Printable Version of Module 10: Solo Textsetting after 1700
written by William Atkinson

Music

1. John Blow, "Rise Mighty Monarch," from the collection Amphion Anglicus (1700)

Rise, mighty monarch, and ascend the throne,
'Tis yet once more your own,
For Lucifer and all his legions are o'erthrown.

Son of the morning, first-born son of light,
Art thou tumbled headlong down
Into the dungeon of eternal night?

Text for excerpt from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas

RECITATIVE

Thy hand, Belinda! Darkness shades me;
On thy bosom let me rest.
More I would--but death invades me:
Death is now a welcome guest.

ARIA

When I am laid, am laid in earth
May my wrongs create
No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;
Remember me...remember me, but ah, forget my fate.

Kennst du das Land...

Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen bluhn,
Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen gluhn,
Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht,
Die Myrtle still und hoch der Lorbeer steht,
Kennst du es wohl?
Dahin! Dahin
Mocht' ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn.

Kennst du das Haus? Auf Saulen ruht sein Dach,
Es glanzt der Saal, es schimmert das Gemach,
Und Marmorbilder stehn und sehn mich an;
Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, getan?
Kennst du es wohl?
Dahin! Dahin
Mocht' ich mit dir, o mein Beschutzer, ziehn.

Kennst du den Berg und seinen Wolkensteg?
Das Maultier sucht in Nebel seinen Weg;
In Hohlen wohnt der Drachen alte Brut;
Es sturzt der Fels und uber ihn die Flut.
Kennst du ihn wohl?
Dahin! Dahin
Geht unser Weg! o Vater, lasst uns ziehn!

Do you know the land where lemon trees blossom,
Where golden oranges glow amid dark leaves,
A gentle wind blows from the blue sky,
The myrtle stands silent, the laurel tall.
Do you know it?
There! There
I desire to go with you, my beloved!

Do you know the house? Its roof rests on pillars,
The hall gleams, the chamber shimmers,
And marble statues stand and gaze at me:
What have they done to you, poor child?
Do you know it?
There! There
I desire to go with you, my protector!

Do you know the mountain and its clouded path?
The mule seeks its way through the mist,
In caves the ancient brood of dragons dwells;
The rock falls steeply and over it the flood,
Do you know it?
There! There
Lies our way. O father, let us go!

4. Robert Schumann, "Kennst du das Land?" (1849) (same text as Schubert)

5. Hugo Wolf, "Kennst du das Land?" (1890) (same text as Schubert)

6. Olivier Messiaen, Harawi, "Montagne" (1945)

Text for "Montagne," from Messiaen's Harawi

Rouge-violet, noir sur noir.
L'antique inutile rayon noir.
Montagne, ecoute le chaos solaire du vertige.
La pierre agenouillee porte ses maitres noirs.
En capuchons serres les sapins se hatent vers le noir.
Gouffre lance partout dans le vertige.
Noir sur noir.

Violet-red, black on black.
The ancient, needless black ray.
Mountain, listening to the solar chaos of dizziness.
The kneeling stone brings its dark masters.
In tight hoods the firs hasten against the dark.
The abyss everywhere launches into vertigo.
Black on black.

Readings

1. The Sonic Glossary entries "Lied" and "Strophic."

Lied

A setting of a lyrical (or dramatic) poem in German, usually for voice and piano. [Example 1: Schubert, Rastlose Liebe, Jan de Gaetani recording, track 2]. A Lied is a setting of a lyrical poem in German, usually for voice and piano. Lieder (the plural form) had been improvised or written down from as early as the Middle Ages, but the Lied as an art form began to flourish around 1800 in Germany and Austria. Although art songs were written in other countries, including France and England, the Lied retained a special quality because of its growth from the movement known as German Romanticism. Romanticism stressed the subjective, the intimate, and the small-scale, and also forged close links between literature and music.

The first great composer of Lieder was Franz Schubert (1797-1828), who wrote over 600 works in the genre. Schubert's Lieder are distinguished by the high quality of the poetry and by the fusion of music and text into a complete whole. Schubert set over 75 texts by the greatest poet of his time, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832).

One of Schubert's most famous Goethe Lieder is "The Little Rose on the Heath" ("Heidenršslein," 1815), a lyric about a boy who seeks to pluck a rose, which resists and pricks him with its thorns. The rose acts in vain, for the boy succeeds in his quest. Although the erotic symbolism is clear, the poem is presented in folklike simplicity, which Schubert captures in his setting.

This song is in a strophic form: each of the three verses is set to the same block of music. In Schubert's original manuscript we can see that he put the text for the first strophe under the melody, then at the bottom of the page wrote out only the words for the other two stanzas.

