A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Form

FORM. The means by which unity and proportion are arrived at in musical works are the relative distribution of keys and harmonic bases on the one hand, and of 'subjects' or figures or melodies on the other; and this distribution is called the Form of the work. The order of distribution varies greatly with the conditions. Music set to poetry with a 'burden' to each verse would naturally adopt the form of repeating the same melody to each recurrence of the burden; and when the words implied similar circumstances and feelings would adopt repetition of similar or allied phrases. In dramatic works the order of distribution must vary with the development of the emotional crises, and in such cases will be rather a distribution of culminations and gradations of intensity of passion and emotion, than the more obvious one of key and figure; though, if the relation between important figures of melody and the special circumstances to which they are appended be observed, the notion of form as defined by subjects will still continue to be perceptible. Analogously, in music which is supposed to represent some story or idea, such as is now known by the name of Programme Music, the form must be developed with the view of interpreting that programme truly and consistently. Such music may be compared in this to the work of a painter who trusts rather to the stirring nature of his subject than to the perfection of its composition to engage and delight the beholders, while in a portrait or picture of less vivid interest the element of composition, following generally and easily recognised principles, would be of vital importance. Similarly in programme music the composer may choose to follow the established so-called classical models, but it can hardly be doubted that a genius deeply impregnated with the spirit of his subject would seek to create a form of his own which should be more in consonance with the spirit of his programme—even as Beethoven did without programme, expressing some marvellous inner workings of his emotions, in the first movement of the Sonata in E, op. 109. But even with Beethoven, in the case of music without either programme or words to explain its purpose, such irregularity is rare. It is here especially that the nature and capacity of the minds of the auditors play an important part. Their attention has to be retained for a space of time, sometimes by no means insignificant; and connection has to be established for them without the aid of words or other accessories between parts of the movement which appear at considerable distance from each other, and the whole must be so contrived that the impression upon the most cultivated hearer shall be one of unity and consistency. In such a case Form will inevitably play an important part, becoming more and more complex and interesting in proportion to the development of readiness of comprehension in the auditors. The adoption of a form which is quite beyond the intellectual standard of those for whom it is intended is a waste of valuable work; but a perfect adaptation of it to their highest standard is both the only means of leading them on to still higher things, and the only starting point for further progress. From this it will be seen that in musical works which are connected with words or programme—whether choruses, songs, arias, or ballads, etc.—Form is dependent on the words; and such works, as far as they are reducible to any definable system, are reducible only to the simplest, and such as admits of infinite latitude of variation within it limits. But in instrumental music there has been a steady and perceptible growth of certain fundamental principles by a process that is wonderfully like evolution, from the simplest couplings of repeated ideas by a short link of some sort, up to the complex but consistent completeness of the great instrumental works of Beethoven.

There can hardly be any doubt that the first attempts at Form in music were essentially unconscious and unpremeditated. Therefore if any conformity be observed in the forms of early music derived from various sources, it would seem to indicate a sort of consensus of instinct on the part of the composers which will be the true starting point of its posterior development. It must be remarked by way of parenthesis that in the early days of modern music—apart from the ecclesiastical music of the Roman Church—the instrumental and vocal orders were not nearly so distinct as they are ^[1]now, for the tendency to strongly and clearly marked distinction in kind is notoriously a matter of slow growth. Hence examples may be drawn with perfect safety from both kinds wherever they can be found.

The first basis of true Form, apart from the balance of groups of rhythms, is essentially repetition of some sort, and what is most vital to the question is the manner of the repetition. The simplest and most elementary kind is the repetition of a phrase or bit of melody with a short passage in the middle to connect the two statements. As an early example of this form may be taken an ancient German chorale, 'Jesus Christus unser Heiland, Der den Tod überwand' (1535), which is as follows:—

In this the bars bracketed are the same, and the phrase which connects them is very short; and the whole presents about as simple and unsophisticated a specimen of Form as could well be conceived. The simple basis of which this is a type is the origin of the Rondo-form, which has survived with great variety and modification of treatment till the present day. The first advances upon the above example which offer any points of interest seem to be in cases where we find either a contrast aimed at in the passage which forms the link, or a number of repetitions succeeding one another, with differences in the passages connecting them. These two constitute the two great branches through which this primitive idea diverged into thousands of Arias, Lieder, Nocturnes, Romances, Scherzos, and other lyrical pieces on the one hand, and the movement which still retains its name of Rondo on the other. As an early example of the first we may take the song 'Roland courez aux armes' from Lully's opera 'Roland,' which is too long for insertion here, but will be found in the 136th chapter of Hawkins's 'History of Music.' In this there are 12 bars of melody in C, concluding in that key; followed by 12 more bars, in which there is modulation first to the relative minor A, and then to the dominant key G major, in which key this portion concludes; after which the first twelve bars are resumed precisely as at first, and so the whole concludes. Here the employment of modulation in the connecting passage is a strong element of contrast, and indicates a considerable advance in musical ideas on the obscure tonality of the preceding example. On the other hand, almost contemporary with Lully, there are, in the works of Couperin, numerous specimens of the Rondo, consisting of a number of repetitions, with differences in the connecting passages. In these the passage with which the movement commences is repeated over and over again bodily and without disguise, and separate short passages, of similar length but varying character, are put in between. Couperin was particularly fond of the Rondo-form, and examples may be found in profusion in his works. The one which is perhaps best known and most available for reference is the 'Chaconne en Rondeau,' published in the sixth number of Pauer's 'Alte Claviermusik.' A point specially observable in them is the rigidity and absence of any attempt at sophistication in the process. The sections are like crude squares and circles fitted together into a design, and no attempt, or very little at best, is made to soften off the outlines by making the sections pass into one another. The chief subject is distinct and the episodes are distinct, and the number of repetitions seems to depend solely on the capacity of the composer to put something in between. Still it is clear that the virtue of contrasts both of style and of key is appreciated, though the range of modulation is extremely limited. It is noticeable moreover, as illustrating the point of view from which Form at that time was regarded, when recognised as such, that the divisions of the Rondo are marked with extra emphasis by a Fermata or pause. From this to such a Rondo as we find in the Partita in C minor of Bach is a great step. Here there are no strongly marked divisions to stiffen the movement into formality, but it flows on almost interruptedly from first to last. The episodes modulate more freely, and there is not such rigid regularity in the reappearance of the main subject. It appears once outside of the principal key, and (which is yet more important) is brought in at the end in an extremely happy variation; which is prophetic of Beethoven's favourite practice of putting identical ideas in different lights. The next stage of development of this form—and that probably rather a change than an improvement on the above beautiful little specimen of Bach—is the Rondo of Haydn and Mozart. Their treatment of it is practically the same as Couperin's, but in many cases is strongly modified by the more important and elaborate 'First-movement-form,' which by their time had grown into clearness of system and definition. The Rondo-form pure and simple has remained till now much as it was in Couperin's time, gaining more in expansion than in change of outline. Even the great Rondo of Beethoven's 'Waldstein' Sonata (op. 53) consists of the repetition of a subject of some length interspersed with episodes; with modifications in the length of the episodes and the repetition of one of them, and a great Coda founded on the principal subject to conclude with. The further consideration of the Rondo as affected by the 'first movement' form must be postponed till after the examination of the latter.

