degré inférieur, celui-là à s’élever au degré supérieur, un troisième à persister en lui-même comme sur un point de repos. . . . D’où il suit que chaque degré isolé ne renfermant pas en lui-même un sens complet, loin de pouvoir être arbitrairement le terme de la succession, il ne saurait être regardé autrement que comme élément de cette succession.” D’Ortigue, Introduction, 19–21. 39 “Nous dirons que, par l’emploi fréquent de la note sensible, par la modulation qui revient sur les principales périodes, par la cadence qui termine cette modulation, ce Credo appartient à la tonalité moderne. . . . Nous ajouterons que ce Credo n’est pas dans le premier mode du plain-chant, mais dans le ton du ré mineur.” Ibid., 178–79. 40 “C’est une habitude vicieuse, qui ne doit pas être tolérée.” La Fage, Cours complet, 217. 41 “En quelques endroits on ne descend que d’un semi-diaton au-dessous de la teneur et l’on chant [Example] c’est une imitation déplacée de la musique moderne qui ne devrait point être soufferte, puisqu’elle introduit un degré absolument étranger à l’échelle du mode antique et amène, comme nous le verrons, bientôt d’autres altérations.” Ibid., 310. 42 Louis Niedermeyer and Joseph d’Ortigue, Gregorian Accompaniment, trans. Wallace Goodrich (New York: Novello, 1905 [1857]), 52n1. 43 Hoffmann, “Old and New,” 373. 44 “Il advint que ce diabolus in musica, que cette chose qui, nous le répétons à dessein, faisait horreur à la nature, faisait violence à l’organisation, et que l’art rejetait hors de sa sphère; il advint que cet élément subversif, destructif de la tonalité ancienne, fut la base, le fondement, la clef de voûte de la tonalité moderne. . . . D’où il suit que, l’absence de l’élément du triton étant la condition nécessaire et essentielle de la tonalité ancienne, et la présence de ce même triton étant la condition nécessaire et essentielle de la tonalité moderne, il y a entre ces deux tonalités incompatibilité radicale.” D’Ortigue, Introduction, 163–64. 45 See Thomas Christensen, “Fétis and Emerging Tonal Consciousness,” in Music Theory in the Age of Romanticism, ed. Ian Bent, 37–56 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 46 “L’accent expressif, passionné, dramatique, est inséparable de l’attraction des sons, et ne peut exister sans elle.” F.-J. Fétis, Traité complet de la théorie et de la pratique de l’harmonie, 4th ed. (Paris: Brandus, 1849), xlii. 47 Thibaut, Purity, 11. 48 Thibaut’s contemporary Hoffmann might have objected to such alterations on acoustical grounds: in a large church, he claimed, “Any blurring of sounds by subtle nuances or short passing-notes would destroy the strength of the vocal line by making it unclear.” Hoffmann, “Old and New,” 358. 49 “Les Belles Lettres recommencérent à fleurir dans le Royaume il y a 200. ans, c’est-àdire, sous le régne de François I. mais le Chant d’Eglise ne parut point recevoir alors beaucoup de perfection. Pendant que la barbarie disparoissoit peu à peu dans les Colléges, certaines voix difficiles à fléchir corrompirent dans les Choeurs de plusieurs Eglises la douceur des Psalmodies Grégoriennes. Ces Chantres de l’espéce de celui que Théodulfe Evêque d’Orléans appelloit au neuviéme siécle Vox taurina, sentant qu’à la fin de certaines terminaisons psalmodiques il leur étoit plus commode de descendre par une tierce que par dégrés conjoints, changérent les progrès de secondes en tierces; par éxemple. [Example] . . . Et comme les demitons leurs paroissoients plus difficiles dans la pratique à cause de la rudesse de leur voix, ils firent à la médiation du même septiéme mode le changement qui suit: au lieu de dire comme on avoit fait auparavant dans Dixit Dominus [Example] . . . ils dirent [Example].” Abbé Jean Lebeuf, Traité historique et pratique sur le chant ecclésiastique (Geneva: Minkoff, 1972 [1741]), 106–7. In fact, Lebeuf’s preferred psalmodic cadences correspond to those of later books, including the LU.

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50 “Il y a une autre formule d’oraison fériale qui ne diffère de la précédente que par une chute de tierce mineure, pratiquée sur la dernière syllabe de l’oraison et sur la dernière de la conclusion. [Example] On fait aussi, à volonté, l’inflexion de tierce au Dominus vobiscum. Cette seconde formule fériale a souvent été altérée de la manière suivante, qui ne mérite nulle approbation.” La Fage, Cours complet, 212. 51 “Lorsque le Pater se récite à la fin des nocturnes et dans quelques autres cas, on n’en prononce à haute voix que les premiers et les derniers mots en faisant sur la dernière syllabe une inflexion de tierce mineure, reproduite dans la conclusion du choeur. [Example] La seconde conclusion est mauvaise.” Ibid., 217. 52 “Des quatre inchoations du Magnificat, la troisième nous semble la meilleure; les deux premières sont tolérables, mais la diaptose placée à la fin de la quatrième, lui donne un aspect tout à fait ridicule.” Ibid., 297–98. 53 “Le si est évidemment une note de passage, qu’on y a arbitrairement introduite.” N. A. Janssen, Les Vrais Principes du chant grégorien (Malines, Belgium: Hanicq, 1845), 142. 54 “Les deux semi-brèves sont encore des notes de remplissage: et, par conséquent, elles constituent une faute.” Ibid., 141. 55 Ibid., 163. 56 “On voit donc que c’est dénaturer complétement les successions de cette espèce que de donner à toutes les notes la même valeur; car dans l’exemple dont il s’agit le chant repose sur ces notes: [Example]; les autres n’en sont que l’ornement.” F.-J. Fétis, “Des Origines du plain-chant ou chant ecclésiastique, Cinquième article,” Revue de la musique religieuse, populaire et classique 7 (July 1846): 233. 57 “On y verra que la simplicité du chant primitif, si bien conçue par le compositeur, en raison de l’étendue de l’hymne et de la quantité des paroles, a été gâtée par une multitude de notes parasites, qui rendent le chant languissant et monotone dans cette édition. . . . Par exemple, qui ne sera désagréablement affecté en voyant remplacer cette forme si simple et si noble: [Example] par cette redondance de notes? [Example] Tout le Gloria des éditions françaises est rempli d’absurdités du même genre; quelquefois même il n’y a aucun rapport entre la forme du chant ancien et celle du moderne. Je prendrai pour exemple ce passage: [Example] que les éditeurs ont changé en celui-ci. . . . ” F.-J. Fétis, “Des Origines du plain-chant ou chant ecclésiastique, Septième article,” Revue de la musique religieuse, populaire et classique (December 1846): 418–20. 58 “En liant deux notes sur la première syllabe du premier alleluia, et deux autres sur la troisième syllabe, ils ôtent la grâce naturelle de ce passage. . . . A l’égard du second alleluia, il n’est personne qui ne soit en état de voir que toutes ces notes liées par intervalles de secondes donnent une forme plate, en comparaison de celle du chant original. Il en est de même du troisième alleluia, qui est un modèle d’élégance dans le chant ancien, et dont la forme est fastidieuse dans les éditions françaises.” F.-J. Fétis, “Des Origines du plain-chant ou chant ecclésiastique, Sixième article,” Revue de la musique religieuse, populaire et classique (September 1846): 317. 59 Fétis, “Des Origines . . ., Septième article,” 421. 60 The connection between pentatonicism and chant, however, would be made later in the century, apparently first in Hugo Riemann, “Fünfstufige Tonleitern,” in Musik-Lexikon, 1st ed., 279 (Leipzig: Verlag des Bibliographischen Instituts, 1882). 61 I have not attempted to establish concrete links between theorists and composers; such an endeavor would be both precarious and, I feel, ultimately unnecessary. It should nevertheless be mentioned in this regard that Liszt expressed enthusiasm toward D’Ortigue’s work, and that Berlioz was likewise impressed enough with the ideas of his friend and colleague (albeit not without reservation) to devote an article in the Journal des débats to the subject. See Merrick Revolution and Religion, 91–93; and Hector Berlioz,

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“On Church Music by Joseph d’Ortigue,” in The Art of Music and Other Essays, trans. and ed. Elizabeth Csicsery-Rónay, 172–75 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994). 62 Richard Brettell and Caroline Brettell, Painters and Peasants in the Nineteenth Century (Geneva: Skira, 1983), 101. 63 Ibid., 75. 64 Thibaut, Purity, 37–38. 65 Hoffmann, “Old and New,” 373. 66 Quoted in Donakowski, A Muse for the Masses, 144. 67 “En effet, le plain-chant est la mélodie de tous, intelligible pour tous, en même temps qu’il exprime fidèlement et avec plus de puissance que tous les autres chants, la longue prière de l’Eglise militante et les graves pensées des coeurs éloignés de leur patrie.” My translation from passage quoted in Merrick, Revolution and Religion: 90. 68 F.-J. Fétis, Esquisse de l’histoire de l’harmonie, trans. and ed. Mary Arlin (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon, 1994 [1840]), 33. 69 From Fetis’s Traité de l’harmonie, quoted by the editor in Fétis, Esquisse, xiii. 70 Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, trans. Jill Berman, ed. David Berman (London: Dent, 1995), 119–20. 71 Ibid., 147. 72 This despite the non-isomorphism: while pentatonicism is, by definition, a subsystem of diatonicism, the constructed meanings of each system relate not as comparable entities but, ultimately, as opposites. 73 “L’idée de la succession se perd et s’absorbe à chacque degré dans l’idée de l’infini, puisque la succession amène sur chaque accord le sentiment de la plénitude, de la durée et de l’unité abstraite.” Joseph d’Ortigue, “Philosophie de la musique,” in Dictionnaire liturgique, historique et théorique de plain-chant, ed. D’Ortigue (Paris: Migne, 1853), col. 1184. 74 “ . . . une musique langoureuse et sensuelle . . . les chansons amoureuses et . . . les danses lascives. [¶]Au contraire, chez les rudes et sérieuses populations issues de la race jaune ou mongolique, la musique, grave et monotone, étrange et dure pour des Européens, est le produit d’un système de tonalité où le demi-ton disparaît très souvent, et dont la gamme incomplète ne se compose que de cinq sons placés à des intervalles d’un ton l’un de l’autre, avec les lacunes là où sont les demi-tons de la gamme appelée diatonique.” Fétis, Traité complet, xxi–xxii. 75 See also chapter 2. The musical characterization of Carmen, famously, employs chromaticism as both exotic and seductive. See Susan McClary, Georges Bizet: Carmen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 51–58. 76 These observations are not meant to call into question the vast majority of religious pieces in the nineteenth century that do feature prominent leading tones and tritones. The present explanations address chiefly the exceptions, rather than the customs, of musical practice. The “religious pentatonic,” in the end, is but one kind of religious expression. 77 The quotation, conveyed by a student of Liszt, is cited in Merrick, Revolution and Religion, 286–87. Merrick has documented many instances of the M2–m3 cell in Liszt, what he calls Liszt’s “cross motif.” See chapter 14, “Liszt’s Cross Motif and the Piano Sonata in B Minor,” in Revolution and Religion. Merrick’s religious interpretation of the Grandioso theme of Liszt’s Sonata in B minor, however, is in my opinion undermined by the rhythm (and to some extent, the harmony) of the theme, which suggests not the Gregorian incipit, but a transposed repetition of a single major-second motive: 5–6 | 1–2. 78 Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 288. 79 Jansen, Les Vrais Principes, 163. Franz Xaver Haberl, Magister Choralis: Theoretischpraktische Anweisung zum Verständnis und Vortrag des authentischen römischen Choralgesanges,