Schubert's melody is tuneful and regular--almost like a folksong--and the piano accompaniment is minimal. As is characteristic of many Lieder, however, the piano seems to "comment" on the poem with its spiky little interludes in between the strophes. The piano conveys something of the boy's aggression. [Example 2: First stanza of Heidenršslein]

Dramatic Lied (Ballad). A very different kind of Lied from "The Little Rose on the Heath" is represented by Schubert's setting of Goethe's poem "The Elfking" (Erlkšnig; 1815). This text is a ballad, which is a longer poem that tells a dramatic story. A sick boy is being carried by his father on a terrifying nighttime horse ride. In his delirium the boy believes he is being enticed away by the Elfking, who spins beautiful tunes. The father doesn't believe in the Elfking, whose melodies he dismisses as the rustling of the leaves. As the horse reaches the house, the child is dead in his father's arms.

As befits the ongoing story, Schubert's setting is not strophic, but through-composed: each of the eight stanzas of the poem are set to different music. Schubert writes distinct melodies, and in different styles, for each of the four implied voices: the narrator, the father, the child, and the Elfking. There is some musical recurrence, as in the setting of the cries of the feverish child ("My father, my father") in stanzas 4, 5, and 6. These small returns do not, however, make the songs strophic; rather, they are woven into the continuous musical fabric and add an element of coherence. The principal element of unity, though, is provided by the piano accompaniment, whose unceasing triplet rhythms seem to represent the galloping of the horse and continue throughout the song in many different transformations.

Orchestral Lied. Humorous Lied Lieder can also be accompanied by a symphony orchestra, as in some songs from the later nineteenth century by Gustav Mahler (1860-1911). In Mahler's "Reveille" (Revelge), set to a folk text from the early Romantic anthology The Youth's Magic Horn (Des Knaben Wunderhorn), the orchestra creates many vivid, harrowing effects. The orchestra plays a grim and dissonant military march, complete with snare drum rolls, while the singer bitterly bemoans the harsh life of a soldier. [Example 4: Mahler: "Reveille," first stanza].

Not all Lieder are as grim as Erlkšnig or Revelge. The composer Hugo Wolf (1860-1903) set a wickedly humorous poem, "Farewell" ("Abschied") by Eduard Mšrike, that seems to poke fun at pompous critics of the arts. A man enters a home and announces to the startled resident, "I have the honor to be your critic!" After the critic ruthlessly and gratuitously denigrates the shape of the man's nose, his host takes pleasure in booting him down the stairs, a moment that Wolf captures with an exuberant waltz.

Collections; Song cycles. Romantic Lieder were sometimes grouped by composers into larger collections of songs--as many as thirty, or as few as three--usually based on the work of single poet. When such a group had a sense of continuity or a common thread, it was called a "song cycle." Among the most famous song cycles are Schubert's Winter's Journey (Winterreise) and Schumann's Poet's Love (Dichterliebe).

One example of a Lied from a late song cycle, written in a very different style from Schubert, Wolf or Mahler is "Groves in these Paradises" ("Hain in diesen Paradiesen"). This is the second number in the great cycle The Book of the Hanging Gardens (Das Buch der hŠngenden GŠrten), composed by Arnold Schoenberg (1874-1951) in 1908-09 to poetry by one of the leading poets of the day, Stefan George (1868-1933). The speaker is a prince who awaits his beloved in a luxuriant palace garden. The poetry is almost abstract because it has no action, but is densely packed with images of natural and man-made beauty. Schoenberg's music is atonal; that is, it has no fixed key or set of key relationships. This style is a musical equivalent of the abstract poetry. The song is entirely through-composed. In this Lied, the style of singing is declamatory rather than tuneful, and the piano accompaniment is at first very bare. Yet the gestures and the mood are very romantic in spirit. [Example 6: Schoenberg: "Groves in these Paradises"]

Summary:

• A Lied is a work for piano and voice based on a lyric or dramatic poem of high quality.
• Poetry and music are closely interwoven in the voice part.
• The piano accompaniment plays an important role, capturing the mood of the poem or representing one or more of its main images.
• Less frequently, the Lied is accompanied by a symphony orchestra.
• Songs with a common thread can be grouped together to form a "song cycle."

*****************************************************************

Strophic

A form of vocal music in which each stanza of a poetic text is set to the same segment, or strophe, of music. [Example 1: Try a Screw to Get Through]

The term "strophic" refers to a form of vocal music in which each stanza of a poetic text is set to the same segment, or strophe, of music. The strophic principle is widespread in Western music. It is encountered from the Middle Ages to the present, across folk, popular, and high-art traditions, and in many different languages. There seems to be a very basic, cross-cultural appeal in strophic forms. As a strophic form unfolds, something remains the same (the musical unit) while something else changes (the poetic text). Thus there is unity in variety, or variety in unity, and the results are aesthetically satisfying.