By the side of the primitive Rondo above quoted a form more complex in principle is found. In this form the relations of harmonic roots come largely into play, but its most striking and singular feature is the manner of the repetition by which it is characterised. And in this case examples drawn from various early sources which agree in the peculiar manner of the repetition will be of value, as above indicated. In this form the movement is divided into two halves, and these again into two sections. The first half, or complete period, comprises a sort of rough balance between the amount which tends to the Tonic and the amount which tends to the Dominant, thereby indicating the division into two sections; and the second half begins with passages which have more freedom in the distribution of their roots, which constitutes its first section, and ends with a quotation of the last bars or figures of the first half, which constitutes its second section. This will be best understood from an example. The following is a very early specimen of the dance tune called a 'Branle' or 'Brawl,' from the 'Orchesographie' of Thoinot Arbeau (Langres, 1545):—

In this it will be observed that the first half of the little tune is divided at (a) by the strong emphasis on the Dominant, from which point it returns to the Tonic, and so closes the first half. The second half, commencing at (b), can easily be perceived to have a freer harmonic basis than either of the first sections, and so leads the mind away from the Tonic and Dominant centres in order that they may come in fresh again for the conclusion; and having carried the figure on to an apparently disproportionate length (which serves the excellent purpose of breaking the monotony of constant pairs of bars), finally, at (c), resumes the little tail-piece of the first half and thereby clenches the whole into completeness. The manner in which this answers the requirements of artistic construction is very remarkable, and it will be found hereafter that it does so throughout on a precisely similar scheme, in miniature, to that of a 19th century Symphony movement. It would be natural to suppose that this was pure accident if there were not other ancient examples of the same form coming from the most opposite sources. The above Branle is a French dance tune; if we turn from it and take the most famous German Chorale 'Ein' feste Burg' (1529), the principles of its construction will be found to be identical. It is so well known that it is needless to quote it.^[2] It will be sufficient to point out that the first half of the tune ends at the conclusion of the second line; and of this half the first line ends on the Dominant and the second on the Tonic, precisely as in the Branle; and it is then repeated for the third and fourth lines. The music to the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth lines answers to the passage between (b) and (c) in the Branle, and like it presents a variety of harmonic bases; and to clench it all together the music of the second line is quoted to conclude with, precisely as in the little tailpiece of the first half in the Branle. It is impossible not to feel the force of this as a point of musical form when it is once realised; it has the effect of completeness for a short tune which is unrivalled. If we turn to far other sources we shall find an early English specimen in the well-known 'Since first I saw your face' (1607), in which the second and last line will again be found to be identical, and the other points of the scheme to conform in like manner. Even in Italy, where the value of form does not seem to have been so readily appreciated as by Teutons, we find a little Sinfonia for flutes in Giacomo Peri's 'Euridice' (1600)—the first musical drama performed in modern Europe—which at least has the one important feature of repeating a little characteristic figure of the cadence of the first half to conclude the whole. It must not be supposed that this form was by any means universal so early as the middle of the 16th century—a time when notions of harmony proper, as apart from polyphony, were but dawning, and the musical scales and keys as we now know them were quite vague and unsettled. It is wonderful enough that there should be any examples of Form at all in such a state of musical language; for Form as now recognised depends greatly upon those two very elements of harmonic bases and relation of keys; so that what was then done in those departments must have been done by instinct. But by the middle of the 17th century musical knowledge in these respects was much more nearly complete, and the scope of composers proportionately widened. Accordingly we find a greater freedom in the treatment of forms; but the outline of the same form on a larger scale is found to predominate in the instrumental works of the tune, especially such as pass under the names of dances; though it is probable that those sets of them which were called 'Suites,' or 'Sonatas,' or 'Ordres,' were rather purely Musical than Terpsichorean. In the ecclesiastical Sonatas (Sonate di Chiesa) the style still continues fugal and polyphonic.

It would be impossible to give even a faint idea of the number of examples of this form which are to be found in these dance-tune suites, but it will be well to take some typical specimens and indicate the points in which they show development. In Corelli's Chamber Sonatas there are many clear instances. Thus, in the Giga of Sonata IV of the 'Opera Quarta,' there is the usual division into two halves. Of these the first is again divided into two phrases, the first phrase all in the Tonic key, D; the second then modulating to the key of the Dominant and closing in it. The second half begins with a sort of development of the figures of the first part, then modulates to nearly related keys, and after passing back to the original key concludes with a quotation of the last few bars of the first half. In this scheme there are two points of advance on the previous examples; the first part concludes in what we will henceforward call the complementary key, or key of the Dominant, instead of merely passing to it and back and closing in the principal key—by that means establishing more clearly the balance between it and the principal key; and secondly, the first part of the second half of the movement presents some attempt at a development of the features of the subjects of the first part, and real free modulation. The Corrente and Giga of the 7th Sonata of the 'Opera Seconda' are also remarkably clear specimens of repetition of the end of the first part as a conclusion to the whole, since full six bars in each are repeated. Both examples are however inferior to the above-quoted Giga in respect of the conclusion of the first part being in the principal key—like the older examples first quoted as typical—though like that Giga they are superior to the older examples in the free modulations and reference to the conspicuous figures of the subjects in the first section of the second half of the movements.

Domenico Scarlatti (1683–1757) was a contemporary of Handel and Bach, being but two years older than the former [App. p.637 "they"]; nevertheless he must be considered as historically prior to them, inasmuch as the very power of their genius would make them rather the prophets of what was to come than representatives of prevalent contemporary ideas. Domenico Scarlatti left many examples of Studies or Sonatas which are essentially expansions of the plan of the original Branle. In some the first part concludes in the principal, and in some in the complementary key, either Dominant or relative major. A very extended example is found in a Study in D minor, Allegro (no. 7 of a set of 'Pièces pour le Clavecin' published by Cramer). In this there is first a section chiefly in D minor, which modulates to F, the relative major, and concludes in that key—altogether 22 bars; and then another section, of 21 bars, all in F major, and closing in that key. This concludes the first half, which corresponds with the first half of a modern Sonata movement. The second half sets out with a reference to the first subject in F, and then modulates freely to various keys, ultimately closing in the original key of D minor, and there taking up the thread of the latter section of the first half of the movement, and giving the whole 21 bars almost identically, transposed from the original key of F into the principal key of D. The descent of this movement from the dance type is sufficiently clear without again going over the ground. Its most conspicuous advance is in its relative extension, 22 bars corresponding to 2 in the original example, and the other divisions being in proportion. The free modulation of the second half of the movement is the strict counterpart on a large scale of the changing harmonic basis in the Branle, and this is an advance due to the great increase of musical knowledge and resources. In other respects the similarity between the typical progenitor and its descendant is sufficiently clear. D. Scarlatti's works are almost universally a great advance on Corelli in the clear definition of the subjects and the variety of the rhythms, which enables him to approach much more nearly to modern ideas in what is called the 'development' of the subjects; though it is true that a mere patchwork of short subjects stated one after another often serves the purpose with him of the more continuous and artistic modern development. It will also be noticed that Scarlatti generally abandons the names of the dance tunes while retaining their forms.

There were other contemporaries of Bach and Handel who must be noticed before them for the same reasons as Scarlatti. Their works generally present the feature of extensive repetition of the last section of the first part as a conclusion to the whole, in a very marked manner. Thus in a Corrente from a Suite by Domenico Zipoli (born 1685) precisely the same system is observable as in the example by Scarlatti. And in a Sonata by Wagenseil (born 1688 [App. p.637 "1715"]) in F, op. 1, the first movement is a very extended specimen of the same kind; and the last movement, a Minuetto, is remarkable for the great length of the phrase repeated. The first half of the movement is but 16 bars, of which the latter 12 are all in the Dominant key; and the whole of these 12 bars are repeated at the conclusion, the first 4 having been disposed of at the commencement of the preceding 'development,' as in the Study of Scarlatti.

Bach and Handel present an extraordinary variety of forms in their works. Some are identical with the form of the Branle and 'Ein' feste Burg'; others are like the primitive Rondo on a very extended scale; and many exhibit various stages of progressive development up to perfect types of the complete modern forms as used by Mozart.