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12th ed. (New York: Pustet, 1900 [1865]), 128. See also Catholic Church, Processionale romanum, 6. Janssen’s tone for the absolution differs from the later LU, which gives the cadence as b–c (LU, 132). 80 Structurally, this passage displays a vestige of classical protocol in the underlying 6–5, as discussed in chapter 1. 81 Both of these functions involve “iconic” (i.e., depictive) processes, though the latter mode is less direct in its signification, presupposing as it does the more or less arbitrary notions of melodic “ascent” and of tonal gravity, as well as the (less arbitrary) correlation of chromaticism with tension. 82 Another example of the Picardy sixth (P325) will be mentioned below with regard to bass 6–8. 83 It is perhaps not too much of a stretch to also mention in this context that most famous series of plagal cadences at the climax of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde. Here the erotic has been elevated to the spiritual, through a curious convergence of chromaticism, plagal harmony (with prominent appogiatura sixths), and Isolde’s striking 6–1 (if not 6–8). 84 Niedermeyer and D’Ortigue, Gregorian Accompaniment, 14–16. 85 Ibid., 62, 77. 86 Grabócz (Morphologie) includes pentatonic religioso themes within her catalogue of Liszt’s “isotopies sémantiques.” 87 One almost wonders if the Fauré “In paradisum” owes something to this passage, with its soothing, repeated 6–5 appoggiaturas and empty downbeats. 88 Constantin Floros, “Die Faust-Symphonie von Franz Liszt,” in Franz Liszt, ed. Heinz-Klaus Metzger and Rainer Riehn (Munich: Edition Text und Kritik, 1980), 70. Other writers include Dahlhaus, Longyear/Covington, Redepenning, Monson, Walter, and Kramer.

Chapter Four 1 Serge Gut, Franz Liszt: Les éléments du langage musical (Paris: Klincksieck, 1975), 77. 2 Roslyn Rensch, Harps and Harpists (London: Duckworth, 1989), 158. See also W. H. Grattan Flood, The Story of the Harp (New York: Scribner’s Sons, 1905), 156; Hans Joachim Zingel, Harp Music in the Nineteenth Century, trans. Mark Palkovic (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), 4. 3 Samuel Pratt, Affairs of the Harp (New York: Charles Colin, 1964), 20. 4 Quoted in ibid., 26. Elsewhere Beethoven complained that the piano “is still the most unrefined of all instruments, since one sometimes thinks that one is hearing only a harp.” Zingel, Harp Music, 26. 5 Pratt, Affairs, 21, 44. Nevertheless, we have no evidence that Haydn wrote for the great harpist Jan Kr¤titel Krumpholz (Jean-Baptiste Krumpholtz), who was active at Esterhazy between 1773 and 1776. H. C. Robbins Landon and David Wyn Jones, Haydn: His Life and Music (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), 96. 6 William G. Atwood, The Parisian Worlds of Frédéric Chopin (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999), 162. 7 See also Parish-Alvars, Fantasia on Themes from Weber’s “Oberon,” op. 59, m. 6; Grand Fantasia on Donizetti’s “Lucrezia Borgia,” op. 78, end; and Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58. 8 To execute an extended arpeggio of a simple three-note pattern, the harpist faces competing limitations: using all eight digits, as is generally preferred, minimizes the number of changes, or “placements,” of each hand, though using only six spares the fingers from adjusting to a different intervallic pattern in each placement. I am grateful to Heather Hoffmeister for her explication of fingering issues.

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9 “In its present state, the harp leaves much to be desired.” Nicholas Charles Bochsa, Nouvelle Méthode de harpe, trans. and ed. Patricia John (Houston: Pantile Press, 1993 [1814]), 7. 10 Ibid., 18. 11 Hector Berlioz, Traité d’instrumentation et d’orchestration, nouvelle éd. (Paris: Lemoine, 1860?), 75. 12 Even with the advent of the piano’s double escapement (also by Érard) in 1821, pianists could never hope to produce as quick a reiteration of a single pitch. 13 “On ne saurait croire les ressources que les grands Harpistes savent maintenant tirer de ces doubles notes qu’ils ont nommées synonimes. Mr. Parish Alvars le virtuose le plus extraordinaire peut être qu’on ait jamais entendu sur cet instrument, execute des traits et des arpèges qui à l’inspection paraissent absolument impossible et dont toute la difficulté, cependant, ne consiste que dans l’emploi ingénieux des pédales. Il fait, par exemple, avec une rapidité extraordinaire des traits comme le suivant: [Example] [¶] On concevra combien un trait pareil est facile, en considerant que l’artiste n’a qu’a glisser trois doigts du haut en bas sur les cordes de la Harpe, sans doigté, et aussi vite qu’il veut, puisqu’au moyen des synonimes l’intrument [sic] se trouve accordé exclusivement en suites de tierces mineures produisant l’accord de septième diminuée, et qu’au lieu d’avoir pour gamme [Example] il a: [Example].” Berlioz, Traité, 82. English translation based on Berlioz’s Orchestration Treatise: A Translation and Commentary, trans. and commentary by Hugh Macdonald (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 77–78. 14 Respectively, Alphonse Hasselmans, “La Harpe et sa technique,” in Encyclopédie de la musique et dictionnaire du Conservatoire, ed. Albert Lavignac, part 2 (Paris: Delagrave, 1927), 3:1937; Parish-Alvars, quoted in Floraleda Sacchi, Elias Parish Alvars: Life, Music, Documents, trans. Howard Weiner and Maria Rosa Solarino (Dornach: Odilia, 1999), 189; Carlos Salzedo, Modern Study of the Harp (Milwaukee: G. Schirmer, 1948), 5; Gertrude Robinson, Advanced Lessons for the Harp (New York: Carl Fischer, 1913), 26; Engelbert Humperdinck, Instrumentationslehre, ed. Hans-Josef Irmen (Cologne: Verlag der Arbeitsgemeinschaft für rheinische Musikgeschichte, 1981 [1892]), 135; Robert Russell Bennett, Instrumentally Speaking (Melville, NY: Belwin-Mills, 1975), 49. 15 Cecil Forsyth, Orchestration (London: Macmillan, 1914), 468. 16 Nicholas Charles Bochsa, Bochsa’s Explanations of His New Harp Effects (London: D’Almaine, 1832), 74. 17 Hasselmans, “La Harpe,” 3:1940. 18 Hector Berlioz, The Memoirs of Hector Berlioz, trans. and ed. David Cairns (London: Gollancz, 1969), 304. 19 Ibid., 347. 20 Sacchi, Parish Alvars: 12. Parish-Alvars is also mentioned briefly in Schumann’s Tagebücher. Robert Schumann, Tagebücher, ed. Gerd Nauhaus (Leipzig: V.E.B. Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1971–87), 2:200, 259; 3:207, 337. Moya Wright includes Paganini among the list of the harpist’s famous fans, though I have not seen this corroborated elsewhere. “Elias Parish-Alvars. The Legend and the Legacy,” World Harp Congress Review 7, no. 1 (Fall 1999): 26. 21 Zingel, Harp Music, 64. 22 Quoted in Rensch, Harps and Harpists, 196. 23 See Sacchi, Parish Alvars, 19–22. 24 Isabelle Bélance-Zank, “The ‘Three-Hand’ Texture: Origins and Use,” Journal of the American Liszt Society 38 (July–December 1995): 99–121. 25 See also Parish-Alvars’ Grand Fantasia on “Lucia di Lammermoor,” op. 79, for a still more unusual downward glissando, d–c –b –a–g –f–e .

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26 Parish-Alvars’ ascending added-sixth arpeggios always appear as a roulade, with 6–5, rather than as a straight ascent. This may also indicate his observation of the habits of classical 6. 27 P380 represents a middle ground between arpeggio and glissando, an added-sixth set fingered as a seven-note scale. 28 David Huron, “Interval-Class Content in Equally Tempered Pitch-Class Sets: Common Scales Exhibit Optimum Tonal Consonance,” Music Perception 11, no. 3 (Spring 1994): 300. 29 For the given tuning, the only possible triadic glissandi are this triad and its parallel minor. 30 See Liszt’s first Mephisto Waltz, 1 measure before rehearsal Hh, and his Dante Symphony, i, m. 393. 31 François Auguste Gevaert, Nouveau traité d’instrumentation (Paris: Lemoine, 1885). Gevaert’s earlier treatise was called Traité général d’instrumentation (Liège: Gand, 1863). 32 See Sacchi, Parish Alvars: 189. The method is, admittedly, fragmentary. 33 See also Ebenezer Prout, The Orchestra, vol. 1, Technique of the Instruments (London: Augener, 1897); Ch. M. Widor, Technique de l’orchestre moderne (Paris: Lemoine, 1925 [1904]); Henri Kling, Modern Orchestration and Instrumentation, trans. Gustav Saenger (New York, C. Fischer, 1905); Forsyth, Orchestration; and Hasselmans, “La Harpe.” RimskyKorsakov did write glissandi on many unusual sets, including the pentatonic (see P387), though his orchestration treatise mentions enharmonic glissandi only on “chords of the seventh and ninth.” Nicolay Rimsky-Korsakov, Principles of Orchestration, trans. Edward Agate, ed. Maximilian Steinberg (New York: Kalmus, 1912), 29. Kling included an addedsixth glissando without comment (p. 51). The major added-sixth chord described by Rameau, of course, is a different harmony altogether, even if the same sonority. 34 Further complicating the question is the incompleteness of biographical information for Parish-Alvars: though he had composed (and, presumably, performed) up to opus 35 before ever publishing, his opp. 1–26 are lost, and we have only the dates of publication for the rest. Sacchi, Parish Alvars, 10. 35 Personal communication from B. J. Leiderman, June 28, 2000. Whole-tone glissandi (impossible on Leiderman’s keyboard, but effortless on the harp) have also been used in film in this way. In either case, scalar difference is clearly the chief semantic mechanism of “transport,” though the precise effect of each is quite different: the consonance of the pentatonic glissando connotes the benign while the dissonance of the whole-tone glissando connotes the mysterious or even the ominous.

