Copyright

by
Laura Lynn Kelly
2008
The Dissertation Committee for Laura Lynn Kelly certifies that this is the
approved version of the following dissertation:

August Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik:

A Translation and Introductory Essay

Committee:

David Neumeyer, Supervisor

Lee Rothfarb

Byron Almén

James Buhler

Michael Tusa
August Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik:
A Translation and Introductory Essay

by

Laura Lynn Kelly, B. Mus., M. Mus.

Dissertation
Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of
The University of Texas at Austin
in Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements
for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

The University of Texas at Austin

May, 2008
 Dedication

To my husband, Robert,
and our children, Kevin and Miranda
 Acknowledgements

First and foremost I would like to thank my family. My husband Robert Black
showed unfailing support and patience during this project. Our two children, Kevin and
Miranda, who were born during my years of writing, were a source of laughter and joy. I
was more than blessed to have my parents, Jim and Kathy Kelly, relocate to Texas in
2006, where they assisted me with endless hours of childcare. I truly would not have
succeeded without their help and support.
I could not have completed this project without the help of my advisor David
Neumeyer, who carefully read and edited several drafts of the work. Throughout the
duration of the project, Lee Rothfarb, whose research on Halm inspired my dissertation,
was always willing to answer my questions and to help me translate some of Halm’s
rather difficult sentences. He traveled from Santa Barbara to Austin in the Spring of
2007, and our meetings during this time were invaluable. In addition, I would like to
thank Thomas Christensen, with whom I originally developed this project. Finally, I
appreciate the help of Susanne Kimball, my colleague at The University of Texas at San
Antonio, who went through early drafts of the translation with me, and Frank Dietz, who
helped me answer some translation questions.

v
 August Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik:
A Translation and Introductory Essay

Publication No._____________

Laura Lynn Kelly, Ph.D.

The University of Texas at Austin, 2008

Supervisor: David Neumeyer

August Halm (1869-1929) was a composer and theorist whose writings on music,
especially his Harmonielehre (1900) and Von zwei Kulturen der Musik (1913), were
widely known and highly respected in the early 20th century, particularly in Germany.
In Von zwei Kulturen der Musik, Halm describes two historical cultures of music,
opposes them dialectically, and identifies their synthesis. His first culture—melody—is
exemplified by Bach’s fugues. The second culture—harmony—is exemplified by

Beethoven’s works in sonata form. Halm believed a third culture that united the previous
two had arisen in Bruckner's symphonies, the subject of his next book, Die Symphonie
Anton Bruckners (1914).
In Von zwei Kulturen, Halm demonstrates the way that these two cultures are
different manifestations of dynamic forces in music. To Halm, a well-written fugal
subject contains the seed from which the entire piece is generated. A fugue will only be
as good as its subject, for its listener must be able to immediately apprehend the dynamic

vi
course of the piece. In contrast, the sonata form is the form of opposition that gains its
energy from the working out of its two primary key areas. His idea of the organic nature
of form is clear in his description of the fugue as the "formula of individuality" and the
sonata as the "formula of the collective activity of many individuals,” that is, an
“organism in the large.”
Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen also provides us with valuable commentary on
analytical practices of the time, as Halm criticizes the hermeneutic approaches taken by
theorists such as Hermann Kretzschmar (1848-1924) and the narrative approach taken by
critics like Paul Bekker (1882-1937). Halm believed that analysis or criticism that relied
upon hermeneutic description or imposed narratives not only failed to educate one on the
merits of good music and musical form, but also encouraged one to evaluate music
according to the inventiveness of the analyst or critic. It is my hope that the English
version presented here will introduce many readers to Halm’s unique perspective on
music and criticism.

vii
 Table of Contents

List of Examples ................................................................................................ ix

Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik: History, Contexts and Influence ................1

Biography ............................................................................................................1

Halm’s Analytical Approach ................................................................................6

Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik .................................................................11

Translator’s note........................................................................................27

Of Two Cultures of Music...................................................................................31

Introduction........................................................................................................31

Book I: Form......................................................................................................53
Chapter I: Fugal Form, Its Essence, and Its Relationship to Sonata Form...53
Chapter II: The Spirit of the Sonata Form ..................................................71
Conclusion Of Book I..............................................................................147

