Mapping Musical Signification (Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress, 15) 3030524957, 9783030524951

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Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15

Joan Grimalt

Mapping Musical Signification

Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress Volume 15

Series Editor Dario Martinelli, Kaunas University of Technology, Kaunas, Lithuania

The series originates from the need to create a more proactive platform in the form of monographs and edited volumes in thematic collections, to contribute to the new emerging fields within art and humanistic research, and also to discuss the ongoing crisis of the humanities and its possible solutions, in a spirit that should be both critical and self-critical. “Numanities” (New Humanities) aim at unifying the various approaches and potentials of arts and humanities in the context, dynamics and problems of current societies. The series, indexed in Scopus, is intended to target an academic audience interested in the following areas: – Traditional fields of humanities whose research paths are focused on issues of current concern; – New fields of humanities emerged to meet the demands of societal changes; – Multi/Inter/Cross/Transdisciplinary dialogues between humanities and social and/or natural sciences; – Humanities “in disguise”, that is, those fields (currently belonging to other spheres), that remain rooted in a humanistic vision of the world; – Forms of investigations and reflections, in which the humanities monitor and critically assess their scientific status and social condition; – Forms of research animated by creative and innovative humanities-based approaches; – Applied humanities.

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/14105

Joan Grimalt

Mapping Musical Signification

123

Joan Grimalt Music Analysis Escola superior de música de Catalunya Barcelona, Spain

ISSN 2510-442X ISSN 2510-4438 (electronic) Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress ISBN 978-3-030-52495-1 ISBN 978-3-030-52496-8 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

I am glad to learn in order that I may teach. No good thing is pleasant to possess, without friends to share it. SENECA (c. 65 AD)1 The relation that prevails between theory and practice in most of the arts is still the following: theory is far less useful for perfecting works than are works useful for correcting theory. Johann Jakob ENGEL (1780)2 You will be most readily cured of vanity or presumption by studying the history of music, and by hearing the master pieces which have been produced at different periods. Robert SCHUMANN (1848)3 The genuine way to write is to write as we translate. When we translate a text written in a foreign language, we do not try to add, but on the contrary, we scrupulously do not add anything to it. That is how we should try to translate a non-written text. Simone WEIL (1941)4

1

SENECA, Letters from a Stoic, book I, n. 6, 4. Engel, Über die musikalische Malerey: 230, quoted by ALLANBROOK 2014: 108. 3 R. SCHUMANN, Musikalische Haus- und Lebensregeln (1848). 4 In a letter to Gustave Thibon, September 14th, 1941: Lettres de Simone Weil à Gustave Thibon et de Gustave Thibon à Simone Weil: 68f. 2

Cia erέma, sηm acapηlέmη lot amacmώrsqia.

Foreword

Music teachers and students, professional musicians and music lovers will all be grateful to Dr. Joan Grimalt for his new book on musical expressive meaning. This is the first volume since Raymond Monelle’s Linguistics and Semiotics in Music (1992) to offer such a comprehensive text for students of musical meaning, and its appearance is timely. It not only incorporates many of the latest theories, but also offers students immediate access to their practical application in analysis and interpretation (including performance). In a series of theoretically informed and historically rich chapters, Grimalt offers a summary of the state of the field of musical signification, beginning with an accessible summary of recent scholarship on musical signs. Widely ranging throughout the music history, but with special emphasis on the eighteenth and nineteenth century tonal repertoire, the volume offers clear descriptions of characteristic musical types that carry expressive meanings when imported into musical works that further contextualize their meaning. Readers will appreciate Grimalt’s encyclopedic references to madrigalisms, rhetorical figures from the Baroque and an impressive array of Classical and Romantic topics. Grimalt has been an active contributor to international debates on issues in musical meaning, having participated in conferences and symposia organized by Eero Tarasti (for music semiotics) and Márta Grabócz (for music narrativity). Drawing on his interdisciplinary expertise in music semiotics, and his extensive experience as orchestral conductor and musicologist, he is superbly qualified to offer this exciting new synthesis of approaches to musical expressive meaning.

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Foreword

It is fitting that this book should appear in the year that Dr. Grimalt is hosting the 15th International Congress on Musical Signification, in his home city of Barcelona (postponed to September, 2021). And it is a tribute to his comprehensive vision that this historical and theoretical introduction to musical signification is informed by philosophical and aesthetic perspectives on the challenges we face in interpreting musical meaning. Robert S. Hatten The University of Texas at Austin, Austin, US

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank, first and foremost, my students, both at graduate and undergraduate levels. Their questioning, eager attention has been and is an invaluably precious orientation in my research. Some of the best researchers in the field of musical meaning have privileged me with their friendly assistance, with this book and also for many years before its conception. First, it was Márta Grabócz who showed me a musicological way into musical meaning. Reading her monography on Franz Liszt’s music (1987/1996), I was fascinated by the possibility of using structuralist tools to analyze musical topoi and narrative strategies in instrumental music. She supported me and this volume generously over and again. Another pioneer that I would like to thank for his inspiration is Constantin Floros. In a time where hermeneutics was excluded from serious musicological analysis, Floros courageously devoted his efforts to meticulous research and to composing wonderfully insightful texts on the sense of music by Mozart, Ligeti, Berg, Mahler, Bruckner or Brahms, to name but a few. He was also available for friendly, stimulating talks and correspondence. I am deeply indebted to the late Raymond Monelle, who directed my Ph.D. on Mahler’s Wunderhorn music. His work has had a great impact on all questions around musical signification. Monelle combined a deep knowledge of history with perspicacious analysis and practical musicianship. I am also grateful to Anatole Leikin for his patient and constructive revision of this text. Since Siglind Bruhn put us in contact, years ago, we have shared a lot of readings and hearings, starting with his illuminating writings. They always combine the great interpreter’s creativity with musicological rigour, when discovering new aspects of musical signification that are directly related to interpretation. Danke schön Siglind, Бoльшoe cпacибo Anatole! Esti Sheinberg warmly encouraged this publication from its earliest stages on. She and I share the experience of having been Ph.D. students of the late Raymond Monelle. Her work on irony in Shostakovich’s music has been a reference since its

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appearance5. She also put William P. Dougherty and me in contact, which was another precious contribution to the book you are about to read. Robert Hatten, author of some of the most essential works on musical meaning, has had a huge influence on any scholar working in this field. His personal encouragement and his foreword have helped me find the energy to start, carry on and finish this study. Eero Tarasti has been arguably the leading scholar in the field of music semiotics since he and some other researchers started back in 1984 an intercontinental group that gathers regularly (International Congresses on Musical Signification) to share and discuss the issues around which this book revolves. Ever since I first participated in that forum (Rome 2006), professor Tarasti has always been personally close and ready for questions and suggestions. Finally, I wish to thank some exceptional readers with whom I had the privilege of sharing the writing of this book. Out of friendship and out of their proficiency they enriched it with lots of quality details and fine observations: thank you very much Joaquim Badia, Laura Barlament, Antoni Bosch-Veciana, Santiago Figueras, Cristina G. Rojo, Małgorzata Grajter, Sanja Kiš Žuvela, Carme Mampel, Clive McClelland. Thanks go also to Gemma Camps who helped in preparing many musical examples. Iain Ó hAnnaidh, last but not least, patiently and generously edited the text into good English.

5

SHEINBERG 2000.

Introduction

I would argue that the gradual rediscovery of ancient musical knowledge that is musical signification, which finds its source in musical practice and in the profound knowledge of different musical styles, has become a permanent and on-going research process involving an important number of scholars from all over the world: each musicologist making his or her own contribution to what remains presently a work-in-progress. Márta GRABÓCZ6

Presentation Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3, Eroica, starts with two orchestral strokes, forte, followed immediately by a piano melody in the cellos. (Ex. n. 0-1). This triadic melody sounds like an idyllic horn call, the ¾ metre like some kind of waltz. However, the theme flows very soon into a dissonant C# that is sustained for two measures. As if reacting to the “wrong” C#, the first violins introduce a series of syncopations on G, then a mournful sforzato in mm. 10–11 . Both the C# and the 6/4-chord on m. 9 insinuated a modulation to G-minor that would considerably obscure the scene. Finally, the main key of E-flat major is re-established in a cadence over the next several measures. Most listeners are touched by this gleaming start, even after repeated hearings. This book is about what lies behind that feeling involving senses, spirit and intellect.

6

GRABÓCZ 2009: 15.

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Ex. n. 0-1 Beethoven, Symphony n. 3/I, mm. 1-15.

Most of music’s expressive meanings, whether in a soundtrack, a commercial or a classical symphony, build on traditions that can be researched and interpreted. The initial ‘blows’ of this symphony, for example, are a typical operatic device to grab the attention of the audience at the start of the show7. They also carry a rhetorical meaning with them: that of a sharp ‘Exclamation’. The melody on cellos refers to a horn ‘Call’ and to an Alpine ‘Waltz’, the Ländler. The latter promotes associations with peaceful rural life; in the nineteenth century the horn is usually associated with the woods and its natural freedom. Narratively, the idyllic initial theme and the immediate critical descent into dissonance and syncopation can be heard as a questioning of the ‘Pastoral’. Now in spite of the subtitle Eroica, ‘Pastoral’ actually opposes warfare. It is an imagined place of perfect harmony on earth, the integration of humanity and nature. The “wrong” note seems to question this idyll, as if suggesting another main key, that 7

The device has been aptly called noise-killer by László Somfai 1974, applied to Haydn’s London quartets. Quoted by LEIKIN 2001: 572.

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of a tragic G-minor. A move to this key area would produce a completely different piece of music, with sorrow and tension instead of the serene beginning in E-flat major8. With the C# in m. 7, we leave the ‘Pastoral’ world for the representation of a ‘tragic operatic scene’. The syncopations, a sign of agitation, seem to confirm that tragic foreboding. However, the sforzati—another form of spontaneous ‘exclamation’ of vocal nature—and the weeping interval in the first violins (mm. 10–11) manage to restore the initial home key and the triadic reassuring melody. The goal of this study is to stimulate sensibilities and habits that link listening experiences with meaning. It is addressed specifically to musicians, graduate and undergraduate, but it does not exclude informed musical amateurs. On one hand, the book offers a general survey of the field of musical meaning, systematized in a pedagogic guise. It is intended to be used as a textbook for subjects like “Musical Signification” or “Music Semiotics”, and also to complement any course or workshop on Analysis. The need for such a systematizing effort arises from the growing awareness in colleges all around the world regarding expressive meanings. Formal analysis alone no longer satisfies an increasing majority of musicians and teachers. On the other hand, a reflection on Musical Signification today implies a philosophical attitude that this text embraces wholeheartedly. There are two main traditions within Humanities, both an answer to the world as a question: one tends to create an alternative realm, a safe bubble built on an idealized past. The other one engages in making the present world better. The first one is exclusive or esoteric, the second one is inclusive and based on shared codes, first of all language. Needless to say, this work and all the activities of its author should be seen as adhering to the latter concept of Humanities, or in Dario Martinelli’s humorous neologism, Numanities. By definition, Musical Signification is designed to be integrated into them. By humbly giving words to the ineffable, irreducible musical experience, the reflection on music’s expressive meanings has the tremendous ambition of making the world more human, less cruel and unjust. In Italo Calvino’s unforgettable words, The hell of the living is not something that will be: if there is one, it is what is already here, the hell where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the hell and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and learning: seek and be able to recognize who and what, in the midst of hell, are not hell, then make them endure, give them space9.

The text springs from three different sources, corresponding to three distinct yet interrelated contexts. First, it is the result of many years of research in the field of musical signification. Second, it arises from analytical work, as both a conductor and 8

For a more detailed account of that hint to a modulation, and for the derivation of this beginning from the culminating Prometheus theme, cf. SWAFFORD 2012: 331ff. About the schema b6-5-#4 (-5) that underlies this, and many other passages derived from pathetic operatic moments, see BYROS 2014. 9 CALVINO 2016 (1972): 160.

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a pianist. Finally, it reflects my goals as a teacher, aiming to integrate both fields— performing and musicology of meaning—in a clear and pragmatic presentation. The scope of the study encompasses Western music from the madrigal to the present day, with an emphasis on Classic and Romantic instrumental repertoire, where an expressive message was implicitly understood as a “compensation” for the lack of a text. If we are relating music and meaning, we are assuming music is a communicating device, albeit of a very special kind. The musical message is not properly linguistic, but it can be retraced and (up to a certain point) decoded to enhance the listening experience, as it has been shown in our preliminary example.

Musical Signification What is musical signification? In Márta GRABÓCZ’s words, Simply put, musical signification (in works written between the seventeenth and the twentieth century) can be defined as the verbal reconstruction of a lost musical competence, a kind of musical knowledge quasi forgotten through ages, yet perpetuated in musical practice by interpreters and transmitted from generation to generation by various instrumental and vocal schools.10

So studying musical meaning would amount to speaking about music and its ability to awaken associations in the listener’s mind in order to try and understand its unique hold on us. If the present reader of this Introduction is an interpreter, she or he is used to relying on their intuition to decipher those meanings as described in our Beethoven example. Alas, not all schools of interpreters have been able to hand down those traditions Grabócz mentions. Too often, in concerts with students or teachers—even at excellent universities—the performers seem to be using a language that does not make any sense to them. And indeed, excellent musical intuition alone does not lead to understanding: it takes some conscious musicological research, if the musical heritage is to become relevant again to present and future generations. In an unforgettable scene in the movie Intouchables (Olivier Nakache & Éric Toledano 2011), the role of art music in our time is aptly caricaturized11. Answering machines, advertisements and soundtracks of period movies seem to be all that remains of the whole Western musical legacy in the consciousness of Driss, a young Senegalese who grew up in the slums of Paris: see Table n. 0-1.

10 11

GRABÓCZ 2009: 19. Please search on Youtube for Intouchables-Classical music.

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Table n. 0-1 The same pieces, from two different perspectives.

In contrast, disco music seems to mean fun for everybody soon thereafter in the film12. Admittedly, this diagram is but a black-and-white caricature, but its bottom line helps to understand some of the challenges of our public music life, including most conservatories. What is the role of art music in our time? How valid is it, how can it reach our contemporaries? These are inevitable questions for every young musician. Just like Driss, most of us listeners and interpreters have only indirect links to our legacy, but we naturally tend to seek profound experiences such as great music can provide. In fact, the end of the movie shows Driss getting a job and even a relationship out of his sensitive acquaintance with high-brow art. However, most of the codes that used to give sense to classical music have been lost. A bridge of words needs to be constructed to reconnect our time with Mozart’s and Beethoven’s. Even John Lennon’s times seem often remote to young students, who require some information to grasp his lyrics’ meaning. Musical signification can be seen historically as a logical step after the establishment of a musicological science in the nineteenth century, and a Historically Informed Performance (HIP) in the 1960s–70s13. The conceptual frame for all three steps is Historicism (see Table n 0-2). The inclusion of musical studies in universities in the 1860s as “musicology” (Musikwissenschaft) amounted to putting music on a par with the rest of arts and sciences. In the 1960s and 70s, an in-depth research on old instruments and the urge to critically read ancient treatises and scores looking for hints as to how to play and sing the music of the past (HIP), on the other hand, has been regarded in the musical world as one of the most significant developments of the twentieth century. It is also an index of the central role of interpretation in postmodern times14.

12

You can search for Intouchables Dance Scene. DRAŽIĆ 2012: 37f. 14 Cf. STEINER 1998. 13

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Table n. 0-2 Musical Historicism, from the 19th century on.

Both fruits of the nineteenth century, musicology and the complete critical edition of so-called “masterworks”, culminate in the middle of the twentieth century in critical editions (Urtext), a procedure that parallels what happened in the seventeenth century with the Holy Scriptures: instead of relying solely on the authority of the Church Fathers, human reason and philological methods were prioritized. Similarly, a musicology of meaning inscribes itself naturally into the broad field of Humanities, as a musical branch of Hermeneutics. Hermeneutics means the art of interpreting a text. It was initially applied to the study of the Bible, a text as vital to Christianity as intriguingly obscure. Similarly, the need of a musical hermeneutic arises from a disconnection between our time and a historical legacy that makes us who we are. Most of the twentieth century musicology focused on intra-musical processes and neglected music’s social role as a symbolic system15. The result is a general void as to what music is supposed to mean, and thus what are the best performative decisions. The syncopations in Beethoven’s Eroica, for example, sound differently if the violinists are aware of their expressive character—the distressed, agitated stage singer they evoke—or not. Studying musical meaning implies asking how it signifies (semiotics) and what it signifies (hermeneutics). In addition, hermeneutics, in literature as in music, requires a previous Exegesis, i.e. to establish what the text ‘says’. Before analyzing a score, manuscripts and first editions have to be compared; before one can interpret what a ‘Rural waltz’ is doing in a symphony called Eroica, one has to recognize it as such. Since roughly the 1980s, musicology has sought means to remedy the blatant void in musical signification. Back then, the habit of reducing music to an abstraction, as if it were a mere structure, would leave students—and professionals —with no musicological tools to interpret or analyze expressive meanings. Moreover, it led to scholastic isolation, where access to music appeared as exclusive to erudites16. To investigate how music links itself to its listeners, and thus to thought, arts, economy, sexuality and all other human activities, musicology found

15 16

Cf. TAGG 2012/13, KRAMER 1995: 4f., ENDER/HARNONCOURT 2012. Cf. KRAMER 1995, 2002, 2007.

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a new tool in semiotics. The study of meaning and signs, with its strong interdisciplinary bias, has proven highly useful to the analysis of meaningful sound. In spite of its theoretical power, rooted in twentieth century structuralism, semiotics is not the only tool of musical signification. Oftentimes, historical sources offer a precious clue to the expressive meaning of ‘art music’. This book uses some semiotic tools, centered on a synchronic view of the musical signs and their context, but its main source of inspiration and knowledge comes mostly from that idiomatic musical intuition Márta Grabócz was mentioning on the previous page. In other words, from a diachronic approach, attempting to establish the genealogy and historical connections of any musical signs. The effort of putting words to the intuition of interpreters who have been relying on old traditions of musical expression has enlightened many great musicologists. These are all fluent in the musical idiom—something a musician can feel right away. I consider them my teachers, whether they have a semiotic background or not. Right before this Introduction, the Acknowledgments detail my debt to them. One of the very first questions that arises when the subject of musical signification is addressed, among musicians and musicologists, is its scientific validity. How is this study going to be worthy of musicology? Subjectivity is not only inevitable. In art, as in history or philosophy, it constitutes an indispensable first impulse, alongside with intuition. But how much of them are acceptable in a quest for truthful results? Since science has been freed from the urge to save the world, current scientific paradigms include forms of knowledge that are not countable. Hans-Georg GADAMER started his investigation on Hermeneutics and on truth in Humanities with a concern that we embrace as well: to seek out the experience of truth beyond the control of scientific methodology wherever it happens and question its legitimacy in its own terms17. ‘In its own terms’, i.e. using those methods that have been traditional in Humanities, long before positivism took the overhand. In musicology, as in the rest of Humanities, we are not constrained to use arithmetic calculation, provide irrefutable laws or hard proof. It is finally a matter of interpretation, well founded in musical and cultural traditions. An interpreter seeks to convince, based on observation and sensibility, which can be done rigorously or arbitrarily. Quoting Edward T. CONE: It is true that argument of this kind [metaphors, analogies] cannot lead to conclusions as firm as those of deductive logic, but it is not true that it cannot lead to reasonable and even convincing conclusions. Its method is not proof but persuasion18.

In other words, we are not looking for a positivist truth here, one that is numerically measurable, but for some sound interpretation, one that can be shared as convincing. There, the term intersubjective comes handy. Intersubjectivity is a philosophical, anthropological term that designates a consensus within a given community. It comes close to the ancient Greek doxa, that collective common 17 18

GADAMER 2010 (1960): 1. CONE 1974: 158.

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knowledge, not always explicit, that makes mutual understanding possible. The greatest advantage to us lies in overcoming the dichotomy objective/subjective, that would trap studies on musical signification in epistemological paradigms alien to their humanist tradition19. The best foundation for a serious study of music are, of course, the works that form its history. A familiarity with them—what was called in the eighteenth century the cultivation of Taste—constitutes the best access to a tradition of musical meaning that has deep roots in rhetoric and speech, in movement and dance, and in the human need for ritual. Studying musical signification does not mean we should try to explain everything. Ambivalence, on the contrary, is one of the main virtues of the musical discourse. Instrumental music has no text, it ‘says’ nothing, and yet it is so expressive precisely because it ‘says’ nothing. It is autonomous from any function, and it correlates with the human world. For Immanuel Kant, the enjoyment of beauty is a purely formal category. It arises from “the feeling of a free playing of the forces of imagination”20. That sounds very close to Eduard HANSLICK’s idea that “the music’s only content and object” are “moving sound forms”21. Hanslick had a noticeable influence on the establishment of a musical autonomism. The idea of “absolute music” is echoed in twentieth century formalism, i.e. the conviction that there is no content in art other than form22. Contemporarily to Kant, however, Wilhelm H. WACKENRODER (1797) gave words to a new perception of instrumental music as a complex, rich message: Some passages in the music were so clear and engaging that the notes seemed to him like words. […] A marvellous gift of music—an art that generally affects us the more powerfully, and that stirs all our vital forces the more deeply, the vaguer and more mysterious its language is23.

For the fathers of German romanticism, in the last quarter of the eighteenth century, instrumental music can sometimes speak as univocally as language, and then again it displays its highest capacities in its ineffability, being free of normal speech. E. T. A. HOFFMANN introduces his article on Beethoven’s Instrumental Music (1810) thus: When music is spoken of as an independent art, does not the term properly apply only to instrumental music, which scorns all aid, all admixture of other arts (poetry), and gives pure expression to its own peculiar artistic nature? It is the most romantic of all arts, one might almost say the only one that is genuinely romantic, since its only subject matter is infinity. Orpheus’s lyre opened the gates of Orcus24. Music reveals to man an unknown realm, a

19

Cf. GILLESPIE & CORNISH 2009. Kant, Kritik der Urteilskraft, 1790. Quoted by Joachim Hagner, in: GOETHE, Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, p. 773. 21 HANSLICK 1854: 31f. 22 Cf. FLOROS 1989: 87f. 23 WACKENRODER 1797: 240f. 24 Orcus: in Roman mythology, the underworld or land of the dead. 20

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world quite separate from the outer sensual world surrounding him, a world in which he leaves behind all precise feelings in order to embrace an inexpressible longing25.

Felix Mendelssohn, some decades later, insists on music’s ability for communication as a unique virtue, unmatched by language: People usually complain that music is so ambiguous; that it is difficult to know what to think when they listen to it whereas everyone understands words. With me, it is entirely the converse. And not only with regard to an entire speech, but also with individual words; these, too, seem to me to be so ambiguous, so vague, and so easily misunderstood in comparison with genuine music, which fills the soul with a thousand things better than words. The thoughts that are expressed to me by a piece of music that I love are not too indefinite to be put into words, but on the contrary too definite. Therefore, I find, in every attempt to express such thoughts, that something is right, but at the same time something is unsatisfying in all of them…26

In other words, instrumental art music is both expressive and autonomous. It has meaning, but in its own unique, ambivalent way. As it was stated before, aesthetics and some of the music of mid-twentieth century are marked by dogmatic, intransigent formalism. One of the most intensely musical of philosophers, Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889–1951), even said music is tautological, because it explains only itself. What instrumental music says, to be sure, is only music, and we appreciate it as an alternative to language, insofar as it does not need explanation, but also insofar as it conveys expression. Beethoven’s Eroica offers an idea, the musical portrait of a hero. On the other hand, it is above all the realization of that idea, its coherent, autonomous construction—e.g. by deriving all of the musical material from the Prometheus contredanse at the culmination of the symphony—which gives the work its irresistible quality27. Musical signification starts with a study of musical signs and their contextual interrelationships but enlarges its scope into the genealogy of musical styles and traditions, and indirectly to cultural history in general. Besides the knowledge of historical musical practice, this requires artistic intuition, sensibility, and familiarity with the language it is analyzing.

How is This Book Laid Out? This volume offers some practical tools for listening to music in a more informed manner. The reader can follow its order as in a treatise to find a systematic, pragmatic division of the field of expressive meanings and a guide to analytical

25

HOFFMANN 1989 (1810): 96. In a letter to Marc André Souchay dated Berlin, October 5th 1842. Quoted by COOKE 1959: 12. 27 For the derivation of the Eroica thematic material from the final contradanse, a reference to his own Prometheus-music, cf. FLOROS 2008 (1978) and SWAFFORD 2014: 331ff. 26

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listening. Or one can use the reference lists at the end of the book (topoi, names), to skip and find, as in an essay, what he or she is looking for. The meaning of any sign depends on its context. In music, the first context is the musical work and the second its stylistic frame of reference. Hence the many musical examples: the goal is to reach an interpretation taking into account the work’s historical context. Also, in examples from real music, whether the theory presented is useful or not, what Gadamer calls the “artistic truth” will prevail. The study divides itself in two parts (see Table n. 0-3). The present volume, Mapping Musical Signification, presents a morphology of musical signs, first as distinct units, then within different sets of signs. Chapter 1 offers some theoretical foundation to the study of music and its signs. Some musical signs have such a strong historical character that they are best described as madrigalisms (sixteenth century) or as rhetorical figures (seventeenth century). Chapter 2 is devoted to both of them and to their resonance in later art music. Chapter 3 introduces a fundamental tool for an analysis including meaning: the reference or topos. The many references to genres and styles, to correlates within or outwith music can be attributed to different semantic fields. These correspond, I found later, to the main venues where music was practised in the eighteenth century: (1) Church, (2) Army, (3) Theatre and Chamber (both can be subsumed as Lyricism, the secular word) and (4) the Ballroom. Each one of them carries a whole bunch of expressive meanings with it and holds relationships of opposition, exclusion or complementarity with the others that can be graphically expressed with a semiotic square. This square can serve as a rough map to explore and classify any other further musical meanings. The next five chapters are each devoted to one of these semantic fields: Sacred references (Chap. 4), Martial references (Chap. 5), Lyricism and Pastoral (Chap. 6), Dance references (Chap. 7) and Theatrical references (Chap. 8). MAPPING MUSICAL SIGNIFICATION

ANALYSING MUSICAL SIGNIFICATION

Signs

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Sets of signs

Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Examples

4 5 6 7 8 9

Table n. 0-3 Table of Contents.

Musical signs Madrigalisms, rhetorical figures References (topoi), semantic fields Sacred references Martial references Lyricism, Pastoral. Dance references Theatrical references A study of 3 classic topoi Musical Narrative Practical Cases

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A second volume, Analyzing Musical Signification, will contain some more chapters devoted to the analysis of specific topoi and some particular musical works. Any significative analysis faces necessarily the question of musical narrative. This entails manifestations of the musical Subject or Persona in instrumental music, mostly through a musical Rhetoric that, far beyond rhetorical figures, invites one to listen to music mimicking the intonations of oral speech. Finally, the whole study reaches its culmination by summarizing topical and narrative analysis in practical cases, e.g. Mozart’s String Quartet K. 421 or Beethoven’s The Creatures of Prometheus op. 43 (1801). In the following pages you will find an attempt to gather a significant part of the research on expressive meanings that has been carried out in the last few decades. The criterion for inclusion was didactic and pragmatic, but it does not aim for exhaustivity. Musical signification is still an emerging field where a global vision is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to attain. In Raymond MONELLE’s words: Drawing together the many aspects of musical semiotics is like rounding up a flock of particularly wayward sheep; alas, some have got away from the present shepherd28.

28

MONELLE 1992: preface.

Contents

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1 Musical Signs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Musical Signs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1 Markers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.2 Tropes. Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Affects and the Thymic Category. Euphoric, Dysphoric . . . . . 1.3 Primary Colours . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.1 Markedness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.2 The World of Flats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4 Sets of Signs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.1 Genres, Styles. Semantic Fields. Narrative Archetypes . 1.4.2 Emblems, Stylistic Isotopies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.5 References: A Brief Review of the Study of Musical Signification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2 Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 From Mystery to Rhetoric: Musical Modernity. . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Some Madrigalisms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1 The ‘Weeping’ (Pianto) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.2 The ‘Sigh’ (Suspiratio) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3 ‘Slowness’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.4 ‘Fire’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 Baroque Musica Poetica: An Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.1 Classification of Rhetorical Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 Some Rhetorical Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.1 Anabasis, Katabasis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.2 Interrogatio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.3 Exclamatio and ‘Blows’. Apostrophe. . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.4 Discontinuities in Discourse: Dubitatio, Interruptio, Parenthesis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2.4.5 Word Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.6 Circulatio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

74 76

3 References, Topoi. The Classic Mixed Style. A Semiotic 3.1 Musical Topoi: References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.1 Boundaries of Topic Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.2 Classifying Topoi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 A Mixed Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.1 Galant Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2 ‘Sensitive’ Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3 The Sublime (1): ‘Pathetic’ Style . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4 The Sublime (2): Sturm und Drang . . . . . . . 3.2.5 Fantasia, Written-Down Improvisation . . . . . 3.2.6 Classic Mixed Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 Genres, Styles. Patent, Latent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4 References to Instrumental Genres . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4.1 ‘String Quartet’ References . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4.2 The Concerto. Brilliant Style . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.5 Semantic Fields in a Semiotic Square . . . . . . . . . . .

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4 Sacred References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 Static or Dynamic? Vocal Sacred Topoi . . . . . . . 4.2 Gregorian Chant References: Dies Iræ . . . . . . . . 4.3 References to the Polyphonic Motet: Stile Antico 4.4 Lutheran-Hymn References: Choral . . . . . . . . . . 4.5 References to Bells. The Macabre Tam Tam . . . 4.6 Secular in the Sacred, and Vice Versa . . . . . . . .

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5 Martial References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1 Martial Rhythms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.1 ‘Entrée’: French Overture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.2 Stile Concitato: Wrath. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.3 Other Martial Rhythms: Anapaest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2 Calls, Fanfares . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 Classic ‘March’: Irony. A ‘Toy Army’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4 Romantic ‘March’ References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.1 ‘Chivalric’ Style: the ‘Hymnic March’ . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.2 ‘Grotesque March’: Mahler’s Burgmusik . . . . . . . . . 5.4.3 ‘Dysphoric March’: The Defeated. ‘Elegiac March’ . 5.5 ‘Hunting’, the ‘Forest’. The ‘Gallop’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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6 Lyricism and Pastoral . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 6.1 ‘Vocal’ vs. ‘Instrumental’. ‘Song’ References, ‘Singing Style’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204 6.1.1 ‘Vocal’ versus ‘Instrumental’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204

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6.1.2 ‘Song’ References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.3 Reviewing the 'Singing Style' . . . . . . . . . 6.2 The Pastoral Genre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3 Pastoral Musical Topoi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.1 The “New Siciliana” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2 Exoticism and ‘Folklorism’ . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.3 ‘Pastoral March’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4 Amoroso: ‘Serenades’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.1 ‘Open-Air Serenade’: Amoroso . . . . . . . . 6.4.2 ‘Lute Serenade’: Lyricism par excellence. 6.4.3 Dysphoric ‘Serenade’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.4 Nocturne. Barcarolle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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7 Dance References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1 Dance in the Eighteenth Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.1 Dance and Opera . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2 Dance in the Nineteenth Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.1 The Congress of Vienna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.2 An Idealist Mistrust of the Body . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3 ‘Dance’ as a Topos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 Triple Metre References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.1 Sarabande, 3/4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.2 Minuet, 3/4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.3 Passepied, 3/8. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.4 Polonaise, 3/4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.5 Mazurka, 3/4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.6 Waltzes: Ländler, Deutsch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.7 Pastoral Dances, Gigue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.5 Duple Metre References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.5.1 Not Quite ‘Marches’: Allemande, Bourrée, Gavotte. . . . 7.5.2 Contredanse: 2/2, 2/4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.5.3 Beethoven’s ‘Contredanse’: Prometheus. ‘Changeover’. .

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8 Theatrical References . . . . . . . . 8.1 Comic Opera (Opera Buffa) 8.2 Tragic Opera (Opera seria) . 8.3 Gluck’s Reformed Opera . . 8.3.1 Dramma Giocoso . . 8.3.2 German Melodrama . 8.4 Comic References . . . . . . . . 8.4.1 ‘Love Duet’ . . . . . . 8.4.2 Imbroglio . . . . . . . . 8.4.3 Patter-Song . . . . . . .

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8.5 Tragic 8.5.1 8.5.2 8.5.3 8.5.4

Contents

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Instrumental ‘Recitative’ . . . . . . . . . ‘Ominous Unison’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ombra, the Dark Side of the Opera. . Tempesta: Fire and Warfare. . . . . . .

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329 334 344 350 353

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395

Chapter 1

Musical Signs

The veneration of the autonomous and the absolute has finally lost the status of a tacit value and, shorn of its transparency, has become available for critique, freeing historians and critics from the grip in which, unknowing, they were held. 1 WYE JAMISON ALLANBROOK

This first chapter introduces musical signification through its smallest units, musical signs. The next two chapters will be devoted to historically limited kinds of signs: chapter Two tackles the music of the 16th and 17th centuries (madrigalisms, rhetoric figures), while chapter Three focuses on musical topoi, that have been described and used for the so-called Classic repertoire, and then widened to Romantic music and beyond. Here in chapter one, the musical sign is addressed as little historically as possible, as a general introduction. After a short introduction to music semiotics, one of the main tools used in the study of musical signification, several kinds of signs are introduced: among them, markers and tropes have turned out to be especially useful (Sect. 1.1). Next in Sect. 1.2 the thymic category, including the dichotomy ‘euphoric/ dysphoric’ is tackled. Paragraph Sect. 1.3 describes what could be called ‘primary colours’ in music, some musical features that are not easily treated as topoi or historical signs, but that are commonly present in analyses in the form of dual oppositions. Then, different ways to group musical signs are presented (Sect. 1.4). The chapter closes with a brief review (Sect. 1.5) of some of the most prominent scholars in the field and of their contributions, as they are known to this writer.

1.1

Musical Signs

To reflect about musical meaning implies the premise that music is meaningful, i.e. that it can become an expressive experience to the listener. If music is meaningful, then it is made up of musical signs. A sign, according to the Cambridge Dictionary, is “something showing that something else exists or might happen or exist in the future”. 1

ALLANBROOK 2014: 29.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_1

1

2

Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 1: Musical Signs

There are basically two different approaches to the study of signs. The French-speaking world, following Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913), prefers the term sémiologie. Saussure saw a sign as a compound of signifier and signified2. In the English word ‘bird’, for instance, the signifier would be the word that designates the winged animal, whereas the signified is the animal itself. That partition in two halves contrasts with the tripartition proposed by the American school of Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914). In Peirce’s semeiology, there is a third component in every sign, what he calls the interpretant, i.e. another sign created in the mind of whoever is interpreting that sign3. The figure of the interpretant is remarkably apt for music, because it acknowledges the huge role interpretation has in understanding musical messages4. Both Saussure’s semiology and Peirce’s semeiology are widely used in nowadays semiotics, i.e. the science that studies signs and meanings5. One of its flourishing branches is music semiotics. This chapter will present some of the tools that the science of signs offers to musicology. To be sure, we use semiotic tools in a soft sense, as Raymond MONELLE would put it: The world of music semiotics is now a broad one, but its claim to supersede conventional theory has been laid aside. Finally, semiotics has come to mean ‘any scientific description’ of music (Ruwet 1975: 33), and its insights have been extremely various. The terminological precision, the declaration of explicit criteria and the clear distinction of categories remain as guiding principles, but heuristic intuition is no longer despised. The world of ‘hard semiotics’ was tough and polemic. The new, softer world is more fruitful, more fallible, more exciting6.

Rather than engaging in theoretic debates around the nature of the musical sign, or about the epistemological crisis of science in general, we are concerned with those analytical tools that have proved operative to enhance the listening or performing experience.

2

Already Aristotle (Organon) distinguished signifier and signified. Augustine of Hippo, the Port-Royal grammarians or John Locke also lay the groundwork for Saussure. Cf. COLOMBO 2014: 67. In Hjelmslev’s terms, the corresponding terms are expression and content. Cf. TARASTI 1994: 11. 3 For Peirce’s semeiotic theory, see MONELLE 1992: 193ff. See also TARASTI 1994: 54ff. and DOUGHERTY 2014. 4 More about Peirce and Saussure in the last § on this chapter, A brief review of the study of musical signification. 5 We follow Raymond Monelle’s use to unite sémiologie and semeiology into contemporary semiotics. Cf. MONELLE 1992: 193. 6 MONELLE 1992: 31.

Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 1: Musical Signs

1.1.1

3

Markers

The signifier of a musical sign is a special kind of musical sign, a bundle of significative features. We are calling these features markers, following Philip TAGG7. Markers are signs listeners use to place what they hear in a meaningful context. Normally, this context is a generic frame, as when one identifies a ringtone as a telephone call and not as dance music. For the process of contextualization, it is not important whether the author, the interpreter or the listener themselves are aware of it or not. Some markers are musical, some are extra-musical. A multitude of surfer caps mark quite a different context than stockings, dark suits and ties. For every genre or style, a set of musical markers can be described. Many of them will be found in the accompaniment, subliminally as it were. The syncopated rhythm in Ex. 1-1, for instance, marks reggae.

Ex. n. 1-1: Reggae beat, the reggae’s marker.

A reggae beat underlies some current television commercials to convey a diffuse sense of ‘coolness’. While the images are picturing some ideal holidays, a pop song with a reggae underground reinforces the alluring message with the ‘take-it-easy’ associations the Jamaican genre carries with it. A couple of centuries before Bob Marley, an emphasis on the second beat of a 3/ 4 measure in a slow tempo was (is) the main marker of the Sarabande, a dance from 17th-century Versailles of Oriental or Spanish origin that Handel often uses in his operas and oratorios8. At its best, a marker can be used for expressive purposes. In the aria Lascia ch’io pianga, e.g., the composer enlarges a rest between the words ‘Let me mourn’ and ‘my cruel fate’ (see ex. n. 1-2a). This longer rest displaces the tonic accent of the word cru-da (‘cruel’) on to the second beat of the measure. By doing so, Handel achieves an expressive emphasis on the word cruda, just by using the characteristic rhythmic marker of the sarabande.

7 For genre markers, cf. TAGG 2012/13. In the present text the use of the term is widened to markers of any musical sign, not only genres. 8 Cf. LITTLE & JENNE 1991: 92-113, ALLANBROOK 1983: 37f. Dance references are studied in chapter 7.

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 1: Musical Signs

Ex. n. 1-2a: GF Handel, Lascia ch’io pianga, beginning9.

The rest interrupting the word cru-da is a madrigalism called ‘Sigh’10. It anticipates the ‘sighing’ in the aria’s text. Without it, the fragment could have sounded like in ex. 1-2b.

Ex. n. 1-2b: GF Handel (reconstructed), Lascia ch’io pianga without the sarabande marker.

In fact, the autograph confirms what Handel’s first idea was (see ex. 1-2c). The upbeat to the third measure is visibly erased, in favour of a half-note rest. The composer chose to take advantage of the ‘Sarabande’ marker to emphasize the “cruelty” of the protagonist’s fate. An operatic reference to the ‘Sarabande’ often carries connotations of aristocratic gravity, and tragedy, as in this case. As for the structure of the piece, it is illuminating to see how the autograph, following the dance’s pattern, draws the barline through all staves every four bars. Breaking such 4+4 patterns in favour of a ‘spontaneous’ subjective response will become a favourite device of both vocal and instrumental music of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries!11.

9

This melody is usually associated to the opera Rinaldo (1711), but Handel had reused it already once before, as far as is known. It was originally an instrumental piece: an ‘Asian’ dance, with no text, within the opera Almira (1705). And even before Rinaldo, Handel found a place for this favourite piece in his 1707 oratorio Il trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno, albeit with another text: Lascia la spina, coglie la rosa. Interestingly, with that text the ‘Sarabande’ marker does not come out at the corresponding spot. 10 On madrigalisms and ‘Sighing’, see further Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2. 11 ALLANBROOK 1983: 85-87, 108f, 126, 187f. has shown such ‘subjectivity’ signs in Mozart’s operas.

Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 1: Musical Signs

5

Ex. n. 1-2c: GF Handel, Lascia ch’io pianga, mm. 1-7. Autograph.

Markers are found above all in the accompanying rhythm, but texture serves often as a marker too. A passage can evoke vocal or instrumental music, it can be polyphonic or homophonic, its texture can be related to chamber or to orchestral instrumentation12. The imitation of plucked strings is often found as a reference to some lyrical genre, typically a ‘Serenade’13. In the second movement of Beethoven’s Concerto in C-minor op. 37 (1800), the main theme has a ‘vocal’ character. It is first presented by the soloist, with no regular pulse on the accompaniment. On its orchestral tutti version (see ex. 1-3), the theme features some arpeggios on celli and violas that suggest an accompaniment on plucked strings: lute or guitar, maybe harp. This marker, due to the traditional links between those instruments and the lyrical genre, especially amorous, defines and nuances the expressive meaning of the theme, on its second appearance. Notice also the octaves on the melody, marking the last stage of a ‘Love Duet’ topos14.

12 13 14

On texture as a sign, see RATNER 1992 and LEVY 1982. The ‘Serenade’ is ranged along with the ‘Pastoral’ and the ‘Secular Word’ in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. For the ‘Love Duet’ topos, see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.4.

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 1: Musical Signs

Ex. n. 1-3: Beethoven, Concerto op. 37/II, mm. 13-17151.

1.1.2

Tropes. Interpretation

Most musical signs do not occur in a “pure” state but combined with other musical meanings. These combinations were designated by Robert HATTEN as tropes. The term has become current among scholars in the field of musical signification. Hatten borrowed it from literary theory, and defined it as follows: When typical material is combined in atypical ways, […], it may engender a trope. Like a metaphor in literary language, a trope is sparked from the collision or fusion of two already established meanings, and its interpretation is emergent16.

A trope, however, is not just any musical metaphor; Hatten implicitly invites the listener to a creative interpretation that correlates with the composer’s freedom, when a work reveals new combinations of meanings: [A]long with this level of relatively stable correlations and their contextual interpretations in given works, one needs to provide a level for more unstable meanings created by the figural play among musical types and their correlations. Something akin to creative metaphor in language may be achieved in a musical work when two different correlations are brought together to produce a third meaning. I will refer to such figuration of musical meaning more generally as troping, to emphasize the dynamic process involved, as well as to avoid confusion with other applications of metaphor to music17.

The term ‘interpreting’ does not imply that every interpretation is valid, or that the lack of a mechanical decoding curtails the value of its results. A good musical interpretation, not only in terms of signification, has to be convincing for its final results, for its grounding on observable facts, and for a consensus as wide as possible18.

15 For a version with A. Brendel and C. Abbado (Lucerne 2005) search for Beethoven - Piano Concerto No. 3 (Brendel, Abbado). The 2nd movement starts at 17:59. The passage with ‘plucked strings’ imitation, at 19:12. 16 HATTEN 2004: 15f. For a more exhaustive account on musical troping, including irony, see HATTEN 1994: 161-196. 17 HATTEN 1994: p. 166. The emphases on stable and unstable are ours. 18 On the scientific validity of a Humanistic approach and on the concept of Intersubjectivity, see also Musical Meanings in the Introduction.

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One example of a trope combining seemingly incompatible meanings is the ‘Dysphoric march’ in Schubert’s and Mahler’s music described in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.3. A dysphoric march is an expressive oxymoron: it unites contradictory elements such as sadness or passiveness with the energy of the march. That contradictory combination is precisely what confers on those marches their expressive value: they sound like signs of defeat and retreat. Following Robert Hatten’s suggestion, we keep here the term topos for the relatively stable meanings, and trope for the combinations which appear limited to a definite musical work or set of works. Topoi allow for a certain systematization, and favour an objective consensus, whereas tropes tend to exhaust themselves in one only appearance, thus their interpretation is more easily debatable. The mutual resonance of contiguous, different meanings hugely enriches the auditive experience and the analysis that dares to enter this terrain. Another example of trope is the ‘Pastoral March’, a frequent combination of incompatible elements in nineteenth-century music. In Mahler’s songs and symphonies, it reaches the status of an emblem. In some of his scarce irony-free moments, Mahler’s discourse recurs to the ‘Pastoral March’ to deliver its most crucial messages19.

1.2

Affects and the Thymic Category. Euphoric, Dysphoric

Affects are what music lovers associate foremost with music. Joachim Burmeister (1599), adapting Quintilian’s Rhetoric, is arguably the first to pay attention to this quality of artistic sound. Burmeister distinguishes between descriptive music, which he calls hypotyposis, and pathopoiesis, i.e. the expression of emotions. Hypotyposis includes the musical representation of movement and gestures, natural phenomena, objects, symbols or concepts, as well as places, like the temple, the battlefield, the saloon. It includes what we call semantic fields, and also word-painting. Pathopoiesis, on the other hand, relates sounds to characters and feelings. It involves the ways music finds to move our passions20. What Burmeister calls ‘affects’ can and should be accounted for in any analysis that includes expressive meanings. Some scholars suggest a useful approach to the multifarious world of affects through the so-called thymic aspect. The latter comes from the Greek htlό1 thymos, which is usually translated as ‘passion’. For Plato,

For the ‘Pastoral March’, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3.3. On Mahler’s topoi, emblems and tropes, see also GRIMALT 2011b, 2013a, 2013b. 20 Quoted by BARTEL 1997: 198. 19

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the thymic meant the animalistic in human sensorial perception, as opposed to rationality21. This bodily aspect of affections was incorporated into semiotic theory by the French school. According to GREIMAS and COURTÈS, thymos “articulates signification by immediately linking it to the personal perception of one’s own body”22. Louis HÉBERT adds that Thymic analysis is interested in evaluations of the sort euphoric/dysphoric or, in less technical terms, positive/negative or pleasure/displeasure23.

The distinction between euphoric and dysphoric belongs to perception, and thus to Psychology. In musical signification, it signals two of the most basic affects, namely ‘joy’ and ‘sorrow’, or ‘wellness’ and ‘unwellness’, with all their nuances. GRABÓCZ (1993) and TARASTI (1994) were the first to adapt these terms from Algirdas Julien Greimas (1966), who used them in literary analysis24. Unlike the discernment of affects in a piece of music, thymic analysis is foremost a narrative category. The former suits best baroque music; the latter, 18th- and 19thcentury repertoire. In other words: affects –anger, tenderness, fear– can be thought of as static, homogenous musical features, whereas the thymic aspect –euphoric, dysphoric– is best thought of as a process, because it tends to suffer constant transformations during the work. Starting with Haydn, Mozart or Beethoven, it is often the very same musical material –motifs, rhythms, melodic fragments– that undergoes a transformation throughout the symphony or the sonata. The whole work can be listened to as a narration of that process. Affects, on the other hand, are the favourite subject of 18th-century treatises. Arousing them in listeners through a musical ‘translation’ of the different states of mind was one of the main goals of that time’s composers25. Johann Mattheson (1713, 1739) connects musical parameters, especially meters and tonal keys, with affective qualities26. Johann Georg Sulzer (1771/74), echoing Rousseau’s ideas about sympathy and compassion, studies the effects and affects of opera seria on spectators. Instead of Affekt, however, Sulzer uses the synonym Empfindung or ‘feeling’, which suggests a sensual, physical aspect to the reaction to music. As sound affects the nervous system, it is not all about ‘sentiment’ and spiritual,

21

TARASTI 1994: 303. GREIMAS & COURTÈS 1986: 396. 23 HÉBERT 2016: 53f. 24 According to Greimas, a subject is euphoric when he is in conjunction with an object, when he possesses it, and dysphoric when he is in disjunction with that object. Greimas Du Sens II, 1983: 225-246. Quoted by CAUX 2018: 200. 25 About the different synonyms of Affekte and their nuances in the context of Aristotelic mimesis, see ALLANBROOK 2014: 72-83. 26 Reviewed by NEUBAUER 1986: 51-59, quoted by MIRKA 2014: 11. Most of this paragraph follows Mirka’s synthesis. 22

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mysterious matters: a neurological side to it makes the musical experience measurable and, to a certain extent, more accessible to rational understanding. In 1739, Mattheson had called music an ‘unfathomable sea’ (unergründliches Meer), as if pointing to the tremendous role of the unconscious in our listening experience. However, there is an important nuance in Sulzer’s Empfindungen that can be related to our previous thymic curve: Mattheson’s Affekte are static, as in a baroque dance or aria, whereas Sulzer seems to be describing a classical piece of music, where ‘sentiments’ or ‘feelings’ are in process of constant transformation. Moreover, Sulzer distinguishes between Empfindung (‘feeling’) and Charakter, which can be equated respectively to pathos (‘passion’, a temporary state of mind) and ethos, a permanent way of being and behaving. Again, in a classical piece of music the ethos would correspond to the general character, which warrants its expressive coherence, beyond all diversity of ephemeral feelings. Thus ‘characters’ and ‘feelings’ have a hierarchical relationship: This close relation between character and sentiments makes possible musical representation of characters. Although characters are the most important objects of arts, Sulzer admits that music can represent them only insofar as they express themselves in sentiments27.

Heinrich Christoph Koch (1782-93, 1802) follows Sulzer distinguishing characters and feelings. He separates short dances or marches set in only one character from larger pieces, which tend to change. It is in the latter, of course, where the variegated array of musical topoi find their place. Koch also denies the possibility of instrumental music to awaken in listeners the feelings for which the context is missing. Out of the ballroom, for instance in a sonata, a dance would make no sense. Koch is trying to prove the superiority of vocal over instrumental music, just at the turn of the century that marks the definitive outbreak of music without any text. His sceptical attitude seems to relegate the use and reception of musical topoi to an abstract game, without any connection to the listeners’ affective world. That is far apart from the aforementioned ideas of Mattheson and Rousseau about arousing feelings through music. But it captures the focus on constructive aspects that mark the reception of Beethoven’s music, and of his successors. Romantic aesthetics, starting with E.T.A. Hoffmann, highly values the musical-only side of instrumental music, but since topical references are one of the main ingredients of the musical work, even the musical-only inevitably involves expression and the affective qualities tied to any cultural unit they refer to28. Commentary about music –and about any other art– in our time is exaggeratedly centred on feelings. However, affects are certainly a fundamental aspect in the aesthetics of the Classic and Romantic periods, and the issue needs to be addressed, both from a synchronic and historical perspective, i.e. from our own point of view and from that of Mozart’s and Beethoven’s contemporaries, as far as it can be reconstructed. 27

MIRKA 2014: 20. Cf. HOFFMANN 1989 (1810): 96ff. About the shift from mimetic to autonomist views on music, to which the epigraph to this chapter refers, see ALLANBROOK 2014, esp. chapter 1.

28

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1.3

Primary Colours

In musical signs there is something similar to primary colours in painting: meanings more abstract and more autonomous than topoi and genre markers, that do not depend on any definite styles and have no extra-musical connection. They usually work in antitheses, so they could be called also “binary colours”, and in mixtures, rarely in a pure state, e.g. Consonance/dissonance (see Table 1-1). These pairs of opposites present a notable degree of universality, they carry traditional connotations with them, and can become stylistic traits or emblems.

forte fast dynamism firm (Schoenberg) collective continuity distension (consonance) melody caress (legato) euphoric (major) sharps

Piano Slow Statism Loose Individual Discontinuity Tension (Dissonance) Arpeggio Blow (martellato) Dysphoric (minor) Flats

Table n. 1-1: Some primary colours, in binary opposition

Some of these oppositions are related to anthropologically basic categories, whereas some others are specifically tied to the musical medium. ‘Loud’ is traditionally associated with danger and power, ‘soft’ with tenderness and secrecy; ‘fast’ goes with comic, whereas ‘grave’ connotes moderation, solemnity and dignity, already in Greco-Latin Antiquity29. Melody and arpeggio can signal two opposite archetypical styles: the vocal versus the instrumental. Typically, a melody will use what suits the voice best, contiguous scale degrees. Most accompanying instruments instead are typically represented through arpeggios30. The ‘marked’ elements –those on the right column, in upper case– are not only less frequent than their unmarked, “normal” pair in lower case, they also convey a more intense expressiveness, due to their unexpected appearance. The concepts of firm and Loose were introduced by Arnold Schoenberg and his analysis school. For them, a passage thematically ‘firm’ means two things: a) to be built in a clear, rounded-off structure, typically the period consisting of [antecedent

29 30

MCCLELLAND 2012a: 14. For the opposition vocal/instrumental references, see further Chap. 6, Sect. 6.1.

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+ consequent], and b) to be motivically relevant, i.e. to be found re-used in other passages of the work. Conversely, a ‘loose’ passage would ideally serve as a transition and be built without any syntactic ties, either within or in relation to the rest of the work31. As for the dichotomy collective/Individual, there is a neat contrast between references to genres featured by soloists, such as aria or song, and those that imply an orchestra or a choir. Sometimes, this opposition helps to establish a narrative programme, as in Liszt’s Fantasia quasi una sonata Après une lecture de Dante (1849), where the piano is explored in its capacity to evoke different textures. The work starts with a section of ‘collective’ character, suggested by an orchestral texture. This beginning might correlate with Dante’s description of ‘Purgatory’. Later on, the individual voices of two ‘characters’ appear: the first encompasses a soprano range, whereas the second sounds like a ‘tenor’. Both are accompanied by ‘plucked strings’, and both include some moments of ‘recitative’ without any accompaniment. They might correspond to the roles of Beatrice and Dante32.

1.3.1

Markedness

Within these and many other dichotomies, most of the times one of their members is “marked”, according to Robert Hatten’s concept of markedness. What is predictable does not attract any attention; the unexpected becomes expressive. In the opposition ‘consonance/Dissonance’, e.g., the second is marked within the tonal system, the first is not. HATTEN adapted to musical meaning the concept of markedness from the Prague linguistic school and defined it as the asymmetrical valuation of an opposition (in musical structure, language, culture). For musical meaning, markedness of structural oppositions correlates with markedness of (expressive or other) oppositions among cultural units. Marked entities have a greater (relative) specificity of meaning than do unmarked entities. Marked entities also have a narrower distribution33.

This is Hatten’s paradigmatic example of markedness: A familiar opposition for music is that between major and minor modes in the Classic style. Minor has a narrower range of meaning than major, in that minor consistently conveys the tragic, whereas major is not simply the opposite (comic), but must be characterized more generally as nontragic – encompassing more widely ranging modes of expression such as the heroic, the pastoral, and the genuinely comic, or buffa34.

31

See RATZ 1973 (1951): 21f., WEBERN 2002: 157-166. See GRABÓCZ 1996 (1986): 184f. For a version with L. Berman live (1971) search for Lazar Berman - Liszt - Après une lecture de Dante, Fantasia quasi Sonata. The two virtual ‘Soloists’ feature from 5:13 on. 33 HATTEN 1994: 34-44. Cf. also HATTEN 2014, BYROS 2014. 34 HATTEN 1994: 36. 32

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Oftentimes marked and unmarked primary colours appear in association, e.g. ‘forte and Dissonant’ / ‘Piano and consonant’, but composers tend to break such inertias creatively for expressive effects. Schubert’s music, for instance, links many of its pianissimi to a maximum of expressive tension. The slow movement of his last piano sonata D. 960 (1828) displays the topos of the ‘Barcarole’, marked by a ternary rocking rhythm, an arpeggiated accompaniment and an ‘Open-air’ Serenade duet35. The main theme is in dysphoric minor, in sharp contrast to the martial rhythms of a major-mode ‘Hymn’ in the central section36. Each phrase of this second subject is presented in two alternative versions. First in a homophonic texture, in a range corresponding to a ‘male choir’; then imitating a ‘female solo singer’, accompanied by ‘plucked strings’. Both versions of the ‘Hymn’, masculine-collective and feminine-individual, feature a critical passage (mm. 63-67 and 80-88) that unites pianissimo, sudden irruption of flats in the middle of A-major, and the flowing into a ‘collapse’ on a diminished seventh37. For the initial, ‘male-choir’ version finding its way from that crisis back to a reprise of the ‘Hymn’, see ex. n. 1-4.

Ex. n. 1-4. F. Schubert, Sonata D. 960/II, mm. 63-69.

Its ‘feminine’ replication, however, flows tragically into the dysphoric reprise, as if certifying the impossibility of a comforting song.

About ‘Open-air’ and ‘Lute’ Serenades, see Chap. 6.4. Please search for Schubert - Piano Sonata in B Flat Major, D. 960 Second Movement (Andante sostenuto) - Alfred Brendel. The central section starts at 3:04. 37 Minute 4:06 of the suggested version. 35 36

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1.3.2

13

The World of Flats

One of the unequal couples listed in Table 1-1 deserves special attention: ‘sharps and Flats’. Their symbolic value reaches back to the origins of our musical tradition, to Gregorian chant. A flat amounts to an ‘alteration’ of the note it modifies: the note is lowered, which carries traditional associations with sadness, darkness, and otherness. The flat is thus the melodic correspondence to the minor mode. The psychological association of strength and brightness with sharps and, conversely, weakness and sombreness with flats has a direct relationship with the physical properties of string and wind instruments. In the former, flat keys use more stopped fingerings; wind instruments were not designed for keys with more than two or three alterations until the late nineteenth century38. The world of flats often represents the other world, be it underground, or celestial. We saw in ex. 1-4 the virtual world of flats to be always at hand in Schubert’s music, as an emergency exit. This is part of an ancient tradition. In Jacques Arcadelt’s madrigal Il bianco e dolce cigno (1538), “mm.” 6-7, the harmony goes down from F to E-flat, just to darken the sound of the word piangendo, ‘weeping’: see ex. n. 1-5.

Ex. n. 1-5: Arcadelt, Il bianco e dolce cigno, begin39.

38

STEBLIN 2002: 103, 137. Cf. ATLAS, Anthology 1998: 314f. For a version with the King Singers search for Arcadelt Il bianco e dolce cigno The King’s Singers YouTube. The shift down, to the word piangendo, appears at 0:16. 39

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Keys with flats tend to express some kind of ‘altered’ state of spirit. There is a recurrent gesture in Classic and Romantic music that is heir to that tradition: a direct switch into a flat key without a modulation. This normally indicates the irruption into another dimension than what the rest of the piece represented as “real”. In Cherubino’s song Voi che sapete, from Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro (1786), the harmony drops two flats down from B-flat to A-flat to the words Gelo, e poi sento l’anima avvampar, until torno a gelar. (‘I freeze, and then feel my soul go on fire […] I freeze again’). Wye ALLANBROOK (1983) argues that in Mozart’s Figaro flat keys tend to be associated with the intimacy of ‘Pastoral Love’, which she sees as the real theme of the opera. Here, however, the ‘otherness’ of the flats’ world might represent an extraordinary state of mind induced by the hormones of a teenager: see ex. n. 1-6.

Ex. n. 1-6. Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro: Voi che sapete, mm. 37-4040.

40

For a historical recording with M. Ewing search for Le nozze di Figaro Complete 3 hours / The Marriage of Figaro. Cherubino’s song (act II) starts at 59:20.

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Richard Wagner does a similar thing in the first of his Wesendonck-Lieder, Der Engel (‘The Angel’), from m. 7 on, probably to represent the otherness of the angelic world. A shift from G major (1 sharp) to F major (1 flat) follows immediately the rhythmically enlarged word Engel: see ex. 1-7.

Ex. n. 1-7: R. Wagner, Der Engel, mm. 3-841.

Among many other examples of the symbolic dichotomy sharps/flats, in Richard Strauss’s music the harmony tends to oscillate loosely around the tonic key. In a music-theatrical context, it is logical to assume that oscillation to follow some dramaturgical thread. Michael LEHNER establishes a link, in Elektra (1909), between sharp keys and the tensions of this all too human world: ambition, Elektra’s vengeance, and so on. Flat keys instead appear associated with the spirit, especially with the role of Chrysotemis, sister of the title role, and hence with a relative release of tensions42. Flats have another manifestation in what could be called the topos of ‘Double-Sombreness’. The main key of some Romantic pieces is G-flat or D-flat. A flat key for the entire piece seems to suggest the whole musical discourse to be psychologically altered, as in trance or in a dream, or maybe a far-fetched memory. Thus the ‘songs’ that are being evoked would have been first performed in the normative keys of, respectively, G major and D major, but its re-enacting memory blurs them down first with the minor mode, secondly with flats. This expressive device can be observed in the slow movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto K. 488 (1786), in the rare key of F# minor. Considering the main reference is the ‘Siciliana’, traditionally set in G minor, F# minor can be heard as a ‘twice-darkened’ G major43. Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata op. 27 n. 2 seems to be a doubly dimmed reference to an original ‘Serenade’ in D major, where D-flat minor would be enharmonically notated as C# minor (see further ex. 5-11). Many of Chopin’s Nocturnes, where the night could also be seen as the darkening factor,

41

For a version with M. Lipovšek and W. Sawallisch (1991) search for Marjana Lipovsek / Wolfgang Sawallisch (piano) - Wagner: Wesendonck-Lieder. 42 LEHNER 2012: 34. 43 About the ‘Siciliana’, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3 and Chap. 7, Sect. 7.4.7.

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present highly unusual keys, that would sound eerie to his contemporaries, especially considering the only half-tempered tuning of his pianos. The peculiar key of B major in three of his Nocturnes, op. 9 n. 3, op. 32 n. 1 and op. 62 n. 1 sounds like a lowering of an original C major: like enharmonic C-flat. This might be also the case in J. Brahms’s Trio op. 8 in B major. The hymn-like, epic character of its main theme sounds like a reference to a long-past C major, ‘darkened’ by memory44.

1.4

Sets of Signs

Musical signs do not appear isolated. On the contrary, they tend to gather into larger groups that help the listeners to orient themselves expressively. Any meaning indeed, not only musical, depends on its context. An English horn, for instance, denotes ‘Pastoral’ only when other signs confirm this interpretation, such as drones imitating rural bagpipes, F major, simple harmonies, a consonant, maybe pentatonic melody. These other markers provide the context for each other and reinforce the recognition of the ‘Pastoral’ semantic field45. According to the way signs group themselves, they can be divided into Genres and styles, Semantic fields, Stylistic isotopies and Expressive genres: see table n. 1-2. Every one of these four sets corresponds to one type of musical sign.

SIGNS Genre markers Genres, topoi. Emblems (stylistic traits)

SETS

OF SIGNS

Genres, styles. Semantic fields Narrative Archetypes Stylistic isotopies

Table n. 1-2: Sets of signs

1.4.1

Genres, Styles. Semantic Fields. Narrative Archetypes

Genres can be recognised through their own markers, as we saw earlier in Sect. 1.1.1. Not only musical genres and topoi, but also references to objects or to concepts outside of music can be ascribed to semantic fields. A ‘march’ reference or a ‘military call’ in a symphony, for instance, belong to the ‘Martial’ semantic field.

44

In fact, Brahms rewrote his youthful op. 8 (1854) anew in 1889, in what amounts to precisely this re-enacting of some melodies from the past. See GRIMALT 2018b and GRIMALT 2018c. 45 For the ‘Pastoral’ semantic field, see further Chap. 6, especially Sects. 6.2 and 6.3.

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We have seen in the Eroica’s initial measures how the ‘Ländler’ reference points to the ‘Pastoral’, and thus to the semantic field of Lyricism or the Secular Word. Of the four sets of signs presented in this section –Genres and styles, Semantic fields, Narrative archetypes and Stylistic isotopies, Semantic fields have been found to be the most productive when it comes to drawing a global map of the musical signification field46. Affects, inflections, virtual roles that seem to perfuse instrumental music, especially through the imitation of vocal lines, can be interpreted in a temporal sequence to evoke narrative archetypes47. In Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, for instance, a transformation ‘from tragic to triumphant’ is enacted. Musical narrative is dealt with in the second volume of this study.

1.4.2

Emblems, Stylistic Isotopies

By emblem we mean a characteristic trait of a composer or style. Emblems can recur as topoi elsewhere and be used in an idiosyncratic way, or they can recur only within a composer’s output. In Franz Schubert’s musical language, one characteristic and recurring gesture suggests the ‘Caress’: a repeated note, like stroking one and the same place. Listen for instance to the main subject of the Sonata in A major D. 664/II (ex. n. 1-8).

Ex. n. 1-8: F. Schubert, Sonata D. 664/II: begin.

Interestingly, Maurice Ravel registers this sign as emblematic in his particular homage to Schubert, the Valses nobles et sentimentales (1911/12). In fact, this is one of the very few stylistic traits, if any, that he borrows from the Viennese

The main semantic fields to be found in our analyses of common-practice repertoire are presented in Chap. 3, Sect. 3.5 and then studied consecutively in Chaps. 4-8. 47 Robert Hatten calls such patterns Expressive genres: see HATTEN 1994: 290. 46

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composer he wanted to honour48. A musical ‘Caress’ belongs to the domain of ‘Tenderness’, which in music is more a character than a topos. Or, to use Assafiev’s term, an Intonation. In an article about The composer and dramaturg P.I. Tchaikovsky, referring to the second subject of the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s Sixth symphony, Assafiev speaks about “maternal caresses” (мaтepинcкoй лacки) to describe its psychological meaning49. In Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4, one of the emblems of Brahms’s music is described and exemplified: the ‘Hymnic March’, part of a ‘Chivalric Style’ typical of German romanticism. Theodor W. ADORNO identified the ‘Major-minor seal’ as an emblematic sign in Mahler’s vocabulary, with a dysphoric meaning50. Other emblems of Mahler’s music were described by Constantin FLOROS –the ‘Far away music’, among others– and GRIMALT –the ‘Pastoral March’, the ‘Drunken Clarinet’ or the Burgmusik–51. We use the term Isotopy to designate a larger, emblematic set of related signs within a composer’s output or a definite style. A stylistic isotopy is a recurrent pattern that helps to locate and understand the expressive world of a composer or style. Isotopies are dealt with in depth in the second volume of this study, as part of our narrative analyses. In Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5.3, after describing ‘Contredanse’ references, the stylistic isotopy of ‘Changeover’ is presented. There seems to be an emblematic dichotomy in Beethoven’s music between topics that symbolize the Ancien Régime –minuet, opera seria, military, religion– and those which refer to Modernity –waltz, opera buffa, spontaneous lyricism, the rustic pastoral52. ‘Comedy’, in this context, stands for the new bourgeois world, a realistic representation of what human beings really are. This implies the use of humour and irony, and it constitutes a radical opposition to the ‘Minuet’ or opera seria references, evoking the old baroque, authoritarian order. This dichotomy only adapts and enlarges what Beethoven found in the musical language of Haydn and Mozart. It amounts to a stylistic isotopy in the Viennese Classic’s musical language53.

48

For the orchestral version with H. Adolph, search for Maurice Ravel - Valses Nobles et Sentimentales, I-V and listen to the 2nd subject of the 2nd waltz, at 2:29. Or search for Michelangeli Ravel Valses nobles et sentimentales/Gaspard de la nuit Tokyo 1973 live for the original piano version, at 3:39. 49 Boris ASSAFIEV, Kompozitor-dramaturg Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Izbrannye trudy, vol. 2. Moscow: Akademii nauk, 1954, p. 59. I am indebted to Esti Sheinberg, Marina Ritzareva and Vladimir Smirnov for this reference. 50 ADORNO 1960: 170-174 (In Jephcott’s version 21-25). The paradigmatic example of the “Major/ minor Seal” is the 2nd stanza of the last Wanderer song, Die zwei blauen Augen, or the whole Sixth symphony. See GRIMALT 2012, Chap. 3. 51 See FLOROS 1985, GRIMALT 2011, 2012, 2013a. About Mahler’s ‘Burgmusik’, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.2. 52 This isotopy in Beethoven’s music is expanded to a wider context in GRIMALT 2018d. See also Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5.3. 53 About the Viennese Classics’ irony on military and other Ancien Régime symbols, see further Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3 and GRIMALT 2014b, 2018a, 2018d.

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1.5

19

References: A Brief Review of the Study of Musical Signification

The following list of references does not claim to be an exhaustive register of the whole, broad field of Musical Signification. It is intended to fulfil two purposes. First, to reveal those authors and texts that have been determinant in the present study. Second, it aims to encourage the reader to further discovery into the sources of this book. As anticipated in the epigraph to this chapter, current musicology and analysis has left behind a reductionist bias and tends to incorporate musical meanings. While much of the so-called “new musicology” was an attempt to break out of empiricism, semiotics and musical signification in general have been constantly providing some useful new methodological and terminological tools since roughly the 1980s. The origin of the term topos, between French structuralism (Saussure, Propp, Greimas, Lévi-Strauss) and an Anglo-Saxon pragmatic approach, centred on Charles S. Peirce’s work, poses Topic Theory within the long crisis of scientific positivism. In a precarious but fruitful oscillation between the conventional, logic Saussurian sign and the Romantic, Gadamerian symbol –unconscious, infinitely interpretable–, musical topoi can have fairly univocal elements, derived from music history, such as genre markers, but the interpretation of their meaning within their context is never completely closed or finished. It is amazing how Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914) from Cambridge (Massachusetts) and Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913) from Geneva (Switzerland) founded contemporarily, without being aware of it, the science of meanings. Moreover, they did it with an astonishing degree of coincidence. Semiotics started, obviously, with a focus on language. According to the relation of a sign to its object, Peirce distinguishes three kinds of signs: icons, indexes, and symbols, from the most definite to the most abstract54. In iconic signs, the signifier imitates the signified; they resemble each other. In indexical signs, the signifier indicates its signified: they are related through proximity or causality – a factual connection, writes Peirce. In symbolic signs finally, that relationship is arbitrary, or conventional: it comes from a social agreement. Example of icon: somebody’s picture. An index: traces of lipstick. A symbol: a traffic sign, or any word except onomatopoeias. Peirce’s tripartition has been applied to music, at least theoretically. For analysis, however, it does not appear to be as productive as one might expect. To be sure, a drum stroke, a ‘bird’s song’, or a musical ‘laughter’ sound initially iconic, because they imitate the sound to which they refer. Also, a treble sound can be understood as indicating ‘highness’; just as a dissonance is often an index of ‘sorrow’ and ‘tension’. Finally, those musical signs referring to ‘Destiny’ –in Beethoven’s, Tchaikovsky’s, or Liszt’s music– could be regarded as musical symbols. However, 54

For a good summary of the many discussions on this distinction in Peirce’s writings, see LISZKA 1996.

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most musical meanings appear to share some symbolic and indexical features, and oftentimes iconic connotations as well. Musical signs that appear to be iconic, moreover, are always inevitably conventional stylisations of the sound they refer to. The aforementioned ‘Gallop’ rhythm, e.g., has only a remote relationship –a chimeric one, notes MONELLE– to what really sounds, when a horse is galloping55. In our pragmatic approach, Peirce’s categories tend to appear all simultaneously, which makes them less operative. In more recent times there is a curious parallelism in European musicology that reminds one of the historical coincidence of Peirce and Saussure. Roughly at the same time, from the 1960s to the 1980s, “two entirely independent schools operating on two different continents” began to attempt a musicological description of those musical traditions that account for expressive meanings in Western tradition56. In Eastern and Central Europe, Russian, Czech and Hungarian […] aesthetician-musicologists such as Boris Assafiev, Jaroslav Jiránek, Vladimir Karbusicky, József Ujfalussy, János Maróthy and (to some extent) Bence Szabolcsi examined classical and romantic works and twentieth-century pieces based on the expressive types of each musical style. These types (called ‘intonations’, partly as a result of the influence of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Enlightenment dictionaries) were primarily defined based on musical genres that connected with the past by establishing the function of music in the life of a particular stratum of society (for example: berceuse, lament, caccia i.e. hunting, alla turca as imitation of the orchestra of the Turkish Janissaries, French overture, military march, funeral march, religious or ceremonial music, festive dance, popular dance, nocturne, serenade, etc.)57.

These Eastern intonations amount roughly to what Leonard RATNER (1980) would call in the West topics or topoi, i.e. imported references to genres and styles. In the United States, Charles ROSEN described “The Classical Style” (1971) in terms that were far less abstract than usual those days. Rosen, a fine interpreter and a critical reader, did not confine his study to structures, but went deep into the world of affects in instrumental music, mostly relating it to parallel situations in the vocal repertoire. His attitude is sceptical towards all theory, whether recent traditions of the first half of the twentieth century, or contemporary treatises of the eighteenth. Leonard RATNER, after reviewing some of the 18th- and 19th-century music theorists, in regard to the expression of musical affects, presents the term topic (or topos) with this often-quoted paragraph: From its contacts with worship, poetry, drama, entertainment, dance, ceremony, the military, the hunt, and the life of the lower classes, music in the early 18th century developed a thesaurus of characteristic figures, which formed a rich legacy for classic composers. Some of these figures were associated with various feelings and affections; others had a picturesque flavor. They are designated here as topics – subjects for musical discourse58.

55 56 57 58

See Chap. 5, Sect. 5.5, Hunting, and MONELLE 2000: 45-65, MONELLE 2006: 5. GRABÓCZ 2009: Introduction. GRABÓCZ 2009: ibidem. For ‘Intonation’, see also JIRÁNEK 1991: 501. RATNER 1980: 9.

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Interestingly, Ratner’s starting point are the semantic fields to which this book devotes chapters Four to Eight. He immediately makes a fundamental distinction for music analysis: between genres –calling them ‘types’– and styles, by which Ratner understands those genres as references, i.e. proper topoi, imported from one context to a new one: Topics appear as fully worked-out pieces, i.e., types, or as figures and progressions within a piece, i.e., styles. The distinction between types and styles is flexible, minuets and marches represent complete types of composition, but they also furnish styles for other pieces59.

Ratner’s distinction is dealt with later in this book, Chap. 3, Sect. 3.3: Genres and Styles. His links between “styles”, historic genres and their topicalization are always insightful, albeit sometimes rather confusing. The theatrical topic of Ombra, for instance, is mentioned in connection with that of the Fantasia60. And indeed, the written-down improvisations (Fantasies) by CPE Bach, for instance, often use the Ombra topic. But to imbue the improvised genre with those “feelings of awe and terror” typical of the operatic scenes with a supernatural component does not seem to clarify any of both61. After devoting one page to figuralism, or Word Painting, which we include in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.5, RATNER describes sharply “the use of topics”, and also what Robert HATTEN would later call tropes, i.e. new combinations of different topics (see earlier Sect. 1.1.2)62. Ratner refers also to the question of contrasts in classic music, and even to narrative questions. Leonard Ratner’s work at Stanford found a blissful continuation in Wye Jamison ALLANBROOK’s research. Her study of Mozart’s operatic vocabulary (1983, 2014) showed just how precious topic theory can become in analysing expressive nuances in Classical repertoire, focusing on its “gesture”, i.e. on the references it contains to dance and march genres. Her book Rhythmical Gesture in Mozart (1983) was a game changer in the field of musical meaning. It has been the impulse for a whole field of research on topoi, styles, genres and semantic fields, as well as on their use in classic and romantic music. Rhythmical Gesture had two equally precious sequels. In The Late Eighteenth Century (1998), volume 5 in Strunk’s Source Readings in Music History, ALLANBROOK offers a succinct Introduction to a selection of texts from the eighteenth century and the turn to the nineteenth. The book includes a valuable critical introduction to the concept of “Classic” music. Finally, her posthumous work The Secular Commedia (2014) gave her a last opportunity to establish her ideas about 18th-century music on contemporary texts. Thanks to her humanistic training and to her ability to listen to all the ironic nuances that used to escape listeners of the twentieth century, ALLANBROOK manages to reconstruct the aesthetic premises that

59 60 61 62

Ibidem: 9. Ibidem: 24. See also MCCLELLAND 2012: 2-4. RATNER 1980: pp. 26f.

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might have been at work in Mozart’s time: above all, comedy and mimesis. We adopt and explain her views in Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2, A mixed style. In essence, the whole topic theory was already in Ratner’s seminal text, although Raymond MONELLE (2000, 2006) critically clarified some elements in it. Eero TARASTI (since 1978) and Janice DICKENSHEETS (2012) both enlarged their scope to incorporate topics of the nineteenth century. Last not least, Danuta MIRKA, leading The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory (2014), has definitely given to the term a global academic acceptance. Eero TARASTI is regarded as the initiator and the head of an international forum for musicologists and interpreters on the research field of musical meaning. He started the International Congresses on Musical Signification (ICMS) in Paris in 1984, together with Daniel Charles63. Moreover, Tarasti “made possible the encounter between various musicological schools and movements sharing an interest in ‘rediscovering’ musical signification”64. As a student of Algirdas Julien Greimas in Paris, Tarasti, back then a piano graduate from Helsinki, found the possibility to combine Western tradition with Greimas’s methods. Greimas’s semiotics, centred in language and literature, offered post-structuralist tools to the analysis of music in expressive terms. Márta GRABÓCZ is one of the leading scholars in the field of musical semiotics and narratology. Drawing on both a Hungarian and a French educational background, Grabócz, like Tarasti, has been able to synthesize the Eastern European school of musical aesthetics and French literary semiotics, in particular the “Paris school” around A. J. Greimas. Her research focuses on musical narrativity and signification, especially the work of some of the most important Hungarian composers, such as Liszt, Bartók or Kurtág. She has also devoted considerable attention to contemporary and electroacoustic music, thereby adapting and extending the tools of topic theory from classical music to that of our days. As a university professor, Grabócz has published many valuable texts to help use the terminology of music semiotics with precision. In spite of the depth of her theoretical writing, her approach never loses sight of actual musicianship, i.e. a performing art inseparable from the act of listening. Raymond MONELLE’s The Sense of Music (2000) showed this scholar’s unique capacity to unfold the richness of references lying behind a musical topos. The enthusiastic reception of the chapters in that volume dealing with topic theory resulted in him devoting a whole book to it – The Musical Topic (2006). A pleasurable obligation for anyone interested in musical meaning, the volume studies in depth the ‘Hunt’, the ‘Military’, and the ‘Pastoral’. MONELLE calls them topics, but they are treated here as semantic fields, i.e. a net of closely interrelated

The first actually so-called International Congress on Musical Signification (ICMS) took place two years later in Helsinki (1986). This biannual rhythm has continued so far until ICMS 14, held in Cluj (Romania) in 2018. ICMS 15 (2021) is being prepared in Barcelona as we work on this text. 64 GRABÓCZ 2009: ibidem. 63

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topical references65. The widening of the scope of musical signification to cultural history might be one of his main contributions to the subject of topoi: Musical topics mean by virtue of their correlation to cultural units. […] Cultural units combine to form a culture, as words combine to form a language. Culture defines society, and society operates within history. In order to describe musical topics, there must be a full account of cultural mythology, of literary genre and symbolism, and of social history66.

Before those two books, MONELLE had successfully attempted a treatise surveying all current literary theories attending to their suitability to music analysis: Linguistics and Semiotics in Music (1992). In many aspects, it is still a reference today. Kofi AGAWU is another important contributor to topic theory, first in Playing with Signs (1991), later in Music as Discourse (2009). His starting point is the work of his teacher Leonard Ratner, but he takes into account different contributions, notably by Robert Hatten, Raymond Monelle, Elaine Sisman, Wye Allanbrook and William Caplin. AGAWU reaches an alphabetic list of 61 of the more common topics here without elaboration simply to orient readers to the worlds of affect, style, and technique that they set in motion. Some are everyday terms used by musicologists; others are less familiar terms drawn from various eighteenth-century sources. All occur in various compositions – some well-known, other obscure67.

The list that follows is even more puzzling than Ratner’s, because it mingles quite disparate elements. To call the Alberti bass a topic, to name but one case, it would need to make reference to some “cultural unit”. In example n. 1-9, the melody has an expressive meaning. It starts with a ‘martial’ triad, as in a bugle call, only to be immediately nuanced by a ‘vocal’ gesture. That mixture of military and lyrical elements, emblematic of Mozart’s language, goes on for the rest of the sonata. It is significative and expressive. The accompaniment instead is neutral: it indicates only a work for the keyboard, and galant style, i.e. not polyphonic68.

Ex. n. 1-9: Alberti bass, in Mozart’s Sonata K. 545/I, begin69.

65 66 67 68 69

In calling them semantic fields we follow Robert HATTEN 2014. MONELLE 2006: 26. AGAWU 2009: 43f. For the galant style, see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.1. Please search for Mozart / Sonata in C major K.545 / Kikuko Ogura (fortepiano).

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Nonetheless, Agawu’s list is useful as a starting point to a reflection on what musical signification amounts to, and what not – to rethink one’s own ordering of the material to analyse, which is of course a precious opportunity. And to wonder whether the world of musical topoi is maybe too rich to be systematized in a univocal, definitive way. Robert HATTEN has been one of the major researchers on the field of musical signification for many years. His contributions include work on musical topics, the creativity of musical tropes, systematic applications of the concept of markedness (see earlier Sect. 1.5), gesture, emotion, narrativity and agency. In his books Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (1994) and Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert (2004), the theory of topoi reaches a unique subtleness, especially in the analyses of some of Beethoven’s late works. His most recent book is A Theory of Virtual Agency for Western Art Music (2018), that we could not access before closing this study. Elaine SISMAN is another outstanding American scholar who relies on eighteenth-century texts to illuminate the meanings of the Viennese Classics’ music. Her studies on Haydn and Mozart have reintroduced contemporary keywords such as the Pathetic or the Sublime, and revalued the Variation form, as well as the importance of Rhetoric to eighteenth-century musical discourse70. She also addresses narrative issues such as the role of memory in Beethoven’s music and has contributed a precious chapter on topical analysis in The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory71. Janice DICKENSHEETS focuses on nineteenth-century topoi and presents them in relationship to those described for the classical period. In fact, she bases her study on Ratnerian assumptions and classifications to pledge for the continuity of 18thcentury traditions in Romantic music: Although there is admittedly a certain amount of referential discontinuity involving eighteenth-century topics that either changed or died out by the nineteenth century, the practice of using referential musical languages continued to be prevalent in the works of nineteenth-century composers, who retained much of the considerable lexicon of musical topics inherited from seventeenth- and eighteenth-century traditions, while adding to it complex musical languages that directly reflected Romantic aesthetics. This continued use of referential musical languages is yet another characteristic of the so-called common practice, a continuity that seems often to be down-played in analyses of nineteenth-century works. It is, however, central to the argument for topical analysis of this music — an analytical process that provides both a method for comprehending the composer’s creative process and an insight into what audiences were expected to be able to understand72.

70 71 72

SISMAN 1981, 1993a, 1993b, 1994, 1997. SISMAN 2000, 2014. DICKENSHEETS 2012: 99.

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DICKENSHEETS shows convincingly three of Leonard Ratner’s 18th-century “styles” being absorbed into three different 19th-century topics. Two of them, the ‘sensitive’ style (empfindsamer Stil) and the Sturm und Drang became central in the expressive vocabulary of romanticism; the Galant style “is absorbed by the song styles”; and figuralism (Word Painting) “is replaced by program music”73. Clive MCCLELLAND is the expert on two opera seria topoi, Ombra and Tempesta. His books are based on empirical evidence, as performers tend to write and enjoy reading, and presents lots of examples, not only by Mozart, but also fundamental composers, now rarely performed74. Esti SHEINBERG published her doctoral thesis about Irony in Dmitri Shostakovich’s work75. Her study bares the traces of the late Raymond Monelle’s thorough supervision and sheds light onto humour, irony and sarcasm, concepts traditionally neglected by musicology although fundamental to grasp the meaning of so much of the Classic repertoire – or Mahler’s musical language. Philip TAGG in his turn can be credited with being the first musicologist to have given academic status to the study of popular music and its meanings, without getting lost in sociological jargon. This widens considerably the range of music semiotics and enriches it with signs and with phenomena happening right now, and not only centuries ago. His last study, Music’s Meanings (2012), could be used as a handbook for music semiotics. It casts an idiosyncratic adaptation of semiotic theory to many different kinds of music, with an emphasis on the so-called ‘World Music’. Danuta MIRKA edited the aforementioned Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory (2014) and contributed an indispensable introductory essay to the volume where she vindicates Leonard Ratner’s legacy as a still valid starting point. One of the main issues in topic theory questions the validity of historic sources for analysis. Against Raymond Monelle’s conviction, Mirka argues for a careful reading of the treatises of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, in order to register the associations that what we call topics would carry with their contemporary listeners. In particular, she goes deeply into the links and differences between what used to be called affects and our topoi76. Mirka also underlines the term intersubjective as a way out of the narrows between objectivism and subjectivism, in other words between old positivism and post-modernist eclecticism, where anything might seem to go. Intersubjective

For the galant, ‘sensitive’ styles, as for Sturm und Drang: see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2. Programme music is dealt with along with Narrativity issues in our Analysing Musical Signification, in preparation. 74 MCCLELLAND 2012a, 2017. 75 SHEINBERG 2000. 76 More about affects and music in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.3.1, Classification of Rhetorical Figures. 73

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knowledge is poised mid-way between universal and individual, and signals a new way of understanding not only humanities, but science in general. It allows a convincing argument, even if it is not based on mathematical figures, to be taken into account as a valid way of scholarship. Especially in musicology, aspects as unmeasurable as familiarity with the style, sensibility or perceptivity are often more important than proven “facts”. This brings analysis back to performers, who should have never been left disconnected to their intuitions in their analyses. In other words, it is a return to Hermeneutics. On the other hand, an intersubjective analysis offers to and demands from performance the solidness of musicological methods, i.e. rigour and historical fundament. In other words, Exegesis.

Chapter 2

Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures

Topic theory has come to be associated primarily as an analytical tool honed on eighteenthcentury classicism. This is perhaps not surprising given the highly convention-bound nature of the era’s artistic practice and social conduct. But the eighteenth century only marks the epitome of common practice repertoire that propagated the growth of topics as rhetorical commonplaces because their precedents are found in earlier music: the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century madrigal and tragédie lyrique, for example. NICHOLAS MCKAY.1

This chapter focuses on two historical moments in Western music that constitute an early, rich source for musical signification: sixteenth-century madrigal and baroque musical rhetoric. The madrigal represents a first thorough attempt to explore for correlates between words and sounds. On the other hand, the widespread of monody –as in the new opera– favoured an approximation of music and rhetoric, both in theory and praxis. Polyphony, intended primarily for a liturgy that favoured the Mystery above any intelligible message, made musical representation difficult and was relegated as stile antico2. Through the art of oratory, seventeenth- and eighteenth-century music finds a prestigious way to connect the art of sound to Classical culture. The tremendous impact Rhetoric has had on Western music can be traced down in most of the current standard repertoire. When some avantgardes of the twentieth century put in question the traditional correlation between speech and sound, they were implicitly affirming the power of this link. In this volume, only one aspect of the musical rhetorical tradition will be discussed: the so-called Rhetorical Figures, that transpose to the musical discourse those elements that have moved audiences and made the art of oral persuasion effective and beautiful, since Antiquity. On a deeper level, as part of Musical Narrative issues, music is analysed as a discourse in the second part of this study, Analysing Musical Signification. The units of meaning generated in Renaissance and Baroque transcend their time to project themselves into the music of later centuries. Many madrigalisms and rhetorical figures will turn into musical topoi in the eighteenth century, helping to 1 2

MCKAY 2007: note n. 12. On stile antico, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_2

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establish the autonomy of a meaningful instrumental music. However, in analogy to living languages, this is a historically open process: both signifier and signified of a historical topos tend to change in time, boiling down to their most abstract features. Beside the copious bibliography on musical rhetorical figures, the lack of a comprehensive monography on madrigalisms is striking3. On Grove’s dictionary, the term Madrigalism directs the reader to Word Painting, a more general concept that includes all time periods, defined as The use of musical gesture(s) in a work with an actual or implied text to reflect, often pictorially, the literal or figurative meaning of a word or phrase4. As an example, the descending scale accompanying the passage descendit de cælis in so many Credo sections of the Mass is adduced. This is described later in Sect. 2.4.1 as ‘Katabasis’, a paradigmatic example of a long-haul historical sign. Some scholars have spotted rhetoric and figuralism already in Gregorian chant, at the very origins of European music5. In any case, from the Renaissance until late Baroque times, madrigalisms and rhetorical figures are often grouped together in catalogues from the late sixteenth until the eighteenth century.

2.1

From Mystery to Rhetoric: Musical Modernity.

The passage from Middle Ages to Renaissance and Baroque, the two historical periods studied in this chapter, is currently known in Human Sciences as the turn to Modernity. In European music, modernity means the definitive irruption of the Subject into the musical discourse and its clearest sign: eloquent expression6. This infuses Western music once and for all with the ambiguity that was mentioned in the Introduction to this volume. Its value depends on what it says as much as on what it does not say, but connotes, or even hides. Music’s persuasive powers go through the listener’s spirit without giving up its magical, irrational force. Musical discourse is so powerful because it is number and word; it is a language, but it cannot be translated because it is not referential. This phenomenon is the result of a long process stemming from Antiquity that becomes patent from the Renaissance on. In a famous passage, Saint Augustine hesitated between the power of song to elevate the soul and its distracting magnetism, away from the text it has to serve:

The term ‘madrigalism’ has become current in musicology for a long time, but throughout vol. of the New Oxford History of Music, e.g., entitled The Age of Humanism 1540–1630, the word is mentioned nine times, without any example or definition: cf. CARTER 2005. 4 CARTER 2001: 563f. The long bibliography that closes the article Rhetoric and Music, in the New Grove’s Dictionary, only makes evident the need for systematization of the many valuable analyses published since the 1970s – a task beyond our forces. See also RATNER 1980: 25f. 5 See e.g. MORIN & FOWELLS 1993. 6 This paragraph follows WINN 1981, NEUBAUER 1986, GEORGIADES 1989 (1974), CIVRA 1991, ZIMMERMANN 2002, HUCKE 2002, LEOPOLD 2002, UNGER 2004 (1941). 3

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Thus I fluctuate between peril of pleasure and approved wholesomeness; inclined the rather (though not as pronouncing an irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in the church; that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the feeling of devotion. Yet when it befalls me to be more moved with the voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and then had rather not hear music7.

Renaissance and modernity decided to take advantage of both aspects – magically alluring and communicative. Instead of seeing them as opposites, they are poised in this historical moment as complementary to each other. Pre-modern music had an inclination to symbolism that has not left our musical culture ever since. Rather than representing objects, even the most primitive medieval polyphony seems to allude symbolically to the great religious and human realities: time, death, relationship between God and mankind. One beautiful example is the last passage of the Christmas Mass as it might have been sung in 12th-century Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris. The final sentence of the Ordinarium Missæ says: –Ite, missa est. –Deo gratias. –Go, [the assembly] is dismissed. – Thanks be to God.

In this case, the so-called Organum consists of the following procedure: every single note from the Gregorian melody is extraordinary enlarged on the Tenor voice; the chant thus becomes unrecognizably slow, close to motionless ‘Eternity’. The upper voice, called Discantus, spins a florid counterpoint above those long notes of the Tenor, using the same syllables, but adding endless melismas around the intervals of fifth and octave. Both voices proceed in different rhythms and melodies, albeit saying simultaneously the same sacred text. Marcel Pérès, one of the most conspicuous interpreters of medieval music, outlines the temporal aspect of the Organum and sees in the lively ‘Flickering’ of the Discantus voice a manifestation of ‘Human time’ upon the nearly infinite Deeeee-o of the Tenor voice: Could one find a more explicit symbol of eternity fecundating time?8. A subjective point of view is arguably the main feature of musical modernity. It culminates in the nineteenth century. The desire for communication –emblematic of the Subject– is not found in ancient music. It was also deliberately erased in the 1950s avantgardes. Polyphony’s priority is not communication. This may surprise many listeners today, where music in general is tightly associated with modern subjectivity and interlocution. A motet is designed with no recipients in mind, but focusing on its own procedures – on symbolic, numerical, constructive, cosmological or theological aspects that only the composer and some other happy few knew about. These aspects, united to its liturgical function, justify the artwork, give it its sense, needless of any interlocutor. The Counter-Reformation, with its dogmatic emphasis on the value of Mystery, contributed to leave polyphony on the 7

AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO, Confessions, book X, chapter 33. Cf. also GRIMALT 2008. Marcel PÉRÈS, in the booklet of his harmonia mundi recording of this mass (1995), p. 66. The procedure can be heard upon the same words in Leoninus’s Christmas Mass, another composer of the Notre-Dame school, in the 1985 recording with the same ensemble. Search for Léonin - Messe du Jour de Noël (Ensemble Organum). The fragment Ite, missa est starts at minute 45:33. 8

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margins of musical modernity. Hence the frequent mixing of different texts and metres, even different languages, impossible to register aurally, in late medieval motet: it is meant “to the greater glory of God and the salvation of humanity”9. Two cultural impulses help to explain the shift from a cryptic to an eloquent music: Italian Renaissance and Luther’s Reformation. They are both manifestations of modernity, and in both religion has a major role. Renaissance is a diffuse phenomenon, difficult to circumscribe temporally. The old idea of a dark, barbarous Middle Ages followed by a luminous Renaissance has yielded to a more realistic historiography, one that sees traces of Humanism and modernity all through the late Middle Ages, and even earlier10. As for the struggles between Reformation and Counter-Reformation, they hide under their bloody, ruthless side a solid belief in the Word’s power for persuasion. That explains the essential role of Rhetoric in new Humanism and in early modern religious confrontations. All through the Middle Ages, culminating in European Renaissance, Rhetoric sees its status grow in prestige and functionality, eventually to become an ideal model for music. Originally, Rhetorics was much more than the art of oratory11. It was a powerful tool for thinking, creating, persuading. From the sixteenth century on, Inventio and Dispositio, i.e. thinking and setting ideas or arguments, is left to Dialectics or Logic, another part of the medieval Trivium. Rhetoric is progressively left with the sole use of figures, i.e. the decorative part of the discourse. Already in the eighteenth century, ‘Rhetorics’ meant only the last part of its traditional praxis, pronuntiatio or elocution. The current devaluation of the concept, meaning ‘empty chatter’, has its origin in the nineteenth century. Romanticism, above all Victor Hugo, despised Rhetoric because they found in it only clichés and formulae, or even worse, limitations to their creative imagination. Back to music, the disrepute of the art of discourse explains why musicians in the nineteenth century still understand musical rhetorics, but those who write about music do not know and thus do not mention it.

2.2

Some Madrigalisms

A madrigalism is the musical representation of some element of a madrigal’s text. When for instance with the word velocius (‘velocious’) Josquin suddenly doubles and syncopates the rhythm, he translates musically the feeling of speed that the text 9 This Latin expression (Ad maiorem Dei gloriam inque hominum salutem) is attributed to St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Catholic order of the Jesuits. 10 Figures such as Cassiodorus and Boethius, in the 5th-6th centuries; Isidore of Seville and Venerable Bede, in the 6th-7th; Alcuin of York, in the 8th, or Hildegard of Bingen in the 12th century belie the idea that Dante or Petrarca would rise suddenly, miraculously. Cf. CURTIUS 2013 (1948). 11 This paragraph follows COLOMBO 2014: 37ff.

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is conveying12. It precedes rhetorical figures and word painting, that will both follow the path of madrigalisms in coming centuries. The madrigal is the secular genre of Renaissance polyphony, a favourite place for new experiments correlating words and music in the sixteenth century. The motet, the sacred polyphonic genre, tends to avoid representation in favour of greater abstraction and focuses on imitative and constructive procedures. However, liturgical and worldly fields have moving, permeable borders. Their mutual, deep influence will have a great impact on all later art music. It is difficult to distinguish categorically between madrigalism and rhetorical figure. Oftentimes a musical sign exclusive of the madrigal has been only described as a rhetorical figure. Classifications, right from the sixteenth century, do not differentiate much between vocal and instrumental genres either, but they never forget the link they all share with speech13. Under analysis, it is striking how madrigal composers do not follow any patterns – but then again, there were none. The solutions they arrive to are mostly idiosyncratic and apply only for one piece or composer. Still, some facts can be remarked on, facts that will have continuity and will become traditional. These traditions, some of which persist until today, are the core of our interest here. The Flemish Jacobus Arcadelt (1506? – 1568?) is one of the first masters of the madrigal. Ahimé, dov’è’l bel viso (‘Alas, where is the beautiful face’) appeared in a publication in 1539 that saw 31 reprints in 25 years14. The text recreates Orpheus’s lament for Eurydice: Ahimé, dov’è’l bel viso in cui solea tener suo nid’amore, E dove ripost’era ogni mia speme, dov’è’l bel viso, ch’ornav’il mondo di splendore, il mio caro thesoro, il sommo bene.

Alas, where is the beautiful face in which alone Love made its nest, And where all my hope resided? Where is the beautiful face that gilded the world with splendour, my dear treasure, the highest good?

Ohimé, chi me’l ritien’, chi me lo cela. O fortuna, o mort’ingorda, cieca, spietat’e sorda. Chi m’ha tolto’l mio cor, chi me l’asconde? Dov’è’l ben mio, che più non mi risponde?

Alas, who deprives me, who conceals it? O fortune, o greedy Death, blind, merciless and deaf! Who has stolen my heart, who hides it? Where is my dear, who no more answers me?15

Arcadelt follows the irregular metrics of the poem underlining its prosody: accents, expressive diction. The homophonic texture, leaving behind counterpoint artifice, allows an understanding of the text16. Consonant harmony and the major mode contrast sharply with the poem’s desperate perplexity in front of the recent

12

Josquin, Fama malum, on a fragment of Virgil’s Aeneid. Quoted by ATLAS 1998: 277. Cf. UNGER 2004 (1941): 36f., invoking Mattheson. 14 HUCKE 2002: 252ff. 15 Translation from MCCLARY 2004: 73. 16 For a version with the Hilliard Ensemble search for Jacques Arcadelt - Ahime, ahime, dov’è’l bel viso. 13

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loss. The symbol chosen to represent that passion is ‘flats’. Just as he did in his madrigal Il bianco e dolce cigno, Arcadelt makes his notes flat –or ‘soft’ (be molle)– as a correlate to Orpheus’s ‘sorrow’, starting at m. 4. This device will become a tradition reaching until today17. Finally, the piece presents two rhetorical artifices frequent in 16th-century madrigal: ‘Anticipation’ and ‘Interrogation’. In m. 30, from the closure of the precedent cadence on the words me lo cela on, the rhythm becomes triple for three “measures”, which creates 4 groups of 3 quarter notes: see ex. 2-1.

