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light and airy passages of the violins completely overwhelmed by the deeper octaves. The second violin, therefore, must at all events be omitted, if the sense of the original were at all to be preserved. In more numerous or more diverging parts, still more must be sacrificed to obtain fluency and clearness of playing. When, for example, in the same symphony, the same phrase returns, but with the addition of the oboi from the third bar, they must be omitted, how beautiful soever their effect is in the orchestra, in order not to disturb the effect of the melody.

If part of the score must be omitted, the question arises, which part? we answer, that only whose non-execution seems to interfere least with the intention of the composition. Then again, among many parts, the least important. Thus we omitted above, the merely covering and accompanying hautboys, in favour of the principal melody; and at No. 381, the merely corroborating second violin, in favour of the first. The same phrase appears again, but is introduced by an intervening phrase of flute, hautboy, and bassoons, so that the violins come in with their melody between the wind instruments. Here the latter can by no means be omitted, not even in order to make the principal melody more perceptible.

We should play it thus:

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and omit only the last tone of the flute and hautboy (f), in order to favour the expressive sixth of the principal melody; but it is the will of the composer that this principal melody should be introduced, covered and veiled by the wind instruments.

But we are not always obliged to omit that which according to the score is impracticable, or which seems unfavourable It is sometimes sufficient to transpose a part by an octave. To this we cannot here add any further directions. It must be considered in each individual case, whether the transposition effects its object, viz., to make the score practicable and intelligible-whether it occasions any errors or unfavourable positions, or any diverging sense in the composition. Then again, it is necessary to return into the order of parts in the score, skilfully and without any disturbance.

Thirdly. There are many passages and configurations of tones of other instruments, which are either impossible on the pianoforte, or so difficult as to become inefficient on it; or again, which require other treatment. The viola or tenor accompaniment, in No. 381, may serve as an example: still more strikingly, however, such repetitions as the following on bowed instruments, viz.: 383.


which produce them easily in the most rapid succes

sion, and with every gradation of piano or forte; whereas, upon the pianofore (particularly in third, sixth, and octave duplications) they are either impracticable or excessively difficult, and the piano of the original instrument is perfectly unattainable. In this case we must imagine other forms, capable of producing upon the pianoforte the same effect, or nearly so, as that produced by the other instruments through the original forms of the score.

If we have to accompany from the score, another system must be adopted. In most cases of this description, it is choral, or compositions in many parts, which are to be accompanied, and it now becomes the duty of the accompanyer to assume also the direction, or at least the leading of the song, and of assuring and aiding it in difficult passages, in the event of hesitation, &c. Here it can no longer be necessary, and would often be very injurious, to think of exhibiting all the parts of the score on the instrument. If the voices are sure, and not too weakly set, their parts can be passed over, in order to allow the player to make the performance more full from the diverging accompaniment.

With regard to sufficient strength, it is necessary in the first place to think of the bass voices; and we would willingly omit wide harmonies, and a complete exhibition of the middle voices-particularly in strong, serious, and otherwise elevated compositions,-in order to leave the left hand free to play the bass exclusively in octaves, and thereby increase its strength. In like manner, for the characteristic forms of the higher voices, which ought to be distinctly produced, we would devote the right hand exclusively, in order to make them effective or to play them in octaves. We would even occasionally omit such secondary parts as the hand might reach (page 109), only in order to leave the principal part quite free, and that it might be the more effectively heard. It may indeed easily happen that the accompaniment of a passage in many parts, should be limited to two forcible and elevated parts, or even to one only; and in that manner the composer's own precise object has been probably hit upon, namely, the performance with a pianoforte and not with an orchestra.

If any error or wavering should be perceptible in a single voice or in the whole mass, it is the immediate duty of the accompanyer to give assistance. During the performance of a perhaps richly-played accompaniment, this is scarcely to be expected. It would be better, instead of simplifying it, to have recourse to strong thorough-bass chords, as they are called; or to play the faltering voices particularly loud, or, if necessary, quite alone. But this should not be done without urgent necessity, and then it requires judgment and skill to return from such deviations to the richer accompaniment from the score.