Book II: Language and Style ............................................................................149

Chapter I: Rhythm and Dynamics............................................................149
Chapter II: Symmetry ..............................................................................187
Chapter III: The Art of the Theme ...........................................................200

Afterword and Outlook ....................................................................................238

Bibliography ....................................................................................................240

Vita ................................................................................................................244

viii
 List of Examples
Example 1: Major Cadence [Halm] ............................................................................... 35

Example 2: Customary Minor Cadence [Halm] ............................................................. 35

Example 3: Sequence in C Major [Halm] ...................................................................... 37

Example 4: Wagner, Rheingold Song Motive [Halm].................................................... 40

Example 5: Halm, Theme from C-minor Fugue for String Orchestra [Halm] ................. 43

Example 6: Bach, F-minor Prelude for Organ (Peters II), mm. 1-3 [Halm, p. 177]......... 44

Example 7: Haydn, Andante of Symphony No. 94, “Surprise,” mm. 7-8 [Halm] ........... 48

Example 8: Halm, Fugue in F Major (Compositions for Piano, Book II), mm. 1-8

[Translator] ........................................................................................................... 63

Example 9: Bach, Fugue in A Minor [BWV 944], mm. 70-78 [Halm] ......................... 125

Example 10: Beethoven, Piano Sonata Op. 2, No. 1, mvt. 1, mm. 69-72 [Translator]... 143

Example 11: Beethoven, Piano Sonata Op. 2, No. 1, mvt. 1, mm. 73-78 [Translator]... 144

Example 12: Bach, Fugue in Ab Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-4

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 152

Example 13: Bach, “Musette” from Six English Suites, VI, mm. 12-16 [Translator].... 153

Example 14: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 71-74 [Halm] ......... 154

Example 15: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 71-74 [Halm, p. 153]

............................................................................................................................ 158

Example 16: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 1-5 [Translator]...... 159

Example 17: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 98-99 [Translator] .. 160

Example 18: Beethoven, Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31, mm. 66-70 [Translator]..... 161
ix
Example 19: Bach, Fugue in C Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 1-5

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 167

Example 20: Bach, Prelude in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 16-

17 and mm. 47-48 [Translator] ............................................................................ 168

Example 21: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-3,

without the embellishment [Halm]....................................................................... 169

Example 22: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), m. 1,

original form [Halm] ........................................................................................... 169

Example 23: Bach, Theme from the Fugue in C Major for Organ [Halm].................... 171

Example 24: Mozart, Symphony No. 41, “Jupiter,” Finale [Halm]............................... 172

Example 25: Bach, Organ Prelude in F Minor (Peters II), mm. 1-3 [Halm].................. 174

Example 26: Bach, Organ Prelude in C Major (Peters II, no. 7) [BWV 547], mm. 1-4

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 175

Example 27: Bach, Organ Prelude in C Minor (Peters II, no. 6) [BWV 546], mm. 1-6

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 176

Example 28: Handel, Jeptha, No. 4 mm. 1-8 [Halm].................................................... 179

Example 29: Handel, Messiah No. 53, Chorus "Blessing and Honor,” mm. 24-28 [Halm]

............................................................................................................................ 180

Example 30: Organ Sonata No. 6 (Peters I) [BWV 530], mm. 1-5 [Halm] ................... 180

Example 31: Handel’s Joshua (Act 1, No. 8) [Halm] ................................................... 181

Example 32: Handel, Judas Maccabeus, “See! The Conquering Hero Comes” (Act III,

No. 58) [Halm] .................................................................................................... 182

x
Example 33: Handel, Judas Maccabeus, "Sing Unto God" (Act III, No. 60) [Halm].... 182

Example 34: Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, “Da fasst mein Herz” (Act 2,

Scene 6) [Halm] .................................................................................................. 183

Example 35: Rheinberger's arrangement of the theme of Bach's “Goldberg” Variations

[Halm]................................................................................................................. 184

Example 36: Bach, Reduction of Theme from Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered

Clavier, Book I) [Halm, p. 229]........................................................................... 186