Ex. 2-1: Arcadelt, Ahimé, dov’è’l bel viso, “mm.” 29-34.

The metrical disorder in the passage seems to translate musically the poetic persona’s bewilderment, saying: Who conceals my highest good? Alternating triple and duple rhythms is one of the charms of polyphony, and it would not be worth mentioning, were it not for the anticipatory character of cela and of the exclamation O fortuna, that unleashes the metrical shift. Coming from a binary metric, the ‘Exclamation’ makes the singer –or the modern listener– feel that the O syllable comes in too early, and it adds to the expressive quality of this interjection. Baroque authors term this figure differently: anticipatio, emphasis, exclamatio, ligatura, syncopatio. It is in any case a deviation from the norm, as with any rhetorical figure, not on the level of composition (Inventio) but on the Elocutio, the rendering of a preexisting virtual text. It is the modern Subject, who irrupts expressively to anticipate that exclamative O!. This Subject is embodied in some represented ‘interpreters’, not in the composer18. As for ‘Interrogatio’, the closing of the madrigal leaves the persona’s question in suspense: Where is my dear, who no more answers me?. The final resolutive chord is missing, just as the poem’s addressee, Eurydike. Next, two madrigalisms are examined –Pianto and Suspiratio– that had an extraordinary historical impact. They both share belonging to the expression of affects, and that they have been mistaken for each other for some time.

17

Here and in all following polyphonic examples, the anachronic term measure is used, taking advantage of the modern transcription that the reader will probably be using. This madrigal was quoted in §e of the preceding chapter – Primary Colours > The World of Flats, regarding the dichotomy between sharps and flats and its historical continuity: see ex. 1-5. 18 For further examples of ‘Exclamatio’, cf. further Sect. 2.4.3.

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2.2.1

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The ‘Weeping’ (Pianto)

The ‘Pianto’ is one of the most enduring musical signs: it is found from sixteenth-century madrigal up to contemporary music, with no interruption19. In nineteenth-century Germany, this madrigalism was called ‘Sigh’: [The pianto], the motive of a falling minor second, has represented a lament since the sixteenth century. At first it always accompanied the textual idea of weeping – words like “pianto” or “lagrime” – but it soon began to signify merely grief, pain, regret, loss – in other words, the indexicality of its immediate object. During the eighteenth century the related idea of the sigh replaced that of weeping. For this reason Riemann, finding this figure in early Classical music, called it “the Mannheim sigh”20.

The madrigalism of ‘Sigh’ instead takes the form of expressive, irruptive rests: see further. The ‘Weeping’ is usually represented through a falling second interval, chromatic and dissonant. MONELLE notes how madrigal composers initially saw in it an iconic sign, a musical imitation of the sound of someone crying. Already in the seventeenth century, however, it appears as an autonomous musical topos: as an index of grief, with an increasingly abstract, arbitrary character. Besides Riemann, ‘Sigh’ and ‘Weeping’ have been often confused because they appear mostly together in pathetic contexts. In the second movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 2 n. 1, after exposing the main section in F major, a contrasting motive in the minor relative serves as a transitional passage. The ‘Pianto’ in m. 18 is accompanied and preceded by ‘Sospiri’: see ex. 2-2.

Ex. n. 2-2: ¿Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 1, II: mm. 17-1821.

An ancient case of ‘Pianto’, albeit not yet termed as such, is at the same time one of the first examples of what we understand as music analysis. Joachim Burmeister,

19

See e.g. VENN 2013 on British composer Adès (b. 1971). MONELLE 2000: 17. 21 For a live version (2004) with A. Schiff search for Beethoven - Piano Sonata no. 1 in F Minor op. 2 – Schiff. The passage starts at 6:43. 20

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in his Musica poetica (1606), offers a rhetorical reading of Roland Lassus’s motet In me transierunt: see ex. 2-322.

Ex. n. 2-3: Lassus, In me transierunt, “mm.” 47-48, tenor 123.

The ‘Weeping’ example Monelle adduces is paradigmatic: Dido’s lament, from Henry Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas (1688). Following Virgil’s Aeneid, the libretto narrates the queen’s disappointment, having been left behind by Aeneas. These are her touching words: When I am laid in earth, May my wrongs create No trouble in thy breast; Remember me, but ah! Forget my fate.

In a subtle gesture, Purcell adds to his setting some musical ‘Tears’ that were not explicit in the text. The word laid, e.g., presents the ‘Weeping’ chromatic interval: see ex. 2-4.

Ex. n. 2-4: Purcell, Dido and Aeneas: Dido’s lament24.

The bass accompanying Dido’s song presents a chromatic sequence of descending seconds, in the ambitus of a fourth. In baroque music, this rhetorical figure appears in contexts of supreme grief or death. It is called passus duriusculus,

Burmeister simply classifies the ‘Weeping’ within Pathopoiesis: affective gestures. See further Sect. 2.3.1, Classification of Rhetoric Figures. 23 Cf. ATLAS 1998: 630 ff. You can search for In me transierunt by Orlando di Lasso. The ‘Weeping’ starts at 2:05. Notice the bass part taking the ‘Weeping’ motive over, in imitation. 24 In a version with Sarah Conolly, Dido’s lament starts at 1:00:53. Search for Purcell: Dido & Aeneas Z. 626 /Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. 22

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meaning ‘rather harsh passage’, or Lamento bass. Raymond MONELLE sees in it a derivation of ‘Pianto’25. It is also related to the figure of ‘Katabasis’, of which is dealt with in Sect. 2.4.1. In Classic and romantic music, ‘Pianti’ appear often in abstract form, detached from any text and in contrast to complementary signs that help to establish their meaning. In the first movement of Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony K. 551 (1788, ex. 2-5), the main theme alternates a martial reference, imitating a drum roll, with a lyrical response, piano, in ‘sensitive’ style26.

Ex. n. 2-5: Mozart, Jupiter Symphony K. 551/I, beginning.

The chromatic passus duriusculus also finds continuity in Classical music. It is often paired with the imitation of archaic counterpoint (‘Learned’ style), e.g. in Mozart’s Adagio and Fugue in C minor K. 546 (1788)27. Already the first section of the introduction, Adagio, displays the first ‘Pianti’. A leap covering a diminished seventh was called also saltus duriusculus28.

2.2.2

The ‘Sigh’ (Suspiratio)

On “measure” 13 of Monteverdi’s madrigal Cruda Amarilli, ‘Cruel Amarilli’, counterpoint rules are broken: see ex. 2-6a.

25

MONELLE 2000: 68, 73. For the ‘sensitive’ or empfindsam style, see further Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.2. 27 Please search for Mozart: Adagio and Fuga for Strings in c, K546 & K426. For the ‘Savant’ style, or stile antico, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. 28 Passus and saltus duriusculus, ‘Pianti’ and ‘flats’ all come together in the ‘Pathetic’ style (Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3) and in the music-theatrical topos of Ombra, presented in Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.3. 26

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Ex. n. 2-6a: Monteverdi, Cruda amarilli, “mm.” 11-1429.

The A in the soprano voice on the exclamation ahi (‘Oh!’) is an unprepared, dissonant leap30. What causes the forbidden leap is a ‘Sigh’, an interrupting rest. A spontaneous ornamented interpretation of the madrigal could have included it, as it was current at the time. In a rigorous voice-leading version, the passage would look as in ex. 2-6b.

Ex. n. 2-6b: Monteverdi, Cruda amarilli, reconstruction of “mm.” 11-14.

29

For a version with The Consort of Musicke & Anthony Rooley, search for Monteverdi: Quinto Libro dei Madrigali - 1. Cruda Amarilli, SV 94. The transgression of the counterpoint rules can be heard from 0:26-0:30. 30 See further in Sect. 2.3 the dispute Giovanni Artusi held with Monteverdi about this dissonance and its meaning.

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It is an “upper accent”, called by Mattheson Überschlag: an improvised upper apoggiatura that “should not appear on the score, but is discretionary, as all other ornaments […]”31. Monteverdi, 134 years earlier, was contravening that rule, as he integrated the ornamental figure into composition. However, the key to the ornament’s expressive meaning is the affixed ‘Sighing’ rest. In Baroque times such expressive rests, taken over from the madrigal, keep the value of a ‘Sigh’. They appear described in various treatises as a rhetorical figure, under the Latin term ‘Suspiratio’ or the Greek ‘Tmesis’ (‘cut’)32. Mauritius Vogt (1719) supplies a paradigmatic example of the figure (ex. 2-7), where the rests interrupt the very word su-spi-ro, ‘I sigh’, as if the singer were blocked by overwhelming emotion.

Ex. n. 2-7: Mauritius Vogt, paradigmatic example of ‘Suspiratio’33.

In Mozart’s opera seria Lucio Silla, K. 135 (1772), Giunia has been persuaded that her lover Cecilio is dead. Now in their reunion in the first act finale they sing the duet D’Elisio in sen m’attendi (‘You wait for me in Elysium’), see ex. 2-8: Fortunati i miei sospiri, Fortunato il mio dolor.

31

Lucky my sighs, Lucky my pain.

MATTHESON 1739, p. 195 (113): der nicht zu Buche stehen darff, sondern willkürlich ist, wie alle andre Manieren […]. 32 Cf. UNGER 2004 (1941): 72; CIVRA 1991: 132f., 183; LÓPEZ CANO 2012 (2000): 196. 33 Quoted by UNGER 2004 (1941): 72.

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Ex. n. 2-8: Mozart, Lucio Silla/I, Duet n. 7, mm. 48-4934.

The use of rests interrupting a phrase with vocal character is a very frequent expressive resource for romantic composers. It can be heard as an update of the madrigalism of the ‘Sigh’. Listen for instance to the first ‘Waltz’ reference in Fryderyk Chopin’s 3rd Ballad op. 47, ex. n. 2-9. In spite of the major mode –turning to minor some measures later–, the downward melody interrupted by ‘Suspirationes’ gives a peculiar melancholy to this ‘Waltz’.

Ex. n. 2-9: Chopin, Ballad op. 47, mm. 54-5835.

In Chopin’s first Prelude op. 28 the obsessive repetition of two-note motifs in different melodic and harmonic formats suggests an altered psychological state of the virtual ‘singer’ (ex. 2-10). The restlessness is reinforced by the constant ‘sighing’ rests that seem to prevent her from singing on every strong beat.

34 Please search for Mozart - Lucio Silla - (Dariusz Paradowski, Agnieszka Kurowska). The ‘Sighing’ starts at 3:06. 35 Please search for Krystian Zimerman - Chopin - Ballade No. 3 in A flat major, Op. 47. The first ‘Waltz’ starts at 2:03.

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Ex. n. 2-10: Chopin, Prelude in C major, op. 28 n.1, beginning.

Also, in Brahms’s Intermezzo op. 116 n. 5 ‘sighing’ rests keep interrupting a two-note motif. The accompaniment switches continuously between above and below the melody. The motivic cell too goes once upward and once downward, suggesting ‘Pianti’. Moreover, this plaintive, breathy melody has the shape of a ‘Love Duet’: if the upper voice stands for a ‘soprano’, its motivically identical counterpart on the left hand shows the range of a ‘baritone’36: see ex. n. 2-11.

Ex. n. 2-11: Brahms, Intermezzo op. 116 n. 5, beginning.

Beyond the madrigalism of ‘Sigh’, the expressive, rhetoric value of the rest can produce Discontinuities in Discourse. They are dealt with on Sect. 2.4.4 further in this chapter, featuring figures such as Abruptio, Aposiopesis or Interruptio.

2.2.3

‘Slowness’

Among the many other madrigalisms that could be added here, one involving temporality has been chosen. Earlier in this paragraph Josquin Desprez’s doubling of values in his madrigal Fama malum was mentioned, to express a sense of ‘speed’. Now in another example by Josquin, his motet-chanson In pace in idipsum (ex. 2-12), what might be called the madrigalism of ‘Slowness’ is shown. Disguised in the old practice of a long-held tenor against faster moving upper parts, ‘sleep’ is represented in the long values of the lower voice. The piece is typical for the Compline, the night prayer of Christian canonical hours. Its first line is derived from Psalm 4:9, the second one from Psalm 132:4, both in the Vulgate version: 36

About the theatrical topos of the ‘Love Duet’, see infra Chap. 8, Sect. 8.4.

40

Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 2: Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures. In pace in idipsum dormiam et requiescam Si dedero somnum oculis meis.

In peace, I shall sleep and rest if I grant sleep to my eyes.

Ex. 2-12: Josquin, motet In pace in idipsum, “mm.” 8-2137.

In a more subtle way, Monteverdi’s motet for one voice Nigra sum (‘I am black’) from his Vespers (1610) closes with the expression tempus putationis advenit, ‘the time of pruning has come’. As if emphasizing the human and biblical connotations of the idea of pruning, the music becomes hieratic, centred on one note only, enlarged and repeated, suggesting the (slow) passage of time, maybe also a bell: see ex. 2-13.

Ex. n. 2-13: Monteverdi, Vespro della beata Vergine: Nigra sum, mm. 24-2838.

A later example of ‘Slowness’ is found in JS Bach’s aria Es ist vollbracht! (‘It is fulfilled!’), from the Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724): ex. 2-14. In the passage ‘The night of mourning now counts the final hour’ (Die Trauernacht läßt mich die letzte Stunde zählen), the durative aspect is represented with an extremely long note

37

For a version with Cantus Figuratus search for Josquin Desprez (c1440-1521): In Pace in idipsum. The passage on ex. 2-12 starts at 0:13. 38 In a version with Concerto italiano, the ‘pruning’ starts at 2:57. Please search for Concerto Italiano Monteverdi Vespri 1610 Nigra sum.

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on the word Nacht, ‘night’. Some treatises term this figure hyperbole, i.e. an exaggeration of a musical parameter – in this case rhythm, to represent the last moments of a never-ending, mournful longing for resurrection.

Ex. n. 2-14: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Aria Es ist vollbracht!, mm. 13-1539.

2.2.4

‘Fire’

The madrigalism of ‘Fire’ has shown a persistent presence in Western music. Its signifier is an irregular, flickering movement; its signified, ‘fire’ and anything moving in a similar way, including natural threats and warfare. We hope to show these interconnections on three different spots in this study. First, we present it here in its original form, as a madrigalism. Chapter 5, Sect. 5.1.2 introduces one of its martial derivations, Monteverdi’s stile concitato. Finally, Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.4 describes the modern variant of the ‘Fire’ topos, the theatrical ‘Storm’. In all three instances (representing ‘fire’, ‘battle’ or ‘storm’), the figure keeps enough coherence to call it a downright topos. We suggest taking its name from its origins in madrigal: ‘Fire’. In a diagram (Fig. n. 2-1):

Figure n. 2-1: Historical derivations of the ‘Fire’ madrigalism.

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For a version with N. Harnoncourt and Ch. Coin (1985) search for J.S. Bach - JohannesPassion - Es ist vollbracht - alto aria. Ex. 2-14 starts at 2:30.

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 2: Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures.

Whenever a madrigal refers to “the fire of thy eyes”, or a “heart burning with love”, the vocal lines tend to draw quick, jagged figures, as if depicting a flickering flame. Johann David Heinichen (1728), writing about how to inspire yourself when writing music on a text, takes ‘fire’ as a topos for granted. Considering this sextet, Non lo diró col labro, che tanto ardir non ha. Forse con le faville dell’avide pupille, Per dir che già tutt’ardo, Lo sguardo parlerà.

Not with my lips I’ll say it, they would not dare as much. Yet perhaps with the sparkles of my so eager pupils, to tell I’m all in fire, my glance will surely speak.

Compendiously, Heinichen observes: The words faville, pupille, l’ardore, lo sguardo give our fantasy an opportunity for pleasant and playful inventions., You can, for example, base it on the burning fire of love40.

And offers an example with sixteenth notes, reminding of the irregular flicker of ‘fire’. Raymond MONELLE, to whom I owe the reference, sees in this an iconic imitation and also martial echos, as in military ‘calls’ or ‘fanfares’41.

Ex. n. 2-15: Weelkes, Thule, the Period of Cosmography, “mm.” 26-2942.

40 41 42

Heinichen 1728: 51, quoted by MONELLE 2000: 21. My emphasis. MONELLE 2000: 21. You can search for Thule, the period of cosmography. Ex. 8.40 sounds from 0:40 to 0:50.

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Thomas Weelkes (1576–1623) starts his madrigal Thule, the Period of Cosmography (1600) depicting musically these lines: Thule, the period of cosmography, Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;

The ‘sulphureous fire’ ends up as a metaphor in Petrarca style of love’s fire melting the ice of fear and lack of affection. The upper voices translate it thus: see ex. 2-15. The initial connection between ‘fire’ and rage leads naturally to Monteverdi’s stile concitato and to a closely related way to describe natural threats, specially ‘storms’. Represented flowing ‘water’ is another variant of the ‘fire’ madrigalism, albeit without the restlessness of actual ‘fire’ or ‘tempest’. Its paradigmatic example could be Schubert’s ‘brook’, accompanying most of his song-cycle Die schöne Müllerin, D. 795 (1823), or any other songs where a watercourse has a presence. Similarly, B. Smetana’s symphonic poem Vltava (1874) describes figuratively the irregular movement of both springs from which Prague’s river is fed, from the mountains –on violins’ and flutes’ treble– all the way down to the valley, represented by the bass and the begin of the song’s melody43. In Mahler’s music, a related musical sign can be observed: a natural wavering movement that he calls Waldbeben (‘Shiver of the woods’). The term comes from Richard Wagner’s Siegfried (1876), the third opera in his tetralogy. In the second scene of act II, right before the fight between Siegfried and Fafner, some instrumental passages accompany the silent meditation of the protagonist: see ex. 2-16. Wagner enlarged these to an autonomous piece called Waldbeben, to be performed in concert. It is also a buzzing, oscillating ‘stir’, like that of bugs and foliage, but not necessarily unsettling44.

Ex. n. 2-16: Wagner, Siegried, act II, scene 2: Waldbeben, beginning45.

43

Please search for Smetana: Má Vlast /Kubelík Czech Philharmonic Orchestra (1991 Movie Japan Live). The second movement, Vltava, starts at 16:36. 44 Raymond Monelle relates this Wagnerian topos to ‘water’ in JS Bach, and to ‘fire’: cf. MONELLE 2000: 77. 45 You can search for Wagner: “Siegfried”, Act 2 - Thielemann (Bayreuth 2007). The 2nd scene starts at 23:54; the Waldbeben, at 30:05.

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Very close to that ‘Shiver of the Woods’ is Franz Liszt’s Waldesrauschen (‘Forest Murmurs’), the first of his second set of Concert Études S. 145 (1862). The same gentle flickering can be heard in the right-hand figuration: see ex. 2-17.

Ex. n. 2-17: Liszt, Concert Étude Waldesrauschen, beginning46.

Transported into the symphonic medium, the best example of Waldbeben can be found in the second movement of Mahler’s Third Symphony. The subtitle, “What the Flowers in the Meadow Tell Me”, foretells all the oscillating movement, more or less disquieting, that animates this descriptive music, including a ‘Storm’ in its central section47. In the rustling leafage of his Cloches à travers les feuilles (Images II, n. 1, 1907), Claude Debussy might also be echoing Wagner’s Waldbeben48. Finally, the cultural topos of perpetuum mobile deserves mention as another variant of the ‘Fire’ madrigalism. Current science regards as impossible a machine able to generate movement without the addition of outside energy, but from the Middle Ages until today, attempt after attempt has been made49. The corresponding musical topos can be located originally in the Renaissance Canon perpetuus, one of which JS Bach includes in his Das musikalische Opfer BWV 1079 (1747): the canon could be continued until the end of time, in its enchaining beginning and end. In the Romantic era, musical pieces suggesting a perpetual movement were frequent. Niccolò Paganini, e.g., has an Allegro vivace a movimento perpetuo, a.k.a as

For a version with Cziffra György search for Liszt – Waldesrauschen. Please search for Gustav Mahler - Symphony No. 3 (Lucerne Festival Orcherstra, Claudio Abbado). The 2nd movement starts at 32:58. For the original programme, see GRIMALT 2012, Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. 48 Please search for Michelangeli plays Debussy Images 2/1 - Cloches à travers les feuilles. 49 See History of perpetual motion machines on Wikipedia. Accessed April 2014. 46 47

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Moto perpetuo, op. 11 (1835)50. Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy wrote also a Perpetuum mobile for piano, op. 11951. Also noteworthy is Johann Strauß Junior’s Perpetuum Mobile: musikalischer Scherz (‘musical jest’) op. 257. In performance, the end is enchained to the beginning without interruption, so that a ‘fade out’ is usually employed for closure. Its main references are ‘polka’ and variations on a basso ostinato, a typical Renaissance and baroque resource. The piece features a minor-mode variation and the shocking, humorous deceptive cadence on the lowered sixth degree, including a tam tam stroke, marking the end of the cycle and the return to the start52.

2.3

Baroque Musica Poetica: An Introduction.

The shift from polyphony to monody is indeed one big historical event in Western music. It is usually associated with the transition from Renaissance to Baroque. With Palestrina dying in 1595, Luca Marenzio in 1599, Rome loses the champions of motet and madrigal, respectively. The old imperial, pontifical city will give up its predominance to the Northern and Central cities of Italy in the new century. They had been preparing modernity at least since the 14th century, progressively displacing power from aristocracy to a growing new class with different tastes53. In musical praxis, the shift from polyphony to the Basso continuo era involves a radical application of rhetoric rules to composition. From madrigalisms to rhetorical figures there is only a progressive, hardly perceptible step. There is also a notable continuity in musical practice from the madrigal through the first operas to the new instrumental music. The first treatises trying to describe and systematize these novelties from the 16th century on appear only around the turn to the 17th century, in what is called in German theory Figurenlehre, i.e. Doctrine about musical-rhetorical figures. Remarkably, what amounts to a first attempt at a musical analysis is approached from the point of view of expressive meanings. Baroque musical rhetoric, however, is still based on imitation, rather than expression. To put it in Ferruccio CIVRA’s words, it is a “sounding representation of affective situations, bound to the conventions of its time”54. Closely related to that doctrine, the so-called Theory of the affects (in German Affektenlehre) deals with the passions of the soul, following Plato’s and Aristotle’s path. In music, this involves the study of representation and the awakening of

50

For a version with Y. Menuhin (1947) search for Menuhin - Paganini Moto Perpetuo. For a version with R. Prosseda search for Mendelssohn: Perpetuum Mobile in C Major, Op. 119, MWV U 58. 52 Please search for The Comedian Harmonists - Strauss: Perpetuum Mobile, and then with L. Bernstein Perpetuum Mobile - A Musical Joke - Johann Strauss Jr. 53 Cf. LEOPOLD 2002: 288. 54 CIVRA 1991: 42. My emphasis. 51

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feelings, based also on mimetic premises55. Humanist musicians searched for musical correlates to psychological movements such as anger, sadness, fear, cheerfulness or envy, following the ancient conviction that music, just as rhetoric, is able to awake any affection in the listeners through imitation56. Somewhat mechanically, musical correlates to these affects include tempo (e.g. slow for ‘sadness’, fast for ‘joy’), rhythm (equal values for ‘noble serenity’, dotted for ‘aggressiveness’), articulation (legato for ‘tenderness’, staccato for ‘playfulness’), and so forth57. Since one part of these musical resources is the use of the appropriate rhetorical figure, its Doctrine belongs to the Theory of affects. However, many of the figures do not relate to psychological aspects. In fact, the only convergence between Figures and Affects is precisely the Pathopoiesis, the art of generating and representing emotions: See Fig. 2-2.

Fig. n. 2-2: Convergence between Theory of Affects and Doctrine of Rhetorical Figures.

As to the Figurenlehre, the desire to theoretically systematize modern practice linking word and sound results in the famous taxonomies of rhetorical figures. Among them stand out Joachim Burmeister’s Musica poetica (1606), Athanasius Kircher’s Musurgia universalis (1650), Christoph Bernhard’s Tractatus compositionis augmentatus (ca. 1657), or Mauritius Vogt’s Conclave Thesauri magnæ artis musicæ (1719)58. Leaning on Classical rhetoric, especially Quintilian, these writers either translate artifices from oral or literary discourse to the terrain of music or they label musical figures with traditional oratory devices. In these first attempts to build a music theory, the relationship to actual practice is a peculiar one. The former adduced example of a rule-breaking ‘Sigh’ in

55 The German term Lehre is alternatively translated as ‘theory’ and as a ‘doctrine’, to underline their difference: the Doctrine about figures has a narrower, dogmatic character to it, whereas the Theory of affects offers a broader, philosophical aspect. 56 In 1649, René Descartes publishes his Traité des passions de l’âme, very much in accordance to what German treatises were describing in music. Cf. MORBACH 2008: 43-56. 57 UNGER 2004 (1941): 101f. 58 Hans-Heinrich UNGER 2004 (1941), Dietrich BARTEL 1997 (1985), Ferruccio CIVRA 1991 or Rubén LÓPEZ CANO 2012 (2000) have drawn up useful summaries of these treatises.

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Monteverdi’s Cruda Amarilli (ex. 2-6) drove Giovanni M. Artusi into a public dispute with the composer. Silke LEOPOLD interprets the unprepared dissonance on the exclamation ahi (‘Oh!’) as the irruption of improvisatory practice into the field of composition59. Notating ornaments, dissonances and passage notes that were normally improvised to regularize them into composition is an act of modernity on Monteverdi’s side to which Artusi accordingly reacted. At the core of their controversy, Monteverdi questions the old pre-eminence of theory over practice: For as the sick man does not pronounce the physician intelligent from hearing him prate of Hippocrates and Galen, but does so when he recovers health by his wisdom, so the world does not pronounce the musician intelligent from hearing him ply his tongue in telling of the honoured harmonic theorists. For it was not in this way that Timotheus incited Alexander to war, but by singing60.

Another example of the distance between praxis and theory is found in early modern prescriptions on prosody. In 16th-century treatises, in the spirit of a humanistic recovery and interpretation of Classical Greco-Roman culture, Aristotle’s idea of mimesis presides over the discourse about music. Nicola VICENTINO, in L’antica musica ridotta alla moderna prattica (1555), suggests setting music to words by imitating their nature, specifically regarding long and short syllables. That distinction comes from ancient Greek and had been artificially adapted already to Classical Latin. If on one hand early music theory orients itself by performing practice, leaving behind Medieval cosmological dogma, on the other hand they indulge in artifices that sound, both to our ears and in regard to their contemporary practice, remote and obscure61. All along the second half of the 18th century, theorists will gradually take distance from imitative art doctrine, in favour of expression and of the generation of passions in the listener. That changeset of perspective announces Romantic subjectivism, albeit not yet as the expression of an individual, but as a representation of affects62. Too often, in 17th-century treatises –and even in their present-day summaries– the immoderate wish to tidy up chaos can warp the musical reality it was supposed to describe. Some Italian musicologists of the former generation have revealed the distortions the Doctrine of rhetorical figures can project on baroque music63. In his presentation of musical rhetorical figures, e.g., writes Ferruccio CIVRA:

59

LEOPOLD 2002: 305. The Orphic resounding story between Alexandre the Great and the musician Timotheus, narrated by Plutarch, is the background of Handel’s oratorio Alexander’s Feast or The Power of Musick (1736). The quotation is signed by Giulio Cesare Monteverdi, defending his composing brother in a Dichiaratione della lettera stampata nel quinto libro de suoi madrigali (1607). Quoted in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 48. See also LEOPOLD 2002: 295. 61 See WINN 1981, Chap. 4. 62 Cf. ALLANBROOK 2014, esp. Chap. 2. 63 See Lorenzo BIANCONI 1982, Luca ZOPPELLI 1988, or the aforementioned Ferruccio CIVRA 1991. 60

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 2: Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures. [some of the figures are] excessive, belonging to a wholly autonomous [musical] rhetoric, one that invents and adapts names and functions (e.g.: fugue, rest, mixture) with no bond to any literary figure, a mere fruit of fantasy and the classificatory mania of music theorists. Such elements certainly do not turn this excess into any discipline or system […]64.

CIVRA explains this “classificatory mania” with “the musicians’ need to affirm their legitimate, vital presence within the world of human reason and passion”65. The febrile didactic activity that dominates Reformation Germany, eager to give and receive information, plays a crucial role here. Luca ZOPPELLI takes a more cautious attitude and qualifies the Figurenlehre as a vast interpretative phenomenon, a formalized and classificatory reading of a code that, in itself, does not differ so much from those that have regulated musical discourse in other contexts; exorbitant metaphor with nearly propagandistic connotations regarding musical art, of which somehow the notable capacity to emotionally move expressed and materialised itself66.

Summarising: the role of musical rhetorical figures might have been exaggerated. Both in Renaissance and in Baroque music, the massive ambition to coordinate in practice language and sound has led to highly irregular results. As with any living thing, figures are difficult to order and classify due to their unpredictability. Actual analysis and many practical examples should prevent us from being blinded by the temptations of a dogmatic (use of) theory67.

2.3.1

Classification of Rhetorical Figures

The possibilities in classifying figures are almost unlimited. Musicologically, they have all their interest68. From an analytical-didactic point of view, a simple but efficient opposition stands out. In historical texts, the distinction between 64

CIVRA 1991: 111. Ibidem: 111. 66 ZOPPELLI 1988: 154. 67 The 20th century had a foible for dogmatic stances. Formalism e.g. saw in music only structure and abstractions. Organicism envisaged art music in general, and Beethoven’s in particular as all “organic”: everything had to derive from one single original cell, with nothing left to arbitrariness. For a thorough criticism of such neo-idealist ideologies (close to totalitarism) cf. GADAMER 2010 (1960), KERMAN 1985, COOK 1990, KRAMER 1995, COOK & EVERIST 1999/2001, or MONELLE 2008. 68 To name but two of them, In his Opusculum bipartitum of 1624, Joachim Thuringus distinguishes three types of correlates that can be represented musically: (1) Affects, such as ‘Weeping’ or ‘Laughing’; (2) Places and Movement, e.g. ‘Leap’ or ‘Go down’; and (3) Temporal or Abstract-Numerical, such as ‘Fast’ or ‘Double’. Tim CARTER, in the Grove’s (2001), differentiates (1) “Onomatopeic” madrigalisms, like birdsong imitation; (2) “Pictorical gestures”, such as ‘Anabasis /Katabasis’, or ‘Circulatio’; (3) Signs derived from notation, such as leaving a solo voice for the fragment Tu solus, or three voices to symbolize the Holy Trinity; and (4) the so-called ‘Eye Music’, that can be understood only by looking at the score, e.g. the use of black notes to represent ‘Night’, and white ones for the ‘Day’. 65

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hypotyposis and pathopoiesis is recurrent. Hypotyposis is originally a rhetorical figure, equal to the Latin term Descriptio. It consists of representing an object to the listeners, in a discourse, in the most vivid manner, “as if it stood before your eyes”. That includes all figures based on the visual field. Joachim Burmeister, adapting Quintilian’s description (Institutio Oratoria) to the musical discourse, defines Hypotyposis as a figure through which the meaning of the text is clarified in such fashion that those words without life or spirit of the underlying text appear to have been given life69.

As examples, Burmeister offers Circulatio and the double figure of ‘Anabasis/ Katabasis’ (see further Sect. 2.4.1). Pathopoiesis (‘expression of passions’) is the term by which Burmeister designates figures with a psychological, abstract correlate. In the Grove’s they are grouped within the field of “expression”. Dietrich BARTEL defines pathopoiesis as a musical passage which seeks to arouse a passionate affection through chromaticism or some other means70. This remarkably broad definition focuses on the listener and leaves the musical means oddly in the background. The most quoted example of pathopoiesis is the chromatic, descendent Lamento-bass71. In the aforementioned Monteverdi madrigal Cruda Amarilli (‘Cruel Amarilli’, 1605), the shepherd Mirtillo, protagonist in Giovanni B. Guarini’s Il pastor fido (Venice 1590), is in love with Amarilli, although she is engaged to someone else. Her name is a pun on amaro, ‘bitter’: see ex. n. 2-18. Cruda Amarilli, che col nome ancora, D’amar, ahi lasso! amaramente insegni; Amarilli, del candido ligustro Più candida e più bella, Ma de l’aspido sordo E più sorda e più fera e più fugace; Poi che col dir t’offendo, I’ mi morrò tacendo.

69

Cruel Amarilli, who even with your name to love, alas! bitterly you teach; Amarilli, more than the white privet pure, and more beautiful, but deafer than the deaf asp, and fiercer, and more elusive; Since telling I offended you, I shall die in silence.

Burmeister Musica Poetica 1599: 62, quoted by BARTEL 1977 (1985): 310. BARTEL 1977 (1985): 359ff. 71 The Lamento-bass has been mentioned supra in Sect. 2.2.1 as derived from the ‘Pianto’ madrigalism. 70

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Ex. n. 2-18: Monteverdi, Cruda Amarilli, beginning72.

Right from the second and third chords of the piece, Dissonances act as pathopoietic figures: sounding correlates of Mirtillo’s suffering. At the same time, rhetorical procedures are used to move the listener. The syllable Cru- begins consonant to become dissonant on the next chord. Also the second syllable -da_A is a dissonance. The repetition of this invocation, a fourth higher, including both dissonances, adds to its expressive value an emphatic ‘Exclamation’.

2.4

Some Rhetorical Figures

In this section some of the most current musical rhetorical figures are described and exemplified. Baroque, vocal examples are followed by their classic and romantic transpositions into instrumental genres. Thus the continuity between pre-modern and modern traditions is shown, in a growing process of stylization. In 17th-century treatises, the most frequently quoted rhetorical figure is the ‘movement up and down’, Anabasis /Katabasis.

2.4.1

Anabasis, Katabasis

Genealogically, the musical representation of an upwards (Anabasis) or downwards gesture (Katabasis) is related to an ascent to Heaven, and respectively a descent to Hell. It is a single rhetorical figure spread in two, of a visual, descriptive character (hypotyposis). Most baroque descriptions follow Athanasius Kircher (1650), who describes it thus:

72

See earlier ex. 2-6 and search Monteverdi: Quinto Libro dei Madrigali - 1. Cruda Amarilli, SV 94.

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Anabasis is a musical figure by which exaltation, ascent and higher, eminent things are expressed. Katabasis or descent is the musical figure contrary to the former, in which affects like inferiority, humiliation or debasement are used, to express depressing situations73.

Christoph Bernhard (ca. 1657) adds to this, more to the point, “heaven, earth and hell” as the radical origin of all movement up and down. Its signifier consists quite simply in ascending or descending scales or hexachords, which makes it an easily understandable figure. Paradigmatically, they correspond to two moments of the Credo, in the Roman-Catholic Mass: Katabasis in Descendit de Cælis (‘Descended from heaven’), Anabasis in Ascendit in Cælum (‘Ascended into heaven’). Examples can be found from the thirteenth century up to our days. In Giovanni P. da Palestrina’s Missa Papæ Marcelli (1562?), all voices mark a clear Katabasis to Descendit de cælis: see ex. 2-19.

Ex. n. 2-19: Palestrina, Missa Papæ Marcelli, Credo: “mm.” 53-5874.

In Monteverdi’s motet for one voice Nigra sum (‘I am black’) in his Vespers of 1610, a paradigmatic Anabasis accompanies the gesture of standing up: see ex. 2-20.

73

Quoted by CIVRA 1991: 173f. See also UNGER 2004 (1941): 94. For a version with The Sixteen look for Palestrina - Missa Papae Marcelli - III. Credo (score). Katabasis starts at 2:06. 74

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Ex. n. 2-20: Monteverdi, Vespers: Nigra sum, mm. 14-1875.

The text from The Song of Songs says: Surge, amica mea, et veni,

Rise up, dear heart, and come with me. (Ct 2, 10).

After the bass imitating the tenor voice, it is the former to take the initiative, and the tenor to follow. The procedure reminds of the later operatic ‘Love Duet’ topos and carries already here connotations of harmonic bliss76. In JS Bach’s Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724), the Recitative n. 33 presents also a double Katabasis, consecutively on voice and continuo, to the words the curtain in the temple was torn in two pieces from top to bottom: see ex. 2-21, where the cello register is cut across “from top to bottom”.

Ex. n. 2-21: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Recitative n. 33.

A combination of Katabasis and pianto is the so-called Passus duriusculus, literally ‘rather harsh passage’, applied to a chromatic descent, typically of a fourth77. Also, a saltus duriusculus designates the leap in an irregular, dissonant interval, typically a diminished seventh. Both figures are associated diffusely to suffering and death: see earlier the bass in ex. 2-4. Chromaticism accompanies most ominous theatrical scenes in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. However, the nineteenth century gives to this sign a new meaning, close the sensuality and tenderness. Raymond MONELLE calls it melting chromaticism, as in ‘melting into tears’, or emotions. As an example, he offers the Leitmotiv of ‘Mother Love’ from R. Wagner’s Siegfried (1876), set in a Pastoral 6/ 8 m: see ex. 2-22. 75

For a version featuring Th. Cooley search for Monteverdi Vespers 1610: Nigra Sum. The ‘Anabasis’ (Surge) starts at 1:24. 76 For the ‘Love Duet’ topos, see further Chap. 8, Sect. 8.4. 77 MONELLE 2000: 73-77; BARTEL 1997 (1985): 358; UNGER 2004 (1941): 66, 93; LÓPEZ CANO 2012 (2000): 153f.

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Ex. n. 2-22: Wagner, Leitmotiv of ‘Mother’s Love’ (Siegfried).

For us, this is also an example of the topos of ‘Supplication’, a variant of Anabasis frequent in theatrical situations where a character implores to someone else, or to God. As a rhetorical figure, the ‘Supplication’ has been called historically Gradatio, or Climax, without any definite expressive meaning. Christoph Bernhard, the first to describe passus duriusculus, confirms the unity of Anabasis and Katabasis offering examples of ascending and descending chromatic fourths as equivalents78. In 18th- and 19th-century opera, the ascending variant became associated with ‘Supplication’. In Mozart’s Requiem (1791), the Recordare says Ingemisco, tamquam reus: culpa rubet vultus meus: supplicanti parce Deus.

I sigh, like the guilty one: my face reddens in guilt: Spare the supplicating one, o God.

The music presents this ‘supplicating’ Gradatio: see ex. 2-23.

Ex. n. 2-23: Mozart Requiem, Recordare, mm. 72-8379.

78

Quoted by MONELLE 2000: 73. Please search for Mozart - Requiem - Recordare – Herreweghe. The ‘supplicating’ Gradatio starts at 2:42.

79

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Schubert’s song Du bist die Ruh D. 776 (‘You are repose’, 1823) starts enlarging the description the title implies. From the third stanza on, Rückert’s poem changes to the imperative mode, to culminate in the last strophe: 5. Dies Augenzelt, von deinem Glanz allein erhellt, o füll es ganz!

The temple of my eyes is lit by your radiance alone: O, fill it wholly!.80

To the mystical-erotic wish to melt into the beloved person, the music to the last stanza offers a correlate in a passionate, ‘supplicating’ Gradatio: see ex. 2-24.

Ex. n. 2-24: Schubert, Du bist die Ruh, mm. 54-6181.

Similarly, in Verdi’s song In solitaria stanza (1838), Jacopo Vittorelli’s text says: Salvate, o Dei pietosi, Quella beltà celeste; Voi forse non sapreste Un’altra Irene ordir.

Spare, o merciful gods, that heavenly beauty; You might not be able to conceive another Irene.

To musically match the lover’s desperation over the illness of his beloved, Verdi displays a ‘Supplication’ in Gradatio, as he does in some other similar operatic passages: see ex. 2-25.

© R. Wigmore, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, accessed November 2019. Please search for Ian Bostridge, Schubert Du Bist die Ruh. The ‘Supplicating’ Gradatio starts at 2:36.

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Ex. n. 2-25: Verdi, In solitaria stanza, mm. 24-3582.

In Wagner’s famous Leitmotiv for ‘Longing and Desire’ in Tristan und Isolde (1859), the ‘supplicating’ chromatic treble coincides on a ‘weeping’ bass: see ex. 2-26.

Ex. n. 2-26: R. Wagner, Tristan und Isolde, beginning83.

In Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera (1859), the instrumental Preludio represents a considerable part of the catastrophic violence that is essential to the plot84. In its Epilogue however, strings and woodwinds draw an ascending gesture from the deepest bass to the highest treble. In this case, the Anabasis might represent a ‘spiritualization’ of the King’s conflicts. His good-hearted forgiveness to his murderers as he dies make him a transcendental character.

Please search for RENATA SCOTTO SINGS VERDI SONGS “ IN SOLITARIA STANZA”. The ‘Supplicating’ Gradatio starts at 2:07. 83 Please search for 1 Longing and Desire: Tristan und Isolde. 84 You can search for Un Ballo in Maschera - Preludio - Claudio Abbado (1986). 82

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To stay with Verdi, the Preludio to La traviata (‘The Fallen Woman’, 1853) starts in the treble, with no bass. The music seems to leave ground and rise to the highest heights to represent something otherworldly or spiritual: see ex. 2-27.

Ex. n. 2-27: Verdi, Traviata, Preludio: beginning85.

Again, the instrumental Prelude anticipates the drama’s outcome, with the protagonist lonely on her deathbed as a result of the pettiness of those surrounding her. The situation represented, lying one foot in the grave, receives the correlate of a bass-less music. This is a frequent topos in Romantic music, representing ‘spiritualization, distance from the earth’, not necessarily through death. In a dance, the lack of the bass as harmonic and rhythmic foundation is even more conspicuous than in singing. In some of Chopin’s Mazurkas, however, the absence of a bass seems to displace or derange the ‘dance’ reference as a functional genre in favour of becoming an autonomous vehicle for artistic expression: see ex. 2-28.

Ex. n. 2-28: Chopin, Mazurka op. 17 n. 4, beginning86.

There is a Romantic derivation of Katabasis that could be termed ‘Catastrophe’. Both its signifier –a rambunctious descent all the way through the register– and its signified can be related to the baroque passus duriusculus described a few pages earlier. A paradigmatic example of musical ‘Catastrophe’ takes place in the final measures of Chopin’s Ballad n. 1 (1831-35): see ex. 2-29.

85 86

Please search for Giulini Verdi La Traviata Preludes Acts 1 and 4. For an unconventional version search for Chopin Mazurka Op.17 No.4 (Horowitz).

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Ex. n. 2-29: Chopin, Ballad n. 1, end87.

‘Catastrophe’ is one of Gustav Mahler’s musical expressive vocables88. Theodor W. Adorno, quoting Erwin Ratz, calls this topos the Collapse89. In the first movement of Mahler’s Second Symphony, e.g., a ‘Catastrophe’ is heralded in the first thematic section, manifested in a climax in the central section of the movement, to reappear ex abrupto at the beginning and at the end of the main theme’s third version, as well of its fourth and last90. Under the name of ‘Collapse’, Ratz and Adorno refer to passages such as “the end of the development in the first movement of the Ninth Symphony, for example”. Adorno thinks in structural terms and adduces other instances of “fields of disintegration”, but collapse can be seen also as a topical category in passages depicting a Catastrophic Descent, once and again in Mahler’s work. For instance, in Lied des Verfolgten im Turm, combined with a passus duriusculus: see ex. 2-30.

Ex. n. 2-30: Mahler, Lied des Verfolgten im Turm, mm. 37-38.

ADORNO further refers the “category” or the “character” of the collapse to “a very early and simple model, the close of the third song from Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen”91: see ex. 2-31.

87

Please search for Krystian Zimerman - Chopin - Ballade No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23. See GRIMALT 2012: 397. 89 ADORNO 1960: 45, German p. 194. Jephcott translates with ‘collapse’ two different terms: Zusammenbruch, literally ‘breakdown’, typically used for a currency, negotiations etc., and Einsturz, used for structural collapses such as a building. 90 See an analysis of this movement in GRIMALT 2012, pp. 119–121. 91 ADORNO 1960: Jephcott p. 45. German p. 194. 88

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 2: Madrigalisms, Rhetorical Figures.

Ex. n. 2-31: Mahler, Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer, mm. 78-80.

A recent variant of the traditional dichotomy Anabasis/Katabasis can be heard in some of the works of Bernat Vivancos (b. Barcelona 1973), where ancient modality and spectral music cross their paths92. The spectral approach is based on the analysis of the spectrum, i.e. the acoustic aspects of sound, particularly the harmonic series. The composers associated with spectralism value singularly the timbrical aspect and tend to manipulate harmonic series to transform and combine them in different ways. The point of departure were the pioneering experiments that Gérard Grisey or Tristan Murail engaged in at the Ircam (Paris) of the 1970s. Peter Eötvös, Magnus Lindberg or Kaija Saariaho are some well-known composers who have used the procedure to broaden its possibilities and the way to understand it93. Beyond this material aspect of spectral music, the combination with modality as in Gregorian chant allows Vivancos to interpret this opposition in spatial terms, relating the ancient modes to a horizontal line and to melody, and the harmonic spectrum to a vertical coordinate. Symbolically, the modal melody correlates to earth and mankind, the spectrum to God. Thus, he sets in music the first and the last parts of the Catholic Ordinary Mass in the terms summarised in Table n. 2-1.

92 93

TARASTI 2012: 311 relates spectral music and synaesthesia. See Lasse THORESEN at http://www.enderrock.cat/disc/768/blanc/choral/works–.

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Kyrie Agnus

MODALITY

SPECTRALISM

Individual Sin Collective Sin

Divine Forgiveness Divine Peace

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Table n. 2-1: Symbolic correlates to two axes of B. Vivancos’s music.

In Vivancos’s Messe aux sons des cloches (2002), an ancient baroque tradition is re-enacted: the representation in terms of Anabasis/Katabasis of mankind praying to God, and God in turn attending to mankind. If human prayer is correlated to a modal melody ‘from earth to heaven’, spectral harmony appears to give shape to God’s response, the other way around94.

2.4.2

Interrogatio

In most natural languages, interrogation is accompanied by a melodic ascent at the end of the phrase. Musical rhetoric tends to imitate it, from the Gregorian chant on95. In the second scene of what is regarded as the earliest surviving opera, Jacopo Peri’s Euridice (1600), Orpheus is impatiently waiting for his bride and asks (ex. 2-32): Ma deh perché si lente del bel carr’immortal le rot’accese Per l’eterno cammin tardono il corso?

But oh why so slowly the sunlit wheels of the fair immortal chariot retard on their eternal way?

Ex. n. 2-32: Peri, Euridice, part 1, scene 296.

94

You can listen to some fragment of the CD Blanc (2011), including the Messe aux sons de cloches, at http://www.neurecords.com/disc.php?idDisc=1&area=RECORDS. 95 On Interrogatio, see UNGER 2004 (1941): 22, 81; CIVRA 1991: 149, LÓPEZ CANO 2012 (2000): 140. 96 In a complete version of the opera at the University of Illinois, this passage starts at 15:25. Search for “L’Euridice, the earliest surviving opera, original version, complete”.

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Notice the upward sense of the melody to the word corso?, indicating question. There are only three long notes. They correspond (1) to the exclamation deh, (2) to the word lente (‘slowly’) and (3) to tardono (‘retard’), in a new token of the formerly described madrigalism of ‘Slowness’. The two traditional markers of a musical Interrogatio are a melody with an upward final and a tense harmony, typically on the dominant, requiring an ‘answering’ response. In JS Bach’s Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724), in Recitative n. 18a (ex. 2-33), Pilate interrogates Jesus: PILATE So bist du dennoch ein König?

So you are then a King?

EVANGELIST Jesus antwortete:

Jesus answered: JESUS

Du sagst’s, ich bin ein König.

You say it, I am a king.

Ex. n. 2-33: Bach, Johannespassion, Recitative n. 18a, beginning97.

Both traditional markers of Interrogatio are present on the last word of the question König? – the ascending melody and D dominant of G, the harmony of Jesus’s answer. Note also the triadic, cornet-like figure in ‘You say it, I am a king’, as an index of the martial semantic field, here alluding to Christ’s kingship98. Pilatus’s name is spoken on a tritone dissonance, maybe pointing to his role in this dialogue. Later on, Pilate keeps asking questions: see ex. 2-34. EVANGELIST Spricht Pilatus zu ihnen:

Pilate said to them:

PILATE Soll ich euren König kreuzigen? Shall I crucify your king?

A “rhetorical question”: Pilate does not expect an answer. Again, the interrogation goes along with a harmony of F-sharp dominant of B minor in which the “Jews” will answer, but it is the word König (‘king’) that receives the highest note.

97

In a beautiful version with M. Suzuki (Tokyo 2000), this recitative starts at 40:16. Search for “J.S. Bach: St John Passion, BWV 245 - Bach Collegium Japan, Masaaki Suzuki”. 98 For the Martial semantic field, see Chap. 5.

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Johann MATTHESON considers this kind of rhetorical question, where an assertion is disguised in an inquiry, one of the cases where the composer needs not elevate the melodic line at the end of the phrase99.

Ex. n. 2-34: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Rec. n. 23e, begin1001.

The association of an upward melody with ‘interrogation’ and the logical need for a releasing ‘answer’ has a long-reaching tradition in all genres and ages. In many instances, some derivation of the rhetorical Interrogatio activates the Antecedent/Consequent mechanism, as in the standard song Autumn Leaves (ex. 2-35). The first line establishes a periodical structure, thanks mainly to the harmonic progression to the relative major. Even if both segments of the period end in an upward sense, the harmony makes the consequent feel like an ‘Answer’ to both initial ‘Interrogationes’.

Ex. n. 2-35: Joseph Kosma, Autumn Leaves, beginning.

Answering to the rhetorical Interrogatio, a hypothetical Affirmatio could be imagined, in a descending sense. It has not been described in any historical treatise, to our knowledge, but its use in both vocal and instrumental music can be easily shown. In the decisive scene of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, the Stone Guest asks his host Risolvi? (‘Do you decide?’) and Verrai? (‘Are you coming [to visit me]?’), with the usual ascending, ‘interrogating’ pattern, on dissonant, diminished-seventh chords.

99 100

MATTHESON 1739: 193 (293). On 1:01:03 in the aforementioned version.

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To those hair-raising questions the rake finally answers affirmatively: Verrò! (‘I am!’). The interval is a descending fifth, the harmony resolves with a perfect cadence101. Similarly, many affirming manifestations tend to adopt this descending fifth, typically on the word Credo (‘I believe’) in the Catholic Mass. The Gregorian intonation that usually precedes this part of the Mass presents a descending, ‘affirmative’ pattern: see ex. n. 2-36.

Ex. n. 2-36: One of the Gregorian intonations to the Credo.

When no such fixed intonation is used, a descending interval seems to predominate. Both in JS Bach’s B-minor Mass and in Mozart’s C-minor it is a falling third; in Beethoven’s Missa solemnis also, but after an initial third the descending fifth repeats the affirming statement of belief with an emphatic sforzando: see ex. 2-37.

Ex. n. 2-37: Beethoven, Missa solemnis, Credo, beginning.

In a similar way and for the same reasons, most final Amen! (‘So be it!’) in Catholic masses use a descending interval and a closing cadence, the musical correlate to a rhetorical affirming statement. With these examples in mind, the ‘affirmative’ sense of many instrumental themes becomes evident.

2.4.3

Exclamatio and ‘Blows’. Apostrophe.

Baroque treatises describe Exclamatio as an upward melodic leap greater than a third102. Johann MATTHESON discusses it just after the Interrogatio, although he offers only literary examples of Exclamationes103. Back in 1739, vocal music was still the music. In practice, however, rhetorical figures became increasingly current

101 102 103

See a rhetorical analysis of the whole scene in COLOMBO 2014: 174ff. CIVRA 1991: 140. MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 193f.

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in instrumental contexts. In the finale of JS Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto n. 4 in G (ex. 2-38), a gesture with the expressive value of an ‘Exclamation’ is used as an index of closure.

Ex. n. 2-38: JS Bach, Brandenburg Concerto n. 4/III, mm. 228-2361041.

Note the unexpected stop of the rhythmical flow of eighth notes, the stress on the weak part of the measure, the dissonant harmony and the martellato articulation: dry, from off the string. As a later example of a rhetorical Exclamatio, in Johannes Brahms’s song Von ewiger Liebe (1868) the first stanza goes: Nirgend noch Licht und nirgend noch Rauch, Ja, und die Lerche, sie schweiget nun auch.

No light anywhere yet, and no smoke, Oh, and the lark goes silent as well.

Where the exclamation Ja! (‘Oh!’) is set on a note clearly above the melody’s recitative-like register: see ex. 2-39a.

Ex. n. 2-39a: Brahms, Von ewiger Liebe, op. 43 n. 1, mm. 14-17.

When adapting the music to the second stanza (ex. 2-39b), the text of which presents no exclamation, Brahms leaves the ‘Exclamatio’ to the piano:

104

For a version with M. Suzuki search for Bach, Brandenburg Concerto 4, complete, Bach Collegium Japan. The conclusive ‘Exclamations’ start at 14:54.

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Ex. n. 2-39b: Brahms, Von ewiger Liebe, op. 43 n. 1, mm. 34-37.

Musical ‘Blows’ are often represented in connection with a rhetorical ‘Exclamatio’. In Carl M. von Weber’s Freischütz (1821), in the famous Wolf’s Glen scene (2nd act finale, mm. 324ff.) the indication “Bustle, whip cracking and horse footsteps” is figured musically with a derivation of ‘Exclamation’ on woodwinds and a reference to the ‘Hunt’ on strings, in triple metre and iambic rhythms: see ex. 2-40.

Ex. n. 2-40: C. M. von Weber, Der Freischütz: Wolf’s Glen scene, mm. 328f1051.

In popular music, the expressive use of a single treble note as an ‘Exclamation’ is frequent. As an evidence of the music’s enduring rhetorical power, listen to the guitar “commenting” upon the song This is my night to dream, in an instrumental solo106. Right after the text You are a girl who oughta be kissed, And I am a man, a brave optimist!

the guitar lets go an accent on the treble, imitating a spontaneous interjection to what the singer is saying –maybe an admiring whistle–, to round it off with a downward glissando.

105

Search for Weber - Der Freischütz: Wolf’s Glen Scene (Szene Furchtbare Wolfsschlucht) for a version with C. Kleiber (1973). The passage starts at 14:28. Cf. infra the topos of the ‘Cursed Horse’ in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.5. 106 Please search for Nat King Cole This Is My Night To Dream. The guitar solo starts at 1:10, the ‘Exclamatio’ is on 1:23. The songwriters are J. Burke and J.V. Monaco.

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Finally, a special kind of Exclamatio is found in the Wedding March from Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy’s Sommernachtstraum op. 61 (1842). Adding to the euphoria of the Martial semantic field (dotted rhythms, ‘Calls’, brass instruments), a contagious enthusiasm is marked by loud ‘Cheers’: see ex. 2-41a.

Ex. n. 2-41a: Mendelssohn, Wedding March, mm. 85-881071.

Rhetorically, the figure can be termed a variant of the ‘Exclamation’ called Apostrophe, as the discourse is interrupted to address some (often imaginary) third person: “O God!” or “O Muses!”, for instance. Such outcries are close to another index of joyful celebration, the Trill108. Instrumental music, whether classic or romantic, recurs often to trills in festive contexts, as in the Epilogue of the same March: ex. 2-41b.

Ex. n. 2-41b: Mendelssohn, Wedding March, mm. 122-1271091.

A similar example is to be heard in the second movement of Schubert’s Trio op. 100 (1827). The quiet ‘Apostrophes’ in mm. 15-16, as if to oneself, seem to be a rhetorical reaction to the ‘Elegiac March’ that starts the movement110: see ex. 2-42.

107

For a complete recording of the piece with N. Harnoncourt (1992), search for Mendelssohn: Ein Sommernachtstraum op.61 Pamela Coburn, Elisabeth von Magnus. The Wedding March starts at 30:10. The passage with the Exclamationes, at 32:44. 108 For other expressive meanings of the Trill, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2, Stile concitato, and Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.4, Tempesta. 109 This passage starts at 33:46. 110 About the ‘Elegiac March’, see infra Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.3 and example n. 5-39.

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Ex. n. 2-42: Schubert, Trio D 929/II, mm. 14-18111.

In both cases, the ‘Apostrophe’ takes the form of an exclamation as if in brackets, momentarily interrupting the discourse. Another kind of ‘Apostrophe’ corresponds to a direct interpellation. In the first scene of the opera, Don Giovanni has been trying to avoid the Commendatore. Just before taking part in the duel that will kill the old man, Giovanni throws these words at him: Misero, attendi, se vuoi morir!

You miserable! Wait, if you want to die!

The music makes reference to the ‘Ominous Unison’ typical of such dramatic moments in opera seria112. Moreover, Giovanni addresses his victim with a grandiloquent Apostrophe, in form of a descending octave: see ex. 2-43.

Ex. n. 2-43: Mozart, Don Giovanni, first scene: mm. 160-166.

111

For a version with E. Istomin, L. Rose and I. Stern please search for Schubert Piano Trio No. 2. - Istomin-Stern-Rose - II. Andante con moto. The ‘Apostrophes’ can be heard at 0:37. 112 See Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5, Tragic References.

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The first theme in Mozart’s Quartet in D minor K. 421 (1783?) starts in a very similar way. Note the two registers where the ‘singing’ takes place: in a higher and in a lower treble, as if representing the agitated way of expression of a ‘singer’ in distress. The initial descending octave can be interpreted as a direct ‘Apostrophe’: see ex. 2-44. In its emphatically affirmative character, typically taking the interval of the descending octave, the ‘Apostrophe’ can be seen as contrary to the rhetoric ‘Interrogatio’ we have just dealt with.

Ex. n. 2-44: Mozart, Quartet in D minor K. 421/I: beginning.

2.4.4

Discontinuities in Discourse: Dubitatio, Interruptio, Parenthesis.

In 18th-century music, Rhetoric is the crack through which the Subject slips in. Subjectivity makes itself progressively noticeable in interruptions of a metrically regular discourse. This can be clearly felt in the Finale of CPE Bach’s Flute Concerto in A, Wq 168 (ca. 1753)113. The basic reference is the ‘Gigue’, a typical dance to finish a suite or some other instrumental cyclic work. The main theme has a virtuoso, brilliant character. ‘Exclamations’ and unexpected rests keep interrupting the ‘Gigue’. These discontinuities are not originated in the discourse itself, but by some arbitrary force, necessarily subjective. They appear in opposition to the dance’s regular metre. Periodically pre-established music represents a convention and thus a collective entity. By extension, it implies the former generation’s utility music, where any such irruptions would be unthinkable. The interruptions instead symbolize the modern subject, represented in a theatrical, rhetorical way. The opposition collective convention /subjective interruption is analogous to the one between soloist and ensemble that defines the genre of modern concerto.

113

Search for C. P. E. Bach Flute Concerto A major Aurele Nicolet. The Finale starts at 12:30.

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In rhetoric treatises the Dubitatio is described as the orator’s feigning ‘Hesitation’ to attract the attention of the audience or to assume things that can only be implied114. In music, this figure is very close to the previously described ‘Sigh’, as hesitation is normally demonstrated with (seemingly) spontaneous irruptive rests115. In ex. 2-45, a motet by Heinrich Schütz based on Psalm 128 (127) interrupts itself between the two syllables of the word fürch-tet (‘fears’). This belongs to Schütz’s Psalmen Davids (Dresden 1619), set in Venetian polychoral style. The Psalm’s text starts Blessed are those who fear the Lord and who walk in his ways. In a Biblical context, “to fear God” means ‘to venerate’, ‘to be truthful’. Schütz, however, translates it quite literally with a musical representation of someone who, paralysed by fear, interrupts him- or herself in the middle of a word116.

Ex. n. 2-45: Schütz, Psalm 128, SWV 30, mm. 9-111171.

In Mozart’s Requiem K. 626 (1791) there are some more examples of ‘Suspirationes’ motivated by fear. In Tuba mirum, the solo soprano wonders: Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronem rogaturus cum vix justus sit securus?

What shall a wretch like me say? Who shall intercede for me, when the just ones need mercy?

On the third of these questions, the voice is interrupted with rests, as if the sheer magnitude of the question would prevent the singer from setting her notes on the metrical beat: see ex. 2-46.

114

Quintilian: Institutio IX, ii, 19. Quoted by BARTEL 1977 (1985): 243. Forkel (Geschichte, 58) sees Dubitatio furthermore in undecided modulations or in consecutive fermatas. Cf. BARTEL ibidem: 243f. 116 About the historical difference between literal pictorialism and symbolism, see further Chap. 3, Sect. 3.1.2 and Fig. n. 3-2. 117 Search Heinrich Schütz, 3 Psalmen Davids, cd 2, part 7, Cantus Cölln. Psalm 128 starts at 5:55. 115

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Ex. n. 2-46: Mozart, Requiem: Tuba mirum, mm. 45-501181.

The same rhetorical ‘Hesitation’ is frequent in Romantic repertoire, along with the figure of ‘Suspiratio’, to represent an intimate, spontaneous manifestation. There are some other similar rhetorical figures to suggest a stop or an unexpected turn: Interruptio, Abruptio, Apocope (shortening of the end), or Aposiopesis119. In vocal music, a rest corresponds originally to the physiological need for a breath. Transposed to the new instrumental genres, these rests acquire a higher rhetorical value. They mark the reference to a vocal or declamatory discourse, in a ‘spontaneous’ style120. In improvised speech, the flow can sometimes break down, as if the thread were lost and the speaker were looking for a new idea to be able to go on. A situation of that sort is represented in the way the Reprise is attained, in the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 31 n. 3 (ex. 2-47).

Ex. n. 2-47: Beethoven, Sonata op. 31 n. 3/I: mm. 127-1371211.

118 For a version with Ph. Herreweghe search for Mozart - Requiem - Tuba mirum – Herreweghe. The ‘Sighing’ starts at 2:18. 119 Cf. UNGER 2004 (1941): 70-72; CIVRA 1991: 120, 172; LÓPEZ CANO 2012 (2000): 188. 120 Cf. UNGER 2004 (1941): 18f. 121 For a version with W. Kempff search for Beethoven piano sonata no. 18 op. 31 in E flat major (Full). The ‘improvised’ passage starts at 2:56.

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The whole movement is an excellent example of the ‘Improvised Style’ typical of the piano sonata122. In a symphonic context this style is more surprising, as there can be no doubt whether the music is being improvised or not. The irruption of the ‘Subject’ is increasingly patent in all genres, as the 18th century goes by. In the Scherzo of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, at the beginning of the second part of the Trio, the music frazzles away in a similar manner as in the preceding example. The shocking interruptions would sound to a first-time listener as actual mistakes. Ex. 2-48 presents the slightly varied repetition of the section. The main topical reference is a parodic ‘Learned’ style, where a burlesque representation of pedantic, clumsy musicians is constant123.

Ex. n. 2-48: Beethoven, Symphony n. 5/III: mm. 197-2071241.

In the first movement of Schubert’s Sonata for piano and violin in G minor D. 408 (1816), the initial four measures appear initially to be the main theme, but it soon becomes clear they were just a theatrical introduction in tragic opera style125. The actual theme comes next, piano, in a neat periodic form (antecedent, consequent): see ex. 2-49. When the violin comes back in m. 13, the listener expects some modulatory transition. That is indeed what happens, but first a foreign note irrupts unexpectedly into the discourse as an ‘Abruptio’, imitating a spontaneous exclamation. The dissonant exclamatio ex abrupto in m. 16 seems to divert the way to the modulation. In fact, it serves as a pathetic minor ninth in a dominant turn to the subdominant of the major relative.

122

See Chap. 3, Sect. 3.4, References to instrumental genres. For stile antico or ‘Learned Style’, see further Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. For parody and irony on old-fashioned topoi see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3 and Chap. 8, Sect. 8.1. 124 For a version with subtitles search Beethoven Symphony 5 Movement III and IV (Annotated Analysis). The 2nd part of the Trio starts at 2:16. 125 See further Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.2: ‘Ominous Unison’. 123

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Ex. n. 2-49: Schubert, Sonata D. 408/I, mm. 1-181261.

Interrupting the musical flow is a frequent expressive strategy in Franz Schubert’s music. Oftentimes, it gives up any progress, to bring time to a stop, turning around extatically. The first movement of his last piano sonata D. 960 in B-flat (1828) can be heard as a study for different forms of discontinuity. The main theme opposes the initial singing to an irrupting trill in the bass, suggesting a percussion tremolo on a fermata. The singing, instrumented as if for a string quintet, presents a first ‘Exclamatio’ in m. 5. The sinister, pace-arresting ‘Irruptio’ is prompted by a stop in the form of ‘Interrogatio’ on the dominant, in m. 7-9: see ex. 2-50a.

126

Search for Lupu and Goldberg play Schubert - Sonata for Violin and Piano in G minor, D 408.

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Ex. n. 2-50a: Schubert, Sonata D. 960/I: Begin.

A second attempt in m. 10, after the virtual ‘Timpani Tremolo’, does achieve an articulated period. From m. 20 on, a less ominous version of the trill introduces a vocal, individual comment: see ex. 2-50b. As in the former example, it is located in the ideal world of ‘Flats’. The new lyrical texture, on a plucked-string accompaniment, loosens the initial tightness away. Note the spontaneous ‘Exclamatio’ in m. 25.

Ex. n. 2-50b: Schubert, Sonata D. 960/I: mm. 18-27.

A new stagnation arrives in m. 27, pianissimo, where the music seems to take further distance from the here-and-now to settle on a circular movement out of any temporal progress, thus arresting as in ecstasy (stasis) the sonata’s discourse127. Just before the movement reaches the final cadence to the Epilogue (mm. 92-99), the expressive interruptions grow to an acme.

That happens in many of Schubert’s secondary themes. See e.g. the first movement of his Sonata D. 784 (1823), mm. 61ff. 127

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Another disruptive rhetorical figure is ‘Parenthesis’. In its description, Hans-Heinrich UNGER quotes the reluctant Johann MATTHESON, who is ready to see it “disappear from the science of melody” in favour of a more natural flowing of the musical discourse128. However, instrumental music has often and easily imitated the figure –so frequent in spontaneous speech– of inserting a “by the way” clause. In Johannes Brahms’s Intermezzo op. 117 n. 2 (1892), m. 72 brings a dolce interpolation into what had been the contrasting central section of the piece. This ‘Parenthesis’ enlarges by one measure every little phrase. The original version without the clause can be seen in ex. 2-51a.

Ex. n. 2-51a: Brahms, Intermezzo op. 117 n. 2, mm. 20-261291.

The enlarged version, in Epilogue function, adds to it some comments as if in brackets: see ex. 2-51b.

Ex. n. 2-51b: Brahms, Intermezzo op. 117 n. 2, mm. 70-761301.

The central part of the Intermezzo, mm. 23-38 (ex. 2-51a), was in fact a legato, maggiore, soothing version of the main, dysphoric theme. They share an underlying octosyllabic metre of 4 + 4 syllables, but whereas the initial theme is interspersed with ‘Suspirationes’ and ‘Pianti’ interrupting the downward melody, in the central 128

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 194f. (294f.). UNGER 1941: 85f. Please search Sokolov plays Brahms - Intermezzo in B-flat minor, Op. 117 No. 2. The contrasting central section starts at 1:01. 130 The Epilogue with the ‘Parenthesis’ starts at 4:03. 129

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part the same motivic material gets a much more luminous treatment. Rhythmically, the changes in the second theme reinforce the vocal elements, at the expense of the initial dance metre. In other words, temporality becomes passive in the central part of the piece, leaving behind the progressive and dysphoric character of the main section. This lyrical, timeless bubble turns even more patent in the Epilogue, through the inclusion of that melodic ‘Parenthesis’131.

2.4.5

Word Painting

The madrigal’s experimentation with different possibilities to represent objects, affects or ideas with sound is historically continued with what is known as Word Painting or Figuralism132. In spite of a bias toward abstraction in the use of rhetorical figures, some figuralism remains part of the musical vocabulary, so that baroque composers can recur to them whenever they need to. One example is the ‘Cross’ that JS Bach sometimes delineates, when dealing with Jesus Christ’s crucifixion. In the Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724), e.g., when the Evangelist says, “Then he handed him over to be crucified”, the melodic line first draws an upward line, then a descending one, crossing the first one. The chords of both bars of the ‘cross’ are dissonant, to represent a pathetic context: see ex. 2-52.

Ex. n. 2-52: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Recitative n. 23 g1331.

Word Painting is also found in the tenor aria Ev’ry valley, from Georg F. Handel’s Messiah (1741). The text from Isaiah (40:4), in the King James’s version Handel used, says: Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain.134

131

About musical temporalities in Brahms’s chamber music, see GRIMALT 2018b, 2018c. Adapted from the German Wortmalerei. Cf. earlier in this chapter Classification of Rhetoric Figures, Sect. 2.3.1. 133 For a version with J.E. Gardiner, search for BBC Proms J. S. Bach: St John Passion 2008 at 1:12:05. 134 For a version with T. Pinnock search for Every valley shall be exalted- Messiah, Haendel. 132

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If only in a latent way, the aria’s predominant topical reference is the ‘March’. The many ‘military calls’ confirm this. The great revolutionary changes about which the prophecy tells are culminating Israel’s quest for Salvation. In the Messiah’s dramaturgic context, they announce the coming of Jesus Christ. Handel builds musical figures out of these pairs of oppositions: “Shall be exalted” (mm. 15-24, 1:19), vs. “the rough places plain (mm. 36-39, 1:53). Likewise, to represent the words “shall be made low”, the melodic sense is first ascending, then descending, in a variant of ‘Anabasis/Katabasis’. Moreover, the octave leap on mountain seems to represent its object iconically, just as the last note on low is set on a deep register for the tenor: see ex. 2-53a.

Ex. n. 2-53a: Handel, Messiah: aria Ev’ry valley, mm. 24-261351.

Yet another textual opposition receives a musical figuration: the crooked shall be made straight. The expression has also a moral sense: ‘the dishonest will be corrected’136. Handel uses two different musical signs here. One represents iconically “the crooked” with a quite unusual melodic design: see ex. 2-53b.

Ex. n. 2-53b: Handel, Messiah: aria Ev’ry valley, mm. 33-341371.

The other one (ex. 2-53c), based on the ‘Oscillatio’, seems to represent the difference between ‘crooked’ and ‘straight’:

135

At 1:40 of the suggested recording. Also in the Latin version of the Vulgata: omnis vallis exaltabitur et omnis mons et collis humiliabitur et erunt prava in directa et aspera in vias planas. Where pravus has the same double sense as ‘crooked’. 137 At 2:01 of the suggested recording. 136

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Ex. n. 2-53c: Handel, Messiah: aria Ev’ry Valley, mm. 27-281381.

That ‘Oscillation’ is a frequent figure, with a notable historical continuity. In Latin, some treatises call it ‘Trepidatio’, related to ‘trembling’ and to the tremolo. It is described by Mattheson, Praetorius, Printz, Vogt, and Walther. Dietrich BARTEL sets the figure under the ornaments, which is no depreciation139. From a baroque point of view, and according to criteria of old classic Rhetoric, decoratio with figures is one important part of the discourse, directly related to its beauty and efficiency. Reading the historical descriptions of the trill and the tremolo on one note, the word ‘tremble’ appears notably often. There is a musical-semantic connection between this typical reaction of mammals to fear and cold and the ‘Flicker’ topos, traditionally used to describe ‘Fire’ and other irregular, potentially violent natural phenomena140.

2.4.6

Circulatio

The ‘Trepidatio’ bears also a keen relationship with the rhetorical figure of the ‘Circulus’ or ‘Circulatio’. Many years ago, Warren KIRKENDALE studied this topic historically, from its start in the sixteenth up to the nineteenth century141. In its melodic shape, the figure is reminiscent of a sinusoidal wave, which is the mathematical representation of a gentle, periodical oscillation. Ex. 2-54 shows how Johann G. Walther, a cousin of JS Bach, presents the figure in his musical dictionary (1732):

Ex. n. 2-54: ‘Circulus’, according to Johann G. Walther1421.

138 139 140 141 142

At 1:47 of the suggested recording. BARTEL 1997 (1985): 236, 427ff. See further Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1, Stile concitato. KIRKENDALE 1984. Johann Walter, Musicalisches Lexicon. Quoted by KIRKENDALE 1984: 71.

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The same figure serves Benedetto Marcello in the early 17th century to represent “the furious wave” (l’onda furibonda), in one of his chamber cantatas: see ex. 2-55.

Ex. n. 2-55: B. Marcello, from the cantata Amor tu sei1431.

The natural violence implicit in the ‘furious wave’ example brings the Circulatio near to what we term the ‘Fire’ madrigalism and topos144. Up to the 17th century, Circulatio is often used in word-painting terms, associated with round objects, whether directly or metaphorically. In a polyphonic texture, the figure allows for a visual representation that comes closer to a circle. In a Lassus motet about the treasures that the three Wise Men bear to the new-born Jesus –gold, frankincense, and myrrh–, the first of them is represented musically with a ‘Circulatio’ (ex. 2-56), maybe relating the precious metal to the perfect beauty of the circle145.

Ex. n. 2-56: Lassus, Videntes stellam Magi1461.

In a similarly descriptive gesture, in the Terzett n. 18 of Josef Haydn’s The Creation (1798), after honouring the brook, archangel Uriel extols: In frohen Kreisen schwebt, sich wiegend in der Luft, der muntren Vögel Schaar;

In lofty circles play and hover thro’ the sky the cheerful host of birds.

Immediately after the word Kreisen, ‘circles’, flute and first violins execute in unison this figure (ex. 2-57):

143

Quoted by KIRKENDALE 1984: 73. See also PARRISH 2000 (1958): 304-313. See earlier in Sect. 2.2.4 ‘Fire’, and then Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2, Stile concitato, Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.4, Tempesta. 145 Bernhard Meier (1963) interprets the ‘Circulus’ here as a reference to the form of gold coins. Quoted by KIRKENDALE 1984: 72f. 146 For a version with the Sydney Antiphony search for Lassus - Videntes stellam. The circular ‘Gold’ starts at 2:30. 144

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Ex. n. 2-57: Haydn, The Creation n. 18: m. 531471.

J. Haydn indulges here in one of his historical eccentricities: such a word-painting use of the figure, as if reviving a madrigalism at the turn out of the eighteenth century, might well be an index of an ironic tone148. Rather than as hypotyposis –as a vivid description of an object–, from the eighteenth century on ‘Circulatio’ tends to be used metaphorically, as a symbol. For example, in the first chorus of JS Bach’s Johannespassion (1724, 78 years before The Creation) the text does not mention the sun, nor the waves or anything undulating: Herr, unser Herrscher, dessen Ruhm in allen Landen herrlich ist!

Lord, our ruler, whose glory is magnificent everywhere!

In the instrumental introduction that works as Exordium for the whole work, three symbols can be discerned: (1) God’s ‘Eternity’, in the figured bass’ pedal, constant through nine measures. (2) God’s ‘Perfection’, in the violins’ Circulatio, present all through the whole first chorus, that will later correspond to the word Herrscher, ‘Lord’. (3) The ‘Suffering’ on the Cross –Christ’s Passion – on woodwinds, constantly crossing their ways in rough dissonances: see ex. 2-58.

Ex. n. 2-58: Bach, Johannespassion, Chorus n. 1, Begin.

147 For a version with R. Jacobs search for “Haydn - Die Schöpfung - In holder Anmut stehn”. Uriel comes in at 1:32. 148 See more about irony in Viennese Classics in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3, Chap. 8, Sects. 8.2 and 8.5, and in GRIMALT 2018d.

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Interpreting Circulatio as a correlate of ‘Divine perfection’ matches with the love European Humanism has traditionally had for symbols. Already Plato and Aristotle saw the circle and sinusoidal movement as the most perfect, noble and eternal form, as it has no beginning and no end. One example of the continuity of that tradition can be seen in Athanasius Kircher’s Obeliscus Pamphilius, a new attempt to decipher the hieroglyphs from an old obelisk, published in Rome in 1650. Kircher, a universalist and transceiver of symbolic traditions, states: God is a circle, or intelligible sphere, the centre of which is everywhere, and its perimeter nowhere149.

Many Renaissance architects, including Andrea Palladio, see round floors – replacing the old rectangular basilicas– and domes as symbols of divine perfection. Roland Lassus seems to corroborate Kircher in a motet quoted by KIRKENDALE150. The words by which God introduces himself to Moses in Exodus 3:14, “I am who I am”, receive this undulating representation (ex. 2-59):¦

Ex. n. 2-59: Lassus, Ego sum, quim sum.

Finally, KIRKENDALE quotes a modern example of Circulatio in instrumental music: the slow movement of Beethoven’s Quartet op. 59 n. 2, indicated Molto adagio. Si tratta questo pezzo con molto di sentimento151. Alexander Wheelock Thayer, Beethoven’s first biographer, reports an explanation of the piece by Carl Czerny. According to Czerny, this piece came to Beethoven’s mind while contemplating a starry heaven, and thinking about the traditional “Harmony of the Spheres” or Musica universalis. Whether the anecdote is historical or not, the Circulatio is indeed conspicuous in the work: see ex. 2-60.

149 150 151

Quoted by KIRKENDALE 1984: 79. Ibidem: 80. Ibidem: 82.

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Ex. n. 2-60: Beethoven, Quartet op. 59 n. 2/II: mm. 35-451521.

The question is not whether JS Bach or Beethoven knew those texts or buildings. Art History and Philology, however, do help to document and support interpretations that become compelling as part of a symbolic tradition. In articles such as KIRKENDALE’s (1984), or in Raymond Monelle’s output, for that matter, musicology inscribes itself in Cultural History.

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For a version with the Alban Berg Quartet search for Ludwig van Beethoven, String Quartet No. 8, e-minor, Op. 59 No. 2 ABQ. The undulations start at 12:00.

Chapter 3

References, Topoi. The Classic Mixed Style. A Semiotic Square

As the repository of stylistic knowledge shared by composers and listeners, Ratner’s topics constituted a source of meaning and means of communication in eighteenth-century music. Today they allow one to gain access to its meaning and expression in a way that can be intersubjectively verified. DANUTA MIRKA1

After surveying in the former chapter madrigalisms and rhetorical figures, with this chapter the modern part of the book starts, focusing on the music of the Viennese Classics that lies at the core of our study. Starting with Leonard RATNER (1980), Wye Jamison ALLANBROOK (1983, 1998, 2014) and Kofi AGAWU (1991, 2009), the three at Stanford (California), the concept of musical topos has developed into a whole “Topic Theory”, arguably one of the most important contributions to analysis and to a musicology of signification in general. All major scholars in the field have contributed to the theory, that had a first culmination in The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory, edited by Danuta Mirka (2014). After defining and describing musical topoi (Sect. 3.1), with the focus on analysis, some boundaries of topic theory are examined. Next, a pragmatic attempt to classify musical topoi is proposed. Neither topoi nor the musical signs described in Chaps. 1 and 2 appear isolated, but in different combinations with each other. The results of such combinations were labelled mixed style already in the eighteenth century. Trying to explain its successful recipe is the task of Sect. 3.2. Enlarging the classifications that were offered in Sect. 1.4 of Chap. 1, Sect. 3.3 deals with topoi that refer to musical genres and styles. Then, references to instrumental genres are examined (Sect. 3.4). Finally, Sect. 3.5 turns to the “real world” outside of music: to musical signifieds that can be attributed to semantic fields. Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 will review topoi with correlates in each one of these semantic fields: ‘Sacred’, ‘Martial’, ‘Lyrical’ and ‘Dance’. The relationships between the four of them can be represented in a semiotic square, one of semiotics’ favourite tools.

1

MIRKA 2014: 1.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_3

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Musical Topoi: References

One special kind of musical sign is called a musical topos. Musical topoi can be defined as recurring references to cultural units imported and stylized from one medium to another2. The correlation between signifier and signified, between a musical fragment and its cultural reference is the result of convention: a social agreement in a historical moment. That includes any human activities susceptible to having a musical correlate3. In this book, you will find references and topoi often in simple quotation marks, to distinguish a represented ‘minuet’ from the actual dance. Stylizing means here to modify some material and adapt it to a new context; this usually implies simplifying, to reveal its characteristic features. Stylization is a temporal process of growing abstraction, to which all ‘cultural units’, as subject to memory, inevitably tend. This works also for musical topoi: the further they are removed from their historical origin, the more abstract they become. Analysing a topos means to try and grasp its meaning within its historical evolution. One of the most notable public attractions in 18th-century Vienna were military parades on the streets4. A parade represents a first degree of stylization of the actual military march the composer takes as a reference. It is mid-way between the functional march and its topical reference in a symphony. Martial rhythms can be found in an abstract, topical form already in the first half of the eighteenth century. In Handel’s Messiah (1741), part 2, the chorus n. 33, Lift Up Your Heads, culminates in this staged dialog based on psalm 24: 7–10: –Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in! –Who is this King of Glory? –The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory.

Three traditional martial indexes, cornet-like figures, a dotted rhythm and the anapaest, had been anticipating the ‘army’ that the final answer unveils5: see ex. 3-1.

2

Our definition of Musical Topos, or Topic, is based on RATNER 1980: 9; ALLANBROOK 1983: 2f.; GRABÓCZ 2009: 22f., MIRKA 2014: 2. 3 Umberto Eco defined ‘cultural or semantic unit’ as ‘simply anything that is culturally defined and distinguished as en entity’. Cf. Eco 1979, A Theory of Semiotics, p. 67. Quoted by SPITZER 2013: 211. 4 For a lively description of the sensorial landscape of historical Vienna, cf. BRION 1959, esp. p. 90. 5 Chapter 5 is devoted to the ‘Martial’ semantic field.

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Ex. n. 3-1: GF Handel, Messiah/II: n. 33, mm. 25-27.

Musical topoi are better approached as some kind of animated pictures than as frozen images of some ancient musical traditions. Some of them reach our times. In many film soundtracks, for example, a trembling movement on strings signals some approaching danger. This is a trace of an ancient topos that we saw undulate in the preceding chapter under the rhetorical figure of Oscillation. It can be retraced back to an irregular, flickering movement in vocal parts of 16th-century madrigals to represent ‘fire’. It also has a close relationship to ‘Tempesta’, a frequent topos of 18th- and 19th-century theatre, and to the stile concitato that Monteverdi, and many after him, use for battle scenes6. As topoi tend to become increasingly abstract, its recurrent use in time detaches the reference from its original source, which was usually a functional piece of music. Thus when J. Haydn uses horns in his early symphonies the actual hunting is still very present in his listeners’ minds – e.g. in his symphony Le matin, ‘The morning’, Hob. I/67. However, when J. Brahms continues this tradition, in his Trio op. 40 for instance, hounds and pursuits are already much further away. Nineteenth-century German horns signal to the freedom of the forest, with a hint to an idealized, pastoral Vaterland8. The example shows how the history of culture is fundamental to the study of musical topoi. Raymond MONELLE stated it radically in the Preface of his last book: It becomes clear that musical topics map whole tracts of human reality; that even a single topic involves an almost inexhaustible quest, far beyond anything possible in these few pages. Topic theory, in fact, may signal the moment when musicology ceases to be wholly, or even primarily, about music9.

For stile concitato, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2. For ‘Tempesta’, Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.4. You can search Joseph Haydn / Symphony No. 6 in D major “Le Matin” (FBO). The horn takes the recapitulation of the first movement’s main theme, instead of the initial flute in the Exposition, thus confirming the ‘Hunting’ reference. 8 See Raymond Monelle’s exemplary study on the topic of the ‘Hunt’, in MONELLE 2006: Chap. 2. 9 MONELLE 2006: ix. 6 7

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Very close to the ‘Hunting’ topos is the ‘Gallop’10. It is the conventional stylization of the sound of a galloping horse, just as some bidimensional sketch can represent a horse with a few strokes. In Germanic music of the 19th century, the horse is associated with a medieval, heroic, legendary past and with traditionally masculine virtues. In Keinem hat es noch gereut, for instance, the first song of Brahms’s cycle Die schöne Magelone (1865–69), a triple meter is added to the reference to the ‘Horns’ in the piano, as a signifier of the ‘Gallop’. This is its first stanza (see further ex. 5-47): Keinem hat es noch gereut, Der das Ross bestiegen, Um in frischer Jugendzeit Durch die Welt zu fliegen.

No one ever regretted mounting his horse, to fly through the world in the fresh time of youth11

Statistically however, its “dark” counterpart is far more frequent: in the minor mode, in an ominous, demonic context. The paradigmatic example of that dysphoric ‘Gallop’ is the famous Ride of the Walkyries in 9/8, at the beginning of act III of Wagner’s Die Walküre (1870)12. In Schumann’s Wilder Reiter (Album für die Jugend), the euphoric, luminous variant of the ‘Gallop’ in F major (ex. 3-2b) serves as a contrasting middle section to the main part, set in a sombre A minor (ex. 3-2a)13.

Ex. n. 3-2a: R. Schumann, Album für die Jugend op. 68: Wilder Reiter, beginning.

Ex. n. 3-2b: R. Schumann, Album für die Jugend op. 68: Wilder Reiter, mm. 9-12. The ‘Gallop’ is described by Monelle as the ‘Noble horse’. See MONELLE 2000: 45–65. Quoted by MONELLE 2000: 49. 12 The fragment was notably used to encourage the US troops involved in the attack on a Vietnamese village and as a psychological weapon, as shown in the film Apocalypse Now (F.F. Coppola 1979). 13 About the dichotomy euphoric/dysphoric see earlier Chap. 1, Sect. 1.2, Affects and the thymic category. 10 11

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Both Robert HATTEN and Danuta MIRKA emphasize on topoi being imported from one context into another, with an alteration of meaning. Still within the martial semantic field, an even more frequent topos than the ‘Gallop’ is the ‘Call’. Schubert’s Impromtu D. 899 n. 1 starts with a fortissimo unison on the dominant, evoking an orchestral tutti. This is the simplest version of a ‘Call’ topos. Raymond MONELLE relates that kind of call to the hunt, where originally a plain ox horn would be used, capable of just one note14. Here, this ‘Call’ gives to the piece that is about to start a sense of solemn tension akin to so many first tutti chords in operatic overtures15. The dramatic reference and its hunting nuance, connected in 19thcentury imaginary with individual freedom, prepare the listener for the rest of the Impromtu, based on a ‘Dysphoric March’16. A more elaborate token of the hunting ‘Call’ topos is the main theme of Beethoven’s Eroica (see in the Introduction ex. 0-1), although its complex parentage includes also, as we saw in the Introduction, references to the rural Ländler and the pastoral, in dialogue with a dramatic reaction to the “wrong” C-sharp in m. 717. The sheer stylistic contrast within one and the same piece by Haydn or Mozart must have been quite a perplexing experience to contemporary listeners. A popular ‘Dance’ would be found next to a ‘Military Call’, some ‘Sacred’ music would lead to an imitation of an opera singer, and so forth. Using them in new mixtures, the original, functional context is removed from all its imports. The new context is autonomous instrumental music of the eighteenth century. It is expressive and meaningful thanks to the ambivalence discussed in our Introduction. On the one hand, ‘Marches’ sound next to folk ‘Dances’, theatrical roles and situations appear contiguous to polyphonic passages that sound archaic and sacred. On the other hand, these are abstract, stylized references within a message that is only musical, with an inexhaustible richness of connotative nuances. Now the diverse contexts from the soundscape of that time –military, pastoral, dance genres, vocal genres etc.– were associated to an affective content. Today, this process turns to a decoding, once the links to 18th- and 19th-centuries musical culture have been lost. In Wye Jamison ALLANBROOK’s words: “topoi bear their contexts with them like a snail traveling in its shell”18. And with them, the emotions that were linked to them. It is important to clarify that in real music topoi appear usually in mixtures, hardly ever in their “pure” state. Sometimes the analyst has the rewarding experience of isolating one musical topos, but even so that does not nearly explain the significance of that passage. For instance, the slow movement of the Jupiter

14

MONELLE 2006: 96. See SOMFAI 1974, who calls such tutti blows ‘Noise Killers’. 16 For the ‘Dysphoric March’, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.3. 17 The first Eroica-theme seems to be related to the Intrada of Mozart’s Bastien und Bastienne K. 50 (1768). I am indebted to Anatole Leikin for the reference. 18 ALLANBROOK 2014: 107. See Chap. 1, Sect. 1.2 Affects and the thymic category and, further in this section, Classifying Topoi: Pathopoiesis. See also SPITZER 2012: The Topic of Emotion. 15

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Symphony K. 551 (1788) contains a clear reference to the ‘Sarabande’, but its F major key, the sordini on strings, the use of woodwinds and the general character of the piece locates it into the semantic field of pastoral ‘Lyricism’. That removes the aristocratic ‘Sarabande’, that used to be a preferred topos in tragic opera seria, away from its origins and recent usage, and brings the piece close to topoi such as the ‘Serenade’, in a context of secular, joyous love19. In Ancient Greece, a sόpo1 (topos) was a subject about which to debate, or also one of the categories into which any knowledge could be subdivided, e.g. according to genre, similarity or contrast, the whole and its parts, etcetera20. The term goes back to Aristotle and especially to Cicero’s adaptation of it to make it a basic methodology to study anything. In Rhetoric treatises of the 17th and 18th centuries, loci topici had a constant presence. Heinichen and Mattheson adapt many of them to music, in an effort to equate the art of sound with prestigious Rhetoric, admitting they do not need such ‘crutches’, but for somebody lacking inventio they might be useful. Without further explanation, they both provide some examples that sound unconvincingly constrained21. There is no eighteenth-century topic theory. Maybe it was so obvious there was no need to make it explicit, or maybe it was considered private compositional practice, workshop secrets to be used without explaining them. Moreover, topical practice faces a considerable resistance. Many contemporary writers grumble about the incoherence of the comedy world transposed to instrumental music. Treatises separate church, chamber and theatre styles because those were the genres in which composition was needed. The mixture of ‘incompatible’ elements in which some composers incur, in spite of the theory, provokes some heated reactions22. Ernst R. CURTIUS (1886–1956) adopted topos in his literary theory in the sense ‘common place’, to show how certain subjects were recurrent in literature of all ages and territories. For instance, ‘affected modesty’, ‘the world upside down’, or the locus amœnus that we describe in Chap. 6 as the ideal place for Pastoral literature and music. CURTIUS already describes topoi in their tendency to increasing abstraction and stylization23. Leonard RATNER took his topoi from Rhetoric and from Curtius, possibly also inspired by his professor Manfred Bukofzer studying the 20th-century myth of Affektenlehre24. For Ratner, topoi are not so much abstract categories, but “characteristic figures” in musical discourse, or “random accumulations of musical commonplaces”25.

About imaginary love scenes in instrumental music, cf. FLOROS 2000: 158–180. The ‘Serenade’ topos is discussed in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. 20 We follow here ALLANBROOK 2014: 91–111. 21 ALLANBROOK 2014: 93–96. 22 See e.g. Meinrad Spiess, quoted by ALLANBROOK 2014: 104f. Michel-Paul Guy de Chabanon (1730–1792) is an exception to a general rebuffing attitude: see ALLANBROOK 1998: 236–245. 23 CURTIUS 2013 (1948): 193f. 24 More about the so-called Doctrine of Affects in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.3. 25 ALLANBROOK 2014: 96. 19

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Musical topic theory is about shades of meaning, rather than labelling. Usually, disparate references appear next to each other or upon each other. Comedy, the main repository for instrumental music of the eighteenth century, is defined precisely by its capacity to intermingle references that used to be incompatible. Musical topoi were perceived by contemporary listeners in their complexity; many are still recognizable today. Classic music seems to have something for every kind of listener, from the least refined amateur to the most sophisticated professional musician. This ability is more patent in genres addressed to a wider audience, dependant on pleasing publishers and costumers: especially the symphony, where references to comic opera predominate26. The original, Aristotelian concept of topos is tightly linked to that of doxa, i.e. the set of beliefs, moral convictions, images shared by a community at a given moment27. Moreover, musical phrases rise to a climax and yield to a resolution in a similar way as spontaneous speech does. That is why it does not take a great musical culture to grasp by instinct most affects associated with topoi or even structural consequences derived from them. Carol L. KRUMHANSL led and published in 1998 an experiment with Californian music students to investigate the psychological measurability of musical topics. According to her results, professional musicians do not identify musical meanings any better than the rest of the population28. Intuition and our audio-visual culture, trained in associating soundtracks with images and stories, make us fairly competent in deciphering the codes of most art music of the common-practice period. On the other hand, getting to know about how contemporary listeners might have perceived their musical topoi notably enhances the pleasure of the musical experience. This seems to match Johann K.F. Triest’s emphasis on an imaginative response to new instrumental music, in a text from 1801. He distinguishes three hierarchically ordered listening attitudes: (1) ‘Sensual tickle’ (Sinnenkitzel), a most superficial background listening. (2) ‘Understanding’ (Verstand), where the rational element allows the listener to connect diverse elements and to orient her- or himself structurally. (3) ‘Imagination’ (Einbildungskraft), where the listener is able to supply him- or herself with images connected to the music, even when it is following no text29. The same intent to favour this imaginative listening might be the reason why Haydn, Brahms, Mahler from 1900 on, or so many others chose not to give any interpreting clues to their audience, nor to reveal the topical references they were using.

26

Cf. SISMAN 2014, HUNTER 2014. Cf. GRABÓCZ 2018: 5. 28 Cf. also TAGG & CLARIDA 2003. AGAWU instead (1991) argues that a knowledge of the style is a prerequisite to understand the messages of classical music. 29 Quoted by SISMAN 2014: 105f. 27

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3.1.1

Boundaries of Topic Theory

Just as there are features that are not markers, i.e. not significative to discern any definite musical sign, there are musical signs that are not topoi. Figure n. 3-1 represents this opposition.

Musical Features

markers

Musical Signs

topoi

Figure n. 3-1: Significative and non-significative musical signs

Topoi theory has turned out to be a useful tool for analysis and performance of Classic music. The codes of its complex, multi-layered messages need to be recovered, if we want to listen to it or perform it as something significative. However, the actual musical work very rarely responds univocally to the labelling of theory. Here is a list of items that should make us cautious with the use of topoi in analysis. First, topoi require interpretation. As Raymond MONELLE pointed out, in 18thand 19th-century repertoire the same triple rhythm can be a reference to the aforementioned ‘Gallop’, but also to the baroque gigue, or to the traditional Southern Italian tarantella30. Or it might just be a neuter triple meter, where there is no meaning attached to interpret31. Second, topoi have no lexical character. They are no “words” that one could make a dictionary of. Topical markers –those characteristic features which mark the presence of a topos– are usually manifold: ‘Martial’ is often marked by dotted rhythms, but these are usually accompanied by triadic melodies, references to brass and percussion, and a march rhythm. Not all dotted rhythms are necessarily martial. Third, topoi are historically contingent: both signifier and signified are modified through the ages. We have seen the ‘Hunting’ topos, for instance, change its meaning considerably from a Haydn symphony to Brahms’s chamber music. The musical signifier tends to an increased stylisation as well, simplifying its features. An example from popular music could be the blue notes from Afro-American Blues, which travel first into the Boogie-woogie, and then later into mainstream rock. Similarly, flamenco subgenres palos de ida y vuelta, i.e. ‘Back-and-forth genres’, mean that some originally Iberian dances were transferred to the American colonies, where they got their characteristic flavour, only to come back to Europe utterly transformed. 30

MONELLE 2000: 65. Roland BARTHES (1953) calls this neutral aspect of meaning Degree Zero. Jean-Jacques NATTIEZ borrows from Jean Molino a tripartition [poietic-aesthesic-neutral] to imagine a neutral analytical standpoint, i.e. free from any ideology or aesthetic bias. Cf. MONELLE 1992: 92ff., 108ff; TARASTI 1994: 11. 31

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To rivet out the historical contingency of topics, some of them seem to be confined to a definite composer or time, such as the tam-tam, linked to some “funeral, horrible, dreary” contexts, according to Berlioz. That reference is valid only for late Romanticism and post-Romanticism32. However, a few topoi do seem to work as a univocal sign, just like a word. For instance the pianto, described in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.1. In ex. 3-3, at the beginning of the polyphonic song by Johann Hermann Schein Heulen und schmerzlich’s Weinen (‘Wailing and painful crying’), if the interpreter and the listener do not recognise the ‘Weeping’ madrigalism they cannot grasp the irony of the musical setting. This is the first stanza of the text, written by Schein himself, overtly inviting to a parodic reading: Heulen und schmerzlich’s Weinen Jeztunder höret auf, Weil wiederum tut scheinen Die Sonn mit fröhlich’m Lauf.

Wailing and painful crying, Now have to stop at once, As once again appeareth The Sun’s contented gait.

The ‘Weeping’ topical appearances (pianti) are marked on the score of ex. 3-3. They can be heard enhancing parodically the words Heulen (‘Whining’, ‘Wailing’) and Weinen (‘Crying’).

Ex. n. 3-3: Johann Hermann Schein, Heulen und schmerzlich’s Weinen, begin33.