A very large number of the movements in the Suites of both Bach and Handel are in the same form as the previous examples. The first half is divided, not very strongly, into two sections, in which the principal key and the complementary key alternately predominate. The second half sets out with development and free modulation, and concludes with a quotation of the concluding bars or features of the first half. To take Bach's 'Suites Françaises' as examples, the following, among others, will be found to conform to this simple scheme:—Gigue of No. 1, in D minor; Courante of No. 2, in C minor; Gigue of No. 3, in B minor; Courante of No. 4, in E♭; the Allemande and the Courante of No. 5, in G; and the Courante and the Bourrée of No. 6, in E. As examples of the same from Handel's Suites the following may be taken:—the Courante in No. 1, in A; the Allegro in No. 2, in F; the Courante in No. 4, in E minor; the Allemande in No. 5, in E major; and the Gigues in the 5th, 7th, 8th, and 10th Suites. In many of these there is a systematic development of the figures of the subject in the first section of the second half of the movement; but a tendency is also observable to commence the second half of the movement with a quotation of the commencement of the whole, which answers practically to the first subject. This was also noticed in the example quoted from Scarlatti. Bach not unfrequently begins the second half with an inversion of the characteristic figure of the commencement, or treats it in a free kind of double counterpoint, as he sometimes does in repeating the conclusion of the first half at the conclusion of the whole. (See the last 4 bars of the Allemande in the Partita No. 2, in C minor.) How the subject reappears is however a matter of subsidiary importance. What is chiefly important is the fact that the first subject gradually begins to make its appearance clearly and definitely in the second part as a repetition from the first part; and it is very interesting and curious to note that there was a long hesitation as to the position in the second half which this repetition should occupy. The balance for a long time was certainly in favour of its appearing at the beginning of the second half, and in the complementary key of the movement. A very clear and easily recognisable instance of this is the opening 'pomposo' movement of the Overture to Handel's 'Samson,' which differs in form from the first movement of a modern Sonata or Symphony in this one particular only. But there are specimens of form in both Bach and Handel which are prophetic of the complete modern system of Mozart. The fact is so interesting and instructive that it will be worth while to give an analysis of the shortest example of Bach, in order that it may be compared with the scheme of Mozart's form, which will be given later. A little Air in the Suite Francaise No. 4, in E♭ major, sets out with a clearly defined figure which may be called the 'first subject,' and modulates in the fourth bar to the key of the Dominant, in which the figure which may also be called by analogy the 'second object' appears, and with this the first half of the movement concludes. The second half sets out with modulations and hints at the figures of the first half, after 10 bars comes to a pause on the Dominant of the original key, and from thence recommences the first subject; and the latter part of the section being deftly altered by a device of modulation—of which Mozart made great use in the same position in the movement—enables the whole of the last 4 bars of the first half of the movement to follow also in E♭, so concluding the Air.

There is no need to give a like detailed analysis of the Allegro in Handel's Suite No. 14, in G. It will suffice to point out that its form is identical with the preceding on a large scale; and that it is clearer and easier to recognise, inasmuch as the sections do not flow so closely into one another, and the subjects are more definite. These two examples are however exceptional as regards both Bach and Handel and their immediate successors. The tendency was still for a time to adopt the form of reproducing the first subject at the commencement of the second half of the ^[3]movement; and in point of fact it is not difficult to see why it was preferred, since if nothing else could be said for it, it certainly seemed to keep the balance of the keys more equal. For by this system the subject which appeared in the principal key in the first half came in in the complementary key in the second half, and the second subject vice versâ, whereas in the later system the first subject always appears in the principal key. Moreover the still older system of merely repeating the ending of the first half still lingers on the scene after the time of Bach and Handel, for in a Sonata by Galuppi (1703–85 [App. p.637 "1706–85"]) in D (published in Pauer's 'Alte Clavier Musik') there is a charming little opening Adagio which seems to look both forwards and backwards at once; for its form is a clear specimen of the mere repetition of the concluding phrase of the first part at the conclusion of the whole, while its soft melodious manner and characteristic definition of sections by cadences and semi-cadences (tending to cut it up into so many little tunes), make it in spirit a very near relation of Mozart's. And one might take this little movement, without much stretch of imagination, as the final connecting link between the movements which look back towards the primitive form as displayed in the original Branle, and those which look on towards the Mozart and Haydn epoch. The other movements of Galuppi's Sonata are in the more developed form, in which the first subject is quoted at the commencement of the second half of the movement.

In Galuppi's contemporary, P. D. Paradies, we find even a closer relationship to Mozart in many respects. The first movement of his Sonata in A, for instance, is on an extended scale. His subjects are clearly defined, and the growing tendency to cut the movement up into sections is still clearer than in Galuppi. The subjects are definitely restated, but after the earlier manner, with the first subject reproduced at the beginning of the second half. It is however noticeable that in the lively Finale of this Sonata the subjects both reappear at the end of the whole.

If we turn to the distinguished German composers of this epoch we find ourselves as it were among the immediate exemplars of Haydn. In them both the manner and form of their great successors are prefigured, and there is no longer any doubt about the basis of construction of the movement; the first part being as it were the thesis of the subjects, and the second part their discussion and re-statement; but there is still an uncertainty with regard to the respective positions of the re-statements. If, for instance, we examine a Sonata of Johann Christian Bach, op. 17 (Pauer's 'Alte Clavier Musik'), we find a very clear and extended specimen of the older system. The first half has a very long section in the principal key (B♭), and another section, also long, in the Dominant key (F)—all of which is as usual repeated. The second half commences with a clear statement of the first section in the Dominant key, followed by development and modulation, and pausing on the Dominant of the original key of B♭, in which all the second section of the first part is reproduced with an exactness which is almost tiresome. It is worthy of remark that the last movement is in the Gigue time and style without being so named, and is a happy instance of the gradual complete mergence of the old dance Suite in the Sonata. As a reverse to this picture there is a Bourée in a Suite by Johann Ludwig Krebs—a contemporary of Johann Christian Bach, and one of the most distinguished of his father's pupils—which, though called by the old dance name, is in perfect modern form, and shows so aptly the transition of the repeated ending of the first part into a second subject that it is worth quoting in outline.

etc. This is followed by 7 more bars of development after the manner of this commencement, modulating to C minor and A♭ and thence back to E♭, in which key the first subject is resumed as follows:—

In this the passage from (a) to (b) constitutes the first subject and section ; and that from (b) to (c) the second, in the Dominant key, corresponding to a 'second subject'; then follow the development and modulation, from (c) to (d); and then the repeat of the first section in the principal key, with the little cadence figure (e), which is treated in precisely the manner that a second subject would be treated in a more extended movement, being given complete, transposed from the Dominant key to the original Tonic. That Krebs had well defined his own objects in these matters is clear from the fact that the Polonaise from the same suite, and an Allemande from another in B♭ are constructed after precisely the same system.

There remains yet the most important predecessor of Haydn, namely Emmanuel Bach, in whose Sonatas Form reached a very remarkable pitch of perfection. Many of them stand in a very peculiar relation both to the old order and to the new which was destined to supplant it on the principle of the survival of the fittest; for they present examples of the reappearance of the first subject at the commencement of the second half of the movement, as well as after the section devoted to development and modulation—in other words, both in its older position and in its recognised place in modern instrumental works. This is the case in the Sonata in G in the first collection published at Leipzig in 1779, and in Bülow's little selection of Six. The same also in the last movement of the Sonata in A (which is both in Bülow's collection and in Pauer's 'Alte Meister'), and in the first movement of the Sonata in F minor from the third set of Clavier Sonatas, also edited by Bülow. The sonata in D minor approaches more nearly to modern ways in the position of the repetition of the first subject in the second part; but offers a marked instance of independent thought in reproducing the second subject in the key of the third below the Tonic (that is, in B♭ relative to D), and afterwards passing back to the principal key, and reproducing the rest of the materials of the section after the usual manner—thus in some respects anticipating Beethoven.