Example 37: "Rossignol qui fredonnes" [Halm]........................................................... 189

Example 38: Beethoven, Larghetto [from Symphony No. 2, op. 36, mvt. 2] [Halm] .... 189

Example 39: “Belle qui m’avez blessé” [193] [Halm] .................................................. 190

Example 40: Bach, "Es ist vollbracht" from St. John’s Passion [Halm]........................ 190

Example 41: Beethoven, Development section theme from Sonata No. 3 In A, Op. 69,

For Piano And Cello, mm. 107-111. [Halm] ....................................................... 191

Example 42: Halm’s Recomposed version of Bach’s Italian Concerto, mm. 3-4 [mm. 5-8

of original 2/4]..................................................................................................... 191

Example 43: Halm's Recomposed Version of mm. 1-2 of Bach's Prelude in F Minor, (The

Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) [Halm]............................................................. 193

Example 44: Bach, Prelude in F Minor, (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II ) mm. 1-4

[Halm]................................................................................................................. 193

Example 45: Bach, Fantasy in C Minor for Clavier [BWV 906], mm. 17-18 [198] [Halm]

............................................................................................................................ 195

Example 46: Bach, Fantasy for Clavier in C Minor [BWV 906], mm. 1-3 [Translator] 196

xi
Example 47: Bach, Suite in D Major for Orchestra, [Gavotte II, mm. 1-5] [Halm]....... 198

Example 48: Bach, Bb Minor Fugue (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) mm. 1-5

[207] [Halm] ....................................................................................................... 202

Example 49: Rhythmic examples [Halm, from p. 214] ............................................... 207

Example 50: Bach, Fugue in Bb Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 4-5

[Halm]................................................................................................................. 207

Example 51: Bach, Fugue in Bb Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 2-3,

with rhythmic alteration [Halm]........................................................................... 208

Example 52: Theme for Final Exam of the Munich Conservatory [Halm].................... 213

Example 53: Mozart, Sonata in F Major K. 332, mm 1-12 [Halm]............................... 214

Example 54: Bach, Theme of “Gigue” from the Partita A Minor [BWV 827], mm. 1-3

[Halm]................................................................................................................. 215

Example 55: Bach, Second Movement of Keyboard Concerto in D Minor [BWV 1052],

mm. 6-7 [Halm]................................................................................................... 216

Example 56: Bach, Oboe solo from the Aria “Ich will bei menem Jesu wachen,” from St.

Matthew’s Passion [226] [Halm] ......................................................................... 216

Example 57: Bach, Gigue of the Partita in D Major, BWV 828, mm. 1-6 [Halm] ........ 217

Example 58: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-3

[Halm, p. 170] ..................................................................................................... 218

Example 59: Bach, Reduction of Theme from the Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered

Clavier, Book I) [Halm] ...................................................................................... 218

Example 60: Bach, Original Theme from G Major Fugue, mm. 4-5 [Halm]................. 219

xii
Example 61: Bach, Fugue in F# Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 1-6

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 224

Example 62: Bach, Fugue in D Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm 1-3

[Translator] ......................................................................................................... 225

Example 63: Bach, Reduction of mm. 1-3 of the theme from the Fugue in D Minor (The

Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) [Halm]............................................................. 225

Example 64: Bach, Theme of the Fugue in F Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book

II), mm. 1-5 [Translator]...................................................................................... 227

Example 65: Klengel, Fugue in C Minor, mm. 1-5 [Halm] .......................................... 227

Example 66: Klengel, Fugue in D Major, mm. 1-5 [Translator] ................................... 229

Example 67: Klengel, Theme from the Fugue in E Minor [Halm]................................ 231

Example 68: Halm's Alteration of m. 2 of Klengel's Fugue Theme in D Major [Halm] 231

Example 69: Beethoven, String Quartet No. 14 in C# Minor, Op. 131, Mvt. 7, mm. 2-5