A fourth issue with topic theory is that some musical signs link signifier to signified through imitation or similitude: they replicate e.g. natural sounds, as in the Schubertian ‘Brook’, Rimsky’s buzzing bumblebee, or the ‘Musical Laughter’34. Many of those, however, are not topoi because they do not recur in other musical works. An example of that once-only musical meaning is Jimmy Hendrix’s famous guitar imitation of the B52 bomber (Woodstock 1969) to protest against the Vietnam war with a critical version of the ‘Stars and Stripes’ tune. Thus, a symbol that does not recur is not, or not yet a topos. In Sir John Tavener’s Mary of Egypt (1991) a palindrome structure, cancelling linear time,

32 33 34

For the Tam tam as a symbol, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.5. Published within the song collection Venuskränzlein in 1609. See GUDEWILL 1968: 122. About the topos of musical ‘Laughter’, see GRIMALT 2014b.

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serves as a symbol of (God’s) infinitude, or ‘Timelessness’35. Similarly, in Beethoven’s Missa solemnis (1823) a chain of descending thirds could be another symbol of ‘Eternity’, considering its infinite quality: thirds can flow into new thirds endlessly36. However, for these symbolic thirds to become a topos they would need to be used recurrently as a meaningful reference. In Brahms’s Fourth Symphony (1885), for example, the same apparently infinite chain of thirds appears as the main motif, but we have no reason to assume that this procedure be linked to any symbolic meaning. Another fundamental source of musical meaning that takes place mainly outside of the topical world is Harmony. The expressive power of this parameter has been widely explored, especially by Romantic composers. Fryderyk Chopin, in his mazurka op. 30 n. 2, presents a brief melody of two bars in four different, consecutive harmonisations: see ex. 3-4. On each reappearance, the same melody takes on a different expressive nuance, albeit impossible to describe. Moreover, the next 6 mm. are a literal repetition of the passage. Here, repetition is one of Chopin’s ways to represent a time-arresting idyll combining pastoral and Polish national references37. However expressive this harmonic device may be, it is not a topos.

Ex. n. 3-4: Chopin, Mazurka op. 30 n. 2, mm. 33-4638.

Finally, all musical signs indicating structure, or syntactic relationships within a work –introduction, transition, conclusion– are not topoi either. Nevertheless, in spite of these limits, an alphabetical list of musical meanings, whether topoi or not, is provided in the General Index of Names and Concepts at the end of the book. Also, a classification of topoi and musical meanings according to their position in our text follows. It is based on listening and on analytical results.

35 I am indebted to Siglind Bruhn for calling my attention to that beautiful work and to this symbol. 36 This is Jan Swafford’s interpretation. He sees it at its clearest in the Credo: cf. SWAFFORD 2014: 815. 37 More on Pastoral, ‘Idyll’ and ‘Fatherland’ in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3. See also GRIMALT 2013c. 38 Please search for Michelangeli Chopin Mazurka Op 30 No. 2. The ‘Idyll’ starts at 0:47.

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3.1.2

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Classifying Topoi

The correlates to musical topoi are so manifold they can be classified in a multiplicity of ways. There is one kind of topoi that can be called more specifically references. The advantage of saying a ‘march’ reference is twofold: first, we are using a term that does not require any explanation, even with non-initiated. Second, we specify that within the whole cosmos of musical topoi, we are making reference to a particular genre. Topoi like the ‘Hunt’ or the ‘Tragic Style’ are in a certain sense also a reference, but in a more indirect, constructed sense. References to dance or vocal genres have an immediacy that deserves being stressed by the use of a specific term. Based on the genres they refer to, references can be divided into vocal and instrumental. Vocal references are connected to the affects of their text, whether real or virtual: anger, sorrow, lyricism, humour. Instrumental topoi typically refer to those genres connected with the body: dances and marches. This shapes an opposition within musical genres between Body and Spirit (see Fig. n. 3-2). European Christianity traditionally sought for spirituality at the expense of the body. This mystical longing has had a deep impact in the whole of Western culture. In European music, it found in a purely vocal music its preferent vehicle. A whole tradition of ‘pure singing’ lines ensues – it is music with no rhythmical pulse. Whether consciously or not, its roots lie in liturgical, Gregorian chant. Such ecstatic music sounds as if trying to leave the earth behind –and the legs and the movement that binds us to this world–, to encourage a spiritual quest for the highest goals39. The same opposition Body/Spirit seems to preside over another pair of expressive meanings, that opposing pictorialism and symbolism. The first one relates to definite, palpable realities of life, whereas the symbolic opens the listener’s mind to associations of more ineffable nature. That produces a second axis, dividing intra-musical meanings –derived from generic divisions– and extra-musical, which relate to the world outside of music. SPIRIT

Symbolic meanings

Vocal genres: Affects I N T R A

Instrumental genres: dances, marches.

Descriptive topoi BODY

Figure n. 3-2: A semiotic square to classify musical meaning

39

See Chap. 4, Sect. 4.1, Static or Dynamic?.

E X T R A

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The four-part division represented in Figure n. 3-2 can be useful to classify musical meanings in a way that relates every one of the four corners to each other in what is called a Semiotic Square: more about it further in this chapter Sect. 3.5, Semantic Fields in a Semiotic Square. To be sure, real music does not present such naked categories, but combinations of them: a lyrical melody on a dance accompaniment; a polyphonic texture with descriptive features, and so on. Descriptive topoi –‘Laughter’, ‘Birdcall’, the ‘Gallop’– at first seem to exhaust themselves in a direct, univocal meaning. However, they usually carry with them a great deal of symbolic meaning as well. In fact, real musical meaning is never as ‘pure’ as it appears on Fig. 3-2. It rather fluctuates between these four regions. The two axes and the four sides of this semiotic square are so closely interrelated that they normally appear simultaneously. An affect such as ‘anger’, for example, is represented in the subgenre of the aria di vendetta, on the upper left side of the square, but this finds often bodily manifestations, such as ‘Blows’ and ‘Shouts’, the imitation through a tirata of the sound of unsheathing a sword, or the threatening tremolos of the ‘Storm’ topos. These signifiers all belong to the bottom part of our square. Moreover, all dance and bodily genres carry affective meanings with them: a ‘March’ can be triumphant, pastoral, dysphoric in character. Finally, all these genres and the references to them can be subject of a symbolic use by any composer at a given time. The Prometheus ‘Contredanse’ towards which Beethoven directs his whole Eroica symphony is a reference to a dance genre, which corresponds to the bottom left corner of the square. However, the way the contredanse was performed in ballrooms of the time favoured an intermingling of the social classes. This led to a symbolic understanding of the ‘Contredanse’ and its topical reference as a modern, egalitarian genre, akin to the Prometheus myth and also to the ‘Hero of the people’ that is being represented in Beethoven’s 3rd symphony40. In The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory, Danuta MIRKA classifies musical topics and meanings according to similar criteria41. In her attempt to integrate Leonard Ratner’s topical study of classical music into “historically informed music theory”, she finds in 17th- and 18th-century sources many ways to demonstrate how contemporaries might have listened to what we call the Classics, and how they would recognise or not “styles and genres used out of their proper context”. In her valuable Introduction to the volume, she first tackles the question whether or not a given style or genre was recognized by contemporary writers; second, whether or not it was recognized in other contexts, when mixed with other styles and genres42.

About the expressive meaning of the ‘Contredanse’ reference in Beethoven, see further Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5.3 and GRIMALT 2018a, 2018d. 41 MIRKA 2014: 1–43. 42 Ibidem: 3. 40

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Mirka then addresses the relationships between affects, musical topoi, and what some writers of the 18th century, especially Johann Georg Sulzer, call ‘characters’ (Gemüthsarten)43. Finally, the connections between topoi and pictorialism, on one hand, and topics and rhetoric, on the other, are critically revised44.

3.2

A Mixed Style

To compensate for the loss of an external text, new instrumental music of the eighteenth century recurs to a two-fold strategy (see Table n. 3-1). On one hand, to syntactic construction; on the other, to semantic content, i.e. to topical references. Endowing music with an autonomous structure that makes sense for itself implies, on the constructive side, a constant search for a balance between repetition and contrast. On the level of meaning, instrumental music can use topical references to make itself understandable.

Table n. 3-1: Vocal and instrumental music in the 18th century

What the mixed style mixes is above all ‘learned’ and ‘galant’ style, i.e. the richness of counterpoint with the communicative efficiency of modern, monodic writing45. More specifically, the main references in the Classic style46 are: • • • • •

‘Dances’, the ‘Singing Allegro’ (Lyricism), Theatrical references, whether comic or tragic; ‘Learned’ style and a spontaneous, ‘improvisatory’ tone.

The connotations of every one of these items are manifold, and their combination constitutes a rich, inexhaustible mosaic of relationships. ‘Learned’ style is part of the ‘Sacred’ references (see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3). The ‘Singing Allegro’

43

Chapter 1, Sect. 1.2 dealt with the affective value of musical meanings. On Word Painting, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.5. Our Analysing Musical Signification is centred on rhetorical and narrative aspects (in preparation). 45 ALLANBROOK 1983: 18. 46 In spite of the paradoxes of calling the Viennese school of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven ‘classical’ or ‘classic’, we choose to follow RATNER and ALLANBROOK 1983: 380 n. 1. 44

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belongs to ‘Lyricism and Pastoral’ (Chap. 6, Sect. 6.1). References to ‘Dances’ is the object of Chap. 7. Theatrical references are dealt with in Chap. 8. The spontaneous, ‘improvisatory’ tone is central to Musical Narrative issues, that we decided to leave for a second part of this volume. Historically, Haydn’s, Mozart’s and Beethoven’s mixed style can be retraced in four characteristic styles in new instrumental music of the 18th century: the so-called Galant style, the ‘Sensitive’ style, the Sturm und Drang and the ‘Pathetic’ style. The four of them deserve some separate attention in our analyses and performances.

3.2.1

Galant Style

The French concept of Galant homme implies a man who freed himself from Ancien Régime structures. A worldly cosmopolitan, an elegant polyglot able to aptly use silverware at table, tell jokes timely, play some instrument and sing to his own verses, and also manifest his ideas about a load of topics, including politics and religion. It is the Enlightened renewal of the ideal courtier of the 16th century. By extension, in the first half of the 18th century galant means ‘nice, light and refined’ as opposed to pedantic and heavy. It also bears some erotic connotations, just as nowadays. In Alain Viala’s words, the essence of galanterie was “to gain distinction by bringing pleasure to others”47. In musical terms, ‘galant’ style meant first and foremost giving up the intricacies of the ‘learned’ style48. In positive terms, it implies • • • • • •

(represented) ‘Artlessness’; Monody or homophony, clear short melodic lines; Repeated notes, motives, phrases and sections; Improvised ornamentation; Simple harmony, a more liberal treatment of dissonance and voice leading; Reference to current dance rhythms49.

Friedrich W. Marpurg, in 1760, describes it like this: And what does it mean for a composer to be galant? It deems to me, that he finds for a musical piece, whatever its exterior form, a song so pleasant and so fitting to its final goal, and on such an easily understandable harmony, that any listener, without knowing anything about the intricate secrets of the inverse canon, finds it pleasant, and is touched thereby50.

Alain Viala, “Les Signes Galantes: A Historical Reevaluation of Galanterie” (1997), quoted by ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 164. 48 For the ‘Learned Style’ or stile antico, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. 49 See SEIDEL 1995: Galanter Stil. 50 Marpurg 1760: Kritische Briefe über die Tonkunst. Quoted by FINSCHER 2002: 614. See also FUBINI 1994 (1986): 32. 47

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Robert HATTEN (1994) places the ‘galant’ style in a synchronic perspective, between tragic and buffa opera. Galant would be the neutral, unmarked character in the middle of that opposition within Classic instrumental music. Hatten leans on a historical study (Sheldon 1989) with the thesis that the concept of a galant or free style was used to moderate between stylistic extremes, whether between old vs. new, strict vs. free or, in Scheibe’s terms, high vs. low51.

Summarizing: the ‘Galant’ style can be understood as a reaction to the ‘Learned’ style. It aims for naturalness and expression in simplicity. The style features melodies in a vocal style, a simple accompaniment, and the absence of counterpoint. The ‘galant’ style is closer to traditional song and comic opera than to any other genre, but its artlessness hides a lot of skilful artifice. This understating simplicity is typical of the whole Classic style, where the galant is predominant. In practice, however, instrumental music of the 18th century had not yet wholly won the battle for autonomy. We today tend to think of everything as concert repertoire, but galant music is mostly designed for the pleasure of the performer herself, not for any audience at all, and it was often used as a background for some other activities52. Humour has a preferent place in it. Within the boundaries of a certain civil subtlety, Galant opposes the predictability of baroque patterns by valuating surprises, not only funny ones, and the moment’s fashion. To such criteria responds a good deal of the music by French composers such as François Couperin (1668–1733) or Marin Marais (1656–1728). It is mostly chamber music. The Germanic world, very attentive to French Enlightenment, quickly incorporates these novelties. Georg Philipp Telemann (1681–1767) is one of the first German composers to react to the French galant trend. To those accustomed to the richness of late baroque counterpoint, his music may sound empty and abstract, but its references to dance genres, some reminiscences of imitative counterpoint and a free, ‘singing’ performance make of it a joy for performers and their close acquaintances53.

3.2.2

‘Sensitive’ Style

At mid-century, the music of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s (1714–1788) adds to the galant the ‘sensitive’ style (German empfindsamer Stil), for which he is the paradigmatic composer. The easiness and the pleasurable aspects do not disappear, 51

Sheldon 1989: The concept galant in the 18th century, p. 97. Quoted by HATTEN 1994: 77. Sheldon is alluding to Johann A. Scheibe, author of Der critische Musicus (1745), and to Aristotle’s ‘High’ (or Grand), ‘Low’ and ‘Medium’ (or Middle) styles. 52 Edward KLORMAN explains and documents this in Mozart’s Music of Friends (2016). I am indebted to Sanja Kiš Žuvela for this reference. 53 For a version of Telemann’s Fantaisies pour le clavessin (1732/33) search for GP Telemann Fantasie 1 & 2 from Douzaine, John Butt Harpsichord.

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but the sensitive music is enriched with affects and situations that used to be exclusive of operatic scenarios. A certain preference for tragic opera and their topoi, especially Ombra –the music of the supernatural and the awesome–, gives to most of Emanuel Bach’s music a typically dark tone, notably far away from the comedy-dominated, sunny music of the Viennese Classics54. Leonard RATNER describes the ‘sensitive’ style as “an intimate, personal style, often sentimental in quality”. As markers, he notes rapid changes in mood, broken figures, interrupted continuity, elaborate ornamentation, pregnant pauses, shifting, uncertain, often dissonant harmony – all qualities suggesting intense personal involvement, forerunners of romantic expression, and directly opposed to the statuesque unity of baroque music55.

The ‘sensitive’ style represents vocal genres and pathopoeia –the wish to move passions–. It is the result of stylizing some commonplaces of tragic, late baroque opera to adapt them to the keyboard or to plucked strings. With this translation, both the discourse and the expressive means that used to be public acquire an intimate dimension. The chamber medium favours the Subject to take a protagonist role in musical discourse. Subjective expression will be the norm of the Romantic generation. However, 18th-century ‘Sensitive Style’ does not amount yet to self-expression, but to a musical representation of passions and feelings from a general scope, common to any civilised person56. As happened with the Galant style, this purely chamber music is not designed for an audience, but for its performers. Not surprisingly, CPE Bach’s favourite instrument is the same as his father’s: the clavichord, not suitable for public performance. Along the 18th and the first half of the 19th centuries, however, the keyboard’s capability of reproducing orchestral and operatic sonorities and the changing habits of the bourgeoisie will progressively make of the fortepiano a public instrument57.

Ex. n. 3-5: Mozart, Sonata K. 333/I: beginning.

Dissonance has a major role in the ‘sensitive’ style. Deprived of any text or dramaturgy, the represented ‘weeping’ and ‘sighs’, as well as interruptions of the

54 55 56 57

For the Ombra topos, see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.3 and MCCLELLAND 2012. RATNER 1980: 22. About mimesis in 18th-century music, see ALLANBROOK 2014: Chap. 2. See CHIANTORE 2001, RUF 2002.

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seemingly ‘spontaneous’ discourse take on a special, unprecedented intensity. Raymond MONELLE sees in the ‘Weeping’ madrigalism (pianto) the emblematic marker of the ‘sensitive’ style. The first movement of Mozart’s Sonata in B-flat K. 333 sounds like a book exercise in empfindsamer Stil. The mellow, dissonant pianti (marked on the score) pile up so insistently that one has to doubt whether it is a case of ironic excessiveness: see ex. 3-5. Another piece built on the pianto madrigalism is Chopin’s Prelude op. 28 in E minor, although here the accumulation of ‘weeping’ has no parodic, but rather a pathetic character: see ex. 3-6.

Ex. n. 3-6: F. Chopin, Prelude op. 28 n. 4, begin.

Monelle’s example of ‘sensitive style’ is Mahler’s Adagietto from his Fifth Symphony: see ex. 3-7. The eminently vocal character of that piece has brought Constantin FLOROS to call it a ‘Wordless Song’. Dutch conductor Willem Mengelberg, who claimed to know all about the work’s biographical background, even set a poem to the music58.

Ex. n. 3-7: G. Mahler, Symphony n. 5/IV: begin.

3.2.3

The Sublime (1): ‘Pathetic’ Style

When turbulences and contrasts become more intense in new-found instrumental genres, two styles are often addressed: the ‘Pathetic’ style, and Sturm und Drang. The ‘Pathetic’ can refer to an operatic style or to its instrumental adaptation. Sturm und Drang (‘Storm and Stress’) instead has been described as the instrumental 58

See FLOROS

III

(1985): 148–150, GRIMALT 2012: 208–211.

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adaptation of tragic operatic topoi, especially Tempesta as representation of horror in front of an unleashed nature: see Table n. 3-2.

Table n. 3-2: Sublime vs. Sentimental in 18th-century styles

Both ‘Pathetic’ and ‘Sturm und Drang’ are derived from opera seria and can be ascribed to the literary Sublime, the artistic manifestation of awe that is typical of the late 18th century and that excludes only the Sentimental. The theatrical Sentimental does not reach the deepness and the universal sense of tragedy or pathos. It is limited to the individual, and its corresponding chamber music style is the ‘Sensitive Style’ described above. In her article Pathos and the Pathétique (1994), Elaine R. SISMAN focuses on the sonata op. 13 (1798) that Beethoven himself labelled Pathétique and on its context. Sisman presents two affects that are closely related to the ‘Pathetic’, especially in 18th-century treatises, where they are often confused: the sentimental, and the sublime. The sentimental correlates to the ‘sensitive’ style that was just dealt with. The sublime is a crucial concept in 18th-century aesthetics59. All writers rely on a seminal text from the 1st century AD, On the Sublime, due to a Greek author traditionally known as [Pseudo-] Longinus. Nicolas Boileau rediscovered the book and published it in a French translation in 1674. ‘Sublime’ comes from Latin sublīmis, meaning ‘very high, elevated’. To define the ‘Sublime’, [Pseudo-] Longinus notes how a mastery of language can be so overwhelming that it “not only persuades, but even throws an audience into transport”60. That ecstatic transport comes from natural and artificial factors. Among the inborn ones, he quotes grandness and audacity of thought, as well as pathos, “the power of raising the passions to a violent and even enthusiastic degree”. Among those aspects depending on study and effort, the author itemises rhetorical figures, an expressive style “noble and full of grace”, and the composition’s structure. The other fundamental source for the Sublime is due to an Anglo-Irish contemporary of Haydn’s, Edmund Burke. His treatise A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757) was widely diffused in all major European languages. BURKE sees a peculiar pleasure in terrible things, provided some distance to the harrowing object is possible:

59 60

We follow here Elaine SISMAN in her referential studies (1993, 1994). Quoted by SISMAN 1994: 92.

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Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling. When danger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain modifications, they may be, and they are delightful, as we everyday experience61.

In eighteenth-century aesthetic praxis, ‘Sublime’ is apt for two kinds of situations: the ‘Pathetic’ and awe, both natural and supernatural. Interestingly, both originate in theatre. Between the Sentimental and the Sublime there is a difference of degree and quality. Only the expression of pathetic, human suffering reaches the Sublime. Or, to put it like Friedrich Schiller in his 1793 essay Über das Pathetische (‘On the Pathetic’): “The pathetic is only aesthetical in as far as it is sublime”62. Schiller does not deem it worthy of art to represent passions as such. There needs to be also a moral resistance to suffering, so that human beings are free from the prison of sensuality to attain spiritual ideals. Otherwise, the sentimental is not elevated, but just lacrimatory. The Sublime is thus a collective ideal to Schiller, a transcendental value that points to human freedom. The Sentimental instead remains an individual question, a falling into complaining and into the halter of sensuality. Beethoven must have known this text, as well as some others by Schiller63. Is the Sublime a musical topos?, wondered Wye J. ALLANBROOK in an interesting article64. No, it is not, answered Clive MCCLELLAND: [T]he Sublime encompasses a variety of topics including French overture, fanfare, empfindsamer Stil, and learned style, as well as Ombra and Tempesta. […] The “sublime of terror” cannot be regarded as a topic either, but should be viewed as an aesthetic subcategory within the sublime, principally characterized by its two special topics, Ombra and Tempesta65.

The Sublime is therefore no musical topos, but an attribute to the ‘Pathetic’ style, as well as to tragic operatic awe-inspiring topoi such as Ombra and Tempesta and their purely instrumental versions, including the so-called Sturm und Drang style. Musically, the ‘pathetic’ style comes very close to its description in ancient classical rhetoric treatises. In the decade of the 90s BC, some anonymous author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium wrote: The Pathetic, by amplifying misfortunes, wins the hearer to pity. […] For the Pathetic Tone of Amplification, we shall use a restrained voice, deep tone, frequent intermissions, long pauses and marked changes66.

61 62 63 64 65 66

BURKE 1757: 14. Quoted by SISMAN 1994: 94. See BRISSON 2000: esp. Chaps. 2 and 6. ALLANBROOK 2010. MCCLELLAND 2014: 294. Rhetorica ad Herennium III, 24–25. English by Harry Caplan (1954): pp. 199f.

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Contrasts, interruptions, piano dynamics, minor mode, a preference for deep sounds, pauses and sighing: the musical ‘pathetic’ is one notch more tragic than the ‘sensitive’ style. Its origins lie in the opera seria, where it is a commonplace to complain about tragic events. Listen for instance to Cornelia and Sesto in their duet from Handel’s opera Giulio Cesare in Egitto (1725): on a ‘Siciliana’ pulse in minor mode, dissonances, pianti and suspirationes, as well as the diminished thirds [6b-5-#4] and [2b-1-7#] mark the pathos of the scene between mother and son67. On the instrumental terrain, Classic composers do not indulge in such desperate extremes. Both piano sonatas by Mozart in the minor mode, A minor K. 310 and C minor K. 457, in spite of their tragic basic tone, offer occasional comedic contrast. As for Beethoven, besides his aforementioned Sonata Pathétique op. 13 (1799), the first movement of his Appassionata op. 57 (1804/05) stands out, with a combination of ‘Pathetic’ style and ‘Tempesta’, or Sturm und Drang. Not only do both sonatas share their topical references, but also an overall narrative design68.

3.2.4

The Sublime (2): Sturm und Drang

The impatient character of certain works and authors of mid-18th century led some musicologists in the 20th century to relate them with the contemporary literary movement Sturm und Drang (‘Storm and Stress’). Particularly, some of Haydn’s minor mode symphonies became often mechanically qualified as Sturm und Drang. Raymond MONELLE and Clive MCCLELLAND have shown how rather than a topos, Sturm und Drang is another term for stormy derivations of 18th-century opera seria. However, we decided to keep, criticise and describe it here as style, as another term for the instrumental stylization of the operatic topos of Tempesta (see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.3). Musically, Sturm und Drang owes a lot to the recitativi accompagnati of the tragic operas of the time. Though they are rarely performed today, listening to opere serie by Georg F. Händel (1685–1759), Johann A. Hasse (1699–1783), Niccolò Jommelli (1714–1774) or Tommaso Traetta (1727–1779) is a great help to understand their enormous influence on the new instrumental styles that we nowadays take for granted. The obbligato or accompagnato recitative with the whole orchestra –instead of only basso continuo– increased greatly the dramatic tension of a given passage. Its declamatory style also becomes heightened, as if highlighted. See for instance, right after the Overture, Ilia’s initial recitative in Mozart’s Idomeneo K. 366 (1781)69.

Please search for Nathalie Stutzmann & Philippe Jaroussky - Recording Handel duet “Son nata a lagrimar”. 68 The subtitle Appassionata is not original; Pathétique is. 69 For a version with D. Harding at La Scala (2005/06) search for MOZART - IDOMENEO 1781 with double subs It-Eng. 67

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Some of that grandiloquence and a gusto for sharp contrast finds echoes in instrumental sonatas of JS Bach’s sons and his contemporaries, and also in a new genre, the German melodrama, where a text is recited alongside a musical soundtrack70. Leonard RATNER classifies Storm and Stress as Style and describes it as “early manifestations of romanticism – the expression of subjective and intense personal feelings”. The markers he adduces are “driving rhythms, full texture, minor mode harmonies, chromaticism, sharp dissonances, and an impassioned style of declamation.” As an example, he quotes J. Haydn’s Quartet in F minor op. 20 n. 5 (1772)71. That does not differ much from his own description of the ‘sensitive’ style. Years before Ratner, Bence SZABOLCSI described musical Sturm und Drang in terms of “bourgeois anarchy of feeling”72. In Szabolcsi’s view, the latter half of the 18th century sees an increase of “reasonable irregularity” that manifests itself in a regression of metric regularity and an increase of subjective freedom in the treatment of melody and dance rhythms. He also sees in the 1770s a flourish of anxious, tense music in the minor mode that he relates to some “romantic crisis” in Haydn’s and Mozart’s lives in 1772. Feeling was no longer mere tenderness, and melody involved turbulence as well as a regular pulse. It became irregular and quivered with new anxiety. Works in the minor spread as if by magic in European music round about 1770. Sturm und Drang showed itself in music earlier than in literature. The restless urgency of early Romanticism was apparent in the keyboard works of W. Friedemann and CPE Bach, [Giovanni Benedetto] Platti [Padua 1697? – Würzburg 1763] and [Johann] Schobert [d. 1767] and in Stamitz’s symphonies, long before it appeared in Rousseau’s and Goethe’s novels73.

Szabolcsi’s idea of 18th-century composers setting their biographical details into their craft is of course Romantic, alien to CPE Bach’s time. In fact, Ratner’s distinguished former student Wye J. ALLANBROOK has shown convincingly how 18th-century music’s affects and passions are represented in a traditional, mimetic spirit; as the “representation of common humanity” and not yet as self-expression74. Kofi AGAWU mentions Sturm und Drang as a Classic topic, without further explanation75. Eero TARASTI sees in it a topos as well76. In his celebrated The Classical Style (1998, 1971), Charles ROSEN does the opposite: he describes it

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About the German melodrama, see further Chap. 8, Sect. 8.3.2. RATNER 1980: 21. For a version with the Quatuor Mosaïques search for J. Haydn - Hob III:35 String Quartet Op. 20 No. 5 in F minor. 72 SZABOLCSI 1965 (1950): 125–128. 73 Ibidem: 127. 74 ALLANBROOK 2014: 82. 75 AGAWU 2009: 42–44. ALLANBROOK 2014: 109–111 provides a similar list of ‘Classic’ topoi without explaining signifiers or signifieds, and no examples. 76 TARASTI 1994: 26. 71

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without giving it a name77. Putting forward the dramatic, pathetic aspects of Mozart’s D minor concerto K. 466 (1785), Rosen links its first movement with the duel scene in Don Giovanni K. 527 (1787) and notes its “romantic nature”. Raymond MONELLE was not convinced that Sturm und Drang was any musical topic at all. He qualified as “modern myth” the attribution of a Sturm und Drang style to some of Haydn’s symphonies78. More recently, Clive MCCLELLAND confirms Monelle’s reticence by accurately describing two essential operatic topoi: Ombra (2012) and Tempesta (2017). The latter seems to be the origin of what has been called Sturm und Drang and could replace it because it responds to the topic’s musical genealogy. Indeed, oftentimes the ‘Storm’ topos and the Sturm und Drang style coincide as to blend with each other. In so-called Storm and Stress music signs of natural, stormy violence predominate – fast scales up and down, ‘blows’, ‘shouts’ and overall ‘rumbling’ and ‘trembling’. MCCLELLAND’s paradigmatic example of Storm and Stress is the “Danse des spectres et des furies” in Gluck’s Don Juan ou Le festin de pierre Wq. 52 (1761). In minor mode, tremolo, tirate, menacing crescendi, ‘blows’ and loud tutti chords alternate with hushed, misterioso passages; dissonance and diminished intervals – all reminiscent of the ‘Storm’ topos, except the ‘Minuet’ reference in the background79. However, even if the difference is only a nuance, there are instances where the label Sturm und Drang can be useful. In works like Mozart’s Symphony n. 25 K. 183 in G minor, only the menacing, tragic energy of a ‘storm’ remains. The descriptive part yields to an abstract atmosphere that represents an inner state, rather than a staged cloudburst. This stylization towards abstract, inner states of mind responds to the instrumental adaptation of stormy stage topoi that Sturm und Drang implies. A similar situation, full of agitated syncopations, occurs at the start of the D minor piano Concerto K. 466 (1785). When the piano takes over from the orchestra, it seems to reinterpret the initial agitation in terms of ‘Pathetic’. The companion to this work, the C minor concerto K. 491 (1786), seems to start in ‘Pathetic’ style: rather than ‘fear’, ‘tragic’ feelings are manifest. One more example: the first movement of Haydn’s ‘Farewell’ Symphony Hob. I:45 in F-sharp minor (1772) presents the typical Storm and Stress urge, rather than ‘Pathetic’. Its secondary theme in ‘Sensitive’ style complements it with a serene major mode.

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ROSEN 1997 (1971): 227–235. MONELLE 2000: 27–31. Traditionally, Haydn’s so-called Sturm und Drang period is related to his quartets in F minor and G minor (1772) as well as his minor-mode symphonies n. 26, 39, 44– 46, 48 and 52, composed between 1767–1772. 79 The ‘Minuet’ reference is the most neutral one in 18th-century music. See further Chap. 7, Sects. 7.1 and 7.4.2. 78

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For us, Haydn’s F-minor quartet that Ratner presented as example of Sturm und Drang belongs also to the ‘Sensitive’ style80. Instead of violent drive and desperation, its first movement displays a serene melancholy above a ‘Contredanse’ pulse. Moreover, the Trio in the 2nd movement anticipates the pastoral oasis of the 3rd, a luminous ‘Siciliana’ in F major. The finale in stile antico rounds off this serious, not particularly tragic work. The jagged intervals of its fugue theme are proper to the ‘Pathetic’, but the very constructive labour of its academic style detaches the music and its listener from despair. ‘Pathetic’, ‘Sensitive’ and Sturm und Drang styles share indeed a great deal (see Table n. 3-3). They are derivations of the Galant instrumental that leaves the stile antico behind; they adapt theatrical genres to the new instrumental medium, whether in chamber or in symphonic form; the three of them present many appoggiature and other vocal ornaments, ‘weeping’ and ‘sighing’ rests, as well as other rhetorical figures proper to the lyrical genres, transposed to the instrument. These rhetorical devices have a pathopoeic intention, i.e. to represent and to move affections through dissonances and syncopation. They represent the modern Subject breaking up functional, collective continuities. And they all keep at safe distance from the Pastoral and the pseudo-folkloric world. The difference is that the ‘sensitive’ style has a more lyrical and passive character, whereas ‘Pathetic’ and Sturm und Drang tend to the tragic – the former in slow, the latter in faster movement.

‘SENSITIVE’

‘PATHETIC’

‘STURM

UND

DRANG’

Discontinuities, rhapsodic discourse, representing ‘improvisation’; Frequent dissonances and contrasts in tempo, dynamics, register, character. Lyrical tone Tragic, overstated tone. Ombra Passionate tone. Tempesta Moderate tempo Slow tempo Fast tempo Mild dissonances, pianti. Minor mode, sharp dissonances, diminished or augmented intervals. Typical rhetorical figures: abruptio (irruption, interruption), exclamatio, interrogatio, climax, pathopoesis, passus duriusculus, saltus duriusculus. Table n. 3-3: Three instrumental styles of the 18th century.

Sturm und Drang is actually a literary style, named after a drama by Friedrich Klinger (1776/77) about the American Revolution. This short-lived, rebellious movement with an emphasis on class struggle reaches its highpoint in the 1770s, some years after most of the so-called Sturm und Drang works by Haydn were composed. Young Goethe with his Götz von Berlichingen (1773) and Werther (1774), Herder rediscovering Shakespeare and Schiller’s The Räuber (1780/81) can

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Clive McClelland coincides in seeing empfindsamer Stil as the main topical reference here. MCCLELLAND 2017: 3.

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be quoted among the highest representatives of Sturm und Drang, usually translated in English as “Storm and Stress” instead of the more accurate “drive” or “urge”81. As a herald of both the French Revolution and a certain political branch of Romanticism that endeavoured to change the world, Sturm und Drang can be seen as a reaction to 18th-century rationalism, neo-classicism and political Restoration. In this broader sense, a certain Zeitgeist affinity between the Austrian composer and the Prussian writers can be attested, albeit in quite different expressive styles. Whereas the Sturm und Drang persons of letters professed an open desire for a revolutionary change, Haydn takes advantage of the ambiguity of the musical language to produce an ironic, implicit criticism of Ancien Régime topoi from the inside82. The Grove’s definition of the literary movement reminds one of present-day taste for terror movies: It is most easily defined by its artistic aims: to frighten, to stun, to overcome with emotion83. The literary Sturm und Drang that will give rise to the Gothic novel fashion in the first half of the 19th century, as well as its counterpart in nightmarish paintings – shipwrecks, violent storms– show the emphasis on ‘horror’ that makes those works sublime, from the standpoint of the 18th century, and that is also an essential component of its musical version. Contemporary “delight in conveying fear” can be seen in a letter Goethe wrote to a friend in 1779: I have got hold of some paintings and sketches by Fuseli [Füssli], which will give you all a good fright84. Summarizing (see table n. 3-3): there are three instrumental styles derived from the ‘Galant’ style that share a vocal filiation and thus a great deal of markers: • a seemingly spontaneous discourse, full of interruptions and metric irregularities; • a dissonant harmony and • sharp contrasts in all musical parameters.

However, in analysis a distinction between them can be useful. The ‘Sensitive’ style stands out for its lyrical tone and the moderation of both tempo and harmonic character. The ‘Pathetic’ is notably slower, emphasizing tragic affects and dissonance, whereas ‘Sturm und Drang’ is fast and passionate. Both the ‘Pathetic’ and the ‘Sturm und Drang’ can be seen as the instrumental counterparts of two conspicuous opera seria topics, namely ‘Ombra’ and ‘Tempesta’, respectively (see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5).

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BALDICK 2008 (1990): 320f. See GRIMALT 2018a, 2018d. 83 HEARTZ & BROWN 2001: 631–633. 84 Johann Heinrich Füssli, also known as Henry Fuseli, was a Swiss painter and writer (1741– 1825) specialized in super-natural topics. Quoted by HEARTZ & BROWN 2001: 632. 82

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3.2.5

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Fantasia, Written-Down Improvisation

Although the predominant instrumental genre in the 18th century is the Sonata, the Fantasia comes the closest to the essence of the ‘sensitive’, the ‘pathetic’ and the Sturm und Drang styles. In practice, not only in the Fantasia, but also in Classic sonata, the musical discourse tends to imitate a written-down improvisation: see e.g. ex. n. 3-8. Note the ‘spontaneous’ repetitions and variations, the Suspiratio in m. 6, and the ‘Ominous Unison’ at the end of the phrase.

Ex. n. 3-8: CPE Bach, Sonata IV/III Wq. 63 (1753): beginning85.

Early 17th century music had incorporated improvisation into composition as a historical novelty. In the 16th century, composition and improvisation were still well-delimited terrains86. Improvising is closely related to one of the keywords of the aesthetics of that time: naturalness. In CPE Bach’s famous words: It is proper [to the Fantasia genre] a freedom that excludes any slavery and any mechanicity. You have to make music from the soul, not like a trained bird87.

This points to another feature of early Romanticism: realism. “Man wants to express himself as he is, not as he ought to be”88. Fantasia is often described as what it is not – above all, it is not a sonata form. There seems to be no calculating foresight in Fantasies. Yet the difference can be minimal, because it is perfectly conceivable to improvise sonatas. Describing Fantasia in positive terms implies observing what is done and what can be done in improvisation. Basically, an idea can be presented, and then it can be commented and varied upon. Later, a more or 85

For a version on clavichord with G. Leonhardt search C.P.E. Bach: Sonata in B minor/F sharp minor, Wq 63 No.4 - 3. Allegro Siciliano e scherzando. 86 See LEOPOLD 2002. 87 C.Ph.E. BACH, Versuch (1753): III, §7, p. 119. 88 RUF 2002: 522.

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less contrasting second (third, etc.) idea can be introduced, and varied in a similar way. Finally, some of the previously presented ideas can be remembered, or not, to give the discourse some closure. That structure comes close to many 18th-century sonatas. In fact, both Sonatas Quasi una fantasia (‘like an improvisation’) by Beethoven op. 27 (1800–1801) and his concerto in G op. 58 (1805/06), also subtitled quasi una fantasia, show how Improvising and Sonata do not have to be incompatible. From the other side around, there is Liszt’s Fantasia quasi una sonata [‘Improvisation as if it were a sonata’], Après une lecture de Dante, from the Années de pélegrinage, 2ème année: Italia. Even later into the nineteenth century, ‘spontaneity’ is always represented, not real. Expression and artistic ‘truth’ are associated with psychological or sentimental contents, and these appear as if they were happening at the very moment of the performance, as freshly improvised. In music, however, this impression is only one of many rhetorical strategies that have a correlate in writing or in oral discourse. In Beethoven’s Heiligenstadt Testament (1802), for instance, the composer expresses his suffering in regard to deafness and to the resulting social isolation. On the other hand, Beethoven shows a high ethic and aesthetic responsibility that he links to his creative vocation, in a prophetic manner89. In an analysis from 1977, Maynard Solomon relates the Heiligenstadt Testament with the ars dictaminis, that part of the rhetoric that taught how to write letters as part of the ordinary education until the nineteenth century. He highlights the text’s alternating between touching expressions of Beethoven’s feelings of despair at his encroaching deafness and stilted, even literary formulations emphasizing his adherence to virtue. There are passages of real pathos, but these are so intertwined with self-conscious dramatics that one begins to realize that this neatly written document is a carefully revised ‘fair copy’90.

That struggle between artifice and ‘spontaneity’ is a crucial aspect of musical modernity. Of course it is also one of the keys of any art, not only musical. But it reflects the specific contradictions and accomplishments of the new instrumental genres, as to incline the art of sound towards communication and leave the esoteric, constructivist aspects in the background. ***

89

This reminds one of G. Mahler’s and A. Schönberg’s attitudes towards composition, probably because their model in this respect was Beethoven. 90 Solomon, Beethoven (1977: 118), quoted by SISMAN 1994: 83.

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After describing the ‘Sensitive’, the ‘Pathetic’ and ‘Sturm und Drang’, it is time to point out that in 18th-century there are no whole pieces in any of these styles. The contrasts that all sources mention apply also to musical expression, as one more parameter. Just one example: the beginning of Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony K. 551 (1788). Where the first motive, imitating drum rolls, forte, refers to the ‘Martial’. Immediately, the ‘sensitive’ style shockingly contrasts with it, piano: see earlier ex. 2-5. The main theme of the Jupiter’s first movement confronts two semantic fields, presented as incompatible91. The Sturm und Drang style finds continuity in 19th-century ‘Demoniac’ style, as described by Janice DICKENSHEETS92. In the present volume, macabre and demonic topoi are gathered in Chap. 4, Sect. 4.5, Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4 and 5.5, as well as in Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.

3.2.6

Classic Mixed Style

What Josef Haydn himself calls mixed style (see Fig. n. 3-3) can be interpreted as a fusion between galant and learned styles, i.e. between the ‘easy’ contemporary and the ‘difficult’ archaic writing derived from the Renaissance motet. The other two ingredients in Haydn’s mixture are dances of his time and ‘affects’ from theatrical situations. Stylised into references, they make Classic instrumental music sound like singing and dancing all the time. The expressive power of the connotations those references had at the turn to the 19th century were manifold: political, corporeal, literary, rhetorical, derived from movement. Haydn’s mixed style will be the cornerstone for concert art music in the next two centuries.

‘Martial’ and ‘Lyrical’ are not always incompatible, not even in Mozart’s music. Their dialogue is one of the main isotopies of the so-called Classic style. See e.g. how they fuse together in the main theme of the Sonata K. 545, presented as ex. 1-9 in Chap. 1. More about isotopies in Chap. 1, Sect. 1.4.2. 92 DICKENSHEETS 2012: 118f. 91

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Figure n. 3-3: The recipe of Haydn’s mixed style

A contemporary organist and composer, Ernst Ludwig Gerber (1790), describes it like this: At all times rich and inexhaustible; always new and striking, sublime and grand, even when it seems to smile. […] When he [Haydn] starts the orchestra, everything speaks. […] Any harmonic trick, even from Gothic times’ grey contrapuntists, is at his disposal. But as soon as he sets them for our ears they acquire a pleasant character, instead of the ancient rigidness. Thus, in spite of all the contrapuntal artifices, it becomes popular and enjoyable to any music lover93.

The passage emphasises the leisure satisfaction aspect, but also the egalitarian side of modern music. In fact, the first half of the eighteenth century saw an experimenting at European level with mixed styles and about the use of references or topoi. That includes the geographical mixing of French, Italian or German styles. In the Presto of JS Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto n. 4 (BWV 1049), for instance, the predominant semantic field is ‘Martial’, marked by the initial ‘Call’ in an ascending fourth leap, the anapaestic rhythm and the pulsing ‘March’: see ex. 3-9.

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Gerber, Historisch-Biographisches Lexicon der Tonkünstler, Leipzig 1790. Quoted by FINSCHER 2002: 628.

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Ex. n. 3-9: JS Bach, Brandenburg Concerto n. 4/III, beginning.

The ‘Martial’, however, appears combined with the prestigious imitative polyphony of the ‘Learned’ style, a daring but frequent combination in JS Bach. To this combination, the modern genre of the concerto as a general frame and a reference to the popular ‘Contredanse’, later on, are added94.

3.3

Genres, Styles. Patent, Latent

In analysis, it is a productive first step to establish to which genres the piece we are listening to is making reference, i.e. the genealogy of the sounding rhythms, melodic and harmonic features, textures and structures. When composers of any time resort to existing genres and use them as topoi, i.e. as cultural recurring references, they convey a type of expressive meaning that could be recognised immediately by their contemporaries. Classic and Romantic music, whether instrumental or vocal, derive their materials from those genres that were current back then. Listeners could identify their connotations and thus give senses to the music. Eighteenth-century listeners were fully familiar with this musical vocabulary. They encountered it in its basic [functional] forms daily, so recognition would have been instant and enjoyable95.

Topical references can still resonate today with a contemporary audience. However, some of these musical signs need to be considered in their original context to try and grasp what historical composers meant with them. Topical analysis can also be useful against prejudices, e.g. when biographical aspects blur the actual musical content. One paradigmatic example of that warped interpretation is Anton Bruckner’s music. Bruckner was no doubt a pious person. He even dedicated his Ninth symphony “To our good Lord” (Dem lieben Gott). In his symphonies, however, secular genres and references are overwhelmingly predominant: martial, dance, theatrical. This should make one wary of a religious interpretation of most of his works without an analytical founding96.

About the ‘Martial’ anapaest, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.3. On the concerto, see infra 3.4.2. On the ‘learned’ style, Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. About the ‘Contredanse’, see Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5.4. 95 ALLANBROOK 2014: 111. 96 See FLOROS 2014 (2004). 94

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Although their current use often treats them as synonyms, styles are part of the genres. A style is a set of musical features, whereas a genre is an ensemble of mostly abstract rules97. Very often, the style that is part of those rules gives name to the corresponding genre. Since Aristotle, genres are defined by some functional features a collection of artworks share. Style instead –high, medium, low– is a way of composing or writing, and should adapt to the function that suits its own genre. In music, Leonard RATNER uses both terms in his own way, which does not help to clarify issues. He calls genres ‘types’ and topical references ‘styles’: Topics appear as fully worked-out pieces, i.e., types, or as figures and progressions within a piece, i.e., styles. The distinction between types and styles is flexible, minuets and marches represent complete types of composition, but they also furnish styles for other pieces98.

We follow Franco FABBRI’s definitions: A genre is a kind of music, as it is acknowledged by a community for any reason or purpose or criteria, i.e., a set of musical events whose course is governed by rules (of any kind) accepted by a community. A style is a recurring arrangement of features in musical events which is typical of an individual (composer, performer), a group of musicians, a genre, a place, a period of time99.

Genres are circumstantial frames, social or functional determinants that lead to styles. Speaking about ‘styles’ means to emphasize the inner-musical code, whereas the term ‘genre’ is related to all different sorts of codes to which a musical event refers. In Western music, genres are rooted in both basic musical activities, singing and dancing. When listening to any music, it is useful to distinguish patent and latent genres. A genre is patent when it functions as what it is labelled; latent, when performing under another genre. Thus, a contredanse can be patent in a folkloric meeting, and latent as in so many Finali in Haydn symphonies100. The latter case is a reference; if it is recurrent, as final ‘contredanses’ in Classic music are, it is a musical topos (see earlier Sect. 3.1). For the current musician, listener and musicologist, many genres are more important in their latent than in their original, patent form. The ‘Serenade’ for instance –the reference to it– has become the archetypical representation of ‘Amorous Lyricism’, including its variants ‘Barcarolle’ and ‘Nocturne’101. The ‘March’ reference on the other side has an enormous presence in art music, since baroque times. An example: Mozart wrote his Marsch K. 215 (213b) in patent form, as a commission from the Salzburg University. The same functional music becomes autonomous as he reuses it as the first movement of his Serenade K. 204 (213a). This marks the passage from patent to latent, from genre to topos102. 97

About the distinction in literature between Style and Genre, and its relationship to Quality, see AQUIEN & MOLINIÉ 1999 (1996): 353ff. 98 RATNER 1980: 9. 99 FABBRI 1999: 7f. 100 Please search for ‘Contre Dance’ in YouTube, for a nice example of folkloric contredanse. 101 See Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. 102 More on marches in Chap. 5.

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A similar case is the Jazz Messengers’ Blues March (1958), where structure and vocabulary of the blues are combined in an unusual way with a ‘March’ rhythm103. Genres (vocal, instrumental; sacred, secular) are an excellent main entrance to a significative analysis. They point to the genealogical meaning of inner-musical references: music generated from music. To identify them, genre markers are the best key: see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.1.

3.4

References to Instrumental Genres

To finish this section about genres “within music”, in the present § references to the new-found instrumental genres are dealt with. These are modern genres, aware of their own growing autonomy, earned progressively during the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. Contemporarily to their emergence, chamber genres (especially the string quartet) and for solo instrument (especially the keyboard) as well as orchestral genres (concerto, symphony), are already being used as references – not only within sonatas and instrumental works, but also in opera, as a supplementary layer of syntactic and expressive meaning.

3.4.1

‘String Quartet’ References

Keyboard music of the eighteenth century imitates and adapts vocal genres, past and present, but also instrumental new genres. Oftentimes, piano sonatas seem to refer to the texture of the string quartet, especially after the turn of the 19th century. This might be an index of the great prestige the genre enjoyed, in the decades following its appearance104. An example of that is the secondary theme of the first movement of Schubert’s Sonata D. 784 in A minor (1823): see ex. n. 3-10. The composer seems to search for a keyboard translation of the bowed string portato, where the notes are slightly separated without the bow leaving the string or changing its direction.

103 The exact title is Blues March for Europe Nº 1, from the album Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers at Club Saint Germain, vols. 1–3, where some of the recordings of that European tour are included. Here, Paris 1958: RCA. Search for Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers - Blues March. 104 Vg. FEDER 1998, FINSCHER 2002, KLORMAN 2016.

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Ex. n. 3-10: Schubert, Sonata D. 784/I: mm. 61-651051.

The Sonata D. 845 (1825) starts with an expressive confrontation of ‘vocalness’ and ‘instrumental texture’, probably string quartet or quintet: see ex. 3-11.

Ex. n. 3-11: Schubert, Sonata D. 845/I: beginning.

From the 1780s on, instrumental, autonomous music reaches a first culmination in Haydn’s and Mozart’s work. In that decade, and with both composers as models, two genres establish themselves as representative of the most aesthetically ambitious music. In the private sphere, the string quartet; in public performance, the symphony. Both genres and both composers are the fundament of what is usually called art or concert music. The distinction between a public and a private medium becomes an expressive feature. A chamber texture acquires the connotation of ‘intimacy’, whereas orchestral genres are felt as part of a social, institutional activity. From the 1820s on, chamber music will increasingly occupy those public spaces that used to be exclusive to symphony and concerto. Within the vocabulary of piano composers in early Romanticism, the reference to the ‘string quartet’ will prevail as a paradigm of private music of the utmost quality. Besides the Viennese string quartet, understood as the personification of four autonomous adults, there is a Parisian tradition that had in its turn a great influence on Austrian musical culture: salon music. Following the rationalist, anti-authoritarian premise that agreement and understanding can and should be reached through dialogue, in the famous Parisian salons of the first half of the 18th century conversation is at the centre of everything. Not only the circle of enlightened met there, also the world’s most active minds were attracted by irradiation. Besides the locals Voltaire, Rousseau, Buffon, Diderot or Casanova, and the

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Please search for F. Schubert Piano Sonatas D 566, 784, 850, András Schiff. The secondary theme starts at 16:16.

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musicians Stamitz, Rameau or Gossec, one could see and listen to David Hume, Benjamin Franklin, or Thomas Jefferson in their occasional visits to Paris106. In such talking exchanges, the topic is not the central issue. The tone, the language and the elegance of the discourse, the taste for a reasonable discussion full of esprit bring the art of conversation very close to what new instrumental music is becoming, where abstraction due to the loss of a text turns the How to be more important than the What. That finds a reflection in musical theory of the first half of the 18th century, at least in Germany. At first the idea of dialogue is found rather in the way of writing about music than in what musicians actually do. Johann MATTHESON compares the polyphonic imitative texture to a “dialogue” (Gespräch) between voices. His strongly rhetorical metaphor lies far away from the distancing effect the stile antico had aimed for: Above all [in imitative polyphony] the aim has to be that one voice talks with the other one as in dialogue, that she asks and answers, disagrees, is applauded, reaches agreement, accepts contradiction, etc. For as in a dialogue with only Yes or No, where nothing is inquired nor any reply is heard nor any aimable arguing is aroused, where not even an effort is made to follow the other one or anticipate him makes one sleepy quite soon, also any harmony, be it only composed of two voices, requires such explanations, interjections, comments and combat in the air, but in sound, impossible to be represented in any better way than with the so-called Imitation, artistically Imitatio, vel potius Æmulatio vocum107.

Also Johann A. Scheibe, in his magazine Critischer Musicus, recommends that composers writing instrumental music should imagine somebody’s character, or a situation, or some passion quite specifically, and to exert fantasy until he thinks to hear a person who would be in those circumstances108.

And yet the practical realizing of the analogy between dialogue and music does not take place in Paris, or in Northern Germany, but in Vienna, thanks to the aforementioned successful recipe of the ‘mixed style’ that is attributed to Josef Haydn. It is the idiosyncratic eloquence of new instrumental music, its ambiguity between expression and concealment, that made Johann Wolfgang von Goethe appreciate the genre of the string quartet in 1829. After listening to a concert by the virtuoso violinist Nicolò Paganini, the sensation of the moment, he exclaims: I missed a base to that column of flames and clouds to reach what is called pleasure, which in my case always oscillates between sensuality and reason. If I were in Berlin, I would not miss many soirées by the Möser quartet. These performances have deemed to me always to be the most understandable ones in instrumental music: one hears the conversation of four reasonable people, one believes to take home some profit from their discourses, and from the characteristics of every instrument. This time around, I could not find therein any such foundation, not for the spirit, nor for the ear; I only heard something meteoric, and I couldn’t explain to myself anything else at all109.

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FINSCHER 2002: 591. MATTHESON 1739: 331 (462–463). Our translation. 108 Leipzig 1740. Quoted by FINSCHER 2002: 594. 109 In a letter to Zelter from January 9th, 1829. Quoted by FINSCHER 2002: 596. Carl Möser (Berlin 1774–1851) was a renowned violinist and conductor. 107

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3.4.2

The Concerto. Brilliant Style

Listening to a concerto invites to a sympathetic identification with the featuring soloist. That is due to the genre’s dramaturgic character. In baroque times, the solo part was part of the tutti, but historically it detaches progressively from it, culminating in the virtuoso concertos of the 19th and 20th centuries. We know Mozart used to conduct and play the solo part in his concertos. Brahms instead required a conductor and kept the solo part for himself. From a modern point of view, the soloist can establish a rapport of antagonism, complementarity, or dialogue with the orchestra, in a representation of the relationships between the individual and society110. Sometimes, traces of a concerto texture can be found in Sonatas for piano solo, as in the aforementioned D. 784 by Schubert. The secondary theme that appeared as an example for a reference to the ‘string quartet’ texture (see earlier ex. n. 3-10) enters later into dialogue with what sounds like ‘orchestral tutti’. More precisely, like the contraposition of a concertino, or a smaller ensemble, and ripieno, or the bulk of the orchestra in a concerto grosso: see ex. n. 3-12.

Ex. n. 3-12: Schubert, Sonata D. 784/I: mm. 75-86111.

Not always the explicit label of concerto is found on works that share all its features, as in Hector Berlioz’s Harold en Italie (1834), with the subtitle Symphonie en quatre parties avec un alto principal (‘Symphony in four movements with a solo

110

See Edward T. Cone’s interesting reflections on the relationship between soloist and orchestra in a concerto. CONE 1974: 123ff. 111 Please search for Schubert Piano Sonata No 14 D 784 A minor Alfred Brendel piano. The passage contrasting ‘concertino’ and ‘ripieno’ starts at 2:40.

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viola’), op. 16. Berlioz did not call the work a concerto because he intended to compose for the orchestra a set of scenes where the solo viola would find itself involved as a more or less active role, albeit keeping at all times its own character. By placing it amidst the poetical memories that my pilgrimages around the Abbruzzi left me, I intended to make of the viola a kind of melancholic dreamer in the manner of Byron’s Childe-Harold112.

Berlioz’s Harold, usually classified as programme music, inscribes itself into a 19th-century search for new genres in hybridisation between classic forms and new ideas to respond to the expressive needs of what felt like a new time, neatly different from the preceding centuries. The work uses the contraposition between soloist and orchestra dramaturgically to represent Harold’s role in four different scenes: in a high mountain environment (Harold aux montagnes); accompanying some pilgrims in the Marche des pèlerins; singing to a girl in a nocturnal atmosphere (Sérénade); and from a tavern in the final Orgie de brigands (‘Orgy of bandits’). All four scenes are inspired in Lord Byron’s narrative poem Childe-Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812–1818). Conflicts between individual and society is a central topic in Lord Byron’s whole work and life. Finally, the ‘brilliant’ or virtuoso style needs to be addressed. It is a historically retraceable topos. Leonard RATNER describes it thus: The term brilliant, used by Daube, 1797, Türk, 1789, and Koch, 1802, refers to the use of rapid passages for virtuoso display or intense feeling. Earlier Italian composers –Alessandro Scarlatti, Arcangelo Corelli and Antonio Vivaldi among them– codified the brilliant style by systematic repetitions and sequences113.

Here, Ratner includes the ‘Tempesta’ topos typical of a vendetta aria as part of the ‘brilliant’ style114. Normally, however, the virtuoso sense is prevailing. In classic concertos many passages can be best explained as the wish to impress the listeners with the instrumentalist’s speed and precision. Wye J. ALLANBROOK opposes ‘brilliant’ and ‘sensitive’ style in Mozart’s Sonata K. 333/I115. Roman IVANOVITCH devotes to the ‘brilliant’ style one of the chapters of The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory116. It is arguably the irruption of the phenomenal violinist Niccolò Paganini and the pianist Franz Liszt, both composer-performers, that puts the ‘brilliant’ style in the foreground of 19th-century musical life117. Many works for piano or for violin, even those designed for a use in the home, offer some ‘brilliant’ passages as an ingredient. In Franz Liszt’s Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude, e.g., a virtuoso passage

112 113 114 115 116 117

Hector BERLIOZ, Mémoires, cap. 45. RATNER 1980: 19f. For the operatic ‘Tempesta’ topos, see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.4. ALLANBROOK 1992: 145. See also Chap. 6, Sect. 6.1.3, ‘Singing Style’. IVANOVITCH 2014. See DICKENSHEETS 2012: 111–113.

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towards the end of the piece contrasts blatantly with the predominant character of the piece, in the style of ‘Pastoral’ and intimate prayer118.

3.5

Semantic Fields in a Semiotic Square

Both precedent sections studied signs with an inner-musical provenance: genres, styles, references to instrumental genres. Here it is about musical signs with correlates in the “real” world. When they refer to a specific object or to a concept, musical signs can be classified into broadly identifiable semantic fields. In common-practice repertoire of Western art music, four of them emerged from our analyses: Sacred, Martial, Lyrical, and Dance. A genealogical analysis necessarily has to refer to the functional origins of music. The four places where music has traditionally been used correspond to our four semantic fields: (1) the Temple, (2) the Military, including the variant of the Hunt; (3) the secular Word, i.e. lyrics, theatre and the rest of literature; and (4) the Dance floor. In its turn, this division in four sections throws an image (a map) of the world that 18th-century music refers to. Surely for most current listeners the army, or the idea of a terror-inspiring God are no more part of our life experience. However, the four semantic fields and their interrelation keep much of their symbolic power for us to relate to basic human realities. Interestingly, after I came to these four semantic fields through analysis, I found a confirmation of my findings from a wider cultural perspective in some historical sources. Johann MATTHESON states that to the usual tripartition Church, Theatre, Chamber, a Martial style should be added119. In her posthumous book on Mimesis, referring to the change from the opera seria world to that of comedy, Wye Jamison ALLANBROOK describes how The new, communally defined mimēmata came embedded in this more inclusive social world; they were connected with class and associated with social institutions – the church, the court, the theatre, and the dance hall120.

Even in the same order, ALLANBROOK’s ‘Church’ corresponds to our ‘Sacred’ semantic field, the ‘Court’ to the ‘Martial’, the ‘Theatre’ to the ‘Lyrical’, and the ‘Dance hall’ to ‘Dance’121. To be sure, it is an ordering that corresponds fairly much to seventeenth-century theory and praxis, distinguishing Church style as the highest, Theatre style as medium and Chamber style as low122. Johann MATTHESON

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For a version with the score, search for Liszt: Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude (Hough). The closing passage in ‘brilliant’ style starts at 13:07. On Liszt’s and Lamartine’s alexandrines, see GRIMALT 2013e. 119 MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 166 (93), §118. 120 ALLANBROOK 2014: 76. 121 Incidentally, the original version of the book you are reading was published in the same year: cf. GRIMALT 2014. 122 See Scacchi 1649, Kircher 1650, Mattheson 1717, Scheibe 1745 or Schubart 1806, all quoted by MIRKA 2014: 3–21.

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would be willing to increase these three categories by adding a ‘Martial’ style to them, because “the martial music itself has, in many respects, things which are somewhat peculiar to it which might be worth investigating123.” These four semantic fields relate to each other in three ways –opposition, exclusion, complementarity– that can be represented in terms of a semiotic square. This logical tool is linked to the Lithuanian semiotician Algirdas Julius GREIMAS (1917– 1992). His research has inspired some of the most prominent scholars in musical signification. Greimas considered this square (see Fig. n. 3-4) to represent the fundamental structure of any meaning. The semiotic square is a derivation on the structuralist terrain of the square of oppositions that was used in Aristotelian logic for the interrelation of propositions. Greimas presented it for the first time in Sémantique structurale (1966). The dotted, horizontal lines indicate opposition: S1 and S2 are opposites; e.g. ‘Life’ and ‘Death’. The diagonal bold lines mark exclusion (contradiction): S1 and –S1 are excluding to each other, e.g. ‘Life’ and ‘not-Life’, which is different than ‘Death’. Finally, the dotted/dashed vertical lines indicate complementarity: ‘Life’ and ‘not-Death’, as well as ‘Death’ and ‘not-Life’ are not equal, but akin.

Figure n. 3-4: Greimas’s semiotic square

Marta GRABÓCZ, one of the leading scholars in musical signification, was a student of Greimas’s. She applied the semiotic square to her analyses of works by Mozart and Beethoven (2009). In my doctoral thesis (2011), the results of analysing Mahler’s Wunderhorn music grouped themselves in four stylistic isotopies. They turned out to have a relationship among them that was best represented through a semiotic square124. 123

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 166 (93). For isotopies, see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.4.2. For Mahler’s Wunderhorn isotopies, see GRIMALT 2011, 2012.

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The four semantic fields that result from our analyses of common-practice art music can also be related to each other as complementary, contradicting, or in opposition to each other: see Fig. n. 3-5. SPIRIT Temple

Secular Word

AUTHORITY

FREEDOM Military

Dance

BODY

Figure n. 3-5: Four semantic fields in a semiotic square

Our square stands for a map of a virtual world, a world evoked through music, and it can be helpful to locate any other meaning within this field of oppositions and affinities. It could be read starting with the Temple, as a generic place for sacred ritual. Historically and anthropologically, all symbolic thought, constitutive of the human being, starts originally on sacred ground125. As a symbol-oriented species, aware of our own precariousness, the creation of a sacred space leads to many ritual forms, among which are sacred art and music. This implies a distinction between sacred and secular. Moreover, together with the secular Word, music related to the Temple can be grouped into an ambit, the spiritual, in opposition to the corporeal. The opposition Body vs. Spirit constitutes one of the great axes in Western culture, not only in music, since Antiquity. A certain idealism tracing a line from Plato to Augustine through Plotinus, and also a certain puritanism with roots in Luther, Calvin and Jansen left a deep imprint and have made Temple and Dance music incompatible for a long time126. Temple music and Literature –the secular Word– instead are not mutually exclusive but contrary, in Greimas’s terms. Wendy ALLANBROOK devotes some pages of her masterly monography on Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart to an anthropological foundation of the importance of metre and rhythm in our musical experience, and particularly in that of the 18th century, where music and dance were still inseparable in daily life. Without naming explicitly an axis of Corporeality, she groups marches and dances together, and connects them to “human posture”127. In our square, that is the horizontal axis: the more we come up, the more spiritual it grows.

Ernst Cassirer, one of the leading scholars of the symbolic phenomenon, believes that “the origins of the symbolic function as a quintessential attribute of the human being should be located in the domain of religion.” Cf. E. Cassirer, Symbol, Technik, Sprache (1985: 2). Quoted by DUCH 1999: 307. 126 WALTER & JASCHINSKY 1995: 9. 127 ALLANBROOK 1983: 8–16. 125

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A testimony of the traditional incompatibility between erotism and spirituality, as well as of the music’s ambivalent power in relationship to both fields, is found in many passages by Martin Luther, who as an Augustinian monk knew his Augustine very well: And to you, young friend, let this healthy and joyful creation of God [music] be given to you. Thanks to her you can escape your shameful wishes and bad company. At the same time, through this creation, you can become accustomed to acknowledging and praise your Creator. Be especially careful to avoid the perverted spirits that prostitute this beautiful gift of nature and art [music] with their erotic extravagances128.

The same contrariness could be attributed to the relationship between the Martial and Dance. The first is materialized in institutional coercion and has some tendency to a transcendence, e.g. in form of patriotism. Dance instead is first and foremost a space of di-version (etymologically ‘turn aside’, ‘have fun’) or even sub-version (‘turn downwards’). Together with the secular Word, Dance represents an ambit of Freedom in front of the Authority embodied by Army and Church. That is the vertical axis in our square: the more to the left, the more authoritarian; the more to the right, the more liberal. The dichotomy Authority-Freedom is structurally human. It is also one of the central issues in the writings of Paul of Tarsus, one of the founders of Christianity129. Anthropologically, this opposition manifests in the detachment of daily working time from a space for game and celebration, culminating in carnivalesque inversions. In this space outside of clock and calendar, Dance and the secular Word have played traditionally an important role. Finally, the relationships between the Temple and the Military, on one hand, and Literature and Dance on the other can be qualified as complementary, in Greimas’s terms. To be sure, there are many other possibilities to classify and arrange the results of analyses. Our semiotic square does not claim to be its only representation possible, but just a coherent one, where the relationships between its components confer to each one of them an additional sense. In practice, none of these elements appear in a pure state. Music and life circulate along these channels freely and ambiguously. Without remembering this, it would be a shock to realise how, e.g., in JS Bach’s cantatas and even motets some Versaillesque dances often serve as the vehicle to religious texts. Especially in feasts such as Easter or Christmas: see next chapter. Similarly, Humour and the violence implicit in the Military world are often made compatible in Classic music: see e.g. the ‘Toy Army’ musical topic, presented in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3.

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Qouted by WILSON-DICKSON 1992/1994: 63. I am indebted to the late Lluís Duch for his contribution here. In the Epistle to the Galatians, Paul links ‘flesh’ with slavery, and ‘Spirit’ with freedom. He suggests substituting Mosaic law by the “law of love”. In the 19th century, Friedrich Schiller saw artistic creation in similar terms. 129

Chapter 4

Sacred References

And he said, Draw not near here: put off your shoes from off your feet, for the place where on you stand is holy ground. Exodus 3:5

When analysing instrumental music, references to vocal genres can be divided into sacred and secular. Among the former, three topoi stand out, all derived from liturgy: Gregorian chant (Sect. 4.2), the polyphonic motet (Sect. 4.3), and the Lutheran hymn, also known as Choral (Sect. 4.4)1. Before that, a preliminary look at the difference between static (‘spiritual’) and dynamic (‘bodily’) topoi (Sect. 4.1) seems pertinent. Besides these references (Sects. 4.2, 4.3, 4.4), the ‘Sacred’ semantic field is alluded through those instruments that have been typical in Christian liturgy: above all organ, the brass ensemble that used to be blown at funerals until recently, and bells (Sect. 4.5). Finally, just how permeable and productive the boundaries between both worlds, secular and liturgic, have been in history is shown in Sect. 4.6 in the uncountable exchanges between them. As for vocal worldly topoi, ‘Lyric’ and Pastoral references are dealt with in Chap. 6, translations from music theatre to instrumental genres in Chap. 8. In every culture, music has traditionally carried a strong magical, ritual component. Sacred music was probably the first one, historically and anthropologically. In Western art, the strong presence of religion and church seems at odds with our secularized world, that has been qualified as post-Christian. However, liturgic and sacred music has brought us some of the best music available, maybe because its composers intended it as an offering to God. Today, to enjoy the musical value and the human vibration in those works, a translation into our time’s symbolic language seems indispensable. The acquaintance with sacred music allows intuitive insight into what has changed and what remains of mankind’s spiritual longings. Liturgic genres have their place in the temple. In Christian music, these are basically Gregorian chant, Lutheran hymn, Mass, Vespers. Some not necessarily liturgic genres –polyphonic motet, baroque cantata– find their place also in the temple. On the other hand, allusions to these genres are very frequent in alien 1

The focusing on Christian music is coherent with the scope of the musical corpus in this book. A writer familiar with other religious cultures would enlarge and enrich it.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_4

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contexts. Examples from Berlioz’s, Liszt’s, Bruckner’s or Mahler’s instrumental music show topical references to the semantic field of the Sacred. Its most frequent signifier is the Lutheran hymn, also known as Choral. Finally, some musical references are no more sacred, but bare the traces of a liturgical origin. They have been widely used to connote ‘archaism’ and complexity, not always in a good sense. Above all, stile antico or ‘Learned style’ (Sect. 4.3), as well as the use of idiophones in opera to inspire awe (Sect. 4.5).

4.1

Static or Dynamic? Vocal Sacred Topoi

To start a topical analysis, it is very useful to distinguish between static and dynamic references. Some topoi have movement in them (marches, dances); some others do not2. Gregorian Chant, at least in its modern reconstruction, has no obvious regular pulse. Classical polyphony and the Hymn also tend to keep away from movement, as if they were reaching for a “pure”, “bodyless” singing. The wish to leave behind the beating pulse that indexes ‘Dance’ and ‘Body’ is a medieval prejudice linked to the neo-platonic idea that they are incompatible with religion3. Christian liturgy, following Augustine, favours a certain sort of spiritualization at the cost of the body. To be sure, many current Christians would not identify with this far-reaching tradition, but it certainly left deep traces in Western art. When modern music wants to represent ecstasy or highly spiritual matters, it recurs to that “bodyless” chant of which Gregorian is the model: see some bass-less examples earlier in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.1. This ecstasy need not be mystical or religious, it can also be amorous, or pastoral. Vaughan Williams e.g. composed The Lark Ascending based on a hymn by George Meredith with the same title, about the lark’s “seraphic”, celestial voice4. The revealing line An ecstasy to music turn’d seems to allude to a secular ecstasy, comparing the bird’s song to a wine that leads its listeners to the highest heavens. Both subject and genre belong to the semantic field of Pastoral (Chap. 6, Sects. 6.2, 6.3). Accordingly, in the orchestra the traditional rhythm of 6/8 predominates, but the solo violin tends to stop the pulse once and again with long notes, as an index of spiritual ecstasy. Second, ‘Sacred’ musical topoi tend to be vocal, at least genealogically. The distinction between static and dynamic topoi appears more efficient in analysis than establishing a ‘Singing Topic’. Singing is the norm in opera, the main source of references in instrumental music, whereas to grasp the expressive meaning of a

In Chap. 3, Sect. 3.5 the opposition between ‘bodily’ and ‘spiritual’ topoi was presented within a semiotic square. 3 Until the early Middle Ages, dancing in the temple was allowed. See WALTER and JASCHINSKI 1995: 9. 4 The original version for violin and piano (1914) was rescored for orchestra in 1920. 2

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reference, the gestural-bodily aspect is more essential5. If there is a rhythmic gesture beneath the singing, to use Allanbrook’s expression, the reference connotes a lot of expressive meaning. If there is not, that absence is probably the most relevant thing to discover. Looking for rhythmic regularities in a given piece usually helps to establish whether it is the result of choreography or of prosody – whether it is the movement or the word that is determining the music’s gait. The former emphasizes the bodily connection; the latter, the spiritual one. One example from Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro: in Deh, vieni (act IV) the performance of a poem is enacted. Just as in Voi che sapete (act III), pizzicati imitate the guitar that would accompany such lyrical pieces. In the former, however, bars are grouped in three because they do not follow the dance pattern of the ‘Siciliana’ reference, but the prosodic pattern of the grand endecasillabo6. At the beginning of the same opera’s fourth Finale instead, metrical subdivisions correspond to a ‘Gavotte’, then another ‘Gavotte’, then a ‘Bourrée’. However, the rhythmic regularity of the three dances is often broken in favour of declamation, to signal scenic surprises, i.e. as a marker of the ‘Imbroglio’ topos7. This opposition seems to constitute an isotopy between ‘bodily’ and ‘spiritual’ metrical regularities that can be found in most art music of the common practice period.

4.2

Gregorian Chant References: Dies Iræ

The first and most fundamental musical fusion in European music is Gregorian chant. Derived originally from the Judaic synagogue, secondly Byzantine (Greek), later Roman (Latin), it suffers its last rebuild in 8th century Germania, before it progressively becomes general in Italy and the rest of the continent. These melodies, also known as monody in opposition to polyphony, are later collected in the Gradual –for the Mass– and the Antiphonal –for the Liturgy of the Hours. They originate in different ages, and thus present heterogeneous forms. They used to be transmitted orally, and do not receive notation including diastematic until the 11th century8. Gregorian chant is at the origin of Western art music, more specifically of Renaissance polyphony, that arises as the wish of embellishing the plain chant. This early sign of a European musical identity amounts to a first achievement in artistic autonomy that Western music will never more give up. Gregorian also appears occasionally as a topos in art music, in non-liturgic contexts. A favourite quotation is a passage of the Requiem Mass, the Dies iræ. Originally a case for intertextuality, the reference to the beginning of this sequence stylizes itself progressively into a 5 Wye Jamison ALLANBROOK explains it convincingly in the Introduction to her Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart (1983), although she and Kofi Agawu follow their professor Leonard Ratner in identifying a ‘Singing Style’. RATNER 1980: 19. 6 ALLANBROOK 1983: 174f. 7 For the ‘Imbroglio’ topos, see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.4.2. 8 ASENSIO 2003, MORIN & FOWELLS 1993.

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symbol of ‘Death’ in the 19th century. Hearing it often in funerals, every listener would recognise the reference9. Ex. n. 4-1 shows the original melody.

Ex. n. 4-1 Gregorian Requiem Mass, Dies iræ, begin.

Following the book of Revelation, the hymn describes the end of the age and final judgment. Here is its first stanza: Dies iræ! Dies illa, Solvet sæclum in favilla: Teste David cum Sibylla.

Day of wrath and doom impending. David’s word with Sibyl’s blending, Heaven and earth in ashes ending10.

Its characteristic profile facilitates its being immediately recognised in another context. In the Finale of Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830), with the subtitle Dream of a witches’ sabbath, the protagonist of the narrative programme is intoxicated with opium. He dreams taking part in a ritual meeting of witches and monsters. The Dies iræ melody, in a parodic tone, interrupts repeatedly the witches’ circle dance, from m. 127 on: see ex. 4-2.

Ex. n. 4-2 Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique/V: mm. 127-13411.

9

For a version with the Deller Consort, search for Dies Irae (Mass for the Dead, Sequence, Male Voices). 10 English version by William J. Irons (1849). 11 For the whole 5th movement conducted by G. Rozhdestvensky, including video animation, search for Berlioz: Fantastic Symphony—Dreams of a Witch’s Sabbath (5th Movement). The Dies iræ starts at 3:18.

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Note the bell stroke on a feeble part, in what amounts to a “metrical dissonance”. Constantin FLOROS has collected many other examples of references to this and to other Gregorian melodies, as in some freemason music by Mozart or J. Haydn and, especially, in works by Franz Liszt and Gustav Mahler12. A wonderful example of a reference to the Dies iræ topic is due to Anatole LEIKIN’s sagacious research on Fryderyk Chopin’s Preludes op. 28 (1839). As Leikin convincingly shows, the work is a “Requiem in twenty-four movements” under the cloak of an improvised genre. The first few notes of the Dies iræ and their permutations serve as a more or less patent leading thread throughout the whole musical building13. Felix Mendelssohn’s Rondo capriccioso in E minor op. 14 provides another beautiful example of the Dies iræ topos. It irrupts unexpectedly in mm. 23-24 to delay the cadence that will separate the Introduction from the first presentation of the Rondo theme: see ex. 4-3.

Ex. n. 4-3 Mendelssohn, Rondo capriccioso op. 14, mm. 22-24141.

Note the pedal held through major and minor chords, to reinforce the dissonant irruption. This index of ‘Death’ obscures the rest of the piece and locates it definitely in the terrain of the ‘Uncanny’ (Unheimliches), to which so many 19th century Scherzi belong. A few bars later (m. 43), a sinister ‘Laughter’ seems to confirm this interpretation15.

12

FLOROS Mahler II 1977: 116ff. LEIKIN 2008: The Mystery of Chopin’s Preludes. See a useful list of instances of topical uses of the ‘Dies iræ’ in p. 56. 14 Please search for Felix Mendelssohn - Rondo Capriccioso, Op. 14 - Jan Lisiecki to find the Dies iræ irruption at 2:04 and the first ‘Laughter’ at 2:54. 15 For the sinister Scherzo see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.5 Hunting, the forest. For the ‘Laughter’ topos see GRIMALT 2014. 13

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Mapping Musical Signification, Chapter 4: Sacred References

References to the Polyphonic Motet: Stile Antico

The stile antico, strict, learned or savant style, is a reference to the imitative counterpoint, i.e. to the typical polyphonic writing of the 15th- and 16th-centuries motet. When that archaic, prestigious reference is imported into a modern context, its expressive meaning is variegated, from sublime to sarcastic, including many different shades. In fact, the ‘negative’ or critical meanings seem to outnumber the ‘positive’ ones, once one starts looking for examples in music of the modernity. Already in JS Bach’s St. John’s and St. Matthew’s Passions (1724, 1727), imitative polyphony is correlated to the disciples in doubt, to the pharisees, or to those who contribute to condemn Jesus. In other words, to the ‘evil’ in mankind. See for instance the chorus Er ist des Todes schuldig!, (‘He is worthy of death!’), n. 36b in the 2nd part of St. Matthew’s Passion BWV 244. An impressive fugato to eight voices, as intricate as fleeting, serves as a correlate to those who condemned Jesus Christ to death: see ex. 4-4.

Ex. n. 4-4 JS Bach, Matthäuspassion II, Chorus n. 36b Er ist des Todes schuldig!.

Notice the cornet-like ‘calls’ and the iambic rhythms as signs of aggressivity, as well as the ‘false’ harmonic relationships between contiguous chords. On the other hand, JS Bach had used imitative polyphony as a symbol of ‘Divinity’. The logic of this ‘positive’ association might be that counterpoint represents the most demanding skill in composition, and thus suitable to stand for the highest powers in man. In the motet Jesu, meine Freude (‘Jesus, my joy’) BWV 227 (1723), built in chiastic form, the fugue Ihr aber seid nicht fleischlich (‘You,

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however, are not of the flesh’) culminates the pyramid’s apex within the motet’s structure. Here, Bach seems to use the ‘strict’ style as a symbol of the ‘Spirit’ that St. Paul opposes to the ‘Flesh’ (Romans, 8:9)16. There is a medieval tradition connecting counterpoint and divine perfection. This vanishes only progressively during the eighteenth century. Andreas Werckmeister for instance (1645–1706), whose writings JS Bach knew well, saw a direct relationship between God’s cosmological order and invertible counterpoint: The constant motion of the heavens is thus analogous to the perpetual revolution of the parts in a well-constructed piece of double counterpoint, whose inversions mirror the perfection of heaven and provide earthly beings with a glimpse of God’s unending order, a prelude to the heavenly concert17.

At the turn of the 17th century, composers such as Claudio Monteverdi begin to distinguish stile antico from stile moderno, also known as prima pratica and seconda pratica. Stile antico means the strict counterpoint style of the former generations, considered obsolete if not in a church setting. The very antiquity of the procedure provides its prestige and suitability for liturgy. On the other hand, the new monodic writing that leads from amorous lyric and madrigal to the new operatic language starts to affirm itself as ‘modern style’. The recent musicological term for it is Monody, meaning a single melodic line to an instrumental accompaniment. The revolutionary idea is that something as simple may be considered worthy of art, in contraposition to classic polyphony, that had dominated the precedent centuries18. This historical shift is attributed to the Camerata fiorentina, an association of men of letters and musicians who intended to restore what they imagined ancient Greek tragedy might have sounded like. These first trials, still tightly tied to Renaissance practice, will eventually give way to recitative and aria, in baroque opera. Prima pratica (imitative counterpoint) gave harmony the primacy over the understanding of the text; seconda pratica (modern monody) prioritizes words over harmony19. In the background of this dichotomy there beat two constants of Western art music: construction versus efficient, spontaneous communication. A balance between the two poles guarantees the work’s quality and coherence, on one side, and on the other the ability to reach the listener without becoming abstruse. Interestingly, the very moment stile antico and stile moderno are distinguished, the boundaries between them start being made permeable. Monteverdi himself (1567–1643) can separate them strictly, e.g. in a mass and in a madrigal

16

For an analysis of this motet, see GRIMALT 2007a, Chap. 8. Andreas Werckmeister, Harmonologia musica (Quedlinburg 1707; reprint Hildesheim 1970), 89. Quoted by David YEARSLEY 2002, Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint: p. 20. 18 See HARNONCOURT 1984, WENHAM 1997, METZGER-RIEHN 1998, LEOPOLD 2002, BEAUSSANT 2003, ALESSANDRINI 2004, GRIMALT 2007a (Chap. 5), GRIMALT 2011a (Chap. 1). 19 See the fundamental preface to Monteverdi’s Quinto libro de madrigali a cinque voci (1605) in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 45–52. 17

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respectively, or can merge them boldly, as in his 1710 Vespers. The composer’s biography seems to reflect this interpenetration. He first served at the Gonzaga’s court in Mantua, where he married a singer. Once a widower, he went as a chorus master to the Venetian St. Mark cathedral and became a priest. Early modern Neoplatonism saw in the submission of the Logos to harmony and counterpoint an undue concession to sensuality. The imitation through monody – through the Word– of human passions instead had an ethical justification: it was a contribution to form better people and thus to a better world. In a letter addressed to Vincenzo Galilei in 1572, Girolamo Mei, one of the inspirers of the Florentine Camerata, imagines the ancient Greeks’ music as highly efficient in conveying texts, and not aiming at “the sweetness of the consonances to satisfy the ear”20. Commenting on this passage, Karol Berger explains: Inspired by Mei, Galilei and his Florentine Camerata friends concluded that if modern vocal music were to abandon the aim of sensuous pleasure for the higher one of ethical efficacy, it had also to abandon polyphony for monophony21.

In instrumental music, barren of its original setting, the stile antico topos has a characteristically ambivalent expressive meaning. It needs a hermeneutical interpretation: is this serious, or ironically critical? Neal Zaslaw quotes Abbé Vogler as an original source to argue for an enlightened, egalitarian interpretation of imitative counterpoint: The fugue is a conversation among a multitude of singers […]. The fugue is thus a musical artwork where no one accompanies, no one submits, where nobody plays a secondary role, but each a principal part22.

But the rest of the passage, not quoted by Zaslaw, puts the emphasis on the chaotic aspect of the ‘learned’ style in an aggressive, socio-political interpretation of its plurality. Between both quoted sentences, Vogler writes: Imagine a rebelling crowd, an acclamation of a mass of people, where everyone imagines he alone can lead all the talking, where every contender produces himself as independent, where all fighters enforce their plans with some sort of selfishness, where no one wants to listen to each other. Now this tumultuary one-sidedness, this obstinate sounding coincidence of totally different melodies, this inflexible association of such contrary opinions – in short – that seemingly harmonic confusion is a fugue23.

Beyond its liturgical use, stile antico found refuge in academic teaching, where it remains to this day in some countries. That opens another gate to its import into art music as ‘Learned style’, usually in an ironic tone. Parody is indeed the most usual way of the Viennese “Classics” to use references to the Ancien Régime – among them the stile antico. An obvious example of musical parody is Mozart’s Musikalischer Spaß, K. 522 (1787). The piece seems to aim at the representation of a 20 21 22 23

Quoted by BERGER 2007: 36f. BERGER 2007: 37. Quoted by ZASLAW 1989: 544. VOGLER, System für den Fugenbau, 1811: 28. Accessed online October 2017.

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composer’s, and sometimes the performers’ clumsiness. The stile antico makes its appearance at the second part of the finale, in two failed attempts of a fugato exposition. Here, however, what is being parodied is not counterpoint but the composer’s inability to handle it24. In Le nozze di Figaro (1786) instead, every time the ‘minuet’ or the strict style are evoked, it is in a negative, critical sense. In the second Finale, e.g., the Count’s reaction to some altered manifestations by Susanna, Figaro and the Countess takes the form of some “alla breve cantus-firmus music, moving in whole and half notes, and accompanied by choirs of wind instruments which give the slow-moving harmonies a special ethereal sound25.” Stile antico here might be ironically pointing to the Count’s old fashioned, Ancien-Régime mentality. Sometimes in his ‘London’ symphonies, Josef Haydn uses imitative counterpoint in a similar way as ancient writers would quote from mythology or ancient Greco-Latin culture: to show off some education. Even in these instances, however, his relentless irony seems to interpose and everything, whether stile antico, a dramatic or a lyrical moment, is nuanced or denied by some exaggeration, ‘Laughter’ or any other incongruence26. See e.g. the development of the 1st movement of his symphony n. 93 (London 1791). Its stile antico features had been anticipated in the transitional modulatory passage mm. 53ff. The narrative outline of the Exposition offers a hermeneutic frame to an ironic interpretation of the ‘learned’ reference, along with other archaic features: the initial ‘Minuet’ topos (m. 21ff., ex. 4-5a) yields to a ‘Ländler’ reference in the “secondary” theme on the dominant, mm. 76ff (ex. 4-5b). Both themes share a similar rhythmic profile, with an opposite melodic direction. This suggests thinking of the ‘Ländler’ as derived from the former ‘Minuet’, in a transformation that carries some socio-political expressive connotations.

Ex. n. 4-5 J. Haydn, Symphony n. 93/I: main theme, secondary theme.

The continuously emphasized comedic, subjective frame supports an ironical-critical listening of the rest of the symphony. The Largo cantabile seems to represent the transformation of an aristocratic ‘court march’ or ‘Entrée’ into a ‘low’, comedic gait in triplet rhythm, from m. 30 on. The triplets, an index of ‘peasant gaiety’, as in a ‘Gigue’ or a ‘Tarantella’, remain into the Reprise of the initial, ‘archaic march’ (mm. 44ff.), thus showing the same pattern of narrative ‘Changeover’ from Ancien Régime into modern, comedic topoi. In the Epilogue,

24

A similar situation has been described in the Trio of Beethoven’s 5th symphony, 3rd movement: see supra ex. 2-48. 25 ALLANBROOK 1983: 135. 26 On musical irony see SHEINBERG 2000 and Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3.

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the music seems to frazzle away into pianissimo repetitions and long rests. The sudden irruption of a fortissimo low C in the bassoon (m. 80) has been interpreted in vulgar terms. It clearly serves, in any case, to set the ‘comedy’ tone above the highbrow references. As if continuing the narration of the first movement, where a ‘Minuet’ turned to a ‘Ländler’, the third movement is labelled ‘Menuetto’ but features another galant ‘Ländler’ instead. The dialogue in the Trio between a courtly, archaic ‘fanfare’ and a modern, tonally unstable ‘Minuet’ seems to add to the dichotomy ‘Ancien Régime/Modernity’ another imaginative episode. The Finale closes with a further insistence on the ‘Changeover’ narrative archetype: first and foremost, a ‘Gavotte’ turning to a ‘Contredanse’27. The former topos can be ascribed to the aristocratic, the latter to the bourgeois contemporary world. Moreover, some references to the stile antico, on the side of the rigid and archaic, respectively to the ‘rustic’ and subjective, on the side of the modern round off this optimistic work, that has been interpreted too often in purely musical terms, disregarding its mimetic and narrative aspects28. A critical use of the ‘learned’ style is coherent with the original ethical-moral attitude of the first modernity, after the turn of the 17th century. In other words, stile antico is bound to be treated ironically as an implicit jibe to the Ancien Régime that, at Haydn’s and Mozart’s time, represented an unjust, obsolete world that was beginning to fall apart. Chapter 1, Sect. 1.4 presented this ‘subversive’ humour as an isotopy, including other symbols of seventeenth-century monarchy, and also as a narrative archetype, where references to the old-school world of Louis XIV and Versailles transform in the course of the work into modern topoi29. Beethoven’s music is often ironic as well, but in it the instances of a serious reference to the ‘learned’ style are more frequent. As we saw in Haydn, stile antico can be a pretext to gain prestige showing off some craft, as in Wellington’s Sieg op. 91 (1813)30. Two sections of the orchestra represent the French and the English armies through marches and folk tunes. After their clashing, just before the Epilogue of the second part representing the English victory, a brief fugato locates the piece, in spite of the enormous popularity it enjoyed back then, in the highbrow sphere, as to dissipate misunderstandings. In some other instances, imitative polyphony seems to symbolize a higher, spiritual world. Beethoven wrote to one of his publishers, Haslinger: “what is difficult is also beautiful, good, great and so forth”31. He had no natural facility at counterpoint: it was a conscious challenge, both for him and for his listeners. As in

27

On dance topoi see further Chap. 7. On the mimetic aspects of Haydn’s and Mozart’s music, see ALLANBROOK 2014. On the ‘rustic’ topos, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3, Exoticism and ‘Folklorism’. 29 About the ‘Changeover’ narrative archetype, see GRIMALT 2018d. 30 For a version (1970) including the score, search [Bongartz] Beethoven: Wellington’s Sieg. The fugato starts at 12:40. 31 SWAFFORD 2014: 711. 28

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Brahms’s, Verdi’s or Hans-Werner Henze’s cases, Beethoven kept his polyphonic exercises until the end of his life. Further into the nineteenth century, stile antico references in Chopin’s, Schumann’s or Brahms’s music appear as some symbol of psychological depth, as a bond with the ancient highbrow tradition, especially to the mythicised work of JS Bach, and as an effort to leave behind the array of contemporary virtuoso musicians, judged shallow and empty32. The fugue with which Giuseppe Verdi closes his last opera, Falstaff (1893), deserves explicit mention. Approaching the age of eighty, Verdi closes his output setting to music the famous reflection by the plump knight: Tutto nel mondo è burla – ‘Life is a burst of laughter’, in Amanda Holder’s translation. To be sure, associating ‘fugue’ with ‘humour’ is a very serious way to be ironic. As it happens in Beethoven’s work, one could say the ‘Learned’ style questions the affirmation of the futility of life by the sheer constructive effort it invests.

4.4

Lutheran-Hymn References: Choral

Music and liturgy belong to the key features of Martin Luther’s church Reformation that led to the split between Protestants and Catholics in the 16th century33. The so-called Kirchenlied (‘Church song’), based on paraliturgical former traditions, in German language significantly takes the name that used to designate Gregorian chant: Choral. Many of them are due to Luther’s pen. Since it is this new song, or hymn, that takes the place of the older chant in Protestant services, it is only logical that it adopts its name as well34. Luther found in the hymn a tone appropriate to liturgy and at the same time accessible to the churchgoers. Sometimes he even adapted to a German text some Gregorian melody, as in Christ lag in Todes Banden, based on the Easter sequence Victimæ Paschali Laudes. Luther’s mastery of the language –he is considered one of the fathers of modern German– contributed greatly to the success of his invention35. As famous as Luther’s are Paul Gerhardt’s poems, as they were already in the 17th century. Among them stand out O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden (‘O Sacred Head, Now Wounded’), Wie soll ich dich empfangen (‘Ah! Lord, how shall I meet Thee’), or Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier (‘I stand by your manger here’). The last one takes on a pre-existing melody due to Luther himself. Ex. 4-6 shows one of JS Bach’s settings of this Christmas song. This is the hymn’s first stanza:

32

LEIKIN 2015: 60. This section follows FLOROS II 1977, WILSON-DICKSON 1992, LLUÍS 2002 (Chap. 22), GARBINI 2005, GRIMALT 2011a. 34 See GRIMALT 2011b, Chap. 3. 35 A useful collection of Luther’s Choräle can be found at http://www.musicanet.org/robokopp/ luther.html. Accessed February 2019. 33

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1. Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier, O Jesu, du mein Leben; Ich komme, bring und schenke dir, Was du mir hast gegeben. Nimm hin, es ist mein Geist und Sinn, Herz, Seel und Mut, nimm alles hin Und laß dir’s wohlgefallen.

Beside thy manger here I stand Dear Jesus, Lord and Saviour, A gift of love within my hand To thank Thee for Thy favour. O take my humble offering, My heart, my soul, yes, everything Is Thine to keep forever36.

Ex. n. 4-6 Luther/Gerhardt/Bach, Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier37.

Most Lutheran hymns are strophic poems, meant to draw one to reflect on the Holy Scriptures. The use of hymns soon goes beyond the liturgical sphere and finds a new place in devotional practice in the home, helped by their engaging simplicity. Each stanza tends to present two short equal stretches and one in contrast to finish: aab. This structure is known as German bar form, frequent in medieval lyrics of Germanic Minnesänger. In parallel to the creation of new hymns a tradition of Choral Preludes began to establish itself, i.e. organ introductions to set the tone and remind one of the hymn’s melody, just before singing it. Most hymns or Choräle that are still in use today have been set by JS Bach. A considerable part of his organ production is related to them, and his cantatas are often based on their melodies or contain his famous four-part settings. This is pre-modern, functional art, closer to a craft than to our individualistic, self-expression-centred conception of artistic creation. Acquaintance with it presupposes a basic knowledge about the liturgic year for which they were conceived.

36 37

Translation by William Martin Czamanske (1873–1964). Accessed online January 2019. Please search for Johann Sebastian Bach - Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier (BWV 469).

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The Orgelbüchlein BWV 599–644, e.g., can be heard as musical comments around the theological contents of each of the hymns. The preludes it contains are grouped around the great landmarks of the liturgic year: Advent, Christmas, New Year, etc. One essential point in the Protestant Reformation is to encourage a direct relationship between the believer and God through the Word. According to the Evangelic theologian Martin Dibelius (1883–1947), a proper reading of the Bible goes through three moments: reading (Lesung), contemplation or meditation (Betrachtung) and prayer (Gebet)38. What Bach offers here is a musical commentary, thanks to the rhetorical power of new instrumental music, inviting one to meditate on the theological content of every hymn. This is the modern part of the work. On the other hand, most of the symbols used in these Preludes are for the composer’s private use and are not meant to be recognised by the listeners39. Beyond these adaptations by JS Bach, meant as services to the Church, even if we see in them an aesthetic transcendence, Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy’s Symphonie-Cantate nach Worten der Heiligen Schrift deserves mention. Also known as Lobgesang (‘Praise Canticle’) op. 52 (1840), it opens with three symphonic, instrumental movements and closes with a cantata on the Holy Scriptures divided into eight sections. The texts stem mainly from the book of Psalms, but the hymn Nun danket alle Gott by Martin Rinckart and Johann Crüger, as a modern version of old praise canticles, is also profusely used: see ex. 4-7.

Ex. n. 4-7 Crüger /Rinckart, Nun danket alle Gott40.

38

Quoted by DÜRR 1988: 107, who sees therein a direct link to the three main elements in JS Bach’s Passions, namely (1) the Evangelist’s recitatives, (2) the arias, and (3) the hymns or Choräle. 39 More about pre-modern musical aesthetics in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.3, Baroque Musica Poetica. 40 For a version of the hymn on a Silbermann organ, including comments and variations right after the hymn, search for Silbermann Organ Zöblitz - 10/10 Nun danket alle Gott.

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Mendelssohn wrote also a Reformationssymphonie op. 107 (1830), where the devices of quotation and elaboration of liturgical material in a modern context will be an example for many later works. Its introduction, Andante, presents two contrasting elements: on the one hand, an imitative counterpoint in stile antico that crystallises in the so-called Dresden Amen: see ex. 4-8a. It sounds as if the final motif were organically born in real time from an initial cell. The Dresden Amen is a choral, liturgical response. Johann G. Naumann (1741–1801) composed it for the Dresden royal court, from which it spread all over Germany along the 19th century. R. Wagner also uses it abundantly in his Parsifal (1882)41.

Ex. n. 4-8a Mendelssohn, Reformationssymphonie I, mm. 33–3542.

Ex. n. 4-8b Mendelssohn, Reformationssymphonie I, mm. 5–1143.

41 Besides Parsifal, Wagner used the Dresdner Amen also in Das Liebesverbot, one of his early operas (1834), and in the 3rd act of Tannhäuser (1845). Wagner was personally close to the city and church of Dresden since childhood. Other instances of the Dresdner Amen are found in the Adagio of Bruckner’s 9th symphony, and in two symphonic passages by Mahler: in a modified version, in his 1st Symphony Finale (number 33, “false recapitulation”) and in the 2nd Symphony’s Finale. See GRIMALT 2012, Chaps. 4 and 5. 42 For a live version with T. Koopman, search for Mendelssohn, Symphony V (1/3). The Dresdner Amen starts at 2:36. 43 In the aforementioned version, this passage starts at 0:53.

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On the other hand, alternating with the polyphonic seed of the Amen response, the symphony’s introduction presents a reference to the ‘Hymn’ that is highly significative for our purposes. It is a seminal topos that will carry a whole array of similar references without alluding to any definite hymn: see ex. 4-8b. Both motifs –polyphonic and piano, on strings; homophonic and mezzoforte crescendo al fortissimo, on winds– alternate along the whole introduction, to reappear later, in the Allegro con fuoco that follows the Andante. Even more interesting are instances of a ‘Hymn’ reference in instrumental music, without any explicit programme. A first example is the secondary theme of Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata op. 53 (1804), first movement: see ex. 4-9.

Ex. n. 4-9 Beethoven, Sonata op. 53/I: mm. 35ff

44

.

In spite of the absence of any religious context, the homophonic texture, the Alla breve metre, the melody’s vocal character and short range and the simplicity of both rhythm and harmony point to the topos of the ‘Hymn’45. Already Arnold SCHÖNBERG qualified this passage as choralartig (‘in the fashion of a Choral’), besides many other examples by Beethoven46. Nineteenth-century music incorporates this topos into a secular terrain, far away from any liturgy, and closer to the Pastoral. In the new context, the ‘Hymn’ topos retains some of its ‘sacred’ original meaning. The Pastoral was the obvious choice if a sacred, secular reference was needed. See e.g. Norma’s presentation aria Casta diva, in Vincenzo Bellini’s Norma (1831): thematically heathen-religious, musically using ‘Pastoral’ instead of liturgic references. The situation in the Waldstein Sonata is quite the opposite situation, and it will have a rich continuation.

44

In a version with C. Arrau live (Bonn 1977), the secondary theme starts at 1:34. Search for Claudio Arrau Beethoven “Waldstein” (Full). 45 See more about the Waldstein Sonata in GRABÓCZ 1999: 109–136, ROSEN 2002: 180ff. 46 SCHÖNBERG 1967. In R. Kolisch’s edition (1979), p. 37.