So much we offer, as a few directions in one of the most interesting exercises in the practice of music. Diligent application, proceeding always from the more simple to the more elaborate and complexpersonal reflection-and, if possible, the leading and supervision of an enlightened teacher skilful in score (of whom, indeed, there is no excess), will now

conduct us to the goal. With regard to the order of study (apart from the rule that we are to go from compositions in few parts to those in many), the most easy will be generally the Italian ecclesiastical music; then Handel's and Gluck's scores; Haydn and Mozart's symphonies and quartets; then Mozart's operas; after which Haydn's oratorios; and lastly, Beethoven's and Seb. Bach's works; not to mention many other masters-would form a reasonably progressive plan of instruction. It must be understood as a matter of course, that this can be only an approximative indication; and that many of Beethoven's and Haydn's movements are easier to perform than many Italian or some of Handel or of Haydn; Haydn particularly, is rich in peculiar combinations, and often surprises the performer with passages difficult of execution, but precious as artistic ideas.

It might here be asked, whether an arrangement for the pianoforte carefully constructed, might not perform the office of score-playing much more surely and better?

The first it certainly might; for the constructor of an arrangement has time at will to consider everything, and to choose the most favorable out of all possibilities. The last, certainly not. Arrangements for the pianoforte* are generally made for sale, and therefore in a manner suitable to the greater number of less advanced and educated players; and hence, moreover, they are far from containing all that a good player would derive from the same source. But were that not the case, an arrangement can contain only one exemplification of the score; but it is evident that even the most full performance of a score can only imperfectly unfold the riches of the composition. The player who has a deep insight into the score, will not, however, play at one time in the same manner as at others; he will introduce various parts on various occasions, and omit them as it may suit the different turns he may give to his always imperfect production; and so by degrees, at least, he will produce more from the score than the best arrangement can represent.

Not without weight, also, are the higher enjoyment and deeper inspiration which flow from the contemplation of the score, to him who is master of its performance. We often find that such a one plays preferably and better, and even with greater ease from the score than from the arrangement.



The consideration of what is the true end and aim of musical instruction, and the surest path to its attainment, must be very interesting to an author, anxious to be serviceable to those whose early steps

* A celebrated exception from this accusation is the arrangement for four hands, by F. Liszt, of Beethoven's symphony in C minor (at Breitkopf and Hârtel's), in which the magnificent orchestral constructions are rendered with completeness, dignity, and power; and moreover, with a deep and accurate insight into the nature of the Pianoforte. The Pastoral Symphony however, elaborated with equal care, could not be equally successful. In this composition, the orchestral effects are as unattainable as they are indispensable.

he guided, and desirous, also, of imparting a few hints and remembrances to his more advanced scholars, now perhaps teachers and guides themselves. For these objects no place is perhaps better suited than the present.

We therefore add these remarks, which partly belong immediately to our subject, and are at all events nearly related to it, on the object and method of musical education for the people, and for the profession.

Such observations, however, can be founded only on a clear view of the nature and tendency of music, and on a free and unprejudiced inspection into its present condition; and in the first place, in our own country, if indeed any one can flatter himself with the hope of possessing sufficient knowledge and freedom of opinion. Each individual commands only a limited circle of vision; and he who has looked around with lively interest, and has perceived the necessity of seeing with his own eyes and from his own point of view, knows how insufficient and uncertain are the communications of others in comparison with his own experience. Every individual must further confess, that he himself is influenced more or less by the circumstances of the moment, and that posterity alone can pronounce judgment upon all.

But if we are obliged to leave the decision to our successors, it is also our duty to consider what we are, and what they may become. We are bound, therefore, to examine and weigh our times, and we are content that our judgment on them be converted into evidence on ourselves before a higher tribunal.

If we cast a glance at the present state of music amongst us, we behold an all-pervading musical activity, unexampled in any former period; unless, perhaps, in the golden days of Italy and Spain. Then from vast cathedrals, and from hills crowned with pilgrims, streamed the wave of sacred song; then the festive trumpets clanged from glittering balconies, at rejoicings of princes and nobles; then the balmy nights were musical with harp and guitar in lovely hands. Then, also, our own country reechoed in Luther's great days with his mighty melodies, which rolling from the holy choir, awakening, confirming, and inspiring, swept through the crowded market, and busy streets, into the domestic circle and private chamber.