[Halm]................................................................................................................. 234

xiii
 HALM’S VON ZWEI KULTUREN DER MUSIK: HISTORY,
CONTEXTS AND INFLUENCE

August Halm, composer, music pedagogue, and music critic, published Von zwei
Kulturen der Musik (Of Two Cultures of Music) in 1913. In this book he sought to
describe his conception of two historical musical cultures and the narrative of their
eventual synthesis. Halm’s first culture of music, melody, is exemplified by Bach’s
fugues for keyboard. His second culture, harmony, is exemplified by Beethoven’s works

in sonata form, such as his piano sonatas and symphonies. At the end of the book, Halm
describes a third culture—a synthesis of melody and harmony that he sees in the works of
Bruckner. His subsequent book, Die Symphonien Anton Bruckners, published the
following year, expands on his claims about this third culture. Von zwei Kulturen der
Musik established the composer/critic’s fame in the realm of music aesthetics and
analysis.

Biography

August Halm (1869-1929) was first instructed in music by his parents and at the
Gymnasium in Schwäbisch Hall, a German town in the southern state of Baden-
Württemberg. His musically talented mother gave him his first piano lessons.1 He later
played the violin and sang in various choruses. In 1887, he enrolled in the Protestant
seminary in Tübingen to become a clergyman—the profession of his grandfather, uncle,

1Lee Rothfarb, “August Halm als Kompositionsschüler Gabriel Josef Rheinbergers,” (paper presented at
Rheinberger-Symposium, Ludwig Maximillian University, Munich, October, 2001), English version of the
presentation given to me by the author. Lee Rothfarb is a leading Halm scholar, and I rely heavily on his
writings throughout this biographical sketch on Halm. Rothfarb is currently preparing a monograph on
Halm.
1
and father.2 While at the seminary, he was a composition student of the University's
Music Director Emil Kauffmann (1836-1909), who was the first champion of Hugo
Wolf’s music. Halm questioned his decision to study theology, and postponed the first of
the two state-required examinations to enter the profession. He remained in Tübingen
from May 1891 through January 1892, where he probably played violin in Kauffman’s
orchestra. He passed his first theology exam in March of 1892, and accepted a one-year
appointment as vicar in a small church in Bemflingen. Halm found himself unhappy in
the profession and sought advice from Kauffmann, who advised him to finish the one-
year position and take the second of the theology exams, in order to have a career on
which to fall back if necessary. Kauffmann also suggested that Halm take a two-year
leave-of-absence to devote himself fully to his music studies. His superiors were aware
of Halm’s unhappiness; his six-month review noted Halm’s interest in music, and his
unsuitability to the ministry. Halm’s request to take the second theology exam was not
granted, and he again turned to Kauffmann, who advised Halm to attend Munich’s
Akademie der Tonkunst. He applied for and was granted a leave of absence from the
vicarate, which began on March 1, 1893.3
From 1893-1895 Halm studied composition with Joseph Rheinberger and
conducting with Felix Weingartner at the Akademie. Rheinberger had taught for 34 years
at the conservatory and was well known throughout Germany for his teachings in
counterpoint and composition. Halm studied with Rheinberger for five semesters, and
successfully passed his Absolutorial-Prüfung on July 8-9, 1895. Halm’s former teacher,
Kauffmann, inquired about Halm’s performance and was told that Halm had been very

2 Many notable figures have been associated with Tübingen’s Protestant seminary, including Philipp
Melanchthon, who figured prominently in the Protestant Reformation, the poet Friedrich Hölderlin, and the
philosophers Friedrich Schelling and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel.
3 Lee Rothfarb, “Musik und Theologie: August Halm am Kreuzungspunkt seines beruflichen und
schöpferischen Weges,” in Musik in Badem-Würtemberg, Jahrbuch 1996 (Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler, 1996),
115-134. English version of the paper given to me by the author.
2
“industrious and conscientious, and had made good progress.” Rheinberger wrote further
that he predicted Halm’s success in a teaching position, but he added that he wished
Halm would remain for a third year “because his compositional experiments really do not
yet have the necessary maturity and independence, although he has made considerable
progress in the last year.”4