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Ex. n. 4-10 Brahms, Symphony n. 1/I, mm. 231-23647.

Johannes Brahms often has recourse to the Choral topos in his symphonic output. In the first movement of his first Symphony (1876), two instances are reminiscent of the Lutheran hymn. The first one (see ex. 4-10) appears in the development. The homophonic texture, in contrast to the preceding imitative polyphony, and the major perfect chords with bass-fundamental sound like a reference to the ‘Hymn’. Johannes Kalbeck related this passage to a concrete hymn, although it could be a coincidence, for the melodic sequence has no strong profile48. It rather seems to be a generic allusion to the ‘hymn’ topos, with a connotation combining the spiritual and the epic. Significantly, woodwinds and horns are issuing paramilitary ‘Calls’. The combination between ‘Military’ and ‘Sacred’ references is an emblem of Brahms’s music that suits his nationalistic thought. It could be called the ‘Patriotic Spiritual Hymn’, or a ‘Hymnic March’49. Brahms’s ‘Hymnic March’ might be genealogically related to what Warren KIRKENDALE termed ‘Tower Music’, meaning the Germanic medieval tradition of playing popular religious songs from the city towers, in settings for brass ensembles, especially sackbuts or trombones. The tradition would have reached, according to Kirkendale, up to Beethoven’s time, who wrote three of them, in ‘Choral’ texture, for a tower master in Linz. Kirkendale’s example of a topical use of the ‘Tower Music’ is the beginning of the Sanctus, in Beethoven’s Missa solemnis50. If ‘Tower Music’ is genealogically related to Brahms’s ‘Hymnic March’, it would help to explain its double nature, paramilitary and religious, and its ubiquity in Germanic music of the 19th century, up to Wagner, Bruckner and Mahler.

47

For a live recording (Edinburgh 1962) with C.M. Giulini, search for Brahms - Symphony no 1 Philharmonia /Giulini live. This passage starts at 7:13. 48 Kalbeck 1912, quoted by SCHUBERT 1981: 228. 49 For the concept of Emblem, see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.4.2. 50 KIRKENDALE 1970: 686f. Please search for Beethoven - SANCTUS from the Missa Solemnis Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra - Nikolaus Harnoncourt.

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Ex. n. 4-11 Brahms, Symphony n. 1/iv, mm. 47-5051.

A second instance of the ‘Hymnic March’ is the introduction to the Finale of the same symphony: see ex. 4-11. Again, trombones, bassoons, horns and timpani, the dotted rhythm, homophony and consonance, a ‘firm’ design and a vaguely modal, ‘archaic’ harmony point to this trope. This ‘Hymnic March’ as part of a ‘Chivalric’ topos is emblematic of German romantic music, and in particular of Brahms’s music52. The same passage comes back at the movement’s closure, mm. 407–416 (at 45:23), forte tutti, in an overtly joyful, triumphal character. Brahms never revealed his own interpretation of his instrumental music, but in spite of his explicit distance to the Neudeutschen, there are plenty of hints that he thought in expressive terms, linking motifs and meanings. There he could rely on a tradition that he knew well53. The overall design of his 1st Symphony is Per aspera ad astra (‘Through hardships to the stars’), one of the most frequent narrative designs in 19th-century instrumental music. The initial, sombre C minor transforming into the triumphal closing C major reminds the listener of a similar process in Beethoven’s Fifth. Closer to the genealogical, liturgical origin of the ‘Hymn’ topos is the Andante religioso in Franz Liszt’s symphonic poem Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne (‘What one hears on the mountain’). Based on a poem by Victor Hugo with the same title (1831), Liszt wrote the definitive version in 1854. The whole piece lends itself to topical analysis. In m. 9 after P, following many tensions, ‘storms’ and dissonances, the passage in ex. n. 4-12 is heard on trombones and tuba. Besides the instrumentation, this ‘Hymn’ presents irregular phrasing and harmony, but a firm periodic structure (antecedent, consequent). Subsequent versions of the passage on woodwinds and strings present ‘subjective’ variants of the same idea. Interestingly, the ‘Hymn’ reference was added only to the last version of the work. Constantin FLOROS

51 52 53

In the aforementioned version, this passage occurs at 33:11. Its reprise, forte tutti, at 46:10. More about the ‘Chivalric’ topos in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4 See FLOROS 1997, SWAFFORD 1997.

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Ex. n. 4-12 Liszt, Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne, Andante religioso54.

interprets this passage as a symbol of ‘religion’55. In Liszt’s programmatic explanation, the overcoming of the opposition between nature and mankind raised by Hugo’s poem lies in prayer and faith. Not quoting any Gregorian melody or definite Lutheran hymn, but only a stylized topos, where only the flavour remains, is the same strategy we saw Mendelssohn using in ex. 4-8b. Bruckner and Mahler will continue this practice. Remarkably, composers from a Catholic environment find their preferent signifier for ‘Spirituality’ in the topical, generic reference to the Protestant ‘Hymn’. Finally, Gustav Mahler’s paradigmatic example of the ‘Hymn’ reference might be his song Urlicht (‘Primal Light’), later included as the fourth movement of his Second symphony (1894). His own indication on the score reads ‘Very solemn, but plain. Like a Choral’: see ex. 4-13.

Ex. n. 4-13 Mahler, Symphony n. 2/IV: Urlicht, beginning56.

54

Please search for Liszt: Ce Qu’on Entend Sur La Montagne (Berg-Symphonie), Leipzig Gewandhaus, Kurt Masur. The ‘Hymn’ reference starts at 13:38. 55 FLOROS Mahler II 1977: 120. 56 For a historical recording with Dame J. Baker and L. Bernstein, search for Mahler: Symphony No. 2: Mov. 4.

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These are the typical markers of the ‘Hymn’ topos: • A steady, calm rhythm in quarter and half notes on an Alla breve metre; • A plain, diatonic, vocal melody in mostly conjunct motion and occasional use of ‘archaic’ modality; • Consonant harmony, with a predominance of chords in root position; • A homophonic texture, • Instrumentation in families, especially brass; • A firm structure, with clean-cut phrases, often including a period (antecedent + consequent); • Mostly original melodies, rather than quoting real hymns.

4.5

References to Bells. The Macabre Tam Tam

Bells have been traditionally used to mark the time of day and to summon to church, with a code that allowed one to tell whether it was a common or solemn mass, a christening or a funeral, and so forth. The tradition that links bells to religion and to death is age-old, in cultures all around the world. This goes for large bells in church bell towers. At the other end of the spectrum, jingle bells signal merrymaking in a secular context. The book of Exodus, in the Torah and in the Old Testament, has one of the oldest instances of the use of bells in religious service57. The reference seems to involve little (jingle) bells that were attached to the priest’s robes. Later in medieval Europe, jingle bells became one of the distinctive signs of jesters. Used topically in concert music, the large ‘Bell’ reference does not always imply a ‘temple’. The ‘Bell’ topos enlarges its symbolic meaning into a broad semantic field related to transcendence. In his Traité d’instrumentation, Hector BERLIOZ interprets an expressive meaning in each one of the two kinds of bells, small and large: [Bells] have been added to instrumentation for dramatic effect, rather than musical. The deep bells’ timbre suits only solemn, pathetic scenes; that of higher pitch bells instead awakens more serene impressions; they have something rustic and naive that makes them above all suitable to religious scenes in rural life58.

And he adduces a beautiful, nocturnal example by Rossini (Guglielmo Tell, 2nd act) for the high bell and an ominous one by Meyerbeer with the deep bell (Les Huguenots, 4th act). In the latter, the bell seems to have a macabre ring, even if Berlioz does not make the ‘death’ allusion explicit. One of the main characters, Raoul, reacts to the bell thus: Entends-tu ces sons funèbres? (‘Do you hear those funereal sounds?’)59.

57

Exodus 28: 33–34. BERLIOZ, Traité 1855: 268. 59 For a complete version of the opera (Sydney 1990), search for Les Huguenots - Meyerbeer (English subtitles). The passage with the deep bell starts at 2 h 27’. Berlioz omits stating that its tolling serves dramaturgically as a signal to start the planned massacre of the Huguenots. 58

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Death is arguably the most important musical topic within transcendence and religion. Berlioz himself adds bells with a macabre meaning in the finale of his Symphonie fantastique (1830), Songe d’une nuit du Sabbat (‘Dream of a witches’ Sabbath’), just before parodying the Dies iræ (see supra ex. 4-2). Constantin FLOROS, looking for univocal symbolisms, identifies the Bell reference with ‘Death’, ‘Night’ and, in Mahler’s music, with ‘Eternity’. He also adduces two Liszt examples of a bell reference that are unmistakably funereal, already in the title: the symphonic poem Héroïde funèbre (1849, rev. 1854), in memory of the victims of the 1830 and 1848 revolutions60; and Triomphe funèbre du Tasse (1866), included in Trois odes funèbres S. 112. Also in Funerailles, n. 7 of the Harmonies poétiques et religieuses for piano S. 173 (1847), bells have a funereal meaning61. In many transcendental passages in Gustav Mahler’s output bells, the ‘hymn’, the brass ensemble or stile antico mark the moment as ‘religious’. Bells appear in six of his symphonies, with varying meaning. In the Sixth and the Seventh, bells seem closer to the ‘pastoral’ than to the ‘religious’, especially when combined with cowbells, as in the Seventh Finale. The composer himself attested to the Second, the Third and the Eighth symphonies as belonging to the religious area. When in the Finale of the Third, for instance, references to the texture and the character of the Lutheran ‘hymn’ appear, oftentimes with the sound of trombones, trumpets and horns, the composer’s attestation is confirmed. Mahler sometimes innovates and transforms European traditions, but he mostly continues them. As for jingle bells, the paradigmatic example is the start of his Fourth Symphony (1900), of which Adorno sagaciously wrote: The bells in the first measure that very softly tinge the eighth notes in the flute have always shocked the normal listener, who feels he is being played for a fool. They really are fool’s bells, which, without saying it, say: none of what you now hear is true62.

The Macabre Tam Tam At the other extreme of the jingle bells another idiophone, the tam tam or giant gong, is often used as a symbol of ‘death’ or ‘horror’. It could be seen as a worldly, modern version of the bell reference. Whereas the ‘bell’ as a functional sign still keeps a direct link to the traditional world, the tam tam belongs to the autonomous domain of orchestral late romantic music, without a functional correlate in Western culture. The macabre tam tam is also closely linked to the early modern theatrical topos of Ombra: see further Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.3. They are both associated with terrifying, often macabre scenes. Hector BERLIOZ described the tam tam sound thus:

60 For a version with K. Masur, search for Franz Liszt - Héroïde funèbre (Symphonic Poem No. 8), S. 102. 61 FLOROS Mahler I: 196, Mahler II: 429. For a semiotic analysis of Liszt’s piano music, see GRABÓCZ 1996. 62 ADORNO 1992 (1960): 56f.

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The tam tam or gong is used only in funereal compositions and in dramatic scenes where horror is taken to its utmost. Its vibrations, mixed in forte to some shrill chords in the brass section (trumpets, trombones) make quiver the audience; tam tam pianissimo strokes, more or less on their own, are no less scary, due to their macabre resonance. Mr. Meyerbeer has proven this in his magnificent Robert scene [from the opera Robert le diable, 1831], The nuns’ resurrection63.

The tam tam in Mahler’s Fourth symphony Finale (1900) is one of the signs that its ‘cradle song’, apparently seraphic, is in fact directed to a defunct child64. In Franz Liszt’s so-called Graner Festmesse (1855), the tam tam strikes every time ‘death’ is referred to. As for Richard Strauss, he uses this instrument to represent, in Death and Transfiguration op. 24 (1899), the very moment the artist’s soul departs from his body, i.e. the instant where death yields to the ‘transfiguration’ to which the work’s title alludes65. Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique (1893) presents a tam tam strike just before a funereal ‘Choral’ is intonated, in mm. 137–146 of its Finale66. Finally, in Arnold Schönberg’s symphonic poem Pelleas und Melisande op. 5 (1903), the tam tam appears on two occasions only: in an underground cave, where the characters feel “the breath of death” (Sehr langsam, number 30), and two bars before number 49, where Pelleas’s murder by Golo is represented musically67. It seems “this exotic instrument was used for the first time in European art music” in François-Joseph Gossec’s Marche Funèbre, premiered at the funeral of the Count of Mirabeau, aristocrat and revolutionary, who died in 179168. Rather than a univocal sign of ‘Death’, the tam tam reference works as an index of some scenic “extreme horror”, in Berlioz’s expression. A typical case in musical signification: the reference is broader, more indirect, and thus more able of suggestion than words. There is also a lighter version of tam tam – the suspended cymbal, struck with soft stick. That is the case in Mahler’s shocking song Das irdische Leben (‘Earthly Life’, 1892), where the composer keeps that sound for its very last note. The procedure suggests the sinister character of the story, culminating with the child’s death69. A suspended cymbal seems to replace a tam tam also to let the audience know the precise moment where, in spite of the supreme efforts of her friends, Mimì succumbs, 63

BERLIOZ Traité 1855: 280. GRIMALT 2012: 170. For a wonderful version of Mahler’s Fourth with C. Abbado and M. Kožená (Lucern 2009), search for Mahler - Symphony No 4 – Abbado. 65 Death and Transfiguration is analysed in GRIMALT 2014. 66 For a memorable version with C. Abbado (Lucern 2010) search for Claudio Abbado Tchaïkovsky - Symphonie n°6 “Pathétique” - Intégral. The tam tam stroke in the Finale happens at 44:57. 67 These are Constantin FLOROS’s examples, who studies the symbolic use of the tam tam thoroughly in Mahler II, 1987: 311–317, 428. For a version of Schönberg’s Pelleas divided into 6 videos, including subtitles with the main meanings in the symphonic poem according to Maeterlinck’s text, search for Schoenberg, Pelleas und Melisande, Abbado, GMJO 1. 68 FLOROS Mahler II 1987: 312. 69 For a version with subtitles, B. Fassbaender and H. Zender (1979), you can search for Mahler: “Des Knaben Wunderhorn” Pt 8-11 Fassbaender, Fischer-Dieskau. 64

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in Puccini’s La bohème (1895)70. In Mahler’s Seventh symphony (1904/05), on the other hand, the last sighs of the first Nocturne present the tam tam and its surrogate, first together and then just the suspended cymbal, pianissimo71. This macabre nuance prefigures the third movement, Scherzo, that questions the amiable character of both Nocturnes and functions as the central axis of the whole symphony72. In Alfred Schnittke’s Requiem (1972/77), percussion in general and bells and tam tam in particular have a predominant role. The work’s history confers symbolic meaning to both idiophones. It is a Requiem disguised as incidental music, as a trick on the Soviet prohibition of any liturgical music. The commission had been to compose some incidental music to accompany a theatre production of Schiller’s Don Carlos, set in 16thcentury Spain. That setting was the excuse Schnittke used to write a funeral mass to his mother, deceased in 1972, using some references to the Catholic Mass for the Dead. Interestingly, bells and tam tam appear in the work with an opposite expressive meaning. In the first number, Requiem, bells ring out an invitation and summon the human gathering, as an Introitus. In the second, Kyrie, the tam tam appears to be associated with violence and disintegration. The whole Kyrie, dissonant, unstable, dehumanised, effuses the fear of death and its violent, menacing aspects. The Introit instead breathes confidence and comfort. Leaving aside the liturgical norm, the end of the work revisits this initial number and its bells, to close it in a hopeful, conciliatory tone73.

4.6

Secular in the Sacred, and Vice Versa

One of the main threads in the music of the 18th and 19th centuries is the quest for a worldly sacred space. In art practice, this gives place to a careful synthesis between pagan and religious traditions. In Mozart’s Magic Flute (1791), Haydn’s Creation (1796/98) or Beethoven’s Ninth symphony (1824), this new territory is explored74. The category of the Sublime, frequented by German literature since the last third of the 18th century, offered some fertile ground75. It is the great aesthetic ambition of the Viennese Classics to offer an Enlightened, modern alternative to sacred polyphony. Assimilating its procedures, they propose themselves as the heirs of a

70 For Mimì’s last seconds of life search for Roberto Alagna & Leontina Vaduva La Boheme “Sono Andati” La morte di Mimi (Paris 1995). The moment of death, marked by this tam tam surrogate and by a minor chord, happens at 8:00. It is also oddly marked on the autograph score with a skull and two tibias, the emblem of the ‘pirate’ flag. 71 Please search for Claudio Abbado Mahler Symphony 7 (Lucern 2001). The tam tam and suspended cymbal at the end of Nachtmusik I occur at 35:19. 72 GRIMALT 2012: Chap. 11. 73 On Schnittke, see RESTAGNO 1993, IVASHKIN 1996, SCHNITTKE 2002. For a version of Schnittke’s Requiem including the score, search for Schnittke - Requiem 1 - Requiem aeternam. 74 For Die Zauberflöte see ASSMANN 2005/2006; for Die Schöpfung, TEMPERLEY 1991 and GRIMALT 2011a; for Beethoven’s Ninth, BUCH 1999/2001. 75 On the Sublime, see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2, MCCLELLAND 2012: 227 and MONELLE 2010.

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transcendental art, but now not under religious premises, but humanist ones. The sacred signification art music acquires at the turn of the 19th century will endure until the avantgardes of the 20th. In Raymond MONELLE’s words: Concert music claims transcendent value, that could serve as a definition of what “art” or “classical” music is, in opposition to popular, functional, or pre-modern music76. The strategic position this new “art” music takes, poised between sacred and secular traditions, is preceded by many cases where sacred music uses secular topoi, and vice versa. Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643) had already integrated, in his Vespro della beata Vergine (1610), a good part of the operatic, profane vocabulary77. In Nigra sum, e.g., the expressive resources are more proper of amorous lyric than of the motet. The text from the Song of Songs in the Old Testament set the ground for this. The passionate eroticism of the book’s dialogues has been traditionally interpreted as a metaphor of the love between God and the faithful, or between the Church and God78. In his well-known cantata Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (‘Awake, calls the voice to us’) BWV 140/IV (1731), JS Bach combines the ‘Bourrée’ reference with the Lutheran hymn that dominates the whole work. According to 18th-century theorists, Bourrées “do not expose the depths of a composer’s soul, but they do express genuine, aristocratic joie de vivre”79. Its combination with the liturgical hymn takes on a specific, unused signification: see ex. 4-14.

Ex. n. 4-14 JS Bach, Cantata 140/IV, mm. 13-1580.

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MONELLE 2010: 29. On Monteverdi’s Vespers, see WHENHAN 1997 and GRIMALT 2007a, Chap. 5. 78 Search for Monteverdi - Vespers, “Vespro della Beata Vergine” | John Eliot Gardiner, Palace of Versailles. At 13:13 Nigra sum starts. On this motet see supra ex. 2-13 in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.3. About the Song of Songs see GRIMALT 2007a, Chap. 2. 79 LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 35, 215. See also Chap. 7 Dance References further in this book. 80 For a version with N. Harnoncourt search for Bach - Cantata 140: Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme, BWV 140 (1731). 77

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JS Bach’s third Christmas Cantata BWV 248 (1734/35), for instance, starts with the chorus Herrscher des Himmels, erhöre das Lallen (‘Ruler of Heaven, hear the murmur’). Its main gestural reference is the Passepied, that fast variant of the minuet that expresses, according to Mattheson, frivolity, playful flirtatiousness, fickleness, femaleness81. Here, the ‘Passepied’ reference stands for the joy of those who, according to the text, wish to “exalt God with psalms” to celebrate their salvation. Originally, however, the meaning of this music was even more precise: the work is a “parody” –a recycling, if you wish– of another chorus, Tönet, ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten! (‘Sound, you drums! Ring forth, trumpets!’). It belongs to the worldly cantata with the same title, BWV 214, dedicated to the Princess of Saxony and Queen of Poland, as a birthday present in 1733, shortly before the composition of the Christmas Oratorio82. There, the Passepied reference was even more suitable. There are indeed plenty of dance references in religious settings. In its long, rich history, sacred music can be heard as a two-way trip meandering between the language that was considered properly ‘sacred’ at the time and its opposite, regarded as incompatible. Viewed retrospectively, they are not incompatible. On the contrary, they have enriched each other since very early modernity, at least from the turn of the seventeenth century on. The Church has striven hard to defend a sacred music distinct from the secular, lest it could not serve its very purpose. History, however, has continually questioned these legitimate yet fragile borders. Seen the other way round, some moments in secular genres evoke a spiritual or transcendent area. In Wolfgang A. Mozart, this might have a relationship with the ideology of the earliest Freemasonry, to which he belonged. The first Masons imagined a synthesis between religious traditions and new enlightened ideas. In Mozart’s work, entering the Mason lodge Zur Wohltätigkeit (‘To Beneficence’) means a certain shift and some new elements in his expressive palette83. Not only the extant explicitly Mason music, probably written for commission on occasions, bear these traces. Also, in some works with no apparent link to the lodge, these references seem to have their impress on them. The Magic Flute (1791) is surely the most obvious example, because Schikaneder’s libretto, another Mason, integrates in it Freemason symbology. Yet Mozart seems to search for interstices between sacred and secular in many other

81

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 340 (229). See also LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 85, 234-236. For more examples of JS Bach using dances in religious contexts, see STEGLICH 1962. 82 To compare both cantatas, search J.S. Bach: “Tönet, ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten!” Cantata, BWV 214 - 1. “Tönet, ihr Pauken!” for the original, secular one with G. Leonhardt; respectively BWV 248 - Christmas Oratorio - Part 3 of 6 (Scrolling) for a version with the score and J.E. Gardiner. 83 Cf. BRAUNBEHRENS 1986, Mozart in Wien.

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instances. In Così fan tutte K. 588 (1790), love and friendship find themselves caught between playfulness and seriousness, which allows for a lot of ambiguous situations. Starting with the subtitle dramma giocoso, the opera tends overtly to the buffa, but the crudeness of some moments, as happened with the other two operas of the Da Ponte-trilogy, questions the genre’s borders. The dramaturgic situation is utterly transcended by the music in the tercet Soave sia il vento, for example, in the first act of Così fan tutte. Dorabella and Fiordiligi say farewell to the boat that takes their fiancés away, believing the boys are going to war. The deception is a game devised to test the ladies’ fidelity, and it will have devastating consequences for all the relationships that looked sound at the start of the show. Until this 6th scene, the music stuck to the buffa, galant style: simple melodies and harmonies upon dance rhythms, with a humorous tone. This tercet instead seems to question the joke about the girls’ loyalty for the first time. Afterwards, the arias of Dorabella and Fiordiligi are parodies of tragic, opera seria in ‘pathetic’ style84. The tercet’s text amounts to a pagan prayer to the elements and to Nature: Soave sia il vento, Tranquilla sia l’onda. Ed ogni elemento Benigno risponda Ai nostri desir.

Fair be the breeze And calm the waves. And may all elements Kindly answer To our wishes.

This is no more fun. The “wishes” the ladies mention, now the listener feels, will embark all lovers and friends to uncharted territory. The ‘Circulatio’ on muted violins, an ironic descriptive allusion to the ‘breeze’ and the ‘waves’, sounds gently disquieting85. The metre suggests the serene pace of the ‘Hymn’, related both to the motet’s Alla breve and to what Wye J. ALLANBROOK calls the ‘exalted march’86. Dampers and pizzicato seem to point to the ‘amoroso’ and to the ‘nocturne’ topoi, described for Mozart’s music by FLOROS and by ALLANBROOK87. Moreover, the far-away key with four sharps could be interpreted as a ‘darkened’ F-flat, F major being the obvious option for a pastoral-tinged ‘hymn’, maybe as a sign of the untruth of the situation: see ex. 4-1588.

For the ‘Pathetic’ style see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3. More about the rhetorical figure of the Circulatio in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.6. 86 For the ‘Hymn’ reference and its genealogical link to the ‘Martial’ semantic field, see earlier Sect. 4.4 and Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.1 Chivalric Style. For the ‘Exalted march’, cf. ALLANBROOK 1983: 19–22. 87 ALLANBROOK 1983: 346 n. 2. FLOROS 2000: 134-202 (German ed.). Both the ‘Nocturne’ and the ‘Amoroso’ topoi belong to the semantic field of ‘Lyricism’: see further Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. 88 About flat-darkened keys as a symbol for ‘nocturnality’ see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.3.2, The world of flats. 84 85

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Ex. n. 4-15 Mozart, Così fan tutte I: Soave sia il vento, beginning89.

The long-held fifth on violas, disguised as an Intonatio to give the tone to the singers, is a decisive contribution to the sheer fascination of the short instrumental introduction. Many Masonic hymns by Mozart fuse in an equal way lyricism and For a version with I. Fischer (Glyndebourne 2006) search for Così fan tutte: ‘Soave sia il vento’ – Mozart. 89

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sacredness, on an Alla breve solemn metre, Andante or Adagio, including clarinets and Bassethörner. The texture, character and metre of Soave sia il vento bring to mind the Notturni for two sopranos and bass, especially Se lontan, ben mio, tu sei (‘If you are far away’) K. 438 in E-flat major, and Più non si trovano (‘Amongst a thousand lovers’) K. 549, due to similar voice leading: see ex. 4-16. Thematically, both songs address precisely fidelity and parting.

Ex. n. 4-16 Mozart, Nocturne Più non si trovano, beginning90.

Back to Soave sia il vento, in mm. 20–21, as the piece seemed to come to an end, a deceptive cadence on m. 22 presents a diminished seventh, symbol of utmost dramatic tension in opera seria, and of puzzlement, in the nineteenth century about to begin. The unexpected dissonance falls on the first instance of the word desir (‘wishes’), as to indicate their uncertain, dangerous nature, and also the ill omen that the three characters sense, at this moment of parting. A second attempt at a cadence is equally frustrated, in m. 25. *** In Western musical culture a distinction can be made between sacred music proper and its derivations. Among the former, Gregorian chant needs to be listed first. In its 19th-century interpretation, deprived of a pulse, it epitomizes a bodiless music that represents ‘spiritualization’ in many secular, theatrical instances. Second, the Hymn, marked by a homophonic texture and melodic-harmonic simplicity, has a large presence in art music, sometimes with a religious meaning, often also in its secular variant, to invest elements that lie outside of the liturgical sphere with sacredness. The best example of that shift is the ‘Hymnic March’. It has been used with patriotic purposes, but there is also a spiritual derivation of it, as in Brahms’s output. Third, imitative polyphony represents the highest possible musical sophistication. This makes this severe procedure apt for God’s praise, especially in the Catholic church, but also to represent human perversity, as was

90

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shown in Sect. 4.3. From the seventeenth century on, imitative counterpoint is perceived and designed as stile antico, connoting archaism and prestige, and being progressively relegated to liturgy and academy. Finally, two idiophones—bells and tam tam—have been shown to retain some of their paraliturgical meaning, in theatrical and, later, symphonic contexts.

Chapter 5

Martial References

I know that this work will be imperfect, for I have but little skill, particularly in the warlike genus, because it is new and omne principium est debile. I therefore pray the benevolent reader to accept my good will, which will await from his learned pen a greater perfection in the said style, because inventis facile est addere. CLAUDIO MONTEVERDI1

In our semiotic square, the ‘Martial’ semantic field belongs to the categories of the ‘Bodily’ and the ‘Authority’2. Its presence in art music is enormous, hence the dimensions of this chapter. The present general rebuke for the military, at least among musicians, explains why it takes such an effort to understand this in a historical perspective. To evaluate the expressive meaning of ‘March’ references in Mozart’s or Beethoven’s music an awareness about the overwhelming presence of the military in social life of the time becomes necessary. It is also useful to remember that the genre of the symphony originates in the aristocratic court, and thus remains genealogically very close to the ‘Martial’. From the Middle Ages up to the twentieth century, in most countries the best way to become a nobleman was to distinguish oneself as a military leader and expect that reward from your king. The chapter therefore starts with the topos of the “French Overture” or ‘Entrée’, to which Louis XIV and his grand courtiers would make their solemn, public appearance. In retrospect, however, a critical stance towards a musically represented ‘military’ is clearly predominant in modern times. The main markers of the ‘Martial’ semantic field are dotted rhythms, Stile concitato (Sect. 5.1.2), and rhythms such as the anapaest (Sect. 5.1.3). Also represented ‘Calls’ and ‘Fanfares’ play a prominent role, not only within ‘March’ references proper, but also in autonomous contexts (Sect. 5.2). The parody of the Military is tackled in Sect. 5.3. Enlightened, emancipatory ideas push the Viennese so-called “Classics” to an ambiguous stance regarding the supreme powers of the

‘It is easy to add to things already invented’. Prologue to the Madrigali guerrieri ed amorosi (Venice, 1638), quoted in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 53. 2 See Chap. 3 Sect. 3.5. 1

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_5

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time, Church and State. Martial music is the clearest symbol of the latter, and it is therefore a favourite target of their irony. Next, three different Romantic variants of the ‘Martial’ topos are studied in Sect. 5.4: the ‘Hymnic March’ as the main topos of a ‘Chivalric Style’ is a trope combining ‘Hymn’ and ‘Martial’ references. The ‘Grotesque March’ is a strong reference in Mahler’s output, and Dysphoric and Elegiac marches feature in, among many others, Schubert’s expressive vocabulary. The ‘Dysphoric March’ is a paradox formula to describe the feeling of the defeated, or one who has to go on without wishing to. Finally, references to ‘Hunting’ and to the ‘Gallop’ are addressed in Sect. 5.5. Although Raymond MONELLE (2006) studied the Hunt as a separate “topic”, we decided to include it here as a variant of the ‘Martial’, due to their contiguity both in real life and its musical representation. The dysphoric variant of the ‘Hunt’ in the 19th century deserves special attention, that ‘Cursed Gallop’ that became predominant in Brahms’s music. It has an important presence in Romantic repertoire.

5.1 5.1.1

Martial Rhythms ‘Entrée’: French Overture

The march as a functional genre can still be heard today occasionally, but for the people of the 18th and 19th centuries it had a continuous presence in everyday life that we can only try to imagine. However, the first ‘Martial’ references in Classic music derive from a peculiar kind of solemn march, the ‘Entrée’ to which King Louis XIV and his followers would present themselves in court. This topos has been called also ‘French Overture’ already by Leonard RATNER, who describes both as separate references, including genealogic, expressive and even practical performance aspects: The march had both dance and ceremonial meaning in the 18th century. As an entrée, it served to open ballet performances, ceremonies, and stage presentations. […] Its natural habitats were the parade ground and battlefield, where its moderately quick duple meter, dotted rhythms, and bold manner quickened the spirit. If the minuet, the queen of 18thcentury dances, symbolized the social life of the elegant world, the march reminded the listener of authority, of the cavalier and the manly virtues ascribed to him3.

Some pages further, Ratner describes The French Overture in these terms: The French overture, a distinctive style of ceremonial music, uses a slow and heavy march tempo with dotted rhythmic figures. In the courts and theatres of France under Louis XIV it accompanied the entrance of the royal spectators and the performers. Later it was adopted throughout Europe as the opening piece for many theatrical performances, for instrumental suites, and for some symphonies, when the occasion called for a serious, elevated tone. To emphasize its air of punctilious ceremony, dotted notes were performed longer than the notation indicated, short notes as briefly as possible4.

3 4

RATNER 1980: 16. Ibidem p. 20.

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The dotted rhythm that is so salient in the French Overture is arguably also the main marker of the ‘Martial’ semantic field altogether. Its origin lies in the practical need to anticipate the tread of marching soldiers: Most of the more complex rhythms which are habitually associated with the march –dotted rhythms, for example, at their most exaggerated in the French overture– are only elaborations of the upbeat impetus preparing for the next tread5.

Due to the association with royalty and aristocracy, dotted rhythms become also a fixture of all genres and styles of the highest aesthetic ambition: tragedy above all. This explains the presence of sharp rhythms in so many dark topoi with no ‘martial’ connotation, especially Ombra6. Original models to both ‘Entrée‘ and the ‘French Overture’ topoi may be the Ouvertures to Jean-Baptiste Lully’s ballets and operas. For instance, the one that opens the comédie-ballet Le bourgeois gentilhomme that Lulli and Molière composed in 1670 for Louis XIV and his court7. JS Bach’s four Orchestral Suites BWV 1066–1069 were named by their author Ouvertüren, because of their first number in French style. Also, his Overture in the French style BWV 831 is actually a dance suite for keyboard, named after its initial movement, that presents the typical sharp rhythms of the ‘French overture’ topos. In this case, the transposition from the original orchestra to the keyboard can be seen already as a first degree of topicalization. GF Handel’s Messiah HWV 56 (1741) starts with a French overture in the same sequence as its original model: slow, ceremonial Entrée with heavy dotted rhythms, then light and spirited fugato8. Raymond MONELLE points to the historical continuity of this topos and offers examples by Schubert – beginning of the 1st Symphony–, Beethoven –beginning of the 9th Symphony–, B. Britten –beginning of War Requiem: Kyrie– and Shostakovich –beginning of the 5th symphony–9. These are all Entrées in its full, etymological sense: they open the works they are heading with a solemnity that points to their greatness, whether in aesthetic ambition or in their sheer dimensions. This matches William E. Caplin’s remark that the ‘French Overture’ topos is coupled with the structural function of ‘starting’, never ‘continuing’ or ‘ending’10. Kofi AGAWU presents the ‘French Overture’ also as a topic, simply remitting to Ratner’s description and examples11.

5

ALLANBROOK 1983: 23. More on Ombra in Chap. 8 Sect. 8.5.3. 7 Please search for LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME - LULLY + MOLIÈRE con testo francese e italiano for a version in original 17th-century diction, dance and music, costume and candle lighting. 8 Please search for Handel /Messiah, HWV 56 (Christie). 9 MONELLE 2000: 30. 10 CAPLIN 2014: 416. 11 AGAWU 2009: 43f. 6

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In Mozart’s symphony in E flat K. 543 (1788), the beginning of the first movement is the example RATNER offers of the ‘French Overture’ topos12: see ex. 5-1.

Ex. n. 5-1: W.A. Mozart, Symphony K. 543/I, beginning131.

Clive MCCLELLAND notes that the majestic origin of the ‘Entrée’ topos makes it suitable for Ombra scenes, thus equating the unlimited power of the Sun King with that of “supernatural forces such as oracles, ghosts, and walking statues”.14 Besides ‘starting solemnly’, using the ‘French Overture’ topos in 18th-century music implied grandness in general, and in particular the sense of ‘historical and learned’, alongside “the trio sonata texture, the oratorio chorus” and the stile antico mentioned in the previous chapter15. This combination of ‘solemn start’, high-brow and archaic can be felt in our example n. 5-1, in an affirmative, luminous sense. In the umbrageous sense adduced by McClelland, Beethoven uses it to represent the ‘Tragic’, e.g. in the Introduction to the first movement of his Sonata Pathétique (1798) op. 13: see ex. 5-2.

Grave

9

4

cresc.

Ex. n. 5-2: Beethoven, Sonata op. 13/I: beginning.

12

RATNER 1980: 20. For a version with N. Harnoncourt search for Mozart - Symphony No. 39 in E flat Major (K. 543) I. Adagio – Allegro 14 MCCLELLAND 2014: 284f. 15 CHAPIN 2014: 307-309. 13

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Stile Concitato: Wrath.

At bottom of the ‘Martial’ semantic field lie human aggressivity and anger. This traditional connection can be felt in Kurt Weill’s The Seven Deadly Sins, a satirical ballet chanté based on a libretto by Bertolt Brecht (1933). The third number, under the title Wrath, presents all the markers of the ‘Martial’ semantic field16. This anthropological-psychological connection goes back to an ancient tradition. Claudio Monteverdi (1567 – 1643) declares in the Prologue to his Madrigali guerrieri ed amorosi (Venice, 1638) his intention to “rediscover” an “excited, agitated” style (concitato) that he does not find “in all the works of former composers”17. He is actually contributing to a large musical topos related to oscillating, menacing natural movements18. Adapting classical traditions and their reception by 15th- and 16th-century Humanism, Monteverdi distinguishes three musical-rhetorical styles in his Prologue and relates them each to a passion of the soul and to three different vocal ranges: see Table n. 5-1.

STYLE

PASSION

Concitato (agitated) Temperato (moderate) Molle (soft)

Wrath Temperance, moderation. Humility or Plea191

VOCAL RANGE High Middle Low

Table n. 5-1: Three styles according to Monteverdi (1638).

To three main human passions, wrath, temperance and humility, three musical styles correspond: concitato (‘agitated’), temperato (‘moderate’) and molle (‘soft, mellow’). The composer relates the first with some saltationi belliche, concitate, i.e. ‘warlike, agitated repetitions’, letting the bow swiftly rebound against the string. For reinforcement, the composer recurs to Plato, where the genere concitato would be “that harmony that would fittingly imitate the utterances and the accents of a brave man who is engaged in warfare20.” And he adds it is a good imitation –a representation– of ‘wrath’.

16 You can search for KURT WEILL/BERTOLD BRECHT - DIE SIEBEN TODSÜNDEN - The Seven Deadly Sins (Part II). 17 Quoted in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 53-55. 18 See Circulatio in Chap. 2 Sect. 2.2.6 and ‘Fire’ in Chap. 2 Sect. 2.2.4, as well as Tempesta in Chap. 8 Sect. 8.5.4 for a complete panoramic view of this topos. 19 About the musical ‘Plea’, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.4, Anabasis. 20 Monteverdi quotes a non-existent Rhetoric by Plato (sic), meaning Republic III, 399a. As for genres and modes, cf. Aristotle, Politics VIII, 1342a, where Plato’s fragment from Republic is quoted.

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In his recurring to ancient Classics, in his explicit prioritizing text over music, Monteverdi shows his great aesthetic ambition: the genre of the madrigal, by then already in decline, should be invested with the highest dignity, into what Cicero would call the genus grande, ‘grand genre’, and should move an audience and ennoble their character. At the start of the seventeenth century, literary and rhetorical models are thus used to build a musical discourse. To be sure: rather than Inventio –what needs to be said– or Dispositio –how the information is disposed–, Monteverdi’s interest lies in Elocutio: the choice of words, the specific way to say things. He also calls it Oratio, performance in front of a listener. The advance of modernity will give a growing role to the communicative, dialoguing aspect of music. Instead of pleasing (piacere, dilettare) with the ideal beauty of stile antico counterpoint, now the art of sound should move (movere) with stories such as Orpheus’s, or that of the shepherd Mirtillo, unhappily in love with “cruel” Amarilli, and with the expression of the emotions these characters feel, including dissonances. That realism is explicit in Monteverdi, who points to la verità dell’arte: ‘truth in art’, ideas that will culminate in the 19th century21. Monteverdi describes his martial rhythms thus: After reflecting that according to all the best philosophers the fast pyrrhic measure [two short or unstressed syllables] was used for lively and warlike dances, and the slow spondaic measure [two long or stressed syllables] for their opposites, I considered the semibreve [long note, equal to four beats], and proposed that a single semibreve should correspond to one spondaic beat; when this was reduced to sixteen semiquavers, struck one after the other, and combined with words expressing anger and disdain, I recognised in this brief sample a resemblance to the passion which I sought, although the words did not follow metrically the rapidity of the instrument.22

Instruments, not only voices, are finding new ways to represent the text’s expressive content, without using its metric: here is an index of early modern music’s growing autonomy. Still in mid-eighteenth century, Christian Gottfried Krause (1752) comes to very similar results in his description of the “expressive qualities” of every metrical foot23. As a paradigm of stile concitato –still within the 8th book of madrigals, called by Monteverdi ‘Martial and Amorous’–, the seminal example of the concitato genre is that section of his Combattimento di Tancredi e Florinda (1624) where the latter is killed by her own lover: from Rispose la feroce (‘Answered the fierce one’) to sdegno tienla al petto unita (‘anger keeps life within their chest’).24 Based on

21

Cf. LEOPOLD 2002. Quoted in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 53f. 23 Krause 1752: Von der musikalischen Poesie, quoted in GRAJTER 2019: 62f. 24 Please search for Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda (Part II). The concitato passage starts at 5:37. 22

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Canto n. XII of Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata (1581), albeit officially still a madrigal, the work sounds like a downright operatic scene25. Monteverdi is aware he has created a topos, a stile concitato that can be transposed to “other works in that kind, both ecclesiastical and for chamber performance26.” He shows how to abstract the deep signification of the musical sign and use it in quite different contexts. The stile concitato thus becomes a commonplace for baroque composers, and much beyond, whenever a fight is involved. In JS Bach’s Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724, just a century after the premiere of the Combattimento) there are at least four examples of it. In the central section of the altus aria Es ist vollbracht! (‘It is accomplished!’), in great contrast to both framing sections, slow and painful, the orchestra bursts forth in a series of inflamed semiquavers to the text The hero from Judah triumphs in his might and brings the strife to an end27. Moreover, the broken melodic designs in arpeggio refer to traditional military instruments, natural cornets and trumpets. A second example is found in the enumeration of prodigies following Jesus’s death. Both in the recitative Und siehe da, der Vorhang im Tempel and in the next tenor Arioso paraphrasing it, the pictorialist description of the words is accompanied with an irregular, trembling agitation of a menacing nature28. Similarly, in recitative n. 26 Jesus speaks thus to Pilate: If my kingdom were of this world then my servants would fight so that I should not be handed over to the Jews. The word kämpfen, ‘fight’, is accompanied to a concitato design: see ex. 5-3.

Ex. n. 5-3: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Rec. n. 2629.

25

See Gerard LE COAT 1975, Baker & Hanning (1992), quoted by CARTER 2005. Quoted in STRUNK 1981 (1952): 54. 27 In Bach Johannes Passion St John Passion BWV 245 John Eliot Gardiner, the concitato section starts at 1:24:48. 28 In the same version, at 1:31:17. 29 In the same version, at 40:09. 26

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Ex. n. 5-4: JS Bach, Johannespassion, Rec. n. 3031.

Where also references to military ‘Calls’ can be heard in the fourth leaps in both voice and continuo30. Finally, ex. 5-4 shows a case of concitato and pictorialism on the word geißelte, ‘scourged’. Shortly after this recitative, in Chorus n. 21d, Jesus’s crucifixion is demanded (Kreuzige, kreuzige ihn! ‘Crucify, crucify him!’), using the anapaest rhythm. The next few pages will show a long-standing tradition linking this metrical rhythm with the ‘Martial’ and with ‘Violence’. The stile concitato does not end with baroque music. In the Classic style it coexists with a theatrical variant of it, Tempesta, that will be described in Chap. 8. In Mozart’s symphony in G minor K. 550 (1788), e.g., the finale displays the same bellicose agitation we are dealing with here: see ex. 5-5a.

Ex. n. 5-5a: W.A. Mozart, Symphony K. 550/IV, beginning.

30 31

On military ‘Calls’, see further Sect. 5.2. At 44:00.

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Ex. n. 5-5b: W.A. Mozart, Symphony K. 550/IV, mm. 16-20.

This initial theme continues with some iambic ‘Calls’, as well as repetitions of notes and stylised fanfare-like figures, in reference to ‘cornets‘ and similar martial instruments: see ex. 5-5b. To those ominous unison ‘Calls’, the strings counter in piano some comedic trills and keep throughout the movement the typical ‘contredanse’ accompaniment (uhmpa pa pa). The incongruous combination of ‘martial’ and ‘comedy’ points to the ‘Toy Army’ topos, an emblem of Mozart’s music. It is described further in Sect. 5.3.

5.1.3

Other Martial Rhythms: Anapaest

Considering the genealogical filiation of the stile concitato, related to the madrigalism of ‘fire’ and other natural, irregularly flickering movements, it is no coincidence that in the aforementioned fragment of Monteverdi’s Combattimento a ‘fire’ appears twice. Clorinda had set fire to a Christian tower and Tancredi, learning this, “burns with rage”, in Tasso’s words. Musical representation of ‘flames’ is historically related to stile concitato and thus to battle, as it was stated by the composer, physicist and theoretician Marin Mersenne in his Harmonie Universelle (1626-1636). Moreover, just as Monteverdi will a few years later, Mersenne links ‘fire, wrath and fight’ with poetic metres. Regarding the iambus [˘ -] and the anapaest [˘ ˘ -], he writes: If one wishes to excite people to war or to anger, one must use an iambic or anapaestic movement […]. The iambic is suited to the expression of anger because it imitates the promptness and lightness of fire when it begins, and because it doubles its strength in the second part of its movement, which is twice as long as the first part32.

32

Mersenne, Harmonie Universelle, Embellissement des chants. Quoted by LE COAT 1975: 170. My emphasis.

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This sounds like a quote of Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria. After describing each one of the poetic metres, the rhetorician adds: Every one of these feet is employed in prose, but those which take a greater time to utter and derive a certain stability from the length of their syllables produce a weightier style, short syllables being best adapted for a nimble and rapid style. Both types are useful in their proper place: for weight and slowness are rightly condemned in passages where speed is required, as are jerkiness and excessive speed in passages which call for weight33.

And, shortly thereafter: When a short syllable is followed by a long [iambus], the effect is one of violent ascent, while a long followed by a short [trochee] produces a gentler impression and suggest descent34.

METRICAL FEET Iamb, anapaest, pyrrhic Trochee, dactyl, spondee

SYLLABLES:

LONG

Short (then long) Long (then short)

(–)

OR SHORT

(˘)

TENSION Ascending Descending

Table n. 5-2: Expressive meaning of metrical feet, according to Quintilian’s Rhetoric.

Monteverdi chooses his musical rhythms to represent the most violent moments in his Combattimento according with Quintilian’s criteria: with “ascending” feet, i.e. first short, then long, as are iamb and anapaest. Later on instead, to represent both warriors’ firmness, the composer recurs to “descending” rhythms. With the line “Their feet move not but always stay firm”, rhythms become trochaic, dactylic and spondaic. This correspondence can be seen in diagram in Table n. 5-2. The historical link between the semantic field of ‘war’, ‘fire’ and its colours and “ascending” metrical feet is manifest in several baroque sources. In chapter XVIII of his Melopeia (1592), Calvisius (Seth Kalwitz) relates verse feet with speed, violence and the corresponding affects35. In Johann MATTHESON’s words: In Athenaeus’s opinion at least the name of the pyrrhic foot comes from the fast or ardent movement. He says it was a kind of a dance by young armed soldiers, done in the most brisk and furious way possible: for war circumstances do not allow for any laggardness, whether in escaping nor pursuing the enemies. Pyrrhus itself means red-haired, because fire

33

QUINTILIAN, Institutio Oratoria, IX, IV, 83. Ibidem, IX, IV, 92. My emphasis. See also UNGER 2004 (1941): 110f, relating metric feet to affects in the same sense as Quintilian and Monteverdi, that Unger both also quotes. 35 Quoted by UNGER 2004 (1941): 110, who relates this to Monteverdi’s stile concitato. 34

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[pyr in Greek] has this colour.36 Now the French nowadays call such a warlike melody les Combattans [sic], and it is never more suitable than when the pyrrhic often therein recurs37.

A beautiful example of the anapaest’s expressive value can be found in these martial lines by Lord Byron: The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee38.

The semantic, expressive value of metrical feet seems to be attached to many rhythms in instrumental music of the eighteenth century. Some pages earlier, the Chorus n. 21d in JS Bach’s Johannespassion was mentioned as a paradigmatic example of the ‘martial’ anapaest, to the words Kreuzige, kreuzige ihn! (‘Crucify, crucify him!’). In the cantata Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis BWV 21 (1713?), a further example will help to pinpoint the expressive value of that rhythm. In the tenor aria Bäche von gesalznen Zähren (‘From my eyes salt tears are streaming’) the anapaest appears as the opposite to the two-note tie that is usually associated to the ‘Weeping’ or the ‘Caress39. The aria starts with a series of pianti, to the text ‘Streams of salty tears’: ex. 5-6a.

Ex. n. 5-6a: JS Bach, aria Bäche von gesalznen Zähren, from the cantata Ich hatte vielBekümmernis BWV 21: beginning.

The central section of the aria adds to the sorrow the violence, with the words Sturm und Wellen mich versehren, ‘Storm and waves hurt me’. Bach’s music connects these signifieds with the signifier of the martial anapaest: see ex. 5-6b.

36

A pyrrhic consists of two unaccented, short syllables. Pyrrhos [Pύqqo1] was a Greek hero, son of Achilles, who took part in the war and sack of Troy. His name derives from the Greek pyr, ‘fire’. 37 MATTHESON Der vollkommene Kapellmeister 1999 (1739): 258 (164f). 38 Lord BYRON, The Destruction of Sennacherib, in Hebrew Melodies (1815). According to the Second Book of Kings in the Hebrew Bible (2 Kings: 18-19), the Assyrian king Sennacherib failed to assault Jerusalem. Byron’s whole poem equals a wild horse-gallop, in content and for the chosen metre, anapaestic tetrameter. 39 On the pianto madrigalism, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.2.1. On the ‘Caress’, see Emblem in Chap. 1 Sect. 1.4.2.

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Ex. n. 5-6b: JS Bach, aria Bäche von gesalznen Zähren, from the cantata Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis BWV 21: central section.

The same connection appears at the end of this cantata. In its final chorus, Das Lamm, das erwürget ist, a fugato starting with the bass presents the characteristic intervals of a brass fanfare. Moreover, the martial anapaest appears precisely to the very word Gewalt, ‘violence, power’: see ex. 5-6c.

Ex. n. 5-6c: JS Bach, final chorus Das Lamm, das erwürget ist, from the cantata Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis BWV 21.

The orchestra takes over the anapaestic rhythm, that sounds at its most convincing and proper on trumpets, as if showing the genealogy of this musical sign. Two further examples by JS Bach in instrumental works might show how the anapaestic rhythm becomes increasingly abstract, i.e. stylised as a topos. Both in the C minor fugue of his Well-tempered Clavier (I) and in the Finale Presto of his Brandenburg concerto n. 4 in G, the predominating rhythms are “ascending”. That confers an energetic impulse to both pieces that is genealogically ‘martial’: see ex. 5-7 and 5-8.

Ex. n. 5-7: JS Bach, C minor fugue from The Well-Tempered Clavier (I), theme.

Ex. n. 5-8: JS Bach, Brandenburg Concerto n. 4, Finale Presto, beginning.

Matching the “ascending” rhythms, the melody tends to favour triadic intervals, fourths and fifths. These are references to military or hunting ‘Calls’, that were originally issued on natural instruments using the natural harmonic series. Note also

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the concitato, flaming style in the bass of example 5-8. This is the usual way for semantic fields to present themselves: on several parameters at the same time. Albert SCHWEITZER had already noticed the expressive importance of the anapaest motif. He focuses on its affective value, leaves its genealogical ‘martial’ origin aside and calls it ‘Joy Motif’ (Freudenmotiv)40. Of course, the Kreuzige, kreuzige example forces him to clarify that in that instance the expressive meaning of the gesture is not ‘joy’ but ‘animation, vivification’ (Verlebendigung)41. Schweitzer’s intent is to find a glossary in JS Bach’s musical language. Seen diachronically however, in its historical evolution the ‘martial anapaest’ has gone through a process of abstraction from its original presence in cornet calls and retained only its energetic sense. The ‘martial’ stands here in topical stylization, after a long historical process from functional to art music.

5.2

Calls, Fanfares

Originally, calls were used as signals within a sounding code, both in the army and in hunting. Already in the seventeenth century, however, a distinction needs to be made between the representation of an idealized ‘hunt’ or ‘military’ and its use in reality. Contrarily to the purely imaginary ‘Pastoral’, that is dealt with in our next chapter, the ‘Military’ and the ‘Hunt’ had a real signified behind its musical representations. In his exemplary study, Raymond MONELLE has described the historical reality of both, and also of their artistic idealisation42. We deal here only with topical references to ‘Calls’, well aware of the stylization they represent regarding their original models. A generic example of ‘Call’ reduced to its very essence can be heard in Giovanni P. da Palestrina’s Missa Papæ Marcelli (1562?). Its initial invocation ‘Lord, have mercy’ (Kyrie, eleison) finds a suitable musical translation in a highly stylised ‘Call’, including dotted rhythms and an ascending fourth leap (see ex. 5-9). It should be remembered that, in classic polyphony, a fourth leap is considered a wide one43. In any case, the composer uses this motif as the base of the Kyrie, and it reappears throughout the mass. No other motif, whether liturgic or secular, is indeed used or quoted in the work.

40 41 42 43

SCHWEITZER 1954: 470f. Ibidem: 478. See MONELLE 2006, part II and III. See JEPPESEN 1935 (1930).

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Ex. n. 5-9: Palestrina, Missa Papæ Marcelli: Kyrie, beginning44.

Although their boundaries are not always clear, it can be useful to differentiate references to ‘military’ and to ‘hunting’ calls. Their expressive associations are connected to different traditions, and to their respective typical instruments: the bugle, cornet or trumpet for the ‘military’, the horn for the ‘hunt‘. The trumpet is associated with political and military power, already in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. The horn instead carries the flair of free air, the woods and aristocratic sport45. A natural brass instrument, without valves, has in principle four octaves or registers available. In the first one there is only the original note of the instrument, not always feasible, and its octave. In the second octave the fifth is added; in the third one, the third. The fourth register, also called clarino, sounds very well on horns. It allows for some notes of the diatonic scale, although some of them are not “in tune” with other instruments and do not sound with the same quality. This explains why references to ‘military’ calls tend to use the third register and present only triadic designs, whereas some of the most florid ‘hunt‘ calls gathered in 18thcentury collections specialize on the fourth octave and feature often melodic figures and bicinia. In the repertoire of horn calls known as Dampierre 1776, e.g., “each call is quoted first as a monody, then again as a note-against-note duet for two horns.”46 The combination of the fourth register and horns in pairs result in one of the most conspicuous ‘Hunting’ topoi, the ‘Horn Fifths‘ or ‘Horn Motion’ (German Hornquinten): see ex. 5-10.

Ex. n. 5-10: ‘Horn motion’.

Most of the times, however, ‘Hunt’ calls tend to be represented single-noted, in reference to the original ox horn47. Two examples should illustrate better the difference between military and hunting ‘calls’. In the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata quasi una fantasia

44 45 46 47

Please search Palestrina, Missa Papae Marcelli. The Tallis Scholars, Peter Phillips. MONELLE 2006: 134ff. Ibidem: 51. The musical representation of ‘Hunting’ is dealt with further in this chapter, Sect. 5.5.

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op. 27 n. 2, (Moonlight Sonata, 1801), a melody is generated after some dysphoric ‘calls’ on one note. These single-noted ‘calls’ have no link to the ‘martial’, but to open air and, genealogically, to the ‘Hunt’: see ex. 5-1148.

Ex. n. 5-11: Beethoven, Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I, mm. 4-949.

In Mahler’s Third Symphony, first movement, a distinctly ‘Martial Call’ is heard on muted trumpets, starting in m. 31 (see ex. 5-12a). Its intervals are distorted: instead of the consonant major arpeggio, the minor third and the major seventh confer to this ‘call’ a pathetic, uncanny sense. Raymond MONELLE has identified the normal version of this call in the penultimate measure of Mahler’s song Revelge (‘On guard’), as in many other places50. It used to be a call in the Austrian army, with the meaning Habt Acht! (‘Attention!’): see ex. 5-12b.

Ex. n. 5-12a: Mahler, Third Symphony/I, mm. 31-33.

Ex. n. 5-12b: Habt Acht!.

The main theme in the Adagio of Schubert’s Quintet D. 956 in C (1828) presents hunt-related ‘calls’ in a ‘pastoral’, ‘serenade’ context: see ex. 5-13. The peculiar E-major can be interpreted as F-flat, an alteration to ‘darken’ F major: the latter would have been the logical key to expect in the slow, pastoral-inflected movement of a C major work51.

On ‘Nocturne’ and ‘Serenade’, see Chap. 6 Sect. 6.4. About temporal aspects in this piece see GRIMALT 2018b, 2018c. Please search for a version with A. Schiff, who observes the indication about the pedal and also the alla breve metre. 50 MONELLE 2006: 165. For a version of Revelge with D. Fischer-Dieskau and G. Szell (1968) search for Mahler / Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, 1968: Revelge - Des Knaben Wunderhorn. 51 See Chap. 1 Sect. 1.3.2, The world of flats. 48 49

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Ex. n. 5-13: Schubert, Quintet D. 956/II: beginning52.

In a similar way, but in binary meter, the late Schubert’s Fantasy in F minor for piano four-hands D. 940 (1828) combines ‘calls’ and lyricism. As in Beethoven’s quasi Fantasia (ex. 5-11), the minor mode and the plucked-strings accompaniment point to a dysphoric ‘Serenade’ on a ‘marching’ pace: see ex. 5-1453.

Ex. n. 5-14: Schubert, Fantasy D. 940 (arr.), beginning54.

In these two last examples, both Schubert ‘calls’ present a fourth leap, that Raymond MONELLE identifies as typical of primitive hunt calls, from the 14th century on.55 It is the same interval we found in Palestrina’s mass, ex. 5-9. Archetypical ‘Hunting Calls’ are also heard in Stravinsky’s Jeu du rapt (‘Abduction Game’) from Le sacre du printemps (1913), where the victim of a primitive ‘sacrifice’ represented on stage is a young maid56. The represented ‘hunt’ or chasse écrite is the gentler part of the ‘Martial’ semantic field. Therefore, most ‘calls’ in 19th century instrumental music prefer the ‘Hunting’ to the ‘Military’ reference. They tend to reinterpret it in a melancholic, lyrical tone, away from their original, sportive meaning. An initial fourth ascending 52

For a memorable live version with the Végh Quartet and P. Casals (Prada de Conflent 1961) search for Franz Schubert - String Quintet in C major, D. 956. The Adagio starts at 15:40. 53 See further combinations of ‘martial’ and ‘lyrical’ references in Sect. 5.4.3 in this chapter, ‘Dysphoric March’. 54 You can search for Schubert / A Brendel / E Crochet, 1961: Fantasia in F Minor, D. 940 (Op. 103) – Complete 55 MONELLE 2006: 35ff. 56 Please search for The Rite of Spring: I: Ritual of Abduction (Jeu du rapt). The ‘Hunting Calls’ in fourths start at 0:43.

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leap, moreover, is a typical feature of many revolutionary songs and national hymns, for instance La Marseillaise57. Dysphoric ‘calls’ in a lyrical context remind Josef Haydn’s Andante con variazioni in F minor Hob. XVII/6 (1793). These are double variations: the theme has a minor (dysphoric) face and a major (euphoric) one, and they keep alternating, two variations each, plus a Coda58. The theme (see ex. 5-15) is a good example of a ‘Dysphoric March’, that is dealt with further in this chapter, Sect. 5.4.

Ex. n. 5-15: J. Haydn, Andante mit Variationen Hob.

XVII/6:

beginning59.

Rhetorically, instrumental ‘Calls’ come so close to Exclamationes that sometimes it is difficult to tell them apart60. In Beethoven’s overture Coriolan op. 62 (1807), three consecutive strikes sound as if generated by the ‘Ominous unison’ that precedes each one of them. They seem to represent three introductory ‘outcries’ in crescendo that lead to a cadence and to the presentation of the main theme – or, rather, to its absence: see ex. 5-16.

Ex. n. 5-16: Beethoven, Coriolan op. 62: beginning.

57

On national Hymns, see further in this chapter Sect. 5.4.1. Elaine Sisman, following Anton Reicha, prefers to call them Alternating Variations. See SISMAN 1981: 510. 59 Please search for J. HAYDN - Variations in F Minor Hob. XVII-6. A. Schiff, piano. 60 On the rhetorical figure of the Exclamatio, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.4.3. 58

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The start of Mahler’s Second Symphony is a similar case of an ‘exclamatory call’, also in C minor, albeit combined with stile concitato61: see ex. 5-17.

Ex. n. 5-17: Mahler, Symphony n. 2: beginning.

Summarising, topical references to ‘Calls’ have different expressive associations whether they are genealogically related to the ‘Military’ or to the ‘Hunting’. Further in this chapter Sect. 5.5, Table n. 5-3 sums up their differences in a simplified schema. As for the Fanfare, it could be qualified as an extended call. They differ in duration and in instrumentation: fanfares are longer, and usually played by a brass ensemble. Traditionally, they had served to announce the arrival of some grand character, especially the King. In contemporary popular culture they are still heard, e.g. in peplum movies, when the Roman Emperor reaches the circus, or to start a tournament, in medieval films. In 18th-century recollections of calls the word ‘fanfare’ is sometimes used as a synonym of ‘call’. In other cases, the Fanfare is the name of one of the calls, typically the one to close the Hunt, also known as Retraite62. As a represented ‘fanfare’, i.e. as a topos in a symphonic context, there is one example at the start of Mahler’s First Symphony (1888/96), where clarinets, pianissimo, imitate far-away ‘trumpets’ (mm. 9-12). A few measures later, actual trumpets located behind the stage “at great distance”, according to the score, start a second fanfare in a similar vein. These combine ‘military’ features (short, triple-tongue upbeats; the ‘cornet‘ timbre and triadic intervals) with ‘hunting’ elements (horn fifths, diatonic melody, triple rhythm)63.

61 62 63

For stile concitato, see earlier Sect. 5.1. MONELLE 2006: 56f, 257f. More about Mahler’s First in GRIMALT 2012a, Chap. 4.

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5.3

167

Classic ‘March’: Irony. A ‘Toy Army’

References to an imagined or represented ‘march’ have a strong presence in Western art music. In Wye J. ALLANBROOK’s words: The march, the bare reshaping of ordinary human locomotion into artful measured movement, stands on the threshold of dance, and thus is an example of the bond between gesture and expression in its most rudimentary form64.

Marching or walking is indeed a very basic form of movement that is easily translated in musical terms into a great array of expressive colours: solemn march, enraged, ironic, dysphoric, triumphant, spiritual, and so forth. Elaine SISMAN and Neil ZASLAW have shown how the symphonic genre as a whole is historically tied to the theatre and also with the court, very close to the function of fanfares65. This explains the frequency with which ‘Martial’ references appear in eighteenth-century symphonies, as aristocracy and kingdom were tightly connected to warfare and armies, especially in the Ancien Régime. To quote once more ALLANBROOK: The 4/4 in which most first movements of symphonies are cast is habitually considered a default setting, but it is in fact a march with all its military of courtly accoutrements –dotted rhythms, trumpets, and drums– and it evokes the courtly setting of so much of this music66.

However, the Viennese “Classics” rarely use the March genre in a patent way. One exception is found in Mozart’s opera Idomeneo K. 366 (1781). Its n. 8 bears the explicit title Marcia, indeed a theatrical triumph march in honour of Neptune, who saved the Trojan sailors. A stage direction qualifies it as Marcia guerriera durante lo sbarco (‘Military march during the going ashore’): see ex. 5-18a.

Ex. n. 5-18a: Mozart, Idomeneo, n. 8, Marcia: beginning67.

64

ALLANBROOK 1983: 46. SISMAN 2014: Symphonies and the Public Display of Topics. ZASLAW 1989: 510-525. 66 ALLANBROOK 2014: 120. 67 For a complete version of the opera with J.E. Gardiner, search for W. A. Mozart - KV 366 Idomeneo, re di Creta. The explicit “March” starts at 26:43. 65

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The main markers of a ‘March’ reference are there: binary metre, dotted, sharp rhythms as in an ‘Entrée’, brass and percussion timbre, triadic intervals, D major. But even here, irony finds its way in. In the contrasting sections, piano, motifs from buffa opera and, later on, even musical ‘Laughter’ can be heard: see ex. 5-18b68.

Ex. n. 5-18b: Mozart, Idomeneo, n. 8, Marcia: mm. 23-2669.

This combination of ‘Martial’ and ‘Comic’ references is no exception. On the contrary, it is very difficult to find serious instances of a ‘march’ reference in Classic music. Mozart especially made it his preferent field to take a critical stance regarding the ‘Military’ and its topoi. This is usually accomplished combining them with references to incongruous elements, typically those expressively opposite to them: ‘comedy’, the ‘lyrical’, the ‘contredanse’70. Integrated in a latent way within an instrumental context, the ‘March’ becomes an autonomous reference, a frequent topos. In Josef Haydn’s Sonata n. 36 Hob. XVI/21 (1773) in C major, the first movement starts with typically ‘martial’ character and rhythms: see ex. 5-19.

On the topos of ‘Musical Laughter’, see GRIMALT 2014b. In the aforementioned recording, the ‘Laughter’ starts at 27:24. 70 About the expressive values of Ancien Régime versus contemporary topoi in Classic music, see GRIMALT 2018d. 68 69

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Ex. n. 5-19: J. Haydn, Sonata Hob.

XVI/21/I,

169

beginning711.

However, the upbeat and the stress on the second eighth-note are markers of the ‘Bourrée’, a dance of demi-caractère: not too folksy, not too classy72. Within the Viennese Classics’ expressive palette, the bourrée is close to the buffa universe. The combination of ‘March’ and ‘Bourrée’ has been described by Leonard RATNER regarding some of Mozart’s instrumental ‘marches’73. This is Ratner’s example, based on a remark by Quantz (1752): see ex. 5-20.

Ex. n. 5-20: Mozart, Sonata for piano and violin K. 376/III (1781), beginning74.

In ex. 5-20, the ‘martial’ references seem to be in miniature, undermined by the farcical repetitions, the dynamic and the vocal character of the first two measures. I propose to term this topos ‘Toy Army’, following descriptions by Ratner, Monelle and Allanbrook. In it, the musically represented ‘army’ is made harmless by making it comically small. A paradigmatic example of the ‘Toy Army’ topos, emblematic of Mozart’s music, would be the march by peasant girls and the chorus that Figaro stages to defy the Count at the end of act III in Le nozze di Figaro: see ex. 5-21.

Ex. n. 5-21: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro: Finale

71

III,

mm. 29-32.

Please search for J. Haydn: Sonata n°36 in C Major, Hob XVI/21: Wim Winters, clavichord7 ALLANBROOK 1983: 46-49. 73 RATNER 1980: 16. 74 For a version with S. Kuijken and L. Devos search for Mozart - Violin Sonata No. 24 in F major, K. 376. The third movement starts at 12:54. 72

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The fact that country girls are acting as mock soldiers reveals the subversive value these incongruous combinations might have had for Mozart and his contemporaries. Both the Count’s (–Reckless!) and the Countess’s appalled reactions (–I am all frozen!) confirm this interpretation. Wendy ALLANBROOK describes this moment thus: One can picture his [Figaro’s] small troop smartening up with mock salutes and marching off, swept away by the approaching music, to leave the Count outfoxed and impotently angry75.

Ratner, Monelle and Allanbrook do not describe or name the ‘Toy Army’ topos as such, but they provide a perspicuous observation of its features and its expressive meaning. Already in The Sense of Music, Raymond MONELLE had referred to a “toy” aria about military life, with fanfares, alluding to François-Adrien Boieldieu’s opera La dame blanche (1825)76. Its second number, the aria Ah, quel plaisir d’être soldat, keeps a cheerful tone, as if unaware of the horrors of warfare in the 19th century77. MONELLE explains the aloofness of Classic composers towards the Military in historical terms: [W]arfare in the eighteenth century lost some of its brutality; armies in the field were comparatively small, battles often marked by avoidance tactics, defeated enemies were allowed to escape, and fortresses were not defended beyond the limits of reasonable decency. […] The good-mannered, small-time bonhomie of the eighteenth-century army reflected a kind of compromised masculinity somewhere between heroism and playacting. This helps to explain the diminutiveness, the toy-like quality, of many manifestations of fanfarism78.

Serving as a first Finale of Le nozze di Figaro, the aria Non più andrai offered another subversive combination: ‘March’ and ‘Parody’: see ex. 5-22. Figaro is addressing a posh young boy to describe him the inconveniences of the army to which he has just been sent. For the classy Cherubino, however, military school is bound to be a pleasant time. In this dramaturgical context, Mozart displays a parody of the ‘martial’ markers. The contrast between the initial forte accent and the immediate piano on violins gives the ‘march’ reference a strong touch of the farcical. In addition to the incongruous dynamics and accompaniment, oboes and horns respond parodically to Figaro’s first line. The same can be felt with the repetition of quel vermiglio,

75

ALLANBROOK 1983: 152. MONELLE 2000: 19f. 77 For a version with R. Blake and M. Minkovski, including the lyrics, search for Rockwell Blake “Ah!, Quel Plaisir d’être Soldat!”
Boildieu
[sic]. 78 MONELLE 2000: 37f. My emphasis. 76

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Ex. n. 5-22: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro: Non più andrai, beginning79.

donnesco color, (‘that carmine, womanly colour [on Cherubino’s face]’) at the end of the second stanza, m. 25ff., with its ironically incongruent fanfare-like music80. The first stanza presented this coupling of a feminine and a ‘Martial’ reference as well, just as we saw it in the march that closes the third Finale. The belittling of the army through equalling it to the ‘womanly’, that used to be its very opposite, reminds one of Denis de Rougemont’s description (1940) of the officers of his time: In place of sacred chivalry, ascetic, bloody, and barded with iron, there arose […] an army commanded by courtiers in lace cuffs, who, since they were libertines, did not intend to jeopardize the refinements of life81.

Mozart’s parodic vein is particularly aroused by the juicy descriptions of military life provided by Da Ponte. The array of ‘calls’, ‘fanfares’ and dotted rhythms in triadic designs are so hyperbolic and ill-fitted to what is happening on stage that the spectator cannot but take the whole piece ironically. If not immediately, at least at the instrumental conclusion to the aria, a pompous march where trumpet ‘calls’ prominently stand out (mm. 109 and 111). Its last chords of that epilogue could have closed a whole grand symphony. In Raymond MONELLE’s words, Non più andrai

79

For a version with J.E. Gardiner and B. Terfel search for NON PIU ANDRAI LE NOZZE DI FIGARO. 80 At 0:41 of the aforementioned recording. 81 Rougemont Passion and Society 1956 (1940): 257. Quoted by MONELLE 2000: 37.

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parodies the military topic in a diminutive march, with off-the-peg trumpet signals. This march is really too military; almost every note is related to the triad of the fanfare. It contains nothing that is not “military topic”; it is an example of the “quantitative exaggeration” which Esti Sheinberg considers to be a component of musical satire (Sheinberg 2000, 120). More military than anything in the military repertoire itself, it achieves only caricature, but the satire is affectionate82.

Non più andrai is the hermeneutic clue to a lot of instances of the same ‘Toy Army’ topos, in instrumental contexts. Mozart’s music seems to make an emblem of it. Besides the aforementioned Non più andrai, Monelle’s example is Piano Concerto K. 595, which he qualifies as concerto guerriero, “a chamber piece touched with warlike sentiments that are light-hearted and ironic”83. In its initial Allegro, a lyrical melody is interrupted repeatedly by some ‘martial’ calls, albeit on woodwinds and horns: see ex. 5-23.

Ex. n. 5-23: Mozart, Piano Concerto K. 595/I: beginning84.

A similar example of the ‘Toy Army’ topos in dialogue with ‘Lyricism’ could be the first movement of Piano Concerto K. 456, also in B-flat85. How to relate such disparate references as the ‘Martial’ and the ‘Lyrical’ or the ‘Comic’ seems indeed to be a crucial narrative issue in the music of the Viennese “Classics”. Without describing them, Wye J. ALLANBROOK mentions two topoi –or maybe rather one in two variants– that are closely related to our ‘Toy Army’: ‘Clockwork’, in opposition to ‘Vocal, Lyrical’, and also the ‘Music Box’, meaning a very high register and a certain mechanical quality86. These retain the most threatening feature of the ‘Martial’ semantic field: an arbitrary, rigid regularity to 82

MONELLE 2006: 175f. My emphasis. MONELLE 2000: 35. About the French ‘Military Concerto’, see OSTHOFF 2006. I am grateful to M. Grajter for this indication. 84 For a version with A. Staier search for Mozart - Piano Concerto No. 27 K. 595 (on Period Instruments) 85 Please search for W. A. Mozart - KV 456 - Keyboard Concerto No. 18 in B flat major. 86 Cf. ALLANBROOK 2014: 110, 122, 127 as well as LEVY 1992. 83

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which the individual has to submit. The ‘Clockwork’ topos is a poignant metaphor of modern dehumanisation. Allanbrook’s example of the topos is the start of Haydn’s Quartet op. 50 n. 1: see ex. 5-24.

Ex. n. 5-24: Haydn, Quartet op. 50 n. 1/I: beginning.

An ironic, diminutive handling of the ‘Martial’ semantic field belongs to the Zeitgeist of the age, as can be seen in many examples by Haydn and Beethoven. The Sonata by Josef Haydn in C Hob. XVI/35 (1777/79?) sounds from the first moment like a reference to a ‘Toy Army’: a miniature ‘march’, including an exclamatio in the last part of the first measure, and a melody reminding of ‘calls’ and ‘fanfares’: see ex. 5-25a.

Ex. n. 5-25a: J. Haydn, Sonata Hob.

XVI/35/I,

beginning87.

Further on in measures 32-35, the lyrical accompaniment is interrupted to close the transition after the first thematic section in an exaggeratedly pompous manner, suggesting a baroque theatre orchestra: see ex. 5-25b. This reference is described in Chap. 8 as ‘Ominous Unison’, and it is also widely used in a parodic sense, to unmask the arrogance of some Ancien Régime character. The main theme in the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 2 n. 2 in A major (1795) sounds like a ‘Call’, answered by a ‘Drum roll’ and then by an ‘Ominous Unison’ typical of opera seria. In this first version, as in Haydn’s former example, all ‘Martial’ references are presented piano, which is a further turn of the ironic screw: see ex. 5-26.

87

Please search for HAYDN Sonata Hob. XVI 35 - Gabriele Tomasello, pianoforte.

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Ex. n. 5-25b: Haydn, Sonata Hob.

XVI/35/I,

mm. 32-3588.

Ex. n. 5-26: Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 2/I, beginning.

Another parodic ‘Military March’ is found in the second movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 14 n. 2: see ex. 5-27.

Ex. n. 5-27: Beethoven, Sonata op. 14 n. 2/II, beginning89.

The transfer from the public, authoritarian semantic field to the private and subjective fortepiano is another hint at the libertarian background of the procedure. ‘Martial’ parody seems to be also the main issue in Beethoven’s First Symphony, as well as in the finale of his Concerto in C minor (1800), where ‘Martial’, dysphoric references transform themselves into a laughing, exhilarating ‘Dance’90. In a dramaturgic, operatic context, such transformations (‘Changeover’) allow one to interpret the ethical intention that might lie behind them. Topoi related to the Ancien Régime tend to transform themselves into references to modern genres or styles. The ‘March’ that we saw in ex. 5-21 being used to humiliate the Count in Le In the aforementioned version, the parodic ‘Ominous Unison’ starts at 0:43. Please search for Brendel plays Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 10, Op. 14 No. 2 (1/2). The ‘Parodic March’ starts at 7:54. 90 For a narrative approach to this piano concerto, see GRIMALT 2018d. 88 89

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nozze di Figaro leads significantly to a ‘contredanse‘ (mm. 61ff.), a genre at the very antipodes of the ‘Martial’, implying ‘equality’, ‘fun’ and ‘freedom’91. In a similar way, the ‘Minuet’ reference is used to humiliate an aristocrat at three places in the same opera92. In my interpretation, such transformations have a critical, subversive intention: they amount to a stylistic isotopy and to a Classic narrative archetype93. The ‘Toy Army’ shows its power through the ages in works such as Bartók’s Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion BB 115 (1937). Its finale in Rondo form can be heard as a revival of the old Classic topos. Moreover, its final position, after an agitated, intense first movement and a central ‘nocturnal’ piece (the latter an emblem of Bartók’s style), sounds like one of the many humorous ‘Changeover’ narrative archetypes that are so frequent in the Viennese Classics that he revered. Bartók, a survivor of both World Wars, kept always a pacifist outlook94.

5.4

Romantic ‘March’ References

We have been dealing so far with generic ‘martial’ topoi and with the parodic variant of the ‘March’ references that Viennese Classics are so keen on. This next section moves on to the nineteenth century and tackles three different ways for Romantic composers to use marching rhythms in an expressive way: the ‘Hymnic March’, part of a wider ‘Chivalric Style’; a ‘Grotesque March’, focusing on Mahler’s output; and the “march of the defeated”, that we propose to call ‘Dysphoric March’, a variant of the ‘military march’ reference in minor mode and slower tempo, very frequent in 19thcentury music.

5.4.1

‘Chivalric’ Style: the ‘Hymnic March’

Beginning in the mid-19th century until World War I (1914-1918), the ‘martial’ has generally positive connotations in European music, often with a sublimated, spiritualized meaning. It represents the side of the fight to which the composer belongs: a collective ‘Us’ that marches bravely, inviting the listener to identify with it. Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata op. 53 (1804) starts in a ‘martial’ tone: see ex. 5-28.

91 92 93 94

About the expressive value of the ‘contredanse’ reference, see Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5.4 and 7.5.5. See NOSKE 1977: 32-35 and Chap. 7.4: Minuet. For a Humorous master plot in the Viennese Classics’ instrumental music, see GRIMALT 2018d. Bartók saw in the 1st movement a mirroring of the world’s Creation. See HOWAT 1993: 326f.

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Ex. n. 5-28: Beethoven, Sonata op. 53/I, beginning95.

However, the proper ‘Military’ is far away from the work’s expressive meaning. It appears to be stylised into what Charles ROSEN calls a “metric energy”, the musical correlate of which is no more a battlefield, but some ‘impulse’ within the Musical Persona96. In this highly stylised form, the ‘Martial’ reference seems to keep its critical quality, as in Haydn’s and Mozart’s output. The inhuman quality of its pulsating accompaniment is manifested in the lack of a ‘singing’ until m. 3, where the motif closes in a minimal ‘vocal’ gesture.97 In opposition to that metrical activity, a contemplative reference to the ‘Hymn’ appears as a secondary theme, dolce e molto ligato98. That the initial theme is genealogically related to the ‘martial’ is confirmed by the reference to stile concitato in m. 14, where the main subject is repeated an octave higher to start the modulating transition. The opposition between ‘Hymn’ and ‘Martial’ seems to amount to an isotopy in Beethoven’s expressive vocabulary99. In his Violin Concerto op. 61 (1806), the order is reversed: an ominous ‘martial’, insentient unison pulse irrupts into the initial ‘Hymn’ reference as if to put it in question100. Besides the ‘Pastoral March’ that is dealt with in the next chapter, historical precedents of the ‘Chivalric’ reference to a medieval, heroic setting are to be found in the intersection between the ‘Spiritual’ and the ‘Martial’. In Mozart’s Idomeneo, for instance, the priests perform a ‘Ceremonial March’ in the third act entitled simply as Marcia: see ex. 5-29.

Please search for Beethoven: Sonata No. 21 in C Major, “Waldstein” (Pletnev). ROSEN 1986 (1971): 456; ROSEN 2002: 180ff. On the Musical Persona, see GRIMALT 2018b. 97 An inhuman, ‘Clockwork’ topos is described a few pages earlier in Sect. 5.3, ‘Toy Army’, and LEVY 1992. 98 On the reference to the ‘Hymn’, see supra Chap. 4 Sect. 4.4. See also GRABÓCZ 2009: 167-190. 99 For the concept of isotopy, see Chap. 1 Sect. 1.4.2. 100 See OSTHOFF 2006. 95 96

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Ex. n. 5-29: Mozart, Marcia (Idomeneo, Act

177

III).

Wendy ALLANBROOK aligns this ‘Ceremonial March’ within the ‘Sacred’ semantic field. She also describes and uses an ‘Exalted March’ in her analyses that we locate right here, combining the ‘Spiritual’ and the ‘Martial’101. Its signifiers combine dotted rhythms, the alla breve metre derived genealogically from the archaic, sacred motet, and a moderate tempo. In a lot of 19th-century music, whether vocal or instrumental, stylised ‘Martial’ references yield to a more spiritual energy, far removed but historically derived from the original military rhythms and patterns. It seems Romantic composers interpret ‘Martial’ references in a more positive light than their ‘Classic’ predecessors, as if identifying themselves with its energy. To close his Carnaval op. 9 (1834/ 35), e.g., Robert Schumann sets a “March of the Davidsbündler against the Philistines”. In spite of the title, this is no ‘March’, its metre being ¾. But it retains a ‘martial’ character and perhaps a reference to a triumphal ‘Hymn’: see ex. 5-30.

Ex. n. 5-30: Schumann, Carnaval op. 9, Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins: beginning1021.

The ‘fight’ Schumann is enacting, not only in his op. 9, involves two imaginary sides: the ‘Confederates of David’ (Davidsbündler), with whom the composer and his friends identify, and the ‘Philistines’ (Philister), a Biblical reference implying here narrow-mindedness, conventional values, materialism and lack of aesthetic cultivation.

101

ALLANBROOK 1983: 18-23, 47f. Search for Schumann - Carnaval op. 9 - Michelangeli Lugano 1973. The closing “March” starts at 29:06.

102

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Ex. n. 5-31: Schumann, Fantasia op. 17/II: beginning.

Besides these spiritual principles, patriotism can be another reason for composers to resort to the ‘Martial’ in the 19th century. Romantic literature found models of heroism and manly virtues in classic epopee. In English, William Wordsworth’s Character of the Happy Warrior (1806) in homage to Lord Nelson, who beat Napoleon, stands out103. In this poem, a good soldier and a good political leader are full of moral excellence and stand there as a model for everybody. The contrast to the ironic, critical stance of the Classic and Enlightened is notable. It is as if both opposing references we saw previously in Beethoven, the ‘Martial’ and the ‘Hymn’, were fused into one ‘Chivalric’ topos. In the second movement of Schumann’s Fantasie op. 17, to prepare for the work’s denouement, Schumann recurs to the ‘Hymnic March’. the rhythms are openly ‘martial’, but the represented ‘fight’ belongs to the spiritual battlefield: see ex. 5-31. Right from the start in the first movement, the quotation of Beethoven’s song cycle An die ferne Geliebte had set the whole work in the amorous terrain. This removes the properly ‘military’ away, while retaining its bodily positive vibration, an energetic essence close to Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata (ex. 5-28). Following a suggestion by Karol Berger, Jonathan BELLMAN calls this spiritual version of the ‘Martial’ semantic field in Schumann and Brahms ‘Chivalric Style’. He relates it to old medieval “tales of pious crusaders and chivalric knights errant” and to “emergent nationalism”104. To substantiate this association he adduces Brahms’s song cycle Die schöne Magelone op. 33, as well as his song Entführung op. 97/3 and some passages in the cantata Rinaldo op. 50. To be sure, this is only the political, historical background of this musical topos. Its derivation from topoi combining ‘martial’ and ‘sacred’ references point to a more spiritual quest. The represented ‘knighthood’ –not only in Schumann’s and Brahms’s music, but also in Wagner’s, Liszt’s or Bruckner’s– all seem to fight for a better world. The main theme of Brahms’s 1st symphony’s Finale has the characteristic initial fourth leap of so many revolutionary songs of the turn to the 19th century. Set in C major, the moderate pace, the diatonic melody, the consonant harmonies and the sonority of lyrical strings and epic horns all point to the ‘Hymnic March’ topos: see ex. 5-32.

103 104

For a wider historical angle, see MONELLE 2000: 36. BELLMAN 1995: 117.

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Ex. n. 5-32: Brahms, Symphony n. 1/iv: mm. 62-651051.

Note also the vocal range, corresponding to a male choir as in one of many patriotic Studentenschaften so frequent in Germanic countries those days. Already in Brahms’s days, an affinity to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (1824) and its closing Ode an die Freude was to be noted. The similarity to the main theme of Brahms’s Trio op. 8 (1854, rev. 1889) is even more remarkable, albeit in the ‘darkened’ key of B major106. The key of C major, usual for a hymn, appears flattened to C-flat to convey a sense of unreality, maybe a far-fetched memory: see ex. 5-33.

Ex. n. 5-33: Brahms, Trio op. 8/I: beginning.

The ‘Hymn’ reference in a masculine vocal range appears here over a plucked-strings accompaniment and rustic-pastoral drones in the bass. Moreover, syncopations in the left hand seem to announce some tensions that put the idyllic reference in question. In m. 5, the cello adds to the melody a parallel, consonant voice to suggest a ‘Love Duet’ reference107. The resulting trope of darkened ‘Hymnic March’, amorous lyricism and dramatic tensions sets this irresistible beginning in a far-off memory, solemn and yet intimate108. In the Introduction to the main theme (ex. 5-32), the Finale of Brahms’s First Symphony (1876) features two more incisive thematic gestures that are usually called ‘Choral’ and ‘Alphorn theme’, respectively: see ex. 5-34a and 5-34b. 105

For a version with N. Harnoncourt (Berlin 1997) search for Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in C major Op. 68: IV Adagio - Allegro non troppo, ma con brio. The main theme (ex. 5-32a) starts at 4:59. 106 See The world of flats and the topos of ‘Double-Sombreness’ in Chap. 1 Sect. 1.3.2. 107 For the ‘Love Duet’ reference, see Chap. 8 Sect. 8.4. 108 An analysis regarding interpretative consequences was attempted in GRIMALT 2018c.

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Ex. n. 5-34a: Brahms, Symphony n. 1/iv: mm. 47-501091.

The hymnic, homophonic texture is probably the main reason why the motif in ex. 5-34a is generally referred to as ‘Choral’. The dotted rhythm, however, and the initial call-like interval of a fourth, both unusual features in church hymns, point to the ‘Hymnic March’. Just a few measures before, the melody that is associated with the Alphorn is apparently a quotation of a Carinthian folksong: Brahms sent it to Clara Schumann on a postcard, to signal a reconciliation between them110. The concitato accompaniment however, the diatonic, nearly triadic melody and the brass counterpoint all point once more to the ‘hymnic march’ as the main isotopy of the whole movement, and possibly of the whole symphony: see ex. 5-34b.

Ex. n. 5-34b: Brahms, Symphony n. 1/iv: mm. 38-411111.

Among the innumerable examples of the ‘Chivalric style’ in Richard Wagner’s music, the ‘Hymnic March’ that is first presented in mm. 142ff. of the Overture to Tannhäuser (1845) seems paradigmatic. In spite of the ‘march’ rhythms, the half notes on the melody, the accompaniment imitating plucked strings and the indication Nicht eilen. Breit. (‘Do not rush. Large.’) give to this exhilarant moment a cantabile quality that approaches it to the ‘Hymnic’ reference: see ex. 5-35. The combination with the ‘Lyrical’ is even more obvious at the ‘commentary’ of this theme, from m. 158 on.

This ‘hymnic’ motif appears at 4:00 of the aforementioned recording. FLOROS 1997: 118 and 140. See also SWAFFORD 1997: 408ff. 111 The first appearance on the aforementioned recording of this theme is at 2:51. The flute presents it at 3:22. 109 110

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Ex. n. 5-35: Wagner, Overture to Tannhäuser, mm. 142-1471121.

This passage in the Overture is a foreboding of Tannhäuser’s praise hymn –or, more precisely, the dithyramb– to Venus in the first scene113. To the words Let your praises ring out! Let the marvel / your might created for me, fortunate as I am, be extolled!, the protagonist accompanies himself with a single harp in chords, which enhances the ‘march’ reference. To the second quatrain, however, the arpeggiated accompaniment turns the dithyramb to a more lyrical comment, following the words My heart yearned, oh my senses thirsted /after pleasure, after delicious gratification. In his Eroica monography, Constantin FLOROS has shown convincingly how in Beethoven’s view a ‘hero’ does not have to be one in the ancient sense, as a great general or politician114. Once more, Beethoven is not alone in this. He seems to grasp the spirit of the time and envisage Napoleon’s greatness in his human dimension, i.e. on the moral and spiritual terrain. This shift from the military to the spiritual mirrors the transformation of the ‘martial’ musical semantic field in the 19th century. The represented ‘hero’ is able to master himself and his “low instincts” to become a collective example of virtue. That accounts for Coriolan, Egmont and Leonore, besides Napoleon before crowning himself emperor. Beethoven identifies with these figures and describes himself in some texts as a hero embracing his own harsh “destiny”115. The writings of philosopher and scientist Johann Georg SULZER confirm Floros’s point of view. In the article Heroisch of his Allgemeine Theorie der schönen Künste (1792), Sulzer demands that the artist who aspires to take on the ‘heroic’ topic identifies with his heroic figures. He also specifies: But the Heroic consists not just in warlike deeds; there are also quiet heroic virtues. Everything that requires an extraordinary spiritual strength, an unusual force of character is heroic116.

112 For a version with C. Abbado (1995) search for WAGNER - “TANNHAUSER” - ABBADO – 1995. The ‘Martial ‘Hymn’ starts at 6:20. 113 In Classical Greek poetry, a dithyramb was originally a hymn of praise to Dionysus sung by the poet alone. Cf. BALDICK 2008 (1990): 94. 114 FLOROS 2008 (1978): 26f. 115 BRISSON 2000: 92. 116 SULZER 1792 2nd ed.: 576f.

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Richard WAGNER’s well-known article on Beethoven’s Eroica (1851) had a strong impact on the symphony’s reception in the second half of the 19th century. In a similar spirit as Sulzer, Wagner refers to the work’s heroic character in a “large sense” of the term, “not at all related only to a military hero”, but to a “complete man in possession of all human feelings at their most intense, a strong and rounded personality to which nothing is alien”117. These are the patriotic feelings that predominate in Germanic music of the 19th century. The correlate to most ‘heroic’ references in Beethoven’s, Schumann’s, Brahms’s, Wagner’s or Bruckner’s music is not geographic or ‘national’, but a spiritual ‘Homeland’. As Constantin FLOROS could show, it originates in a moral interpretation of traditional martial heroism. That is why most Romantic ‘martial’ references of the time share some features of the ‘Sacred’, especially the ‘Hymn’. Such an ideal musical ‘country’ matches Friedrich Schiller’s conceptions. In his treatise in form of letters Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen (‘On the aesthetic education of Man’, 1793-1801), Schiller links Beauty with moral behaviour (Sittlichkeit), individual and collective. Armed only with Kantian, reason-based principles, his educational, artistic programme runs parallel to the bloody political Revolution that was happening precisely during the writing and publication of his treatise. Schiller optimistically believes in the power of art and beauty to contribute to a better mankind: For centuries philosophers and artists have been occupied submerging Truth and Beauty into the depths of general humanity; the former have failed in this, whereas the latter fight victoriously their way up with indestructible vital energy118.

Without naming Schiller, FLOROS quotes the programme notes to the premiere of Beethoven’s Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus op. 43 in 1801 and links convincingly the titanic figure of Prometheus with the composer’s ideal representation of Bonaparte as a human hero. According to the ballet’s hand programme, Prometheus had practically Schiller’s agenda with us mortals: the ancient Greek philosophers describe him as a sublime spirit that found mankind of his time in a state of ignorance, refined them through sciences and art and taught them morality119.

That is Beethoven’s, Brahms’s or Wagner’s patriotism. Their ‘Hymnic Marches’ tell musically about inner epic, about spiritual battles for an ideal Heimat. Historically, the process could be related to what Márta GRABÓCZ describes as ‘mal du siècle’, i.e. the disillusion of early 19th century in the aftermath of the apparently failed Revolution

117

WAGNER 1851, Sect. 2. SCHILLER 1979 (1795): 32. Ganze Jahrhunderte lang zeigen sich die Philosophen wie die Künstler geschäftig, Wahrheit und Schönheit in die Tiefen gemeiner Menschheit hinabzutauchen; jene gehen darin unter, aber mit eigner unzerstörbarer Lebenskraft ringen sich diese siegend empor. 119 Salvatore Viganò (?) on the hand programme to the premiere of Beethoven’s Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus (Vienna, 1801), quoted by FLOROS 2008 (1978): 51f. 118

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of 1789 and the ensuing monarchic Restoration120. In a foreboding of Postmodernity, the profound criticism of religion and of the political status quo throughout the 18th century and the lack of clear practical results in the 19th left the Intelligentsia with a longing and a spleen they could not figure out themselves. In Germanic countries, Ancient Greece and an idealised Middle Ages were frequent refuges to artists in need of a Golden Age in substitution for former myths, after revolutionary ideals, religion and the aristocratic ‘Pastoral’ had been proved illusory or expired. In short, Beethoven’s imagined ‘hero’ has very little relationship to the ‘martial’ proper, but many links with the revolutionary ideals – not only brotherhood, freedom and equality, but also Bildung, that is empowering the people through Classic culture and arts. In the case of Germany, to be sure, this educational, aesthetic programme has also a nationalistic agenda: it envisages the creation of a new Germanic nation based on an ideal image of Ancient Greece.121 Another reference that has tight bonds with the Chivalric ‘Hymnic March’ is what I termed the ‘Pastoral March’. The genealogy of this topos goes back to the baroque Gavotte, and it reaches a culmination in Gustav Mahler’s output, where it plays the role of an emblem122. In Germanic Romantic music, this combination of ‘march’ and ‘pastoral’ references becomes more and more significant, probably due to the importance of the so-called Wanderlust. At the turn of the 19th century, Hiking takes on a particular signification, in close connection with Herder’s Volksgeist, that aimed to reveal the spirit of every nation through literature and through nature, starting with one’s own123. That invests the historical topos of the ‘Pastoral March’ with the nationalist rediscovery of one’s own country and with a spiritual quest124. This ‘marching’ towards an ideal Fatherland is tightly associated with the references to the ‘Hymnic March’ that were presented in this section. Summarising, these are the main musical features of the ‘Hymnic March’ as part of the ‘Chivalric’ topos: • • • • • • • • •

120 121 122 123 124

A combination of ‘sacred’ and ‘martial’ references, Military or hunting ‘Calls’ and ‘Fanfares’, horn motion; A ‘marching’ moderate or slow metre, Anapaest and dotted rhythms, A hymnic, rather solemn tone; A singable, diatonic, simple melody suggesting collective singing; Oftentimes, an ascending fourth upbeat; Consonant or archaic, simple harmony; Brass instrumentation and keys: typically, C major, E-flat major.

GRABÓCZ 2018: 55ff. About the Classic background of Beethoven’s environment, see BRISSON 2000, esp. parts I and II. The ‘Pastoral March’ is dealt with in Chap. 6 Sect. 6.3. MYERS 2018: 284. COLOMBATI 2018: 174f.

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5.4.2

‘Grotesque March’: Mahler’s Burgmusik

The Romantic ‘Chivalric’ style is just a brief, serious interval between a critical treatment of the ‘Martial’ by the Viennese ‘Classics’ and most of the 20th century. In contrast with Romantic idealized ‘March’ references, Gustav Holst’s Mars, the Bringer of War (1914), or Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem (1962) present warfare as a terrifying matter. As if anticipating this, Gustav Mahler has a problematic, intense relationship to ‘march’ references. Among their variants, the ‘grotesque’ stands out within his output as emblematic125. As if the composer were guessing the bloody atrocity that was about to befall Europe, the Mahlerian ‘march’ has definitely lost the innocence of Chopin’s, Schumann’s or Brahms’s ‘martial’ references. Their music still seems to believe in the possibility of a fair and modern, national and spiritual ‘fight’ culminating in a fraternal triumph over a foe not only foreign, but above all evil, morally inferior126. The twentieth century, starting with Mahler and later Shostakovich, sheds quite a different light on the ‘Martial’ altogether. In the first movement of Mahler’s Third Symphony (1893-96), the first ‘martial’ reference of many to appear can be seen in ex. 5-36. It is dysphoric and highly idiosyncratic, and its sharp dotted fourth note reminds of an archaic ‘Entrée’ rhythm (see earlier Sect. 5.1.1).

Ex. n. 5-36: Mahler, Symphony n. 3/I: Rhythm of the first ‘March’ reference1271.

Within the first movement, this peculiar figure, especially the trill on the low register, evokes the ‘grotesque’128. Moreover, structurally and narratively the motif works as an anti-theme. As in Beethoven’s Coriolan (see ex. n. 5-16) or Waldstein Sonata (ex. n. 5-28), there is no main theme: the Exposition of the sonata form enacts a painful ‘Search for a main subject’129. Some experts even consider this Exposition an Introduction, although Mahler repeats it, in a Classicist gesture, and 125

On Mahler’s emblems, see the thematic index in GRIMALT 2012a: 402. See a few pages earlier: ‘Chivalric Style’. 127 Please search for Mahler - Symphony No 3 – Abbado. The “anti-theme” in ex. 5-29 starts at 1:14. 128 This is the definition of ‘grotesque’ in the Cambridge Dictionary: strange and unpleasant, especially in a silly or slightly frightening way. Accessed April 2019. 129 A very similar process of an Exposition searching for its main theme can be seen in Beethoven’s Sonata op. 31 n. 2: see Chap. 8 Sect. 8.5.1, ‘Instrumental Recitative’. 126

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reserves his main theme for much later, in the second part of the Reprise, where a new ‘March’, announced prophetically during the sonata’s Development and derived from the initial motto, finds its epiphany. Only at the end of the movement, in a traditional narrative pattern called per aspera ad astra, the theme of this first movement, with the subtitle ‘Pan’s Awakening. Summer marches in’, eventually reveals itself in triumph130. For Mahler, the grotesque variant of the ‘march’ reference appears to be connected with what he called “Burgmusik”. In Vienna, the Burgmusik was the military band, combining wind and percussion, that was used up to 1918 in official ceremonies such as the change of guard at the Imperial palace –known as die Burg. The Imperial band would every now and then perform parades on the streets as well131. In every-day language of those days, it seems the term would designate by metonymy a helter-skelter crowd eager to have some fun with some lively music, as evoked in drawings by Hans Schließmann from before the first World War: see Fig. 5-1.

Fig. n. 5-1 Hans Schließmann’s depiction of a Viennese Burgmusik at the turn of the 20th century.