The strophic impulse can also be said to reflect in the music a structural principle already at work in the poetry: that of recurrence vs change. Within a poem that has a regular scheme of rhyme and metrical feet (such as iambic pentameter), the basic framework of each stanza will remain the same throughout, while the words, images, or narrative will change or evolve. This principle is similar to having the musical setting of each strophe remain constant while the text changes.

We find strophic forms in one of the earliest notated popular-music traditions of the West, that of the troubadours. A charming sirventes (usually a political or satirical song) by the celebrated troubadour Bertran de Born, Bel m'es quan vei chamjar, written in the twelfth century, explains the proper qualities of youthful behavior within the courtly world: [Example 2: Bertran de Born:Bel m'es]

Written in the langue d'oc, or Provençal, the poem has three stanzas, each of which is sung to the same melody. The first stanza praises the succession of generations from parents to children. The second characterizes what constitutes admirable behavior in a young woman; the third does the same for men.

The melodies of the troubadour repertory have come down to us with no rhythmic notation and no accompaniment, although many modern recordings add both rhythm and instruments. This recording uses only a solo voice, which performs in a free, unfixed rhythm. The effect is hauntingly beautiful, expressing the very combination of confidence and vulnerability that is the essence of youth.

1.	Bel m'es, quan vei chamjar lo senhoratge, que·lh vielh laissan a·ls joves lor maisos, e chascus pot laissar en son linhatge tans filhs quo l'us puoscha esser pros:		I am pleased to see authority change hands and old men leave their houses to the young, for each one can leave in his lineage sons enough for one of them to be brave.
	adoncs m'es vis que·l segles renovel mielhs que per flor ni per chantar d'auzel; e qui senhor ni donna pot chamjar, vielh per jove, be·s deu renovelar.		So it seems to me that the world is renewed better than by flowers and birdsong. And if someone can change an old master or mistress for a young, well then he must get a new lease on life.
2.	Joves es domna que sap honrar paratge et es joves pe r bos fachs, quan los fa, joves si te, quan a adrech coratge et ves bo pretz avol mestier non a:		Young is the lady knows how to honor people of high birth and she is young by the good actions she does. She acts like a young woman when she shows just judgement and acts not in a manner unworthy of a good reputation
	joves si te, quan guarda son cors bel, et es joves domna, quan be·s chapdel; joves si te, quan no·i chal divinar, qu'ab bel joven si guart de mal estar.		She acts like a young woman when she keeps her body beautiful and stays a young lady when she behaves well She acts like a young woman when not attempting to know everything and refrains from behaving badly in the company of elegant young men.
3.	Joves es hom quo lo sieu ben engatge, et es joves, quan es be sofrachos; (remainder of stz.3)		Young is the man who uses his money and young he is when he is totally without means.

[Example 3: Bertran de Born: Bel m'es]

Many religious songs, including hymns and carols, are in strophic form. One of the loveliest and most famous is the Christmas carol Lo, How a Rose e'er Blooming. The melody and words are originally German, probably dating from the fifteenth century. They were harmonized by the renowned late Renaissance composer Michael Praetorius. The blooming rose of the text refers to the Virgin Mary. This recording has two stanzas, each set to the same melody.

If you listen carefully, you will hear that there is musical repetition within each of the two strophes of Lo, How a Rose. The first two pairs of lines are musically identical ("Lo, how a rose. . ."; "Of Jesse's lineage. . ."); the music of line 5 is different ("It came, a flow'ret bright. . ."), then the last pair of lines has music that is virtually the same as that of the first pairs. Thus, each strophe has the musical form AAbA. But the strophic form of the carol consists in the larger repetition of the entire AAbA musical unit for both stanzas of the poetic text A [AAbA] A [AAbA].

1.	Lo, how a rose e'er blooming From tender stem has sprung! Of Jesse's lineage coming as men of old have sung. It came a flow'ret bright, Amid the cold of winter, When half spent was night.
2.	Isaiah 'twas foretold it, The rose I had I mind; With Mary we behold it, The Virgin mother kind. To show God's love aright She bore to men a Savior, When half spent was the night.

[Example 4: Lo, How a Rose, harm. Praetorius]

Strophic forms are frequently found in operas, especially in arias (solo numbers) in which the characters are expressing relatively uncomplicated, and usually happy, thoughts. There is often a folk-like quality to such arias. One example of a strophic aria is Orpheus's "Do you remember, O shady groves?" from Act II of Monteverdi's Orfeo (1607). Here Orpheus and his companions are joyfully celebrating his marriage to Eurydice; only moments later the mood changes dramatically, as her death is announced. The music for this aria is dance-like and tuneful. There are four stanzas, each set to the same music and separated by instrumental ritornellos.