Halm took his first position later that year in the city of Heilbronn, located in
northern Baden-Württemberg. He was appointed conductor of the Heilbronn Society for
Classical Church Music (Verein für klassiche Kirchenmusik). He also served as the
administrator of the municipal music archive and taught private violin and piano lessons.
In 1903, he became the music instructor at the Institute for Education in Haubinda,
Thuringia (100 miles to the northeast of Heilbronn). Three years later, he accepted the
same position at the Free School [Freie Schulgemeinde] in Wickersdorf, Thuringia (40
miles to the northeast of Haubinda; 25 miles south of Weimar) where he worked with the
school’s cofounder, Gustav Wyneken, an educational reformer who proved such an
important influence on Halm that he dedicated Von zwei Kulturen der Musik to him.
Gustav Wyneken also became Halm’s brother-in-law in April, 1913, when Halm married
Gustav’s sister Hilda. Halm left his position at the Free School in 1910 and held several
positions as conductor and music critic. He accepted a position as a music instructor at
the Protestant teacher's training institute in Esslingen, Neckar (200 miles southwest of

Wickersdorf) in 1914-1918. He returned to Wickersdorf in 1920, and remained there

until his death in 1929.
Gustav Wyneken (1875-1964), the director of the Wickersdorf Freie
Schulgemeinde, was one of a number of figures who were interested in reforming
education around 1900. Lee Rothfarb notes that the writer Julius Langbehn (1851-1907)

4 Rheinberger, letter to Kaufmann, July 9, 1895; quoted in “August Halm als Kompositionsschüler.”
3
“accused the ossified educational system of hastening cultural decline.” He argued that
“German education, which has for so long risen to abstraction and distinction, must now
come back down to the simple and concrete.” Wyneken and his fellow reformers
considered the typical curriculum to be “preoccupied with esoterica, indifferent to
personal development, and antithetical to anything that might stimulate innate curiosity
and sustain natural enthusiasm for learning.”5
To remedy these defects, the reformers proposed new methods of teaching that
emphasized experience and fostered students' creativity and spontaneity. The slogan of
“New Education” was “Vom Kinde aus!” [Begin with the child!]. Lee Rothfarb notes
that implicit in this slogan is that “childhood is to be viewed as a distinctive,
unrepeatable, independent stage in life, and not merely as a prelude to adulthood.”
Because they are creative in nature—the arts, especially music—held a central position in
the “New Education.” Rothfarb writes, “The child was seen as a type of ‘artist’ whose
creativity and originality the teacher would unlock and cultivate.” These reformers
believed that society as a whole would benefit from this attention to the arts as well, for
they believed that it would bring about a cultural renaissance.6
Wyneken believed that music was the purest expression of the “objective spirit”
and music was the primary activity in his Freier Schulgemeinde in Wickersdorf. A
typical school day began with morning physical exercises that were followed by a

concert, often featuring Bach’s keyboard works. During the day, the students took
lessons on their instruments and played in ensembles. The faculty and students met after
dinner for an hour-long musical performance, or for one of Halm’s lectures on a musical
or aesthetic problem that he presented at the piano. Halm used non-technical language,

5 Lee Rothfarb, “The ‘New Education’ and Music Theory, 1900-1925,” in Music Theory and the
Exploration of the Past, ed. Christopher Hatch and David W. Bernstein (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1993), 450.
6 Ibid., 451-453.

4
providing a “running commentary, relying chiefly on metaphor and imagery coupled with
the immediacy of the music, in order to capture the imagination of the youthful
listeners.”7 Halm typically focused upon pieces of Bach, Beethoven, and Bruckner;
composers who are almost exclusively featured in Von zwei Kulturen der Musik.
Halm also directed an orchestra and a choir at the Free School. Playing in an
ensemble was an important element in the school’s mission, as it trained the students in
“communal responsibility and cooperation.” In addition, he coached a string quartet that
was often called upon for his lecture-demonstrations. The students were not expected to
become expert instrumentalists. Instead, “The philosophy behind instrumental
instruction was to learn about and experience music by way of an instrument, and not vice
versa.”8
Halm's publishing career reflects his interest in cultural development and
education. Many of his essays were published in cultural journals that suited his
idealistic spirit. Inspired by his time at the Freie Schulgemeinde, Halm was swept up in
the idea that musical experience held an important place in the cultural education of the
youth, and his writings on music are specifically intended to teach the amateur.
Two of Halm’s important essays, "Unsere Zeit und Beethoven" (1911) and
"Unsere Zeit und Bach" (1915) were published in Die Rheinlande, a journal that
promoted German culture. In two additional essays, "Muskalische Erziehung" (1914)

and "Unser Musikleben: Volkskunst oder Luxuskunst" (1918), Halm further expanded
his opinions regarding the role of music in everyday life. These essays appeared in Die
Tat, a journal written from the perspective that “each individual must take an active part
in shaping contemporary culture,” a viewpoint that Halm shared.9 Subjects of his essays