130

See a complete analysis of the symphony in GRIMALT 2012a: 135-161. For a good musical example of the original Burgmusik you can search for Hoch- and Deutschmeister Band. This old monarchic musical tradition has recently experienced a certain revival. 131

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This jolly tumultuous atmosphere seems to take on a completely different affective meaning in Mahler’s hypersensitive eyes and ears. For him, the Burgmusik seems to incarnate the very image of the inhuman world against which the subject featuring in his music sees himself in a constant, unfair struggle. According to his friend Natalie BAUER-LECHNER, in the summer of 1895 Mahler described thus to her a passage in the first movement of his Third Symphony: “Der Sommer zieht ein” (‘Summer marches in’) will be the Prelude [of the symphony]. I shall need right away a military band, in order to obtain the drastic effect of the arrival of my martial companion [Pan]. That will be quite as if the Burgmusik would suddenly start to march. A riffraff roaming about, like you normally don’t get to see132.

Natalie and Mahler are alluding to mm. 148ff., marked in the autograph ‘The Herald’: see ex. 5-37.

Ex. n. 5-37: Mahler, Symphony n. 3/I: Irruption of god Pan’s ‘Herald’.

Mahler using the derogatory term ‘riffraff’ is key to grasp the expressive meaning the ‘Burgmusik’ had for him. A second passage, just a few pages away in BAUER-LECHNER’s Memories, insists and specifies further. It is a description of the so-called Sedantag, the celebration (on September 2nd every year) of the Prussian victory at the Battle of Sedan, in 1870. The crucial word in Mahler’s description, telling precisely about the parodic character of its musical manifestation, is Gesindel (‘rabbles’). A noisy, uneducated society, who do not know what to do with their leisure time, appear as somehow threatening. The whole passage is but a post scriptum to a letter to Natalie where the composer presents a general plan to the Third Symphony. Notice the sonorous aspects of Mahler’s concise description, full of a vulnerable pride: September 2nd ’95 / On the glorious Sedan Day, in which / much is shot, much is shouted/, much is drunken and lazed about/and quarrelled133.

132 133

BAUER-LECHNER, Erinnerungen: 35. Ibidem: 38. Dated September 3rd, 1895.

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Comparing the military feast to a religious one shows Mahler’s recurring to irony as a refuge from this noisy, stranger crowd. Read next to each other, both passages help to understand many moments in Mahler’s music, where a ‘March’ becomes oddly brilliant, close to a ‘Circus Parade‘, and the listener suspects parody and ‘False Appearances’, due to incongruous exaggerations134. It is an Emblem of Mahler’s music that can be traced back to the third and last part of his youthful cantata Das klagende Lied (1880). Here, the band that would have sounded originally in the wedding is remembered and distorted grotesquely by memory as 'Burgmusik'. Listening to Mahler’s music, the sheer amount of references to a hostile collective environment is shocking. Their musical features are grotesque ‘Marches’, more or less explicitly violent, ‘blows’, ‘whistles’ and ‘shouting’; an ‘excessive polyphony’ (Mahler’s own expression), where voices seem to ignore each other, or a parody of an academic style. Oftentimes a sudden macabre allusion helps to clear the ironic ambiguity of the passage’s expressive meaning. Julian JOHNSON interprets such moments, along with the inclusion of folksy, traditional elements in a ‘highbrow’ context, in their stiff rhymes and rhythms, as a sign of collective repression of the individual voice135. This whole group of musical signs can be subsumed under the isotopy ‘Worldly Tumult’ (Weltgetümmel), in a felicitous expression by Theodor W. ADORNO. The passage where he uses the expression is a quote from the song Das himmlische Leben. Adorno opposes the ‘Worldly Tumult’ to the category ‘Breakthrough‘ (Durchbruch): Mahler’s symphonies […] are rooted in what music seeks to transcend, the opposite of music which is also its concomitant. The Fourth Symphony calls it weltlich’ Getümmel (worldly tumult)136, Hegel the perverse “course of the world” (Weltlauf)137 which confronts consciousness in advance as something “hostile and empty”138.

The expression Weltgetümmel is also to be found with identical meaning in the Rückert/Mahler song Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen: Ich bin gestorben dem Weltgetümmel Und ruh’ in einem stillen Gebiet.

I am dead to the worldly tumult And rest in a peaceful region.

The ‘Worldly Tumult’ can be labelled as an isotopy, not only because of the recurrent, ubiquitous character of its manifold topoi, but also for the great significance it has within Mahler’s musical world139.

About the isotopy of ‘False Appearances’ in Mahler’s music, see GRIMALT 2011. JOHNSON 2009: 104. More about ‘folklore’ in a negative sense in Chap. 6 Sect. 6.3, Exoticism and folklorism. 136 Adorno’s note: Fourth Symphony, p. 102. [Universal Edition 1963: pp. 107-108]. 137 Adorno’s note: Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, Lasson Edition, Leipzig 1921, p. 250. 138 ADORNO 1960: Jephcott p. 6. German p. 154. 139 More about isotopies in Chap. 1 Sect. 1.4.2. 134 135

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The ‘grotesque’ goes back to a very old tradition rooted in the Carnival festivities. The carnivalesque inversion is the counterpart to an authoritarian society: for a day or two in a year, a great deal of pent-up repression is released behind a protective, anonymous mask. The next day, priests are priests again, men men and women women, etcetera. Marcel BRION reports of a spontaneous carnivalesque parade on the streets of Vienna, at the turn of the 19th century, to escort some oxen to the slaughterhouse. This festive march, probably assimilable to Mahler’s Burgmusik, became progressively traditional until it was eventually institutionalised by adding an official previous military parade140. Mahler’s grotesque marches were a model for Dmitri Shostakovich’s. In his work, those who are ‘marching’ are manifestly also the ‘bad’ ones, our ‘adversaries’. In spite of the composer assuring to his comrades of the Communist Party that his music and his energy were on the side of the 1917 Revolution, the music commissioners had him under suspicion for many years. They could not believe the interpretation Shostakovich offered of his own music, who linked certain of his ‘marches’ to the Nazis. Surely enough, his references to the ‘military’ do not shun sarcasm or caricature, projecting a rather grotesque image of this semantic field. This led him to lose favour with the Politburo of the Soviet government for nearly two years141. The second movement of his 10th Symphony (1953), in spite of its binary metre, was called Scherzo by Shostakovich himself. Its bitter irony comes closer to the horror of 18th-century Tempesta than to the romantic world. The main topical reference could be a ‘Dysphoric March’, but the extremely fast tempo and the syncopated accompaniment from m. 6 on transform it into a painfully stressful gait, as if subject to inhuman pressure: see ex. 5-38.

Ex. n. 5-38: Shostakovich, Symphony n. 10/II: Beginning1421.

140

BRION 1959: 146f. For Shostakovich, see MEYER 1997 (1995), GOJOWY 1983 or VOLKOV 1979, and then especially SHEINBERG 2000, who grounds on Shostakovich’s music her “musical theory of (ironic) incongruence”. 142 For a version with K. Kondrashin search for Shostakovich - Symphony № 10 in E minor, Op. 93 [Audio + Score]. The second movement starts at 21:26. 141

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The composer himself, after the dictator dying in the same year of 1953, acknowledged the whole symphony was a portrait of Stalin and his time. Stalin and Shostakovich had held a personal, uneven challenge with each other that was extremely wearing and humiliating for a musician who could count on little more than the music’s ambiguity to defend himself. Stravinsky continues the Mahlerian topos of the ‘Grotesque March’ to start boldly his Histoire du soldat, dated precisely the last year of World War I, 1918. In the last decades, the march has experienced a rehabilitation on film soundtracks. John Williams, Steven Spielberg’s favourite composer, uses them massively, in an exhilarating mode. In his marches, the ‘martial’ is combined with the syncopated rhythms of Afro-American rooted popular music.

5.4.3

‘Dysphoric March’: The Defeated. ‘Elegiac March’

In many instances in 19th-century music the euphoric energy of the ‘March’ reference can turn to its opposite. Beethoven’s Piano Concerto in C minor op. 37 (1800) starts with this gloomy, martial, subdued ‘Ominous Unison’: see ex. 5-39.

Ex. n. 5-39: Beethoven, Concerto C minor op. 37/I, beginning.

The expressive meaning of this opening can be best grasped in comparison with an example dated a few years later: the finale of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony (see ex. 5-40).

Ex. n. 5-40: Beethoven, Symphony n. 5/IV, main theme.

These could be the markers of the ‘Dysphoric March’: • • • • • • •

Minor mode Moderate tempo piano Gloomy character ‘Ominous Unison’ Triadic and diatonic steps, as in a military ‘Call’; Imitation of ‘Drums’, as at the end of the theme in ex. 5-39.

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They are in opposition to some of the markers of the ‘normal’ or unmarked version of the ‘March’: see Table n. 5-3. ‘MARCH’ Mode Tempo Dynamics Character Texture Diastematic

‘DYSPHORIC MARCH’

Major Minor Fast Moderate or slow Forte piano Energetic Gloomy Homophonic Unison Triadic, diatonic, imitating cornets and drums Table n. 5-3: Markers of two ‘martial’ topoi, in comparison.

In Franz Schubert’s Sonata in A minor D. 784, the first movement suggests the pace of a ‘march’: see ex. 5-41.

Ex. n. 5-41: Schubert, Sonata D. 784/I: beginning.

The melody displays ‘martial’ fourth and fifth intervals but also ‘sensitive’ chromaticism. Finally, the opera seria unison is answered with an instrumental formula. Everything points to the topos of the ‘Dysphoric March’143. The initial song in Winterreise, D. 911 (1828), Gute Nacht, is arguably the paradigmatic example of a ‘Dysphoric March’: a Wanderer starts his sad journey 144. Also, the initial theme in Schubert’s Fantasy in F minor for piano four-hands D. 940 (1828) displays a combination of ‘martial’ and ‘lyrical’ references: see supra ex. 5-14. Sometimes ‘Dysphoric Marches’ are confused with ‘Funeral Marches’. The latter, however, is a full genre on its own, in force until recently and often reproduced on stage. Even as a topical reference, imported into a non-functional context, it refers to a well-delimited situation and is usually explicitly named. For instance, the Marcia funebre sulla morte di un eroe (‘On the death of a hero’) in Beethoven’s Sonata op. 26 (1801) or the entitled Marcia funebre in his Third Symphony (1804). The third movement of Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor op. 35 bears also the indication Marche funèbre. According to Constantin FLOROS, these are references to theatrical ‘Funeral Marches’, not to the real ones on the streets. The operatic ‘Funeral March’ is a frequent topos from the turn of the 19th century. However, it also became customary 143 144

For the dychotomy Euphoric/Dysphoric, see Chap. 1 Sect. 1.2. Please search for Schubert: Winterreise - Peter Schreier - Tenor. András Schiff.

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in France to compose funeral marches to accompany the funeral procession of some great army generals, from the Napoleonic wars on. Among the composers honoured with such commissions, Giuseppe Sarti (1781), François-Joseph Gossec (1791), Giovanni Paisiello (1797) Luigi Cherubini (1797) or Ferdinand Paër (1801) stand out145. Musically, the slow pulse and the sharp rhythms of these Funeral Marches are reminiscent of the ‘Entrée’ (see supra Sect. 5.1), only in minor mode. Oftentimes, a central part in the major mode seems to offer some relief or hope. The ‘Dysphoric March’ instead is the altered version of a ‘normal’, military march: an artificial genre, that seems to take place only inside of the Musical Persona, never in a realistic context, not even on stage. To tell them apart from the Funeral marches, it is useful to imagine the ‘euphoric’, military version of them. ‘Military’ and ‘Dysphoric’ march references share most markers –a binary metre, dotted rhythms, triadic figures, drum rolls– but the latter marches to a slower tempo and in the minor mode. The ‘Dysphoric’ march can be interpreted as the march of the defeated. He had left to battle full of hope and energy; now he is coming back beaten. In Mahler’s music, a profound exploration of ‘march’ topical references in many old and new nuances can be observed. Up to eleven variants of them have been described146. Among them, the clearest example of a ‘Funeral March’ is arguably the last song of the Wanderer cycle, Die zwei blauen Augen, with the indication ‘Alla marcia. With a mysteriously lugubrious expression throughout (no dragging)’: see ex. 5-42. Unlike the previous examples by Beethoven or Chopin, here the ‘Funeral March’ topos does not allude to any deceased person, but to a desperate mood.

Ex. n. 5-42: Mahler, Die zwei blauen Augen, beginning1471.

145

FLOROS 2008 (1978): 98f. GRIMALT 2012: 402. 147 For a historical live version (Salzburg 1951) search for Mahler - Die zwei blauen Augen Fischer-Dieskau /Vienna /Furtwängler. 146

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A beautiful example of a ‘Dysphoric March’ reference can be heard in Mahler’s song Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen (Humoresken, 1898)148. After an instrumental introduction with many dysphoric ‘Calls’ –too slow, on the ‘wrong’ instruments, in minor mode–, the voice comes in with a ‘Dysphoric March’ gait, to an incongruous lyric-amorous text. Before the lyrics refer to ‘war’ and ‘death’, the music is anticipating it. The other underlying topos in the song is the diatonic, rustic Ländler, usually a sign of ‘False Appearances’ within Mahler’s vocabulary149. Mahler’s Second Symphony (1888-1895) opens with another ‘Dysphoric March’ in heroic mood. Both style and key correspond to the ‘Pathetic’ described in Chap. 3 Sect. 3.2.3. The tragic start situation is reversed in a triumphal finale, following the classical narrative pattern per aspera ad astra. The initial ‘march’ is described often as ‘funeral’, guided by the original subtitle to the work, a symphonic poem called Todtenfeier, ‘Funeral’. Topical analysis, however, helps to determine a ‘Dysphoric March’, a result that seems more adequate to the actual music, even if it does not match the composer’s explicit title. As for Mahler’s ‘Elegiac Marches‘, they have precedents in Anton Bruckner’s music. Mahler’s song Der Tamboursg’sell has two main sections. It starts as a ‘Dysphoric March‘: the first three stanzas describe how a drummer-boy is led to the scaffold, for unknown reasons. This first section’s descriptive character relates to the second one as a recitative to the aria. A last, fourth stanza with lines that appear to be spontaneous additions of the desperate drummer-boy is musically a lyrical expansion reacting to the events being told so far. In between, a breathtaking orchestral interlude separates both great sections of the song. In a slower ‘marching’ pace, the tone of this instrumental middle-section is elegiac, dominated by resignation and melancholic lyricism: see ex. 5-43.

Ex. n. 5-43: Mahler, Der Tamboursg’sell: instrumental interlude, mm. 94-1021501.

Besides Bruckner, the idiosyncratic use of topoi by Mahler finds oftentimes a precedent in Schubert’s music. In the Trio in E-flat D. 929 (1827) another ‘Elegiac March’ seems to mark tone and pace. It is the famous second movement Andante

148 For a version with C. Abbado search for Gustav Mahler - Wo die schonen [sic] Trompeten blasen - Anne Sofie von Otter. 149 An analysis of this song is provided in GRIMALT 2012. 150 For a version with D G. Szell (London 1968) search for Mahler/Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, 1968: Der Tamboursg’sell - Des Knaben Wunderhorn. The elegiac interlude starts at 3:23.

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con moto that has been often used in films for dramaturgic contexts of loss or mourning: see ex. 5-44.

Ex. n. 5-44: Schubert, Trio D. 929/II, begin1511.

In a scene from the American television series John Adams (Tom Hooper 2008), the second president of the USA leaves the White House at early morning, all by himself, after losing the presidential election of 1800. He gets on a carriage full of ordinary people, astonished to share the ride with him. The exit from the house and the boarding of the vehicle are accompanied by an original music, thematically loose, slow and melancholic. The moment the carriage starts to roll, however, an arrangement of Schubert’s ‘Elegiac March’ is heard (ex. 5-44), as we watch the carriage move away152.

5.5

‘Hunting’, the ‘Forest’. The ‘Gallop’

The hunting horn has a long history that goes back to Roman times. It becomes a functional instrument in the Middle Ages, to perform the parforce hunt. In its modern form it culminates around the turn of the eighteenth century. Unlike natural cornets, typical of the military world, ancient natural hunting horns were not able to produce the fifth harmonic –the major third–, due to their size. That is why the archaic ‘Hunting Call’, owing to its limitation on the intervals of fifth and fourth, often single-noted, sounds relatively poor next to the triadic ‘Military Calls’.153 As they progressively come into art music, from the sixteenth up to the eighteenth century, the confusion between trumpet and horn, both for musicians and theorists, is general. Nowadays we distinguish those with a conical shape as horns, and the cylindrical as trumpets.

151 152 153

Please search for Schubert Piano Trio No. 2. - Istomin-Stern-Rose - II. Andante con moto Search for John Adams Leaving the White House. The ‘Elegiac March’ starts at 1:38. More about horns and their registers earlier in this chapter, Sect. 5.2 Calls, Fanfares.

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We do not even know which were first, functional or theatrical horns. In any case, one certainly modified the other. Raymond MONELLE quotes a French and a German hunter, both from the 17th century, complaining about new brass horns confusing the dogs at the hunt and about many carrying their old horns only for decoration. In conclusion, The baroque hunting horn was poised between musical expression and practical utility. Less effective than the ox horn as a signalling tool, it was more evocative of the splendour and exhilaration of the hunt. Thus, the signifier of the hunt topic was already halfway to being its own signified. It was implicated in the imaginative recreation of the hunt as a cultural unit. It may well have originated as a theatrical instrument. Such was baroque culture; the world was a stage154.

Historically, the hunt and its representations have been associated with certain values that humans and animals share. To quote MONELLE again, The noble ideals of hunting were often mentioned by writers of the eighteenth century, especially the French. The stag was a noble animal; the hunt was a scene of courage, joy, and oneness with nature; hunting accustomed a man to hardship and sacrifice; it was a training for war and a kind of substitute for military actions. Considering the decadence of the contemporary hunt, this high-mindedness may seem curious155.

The musical staging of the ‘Hunt’ is arguably the most amiable part of the ‘Martial’ semantic field. This has its origin in a medieval tradition: The medieval hunt was aristocratic, warlike, manly, adventurous. It was dangerous and unpredictable. The hart, a noble animal, conferred nobility on its pursuers. The hunt was at once erotic and idealistic. An aspect of high culture, it was intimately linked to the poetry of courtly love and to the life of refinement and breeding156.

In music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, these medieval connotations become topical. MONELLE subsumes them into three: morning, autumn, and the destrier –the noble horse157. In Antonio Vivaldi’s Le quattro stagioni (1716/17), ‘Hunt’ references appear already in the sonnet on Autumn that gives a pretext to the piece and in the finale to the third concerto. In Josef Haydn’s Die Jahreszeiten (1801), the chorus n. 29 Hört das laute Getön (‘Hear the loud clang’), belonging also to Autumn, describes several stages of a hunt parforce de chiens, displaying at almost every moment of the hunting process the right fanfare or call158. Most of these codified calls can be

154

MONELLE 2006: 40f. Ibidem: 65. 156 Ibidem: 67. 157 Ibidem: 68-70. 158 Search for Joseph Haydn / Die Jahreszeiten: Der Herbst (Schuldt-Jensen). The ‘hunting’ chorus starts at 21:23. 155

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found in contemporary repertoires, with slight variants159. In the same work, number 10 Der muntre Hirt ‘The Jolly Shepherd’ appears within the ‘Summer’. Musically, it is a whole ‘hunting’ scene in 6/8, F Major, ‘Horn Fifths‘, etc., although there is no reference to ‘hunting’ in the text160. Thus, the use of the musical ‘Hunt’ topos is starting to detach itself from the concrete reference to more abstract correlates, in this case maybe ‘joy’, ‘morning’ and ‘nature’. In spite of its explicit title, Leopold Mozart’s Sinfonia di caccia seems to suggest, through the sheer energy of its music, the enthusiasm of a morning activity161. The ‘Gallop’ reference is another way to allude to the ‘Hunt’ in music of the eighteenth century. Raymond MONELLE described this topos as the ‘Noble Horse’162. The horse that used to help in the hunt is assimilated to the medieval courser, the great horse for battle and tournament. Its musical ‘Gallop’ carries connotations of manhood, nobility and those aspects of warfare that were not negatively marked. We are dealing here obviously with an idealised version of equine reality – that is what the ‘cultural unit’ means in any topos. In this case, it is all about the so-called cheval écrit, a ‘written’ or literary horse. The main signifier of the ‘Gallop’ topos is also typical for the ‘Hunt’: triple metre, that MONELLE sagaciously relates to the anapaests of traditional poems in English and in German163. As for its signifieds, the ‘Gallop’ is associated with speed, adventure, freedom outside of the city walls, manly heroism, unleashed strength, sexuality, and a similarly mythical, medieval nobility. An early example is Monteverdi’s madrigal Gira il nemico, part of his Eighth book of madrigals, subtitled guerrieri ed amorosi, ‘of warfare and love’, published in Venice in 1638. Amusingly, the text by Giulio Strozzi uses the terminology of a military siege to a fortress as a metaphor for seduction from the point of view of the seduced. The whole irony is translated musically into an excessive orgy of ‘Gallop’ and military ‘Call’ references: see ex. 5-45.

159

MONELLE 2006: 79. For a version with A. Schmidt and J.E. Gardiner (1992) search for J. Haydn, Der munt’re Hirt versammel nun (score). [Recte: versammelt]. 161 For a version with the Orfeo Barockorchester and Michi Gaigg (Salzburg 2004), search for Leopold Mozart: Sinfonia di Caccia (I: Vivace). 162 MONELLE 2000: 45-65. 163 See also supra in this chapter Other Martial Rhythms, Sect. 5.1.3. 160

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Ex. n. 5-45: Monteverdi, Gira il nemico (Book VIII of Madrigals), mm. 99ff1641.

Baroque and ‘Classic’ references to the musical ‘Hunt’ thus carry associations to delight in nature, virility and aristocracy. The first movement of Mozart’s piano Sonata K. 576, for instance, opposes a ‘Gallop’ reference with ‘horn’ undertones (mm. 1-2, 5-6) to ‘sensitive style’ reactions to them (mm. 3-4, 7-8), in a shocking contrast: see ex. 5-46.

164

If you search for Monteverdi - Gira il nemico, insidioso Amore (Alessandrini), the ironic ‘Galloping’ starts at 2:31.

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Ex. n. 5-46: Mozart, Sonata K. 576/I: beginning.

However, in the nineteenth century these meanings gradually lose their denotative character, as we saw in Haydn’s “Jolly Shepherd”, a couple of pages ago. Romanticism transforms the representation of ‘Hunting’ into symbols of the forest, and with it that of the outsider’s individual freedom. That makes the ‘Gallop’ a frequent Romantic topos. It replaces most of the previous ‘Hunt’ references in a twist towards abstraction. The signifier becomes basically rhythmic, the signified wide and related to the ‘Chivalric’ topos discussed earlier in Sect. 5.4.1. In Johannes Brahms’s Die schöne Magelone op. 33 (1861-1869), for instance, both the poet Ludwig Tieck and the composer imitate the tone of the medieval romance. This includes many of the associations of the 19th-century cheval écrit: youth, heroism and chivalric joy, and romantic scenes in the forest. The first poem in the cycle starts thus: Keinen hat es noch gereut, Der das Ross bestiegen, Um in frischer Jugendzeit Durch die Welt zu fliegen.

No one has yet regretted Getting on his horse In his fresh youth To speed through the world.

Musically, the ‘Gallop’ triple rhythm and ‘Horn motion’ (see earlier ex. 5-10 and Sect. 5.2) stand out. E-flat was also the typical key for German horns, until F became the standard tuning165: see ex. 5-47.

165

Cf. MONELLE 2006: 42. See also WILSON 2013. In France, horns were traditionally tuned in D.

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Ex. n. 5-47: Brahms, Die schöne Magelone op. 33 n. 1, beginning1661.

In nineteenth-century music, many titles evoke horses and riding, often with a symbolic meaning connected either to freedom of the individual or to the libido. Both signifiers and signifieds of the ‘Gallop’ topos appear also often in autonomous contexts, detached from any explicit reference to a ride in the woods. MONELLE himself offers the examples of the first movements of Brahms’s First and Third Symphonies167. In both cases, the main topos is arguably the ‘Chivalric’ described earlier in Sect. 5.4.1. This is no coincidence. In the Romantic mentality, both topoi share a lot of common imaginary, the horizon of an idealised free, new country. The ‘Chivalric’ tends to stress the spiritual, the ‘Gallop’ the physical aspects of it. A ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ deserves mention. It was already described by Raymond MONELLE in The Sense of Music: it is the sinister variant of the ‘Gallop’ topos, in what could be interpreted as a fusion with the Ombra topos168. It has a large presence in nineteenth-century music. In Franz Schubert’s song Der Schäfer und der Reiter D. 517 (‘The Shepherd and the Horseman’, 1817), both protagonists of the poem invite the composer to oppose musically the ‘Pastoral’ and the ‘Martial’ worlds169. The short story re-enacts the dichotomy displayed in Die schöne Müllerin between the Miller as the protagonist of the cycle and his rival Hunter. Here, the shepherd is musically correlated with a reference to the ‘Siciliana’, the ‘Pastoral’ par excellence. The hunter functions here as 166

For a version with V. Redgrave as narrator, Ch. Prégardien and A. Staier, search Johannes Brahms: Die schöne Magelone op. 33 Nr.1.mpg 167 MONELLE 2000: 56. 168 Ibidem: 62f. For the theatrical topos of Ombra, see infra Chap. 8 Sect. 8.5.3. 169 Please search for Matthias Goerne; “Der Schäfer und der Reiter”; D 517; Franz Schubert.

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a predator, a symbol of human aggressivity set out on the path of survival. Its topical musical correlate is ‘Gallop’, but here it appears in its dysphoric variant. The text opposes love and generosity on the side of the shepherd to the rider’s anxious greed, who gloomily admits being a slave of Ruhm und Gold (‘Glory and gold’): see ex. 5-48.

Ex. n. 5-48: Schubert, Der Schäfer und der Reiter D. 517, mm. 14-22.

Two decades later, Fryderyk Chopin composed his demonic B-flat minor Scherzo op. 31 (1837). In fact, three of his four Scherzi are anything but a joke. Anatole LEIKIN has shown how Chopin was following the taste of the mid-19th century for ghost or Gothic stories, not only in his Scherzi, but above all in his Préludes op. 28 (1835-39)170. Brahms has also his own phantasmagorical Scherzo for piano solo op. 4 in E-flat minor, a youthful work from 1851. They all continue the ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ topos, though in no thematic relationship to horses, hunt or even the woods. There are many more instances of ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ references in Brahms’s output: it might be one of his emblems. His Quintet in F minor op. 34 (1865) is paradigmatic for this topos. From its first movement, elegiac and serene, all the way to the finale, openly terrifying, triple rhythms predominate over most of the musical themes, suggesting references to ‘Hunt’ and to ‘Gallop’, but with a dysphoric, ghostly character. Only the second movement, Andante un poco adagio, offers a truce to so much galloping tension, with references to the ‘Love Duet’, maybe also the ‘Barcarolle’171. Even here, however, the chilly ‘calls’ of the post horn in ascending octaves hold the scene in the musical ‘woods’. Moreover, the central section of this Andante seems to deny the initially represented ‘Idyll’, as if suggesting its condition of irredeemably past172. The ‘forest’ in Brahms’s op. 34 becomes a place of bedevilment, grief and fear, rather than freedom and joy. Its anguished Scherzo –third movement– deserves to be put next to the Scherzo from the Second Piano Concerto (1881)173. In all these

170

Cf. LEIKIN 2015. For references to genres around the ‘Serenade‘, whether diurnal or nocturnal, see infra Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. 172 See the ‘Retrospect’ as a Romantic narrative archetype in GRIMALT 2018b, 2018c. 173 For a version with D. Barenboim and S. Celibidache search for Brahms - Piano concerto n°2. Mov 2. 171

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works, the ‘Pathetic’ melodies and harmonies and the many syncopations combine shockingly with the triple metre and the triadic figures of the ‘Hunt’, albeit in minor mode and very far away from the ‘Pastoral’ semantic field. The ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ is also the main reference in the Allegro of Brahms’s First Symphony, first movement (1876): see ex. 5-49.

Ex. n. 5-49: Brahms, Symphony n. 1/I: mm. 38-46.

In the same key, as if quoting him, Edvard Grieg’s starts his Sonata for violin and piano no. 3 op. 45 (1887) with the same topos: see ex. 5-50174.

Ex. n. 5-50: E. Grieg, Sonata n. 3 for violin and piano/I: beginning.

The most famous example of a ‘Diabolic Ride’ might be that of the Valkyries in Wagner’s Die Walküre, (1870)175. The minor mode, the thrilling ‘Oscillations’, the ‘Shouting’ and the oftentimes dissonant harmonies turn the ‘galloping’ rhythms of these legendary amazons into an ominous representation. After all, Valkyries’ main duty is to carry fallen warriors from the battlefield to Valhalla, the traditional resting place for Germanic heroes.

174

I owe this reference to David Flores. For a live version (Berlin 1998) search for Richard Wagner: Ride of the Valkyries (Berliner Philharmoniker, Barenboim). 175

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A few years later, César Franck’s symphonic poem Le chasseur maudit (‘The Cursed Hunter’, 1882) enacts musically the legend of a fellow who prioritised his favourite pastime –hunting– over fulfilling a religious obligation, which led him to eternal damnation176. In Mahler’s work, the ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ topos has been termed ‘Diabolic Scherzo‘, as a characteristic emblem of his music. It has an overwhelming presence in most of his symphonies, starting with the Second (1888-95) up to the Tenth (1910)177. Lóránt PÉTERI has traced this topos and located it within a wider cultural context178. He presents the ‘Uncanny’ (German das Unheimliche) as a psychological concept, described by E. Jentsch and S. Freud at the beginning of the 20th century in literature and visual arts, especially in E.T.A. Hoffmann’s stories. Jentsch locates the uncanny in phenomena of which it is hard to decide whether they are living or dead, animated of unanimated, live organisms or mechanical contraptions179.

And he underlines the importance of movement in these manifestations. This leads PÉTERI to present musical examples by Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Liszt and Mahler. Among them two sub-topoi deserve mention. First, the Danse macabre, i.e. the representation of dancing corpses or Death itself. Its paradigmatic example is Saint-Saëns symphonic tone poem (1875)180. Second, the Perpetuum mobile as displayed in the uncanny Scherzo of Beethoven’s Third Symphony (1804). The never-stopping repetition that defines this musical topos is interpreted psychologically by Lucia Ruprecht as “driven to the deeply unsettling extreme of the repetition compulsion”181. As in Chopin’s Scherzi, many of these instances of ‘Dysphoric Gallop’ have no direct relationship to ‘riding’ or ‘woods’ – a proof of the topos becoming increasingly abstract and stylised. Another example of this is Paul Dukas’s symphonic poem L’apprenti sorcier (1897), according to Goethe’s Ballad of the same name (Der Zauberlehrling, ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’)182.

176

For a version with M. Plasson, search for César Franck, Le Chasseur Maudit. The horn ‘Calls‘ start the piece as an Introduction. 177 GRIMALT 2011, 2012. 178 PÉTERI 2007. 179 Jentsch 1906, On the Psychology of the Uncanny, 11. Quoted by PÉTERI 2007: 321. 180 Please search for [Václav Smetáček] Saint-Saëns: Danse Macabre. 181 Ruprecht 2006: Dances of the Self in H. von Kleist, E.T.A. Hoffmann and H. Heine: 137, quoted by PÉTERI 2007: 326. 182 For a truly uncanny rendering of the Ballad, search for Der Zauberlehrling - Klaus Kinski, to complement the well-known Disney Studios’ version (Fantasia, 1940).

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To summarise, the markers of the ‘Hunting’ topos are • • • • •

Triple metre; The sound of the horn; So-called Horn motion; Simple ‘Calls’, including repeated notes or fourth intervals; ‘Martial Calls’ with dotted rhythms and triadic figures, but prioritising the diatonic, melodic register; • Imitating a stylised ‘Gallop’, whether euphoric or dysphoric.

Table n. 5-4 compares signifiers (or markers) and signifieds (or connotations) of both topoi ‘Martial’ and ‘Hunting’. They share a lot of common ground, but the nuances are worth the effort of distinguishing them.

‘MARTIAL’ REFERENCES SIGNIFIERS

METRE TIMBRES TEXTURE DIASTEMATIC RHYTHMS TYPICAL KEYS

SIGNIFIEDS

FUNCTIONAL ORIGIN LOCATION CHARACTER TIME VALUES

2/4, 4/4, binary Trumpets, Cornets, Drums Monodic Triadic Dotted, Anapaest C Major, D Major, G Major Marches, Calls, Parades Battlefield, Parade, Theatre Brilliant, aggressive, triumphant Undetermined Fatherland, virile courage

'HUNT’ REFERENCES 6/8, triple Horns Duo (Horn Fifths), Monodic Single Note, Step Motion, Fourth Leap Dotted, ‘Gallop’ F Major, E-flat Major, D Major Calls, theatrical ‘Hunt’ Woods, Theatre Brave but aimable Morning, Autumn Freedom, Virility, Nobility

Table n. 5-4: Comparison between ‘Martial’ and ‘Hunt’ References.

Chapter 6

Lyricism and Pastoral

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN Pourquoi toujours des bergers ? On ne voit que cela partout. MAÎTRE À DANSER Lorsqu’on a des personnes à faire parler en musique, il faut bien que, pour la vraisemblance, on donne dans la bergerie. Le chant a été de tout temps affecté aux bergers. MOLIÈRE1

Lyricism and Pastoral, the subjects of this chapter, are the voice of the Secular word, in opposition to the Sacred word. It is the terrain of individual expression, free from institutional coercions, traditionally framed within an imaginary ‘natural’ landscape. In music of the common practice period, this involves references to poetry, mostly of an amorous theme, and to the semantic field of the ‘Pastoral’, whose origins lie in literature. First, references to ‘Song’ are tackled: in analysis, they seem to coincide with what Leonard RATNER had termed the ‘Singing Style’ (Sect. 6.1). ‘Pastoral’ is in the first place a genre (Sect. 6.2), then a semantic field including several musical topoi (Sect. 6.3). It is also an earthly paradise located in human longings for plenitude that found in Western music a privileged space. Since the Renaissance, the Pastoral has been a traditional symbol of music in European culture, due to its overwhelming presence in all musical genres. Humanists of the early Modernity were trying to follow Classical ancient models relating words and music2. According to Ancient Greek and Roman sources, Arcadia, the wonderland in a past Golden Age where shepherds and nymphs would live in timeless harmony, was also the world of singing and music3. The Secular Word represents an intersection between literature and music. It is the realm of lyric poetry, centred on erotic love and grief; and also of theatre and narrative

1

Le bourgeois gentilhomme (1670): Act I, scene 2. MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Why always as shepherds? You see nothing but that everywhere. MUSIC MASTER: When we have characters that are to speak in music, it’s necessary, for believability, to make them pastoral. Singing has always been assigned to shepherds. Transl. Philip D. Jones (2008) in Project Gutenberg. 2 SEIDEL 2002: 323. 3 BALDICK 2001: 249f. © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_6

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genres4. Opposed to the collective, ostentatious, authoritarian ‘Martial’ semantic field, Lyricism offers some space to the expression of individual tenderness. This is made manifest in actual singing or in its literary representation. A represented ‘singing’ is an essential part of Western instrumental music, next only to the ‘Dance’ references that are dealt with in our next chapter. In opposition to the ‘Sacred’ semantic field, the world of Lyricism and Pastoral is an earthly one, albeit imaginary. If the ‘Siciliana’ is the pastoral reference par excellence, the “New Siciliana” is a term coined by Raymond MONELLE that is useful to understand how musical topoi work historically (Sect. 6.3.1). In addition, Exoticism, i.e. Otherness in music, deserves a space within the Pastoral semantic field (Sect. 6.3.2). Next, a topos of our own is presented: a ‘Pastoral March’ that is one of the most salient emblems of Gustav Mahler’s vocabulary (Sect. 6.3.3). The ‘Serenade’ and its variants (Sect. 6.4) close this chapter dominated by human eroticism as well as fantasies and sorrows derived from it. In our semiotic square (see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.5), we enter here the enticing territory of Freedom and the Spirit.

6.1

‘Vocal’ vs. ‘Instrumental’. ‘Song’ References, ‘Singing Style’

In a chapter about Lyricism, it is a logical first step to focus on singing. When looking at music of the past, it is useful to remember the absolute primacy of the Vocal and the subservient role that instrumental music had, until the nineteenth century. For Johann Mattheson, Singbarkeit (‘Singability’) is the “first and foremost” rule for composition5. The present study chooses to distinguish among the different vocal genres and locates Song and ‘Song’ references here with Lyricism; sacred vocal genres in Chap. 4; theatrical references, tragic and comic, in Chap. 8. However, a first basic examination of the ‘Vocal’ represented instrumentally seems generally useful for analysis. This section closes with a historical, critical review on what has been labelled ‘Singing Style’, that we tend to analyse as references to ‘Song’ or to the ‘Sensitive Style’ described in Chap. 3 Sect. 3.2.2.

6.1.1

‘Vocal’ versus ‘Instrumental’

The reference to ‘vocal’ genres is a fundamental part of the history of instrumental music’s increasing autonomy, over the course of the 17th and 18th centuries. In a first instance, instruments started to imitate the voice’s expressive inflexions. On the other hand, already in the early eighteenth century, vocal music is imitating coloraturas, arpeggios and figures typical of violins and oboes. Examples of both 4 5

Theatrical references are discussed in Chap. n. 8. Mattheson, Das Neu-eröffnete Orchester (1713: 105). Quoted by DAY-O’CONNELL 2014: 244.

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tendencies are frequent in JS Bach’s cantatas, or in seria operas by Hasse or Haendel. ‘Vocal’ references are one of two main ways for instrumental music to be significative, next only in importance to ‘Dance’ references.

‘VOCAL’ STYLE Regular, moderate rhythm Stepwise, short intervals Legato ‘Vocal’ ornamentation turns, appoggiature, acciaccature etc. Glissando, messa di voce, vibrato. Rubato performance Connection to ‘words’

‘INSTRUMENTAL’ STYLE Passagework Leaping intervals Non legato Arpeggiated chords –– Steady pulse Reference to ‘Accompaniment’

Table n. 6-1: Markers of a ‘Vocal’ versus ‘Instrumental’ style.

Table n. 6-1 shows the most characteristic markers of a ‘Vocal’ style in instrumental contexts. They appear in opposition only for analytical purposes: in reality, they need and give sense to each other as heaven and earth. In one of his many felicitous images, MATTHESON compares their relationship with that of mother and daughter: the instrumental accompaniment adapts and submits itself to the vocal line, and on the other hand it is good that each one of them keeps their proper, different identity6. Wye J. ALLANBROOK sees in this dialectical relationship a tendency of 18thcentury music in general. It can be remarked in dichotomies such as ‘Vocal’ and ‘Instrumental’, but also in the couple Stile antico vs. Galant, sacred and worldly or, within the new sonata, Exposition vs. Reprise, Tonic and Dominant, Antecedent and Consequent, etcetera7. Binary contrast becomes thus a fundamental compositional principle of the so-called ‘Classic Style’. Moreover, topical identities are relational, i.e. they make sense only in relationship to each other: “Legato” and “Lyrical” are topoi by virtue of being juxtaposed to and hence differentiated from passages that are staccato, or that clearly mimic orchestral rather than vocal idioms8.

In practice, two of these markers are most useful in analysis to reveal a ‘vocal’ reference: the ornamentation that singers would traditionally improvise needs to be written down if an instrumentalist has to render them; and the plucked-strings accompaniment. We have previously seen many examples where a ‘plucked-string’ accompaniment marked the ‘lyrical’ tone: see for instance ex. 1–3. In piano music, other 6 7 8

MATTHESON 1739 (1999): 204 (307f). ALLANBROOK 1983: 18. ALLANBROOK 2014: 123.

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markers of a ‘Vocal’ performance must be left out, such as vibrato, glissando, or messa di voce, i.e. a typically baroque way of attacking a note softly, then crescendo, diminuendo. Mahler can reproduce these ‘vocal’ effects on most orchestral instruments, thanks to many hairpins and to performance indications such as dolce, cantabile, mit Wärme (‘with warmth’), and so forth: see ex. 6-1.

Ex. n. 6-1: Mahler, Symphony n. 5/II: mm. 39-44.

The ‘vocal’ style can also be expressive precisely because of its absence. Many ‘instrumental only’ passages in 19th-century music seem to connote ‘inhumanity’. In the precedent chapter we saw the first movement of Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata op. 53 (1804), where a martial, instrumental accompaniment yields first to a little melodic cell in m. 3, to real ‘Singing’ only in m. 35 in form of a ‘Hymn’ reference: see earlier ex. 5-28. There, the contrast between the ‘Martial’ and the ‘Sacred’ reference is enhanced by the opposition between ‘Instrumental’ and ‘Vocal’ styles. In Brahms’s music, this ‘Instrumental Only’ is also a topos for sombre, dysphoric episodes. In his Scherzo op. 4 (1851), that belongs to the genre of the ‘Uncanny’ described in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.5, the scarceness of actual melody contributes decisively to the sinister atmosphere of its main section. There are also many examples of an ‘Instrumental Only’ topos in Mahler’s output, e.g. in the Introduction to the first movement of both his Third (1896) and his Fifth Symphonies (1902). In the first case, a ‘human’ presence, manifested in actual melody, is registered with relief only in m. 166 featuring the first trombone, or perhaps earlier in m. 58, where eight horns (later taken over by trumpets) articulate an agitato, unsettling passage. As for the Fifth, this happens respectively in m. 35. The tension that these introductions create is based on the dichotomy ‘instrumental vs. vocal’, maybe implying ‘human absence vs. presence’.

6.1.2

‘Song’ References

Most instances of the so-called ‘Singing Style’, that will be reviewed historically right away, correspond in our analyses to a reference to ‘Song’ or to the ‘Sensitive Style’ described in Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.2. The proper place for Song is the chamber, and therefore the references to an intimate, represented ‘singing’ find the ideal generic frame in what Koch calls Sonata, the equivalent of our chamber music.

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A paradigmatic example of a ‘song’ reference in an instrumental context is Beethoven’s Adagio cantabile, the second movement of his Sonata Pathétique op. 13: see ex. 6-2.

Ex. n. 6-2: Beethoven, Sonata Pathétique op. 13/II: beginning.

Note the characteristic accompaniment in sixteenth notes as a reference to ‘plucked strings’, be it a lute, a guitar, or a lyre – the instrument from which the term ‘Lyric’ derives. The moderate tempo, legato, and a predominantly step-like melody are further markers of a ‘Song’ reference transposed into the Sonata genre. This ‘Chamber Singing’ topos and its connotations of intimacy are transposed also to the symphony hall to great effect. In the second movement of Brahms’s Piano Concerto in B-flat (1881), one of Brahms’s own songs is quoted: Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer (‘My Slumber Grows Ever More Peaceful’), with lyrics by Hermann Lingg (Op. 105 n. 2). Constantin FLOROS calls this a ‘Wordless Song’, not only here, when there is a quotation from an actual song, but also in case of an abstract reference, where a text could be assumed. Within Mahler’s output, FLOROS summons the Adagietto from the Fifth Symphony (see ex. 6-1), the Andante moderato from the Sixth and the Andante amoroso from the Seventh9. References to ‘Song’ are indeed a frequent Romantic topos, especially in the wide literature of amateur piano and chamber music where so many understating masterpieces hide their value. Felix Mendelssohn (and his sister Fanny) even entitled and published eight volumes of evocative piano pieces as Lieder ohne Worte, ‘Songs without Words’ (1829-1845). The topicalization of ‘Song’, i.e. its being referenced in instrumental contexts, has an expressive consequence on the new genre of Art Song. Whenever the piano in a Lied anticipates or repeats a melody, this represented ‘singing’ carries an expressive value that has a different quality than the actual singing with words. The piano seems to represent an ‘inner voice’, one that has not yet found an articulate, rational expression, but carries nevertheless the affective contents of its message. This is staged in a radical way in one of R. Strauss’s most beloved songs, Morgen! (‘Tomorrow!’) op. 27 n 4 (1894). In it, the singer appears to be commenting in recitative form the actual ‘singing’, represented only in the piano part. The text by John H. Mackay, picturing a blissful love meeting in the next future, seems to be FLOROS 1985: 172. He also sees the structures of ‘Wordless Songs’ in the first movement of Mahler’s Third (a reference to a ‘Hymn’ in our analyses) and in the Rondo-Finale of the Fifth: cf. FLOROS 1977 (1987): 364ff.

9

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the clue to this ‘inner singing’ solo, while the ‘outer voice’, the singer, can only offer a report about circumstances of the literally unspeakable experience that is being prefigured. In opera, a narrating recitative located in the present would be followed by a lyrical aria developing the affects derived from the events just narrated. Here, Strauss is using an imaginative inversion of this sequence to match the poem’s contents. He sets the lyrical anticipation of the events on the piano, the reporting recitative on the singing part: see ex. 6-3.

Ex. n. 6-3: R. Strauss, Morgen! op. 27 n. 4: mm. 14-19.

This is also the mechanism that rules over Wagner’s Leitmotiv technique: the orchestral pit acts as an omniscient narrator with access to every character’s inner life, creating a second channel of meaning to what they are actually saying.

6.1.3

Reviewing the 'Singing Style'

Some researchers consider the ‘Singing Style’ a topos, following Leonard RATNER’s description: The term indicates music in a lyric vein, with a moderate tempo and a melodic line featuring relatively slow note values and a rather narrow range. Presumably any of the familiar dance rhythms could be used. Ex. 2-20 is set as a bourrée10.

Ratner summons the aria Che farò senza Euridice from the third act of Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice (1762): see ex. 6-4. Along with the ‘bourrée’, the enticing rhythms of the ‘gavotte’ can be felt as well, especially from m. 4 on. However, rather than from ‘dance’ references, the expressive signification of the aria seems to derive mainly from its closeness to ‘song’ in a theatrical environment, suggesting an immediate intimacy that makes Orfeo’s mourning only more touching11. In spite of Ratner’s rather broad definition, other scholars, especially his distinguished former students, have continued using ‘Singing Style’ as a musical topos. Raymond MONELLE tends to dismiss the term, due to its too “simple signifier” 10

RATNER 1980: 19. About references to ‘bourrée’ and ‘gavotte’ in vocal and instrumental music, see Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5. For a version with T. Pinnock search for Anne Sofie von Otter; “Che farò senza Euridice”; Orfeo ed Euridice; Christoph Willibald Gluck.

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Ex. n. 6-4: Gluck, Che farò senza Euridice? (Orfeo ed Euridice Wq. 30)121.

and too little “focused signified”13. More recently, Sarah DAY-O’CONNELL ends up reviewing and accepting Ratner’s term14. Ratner himself presents two historical sources, Heinrich Christoph KOCH’s Musikalisches Lexikon of 1802 and Johann Friedrich DAUBE’s Anleitung zur Erfindung der Melodie und ihrer Fortsetzung (1797/98). In them, as in Johann Mattheson’s writings, the ‘Singing’ (das Singende) and the ‘Singable’ (das Singbare) are used as synonyms of the Italian cantabile, in a wide sense. DAUBE sees a productive dichotomy between a ‘singing’ (we would call it ‘Sensitive’) and a ‘Brilliant’ style, whether in vocal or instrumental genres15. The trouble with these approaches to ‘vocal’ references is that, in Sarah DAYO’CONNELL’s words, the “singing style” seems to mean so many things that it risks meaning nothing16. In our analyses, more specific references such as ‘sensitive style’ or the difference between a public, theatrical and an intimate, chamber singing have proved to be more useful. On the other hand, Koch’s insistence on intelligibility when it comes to melody invites reflexion. If a ‘vocal’ style has to be understood outside of its usual generic frame to convey emotions, this would amount to a topical use of the ‘singing’ reference. In an instrumental piece, Koch argues, the imitation of a cantabile style should provide a similar result in senses as when the melody was still following a text. Here, Koch follows a filiation that goes back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau and his trust in the communicative powers of music, through Johann Georg Sulzer in the late eighteenth century17. One of the variants of the ‘Singing Style’ is the so-called Singing Allegro (Allegro cantabile). Leonard RATNER presents it briefly: The term singing allegro is presently used to designate a song-like melody set in quick tempo; it is accompanied by steadily repeated rapid notes or by broken chord figures, as in the first four measures of the finale of Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony, K. 551 (1788)18.

12

See also ex. n. 8-3 in Chap. 8. MONELLE 2000: 26, 100-110; MONELLE 2006: 5. 14 DAY-O’CONNELL 2014: 238ff. 15 Quoted by ALLANBROOK 2014: 126f. Daube’s Der musikalische Dilettant (Vienna 1773) and Anleitung zur Erfindung der Melodie (Vienna 1797/98) as well as Koch’s Lexikon are all available on imslp. 16 DAY-O’CONNELL 2014: 238. 17 MIRKA 2014: 8. 18 RATNER 1980: 19. 13

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Ratner’s disciples Kofi AGAWU and Wye J. ALLANBROOK also use the term, following their teacher’s description19. In this case, Raymond MONELLE seems to agree with Ratner20. He even contributes two examples from Mozart’s output: (1) the secondary theme in the first movement of the Jupiter symphony, in opposition to the buffo character of the movement’s Epilogue (see ex. 6-5); (2) the main theme of Piano Concerto K. 595, that we saw in the previous chapter as ex. 5-23.

Ex. n. 6-5: Mozart, Symphony K. 551/I, mm. 56-5921.

ALLANBROOK’s example of a ‘Singing Allegro’ topos is Mozart’s Sonata in B flat K. 333/I22. In all three cases we see rather instances of the ‘Sensitive Style’ within the ‘Galant’ that was described earlier in Chap. 3 Sect. 3.2. The Finale’s main theme of the Jupiter symphony, in our analysis, combines ironically an old-school cantus firmus with an incongruent ‘lyrical’ accompaniment23.

6.2

The Pastoral Genre

In literature, a whole genre describes the mythical bliss of a rural life in an idealized Golden Age, from an urban, contemporary perspective24. This ‘Pastoral’ tradition reaches back to Ancient times. A Sicilian Greek called Theocritus in the third century BC composed some Idylls about shepherds and their love pains. Maybe that is the reason why the Pastoral dance par excellence is called Siciliana (see next section). The Roman Virgil followed Theocritus’s traces with his Eclogues. The depicted Arcadia is an earthly paradise, but by no means a realistic description. In Alexander Pope’s words: 19

AGAWU 1991: 42-44; 145; ALLANBROOK 1983: 101; ALLANBROOK 1992: 145; ALLANBROOK 2014: 110. Stephen RUMPH (2014) and Sheila GUYMER (2014) also speak of a Singing Allegro topos based on Ratner’s accounts of it. For the Sonata K. 333/I, Guymer prefers to speak of ‘Galant’ style rather than Singing Allegro. 20 MONELLE 2000: 31f. 21 You can search Harnoncourt conducts Mozart: Symphonies No. 39 - 41. The secondary theme starts at 1:09:30. 22 ALLANBROOK 1992. Please search W.A. Mozart - Sonata B-Flat Major KV 333 (I. Allegro) - Els Biesemans on Fortepiano. 23 More about Irony as a main ingredient of the ‘Classic’ style in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.3 ‘Toy Army’ and Chap. 8 Sects. 8.4, 8.5. 24 This section is based on Raymond MONELLE’s Chap. 4 in The Musical Topic, 2006. See also BALDICK 2001: 249f and SEIDEL 2007.

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We must therefore use some illusion to render a Pastoral delightful; and this consists in exposing the best side only of a shepherd’s life, and in concealing its miseries25.

The Pastoral myth says, to put it in a simple paraphrase, that all men and women could live happily on earth without conflicts or deceptions, without effort, goals, or responsibility; without anybody in command; with nature providing freely all that is needed for a harmonic, well-balanced life. Moreover, the absence of competition and of labour results in the characters of these stories living a rich and free (imagined) sexual life26. We will see that the ‘Sacred’ and the ‘Pastoral’ versions of Paradise share quite a lot of musical features. This close relationship has deep roots in Judeo-Christian culture. In the Bible, both Ancient and New Testament have shepherds in key positions: from the Song of Solomon, Abraham and David, up to Jesus Christ himself, “the good shepherd” (John 10: 11). Already in the earliest Christian imaginary, Orpheus, the ancient sacred archetype of a shepherd musician, who received his lyre from Apollo himself, is identified on a par with Jesus Christ. In the Middle Ages, Pastoral depictions of an ideal, simple life in harmony with Nature and the perspective of a return of that Golden Age was interpreted in Christian terms, as a vision of the future advent of the Messiah. Its continuation in the Renaissance, albeit aware of its Pagan origin, borrows a lot of signifiers to imagine a Christian, transcendental Paradise. Daniel CHUA can argue that the Western opera genre begins pastoral27. In the Versailles of the seventeenth century, Pastoral becomes the paradox of a highly artificial elaboration of ‘simplicity’ and ‘naturalness’. It is aristocratic imagery of rural life, far removed from social, human reality. Part of the Romantic slant for realism can be explained as a reaction to this combination of high-class and mystification. Music and Pastoral are so closely linked that they have been equated to each other. In Raymond MONELLE’s words: the pastoral was an allegory of music; […] music was for Europeans simply the pastoral without its shepherds28. And, a few pages later: Pastoralism is an allegory of the imagination, and the unmeaning lyricism of pastoral verse is an allegory of music. In pastoralism, as in music, there is no conceptual “real”. Emotion and desire are utterly free; the imagination is responsible only to the text, not to the world; time is suspended in a lyric present. Musicians are familiar with this state, but it has been more difficult for literary commentators, even the most sophisticated, to grasp it29.

And indeed, ‘Time Suspension’ is one of the finest assets of 19th-century Pastoral-inflected music. In Renaissance and baroque Europe, as soon as the literary 25

Pope, A Discourse on Pastoral Poetry, quoted by MONELLE 2006: 200. Pope translated Homer and composed some Pastorals himself (1709). 26 See CURTIUS 2013 (1948): Chaps. 6 and 10. 27 CHUA 1999: Chap. 5. 28 MONELLE 2006: 185. 29 Ibidem: 189.

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pastoral becomes “musical” –subtle, self-centred, away from the world–, the genre turns to an allegory of secular music. Pastoral is also intimately associated with melancholy and loss, because the ideal world where poetry and music would flourish is irrevocably gone. The lyric bubble detaches the poet from the worldly tumult, as a momentary refuge that stops progressive time. That makes the whole genre and particularly the musical reference to Pastoral “often peculiarly self-conscious of its own aesthetic nature”30. In Wye J. ALLANBROOK’s interpretation, the ‘Pastoral’ can be more than just a mythical place – it can be a real possibility, the territory where a woman can be truly human and lovingly invite a man to join her, albeit occasionally, as an artful game. In this Mozartian Pastoral, that Allanbrook sees manifest in Le nozze di Figaro, women can finally be themselves and men, otherwise obsessed in a quest for profit, receive a good lesson in humanity from them31.

6.3

Pastoral Musical Topoi

Rather than a single musical topos, the ‘Pastoral’ is a semantic field with an enormous presence in baroque, ‘classic’ and romantic music through a whole array of topoi, markers and other signs. Among them stand out: • • • • • • • • •

the timbre of horns and woodwinds, especially oboes and flutes; ‘Siciliana’ rhythm; ‘Pastorale’ rhythm; 6/8: see ex. 6-6; the key of F major, for organological, historical reasons; secondly, G major32; simple, static harmony on two or three main degrees; modality; a simple pentatonic or diatonic melody of vocal character and short range; parallel thirds, consonance, major mode; a regular phrasing, as if from a ‘dance’; use of pedals, imitation of drones in fifths, as in bagpipes or hurdy-gurdy; piano dynamics, a peaceful atmosphere.

Raymond MONELLE explains historically how these semantic links might have come about33. They are often mythical, not based on any real musical facts. The aulos, for instance, might have been a double-reed instrument in Ancient Greece, but descriptions and depictions are all that has reached us. Images of auloi with double chanter are the historical-mythical ground on which Pastoral is often related to the sound of woodwinds in pairs. As for hurdy-gurdy and bagpipe, they used to

30

Loughrey, The Pastoral Mode (London, 1984: 9), quoted by SISMAN 1997: 77. See also SISMAN 2014: 110. 31 ALLANBROOK 1983: 172f. 32 GALAND 2014: 461. 33 MONELLE 2006: 207-215.

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be real instruments in hands of traditional, street musicians until the French 17th century elevated them to toys for aristocrats. Among them the musette de cour stands out, a bagpipe in sophisticated versions that allowed for a rich variety of keys and tones and thus for a whole repertoire that would thematise a ‘rustic innocence’ as imagined in the opulence of a royal court34. The ‘Siciliana’ and the ‘Pastorale’ are the two Pastoral references par excellence. Since they were imagined as dances, however, they will find their place in the next chapter, Sect. 7.4: Triple Metre References. Robert HATTEN sees the ‘Pastoral’ as an “expressive genre”, i.e. the subject of a whole narrative process, in cyclical pieces such as Beethoven’s Sonata op. 10135.

6.3.1

The “New Siciliana”

At the turn of the nineteenth century, Pastoral changes its tone, due to two remarkable aspects: pantheism, according to which God is everywhere, and particularly in the natural landscape; and transcendental folklorism. The latter is found notably in the theoretical and practical works of Johann Gottfried Herder, father of the term Volkslied, ‘folk song’. Herder collects traditional folk songs, above all from Germany. He also translates many from other countries, in one of Johannes Brahms’s favourite books, The Voices of Peoples in Songs (Stimmen der Völker in Liedern, 2nd ed. 1807). On the other hand, Herder also advances the idea that a “folk’s soul” is manifested in its traditional culture. This has proved to be a thought with strong irradiation, lasting until the present day. He explained it in his essay Von deutscher Art und Kunst (‘On German Character and Art’, 1773). The result of this new interest in a supposedly ‘national folklore’ is a displacement of the Pastoral from an aristocratic, refined ruralism to this (more or less constructed) traditional culture. Raymond MONELLE calls this the ‘New Siciliana’: a pseudo-folkloric topos taking the place that the traditional ‘Pastoral’ used to occupy until roughly the French Revolution36. Of course, this ‘spirit of the nation’ or rustic new ‘Pastoral’ cohabits with the one inherited from a Renaissance and baroque tradition, but the latter carries now a connotation of archaism. Already in Mozart’s Idomeneo K. 366 (1781), the chorus n. 15, Placido è il mar, andiamo could be called a “New Siciliana”37. To celebrate calm after the tempest, the musical ‘Pastoral’ seems the appropriate expressive vehicle, even if there are no traces whatsoever of the original signifieds — nymphs, shepherds or purling brooks. Here, the reference to the ‘Siciliana’ seems to stand for a natural world that is benign to human beings. 34 35 36 37

RATNER 1980: 21. HATTEN 1994: 91ff. MONELLE 2006: 237-245. For a version with J.E. Gardiner search Mozart - Idomeneo - 15 “Placido è il mar”.

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In Haydn’s The Creation, some of the ‘Pastoral’ tokens are not related with the old signifieds of the genre. The duet Von deiner Güt’ (‘By thee with bliss’) in Part III features a ‘Siciliana’ reference with this text: Von deiner Güt’, o Herr und Gott, Ist Erd’ und Himmel voll. Die Welt, so groß, so wunderbar, Ist deiner Hände Werk.

By thee with bliss, o bounteous Lord, Both heav’n and earth are stor’d. This world, so great, so wonderful, Thy mighty hand has fram’d38.

Here, ‘Pastoral’ is present only in an abstract form, far away from any descriptive elements. Its expressive meaning might be “innocence, naive joy, the world before sin”, the correlate to the narration of Eve and Adam just created, marvelling about the wonders of Creation, in the morning of the first day. A similar removal from the description of original shepherds and cattle can be found in the second movement of Haydn’s Symphony n. 89. Here, the lack of text enhances the level of abstraction: see ex. 6-6.

Ex. n. 6-6: Haydn, Symphony n. 89/II, beginning39.

Besides the ‘Siciliana’ reference, the flute timbre and the simplicity of melody and harmony all contribute to a ‘pastoral’ atmosphere. However, the irregular phrase structure 2 + 4, where the second, larger segment develops in a ‘subjective’ commentary, leaves the original ‘folksy’ dance behind. It stages a modern, ‘spontaneous’ elaboration on the subject. What remains of it is human placidity, located in an amiable context, ideal but earthly: that is also Monelle’s “New Siciliana”. It is this capacity of abstraction what makes the ‘Pastoral’ semantic field so ubiquitous in Western music. It is found even in pop music, as in The Beatles’ The Fool on the Hill (1967)40. The main reference here might be the ‘Pastoral March’ that we deal with in Sect 6.3.3: the Beatles might have sensed it as a great musical topos of the 19th and early 20th century. However, some traditionally ‘pastoral’ markers such as the generous use of recorders and flutes, the rather pentatonic melody and the simple harmonies all contribute to give the song its characteristic peacefulness and thus a fine correlate to the human virtues of the protagonist “Fool”. 38

Please search for Haydn - John Nelson - Von deiner Güt o Herr und Gott - The Creation You can search for J. Haydn - Hob I:89 - Symphony No. 89 in F major (Brüggen). The Andante starts at 7:08. 40 You can search for The Fool On The Hill - The Beatles tribute – Lyrics. 39

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The ‘Pastoral’ and the ‘Martial’ semantic fields have entertained a richly productive opposition in Western music. A paradigmatic example of it is found in Rossini’s Overture to Guillaume Tell (1829)41. Its introduction presents a cello solo in anabasis, answered by the rest of the celli with double basses42. A flickering tremolo on strings (in 3:10 of the recommended recording) and a drum roll interrupt a reference to a ‘Hymn’ and yield to a classical theatrical ‘Tempesta’ episode at 4:1143. In 6:10 finally the ‘pastoral’ section arrives, under the title Ranz des Vaches. This traditional Swiss tune, the country where the action takes place, has its origin in a chant the farmers would use to lock the cows to milk44. Here it takes the form of a Period, where both antecedent and consequent are first presented by the English horn, then repeated by the flute. There follow some free variations that contribute to this arresting of time in a bubble of consonance, pentatonicism and ternary rhythms. With no transition, the trumpet ‘Call’ at 8:45 contrasts frontally to the preceding ‘Pastoral’ reference. It operates the shift to the ‘Martial’ abruptly: from the represented ‘mountain cowboys’ to the Swiss ‘soldiers’. In the following, famous ‘March’, the galloping anapaest rhythms stand out45. Thus, by recurring to musical topoi, the whole plot is anticipated in the instrumental overture. The opera is based on Friedrich Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell (1804), whose revolutionary content is attested by the censorship it suffered at the time of its première46. Due to its enormous popularity, the work’s original meanings may have faded somewhat. In Stanley Kubrick’s film A Clockwork Orange (1972), e.g., some of Rossini’s and Beethoven’s best-known pieces accompany and modulate the narration of the charismatic psychopath who plays the main role. Most musicians’ and music lovers’ first association with the ‘Pastoral’ is arguably Beethoven’s Symphony no. 6 (1808). Raymond MONELLE calls it “the central pastoral of our whole tradition” and distinguishes in it both kinds of ‘Pastoral’ mentioned earlier: first, the one close to its etymological meaning, typical of the Ancien Régime, in a descriptive manner. On the other hand, Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony presents the Romantic version of the topos –not in its aforementioned folkloristic version, but more conceptual, of “a glorification of the landscape”47. Examples of the former are the drone fifths at the beginning of the first movement, or the ‘dances’ representing “merry countrymen”, as the Scherzo’s title says. The second movement, however, Scene by the Brook, only uses pastoral signifiers to refer to a psychological state, in a pantheistic conception of the world, and not to 41

For a version with A. Scholz, search for ROSSINI: William Tell Overture (full version). About the rhetorical figure of Anabasis /Katabasis, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.4.1. 43 More about tremolo and ‘flickering’ in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.1.2, stile concitato, as well as Chap. 8 Sect. 8.5.4, ‘Tempesta’. ‘Hymn’ references were tackled in Chap. 4 Sect. 4.4. 44 For a folkloristic version of the tune, sometimes apostrophed as the unofficial hymn of the French-speaking Swiss, search for Bernard Romanens - Le Ranz des vaches and skip to 3:20. 45 See ‘Calls’, Anapaest and references to ‘March’ in Chap. 5. 46 In 1893, during a performance of Rossini’s Guillaume Tell at the Liceu theatre in Barcelona, a revolutionary anarchist dropped two Orsini bombs on the parterre, resulting in twenty deaths. 47 MONELLE 2006: 243f. 42

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any shepherd-related thing or idea. The musical description of the ‘purling brook’ starting at m. 5 is frequent in music history, but not necessarily related to the ‘Pastoral’ tradition48. The “New Siciliana” reference in 12/8, the simple tonic/ dominant harmony, the sound of horns and woodwinds taking over the theme exposed by the violins – those are traditional ‘Pastoral’ markers that signify a serenity and a bliss over a nature not only idealised, but sacralised. This idea has an aesthetic and an ethical background and inscribes itself into the modern search for new forms of spirituality49. A more recent example of this conceptual pastoralism in a lyrical, peaceful tone can be heard in Alexander Scriabin’s Fantasy op. 28 (1900). As a contrasting theme, from m. 30 on, Più vivo, B minor yields to its major relative, while the vocal line is accompanied by ‘plucked strings’ and rocks to the gentle rhythms of a “New Siciliana” in 9/8: see ex. 6-7.

Ex. n. 6-7: Scriabin, Fantasie op. 28: mm. 30ff50.

6.3.2

Exoticism and ‘Folklorism’

Folklore was defined in the 19th century as an artificial compound of folk + lore51. ‘Folk’ has become a problematic concept. It meant Relating to or originating from the beliefs and opinions of ordinary people. As for ‘lore’, it was understood as A body of traditions and knowledge on a subject or held by a particular group, typically passed from person to person by word of mouth. Both definitions betray their ideological bias: somebody is calling somebody else ‘ordinary’, or just ‘different’, even if only in the good sense of ‘interesting’. The first somebody feels central, at home. The other somebody is located at the margins of that ‘home’. This ‘Otherness’ or ‘strangeness’ and its musical manifestations are the subject of this paragraph. Meanwhile, ‘folklore’ has been unmasked as Folklorism or fakelore, i.e. as invented traditions to make certain cultural realities adapt to preconceived ideas. In

We relate this irregular, natural movement with the rhetorical figure of Circulatio: see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.6. 49 See Chap. 4, Sect. 4.6: Secular in the Sacred, and Vice Versa. 50 Please search Scriabin - Fantasie Op. 28 (Roberto Szidon) - Full Sheet Music. The “New Siciliana” starts at 1:45. 51 We follow here the definitions of the Oxford Thesaurus, consulted June 2019. 48

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Romantic music, this pseudo-folklore comes to occupy part of what used to be, until the turn of the 19th century, ‘Pastoral’ territory52. ‘Folklore’, or ‘Folklorism’ from our point of view, is an important 19th-century musical topos. In the countries that saw themselves as periphery –whether to the Germanic world, to France or to Italy, the three musical centres in modern Europe–, their own ‘folklore’ is seen through the patronizing lens of the powerful metropolis. This leads to an ironic ‘Otherness’ proclaimed by the minoritized themselves, as in the case of A. Dvořák’s Slavonic Dances (1878 and 1886), following the traces of Brahms’s Hungarian Dances (1869). Even today, ‘Folklorism’ is not done with completely. Certain contemporary musicologists still see some reality behind it, albeit under different names as in Romantic times. Marina RITZAREVA vindicates a “vernacular music”, a term she applies convincingly to Russian ‘traditional’ music and its derivations, retraceable back to the eighteenth century53. Folklorism and Exoticism are thus tightly connected through the establishing of a central Us and a peripheral Them. If the 19th century marks the culmination of this process, along with state nationalisms, there are also many traces of it in the previous century. In the finale of J. Haydn’s Symphony no. 104 (1795), horns and violoncellos imitate the drones of bagpipes or hurdy-gurdy, while the first violins intonate softly a ‘rustic’ melody that will be developed and elaborated in the most sophisticated manner: see ex. 6-8.

Ex. n. 6-8: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 104/IV: Beginning54.

In addition to the ‘drones’, these references to ‘folklore’ tend to emphasize repetition and to “periodic” structures: in this case, antecedent and consequent are identical. This minimalism stands for a represented ‘primitivism’ as part of the ‘Folkloristic’ topos. Haydn’s tune in ex. 6-8 is no doubt ‘folkloristic’, but not ‘exotic’. Interestingly, within Haydn’s output it is the latter that seems to come from authentic sources. In Kata RISKÓ’s words, While according to Geoffrey Chew most of Haydn’s musical allusions to Eastern European folk music seem not to have been drawn directly from the orally transmitted folk songs of See GELBART, The Invention of “Folk Music” and “Art Music” (2007) for a critical deconstruction, historically founded, of that dichotomy for which musicology does not find useful definitions or solid frontiers. 53 RITZAREVA 2012. 54 You can search for J. Haydn - Hob I:104 - Symphony No. 104 in D major “London” (Brüggen). The finale starts at 22:02. 52

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town and countryside, Matthew Head has emphasized that some of Haydn’s exoticisms belonged to the contexts in which the composer grew up and worked55.

Adding some ‘exotic’ or ‘stranger’ flavour to this ‘folklorism’ results in what Haydn and his contemporaries called ‘Turkish Music’, respectively All’ongherese (‘Hungarian style’). Both belong to the wider category of ‘Exoticism’, i.e. foreign to the community of author and listeners. Both topical references have been “often mingled in the works of Western composers”56. After all, Eastern Europe was first conceived as a geographically and culturally cohesive entity during the Enlightenment, at which time Hungary joined the company of the Turks, long since established as Western Europe’s foremost barbaric Other57.

The ignorance behind such conceptions is the root of most xenophobic, state-nationalistic attitudes, even today. The Other’s culture is represented not as different but as “deficient, incoherent, irrational”, as in an earlier stage in evolution: Mary Hunter (1998: 48) has convincingly argued that the alla turca style is better understood not as an imitation of Turkish music, but as a translation of the Western European perception of its “deficiency and incoherence or irrationality”58.

Although the ‘Turkish’ and the ‘Hungarian’ styles tend to be mingled and confused, there are some significative differences. The Western alla turca feels at home in the theatre and in larger, symphonic venues. It is modelled originally on the Janissary bands that would terrify the Viennese in Austro-Turkish Wars59. Typically, this represented ‘Janissary band’ includes bass drum, cymbals, triangle and tambourine, as well as piccolo flutes. These are actually ‘martial’ references, and thus often subject to the usual comedic irony the ‘Classics’ profusely use: By the late eighteenth century, the music of the Turkish military was ripe for parody and fit for the purpose of entertainment60.

An early example of a ‘Turkish’ reference is the Marche pour la Cérémonie des Turcs included in Molière’s and Lulli’s comédie-ballet Le bourgeois gentilhomme (1670). The menacing ‘Exotic’ can be felt in this ‘March’ reference in minor mode. Otherwise, structure and phrasing do not differ greatly from other similar pieces by Lulli and contemporaries61. 55 Chew 1996: ‘The Austrian Pastorella…’; Head 2005: ‘Haydn’s Exoticisms…’, both quoted by RISKÓ 2017: 31f. 56 RISKÓ 2017: 44. In fact, the corresponding Chap. no. 7 in The Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory by Catherine MAYES bears the title Turkish and Hungarian-Gipsy Styles (2014). Most of this section is based on it. 57 L. Wolff 1994, Inventing Eastern Europe; M. Head 2000, Orientalism…, both quoted by MAYES 2014: 217. 58 Hunter 1998: 48, quoted by MAYES 2014: 217. 59 Closest to Haydn’s and Mozart’s times, one of the wars against the Turks was fought in 1788– 91. 60 MAYES 2014: 223. 61 For a version with F.M. Sardelli search for Giovanni Battista Lulli, Marche pour la Cérémonie des Turcs | Modo Antiquo. They added a suitable ‘martial’ drum to the strings-only original score.

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The ‘Hungarian Style’ instead refers to little bands of Romani musicians (or ‘gipsies’) who offered their services for dance and celebration in Hungary and the rest of the Austrian Empire. This reference tends to be imported into chamber, intimate contexts. Christoph W. Gluck’s La rencontre imprévue, ou Les pèlerins de la Mecque (‘The Unexpected Encounter, or The Pilgrims to Mecca’) Wq. 32 (1763), deserves mention as one of his finest musical comedies and as part of the Viennese alla turca history. Josef Haydn reused the libretto, signed by Louis Dancourt, for his own L’incontro improvviso (1775). In their turn, both works count as the probable inspiration for Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782). The beginning of the Overture to Gluck’s La rencontre imprévue (ex. n. 6-9) features no ‘Turkish’ percussion as in Mozart’s work, but a rather conventional

Ex. n. 6-9: Gluck, La rencontre imprévue: Overture, beginning.

scoring of oboes, horns and bassoons to the strings and –the only concession to an ‘exotic’ timbre– piccolo flute in unison with the first violins. The initial three measures set the tone unmistakably. A saltus duriusculus to the ‘wrong’ note D-sharp, the ‘Ominous Unison’ and the irregular grouping of three measures all seem to introduce a ‘horror scene’ in an opera seria of the time62. The ‘March’ reference in 2/4, the simple rhythms and harmonies, the rather swift tempo –later

62

For the saltus duriusculus, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.1 Pianto, and Sect. 2.4.1 Anabasis/Katabasis. For theatrical ‘horror’ references, see Chap. 8, Sect. 8.5.

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editions correct the Presto in the MS to Allegro– all point to the ‘Martial’ semantic field with a slight shade of ‘exoticism’: the opera is bound to include ‘dreadful, uncivilised warriors’. Heterophony in mm. 4ff could be a ‘folkloristic’ reference. From m. 12 on, piano, ‘Primitivism’ and ‘Exoticism’ continue to dominate, with repetition ruling out any developing discourse. Besides the aforementioned Entführung aus dem Serail, the other obvious example of a ‘Turkish Style’ is the finale of Mozart’s Sonata in A major K. 331 (1783?), entitled Alla turca63. Here, the chamber context seems to invite a parodic reading. These ‘exotic’ styles were very popular indeed. Some instruments of the time even incorporated accessory drums and cymbals specially to interpret alla turca pieces64. From late eighteenth century on, the ‘Hungarian’ style changes its musical appearance to be adopted by a vast majority as the so-called Verbunk. The term comes from the German Werbung, ‘propaganda’, referred to the recruiting parties for the Austrian imperial army in Joseph II’s time, of which dance was one of the most popular amenities65. Verbunk adapted some Hungarian and Gipsy musical traditions and became a source for entertainment beyond its original purpose, not only in Hungary but also abroad as Hongroise. It was danced in a similar manner as the contredanse, i.e. without special requirements or training, but drawing choreographic figures around the room66. As it was shown on the ‘Hunt’ topos, there is no historical way to tell whether what we call Verbunk was first a social dance or its representation on stage; in any case, they modified each other67. It is astonishing to see how many performers still today believe in Herder’s ideas about the Volksgeist, regarding the ‘Spanish’, ‘Czech’, or any other mythical ‘national’ style68. For Romantic and post-Romantic composers, ‘Folklorism’ does not necessarily have a positive sense. Julian JOHNSON points to a shift of meaning within “folkloric” music at the turn of the twentieth century, in an artistic context. Musical elements of traditional rural culture are often staged in a way that shows its estrangement, to provide some new meanings. This observing, rather than quoting a folk tune or dance is something Mahler’s music shares with Schubert’s or Schumann’s, [b]ut Mahler makes this distance physical rather than merely metaphorical, a strategy that is marked in his orchestral music by the use of offstage effects from Das klagende Lied onward69.

For a version with M. Uchida imitating the Janissary ‘percussive’ effects search for Mozart Piano Sonata No 11 in A major K 331 Third movement - Rondo Alla Turca. 64 Badura-Skoda 2001: 897, quoted by MAYES 2014: 228. 65 MAYES 2014: 218ff. 66 About the contredanse, see ALLANBROOK 1983: 60–66 and Chap. 7 Sect. 7.5. 67 For Campianu 1982, this applies to any ‘national’ dances. Quoted by MAYES 2014: 221. 68 See MYERS 2018: 283ff. 69 JOHNSON 2009: p. 104. 63

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Johnson’s point is that the traditional aspect of ‘folksy’ material in art music of the twentieth century, in its stiff rhymes and rhythms, is a sign of collective repression of the individual voice. Just as happens with the dances in Wozzeck’s tavern, in Alban Berg’s Wozzeck (1925), the primitive folksiness of the material is certainly ambiguous; one might read it as kitsch, a musical postcard from rural Austria to delight an urban bourgeois audience. […] On the other hand, one might, in the context of late-nineteenth-century art song, read this constriction of material as a constriction of expression, a prohibition of the individual voice in the jollity of the collective70.

The most typical markers of an ‘exotic’ style, also known as “Turkish-Gypsy” style, share some of the markers of the ‘Pastoral’ as they can be seen as a variant of it: • • • • • • • • • •

6.3.3

Syncopations, Repetitions and periodic structure (antecedent + consequent); Vocal, short range melody, heterophony; ‘Primitivist’ minimalism: unison, simple accompaniments; Acciaccature and ‘strange’ notes, esp. augmented seconds; Simple harmony, typically Tonic-dominant, or modal; Sudden shifting from one tonal area to another; Drones and pedals, reference to hurdy-gurdy or to bagpipes; Bowed strings, peculiar percussion; Repetitive, percussive, sforzato accompaniment; loud playing and full instrumentation71.

‘Pastoral March’

To seek for the representation of a ‘human plenitude’ within Gustav Mahler’s output seems a hopeless undertaking. In the music of this inveterate idealist, in love with sorrow, perpetually ill at ease in this world, who as a child declared to have the vocation of a martyr, one expects not much of a ‘Pastoral’ space, that was defined as the “mediation between nature and man”72. And indeed, in Mahler’s work nature appears rather as a menace than as the traditional idyllic refuge: as an extension of the isotopy that has been called the ‘Worldly Tumult’, the hostile collective forces that prevent the individual’s plenitude73. The paradigm of this negative aspect of a musically represented ‘nature’ might be the perpetuum mobile in form of a buzzing, natural ‘Oscillation’ that flickers in so many of his demonic Scherzi, and also in the

70

Ibidem. See also Locke 2009: 118-121, quoted by MAYES 2014: 214. 72 JOHNSON 2009: 49. 73 See these and three other Mahlerian isotopies framed in a semiotic square in GRIMALT 2011b, 2012b, 2013a. 71

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song Das irdische Leben (‘Worldly Life’). Moreover, the musical topos of an ‘Alpine Arcadia’ present in many Central-European composers, especially Brahms and Bruckner, full of references to Jodeln and rural ‘waltzes’, becomes in the hands of Mahler’s withering irony one more instance of a musical discourse that questions itself as it goes along. See e.g. the song Fischpredigt (‘St. Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fish’, 1893)74. On the other hand, the impossibility of a plenitude on earth that Mahler’s music represents takes often the form of Lyricism, one of his music’s basic tones. Lyricism, as opposed to the aforementioned evil, tumultuous ‘World’, appears as the subjective expression of all the plenitude that will not be. It is thus a paradoxical “negative assertion”, as often happens in irony, where the meaning goes contrary to what is said. Mahlerian lyricism seems to be representative of the expressive musical palette of his time. It can be subsumed into three categories: • Desire and longing, as if plenitude could be attained through effort; it is a projection into the future. • Elegiac lamentation, in a projection on the past. • Pastoral, when the illusion of plenitude appears to be present.

To mould the latter, Mahler recurs to an existing musical topos and turns it to an emblem of his world: the ‘Pastoral March’. Moreover, he delineates and specifies its expressive meaning, in what could be termed “spaces of lasting present “, where the wheel of time seems to stop its relentless turning75. The chronologically first example is also its paradigmatic one: in the first song of the Wayfarer cycle, Ging heut’ morgen, (‘I walked this morning’), the poetic persona strolls through the fields in the early morning and finds everything radiantly beautiful: see ex. 6-10. The end of the song brings disillusion: in the subject’s world there is no hope of a blooming like the one nature is presenting him with76. Note the characteristic accompaniment in fourths, already present in the melody. The bass imitates it canonically and contributes greatly to this combination of ‘marching’ and not actually moving forward. Still in this Wayfarer cycle, the last song Die zwei blauen Augen (‘Those two blue eyes’) presents an episode under a linden, a sacred tree in Germanic tradition connected also to the ‘Pastoral’ and to erotic love: see ex. 6-11.

74

Please search for Mahler: Des Knaben Wunderhorn: 6. Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt Goerne (Honeck, live). 75 More about Mahler’s ‘Spaces of lasting present’ in GRIMALT 2013b. 76 See GRIMALT 2012: Chap. 3 Sect. 3.1.

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Ex. n. 6-10: Mahler, Ging heut’ morgen, mm. 29-3377.

Ex. n. 6-11: Mahler, Die zwei blauen Augen, mm. 40-4478.

Mahler turns the ‘Pastoral March’ into his preferred vehicle for (represented) individual ‘self-expression’. This has probably some relationship with his nearly obsessive fixation with ‘March’ genres. When it comes to ‘Pastoral Marches’ in Mahler’s output, there seems to be little difference between ‘sacred’ and ‘worldly’ contexts. He uses one to clothe the decisive words in the finale of his Second Symphony, as well as in the Adagio of his Fourth (see ex. 6-12), or in the song Das himmlische Leben, ‘Heavenly Life’, that serves as a finale of the same work: see ex. 6-13. The finales to his Third, Sixth and Seventh symphonies feature also ‘Pastoral Marches’, as well as the 2nd Nachtmusik of the latter, both movements of the Eighth Symphony and the first movement of the Ninth79.

77

You can search for Mahler: Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (Fischer-Dieskau). (Paris 1960) For a version with J.E. Gardiner search for “Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz” Anne Sofie von Otter. The ‘linden’ episode starts at 1:34. 79 In the Third Symphony’s Finale, the reference to the ‘Hymn’ yields to a ‘Pastoral March’ just when ‘individual self-expression’ takes over: from m. 132 on. See GRIMALT 2012. 78

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Ex. n. 6-12: Mahler, Symphony n. 4/III, beginning80.

Ex. n. 6-13: Mahler, Symphony n. 4/IV: mm. 12-14.

In narrative terms, the ‘Pastoral March’ seems to function in Mahler’s world as a conciliatory ‘answer’ to a previously raised ‘question’. The two semantic fields that merge in the trope, i.e. the ‘Martial’ and the ‘Lyrical’, tend to appear first in antithesis, finally in synthesis. In Die zwei blauen Augen, a ‘Pastoral March’ releases in an extemporal bubble all the tensed-up pain of the precedent ‘Funeral March’. Ging heut’ morgen, with its too-beautiful-to-be-true bliss denied at the end of the song, is at the same time an answer and eventually a confirmation to the first, desperate song of the cycle, Wenn mein Schatz (‘When my darling has her wedding’).

80

Please search for Mahler - Symphony No 4 - Abbado (Lucerne 2009). The 3rd movement starts at 26:10.

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This narrative pattern can be seen in most of Mahler’s symphonies, where a ‘Pastoral March’ appears as the releasing clue, but also in instrumental contexts, not only by Mahler. The paradigmatic sequence would be [‘Dysphoric March’ turns to ‘Pastoral March’]. That is precisely what happens in the first movement of Brahms’s 1st Sonata for piano and cello op. 38 in E minor (1862-65). It starts with a reference to a ‘Dysphoric March’, then presents as a secondary theme (in B minor) a highly subjective melody, full of markers of an ‘improvised’ style, as if commenting freely and agitato the dysphoric, ‘martial’ and ‘hymnic’ elements of the first theme. Finally, in a comforting conclusion to the Exposition, the Epilogue turns to B major, without leaving the semantic field of the ‘Martial’. This reference to a ‘Pastoral March’ will be extended as a Coda to the whole movement in the Reprise, now in E major: see ex. 6-14.

Ex. n. 6-14: Brahms, Piano & Cello Sonata op. 38/I, mm. 239-243.

The downward fifth in the bass, a motivic inversion of the second theme’s ‘hymnic’ start, serves the function of a ‘marching’ bass and, combined quasi canonically between cello and the piano’s left hand, an excitingly peculiar kind of reference to a rustic ‘drone’. The ascending fourth upbeat in the melody and the solemn, singing tone reminds of the ‘Hymnic March’, one of Brahms’s musical emblems81. The second movement of Brahms’s Third Symphony (1883) makes reference to a ‘Pastoral March’, marked by woodwinds, the indication espressivo semplice and a diatonic, legato ‘singing’. The fourth intervals, on the other hand, not only in the bass, and the dotted rhythms point to the ‘Martial’ semantic field: see ex. 6-15.

81

The ‘Hymnic March’ was presented as part of a ‘Chivalric’ topos in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.4.1.

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Ex. n. 6-15: Brahms, Symphony n. 3/II, beginning82.

These are the markers of a ‘Pastoral March’: • Duple metre, ‘marching’, simple rhythms. Tempo too slow for a ‘march’. • Bass accompaniment in fourths and fifths. • Diastematically, all ‘pastoral’ markers: horn motion, pentatonicism or diatonicism. Jodeln. • The same goes for the instrumentation, favouring oboe and French horn, flute and horn. Harp is also frequent, as a marker for ‘Lyricism’ or as a ‘celestial’ instrument. • In Mahler’s ‘Pastoral Marches’ there is often a characteristic stopping and resuming the pace, as someone would do when marching leisurely, deep in their thoughts: see ex. 6-12.

There are numerous precedents of the combination of ‘Martial’ and ‘Lyricism’ in the ‘Classic’ repertoire. The second movement of J. Haydn’s Symphony n. 100 (1794) feels just like a fusion of a leisurely ‘marching’ and Pastoral: see ex. 6-16.

Ex. n. 6-16: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 100/II, beginning.

82

You can search for Claudio Abbado “Symphony No 3” Brahms. The Andante starts at 12:40.

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Note the descending fourths in the bass, the ‘martial’ intervals in the accompaniment, combined with the lyrical, comedic articulation of the melody on ‘pastoral’ instruments, flute and oboe, joining the first violins. Also, Allegretto is too slow for a parodic ‘Military March’83. Wye J. ALLANBROOK describes the aria Porgi, amor at the beginning of Act II in Le nozze di Figaro as a combination of Amoroso and ‘March’ references84. The Countess’s nobility and young melancholy seem to be musically transcribed into this topical merging that prefigures the ‘Pastoral March’: see ex. 6-17.

Ex. n. 6-17: Mozart, Porgi, amor. Le nozze di Figaro K. 492, act II: beginning.

In the Overture to Carl M. von Weber’s Der Freischütz, ‘The Marksman’ (1821), the reference to a ‘Pastoral March’ serves as a secondary theme and finally as a triumphal outcome of the whole Overture, that had started in a sinister tone. The music that functions as the main theme (mm. 37ff) is in the minor mode, with hardly any thematic profile, pp crescendo. It develops into a more contoured figure, fortissimo tutti (mm. 61ff), that features the markers of the ‘Martial’, albeit in a dysphoric mood. To all this sombre, inarticulate mourning, the ‘Pastoral March’ in mm. 138ff. replies with a sudden shift to the major mode and a highly characteristic melody, accompanied by descending fourths, marked dolce: see ex. 6-18. Interestingly however, the agitato syncopations on second violins and violas will not leave the theme in any of its appearances. The descending fourths in the bass were decisive to realise there was a topos in the ‘Pastoral March’. They seem to be connected etymologically to a variant of the March that was very popular in Germanic countries in the 19th century: the so-called Wayfarer songs that were sung in hiking and student parties – in German Wanderlieder or simply Studentenlieder. The songs were gathered in uncountable songbooks that were published continuously until the end of World War II, with a patriotic background. Most of them are indeed a civil stylization of a military march,

For the parody of ‘Martial’ music in the ‘Classic style’, see Chap. 5 Sect. 5.3, A ‘Toy Army’. For a version of Haydn’s Allegretto with score search J. Haydn. Sinfonía nº 100 Militar. II Allegretto. Partitura. Audición. 84 ALLANBROOK 1983:101. We include Mozart’s Amoroso topos within the ‘Serenade’: see next section. 83

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Ex. n. 6-18: Weber, Der Freischütz, Overture: mm. 138-14185.

as ‘new folksongs’. For Mahler, however, references to ‘Wayfarer’ or ‘Hiking’ Songs seem to symbolise the impossibility of the subject’s fulfilment on earth. He uses this topos as if conscious of its etymological meaning, i.e. the lyrical alliance of Herder’s “Folk’s Soul” with the ‘Martial’ semantic field. In Raymond MONELLE’s words: There were, after all, whole categories of folksong connected with the national spirit: Soldatenlieder, Heimatslieder, Heldenlieder. This is the other side of the semantics of folksong. […] Its origins lie in the same doctrine of the Volksseele that inspired the pastoral side of nineteenth-century topical signification, Herder’s belief in the mysterious truths understood by the unlettered masses, and Arnim’s applying of this to the spirit of the German nation86.

There is indeed a close connection between the ‘Pastoral March’ and the ‘Hymnic March’ described earlier in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.4.1. In both cases, a represented ‘Subject’ appears to be marching for a lofty ‘Fatherland’, in an idealistic sense. Such musical, spiritual ‘patriotism’ seems to fit many passages in the Germanic 19th-century canon, from Beethoven to Brahms, Wagner and Bruckner, no matter how their actual political ideas were nuanced. The accompaniment and the mood of the ‘Hymnic March’ and the ‘Pastoral March’ allow one to distinguish them: the former stresses its martial, collective filiation, whereas the latter’s characteristic descending fourths in the bass point to a leisurely, intimate walking in an imagined locus amœnus. As a Pastoral dance with a duple, peaceful pace, the Gavotte is the clearest ancestor of the ‘Pastoral March’. Its links with the ‘Pastoral’ myth lie deep and were still felt at the end of the 18th century87. In particular, ‘erotic love’ seems to be the paramount association of the listeners of the time to ‘Gavotte’ references. In this book, however, the Gavotte found its place in the next chapter Sect 7.5.3, along with the other Duple Metre Dance References.

85

For a historical version with C. Kleiber (1973) search for Weber - Der Freischütz 1 Ouverture. The reference to a ‘Pastoral March’ starts at 5:11. 86 MONELLE 2006: 257. 87 LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 47ff, ALLANBROOK 1983: 49-52.

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6.4

229

Amoroso: ‘Serenades’

In both ‘Classic’ and Romantic music, the half traditional half made-up genre of the ‘Serenade’ ends up as the signifier of ‘Lyricism’ par excellence. The ‘Serenade’ and the ‘Pastoral March’ share a historical close connection with the ‘Gavotte’ reference. In Mozart’s vocabulary, an Amoroso musical topos plays a subtle role that has been pointed out by both Constantin FLOROS and Wye J. ALLANBROOK, each in their own ways. Broadly spoken, its signifiers are a ‘martial’ wind band, especially clarinets, bassoons and horns, as in an open-air ‘Serenade’; its signified, erotic love. On the other hand, there is a ‘Serenade’ that involves a singer, a lute, and a balcony with someone to listen. We call it ‘Lute Serenade’. Afterwards, a dysphoric ‘Serenade’ is discussed. To close the section and the chapter, two important 19thcentury genres that are tightly related to the ‘Serenade’ are described: Nocturne and Barcarolle.

6.4.1

‘Open-Air Serenade’: Amoroso

The term ‘Serenade’ designates traditionally two different settings: on one hand it means simply open-air music making in the evening, derived from the Italian Serenata88. This involves wind instruments rather than strings, apt for an evening performance in a garden. On the other hand, it is a theatrical genre, best imagined within one of the many balcony scenes in literature. This setting involves singing and a lute or guitar: we will deal with it in short. Johann MATTHESON (1739) describes the former setting thus: In vocal, worldly works outside the theatre the Serenade or Evening Music is particularly popular: a Voce sola, [or] più Voci, sempre con Stromenti. Nowhere can a Serenade be listened to better than on water, if the weather is fine: for all sorts of instruments can be deployed there with the intensity that is proper to them, and that would be too loud in a chamber, such as trumpets, drums, horns, etc.89.

Wolfgang Mozart was commissioned to compose several such works. They are designed for instrumentalists (and sometimes singers) able to play standing up. Their character is sometimes martial, sometimes light and kind. The references to ‘Dance’ and to the ‘Martial’ predominate, as in the Serenade called “Gran Partita” K. 361 for two oboes, two clarinets, two corni di bassetto, two bassoons, four horns and double bass90. Partita, or Divertimento, are two synonyms of this

One of the senses of the Italian word sereno is “open air”. MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 216f (323f). 90 For a version with Ph. Herreweghe search for W.A. Mozart Gran Partita K. 361, Philippe Herreweghe. 88 89

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kind of open-air, wind-instrument Serenade. In the Haffner Serenade K. 250 instead the genre loses its characteristic lightness and comes close to the symphony91. Following this Mozartian tradition, and retaining some of its Ancien-Régime flavour, Beethoven’s Septet op. 20 (1800) or Schubert’s Octet D. 803 (1824) can be included as Serenades. Some other composers of the nineteenth century such as Brahms, Dvořák or Tchaikovsky continue this tradition, albeit from a historical distance that becomes increasingly unbridgeable, if not by evocation. This ironic distance, in love with its object of irony, is already present in Mozart’s models, as in the famous Eine kleine Nachtmusik K. 525. Before becoming a favourite of answering machines, this remarkable piece makes abstraction of the outside, open-air atmosphere with the string instruments that are proper of an indoor setting92. This amounts to a first topicalization of the open-air ‘Serenade’. A further step into topicalization brings, as usual, a stylized reduction down to a few characteristic elements. One of them is the duo of equal voices, originally reed instruments, that was shown already in Sect. 6.3 as a typical feature of the baroque Pastoral. This woodwind duo is an essential part of the ‘Serenade’ sound in the aria Porgi, amor, with which the Countess opens the second act of Le nozze di Figaro: see ex. n. 6-17. In many Nocturnes for piano by Field or Chopin (see further Sect. 6.4.4), this duet of equal voices continues to signal its historical origin. Another sign of an open-air ‘Serenade’ reference is a ‘flat’ key, as many of the wind instruments to play outside are tuned in B-flat or E-flat. Two different eminent researchers have found an Amoroso topos in the open-air ‘Serenade’ reference. Although they probably had no contact with each other, they arrived at amazingly similar results. Here is Wye J. ALLANBROOK’s description: The adjective amoroso indicates music in the singing style for winds, often characterized by movement in parallel thirds and by the use of the flat keys. Mozart employs this designation, for example, in the second movement of the Piano Sonata in B-flat major, K. 281, an imitation of the slow movement of a divertimento for winds entitled Andante amoroso93.

Schumann’s Romanze for piano in F-sharp op. 28 n. 2 presents an interesting variant of the ‘Open-air Serenade’ topos, on a rocking rhythm reminiscent of the old ‘Siciliana’. Here, the range of both voices united on one only (virtual) text, rhythm and melodic design, at the distance of a third, is that of two baritones, or rather two horns. The central section (mm. 9ff.) seems to respond to the ‘male’ register of the framing sections with a pair of ‘oboes’, returning to the more usual treble texture. The peculiar key of F-sharp can be understood, once more, as the enharmonic writing of G-flat, i.e. the expressive darkening of sunny, pastoral G major in order to achieve mysterious, weird resonances on well-tempered instruments: see ex. 6-20.

91

For a version with T. Koopman search for W. A. Mozart - KV 250 (248b) - Haffner Serenade in D major. 92 For a version with Ch. Hogwood search for Mozart, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Hogwood. 93 ALLANBROOK 1983: 346.

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Ex. n. 6-19: Mozart, Sonata K. 281/II: beginning94.

Ex. n. 6-20: Schumann, Romanze op. 28 n. 2 for piano, beginning951.

6.4.2

‘Lute Serenade’: Lyricism par excellence.

The continuation of the aforementioned second movement of Mozart’s Sonata K. 281 features the other kind of ‘Serenade’, connected to the luth and the balcony: see ex. 6-19. Instead of imitating a ‘woodwind duet’, the piano makes reference to a ‘solo singing’ with a ‘plucked string’ accompaniment. The paradigmatic example of this ‘Lute Serenade’ could be the Canzonetta Giovanni sings to Elvira’s maid, in Don Giovanni, K. 527 (1787), act II, scene 1. The text says: Deh, vieni alla finestra, o mio tesoro Deh, vieni a consolar il pianto mio.

Come to the window, my treasure, Come to console my lament96

The main reference of the Canzonetta is arguably the ‘Siciliana’ that was described earlier in Sect. 6.3. The use of a mandolin is idiosyncratic, but plucked strings and ‘Pastoral’ all contribute to this most tender, lyrical moment, although meant by Giovanni as a trick to seduce the young ‘something beautiful’ (qualche cosa di bello), as he calls her.

94 For a version with A. Lubimov search for Mozart - Piano Sonata in B Flat Major KV 281. The Andante amoroso starts at 7:50. 95 Please search for Schumann Romanze Op. 28 /2 (Konstantin Semilakovs). 96 For a version with N. Harnoncourt and J. Flimm (Zurich 2011) search for Mozart Don Giovanni Jurgen Flimm Zurich 2001. The canzonetta starts at 1:45:42.