	RITORNELLO
1.	Vi ricorda, o boschi ombrosi, (x2) de' miei lunghi aspri tormenti, quando I sassi ai miei lamenti rispondean fatti pietosi? Vi ricorda, o boschi ombrosi, (x2)		Do you remember, O shady groves, (x2) my long and bitter torments, when the rocks, themselves made pitiful, responded to my complaints? Do you remember, O shade groves, (x2)
	RITORNELLO
2.	Ditte, allor non vi sembrai (x2) piu d'ogn'altro sconsolato? Or fortuna ha stil cangiato ed ha volto in festa I guai. Ditte, allor non vi sembrai (x2)		Tell me, did I not seem to you (x2) to be more disconsolate than any other? Now Fortune has changed her tune and has turned my woes into revels. Tell me, did I not seem to you (x2)
	RITORNELLO
	(2 more stanzas, with ritornellos following)

[Example 5: Monteverdi: Orfeo (1607): aria "Vi, ricorda" (take from Bent VT, tape B3)]

Much folk and country music of the United States is built upon strophic forms. We include here a song called Kenny Wagner, sung by Bob Carpenter, a cautionary tale in four stanzas about a young man from Mississippi who led a life of "sin and woe" and ended his time in prison after being arrested by a "woman sheriff" in Texarkana. This song falls into the type known as a ballad -- a song that tells a story. Ballads in many different national traditions have been set strophically, such that the story unfolds or evolves while the music remains the same. There is probably a natural reason for this kind of ballad structure: when the music remains constant from stanza to stanza, listeners become familiar with it and can focus their attention on the evolving plot. The song Kenny Wagner probably dates from the 1920s; Bob Carpenter was recorded singing it by the ethnographer Alan Lomax in 1959, and we will hear it in its entirety:

1.	Way down in Mississippi, not many years ago A young man started out in life, a life of sin and woe. Oh, Kenny Wagner was his name, a bandit bold and free, He shot down Sheriff Macintosh, then he went to Tennessee.
2.	Twas there they captured Kenny, and they put him into jail, There was no one to help him out, no one to go his bail. But Kenny broke the jail one night, and he made his getaway. He thought that he could go through life and never have to pay.
3.	But down in Texarkana, where Kenny met his fate, A woman sheriff captured him, but he pulled his gun too late. They took him back to stand his trial right where the deed was done. The judge then said to Kenny, "Boy, no more you'll pull your gun."
4.	Well, Kenny Wagner broke the law and he threw his life away, And now he's 'hind the prison walls; he'll live till Judgement Day. All you young men take warning, and heed my last advice: Don't ever start the road of life wrong, or you'll surely pay the price.

[Example 6: Kenny Wagner]

An example of a strophic form from a different national tradition of the twentieth century is the Calypso song Try a Screw to Get Through, recorded by a singer known as The Tiger in 1936 in New York. The Tiger sings of the troubles of unemployment in his native Trinidad during the Great Depression and the things men must do to survive in such difficult times. The song has five eight-line stanzas (and thus five musical strophes), of which all but the second end with same "refrain" lines, "After all, there is no work to do, / We boun' to try a screw to get through." As with several other examples of strophic form we have examined, the strophes are separated by instrumental interludes. The Tiger is accompanied by Gerald Clark and his Caribbean Serenaders.

1.	The government should really deal more leniently With the unemployed of this colony. The government should really deal more leniently With the unemployed of this colony. Work's nowhere, I mean, you have a rent to pay, The money circulation is decreasing every day. After all, there is no work to do, We boun' to try a screw to get through.
2.	You may look for work, it's natural, of course. But if your money finish, you have no resource. Richard Dix said man must live, it's widely known How mus' we live on a bed of stone. You'll have to play wappy, dice or rummy Or take some han' in negromancy. Open your brain, if you can' make money Or join the chain of burg-u-lary..
3.	They'd only need a little of starvation To notice the chance in this Iere lan'. Mango crop we can' hardly see, Breadfruit gone out entirely Cosada we just eat now and again, Well, everything is thrown up on the poor sugar cane. After all, there is no work to do, We boun' to try a screw to get through.
	(2 further stanzas)

[Example 7: Try a Screw to Get Through]

Strophic forms are also frequently found in German art songs, or Lieder, of the 19th century. One famous example is Schubert's "Little Rose on the Heath" (Heidenröslein), a setting of a poem by Goethe (1815) -- a lyric about a boy who tries to pluck a rose, which resists and pricks him with its thorns. The rose acts in vain, for the boy succeeds in his quest. Although the erotic symbolism is clear, the poem is presented in folklike simplicity, which Schubert captures in his setting.