Chapter Five 1 This passage calls to mind another remarkable ending, one at the opposite end of the rhetorical spectrum: the climax of Tristan (in B major) features a similar rising triplet motif and, more to the point, an emphasis on the sixths above E-major and B-major triads. 2 Constantin Brailoiu cites several instances of such mutations in Debussy, though none convince me, and two are plainly wrong. Brailoiu’s excerpt from “Soupir” ends in midphrase, omitting notes that weaken his point. His excerpt from “La Cathédrale engloutie,” meanwhile, contains a misprint; in fact, Debussy’s original does not include the purported mutation. “Pentatony in Debussy’s Music,” in Studia memoriae Belae Bartók sacra, ed. Benjamin Rajeczky (New York: Boosey and Hawkes, 1959), 411–13. 3 David Kopp, “Pentatonic Organization in Two Piano Pieces of Debussy,” Journal of Music Theory 41, no. 2 (Fall 1997): 261–87. A simpler, though less theoretically elegant derivation of the major scale is as a pair of pentatonic scales separated by a major second.

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4 Both scales had been used by Debussy prior to his attending the 1889 Paris Exposition. Richard Mueller argues that Debussy was thus prepared to hear (and remember) certain elements of those Javanese performances. “Javanese Influence on Debussy’s Fantaisie and Beyond,” 19th-Century Music 10, no. 2 (1986): 157–86. 5 One of those common tones, b, does not occur in the octatonic melody itself but was present in the fully octatonic texture of the prior measures. 6 Kopp, “Pentatonic Organization.” 7 Richmond Browne, “Tonal Implications of the Diatonic Set,” In Theory Only 5, nos. 6–7 (July–August 1981): 3–21.

Afterword 1 Randall Wheaton, “The Diatonic Potential of the Strange Sets: Theoretical Tenets and Structural Meaning in Gustav Mahler’s ‘Der Abschied,’ ” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1988). 2 Ernö Lendvai, The Workshop of Bartók and Kodály (Budapest: Editio Musica, 1983), 15. 3 Béla Bartók, Béla Bartók Essays, ed. Benjamin Suchoff (London: Faber and Faber, 1976), 364, 342. 4 Gordon Cyr, “Intervallic Structural Elements in Ives’s Fourth Symphony,” Perspectives of New Music 9, no. 2; 10, no. 1 (1971): 291–303; Jamary Oliveira, “Black Key versus White Key: A Villa-Lobos Device,” Latin American Music Review 5, no. 1 (Spring–Summer 1984): 33–47; Daniel Harrison, “Bitonality, Pentatonicism, and Diatonicism in a Work by Milhaud,” in Music Theory in Concept and Practice, ed. James M. Baker, David W. Beach, and Jonathan W. Bernard, 393–408 (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 1997); Richard W. Bass, “Sets, Scales, and Symmetrics: The Pitch-Structural Basis of George Crumb’s Macrokosmos I and II,” Music Theory Spectrum 13, no. 1 (Spring 1991): 1–20. Whitekey/black-key partitions of the 12-tone aggregate can be heard in Ives’s song “Majority” as well as in Ligeti’s Atmosphères.

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Index References containing musical examples are printed in boldface type. Titles of musical works appearing in the Catalogue are accompanied by their corresponding “P” numbers in square brackets, since the reader will sometimes find these works identified by number, rather than by title, in the text itself. The reader may also find useful the Chronological Index of Cataloged Examples, pp. 197–203.

absolute music, sacralization of, 133 acoustic scale, 183, 486n97; in Scottish music, 84 added-ninth arpeggio, 152 added-sixth chord, 25, 27, 141, 154, 156, 164–65, 165, 166, 168–69, 496n33. See also arpeggio, added-sixth; glissando, added-sixth “Air ball!”, 42, 71 Allgemeiner Cäcilienverein, 108 Alper, Clifford, 480n54 alphorn, 68. See also horn calls; ranz des vaches; shepherd in music alterity, 48, 481n1 Amen, 29, 133–34. See also Dresden Amen America, aboriginal music of, 1, 482n29 Amiot, Joseph Marie, 51, 52, 53, 57 ancient music, European views of, 50–54 Anonymous, “Nova, nova,” 73; “Sumer is icumen in,” 75; “Tidingës true,” 73 anthropology, incipient in the eighteenth century, 49–54, 55 Antoinette, Marie, 146 Appenzeller ranz, 68, 71 Arab music, 129 Arab-themed opera, 58, 95 Arcadelt, Jacob, Ave Maria, 29 Argento, Dominick, To Be Sung upon the Water, 187 Arnim, Achim von, 90

arpeggiation, 19–21 arpeggio, 494n8; added-sixth, 25, 147, 152, 156, 496n26, 496n27; enharmonic, 151, 152 Asian music, 9, 54, 55, 57. See also specific regions assimilation, 58 augmented-seventh chord, 146–47 authenticity, 54, 87, 108, 483n42 Bach, J. C., Keyboard Concerto, op. 13 #4, 85 Bach, J. S., B-minor Mass, 29; WellTempered Clavier I, #21, 19–20 bagpipe, 63, 484n66 Balakirev, Mily, 92; Islamey: Oriental Fantasy [P260], 92, 361; Overture on Three Russian Themes [P259], 92, 360 Barber, Samuel, Knoxville: Summer of 1915, 186 Bartók, Béla, 183, 476n12 Baumann, Max, 68 Beethoven, Ludwig van, 80, 85, 90, 98, 146, 494n4 An die ferne Geliebte, 62 Deutsche, WoO 13 #5 [P182], 81, 315 Écossaise, WoO 83, #1 [P184], 80, 315 “Eroica” Symphony, 23 Ländlerische Tänze, 81 Missa Solemnis [P322], 135–36, 405 515

516

index

Beethoven, Ludwig van (continued) Piano Sonata, op. 79, 22 Piano Sonata, op. 81a “Les Adieux,” 485n88 “The Pulse of an Irishman,” 86–87 String Quartet, op. 59 #2 [P43], 62, 235 Symphony #6, i, 25 Symphony #6, ii [P132, P159], 75, 78, 285, 302 Variations on a Swiss Song, WoO64, 146 Bellman, Jonathan, 48, 49 bells, 76–77. See also doorbell Berio, Luciano, Cries of London, 485n77 Berlioz, Hector, 53, 92, 150, 152, 155–56, 492n61 Harold en Italie, 486n113 Irlande, op. 2 #2, “Hélène” [P230, P231], 30, 88, 340, 341, 479n33 Irlande, op. 2 #7, “L’Origine de la harpe” [P232], 88, 341 Requiem [P306, P307, P324], 30, 135, 136, 391, 392–94, 406 Rob Roy [P226, P227], 30, 88, 338, 339, 479n33, 486n113 Symphonie fantastique [P72, P292], 28–31, 38, 71, 76, 82, 133, 248, 382–83, 479n33 Waverley [P233], 88, 342 Beveridge, David, 475n3 Binchois, Gilles, “Adieu m’amour,” 41 birdsong, 98. See also calls, bird Bizet, Georges, Carmen, 493n75; Djamileh [P23], 60, 95, 97, 221; “Rêve de la bien aimée” [P142], 76, 292 black keys, 8, 55, 60, 84, 145, 156, 157, 497n4 Bochsa, Nicholas Charles, 150–51, 152, 155; La Valse du feu, 151 Boieldieu, François-Adrien, La Dame blanche [P80, P81, P218, P225, P239], 71, 72, 88, 254, 255, 332, 337, 346 Borodin, Alexander, 92; Prince Igor [P243, P244], 92, 93, 349, 350; Symphony #1 [P247], 92, 353; Symphony #2 [P245, P246], 92, 351, 352 Bourgault-Ducoudray, L. A., 59 Brahms, Johannes, 37, 49, 90

Alto Rhapsody [P293], 30, 134, 384 “Darthulas Grabesgesang,” op. 42 #3 [P223], 88, 335–36 “Der Abend” [P108], 74, 271 “Gesang aus Fingal,” op. 17 #4 [P237], 88, 345 Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #3, “O die Frauen” [P188], 82, 316 Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #6 “Ein kleiner, hübscher Vogel” [P144], 76, 293–94 Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #13, “Vögelein durchrauscht die Luft” [P129], 75, 282 Liebeslieder Waltzes, op. 52 #15, “Nachtigall, sie singt so schön” [P124], 75, 279 Neues Liebeslieder, op. 65 #8, “Weiche Gräser” [P201], 83, 322–23 Schicksalslied [P110, P294, P302], 30, 34–35, 74, 134, 135, 272, 384, 388 Symphony #2, 22 “Wiegenlied” [P104], 74, 195, 270 Zigeunerlieder #3 “Wisst Ihr, wann mein Kindchen” [P95], 73, 264 Zigeunerlieder #5, “Brauner Bursche führt zum Tanze” [P267], 96, 365 Zigeunerlieder #9, “Weit und breit” [P268], 96, 366 Brailiou, Constantin, 483n43, 496n2 Brentano, Clemens, 90 Britten, Benjamin, Prince of the Pagodas, 184 Bruckner, Anton, 17 Ave Maria [P272], 130, 369 Mass in E minor [P276], 130, 373–74 Os justi [P269], 131, 367 Psalm 150 [P319], 135, 402–3 Te Deum [P274, P356], 130, 138, 140–41, 370–71, 438–39 Burmese music, 54 Burney, Charles, 52–53, 57, 84 Burns, Robert, 84, 88 Busby, Thomas, 84 calls, 8, 9, 42, 64–79; bird, 75–76, 159 (see also cuckoo). See also horn calls canto fratto, 106

index Capuana, Alessandro, 106 Car Talk (NPR), 157 Chabrier, Emmanuel “Ballade des gros dindons” [P181], 80, 314 “Ivresses!” [P180], 80, 314 Pièces pittoresques, “Menuet pompeux” [P179], 80, 314 “Ronde gauloise” [P102], 73, 268 “Toutes les Fleurs” [P206], 83, 326 Chailley, Jacques, 2, 109, 475n4, 490n27 chant. See liturgical chant chant sur le livre, 106 Chausson, Ernest, “Ballade” [P163], 78, 304; “Les Papillons” [P138], 76, 289; “Réveil” [P130], 75, 283 Cherubini, Luigi, Ali-Baba [P6], 58, 212 children’s music, 42, 54, 78, 480n54. See also lullaby Chinese music, borrowed by Western composers, 57–58; European views of, 49–54, 57, 58–59; heptatonic scale in, 52; Lydian scale in, 53; as not pentatonic, 52, 53; pentatonic scale in, 2, 50, 51, 52, 53; similarity to Scottish, 52, 54, 84; theory of, 51–52 chinoiserie, 98, 183. See also Chinese music Chipp, Edmund Thomas, Twilight Fancies #2 [P167], 78, 307; Twilight Fancies #3 [P211], 83, 328 Chopin, Frédéric, 25, 80, 91–92, 156, 487n121 Ballade in A major [P169], 78–79, 309 Ballade in F minor [P170], 78, 309 Berceuse [P120], 74, 276 3 Écossaises, op. 72 #3 [P185–P187], 80, 316 Etude, op. 10 #5 [P394], 156, 459, 475n4 Etude, op. 25 #5 [P396], 156, 460 Etude, op. 25 #8, 30, 31 Introduction and Rondo, op. 16 [P395], 156, 459 Krakowiak [P242], 91, 348 Mazurka, op. 50 #3 [P45], 62, 235 Nocturne, op. 9 #1 [P62], 68, 244 Nocturne, op. 9 #3 [P393], 156, 458