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When this ‘Lute Serenade’ is transposed as a topical reference into an instrumental context, it is hard to tell apart from a simply ‘lyrical’ passage. The ‘plucked string’ imitation is an essential part of the ‘Galant Style’ (Chap. 3 Sect. 3.2.1) and so frequent in piano music of the 18th and 19th centuries that it could easily be taken for granted97. However, it retains some of its original ‘lyrical’ and ‘Serenade’-like quality. Its presence signals a reference to ‘song’ and to an intimate, chamber context, rather than to ‘sacred’, to ‘dancing’, or to the ‘Martial’ (its antithesis). An example of that is the first reference in the topically kaleidoscopic piano Sonata K. 332: see ex. 6-21.

Ex. n. 6-21: Mozart, Sonata K. 332/I, beginning98.

Interestingly, the connection between a reference to ‘plucked strings’ and ‘Lyricism’ in instrumental music has its origin, as it is so often the case, in an Italian theatrical tradition. Marco BEGHELLI explains how already in ancient opera the harp was being used as a virtual, invisible instrument. Playing from the orchestral pit, it would represent aurally “a harp, a lyre or cittern, lutes, mandolins, guitars, etc.” displayed on stage99. In opera, the normal, conventional thing is for everybody to sing. When ‘singing’ is to be staged realistically, a special effort is required. To this effect, a ‘harp’ accompaniment would be displayed to represent “a whole family of plucked instruments”. Thus was established, first in the imagination of composers and listeners, later in a tradition that was not always self-conscious, the link between plucked strings and some ‘lyrical’ interspace. One example of that is Cherubino’s Voi che sapete, in Le nozze di Figaro K. 492 (1786), act II. Mozart recurs to pizzicato to represent the ‘guitar’ to which the libretto refers: see earlier ex. n. 1-6100. Another example is the Abendstern aria in Wagner’s Tannhäuser (1845): see ex. 6-22.

See also earlier in this chapter Sect. 6.1: ‘Vocal’ versus ‘Instrumental’. For a version with A. Lubimov search for Piano Sonata No. 12 in F Major, K. 332: I. Allegro. 99 BEGHELLI 2003: 198f. 100 For a version with P.H. Stephen and J.E. Gardiner search for Le Nozze Di Figaro Voi che sapete. 97 98

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Ex. n. 6-22: Wagner, O du, mein holder Abendstern (Tannhäuser): beginning1011.

In instrumental contexts, this ‘plucked accompaniment’ becomes a frequent topos. In Haydn’s piano Sonata n. 38 Hob. XVI/23, set in the ‘pastoral’ key of F major (1773), the second movement merges ‘plucked strings’ with a ‘Siciliana’ reference. The indication dolce and the vocal ornaments contribute to round up the ‘Lyrical’ reference: see ex. 6-23. Note also the ‘Exclamationes’ on the second part of the measure, as if interrupting the actual musical text102.

Ex. n. 6-23: J. Haydn, Sonata Hob.

XVI/23/II,

beginning1031.

Similarly, but the other way around, in Beethoven’s Sonata op. 2 n. 1 in F minor the slow movement is in F major. The Adagio starts suggesting a ‘string quartet’ texture. A melody on the treble, dolce, appears in counterpoint with a ‘tenor’ voice: see ex. 6-24a.

Ex. n. 6-24a: Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 1/II, beginning1041.

101

For a version with M. Goerne and M. Honeck search for O du mein holder Abendstern (Tannhäuser - R. Wagner) Score Animation. 102 On such rhetorical figures, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.4.3. 103 Search for Joseph Haydn - Piano Sonata No. 38 in F major, Hob. XVI:23. The 2nd movement starts at 7:06. 104 You can search for Beethoven - Piano sonata n°1 op.2 n°1 - Annie Fischer. The Adagio starts at 3:40.).

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The main theme has a periodic structure: 4 mm. antecedent + 4 mm. consequent. After its articulation, m. 9 presents a brief commentary, one octave higher, on the dominant. The voice that would correspond to the virtual ‘viola’ now takes on a sixteenth-note accompaniment that suggests ‘plucked strings’: see ex. 6-24b.

Ex. n. 6-24b: Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 1/II, mm. 9-101051.

Eventually, the Reprise in m. 40 substitutes the initial ‘quartet’ texture in favour of the virtual ‘lute’ all in the left hand. The new, simplified texture underlines the ‘vocal’ line on the right hand: see ex. 6-24c.

Ex. n. 6-24c: Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 1/II, mm. 40-411061.

All through the nineteenth century up to Rachmaninov’s music, ‘plucked strings’ continue to signify a ‘Lyrical’, intimate space, whenever a ‘singing’ on a virtual secular ‘text’ is represented in instrumental genres. These are the typical markers of both ‘Serenade’ references: see Table n. 6-2.

‘OPEN-AIR SERENADE’ SIGNIFIERS

SIGNIFIEDS

Wind instruments, esp. clarinets, bassoons and horns. Muted strings. Flat keys ‘Vocal Duet’ reference: parallel thirds, sixths and octaves. ‘Martial’, ‘Dance’, public references.

‘LUTE SERENADE‘ Plucked strings. Pizzicato.

‘Song’, intimate references.

Table n. 6-2: Markers of ‘Open-Air’ and ‘Lute’ Serenade references.

105 106

At 4:20 of the suggested recording. At 6:51 of the suggested recording.

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6.4.3

235

Dysphoric ‘Serenade’

The dysphoric variant of the ‘Serenade’ is particularly interesting, and quite frequent in 19th-century music107. Its paradigmatic example could be the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 27 n. 2, quasi una fantasia (‘as if improvising’), called “Moonlight” (1801). The initial arpeggios point to a ‘Lute Serenade’ reference. At first, only the accompaniment is heard, as if the later ‘singing’ would be generated spontaneously after some instrumental prelude. Or is the memory of a ‘song’? If a ‘Retrospect’ is indeed enacted, the minor mode, the descending progression in the bass, and the absence of a ‘singer’ for the first five measures would make perfectly sense: see ex. 6-25a.

Ex. n. 6-25a: Beethoven, Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I, beginning1081.

Normally, ‘Serenade’ has a proactive sense; here it appears in its dysphoric variant, as if remembering a once happily experienced Serenade, today no longer current. This shady character is reinforced if one follows the alla breve indication, and the original pedal prescription, as András Schiff does, understanding senza sordini as ‘no dampers’ and thus holding down the right pedal throughout most of the first movement. The resulting sonorous ‘haze’ might be one of the symbols Beethoven is exploring about to enact a temporal ‘Retrospect’. The first ‘singing’, from m. 6 on, seems to contain no verse yet, but rather simple ‘exclamations’, or ‘calls’, with no logos (no articulated language): see ex. 6-25b.

Ex. n. 6-25b: Beethoven, Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I, mm. 5-9.

107

On euphoric/dysphoric, see Chap. 1 Sect. 1.2. For A. Schiff’s lecture-recital (London 2004) search for Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 14 in Csharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2 ‘Moonlight’.).

108

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The ‘Love Duet’ reference is suggested in mm. 28ff. with a ‘dialogue’ between ‘Treble’ and ‘Tenor’: see ex. 6-25c. Note also the ‘Suspiratio’ right before each one of both (represented) singers’ intervention109.

Ex. n. 6-25c: Beethoven, Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I, mm. 28-31.

In the Epilogue, the ‘calls’ re-enact their dialogue on a ‘bass’ register, confirming a ‘love duet’ reference that would match the ‘Serenade’ topos: see ex. 6-25d.

Ex. n. 6-25d: Beethoven, Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I, mm. 60-63.

To be sure, this is not a literal, realistic description of a ‘garden’ nightly Serenade, where different singers roam and moan about. Beethoven is using and manipulating these references as freely as he is using the rest of his materials – chords, scales, instruments. What might be enacted here is the musical ‘remembrance’ of some past episode by the musical Persona. In this inner monologue, affects find their expression in references to certain vocal traditions, twisted, turned ‘silent’ or aurally ‘hazy’ to create the impression of an inner ‘Retrospect’110. It was the publisher’s idea to call op. 27 n. 2 ‘Moonlight’ Sonata, as if he were intuitively grasping its main reference. The famous work is also a good introduction to two typically Romantic subgenres of the Serenade, the Nocturne and the Barcarolle.

109 About the theatrical reference to the ‘Love Duet’, see further Chap. 8 Sect. 8.4.1. For rhetorical figures such as Suspiratio, see earlier Chap. 2 Sect. 2.2.2. 110 About the narrative archetype of the ‘Retrospect’ in Romantic music, see GRIMALT 2016, 2018b.

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6.4.4

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Nocturne. Barcarolle.

The nineteenth century has a foible for the night, where all that is Different finds their time and space, where daily values are turned upside down. This originates from early German Romanticism. Novalis’s Hymnen an die Nacht (‘Hymns to the Night’) were published in the last volume of the literary magazine Athenaeum, established by the Schlegel brothers, in 1798. That poetry is an index of the modern search for a spiritual, secular alternative to religion, where desire for transcendence is not only aesthetic111. The Irishman John Field (1782-1837), a student of Muzio Clementi’s, is credited with the invention of 19th-century Nocturne. The new genre can be seen genealogically as an adaptation of the former ‘Lute Serenade’, a step further away into abstract topicalization. In the same intimate atmosphere, a virtual ‘singer’ is accompanied by a virtual ‘lute’. The lyrical character of this ‘singing’ makes it a direct heir of 18th-century ‘sensitive style’ (see Chap. 3 Sect. 3.2.2). Oftentimes not one, but two equal, parallel voices are displayed: a reminder of the open-air ‘Serenade’ of the former century. Historically, however, the two equal voices are derived from a couple of reed instruments, not singers. As an example of Field’s Nocturnes, no. 8 in A major is representative of the genre’s typical features112: • An intimate, quiet character; • A ‘vocal’ melody in the treble, ornamented chromatically, of operatic character, including many rhetorical figures, esp. ‘Calls’ and ‘Exclamations’, much as in 18thcentury ‘sensitive style’; • Simple harmony, with a tendency to flat keys; • Accompaniments suggesting ‘plucked strings’ in triple metre, as in ‘Siciliana’ or ‘Pastorale’; • Free or simple structure, often A-A’ or A-B-A’. • Performer’s music, rewarding to play and to listen to. More lyrical than brilliant. Skilful use of the right pedal as an effect.

This gives John Field’s Nocturnes a characteristic ‘pastoral’ serenity. It appears as the merging of an aria with the structure of a baroque dance. This gentleness, however, hides an ambiguous autonomy. Although there is no extra-musical narrative programme, the music turns out to be eloquent, thanks to traditional references, especially to vocal genres. Fryderyk Chopin’s Nocturnes use Field’s model as a point of departure but enrich it with many contrasts113. The operatic melody and the predominant triple metre are retained, but the degree of subjective ornamentation, rhetoric ‘interruptions’ and ‘spontaneous’ repetitions and modifications is much higher. Dissonance

111

See MONELLE 2008: 29 and Chap. 4 Sect. 4.6: Secular in the Sacred, and vice versa. For a version with B. Frith search for John Field – 18 Nocturnes. No. 8 starts at 31:22. 113 For a complete recording you can search for Chopin Complete Nocturnes Brigitte Engerer YouTube. 112

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and flat keys come to make Chopin’s Nocturnes noticeably darker. They often become a space of conflict and melancholy, or of a characteristic feverish frenzy. Until long into the 20th century, pianos were (well-)tempered in an unequal way. As a result, flat keys offered bizarre-sounding intervals, and a “different” sound altogether. This ‘other’ sonority is one of the signifiers of the night’s otherness, using bizarre keys such as D-flat, G-flat or C-flat, enharmonically notated as B major114. Formally, the design A-B-A’ is the norm, where a central section contrasts sharply with both framing parts. Narratively, if the latter are dysphoric, the middle section is often idyllic, or ‘hymn’-like, as in op. 37 n. 1 in G minor. If on the contrary the A parts are serene, the centre of the piece tends to burst into a more or less tempestuous conflict, as in op. 15 n. 1 in F. Sometimes, a peculiar ‘immobility’ strikes the listener, as in op. 27 n. 2 in D-flat, maybe in a reference to ‘ecstasy’. From m. 10 on, the initial single voice becomes the duet of treble voices that was described earlier as a typical marker of an ‘Open-air Serenade’: see ex. 6-26.

Ex. n. 6-26: Chopin, Nocturne op. 27 n. 2, mm. 10-151151.

This addition of a second ‘voice’ is a typical feature of Chopin’s Nocturnes. If they move in parallel motion, as in ex. 6-26, or in op. 37 n. 2 in G, it can be seen as a vestige of the ‘wind-instrument’ Serenade. If both voices present distinct registers instead, typically ‘soprano-tenor’, as in op. 15 n. 1 in F, the reference is the operatic ‘Love Duet’ that is dealt with in Chap. 8 Sect. 8.4.1. Again, these are not representations of love duets nor of open-air serenades, but only references that convey a musical feeling through the connotations associated to them: ‘freedom’, ‘otherness’, ‘eroticism’, ‘fine weather’, for example. A few decades later, Gabriel Fauré’s Nocturnes hold on to Chopin’s layout, albeit with more complex rhythms and harmonies. Next, the topical use of ‘Nocturne’ in pieces not labelled as such is addressed. Chopin’s Prelude in D-flat op. 28 n. 15 does not present a triple metre, but its vocal melody, turning occasionally to ‘duet’, its unequivocal ‘plucked strings’ accompaniment, the flats and the general quietness do remind one of the nocturnal variant of the Serenade: see ex. 6-27.

114 115

About the symbolic value of flats, see Chap. 1 Sect. 1.3.2. Please search Cherkassky plays Chopin Nocturne op.27 no.2. The ‘duet’ starts at 0:52.

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Ex. n. 6-27: Chopin, Prelude in D flat op. 28 n. 15, beginning1161.

Ex. n. 6-28: Schubert, Quintet D. 956/II: beginning1171.

Some of Schubert’s slow movements also prompt the nocturnal ‘Serenade’ reference. The Adagio of his String Quintet D. 956 (1828), e.g., displays a ‘Love Duet’ –or is it a ‘Love Trio’?– in the major mode, a pizzicato accompaniment in triple metre in allusion to ‘plucked strings’ and some ‘Hunting Calls’ instead of ‘singing’, as we saw earlier in ex. 6-25, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. See ex. 6-28. Traces of a ‘Night Serenade’ can be felt also in many other lyrical fragments of 19th-century music. In Brahms’s Rhapsody op. 79 in G minor, one of the contrasting features between both main themes is texture – ‘orchestral’ versus ‘singing with plucked strings accompaniment’118. In Scriabin’s Fantasia op. 28 (1900), as in a compendium, a ‘Siciliana’ rhythm, a ‘Love Duet’, an arpeggiated triple-metre ‘plucked strings’ accompaniment and an idyllic atmosphere stand in sharp contrast to the preceding section: see ex. 6-29. As for the Barcarolle, it is the aquatic variant of the Serenade, with which it shares its main features, plus a characteristic rocking, repetitive rhythm. This is originally another theatrical topos. In the Overture to Gaetano Donizetti’s opera Marino Faliero, located in Venice, a ‘song’ in triple metre is set for the orchestra alone. Pizzicato strings accompany a

116

For a version with V. Horowitz (1971) search Chopin Prelude Op.28 No.15 (Horowitz). Please search for Schubert: String Quintet in C (Adagio) - Casals, Stern,Tortelier. 118 For a version with R. Lupu search Brahms - Rhapsody in G minor Op. 79 No. 2 (with sheet music). 117

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Ex. n. 6-29: Scriabin, Fantasia op. 28, mm. 30-371191.

melody on woodwinds, with a counterpoint on horns120. The virtual ‘song’ seems to determine the location of the action at the capital of Veneto. It also anticipates the Gondoliere’s song Or che in ciel alta è la notte (‘Now that the night is high in the sky’)121. Inspired by Lord Byron’s blank verse tragedy of the same title (1821), Donizetti’s opera was premiered in Paris in 1835. Giuseppe Verdi, in Un ballo in maschera (1859), gives his King Richard of Sweden also a ‘Barcarolle’ to sing: it is his aria Di’ tu se fedele, where the King brags with all kinds of sailor metaphors. To a triple metre, the accompaniment is minimalist, the melody is supposed to sound simple and folksy, but the double-sombre A-flat minor and the double-flatted second degree result in a gloom that prefigures the story’s tragical outcome: see ex. 6-30.

Ex. n. 6-30: Verdi, Ballo in maschera, aria Di’ tu se fedele: act I, scene 21221.

120

For a version with E. Boncompagni search for Gaetano Donizetti - MARIN FALIERO - Rai Torino, 1977. The ‘Barcarolle’ starts at 1:09. 121 You can search for Donizetti * Marino Faliero _ Il gondoliere /”Or che in ciel alta è la notte” Shawn Mathey. 122 For a version with T. Serafin (Rome 1943), search for Beniamino Gigli UN BALLO IN MASCHERA “Di’ tu se fedele”. The ‘Barcarolle’ starts at 0:46.

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Still in opera, with the explicit title of Barcarolle, the duet Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour stands out. It opens the third act of Jacques Offenbach’s Les contes d’Hoffmann (1881). Set in Venice, it features two female singers, soprano and mezzo-soprano, the latter in a “breeches role”, representing a young man123. Note the woodwinds’ timbre and the trochaic rhythms, that Monteverdi, following Quintilian, had called ‘descending’ and thus soothing124. Were it not for the title, and for Venice, we would have guessed an ‘Open-air Serenade’. The ‘Barcarolle’ plays an important role in instrumental music as well, as a 19thcentury topos. Or maybe even earlier: according to A. Peter Brown, the second movement of Haydn’s Symphony no. 62 (1780), Allegretto, would be the only instance of Haydn using that reference125. In any case, the remarkable piece belongs to the ‘Pastoral’ semantic field. Triple metre, ‘oboe duet’, ‘plucked strings’ and the use of solo woodwinds all point to the ‘Serenade’. In Beethoven’s Sonata in G op. 79 (1809), the central Andante presents a ‘Soprano Duet’ (or rather a ‘double-reed duet’), solo in the middle section, with triple-meter and ‘plucked strings’ accompaniment: see ex. 6-31.

Ex. n. 6-31: Beethoven, Sonata op. 79/II, beginning1261.

Charles ROSEN labels the fragment as Barcarolle, relating it with “so many barcarolles by Rossini (and one by Chopin)”. “The style of Italian opera”, Rosen adds, “is very much in evidence”127. And indeed, as so many topoi in Classic and Romantic music, the ‘Barcarolle’ reference has its origins in Italian musical theatre. It is mythically related to Venetian gondoliers, but in its stylised form tends to appear as a ‘female voices duet’, a vestige of 18th−century ‘Open-air Serenade’. Fryderyk Chopin has in fact two Barcarolles for the piano – one explicit, one implicit. The well-known one is op. 60 in F-sharp (1845/46), making reference to a ‘soprano & mezzo duet’ that sounds operatic. The triple metre accompaniment has a

For a version with E. Garanča and A. Netrebko (Prague 2008), search for Belle nuit ô nuit d’amour (Les Contes D’Hoffman - Offenbach) Score Animation. 124 See Chap. 5 Sect. 5.1.3 Other Martial Rhythms: Anapaest. 125 Brown 2002: 183f, quoted by SISMAN 2014: 105. For a version with Ch. Hogwood search for J. Haydn - Hob I:62 - Symphony No. 62 in D major (Hogwood). The Allegretto starts at 6:53. 126 Please search for BEETHOVEN BRENDEL SONATA OP 79. The 2nd movement starts at 4:44. 127 ROSEN 2002: 202. 123

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circular sense. Its peculiar rhythm, as in a repeated gesture, might refer to the oar, or to the boat’s movement: see ex. 6-32.

Ex. n. 6-32: Chopin, Barcarolle op. 60, mm. 4-71281.

The odd key of F-sharp major sounds like the enharmonic writing of G-flat, ‘darkening’ sunny G major, maybe as a sign of ‘nocturnality’. Peculiarly, Chopin’s Prelude no. 13 op. 28 in the same key of F# major, entitled Lento, also presents a reference to the ‘Barcarolle’, albeit in an only implicit way: see ex. 6-33.

Ex. n. 6-33: Chopin, Prelude op. 28 n. 13, beginning.

Mendelssohn’s three Gondolier’s Songs op. 19 n. 6, op. 30 n. 6 and op. 62 n. 5, gathered among his and his sister’s Lieder ohne Worte (‘Songs with no words’) deserve mention. The three share a characteristic, rather monotonous accompaniment in triple rhythm, ‘vocal duet’ texture, and a melancholy, minor mode. Gabriel Fauré wrote thirteen explicit Barcarolles for solo piano. We would rather close this section mentioning some implicit, topical examples. The slow movement of Schubert’s Sonata for piano in B-flat D. 960 (1828) presents a reference to a 128

For a comparison between different, all splendid versions search for Chopin: Barcarolle Op.60 (Pollini, Zimerman, Kissin, Horowitz, Argerich).

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dysphoric ‘Vocal Duet’ in its main section, with a minimalist accompaniment that reminds of ‘plucked strings’: see ex. 6-34. The rocking figure in the left hand, typical of plucked strings instruments, seems to suggest a non-conventional ‘Barcarolle’.

Ex. n. 6-34: Schubert, Sonata D. 960/II: beginning1291.

Instead, in Schubert’s song Auf dem Wasser zu singen (‘To Be Sung on the Water’) D. 774 (1823), the link to the ‘Barcarolle’ reference comes quite simply – indexically, Monelle would say, following Peirce– from the “waves” mentioned by the text. A perpetuum mobile figure built on pianti reminds one descriptively of all the musical ‘brooks’ in Die schöne Müllerin and elsewhere in Schubert’s work, and also of lines 2-3 of the poem, where a “rocking boat glides, swan-like, on gently shimmering waves of joy”130. The rhythm seems to keep switching between two references: the traditional ‘Siciliana’ and the contemporary Deutsch waltz131. Narratively, every stanza stages the releasing passage from an initial dysphoric state in the minor mode to a euphoric one in major132. A similar thing happens in Brahms’s song Meerfahrt (‘Sea Voyage’) op. 96 n. 4 (1884). Heinrich Heine’s poem sounds like the account of a dream. Here, the classical metaphor of life as navigation is correlated with an artful alternance between triple and double metrical feet:

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MEERFAHRT

SEA VOYAGE133

Mein Liebchen, wir saßen beisammen, Traulich im leichten Kahn. Die Nacht war still, und wir schwammen Auf weiter Wasserbahn.

My sweetest, we sat together, Lovingly in our light boat. The night was still, and we drifted Along a wide waterway.

Die Geisterinsel, die schöne,

The beautiful haunted island

Please search for Schubert: Sonata in B Flat D. 960, Alicia de Larrocha. The 2nd movement starts at 19:13. 130 About pianti as a madrigalism, see Chap. 2 Sect. 2.2.1. For perpetuum mobile, see the rhetorical figure of Circulatio in Chap. 2 Sect. 2.4.6 and stile concitato in Chap. 5 Sect. 5.1.2. 131 About the ‘Siciliana’, see Sect. 6.3 and 7.4. About the Deutsch and other waltzes, Chap. 7 Sect. 7.4. 132 For a version with B. Bonney and G. Parsons search for Auf dem Wasser zu singen (F. Schubert) Score Animation. 133 Translation by Richard Stokes, at Oxford Lieder. Accessed July 2019.

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Lag dämmrig im Morgenglanz; Dort klangen liebe Töne, Und wogte der Nebeltanz.

Lay dimly in the moon’s light; Sweet music was sounding there, And dancing mists were swirling.

Dort klang es lieb und lieber, Und wogt’ es hin und her; Wir aber schwammen vorüber, Trostlos auf weitem Meer.

The sounds grew sweeter and sweeter, The mists swirled this way and that; We, however, drifted past, Desolate on the wide sea.

Brahms reacts to it with the traditional ‘Barcarolle’ triple metre: see ex. 6-35. The piano introduction in itself offers a narrative correlate to the poem’s passing from hope through deception to disappointment. With a major sixth, it anticipates two failed attempts in the first stanza to change the initial minor mode to the major: in m. 7 (at 0:12), and in m. 13 (at 0:26 of the recommended recording). The delicate portato articulation in the accompaniment suggests a carefully restrained use of the right pedal, as so often in Brahms’s piano music.

Ex. n. 6-35: Brahms, Meerfahrt, beginning1341.

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You can search for Ian Bostridge & Julius Drake - Johannes Brahms/Meerfahrt.

Chapter 7

Dance References

Last week I gave a ball at my place. Of course the chapeaux [men] paid 2 florins each. We started at 6 p.m. and stopped at 7. What, just one hour? No, no… at 7 a.m. MOZART1

This chapter is devoted to the crossroads of music and body movement. A context of freedom and leisure goes together with dancing, at least in Western culture. Dance references permeate vocal and instrumental music of the whole common-practice period. However, in our conservatoires and universities body and dance have been generally left behind, possibly due to romantic, idealistic doctrines favouring the ‘spirit’ at the expense of the body. In Sect. 7.2 we will see how the discredit of dancing in the nineteenth century gives a bias to the way ‘art music’ was studied in the twentieth century, prioritizing timeless, disembodied parameters such as harmony or structure. Luckily, Leonard Ratner, Wendy Allanbrook and, in our days, Lawrence Zbikowski have been able to listen beyond such prejudices. To be sure, this is not a matter of black and white, as the growing autonomy of instrumental music in the 18th century inevitably demanded some of the ingredients that will take the overhand in the next century. But in spite of the ‘Classic’ composers’ longing for autonomy, Wye J. ALLANBROOK writes, their music was indissolubly wedded to the human pulse beat, breath, and stride, shaped into an artful measure by meter. A consciousness of the proper articulations of the rhythmic gestures in Mozart’s music makes the difference between lifelessness and liveliness in performance2.

1 2

In a letter to his father, dated Vienna, Jan. 21st, 1783. Quoted by ELVERS 1961: ALLANBROOK 1983: 29f.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_7

VII.

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Allanbrook’s study focused on Mozart’s music, a veritable acme in the meeting of dance and meaning. However, as a model of a passionately dance-loving composer, the results of analysing Mozart’s music can be at least partly adapted and enlarged to any instrumental music where a regular metrical reference is conveying a precious lot of expressive information, even after the growing discredit of dance from the mid-nineteenth century on. Dance may not be the only human ‘movement’ represented in most common-practice music, whether vocal or instrumental, but it is certainly the most important one. In opposition to the ‘Freedom’ and ‘Leisure’ with which ‘dance’ references are associated, even nowadays, the ‘Martial’ that was dealt with in Chap. 5 conveys quite another kind of movement, linked with the liabilities of some ‘Authority’. ‘Dance’ references are also fundamental in Western art music for a structural reason. In its origins, instrumental music –called often simply Sonatas, whether solo, duo, trio, and so forth– would derive their symmetrical form from baroque dance patterns, i.e. two equal sections with a repetition sign, the first one travelling to the dominant, the second one back to the tonic, whether with or without a Reprise3. Dance and vocal rhetoric were the two main assets that showed a way out from the so-called stile antico (old-style polyphony) to the Galant, or free style in the eighteenth century. Significatively, both elements derive from secular genres: theatre and dancing4. Both Sects. 7.1 and 7.2 in this chapter are rather historical; Sects. 7.4 and 7.5 on the contrary describe and exemplify ‘dance’ references in triple, respectively in duple metres to facilitate discerning them in some vocal or instrumental work and to give heed to their expressive connotations. In the middle of these two sections, Sect. 7.3 tackles the rather theoretical question of ‘Dance’ as a topos. As was stated in the Introduction, no exhaustivity is intended. Many dance references did not find a place here, as the goal is not to list all of them, but only some significative examples to show a way to analysis and to critical listening.

7.1

Dance in the Eighteenth Century

The importance of social dancing in music history has been often neglected by musicology, due to the general discredit that functional music –as opposed to ‘art’ music– and in particular dance as body-related suffered in the nineteenth century. In the Enlightened period, upper and lower classes still used to dance in quite different

3

See ROSEN 1988 (1980): Chap. 1. About the main role of dichotomies such as Stile antico vs. Galant style in the music of the 18th century, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.1.1 and ALLANBROOK 2014: 123. 4

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ways. Plain people’s dances had no pretentions, anyone could join them without effort. Instead, following and adapting baroque courtly traditions, aristocratic dances required training and were danced to purposely made music5. At Louis XIV’s court, dance had involved a lot more than just revelry. Here is the king’s decree as he founded the Académie Royale de Danse in 1661: In that the Art of Dance has always been recognized as one of the most honourable and necessary methods to train the body, and furthermore as the primary and most natural basis for all sorts of Exercises, including that of bearing arms, consequently it is one of the most advantageous and useful to our Nobility, as well as to others who have the honour of approaching Us, not only in time of War for our Armies, but even in Peacetime while we enjoy the diversion of our court Ballets6.

Interestingly, dance is put in relationship to a radically incompatible activity, warfare. A few decades later, Pierre RAMEAU spoke in similar terms in Le Maître à danser (Paris 1725): dance was one of the Ancien Régime’s aesthetic pillars because it helped to tell who was an aristocrat. If the tone of Louis XIV’s decree was excluding, Rameau’s text sounds rather modern in his desire to invite all people from new social classes to leave behind their origins by joining the elite of good-mannered dancers. Anticipating our contemporary Self-Help genre, the book’s pocket flap addresses those who, rather than opposing the Ancien Régime, chose to try and adapt to it: Very useful work, not only to the [aristocratic] youth wishing to dance properly, but also to all decent and polite persons, that they receive rules to walk well, greet and curtsey in a suitable way in all kinds of companies7.

7.1.1

Dance and Opera

Already in the seventeenth century, dances are part of theatrical shows. In fact, most ‘dance’ topoi find their way into ‘art’ music through the stage. Thus, references to ‘dances’ in instrumental music are modelled on their theatrical versions, rather than on the ballroom. However, Seicento opera places the Word above everything else, including rhythm. It is prosody that determines everything in the famous recitar cantando, and to find some dance patterns one usually has to wait until the end of the action. In Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo (1607), a final Moresca choreography closes

5 6 7

See ZBIKOWSKI 2012. Quoted by ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 163f. RAMEAU 1725: Last accessed online, July 2019.

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the favola about the powerful yet unfortunate shepherd and musician8. The Moresca used to be a very popular, lively dance in Europe in the 15th and 16th centuries9. Here it displays a triple rhythm that brings the later ‘Gigue’ to mind. It also has an ‘exoticist‘ sense and no relationship at all with the theatrical action – its function might be to frame it with something completely different10. Dances perform a similar structural function to close all three acts in Francesco Cavalli’s Giasone (Venice 1649)11. Lulli’s Cadmus et Hermione, regarded as the first French opera (1673), also presents an explicit ‘Gavotte’ and other dance interludes to be choreographed between the scenes. However, here a clear distinction is already felt between recitative, where the word dictates all rhythm, and those passages where dance patterns govern both phrase structure and pace. This will be the rule in 18th-century opera. In Alessandro Scarlatti’s opera seria Griselda (1721), for instance, it is easy to notice a ‘Gigue’ reference to close the Sinfonia avanti l’opera. Similarly, arias and choruses are set in recognizable metres such as a ‘Passepied‘ for the King to speak about his love for Griselda. Or in the latter’s aria, some march-like dance with elements of ‘bourrée’ and ‘gavotte’12. Gluck’s “reformed” operas in the 1760s strived to make serious, tragic subjects accessible to new audiences13. Musically, the metrics of ‘dance’ references are often disrupted by ‘subjective’ utterances of the characters. This is one of the steps towards a more realistic representation of dramatic events in music theatre. See e.g. Orfeo’s lament in the first act of Orfeo ed Euridice (Vienna 1762), Chiamo il mio ben così (‘Thus do I call my love’)14. In Mozart’s drammi per musica, the same merging between seria and buffa can be seen at its best. However, in the Viennese Classics’ musical language, whether operatic or instrumental, the ground reference is comedy. Every allusion to other genres, styles and atmospheres is made from the comedic point of view, that has always the last word, often also the first one. Now in comedy, expression comes from word and from movement. Or rather the other way around, movement and word. That is why it is so important to consider the rhythms of the accompaniment to discern in them metric patterns. These can be heard as expressive frames for

8

For a version with Ph. Pickett search for Monteverdi, Claudio (1567-1643) Moresca (from the Opera “Orfeo”). 9 See BROWN and CARDAMONE 2001. 10 About ‘Exoticism’, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3.2. 11 Please search for Francesco Cavalli “Giasone” (Christophe Dumaux & Federico Maria Sardelli • Flanders Opera). 12 For a version with R. Jacobs search for Alessandro Scarlatti - Griselda 1_2. For the Gigue and the Passepied, see further Sect. 7.4. For the Bourrée and the Gavotte, Sect. 7.5. 13 More about Gluck’s “reformed” operas in the next Chap. 8, Sect. 8.3. 14 For a version with D.L. Ragin and J.E. Gardiner search for Gluck: Orfeo ed Euridice, Wq. 30 / Act 1 - “Chiamo il mio ben così”.

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every particular passage, whether in opera or in instrumental genres. In a comparable way, Astor Piazzolla’s music makes references to ‘tango’ in his autonomous music. The composer can count on the affective values most listeners around the world associate with ‘Tango’ – passionate sensuality, Argentina, maybe small-time city atmospheres.

7.2

Dance in the Nineteenth Century

Many changes took place in European culture in the nineteenth century, not least in the terrain of dance. The Versaillesque dances were mostly out of fashion at Mozart’s time already, but still danced well into the new century. In place of the old baroque dances, new genres emerge: Waltz, Contredanse, Gallop, Polka, Scottish, Mazurka, Polonaise. Most of them are adaptations of traditional dances into a new environment. Sometimes, they change names only: ‘Scottish’ is just another way to call the 18th-century contredanse. Most importantly, they have to be simple enough to be learnt in no time. New-built public dance halls were a place of sensuality and tolerance. A new bourgeois aesthetic that will dominate the 19th century is emerging: one where entertainment is a modern value. Replacing former private palace rooms, public dance halls allow two hitherto separated classes to come together. On one side, members of the aristocracy who cannot afford their own balls. On the other, bourgeois, tradespeople and artisans with an urge for public fun and for status display. Thus new dances, new venues and new social classes all dignify each other. Dance can provide all that, and also socially sanctioned physical contact. The erotic aspect of social dancing is arguably an important factor to explain its enormous rise during the nineteenth century. On the other hand, dance lost its prestige within the global map of the arts. This can be partly explained recurring to German idealism. First, the historical impact of the Congress of Vienna on dancing in nineteenth-century Europe is tackled. Second, dance falling into disrepute is described.

7.2.1

The Congress of Vienna

Early nineteenth-century Vienna was badly longing for calm and comfort after a long wartime. The Congress of Vienna (1814-15) is usually seen as the starting point of the so-called Biedermeier period15. In the German Confederation it is called Vormärz: from the Congress until the revolutions around March 1848. Metternich’s politics of stability lead to an increased appreciation of domesticity – 15

SCHMALE 2015: 7. See also VAJDA 1980: 435-480.

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furniture design, home decoration flourish. But there is also a dark side to the Biedermeier. Both Austria and Prussia became police states through control, censorship and severe repression as a reaction to growing liberalism and uprisings. ‘Classic’ music bears many traces of that bumpy, hesitant transition from Ancien Régime to a modern administration. The Vienna Congress is highly significative for music history, especially due to its relationship with dance. Dancing was staged as a symbolic image of the ‘harmony’ the Congress was aiming at. Moreover, most private balls were designed to continue diplomatic talks. The Hofburg hosted kings and emperors from most states or nations of the time, with their families and their large diplomatic delegations. The resonance across 19th-century Europe of those dance meetings, staged as the most decisive place in the world then, can be compared with the aesthetic weight Versailles had had in the seventeenth century. The Congress has been signalled also as the starting point for a divide between ‘art’ and ‘popular’ music16. It can also be seen as the rising moment of a new ‘national’ music making. Monarchic Restoration had a modern component – a populist, constitutionalist side. French revolution, under the pressure of wars, had forged state nationalism, a.k.a. Jacobinism. For the first time in history, Napoleonic wars (1803-15) saw “nations”, or “peoples” (Völker), fighting against each other17. In the Vienna Congress, however, patriotism is displayed under the cloak of ‘Fraternity’. Some of the balls of the Royalty were open to the public, in a gesture that brings together Ancien Régime and modernity. They were called Frey-Redouten18. Besides the grand balls at the Hofburg and at private noble palaces, some Völkerfeste (‘parties of the nations’) with regional, folkloric dances and costumes, as well as Volksfeste (‘people’s parties’) were organised at the Prater and in the Augarten, including fireworks and banquets19. In them, the plain folk would meet members of the Royalty. The aristocratic permissiveness and endless disposition for spree, as well as their promiscuity were soon imitated by some of the plain people, which resulted in a great increase of alcoholism and prostitution in the city20. New waltzes and contredanses were premiered and printed right away so they could be enjoyed at home. Tolerance and hedonism in the coming together of so many different musical styles and origins, celebrations and balls taking place in those days prefigure musical life in the next centuries. It leaves behind an idea of music that had been irreducibly local, with rare exceptions. Politically, the Congress is usually interpreted as a backlash. Socially and artistically, it brings a fresh, liberal

16

BRUSATTI & SOMMER 2015a: 20. SCHMALE 2015: 9. 18 In Austrian German Redoute still means ‘fancy dress-ball’ or ‘masquerade’, a classic aristocratic pastime. It might be derived from the French Réduite, ‘reduced’ to invited guests. 19 BRUSATTI & SOMMER 2015a: 25. 20 BRUSATTI & SOMMER 2015b: 49. 17

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attitude that is one of the hallmarks of modernity. The new, bourgeois costumers demand novelty, sensuality, variety. One of the signs of the bourgeois emancipation from Ancien Régime structures is irony as a public, collective value in the growing media landscape. That includes musical irony, that is addressed more explicitly in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3 and Chap.8, Sects. 8.4, 8.5. There is also a flourishing of the caricature in newspapers and magazines. It is hypocritical and snobbish, at best illusory and quixotic, in any case historically wrong to mourn about ‘art’ music being for minorities. It is so per se. It was born to belong to a happy few and it wants to stay so as one of its virtues, back then and today. The difference is, today ‘art’ music is –it ought to be– inclusive, no more exclusive. Anyone should have access to its knowledge, to its senses, even if it is not meant to become a commodity for people en masse.

7.2.2

An Idealist Mistrust of the Body

In spite of the enormous resonance the Vienna Congress gave to dancing, new idealisms ended up relegating to the side-lines an activity that had started the century conquering every city in the Western world. There seem to be two main reasons why modernity discredited dance, in favour of a ‘spiritualisation’. First, as a functional music it was far removed from the autonomy ideal that became current in nineteenth century art. Second, as a body-related activity. Within the new mentality, music had to be as spiritual and abstract as possible, shorn of any function or any link to the real world. In an editorial in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1835, Robert SCHUMANN gives some ambivalent praise to dance. He defines it as “where music marries life at its most sensual, and its most coarse” (am gröbsten)21. The Viennese musical critic Eduard Hanslick equates the effect of dance music to that of wine and pleads against losing control over one’s senses. [Dance] Music loosens the feet or the heart as wine the tongue. Such conquests tell us only about the vulnerability of the vanquished. To undergo unmotivated, aimless, and casual emotional disturbances through a power that is not en rapport with our willing and thinking is unworthy of the human spirit. When people surrender themselves so completely to the elemental in an art that they are not in control of themselves, then it seems to us that this is not to the credit of that art and is still less to the credit of those people22.

Such ideas have effectively brought noticeable disconnection in many musicians, even today, between their activity and the movements of their bodies, in favour of abstraction. This tendency seems to correspond with the bloom and expansion of German idealism. For Hegel, Schelling or Schopenhauer, art is “an active 21 22

Neue Zeitschrift f. Musik n. 38, May 1835, p. 153. Accessed online July 2019. Hanslick 1854: Vom Musikalisch-Schönen. Quoted by ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 163f.

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expression of general philosophical principles”, and music in particular “a symbol of metaphysical ideas”23. In the Romantic quest for “Absolute”, speechless music is a privileged medium of a different kind of knowledge, one that leaves Reason and Matter behind. The search for this romantic “Absolute” also leaves behind the traditional idea of art as mimesis. This Greek term can be translated as ‘representation’ or ‘imitation’, and it has been reinterpreted in several different ways before the nineteenth century dispensed with it altogether24. “Absolute”, from Latin absolvere (‘set free’, ‘make separate’), means ‘unrelated to anything else than itself’25. A certain way to listen and to think about music favoured the idea of that ‘Absolute’, that in its turn influenced rather musical theory than composers or performers. Today, the concept of ‘absolute music’ has been criticised and deconstructed, not only by scholars who listen to music as a complex, peculiar ‘message’, related to the traditional Logos, but also by those who continue a line of thought that could be called ‘formalist’. Among the former, the pioneer Constantin Floros needs to be named first. Among those starting from the idealist-formalist tradition, Arnold Schoenberg and Heinrich Schenker, more recently Adorno, Dahlhaus and Caplin stand out26. They have also been related to a “Beethovenian-Hegelian tradition”27. To be sure, this has little to do with Beethoven’s actual music. It rather means a Hegel-biased way to look at his work. Interestingly, the more dance takes a firm place in social life, the less important become ‘dance’ topoi in autonomous art music, where instead lyrical, ‘disembodied’ references of vocal origin progressively take the overhand. In Lawrence ZBIKOWSKI’s words, Indeed, a case could be made that the immediacy and omnipresence of social dances told against their utility as musical topics28.

Most evoked ‘dances’ in Romantic chamber music seem to be staged not in any dance hall using real legs and bodies, but within the musical Persona, as in a ‘remembrance’. This matches one of the most fundamental concepts in German idealism, Innerlichkeit (“Interiority”), “that Hegel links with a subject’s inner sense of identity and uniqueness”29. The narrative archetype of ‘Retrospect‘ (Rückblick) is predominant in many piano pieces with explicit dance names, such as Chopin’s Mazurkas and Waltzes30.

23

SPITZER 2010: XXXIII f. See ALLANBROOK 2014, esp. Chap. 2, and AUERBACH 2013 (1946). 25 Online Etymology Dictionary, consulted July 2019. 26 For studies about the historical concept of ‘Absolute Music’ see CHUA 1999 and BONDS 2014. For its critique, see FLOROS 2016 (1989), Music as message. 27 SPITZER 2010: XXVII. 28 ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 162. 29 SPITZER 2010: XXXII. 30 GRIMALT 2013c, 2016, 2018b, 2018c. 24

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253

‘Dance’ as a Topos

Rhythmic patterns, whether in vocal or in instrumental music, often point to some historical ‘dance’ as an expressive reference. The ‘dance’ movement as an opposite reference to ‘vocal’ or ‘motionless’ is arguably the listener’s first impression31. Second, the character of the ‘dance’ being quoted reaches our senses: lively or quiet, aristocratic or folksy. Finally, analysis can deepen into a specific ‘dance’ genre and find out about the historical expressive value that reference might have had at its own time. The expressive value of a minuet, for instance, can change greatly within a baroque suite, a Mozart opera, or a Mahlerian symphonic cycle. To evaluate this, contemporary texts are certainly a good musicological clue, but the actual musical text tends to provide more conclusive information. Back in Chap. 1, the Handel aria Lascia ch’io pianga (ex. n. 1-2) showed its ‘Sarabande’ markers inducing the composer to adapt the lyric’s prosody to that dance’s rhythmic features. Edward T. CONE, from an idealist perspective, even suggests a “complete identification” through rhythmic patterns: Perhaps eighteenth-century audiences, because of their presumable familiarity with the actual steps of the dances that so often defined the movements of suite or sonata, sometimes found it easier to arrive at complete identification [with the work] by following rhythmic patterns rather than melodies. […] To hear a composition in this way is, no doubt, an infrequently realized ideal; yet it is an ideal that must implicitly inspire any attempt to comprehend a composition as something more than pure design on the one hand or an opportunity for emotional indulgence on the other32.

In a more positivistic approach, Wye J. ALLANBROOK (1983) analyses ‘dance’ references in Mozart’s general output, and specifically in Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni, to observe how dance topoi convey expressive meaning about the social, cultural circumstances that were associated with them. Today, these associations can still be retraced, musicologically by reading contemporary texts, analytically by taking a composer’s style as context. Following Allanbrook’s traces, Lawrence ZBIKOWSKI notes one of the aspects of inheriting French court dances in Europe: the way autonomous music, once detached from the actual dancing, would accurately keep reflecting steps and movements of the dance it had accompanied. This leaves the imprint of a permanent association between gesture and sound in Western ‘art’ music: A close affinity between the steps of a dance and the music for that dance is part of the legacy of French noble dance of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, which had as its ideal a perfect alignment of choreography and music33.

31 32 33

More about ‘bodily’ and ‘bodiless’ music in Chap. 4, Sect. 4.1, Static or Dynamic?. CONE 1974: 125f. ZBIKOWSKI 2014: 145.

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JS Bach’s cantata Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut (‘Lord Jesus Christ, O highest good’) BWV 113 (1724), e.g., opens with the choir singing these words34: Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut, Du Brunnquell aller Gnaden, Sieh doch, wie ich in meinem Mut Mit Schmerzen bin beladen Und in mir hab der Pfeile viel, Die im Gewissen ohne Ziel Mich armen Sünder drücken.

Lord Jesus Christ, O highest good, O fountain of all grace, Behold how in my emotions I am weighed down with sorrows And have many arrows in me, That in my conscience endlessly Pierce me, a poor sinner.

The whole piece abounds with the madrigalism of pianto, as befits a cantata focused on contrition. Latently, however, a ‘minuet’ reference is setting the pace. Johann MATTHESON ascribes to the minuet “no other affection than moderate joy35”. The ‘dancing’ ingredient makes the music surprisingly kind, considering the words it is set to. A ‘dance’ reference, due to its corporeality and festive usage, connotes inevitably some terrestrial bliss. That modulates the text’s rigorousness in a typically musical, subliminal way36. Theologically, here the ‘dancing’ might symbolise divine forgiveness, at the very moment guilt is proclaimed. That would be a typical procedure in JS Bach’s expressive strategies, who in his Christmas Oratorio starts alluding to Christ’s Passion37. In a nearly identical way, Felix Mendelssohn’s Psalm no. 42 combines the Siciliana’s sweetness with a disheartening text, to anticipate a happy outcome right from the very beginning38. The epigraph to this chapter shows Mozart as a passionate, competent dancer. So does this other passage: There was dancing, but I only danced four minuets, and was in my own room again by eleven o’clock, for, out of fifty young ladies, there was only one who danced in time – Madlle. Käser, a sister of Count Perusa’s secretary39.

A glance to the Table of Contents of the Neue Mozart Ausgabe suffices to find that the two volumes of Dances he wrote specifically for the ballroom basically correspond to those genres found as references in his symphonies, concertos,

34

DÜRR 1995 (1971): 553ff. For a version with J. E. Gardiner search for Bach - Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut (Monteverdi Choir). 35 MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 333 (224). 36 For the pianto, see supra Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.1 . For the Minuet, see next §. 37 More about such allusions in JS Bach’s music in GRIMALT 2011, Chap. 4. 38 For Pastoral and ‘Siciliana’, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3 and further Sect. 7.4.7. For Mendelssohn’s Psalm 42, see GRIMALT 2011: 121-132. 39 Letter to his father, dated Munich, Oct. 6, 1777.

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sonatas or operas: above all minuets, contredanses, Deutsche40. This observation can be extended also to Haydn’s, Beethoven’s and Schubert’s work. It seems recognising a reference to a dance one has danced activates the experience of those movements, and with them the affects that are linked to that dance. We can assume that to be the case with contemporary listeners of instrumental music in the eighteenth century, even if the reference would involve other social classes than one’s own. Lawrence M. ZBIKOWSKI, following on and extending Allanbrook’s research, recurs to recent neurological studies to reinforce this idea41. According to an experiment by Beatriz Calvo-Merino, whenever professional dancers watch movements that are part of their own repertoire, the areas of their brains related to movement show more activity than when they watch similar actions that do not belong to their direct experience. To rivet out his analogy, ZBIKOWSKI alludes to the so-called “mirror cells”. Whenever a reference to bodily experienced rhythms is perceived, the corresponding neurones are activated: Composers of the eighteenth century could draw on these materials [‘dance’ references] to activate [in their listeners] knowledge about the movements and attitudes associated with a dance, which then contributed to the species of meaning they created through their musical discourse. As I proposed, creating meaning in this fashion is possible because humans have the capacity to make analogical connections between patterned non-linguistic sound [music] and patterned movement [dance]. Perhaps most crucially, research on mirror neurons provides evidence that both the sight and sound of movements made by others activate a portion of the neurons in the motor system that would be active were we ourselves to make those movements. As a consequence, hearing the music for a dance with whose steps we are familiar can lead to part of the brain doing the dance: the knowledge activated by dance topics is, in a very real way, embodied knowledge42.

ZBIKOWSKI also contributes a further subtlety to Allanbrook’s work, namely distinguishing three different degrees of abstraction in a ‘dance’ reference. His reflections could be enlarged to any topical reference43. On one end of this scale (degree zero) music is still functional: there is no topos, but actual dance music. Secondly, a reference corresponds to real ‘dancing’ gestures, but in an autonomous context. In ZBIKOWSKI’s words, “the incorporation of portions of dance pieces within longer works.” Finally, the reference –or topos, if recurrent– becomes further removed from the ballroom in “passages that borrow portions of the rhythmic figuration of different dance types but whose meaning is largely dependent on the musical context within which they are embedded44.” Josef Haydn’s Symphony n. 44 in E minor Hob. I/44 (1772) is usually called Trauersymphonie, ‘Funeral Symphony’. It seems the composer would have wished

40 The Mozarteum in Salzburg offers free of charge on its website the complete edition of Mozart’s works in Bärenreiter’s Urtext. 41 ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 157. 42 ZBIKOWSKI 2012: 160f. My emphasis. See also ZBIKOWSKI 2008. 43 About different degrees of abstraction in topical references, see earlier Chap.1, Sects. 1.1 , 1.5; Chap. 3, Sect. 3.1.2. 44 ZBIKOWSKI 2014: 160.

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its third movement, Adagio, to be played at his own funeral. Regarding dance topoi, however, the second movement is particularly interesting. It bears the titles Menuetto, Allegretto, Canone al diapason (‘Canon at the octave’). The triple combination turns out ironical because of two incongruities colluding with the ‘minuet’ reference: the ‘learned style’ canon reveals the dance’s links to the baroque Ancien Régime. Moreover, the dance reference sounds rather like a Ländler waltz than a minuet: see ex. 7-1.

Ex. n. 7-1: Haydn, Symphony n. 44/II: beginning45.

The provocation of treating such a “low” dance in strict counterpoint and under the name of a ‘minuet’ becomes still more transparent in Mahler’s song Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt, ‘St. Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fish’ (1893): see ex. 7-2. We can only imagine whether or not Mahler was consciously referring to Haydn’s anti-minuet, but we do know he understood the underlying text from Des Knaben Wunderhorn as a satire to musical critics, and maybe to any insensitive listeners to his music. In a reported conversation to his friend Natalie Bauer-Lechner, Mahler would doubt whether the fierce effort he was making, both as a performer and as a composer, was worth a flock of sheep who listen to it thoughtlessly and uselessly, to whom it goes one ear in, the other out, like the fish at the sermon of the holy Anthony of Padua46.

45

For a live version with J.E. Gardiner (Munich 2019) search for Haydn Symphony 44 E minor Trauersinphonie [sic!] John Eliot Gardiner BRSO. The 2nd movement starts at 8:57. 46 KILLIAN (Bauer-Lechner) 1984: 30. See also GRIMALT 2012: 85 for an analysis of the song.

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Ex. n. 7-2: Mahler, Fischpredigt: beginning47.

The bass seems to start off spontaneously and rather aimlessly with a rustic dance, a Deutsch waltz in minor, to which the rest of the orchestra join in with a vacillating, failed attempt at polyphonic imitation that derives into a perpetuum mobile ‘oscillation’ on violins48. For the performer, to grasp the gait and the spirit of a ‘dance’ reference can be one of the main expressive clues to a piece, whether vocal or instrumental. In Johann Ph. Kirnberger’s words: Every beginner who wants to be well grounded in composition is well advised to make himself familiar with the organization of all forms of the dance, because in them all kinds of character and of rhythm appear and are most precisely executed. If he [the performer] has no fluency in these characteristic pieces, it is not at all possible for him to give a piece a particular character49.

These are typical markers of a ‘dance’ reference: • • • •

A regular pulse; A firm phrasing of 4+4 or 8+8 measures; A relatively simple harmony; A simple binary form as in a baroque dance, A< A’>; or a rounded binary form, as in a ‘Classic’ minuet: a< b>a’. • Markers of some specific reference, usually in the accompaniment: ‘Sarabande’, ‘Contredanse’, ‘Tango’, etc.

47

For a version with D. Henschel and Ph. Herreweghe search for Gustav Mahler - Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt. See also further in this chapter Sect. 7.4: Deutsch. 48 Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.6 describes the rhetorical figure of Circulatio; Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2, the martial stile concitato. Both can be connected to an irregularly flickering, natural, aggressive movement. 49 Kirnberger (1774-79), quoted in ALLANBROOK 1983: 29.

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Triple Metre References

To help recognise some of the most frequent ‘dance’ references in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century music, a brief description of ternary, in the next § binary metres follows. See Table n. 7-1 for quick reference at the end of the chapter. In both cases, the slower and more solemn the movement, the more social prestige it carries. References to triple metre stand sometimes as a general sign for ‘dance’, even if there are also many dances in binary metre. Stephen RUMPH calls this the ‘Dance motive’: it is a first perception of artful, joyful, measured movement after which, “in a second articulation”, the listener can distinguish among them more definite ternary dance references50. From the most aristocratic to the most rustic, we deal here with Sarabande, Minuet, Passepied; Polonaise and Mazurka; the two waltzes (Ländler and Deutsch); the Pastoral Dances and Gigue.

7.4.1

Sarabande, 3/4.

The Sarabande is arguably the most solemn of the baroque, aristocratic dances. Its marker or characteristic rhythm is shown in ex. 7-3.

Ex. n. 7-3: The ‘Sarabande’ marker rhythm.

The ‘Sarabande’ marker rhythm sets an emphasis on the second part of the measure that composers can use expressively51. In consonance to Handel’s use of the ‘Sarabande’ reference in tragic operas, Johann MATTHESON describes its connotation as “showing off” (Ehrsucht), “haughty […] Grandezza”52. For him, it was already a symbol of a bygone world. Some beautiful examples of the Sarabande’s archaic, solemn sternness can be found in JS Bach’s Suites and Partitas. Only

50

RUMPH 2014: 499. In Chap. 1, a Handel aria whose main reference was the ‘Sarabande’ was shown to document how ‘markers’ work: see ex. n. 1-2. 52 MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 341 (230). 51

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implicitly, the ‘Sarabande’ reference pervades the aria that gives way to the Goldberg Variations: see ex. 7-4.

Ex. n. 7-4: JS Bach, Goldberg Variations: Aria, Beginning.

As an implicit reference to the ‘Sarabande’, Wye ALLANBROOK adduces also no. 5 of the 12 Minuets for orchestra K. 585 (Vienna, 1789)53. Interestingly, here the reference nuances the explicit Minuet into something even more serious and outdated: see ex. 7-5. Note the pulsating syncopations in the second violins, that gives the carefully symmetrical dance a peculiar, high-dramatic sense.

Ex. n. 7-5: Mozart, Minuet no. 5 K. 585: beginning.

In yet another combination with the ‘Amoroso’ topos described in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4 in connection with the ‘Open-Air Serenade’, the ‘Sarabande’ reference in the slow movement of Mozart’s Jupiter symphony K. 551 (1788) seems to offer some ironic distance to this remotely archaic genre: see ex. 7-654.

53 54

ALLANBROOK 1983: 38. More about this piece in Chap. 8, Sect. 8.4.1: ‘Love Duet’.

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Ex. n. 7-6: Mozart, Symphony n. 41/II K. 551, beginning.

7.4.2

Minuet, 3/4.

There are so many different kinds of Minuets that its features are not as easy to recognise as those of other dance genres. Typically, • It is beaten in fourth notes (slow Minuet), but there are also faster Minuets in dotted half notes; • Frequent fourth-note upbeat; • Regular fourth-note rhythm in the bass; • In the Viennese ‘Classics’ and later, some other sign of ‘archaism’, such as ‘baroque’ ornamentation.

This is the dance Louis XIV made his favourite. It was originally a solo choreography for showcasing, including many subtle movements of the arms and facial expressions, designed to be admired, not shared55. Very few dared to imitate the King’s exhibition. That explains the exclusive character of the slow minuet in three quarters, and how it became the very symbolic essence of the Ancien Régime. Seventeenth-century examples by Jean-Baptiste Lulli or Louis Couperin, however, appear mostly as beaten in whole measures. The tempo question is a difficult one in a dance that has experienced such a wide expansion, both in territory and in time. The minuet is the only survivor of 17th-century Versailles in ‘Classical’ symphonies and sonatas, and arguably the most frequent dance reference in Western ‘art’ music. This extraordinary diffusion in time and space, comparable only to the Waltz in the nineteenth century, explains its extreme versatility and diversity56. The minuet served also as a basic exercise for composition in the eighteenth century and beyond. Being Louis XIV’s favourite dance, however, surely played a role in

55

MCkEE 2014: 168f. Some sources describe it as extremely gay, others as slow or moderate: cf. LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 63f.

56

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becoming the quintessential dance of the late aristocracy and, by extension, the whole Ancien Régime trying to avoid or confront modernity57. This identification with ancient, authoritarian institutions leads to a predominantly ironic treatment of the minuet in 18th-century music. Josef Haydn leads the way to undermine the Minuet’s prestige, as the only remnant of the old suite within the modern sonata cycle. Mozart and Beethoven will follow and deepen this track. To show how inadequate Louis XIV’s dance was by his time, Haydn uses several tricks that can be subsumed into two categories: • Exaggerating the Ancien Régime qualities of the Minuet, by relating it to opera seria or to stile antico (imitative polyphony, as in ex. n. 7-1 and in the Minuet of Symphony n. 90). See for instance an ‘Ominous Unison’ and a parodic turn to the ‘tragic’ right at the start of the second section of the Minuet in Symphony n. 88 (ca. 1787), or the hyperbolic polyphonic imitation, all through the Minuet of Symphony n. 90 (1788). • Combining the ‘Minuet’ with modern, incompatible genres and references, such as comedy (typically in epilogues of third movement Minuets), exoticism (e.g. in the trio of Symphony n. 88), or with ‘rural’ genres such as the Ländler. The latter is a favourite for the trio section, also in many other ‘Classic’ and romantic sonatas and symphonies: see further ‘Ländler’. Above all, Haydn’s reference to the aristocratic ‘Minuet’ is undermined through a ‘subjective’ musical discourse. This is manifested in discontinuous, irregular measure groups and phrasing: the second section of the Minuet in Symphony n. 88, for instance, features seven-measure groups. The joke is taken to the extent of ‘collapsing’ interruptions, as if awkwardly improvising, or maybe representing a helpless attempt to carry out a counterpoint exercise in gebundener Stil, e.g. in the Minuet of the eccentric Symphony n. 92, ‘Oxford’ (1789): see ex. n. 7-7.

Ex. n. 7-7: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 92/III: mm. 13-21.

In Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro K. 492 (1786), ‘minuet’ references occur three times, and a critical intention can be assumed in all three cases58. In Beaumarchais’s original comedy, aristocracy and their bad habits are personified by count Almaviva, challenged successfully by the wit of two plebeians, Susanna and Figaro.

57 For a musical and choreographic reconstruction of a baroque minuet (Chicago 2010), search Baroque Dances, the Menuet. 58 NOSKE 1977: 32-35. The three ironic ‘minuet’ references are: Se vuol ballare, signor Contino; Signore, cos’è quel stupore? and Tutto è tranquillo e placido, sung either by Figaro or Susanna.

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In a similar, ironic vein, a ‘minuet’ reference serves to introduce the two ladies in the second scene of Così fan tutte (1790): see ex. 7-8.

Ex. n. 7-8: Mozart, Così fan tutte (I): Duetto no. 4, mm. 15-20.

The first scene of the opera presented the gentlemen recurring to other ‘dance’ topoi, including ‘contredanse’ and ‘bourrée’ elements, alternating with ‘martial’ references, but all in duple metres. Mozart saves his first triple metre to present Fiordiligi and Dorabella glaring at their boyfriends’ images. The references of their music to outdated styles such as the ‘minuet’ or opera seria must have sounded parodic to contemporary ears and help depict an expressive portrait of the female protagonists of this shady story. It is important to retain the ambiguous quality of irony in general. The traditional prestige of the ‘Minuet’ reference is a positive value for Haydn, and a fundamental reason for him to make it a fixture of his quartet and symphony cycles. It is precisely the predictable nature of its phrasing structure and its aristocratic flair that allows the composer to display his surprises and critical comments with reference to lowly genres. Without the underlying regular ‘Minuet’ patterns, Haydn’s games could not even be perceived: An emblem of aristocratic customs and manners, the minuet could bestow a degree of nobility and sophistication; and by virtue of its formulaic design, kinetic impulse, and tradition-bound constraints of rhythm, phrase, and melodic gesture, it complemented the expressive diversity, structural fluidity, and spontaneous rhetoric of adjoining fast and slow movements59.

When Haydn starts overtly calling those ‘subversive’ Minuets Scherzi (‘jests’) in his string quartet series op. 33 (1781), he only makes explicit what he had been

59

GRAVE & GRAVE 2006: 76.

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doing from his early works on. Similarly, the ambiguous, ironic procedures do not cease when he takes back the traditional Menuetto title for his late quartets60.

7.4.3

Passepied, 3/8.

The Passepied is a light variant of the Minuet. It was beaten always in two-measure groups, as if it were notated in 6/8. Its most characteristic features are: • Regular accompanying rhythm in eighth notes, typically with an upbeat; • A distinct tendency to hemiola and the end of phrases, as well as to other rhythmical irregularities and off-beat accents.

The Passepied was danced in little steps, four to every two measures, in a similar way as the Contredanse, forming geometrical figures around the ball room or in concentric circles61. This makes it a more participative, inclusive, modern dance than the show-off, imposing Minuet, and helps to explain how the Passepied seems to be the favourite option for JS Bach when it comes to represent ‘gaiety’ or ‘playfulness’ in form of swift movement. Right before his well-known aria Ich folge Dir gleichfalls from the Johannespassion BWV 245, for instance, the Gospel notes that Peter and another disciple followed Jesus bravely after their Master had been arrested (Joh. 18:15). The soprano voice reacts to Jesus’s detention in the first section of her aria saying: Ich folge dir gleichfalls Mit freudigen Schritten, Und lasse dich nicht, Mein Leben, mein Licht.

I follow you likewise With happy steps, And do not leave you, My Life, my Light.62

Bach’s music seems to translate the “happy steps” with a reference to the ‘Passepied’, on the other hand to the idea of “following” with canonic imitations between soprano and flute. Note also the characteristic ‘Passepied’ hemiola at some of the most significant cadences: see ex. 7-9. LITTLE & JENNE point to a certain kinship of the Passepied with the Pastoral semantic field, “although eighteenth-century writers do not mention this”63. As if acknowledging

60

Ibidem: 77. LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 85f. 62 For a version with G. Samann and S. Kuijken search for Ich folge dir gleichfalls (Johannespassion - J.S.Bach) Score Animation. 63 Ibidem: 85. 61

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Ex. n. 7-9: JS Bach, Johannespassion, aria Ich folge Dir gleichfalls, mm. 36-40.

that link to pastoral eroticism, Johann MATTHESON notes the Passepied’s connection with the feminine world, in words far away from our political correctness: Its essence comes quite close to frivolity: for with all its disquiet and inconstancy, such a Passepied has by no means the zeal, passion or ardour which one comes across with a volatile Gigue. Meanwhile it is still a kind of frivolity that does not have anything detestable or unpleasant about it, but rather something pleasant: just as many a female who, though she is a little inconstant, nevertheless does not therewith lose her charm64.

As the eighteenth century progresses, the Passepied tends to be confused with the Deutsch waltz, with which it shares not only the metric pattern but also the joyful, playful character. The transfer from the old Passepied to the new Deutsch is one of the signs of the change of values in signifier and signified of the Pastoral at the turn of the nineteenth century65.

7.4.4

Polonaise, 3/4.

Although it was already current in the eighteenth century, the Polonaise takes a prominent, dignified position among 19th-century dances66. It derives its chivalric,

Ex. n. 7-10: Rhythmic marker of the ‘Polonaise’.

64 65 66

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 340 (229). Transl. by LITTLE & See Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3.1, The “New Siciliana”. MCKEE 2014: 165.

JENNE,

op. cit. p. 85.

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grand character from ‘martial‘ rhythms. In fact, its very distinctive, anapaest marker sounds as if played by drums and/or cornets: see ex. 7-10. Not anybody was allowed to dance the polonaise, it was restricted to some aristocrats. However, it required no training, as it was grandly walked through different rooms of the palace67. A well-known explicit example is the finale of Beethoven’s Triple Concerto op. 56 (1803), subtitled Rondo alla polacca: see ex. 7-11.

Ex. n. 7-11: Beethoven, Triple Concerto op. 56/III: mm. 34-37.

Chopin would improvise Polonaises, Waltzes and Mazurkas for his friends to dance. Indeed, some of his composed and carefully edited Polonaises could still be danced. One of his best-known, the ‘Military’ in A Op. 40, No. 1 (1837), has regular 4-measure grouping throughout, with not even an introduction or a coda: see ex. 7-12.

Ex. n. 7-12: Chopin, Polonaise op. 40 n. 1: Beginning68.

67

BRUSATTI & SOMMER 2015a: 27; 2015b: 45. For a version with M. Pollini search for F. Chopin: Polonaise op. 40 no. 1 in A major “Military” (Pollini). 68

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Some others of his Polonaises instead sound rather like reflections on the genre and its associations, as if reworking past memories of earlier dance sessions. This starts with the tragic companion of the former work, op. 40 n. 2 in C minor, where the minor key, the indication sostenuto assai, the two-measure introduction and the sotto voce ‘singing’ in the bass suggest an unusually sombre scenario: see ex. 7-13.

Ex. n. 7-13: Chopin, Polonaise op. 40 n. 2: Beginning69.

Note also the pathetic ‘Exclamationes’ in mm. 7 and 8, maybe ‘Apostrophes’70. The second part of op. 40 n. 2, starting at m. 19, does not follow any more regular patterns, suggesting an improvising, desperate musical persona. This process of turning away from the functional towards the representation of an ‘inner singing and dancing’ culminates in Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie op. 61 (1846), where the title already indicates an improvisation on ‘Polonaise’ references. To start the third and final act of Tchaikovsky’s opera Eugen Onegin (1879), a social ball is represented. Even if it is a patent Polonaise, as part of the staged ‘ball’, Tchaikovsky does not feel obliged to follow the regular dance patterns and offers a subjectively inflected version of the Polonaise atmosphere. As a separate piece, it has been often part of concert programmes, probably due to its brilliance and drive71. In Poland, the tradition of dancing polonaise has been kept alive. It is danced, for instance, at every college graduation ball72.

69 70 71 72

For a version with M. Pollini search for F. Chopin: Polonaise op. 40 no. 2 in C minor (Pollini). About the music-rhetorical figure of ‘Exclamatio’, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.3. Please search for tchaikovsky eugene onegin; polonaise berliner phil ¬claudio abbado. I owe this information to Dr. Małgorzata Grajter.

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Mazurka, 3/4.

These are the most usual distinctive features of the Mazurka: • A moderate to swift ¾ pace, with irregular accents on the second or third beat; • Frequent dotted, dactylic rhythms, especially on the first beat – see ex. 7-14; • ‘Folksy’ melodic turns, ‘exoticist‘ augmented fourths or seconds, drones, pentatonicism.

Ex. n. 7-14: A typical ‘Mazurka’ rhythmic pattern73.

During the nineteenth century, the Mazurka becomes popular all through Europe. Today, we associate it with Poland and especially with Chopin. He left 59 of them, among which his very last work, written on his death bed, in F minor. This is a sign of the importance he attached to this humble genre. Most of them could not be danced any more, even if he did improvise a great deal of them for his friends and family to dance, both before and after leaving Poland. The composer himself wrote to his family in 1830 his mazurkas were “not for dancing”74. As with the Polonaises, Chopin’s Mazurka becomes a place for musical memories and affections. Rather than the obvious choice, the brilliant Polonaise, Chopin seems to prefer the Mazurka’s quietness to convey his hopes and longings regarding the Polish tragic loss of independence after the Congress of Vienna, and after the Russian crushing of the 1830 uprising. Along with the political struggle, a great effort was invested in the cultural identity of Poland. Today, next to Chopin, the poet Adam Mickiewicz is seen as one of the main figures in this cultural resistance. Jim SAMSON even locates here the origins of what will later be called ‘musical nationalism’: In the absence of any political identity as a nation, Poles came increasingly to depend on a sense of cultural identity to solder the national spirit, and in this they were encouraged by a whole complex of ideas which reached them both from Herder and from the Wilno romantics. Chopin’s music was increasingly assigned a role in the development of this cultural nationalism, and to an extent at least he went along with this. His declared attempt to ‘express the nature of our national music’ amounted to a pioneering approach to the concept of a national style, something qualitatively different from earlier understandings of the notion, and it would later prove highly influential in the development of nineteenth-century romantic nationalism75.

73 74 75

Source: English Wikipedia, consulted August 2019. Letter to his family, 22 December 1830. Quoted by SAMSON 1996: 96. SAMSON 1996: 74.

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To detach it from its functional origin, three main references are profusely used: ‘vocal’ and ‘orchestral’ textures, and a spontaneous, ‘improvised’ discourse. Even to a greater extent than with the Polonaises, Chopin’s Mazurkas sound like solitary improvisations on tacit ‘texts’ that bespeak what the genre had become for him as an exile. The minor mode is prevalent, and many other features of the operatic ‘pathetic’ style signal to the tragic situation of the composer’s country – above all, chromaticism76. The same stile antico counterpoint that was ironically used by the Viennese ‘Classics’ as a sign of outdatedness confers now dignity to a modest ‘folk’ or ‘salon’ genre. The constructive effort, as a sign of ‘art’ music detached from conventional Gebrauchsmusik, is enhanced by the way Chopin collects his sets of Mazurkas for publication: the last of every set appears usually as the most elaborate, to round off a public performance of the whole as a cycle77. Moreover, a double temporality seems to arise from their audition. In the main, minor-mode section, the subject seems to ‘sing’ from a dysphoric present, full of melancholy. The central section in major, in contrast, suggests a bygone idyll which the reprise of the main section locates, back in the present, as irretrievable78.

7.4.6

Waltzes: Ländler, Deutsch.

Two kinds of waltzes substitute the old ‘minuet’ reference progressively: the Deutsch or Deutscher Tanz (‘German Dance’) and the Ländler (‘Country Dance’). The later 19th-century waltz as we know it from the Strauß dynasty and from the Vienna Philharmonic New Year’s Concert is an heir to these two. Some researchers as prestigious as Constantin FLOROS distinguish as a third kind of waltz, the French ‘valse’79. In our analyses, there are no substantial musical differences that would justify dealing separately with it. Ländler and Deutsch were both danced and at the same time have a continuous, growing presence in ‘art’ music from the eighteenth century on. This matches the tremendous success of the waltz all over Europe. Even more than the contredanse, the waltz represents the new social classes and their urge for fun, but also an idealised ‘rural folk’ as imagined from the city, in a variant of the ‘Pastoral’ myth. In the Congress of Vienna, waltzes are documented to have started as soon as the royalty left the premises80. This helps to explain its expressive meaning of liberality and ease. Eroticism plays an important role in the way the waltz was danced.

About the ‘Pathetic’ style, see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3. SAMSON 1996: 98. 78 More about the narrative archetype of the ‘Retrospect’ in Chopin’s Mazurkas and in other Romantic chamber music in GRIMALT 2013d, 2016, 2018b. 79 FLOROS, Mahler II 1987 (1977): 176ff. 80 BRUSATTI & SOMMER 2015b: 44. 76 77

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Austrian authorities even forbade the dance several times, due to the close contact it allowed between dancers. The enlightened emperor Joseph II instead introduced the waltz into court and commissioned some of them with the best composers of the time. Deutsch and Ländler are often confused with each other, but the latter might be more recent; it is only documented from the last third of the eighteenth century. The main difference is metrical: Deutsche are beaten in one at 3/8, Ländler in three at 3/ 481.

Ländler, 3/4. The German word ‘Ländler’ means ‘related to the country’. These are its most common markers: • A moderately slow accompaniment in 3/4 representing a ‘heavy step’, often with upbeat; • A ‘folsky’ harmonic and melodic simplicity: the harmony oscillating between tonic and dominant, the melody in short range, diatonic.

Although its origins are Alpine and rural, the Ländler found its way into urban society of the late eighteenth century. In Eric MCKEE’s words: While it had already gained popularity as a folk dance in rural regions of Austria, southern Germany, and German Switzerland, the Ländler was first introduced into the upper-class Viennese ballroom during the 1780s82.

After the quick waltz –the Deutsch, see further– conquered the whole continent, the Ländler reinforced its connotations of ‘rusticity’. It was often danced in rural dress, its movements involving hand clapping and foot stamping. This helps to understand its character, when it comes to performance. In contrast to the many Deutsche he wrote, Mozart composed just one set of Ländler K. 606, all in B-flat (1791). They are also the first extant published set of Ländler. It is no music to listen to, but to dance to. Its many repetitions and square metrical structure are meant to keep the dancers oriented all the time. The last one, no. 6, presents a reference to Jodeln, the vocal technique that is typical of the Alpine region: see ex. 7-15.

81

For bland, pseudo-folkloric examples of Deutsch and Ländler search for Allemande, Deutscher Tanz and, respectively, Austrian traditional folk dance: Untersteirer Landler [sic] from 0:31 on. 82 MCKEE 2014: 176ff.

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Ex. n. 7-15: Mozart, Six Ländler K. 606/VI: beginning83.

In Haydn’s symphonies, Ländler in the place of Minuets were already mentioned. The third movement of his Symphony n. 89 in F (1787) starts with woodwinds and horns only and ends with a ‘drone‘ in the bass and a subito fortissimo as a comedy gag. The reference to the Ländler becomes even more explicit in the Trio: see ex. 7-16. The Trio is a favourite place for Ländler in ‘Classic’ and Romantic repertoire, including Bruckner and Mahler.

Ex. n. 7-16: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 89/III: Trio84.

Beethoven uses contemporary ‘dance’ references well aware of their expressive meaning. In the first movement of his Third Symphony (1804), the main reference is arguably the ‘Ländler’ as a pastoral symbol, disrupted and put in question by the dramatic dissonance in mm. 6-7: see ex. n. 0-1 in the Introduction. The ‘waltz’ is prefiguring the ‘contredanse’ that will triumphantly crown the work in the finale. For Beethoven, these dances, especially the contredanse, symbolised not only modernity in regard to Ancien-Régime Sarabandes and Minuets, but also a new, better world of fraternity and freedom85. About the origins of the Ländler topos, Marcel BRION explains the following anecdote86. A certain count of La Garde, taking part in the Congress of Vienna, undertook to write reports about many of the things he witnessed. One day he found

For a fine version with E. Melkus search for Mozart: Six Ländler, K.606. For a version with S. Rattle and the Berliner Philharmoniker search for Symphony No.89 in F: III. Menuet. 85 See further Sect. 7.5.5 and GRIMALT 2018a, 2018d. 86 BRION 1959: 65f. 83 84

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a group of Tyrolians wearing traditional costumes and dancing Ländler waltzes. It seems they had emigrated to Vienna above all as watch- and clockmakers, where they kept a sense of community. The Tyrolians gathered regularly on Saturdays to sing and dance. If they happened to do it on the street, people would flock around to listen, to the point of making the police uneasy. One day of Saint Anna where they were dancing in public, not only La Garde, but also an impresario of the Apollo Hall saw them and was marvelled. There seemed to be some genuine element in them, some savage, alluring force. Upon becoming a public attraction, they reached the Theater an der Wien, within a “rustic opera”. They also found entrance in private saloons, came into fashion and even took a successful tour around England. Among other things, the anecdote is significative about a dance becoming a topical reference through the stage.

Deutsch, 3/8. The distinctive features of the ‘German Country Waltz’ are: • An accompaniment in 3/8 (see ex. 7-17), • A simple, ‘folksy’ harmony and melody, as with the Ländler.

Ex. n. 7-17: A typical Deutsch accompaniment pattern.

Metrically, it is important to keep in mind that every dance phrase is usually composed of two measures. In every measure, the couple dancing a German waltz turns around itself. At the same time, every group of two measures means another circle, a little wider. That grouping in two measures justifies some waltzes being notated in 6/8. Finally, these twice circling pairs would all perform a big circle around the whole ball room87. After all, that is the original meaning of the German verb walzen: ‘to roll, to turn around’. Unlike the Ländler, the Deutsch has its couples all the time closely embraced to each other, which helps to explain its associations with ‘romance’, ‘vertigo’ and ‘immorality’88. Also in contrast to the Ländler and the contredanse, the Deutsch was not determined by any global

87

Described by A.B. Marx in Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition (1837), vol. 2, p. 55f. Quoted by ALLANBROOK 1983: 64f. 88 MCKEE 2014: 176f.

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choreography, which allowed the dancing couples “to enter or leave the dancing space at their own discretion89.” It was the music, then, that had to tell them when to stop. That explains the frequent Codas in Deutsche collections, with clearly audible announcements just before – typically, a half-cadence and a grand pause. In his Deutsche Tänze Hob. IX: 9, 10, 12, 13, 17, Josef Haydn shows the same masterful playfulness we know from his greater pieces90. He also uses Deutsche to close cyclic greater works. For instance, in his Sonata in C Hob. XVI: 50 – see ex. 7-18. Note the ‘Laughter’ after the liberating cadence91. It sounds as a confirmation of the ironic character of the preceding music, that had been deliberately following confusing, collapsing paths, including Interruptiones92.

Ex. n. 7-18: J. Haydn, Sonata in C Hob.

XVI:

50/III: mm. 79-83.

Also, to close ‘Autumn’ with a light-hearted Drinking Song to celebrate the new wine, the third part of his oratorio The Seasons Hob. XXI: 3 (1801) uses a reference to the ‘Deutsch’: see ex. 7-19.

Ex. n. 7-19: J. Haydn, The Seasons: “Autumn”, no. 28, Chorus: mm. 83–9093.

89

Ibidem: 182f. Search Haydn Deutsche Tanze und Menuette 6 Deutsche Tanze [sic]. For a historical arrangement by Otto E. Deutsch, Drei deutsche Tänze Nr. 6, 4 u. 2 Joseph Haydn Berliner Philharmoniker Erich Kleiber. 91 About the ‘Laughter’ topos, see GRIMALT 2014b. 92 For a ‘Humorous’ narrative archetype in ‘Classic’ instrumental music, where the final result of some crisis, usually in a parodic tone, is laughter and fun, see GRIMALT 2014a, 2018c. It is arguably the predominant master plot in ‘Classic’ music, a narrative transposition of the mandatory Happy End in Comedy: see ALLANBROOK 2014: 139. 93 For a version with N. Harnoncourt (Salzburg 2013) search for Joseph Haydn: The Seasons Nikolaus Harnoncourt (Salzburg 2013, HD 1080p). The ‘Deutsch’ reference starts at 1:44:46. 90

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Mozart the passionate dancer has eight sets of Deutsche94. They are not as concerned as his Ländler with providing square metrical patterns to the dancers. On the contrary, the lack of constraint in the way Deutsche were danced allowed the composer many irregularities on the rhythmical surface that would make those pieces suitable for concert: see ex. 7-20.

Ex. n. 7-20: Mozart, Deutsch K. 567 n. 1.

Brahms’s ‘Waltz’ references present a characteristically condescending, mellow irony. In fact, Brahms locates in the ‘Waltz’ topos most of his pastoral meanings. In his Second Symphony, both the main and the secondary themes are ‘Ländler’ references: see ex. 7-21a, b. Another Ländler is the main reference in the third movement of the same symphony. As Reinhold BRINKMANN convincingly showed, such Pastoral references should not be taken literally, but rather as a sign of nostalgia95. In other words, the ‘idyll’ represented here is irretrievably lost to the subject. Other ‘Waltz’ references in Brahms’s symphonies include the secondary theme in the first movement of the Third, mm. 36ff., a ‘Deutsch’ artfully notated in 9/4 grazioso mezza voce; the ‘Ländler’ in 6/8 Andante moderato as the second movement of the Fourth; and

Ex. n. 7-21: Brahms, Symphony n. 2/I, a) beginning and b) mm. 82ff.

94 95

K. 509, K. 536, K. 567, K. 571, K. 586, K. 600, K. 602, K. 605. BRINKMANN 1995 (1990).

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some of the variations starting with no. IV mm. 33ff. in the finale of the same symphony (Ex. n. 7-21). At the turn of the twentieth century, a similar critical irony as we saw Haydn applying to Ancien Régime references is directed to ‘waltzes’ in the work of R. Strauss or Mahler. In Der Rosenkavalier (1911), a ‘Ländler’ reference works as ‘Leitmotiv’ to the character of Lerchenau, the role that corresponds to the traditional ‘Pantalone‘ or comedic basso buffo. Moreover, the ‘Ländler’ might represent the rural traces of an upper social class that is trying to fit into urban life, without adapting to new modern social rules. In Mahler’s Wunderhorn songs, Pastoral references such as ‘Siciliana’ or ‘Waltz’ are often used meaning ‘False Appearances’ and ‘Deceitful Love’96. When a girl –or a mother, in Das irdische Leben– is trying to allure a boy or a man, the music takes the cloak of Alpine references, such as Ländler or Jodeln: In all these instances (Trost im Unglück, Lied des Verfolgten im Turm, Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen, Der Schildwache Nachtlied) and moreover in Verlor’ne Müh! and Wer hat dies Liedel erdacht?, the girl’s music is too beautiful and alluring to be true. The idea in all these songs is to resist to those sirens and their more or less latent deceit97.

Ex. n. 7-22: Mahler, Fischpredigt, mm. 49-5298.

This helps to grasp the acid irony, if not sarcasm, behind Mahler’s references to rural dances and vocal styles in his symphonic works99. In the satirical Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fishes (1893), the ‘Deutsch’ reference seems to reinforce the composer’s

96

GRIMALT 2013a, 2013b. GRIMALT 2011: Chap. 7, p. 70. 98 You can search for Mahler: Des Knaben Wunderhorn: 6. Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt - Goerne (Honeck, live). M. 49 starts at 0:59. 99 See also FLOROS, Mahler II: 172ff. 97

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disdain for the fish representing what the composer himself would call ‘riffraff’ (Gesindel)100. In connection with this isotopy that I named the ‘Worldly Tumult’ after Adorno, an emblematic subtopic in Mahler’s vocabulary stands out: the ‘drunken clarinet’, as he labelled it himself101. See for instance ex. n. 7-22.

7.4.7

Pastoral Dances, Gigue.

Before the Waltz took over in the nineteenth century, most ‘dance’ references in 6/8 were located within the semantic field of the Pastoral. They have been only introduced by name in Chap.6, Sect. 6.3: Siciliana, Pastorale. Third, the Gigue is tackled here. The Gavotte can be considered a Pastoral dance as well, but it is included in Sect. 7.5 as a binary dance. Siciliana and Pastorale, 6/8. The ‘Siciliana‘ and the ‘Pastorale’ are the two Pastoral references par excellence. Maybe they were never actually danced, but they are used as a reference alongside ‘real’ dances to symbolise the Pastoral world102. The ‘Siciliana’ is often in the minor mode – typically G minor, as if suggesting a lament over a lost Golden Age. Its references seem to go back to songs, ‘dances’ and arias entitled ‘Siciliana’ in Alessandro Scarlatti’s operas, at the turn of the eighteenth century. These prototypes are harmonically rich, without drones, moderate in tempo. They swing in gently rocking rhythms and a sweet melancholic character. In Telemaco’s aria in the 3rd scene of the first act of Scarlartti’s Telemaco, for instance (1718), the music mirrors the text’s ‘staggering’ in a rhetorical figure that was called earlier Dubitatio103. Vacilla, e trema il piede, Come nel petto il Cor. E l’Anima prevede Tempeste più funeste Nel pelago d’Amor.

My foot staggers and trembles Just as the heart in my chest. And my soul is foreseeing Even more fatal tempests In the ocean of Love

Moreover, the lead character, anticipating homesickness and love sorrows, moves to a swinging ‘Siciliana’ in the orthodox key of G minor104.

100

Referring to some imaginary, uneducated folk intruding in the middle of a certain passage in the first movement of his Third Symphony: see KILLIAN (Bauer-Lechner) 1984: 25. See also earlier Sect. 7.3, 'Dance' as a topos. 101 GRIMALT 2011: Chap. 7, Sect. 7.2. About Stylistic Isotopies, see Chap.1, Sect. 1.4.2. 102 About other Pastoral signified and signifiers, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.2 resp. 6.3. 103 See Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.4. 104 For a version with C. Welch and Th. Hengelbrock search for Alessandro SCARLATTI (1660 1725): Telemaco, opera in 3 acts (1718). Telemaco’s implicit ‘Siciliana’ starts at 21:20.

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The ‘Pastorale’ has been defined as “a mean between gigue and siciliano”105. The difference between ‘Siciliana’ and ‘Pastorale’, both imaginary references, lie in the former typically having dotted rhythms, the latter a steadier eighth-note pace: see ex. n. 7-23.

Ex. n. 7-23: Typical markers of ‘Siciliana’ and ‘Pastorale’.

The aforementioned markers do not appear all at the same time, but they do tend to gather with each other. Arcangelo Corelli’s Concerto fatto per la notte di Natale, op. 6 n. 8 (1690?) closes with a movement entitled Largo. Pastorale ad libitum: see ex. 7-24, where the ‘Pastorale’ typical rhythm features along with a reference to a folksy ‘duo’ on simple, consonant, diatonic harmony that prefigures what will become the ‘Open-air Serenade’106.

Ex. n. 7-24: Corelli, Concerto op. 6 n. 8/VI, beginning1071.

In JS Bach’s Christmas Oratorio (1734), the Second Part tells and comments about the Annunciation of Jesus’s birth to the shepherds. The cantata opens with a Simfonia in G major in 12/8. The timbre of flutes, oboes d’amore and da caccia stand out. In spite of the ‘Siciliana’ rhythm, melody, counterpoint and harmony do not sound primitive at all: they suggest a highly idealised pastoralism108. Handel’s Messiah (1741) has also several pastoral moments. Among them, just before the Annunciation, a piece entitled Pifa sounds like a variant of our precedent

105

ALLANBROOK 1983: 43. See Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4: Amoroso: 'Serenades'. 107 Please search for Corelli Christmas Concerto; Op.68—Freiburger Barockorchester. The ‘Pastorale’ starts at 10:46. 108 For a version with J.E. Gardiner search for Bach: Christmas Oratorio BWV 248, part 1/2. The 2nd cantata starts at 26:12. 106

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Corelli example. In a similar spirit, it mimics a duet of woodwind rustic instruments, in a folksy atmosphere and a ‘Siciliana’ rhythm: see ex. 7-25.

Ex. n. 7-25: Händel, Messiah: Pifa, beginning1091.

Still in Messiah, the aria He shall feed his flock like a shepherd recurs to the ‘Siciliana’ reference as well: see ex. 7-26. Here, in the traditionally pastoral key of F major.

Ex. n. 7-26: Händel, Messiah: Aria He shall feed his flock, beginning1101.

In ‘Classic’ style, the usual metre for ‘Siciliana‘ references ceases to be the 12/8 in favour of 6/8111. Josef Haydn’s oratorio The Creation (1798) displays many pastoral numbers. In the aria Nun beut die Flur das frische Grün (‘With verdure clad the fields appear delightful’) the text does not mention any cattle or shepherds; by metonymy, the ‘Siciliana’ reference seems to represent ‘verdure’ and grass as the flocks’ pasture112. Later on, in the Second Part, the creation of animals is represented. In the accompagnato recitative Gleich öffnet sich der Erde Schoß (‘At once Earth opens her womb’), a ‘Siciliana’ in 6/8 and a flute appear just as the text alludes to oxen and sheep. The strings in pizzicato seem to suggest the ‘lyre’113.

109

For a version with P. Zajíček search for Handel Messiah Pifa. For a version with J.E. Gardiner search for Handel: Messiah—Part 1–18a. Duet: He shall feed his flock. 111 MONELLE 2006: 238. 112 For a version with M. Rueping and Ph. Herreweghe search for J Haydn Schoepfung nun beut die flur. 113 For a version with J. Mannov and R. Jacobs search for Haydn Die Schopfung The Creation Hob. XXI:2 - 5 of 8. The recitative with ‘cattle’ starts at 8:29. 110

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Among many ‘Siciliana’ references in Mozart’s work, the central movement of his Concerto in A major K. 488 (1786) stands out: see ex. 7-27.

Ex. n. 7-27: Mozart, Concerto K. 488/II: beginning.

It is a ‘Siciliana’ in ‘Pathetic’ style: wide intervals, syncopations, dissonance, Neapolitan and other alterations114. The key of F-sharp minor sounds here as a ‘flattening’ alteration of the traditional ‘Siciliana’ key of G minor, i.e. as an enharmonic rewriting of G-flat minor as a sign of ‘suffering’. Another example of a ‘Pastorale’ reference in Mozart’s work, albeit in a parodic vein, is Barbarina’s song L’ho perduta (‘I have lost it’), at the start of the Fourth act in Le nozze di Figaro (1786). Barbarina means she can’t find a pin the Count gave her, but there is a malicious pun by Da Ponte and Mozart: she might have lost also her virginity during the entr’acte. The piece parodies the ‘Pathetic’ style by excess: see ex. 7-28.

Ex. n. 7-28: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro III, L’ho perduta.

114

About the ‘Pathetic’ style, see earlier Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3.

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Finally, there is a paradigmatic example of a ‘Siciliana’ reference in the first section of Chopin’s Ballade n. 2, set in the typically Pastoral key of F major: see ex. 7-29.

Ex. n. 7-29: Chopin, Ballade n. 2: Beginning.

Gigue, 6/8. The distinctive features of the Gigue are: • a quick 6/8 metre, occasionally 9/8, 3/8 and 12/8; • iambic rhythms with a “lively and spritely”, “skipping” quality115; • frequent syncopations and hemiolas.

Since the Gigue had disappeared from the dance floors in the 18th century, references to it imply playful, pastoral rusticity, but also archaism116. Together with the contredanse, the Gigue is the other dance that is usual to close dance suites and, later on, symphonies, sonatas or concertos. It used to be danced with “lively leaps of hops”, hence its “sautillant” characteristic rhythm117: see ex. n. 7-30.

Ex. n. 7-30: Three typical Gigue rhythmical patterns.

115 116 117

LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 146. MCKEE 2014: 165; ALLANBROOK 1983: 63. LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 146.

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In both German and French Baroque, composers such as M. Montéclair, D. Buxtehude or JS. Bach often (ironically?) combine a rustic reference with the most sophisticated musical procedure, fugue. Moreover, most of the explicit Gigues that close Bach’s Suites are in stile fugato. A culmination of that can be found in the Fugue no. 11 in the 2nd book of the Well-Tempered Clavier. Here, the ‘Gigue’ reference is set in a fancy 6/16 metre: see ex. 7-31.

Ex. n. 7-31: J.S. Bach, Well-Tempered Clavier II: Fugue no. 11, beginning1181.

In an illuminating reflection for performers, J. Ph. Kirnberger comments on this fugue’s unusual metre of 6/16 to prove his theory of tempo giusto: If this theme [WT II: 11] is rewritten as at (B) [in eighth instead of sixteenth notes], the tempo is no longer the same, the gait is much more ponderous, and the notes, particularly the passing notes, are emphasized too much; in short, the expression of the piece as a whole suffers and is no longer the one given to it by Bach. If this fugue is to be performed correctly on the keyboard, the notes must be played lightly and without the least pressure in a fast tempo; this is what 6/16 metre requires119.

In the cantata BWV 30, Freue dich, erlöste Schar (‘Rejoice, redeemed flock’), composed in Leipzig for the Feast of St. John the Baptist (1738?), the aria for soprano with violins and continuo starts with these lines: Eilt ihr Stunden, kommt herbei Bringt mich bald in jene Auen!

Hurry, you hours, come to pass, Bring me soon to those pastures!

Here, one of the faithful is in a hurry to reach the celestial pastures – a Pastoral reference transposed to the religious field120. As usual for Bach, the aria reuses material from a former worldly cantata. That explains part of his choosing the rustic ‘Gigue’ reference. Here, however, it seems the ‘Gigue’ is being used as a musical correlate to the urgency the text mentions. According to LITTLE & JENNE, the Gigue features a “joyful affect with intense exuberance”, as well as a “relentless sense of forward motion”121. Interestingly, the same association between a ‘Gigue’ reference and ‘haste’ is found in the aria with chorus n. 48 in JS Bach’s Johannespassion BWV 245 (1724) Eilt, ihr angefocht’nen Seelen (‘Haste, ye, O sorely tempted spirits’)122.

118

You can search for J. S. Bach: El clave bien temperado II. Fuga nº 11 BWV 880 András Schiff piano. Kirnberger, The Art of Strict Musical Composition (1776) vol. II, 1, IV. Quoted by ALLANBROOK 1998: 36. 120 For a version with N. Harnoncourt search for Bach - Cantate BWV 30 - Freue dich, erlöste Schar. The aria starts at 25:48. 121 LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 263, respectively 154. 122 For a version with C. Hauptmann and J.E. Gardiner search for Bach - St John Passion - Eilt ihr angefocht’nen Seelen (bass aria). 119

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Due to their great affinity, both in signifier and signified, there is a constant mutual borrowing in 18th-century music between the ‘Hunt’ and the ‘Gigue’ topoi. See for instance the Gigue with horns that closes JS Bach’s French Suite in E-flat BWV 815, a key that was shown to be related to the ‘horn’ reference in a Germanic context123: see ex. 7-32.

Ex. n. 7-32: JS Bach, French Suite n. IV BWV 815/7, Gigue: beginning1241.

This frequent connection has led some researchers to identify a ‘Hunting Gigue’ topos125. In our analyses, we rather tend to see one ‘dance’ reference turn to an autonomous topos, i.e. from late 18th century until the early 19th the archaic ‘Gigue’ is progressively substituted by the modern ‘Gallop’126.

7.5

Duple Metre References

If triple metres in general are easily felt as dances, dance genres in duple metres have to distinguish themselves from the duple-metre movement by antonomasia, the march. In this book, the March was dealt with in Chap. 5, all devoted to ‘Martial’ references. Here, those “danceable shadings of the march”, in Wye ALLANBROOK’s felicitous expression, will be tackled127.

7.5.1

Not Quite ‘Marches’: Allemande, Bourrée, Gavotte.

Among the “not quite Marches”, the Allemande that starts most of JS Bach’s Suites and Partitas deserves a mention. It follows a musically recognizable pattern:

See Chap. 5, Sect. 5.5: ‘Hunting’, the ‘Forest’. The ‘Gallop’. Please search for András Schiff—Bach. French Suite No.4 in E flat major BWV815. 125 GALAND 2014: 456, 464. 126 One of many instances of Mozart using ‘Hunting’ references in opposition to a ‘sensitive’ style was shown in ex. n. 5-46. 127 ALLANBROOK 1983: 48. 123 124

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A 4/4 meter in a moderate tempo, A regular flow of sixteenth notes, A short upbeat, A certain singing quality, An improvised character, as in a prelude.

Johann MATTHESON describes its character thus: Now the Allemande is an arpeggiated, serious and well-elaborate harmony, that carries the image of a satisfied or cheerful spirit who enjoys rightful order and peace128.

In performance, it is only too easy to quicken Allemandes mistakenly, as toccata-like pieces, spoiling its peaceful, grand character and its singable quality. However, according to LITTLE & JENNE, by JS Bach’s time the Allemandes no longer reflected a particular dance form. In a study of allemandes of this period we discovered neither clear choreographic roots nor distinguishable recurring rhythmic patterns129.

In other contexts, especially later in the 18th century, Allemande means Deutsch, i.e. ‘German’, either as the early waltz that was described in the former section or as the Contredanse that will be discussed in short130. Bourrée, 2/2, 4/4. The distinctive rhythmical patterns of the bourrée are a fourth-note upbeat in alla breve metre, and a frequent syncopation on the second beat: see ex. 7-33.

Ex. n. 7-33: Typical Bourrée Rhythmical Patterns.

The peculiar phrasing is related to the steps it used to feature, as one of the French court dances in the seventeenth century131. The character of the bourrée is usually described as joyful and light. Joh. Georg SULZER writes of “moderate joy”132. Johann MATTHESON, as usually, goes more into detail. After assessing the bourrée’s “skipping” quality, he finds its essential characteristics to be “content,

128

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 343 (232). LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 34. 130 ALLANBROOK 1983: 55f. 131 Ibidem: 48f. For a musical and choreographic reconstruction of a French 17th-century bourrée, see ZBIKOWSKI 2014: 147-157. 132 SULZER 1771: 181. 129

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pleasant, unconcerned, relaxed, easy going, comfortable, and yet polite133.” As LITTLE & JENNE aptly summarize, bourrées “express a genuine, aristocratic joie de vivre134.” In JS Bach’s Suites, the bourrée is not a fixture, but it has a noticeable presence. They appear in couples (Bourrée I, II) in two of the Cello Suites, BWV 1009 and 1010. In the former, anapaestic rhythms and two- or three-part implicit writing stand out: see ex. 7-34.

Ex. n. 7-34: JS Bach, Cello Suite n. IV BWV 1009/V: Bourrée 1, beginning.