A great deal more might be said on the individual and thoughtful use of Form which is observable in the works of Emmanuel Bach; but it will be merely necessary to point out that the study of them as works of art, by those who are as yet unacquainted with them will throw quite a new light on Haydn and Mozart. He has been called^[4] their forerunner, and he thoroughly justifies the title not only by the clearness and distinctness of his form, but by certain undefinable qualities of style and sentiment. Something of this may be due to his view that music should be interpreted as vocally as possible (see Burney, vol. iv. chap, x.), which is also a very distinguishing trait of the Mozart school. It must also be noted that in him the continuous fugal manner seems finally to have yielded before the growing predominance of the essentially distinct modern harmonic style. The forms of the fugal style, such as they were, were rather relative than positive, and depended upon certain laws—not very clearly defined or consistently observed—as to the modes of recurrence of the subjects; whereas the forms of the modern harmonic style are positive and systematic. The forms of the fugal style may be compared to the composition of lines and curves in a drawing, in which they are not preconceived, but grow into completeness by the attention which is bestowed by the artist on their relations to one another. Whereas the forms of the harmonic style are architectural, and are governed by certain necessary prior considerations as vital as that of roof and walls to the architect, whereby the movement comes to be divided into sections chiefly based upon the succession of keys, in which the various subjects are rather indicators of outline than positive elements of construction. In Emmanuel Bach we find a number of figures and subjects characteristic of each of the primary sections, as we do in Beethoven; and the spirit of his great father, though attenuated enough, is yet perceptible in his manner of treating short and pregnant figures, and in some peculiarities of phraseology. These are probably the chief points of connection between the spirit of the great giant and the graces of the less austere style of Haydn and Mozart.

It can hardly be doubted that the realisation of this practically new discovery of the element of positive harmonic or Tonal form in music must have acted like many other fresh discoveries in the realms of art, and tended to swamp the other elements of effect; making composers look to form rather as ultimate and preeminent than as inevitable but subsidiary. It seems not improbable that the vapid and meaningless commonplace which often offends the sensitive musician in the works of Haydn and Mozart, and appears like just so much rubbish shot in to fill up a hole, was the result of this strong new feeling for form as paramount, and that it remained for Beethoven to reestablish definitely the principle of giving equal intensity to every part of the piece in proportion to its importance. With Haydn and Mozart it is frequent to find very sweet tunes, and sometimes very serious and pregnant tunes, in each of the primary sections, and then a lot of scurrying about—'brilliant passages' as they are often called—the only purpose of which is to mark the cadence, or point out that the tune which is just finished is in such or such a key. Haydn's early Quartets are sometimes very little more than jingle in one key and more jingle in another, to fill up his recognised system of form, without ever rising to the dignity of a tune, and much less to a figure with any intensity of meaning; and some of Mozart's instrumental productions are but little better.

That Haydn studied the works of Emmanuel Bach is well known, for he himself confessed it; and the immediate connection between him and his predecessors is nowhere more clear than in the similarity of occasional irregularities of construction in the second half of his movements. There is more than one instance of his first subject reappearing clearly at the beginning of the second half of a movement instead of in its latter portion (Quartet in F major, op. 2, No. 4; No. 67 in Trautwein); and further than this, and corroborative of the continuous descent, is the fact that when the first subject reappears in what we should call its right place, there are conspicuous irregularities in the procedure, just as if Haydn were half apologising for a liberty. For the section is often prolonged and followed by irregular modulations before the second subject reappears, and is then far more closely followed than the first subject and the materials of the first section. Another point illustrating a lingering feeling for the old practice of repeating the conclusion or cadence-figures of the first part at the conclusion of the whole, is that a sort of premature coda is occasionally inserted after the earlier figures of the second section on its repetition in this place, after which the concluding bars of the first part are exactly resumed for the finish. Of this even Mozart gives a singular and very clear instance in the first movement of his G minor Symphony.

Of the minor incidental facts which are conspicuous in Haydn's works the most prominent is his distribution of the subjects in the first part. He conforms to the key-element of Form in this part with persistent regularity, but one subject frequently suffices for both sections. With this principal subject (occasionally after a short independent introduction in slow time) he commences operations; and after concluding the first section and passing to his complementary key for the second, he reproduces it in that key, sometimes varied and sometimes quite simply—as in the well-known Symphony in D, No. 7 of Salomon's set (first movement), or in that in E♭, No. 9 of the same series (also first movement), or in the Quartet in F minor, op. 55, or the Finale of the Quartet in C, op. 75 (No. 1 in Trautwein). And even where the second section has several new features in it the first subject is often still the centre of attraction, as in the first movement of the Quartet in C (No. 16, Trautwein), and the same movement of the Quartet in F (No. 11, Trautwein). On the other hand Haydn is sometimes profuse with his subjects, and like Beethoven gives several in each section; and again it is not uncommon with him to modulate into his complementary key and go on with the same materials for some time before producing his second subject, an analogous practice to which is also to be met with in Beethoven.

A far more important item in Haydn's development of Form is the use of a feature which has latterly become very conspicuous in instrumental compositions, namely the Coda, and its analogue, the independent episode which usually concludes the first half of the movement.

Every musician is aware that in the early period of purely formal music it was common to mark all the divisions of the movements clearly by closes and half closes; and the more vital the division the stronger the cadence. Both Haydn and Mozart repeat their cadences in a manner which to modern ears often sounds excessive; and, as already pointed out, they are both at times content to make mere 'business' of it by brilliant passages, or bald chords; but in movements which were more earnestly carried out the virtue of making the cadence also part of the music proper, and not a mere rigid meaningless line to mark the divisions of the pattern, was soon recognised. There were two ways of effecting this; either by allusion to the figures of the subjects adapted to the form of the cadence, or by an entirely new figure standing harmonically on the same basis. From this practice the final episode to the first part of the movement was developed, and attained at times no insignificant dimensions. But the Coda proper had a somewhat different origin. In the days before Haydn it was almost invariable to repeat the second half of the movement as well as the first, and Haydn usually conformed to the practice. So long as the movements were of no great length this would seem sufficient without any addition, but when they attained to any considerable dimensions the poverty and want of finish in ending twice over in precisely the same way would soon become apparent; and consequently a passage was sometimes added after the repeat to make the conclusion more full, as in Haydn's well-known Quartet in D minor, op. 76, the first movement of the Quartet in C (Trautwein, No. 56), the last movement of the Quartet in E, No. 17, and many others. It seems almost superfluous to point out that the same doctrine really applies to the conclusion of the movement, even when the latter half is not repeated; since unless an addition of some sort is made the whole concludes with no greater force than the half; the conclusion being merely a repetition of the cadence figure of the first half of the movement. This case however is less obvious than the former, and it is probable that the virtue of the Coda was first observed in connection with movements in which the second half was repeated, and that it was afterwards found to apply to all indiscriminately. A Coda in both cases is to be defined as the passage in the latter part of a movement which commences at the point where the substance of the repeated first part comes to an end. In Haydn codas are tolerably plentiful, both in movements in which the latter half is repeated and in movements in which it is not. They are generally constructed out of materials taken from the movement, which are usually presented in some new light, or associated together in a fresh manner; and the form is absolutely independent. Modulation is rarely to be found, for the intention of the Coda was to strengthen the impression of the principal key at the conclusion, and musicians had to be taught by Beethoven how to do this without incessantly reiterating the same series of chords in the same key. As an instance of the consideration and acuteness which characterise Haydn's very varied treatment of forms may be taken the Coda of the first movement of the Symphony in C, No. 1 of the Salomon set. In this movement he misses out certain prominent figures of the first section on its repetition in the second half, and after passing on duly through the recapitulation of the second section he takes these same omitted figures as a basis whereon to build his Coda. Many similar instances of well-devised manipulation of the details of form are scattered throughout his works, which show his remarkable sagacity and tact. They cannot be brought under any system, but are well worth careful study to see how the old forms can be constantly renewed by logically conceived devices, without being positively relinquished.

Haydn represents the last stage of progress towards clear and complete definition of abstract Form, which appears in its final technical perfection in Mozart. In Mozart Form may be studied in its greatest simplicity and clearness. His marvellous gift of melody enabled him to dispense with much elaboration of the accepted outlines, and to use devices of such extreme simplicity in transition from one section to another that the difficulty of realising his scheme of construction is reduced to a minimum. Not that he was incapable of elaborating his forms, for there are many fine examples to prove the contrary; but it is evident that he considered obviousness of outline to be a virtue, because it enabled the ordinary hearer as well as the cultivated musician to appreciate the symmetrical beauty of his compositions. Apart from these points of systematic definition Mozart was not an innovator, and consequently it will not be necessary to point out his advances on Haydn. But inasmuch as he is generally recognised as the perfect master of the formal element in music it will be advisable to give an outline of his system.