What in those days gushed from excited nature and internal emotion, has been transmitted to us, closely allied as it is, to the deep poetical nature of our countrymen, and now seems to exercise an unlimited dominion over us.

So our public gardens, our domestic circles, our festivals teem with music; numerous and continually increasing bands march with our armies; and our tremulous ball-rooms are sinking under the oppression of pleasure.* What town is there so small, as not to have at least winter concerts? What numberless amateurs, what quartet associations, what concerts of all descriptions crowd our larger cities! What period has ever seen in all places, and the

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whole year throughout, so many operas performed? and can anything at any period be compared to our immense gatherings of cities with cities in our musical festivals? In fine, what period has ever acknowledged, as ours has done, by word and deed, and with such sacrifices of time and gold, the indispensable and salutary effect of music in human education?

This spread of music, this universal sympathy in the concourse of sweet sounds, corresponds with the means which have been applied to it. However expensive instruction, instruments, and musical matters may be, all families of the middle classes, as well as of the higher, seek to procure them. Nowhere is there a deficiency of masters. In all schools singing is practised,-seminaries, universities, and especial music schools continue the instruction to a higher grade. Everywhere singing academies, instrumental classes, and musical societies for private and public performance are established. City and state officials provide means, and assist in the performances in chapels and choirs, and in public instruction. Our book trade supplies works of art of all times, more numerously, commodiously, and cheaply than ever; and the construction of musical instruments is improved with the advance of the mechanical arts.

Such is the wonderful power of music to open all hearts, to gain sympathy and support from those even, who, by deficient education or organization, are unable to participate in its joys,-who bring their offerings to her fane, and then pleased, but unendowed, retire.

How has music acquired this influence, and how does she requite our love and devotion ?

She has the power, she is all-powerful in man, because she grasps him in all his fibres and nerves, corporeally and spiritually, the whole body and soul, sensibilities and thoughts. The roughest natures tremble at her dread clangour, while none resist her soft and captivating tones. Her corporeal effect is irresistible, magical-for the simply corporeal sensation suggests already that these tremblings of the nerves reach the inmost depths of the soul; that this corporeal charm is rendered holy and consecrated by its connexion with the foundation of our existence. He who has drawn from his soul its most delicate, most powerful, most secret feelings,-who has commanded them at will,-who has cast a light into the unknown depths of the mind, and there passed a dreamy consciousness; he who has seen in this undulating play of the soul, aspirations, visions, and the deepest ideas, erect as the commanding spirits,who knows that our existence would be incomplete without the world of sounds, such a one comprehends that the spiritually sensitive pleasure in music leads us on only to make our sensibilities more delicate and more excitable, to civilize and fructify the inmost foundations of the mind, and to manifest to our souls the highest expectations, a new invisible world of ideas, a new aspect of existence.

But its nature is two-fold, like that of man-it is corporeal from matter, and spiritual from the mind. Its influence may elevate us from a rough, hard, and

useless condition, to humanity, sentiment, and action -it can soften and correct our sensibilities, awaken our expectations, enable us to soar above the purest humanity into the region of the god-like; and, in this inward elevation, fill us with the real working power of goodness. But this same influence of sounds may bury us in the seductive waves of corporeal sensation, always existing, though concealed; it may efface all noble feelings and sustaining power from the soul, and abandon us to thoughtlessness, infirmity of purpose, and the ever-destroying attractions of the senses, in whose train follow the strange twins-satiety and insatiability; and, lastly, the fearful loss of interest in everything.

How does the dangerous and well-loved art repay our love and gifts?

Everything in art is pure, and noble, and good. Our weakness is to blame if her gifts turn to poison; if we, being arrived at the threshold of her temple, lie sinking there; if we hear her voice in our souls, but forsake her consecrated halls, and lose ourselves in the outer courts, destined only for the offal of the beasts of sacrifice.