The bourrée’s character seems to be an inconspicuous, discreet one. In the late eighteenth century, a certain whiff of old-fashionedness might be part of its charm. Looking for references in Mozart’s work, ALLANBROOK finds in the very first scene of Le nozze di Figaro the two protagonists each taking a different ‘dance’ reference as a rhythmic emblem – Figaro is presented counting to ‘bourrée’ patterns, Susanna introduces herself with a ‘gavotte’ reference135. According to ALLANBROOK, both bourrée and gavotte are dances of mezzo carattere: not low (rustic), not high (aristocratic). In J.G. Sulzer’s words, both dances would suit theatrical scenes “from ordinary life, in the character of the comic stage, a love affair, or any intrigue in which people from a not completely ordinary kind of life are involved”136. Narratively, this first scene shows two parallel strands. On one hand the archetypical ‘Love Duet’ sequence shows first Figaro, then Susanna singing for themselves, hardly listening to each other. Eventually, they sing together in parallel motion, as a sign of their mutual love. On the other hand, Figaro takes over

133

MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 335 (226). LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 35. 135 ALLANBROOK 1983: 75-77. Mozart might have felt ‘bourrée’ and ‘gavotte’ as an actual opposition. In his Sonata for piano and violin in B-flat K. 454/III both main themes feature the same topical references, albeit in the opposite order: see further ex. 7-41a, b. 136 Sulzer 1792-94 s.v. ‘Tanz’, Quoted by ALLANBROOK 1983: 68f, 76. 134

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Susanna’s ‘dance’ reference. His ‘bourrée’ is not taken into the reprise; it is substituted by the more gallant, profiled reference, the ‘gavotte’: see ex. 7-35a, 7-35b.

Ex. n. 7-35a: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro I, Scene 1: mm. 19-22.

Ex. n. 7-35b: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro I, Scene 1: mm. 30-34.

This transformation from some measuring, ‘masculine’ steps to a pastoral, ‘feminine’ reference in the very first scene of the opera could be seen as a summary of the whole plot. The gavotte, after all, “was historically a courtship dance”137. The transformation of the ‘bourrée’ into the ‘gavotte’ suits Wye ALLANBROOK’s interpretation of the opera, who sees the main topic in Le nozze di Figaro not in the usual comedy class fight and struggle, nor in the revolutionary message that led to the banning of Beaumarchais’s play, but in the metamorphosis from the masks of comic convention and their immutable values into a higher level of humanity, governed by warm caring for each other instead of numbers or status. This lesson is taught by some smart, loving women to their masculine mates138. 137

ALLANBROOK 1983: 50. RUMPH 2014: 496 interprets the opposition bourrée/gavotte in terms of ancient/modern. He also adds to the ‘bourrée’ reference a stile antico element in the suspensions in mm. 19-20, 21-22, etc. Though the ‘bourrée’ was probably felt as outmoded at the turn of the 19th century, we hear these rather as buffo parodic references. 138 ALLANBROOK 1983: 73f.

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This might explain also why it is relatively difficult to find ‘bourrée’ references in Classic instrumental, not to mention Romantic repertoire. Most of the time, researchers note a topical combination, rarely a ‘bourrée’ topos. Joel GALAND mentions a “pastoral-tinged bourrée” in Haydn’s String Quartet op. 54 n. 3139. Wye ALLANBROOK describes the ‘dance’ reference in the finale of Haydn’s String Quartet op. 76 n. 4 as “shad[ing] the bourrée scansion into a more antic contredanse style, introducing eccentric accents on weak beats”140. Above all, we hear in the latter example Haydn’s emblematic, comedic parody of polyphonic imitation (stile antico) and ‘bourrée’, both felt as references to the out-of-date Ancien Régime: see ex. 7-36.

Ex. n. 7-36: J. Haydn, Quartet op. 76 n. 4/IV: beginning.

Gavotte, 2/2. What makes the Gavotte so easy to recognise is its two-quarters upbeat: see ex. 7-37.

Ex. n. 7-37: A typical rhythmical ‘Gavotte’ pattern.

In the previous chapter, the ‘Gavotte’ reference was located within the semantic field of Lyricism and closely connected to the ‘Pastoral March‘, of which it can be seen the ancestor in the same duple, peaceful pace. Musically, both references frequently share a typical accompaniment in fourths: see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3. The links of the Gavotte with the ‘Pastoral’ myth lie deep and were still felt at the end of the eighteenth century141. In particular, ‘feminity’ and ‘erotic love’ seem to be the paramount associations of the listeners of the time to ‘Gavotte’ references. This results in a characteristic nonchalant playfulness: see ex. n. 7-38.

139 140 141

GALAND 2014: 466. ALLANBROOK 1983: 49. LITTLE & JENNE 2001 (1991): 47ff, ALLANBROOK 1983: 49-52.

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Ex. n. 7-38: JS Bach, French Suite n. 5, Gavotte: beginning.

The difference with ‘Siciliana’ and ‘Pastorale’ is that both latter references were believed to be ‘raw material’, directly imported from shepherds and milkmaids. The ‘gavotte’ instead is a self-conscious, indirect, aristocratic recreation of the Pastoral world. It is not innocence, but somebody feigning it142. JS Bach’s secular cantata for soprano, oboe and strings Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten (‘Dissipate, you troublesome shadows’) BWV 202 was composed to celebrate a wedding. It closes with an explicitly entitled Gavotte: Sehet in Zufriedenheit Tausend helle Wohlfahrtstage, Daß bald in der Folgezeit Eure Liebe Blumen trage.

Witness in contented bliss Thousand radiant days of favour, That soon in the time to come Your affection bear its flower!143

In Josef Haydn’s Symphony no. 85 La Reine (1785/86), the second movement presents a ‘Gavotte’ reference that seems to unite the charm of long-gone times with courtliness: see ex. 7-39. Here, the term Romance might allude to the French instrumental adaptation that was fashionable in those days, linked to old Spanish narrative poems originally termed Romances, that were often connected with courtly love144.

Ex. n. 7-39: J. Haydn, Symphony no. 85/II: beginning1451.

142

ALLANBROOK 1983: 49f, 128. For a version with L. Larsson and W. Haïm search for Bach - Wedding Cantata “Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten”, BWV 202. The closing Gavotte starts at 18:07. 144 SAGE, FRIEDMANN & HICKMAN 2001. 145 Please search for J. Haydn - Hob I:85 - Symphony No. 85 in B flat major “La Reine” (Brüggen). The 2nd movement starts at 7:32. 143

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‘Gavotte’ references in Mozart’s output are bound to keep some of its Pastoral, erotic flavour. Paradigmatic is Zerlina’s first aria in Don Giovanni (1787), first act. Its text is “an arch parody of submission which is intensely sexual”, in Wye ALLANBROOK’s interpretation146: Batti, batti, o bel Masetto, La tua povera Zerlina: Starò qui come agnellina Le tue botte ad aspettar. Lascerò straziarmi il crine, Lascerò cavarmi gli occhi; E le care tue manine Lieta poi saprò baciar.

Beat, beat, o handsome Masetto, Your poor Zerlina: I’ll stay here as a little sheep To wait for your blows. I will let (you) mistreat my hair, I will let (you) take out my eyes; And your dear little hands I will happily kiss afterwards.

In an even more poignant irony, Don Alfonso’s pleading for women’s generic unfaithfulness in Così fan tutte (1790) finds in the female-tinged ‘Gavotte’ topos its musical dress. As in the ‘Minuet’ reference in Figaro, critically depicting the aristocrats it represents, here the ‘Gavotte’ seems to be saying ironically the opposite of what it usually means147. È la fede delle femmine come l’araba fenice, che vi sia ciascun lo dice, dove sia nessun lo sa.

Woman’s constancy Is like the Arabian Phoenix: Everyone swears it exists, But no one knows where.

The metre of the first line is noticeably irregular, due to its final femmine, which makes it a sdrucciolo, with its accent on the antepenultimate syllable. That forces Mozart to a rhythmical jerk in m. 3. The shrug signals a double twist. Da Ponte is forcing some lines by Metastasio, who in a popular arietta from Demetrio (1731) let Olinto compare the mythical phoenix with lovers in general, not just women148. The infringement is reinforced by the aforementioned metrical irregularity: maybe to underline the disruption, instead of the obvious choice donne, Da Ponte chooses femmine: see ex. 7-40.

146

ALLANBROOK 1983: 269. See earlier in Sect. 7.4.2 Minuet, ex. 7-7ff. 148 Metastasio’s original, by Mozart’s time well-known text was E’ la fede degli amanti / Come l’araba fenice: / Che vi sia, ciascun lo dice; / Dove sia, nessun lo sa. See RESCIGNO 1982: 75. 147

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Ex. n. 7-40: Mozart, Così fan tutte (I): no. 2 Terzetto, beginning.

In ex. 7-35(a) and 7-35(b) a ‘gavotte’ reference was noted displacing a ‘bourrée’. Beyond the different upbeats, that make the gavotte an easier recognisable reference, what else distinguishes them? In John IRVING’s words, “within the bourrée there is significantly greater concentration on the quarter notes as active ingredients within the prevailing meter149.” That is quite precisely what MATTHESON writes: “A melody that has more flow, smoothness, sliding and clinging with each other than the Gavotte is the Bourrée150.” In instrumental music, in spite of greater abstraction, some of the expressive meaning of the ‘gavotte’ shines through. In the finale of the Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 454, it appears in opposition to a ‘bourrée’ reference: see ex. 7-41a, 7-41b.

Ex. n. 7-41a: Mozart, Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 454/III: beginning1511.

149

IRVING 2014: 542. MATTHESON 1999 (1739): 335 (226). 151 For a version with S. Kuijken and L. Devos search for Mozart - Violin Sonata No. 32 in B-flat major, K. 454. The finale starts at 17:55. The secondary theme (ex. n. 7-41b) is first exposed at 18:41. 150

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Ex. n. 7-41b: Mozart, Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 454/III: mm. 30-36.

In a similar narrative outcome as in the opening duet in Figaro (see earlier ex. 7-35a, 7-35b), the ‘gavotte’ has the last word, but in the reversed order. The finale being structured as a Rondo-Sonata, the ‘bourrée’ reference is reprised in mm. 180ff., but the Coda (mm. 240ff.) features a conclusive return of the initial ‘gavotte’ gestures. Its comedic, common-people character is intensified by triplets reminding of the ‘Gigue’ (mm. 251ff.). Instead, the secondary theme is introduced and followed by two ‘Ancien Régime’ topoi: an ‘Ominous Unison’ typical of the old opera seria (mm. 30-31) and the suspensions proper to the stile antico counterpoint (mm. 36ff.)152. This reinforces an interpretation of the ‘bourrée’ being associated with the old social order and displaced by a new, better world153. An instrumental example of a ‘gavotte’ reference displacing an old-fashioned ‘bourrée’ should show how this seems to amount to a narrative pattern for Mozart. In the first movement of his String Quintet K. 515, a ‘bourrée’ reference dominates the great cadential section of the first thematic group in the main key, from m. 38 to 57: see ex. 7-42a.

Ex. n. 7-42a: Mozart, String Quintet K. 515/I, mm. 38-421541.

152

For operatic references, see next chapter. For stile antico, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. More about the expressive dichotomy between topoi representing two opposite Weltanschauungen in ‘Classic’ music in GRIMALT 2018a, 2018d. 154 For a version with the Amadeus Quartet & C. Aronowitz search for Mozart - String Quintet No. 3 in C, K. 515 [complete]. 153

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The ‘gavotte’ reference starts the transition section, immediately thereafter: see ex. 7-42b.

Ex. n. 7-42b: Mozart, String Quintet K. 515/I, mm. 57–60.

As happened in the previous example, here the ‘bourrée’ passage is accompanied by some polyphonic imitation (mm. 47ff.). This contraposition between ‘serious’ and ‘friendly’ topical references might be an echo of the opposition that governs the whole movement155. The main theme features the same opposition as its neighbour symphony also in C major, the so-called Jupiter156: ‘march’ versus ‘sensitive style’ references. Note the irregular antecedent of 3+2 measures, three ‘martial’ and two in ‘sensitive’ style: see ex. 7-42c.

Ex. n. 7-42c: Mozart, String Quintet K. 515/I, beginning.

Finally, one of the rare cases where Enlightened irony seems to be directed against the Catholic Church in Mozart’s work is presented. In his Missa brevis K. 275 in B-flat (1777), the initial Kyrie, eleison is accompanied by an unmistakable ‘Contredanse’ rhythm, quite incongruent with the usual atmosphere of contrition associated with a plea for forgiveness. This is even clearer in the last number of the mass, Agnus Dei. The ‘Gavotte’ reference underneath, that we have seen associated with eroticism in operatic contexts, must have sounded utterly discordant to contemporary ears. Indeed, at the parish church of St. Jakob in Wasserburg am Inn 155 156

For two more analyses of the Quintet, see AGAWU 1991: 87, ZBIKOWSKI 2014: 143ff. See earlier in Chap. 2 ex. no. 2-5.

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(Bavaria), a copy of the K. 275 Mass was found with the following hand-made inscription: The Latin Mass, apparently by Jos. Haydn [sic!], of which the Kyrie starts: [incipit] must not come to performance any more in local churches, for this composition is an obvious mockery on the sacred text157.

To be sure, baroque masses have sometimes ‘euphoric’ music to the beginning of the Mass. Hans KÜNG interprets the festive Kyrie in the “Coronation” Mass K. 317 as a sign of the Catholic confidence in salvation: as “expression of a cheerful, joyful certainty: Lord, have mercy on us! Yes, Lord, Thou hast mercy on us!”158. Küng’s interpretation and that of the anonymous clergyman from Wasserburg have one thing in common: both perceive musical meaning –each one in his own way– in the ‘dance’, ‘secular’ references beating beneath the liturgical text159.

7.5.2

Contredanse: 2/2, 2/4.

The main feature of the contredanse is the way it is danced: by practically walking. The figures are choreographed to be drawn all across the ballroom, so there is no need for any previous training. In a wider sense, a contredanse is no definite metre: the uncoupling and regrouping pairs of partners walking around in figures can be done to triple or to duple metres. Sometimes, triple metre contredanse-style dancing is called Allemande (‘German’), meaning the aforementioned Deutsch waltz160. In a narrower, musical-only sense, however, contredanse implies the following features: • a binary metre and a typical hum-pa-pa-pa rhythm (see ex. 7-43); • a diatonic or pentatonic melody of short range, suggesting a ‘folk’ tune; • a basic harmony, as if recreating the limitations of a traditional ‘folk’ instrument.

Ex. n. 7-43: The ‘contredanse’ rhythmic marker.

157 158 159 160

Anonymous inscription, dated Wasserburg 1860. Quoted by JANZ 2000: 3. KÜNG 2006: 60. See VILA 2019. I owe thanks to Lluís Vila for drawing my attention to this work. Thus in SULZER 1771: article Allemande. Consulted July 2019.

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One of many examples: J. Haydn’s Finale of the “Oxford” Symphony n. 92 (1789), where the ‘contredanse’ reference is combined with an ‘exoticist’ touch –the ‘Lydian’ augmented fourth– and later on with buffa allusions: see ex. 7-44.

Ex. n. 7-44: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 92, finale: beginning1611.

J.G. SULZER calls “English” contredanses both the Deutsch and the contredanse proper in 2/4. His criterium here, as it is the norm in the 18th century, is the choreography, not the music. He describes thus their character: They are of different movements on two and on three beats; both have in common to be very lively and mostly some moderately comical, so that they combine pleasure and grace162.

That Deutsch waltz and Contredanse proper in duple metre are confused with each other in contemporary texts makes a lot of sense. Both dances are result and emblem of profound social changes taking place at the turn of the nineteenth century, and they were often danced in the same collective, choreographic way. As a reference, the ‘contredanse’ has two main connotations: (1) of concluding a ball (or symphony, or sonata) with a gay, folksy, collective dance, and (2) of common people and comedy, where it used to close single acts or whole performances163. Its original name is English, the French word contredanse being an awkward adaptation of the term Country Dance. After its great success on the

For a version with N. Harnoncourt search for Haydn - Symphony No. 92 in G Major “Oxford” IV. Presto. For another one with L. Bernstein, rather like a folksy contredanse, Haydn: Symphony No.92 In G Major, Hob.I:92 - “Oxford” - 4. Presto. 162 SULZER 1771: 319. Sie ſind von verſchiedenen Bewegungen von zwey und von drey Zeiten; alle kommen darin uberein, daß ſie ſehr lebhaft ſind, und großtentheils etwas maßig comiſches haben, dadurch ſie Vergnugen und Artigkeit mit einander vereinigen. 163 MCKEE 2014: 169. 161

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continent, it was imported back to the Isles under its new French name. In English-speaking countries, the contredanse has kept a continuous presence until nowadays164. At the turn of the nineteenth century it was called often (Contredanse) Anglaise, ‘English’, or Écossaise, ‘Scottish’. Under the latter name, Beethoven, Schubert or Chopin composed contredanses to be danced. Some other times, they appear in the form of the Quadrille, meaning a formation of four pairs in a rectangle, performing a suite of contredanses. Their egalitarian aspect, where different classes join in and meet, makes both contredanse and waltz opposites of the exclusive, old minuet of 17th-century Versailles and its derivations in the rest of Europe at the turn of the nineteenth century. In Wye ALLANBROOK’s description, The contredanse was welcomed with such enthusiasm because of its infinite expandability: it facilitated the happy social exercise of as many dancers as the ballroom could accommodate. In the face of this versatility the older dances all fell by the wayside, except for the minuet, which was retained, one supposes, as a nod to older habits of restraint and decorum. Assemblies moved on to the contredanse as soon as decently possible, after perfunctorily performing a few minuets as a solemn prelude to the evening’s more enthusiastic exercises165.

In Jean-Philippe Rameau’s opera-ballet Zéphire (date unknown, mid-eighteenth century) dances are named explicitly to separate the scenes: gavottes, menuets, passepieds, sarabandes. Interestingly, the only contredanse makes its appearance as a conclusion to the whole work. This matches its closing function in so many symphonies of the Viennese ‘Classics’166. Beyond the tradition of closing baroque theatrical shows and suites, that it shares with the Gigue, there is a narrative reason why so many symphonies and sonatas close with a ‘contredanse’ reference. It is its expressive, symbolic value, as a representation of the longed-for new, egalitarian times. Sequentially, the exclusive ‘minuet’ that takes the second or third position within the four-movement design is displaced and overcome by the dance that anyone can take part in. Moreover, contredanses would usually conclude dancing sessions in the new public dance rooms.

164 Simply search for Contre Dance for some recent Scottish celebration. Or else contredanse.avi for a whole explanation of steps and choreography in French. For just the dance start at 4:01. 165 ALLANBROOK 1983: 61. 166 For a version with W. Christie search for J.-Ph. Rameau: «Zéphyre» [Choeur des Arts Florissants / Capella Coloniensis des WDR]. The final, explicit Contredanse starts at 40:42.

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Ex. n. 7-45: Mozart, Don Giovanni I: Ball Scene, mm. 457–4601671.

Mozart stages the confrontation of minuet, contredanse and Deutsch in the famous ball scene at the end of the first act of Don Giovanni (1787). Each dance has its own orchestra on stage. In the background, the older, slower dance: Don Ottavio balla Menuetto con Donna Anna. On top, both modern dances – the faster, the more rustic. After the minuet, the contredanse joins in, twenty-four measures later, and it does so by tuning in: a realistic kind of irony. The score specifies: Don Giovanni si mette a ballar con Zerlina una contradanza (‘Don Giovanni starts to dance a contredanse with Zerlina’). Finally, the third orchestra tunes in as well: Leporello balla la Teitsch [recte: Deutsch] con Masetto. The fourth notes of the minuet give the pulse to the other two dances; the Deutsch fits its whole measures to them. This polyrhythmic, meticulous combination serves only as a foil to the singers’ intense dialogue: see ex. 7-45. Leporello follows the rhythmic pattern of his corresponding ‘Deutsch‘, whereas the three masked aristocrats sing to their own ‘minuet’ pace. Zerlina’s wish to ascend in the social scale is represented by her ‘contredanse’ rhythms. Giovanni in his characteristic hazy, indistinct way is still trying to seduce Zerlina, so he takes on her dance reference in 2/4. In the nineteenth century, the contredanse enjoys uninterrupted popularity all around Europe under the name of Polka. According to the New Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, the Polka was originally a Czech countryside dance that

For a historical version with J. Krips search Don Giovanni, Act 1, Scene 5: “The Ballroom in Don Giovanni’s House”. The actual on-stage Minuet starts at 6:23.

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conquered first Vienna and then the rest of the world. Its binary metre and its joyful, skipping steps must have brought about an assimilation to the 18th-century contredanse. Josef Lanner and the Strauß family, well-known for their waltzes, contributed also a great deal of beloved polkas168.

7.5.3

Beethoven’s ‘Contredanse’: Prometheus. ‘Changeover’.

Beethoven seems to take advantage of its connotations and makes the ‘contredanse’ reference a symbol of modernity, or in the vocabulary of the Illuminati to whom he always felt ideologically close, of the dawn of a regenerate world that would grant to the whole mankind access to freedom and bliss169. In his “heroic and allegorical” ballet The Creatures of Prometheus op. 43 (1801), the same contredanse that would close most contemporary dancing sessions in an atmosphere of casual gaiety symbolises Prometheus’s heroic capacity to create life in spite of, or thanks to, his refusal to obey the gods. Beethoven’s identification with this creative hero striving to educate and liberate his creatures through music and arts can be seen in his recycling of the Prometheus ‘contredanse’ theme in three other instrumental works that he valued very much: two sets of Variations, op. 34 and op. 35, and the Eroica symphony, that culminates in a quotation of the Prometheus Finale music: see ex. n. 7-46.

Ex. n. 7-46: Beethoven, Symphony n. 3/IV, mm. 76-83.

168 169

ČERNUŠÁK 2001. BRISSON 2002 (2000): 140.

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Beethoven’s Third Symphony is called Eroica, but it is hard to find any ‘martial’ references in it. The kind of hero Beethoven and his enlightened contemporaries were thinking of was Prometheus, whom they saw embodied in Napoleon Bonaparte, a man of humble origin who was expected to export the outcome of the 1789 revolution, justice and freedom, to the whole world170. One can imagine Beethoven’s disappointment as Bonaparte crowned himself emperor. Though he violently scratched out his name on the front page of the Third Symphony’s manuscript where he had written his dedication, the title Eroica remained. The ‘contredanse’ topical reference was judged by Beethoven to be the best possible conveyer of this sense of ‘heroism’: not in a ‘martial’ sense, but connected with freedom, joy and equality. In another piece composed only months earlier than the Eroica, the Piano Concerto in C minor op. 37 (1800), the ‘contredanse’ reference is not only opposed to the ‘martial’ but it actually displaces it. The work starts with an instance of a ‘Dysphoric March’: see ex. 7-47171.

Ex. n. 7-47: Beethoven, Concerto C minor op. 37/I, beginning.

Now for the C minor concerto we happen to have an opposing example, dated a few years later: the finale of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony (ex. 7-48).

Ex. n. 7-48: Beethoven, Symphony n. 5/IV, main theme.

However, the opposition within the C minor Concerto does not take place on the ‘martial’ field, connoted as outdated and reactionary. It is found in the reference to the ‘contredanse’, linked to the egalitarian, enlightened meanings that Beethoven

170 171

FLOROS 2008 (1978). For the ‘Dysphoric March’, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.4.3.

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and many contemporaries were sighing for. ‘March’ vs. ‘contredanse’ is but one of many such expressive oppositions within the output of the Viennese ‘Classics’. Ancien Régime symbols are questioned or displaced, but in the end ‘Laughter‘ and ‘Joy’ are the usual final result. This is what has been described as a ‘Humorous’ narrative archetype172. Another example of the ‘Humorous’ master plot is the aforementioned Concerto in C minor op. 37. In it, Beethoven revisits military topoi, old fashioned dances, references to tragic opera and to the ‘Learned’ style from an ironic point of view. The last word, to be sure, corresponds to ‘humour’. Such an interpretation fits the Enlightened attitude, that leaves behind, using Reason and ironic distance, the rigid flamboyance of an Ancien Régime that, in those days, was still felt as all-powerful. In a narrative listening, such musical transformations allow one to perceive the ethical intention that might lie behind them. In my interpretation, they have a critical, subversive intention. In a context of political repression, the transformative power of humour has been a constant at all times. Charles Rosen’s statement that the last mask of Classical music is comedy can be shown in its political value through topical and narrative analysis. The outbreak of instrumental music during the eighteenth century made it possible and safe to deal with political subjects in the context of post-revolutionary Restoration. Even if the new sonatas and symphonies were largely based on the imitation of theatrical situations, the absence of any text invited composers to allude to sensitive matters and to express their desire for social and political changes in a characteristically indirect way. Sometimes, rather than just humour, the transformation of out-of-date topoi into new ones, symbolising a longed-for new world, suggest another narrative archetype, where the emphasis is on the revolutionary renewal implied. It could be called the ‘Changeover’ narrative archetype. In Beethoven’s Trio op. 1/3/I, the initial gesture in the minor mode seems to allude to opera seria –an ‘Ominous unison’, one of the indexes of the Ombra topic– and to the ‘Minuet’173. This archaic initial motif questions itself immediately –with the rhetorical figure of the ‘Interrogatio’ in pianissimo–, suggesting that another scenario might be possible: see ex. 7-49a.

172 173

GRIMALT 2018d. See next chapter for operatic references.

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Ex. n. 7-49a: Beethoven, Trio op. 1/3/I: beginning.

And indeed, the course of the movement brings a transformation of the initial, quasi ‘Imperial’ topoi into some others referring to a contemporary soundscape: ‘waltz’ and ‘comedy’. See ex. n. 7-49b.

Ex. n. 7-49b: Beethoven, Trio op. 1/3/I: mm. 224-229.

In this early Trio, the ‘Minuet’, symbolising the obsolete world of absolutist monarchy, is replaced by the rural Alpine ‘Waltz’. Within this opposition, the latter represents ‘the people’, to put it in Herder’s terms, or ‘Joy’, or ‘present time’ – values that were felt by Enlightened artists as incompatible with the Ancien Régime. The symbolic value of this transformation is strongly enhanced by Beethoven using one and the same musical material for both references, aristocratic and popular. The ‘Waltz’ not only displaces ‘Minuet‘ and ‘Ombra’, it replaces it. The mutation is underlined by a change from the minor to the major mode, which shows the affective aspect of the procedure. Moreover, the tutti texture has been replaced by an individual manifestation on the cello. A similar transformation in narrative terms can be heard in the work mentioned earlier, Beethoven’s concerto in C minor op. 37 (1800). The sombre ‘March’ that begins its first movement (ex. 7-47) is transfigured into a ‘Contredanse’ in the finale (ex. 7-50).

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Ex. n. 7-50: Beethoven, Concerto op. 37 in C minor/III: beginning.

Motivically, the Finale motif could be seen as a retrograde inversion of the initial ‘March’ theme. The affirmative triadic and tonic formula turns into a questioning, dissonant motif in the dominant: see ex. 7-51.

Ex. n. 7-51: Beethoven, Concerto op. 37 in C minor: Urlinie of main motifs from I and III.

Again, in the Finale’s conclusion (Presto) the minor mode yields to major, thus revealing the exhilarating side of the narrative’s result. In this case, the ‘Contredanse’ theme takes the cloak of another modern genre, the Deutsch ‘Waltz’. Note the unequivocal comedic replies on woodwinds. In fact, the final parodic ‘Contredanse’ had been announced already in the coda of the first movement (ex. n. 7-52), with its rhythmic genre marker, an eighth rest followed by three equal eighth notes.

Ex. n. 7-52: Beethoven, Concerto op. 37 in C minor I: mm. 492-496.

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The musical plot that represents the transformation of Ancien-Régime topoi into Enlightened, contemporary ones is a narrative archetype that can be discerned in many of the works of the Viennese ‘Classics’. It could be termed ‘Changeover’, a socio-politically inflected variant of the Per aspera ad astra, or ‘From darkness to Light’, that will predominate in nineteenth-century music. *** As a conclusion and to facilitate quick reference, Table n. 7-1 adapts in a diagram the possibilities Mozart and his contemporaries can count on when it comes to choosing metres that will raise expressive associations in his listeners. It is based on Part One of Wye J. ALLANBROOK’s 1983 study, who states: The rhythmic gestures of Mozart’s affective vocabulary all have historical or physical connections with idealized conceptions of particular [social] classes174.

On the top of the scale there is an ‘exalted march‘ related to the motet’s duple, serene pace. In music of the common-practice era, ‘polyphony’ is arguably the most prestigious reference possible. A more current march in 2/4 or 4/4 was still felt as a sign of imperial power until well into the nineteenth century. Then the ‘not quite marches’ follow: Gavotte, Bourrée, Contredanse. The latter is the ‘lowest’ reference in duple metre, connoting ‘comedy’ and ‘common people’. Sarabande and slow Minuet in ¾ retained their gravity and prestige until parody destroyed this grandeur. At the lowest end, the Deutsch or rural, fast waltz in 3/8 represents the reference with the least social prestige. In the middle, Siciliana, Pastorale and Gigue in 6/8 kept their value as Pastoral signifiers until the Waltzes replaced them at the turn of the nineteenth century.

DUPLE

High

TRIPLE

2/2

(Motet) ‘Exalted March’

3/4

Sarabande, Minuet.

2/4

March, Gavotte, Bourrée, Contredanse.

6/8

Siciliana, Pastorale, Gigue.

3/8

Passepied, Ländler in ¾, Deutsch.

4/4

Low

Table. 7-1 Mozart’s references to ‘dances’ and to ‘marches’

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ALLANBROOK 1983: 68.

High

Low

Chapter 8

Theatrical References

Comic rhetoric –quick juxtapositions of contrasting ideas, short and lively figures, active interplay of dialogue, light textures, marked articulation, unexpected turns–is found throughout the great instrumental and vocal works of the classic style. LEONARD RATNER1

The last chapter of this volume deals with theatrical references. First, a brief description of the original comic (Sect. 8.1) and tragic opera (Sect. 8.2) is provided. Second, three different 18th-century attempts to fuse both genres are tackled: Gluck’s operatic reform, Mozart’s dramma giocoso and the German melodrama (Sect. 8.3). Finally, some salient comic (Sect. 8.4) and tragic references (Sect. 8.5) are described and exemplified. Beside ‘Dance’ references, that were dealt with in the previous chapter, theatrical references are arguably the main source for meaning in instrumental music of the eighteenth century. Musical theatre used to be a fundamental asset of European cultural life, only comparable to our movies and television series. Derived from Ancient theatrical models, tragic and comic genres would cohabit in opposition, normally the latter working as an intermission to the former. But whereas no comic elements were allowed into the tragic genres –the most important of which Italian opera seria–, parodying tragic references has been a fixture of comic theatre and opera. This is paramount to understand the basic tone of most ‘Classic’ instrumental music: even if they present references to ‘serious’ topoi, in the ‘Classic’ style these are mostly parodic references that should not be taken literally. By definition, ironic ambiguity can be easily misunderstood, especially over the centuries, and a critical effort is needed to try and listen to this music as it might have sounded to its contemporaries.

1

RATNER 1980: 395.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8_8

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In twentieth-century musicology and music theory it became normal to ignore opera and theatre altogether in favour of instrumental music. Many prominent musicologists of our day are striving to offer a more complete image of eighteenthand nineteenth-century musical worlds2. Even after Gluck’s first attempt in the 1770s to merge tragic and comic musical theatre genres, well into the nineteenth century buffo and seria elements retained their opposite expressive meaning and socio-political connotations. Tragic opera having been the aristocratic genre, it became a symbol of the Ancien Régime many artists were hoping to see vanish. On the contrary, Comedy represented the plain people’s genre, were they could see themselves represented in a realistic way. Comedy meant also, at the turn of the nineteenth century, a freedom of expression that epitomized a modern, egalitarian new world.

8.1

Comic Opera (Opera Buffa)

The origins of comic opera lie in a genre of Italian traditional theatre called Commedia dell’arte. Its characters were based on archetypes and were played by professional, nomadic actors that would perfect their roles in constantly improvised variations. These archetypes originate partly in ancient traditions; they will be a model for a great deal of European comic theatre, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Arlechino, the servant from Bergamo, is the father of all fictive resourceful, tricky valets3. His rival Pierrot –the naive, serious clown– sighs also for coquette Colombina but loses her to Arlechino time and again. Pantalone, the Venetian merchant, embodies all those who are not aware of their own ridicule; Dottore Graziano, from Bologna, the pedant who does not have both feet on the ground. Armed with money or erudition, Pantalone and Graziano are the fat antagonists of both young lovers. Arlechino is a character with a past, but also with a future projection. He could be related to the Devil in medieval theatre. At the same time, when he leaves his proverbial cowardice behind, he turns into the Romantic hero. Traces of traditional Commedia and its archetypes can still be felt in some passages of ‘Classic’ instrumental music. In Beethoven’s Sonata op. 14 n. 2, the conclusion of the first movement’s Exposition offers this uneven dialogue: see ex. 8-1. Both upper voices in parallel motion and the ‘plucked string’ accompaniment suggest a ‘vocal duet’ as in a ‘Serenade’4. The ‘male character’ responding to them

2

Even Leonard Ratner, a true pioneer in Musical Signification, tends to focus on instrumental repertoire. See MCCLELLAND 2012a: 130, note 6. 3 For instance, Pedrillo in Die Entführung aus dem Serail. Leporello has his dark sides and appears as a combination of Arlechino and Pierrot. 4 For ‘Open-air’ and ‘Lute Serenade’, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4.

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can be heard as a reference to a basso buffo, a comic role who has definitely no love relationship with the ladies: see further Sect. 8.4 for the ‘Love Duet’ topos.

Ex. n. 8-1: Beethoven, Sonata op. 14 n. 2/I, mm. 46-6351.

Comedy is opposed to tragedy in two main aspects: a happy end and a ‘low’ tone, accessible to anyone. This involves a vernacular language, understood immediately. The comic play teaches “not by terror and pity, but by laughter and ridicule6.” It also enjoys the freedom to mix different modes and references, questioning conventions and taboos. The capacity for rich contrast derived from that stylistic bandwidth is an important clue to the instrumental ‘Classic’ style, which has been widely described as a transposition of the buffa musical language into abstract, textless genres7. In Wye ALLANBROOK’s words, In addition to the considerable impact of its simplicity and popular spirit, buffa made a critical contribution to the development of contrast as a compositional premise through the

5

Please search for Brendel plays Beethoven Piano Sonata No.10, Op.14 No.2 (1/2). The Epilogue starts at 1:22. 6 Rev. J.P. Mahaffy, “A History of Classical Greek Literature,” London, 1895. Quoted s.v. ‘Comedy’ in Oxford’s Online Etymology Dictionary, accessed Sept. 2019. 7 RATNER 1980, TARUSKIN 2005, ROSEN 1997 (1971), ALLANBROOK 1983, 1998, 2014, HUNTER 2014.

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witty economy of comic representation that enabled characteristic styles or topoi to bump up against each other while remaining recognizable entities8.

Comedy including serious characters and situations implies reviewing them critically (ironically) out of their original sphere: When a character in Figaro or Giovanni who is drawn from opera seria retains the meditative convention of the old style, that in itself becomes a reflection on his nature – a complexity which would not be possible without the buffa frame9.

However, the possibility to integrate ‘tragic’ elements has an inescapable, irrevocable consequence: all seriousness is undercut by comedy’s merciless, cynical wisdom. The earnest, sincere don Ottavio and donna Elvira in Don Giovanni, as well as certain moments of Fiordiligi in Così fan tutte are “merely grist for its mill”10: subject to cruel, “ironic trivialities [that] manage to mock and unman the accents of righteous anger11.” This was remarked already by the contemporary Heinrich Ch. Koch, who in 1795 complained insightfully, as the chief-editor of the Journal der Tonkunst about comedy devaluing opera seria conventions: Ever since they began to dress up buffoon ariettas in the form of broad-scale arias, the serious arias have necessarily declined more and more in value; for as soon as the humorous masters the form of the serious, the serious takes on features of the humorous12.

This historical process of comedy incorporating ‘high’ genres matches the probable etymology of the Ancient Greek jxlῳdίa, meaning ‘actor or singer in the revels’13. It was applied to political satire delivered in theatres. In modern times, comedy tends to describe the struggle of some youth to change a social order against the will of the elder, as in Beaumarchais’s Le mariage de Figaro (1778). Already in the Middle Ages, however, the term appears deprived of its critical element and degraded to ‘funny’ or ‘inducing laughter’, as it is current in our days. Italian comic opera is called buffa and has Neapolitan roots in the early eighteenth century. It opposes opera seria, with which it shares stage, as a welcome, light intermission. At the turn of the nineteenth century, local, non-Italian variants of comic musical theatre spread around Europe, first in France (opéra comique and operette), then in Germany (Singspiel) and Austria (Operette), Spain (zarzuela), or England (Savoy opera, Ballad opera). These genres all include some vernacular, spoken text, usually with spontaneous references to recent events. Instead of mythological heroes, comic opera depicts the new urban audiences in a plausible, critical way. These audiences, made of tradespeople and bourgeois, can identify with what they watch on stage. Scenography and orchestra are relatively ALLANBROOK 1998: 10. On ‘Classic’ mixed style, see earlier Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2. ALLANBROOK 1983: 327. 10 Ibidem: 240. 11 Ibidem: 257. 12 Koch (ed.), Journal der Tonkunst, 2 vols. Erfurt 1795, 2: 102. Quoted by ALLANBROOK 1983: 144. 13 s.v. ‘Comedy’ in Oxford’s Online Etymology Dictionary, accessed Sept. 2019. 8 9

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austere, which facilitates the genre’s dissemination. In confrontation with opera seria, the genre inherits a certain satirical, subversive quality from its Ancient origins. For example, most of the music-theatre world in eighteenth-century Paris was involved in a wry controversy concerning the relative merits of Italian and French opera. A whole philosophical background, and specifically political attachment or criticism to the status quo can be sensed behind the wrangle around music-theatrical issues: There is no doubt that the motivation for that famous battle [in Paris] was political as well as aesthetic: by attacking the Opéra, a symbol of the self-glorification and chauvinism of the monarchy, the [French Enlightened] philosophes were firing potshots at the Régime under the cover of music criticism14.

Due to the very popular, spontaneous nature of the genre, opera buffa developed hardly any theoretical texts of its own. However, the written testimony of detractors and defenders during the eighteenth century show some of the values associated with it back then. While buffa arias were praised for their simplicity and clarity of motive, the propulsive power and expressive flexibility of their rhythms, and the aptness of their language for musical setting15,

their opponents regretted its lack of backbone, morally and aesthetically, and proposed Rameau’s tragédie lyrique as the place where Ancient rules were still observed and helped keep the world a less chaotic place. Under this perspective, it is only out of convenience that we keep calling Haydn’s and Mozart’s style ‘Classic’. Its characteristics do not match the idea of ‘following traditional rules’ that is associated with Classicism at all: [L]istening to the new music must have been a riskier enterprise in the late eighteenth century than it is possible to conceive today. Nonetheless, this descent into the comic so distasteful to eighteenth-century critics seems to have been the source of what is most effective in the “Classic” instrumental style. It is the theatre of surface and stylistic heterogeneity, of precision in flux. There is nothing “Classic” about it16.

However, the Romantics saw in late eighteenth-century music a model and took advantage of most of their findings. That explains them locating the Viennese ‘Classics’ in a shrine that offers a different perception of their witty, fast-changing music. Moreover, most of 20th-century musicologists “managed to see only the temple, and not the variegated host that constituted its congregation17.” Back to Paris, a central point in the debate that flared up once and again all through the eighteenth century was the relationship between music and word. The French tradition saw in music no autonomous entity. It could serve only as an

14 15 16 17

ALLANBROOK 2014: 9. ALLANBROOK 1998: 9. ALLANBROOK 2014: 26. Ibidem: 26.

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intensifier or a descriptive element of the sovereign text. Instead, the Italianates saw in the cantabilità of the Italian language an excuse to prioritize music over words. Wilhelm SEIDEL underscores that for the first time a discussion on music was a public one, as a sign of a new social class and of a revaluation of the art of sound18. These facts help to explain the special role that music will take on in Western culture of the 19th and 20th centuries. The Parisian musical conflict had as trigger a paradigmatic example of opera buffa: Giovanni B. Pergolesi’s La serva padrona (Naples 1733), that was presented in Paris in 175219. The play was conceived as an Intermezzo within an opera seria20. To the usual conflict between servant and master, the plot opposes female and male in an uneven relationship twice over that ends up in love and marriage. The piece presents a characteristic straight-to-the-point expression. Uberto’s presentation aria, Aspettare e non venire, e.g., uses seria and other outmoded references to signal parodically his not being in keeping with the times21.

8.2

Tragic Opera (Opera seria)

The Parisian Querelle about opera soon spread over the rest of Europe, especially Germany and Italy. As a result of all these discussions, French opera would integrate some of the Italian attention for melody and autonomous music; on the other hand, Italian opera reformed its relationship to drama according to French tragic models22. The opera seria that will become, in the first half of the eighteenth century, the favourite pastime of European aristocracy is an exercise in taking seriously Aristotelian principles of drama, thus adding to the traditionally meridional singing virtuosity a solid dramaturgical scaffold. Thematically, opera seria is mythological or heroic, with frequent tragic elements. However, the outcome tends to be triumphal, to glorify the watching, sponsoring royalty who can identify with the generous, heroic, always victorious princes on stage. Opera seria vanishes with the nineteenth century, that found them predictable and stereotyped, if not monotonous. This has hindered its recuperation even to our days, where it is difficult to attend a good performance of opere serie. However, its peculiar beauty, so attentive to the singers’ virtuoso showing-off, and its paramount importance to understand ‘Classic’ and Romantic repertoire make these works a

18

SEIDEL 2002: 320. ALLROGGEN 2002: 551ff. 20 ALLANBROOK 2014: 7–22. 21 Please search for (HD) Pergolesi: La Serva Padrona, intermezzo in two parts | Diego Fasolis & Barocchisti. 22 See SEIDEL 2002. 19

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necessary part of a thorough Western music education. This justifies the following brief ad-hoc description. Pietro Metastasio was the most celebrated author of seria plays. His libretti contributed greatly to make Italian the language of opera and were also widely translated. They focus on love and have a lieto fine, with hardly any exception. The divo (whether castrato or not) and the diva are an essential part of the recipe. The term means ‘divine’ and refers to the nearly superhuman powers of belcanto virtuosi. Most of the show, including musical composition, revolves around them. Along with the singers, Italian libretto writers and composers could expect a position anywhere in Europe. Among the composers, Alessandro Scarlatti, Johann A. Hasse, Nicola Porpora or Georg F. Händel stand out. After Gluck’s reform in the second half of the century, besides Gluck himself, Josef Haydn and Wolfgang Mozart contributed some opere serie. In them, originality is no value, it is all about topoi and clichés being distributed and varied. Its structure, fixed in three acts, follows a set of norms considered ‘classical’, such as unity of action, time and place. Another fixture is the strict separation between recitative and aria, the latter arresting time and commenting upon the affective consequences of the former’s narrative action. Also typical is the aria’s structure, called Da capo (’from the start’): A-B-A, the central part contrasting with both framing sections. The Reprise of A becomes the favourite place to show off the diva’s or divo’s bravura, with spectacular ornamentation of what had been initially exposed. The aria’s self-contained structure is one of the first autonomous musical forms of Western modernity. It does not follow any poetical patterns, but musical criteria: the symmetrical disposition makes it a stable musical entity, a little unitary work within the whole opera23. After the aria, the performer leaves stage in order to get proper applause. At least until Gluck’s reform in the 1760s and 70s, the singers’ possibilities of modifying the score according to their discretion had no limits. The soloists’ exorbitant coloraturas were arguably the very core of the whole show, the rest –dramaturgy, scenography, plot and music– little more than excuses for the exhibition of those international stars. To close one or two of the three acts, instead of an aria a duo is frequent, typically featuring a couple of lovers. Other highlights within an act include an accompagnato recitative, accompanied by the whole orchestra, to mark moments of great dramaturgic intensity24. The secco recitative instead uses only the basso continuo. The characters, normally six or seven, also follow archetypical patterns. To the fore are the primo uomo (a castrato) and the prima donna, plus a tenor to play kings or secondary roles. A secondo uomo and a seconda donna would play less important parts, plus some bass or some other soprano for smaller roles. The number of arias every character is assigned is the clearest index of his or her

23 24

SEIDEL 2002: 352. About the accompagnato recitative as a topical reference, see the end of this chapter, Sect. 8.5.1.

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importance. Singers would frequently incorporate arias in their repertoire that fit any standard situation, to move from one opera to another, for purely vocal-acrobatic reasons. There is no choir and no dancing in most opere serie. Pierre d’Ortigue de Vaumorière, a French historian and romancier of the second half of the seventeenth century, misses both in the operas that were offered at the Venetian Carnival festivities of 168325. In Paris, dancing and a singing chorus were indispensable in the tragédies lyriques in five acts that Lully had established in the mid-seventeenth century as normative for French operas. They followed contemporary models of text tragedies such as Corneille’s and Racine’s and were at their turn a model for Italian serious opera composers in the eighteenth century. Despite Metastasio’s distaste for it, the marvellous is a fundamental aspect that distinguishes opera seria from comedy. In many of them, supernatural scenes are represented. The appearance of gods and magic offers great opportunities to display awesome stage machineries, a fundamental asset of both tragédie lyrique and opera seria that allowed the representation of miraculous events with mechanical devices. Musically, the marvellous and supernatural correspond to the Ombra and Tempesta topoi, described further in Sect. 8.5. Even so, Aristotelian principles such as the need to reward virtue and the idea of teaching and entertaining without upsetting the spectator lead most of the times to a happy ending.

8.3

Gluck’s Reformed Opera

After briefly describing comic and tragic opera as opposites, three different attempts to merge them into something new are discussed: Gluck’s opera reform, Mozart’s dramma giocoso and the German Melodrama. They all share the desire to unite the best assets of both genres: the grand ambition of tragic opera with the ability to reach new audiences that was the emblem of musical comedy. Historically, the combination of highbrow and communication that takes place in mid-eighteenth-century opera is one of the foundation stones of Western instrumental “art music”. The radical separation between courtly and popular theatre reaches well into the early eighteenth century. While some aristocrats tried to reproduce at their homes the opera seria that could be experienced only through selected invitation, comic music theatre did not even have a proper venue and was offered on public squares, in improvised tents26. Some decades later, the first public theatres begin to explore a hybridisation of both antagonistic styles. To make compatible such incompatible worlds, music was certainly a trump card. In Vienna, the town hall inaugurated the first public theatre for the people’s amusement at the Carinthia Gate in 1708: it was 25 26

Quoted by SEIDEL 2002: 323–326. This paragraph follows BRION 1959: 123–127.

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called accordingly Kärntnertor Theater. A certain Stranitzky would star there, offering many variants of Hanswurst, the traditional Viennese buffoon. Comic theatre became rapidly successful. The institution became a popular meeting place for both gentlepersons and plain folk, just as happened with new-built dance saloons. Recent musicology has put critically into perspective what former music historians had labelled Gluck’s opera “Reform”27. It seems his ideas and innovations were not only his, but in the air those days, and thus were shared by other composers of opera seria who wished to adapt the old genre to new times to make serious, tragic subjects accessible to new audiences. It seems only fair to ascribe to those efforts the fact that a “reformed” opera seria survived another 50 years after Gluck’s Orfeo and Alceste. This adaptation consisted mostly of taking over some elements from the buffa genre and involved several factors: • Increased relevance of the orchestra and its colours; • Adoption of orchestral-accompanied recitatives at the expense of the old secco recitative; • Inclusion of bass voices in serious works; • Inclusion of a choir and of soloist ensembles; • Development of musically coherent constructions, especially to close an act.

Most importantly, in his psychological dramas Gluck increasingly introduced comedic Subjectivity into the hitherto narrow form of the Aria. This involves repetitions, exclamations and other rhetorical devices suggesting spontaneity that will be imitated by the new instrumental genres. The key to perceive the modern subject’s penetration into the musical discourse is its discontinuities, i.e. breaking the former structures’ metric regularity. Both poetry and dance, the main canvases on which music was traditionally deployed, offered and needed a constant, fixed pulse, be it syllables or steps. Opera seria before the 1760s tends to keep this metrical regularity: it follows either the bound prosody of the text or the corresponding steps of the ‘dance’ it is referring to. In Gluck’s operas, arias take the form of strophic poems, often interrupted by recitatives. The ‘dance’ reference is often still present, but characters tend to break its metrics as an expressive device, to show their extraordinary affective situation. In Sect. 7.1.1 of the previous chapter an accompagnato recitative interrupted Orfeo’s lament in the first act of Orfeo ed Euridice (1762), Chiamo il mio ben così (‘Thus do I call my love’)28. Earlier in Chap. 6, ex. 6-4 presented the initial measures of Gluck’s best-known aria Che farò senza Euridice. The continuation seems to ignore the proportions of both verse and bourrée –respectively ‘gavotte’– references. The metrical four-measure regularity, however, is indeed preserved: see ex. 8-2.

27

We follow here above all ALLROGGEN 2002, esp. 580–583. For a version with J.E. Gardiner search for Gluck: Orfeo ed Euridice, Wq. 30 / Act 1 - “Chiamo il mio ben così”. 28

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Ex. n. 8-2: Gluck, Orfeo ed Euridice: Che farò, mm. 17-24.

Repetitions and tense silences on Orfeo’s part obviously suggest his desperation over Euridice’s stillness. Modifications of pre-existing patterns inscribe themselves into a proclivity to realism in music theatre that will culminate in the mid-nineteenth century. Back to Gluck, the Overture to the Parisian version of Alceste (1776) shows from its first measures on the signs of arbitrary grouping of measures, due to expressive repetitions: see ex. 8-3.

Ex. n. 8-3: Gluck, Alceste (Paris 1776): Overture, beginning29.

The first forte, then fortissimo tutti measures show an irregular grouping of 3+2, due to the inserted plaintive, piano ‘spontaneous exclamations’ on strings in m. 3. The Andante section (meaning here ‘less slowly’) is also cast in 2+4 measures. With its many pianto references, it establishes a ‘pathetic’ style that, in an opera seria of the previous generation, would have no doubt featured regular metrics. The ‘subjective’ style is especially manifest in the violins finding their spiralling way

29

Please search for Gluck Alceste Overture John Eliot Gardiner (Paris 1999).

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into the forte B-flat – C-sharp (saltus duriusculus) through winding around the diminished third Bb-A-G# – another ‘Pathetic’ feature30.

8.3.1

Dramma Giocoso

The three operas that Wolfgang Mozart and Lorenzo da Ponte wrote together, Le nozze di Figaro (1786), Don Giovanni (1787) and Così fan tutte (1790), came into the composer’s private catalogue as opere buffe, i.e. comic operas. Giovanni and Così, however, both bear the subtitle dramma giocoso. Their darker tone and stories detach them from the sunnier, neatly comedic Figaro. Originally, the term dramma giocoso was not intended for opera, but for a comic libretto of Neapolitan origin, following Carlo Goldoni’s model. Mozart makes something quite other of it, as if matching musically the ambivalent expression ‘comic drama’ with a style of his own, a combination of seria and buffa that makes the most sophisticated writing sound easy as a breeze. Other drammi giocosi do not have the richness of Mozart’s music, whereas his youthful comic operas present already the stylistic mixture that make them so interesting and idiosyncratic, even without the subtitle dramma giocoso. The same misunderstanding that was described earlier with the term ‘Classic’ could be at work here. It originates in an understating tone that is part of the style of Haydn, Mozart and (to a certain extent) Beethoven, and it will be inherited by some who understood the joke, such as Fryderyk Chopin with his Preludes op. 28 (1839)31.

8.3.2

German Melodrama

The Melodrama, combining instrumental music and poetic declamation instead of singing, is a new genre that can be seen as a German response to two prestigious Latin genres in the eighteenth century: Italian opera seria and classic French tragedy32. As in both styles, the predominant theme is mythological and antique, often with tragic outcome. In its chamber version, German melodrama can also be understood as a domestic variant of Gluck’s reformed operas, although most of them were presented in public theatres. Oftentimes they were conceived explicitly as monodramas or duodramas: for one or two actors. Indeed, the intimate setting is About musical ‘subjectivity’ and a ‘Musical Persona’, see GRIMALT 2018b, 2018c. About ‘pathetic’ style, see earlier Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3. On music-rhetorical figures such as saltus duriusculus, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4. On the madrigalism of pianto, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.1. 31 Anatole LEIKIN (2015) has shown how much construction and aesthetic ambition lies under the conventional title of the set, considering the insignificance of what was expected of a collection of Preludes in those days. 32 BRISSON 2002 (2000): 33–42. 30

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a typical modern feature, away from baroque, aristocratic monumentality. The melodrama’s intention is egalitarian, communicative. It lives from the Enlightened conviction that general education in Classic culture would lead to a new and just, blissful society. Early Romantic German artists shared such ideas enthusiastically, and contributed texts and music to this new genre, from around 1775 on. Jiří Antonín Benda appears as the author of the first melodrama, Ariadne auf Naxos (1774–75), that featured only two actors and came to be staged successfully in all German theatres. It was modelled on a Pygmalion by Jean-Jacques Rousseau that had been presented in Lyon in 1770, in Weimar in 1772. Benda later composed Medea (1775), that delighted young Mozart in Mannheim in 1778, and later Beethoven in Vienna. Fruit of this fascination are melodramatic fragments in Mozart’s early opera Zaide (1780), as well as in Beethoven’s Fidelio (1805, 1814). Weber’s Freischütz (1821) has also a monologue in the famous Wolf’s Glen scene33. Christian G. Neefe, Beethoven’s main piano teacher, followed Benda’s steps with Sophonisbe (1780). To ensure the attention of non-lettered audiences, Neefe added a prologue to the work to explain its setting in ancient Rome. As all other Enlightened genres, the melodrama’s background is ethical and moral, as much as aesthetic. Allegedly following Greco-Latin Ancient models, these artists nurtured the ambition of reforming not only art, making it accessible to everybody, but also politics and society. Melodramas also aimed at giving music the dignified position they thought it had had, in a remote past. Music had in any case an essential role to play in this high-reaching programme, as the art of sound was attested with extraordinary powers to move people and to make them better. During the nineteenth century, melodramas faded progressively into incidental music, i.e. instrumental music designed to accompany theatrical performances. The difference is a looser, more autonomous relationship between text and music. Many other works written for the ballet, that often had a pantomimic, plot-related component, belong to this ambiguous field where the expressive power of music was being explored. This is the case of Beethoven’s The Creatures of Prometheus op. 43 (1801). Later, Franz Schubert composed a melodrama for a theatre work called Die Zauberharfe (‘The Magic Harp’, 1820), of which only the music is extant34.

8.4

Comic References

In Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2 the ‘Galant’ and the ‘Sensitive’ style were presented as instrumental derivations of Comic opera. This section intends to describe some of the typical comic theatre references in instrumental music.

33

See earlier in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.3, ex. 2-40. The Zauberharfe Overture had been confused for some time with that of Rosamunde (1823), to which Schubert composed incidental music: see MCKAY 1962.

34

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In most of Josef Haydn’s music, parody and humour are never far away. Its basic tone is that of comedy, including serious, tragic references in a parodic tone35. The finale of his Symphony n. 103 features a main theme in ‘horn motion’, forte, unaccompanied: see ex. 8-4. After a pause, the same motif is presented piano with a counterpoint – a reference to stile antico. However, the new melody has the playful, simple character and short range of a buffa tune. The incongruence between the three references –the ‘hunt’ blunt cliché, stile antico and buffa– must have been an index for contemporary listeners to the work’s ironic tone.

Ex. n. 8-4: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 103/IV, beginning36.

The theatrical character of Mozart’s instrumental music has been often assessed. In his concertos, sonatas and symphonies, themes sound like individual characters, framed in dramaturgic situations, genres and theatrical topoi. Irony may not be as preponderant as in Haydn’s musical language, but buffa is certainly setting the basic tone as well. See for instance the secondary theme in the finale of his Prague Symphony K. 504 (1786), ex. 8-5. These are the main markers of opera buffa references: • Dance rhythms, whether ‘low’ or (parody of) ‘high’; • Reference to ‘Song’, short-range melodies, including note and motif repetitions, singable for actors or non-professional singers; • Quick change between references, whether akin or incongruous; • Humorous tone, irony, parody on ‘serious’ topoi;

On musical irony and a ‘Humorous’ narrative archetype, see GRIMALT 2018d. Please search for Haydn: Symphony No.103 “Drum Roll” / J.Kuijken La Petite Bande. The Finale starts at 25:02. 35 36

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Musical ‘Laughter’38; Simple, folk-style harmony; Periodic or symmetrical phrasing; Basso buffo and Patter-song, other comedic archetypical characters; ‘Love Duet’; Imbroglio (see further); Pastoral and rustic, pseudo-folkloristic references.

Ex. n. 8-5: Mozart, Symphony K. 504/IV, mm. 66-8137.

8.4.1

‘Love Duet’

One of the commonplaces of opera buffa is the Love Duet. As a reference, the ‘Love Duet’ becomes omnipresent in Romantic music. Earlier in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4 some examples could show its kinship to the ‘Serenade’ and to the Amoroso and Pastoral semantic field: see ex. 6-24 to 6-29.

Please search for MOZART - Symphony 38 in D major KV.504 “Prague” (4/4) - Nikolaus Harnoncourt. The secondary theme starts at 1:06. 38 See GRIMALT 2014. 37

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In a Love Duet there are usually three stages. First, he tends to expose his desire or his love. Second, she takes over his melody, prefiguring the imminent union, although her words differ from his. Finally, as a symbol of their unity, one voice is set upon the other to become one melody, one text, one couple. An example of that archetypical sequence is the duet between Fiammetta and Boccaccio, in Franz von Suppé’s operetta Boccaccio (1879). Musically, the ‘waltz’ reference sets the playful, erotic tone. In Italian, the duet is known as Mia bella Fiorentina. In German, it goes Florenz hat schöne Frauen (‘Florence has beautiful women’)39. As in most clichés, it is hard to find any examples of the Love Duet topos without self-irony. In Johann A. Hasse’s Piramo e Tisbe (1768), subtitled Intermezzo tragico, the reunion of both protagonist lovers is represented. Piramo –a mezzosoprano– starts singing his joy, Pur ti riveggo al fine, al fin ti stringo al seno. (‘So I finally see you again, finally embrace you’). Tisbe replies, shortly thereafter: Come! In qual punto, o Dio! Ah– sei pur tu… ti vedo… e agli occhi miei non credo tanto contento ancor

What? How come, oh God! Oh – but it is you… I can see you… And I don’t believe my eyes for so much joy yet.

Right after that, to close the duo, they sing together in parallel thirds: Dunque son giunti in cielo al fine i voti miei. Non son più avversi i Dei a un innocente amor.

So they did reach heaven, finally, my promises. The Gods oppose no more to an innocent love.40

Similarly, the final number in Pergolesi’s La serva padrona (1733) features a duet in parallel thirds between Uberto and Serpina, under the energetic, closing reference of the ‘Gigue’. In Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5, Figaro was presented leaving aside his own ‘bourrée’ to take over Susanna’s ‘gavotte’ and sing in parallel with her, to finish their presentation duet: see ex. 7-35a, b. This initial ‘Love Duet’ is, as it were, reassuringly confirmed in the fourth finale, where the protagonists’ duo is brought briefly together again in form of a ‘Night Pastoral’, between the ‘Siciliana’ and the ‘Gigue’: see ex. 8-6.

39

For a version mixing up both languages search for A. ROTHENBERGER & H. PREY ‘FLORENZ HAT SCHÖNE FRAUEN”. For a version in Italian with A. Eschwé search for Simon Keenlyside & Angelika Kirchschlager; “Mia bella fiorentina”; Boccaccio; von Suppé. 40 For a live version (Salzburg 2010) with F. Biondi’s Europa galante, search for Johann Adolf Hasse - Piramo e Tisbe. The ‘Love Duet’ starts at 10:44.

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Ex. n. 8-6: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro, Finale IV: mm. 326-334.

Susanna and Almaviva star an ironic ‘Love Duet’ at the beginning of act III of the same opera. Spectators are amused to recognise the features of a Love Duet although only the Count believes in its promises. Susanna’s repressed ‘giggles’ are one of the signs that the whole thing is staged parodically: see ex. 8-7. In Là ci darem la mano, from Don Giovanni, K. 527 (1787), Zerlina gives a first sign that the implausible seduction is starting to operate when she takes up Giovanni’s melody to express her doubts. The words say ‘I don’t know what to do’; the music shows that the seducer who irrupted in her wedding has trampled again on most sacred conventions. Before they actually sing one over the other, the

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Ex. n. 8-7: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro III, Duettino no. 17 Crudel!: mm. 4-8.

orchestra adds to the reprise of the initial, bourrée-inflected motif an interesting nuance: the flute, maybe symbolising Zerlina, doubles Giovanni’s part; then the bassoon doubles Zerlina’s41. See ex. 8-8.

Ex. n. 8-8: Mozart, Don Giovanni: Là ci darem la mano, mm. 30-3342.

Johann Strauß’s Die Fledermaus (1874) features another scene of interrupted seduction: Trinke, Liebchen, trinke schnell (‘Drink, darling, drink fast’), where the ‘Love Duet’ topos is also seen from an ironic distance43. In the love duet from

41

I owe this observation to CONE 1974: 155f. For a version with N. Harnoncourt search for Thomas Hampson; “La ci darem la mano”; Don Giovanni; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mm. 30-33 can be heard at 1:27. 43 For a version with G. Janowitz and W. Kmentt (Vienna 1972) search for Die Fledermaus Trinke Liebchen, trinke schnell & Mein Herr was dächten Sie von mir. 42

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Zigeunerbaron (1885) instead, Wer uns getraut? (‘Who married us?’), irony remains in the choir’s hands in the background, and in the Ländler reference44. When the ‘Love Duet’ becomes a topos within instrumental music it appears in a varying degree of abstraction. In Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4, duets in equal voices were presented as belonging to the topos of ‘Open-air Serenade’. There is only a subtle, not always operative difference: in both topoi, two voices run parallel, and the semantic field is ‘Lyricism’. However, the two voices in the ‘Love Duet’ run on different ranges, mostly at octave distance, i.e. they can be personified into ‘female’ and ‘male’. In the ‘Open-air Serenade’, which has an instrumental genealogy, both ‘voices’ are equal and tend to proceed in parallel motion at third or sixth intervals. In Mozart’s Bassoon Concerto K. 191 (1774), both variants appear in coexistence. The second movement’s secondary theme presents two ‘duets’: between muted violins and bassoon –at a tenth– and in both oboes, doubled by violins in thirds. Muted violins in Mozart are usually related to Otherness, typically the ‘night’ and an Amoroso semantic field45. All points to a nocturnal ‘Open-air Serenade’. The ‘contredanse’ reference Andante ma adagio in the accompaniment reinforces the sense of a serene, erotic frolicking: see ex. 8-9.

Ex. n. 8-9: Mozart, Bassoon Concerto K. 191/II: mm. 13-1446.

Please search for Fritz Wunderlich; “Wer uns getraut”; Der Zigeunerbaron; Johann Strauss II. FLOROS 2000: 172ff, 182. About the ‘Serenade’ topos, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4. About the ‘contredanse’, Chap. 7, Sect. 7.5. 46 For a live version (Berlin 2014) search for W.A Mozart: Concerto for Bassoon in B flat major, KV. 191 / Eckart Hübner. The 2nd movement starts at 6:53, its secondary theme at 7:52. 44 45

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In contrast, the Andante cantabile of the Jupiter Symphony K. 551 (1788) displays some peculiar variations on the ‘Love Duet’ topos. It is also set in pastoral F major. Muted strings, singable melodies with coloraturas and opera-like ornaments point here as well to a ‘night’ reference, implying ‘intimacy’ and ‘tenderness’. The difference lies in the treatment of both ‘voices’. First it is the one with a ‘feminine’ range –muted violins– who takes the initiative (2+2 measures): see ex. 8-10a.

Ex. n. 8-10a: Mozart, Symphony K. 551/II: beginning47.

Both antecedent and consequent of the initial period (mm. 1-4) receive as a response a sharply contrasting Exclamatio from the orchestra, forte tutti, followed by a rhetorical, dramatic pause48. Then, before any deep ‘voice’ could respond, stage three of the ‘Love Duet’ appears in mm. 5-6 between first and second muted violins in octaves. Two measures later, mm. 9-11, another ‘duet’ in octaves between flute and bassoon leads to a belated stage two, namely the response of the ‘male’ counterpart, represented by violas, celli and double basses with their version of the initial period: see ex. 8-10b.

Ex. n. 8-10b: Mozart, Symphony K. 551/II: 11-14.

Please search for Mozart: Symphony No.41 K.551 “Jupiter” / Harnoncourt Chamber Orchestra of Europe (1991 Movie Live). The 2nd movement starts at 13:35. 48 About the rhetorical figure of Exclamatio, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4. On ‘Sarabande’, Chap. 7, Sect. 7.4. 47

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What used to be a dramatic pause in the treble version of the main theme is now filled up with coloraturas at octave distance, in yet a playful allusion to the topos. Mozart seems to invert ironically the second and third archetypical stages of the ‘Love Duet’ sequence. The ‘Sarabande’ reference and the muted violins add a nuance of archaic remoteness and Otherness, as in remembrance. After the half-cadence in m. 18, in sharp contrast, an unstable, syncopated, stormy section in ‘Pathetic’ style, full of ‘sighing’, ‘pianti’ and dissonances, serves as a transition to the second key area. The Reprise in m. 60 brings yet another playful turn of the screw with the ‘Love Duet’ reference. The coloraturas are now set first on celli-bassi, in what sounds like a buffo patter effect49. Then violins seem to respond to the deep voice with a similar pattern. These coloraturas appear in octaves as well, here and in the conclusive version of the main theme with an extended cadence, mm. 92ff. In Beethoven’s piano Sonata op. 2 n. 1 (1785/95), the second movement presents a ‘Love Duet’ texture from the start: see ex. 8-11.

Ex. n. 8-11: Beethoven, Sonata op. 2 n. 1/II: beginning50.

The ornamentation reveals a ‘vocal’ lyrical genre. Later on, a treble and a ‘tenor’ voice are often displayed in parallel motion, as in the main theme of the piece, but there is no trace of a ‘Love Duet’ sequence as in example n. 8-10. Here, the expressive meaning of the ‘Love Duet’ topos takes a further degree towards abstraction and detaches itself progressively from its theatrical origin. In the nineteenth century, its correlate is no more a couple of lovers, but only the expressive flair, the harmony derived from a represented ‘love bliss’. In a similar way, the expressive value of the theme and most variations in Beethoven’s piano Sonata op. 26/I are based on the feeling of human concord and intimacy that go along with the ‘Love Duet’ topos: see ex. 8-12.

Mahler will use this in an overtly parodic tone in the first movement of his Fourth: see GRIMALT 2012. 50 Please search for Brendel plays Beethoven Piano Sonata No.1, Op.2 No.1 (1/2). The 2nd movement starts at 6:16. 49

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Ex. n. 8-12: Beethoven, Sonata op. 26/I: beginning.

In Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique (1830), the third movement, Scène aux champs (‘In the Meadows’) presents a duet between English horn and oboe, the latter off-scene, that reminds of the ‘Love Duet’ topos. The original programme says the following to this Adagio: One evening in the country, he [the artist] hears in the distance two shepherds dialoguing with their ranz des vaches; this pastoral duet, the effect of his surroundings, the gentle rustling of the trees in the wind, certain feelings of hope that he has recently conceived – all combine to bring an unfamiliar peace to his heart, and a more cheerful colour to his thoughts. He broods on his loneliness, and hopes that soon he will no longer be on his own… But suppose she deceives him!… This mixture of hope and fear, these ideas of happiness, disturbed by dark premonitions, form the subject of the adagio. At the end, one of the shepherds resumes his ranz des vaches; the other no longer answers. Distant sound of thunder… solitude… silence51.

The transposition of the scene into a Pastoral in the Swiss Alps points to ‘terrestrial bliss’. Far away from the actual landscape, shepherds and cattle, it seems to point to an abstract meaning52. Moreover, the representation has a purely mental correlate: the whole thing happens in the Persona’s mind. English horn and oboe had been saved in the work until here, which lends both instruments the expressive value of ‘characters’. Beyond the lyrical, the tone is rather spoken, as in a recitative; and also antiphonal, imitative. The listener would not think of a ‘Love Duet’, were it not for the background programme. However, the scenery and the instrumental duet brings to Berlioz’s “artist” “certain feelings of hope” in the realm of love. In m. 11 (at 1:11 in the suggested recording), violas add to the dialogue a tremolo pianississimo that would make impossible any realistic or descriptive interpretation of the Scène aux champs. Shortly thereafter, a change of mood removes the scene from the rural postcard. Though keeping the ‘Love Duet’ texture on violin and flute, the idée fixe instruments (mm. 33ff., at 3:29), and in the Pastoral key of F major, sighing and pianti grow increasingly frequent (mm. 51ff., at 5:07) and culminate first in m. 87 fortissimo tutti, in a tremolo typical of the Tempesta topos (at 7:50) and later, in m. 106 (at 9:12), in a diminished-seventh chord, a traditional

51

Eulenburg edition, London 1977, p. XVII. For a version with Sir C. Davis (Amsterdam 1974) search for Hector Berlioz - Symphonie fantastique (1830) - III. Scène aux champs (1/2). 52 On Pastoral in the 19th century, see Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3: The “New Siciliana”.

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dramaturgical sign for desperation and irresolution53. Within the Symphonie fantastique, this is a pivotal movement. Its predominantly pastoral character takes on the dramaturgical role of an oasis54. The ‘Love Duet’ topos is a fixture of many Chopin Nocturnes. The duet of two treble voices has been described in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.4 as a typical marker of the ‘Open-air Serenade’. Despite having nearly identical signifiers and signifieds, Chopin seems to distinguish the equal-voice, instrumental duet derived from the Serenade and the actual ‘Love Duet’ with two voices, one in ‘female’ and one in ‘male’ register. In his Nocturne op. 9 n. 1 in B-flat minor (1830/32), Chopin saves the ‘Love Duet’ reference in octaves for the central, idyllic section in the major mode: see ex. 8-13.

Ex. n. 8-13: Chopin, Nocturne op. 9 n. 1: mm. 19-22.

Interestingly, Chopin distinguishes three different textures for every moment of his musical ‘story’: operatic ‘Lute Serenade’ for both A sections; ‘Love Duet’ texture for the B section; ‘Open-air Serenade treble-voices duo’ for the retransition to the Reprise, mm. 51-69. Narratively, the central section seems to represent a ‘past episode’ being recalled. Both identical framing sections in minor, in this interpretation, function as the dysphoric ‘present’ from which a ‘Retrospect’ is projected55.

8.4.2

Imbroglio

Among buffa references, Imbroglio has been described by Elaine SISMAN as “so characteristic of Figaro’s overture: confusion, entanglement, a lot of running around56.” In other words, piano, speed, syncopations; and a certain facility to provide sharp contrast: “the mercurial shifting moods (arising from changes in dynamics, orchestration, mode), and the instrumental colour of rusticity, an inflection of pastoral57.”

53 On suspiratio and pianti, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2. On stile concitato and Tempesta, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2 and further here Sect. 8.5.4. 54 Note also the long-standing tradition connecting Pastoral and eroticism, as it was shown in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.2. 55 About the narrative archetype of the ‘Retrospect’, see GRIMALT 2013c, 2018b, 2018c. 56 SISMAN 2014: 90. 57 Ibidem.

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Imbroglio can be translated as “fraud, humbug, scam, swindle, cheat, hoax, tangle, trick, blooper, blunder or imposture”58. The prestigious dictionary Treccani defines it first as “a messy entanglement of cables, strings or chains”. In a figured sense, it also means “an unclear situation, a confusing, intricate affair”. It is also an “obstacle, a difficulty, especially if happening unexpectedly”. Next comes the sense of ‘intrigue’, very close to cheating. Finally, as if confirming SISMAN’s usage: “In music’s language, entanglement of melodic lines, vocal or instrumental, with diverse rhythms and often contrasting metrical accents (frequent above all in buffa opera)59.” SISMAN derives the term from two passages in Da Ponte’s Figaro libretto; we found a third instance of it. Just before the second finale, the Count learns that Cherubino has not left the palace, as he ordered him to do. This is his reaction: Come? Non è partito? Scellerati! Ecco i dubbi spiegati, ecco l’imbroglio,

What? Hasn’t he gone? Scoundrels! This is the reason for my doubts, this is the intrigue, Ecco il raggiro onde m’avverte il foglio. the plot the note warned me about.

At the beginning of the Second Act, in the recitative just after the Countess’s Cavatina, Figaro uses the term in verbal form to explain his imbroglio: così potrem più presto imbarazzarlo, confonderlo, imbrogliarlo, rovesciargli i progetti, empierlo di sospetti,

it makes it easier for us to perplex him, confuse him, ensnare him, upset his plans, make him suspicious,

The second sentence in the fourth act finale goes to the Countess disguised as Susanna. Seeing Cherubino getting closer in the evening twilight, she exclaims: Ah, se il Conte arriva adesso qualche imbroglio accaderà!

Oh, if the Count should arrive now What confusion there will be!

The signifieds of the Imbroglio topos in context match those given by the dictionary: ‘secret intrigue and muffled confusion’. The term is a fixture of Italian comedy and opera. Bartolo’s aria no. 8 A un dottor della mia sorte (‘To a doctor of my standing’) in Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia (1816) says amongst other things: Perché manca là quel foglio? Vo’ saper cotesto imbroglio. Sono inutili le smorfie; ferma là, non mi toccate! Figlia mia, non lo sperate ch’io mi lasci infinocchiar.

58

Why is that sheet of paper missing? I shall find out this intrigue. There’s no use in making faces; Stop right there! Do not touch me! Oh my child, do not expect that I let myself be fooled.60

Glosbe dictionary, consulted September 2019. Treccani Vocabolario online, accessed September 2019. 60 Please search for A un dottor de la mia sorte - Alfonso Antoniozzi (Il Barbiere di Siviglia-Rossini). 59

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Regarding the musical signifiers of Imbroglio, besides the Figaro overture, SISMAN mentions the Duettino no. 14 in the second act Aprite, presto aprite! (‘Open, quickly open!’), and the Finale of the Prague symphony K. 504 (1787)61. The Duettino text matches indeed the meanings ‘busy, fast, secret, hush’: SUSANNA Aprite, presto, aprite, aprite, è la Susanna; sortite, via sortite, andate via di qua.

Open, quickly, open, Open, it’s Susanna. Come out, now, come out, Come on out of there.

CHERUBINO (uscendo tutto confuso) Ohimè, che scena orribile! Che gran fatalità!

(entering, all confused) Oh dear, what a terrible scene! What a disaster!

SUSANNA Di qua… di là…

This way, that way

CHERUBINO Che gran fatalità!

What a disaster!

The main reference could be the ‘Toy Army’ that was described earlier in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3. The indication Allegro assai and a 4/4 metre are often ignored in current performances. In fact, a feeling of ‘speed’ is more easily achieved in ‘rather fast’ fourth notes than alla breve. A light spiccato on strings and real pianissimo throughout give this piece not only a sense of rush, but also of the vulnerability of the puzzled, all-shook-up characters bustling around. It also serves to project the topos of the musical ‘Laughter’ in m. 3, that contrasts pointedly with the ‘martial’ (parodic) reference: see ex. 8-1462.

Ex. n. 8-14: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro (II): Aprite, presto aprite!, beginning63.

61

SISMAN 2014: 90. On Musical ‘Laughter’ as a topos, see GRIMALT 2014b. 63 For a historical film version with K. Böhm, M. Freni and M. Ewing search for W.A. Mozart - Le nozze di Figaro (1976) - ‘Aprite, presto, aprite’. 62

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The finale of the Prague Symphony K. 504 (1787) uses a strikingly similar melodic design: a ‘cornet call’ upwards, then stepwise downwards in ironically incongruent stile legato (incorporating suspensions): see ex. 8-15. The main topical reference might be the ‘Toy Army’ as well64.

Ex. n. 8-15: Mozart, Symphony K. 504/IV: beginning.

The solid, typically periodical structure of buffa references make them especially apt for Epilogues (conclusive section in Expositions or elsewhere) within symphonic or sonata cycles65. Just as it happened with references to the ‘contredanse’ and to the ‘gigue’, comic topoi tend also to appear more frequently in Rondos, to close ‘Classic’ cyclic works. This conclusive quality of the Imbroglio topos is also at work in our last example, the Epilogue to the first movement of Mozart’s Haffner Symphony K. 385 (1782). The movement is dominated by references to opera seria, to stile antico and to the military, i.e. to the authoritarian, archaic world that is usually referred to as Ancien Régime. To close the Exposition of this initial Allegro con spirito, Mozart chooses a new ‘Ominous Unison’, one of the main topical references in the piece, combined with the bustling agitation of Imbroglio, as a sunny variant of Tempesta. The sheer disproportion of the progression, with seemingly endless sequels, is another sign of irony: see ex. 8-16.

For stile legato (gebundener Stil) see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. For military and hunting ‘calls’, Chap. 5, Sect. 5.2. For the ‘Toy Army’, Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3. 65 MIRKA 2014: 99. 64

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Ex. n. 8-16: Mozart, Symphony K. 385/I, mm. 74-80.

8.4.3

Patter-Song

One of the usual games with language of comic theatre and opera is the syllabic Patter-song, that provokes hilarity by the sheer speed of text performance. The term originates from Pater Noster, one of the main Christian prayers, that was often recited or mumbled mechanically and in a fast tempo, at least up to the Reform, without paying attention to the Latin words. Patter-song is one of the emblems of characters that are ridiculous precisely because they take themselves too seriously. See for instance Bartolo’s Vendetta aria in Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, ex. 8-17.

Ex. n. 8-17: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro (I): Aria La vendetta no. 4, mm. 40-45.

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The many nonsensical repetitions and the awkward collapse into which they debouch are signs of Bartolo’s inconsistence. Quite a similar situation in an instrumental context can be observed in the Finale to Josef Haydn’s Symphony no. 85 ‘La Reine’ (1785/86). Already the main theme, Presto, sounds like a combination of ‘contredanse’ and ‘patter-song’ references: see ex. 8-18a.

Ex. n. 8-18a: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 85/IV: beginning.

Just before the Reprise, the musical ‘Subject’ or Persona seems to get stuck in a formula on the dominant. The mechanical repetitions and the final collapse remind of similar gags in musical comedy: see ex. 8-18b.

Ex. n. 8-18b: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 85/IV: mm. 142-163.

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In Susanna’s and Figaro’s presentation duet a ‘Patter-song’ reference is also used to gently characterize the protagonists and the work’s generic frame66: see ex. 8-19.

Ex. n. 8-19: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro (I): Duettino no. 1, mm. 46-49.

Patter-song is also a fixture of Rossini’s style: see ex. 8-20, with a quick Deutsch ‘waltz’ as a background.

Ex. n. 8-20: Rossini, Il barbiere di Siviglia: Largo al factotum, mm. 111-11967.

66 67

ALLANBROOK 1983: 76. Please search for Largo al Factotum Thomas Hampson (Lyrics in Italian).

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8.5

329

Tragic References

Opera seria leaves plentiful traces in Viennese ‘Classic’ instrumental music. However, they appear usually in a parodic key, i.e. seen from a comedic point of view. As a paradigmatic representative of the Ancien Régime, tragic opera is a favourite target of Enlightened irony. That includes Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven and it distinguishes them from their contemporary fellow composers. Oftentimes, in the middle of a galant-style sonata or symphony, some diminished-seventh chords irrupt, with register shifts and sharp dynamic contrasts. They mark ‘opera seria’: see ex. 8-21.

Ex. n. 8-21: J. Haydn, Sonata n. 39, Hob.

XVI/24/I

(1773), mm. 131-13868.

In this keyboard sonata by J. Haydn, probably conceived for the harpsichord, with no dynamic indications, a sudden ‘pathetic-style’ sequence, with a diminished third in the bass and later in the treble part, is denied by (1) its toccata-like former texture, (2) its Galant cadence with ‘plucked-string’ accompaniment, both in major mode; and (3) the buffa theme that follows69. Such juxtaposition of incongruent elements is essential to Haydn’s expressive language. In the first movement of his Sonata n. 50 (1777/79?), Hob. XVI/37 in D major, dominated by a typically instrumental ‘brilliant’ style, the landscape darkens suddenly to debouch in some measures of Tempesta, on a Neapolitan sixth harmony and a collapsing rhetorical pause in m. 31: see ex. 8-22.

68

For a version with Z. Kocsis search for D-dúr szonáta No. 39. Hob. XVI: 24. I. Allegro. The passage on ex. 8-18 starts at 4:50. 69 About Galant and ‘Pathetic’ style, see Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.

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Ex. n. 8-22: J. Haydn, Sonata Hob.

XVI/37

/I, mm. 28-3470.

The whole ‘crisis’ is resolved too soon to be taken seriously, in the cadence closing the secondary section and, even more, in the Epilogue that follows to close the Exposition71. In mm. 30-31, marked with an ellipse in ex. 8-22, the expected chord to the cadence would have been B-minor in first inversion. In music-dramaturgic terms, the Neapolitan sixth with its flats signals the irruption of a disturbing unexpected event. The discourse is even interrupted in abruptio, as a sign of the subject’s discomfit72. Another frequent butt of Haydn’s irony is the diva’s coloraturas. This seems to be also the case in Beethoven’s Sonata op. 14 n. 2, precisely at the same spot as in the former example, the cadence to the Exposition’s Epilogue: see ex. 8-23.

Ex. n. 8-23: Beethoven, Sonata op. 14 n. 2/ I: mm. 39-4773.

70

For a version with Ch. Eschenbach search for Christoph Eschenbach: Haydn - Piano Sonata in D Major, Hob. XVI: 37. The passage starts at 0:44. 71 Tempesta is described a few pages later here. On ‘Humour’ as a narrative archetype, see GRIMALT 2018b. 72 About rhetorical figures to represent Discontinuities in discourse, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.4. 73 Please search for Brendel plays Beethoven Piano Sonata No.10, Op.14 No.2 (1/2). The cadence starts at 1:09.

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Within the movement, the thirty-second rhythm appears excessive and incongruent, as sign of its parodic intention. It lengthens the cadence out of proportion and revolves melodically around a short register, piano crescendo al forte. A descending scale follows, and a half-cadence sforzato in large values. A second attempted cadence, an octave lower, eventually attains the Epilogue74. In the first movement of Mozart’s luminous Piano Concerto in G major, K. 453 (1784), opera seria irrupts once more at the cadence to the Epilogue. Galant style and ‘plucked-strings’ lyricism were gracefully setting the tone until, at m. 49, the secondary theme was going to articulate. There, a deceptive cadence drags the music suddenly down to the ‘flat’ territory: see ex. 8-24.

Ex. n. 8-24: Mozart, Concerto in G major, K. 453/I, mm. 46-5675.

With the arrival of flats, the accompaniment rhythm doubles its speed, suggesting stile concitato, or ‘Tempesta’76. Alternating forte and piano measures, the legato melody yields to broken chords and to ‘martial’ dotted rhythms. To lead to the corresponding passage of the Reprise in m. 319, a nearly Beethovenian crescendo al piano subito is added77.

74

For the Epilogue continuing ex. 8-23, see earlier ex. 8-1, as an example of dialogue between two comedic topoi: the ‘Serenade’ and the ‘basso buffo’. 75 Please search for Mozart - Piano Concerto No. 17 in G major, K. 453 (Murray Perahia). The cadence starts at 1:19. 76 See Stile concitato, in Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2. For Tempesta, see further in this section. 77 At 9:07 of the suggested recording.

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An even more clearly parodic example can be found in the first movement of the B-flat Concerto K. 456 (1784). When the orchestral Exposition was finishing a modulating transition to a secondary theme, the Ombra topos is evoked in abruptio, to the listeners’ startlement: see ex. 8-25.

Ex. n. 8-25: Mozart, Concerto in B-flat K. 456/I, mm. 26-4078.

The main topical reference in the movement is the ‘Toy Army’. Now without warning or transition, in m. 28ff. the pulse stops for dissonant, chromatic flat notes to dominate the tonal discourse. The pianti are perceived as parodic because of its exaggerated rhythm, articulation, and because they are utterly incongruous, (1) to the antiphonal, ‘mock’ responses on woodwinds; (2) to the former discourse they interrupt and (3) to the buffa theme that follows (mm. 39ff). The soloist’s Exposition and the Reprise replay the sudden shift to Ombra, but the surprise is every time less trenchant79. As the nineteenth century progresses, ‘Classic’, Enlightened irony tends to disappear. The Finale of Franz Schubert’s Sonata D. 784 (1823) is built on references to tragic opera, resulting in a dysphoric expression throughout. The piece starts with the flickering restlessness of Tempesta: see ex. 8-26a.

78

Please search for Mozart: Piano Concerto No.18 K.456 - Bilson/Gardiner. The shady sforzati start at 0:48. 79 For the ‘Toy Army’ topos, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.3. For the madrigalism of pianto (‘weeping’), see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2. In the same chapter, Sect. 2.4.4 presents Discontinuities in discourse such as Abruptio. For Ombra, see a few pages later.

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Ex. n. 8-26a: Schubert, Sonata D. 784, Finale: beginning80.

There are no traces of Schubert’s famous ‘vocal’ style here: following the preceding Andante, one could imagine a Scherzo is being heard. The listener soon recognises the tone as tragic. The initial tenuto accents on irregular beats suggest the flow of a perpetuum mobile, without the foundation of a metre or a regular bass. Soon thereafter the chamber texture turns orchestral, the piano becomes fortissimo, and the Neapolitan turn and cadence break the triplet’s stream, in an extreme register for both hands: see ex. 8-26b.

Ex. n. 8-26b: Schubert, Sonata D. 784, Finale: mm. 22-25.

In blatant contrast, the secondary theme (m. 51ff.) presents a vocal reference with ‘plucked string’ accompaniment, in comforting F major, pianissimo, and a regular phrasing of 4+4, suggesting a ‘waltz’ reference. Summarising, the most frequent markers of a reference to opera seria are: • A tragic or utterly serious character; in ‘Classic’ repertoire normally in a parodic tone; • Sharp contrasts in dynamics, tempo and rhythm; • Dramatic, rhetorical interruptions of the discourse’s flow; • Orchestral texture, reference to accompagnato recitative; • Diminished chords and intervals, unexpected flats, pianti; • ‘Coloraturas’ or great tirate, accessible only to (represented) professional prime donne or castrati; • ‘Ominous Unison’ (see further); • Ombra, Tempesta (see further).

80

Please search for F. Schubert Piano Sonatas D 566, 784, 850, András Schiff. The Allegro vivace starts at 31:01.

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Instrumental ‘Recitative’

The early seventeenth century concept of recitar cantando, ‘Singing recitation’, or ‘acting while singing’, was designed to declaim neatly the dramaturgic text, in opposition to old polyphony, that those days was harshly criticised for not taking any (mortal) listeners into account. In baroque times, polyphony withdraws to the role of a prestigious, sacred or academic stile antico81. The syllabic, declamatory recitative is also opposed to a more lyrical singing that will evolve into the melismatic aria82. Recitative can be seen as a secular form of the sacred psalmody or chanting, i.e. the traditional way to recite psalms, derived from Judaic worship. In early opera, psalm-tones are used similarly as melodic centre, to project the voice and to aesthetically heighten the text. Both recitative and chanting faithfully obey the text’s prosody as a main musical requirement. Musically, recitatives are marked by syllabic declamation, with very few repeats if any, a generally static bass, a relatively free rhythm, and an expressive harmony according to the text’s affects, including sharp dissonance. The latter features relate the new form to the old madrigal83. All through the seventeenth century, the aria detaches itself from recitative to become a space of lyrical expression or contemplation. Musically, the aria tends to melismatic singing and to a ‘firm’ structure, derived from some ‘dance’ reference. It is the recitative, however, that carries dialogue and dramatic action. Baroque arias are oftentimes interchangeable, their main function is decorative and to showcase the star singers’ abilities. On the other hand, the composition of recitatives was regarded as an impersonal matter that could be left to some assistant. The division between aria and recitative shows a strong historical resonance. Only in the last third of the nineteenth century, in Wagner’s and Verdi’s maturity works, do they fuse into a so-called ‘through-composition’ (Durchkomposition), where caesuras are held to a minimum, in favour of a realistic narrative flow of action. The late Wagner’s and the late Verdi’s middle-way between secco, prosodic recitative and arioso lyricism all sound like a reedition of Vincenzo Galilei’s and his Florentine Camerata’s recitar cantando, who invented opera intending to revive ancient Greek theatrical practices. In all variants of the recitative, the imitation of a spontaneous, expressive discourse is constant. Johann Adolf Scheibe, in the mid-eighteenth century, called it Singende Rede84. A recitative is speech lifted to singing, but rather speech than singing. It does not unfold following any musical principles, but the intonation and prosody of spoken language that it is trying to mimic. The recitative usually 81

On stile antico, see Chap. 4, Sect. 4.3. See LEOPOLD 2002. 83 MONSON, BUDDEN, WESTRUP 2001. 84 “Abhandlung vom Rezitativ”, in Der Critische Musicus, Leipzig 2nd ed. 1745: 743, quoted by SEIDEL 2002: 340. 82

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presents a narrative of past events, or what the character is thinking aloud, just before indulging in a lyrical expansion –the aria– that breaks the dramatic flow in a timeless bubble. To grasp the expressive value of a ‘recitative’ topos in instrumental music, this temporal aspect is paramount85. The so-called recitative accompagnato, or obbligato, involves not only the basso continuo, but the whole orchestra. It was meant to underline “moments of intense dramatic crisis (disasters, irreconcilable decisions, general stress), mental confusion (particularly madness), magic scenes and other suitable moments”86. In mid-eighteenth century, Gluck’s reformed operas had all their recitatives accompanied by the orchestra, albeit in a more straightforward way. A reference to ‘Recitative’ in instrumental works can be heard already in the second movement, Andante, of the first of C.P.E. Bach’s “Prussian” Sonatas for harpsichord (1742). Twice, the explicit indication “Recit.” interrupts the flow of what sounds like the instrumental transposition of an operatic aria in ‘pathetic’ style: see ex. 8-27.

Ex. n. 8-27: C.P.E. Bach, “Prussian” Sonata n. 1/II, beginning87.

A fundamental performance-practical feature of the switching into recitative and back is the alternating ground metres. In ex. 8-27, if one does not take the ‘recitative’ reference about twice as fast as the preceding arioso, the effect would be lame and inexpressive. Interestingly, the virtual ‘text’ underlying the ‘recitative’ reference follows more strict metrical patterns than the initial ‘firm’ passage. If we assume melismata in both passages in mm. 4 and 5 –marked with (our own) dotted bows–, we have two octosyllable lines and a truncated last one of four syllables. This ‘recitative’ irrupting without an explicit text seems to explain the ‘pathetic’ style in the Andante before and after it. It contains dissonance, saltus duriusculus 85 86 87

See ‘Pastoral March’, Chap. 6, Sect. 6.3, and GRIMALT 2018b, 2018c. MONSON, BUDDEN, WESTRUP 2001. You can search CPE Bach - Bob van Asperen - Prussian Sonata 1. The Andante starts at 4:30.

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(m. 4), and an enharmonic reinterpretation of G-sharp into A-flat that introduces a resigned, downcast cadence88. The slow movement of Haydn’s Quartet op. 17 no. 5 (1771) starts as an ‘aria’ in pathetic style. In m. 11, however, an ‘Ominous Unison’ cuts through a diminished seventh interval and lands on a sixth chord as if signalling an accompagnato recitative. And indeed, a gloomy ‘recitative’ on the first violin interrupts the ‘aria’ with some lamenting formulas, interspersed with ‘orchestral’ archetypical responses: see ex. 8-28.

Ex. n. 8-28: J. Haydn, Quartet op. 17 no. 5/III: mm. 11-26.

The score indicates explicitly “Recit.” as flats ‘darken’ the scene increasingly from the initial G minor, first to C minor, then to B-flat minor. Interestingly, counting the syllables –excluding melismata that would be marked through bowing– results in metrically regular virtual ‘lines’, as if setting some settenari (heptasyllabic verses) in music. Here again, the recitative tempo is meant to be about twice as fast as the accompanying Adagio. Another example of a ‘recitative’ in an instrumental context, switching in and out of a lyrical reference, is found in the slow movement of Josef Haydn’s early Symphony Le Midi (‘Noon’, 1761). In ex. 8-29, the need to take the ‘recitative’ about twice as fast seems quite obvious, though not always observed by performers of symphonic repertoire with no theatrical background.

For saltus duriusculus, see the ‘Weeping’ madrigalism in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2. See also ‘Pathetic style’ in Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2.3. 88

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Ex. n. 8-29: J. Haydn, Symphony n. 7 Le Midi/II: mm. 5-8.

Beethoven’s piano Sonata op. 31 n. 2 (1801/02) seems to use the ‘Recitative’ topos to represent a musical Persona suddenly leaving aside his script in favour of spontaneous, direct utterance. The work starts boldly with an ascendant broken chord that, in an operatic scene, would lead to a recitative: see ex. 8-30a.

Ex. n. 8-30a: Beethoven, Sonata op. 31 n. 2/I, beginning.

At public performances in Beethoven’s time, instrumental and vocal pieces would alternate with improvisations. For listeners unaware of this, the lack of a downright recitative after the sixth chord must have been a shock. Instead of the recitative, some unstable music, deprived of melodic material, stops Adagio at m. 5 on an Interrogatio89. For those expecting a Sonata, the beginning of op. 31 n. 2 was surely also puzzling. A new ascending arpeggio leads through a passage of increasing dramatic intensity to the transition, m. 20ff. There, a first melodic bit revolves around a ‘pathetic’ diminished third B flat-A-G#, albeit only as a reaction to a dysphoric, agitato accompaniment. A ‘voice’, whether real or represented, is still missing, and with it a Logos, a text, some ‘logic’. However, in the inhuman situation being represented, the transition sounds like a theme, as much as the ‘main subject’ sounded like a Gang or passage work90. The Development starts Largo again. The broken chord without the singer reappears and stops at a new fermata on m. 94. It could have brought the musical discourse to G minor. Immediately, two further ascending arpeggios follow, as if searching: first, towards E minor; then to B minor. To no avail – the singer does not On the rhetorical musical figure of Interrogatio, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4. On the opposition Satz / Gang, attributed to A.B. Marx and parallel to the dichotomy Aria / Recitative, see MONELLE 2000: 100–110. 89 90

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appear here either. The following Allegro starts instead in F-sharp minor. It is based on the transitional motif with a strong thematic profile, now leading through some chromatic progressions back to the dominant of the main key in m. 121ff. Early-nineteenth-century listeners receive now what they had been long expecting: after a new version of the upwards arpeggio, right before the Reprise, a ‘singer’ is represented on the piano treble: see it marked by two ellipses in ex. 8-30b.

Ex. n. 8-30b: Beethoven, Sonata op. 31 n. 2/I: mm. 137-158.

In a reference to Ombra and to the ‘Ominous Unison’, introduced by a ‘hymnic’ series of low-pitch, grave long notes (mm. 133ff.), including augmented seconds, diminished thirds and a large, sinister ‘katabasis’, the ultimate invitation to ‘recitative’ is answered to in mm. 144ff., con espressione e semplice. As in the former example, there seems to be a metrical pattern underneath this ‘spontaneous’ utterance: an Italian endecasillabo a minore (4+7 syllables, with a caesura in between), or an iambic pentameter, if in German. In both cases, the first hemistich appears emphatically repeated: see ex. 8-30c.

Ex. n. 8-30c: A ‘hendecasyllable’ pattern in Beethoven’s Sonata op. 31 n. 2/I: mm. 144-148.

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The hendecasyllable (endecasillabo) is the main metre in Italian poetry, comparable to the French alexandrine. It connotes lofty subjects. Dante uses it in his Commedia, and Petrarca in his Canzoniere. It was also the most frequent verse in opere serie of the eighteenth century91. One of many lines that would match Beethoven’s pattern is this, that closes Petrarca’s Canzone n. XIII: Non fia ch’almen non giunga al mio dolore Alcun soccorso di tardi sospiri92.

The second arpeggio upwards in mm. 153f. corresponds literally to the one in the Exposition mm. 7-8. Here (m. 155, see ex. 8-30b), a second ‘recitative’ con espressione e semplice interrupts the Sonata with two pathetic ‘Exclamationes’, one in the treble and another one in the low register, followed by a virtual ‘octosyllable’ that would lead the music to F minor. This is only a departing point for a new chromatic rise to the dominant A. The whole Sonata is possessed by unremitting restlessness, except for the central movement Adagio, and for these virtual ‘recitatives’. They seem to explain, as would be the case on an actual theatrical stage, the reasons for the ‘crisis’ represented. To be sure, the whole point of the ‘recitative’ reference in a piano Sonata is the absence of a text or a real singer. However, since the listeners are familiar with both, the situation represented–or rather its expression–can be conveyed in this more abstract, topical way. Late nineteenth and twentieth centuries depreciate Recitative in favour of lyricism and of the closed-up work. Leonard RATNER does not mention it, whether as a style, or as a type. However, he attributes some of its features to the ‘Fantasy style’: “disembodied melodic features” and “a sense of improvisation and loose structural links between figures and phrases.”93 Janice DICKENSHEETS instead does describe the instrumental reference to ‘Recitative’ as a Declamatory Style, i.e. “the Recitative Style translated to instrumental music and intended to evoke declamation or recitation”94. She also provides two splendid examples, the Coda of Chopin’s Nocturne op. 32 no. 1 (1837) and the last of Schumann’s Kinderscenen op. 15 (1838), ‘The Poet Speaks’ (Der Dichter spricht). Right after an Interrogatio on a diminished-seventh chord in mm. 11-12, a virtual ‘Recitative’ seems to widen and to ‘explain’ the preceding ‘question’ in a neighbour diminished-seventh chord and with a vocal formula containing an ascending sixth: see ex. 8-31.