The first section, which tends to mark clearly the principal key of the movement, sets out with the principal subject, generally a tune of simple form, such as 8 bars divided into corresponding groups of four (see the popular Sonata in C minor). This is either repeated at once or else gives place to a continuation of less marked character of figure, generally commencing on the Dominant bass; the order of succession of this repetition and continuation is uncertain, but whichever comes last (unless the section is further extended) usually passes to the Dominant key, and pauses on its Dominant; or pauses without modulation on the last chord of a half close in the original key; or, if the key of the whole movement be minor, a little more modulation will take place in order to pass to the key of the relative major and pause on its Dominant. The second section—which tends to define clearly the complementary key of the movement, whether Dominant or Relative major to the original—usually starts with a new subject somewhat contrasted with the features of the first section, and may be followed by a further accessory subject, or derivative continuation, or other form of prolongation, and so passes to the frequent repetition of the cadence of the complementary key, with either brilliant passages, or occasionally a definite fresh feature or subject which constitutes the Cadence episode of the first part. These two sections—constituting the first half of the movement—are usually repeated entire.

The second half of the movement commences with a section which is frequently the longest of all; it sometimes opens with a quotation of the first subject, analogous to the old practice common before Haydn, and proceeds to develop freely the features of the subjects of the first part, like a discussion on theses. Here cadences are avoided, as also the complete statement of any idea, or any obvious grouping of bars into fixed successions; modulations are constant, and so irregular that it would be no virtue to find the succession alike in any two movements; the whole object being obviously to produce a strong formal contrast to the regularity of the first half of the movement; to lead the hearer through a maze of various keys, and by a certain artistic confusion of subject-matter and rhythm to induce a fresh appetite for regularity which the final return of the original subjects and sections will definitely satisfy. This section Mozart generally concludes by distinctly modulating back to his principal key, and either pausing on its dominant, or passing (perhaps with a little artistically devised hesitation), into the first subject of the movement, which betokens the commencement of the fourth section. This section is usually given without much disguise or ^[5]change, and if it concludes with a pause on the Dominant chord of the original key (i.e. the final chord of a half close), will need no further manipulation, since the second subject can follow as well in the original key as in that of the Dominant, as it did in the first part. If however the section concludes on the Dominant of that Dominant key in the first half of the movement, a little more manipulation will be necessary. Mozart's device is commonly to make some slight change in the order of things at the latter part of the section, whereby the course of the stream is turned aside into a Sub-dominant channel, which key standing in the same relation to the principal key that the principal key stands to the Dominant, it will only be necessary to repeat the latter part of the section in that key and pause again on the Dominant of the original key, in which the second section of the first half then follows simply in the same order as at the first. If the principal key of the movement happens to be minor, and the second section of the first part to be in the relative major, its reappearance in either the major or minor of the principal key depends chiefly on its character; and the passage that led to it by modulation would be either omitted altogether or so manipulated as not to conclude out of the principal key.

With this simple order of reproduction of the first two sections Mozart is generally contented, and the little alterations which he does occasionally make are of a straightforward nature, such as producing the second subject before the first (as in a Sonata in D major composed in 1778), or producing the second subject in the Dominant key first and repeating it in the principal key (as in a Sonata in C composed in 1779). The whole of the latter half of the movement is frequently repeated, and in that case generally followed by a Coda as in the last movements of Quartets in G minor No. 1, and A, No. 5, and D, No. 10; first movements of Quartets in B♭, No. 2, and D, No. 10; slow movement of Quartet in F, No. 8 ; first movement of Sonata in C minor; and of Quintets in G minor, D, and E♭; and last movement of the 'Jupiter' Symphony. The Coda is generally constructed out of prominent features of the movement, presented in some new light by fresh associations and fresh contrasts. It is seldom of any great length, and contains no conspicuous modulation, as that would have been held to weaken the impression of the principal key, which at the conclusion of the movement should be as strong as possible. In a few instances there are codas without the latter half of the movement having been repeated. Of this there is at least one very beautiful instance in the short Coda of the slow movement of the Quartet in B♭, which is constructed out of ejaculatory fragments of the first subject, never touching its first phrase, but passing like a sweet broken reminiscence. It must be borne in mind that this scheme is but a rough outline, since to deal with the subject completely would necessitate so much detail as to preclude all possibility of clearness.

It is commonly held that the influence of Mozart upon Beethoven was paramount in his first period; but strong though the influence of so great a star must inevitably have been upon the unfolding genius, his giant spirit soon asserted itself; especially in that which seems the very marrow of his works, and makes Form appear in an entirely new phase, namely the element of universally distributed intensity. To him that byword 'brilliant passages' was as hateful as 'Cant' to Carlyle. To him bombast and gesticulation at a particular spot in a movement—just because certain supposed laws of form point to that spot as requiring bustle and noise—were impossible. If there is excitement to be got up at any particular point there must be something real in the bustle and vehemence; something intense enough to justify it, or else it will be mere vanity; the cleverness of the fingers disguising the emptiness of the soul,—a fit accompaniment to 'the clatter of dishes at a princely table,' as Wagner says, but not Music. Such is the vital germ from which spring the real peculiarities and individualities of Beethoven's instrumental compositions. It must now be a Form of spirit as well as a Form in the framework; it is to become internal as well external. The day for stringing certain tunes together after a certain plan is past, and Form by itself ceases to be a final and absolute good. A musical movement in Beethoven becomes a continuous and complete poem; or, as Mr. Dannreuther ^[6] says, 'an organism' which is gradually unfolded before us, marred by none of the ugly gaps of dead stuffing which were part of the 'form' of his predecessors. Moreover Form itself must drop into the background and become a hidden presence rather than an obvious and pressing feature. As a basis Beethoven accepted the forms of Mozart, and continued to employ them as the outline of his scheme. 'He retained,' as the same writer has admirably said, 'the triune symmetry of exposition, illustration and repetition,' which as far as we know at present is the most perfect system arrived at, either theoretically or empirically; but he treated the details with the independence and force of his essentially individual nature. He absorbed the principle in such a fashion that it became natural for him to speak after that manner; and greatly as the form varies it is essentially the same in principle, whether in the Trio in E♭, opus 1, or the Quartet in F, opus 135.

In estimating the great difference between Mozart and Beethoven in their manner of treating forms it must not be forgotten that Mozart, as has been before observed, wrote at a time when the idea of harmonic form was comparatively new to the world of music, and to conform to it was in itself a good, and to say the merest trifles according to its system a source of satisfaction to the hearer. It has been happily suggested that Mozart lived in an era and in the very atmosphere of court etiquette, and that this shows itself in the formality of his works; but it is probable that this is but half the cause of the effect. For it must not be forgotten that the very basis of the system was clear definition of tonality; that is to say, the key must be strongly marked at the beginning and end of a movement, and each section in a different key must be clearly pointed out by the use of cadences to define the whereabouts. It is in the very nature of things that when the system was new the hearers of the music should be but little apt at seizing quickly what key was at any given moment of the highest importance; and equally in the nature of things that this faculty should have been capable of development, and that the auditors of Beethoven's later days should have been better able to tell their whereabouts with much less indication than could the auditors of Mozart. Hence there were two causes acting on the development of form. On the one hand, as the system grew familiar, it was inevitable that people should lose much of the satisfaction which was derived from the form itself as such; and on the other hand their capacity for realising their whereabouts at any time being developed by practice, gave more scope to the composer to unify his composition by omitting those hard lines of definition which had been previously necessary to assist the undeveloped musical faculty of the auditors. Thus Mozart prepared the way for Beethoven in those very things which at first sight seem most opposed to his practice. Without such education the musical poems of Beethoven must have fallen upon deaf ears.