1.	Sah ein Knab ein Röslein stehn, Röslein auf der Heiden, war so jung und morgenschön, lief er schnell, es nah zu sehn, sah's mit vielen Freuden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden.		A young lad saw a rosebud, rosebud on the heath; it was so young and lovely as the dawn, that he ran quickly to see it closely, he saw it with great joy. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, rosebud on the heath.
2.	Knabe sprach: ich breche dich, Röslein auf der Heiden! Röslein sprach: ich steche dich, dass du ewig denkst an mich, und ich will's nicht leiden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden.		Said the youth, "I'll pick you, rosebud on the heath." Rosebud said, "I'll prick you, so you'll always think of me, and I'll not suffer this." Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, rosebud on the heath.
3.	Und der wilde Knabe brach's Röslein auf der Heiden; Röslein wehrte sich und stach, half ihm kein Weh und Ach, musste es eben leiden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden.		And the wild lad plucked the rosebud on the heath. The rosebud defended itself, pricked him, but no moans or sighs helped it, it simply had to suffer. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, rosebud on the heath.

[Example 8: Schubert: Little Rose on the Heath]

Some vocal works have what is called a modified strophic form. This means that there will be some difference in at least one of the musical units (strophes), although the overall form will still be recognizable as strophic.

One striking example of a modified strophic form is "Good Night," the first song of Schubert's great cycle Winter's Journey (1827), set to poetry by Wihelm Müller. In this song the stranger, or wanderer, departs in dejection from the town where his beloved lives. Schubert sets all but the last pair of stanzas in the minor mode and with identical in music. (In this song, Schubert sets two of the poetic stanzas as a single musical strophe; thus there are eight stanzas, but four musical strophes.) Here is the first strophe (scroll down to the text, below.)

1.	Fremd bin ich eingezogen Fremd zieh'ich wieder aus. Der Mai war mir gewogen Mit manchem Blumenstrauss.		I arrived a stranger, A stranger I depart. May blessed me With many a bouquet of flowers.
	Das Mädchen sprach von Liebe, Die Mutter gar von Eh' - (x2) Nun ist die Welt so trübe, Der Weg gehüllt in Schnee. (x2)		The girl spoke of love, Her mother even of marriage; (x2) Now the world is so desolate, The path covered in snow. (x2)
	(3 further stanzas)

[Example 9: Schubert: "Good Night": CD 3573]

For the last and fourth pair of stanzas ("I will not disturb you"), Schubert keeps the melody and the basic harmonic structure the same, but switches to the major mode. At the repetition of the last line, "That I thought of you," Schubert turns once again to the minor, where the song ends. The surprising change to the major reflects the dream world of his beloved; the return to reality, to every day, brings the return to the bleak minor mode.

4.	Will dich im Traum nicht stören (major) Wär Schad' um deine Ruh', Sollst meinen Tritt nicht hören- Sacht, sacht die Türe zu!		I will not disturb you as you dream, It would a shame to spoil your rest. You shall not hear my footsteps; Softly, softly the door is closed.
	Schreib'im Vorübergehen An's Tor dir gute Nacht, Damit du mögest sehen, An dich hab'ich gedacht. (stanza rep'd) An dich hab'ich gedacht. (minor)		As I pass I write 'Good night' on your gate, So that you might see That I thought of you. (stanza rep'd) That I thought of you. (minor)

[Example 10: Schubert: "Good Night": CD 3573]

Another beautiful example of modified strophic form from the Lied tradition is Johannes Brahms's Like Melodies it Passes (1886), op. 105, no. 1, set to a text by Klaus Groth. The poem describes the experience of having thoughts or visions float in the mind like melodies, but then vanish when captured in words. In Brahms's setting, each of the three stanzas begins in exactly the same way, but then deviates harmonically and melodically in the third and fourth lines. The most remote harmonic area is reached at the end of the third stanza at the first occurrence of the words "Is softly called forth by a damp eye"; the repetition of these words leads back to the home key or tonic. Brahms's subtly modified strophic setting captures perfectly-magically, one might say-the evanescence, the impermanence evoked by Groth's poetry: like the poet's floating thoughts, the strophic form cannot be easily grasped or fixed.

1.	Wie Melodien zieht es Mir leise durch den Sinn, Wie Frühlingsblumen blüht es Und schwebt wie Duft dahin.		Like melodies it Passes gently through my mind, Like spring flowers it blossoms And floats there like a scent.
2.	Doch kommt das Wort und faßt es Und führt es vor das Aug, Wie Nebelgrau erblaßt es Und schwindet wie ein Hauch.		Yet when I try to grasp it in words And bring it before my eyes, It fades away like mist And disappears like a breath.
3.	Und dennoch ruht im Reime Verborgen wohl ein Duft, Den mild aus stillem Keime Ein feuchtes Auge ruft.		And yet hidden in rhyme There remains a scent, Which out of the dormant seed Is softly called forth by a damp eye.

[Example 11: Brahms: Like Melodies it Passes]

Summary:

• Strophic forms use one unit or strophe of music for all stanzas of text.
• Strophic forms are found in many cultures and in both art and popular musics.
• In modified strophic forms, small changes are made in the musical unit, but the overall similarity retains the strophic structure.