Much has happened which is calculated to disturb and distress, in our time, the pure enjoyment and the legitimate progress of art. The waves of political events beat awfully in the minds of men, and into all forms of social and inward life; but still there is wanting in the masses a uniting, elevating, and spiritually exciting idea. Overwhelming circumstances and recollections have called forth on the one side, vehemence of desires, and the habit of impetuously-changing impressions; and, on the other, their opposite conditions-relaxation and a deep want of quietude of mind, and of a cessation of mental struggle. In both relations, materiality-as the element of more powerful excitations and effects, or as the soft tranquilizer of mind by lulling the senseshas obtained a height of command unknown to art; and the spectacle more than once witnessed before is now repeated that in such moments, when the tension of the German mind and character of their own peculiar feelings become relaxed, and collapse in the masses of the people, a foreign hand, especially the frivolity and fluttering prosaicalness of France, or the enervating sensuality of Italy, assumes the sceptre. Then it is, so far as regards music, at the opera, that the foreign productions gain an easy and sure victory by display and exaggeration. How many wiles are employed to charm the senses in those exhibitions, to distract and intoxicate the mind of the spectator, and to cloud his judgment as to the real matter before him; and how can all the other branches and departments of art remain uninfected by such an influence, when they proceed from the theatre-the highest and most commanding position of the arts.

If, on the one hand, we must confess the degrading direction to materialities of the foreign operas, a direction which in these times derives so much influence from our being accustomed and, indeed, forced, as it were, by the public and political circumstances of the west, to keep our eyes on that quarter, as to the dial-plate of disturbance in Europe;

so, on the other hand, we will recognise the positive advantages we have received from them (which have been but too much neglected by our musicians and poets) in the more urgent endeavour to produce dramatic, or, at least, scenic animation and effect from combined personal situations in more common relations, and in the public and ordinary events of life. Only when, through the real poverty, degradation, and error of the foreign opera, our musicians shall have recognized this element, and have adopted it with dignity and truth in the German opera, will our art herein also celebrate its inevitable triumph.

Until that period the foreign style will be predominant, will be loved; it will draw after it the artistic requirements of the multitude, and will satisfy them. The inevitable consequences of this dominion are, outward attractions and excitements of the senses-external magnificence with internal poverty

superficial contentment in lieu of soundness and depth-a yielding to unworthiness, and a base condescension of dignity and position to mere parade of effect. Degraded music, a mere matter of amusement, is dragged everywhere; it pursues us into our gardens and at our meals; and, in endeavouring to fill up the void in desolated social intercourse, it alike deafens our ears to all rational converse, and deadens our feelings to the true powers of art. Loss of character and significance pervades all its branches, and is followed by increasing loss of interest. The more we depart from the idea of the whole, from the meaning, from the conception of art and the unity of artistic works, the more decided is the progress of that disorder, that inward death of art occasioned by considering the means as the principal, and neglecting the end. Thus, those foreign seductive operas have been able to attain their influence over us. We have been blinded by the authority of their origin, and by the fame of their highly-gifted singers; by the extraordinary means employed to produce effect; by the very ridiculousness of some of these incidents, such as a sale by auction, a tender, sentimental post-boy, not to mention more recent instances, which, from their utter novelty on the opera boards, are absolutely startling. On the other hand, we are ourselves reproached, and not without some reason, with not being sufficiently attentive to our means-a bad habit of which we trust bitter experience will correct us.

Hence, music assumes to us at present an aspect which is by no means satisfactory.

We have abundance of music, but little pleasure from it. We obtain from it distraction and amusement, where we might derive thought and elevation. Thus is is with our fashionable opera, where its frequenters are swooning with giddiness for a moment, and then are left empty, and in another moment forget it. So in our concerts, whose utmost effort is to display an extraordinary artist, creating astonishment, the most fruitless of all states of the mind. So in our public music, which, without moving our sympathy, destroys our conversation. So it is, in fine, in our social parties, where confined to heartless school exercises, or ill-judged repetitions of fashionable airs, instead of producing the enjoy

ments of art, it causes more embarrassment, envy, and tediousness than we are willing to confess to each other, or even to ourselves.