517

Nocturne, op. 27 #1 [P305], 30, 135, 390 Nocturne, op. 32 #2, 32 Nocturne, op. 37 #2 [P44], 62, 235 Nocturne, op. 62 #2 [P397], 156, 460 Prelude in D major, 23 Prelude in F major, 25–27 Rondo, op. 73 [P398], 156, 461 Waltz, op. 18 [P176], 25–26, 80, 313 Waltz, op. 34 #1 [P183], 80, 315 Choron, Alexandre-Étienne, 108, 110, 113, 115, 116 chromatic scale, 117–18, 124, 494n81 church music. See sacred music Clapton, Eric, 183 Clarke, Stephen, 84 Coleridge-Taylor, Samuel, A Tale of Old Japan [P34], 60, 228 consonance, 8, 9, 147, 152, 154, 158 Cooke, Deryck, 24 Cooke, Mervyn, 60 Copland, Aaron, 181 Corelli, Arcangelo, Christmas Concerto, 126 Cornelius, Peter “Abendgefühl” [P109], 74, 272 “Am Morgen” [P165], 78, 306 “Simeon” [P162], 78, 303 “Vorabend” [P100], 73, 82, 267 “Wiegenlied” [P121], 74, 277 corps sonore (Rameau), 50 Corri, Domenico, 85; The Travellers [P3], 57, 208 Council of Trent, 106 Coussemaker, E. de, 117 Couturier, P., 117 Crawfurd, John, 486n91 cries. See calls Croubelis, Simoni dall, Symphony in D, “Dans le goût asiatique,” 55–56 Crumb, George, 183 cuckoo, 75, 78, 485n79, 485n83. See also calls, bird Cui, César, Prelude in A major, op. 64 #17 [P412], 156, 471 Curwen, John, 16 Czech folk music, 91 Czerny, Carl, 152

518

index

Dahlhaus, Carl, 76 dance music, 80, 88 Danjou, F., 117 d’Arrezzo, Guido, 14 Daverio, John, 88 David, Félicien “Au Couvent” [P208], 83, 327 “Aux Filles d’Égypte” [P19], 60, 219 “Éveillez-vous” [P92], 73, 263 La Perle du Brésil [P106], 74, 270 Lalla-Roukh [P20, P21], 60, 96, 220 “Le Pêcheur à sa nacelle” [P111], 74, 273 Debussy, Claude, 2, 59–60, 60, 159–60, 160–81, 183, 484n61, 497n4 Feux d’artifice [P414], 157, 473 Khamma, 168 La Cathédrale engloutie, 496n2 La Fille aux cheveux de lin, 160–63, 164, 166 La Mer, 164–67, 167 Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien, 158 Les Collines d’Anacapri, 167 Pagodes, 60, 158, 167, 171–81 Printemps, 158 Rondes de printemps, 168–71 Six Épigraphes antiques, 158 Soupir, 496n2 Voiles, 168–69 Delibes, Léo, “Bonjour, Suzon!” [P207], 83, 326; “Églogue” [P73], 71, 249 desire, transcended, 128–29 Des Knaben Wunderhorn (Arnim), 90, 487n115 diatonic scale, 1. See also major scale; pentatonic scale, and diatonic D’Indy, Vincent. See Indy, Vincent d’ Dittersdorf, Karl Ditters von, 106 dominant eleventh chord, 39, 160 Donizetti, Gaetano, La favorite, 104 doorbell, 78 Dorian scale, 84 D’Ortigue, Joseph, 107, 108, 116, 117–19, 129, 137, 492n61 dream music, 98, 157 Dresden Amen, 132, 480n39 drone, 63, 91, 130 Du Halde, Jean-Baptiste, 50, 51, 52, 57, 58, 485n73

Dumont, Henri, 118 Dupleix, M., 51 Dürrnberger, J. N. A., 17 Dvo¤ràk, Antonín, 1, 9, 40, 91, 181, 487n119; Symphony #9 [P210], 38–40, 83, 327 École Niedermeyer, 108 École Royale de Chant et de Déclamation, 108 écossaises, 80 Egeland Hansen, Finn, 110, 489n24 Egyptian music, ancient, 52 Ellis, Alexander, 54 Engel, Carl, 54, 483n38 English folksong, 88–89, 90 Enlightenment, 51, 105, 121 Érard, Sébastien, 145, 147, 148–49, 152, 495n12 Ethiopian music, 54 Ett, Kaspar, 489n19 Exhibition. See Paris Exposition exoticism, 1, 47, 49, 54, 91, 98, 481n5, 484n61, 493n75; as cultural critique, 59; as cultural hegemony, 59; defined, 48; history, 48–49; musical devices, 47, 49, 57, 60, 91, 481n9; non-musical means in opera, 48–49; and pastoralism, 92–98; in visual arts, 48 Exposition. See Paris Exposition “Extra! Extra!”, 42 farewell, 73 Fauré, Gabriel Barcarolle, op. 44 [P410], 27, 156, 471 “En Sourdine” [P123], 75, 278 Messe basse [P320], 135, 404 Nocturne, op. 33 #2 [P409], 156, 470 Pièces brèves, op. 84 #7, “Allégresse” [P408], 156, 469 Requiem [P270, P275, P300, P338], 30, 99–105, 130, 135, 138, 367, 372, 388, 418–25, 494n87 “Une Sainte en son auréole” [P354], 138, 436 Fétis, F.-J., 17, 53–54, 84, 119, 122–23, 127–28, 129 Field, John, 152

index film and television music, 157 Fink, G. W., 84 ˆ 6, ˆ 8, 164, 485n66. See also 6, ˆ classical 5– behavior ˆ 3, ˆ 4, 8, 31, 130; as call, 8, 66, 74, 75 5– ˆ 38, 134 5, flashback music, 157 Floros, Constantin, 138 folk music, collections of, 90; influence on Western art-music, 90–92; as superior to cultivated music, 87–88, 126 ˆ 163 4, Franck, César, Piano Trio in F minor, op. 1 #1 [P413], 156, 472 Franz, Robert, “Schlummerlied” [P115, P119], 74, 274, 276 Fux, Johann Joseph, 116, 477n8 Fuxian counterpoint, 40 Gade, Niels, Comala [P51, P220], 30, 65, 88, 238, 333; Symphony #1 [P77], 71, 251 gagaku, 2 Gasparini, Francesco, 477n12 Gay, John, 85 Geminiani, Francesco, 85 Gershwin, “Nice Work If You Can Get It,” 189 Gevaert, F. A., 155 Glinka, Mikhail, 92; A Life for the Tsar [P248–P250, P264], 92, 354, 355, 356, 363 glissando, 496n35; added-sixth, 152, 155; black-key, 156; enharmonic, 149–51, 152, 155–57, 495n25, 496n33; pentatonic, 92, 142, 152, 155, 157, 159 (see also pentatonicism, pentatonic scale used as scale) Godefroid, Félix, Etudes mélodiques, “Les Arpèges,” 146 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 87 gothicism, 88, 105–6, 108, 116. See also liturgical chant, restoration of Gounod, Charles “Choral” [P154], 77, 300 Faust [P328], 137, 410 “Les Champs” [P97], 73, 265

519

“Les Naïades” [P98], 30, 73, 266 Messe aux Orphéonistes [P298], 135, 386 Messe brève in C major [P317], 30, 135, 401 Messe solennelle #4 in G minor [P316], 30, 135, 400 Mireille [P64, P74, P103], 70, 71, 73, 245, 249, 269 Requiem [P318], 30, 135, 401 St. Cecilia Mass [P280, P291, P297, P327, P353, P357], 130, 133, 135, 137, 138, 376, 382, 385, 409, 434–35, 440 Grabócz, Márta, 488n1, 494n86 Greece (ancient), and European selfunderstanding, 88, 105; music, 55; music theory, 9, 50, 52 “Gregorian incipit,” 108, 113, 130, 132, 133, 493n77 Grétry, André-Ernest-Modeste, 68; Guillaume Tell [P67], 71, 246, 485n73 Grieg, Edvard, “Bell-Ringing” [P152], 30, 77, 299; Peer Gynt Suite [P75], 71, 250; “Vaaren” (“Spring”) [P145], 76, 294 Guéranger, Dom Prosper, 126 Gut, Serge, 145 Gypsy music. See style hongrois Hahn, Reynaldo, “D’une Prison” [P156], 77, 300; “L’Heure exquise” [P168], 78, 308; “Paysage” [P94, P209], 73, 83, 264, 327 Halde, Jean-Baptiste Du. See Du Halde, Jean-Baptiste Handel, G. F. anthems, 29 Il pastor fido [P40], 61, 234 L’Allegro, il penseroso, ed il moderato [P128], 75, 282 Messiah (various choruses), 29 Messiah, Pastoral Symphony [P49], 63, 126, 236 The Triumph of Time and Truth [P48], 63, 236 Water Music, 65 harp, arpeggios, 146–47, 150, 151; chromatic notes, 146, 148, 149, 150; double-action, 145, 148–49;