Beethoven then very soon abandoned the formal definition of the sections by cadences, and by degrees seems rather to have aimed at obscuring the obviousness of the system than at pointing it out. The division of the movements becomes more subtle, and the sections pass into one another without stopping ostentatiously to indicate the whereabouts; and, last but not least, he soon breaks away from the old recognised system, which ordained the Dominant or relative major as the only admissible key for the complementary section of the first part. Thus as early as his 2nd and 3rd Sonatas the second sections begin in the Dominant minor key, and in the slow movement of the Sonata in E♭ (op. 7) the Dominant is discarded in favour of the key of the third below the tonic A♭ relative to the principal key C. In the first movement of the Sonata in G (op. 31) he begins his second subject in the key of the major third, and that major—i.e. B, relative to G; and the same key (relatively) is adopted in the Waldstein Sonata and the Leonora Overture. The effect of such fresh and unexpected transitions must have been immense on minds accustomed only to the formal regularity of Mozart. Moreover Beethoven early began the practice of taking one principal key as central and surrounding it with a posse of other keys both related and remote. Every one is familiar with the opening passages of the Waldstein and Appassionata Sonatas, in both of which a new key is introduced in less than half a dozen bars, and then passes back to the principal key; and this practice is not done in the vague way so often met with in Mozart and Haydn, where their excessive use of rapid transitions in the third section of the movement has the effect of men beating about in the dark. True it is that there are instances of this in Beethoven's early works while he wrote under the same order of influences as they did; but in his maturer works these subsidiary modulations are conceived with large breadth of purpose founded on certain peculiarities in the affinities of the keys employed, which makes the music that is heard in them produce the most varied feelings in the mind of the auditor. It is most important for a young student to avoid the hasty conclusion from insufficient observation that to modulate much is to be free and bold, for it is nothing of the sort. Irregular purposeless modulation is sheer weakness and vapidity. Strength is shown in nothing more conspicuously than in the capacity to continue long in one key without ceasing to be interesting; and when that is effected a bold stroke of well-defined modulation comes with its proper force. For when keys are rapidly interlaced the force of their mutual contrasts is weakened and even destroyed; their vital energy is frittered away to gratify an unwholesome taste for variety, and is no longer of any use for steady action. In Beethoven action is always steady, and the effects of the changing keys come with their full force. A new key is sought because it gives additional vitality to a subject or episode, or throws a new light upon an idea from a strange and unexpected quarter, as in the wonderful stroke of genius at the outset of the 'Appassionata.' As other instances may be quoted the first movement of the Sonata in G, op. 31, No. 1; Scherzo of Quartet in F, op. 59, No. 1; first movement of Quartet in F minor, op. 95.

The Episode which concludes the first part of the movement is almost invariably of some importance in Beethoven's works. Very generally he reproduces figures of his first subject, as in the Prometheus and Leonora Overtures, the first movements of the Quartets in F major (op. 59, No. 1) and E♭ (op. 127), the Symphonies in D, Eroica, C minor, and A, the Sonata in E (op. 14), and the last movement of the Appassionata. But more frequently he produces a new subject, often of quite equal importance and beauty to either the first or the second—to quote but one instance out of many take the first movement of the Sonata in G (op. 14)—and very often does so besides referring to his first subject. The chief thing to notice from this is that the Episode in question has grown into important dimensions in his hands, and is so clear, and its distinction as a separate section from what precedes it so marked, that it is not uncommon to hear it spoken of as the Coda of the first part.

In the part devoted to the development of the features of the subjects, which commonly commences the second half of the movement, Beethoven is especially great. No musician ever had such a capacity for throwing an infinite variety of lights upon one central idea; it is no 'business' or pedantry, but an extraordinary genius for transforming rhythms and melodies so that though they be recognised by the hearer as the same which he has heard before, they seem to tell a totally different story; just as the same ideas working in the minds of men of different circumstances or habits of thought may give them the most opposite feelings. As was pointed out with reference to Mozart, no system is deducible from the order of this division of the movement, than which none shows more infallibly the calibre of the composer. As a rule Beethoven avoids the complete statement of any of his subjects, but breaks them up into their constituent figures, and mixes them up in new situations, avoiding cadences and uniformity of groups of bars and rhythms. As far as possible the return to the original key is marked in some more refined way than the matter-of-fact plan of baldly passing to its Dominant, pausing, and re-commencing operations. The reprise of the first subject is sufficient indication to the hearer as to what part of the movement he has arrived at, and the approaches to it require to be so fined off, that it may burst upon him with the extra force of a surprise. Sometimes a similar effect is obtained by the totally opposite course of raising expectation by hints of what is to come, and then deferring it in such a manner that the suspended anticipation of the mind may heighten the sense of pleasure in its gratification, as in the last movement of the Waldstein Sonata. Again the return is not unfrequently made the climax of a grand culmination of increasing force and fury, such as that in the first movement of the Waldstein Sonata (where the return is pp) and the 4th and 8th Symphonies, a device which is as moving to the hearer as either of the former ones, and equally intense and original.

In the recapitulation of his subjects, as might be anticipated from his intensity in all things, there is a growing tendency to avoid the apparent platitude of repeating them exactly as at first. Sometimes they appear with new features, or new orders of modulation, and sometimes altogether as variations of the originals. As instances of this may be taken the recapitulation of the first subjects in the first movements of the Eroica Symphony, D minor Sonata (op. 31, No. 2), the Waldstein, the Appassionato, and the B♭ Sonata, op. 106, the first movement of the Quartet in E♭, op. 127, and of the Kreutzer Sonata, the slow movements of the Violin Sonata in C minor, op. 30, and of the great B♭ Sonata just named, all which present the various features above enumerated in great perfection. No system can be defined of the way in which Beethoven connects his first and second subject in this part of the movement, as he particularly avoids sameness of procedure in such matters. As a rule the second subject is given more simply than the first; no doubt because of its being generally of less vital importance, and less prominent in the mind of the hearer, and therefore requiring to be more easily recognisable. With regard to the key in which it appears, he occasionally varies, particularly when it has not appeared in the first part in the orthodox Dominant key. Thus in the first movement of the great Quartet in B♭, op. 130, the second subject, which had appeared in the first part in the key of the third below (G♭ relative to B♭), appears in the recapitulation in the key of the minor third above—D♭. And in the Sonata in G major, op. 31, the second subject, which appeared in the key of the major third in the first part, appears in the reprise in that of the minor third below. These and other analogous instances seem to indicate that in the statement and restatement of his subjects, when they did not follow the established order, he held the balance to be between the third above and the third below, major and minor. The reason for his not doing so in the B♭ Sonata (op. 106) is no doubt because in the very elaborate repeat of the first section he had modulated so far away from the principal key.

The last point to which we come in Beethoven's treatment of the Sonata-forms is his use of the Coda, which is, no doubt, the most remarkable and individual of all. It has been before pointed out that Mozart confines himself chiefly to Codas after repetition of the second half of his movements, and these are sometimes interesting and forcible; but Codas added for less obvious reasons are rare; and as a rule both his Codas and Haydn's remain steadily in the principal key of the movement, and strengthen the Cadence by repetition rather than by leading the mind away to another key, and then back again up to a fresh climax of key-definition. That is to say, they added for formal purposes and not for the sake of fresh points of interest. Beethoven, on the other hand, seemed to look upon the conclusion of the movement as a point where interest should be concentrated, and some most moving effects produced. It must have seemed to him a pure absurdity to end the whole precisely as the half, and to conclude with matter which had lost part of its zest from having been all heard before. Hence from quite an early period (e.g. slow movement of D major Sonata, op. 10, No. 3) he began to reproduce his subjects in new and interesting phases in this part of the movement, indulging in free and forcible modulation, which seems even from the point of pure form to endow the final Cadence with fresh force when the original key is regained. The form of the Coda is evidently quite independent. He either commences it from an interrupted Cadence at the end of the preceding section, or passes on from the final chord without stopping—in the latter case generally with decisive modulation. In other cases he does not conclude the preceding section, but as it were grafts the Coda on to the old stock, from which it springs with wonderful and altogether renewed vigour. As conspicuous instances may be quoted the Coda of the Sonata in E♭, Op. 81a, ('Les Adieux, l'Absence, et le Retour,') which is quite the culminating point of interest in the movement; the vehement and impetuous Coda of the last movement of the Appassionata Sonata, which introduces quite a new feature, and the Coda to the last movement of the Waldstein Sonata. The two climacteric Codas of all, however, are those to the first movements of the Eroica and the 9th Symphony, which are sublime. The former chiefly by reason of its outset, for there is hardly anything more amazing in music than the drop from the piano Tonic E♭ which concludes the preceding section, to a forte D♭, and then to the chord of C major fortissimo. But the whole Coda of the first movement of the 9th Symphony is a perpetual climax and a type of Beethoven's grandest conceptions, full of varied modulation, and constant representation of the features of the subjects in various new lights, and ending with a surging, giant-striding specimen of 'Tonic and Dominant,' by way of enforcing the key, which is quite without rival in the whole domain of music.