2. Johann Matheson on the "Doctrine of the Affections"

The most important and outstanding part of the science of sound is the part that examines the effects of well-disposed sounds on the emotions and the soul. This, as may be readily seen, is material that is as far-reaching as it is useful. To the musical practitioner it is of even more importance than to the theoretician, despite its primary concern with observation. Of much assistance here is the doctrine of the temperaments and emotions, concerning which Descartes is particularly worthy of study, since he has done much in music. This doctrine teaches us to make a distinction between the minds of the listeners and the sounding forces that have an effect on them.

What the passions are, how many there are, how they may be moved, whether they should be eliminated or admitted and cultivated, appear to be questions belonging to the field of the philosopher rather than the musician. The latter must know, however, that the sentiments are the true material of virtue, and that virtue is nought but a well-ordered and wisely moderated sentiment. Those affects, on the other hand, which are our strongest ones, are not the best and should be clipped or held by the reins. This is an aspect of morality which the musician must master in order to represent virtue and evil with his music and to arouse in the listener love for the former and hatred for the latter. For it is the true purpose of music to be, above all else, a moral lesson.

Those who are learned in the natural sciences know how our emotions function physically, as it were. It would be advantageous to the composer to have a little knowledge of this subject. Since, for example, joy is an expansion of our vital spirits, it follows sensibly and naturally that this affect is best expressed by large and expanded intervals. Sadness, on the other hand, is a contraction of those same subtle parts of our bodies. It is, therefore, easy to see that the narrowest intervals are the most suitable. Love is a diffusion of the spirits. Thus, to express this passion in composing, it is best to use intervals of that nature. Hope is an elevation of the spirit; despair, on the other hand, a casting down of the same. These are subjects that can well be represented by sound, especially when other circumstances (tempo in particular) contribute their share. In such a manner one can form a concrete picture of all the emotions and try to compose accordingly.

Pride, haughtiness, arrogance, etc., all have their respective proper musical color as well. Here the composer relies primarily on boldness and pompousness. He thus has the opportunity to write all sorts of fine-sounding musical figures that demand special seriousness and bombastic movement. They must never be too quick or falling, but always ascending. The opposite of this sentiment lies in humility, patience, etc., treated in music by the abject-sounding passages without anything that might be elevating. The latter passions, however, agree with the former in that none of them allow for humor and playfulness.

Music, although its main purpose is to please and to be graceful, must sometimes provide dissonances and harsh-sounding passages. To some extent and with the suitable means, it must provide not only unpleasant and disagreeable things, but even frightening and horrible ones. The spirit occasionally derives some peculiar pleasure even from these.

"Wilhelm Ehlers . . . was often obliged to work with Goethe until far into the night, tirelessly rehearsing the same song until all nuances were most scrupulously rendered, and the most varied meanings of different stanzas brought into relief to the same melody. Goethe convinced him Îhow objectionable was all so-called Durchkomponieren ["through-composing"] of songs which annihilates the general character of the poem, and postulates as well as excites a wrong interest in detailâ."

It is also apparent that Goethe (in a rehearsal of a Reichardt setting) demanded "tempo changes from stanza to stanza."

The text of the review by E. T. A. Hoffmann

The reviewer has already referred to Herr R.âs compositions as songs [gesange], although the title expressly describes them as Lieder. With the possible exception of numbers 2, 4, and 5, there is no composition in the collection that could lay claim to the title of a true Lied; they more or less resemble musically developed arias, or seem like a free fantasy spontaneously arising in the musicianâs fingers and throat as he reads the poem. It would be appropriate here, so far as is possible without digressing unduly, to say a few things about the differences between an aria and a Lied; in doing so the true musical character and requirement of each will become self-evident. The aria requires only a few words. Through them the poet gives clear expression to the inner state of mind determining and dominating his overall mood; but the gamut through which his emotions rise and fall, and often make themselves felt at individual moments in the most varied ways, is merely hinted at. The prevailing character established by the words dictates to the composer the underlying colour and tone (in the painterâs sense) that he must work with and remain faithful to, if the whole is to be maintained in proper balance and not dissolve into confusion. Then, however, the composer fastens upon individual emotional impulses merely suggested by the words and uses the means of expression afforded to him by the inexhaustible riches of his art to bring that emotion to life in all its aspects, as they arise from the action, situation, etc. He plays upon the entire gamut of passions, so that all the inner resonances emerge in clear and striking colours; thus in an aria the words may be regarded merely as a symbolic indication of feelings that in the restless alternation of their subtlest nuances only music can convey. This is what gives rise to the musical devices ö repetition of individual stanzas, even individual words ö that characterise arias.