520

index

harp, arpeggios (continued) enharmonicism, 146–47, 149, 150, 152, 154; 19th-century repertoire, 146; not a chromatic instrument, 146, 149; in orchestration treatises, 155–56; pedal action, 8, 146; pentatonicism related to other 19th-century pentatonicism, 156, 158; rivalry with piano, 146, 148, 149, 494n4; scordatura, 155; single- and double-action compared, 148, 152, 154; single-action, 148, 151; special effects, 149, 150, 152, 154; technical constraints, 147, 152, 494n8 Harrison, George, 183 Hasselmans, Alphonse, 151 Hauptmann, Moritz, 15 Hawkins, John, 64, 84 Haydn, Joseph, 66, 85, 90, 106, 107, 146, 477n8, 485n79, 494n5 Die Jahreszeitzen [P52, P82, P166], 65, 66, 71, 78, 238, 256, 307 “Does Haughty Gaul,” 86 Missa brevis in F, 29 Missa brevis in G, 29 String Quartet, op. 50 #6, 25 Symphony #73, “La Chasse” [P53], 66, 239 Symphony #88 [P173], 80, 311 Symphony #104 [P174], 80, 311 “Willy’s Rare,” 86 Haydn, Michael, 130; Missa Sancti Aloysii [P281], 131, 377; Missa Sancti Hieronymi [P282], 130, 377 Heinichen, Johann David, 15; Pastorale per la Notte della Nativitate Christi [P47], 63, 236 Helmholtz, Hermann von, 54 Hendrix, Jimi, “Purple Haze,” 190 heptatonic scale. See diatonic scale Herder, Johann Gottfried, 87–88, 90, 92, 105 hexachord (medieval), 14–15, 64, 477n12, 477n5, 477n6, 477n8 hexachordal theme, 8, 57, 63, 68 hexatonic scale, 63, 479n37 Hindemith, Paul, Symphonic Metamorphoses on Themes of Carl Maria von Weber, 484n49

Hoffmann, E. T. A., 107, 116, 118, 126, 491n48 homophone. See harp, enharmonicism Honegger, Arthur, Pastorale d’été, 188 horn calls, 64–68; horn fifths, 66, 68, 485n88; hunting (topic), 68; as Romantic, 68, 82; stylized, 68, 78, 485n71; underlying scale’s essential pentatonicism, 8, 68; vocalized, 71, 73. See also alphorn Huglo, Michel, 108 Hummel, Johann Nepomuk, 85 Hungarian music, 476n12. See also style hongrois Hunter, Mary, 481n5 Huron, David, 152 Impressionism, 54, 60, 92, 145, 158 Indian music, 53, 54 Indy, Vincent d’, Jour d’été à la montagne [P147], 76, 297; Symphony on a French Mountain Air [P241], 90, 347 Institution de Musique Classique et Religieuse, 108 interruption structure, pentatonic, 38, 163 intonation. See calls; liturgical chant Irish music, 53, 84, 86 irony. See pentatonicism, ironic usage Ives, Charles, 183; “Majority,” 497n4 Janequin, Clément, La Chasse, 485n75; Le Chant des oyseaux, 485n83 Janssen, N. A., 122, 494n79 japonaiserie, 98 Javanese music, 54, 168, 476n10; Debussy on, 59–60 Joplin, Scott, Maple Leaf Rag, 32, 34 Kalkbrenner, Friedrich, 57, 58; “Hymne des dix mille ans” [P5], 58, 210–11 Kant, Immanuel, 105, 488n3 Kern, Jerome, “Ol’ Man River,” 189 Kircher, Athanasius, 75 Kirnberger, Johann Philipp, 490n31 Klangfläche, 76 Kling, Henri, 496n33

index Knecht, Justin Heinrich, Le Portrait musical de la Nature [P131], 75, 284 Kodály, Zoltán, 183, 476n12 Kolberg, Oskar, 91 Kopp, David, 167, 171 Kozeluch, Leopold, 85 Krumhansl, Carol, 479n27 Krumpholtz, Jean-Baptiste, 494n5 Kurth, Ernst, 128 La Fage, Adrien de, 115, 116, 117, 118, 121–22 Laborde, Benjamin de, 53, 57, 84 Lachner, Franz, “Das Waldvöglein” [P87], 71, 260 Lambillotte, Louis, 489n18 Landini cadence, 40–41 ˆ 1; ˆ 5– ˆ 3ˆ Ländler cadence. See 3– Larson, Steve, 478n20 Latin rock, 183 Le Sueur, Jean-François, Ossian [P238], 88, 345 leading tone, 4, 15, 16, 40, 118, 119, 127–28, 162, 480n44; absence of as metaphor for the divine, 129. See also ˆ as plagal leading tone; 7ˆ 6, Lebeuf, Jean, 119 Leiderman, B. J., 157 Lerdahl, Fred, 21 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 105 Liber Usualis, 108, 109, 110–12, 113, 489n20 Ligeti, György, Atmosphères, 497n4 Liszt, Franz, 49, 71, 92, 126, 132–33, 138, 145, 152, 155, 156, 475n3, 479n33, 488n11, 492n61 Adagio for organ [P323], 135–36, 406 Albumblatt in Walzerform [P190], 80, 317 Am Grabe Richard Wagners [P342], 138, 427 “Angélus! Prière aux anges gardiens” [P349], 127, 138, 431 Anima Christi [P277], 130, 374 “Au Lac de Wallenstadt” [P202], 83, 324 Ballade #1 [P402], 156, 465 Ballade #2 (autograph ending) [P403], 156, 465

521

Chapelle de Guillaume Tell [P299], 135, 387 Christus [P326, P333, P348], 126–27, 137, 138, 408, 414, 430 Consolation #3 [P404, P405], 156, 466 Consolation #4, 135–36 Dante Symphony [P287, P310], 133, 135, 380, 395 “Die Himmel erzählen” [P352], 138, 433 “Églogue” [P204], 83, 325 “Es rufet Gott uns mahnend” [P351], 138, 433 Eucharista [P285], 133, 378 Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses [P54, P69], 66, 71, 239, 247 Faust Symphony [P346, P358], 138, 430, 441 “Herr, wie lange” [P313, P334], 30, 135, 137, 397, 415 Hungarian Coronation Mass [P303, P350], 30, 135, 138, 389, 431–32, 480n46 “Invocation” from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses [P367], 138, 142, 447 Les Morts [P345], 138, 430 Les Préludes [P205], 83, 325 Marche funèbre [P308], 30, 135, 394 Mass in C minor [P278, P288], 130, 133, 375, 381 Matrimonium [P271], 130, 368 “Mein Gott” [P336], 137, 416 Missa Choralis [P273, P331, P332, P339, P340], 130, 137, 138, 369, 413, 414, 426 Missa solemnis [P314], 30, 135, 398–99 O Sacrum Convivium [P359], 138, 441 “Ordo” from Septem Sacramenta [P366], 138, 142, 446 Organ Mass [P309], 30, 135, 395 Ossa arida [P365], 138, 142, 444–46 “Pastorale” [P203], 83, 325 Pater Noster [P312], 135, 397 Requiem [P325, P329], 36, 38, 136, 137, 407, 411, 494n82 Rigoletto (concert paraphrase) [P406, P407], 156, 467, 468 Salve regina [P290], 133, 381

522

index

Liszt, Franz (continued) “Scène aux champs” (transcription of Berlioz), 76–77 Sonata in B minor, 493n77 Sposalizio [P301, P360], 30, 135, 138, 141, 171, 388, 442 St. Cecilia [P311, P330, P347, P362], 30, 135, 137, 138, 141, 396, 412, 430, 443 St. Elisabeth [P279, P289, P335, P341, P361, P363, P364], 130, 133, 137, 138, 141–42, 375, 381, 415, 426, 442, 443 Transcendental Etude #1 [P399], 156, 462 Transcendental Etude #6 [P400], 156, 463 Transcendental Etude #9 [P401], 156, 464 Via Crucis [P286], 133, 379 Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe [P116], 74, 274 Weihnachtsbaum [P42], 62, 234 liturgical chant, 9, 99, 105, 108–13; allusions to, 133, 134; corruptions in, 106–7, 108, 117–24; intonation formulas, 108–9; quoted in sacred music, 130, 133, 138; restoration of, 107–8, 116–24, 137; as the “people’s” music, 126; theories of, 9, 116–24, 129. See also Liber Usualis Locke, Ralph, 92, 481n3, 484n52 Loewe, Carl “Alpins Klage” [P221], 88, 334 “Das Muttergottesbild im Teiche” [P161], 78, 303 “Die Mutter an der Wiege” [P113], 74, 273 “Die Oasis” [P16], 60, 218 “Der Mohrenfürst auf der Messe” [P17], 60, 218 “Lied der Königin Elisabeth” [P228], 88, 340 “Thomas der Reimer” [P148, P224], 78, 88, 297, 337 “Vogelgesang” [P136], 76, 288 Louis, Rudolf, 16, 17 lullaby, 73–74, 98 Lully, Jean-Baptiste, 47–48; Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (arr. Weckerlin, 1883) [P1], 47–48, 205, 483n42

Luther, Martin, “Ein feste Burg,” 119–20, 132 Lyadov, Anatoli, Etude, op. 37 [P411], 156, 471; Mazurka, op. 38 [P261], 92, 361 Lyre of Mercury (Roussier), 51 Lyre of Pythagoras (Roussier), 51 Macfarren, George, 89 MacPherson, James, 87, 486n102 Mahler, Gustav, 480n39 Das Lied von der Erde, 27, 165, 183 “Der Abschied,” 27, 165 “Ich bin der Welt” [P198], 83, 321 Kindertotenlieder [P122], 74, 277 Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen [P195], 30, 83, 319 Symphony #1 [P283], 32–33, 130–32, 378 Symphony #4 [P146, P212], 76, 83, 295–96, 328 Symphony #5 [P304], 34–35, 135, 389 “Um Mitternacht” [P149], 77, 298 Maistre, Joseph de, 488n6 major scale, critiques of, 59; history of, 14–17, 477n12, 485n67; modal aspects of, 13–14, 16–17, 17, 18–19, 28, 478n20, 478n25 Marx, A. B., 28, 80 Mascagni, Pietro, Iris [P30–P33], 60, 226–27 Massé, Victor “Berceuse” [P114], 74, 274 “Dans les Bois” [P126], 75, 281 “Eho!” [P89], 73, 261 “La Chanson du printemps” [P143], 76, 293 “Le Muletier de Calabre” [P90], 73, 262 Massenet, Jules, “Bonne Nuit!” [P112], 74, 273; “Lève-toi” [P91], 30, 73, 262 Mattheson, Johann, 477n12 meaning. See signification medieval revival, 107–8. See also gothicism; liturgical chant, restoration of Méhul, Étienne-Nicolas, Uthal [P78], 71, 252