7 Lee Rothfarb, “Ernst Kurth as Theorist and Analyst” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1985), 16. See also
Rothfarb, “New Education,” 458.
8 Ibid., 17.
9 Lee Rothfarb, “Musik und Theologie,” 131.

5
were the “deterioration of public understanding for the great German musical tradition
(according to Halm’s canon, Bach, Beethoven and Bruckner), and about the corruption of
music criticism in the writings of Hermann Kretzschmar, Arnold Schering, and Paul
Bekker.”10
Halm published several books, each of which was revised or reprinted at least
once. These include his Harmonielehre (1900), Von zwei Kulturen der Musik (1913), Die
Symphonie Anton Bruckners (1914), and Beethoven (1927). Halm also published a
compilation of twenty-four of his articles from various periodicals under the title Von
Grenzen und Ländern der Musik in 1915.

Halm’s Analytical Approach

Halm’s analytical approach was multifaceted. His formalist views are similar to
those of the Austrian music critic Eduard Hanslick (1825-1904), who described music as
“sonorous forms in motion.” Hanslick challenged the ideas of many contemporaries by
his assertion that the meaning of music lies in its tönend bewegte Formen rather than in a
representation of emotion. Likewise, Halm adamantly denied any “fictional content
behind musical utterances...as if the meaning of music could lie in anything but the
music.”11
Halm agreed with Hanslick’s perspective that music’s content lies in its form, but
Halm believed further that the musical form was generated by a series of energetic events

10 Lee Rothfarb, “Zwischen Originalität und Ideologie: Die Musik von August Halm (1869-1929),” in
Musik in Baden-Württemberg, Jahrbuch 1998 (Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 1998), 175-199. English version of
this paper given to me by the author.
11 Eduard Hanslick, The Beautiful in Music: A Contribution to the Revisal of Musical Aesthetics, trans.
Gustav Cohen (New York: H. W. Gray Co., 1891; reprint. New York: Da Capo Press, 1974), 101; quoted
in Lee Rothfarb, “Hermeneutics and Energetics: Analytical Alternatives in the Early 1900's,” Journal of
Music Theory 36.1 (1992): 45; August Halm, “Musikalische Bildung,” in Wickersdorfer Jahrbuch 1909-
1910 (Jena: E. Diederichs, 1910), 63; quoted in Rothfarb, “New Education,” 458.
6
that yield a dynamic network. These beliefs naturally affected Halm’s perspective on
musical interpretation and analysis. Lee Rothfarb states that, to Halm, “Music is an
autonomous organism of logically ordered, kinetically defined structural functions, to be
described and interpreted apart from extramusical or psychological explanations.”12
Halm's view of musical form as a dynamic system is already apparent in his first
publication, Harmonielehre, (1900). He writes, “Music, in its essence, is dissonance,
namely action and motion.” Halm believed that analysis should demonstrate music’s
“kinetic and dramatic qualities” by interpreting harmonic action as “energy expended”
and “work performed.”13 In Von zwei Kulturen, Halm demonstrates the way that the first
culture, melody, and the second, harmony, are different manifestations of dynamic forces
in music.
In the Harmonielehre, there are several references to what Lee Rothfarb calls
Halm’s “thematicization of musical forces.” Halm discusses the “essence of music as life
and motion,” describes the drive (Trieb) of the major third, and argues that “dominant-
tonic progressions, music’s primal ‘dynamic influence’ (Bewegungsanstoß), possess their
own ‘energy.’” Halm asserts that chord progressions are not “inanimate stones placed
arbitrarily one after another but rather animate relationships, motion and tendency,
organic growth, and that the “key to understanding music is a knowledge of musical
processes, of the function of musical forces as they operate in chords and chord
progressions, in forms.”14