Enciclopedia Treccani.it: ‘Endecasillabo’, consulted October 2019. It does not mean no food would nourish my grief: I might draw some from slow sighs. Transl. by A.S. Kline, accessed October 2019 at www.lieder-net. Used by permission. 93 RATNER 1980: 24. 94 DICKENSHEETS 2012: 113f. 91 92

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Ex. n. 8-31: Schumann, Kinderscenen n. 13, mm. 11-1395.

Schumann’s ‘Kinderscenen’ reconstruct memories of childhood from a mature, melancholic present. In the last one, “the Poet speaks” or, rather, asks – using references to the ‘Hymn’, the ‘Recitative’ and the rhetorical figure of Interrogatio. The tonic is not reached until the very last chord, on the ‘accompaniment’ only, not on a ‘singing’ tone, as if giving up the attempted composition. The Protestant tradition has to this day singing hymns at home as one of its common practices. To be sure, here as in Beethoven’s late work, the ‘Hymn’ is used to convey transcendental issues, with a loose relationship to its original liturgical meaning. This intimate, secular ‘Hymn’ is represented trying to reach a four-line ‘stanza’. The first two ‘lines’ correspond to the bowing, mm. 1-4 and 5-8. They could have been a suitable antecedent to a period. Counting the syllables results in two octosyllables (in French), two trochaic tetrameters in German. Italian does not seem to be a suitable reference here, but in many other Romance languagesthe octosyllable is the most usual metre. However, the second line is interrupted by a Suspiratio in m. 7 that leads to a cadence on the second degree, A minor. Next, in m. 9, two attempts to regain the ‘words’ –and complete the period with a consequent– collapse in two fermatas, each on an Interrogatio, mm. 10 and 12. It is this failing to ‘remember’ the metrically regular ‘words’ that triggers a ‘spontaneous recitative’. Its being out of the initial musical metre is shown by the disappearing of bar lines and a smaller typography, as for a cue or an ossia. Paradoxically, its spontaneous character is counterposed to a three-voice texture including imitation, a procedure as distant as possible to unpremeditated utterances. Moreover, the passage contains no bass line, as if suggesting a lofty, spiritual manifestation96. Richard Strauss uses the switching between ‘Recitative’ and ‘Lyrical Singing’ references in a particular manner. Earlier in Chap. 6, Sect. 6.1, ‘Song References’, his song Morgen! was presented as an instance of ‘Inner Singing’ on the piano part, whereas the actual singer was mostly commenting in a loose ‘recitative’ style: see

95

To hear Alfred Cortot interpreting the Interrogatio as Interroger l’avenir (‘Question the future’) search for Alfred Cortot masterclass - Der Dichter Spricht. With subs. 96 More about the topos of ‘Bass-less music’ in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4, Anabasis, Katabasis.

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ex. n. 6.3. A similar thing happens in the young master’s Allerseelen (‘All Souls’ Day’) op. 10 n. 8 (1885). The song’s introduction (mm. 1-8) presents an instrumental version of two decasyllables that could have started a virtual previous stanza to Hermann von Gilm’s poem. In fact, they anticipate the music of the third stanza in mm. 27ff., where actual singing and textless ‘singing’ meet and match for the first time. Initially however, as in Morgen!, the piano’s virtual melody is counterposed to a recitative-like comment of the singer, asking his or her lover to Place on the table the fragrant mignonettes: see ex. 8-32a.

Ex. n. 8-32a: R. Strauss, Allerseelen op. 10 no.8: mm. 5-9.

The three stanzas present a peculiar metric pattern. Whereas lines 1–3 are decasyllables (6+4), the fourth line appears shortened to a tail of four syllables only. This tail is the same for all three stanzas: Wie einst im Mai – in A. Jefferson’s version, alas in a different metre, ‘As once we did in May’. Here is the first stanza: Stell’ auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden, Die letzten roten Astern trag’ herbei, Und laß uns wieder von der Liebe reden, Wie einst im Mai.

Place on the table the fragrant mignonettes, Bring in the last red asters, and let us talk of love again, as once we did in May.97

Interestingly, Strauss completes the decasyllable with some textless ‘singing’ on the piano. It corresponds precisely to the six syllables that had been sawn off in the fourth line of every stanza. See the end of the first stanza in ex. n. 8-32b.

97

Alan Jefferson’s version.

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Ex. n. 8-32b: R. Strauss, Allerseelen op. 10 no. 8: mm. 14-17.

It is as if the memories evoked in this truncated line could find no proper words, but only some ‘inner singing’, represented by the piano completing the melodic phrase. The representation of memories matches also the ‘deep dark’ key of D-flat, traditionally related with imagination and recalling. The other way around, the tonic E-flat turns to luminous G major in the first stanza, mm. 12f, just when the text says ‘let us talk of love again’98. One last example. Der Abschied, ‘Farewell’, the last movement of Gustav Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde (1908), contains two recitatives. Even if there is no other explicit sign of a recitative, the writing shows Mahler’s familiarity with opera traditions. After an instrumental, ominous introduction –the initial tempo marking is Schwer (‘Heavy, grave’)–, the alto voice starts to declaim the first three lines in mm. 19ff: Die Sonne scheidet hinter dem Gebirge. In alle Täler steigt der Abend nieder Mit seinen Schatten, die voll Kühlung sind.

The sun departs behind the mountains. In all the valleys the evening descends With its shadow, full cooling.

Instead of explicitly saying “Recitative”, Mahler changes the tempo to Fließend im Takt (‘Swiftly on the beat’) and adds for the voice the indication In erzählendem Ton, ohne Ausdruck (‘In a narrating tone, without expression’), counting on the interpreters’ awareness about the recitative reference to take the tempo noticeably more ‘swiftly’: see ex. 8-33.

98

About the traditional meaning of flats and sharps, see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.3.2.

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Ex. n. 8-33: Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde/VI: mm. 18-26.

If one follows this inveterate practice, the flute part can breathe normally, both here and in the second ‘recitative’ mm. 158ff. Summarising, the markers of a reference to ‘Recitative’ are: • A vocal melody of short range and a declaiming character; • A free pulse, without regular metrical patterns; • Accompaniment in simple basso continuo or imitating the responses of an orchestra, as if in an accompagnato; • Repetitions and interruptions, marking a spontaneous character, as if improvising; • Frequent rhetorical figures such as Interrogatio or Exclamatio.

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‘Ominous Unison’

Opera seria has a simple yet efficient way to underline a passage as dramaturgically crucial: an orchestral accompaniment in unison. Different authors have remarked this as a topos, under different names. Already C.P.E. BACH had described Unison as a “striking” device for an effect of “splendour and majesty”99. Elaine SISMAN calls it Stentorian Unison and invokes Janet M. LEVY, who seems to have been the first one to describe the topos100. Both underscore its syntactic value, to delimit especially relevant moments. LEVY attributes its “aura of authoritative control” to its unnatural character: unison “must, in some sense, be organized, preordained – imposed101.” SISMAN relates the ‘Stentorian Unison’ to a ‘Grand Style’, to minor-mode variations and to dysphoric or archaic topoi such as ‘sensitive’ style or stile antico: An imposing orchestral unison, on the other hand, may operate as a coup d’archet opening that instantly announces the grand style, or as an interruption that might delimit a passage of solo instruments, or as a return to grandeur in a closing gesture: all of these may suggest what Janet M. Levy refers to as the “single most pervasive quality of a unison passage: its aura of authoritative control”. That controlling “unison topic” may intersect fruitfully with other topics, like the tempesta (as at the beginning of Gluck’s Dance of the Furies)102.

The example from act II of Orfeo ed Euridice (1762) was already provided by LEVY, who signals the Furies singing in unison only while they resist Orpheus’s pleadings. As they finally yield to him and his song, “the unison texture of the first strophe is supplanted by a harmonized one. Harmony is humanizing103.” LEVY underscores the orchestral unison insightfully as a sign of power: “authority, control”, “tyrannical routing of our listening”; and relates it to the inhuman and the supernatural. She provides many other examples, so as Iago’s Credo in Verdi’s Otello (1887), where she detects “the association of unison with ominous implacability and malevolence104”. The topic’s potential violence, that inhuman quality that led us to call it ‘Ominous Unison’, is unveiled also by Marina RITZAREV, referring to some passages by Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich: there is something violent in this whole section [Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony/III] that makes some people perceive its threatening essence. The unusual severity of the unavoidable metallic knocks chanted by a multi-octave tutti with accelerated frequency that immediately precede these eight bars [221–228] makes one imagine a dictator’s minions

C.P.E. BACH (1753) Versuch über die wahre Art… I, Chap. 21, 172f. Levy does not call it a topos, but a sign. Cf. LEVY 1982: Texture as a Sign. 101 LEVY 1982: 507. My emphasis. 102 SISMAN 2014: 107f. My emphasis. 103 LEVY 1982: 508. 104 Ibidem: 508. 99

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dispersing the crowd with whips and forcing his subjects to prostrate themselves. Shostakovich comes again to mind, with a similar multi-octave unison of strings and woodwinds on approaching the climax in his tragic symphonies. These soundless screams of outraged and despoiled victims are another face of the ‘rhetoric of violence’105.

Last not least, Clive MCCLELLAND locates the orchestral Unison as one of the markers of the Ombra topos, which matches the idea of a scary, supernatural thread: There is no single texture which can be said to be typical of the ombra style, but there are certain textures which appear more frequently than others. Passages in unison or octaves are quite common in order to make an emphatic gesture, and they often provide a contrast to a more complex texture106.

As examples, he adduces one from the first and one from the third act of Gluck’s Alceste (1767). MCCLELLAND adds: “Choruses of Furies or demons are usually sung either in unison or homophonically”107. The common denominator in all these descriptions is the latent threat of violence coming from some dehumanised authority, whether from this world or from another. In our interpretation, the ‘Ominous’ is the main expressive meaning of this musical sign. Generally, in opera seria the orchestral unison corresponds to grandiloquent oaths or maledictions that would highlight a dramaturgically crucial passage. In Johann A. Hasse’s Piramo e Tisbe (1768), of which we already saw the ‘Love Duet’, an ‘Ominous Unison’ marks the moment of peripeteia, i.e. an action that unleashes the tragic outcome. Tisbe’s father forbids her loving Piramo, with these words: Perfida figlia! Or sappi, e questo imprimi del genitore inesorabil cenno nel profondo del cuor, che il laccio indegno romper conviene, o figlia, e romperlo per sempre,

Treacherous daughter! Know now, and imprint this Relentless command of your father Into the depth of your heart, That the despicable tie needs to be broken, O daughter, and broken for good,

To match this inhuman, abusive command, the accompagnato recitative presents an ‘Ominous Unison’ and a chromatic upwards progression from D-sharp to B: see ex. 8-34.

105 106 107

RITZAREV 2014: 129. My emphasis. MCCLELLAND 2012a: 123f. Ibidem: 125.

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Ex. n. 8-34: Hasse, Piramo e Tisbe/I, the Father’s presentation.

Adding to the mentioned signs of latent violence, note the dotted, majestic rhythms and the forte/piano dynamics of someone trying to refrain from aggression. The piano appears in connection with tender words such as ‘heart’ or ‘daughter’, whereas forte coincides with those commands that will lead to tragedy. Whenever Mozart wants to mock a character who sees himself more powerful than he really is, he also uses the ‘Ominous Unison’ forte tutti. However, contrarily to the previous seria example, this is a parodic sign: a tragic element within a comic frame. In Le nozze di Figaro, Almaviva’s presentation aria, peculiarly delayed until the third act, reacts to the intrigues of his servants against him. Mozart’s music portrays him as a decadent aristocrat, with references to baroque tragic opera. In the last line of the second stanza, the Count grunts bitterly in useless pleonasm to an ‘Ominous Unison’ in the orchestra: Vedrò, mentr’io sospiro, Felice un servo mio! E un ben che in van desìo, Ei posseder dovrà? Vedrò per man d’amore

Must I see a serf of mine Made happy while I am left to sigh, And him possess a treasure Which I desire in vain? Must I see her [Susanna]

unita a un vile oggetto chi in me destò un affetto che per me poi non ha, che per me poi non ha.

United by love to a base slave [Figaro]? Her who [Susanna] has roused in me an affection She does not feel for me, She does not feel for me.

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The aria’s main reference is a haughty ‘March’. It starts with an ‘Ominous Unison’ cutting through four octaves, in a fast gesture downwards. The incongruously comic second measure in piano and the following dissonances mimicking a pompous, archaic stile legato establish a parodic tone from the very start. The trill on m. 3 could have been a sign of ‘fear and trembling’ in its original context. Here, the comedic context makes the jealous, actually dangerous Count only more ridiculous: see ex. 8-35a.

Ex. n. 8-35a: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro III: Aria Vedrò mentr’io sospiro, beginning1081.

The ‘Ominous Unison’ has a constant presence in the whole aria. In the third stanza, Almaviva, hurt in his pride, addresses his rival Figaro thus: Tu non nascesti, audace, per dare a me tormento, e forse ancor per ridere di mia infelicità.

You were not born, bold fellow, To cause me torment And indeed to laugh At my discomfiture.

The sudden forte tutti ‘blows’ to the Exclamatio “Audace!” curtail the rhythm in a startling way and bring about a dramatic pause of a half note, as if representing a ‘fright’109. Rhythm and dynamic round out the threatening sense of the orchestral Unison, in what sounds like a representation of short temper, or barely restraint anger: see ex. 8-35b.

For a version with R. Jacobs (Paris 2004) search for Le nozze di Figaro ; “Vedrò mentre io sospiro” : Pietro Spagnoli. 109 See also ALLANBROOK 1983: 140–145. 108

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Ex. n. 8-35b: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro III: Aria Vedrò mentr’io sospiro, mm. 52-57.

In a similar vein, a soul-wounded Ramiro sings a parodic Aria di vendetta in the third act of La finta giardiniera, K. 196 (1775): Va pure ad altri in braccio, ‘Go by all means to others’ arms’. Ramiro is the only seria character within a buffa opera, embodied by a soprano. In the preceding Recitative, he rages thus: Ah, che la rabbia m’impedisce il respiro. E sento nel mio petto, odio, sdegno, furor, ira e dispetto.

Ah, that anger prevents me from breathing. And I feel in my chest Hatred, disdain, fury, rage and spite

As a correlate to the words perfida donna ingrata, ‘treacherous, ungrateful woman’, the orchestra uses the same effect as with Almaviva: switching between piano and subito forte, as if the character would not dare to let out freely the murderous feelings welling up inside him. It turns out Ramiro is still in love with his perfida ingrata. Note also the agitato syncopation and the concitato strings as a sign of ‘wrath’: ex. 8-36110.

Ex. n. 8-36: Mozart, La finta giardiniera

110

III:

Aria Va pure ad altri in braccio: mm. 33-37111.

For stile concitato, see Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1. For a version with L. Nikiteanu and N. Harnoncourt (Zurich 2006) search for La finta giardiniera - Mozart - Ramiro - Va’ pure ad altri in braccio. 111

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Back to Le nozze di Figaro, Bartolo presents a third possibility in combining anger and comedy. In his fierce desire for vengeance, as an overtly comic role, Bartolo falls right in the footsteps of dottore Graziano from Commedia dell’arte. His presentation aria in the first act is entitled directly La vendetta. Unlike the Count Almaviva, low-born Bartolo is not suited to aristocratic fanfares and martial references, so his pomposity comes off as ridiculous right away. To his very first words, La vendetta, oh la vendetta!, the orchestra presents an ‘Ominous Unison’ with the aforementioned restraint forte/piano indicating the character’s self-consciousness. Interestingly, the cornet-like anapaestic double-tongue rhythm in m. 3 goes to violins, not to brass. This incongruent instrumentation seems a psychological depiction of Bartolo’s failed ambitions and adds to the parodic, excessive sense of this grand opening: see ex. 8-37.

Ex. n. 8-37: Mozart, Le nozze di Figaro I, La vendetta, beginning1121.

Note strings and woodwinds in m. 2 imitating the voice’s tremolo in piano, suggesting Bartolo’s innocent malice when imagining his vengeance on everyone in Almaviva’s castle. To deliver this ‘trembling’ implies using a light vocal technique, ready to whisper and flutter in subtlety, instead of the currently usual “big voice” trying to fill late romantic, outsized theatres.

112

For a version with C. Fellner and J.E. Gardiner (Paris 1993) search for Le nozze di Figaro Act 1.4 - La vendetta.

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Ombra, the Dark Side of the Opera.

In Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2, two versions of the ‘Sublime’ in instrumental contexts were discussed: ‘Pathetic Style’ and Sturm und Drang. These topoi correspond only partially to Ombra and Tempesta, the two theatrical references presented in this section. Both have been studied in an exemplary way by Clive MCCLELLAND113. Before it became a theatrical term, Ombra had, and has, two meanings, both in English and Italian: ‘shadow’ and ‘ghost’. The topos was not called so in the eighteenth century; it stems from Hermann Abert (1871–1927), who identified it as a common feature in accompanied recitatives of two of the most renowned opera seria composers, Niccolò Jommelli and Johann Adolf Hasse114. Besides the aforementioned closeness to what Edmund Burke (1757) calls ‘Sublime’ –i.e. the awesome, the terrible, the supernatural–, the musical topos of Ombra draws on features that have a lot in common with both the Sacred and the Martial semantic fields, which we located on the semantic axis of ‘Authority’115. In pre-modern times, both State and Church would recur to force to impose their rule. This explains the connotation of violence inherent to some of the topoi belonging to these spheres. It also explains their being contraposed to topoi implying ‘Freedom’ in the work of Enlightened composers such as Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven116. Mozart’s Don Giovanni, and in particular the last scene featuring the ‘stone guest’, is justly qualified by Clive MCCLELLAND as “the epitome of Ombra”117. Another paradigmatic example is found in the cemetery scene in Lucio Silla K. 135 (1772). Starting the Duo at the end of the first act, Giunia believes her beloved Cecilio dead: D’Eliso in sen m’attendi, Ombra dell’idol mio!

You wait for me in Elisium, Shadow of my idol!

The main reference of the piece is a serene ‘Minuet’ in A major, a luminous key. The long note on Eliso might be a symbol of ‘eternity’. Anticipating the moment Giunia says the word ombra, the orchestra leaves all harmony behind and focuses on three low fourth notes, forte subito, in a blatant ‘Ominous Unison’: see ex. 8-38.

113

MCCLELLAND 2012a: Ombra. MCCLELLAND 2017: Tempesta. For a quick review of both topoi, see MCCLELLAND 2014. 114 Abert, Niccolò Jommelli als Opernkomponist 1908: 120ff. Quoted by MCCLELLAND 2012a: 1. 115 See Chap. 3, Sect. 3.5, Semantic fields in a semiotic square. 116 On the dichotomy between Enlightened and Ancien-Régime references, see Chap. 1, Sect. 1.4 and GRIMALT 2018a, 2018d. 117 MCCLELLAND 2012a: 158ff.

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Ex. n. 8-38: Mozart, Lucio Silla/I, D’Eliso in sen m’attendi, beginnning.

Another paradigmatic example of an Ombra topical reference, this time in an instrumental context, is Mozart’s Fantasy in C minor K. 475 (1785): see ex. 8-39.

Ex. n. 8-39: Mozart, Fantasy K. 475: Beginning.

One of the ways to convey or provoke awe, whether on stage or in film, is vacuity. The absence of a voice is a recurrent feature of Ombra style that is often carried onto instrumental music. This does not have to involve proper Ombra references. In the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata op. 31 n. 2 (1802), it is the absence of a voice that makes the beginning so expressive. Only the modulating transition brings some melodic fragment: see earlier ex. 8-30a. A similar thing happens in his Coriolan Overture (1807). The start presents not only an ‘ominous

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unison’, i.e. absence of harmony, but also of melody and pulse, until some ‘shouts’ react to the clenched energy of the long-held C: see ex. 8-40.

Ex. n. 8-40: Beethoven, Coriolan Overture: beginning1181.

The expected ‘human presence’ represented by a melodic voice appears only in m. 52 on the secondary theme. In most of the Overture, however, Coriolan’s lacerating doubts are represented through the absence of thematic or harmonic stability, through interruptions, long silences and hyperbolic repetitions. Moreover, the lyrical secondary theme that might represent the pleas of Coriolan’s mother, albeit the only relief from the tension, presents another absence, that of a consequent section to close the theme with a whole period. Instead, it keeps repeating and sequencing the antecedent only119. Also, the conclusion to the piece offers a disintegration of the disquieted motif that had the function of ‘main theme’, in a pianto-inflected variant. These are the most salient features of the Ombra style, whether in opera or as a reference within an instrumental piece120: • • • • • • • • • •

Slow tempo, Flat and minor keys, Discontinuities and sharp contrasts in dynamics, harmony, rhythm and melody; Vacuity, absences (of a voice, of harmony, of a pulse); Intervals such as diminished thirds and sevenths, augmented fourths; Chromaticism, Pianti, tremolo, syncopation, dotted majestic rhythms; Stile antico, archaism; ‘Ominous Unison’, Low-register, ‘dark’ instrumentation and tessitura, especially trombones.

For a live version (Munich 1996) search for Beethoven “Coriolan” Overture, Op 62 - Carlos Kleiber. 119 At 1:49 of the recommended recording. For a historical context to the Coriolan Overture, see BRISSON 2002 (2000), esp. 173–190. 120 Adapted from MCCLELLAND 2012a: 225f. 118

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Tempesta: Fire and Warfare.

If one looks at the operatic topos of Tempesta from a historical perspective, it appears connected with agitato signifiers such as Monteverdi’s stile concitato, as well as to signifieds associated with ‘fire’ and ‘warfare’121. The common denominator seems to be the flickering of a natural, unpredictable violence. In opera seria, the subgenre of aria di vendetta is all based on this stormy ‘Fire’ topos, where human beings’ animal aggressivity is musically depicted with signs genealogically related to natural catastrophes, such as fire, storms, floods and earthquakes. At the other end of the spectrum, erotic idyll and lyricism appear as the opposite semantic field, just as a ‘March’ and a ‘Siciliana’ reference oppose each other. Connecting warfare and natural threats is one of many ideas –or metaphors– that art music might have taken from literature. In the Ist century AD, Quintilian already related natural threats with the irresistible force of the genus grande or sublime style in oratory: But he whose eloquence is like some great torrent that rolls down rocks and “disdains a bridge” and carves out its own banks for itself, will sweep the judge from his feet, struggle as he may, and force him to go whither he bears him122.

And, shortly thereafter, It is this force and impetuosity that Eupolis admires in Pericles, this that Aristophanes compares to the thunderbolt, this that is the power of true eloquence123.

Quintilian equating sublimity or grandness of style with natural terror brings us to Edmund BURKE’s concept of ‘Sublime’ and to Sturm und Drang (‘Storm and urge’), the literary movement that precedes Romanticism in eighteenth-century Germany124. Storms have been traditionally part of theatrical performances, not only in musical theatre. They tend to take a psychological slant, for instance in Shakespeare. In King Lear, the protagonist’s inner torment finds in a horrid storm its correlate. Both in Othello and The Tempest, an initial shipwreck due to stormy weather prefigures a tragic outcome. Romantic poetry abounds in a metaphorical use of nature in general and of storms in particular to relate it to inner subjective states. Alphonse de Lamartine, in Canto IX of his Préludes (1823), associates war with the spirit of fire and with fiery coursers, to lean later towards Pastoral, as its contrary125.

About the historical origins of this topos, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.6 Circulatio and ‘Fire’. About stile concitato, Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2. 122 QUINTILIAN, Institutio oratoria, book XII, chapter X, 61. 123 Ibidem, 65. 124 See BURKE 1757, MONELLE 2008, SISMAN 1993: 13–20. The ‘Sublime’ in Classic music and Sturm und Drang is dealt with in Chap. 3, Sect. 3.2. The usual English translation is ‘Storm and Stress’. 125 LAMARTINE 1860: 405–419. 121

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In music, this predominantly rhythmical topos connects martial signifieds, a grand style, fire, stile concitato and storms, including its psychological, inner variant. Very soon, the initial hypotyposis (description) turns thus to pathopoiesis, the art of generating and representing emotions126. In her study about nineteenth-century topoi, Janice DICKENSHEETS sets the storm in a historically broader context as well, and relates it to its dramatic, descriptive origin. She further relates Tempesta to demonic forces in the Romantic version of the old topic: Tempest Style. Dating back at least to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, musical evocations of wind, rain, thunder, and lightening may be found in many Classic and Romantic compositions. By the early nineteenth century the Tempest style had also become linked with gestures suggesting the supernatural or demonic as well as the powers of nature. Prior to the storm scenes, low, rising chromatic scalar patterns reminiscent of the Demonic style interrupt sweetly melodic passages, suggesting distant thunder or the rising wind that precedes many storms127.

There are numerous examples of a ‘Storm and Fire’ topos in early madrigal: see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.2.4 for some examples. In the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, the stile concitato can be seen as the continuation of this theatrical topos –rappresentativo, would call it Monteverdi– to match musically all scenes where battles are involved128. In Iphigénie en Tauride (Paris 1779), Christoph Willibald Gluck starts the first scene with a sharp contrast between an initial minuet and a sea storm, instead of an overture. The ‘tempest’ might represent Iphigenia’s suffering, but also the squall that will drag his brother Orestes to the island of Tauris, which unleashes the tragedy. Gluck’s ‘storm’ presents the concitato rhythm described by Monteverdi, tremolos and agitato syncopations, sudden dynamic contrasts as well as tirate upwards and downwards suggesting lightning strikes, including the shrill timbre of the piccolo flute. The orchestra is added only progressively to an effect of general crescendo129. The ‘Fire’ topos is by no means exclusive of storms. In Haydn’s Terremoto (‘Earthquake’) that closes his Seven Last Words of Christ (1786) it can be seen enlarging its descriptive compass to other natural catastrophes130. The oscillating movement that was described in Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.6 as Circulatio is prominently displayed here to graphically describe the earth quivering.

126

See Chap. 2, Sect. 2.3, Classification of Rhetorical Figures. DICKENSHEETS 2003: 4. 128 See Chap. 5, Sect. 5.1.2, stile concitato for examples. 129 For a version with H. Haenchen (Geneva 2015) search for Gluck: Iphigénie en Tauride, Grand Théâtre de Genève, 2015. 130 For a version with J. Savall (2009) search for The Seven Last Words of Christ - Il Terremoto. Presto con tutta la forza. 127

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In Mozart’s Idomeneo K. 366 (1781), storms play a major role. To start with, a storm provokes the king’s promise to Neptune and herewith unchains the tragedy that can eventually be avoided. In act I no. 5, the choir sings: Pietà! Numi, pietà! Aiuto, oh giusti Numi! A noi volgete i lumi…

Mercy! Gods, mercy! Help, o fair gods! Turn your eyes towards us…131

Triadic figures in voices and instruments, dotted rhythms, brass and percussion all point to the ‘martial’, whereas some eighth-note figures on woodwinds in katabasis might represent the ‘wind’ and the imminent shipwreck132. Soon thereafter (at 19:04), the orchestra becomes concitata, forte tutti, full of repeated sixteenth notes, to the text of the second stanza: In braccio a cruda morte Ci spinge l’empia sorte,

To the arms of cruel death pushes us a ruthless fate,

A second storm in Idomeneo closes act II (at 1:06:51 of the recommended recording). It is inspired in the shipwreck starting the aforementioned Iphigénie en Tauride (1779) by Gluck. F minor sounds here as if the archetypical Pastoral key had been clouded. Finally, Elettra in n. 4 (Tutte nel cor vi sento, at 15:17) and Idomeneo in his aria n. 6, Vedrommi intorno l’ombra dolente (19:53), both in act I, can qualify as inner ‘storms’. Or as ‘vengeance arias’. In opera seria, an aria di vendetta is a constant ingredient: some outraged character swears vengeance. It displays the same concitato features that we have seen depicting ‘fire’ and warfare. In Lucio Silla K. 135 (1772) Mozart lets his main role sing: Il desìo di vendetta, e di morte Sì m’infiamma, e sì m’agita il petto, Che in quest’alma ogni debole affetto Disprezzato si cangia in furor.

131

The longing for vengeance and death flares me up and agitates my chest so much, that in this soul any feeble affect, being despised, turns to rage (ex. 8-41).

For a version with J. E. Gardiner search for W. A. Mozart - KV 366 - Idomeneo, re di Creta. No. 5 starts at 18:32. 132 For the rhetorical figure of Katabasis, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.1.

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Ex. n. 8-41: Mozart, Lucio Silla n. 5, Il desìo di vendetta1331.

Silla’s rage is manifested in the stormy concitato rhythms of the orchestra, rather than in his vocal line. Don Giovanni K. 527 (1787) presents also two (parodic) arie di vendetta, featuring Donna Elvira134. Especially in the second one, Mozart unveils Elvira living in the past with a neo-baroque downright rage aria that could have been signed by Handel. In a similarly ambiguous tone, between parodic and genuine, The Queen of the Night performs her celebrated aria in act II of The Magic Flute K. 620 (1791), to try and convince her own daughter to kill her father: Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!

The vengeance of hell boils in my heart, Death and despair flame about me!135

Once more, the orchestra recurs to sudden dynamic contrasts, lightning figures, agitato syncopation and concitato flickering. More overtly parodic is Bartolo’s vendetta aria in act I of Le nozze di Figaro (1786): see earlier ex. 8-17. Storms are a favourite scene in many operas136. Rossini includes one in Il barbiere di Siviglia (1816), probably following Giovanni Paisiello’s model, who did as much in his own version (1782) of Beaumarchais’s comedy. Rossini had the chance to practice in his Sonata n. 6 (1807?), with the explicit title La tempesta, prefiguring the opera by some years. All three of them mimic raindrops on

133

For a version with A. Fischer search for W. A. Mozart - KV 135 - Lucio Silla. Silla’s aria starts at 36:26. 134 For a version with N. Harnoncourt (Zurich 2001) search for Cecilia Bartoli performs “Ah, chi mi dice mai”. 135 For a version with D. Harding search for Patricia Petibon – Mozart: ‘Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen’ from Zauberflöte. 136 See an array of examples in GRIMALT 2013c.

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woodwinds and strings; tremolos evoke the wind, while fortissimo tutti blows and ‘shouts’ allude to thunder and lightning. A few years later, Carl Maria von Weber has two storms collude with each other to close act II of Der Freischütz (1821). In the famous ‘Wolf’s Glen’ scene, both seria traditions dealt with in this section come together: Ombra, Tempesta137. Needless to say, a fire is present, as well as ‘martial’ markers relating the whole with aggression and violence. Ex. 8-42 shows the oscillating sixteenth notes in first violins to illustrate a weather remark by Max.

Ex. n. 8-42: Weber, Der Freischütz: Wolf’s Glen scene, mm. 54-551381.

The passage culminates in a terror scene, including ghosts and both storms destroying trees and causing a blaze with flying sparks. Musically, there is a whole set of tremolandi, diminished sevenths, tirate, concitato waves on strings, crescendo al fortissimo tutti. In act I of Verdi’s Luisa Miller there is a fine instance of a late appearance of the old ‘Fire’ madrigalism. In the first scene recitative, Luisa’s father refers to his daughter’s being in love in these flamboyant terms: Figlia, ed amore, appena desto in te, sì vive fiamme già spande!

Daughter, and love, just awaken in you, expands already such lively flames!

As if anticipating his address, the strings start a descriptive tremolo concitato, pianissimo crescendo al forte: see ex. 8-43.

137

For a version with C. Kleiber and P. Schreier (1973) search for Weber - Der Freischutz: Wolf’s Glen Scene (Szene Furchtbare Wolfsschlucht). 138 At 4:08 of the aforementioned recording.

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Ex. n. 8-43: Verdi, Luisa Miller I, recitative Scene 1.

Manuel de Falla’s Danza ritual del fuego (‘Fire Ritual Dance’) in El amor brujo (1924) is another example of the continuity of the old figuralism of ‘Fire’ up to the twentieth century. The initial strings accompaniment preparing the oboe’s cue is a paradigmatic example139. Memorable opera storms can also be found in Wagner’s Der fliegende Holländer (1843, see ex. 8-44) or Die Walküre (1870), as well as in Verdi’s Otello (1887). Musically, the ‘Fire-Storm’ topos remains the same.

Ex. n. 8-44: Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer: Overture, mm. 113-1161401.

In this brief account on operatic storms, Benjamin Britten’s Peter Grimes (1945) deserves mention. To announce the story’s dreadful outcome in both a descriptive and symbolic manner, the composer offers a splendid review of all traditional meanings related to the ‘Tempesta’ topos. As happened with Rossini’s Storm, there is an instrumental version of this moment – the fourth and last of the Sea Interludes op. 33a that Britten conceived as a concert piece, already during the opera’s composition141.

You can search for Barenboim - “El amor brujo” (Danza ritual del fuego) Falla for a live version (Cologne, s.d.). 140 Please search for „Der fliegende Holländer“ (Wagner), Bayreuth, 1985 for H. Kupfer’s psychological interpretation of the Overture, pointing to an unsettling relationship between Senta and her mother. Ex. 8-44 sounds at 5:00’. 141 Please search for Benjamin Britten - Four Sea Interludes, Peter Grimes No4 Storm Best Sound for a thrilling scene from Roman Polanski’s film A Pure Formality, presented at Cannes in 1994, as a token of the visual qualities of Britten’s ‘stormy-fiery’ music. 139

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To be sure, these scenes all find their way into contemporary instrumental repertoire. This confers to this fiery music an abstract, agitated character very closely related to its origin on the stage. In the Development section in the first movement of Mozart’s Sonata for piano and violin K. 302, e.g., concitato sixteenth notes on the violin, as well as descending and ascending broken chords on a diminished seventh and in anapaests are displayed, all suggesting a represented ‘stormy battle’, or the promise of one: see ex. 8-45.

Ex. n. 8-45: Mozart, Sonata for piano and violin K. 302/I: mm. 85-921421.

Please search for Mozart - Violin Sonata No. 19, E flat Major K. 302 [Szeryng/Haebler]. The fiery, stormy passage starts at 3:30. 142

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In Beethoven’s music, the explicit “Thunder, Storm” between the Scherzo and the Finale in the 6th Symphony is a first, obvious example. Beyond a stile concitato on strings, one hears ‘water drops’ staccato, a great crescendo and diminuendo, undulating movements, maybe depicting the ‘wind’; sudden contrasts pianissimo / fortissimo; brass-like military ‘Calls’, as if conscious of the tradition connecting storm and battle; dissonant harmonies, especially diminished-seventh chords, as indexes of dramatic tension; ‘blows’ and ‘shouts’; and short ascending gestures, maybe representing ‘lightning’: see ex. 8-46.

Ex. n. 8-46: Beethoven, Symphony n. 6/iv: mm. 49-51.

Moreover, at least two of his Sonatas contain ‘Fire-Storm’ references. Op. 14 n. 2 (1799) starts in a galant, lyrical tone143. Secondary theme (mm. 26ff., at 0:43) and Epilogue to the Exposition (at 1:22) descend to the buffa terrain, parodying seria laments and coloraturas. The Development section, however (3:46), introduces the main theme in minor mode and stile antico polyphonic imitation – no doubt in ironic tone. An attempt to develop the secondary theme in B-flat collapses to a diminuendo al pianissimo. This is interrupted by a deceptive cadence forte subito to dive even more deeply into the flat territory: see ex. 8-47. 143

Please search for Brendel plays Beethoven Piano Sonata No.10, Op.14 No.2 (1/2).

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Ex. n. 8-47: Beethoven, Sonata op. 14 n. 2/I: mm. 81-861441.

Beyond sudden dynamic and harmonic change, the sixteenth-note triplets are also new to the movement so far. Together with the ‘waves’ on the bass, a theatrical Tempesta seems to be represented. When asked about the meanings of his Sonata op. 31 n. 2 (1802), Beethoven answered “Read Shakespeare’s Tempest!”. If it is difficult to relate the actual play with concrete passages in the sonata, but the agitated, continuous pulse of its Finale, relentless pursued until the very last note, points to the topos we are describing here. To be sure, actual fire or storm are far away from this abstract, irregular flickering, that might rather represent some inner, subjective movement. This psychological, inner ‘fire-storm’ seems to be the case as well in the second of Schubert’s Piano Pieces D. 946 (1828). The piece starts in pastoral E -flat in 6/8, including some ‘weeping’ and dissonance. In m. 32, however, ‘darkness’ and ‘violence’ irrupt without warning: see ex. 8-48.

Ex. n. 8-48: Schubert, Klavierstück D. 946 n. 2, mm. 32-391451.

In the minor relative, the irregular movement we are studying takes place in bass and melody, in a texture remindful of the ‘string quartet’. Some ‘crisis’ on diminished-seventh chords is reached after a series of unpredictable ‘blows’ (sforzati), in crescendo from pianissimo to forte (mm. 41-43). 144

At 4:15 of the recommended recording. Please search for A. Brendel - Schubert, Klavierstücke D. 946 No. 2 in E Flat. The inner Tempesta starts at 1:16. 145

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Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky wrote a symphonic poem called The Tempest op. 18 (1873), alluding to Shakespeare’s play. It follows an explicit programme through all major events in the plot, starting with the storm that brings Ferdinand and his company to the island. The music is very descriptive, including up-flaring ‘wind’ and ‘waves’, but it also contains many martial ‘calls’ that are a reminder of the genealogical ‘warfare’ connections of the topos146. In some nineteenth-century instrumental music, the indication con fuoco (‘fiery’) seems to point to this filiation as well. It is mostly passionate, martial music, with concitato elements. In Antonín Dvořák’s “New World” symphony op. 95 (1893), the Finale bears the heading Allegro con fuoco: see ex. 8-49.

Ex. n. 8-49: Dvořák, Symphony n. 9/iv, mm. 34-371471.

146

For a version with C. Abbado (Berlin 1999) search for Tchaikovsky: The Tempest, Op. 18, TH 44. Tchaikovsky has also an Overture to N. Ostrovski’s drama The Tempest, published posthumously as op. 76. It was his first accomplished youth work (1864). 147 For an exhilarating version with C. Abbado (2002), search for Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 “From the New World” / Abbado
Berliner Philharmoniker. Ex. 8-49 starts at 0:58.

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Robert SAMUELS has thoroughly documented the strong presence of a ‘Sterile laboriousness’ topos in nineteenth-century Western music148. It is arguably a variant of our ‘Fire-Storm’ topos. Theodor W. ADORNO calls it Das irr Geschäftige (‘confuse bustle’) and sees in such “labour” motifs one of the analogies to what Mahler aims to break through in his First Symphony149. He relates it also to a modern crisis of human activity: Mahler is a late link in the tradition of European Weltschmerz. The aimlessly circling, irresistible movements, the perpetual motion of his music, are always images of the world’s course. Empty activity devoid of autonomy is the never-changing. […] Activity is not, as ideology teaches, merely the purposive life of autonomous people, but also the vain commotion of their unfreedom. […] Against this background, Mahler’s symphonies plead anew against the world’s course. They imitate it in order to accuse; the moments where they breach it are also moments of protest150.

In fact, to Adorno, “the antithesis between the world’s course and the breakthrough” equals to “a principle of composition “of the whole Mahlerian work”151. A busy collective, often involving animals, as in the classical fable, manifests itself in a series of more or less macabre Scherzos, not only in Mahler’s work. Representing musically the senseless bustling of a sick society finds a paradigmatic example in Mahler’s orchestral song Das irdische Leben (‘Earthly Life’). In it, society is embodied by the mother, who is responsible for the death of her child, the latter representing the innocent, helpless subject. Along with its counterpart, Das himmlische Leben (‘Heavenly Life’), both songs tell in a clear-cut way about the terrible vulnerability of the subject at the hands of society; about the need for a better world, and its being put into question, through False Appearances and Irony. The uncanniness of the bustling, inflammable accompaniment is accomplished in the instrumental opening of the song in a truly sophisticated texture, combining muted strings with pizzicato, divisi and ppp woodwinds: see ex. 8-50a.

148

SAMUELS 1995, 2004. ADORNO 1960 Jephcott: p. 8. German p. 156. 150 ADORNO 1960 Jephcott: pp. 6–7. German pp. 154f. 151 ADORNO 1960 Jephcott: p. 10, German p. 158. In my thesis, the same observation has led to establishing as a first isotopy what Adorno himself calls the “Worldly Tumult”: see GRIMALT 2011a. 149

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Ex. n. 8-50a: Mahler, Beginning of Das irdische Leben.

The tempo indication, ‘In an uncanny motion’ (Unheimlich bewegt), describes adequately the effect of this opening. Uncanny are the “double-darkened” key of E-flat minor, the emptiness of the dominant fifth, without the third and without a bass tone; the multiple dissonance, grinding constantly the two minor seconds a – b-flat – c-flat with each other; and the articulation, staccato and pizzicato (a mechanical, dry knocking) against the legato, all in a continuous, swiftly circling motion that immediately disquiets the listener. Matching the child’s yelling for bread, the buzzing sixteenth-note accompaniment whirls up to violent climaxes. Mahler calls this “the bolting, storming sound of the accompaniment” (die im Sturm dahinsausenden Töne der Begleitung). The lyrics say Give me some bread, or I shall die!; the indication, With fearful expression (mit beängstigtem Ausdruck): see ex. 8-50b.

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Ex. 8-50b: Mahler, Das irdische Leben, mm. 11-14.

Finally, in a third and last warning, i.e. the child’s last words, the design outdoes itself, enlarging its intervals to tenths: see ex. 8-50c. The song closes in an “open” way, suggesting the infiniteness of this grinding machinery that has caused the death of an innocent. The progressive extinction of the bolting ‘fiery’ music could also be interpreted as a description of the youngster’s death.

Ex. 8-50c: Mahler, Das irdische Leben, mm. 79-82.

In the third song of Mahler’s Wayfarer cycle, Ich hab ein glühend’ Messer (‘I Have a Gleaming Knife’), energetic gestures, violence in the form of ‘shouting’ and ‘beating’, and obsessive repetitions set the tone, suggesting the movements by someone who is not in control of them. The sforzato exclamations, out of the metre, the many diminished chords, the passus duriusculus downwards, the expressionist, extreme intervals, and the tonal indefiniteness, dominating most of the song, all contribute to this anguished musical image: see ex. 8-51152.

152

About the rhetorical figure of passus duriusculus, see Chap. 2, Sect. 2.4.1.

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Ex. n. 8-51: Mahler, Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer, mm. 60-64.

The beginning of Mahler’s First symphony Finale bears the indication Wild!, an epithet that, along with the brutal dissonance and the fortissimo rapid figuration, suggest the raging tempest, albeit in a spiritual, subjective sense. It is the irruptive start of a formidable struggle from which a correspondingly luminous ‘Breakthrough’ can be expected, even if Adorno alleges its falseness: see ex. 8-52153.

Ex. n. 8-52: Mahler, First Symphony/IV: Beginning.

A ‘Fire-Tempest’ from 1923, with all its traditional ingredients, can still be heard in Arthur Honegger’s La tempête, H 48A. It is incidental music to Shakespeare’s The Tempest, including descriptive elements, ‘martial’ rhythms and calls, and

153

ADORNO 1960: Jephcott p. 52.

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concitato strings. In Honegger’s work, as in that of many other twentieth-century composers, the harmonic-melodic language is revolutionary; the topical use, traditional. Summarizing, these are the most frequent markers of the ‘Fire-Storm’ topos: • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A fast tempo, Stile concitato on strings, tremolo; Syncopation, agitato character; Absence of a melodic ‘vocal’ design (of a ‘Persona’); Chromaticism, Irregularly flickering melodic designs, as if depicting flames; ‘Wave’-like designs, imitating wind and sea-waves; Tirate depicting lightning; Minor keys, with a slant towards flats; Dissonant harmonies, especially diminished-seventh chords; Sudden dynamic contrasts, but also large crescendo/diminuendo effects; Violent accents, suggesting ‘blows’ and ‘shouting’; ‘Martial’ elements, such as dotted rhythms, ‘calls’; Abundant use of brass and percussion, forte/fortissimo.

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

Jacques Arcadelt (c. 1507–1568) Ex. 1-5 Il bianco e dolce cigno Ex. 2-1 Ahimé, dov’è’l bel viso Carl Philip Emanuel Bach (1714–1788) Ex. 8-27 “Prussian” Sonata Wq 48 n. 1/II Ex. 3-8 Sonata IV/III Wq 63 Flute Concerto Wq 168/III Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) Ex. 4-6 Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier (Luther)

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

2-58 2-33 2-34 2-52 5-3 5-4 2-21 7-9 2-14 4-4 4-14 5-6 2-38 3-9 5-8 7-34

Johannespassion Chorus n. 1. Recitative n. 18a Rec. n. 23e Recitative n. 23g Rec. n. 26 Rec. n. 30 Recitative n. 33 Ich folge Dir gleichfalls Es ist vollbracht! Matthäuspassion II, Chorus n. 36b Cantata BWV 140/IV Cantata BWV 21: Bäche von gesalznen Zähren Brandenburg Concerto n. 4/III Brandenburg Concerto n. 4/III Brandenburg Concerto n. 4/III Cello Suite n. IV BWV 1009/V Das musikalische Opfer BWV 1079

Sect. 1.3.2 Sect. 2.2

13 32

Sect. 8.5.1 Sect. 3.2.5 Sect. 2.4.4

335 105 67

Sect. 4.4

132

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.4.6 2.4.2 2.4.2 2.4.5 5.1.2 5.1 2.4.1 7.4.3 2.3 4.3 4.6 5.1.3 2.4 3.2.6 5.1.3 7.5.1 2.2.4

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8

78 60 61 74 155 156 52 264 41 126 143 159 63 109 160 283 44 (continued)

369

370

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

(continued) Keyboard Music Ex. 5-7 WTC I: C minor fugue Ex. 7-4 Goldberg Variations: Aria Ex. 7-31 WTC II: F# Fugue Ex. 7-32 French Suite n. IV BWV 815/7 Ex. 7-38 French Suite n. 5, Gavotte Bartók Béla (1881–1945) Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) Ex. 2-37 Missa solemnis, Credo Missa solemnis, Credo Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus op. 43 Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus op. 43

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

5-16 8-40 0-1 7-46

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

2-48 5-40 7-48 8-46 5-39 7-47 7-52 1-3 7-50 7-51 7-11

Works for Orchestra Coriolan Overture op. 62 Coriolan Overture op. 62 Symphony no. 3/I Symphony n. 3/IV Symphony n. 3/IV Symphony n. 5/III Symphony n. 5/IV, main theme. Symphony n. 5/IV Symphony n. 6/IV Concerto op. 37/I Concerto op. 37/I Concerto op. 37/I: Coda Concerto op. 37/II Concerto op. 37/III Concerto op. 37: Urlinie motifs from I and III Triple Concerto op. 56/III Concerto op. 58

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

5.1.3 7.4.1 7.4.7 7.4.7 7.5.1

160 259 280 281 286

Sect. 5.3

175

Sect. 2.4.2 Sect. 3.1.1 Introduction Sect. 3.1

62 90 7 82

Sect. 5.2 Sect. 8.5.3 Introduction Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 3.1 Sect. 2.4.4 Sect. 5.4.3 Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 8.5.4 Sect. 5.4.3 Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 1.1.1 Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 7.4.4 Sect. 3.2

165 352 1 295 82 70 189 296 360 189 296 299 6 299 299 265 106

Sect. 7.5.3 Sect. 2.4.6

298 80

Chamber Music Ex. 7-49 Ex. 2-60

Trio op. 1/3/I Quartet op. 59 n. 2/II

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata

Sonatas 2-2 6-24 8-11 5-26

op. op. op. op.

2 2 2 2

n. n. n. n.

1/II 1/II 1/II 2/I

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.2.1 6.4.2 8.4.1 5.3

33 233 320 174 (continued)

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

371

(continued) Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

5-2 6-2 8-1 8-23 8-47 5-27 8-12 5-11 6-25 8-30 2-47 4-9 5-28

Sonata op. 13/I Sonata op. 13/II Sonata op. 14 n. 2/I Sonata op. 14 n. 2/ I Sonata op. 14 n. 2/I Sonata op. 14 n. 2/II Sonata op. 26/I Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I Sonata op. 27 n. 2/I Sonata op. 31 n. 2/I Sonata op. 31 n. 3/I Sonata op. 53/ I Sonata op. 53/I Sonata op. 57 Ex. 6-31 Sonata op. 79/II Alban Berg (1885–1935) Wozzeck Hector Berlioz (1803–1869) Ex. 4-2 Symphonie fantastique op. 14/V Harold en Italie op. 16 Art Blakey (1919–1990) and the Jazz Messengers Blues March Johannes Brahms (1833–1897)

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

5.1.1 6.1.2 8.1 8.5 8.5.4 5.3 8.4.1 5.2 6.4.3 8.5.1 2.4.4 4.4 5.4.1 3.2 6.4.4

152 207 303 330 361 174 321 163 235 337 69 135 176 94 241

Sect. 6.3

212

Sect. 4.2 Sect. 3.4.2

124 114

Sect. 3.1

111

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

4.4 5.5 4.4 5.4.1 5.4.1 7.4.6 6.3.3 3.1.1

136 200 137 179 180 273 226 88

Sect. 5.4.1 Sect. 6.3.3

179 225

Sect. 5.5 Sect. 2.4.3 Sect. 6.4.4

198 63 244 (continued)

Symphonies Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

4-10 5-49 4-11 5-32 5-34 7-21 6-15

Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

1/I 1/I 1/IV 1/IV 1/IV 2/I 3/II 4/I Chamber Music

Ex. 5-33 Ex. 6-14

Trio op. 8/I Piano & Cello Sonata op. 38/I

Ex. 5-47 Ex. 2-39 Ex. 6-35

Die schöne Magelone op. 33 n. 1 Von ewiger Liebe, op. 43 n. 1 Meerfahrt op. 96 n. 4

Songs

372

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

(continued) Piano Music Ex. 2-11 Intermezzo op. 116 n. 5 Ex. 2-51 Intermezzo op. 117 n. 2 Anton Bruckner (1824–1896) Symphony n. 9 Fryderyk Chopin (1810–1849) Ex. 2-29 Ballad n. 1 op. 23 Ex. 7-29 Ballad n. 2 op. 38 Ex. 2-9 Ballad n. 3 op. 47 Ex. 6-32 Barcarolle op. 60 Ex. 2-28 Mazurka op. 17 n. 4 Ex. 3-4 Mazurka op. 30 n. 2 Ex. 8-13 Nocturne op. 9 n. 1 Ex. 6-26 Nocturne op. 27 n. 2 Ex. 2-10 Prelude op. 28 n.1 Ex. 3-6 Prelude op. 28 n. 4 Ex. 6-33 Prelude op. 28 n. 13 Ex. 6-27 Prelude op. 28 n. 15 Ex. 7-12 Polonaise op. 40 n. 1 Ex. 7-13 Polonaise op. 40 n. 2 Nat ‘King’ Cole (1919–1965) This is my Night to Dream Arcangelo Corelli (1653–1713) Ex. 7-24 Concerto op. 6 n. 8/VI Johann Crüger (1598–1662) Ex. 4-7 Nun danket alle Gott Dance Patterns Ex. 7-33 Bourrée Typical Rhythmical Patterns Ex. 7-43 ‘Contredanse’ rhythmic marker Ex. 7-17 Deutsch typical accompaniment pattern Ex. 7-37 ‘Gavotte’ typical rhythmical pattern Ex. 7-30 Gigue: three typical rhythmical patterns Ex. 7-14 ‘Mazurka’ typical rhythmic pattern Ex. 7-10 ‘Polonaise’ rhythmic marker Ex. 1-1 ‘Reggae’ beat Ex. 7-3 ‘Sarabande’ marker rhythm Ex. 7-23 ‘Siciliana’ and ‘Pastorale’ typical markers Claude Debussy (1862–1918) Cloches à travers les feuilles Antonín Dvořák (1841–1904) Ex. 8-49 Symphony n. 9/IV

Sect. 2.2.2 Sect. 2.4.4

39 73

Sect. 3.3

109

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

57 279 38 242 56 90 322 238 39 97 242 239 265 266

2.4.1 7.4.7 2.2.2 6.4.4 2.4.1 3.1.1 8.4.1 6.4.4 2.2.2 3.2.2 6.4.4 6.4.4 7.4.4 7.4.4

Sect. 2.4.3

64

Sect. 7.4.7

276

Sect. 4.4

133

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

282 291 271 285 279 267 264 3 258 276

7.5.1 7.5.2 7.4.6 7.5.1 7.4.7 7.4.5 7.4.4 1.1.1 7.4.1 7.4.7

Sect. 2.2 Sect. 8.5.4

44 362 (continued)

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

373

(continued) Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714–1787) Don Juan ou Le festin de pierre Wq. 52 Ex. 6-4 Orfeo ed Euridice, Che farò senza Euridice? Ex. 8-2 Orfeo ed Euridice: Che farò, mm. 17-24 Ex. 6-9 La rencontre imprévue: Overture Ex. 8-3 Alceste: Overture Gregorian Chant Ex. 2-36 Gregorian Intonation: Credo. Ex. 4-1 Gregorian Requiem Mass Dies iræ. Edvard Grieg (1843–1907) Ex. 5-50 Sonata n. 3 for violin and piano/I Georg F. Handel (1685–1759) Ex. 1-2 Lascia ch’io pianga Giulio Cesare in Egitto: Son nata a lagrimar Ex. 2-53 Messiah I: Aria Ev’ry valley. Ex. 7-25 Messiah I: Pifa Ex. 7-26 Messiah I: Aria He shall feed his flock Ex. 3-1 Messiah II: Lift Up Your Heads Johann Adolf Hasse (1699–1783) Ex. 8-34 Piramo e Tisbe I, the Father’s presentation Josef Haydn (1732–1809) Ex. 2-57 The Creation: Terzett n. 18 Ex. 7-19 The Seasons: “Autumn”, no. 28

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

3.2.4 6.1.3 8.3 6.3.2 8.3

102 209 310 219 310

Sect. 2.4.2 Sect. 4.2

62 124

Sect. 5.5

200

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

1.1.1 3.2.3 2.4.5 7.4.7 7.4.7 3.1

4 100 75 277 277 83

Sect. 8.5.2

346

Sect. 2.4.6 Sect. 7.4.6

78 272

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

8.5.1 7.3 3.2 7.5.1 8.4.3 6.3.1 7.4.6 7.4.2 7.5.2 4.3 6.3.3 8.4 6.3.2

337 256 93 286 327 214 270 261 292 129 226 313 217

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

5.3 6.4.2 8.5 5.3

169 233 329 173 (continued)

Symphonies Ex. 8-29 Ex. 7-1 Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

7-39 8-18 6-6 7-16 7-7 7-44 4-5 6-16 8-4 6-8

Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony

n. 7 Le Midi/II n. 44/II n. 45/I no. 85/II n. 85/IV n. 89/II n. 89/III n. 92/III n. 92/IV n. 93/I n. 100/II n. 103/iv n. 104/IV Keyboard Music

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

5-19 6-23 8-21 5-25

Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata

Hob. Hob. Hob. Hob.

xvi/21/I xvi/23/ii xvi/24/I xvi/35/I

374

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

(continued) Ex. 8-22 Ex. 7-18 Ex. 5-15

Sonata Hob. xvi/37 /I Sonata Hob. xvi: 50/III Andante mit Variationen Hob. xvii/6

Sect. 8.5 Sect. 7.4.6 Sect. 5.2

330 272 165

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

336 101 173 285

Chamber Music Ex. 8-28

Quartet op. 17 n. 5/III Quartet op. 20 n. 5 Ex. 5-24 Quartet op. 50 n. 1/I Ex. 7-36 Quartet op. 76 n. 4/IV Jimi Hendrix (1942–1970) Stars and Stripes (Woodstock 1969) Orlando de Lassus (1530?–1594) Ex. 2-3 In me transierunt Ex. 2-56 Videntes stellam Magi Ex. 2-59 Ego sum, quim sum. Joseph Kosma (Kozma Jószef, 1905–1969) Ex. 2-35 Autumn Leaves Liszt Ferenc (1811–1886) Ex. 2-17 Concert Étude Waldesrauschen Ex. 4-12 Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne, Andante religioso Après une lecture de Dante Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude Gustav Mahler (1860–1911)

8.5.1 3.2.4 5.3 7.5.1

Sect. 3.1.1

89

Sect. 2.2.1 Sect. 2.4.6 Sect. 2.4.6

34 77 79

Sect. 2.4.2

61

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.2.4 4.4 3.2.5 3.4.2

44 138 106 115

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

6.3.3 6.3.3 2.4.1 8.5.4 5.4.3 8.5.4 2.4.1 5.4.3 7.3 7.4.6

223 223 58 366 191 364 57 192 257 274

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

8.5.4 5.2 4.4 5.4.2 5.2 5.4.2 6.3.3

366 166 138 184 163 186 225 (continued)

Songs Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

6-10 6-11 2-31 8-51 5-42 8-50 2-30 5-43 7-2 7-22

Ging heut’ morgen Die zwei blauen Augen Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer Die zwei blauen Augen Das irdische Leben Lied des Verfolgten im Turm Der Tamboursg’sell: interlude Fischpredigt Fischpredigt, mm. 49-52.

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

8-52 5-17 4-13 5-36 5-12 5-37 6-12

Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony Symphony

n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

Symphonies 1/IV: Beginning 2/I: Beginning. 2/IV: Urlicht. 3/I: Rhythm of the first ‘March’ 3/I: ‘Habt Acht!’ 3/I: Pan’s ‘Herald’ 4/III

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

375

(continued) Ex. 6-13 Symphony n. 4/IV Ex. 6-1 Symphony n. 5/II Ex. 3-7 Symphony n. 5/IV Ex. 8-33 Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde/VI Benedetto Marcello (1686–1739) Ex. 2-55 Cantata Amor tu sei Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy (1809–1847) Ex. 2-41 Midsummer’s Night Dream: Wedding March Ex. 4-8 Reformationssymphonie/I Ex. 4-3 Rondo capriccioso op. 14 Perpetuum mobile for piano, op. 119 Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643) Ex. 2-6 Cruda amarilli Ex. 2-18 Cruda Amarilli Ex. 2-13 Vespro: Nigra sum Ex. 2-20 Vespro: Nigra sum Ex. 5-45 Gira il nemico (Book VIII of Madrigals) Wolfgang Amadé Mozart (1756–1791)

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

6.3 6.1.1 3.2.2 8.5.1

225 206 97 343

Sect. 2.4.6

77

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.4.3 4.4 4.2 2.2.4

65 134 125 44

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.2.2 2.3.1 2.2.3 2.4.2 5.5

36 50 40 52 196

Piano Music Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

1-9 3-5 5-46 6-19 6-21 8-39

Sonata K. 545/I Sonata K. 333/I Sonata K. 576/I Sonata K. 281/II Sonata K. 332/I Fantasy K. 475

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

1.5 3.2.2 5.5 6.4.1 6.4.2 8.5.3

23 96 197 231 232 351

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

5-20 7-41 8-45 2-44 7-42

Chamber Music Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 376/III Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 454/III Sonata for Piano and Violin K. 302/I Quartet in D minor K. 421/I String Quintet K. 515/I

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

5.3 7.5.1 8.5.4 2.4.3 7.5.1

169 288 359 67 289

8-16 8-5 8-15 5-1 5-5 2-5

Symphony K. 183 Serenade K. 204 (213a) Marsch K. 215 (213b) Symphony K. 385/I Symphony K. 504/IV Symphony K. 504/IV Symphony K. 543/I Symphony K. 550/IV Symphony K. 551/I

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

3.2.4 3.3 3.3 8.4.2 8.4 8.4.2 5.1.1 5.1.2 2.2.1

102 110 110 326 314 325 152 156 35 (continued)

Orchestral Music

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

376

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

(continued) Ex. 6-5 Ex. 7-6 Ex. 8-10

Symphony K. 551/I (SS) Symphony K. 551/II Symphony K. 551/II

Sect. 6.1.3 Sect. 7.4.1 Sect. 8.4.1

210 260 319

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

8.4.1 8.5 8.5 3.2.4 7.4.7 3.2.4 5.3

318 331 332 102 278 102 172

Sect. 7.4.6 Sect. 7.4.1 Sect. 7.4.6

273 259 270

Sect. 3.1

85f.

Sect. 2.2.2 Sect. 8.5.3 Sect. 8.5.4

38 351 356

Sect. 8.5.2

348

Sect. 3.2.4 Sect. 5.3 Sect. 5.4.1

100 167 177

Concertos Ex. 8-9 Ex. 8-24 Ex. 8-25 Ex. 7-27 Ex. 5-23

Bassoon Concerto K. 191/II Piano Concerto K. 453/I Piano Concerto K. 456/I Piano Concerto K. 466 Piano Concerto K. 488/II Piano Concerto K. 491 Piano Concerto K. 595/I Dances

Ex. 7-20 Ex. 7-5 Ex. 7-15

Deutsche K. 567/I Minuet no. 5 K. 585 Six Ländler K. 606/VI Bastien und Bastienne Intrada

Ex. 8-36

Lucio Silla Lucio Silla I, D’Eliso in sen m’attendi Lucio Silla I, D’Eliso in sen m’attendi Lucio Silla I n. 5, Il desìo di vendetta La finta giardiniera La finta giardiniera III: Va pure in braccia

Ex. 5-18 Ex. 5-29

Idomeneo I, n. 1: Recitativo Idomeneo I, n. 8, Marcia Idomeneo III: Marcia

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

Le Le Le Le Le Le Le Le Le Le Le Le

Ex. 2-8 Ex. 8-38 Ex. 8-41

Idomeneo

7-35 8-19 8-17 8-37 5-22 6-17 1-6 8-14 7-28 8-7 8-35 5-21

nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze nozze

di di di di di di di di di di di di

Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro

Le nozze di Figaro I, Scene 1 I: Duettino no. 1 I: La vendetta I, La vendetta I: Non più andrai II: Porgi, amor. II Voi che sapete II: Aprite III, L’ho perduta. III, Duettino no. 17 III: Vedrò, mentr’io sospiro III: Finale

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

7.5.1 8.4.3 8.4.3 8.5.2 5.3 6.3.3 1.3.2 8.4.2 7.4.7 8.4.1 8.5.2 5.3

284 328 326 349 171 227 14 324 278 317 347 169 (continued)

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

377

(continued) Ex. 8-6

Le nozze di Figaro IV, Finale

Sect. 8.4.1

316

Ex. 2-43 Ex. 8-8 Ex. 7-45

Don Giovanni Don Giovanni I, first scene. Don Giovanni I: Là ci darem la mano Don Giovanni I: Ball Scene

Sect. 2.4.3 Sect. 8.4.1 Sect. 7.5.2

66 317 294

Ex. 7-40 Ex. 7-8 Ex. 4-15

Così fan tutte Così fan tutte I: no. 2 Terzetto Così fan tutte I: Duetto no. 4 Così fan tutte I: Soave sia il vento

Sect. 7.5.1 Sect. 7.4.2 Sect. 4.6

288 262 146

Sect. 4.6 Sect. 2.4.4 Sect. 2.4.1

147 69 53

Sect. 2.2.4

45

Sect. 5.2 Sect. 2.4.1

162 51

Sect. 2.4.2

59

Sect. 2.2.3

40

Sect. 2.2.1

34

Sect. 1.4.2

17

Sect. 3.1

82

Sect. 8.4.3

328

Sect. 3.1.1

89

Other Vocal Works Ex. 4-16 Nocturne Più non si trovano Ex. 2-46 Requiem: Tuba mirum Ex. 2-23 Requiem, Recordare Niccolò Paganini (1782–1840) Moto perpetuo, op. 11 Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (c. 1525–1594) Ex. 5-9 Missa Papæ Marcelli: Kyrie Ex. 2-19 Missa Papæ Marcelli, Credo Jacopo Peri (1561–1633) Ex. 2-32 Euridice, part 1, scene 2. Josquin des Prez (c. 1450/1455–1521) Ex. 2-12 Motet In pace in idipsum Henry Purcell (1659–1695) Ex. 2-4 Dido and Aeneas: Dido’s lament Maurice Ravel (1875–1937) Valses nobles et sentimentales Nikolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov (1844–1908) Flight of the Bumblebee Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868) Ex. 8-20 Il barbiere di Siviglia: Largo al factotum Johann Hermann Schein (1586–1630) Ex. 3-3 Heulen und schmerzlich’s Weinen Franz Schubert (1797–1828) Piano Music Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

2-49 1-8 3-10 3-12 5-41 8-26 3-11

Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata Sonata

D. D. D. D. D. D. D.

408/I 664/II 784/I 784/I 784/I 784, Finale 845/I

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.4.4 1.4.2 3.4.1 3.4.2 5.4.3 8.5 3.4.1

71 17 112 114 190 333 112 (continued)

378

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

(continued) Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

5-14 8-48 2-50 1-4 6-34

Impromtu D. 899 Fantasia for piano 4 hands D. 940 Klavierstück D. 946 n. 2 Sonata D. 960/I Sonata D. 960/II Sonata D. 960/II

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

2-42 5-44 5-13 6-28

Trio D. Trio D. Quintet Quintet

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

3.1 5.2 8.5.4 2.4.4 1.3 6.4.4

85 164 361 72 12 243

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.4.3 5.4.3 5.2 6.4.4

66 193 164 239

Sect. 5.5 Sect. 2.4.1

199 54

Sect. 2.4.4

68

Sect. 6.3.1 Sect. 6.4.4

216 240

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

5.4.1 8.5.1 5.4.1 6.4.1 3.1

177 340 178 231 84

Sect. 5.4.2

188

Sect. 8.5.1 Sect. 6.1.2 Sect. 1.3.2

341 208 15

Sect. 2.2.4

45

Sect. 3.1.1

89

Chamber Music 929/II 929/II D. 956/II D. 956/II

Songs Ex. 5-48 Der Schäfer und der Reiter D. 517 Ex. 2-24 Du bist die Ruh D. 776 Heinrich Schütz (1585–1672) Ex. 2-45 Psalm 128, SWV 30 Alexander Scriabin (1872–1915) Ex. 6-7 Fantasie op. 28 Ex. 6-29 Fantasie op. 28 Robert Schumann (1810–1856) Ex. 5-30 Carnaval op. 9, Marche des “Davidsbündler” Ex. 8-31 Kinderscenen op. 15 n. 13 Ex. 5-31 Fantasia op. 17/II Ex. 6-20 Romanze op. 28 n. 2 Ex. 3-2 Album für die Jugend op. 68: Wilder Reiter Dmitri Shostakovich (1906–1975) Ex. 5-38 Symphony n. 10/II Richard Strauss (1864–1949) Ex. 8-32 Allerseelen op. 10 no.8 Ex. 6-3 Morgen! op. 27 n. 4 Elektra Johann Strauß II (1825–1899) Perpetuum Mobile: musikalischer Scherz op. 257 Sir John Tavener (1944–2013) Mary of Egypt (1991) Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901) Ex. 2-25 In solitaria stanza (Sei Romanze n. 3) Ex. 8-43 Luisa Miller I, recitative Scene 1 Ex. 2-27 La traviata: Overture. Ex. 6-30 Ballo in maschera I/2: Di’ tu se fedele Ballo in maschera: Preludio

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

2.4.1 8.5.4 2.4.1 6.4.4 2.4.1

55 358 56 240 55 (continued)

Alphabetical List of Musical Examples

379

(continued) Bernat Vivancos (b. 1973) Messe aux sons des cloches (2002) Mauritius Vogt (1669–1730) Ex. 2-7 ‘Suspiratio’ Richard Wagner (1813–1883) Ex. 8-44 Der fliegende Holländer: Overture Ex. 5-35 Tannhäuser: Overture Ex. 6-22 Tannhäuser: O du, mein holder Abendstern Ex. 2-26 Tristan Chord. Ex. 2-22 Siegfried: ‘Mother’s Love’ Leitmotiv Ex. 2-16 Siegried II, scene 2: Waldbeben Ex. 1-7 Der Engel (Wesendonck-Lieder) Johann Walter (1496–1570) Ex. 2-54 ‘Circulus’ Carl Maria von Weber (1786–1826) Ex. 6-18 Der Freischütz, Overture Ex. 2-40 Der Freischütz: Wolf’s Glen Scene Ex. 8-42 Der Freischütz: Wolf’s Glen Scene Thomas Weelkes (1576–1623) Ex. 2-15 Thule, the Period of Cosmography

Sect. 2.4.1

59

Sect. 2.2.2

37

Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect. Sect.

358 181 233 55 53 43 15

8.5.4 5.4.1 6.4.2 2.4.1 2.4.1 2.2.4 1.3

Sect. 2.4.6

76

Sect. 6.3.3 Sect. 2.4.3 Sect. 8.5.4

228 64 357

Sect. 2.2.4

42

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Index

A Abert, Hermann, 350 Abruptio (rhetorical figure), 69, 103, 330f. Absolute (music), 254f. Adorno, Theodor W., 18, 57, 140, 187, 252, 275, 363, 366 Affects, Theory of(Affektenlehre), 45f., 87, 91 Affirmatio (rhetorical figure), 61 Agawu, Kofi, 23, 81, 87, 101, 123, 151, 210, 290 Alberti bass, 23 Alexandrine (verse), 339 Alighieri, Dante, 11, 30, 339 Allanbrook, Wye Jamison, 1, 4, 14, 21f., 81, 85f., 93, 99, 101, 115f., 123, 129, 145, 167, 169, 170, 172, 173, 177, 205, 210ff., 227f., 245, 253f., 255, 259, 281f., 284, 287, 293, 300, 303f., 328, 347 Allemande (dance, reference), 291 Alphorn, 180 Ambivalence of musical signification, 85 ‘Amoroso’ (topos), 230, 259, 314, 318 Anabasis (rhetorical figure), 50f., 59, 75, 215 Anapaest (metrical foot, martial rhythm), 157, 195, 215, 265, 283, 349, 359 Ancien Régime, 128, 173, 215, 230, 247, 250, 251, 256, 260, 261, 274, 285, 289, 298ff., 302, 305f., 325, 329, 350 Anglaise (dance), see Contredanse Anthony of Padua, Saint, 256, 274 Aposiopesis (rhetorical figure), 69 Apostrophe (rhetorical figure), 65f. Aristotle, 45f., 86, 95, 110, 153, 306f.

Ascending/Descending metrical feet (Quintilian), 158f., 241 Asensio, Juan Carlos, 123 Assafiev, Boris, 18f. Augustine of Hippo, Saint, 29 Aulos (ancient instrument), 212 B Badia, Joaquim, xii Bagpipe (reference), 212, 217 Bar form, 132 Barcarolle (reference), 199, 239f. Barlament, Laura, xii Barthes, Roland, 88 Bartel, Dietrich, 46, 49, 68, 76 Bass-less music(topos), 56, 340 Bauer-Lechner, Natalie, 186, 256, 275 Beatles, The, 214 Beaumarchais, Pierre, 261, 356 Beghelli, Marco, 232 Bellman, Jonathan, 178 Bells (reference), 139f. Berger, Karol, 128, 178 Berlioz, Louis-Hector, 89 Bernhard, Christoph, 46, 51, 53 Bible, the, 159, 211 Bicinia, 162 Biedermeier (period), 249 Binary forms, 257 ‘Birdcall’ (topos), 92 ‘Blows’ (rhetorical figure), 62f., 357, 360f., 367f. Body vs. Spirit (semantic fields), 91, 121, 122 Boileau, Nicolas, 98

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 J. Grimalt, Mapping Musical Signification, Numanities - Arts and Humanities in Progress 15, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52496-8

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396 Bonaparte, Napoléon, 177, 182f., 250, 296 Bosch-Veciana, Antoni, xii Bourrée (dance, reference), 123, 143, 169, 208, 248, 262, 282, 284, 288, 300 Blue notes (jazz), 88 Blues, 111 ‘Breakthrough’ (Adorno), 187, 366 Brecht, Bertolt, 153 Brilliant Style, 115, 209, 329 Brinkmann, Reinhold, 273 Brion, Marcel, 82, 188, 270, 308f. Brisson, Élisabeth, 99, 181, 183, 295, 311, 352 ‘Brook’ (Word Painting), 243 Bruhn, Siglind, xi, 90 Buffa, Opera, 95, 145, 168, 169, 211, 248, 292, 302ff., 313f., 314f., 322, 329, 348, 360 Buffon, Comte de, 112 Bukofzer, Manfred, 86 ‘Burgmusik’ (Mahler), 185f. Burke, Edmund, 98, 350, 353 Burmeister, Joachim, 46, 49 Byron, Lord George Gordon, 115, 159, 240 C Call (horn), xiv, 85, 108, 193ff., 201, 234, 240 Call (cornet), 157, 161, 162f., 166f., 193ff., 215, 325, 349, 360, 367 Calvino, Italo, xv Calvisius (Seth Kalwitz), 158 Calvo-Merino, Beatriz, 255 Camerata fiorentina, 127f., 334 Camps, Gemma, xii Caplin, William, 23, 151, 252 ‘Caress’ (topos), 18, 159 Carnival, 188 Carter, Tim, 28, 48 Casals, Pau, 164, 239 Casanova, Giacomo Girolamo, 112 ‘Catastrophe’ (topos), 56 Ceremonial March (topos), 176 Chabanon, Michel-Paul Guy de, 86 ‘Changeover’ (narrative archetype), 129, 174, 297, 300ff. Charles, Daniel, 22 Chiantore, Luca, 96 Chiasmus (form), 126 Chivalric (topos), 137, 176f., 178, 180, 197 Choral, see Hymn Chua, Daniel, 211 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 86, 154 Circulatio (rhetorical figure), 78, 145, 153, 257, 354 Circus Parade (reference), 187

Index Civra, Ferruccio, 47f., 69 Clarida, Bob, 87 Clarino (horn register), 162 Clavichord, 96 Climax (rhetorical figure), see ‘Supplication’ ‘Clockwork’ (topos), 172 Comedy, 86, 130, 157, 168, 248, 261, 270, 284, 292, 298, 300, 303ff., 313f., 323, 327 Commedia dell’arte, 302, 349 Concerto (genre), 114f. Concerto guerriero, 172 Cone, Edward T., 114, 253, 317 Congress of Vienna (1814-15), 249, 267f., 270 Contredanse (dance, reference), 109f., 130, 157, 168, 175, 220, 255, 257, 262f., 263, 270f., 279, 290, 292, 293, 296ff., 300, 318, 325f. Corneille, Pierre, 308 Counter-Reformation, 30 Cradle Song (reference), 141 Crüger, Johann, 133 Curtius, Ernst R., 86 Czerny, Carl, 79 D Da capo Aria, 307 Dactyl (metrical foot), 267 Dahlhaus, Carl, 252 Dance (semantic field, topos), 116, 248ff., 334 Dance phrase, 271, 309 Dancourt, Louis, 219 Danse macabre (topos), 201 Daube, Johann Friedrich, 115, 209 Day O’Connell, Sarah, 209f. Death (symbol), 124f., 139f. Decasyllable (verse), 339, 341 ‘Declamatory Style’, see Recitative Decoratio (rhetoric), 76 Demonic Style (Dickensheets), 107, 354 Descartes, René, 46 Destiny (symbol), 19 Deutsch (German Waltz, reference), 243, 255ff., 264, 268f., 273, 282, 292, 294, 299, 328 ‘Diabolic Scherzo’ (Mahler), 201, 221, 363 Dialogue (musical), 112 Dibelius, Martin, 133 Dickensheets, Janice, 22, 24, 107, 115, 339, 354 Diderot, Denis, 112 Dithyramb, 181 Divertimento (genre), 229

Index Divinity (symbol), 126, 142 Double-Sombreness (topos), 15, 179, 229f., 243f. Doxa (Aristotle), 87 Dramma giocoso, 311 Drones (reference), 215, 225, 267, 270 ‘Drunken Clarinet’ (Mahler), 275 Dubitatio (rhetorical figure), 68f., 275 Duodrama (genre), 311 Durchkomposition, 334 Dürr, Alfred, 133 Dynamic/Static, 122f., 253 Dysphoric, Euphoric, 7f., 92, 243 Dysphoric Calls (trope), 165 Dysphoric Gallop (trope), 84f., 198f. Dysphoric March (trope), 7, 85, 175, 188f., 192, 225, 296 Dysphoric Serenade (trope), 235f. E Eco, Umberto, 82 Écossaise (dance), see Contredanse Ecstatic music (topos), 91, 237 Elegiac March (trope), 192 Emblems, 17, 187 Endecasillabo (verse), 338, 339 Entrée (reference), 129, 150f., 151f., 168, 184, 191 Eötvös, Peter, 58 Eternity (symbol), 90, 140, 350 ‘Exalted March’ (reference), 145, 177, 300 Exclamatio (rhetorical figure), xiv, 32f., 62f., 67, 70f., 165, 173, 233, 235, 266, 310, 319, 339, 347 Exegesis, xviii, 26 Exoticism, 216, 248, 261, 267, 292 F Fabbri, Franco, 110 ‘False Appearances’ (Isotopy), 187, 192, 274, 363 Fanfare (topos), 166f., 172f. Fantasy (genre), 113, 339 Feet, metrical (prosody), 123, 154, 158, 243 Figueras, Santiago, xii Figuralism, see Word Painting Finscher, Ludwig, 111f. ‘Fire’ (madrigalism), 41f., 74, 157, 353, 357ff. Firm/Loose (Schönberg), 10, 334f. Flats (symbolism), 10f., 230, 238, 331, 352, 360 Flores Pradillas, David, 200

397 Floros, Constantin, xi, xx, 18, 86, 97, 124, 125, 137f., 141, 145, 181f., 190, 207, 229, 252, 268, 318 Folklorism, 187, 213f., 216f., 220, 250, 269f., 292 Formalism, xx, 48 Franklin, Benjamin, 113 Freemasonry, 144 French Overture (reference), see Entrée Freud, Sigmund, 201 Fubini, Enrico, 94 Füssli, Johann Heinrich, 104 Funeral March, 190f., 224 G Gadamer, Hans-Georg, xix, xxii, 48 Galand, Joel, 285 Galant Style, 93, 94f., 103f., 107, 205, 210, 232, 246, 312, 329, 331, 333 Galilei, Vincenzo, 128, 334 Gallop (dance), 249 ‘Gallop’ (topos), 20, 84, 88, 92, 193ff., 281 Gang (A.B. Marx), 337 Gavotte (dance, reference), 123, 130, 183, 208, 228, 248, 275, 281, 283, 286f., 293, 300, 315 Gebrauchsmusik, 268 Genres, 21, 91, 109 Gerber, Ernst Ludwig, 108 Gerhardt, Paul, 131 Gigue (dance, reference), 67, 129, 248, 264, 275, 279, 289, 315, 325 Gilm, Hermann von, 341 God, see Divinity Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 101, 113, 201 Goldoni, Carlo, 311 González Rojo, Cristina, xii Gothic novel, 104 Grabócz, Márta, xi, xiii, 20, 22, 82, 87, 135, 140, 176, 182, 183 Gradatio, see ‘Supplication’ Grajter, Małgorzata, xii, 154, 266 Gregorian Chant, 28f., 58, 62, 123f. Greimas, Algirdas Julien, 8, 19, 22 Grotesque March (Mahler), 184f. Guymer, Sheila, 210 H Hanswurst (Vienna), 309 Hanslick, Eduard, xx, 251 Harmony (expressive device), 90, 344 Harp, 226, 232

398 Hatten, Robert, xii, 6f., 17, 21, 23, 85, 95, 213 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 251f. Heine, Heinrich, 243 Heinichen, Johann David, 86 Hemiola, 263f., 279 Herder, Johann Gottfried, 103, 183, 213, 220, 228, 267, 298 Hermeneutics, xviii Heroism (Beethoven, Wagner), 181f., 296 Heterophony, 220 High/Low (Aristotle), 283, 303, 313, 338 Historically Informed Performance (HIP), xvii Historicism, xvii Hoffmann, E.T.A., xx, 201 Homer, 211 Horn Fifths (Horn Motion), 162, 195, 226, 313 Horns, French (symbolism), 83, 162, 226, 281 Hugo, Victor, 137 Humanities, xv, xviii Hume, David, 113 Humorous (narrative archetype), 272, 297, 313, 330 ‘Hungarian Style’ (All’ongherese), 218 Hunt (topos), 83, 88, 161, 162, 193ff., 220, 281, 313 Hunter, Mary, 218, 303 Hurdy-gurdy (reference), 212, 217 Hymn (reference), 131ff., 175, 176, 178, 179, 215, 225, 238, 338f. Hypotyposis (rhetorical figure), 49, 83f., 354 I Iamb (metrical foot), 279, 338 Iconic Signs (Peirce), 19 Idyll (topos), 90, 273 Illuminati, 295 Imbroglio (topos), 123, 314, 322f. Imitation, 96, 113, 252 Improvisation (reference), 103, 225, 266f., 282, 337 Indexical Signs (Peirce), 19, 243 ‘Inner Voice’ (narrative agent), 207, 254, 270, 340, 342 Instrumental vs. Vocal (references), 91 Intermezzo (genre), 308, 317 Interpretant (Peirce), 2f. Interrogatio (rhetorical figure), 32, 59f., 67, 71, 297, 337, 340 Intersubjectivity, xix, 6 Interruptio (rhetorical figure), 67f., 237, 333 Intonatio (Chanting), 146

Index Intonations (Assafiev, Ujfalussy), 20 Intouchables (movie), xvi Irony, musical, 129f., 168f., 195, 211, 222, 230, 251, 274, 287, 290, 294, 301, 304, 313f., 316, 320, 325, 332, 360, 363 Irving, John, 288 Isotopies, stylistic, 16f., 176, 180 Ivanovitch, Roman, 115 J Jefferson, Thomas, 113 Jeppesen, Knud, 161 Jiránek, Jaroslav, 20 Jodeln (reference), 222, 226, 269, 274 Johnson, Julian, 187, 220 Joseph II of Austria, 269 K Kalbeck, Johannes, 136 Kant, Immanuel, xx Karbusicky, Vladimir, 20 Katabasis (rhetorical figure), 35, 50f., 59, 75, 338, 355 Kircher, Athanasius, 46, 50, 79, 116 Kirkendale, Warren, 76f., 136 Kirnberger, Johann Philipp, 257, 280 Kiš Žuvela, Sanja, xii, 95 Klinger, Friedrich, 103 Klorman, Edward, 95, 111 Koch, Heinrich Christoph, 9, 115, 206, 209, 304 Krause, Christian Gottfried, 154 Krumhansl, Carol L., 87 Kubrick, Stanley, 215 Küng, Hans, 291 L Lamartine, Alphonse de, 353 Lamento-bass(rhetorical figure), 49 Ländler (reference), xiv, 85, 129, 192, 261, 268f., 300, 318 Latent (genres), 110 Laughter, musical (topos), 92, 168, 176, 272, 297, 314, 324 Learned style, see stile antico Lehner, Michael, 15 Leikin, Anatole, xi, 125f., 199, 311 Leitmotiv(Wagner), 208 Lennon, John, xvii Leopold, Silke, 47, 334 Levy, Janet M., 344

Index Linden (symbol), 222 Liszt, Franz, xi, 11 Liturgy, 121 Longinus (Pseudo-), 98 López Cano, Rubén, 46, 69 Louis XIV of France, 247, 260, 261 Love Duet (topos), 5, 179, 199, 236f., 238f., 283, 303, 314ff. Lute Serenade, 231f., 234f., 322 Luther, Martin, 131 Lyricism (semantic field), 7, 86, 116, 146, 172, 204, 211, 222, 232, 285, 318, 331, 334, 353 M Madrigalisms, 30f., 336 Mampel, Carme, xii March (reference), 75, 85, 91, 110, 129, 167f., 175f., 183, 190, 215, 218f., 223, 281, 285, 290, 347, 353 Markedness (Hatten), 11 Markers (Tagg), 3, 111 Maróthy, János, 20 Marpurg, Friedrich W., 94 Martellato(articulation), 63 Martial (semantic field), 149f., 202, 224, 232, 262, 265, 281, 290, 350, 354, 367 Martial Hymn (topos), 178f., 225, 227, 228 Martinelli, Dario, xv Marx, Adolph Bernhard, 271, 337 Mattheson, Johann, 8, 37, 61, 62, 73, 76, 86, 113, 116, 144, 158, 204f., 209, 229, 254, 258, 264, 282, 288 Mayes, Catherine, 218 Mazurka (dance), 252, 258, 265, 267 McClelland, Clive, xii, 25, 99f., 100, 142, 152, 302, 345, 350, 352 McKay, Nicholas, 27, 312 McKee, Eric, 269 Mei, Girolamo, 128 Melodrama (genre), 101, 311 Melting Chromaticism (Monelle), 52f. Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Felix, xxi Mersenne, Marin, 157 Messa di voce, 206 Metastasio, Pietro, 287, 307f. Metrical Dissonance, 125 Metternich, Klemens von, 249 Mezzo carattere (dances), 283 Mickiewicz, Adam, 267 Military Parades, 82 Mimesis, see Imitation Minnesänger, 132

399 Minuet (dance, reference), 102, 129, 175, 256, 258f., 268f., 287, 293, 298, 300 Mirabeau, comte de, 141 Mirka, Danuta, 8, 22, 25, 81, 85, 92, 209, 325 Mirror Cells, 255 Mixed Style (Haydn), 81, 93f., 107f., 113 Modality, 58 Moresca (dance), 247 Möser, Carl, 113 Molière (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin), 151, 203, 218 Monelle, Raymond, 2, 20, 22, 42, 52, 83, 88, 97, 100, 143, 150, 161, 169, 170, 171, 194, 198, 204, 208, 211f., 212, 213, 228, 243, 277, 337, 353 Monodramas (genre), 311 Monody, 127 Musette de cour (instrument), 213 Music Box (Allanbrook), 172 Musica Universalis(Harmony of the Spheres), 79 N Narrative Archetypes, 16, 175, 184, 199, 213, 225, 224f., 252 Narrative, musical, xxii, 199, 244, 297 Nattiez, Jean-Jacques, 88 Naumann, Johann G., 134 Neapolitan sixth, 278, 329, 333 Neefe, Christian G., 312 Nelson, Lord, 178 New Siciliana (Monelle), 213ff., 216, 264 Night (symbol), 140, 318, 319 Nocturne (genre, reference), 142, 145, 163, 229, 230, 236, 238, 322 ‘Noise-killer’ (Somfai), xiv, 85 Noske, Frits, 261 Novalis, 237 Numanities (Martinelli), xv O Octosyllables (verse), 340f. Ó hAnnaidh, Iain, xii Ombra (topos), 96, 102, 104, 151f., 198, 297, 332, 338, 345, 350f., 357 ‘Open-air Serenade’ (topos), 229ff., 238f., 241, 259, 276, 318f., 322 Opera Reform (Gluck), 248, 307, 308f., 311, 335 Orchestra (textural reference), 239, 268, 336 Ortigue de Vaumorière, Pierre d’, 308 Oscillatio(rhetorical figure), 75, 83, 200, 221, 357

400 P Paganini, Nicolò, 113 Palladio, Andrea, 79 Palos de ida y vuelta (flamenco), 88 Pantalone (Commedia dell’arte), 274 Parenthesis(rhetorical figure), 73f. Parody, 128, 170, 174, 285, 287, 300, 313, 316, 329, 331, 332, 346, 347, 356, 360 Partita(genre), 229 Passepied (reference), 144, 248, 258f., 293 Passus duriusculus(rhetorical figure), 34, 52, 365 Pastoral (semantic field), 16, 103, 161, 198, 203ff., 221, 226, 241, 263, 273f., 276, 280, 300, 314, 319, 321, 322, 353 Pastoral (genre), 210ff. Pastoral March (trope), 7, 183f., 214, 222, 285, 335 Pastorale (dance, reference), 212, 213, 237, 275, 286, 300 Patent (genres), 110 Pathetic Style, 94ff., 97, 192, 200, 266, 278, 310f., 320f., 329, 335f., 336, 350 Pathopoiesis(rhetorical figure), 46, 49, 354 Patriotism, 182ff., 228, 250 Patter-song (genre, reference), 314, 320 Peirce, Charles Sanders, 2f., 19, 243 Per aspera ad astra, 137, 185, 192, 300 Pérès, Marcel, 29 Period (antecedent + consequent), 10, 139, 203, 215, 221, 234, 319, 340 Peripeteia (dramaturgy), 345 Perpetuum mobile(topos), 44, 201, 221, 243, 257, 333 Persona, musical, 176, 191, 236, 252, 266, 311, 321, 327, 337 Péteri, Lóránt, 201 Petrarca, Francesco, 43, 339 Pianto (madrigalism), 33, 77, 89, 97, 100, 103, 159, 310, 332, 352 Pictorialism, see Word Painting Plato, 45, 79, 153 Plucked strings (reference), 5, 180f., 207, 216, 231–233, 237, 238f., 286, 302, 329, 331f. Polka (dance), 249, 294 Polonaise (dance), 249, 264f., 266 Pope, Alexander, 210 Portato (articulation), 111, 244 Postmodernity, 183 Prima pratica, see Stile antico

Index Primary Colours (music), 10f. Programme Music, 115 Prometheus (Mythology), 182, 295 Prosody, 247, 253, 309, 334 Psalmody, 334f. Q Quadrille (dance formation), 293 Quantz, Johann Joachim, 169 Quintilian, Marcus Fabius, 46, 49, 158, 353 R Racine, Jean, 308 Rameau, Pierre, 247 Ranz des Vaches, 215, 321 Ratner, Leonard, 20f., 23, 81, 86, 92, 96, 101, 110, 115, 123, 150f., 169f., 203, 208, 301–303, 339 Ratz, Erwin, 57 Recitative accompagnato, 100, 307f., 333f., 345 Recitative (reference), 207f., 248, 321, 307f., 335f. References (topical), 91 Reformation (Protestantism), 131f. Reggae (reference), 3 Restoration (19th century), 104, 183, 250, 297 Retraite (Hunting call), 166 ‘Retrospect’ (Narrative archetype), 199, 235, 252, 268, 322 Revolution, French, 104, 182, 213, 250, 296 Revolutionary Songs, 178 Rhetoric, 30, 86f., 99, 106, 153 Figurenlehre (Doctrine), 45 Riemann, Hugo, 33 Rinckart, Martin, 133 Riskó, Kata, 217 Ritzarev, Marina, 217, 344, 345 Romance (literary genre), 286 Rondo (form), 175 Rosen, Charles, 20, 101, 135, 176, 241, 246, 297, 303 Rougemont, Denis de, 171 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 9, 112, 209, 312 Rückert, Friedrich, 54, 187 Rumph, Stephen, 210, 258, 284 S Saariaho, Kaija, 58 Sacred (semantic field), 116, 121, 350 Salon Music, 112

Index Saltus duriusculus, 219, 311, 335 Samson, Jim, 267 Samuels, Robert, 363 Sarabande (reference), 3, 86, 253, 258f., 270, 293, 320 Sarcasm, 274 Satz (A.B. Marx), 337 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 2, 19 Scacchi, Marco, 116 Scheibe, Johann A., 95, 113, 116, 334 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph, 251 Schenker, Heinrich, 252 Schiff, András, 235 Schiller, Friedrich, 99, 103, 182, 215 Schlegel, August Wilhelm & Friedrich, 237 Schließmann, Hans, 185 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 251 Schubart, Christian Friedrich Daniel, 116 Scottisch (contredanse), 249 Sdrucciolo (prosody), 287 ‘Secular Word’ (semantic field), 203f., 215, 241 Seidel, Wilhelm, 306, 334 Semantic Fields, 116f., 161 Sémiologie, 2 Semiotic Square (Greimas), 92, 116f. Semiotics, xviii, 2 Sensitive Style (empfindsamer Stil), 96, 102f., 196, 206, 209, 210, 237, 290, 312, 344 Sentimental, 98, 99 Serenade (topos), 12, 110, 115, 163f., 199, 229f., 302, 314, 331 Seria, Opera, 86, 147, 190, 220, 248, 261, 289, 297, 306f., 308–311, 325, 329–33, 344, 345, 350 Settenari (heptasyllabic verses), 336 Shakespeare, William, 103, 353, 362, 366 Sheinberg, Esti, xi, 25, 129, 172, 188 ‘Shouting’ (topos), 200, 352, 357, 360, 365f. Siciliana (reference), 100, 212f., 213f., 230f., 237, 239, 254, 274f., 275f., 277, 286, 315, 353 ‘Sigh’ (madrigalism), see Suspiratio Signification, musical, xiii, xv, xvif. Signifier, signified, 2 Signs, musical, 1ff. ‘Singing topos/style’, 122, 203f., 208f. Singspiel (genre), 304 Sisman, Elaine, 23f., 98, 106, 165, 167, 212, 322, 344, 353 ‘Slowness’ (madrigalism), 39f. Smetáček, Václav, 201 Solomon, Maynard, 106

401 Somfai, László, xiv, 85 Song (reference), 206, 240, 313 Spectralism (style), 58 Spitzer, Michael, 82, 252 Spontaneous’ Style, 69, 105, 237, 268, 338f. Stalin, Yossif, 189 Static/Dynamic, 122f. ‘Sterile laboriousness’ topos (R. Samuels), 363 Stile antico, 70, 94, 103, 113, 126f., 152, 205, 246, 261f., 268, 285, 289, 313, 325, 334, 344, 360 Stile concitato, 154f., 166, 176, 215, 257, 331, 353, 354, 360 Stile legato (gebundener Stil), 325 ‘Storm’ (topos), see Tempesta Strozzi, Giulio, 195 Sturm und Drang (topos), 97, 100f., 104, 350, 353 String Quartet (reference), 111f., 233, 361 Styles (Ratner, Fabbri), 21, 109 Stylization, 82, 102, 107, 161, 177, 227 Subjectivity (music), 96, 103, 216, 227, 248, 261, 266, 309, 361 Sublime, 97ff., 104, 142, 350, 353 Sulzer, Johann Georg, 8, 93, 181, 209, 282f., 283 ‘Supplication’ (rhetorical figure), 53, 103 Suspiratio (madrigalism), 4, 32f., 35f., 69, 73, 100, 105f., 236, 322f., 340 Symbol (music), 89 Symbolic Signs (Peirce), 19 Synaesthesia, 58 Szabolcsi, Bence, 20, 101 T Tagg, Philip, xviii, 3, 25, 87 Tam tam (symbolism), 140f. Tango (reference), 249 Tarantella (reference), 129 Tarasti, Eero, xii, 22f., 58, 101, 101 Taruskin, Richard, 303 Tasso, Torquato, 155, 157 Temperament (expressive use of), 238 Tempesta (topos), 83, 98, 99, 100f., 104, 115, 153, 156, 160, 188, 215, 239, 308, 325, 329–331, 344, 350, 353, 354, 357, 361 Texture, 5, 239, 333 Theocritus, 210 Thymic Category, 7f. Thuringus, Joachim, 48 Tieck, Ludwig, 197 Tirata (symbolism), 92, 333, 354, 357, 367 Tmesis (rhetorical figure), 37

402 Toccata (genre, reference), 329 Topic, topos (Ratner), 20, 81f., 86f., 110, 192, 230, 303 ‘Toy Army’ (topos), 157, 170ff., 324, 332 Tragédie Lyrique (genre), 305f. Tragic style (topos), 70 Trepidatio, see Oscillatio Triest, Johann K.F., 87 Trochee (metrical foot), 340 Tropes (Hatten), 14f. Türk, Daniel Gottlob, 115 ‘Turkish Music’, 218 Types (Ratner), see Genres U Ujfalussy, Jószef, 20 Uncanny (topos), 125, 201, 206, 364 Unger, Hans-Heinrich, 46, 69, 73 ‘Unison, Ominous’ (topos), 66, 105, 157, 165, 173, 189, 219, 261, 289, 297, 325, 336, 338, 344f., 350 V ‘Vacuity’ (topos), 351f., 369 Vendetta, aria di, 92, 115, 353f., 355 Verbunk, 220 Viala, Alain, 94 Vicentino, Nicola, 47 Viganò, Salvatore, 182 Vila, Lluís, 291

Index Virgil, Publius V. Maro, 210 Vivancos, Bernat, 58f. Vocal vs. Instrumental (references), 91, 112, 176, 190, 203ff., 252, 333f. Vogler, Georg Joseph (Abbé Vogler), 128 Vogt, Mauritius, 46, 76 Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet), 112 W Wackenroder, Wilhelm H., xx 'Waldbeben’ (Wagner, Mahler), 43f. Walter, Johann, 76 Waltz (dance, reference), 222, 252f., 258, 265, 268ff., 274f., 298, 299 Wayfarer Songs (Wanderlieder), 227 ‘Weeping’, see Pianto Weltschmerz (Adorno), 363 Werckmeister, Andreas, 127 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, xxi Word Painting, 74f., 93 ‘Wordless Song’ (Floros), 97, 207 ‘Worldly Tumult’ (Isotopy), 187, 212, 221, 275, 363 Wordsworth, William, 178 Z Zarzuela (genre), 304 Zaslaw, Neal, 128, 167 Zbikowski, Lawrence, 94, 245ff., 252, 255 Zoppelli, Luca, 48