index Mendel, Hermann, 483n38 Mendelssohn, Felix, 88, 146, 152 “Jagdlied” [P88], 71, 260 Symphony #1, 22 Symphony #3 (“Scottish”) [P217, P219], 88–89, 331, 333 Symphony #5 (“Reformation”), 132 Merrick, Paul, 493n77 Messager, André, Madame Chrysanthème [P7, P27, P28], 58, 60, 212, 223 Meyer, Leonard, 34, 42, 133, 481n55 Meyerbeer, Giacomo, Dinorah [P56, P71], 66, 71, 240, 248 Michaelangelo, Creation of Adam, 125 Milhaud, Darius, 183 Miller, James, 84 Millet, Jean-François, L’Angélus, 125 minor third. See third mode, 13–14, 17, 31, 110, 113, 116, 118, 124. See also pentatonic scale, modes of; scale modes (medieval), 102, 110, 113, 116, 118, 119, 490n31 modes (pentatonic). See pentatonic scale, modes of Monteverdi, Claudio, Vespers, 29 montuno, 485n86 Moussorgsky, Modest, 92; Pictures at an Exhibition [P266], 92, 95, 364 Mozart, Leopold, 146; Sinfonia di caccia [P55, P60], 66, 239, 242; “Toy” Symphony, 75 Mozart, W. A., 66, 90, 106, 107; cadences of, 24 Mass, K. 167, 22, 29 Mass, K. 192, 29, 130 Mass, K. 258, 29 Mass, K. 49, 29 Piano Sonata, K. 281, 24 Piano Sonata, K. 330, 24 The Magic Flute [P50, P101], 22, 63, 73, 82, 195, 237, 267 Mueller, Richard, 497n4 musica ficta, 118 Napoleon Bonaparte, 88 nationalism, 84, 89, 90, 91, 92 Neumeyer, David, 478n25

523

“news” carols, 72–73 Nicolai, Otto, Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor [P222], 88, 334 Niedermeyer, Louis, 108, 118, 137 Nielsen, Carl, Sleep [P107], 74, 271 “noble savage,” 9, 127. See also primitivism Novalis, 105 octatonic scale, 9, 168–69. See also pentatonic scale, and octatonic octave equivalence, 19 Offenbach, Jacques, Ba-Ta-Clan [P18], 60, 219 ˆ 3, ˆ 64–65 1– opera style in church, 106, 117 Orgue de Barbarie, 51 Orientalism. See exoticism Ortigue, Joseph d’. See D’Ortigue, Joseph Ossian, 87 Ossianism, 87, 90 overtone series, 8, 50, 64, 68 Paganini, Niccolò, 495n20 Page, Jimi, “Stairway to Heaven” (guitar solo), 191 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da, 107, 110, 114–15; Missa Papae Marcelli, 29 Paris Exposition, 59, 60, 484n55, 497n4 Parish-Alvars, Elias, 146, 150, 151, 152–55, 155, 158, 495n20, 496n34 Fantasia on Themes from Weber’s “Oberon,” op. 59 [P381], 152, 452 Fantasia, op. 35 [P372, P379], 152, 153, 448, 451 Grand Fantasia on “I Capuleti e i Montecchi” by Bellini and “Semiramide” by Rossini [P376, P377], 152, 154–55, 450 Grand Fantasia on “Lucia di Lammermoor,” 495n25 Grand Fantasia on Rossini’s “Moïse,” op. 58 [P375, P378, P382], 152, 450, 451, 452 Grand Study in Imitation of the Mandolin [P371, P384], 149, 152, 153, 453, 448

524

index

Parish-Alvars (continued) Grande Fantaisie et Variations de Bravoure, op. 57 [P373], 152, 449 La Danse des fées [P383], 154, 453 Scenes from My Youth, op. 75, “Gipsies March” [P380], 152, 496n27, 451 Serenade, op. 83 [P368, P369, P385], 147, 152, 447, 454 Tema con variazioni, WoO PA1 [P374], 152, 449 The Farewell, op. 68 (⫽Romance #20) [P370], 152, 448 passing tones in chant, 121–24, 491n48 pastoral-exotic pentatonic, 9, 47–98, 159. See also under pentatonicism pastoralism, 9, 61, 63, 68, 75, 78, 81, 82, 88, 126; as exoticism, 92–98; and spirituality, 125–26, 141. See also primitivism Peirce, C. S., 6–7 pentatonic scale, 2–3; ambiguity of, 166, 167, 174, 183, 487n127; as ancient, 53, 483n43; apparent skepticism toward, 51–54, 57; in Burmese music, 54; in Chinese music, 2, 50, 51, 52, 53; and chromatic, 3–4, 8, 31; in Czech music, 91; and diatonic, 3, 5, 8, 31, 60, 113, 127, 167, 493n72, 496n3; in English folksong, 88; in Ethiopian music, 54; in European folksong, 90–93; “gaps” in, 3, 4, 113, 119, 129; history of term, 9, 483n38; in Hungarian music, 476n12; in Indian music, 54; in Irish music, 53; in Japanese music, 2; in Javanese music, 54, 168, 476n10; in liturgical chant, 9, 108–13, 124, 489n24, 490n27, 492n60; modes of, 5, 50–51, 51, 110, 174, 183, 476n12, 476n13, 488n127; mutation, 92, 496n2; as “natural,” 53, 64; and octatonic, 9, 168–71; pentatonic chord, 159; pentatonic échappée, 102, 141; pentatonic neighbor, 32, 99; pentatonic “organum,” 175; pentatonic passing tone, 32, 62, 130–32; in Polish music, 91; in popular music, 183–84; in post-tonal music, 183; properties of, 5, 7, 133,

167–68, 175, 476n15; “residue” in medieval and Renaissance music, 109, 110, 113, 116; in Scottish folksong, 52, 84; structural potential, 183 (see also ˆ 8, ˆ structural implications); subsets 6– of, 167, 172, 175, 178, 483n43; as system, 479n37; triads of, 4, 102; universality, 1, 2, 41, 54, 483n43; and whole-tone, 9, 167–68, 169, 171. See also pentatonicism pentatonicism, 4–5; African sources, 32, 183–84, 480n40; Asian sources, 9, 49–60; in calls (see calls); in children’s music, 42, 54, 480n54; circumstantial, 8, 61–63 (see also pentatonicism, incipient); domestic sources, 60–98; European sources, 84–92; harp sources, 154, 155; incipient, 60–80; ironic usage, 81–83, 98; medieval sources, 109, 110, 113, 116; as multifaceted phenomenon, 8; nonsignifying, 145, 158, 159 (see also pentatonicism, pentatonic scale used as scale); opposite of chromaticism, 32, 37, 42–43, 92, 95, 99, 129–30, 138, 167, 183; pentatonic scale used as scale, 8, 138–42, 156, 167–71, 183 (see also glissando); Russian sources, 92, 487n124; Scottish sources, 84–89; signifying hybrid “pastoral-exotic,” 92–98; signifying purity, 81; signifying “Scottish,” 9, 88; signifying the “exotic,” 9, 47, 49, 57, 58, 60, 61, 92, 95, 157, 158, 183; signifying the “pastoral,” 9, 61, 63, 64, 81, 83, 158, 159, 183, 486n113; signifying the “spiritual,” 6, 9, 98, 102, 105, 130, 157, 158, 183, 496n35; as social text, 490n27; as tonal minimalism, 61, 64, 124; in the twentieth century, 181, 480n41; undermines tonality, 172, 175, 181. See also pentatonic scale Pez, Johann Christoph, Concerto pastorale [P46], 63, 236 piano. See black keys Picardy sixth, 37–38, 134, 166. See also 6ˆ pitch-space, 21, 31–32, 40, 64, 102, 479n27, 479n28, 479n37

index plagal cadence, 21, 23, 28–31, 34, 38–40, 42, 133, 134, 136, 159, 160, 479n36, 480n48, 494n83 ˆ as plagal plagal leading tone. See 6, leading tone plagal modulation, 34 plainchant. See liturgical chant plainchant musical, 106 Playford, John, 84 Pleyel, Ignaz, 85 Polish folk music, 91 Pöschl, Josef, 66–67 Pratt, Samuel, 146 primitive pentatonic, 9, 127, 138, 158. See also pastoral-exotic pentatonic primitivism, 54, 63, 82, 106, 124, 138, 158; and conceptions of spirituality, 124–27, 135. See also pastoralism progression triple (Rameau), 50–51, 482n18 Puccini, Giacomo, Messa di Gloria [P321], 30, 36–37, 135, 405; “O mio babbino caro” [P296], 30, 135, 385; Turandot [P39], 60, 98, 233 Punto, Giovanni, Rondeau en chasse [P58], 67, 241 Purcell, Henry, 57; The Fairy Queen, 48; Te Deum and Jubilate, 29 quartal harmony, 77 Rachmaninoff, Sergei “Before My Window” [P215], 83, 330 The Bells [P151], 77, 299 “Let Me Rest Here Alone” [P197], 83, 320 “Melody” [P117], 74, 275 Spring [P213], 83, 329 “The Lilacs” [P214], 83, 330 Raffles, Sir Thomas Stamford, 486n91 raga, 13, 14 Rameau, Jean-Phillippe, 15, 17, 50–51, 52, 54, 57, 59, 496n33; Les Paladins, 484n48 Ramsay, Allan, 85 ranz des vaches, 68, 70, 71, 485n73, 485n74 Ravel, Maurice, 158, 159

525

Daphnis et Chloé [P141], 76, 159, 167, 175, 292 Gaspard de la nuit [P416], 156, 474 Jeux d’eau [P415], 156, 473 L’Enfant et les sortilèges [P37, P38], 60, 98, 231, 232 Ma Mère l’oye [P36], 60, 230 Miroirs, v, “La Vallée des cloches” [P157], 77, 301 Shéhérazade [P35], 60, 229–30 Reinecke, Carl, Harp Concerto [P386], 152, 454 religion, in Enlightenment thought, 105, 488n3; in Napoleonic France, 488n6; in Romantic thought, 105, 125, 128. See also spirituality religious pentatonic, 6, 9, 98, 102–5, 124, 127, 128, 129, 130–42, 488n1, 493n76; as complex signifier, 124–27, 127–30, 138; and primitivism, 135, 138; in secular music, 135; structuralist interpretation, 129–30. See also pentatonicism, signifying the “spiritual” Reutter, Georg, 477n8 Reyer, Ernest, “À un Berceau” [P216], 30, 83, 331; “Adieu Suzon” [P76], 71, 82, 250 Ricci, Matteo, 50 Richter, Joseph, 488n11 Riemann, Hugo, 17, 54, 478n22, 483n38, 492n60 Rimsky-Korsakov, Nikolai, 92, 496n33; La Grande Pâque russe [P257, P387], 92, 152, 359, 455, 496n33; Sadko [P252–P256, P263, P265], 92, 95, 357, 358, 359, 363, 364, 480n47; Sinfonietta on Russian Themes [P262], 92, 94, 362 Robinson, “Smokey,” “My Girl,” 190 Rodgers, Richard, “Blue Moon,” 480n41 Rosetti, Antonio, Sinfonia pastoralis [P125], 75, 280 Rossini, Gioachino, 68, 106, 485n74; Guillaume Tell [P68, P70, P79], 71, 247, 248, 253; La donna del lago [P57], 66, 241; “L’Amour à Pekin,” 58–59 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 50, 53, 57, 71, 116, 124, 485n73