12 Rothfarb, “Hermeneutics and Energetics,” 56; Lee Rothfarb, “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics: August
Halm’s Phenomenological Perspective,” in Beethoven Forum 5, ed. Lewis Lockwood, Christopher
Reynolds and James Webster (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), 68.
13 Halm, Harmonielehere, (Leipzig: Göschen, 1900), 14, 26, 64; Rothfarb, “Beethoven’s Formal
Dynamics,” 69.
14 Ibid., 14, 16, 27, 52; quoted in Lee Rothfarb, “Energetics,” in The Cambridge History of Western Music
Theory, ed. Thomas Christensen. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 937.
7
 Halm’s later writings expand his sense of music as a dynamic system of tension
and release, a unique perspective in the theoretical literature at the time. Halm's concept
of energetics influenced and was furthered by the well-known theorist Ernst Kurth (1886-
1946), his successor at Wickersdorf.
Kurth was at the Freie Schulgemeinde from 1911-1912. He held the same post
that Halm had—that of music director. Kurth met Halm when he was 24 years old. At
this time, Kurth was writing Die Voraussetzungen der theoretischen Harmonik und der
tonalen Darstellungssysteme, his Habilitationsschrift for the University of Bern, which
Lee Rothfarb notes “record the beginning of his [Kurth’s] original style as a theorist and
simultaneously documents Halm’s influence.”15 Kurth went on to publish his highly
significant study of Bach, the Grundlagen des linearen Kontrapunkts (1917) and
Romantische Harmonik (1920) in which he examines Wagner’s music dramas. In 1925,
he published Bruckner, and followed it with Musikpsychologie (1931), which is heavily
influenced by Schopenhauer’s conception of music and Freud’s theory of the
subconscious.
Halm described his own work as phenomenological. As Alexander Rehding
notes, this is perhaps misleading, as “it has less to do with Husserl’s contemporaneous
approach than with Hegel’s notion of the ‘journey of the World Spirit through history
towards itself.”16 Rothfarb, however, writes that Halm “considers the reciprocity
between the logic of temporally ordered sonic events on the one hand, and the
consciousness and comprehension of those events on the other—a reciprocity that Franz

15 LeeRothfarb, “Ernst Kurth in Historical Perspective: His Intellectual Inheritance and Music Theoretical
Legacy,” in Schweizer Jahrbuch für Musikwissenschaft 1986-87 (Bern: Haupt, 1989), 35.
16 August Halm, Von Sinn der Form und Sinn der Musik, ed. Siegfried Schmalzriedt (Weisbaden: Breitkopf
und Hartel, 1978), 35, and Lee Rothfarb “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics,” 65-84; quoted in Alexander
Rehding, “August Halm’s Two Cultures As Nature,” in Music Theory and Natural Order from the
Renaissance to the Early Twentieth Century, ed. Suzannah Clark and Alexander Rehding (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2001), 142.
8
Brentano and, after him, his best-known student, Husserl, called intentionality.”17 Halm
believed that a good analysis should uncover how music unfolds over time and how the
listener understands each event according to the events that happened previously. In his
own analyses, Halm examines the surface musical events to determine the formal logic.
Halm was a contemporary of Heinrich Schenker (1868-1935), and the two writers
shared a belief in the biological basis of music and used language imbued with references
to forces of energy. Schenker, however, developed a formal system of analysis, while
Halm did not. Moreover, Schenker’s analytical system was intended for specialists.
Halm used a combination of traditional analytical tools and musical metaphor to elucidate
how the interplay of dynamic forces yields form. His aim was to educate the general
public. Halm’s lack of a systematic approach is one of the reasons that he is considerably
less well-known today than Schenker.18
To Halm, the primary goal of all music criticism and analysis was to educate the

public about music. Wyneken’s belief in music’s role in a cultural renaissance was
transmitted to Halm like a religious calling. Like Hanslick before him, Halm found much
of his contemporary musical criticism, which centered on the moods, emotions and
personality of the composer, to be problematic—or even corrupt. In particular, he
criticized the writings of Paul Bekker (1882-1937) for his anthropomorphic narratives.
Halm devotes a large section of Von zwei Kulturen to a critique of Bekker’s analysis of

Beethoven’s “Tempest” Sonata.