There can be no object in following the development of the system of Form further than Beethoven, for it can hardly be said that there is anything further to trace. His works present it in its greatest variety and on the grandest scale; and his successors, great as many of them have been, have not even approached him, far less added to his final culmination. The main tendency observable in later instrumental works is to develop still further the system above discussed of taking one key as central in a group comprising many subsidiary transitions. Schumann's works present remarkable instances of this; Mendelssohn adopts the same practice, but with more moderation; Brahms again is extremely free in the same direction; as may be observed, for instance, in the first section of the first movement of the pianoforte Quartet, op. 25, which is nominally in G minor. This is apparently a recognition of the hypothesis above proposed, that the mind is capable of being more and more educated to recognise the principal key in a chain of transitions which to the audiences of Mozart's day would have been quite unintelligible.

It is now time to return to the consideration of the Rondo-form as found in the works of Haydn and Mozart, in which it was frequently affected by the more important and interesting First-movement-form. It will be obvious that its combination with that form does not offer much difficulty. For that alternation of subject and episode which is the very basis of the Rondo opens the way to the adoption of a second subject in the complementary key as the fittest antithesis to the first statement of the principal subject; and the main point of distinction of the Rondo-form from the First-movement-form pure and simple, is that the first subject reappears after the second in the original key, instead of bringing the first half of the movement to a conclusion in the complementary key. After this deviation the form again follows the system of the first movement; for—as we have already sufficiently pointed out—no fitter place is found to develop the figures and features of the subjects and to modulate freely. In the simpler system of the Rondo this again takes the place of an episode; in both systems the first subject would here recur, and nothing could more fitly follow it than the recapitulation of that subject which occupied the place of the first episode. It is worthy of remark that in the Rondo of the Waldstein Sonata, Beethoven has in this place reproduced the subject which opens the first episode, though the movement is not cast on the system of a first movement. Finally, the subject may reappear yet again in the original key without deviating strongly from that system; so that, as just mentioned, the only marked point of deviation is the return to the principal key after the appearance of the second subject. This complete adaptation is more commonly abbreviated by replacing the 'Development' by a short episode (as in Beethoven's Sonata in E, op. 90); and even further (as in the Finale of Mozart's Quartet in E♭, No. 4), by passing immediately from the second subject to the recapitulation of both subjects in the principal key, and ending with one further final quotation of the real Rondo-subject. This latter in point of fact is to be explained rather as a simple method of establishing the balance of keys by giving an episode in a complementary key, than as based on any preconceived notion of amalgamation with the First-movement-form.

One of the most prominent features in the Rondos of Haydn and Mozart is the frequent rigidity of the subject. It is common to meet with a complete dance-tune divided into two halves, each repeated after the accepted system, and closing formally in the principal key. So that it is in fact a complete piece in itself, and stands out as markedly as Couperin's subjects do with fermatas over the concluding chords. In these cases the tune is not given in extenso at each repetition, but is generally fined and rounded off so as not to affect the continuity of the movement so conspicuously as in its first statement.

The angularity and obviousness of outline which often mark the Rondo form in works prior to Beethoven, were to a certain extent alleviated by the use of ingenious playful treatment of the figures of the chief subject by way of episode; but nevertheless the formality remains, and marks the Rondo of Haydn and Mozart as a thing of the past, and not to be revived in their particular manner in the present day without perpetrating an artistic anachronism. Beethoven's treatment of the Rondo offers great differences, but they are chiefly in point of sentiment, and difficult to define. Prior to his day there had evidently been a persistent tradition that final Rondos were bound to be gay, jaunty, light, or even flippant. With Beethoven such a dogma was impossible; and he therefore took the line of developing the opportunities it offered, either for humorous purposes, in the persistent repetition of a quaint phrase (Sonata in D, op. 10, No. 3), or in the natural and desirable recurrence of a melody of great beauty (Sonata in E, op. 90, and Waldstein). In every case the system is taken out of the domain of mere observance of formula, and its basis vitalised afresh by making it the vehicle of thoughts which can appear in such an order without losing their true significance. In point of fact the Rondo form is elastic enough notwithstanding its simplicity, and if the above sketch has not sufficiently indicated that fact, the study of the movements mentioned, and those in Beethoven's E♭ and G Concertos and B♭ Trio, will lead to the perception of the opportunities it offers to the composer better than any attempt at reducing the various features to a formula.

The Minuet and Trio survive as pure and undeveloped examples of the original source of the larger movements, in immediate contact with their wonderfully transformed descendants. They offer no systematic difference whatever from the dances in the Suites which preceded the perfected Sonata. The main points of form in the two are similar. The first half of each generally establishes some sort of balance between the principal key and its complementary key, and is then repeated. The second half begins with a passage in which harmonic roots vary on a more extended scale than they do in the first half, proceeding not unfrequently, if the dance be on a large scale, as far as transient modulations; and the last and clenching section is a repetition of some notable feature of the first part. Short as the form is, it admits of a great amount of variety, and it is one of Haydn's triumphs to have endowed his innumerable specimens with ever-changing freshness. The alternation of Minuet and Trio (which are in fact two minuets) is obviously in itself an element of Form, and derives some force from the contrast of the keys in which the two are written, as well as from the contrast of their styles. In Haydn's early Quartets in which he still closely followed the order of the Suites—the two are frequently in the same key, or in major and minor of the same key; but in his later works he takes advantage of contrasts of key and puts his Trio in the Subdominant, or even in the third below, as in the Quartet in G, op. 77. The system of alternating dances after this manner, probably with a view to formal completeness, is evidently of old standing, being found even in Lully's works, and later, as will be more generally remembered by musicians, in Gluck's Iphigenie in Aulis, and in Handel's Overture to Samson. It is chiefly in this respect that we can still trace the relation of the Minuet and Trio to the modern Scherzo, which is its legitimate successor, though in other respects it has not only changed its characteristic rhythms and time, but even its style and form.

The Scherzo is in fact the most free and independent of all the movements of a modern instrumental work, being characterised rather by its sportive and playful style than by any fixed and systematic distribution of subjects and keys. Occasionally it falls into the same order of distribution as a first movement, but there is no necessity whatever that it should do so, and its whole character,—happiest when based upon the incessant repetition in varying lights and circumstances of a strongly rhythmic figure,—is headlong abandon rather than the premeditated design of the serious First movement. Beethoven was the real creator of the modern Scherzo, for all that a few examples exist prior to him; for these are essentially in unsophisticated dance form, and belong to the old order of things, but Beethoven's infinitely various Scherzi are all marked by a certain intimate quality of style, which has been the real starting-point of his successors, rather than any definite formal basis. Mendelssohn created quite a new order of Scherzi of a light, happy, fairylike character, in which his bright genial nature spontaneously expressed itself. But to him the like remark applies, for they are essentially characterised rather by spirit than form. Schumann was fond of putting two Trios in his Scherzi; as in two of his Symphonies, and in the very popular pianoforte Quintet in E♭. This was prefigured in Beethoven by the repetition of the Trio in the Symphonies in A and B♭.