526

index

Roussier, Abbé, 51–52, 53, 54, 55 Russia, concert music of, 92–95, 487n123; folk music of, 92; nationalism, 89, 92 Sachs, Curt, 40, 483n43 sacred music, 102, 106, 107, 117, 119, 124 Saint-Saëns, Camille The Carnival of the Animals, #13, “The Swan” [P137], 76, 288 “La Cloche” [P155], 77, 300 La Princesse jaune [P8–P15], 58, 60, 98, 213–18 Le Lever de la lune [P229], 88, 340 “Le Matin,” 30 Marche Orient et Occident [P22], 60, 220 Mass, op. 4 [P337], 137, 417 Piano Concerto #5, “Egyptian” [P29], 30, 60, 224–25 Samson et Dalila [P24], 60, 92, 96, 221 “Viens” [P164], 78, 305 Salzer, Felix, 40 Sams, Eric, 487n115 Samson, Jim, 92 Scacchi, Marco, 106 scale, 1, 13–14, 17, 31, 113. See also mode; individual scales scale degrees. See individual scale degrees Schachter, Carl, 40 Schenker, Heinrich, 17, 128, 478n25 Schlegel, Friedrich, 105 Schoenberg, Arnold, 480n48; “Ei, du Lütte” [P93], 73, 263 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 128 Schröter, Christoph, 477n12 Schubert, Franz, 27, 49, 80 Antiphon for Palm Sunday, 29 “Der Musensohn” [P86], 71, 259 “Die junge Nonne” [P150], 77, 298 Die schöne Müllerin, “Des Baches Wiegenlied” [P118], 74, 275 “Frühlingslied,” D. 919 [P199], 83, 321 “German Mass,” 29 “Gott in der Natur” D. 757 [P200], 83, 322 “Jägers Abendlied” [P85], 71, 259 Ländler, D. 814 #1 [P171], 80, 310

Ländler, D. 814 #4 [P172], 80, 310 Mass #1, 29 Piano Sonata, D. 664, 25–26 Piano Trio in B major [P63], 68–69, 245 Salve regina, 29 Sonata in A major, D. 959 [P177], 80, 313 Symphony #9, iii [P175], 80, 312 Symphony #9, iv, 65 “Trost” [P83], 71, 257 “Wiegenlied” [P105], 74, 270 Winterreise, 82–83, 98 Winterreise, “Der Lindenbaum” [P59], 66, 83, 242 Winterreise, “Die Krähe” [P193], 83, 318 Winterreise, “Die Post” [P192], 83, 318 Winterreise, “Frühlingstraum” [P41], 62, 83, 234 Winterreise, “Gute Nacht” [P191], 32–33, 83, 317 Winterreise, “Mut!” [P194], 83, 319 Winterreise, “Rückblick” [P84], 71, 82, 258 Schumann, Robert, 495n20 Album für die Jugend, “Gukkuk im Versteck” [P127], 76, 281 “Das Hochlandmädchen,” op. 55 #1 [P235], 88, 343 “Der Nussbaum” [P158], 79, 302 Incidental Music to Manfred [P65], 68, 245 “John Anderson,” op. 145 #4 [P234], 88, 342 Liederkreis, op. 24, “Morgens steh’ ich auf” [P196], 83, 320 Symphony #3 [P160, P178], 78, 80, 303, 313 “Unter’m Fenster,” op. 34 #3 [P236], 88, 344 Scotland, nationalism, 84; in the Romantic imagination, 9, 87–88; and surrogate national pride, 88. See also pentatonicism, Scottish sources Scott, Sir Walter, 88

index Scottish folksong, 80; Continental views of, 84; Dorian scale in, 84; English views of, 84; imitated by foreign composers, 86–89; and pastoralism, 96; pentatonic scale in, 52, 84; pentatonicism overestimated, 84; published collections of folk music, 84–86; quoted in art music, 85–87; similarity to Chinese, 52, 54, 84; similarity to Javanese, 486n91; similarity to Native American, 482n29 “Scottish style” versus “Nordic character,” 88 Sechter, Simon, 16–17 semantics. See semiosis; signification semiosis, 6–7, 24, 134, 488n1, 494n81. See also signification semitone, 118; absent from pentatonic scale, 3, 53, 84, 129; in the medieval hexachord, 14 ˆ 53, 160; emergence of, 14–15; and 6, ˆ 7, 15–16; as tendency-tone, 16. See also leading tone Shepherd, John, 490n27 shepherd, as divine, 125; in music, 61, 82 signification, 6–7, 9, 24, 134, 138, 159, 183, 479n32. See also under pentatonicism Simon, Paul, “Still Crazy After All These Years,” 191 simplicity, 9, 98, 102, 123 6ˆ, as appoggiatura over V, 25, 80; in authentic cadences, 24; classical behavior, 21–23, 24, 25–28, 28, 55, 129, 160–62, 163, 166, 494n80 (see also ˆ 6; ˆ 6– ˆ 5); ˆ in classical modulation, 23; 5– consonant with the tonic, 8, 27, 63, 80, 137; and dance, 25–27, 80, 485n86; extensions of classical behavior, 25–28, 28–31; history and reception of, ˆ 41; non14–17; more “natural” than 7, classical behavior, 28–43, 132, 160–62, ˆ 8); ˆ as plagal leading 166–67 (see also 6– tone, 4, 34, 40, 41, 160, 162; and ˆ 18, 21, Russian music, 487n123; and 7, 23, 24, 34, 38, 40, 128, 130, 479n30; signifying desire, 24; signifying purity,

527

24; and subdominant harmony, 17, 160; as tendency-tone, 16; and tuning, 17. See also added-sixth chord ˆ 8, 102, 129, 130; in the bass, 34–36, 6ˆ–8, 135–37, 163, 164, 166; cadence, 28–31, 34, 37–41, 65–66, 133–35, 135–37, 160, 163, 166, 480n41, 480n42, 480n46; as catharsis, 37; and common–tone progressions, 32; as corruption of Ländler cadence, 65–66; in cuckoo call, 75; determines plagal closure unambiguously, 34; as extension of horn style, 65–66; and history of nineteenth-century tonality, 42; and ˆ 5, ˆ 19, 28, 30–31, 37, 40, 163; implied 6– as plagal empowerment, 34; reinterpreted classically, 86–87; signifying spirituality, 29; as a “step,” 4, 32, 34, 38, 40, 41, 479n37; structural implications, 38–43, 162–63; theoretical aspects, 31–34, 37; with ˆ non-classical ii–I, 37, 40. See also 6, ˆ behavior; 6, as plagal leading tone ˆ 8, 130, 138; in bells, 77; in birdcall, 6ˆ–5, 75; in horn call, 66, 68, 71; in lullaby, ˆ classical behavior 74. See also 6, ˆ 6, 17, 23, 32, 37–38, 134, 163, 479n38. See also Picardy sixth ˆ 23 6, ˆ 8, ˆ in the bass vi–I. See 6– slendro, 2, 60, 168 “The Small-Footed Lady,” 53 Solesmes project, 108, 126 Solie, Ruth A., 133 solmization, 14, 485n67 speech, intoned. See calls spirituality, as erotic, 494n83, 102; as primitive, 124–27. See also religion; religious pentatonic Spohr, Rosalie, 152 Stein, Deborah, 480n42 stepwise motion, 17, 21, 28, 55, 121–24, 478n22. See also third Strauss, Johann, Jr., 25; Donauweibchen [P189], 25–27, 80, 317 Strauss, Richard, Death and Transfiguration, 128; Eine Alpensinfonie [P61, P66], 66, 68, 243–44, 246

528

index

Stravinsky, Igor, 476n12; Le Chant du rossignol, 184 street cries. See calls Streicher (piano maker), 146 “Stump the Chumps,” 157 style hongrois, 49 Suk, Josef, Asrael [P355], 138, 437 Sullivan, Arthur, The Mikado [P25, P26], 60, 222–23 Sulzer, Johann Georg, 88 synonym. See harp, enharmonicism Szabolcsi, Bence, 476n9, 483n43 Tartini, Guiseppi, 485n67 Tchaikovsky, Piotr Ilyich Romeo and Juliet [P295], 30, 37–38, 134, 384 Symphony #2 [P258], 92, 360 Symphony #5, 479n38 Symphony #6 [P251], 92, 356 Temperley, Nicholas, 89 tendency-tone, 16, 17, 18, 117, 119, 127, 134, 478n20; and the religious pentatonic, 128–29. See also individual scale degrees tetratonic scale, 66, 74, 138, 172, 175 Thalberg, Sigismond, 152, 156 Andante Final de “Lucia di Lamermoor,” op. 43 [P390], 156, 457 Fantasy on Don Juan, op. 42 [P391], 156, 457 Fantasy on Il Trovatore, op. 77 [P389], 156, 456 Fantasy on Oberon, op. 37 [P392], 156, 458 Nocturne, op. 16 #1 [P388], 156, 455 that, 13 Thibaut, A. F., 90, 108, 116, 119, 126 third, 29, 40, 42, 71, 108, 121–24, 130, 137, 480n54 Thomas, Ambroise, Hamlet [P240], 88, 346 Thomson, George, 85 ˆ 65, 74 3ˆ–1, Thuille, Ludwig, 16, 17 Tieck, Ludwig, 107 Tiersot, Julien, 59