We willingly avert our eyes from the unpleasant spectacle. It is not, however, here the place, nor our object, to pronounce a judgment; but we should certainly wish to call the attention of those to the subject, who feel an interest in art, and in popular education. And indeed, notwithstanding the corruptions and weaknesses which we have lamented, we must be total strangers to the feelings of our kind, not to acknowledge and honor the most earnest and promising exertions and struggles, the strong adhesion to the works of the elder masters, from Beethoven back to Gluck and Seb. Bach, the most extraordinary, although perhaps technical industry of executants, the zealous competition of youth for scholastic and universal cultivation, so indispensable to artists, all of which has never been so conspicuous as in our times. There is to be observed, however, in all this very praiseworthy labour and exertion, a considerable degree of unconsciousness or indifference as to matter and object, which must be overcome before the proper fruits can be expected; and which presents to our view, occasionally, depth and superficialness, genuine and spurious art, in equal estimation; while the undistinguishing pursuit of good and bad is honored by the name of impartiality, and discrimination is denounced as illiberality.

A widely-spread activity, of great promise if well conducted, prevails in the track and propagation both of the good and of the spurious, but the individualizing, animating idea, the leading consciousness, the highest power of art, have still to be drawn out from their deep recesses.

Many noble-minded and earnestly-thinking people have viewed in this confused whirlpool of struggling powers, the death of that art which has been the bright sunny ray of their lives, in Bach, or Gluck, or Mozart, or Beethoven; but we will hold fast to the conviction that art is a necessity of human nature, and is therefore equally imperishable. On the same ground, we conclude that, in any particular nation, music cannot be destroyed and lost but with the nation itself; although both together may undergo morients of error, delusion, or failure. A wellpondered review of the history of music teaches us this; and an elevated contemplation of what our nation is, and of what music requires and can expect from it, upholds, in times of undeniable retrogression, those hearts which beat for something beyond the fleeting moment.


What is really the proper object of all musical education and employment?

Joy in the art-we declare as the first object. A joyless occupation in it-and how frequently do we meet it! how common is the observation, unfortunately, that in the learning and practising of music, the original delight is quickly extinguished, never to

be felt again in its pristine vigour and productiveness-is fatal to the artistic sense, and is, indeed, more injurious than total disoccupation, since it not only misapplies the time which might have been otherwise profitably employed, but also destroys our capacity of receiving satisfaction from art.

But the joy must be really artistic-not foreign; and still less must it be opposed to art. We would hereby deprecate the tickling vanity which loves to make a display of extraordinary technical facility, and plumes itself on difficulties overcome. Nothing is more foreign nor further than this littleness from true art, whose high calling it is to raise us from the narrow limits of personal feelings, into the region in common, of universal joy, love, and inspiration; nothing is more inimical and destructive to the true sense and enjoyment of art, than this poisonous mildew, which overlays artistic activity and its productions. Nothing more surely draws the mind from the purifying atmosphere of art, into the petty, narrow strivings and contentions of self-seeking vanity, than this eager ostentation of personal skill; and, in fine, nothing manifests more clearly to an intelligent mind, the wide gulf which separates vain from true art, than this exchange of its outward means, for its inward soul and object. How general, however, is this striving in our parties and concerts! How rarely is the joy of the listeners the object of our concert players and amateurs ! How much nearer have they not at heart, to astonish the less proficient, and to startle the unartistic crowd with newly-invented contrivances, with a technical composition of a Chopin, or a study of a Thalberg, or whatever the latest finger-artist may be called. And how often is it not the teachers who urge their

pupils to this pernicious competition, simply in order to obtain more scholars! The lowest, most unreflecting, merely corporeal pleasure of music, the most superficial enjoyment of a skipping dance, is more artistic, more productive and nobler, than this monstrosity, which is so widely diffused amongst us. The feeling performance of the most trivial song or the most simple waltz, is a stronger proof of the ability of the scholar and of the teacher, than those precocious and forced, though in reality cheap productions of vanity.

The corporeal pleasure caused by art, awakens by itself a spiritual participation; and this spiritual participation in art, we regard as the highest object to which our employment therein is to be directed. If we do not close our heart and sensibilities, by caprice and ill-directed exertion,-if we do not ourselves destroy our feelings, and the natural operation of our minds, emotion will spring of itself from the corporeal apprehension of the artistic work; a more elevated life will flow through our nerves, and joy through our mind, such as the pure enjoyment of art alone can produce; the assurance of community, of well-being, will loosen the hard crust of egotism from our hearts, and bind us the more closely in sympathy and affection with the friends who participate in our pleasures. The heart opens itself willingly to new sensations and an altered state of mind occasioned by works of art, and receives them


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