The form of the Slow movement in Sonatas and Symphonies is decidedly variable. It is most commonly based on the same system as a first movement, but owing to the length of time necessary to go through the whole series of sections in the slow tempo, it is common to abbreviate it in some way, as by omitting the portion usually devoted to 'development' and modulation, and passing by a short link only from the presentation of the subjects to their recapitulation as in the slow movement of Beethoven's Sonata in B♭, op. 106, and that of Mozart's Quartet in B♭, No. 3. There are a few instances of Slow movement in Rondo form—as in Mozart's Sonatas in C minor, C major (1778), and D (1777); Beethoven's Sonata pathetique, and that in G (op. 31, No. 1)—and several in the form of a set of Variations. Another happy form of this movement is a species of aria or melody, cast in the old Rondo form, like the example of Lully quoted at the commencement of this article. Of this the beautiful Cavatina in Beethoven's B♭ Quartet (op. 130) is a very fine example, its form being simply a section consisting of the aria or melody continuously developed, followed by a section consisting of impassioned recitative, and concluding with a return to the original section somewhat abbreviated. This form resolves itself practically into the same formal basis as the Minuet and Trio or Scherzo, though so different in character; for it depends almost entirely on the repetition of a long complete section with a contrasting section in the middle. And the same simple basis will be found to predominate very largely in Music,^[7] even in such widely different classes as modern Nocturnes, like those of Field and Chopin, and Arias of the time of Handel, of which his 'Waft her, Angels' is a very clear example.

The idea of Variations was very early arrived at by musicians; for Dr. Burney points out that in the age of Queen Elizabeth there was a perfect rage for this kind of music, which consisted 'in multiplying notes, and disguising the melody of an easy, and, generally, well-known air, by every means that a spacca nota, or note-splitter, saw possible.' This primitive kind of variation was still a form of some sort, and is based upon the same principle as that of ground basses, such as are found in Purcell's 'Dido and Æneas,' and were very popular in those days; and of such forms again as Bach's Passacaglia, or Chopin's Berceuse in D♭, or even the wonderful continuous recitative on a constant repetition of a short rhythmic figure in the bass, in Bach's Italian Concerto. In all these cases the principle is that of constant and continuous repetition as a basis for superimposed variety. Into Variations as Variations the question of Form does not enter, or at least only in such a special way that its consideration must be left to that particular head. But as a form in itself it has been employed largely and to a degree of great importance by all the greatest masters in the department of Instrumental Music; as by Handel, Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms. In most cases sets of Variations are not continuous, but each Variation is detached from its fellow, making a series of little movements like the Theme, each in the same key. But this is not invariable; for on the one hand, Beethoven produced a very remarkable set of Variations on a Theme in F (op. 34), in which the key changes for each variation; and on the other hand there are many examples of Variations which are continuous, that is, run into one another consecutively, without pause, as in the last movement of Beethoven's Sonata in C minor, op. 111, and (on a smaller scale) the slow movement of Haydn's Quartet in B minor, op. 64. It is very common for sets of Variations to have a grand Coda—frequently an independent movement, such as a Fugue or free Fantasia based upon some conspicuous- figure of the Theme; as in Beethoven's Prometheus Variations, op. 35, and Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. There can be no possible reason for tying down composers by any rigid dogmas as to key or order of succession in the construction of a work in the form of Variations. Change of key is eminently desirable, for the succession of a number of short clauses of any sort with a cadence to each, runs sufficient risk of monotony without the additional incubus of unvarying tonality. Moreover it is impossible to resist the conclusion, based on the development of the great variations in the finale of Beethoven's Sonata in C, op. 111, those in the Sonata in G (op. 14), and those on an original theme in F (op. 34), that the occasional introduction of an episode or continuation between two variations is perfectly legitimate, provided it be clearly connected with the series by its figures. For if the basis of form which underlies the Variations as a complete whole be kept in mind, it will be obvious that the system of incessant repetition, when thoroughly established, would rather gain than lose by a slight deviation, more especially if that which follows the deviation is a clearer and more obvious version of the theme than has appeared in the variations immediately preceding it.

It will be best to refer the consideration of the general construction of Symphonies, Overtures, Concertos, Sonatas, etc., to their respective heads, merely pointing out here such things as really belong to the general question.

The practice of prefacing the whole by an Introduction probably originated in a few preliminary chords to call the attention of the audience, as is typified in the single forte chord which opens Haydn's Quartet in E♭ (No. 33 in Trautwein). Many examples of more extensive and purely musical introductions are to be found in Haydn's and Mozart's works, and these not unfrequently contain a tune or figure of some importance; but they seldom have any closer connection with the movement that follows than that of being introductory, and whenever there is any modulation it is confined within very small limits, generally to a simple alternation of Tonic and Dominant. Beethoven has occasionally made very important use of the introduction, employing free modulation in some instances, and producing very beautiful tunes in it, as in the Symphony in A. The most important feature in his use of it is his practice of incorporating it with the succeeding movement; either by the use of a conspicuous figure taken from it as a motto or central idea, as in the Sonata in E♭, op. 81a; or by interrupting the course of the succeeding movement to reintroduce fragments of it, as in the Quartet in B♭, op. 130; or by making it altogether part of the movement, as in the 9th Symphony, where it has an immediate and very remarkable connection with the first subject.

The order of succession, and the relation of the keys of the different movements of which each complete work is composed, passed through various stages of change similar to those which characterised the development of the form of the several movements, and arrived at a certain consistency of principle in Mozart's time; but contrast of style and time is and has been, since the early Suites, the guiding principle in their distribution. In the Suites and early examples of instrumental music, such as some of Haydn's early Quartets, all the movements were in the same key. Later it became customary to cast at least one movement in another key, the key of the Subdominant predominating. No rigid rule can be given, except that the key of the Dominant of the principal key seems undesirable, except in works in which that key is minor; and the use of very extraneous keys should be avoided. In Sonatas prior to Beethoven the interest generally seems to centre in the earlier movements, passing to the lighter refection at the conclusion. Beethoven changed this, in view of making the whole of uniform interest and equal and coherent importance. Prior to him the movements were merely a succession of detached pieces, hitched together chiefly with consideration of their mutual contrasts under the name of Sonata or Symphony—such as is typified even in Weber's A♭ Sonata, of which the two last movements were written full two years before the two first, and in the similar history of some of Mozart's works. With Beethoven what was a whole in name must be also a whole in fact. The movements might be chapters, and distinct from one another, but still consecutive chapters, and in the same story. Helmholtz points out the scientific aspect of a connection of this kind in the Sonata in E, op. 90, of which he says, 'The first movement is an example of the peculiar depression caused by repeated "Doric" cadences, whence the second (major) movement acquires a still softer expression.' In some cases Beethoven connected the movements by such subtle devices as making disguised versions of an identical figure reappear in the different movements, as in the Sonatas in B♭, op. 106, and in A♭, op. 109, and the Quartet in B♭. Such a device as this was not altogether unknown to Mozart, who connects the Minuet and Trio of the Quintet in G minor, by making a little figure which appears at the final cadence of the Minuet serve as the basis of the Trio—the Minuet ending

and the Trio beginning

In a little Symphony of Haydn's in B major part of the Minuet reappears in the Finale; and the same thing is done by Beethoven in the C minor Symphony. In his Sonata called 'Les Adieux, l'Absence, et le Retour' (which is an instance of programme music), the last two movements, slow and fast, pass into one another; as is also the case in the Sonata Appassionata. In his Quartet in C♯ minor all the movements are continuous. The same device is adopted by Mendelssohn in his Scotch Symphony and Concertos, by Schumann in the D minor Symphony—the title of which expressly states the fact—and by Liszt in Concertos. Schumann also in his Symphonies in C and D minor connects his movements by the recurrence of figures or phrases.

[ C. H. H. P. ]

1. For instance, the old English madrigals were published as 'apt for Violos and Voices.'
2. It is given on p.484
3. The slow movement of Beethoven's Quartet in D major, Op. 18, is an example of this form.
4. Von Bülow, Preface.
5. In the first movement of the 'Jupiter' Symphony so exact is the repetition, that in one of the editions a passage of 21 bars is not reprinted, but a reference 'Da Capo' is made to its occurrence at the beginning of the Allegro.
6. In Macmillan's Magazine,' for July, 1876.
7. This form is often called the Lied-form, a term originated by Dr. Marx; but being clearly a misnomer it has not been adopted by the present writer.