tonality, 43, 181, 183; “ancient” versus “modern,” 9, 116–19 topic. See signification Tovey, Donald, 479n38 Trân, Van Khe, 2 triadic diminution. See pentatonicism, circumstantial tritone, 3, 15, 118–19, 127–28 tuning, 2, 17, 50, 53 Türk, Daniel Gottlieb, 116 Turkish music, 47, 50. See also Turkish style Turkish style, 49 ˆ 8, ˆ with ii–I ii–I. See 6– universality. See pentatonic scale, universality Vaughan Williams, Ralph, 181; The Lark Ascending, 185; “See the Chariot at Hand,” 38 Villa-Lobos, Heitor, 183 Vincent, François-André, La Leçon de Labourage, 125–26 Viret, Jacques, 490n27 Vivaldi, Antonio, bird cadenzas, 75, 98; Flute Concerto in D major, “Il gardellino,” RV 428 [P134], 75, 287; La primavera [P133], 75, 286; Violin Concerto in A major, “Il cucu,” RV 335 [P135], 75–76, 287 Vogler, Abbé Georg-Joseph, 54–55, 57, 60; Pente chordium [P2], 54–55, 171, 206–7 Volga music, 487n124 Wagner, Richard, 183 Das Rheingold [P96], 73, 265 Die Walküre [P344], 138–39, 428–29 Lohengrin [P99, P315], 30, 35–36, 73, 82, 135, 267, 399 Parsifal [P153, P284, P343], 77, 132, 138, 299, 378, 427 Siegfried [P139], 76, 98, 290 Siegfried-Idyll [P140], 76, 291 Tristan und Isolde, 494n83, 496n1 Walther, Johann Gottfried, 116

index Weber, Carl Maria von, 49, 54, 57, 60; Der Freischütz, 80; Incidental music to Turandot [P4], 57–58, 209 Weckerlin, J. B., 47–48, 483n42 Whaples, Miriam, 48, 481n4 whole-tone scale, 51, 52, 59, 60, 165, 167, 169, 496n35. See also pentatonic scale, and whole tone Witt, Franz Xavier, 108

world music, 2. See also individual musics; pentatonicism; pentatonic scale Yasser, Joseph, 483n43 yodel, 74 Zuckerkandl, Victor, 18 “Zum Wecken” (horn call), 66–67

529

Eastman Studies in Music

The Poetic Debussy: A Collection of His Song Texts and Selected Letters (Revised Second Edition) Edited by Margaret G. Cobb Concert Music, Rock, and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies Edited by Elizabeth West Marvin and Richard Hermann Music and the Occult: French Musical Philosophies, 1750–1950 Joscelyn Godwin “Wanderjahre of a Revolutionist” and Other Essays on American Music Arthur Farwell, edited by Thomas Stoner French Organ Music from the Revolution to Franck and Widor Edited by Lawrence Archbold and William J. Peterson Musical Creativity in TwentiethCentury China: Abing, His Music, and Its Changing Meanings (includes CD) Jonathan P. J. Stock Elliott Carter: Collected Essays and Lectures, 1937–1995 Edited by Jonathan W. Bernard Music Theory in Concept and Practice Edited by James M. Baker, David W. Beach, and Jonathan W. Bernard

Music and Musicians in the Escorial Liturgy under the Habsburgs, 1563–1700 Michael J. Noone Analyzing Wagner’s Operas: Alfred Lorenz and German Nationalist Ideology Stephen McClatchie The Gardano Music Printing Firms, 1569–1611 Richard J. Agee “The Broadway Sound”: The Autobiography and Selected Essays of Robert Russell Bennett Edited by George J. Ferencz Theories of Fugue from the Age of Josquin to the Age of Bach Paul Mark Walker The Chansons of Orlando di Lasso and Their Protestant Listeners: Music, Piety, and Print in Sixteenth-Century France Richard Freedman Berlioz’s Semi-Operas: Roméo et Juliette and La damnation de Faust Daniel Albright The Gamelan Digul and the Prison-Camp Musician Who Built It: An Australian Link with the Indonesian Revolution Margaret J. Kartomi

“The Music of American Folk Song” and Selected Other Writings on American Folk Music Ruth Crawford Seeger, edited by Larry Polansky and Judith Tick Portrait of Percy Grainger Edited by Malcolm Gillies and David Pear Berlioz: Past, Present, Future Edited by Peter Bloom The Musical Madhouse (Les Grotesques de la musique) Hector Berlioz Translated and edited by Alastair Bruce Introduction by Hugh Macdonald The Music of Luigi Dallapiccola Raymond Fearn Music’s Modern Muse: A Life of Winnaretta Singer, Princesse de Polignac Sylvia Kahan The Sea on Fire: Jean Barraqué Paul Griffiths “Claude Debussy As I Knew Him” and Other Writings of Arthur Hartmann Edited by Samuel Hsu, Sidney Grolnic, and Mark Peters Foreword by David Grayson Schumann’s Piano Cycles and the Novels of Jean Paul Erika Reiman Bach and the Pedal Clavichord: An Organist’s Guide Joel Speerstra

Historical Musicology: Sources, Methods, Interpretations Edited by Stephen A. Crist and Roberta Montemorra Marvin The Pleasure of Modernist Music: Listening, Meaning, Intention, Ideology Edited by Arved Ashby Debussy’s Letters to Inghelbrecht: The Story of a Musical Friendship Annotated by Margaret G. Cobb Explaining Tonality: Schenkerian Theory and Beyond Matthew Brown The Substance of Things Heard: Writings about Music Paul Griffiths Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair Annegret Fauser Aspects of Unity in J. S. Bach’s Partitas and Suites: An Analytical Study David W. Beach Letters I Never Mailed: Clues to a Life Alec Wilder Annotated by David Demsey Foreword by Marian McPartland Wagner and Wagnerism in NineteenthCentury Sweden, Finland, and the Baltic Provinces: Reception, Enthusiasm, Cult Hannu Salmi Bach’s Changing World: Voices in the Community Edited by Carol K. Baron CageTalk: Dialogues with and about John Cage Edited by Peter Dickinson

European Music and Musicians in New York City, 1840–1900 Edited by John Graziano Schubert in the European Imagination,Volume 1: The Romantic and Victorian Eras Scott Messing Opera and Ideology in Prague: Polemics and Practice at the National Theater, 1900–1938 Brian S. Locke Ruth Crawford Seeger’s Worlds: Innovation and Tradition in TwentiethCentury American Music Edited by Ray Allen and Ellie M. Hisama

Schubert in the European Imagination, Volume 2: Fin-de-Siècle Vienna Scott Messing Musicking Shakespeare: A Conflict of Theatres Daniel Albright Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy Jeremy Day-O’Connell

Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy offers the first comprehensive account of a widely recognized aspect of music history: the increasing use of pentatonic (“black-key scale”) techniques in nineteenth-century Western artmusic. A more extensive and complex trend than has been acknowledged, pentatonicism in nineteenth-century music encompasses hundreds of instances, many of which predate by decades the more famous examples of Debussy and Dvor¤ák. Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy weaves together historical commentary with music theory and analysis in order to explain the sources and significance of this important, but hitherto only casually understood, phenomenon. The book introduces several distinct categories of pentatonic practice— pastoral, primitive, exotic, religious, and coloristic—while also demonstrating their frequent interaction. It shows how each of these categories derives from musical, aesthetic, and ideological developments of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Finally, the book examines pentatonicism in relationship to changes in the melodic and harmonic sensibility of the time. In revealing multiple derivations and fluid meanings, the book ultimately distinguishes pentatonicism from the octatonic and whole-tone materials with which it has been conventionally associated. Central to the book’s interest and arguments are the copious discussions of excerpts from repertoire both familiar and forgotten. The generously illustrated text concludes with an additional appendix of over 400 examples, an unprecedented resource that demonstrates the individual artistry with which virtually every major nineteenth-century composer (from Schubert, Chopin, and Berlioz to Liszt, Wagner, and Mahler) handled the seemingly “simple” materials of pentatonicism. Jeremy Day-O’Connell is assistant professor of music at Knox College.

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Jeremy Day-O’Connell is Assistant Professor of Music at Knox College and author of ^ “The Rise of 6 in the 19th Century” in Music Theory Spectrum (2002).

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Pentatonicism from the

Eighteenth Century to “Like the pentatonic idiom itself, this book is readily accessible yet surprisingly rich in evocative associations. Music theorists and historians alike will find much of value in this sophisticated exploration of a largely neglected topic.” —-William Caplin (McGill University), author of Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven “Jeremy Day-O’Connell has produced a richly textured study of the influence of pentatonicism in the central repertoires of European music. The topic bears on many crucial issues, from sacred music to the exotic, and it is handled with proper concern both for musical technique and for signification. This is a book that needed to be written.” —Julian Rushton (University of Leeds), author of Mozart and The Music of Berlioz “From the late Middle Ages onward, mainstream theorists have regarded resolution by semitone as the hallmark of directed motion in music. In this fascinating and deeply researched book, Jeremy Day-O’Connell welcomes us to the anhemitonic counterculture. The catalogue of musical examples alone (an anthology in all but name) is worth the price of admission.” —William Rothstein (City University of New York), author of Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music

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Debussy jeremy day-o’connell

entatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy offers the first comprehensive account of a widely recognized aspect of music history: the increasing use of pentatonic (“blackkey scale”) techniques in nineteenth-century Western art-music. A more extensive and complex trend than has been acknowledged, pentatonicism in nineteenth-century music encompasses hundreds of instances, many of which predate by decades the more famous examples of Debussy and Dvoˇrák. Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy weaves together historical commentary with music theory and analysis in order to explain the sources and significance of this important, but hitherto only casually understood, phenomenon. The book introduces several distinct categories of pentatonic practice—pastoral, primitive, exotic, religious, and coloristic—while also demonstrating their frequent interaction. It shows how each of these categories derives from musical, aesthetic, and ideological developments of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Finally, the book examines pentatonicism in relationship to changes in the melodic and harmonic sensibility of the time. In revealing multiple derivations and fluid meanings, the book ultimately distinguishes pentatonicism from the octatonic and wholetone materials with which it has been conventionally associated. Central to the book’s interest and arguments are the copious discussions of excerpts from repertoire both familiar and forgotten. The generously illustrated text concludes with an additional appendix of over 400 examples, an unprecedented resource that demonstrates the individual artistry with which virtually every major nineteenth-century composer (from Schubert, Chopin, and Berlioz to Liszt, Wagner, and Mahler) handled the seemingly “simple” materials of pentatonicism.

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Ruth Crawford Seeger's Worlds: Innovation and Tradition in Twentieth-Century American Music (Eastman Studies in Music)

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Berlioz: Past, Present, Future (Eastman Studies in Music)

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Debussy: La Mer (Cambridge Music Handbooks)

English Press in the Eighteenth Century

The Rise of Literary Journalism in the Eighteenth-Century Anxious Employment (Routledge Studies in Eighteenth Century Literature)

Beckett's Eighteenth Century

Pentatonicism from the Eighteenth Century to Debussy (Eastman Studies in Music)