It is different with the Lied. Here the poetâs proper object is to enunciate his inner experience purely in words, so that frequently many stanzas are needed to give full expression to every emotional impulse. The poet has done what in an aria the composer was required to do, and so the latter is now placed in the opposite position to that in an aria. The many words which must clearly convey every emotional impulse would bear down like lead weights upon the musical development appropriate to an aria and would hinder the composerâs flight of fancy. In the Lied, therefore, all forms of broader development obscure the poetâs intention, and the alien spirit appearing unannounced upon the scene destroys the magic of the words. The composer, stirred by the deeper meaning of the Lied, must bring all the emotional impulses into a single focus, as it were, from which the melody them radiates forth. Just as in an aria the words became a symbolic indication of the inner feeling, so now the notes become a symbol of all the various impulses of inner emotion contained within a Poetâs Lied. In order, therefore, to compose a Lied that fully matches the poetâs intention, it is necessary for the composer not only to grasp its deeper meaning but rather to become the poet himself. The spark that kindled the Lied within the poet must glow again with renewed vigour within the composer and simultaneously with the words give rise to sounds that repose in the musicianâs sould like a wonderful, all-embracing, all-governing mystery. It is supremely in composing Lieder that nothing can be ruminated upon or artificially contrived; the best command of counterpoint is useless here; at the moment of inspiration the idea, which is all, springs forth in shining splendour like winged Minerva from the head of Jupiter.

The inner poet (as Schubert [G. H. Schubert, not the composer!] calls our miraculous ability to dream in his Symbolik des Traumes ö but is not every artistic conception like an exquisite dream unconsciously generated by the inner spirit?) expresses in his own magical way what normally appears inexpressible; thus a few simple notes often contain the profoundest meaning of the poem. Lieder of earlier composers were extremely simple, without ostentation or ornament and without contrived modulation, often remaining in the tonic throughout; compact in scale, usually with no ritornello [refrain] and only accommodating one stanza; singable, that is to say without wide leaps and only covering a limited compass. But it should be obvious from what has already been said that all these characteristics proceed from the very nature of the Lied. To stir the innermost soul by means of the simplest melody and the simplest modulation, without affectation or straining for effect and originality: therein lies the mysterious power of true genius, such as that commanded by those excellent composers of the past, and by Reichardt and Zelter among the present generation. One need only think for example of Reichardtâs "Im Felde shleidhâ ich still und wild" and "Freudvoll und leidvoll," so utterly simple and yet so deeply affecting. The fact that only true genius can achieve such things may well explain our paucity of real Lieder; and the custom of through-composing, which the reviewer finds abhorrent, unless the text lapses into drama and thereby ceases to be a Lied, is merely the resort of imbeciles incapable of encompassing the whole and heedful only of the part.

4. Mosco Carner on Hugo Wolf, with comparisons to Schubert and Schumann

"On the whole I got the impression that I was not understood, that they busied themselves too much with musical matters and thereby forgot what is new and original in my musico-poetic conception. Continual chatter of musicians." Thus wrote Wolf in a letter to Melanie Koechert about a meeting in October 1890 with some Munich musicians anxious to hear a selections from his Moerike and Goethe songs. These words conceal the essence of Wolfâs philosophy as a song writer. We must not, Wolf implied, judge his songs as music per se ("they busied themselves too much with musical matters"), but solely in relation to the degree to which they succeed in recreating, in terms of voice and piano, the poemâs words, mood and meaning. The music, in other words, makes no sense apart from the text. Prima le parole e poi la musica was Wolfâs motto: the words are the alpha and omega of his creations and through the power of his "musico-poetic" imagination, they fuse with the music into a wholly organic entity. The Wolfian song, it has been said, aspires to the condition of poetry. This is true, of course, also of Schubert and Schumann, but what distinguishes Wolf from them is his whole-hearted, self-effacing surrender to the poets of his choice, notably Moerike, Goethe, and Eichendorff. Their verses are self-contained, tightly organised creations and pari passu a well-ordered disposition of verbal sonorities (the music of words), rhythms, and inflexions. Wolf nearly always ö the qualification "nearly" refers to the Spanish and Italian volumes ö submitted, as it were, body and soul to the poetâs hegemony, which was an extraordinary achievement and something of a revolution in German song-writing of the nineteenth century. It defines Wolfâs position in the history of the Lied. Significantly, in all the critical reviews that appeared after the publication of the Moerike songs, the word "new" was prominent ö "Neuer Fruehling," "Neues Leben," "Neue Lieder." It was in this collection of fifty-three songs that Wolfâs total, large-scale submission to the poet first took place, a fact that has been aptly, though not without a slight overtone of irony, called the "Poetic Supremacy Act of 1888." It was not merely a question of accompanying, illustrating and enhancing the words, but of assimilating and embodying them in music, which makes the typical Wolf song what it is.

Given this approach to song composition, one wonders what Wolf would have thought, had he lived a normal span of life, of Schoenberg; Schoenberg who in 1912 declared that in many of his songs he went on composing ö inspired by the sound of the first words in his text ö without bothering in the least about the sequence of poetic events and images, and that he did not discover until several days later that he had never done greater justice to the poet than by following this method. [Cf. Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire, in Module 2.] Very likely, Wolf would have pronounced "Anathema!" on the younger composer. Before going any further, one point of intrinsic importance must be clarified. However great our admiration for Wolf for his scrupulously literary approach to song-writing, in the last analysis it is his musical invention, plus his technical craftsmanship, which must remain the ultimate criterion of his settings. Song is given its lifeblood through music. To what extent this is true is best seen in Schubert. Admittedly, Schubert could be careless in the treatment of his words; he would often apply simple strophic form to verses containing stanzas of strongly contrasting sentiments so that the same melody has to do service for opposing moods; and he could be guilty of misunderstandings and misinterpretations of the poetâs intention. Nonetheless, Schubert remains the greatest among the German song composers ö partly for his prodigious output of some 600 songs, but largely for the well-nigh inexhaustible wealth, felicity and diversity of his musical invention. Schubert works almost entirely by instinct ö Wolf impresses by the penetrating power of his musical intelligence. This has been described ö admittedly with some exaggeration, yet not without a grain of truth in it ö as the "intellectualization" of the German song, and examples of it are to found in Wolfâs settings of some philosophical and didactic verses of Goethe. The essential contrast between Schubert and Wolf may best be put as that established by Schiller in his great essay on na•ve and sentimental (reflective) poetry.

Wolf could learn nothing from Schubertâs treatment of words, though a song like "Der Doppelganger," with its declamatory vocal line harnessed to an independent accompaniment, seems prophetic of what was to come in the younger composerâs achievement. Wolfâs true model in this and also other respects was Schumann ö Schumann who, like him, possessed a refined literary cast of mind and paid, despite occasional lapses, far greater attention than Schubert to a correct declamation of the text. But it must be remembered that it was not really until Wagner that a scrupulous handling of words became a major principle of vocal composition, and it is probable that, apart from Wagnerâs chromatic harmony, Wolf imbibed a lesson from him for his own declamatory treatment.... [An excerpt from Wagner's opera Die Walkure appears in Module 6.]

The Mignon of the novel [Goethe's Wilhelm Meister] is a truly enigmatic character. On the one hand, she is na•ve, innocent, trusting as a child and possessed of a most intense yearning for her native Italy ("Kennst du das Land"). On the other, she has a mysterious premonition of her early death ("So lasst mich scheinen") and is tormented by the thought that in some strange way an unspeakable tragedy is bound up with her life ("Heiss mich nicht reden"). Schubert, in his settings of the Mignon poems, bypasses this unsettling and somewhat weird element in the girl. In his conception, she is an entirely child-like creature , singing of her sufferings and longings in simple, straightforward, yet nonetheless most poignant tones. Yet, if he did read the novel, he must have read it in a careless, superficial way. Not so Schumann. His Mignon is a far more complex character, as she is in the novel introvert, reflective and at the same time capable of great passion....

Perhaps the most celebrated of the Wilhelm Meister poems is Mignonâs "Kennst du das Land," in which Goethe expresses the Northernerâs eternal longing for the sunbathed, radiant South. The poem has been set to music countless times, but whether ever perfectly remains a moot question. The reason for this lies not in the verses themselves but in the way the Mignon of the novel sings it to her friend and protector, Wilhelm Meister. As Goethe describes it, in her delivery of the words Mignon changes her expression constantly ö from a measured solemnity in the opening to gloom in the third line, to an irresistible yearning in the refrain, "Dahin, dahin! . . ." which she modifies in each of its repetitions, making it sound now urgent and pleading, now compelling and full of passion. Reading Goetheâs description of Mignonâs delivery, no setting is likely to satisfy the critical listener completely. For to recapture, within the limitations of a song, all Mignonâs swiftly changing moods and yet preserve musical unity would seem a well-nigh impossible task. Of all the composers known to me who attempted a setting of "Kennst du das Land," Wolf comes nearest to achieving it; which is the more remarkable since the song is cast into a merely slightly varied strophic mould. Yet in depicting the pathological in Mignon, he portrays her in a crescendo of febrile, almost hysterical excitement, e.g. the recurring piano phrase of descending octaves and the rise of the voice, at her outcry "Dahin, dahin!" Wolfâs conception of Mignon is worlds apart from Schubertâs, in which she appears as a child singing longingly yet with joyful expectation of her motherland. The Wolfian Mignon is too grown-up, too neurotic, and tormented, almost to the point of self-laceration, by her yearning for a land of dreams which, we know, will never become reality.