Halm was also critical of the hermeneutic approaches put forth by Hermann
Kretzschmar (1848-1924). Like Halm, Kretzschmar was involved with Germany’s

17 Rothfarb, “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics,” 69. Rothfarb notes that Halm does not specifically refer to
an “intentional relationship between music and the listener, but that the language Halm uses can permit this
interpretation.”
18 Halm and Schenker differed in other significant ways. Rothfarb discusses the difference of opinion that
Schenker and Halm held in regard to the music of Brahms and Bruckner in his article entitled, “August
Halm on Body and Spirit in Music,” 19th Century Music 29.2 (Fall 2005): 121-141.
9
educational reform and believed that music was an important part of education. The two
writers had vastly different approaches, however. As Lee Rothfarb notes in his article
entitled “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality, and Sociology in the Writings of August
Halm, ” Halm describes Kretzschmar as “a pioneer of the error” for his concert-hall
guides that used hermeneutics to aid the concert-going public. Rothfarb continues, “In
two essays on musical hermeneutics, which derive from the approach of the guides,
Kretzschmar dismissed ‘logical formal development’ as a ‘fat morsel from the pig-Latin
of aesthetics,’ and advocated in its place a revival of the doctrine of affections.” In
Kretzschmar’s method, one would examine the local events (motives, themes, rhythms
and so forth) to gain insight into their affective content. One could then determine the
spiritual content of the work by interpreting the cumulative effect of these local events. 19
Kretzschmar's follower, Arnold Schering (1877-1941), held similar views and expanded
Kretzschmar's hermeneutic analysis.
Halm’s primary critique of Kretzschmar’s and Bekker’s approach was that their
analyses did not elucidate the form, a failing that in Halm’s view would ultimately lead to
a musically naïve culture, which would lead in turn to a weakening of society. Halm
noted about this trend, “We no longer talk about musical laws and artistic virtues but
rather about the effect of music on our emotions and nervous system, or about the
emotional and neural condition of which music is supposed to give evidence, about the

sphere of mental images of which it is supposed to provide a reflection.20 Halm believed

that the popularity of this corrupt musical criticism meant that “we no longer really

19 Hermann Kretzschmar, “Anregungen zur Förderung musikalischer Hermeneutik,” in Jahrbuch der

Musikbibliothek Peters 9 (Leipzig: Peters, 1902), 51; quoted in Rothfarb, “Music Analysis, Cultural
Morality and Sociology in the Writings of August Halm,” Indiana Theory Review 16 (1995): 176; Lee
Rothfarb, “Hermeneutics and Energetics: Analytical Alternatives in the Early 1900's,” Journal of Music
Theory 36.1 (1992): 46.
20 August Halm, “Unsere Zeit und Beethoven,” Die Rheinlande 11 (1911), reprinted in Von Form und Sinn
der Musik, ed. Siegfried Schmalzriedt (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1978, 152-53; quoted in
Rothfarb, “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality,” 173.
10
believe in art, and as a consequence of this non-belief we have a tendency to forget the
desire for knowledge of the laws of art, for aesthetic standards and values.” Halm
continued, “The remedy against this [focus on inner life and emotions] is no secret: it is
the cultivation of musical form, the consistent if often also self-denying willingness to
recognize the will of music and to adhere to it alone.”21

Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Musik

Halm's Von zwei Kulturen der Musik was published in 1913. It was his second
published book (after the Harmonielehre) and, as Rothfarb notes, “it established his
reputation as a major figure in music aesthetics and criticism."22 The work demonstrates
his view of music as an energetic system and his views about musical criticism and its
importance.
Halm, like Wyneken and the education reformers, believed that society as a whole
benefited from a rich musical tradition. Halm genuinely feared that the great musical
tradition of Bach, Beethoven and Bruckner would die if people did not understand the
music. Thus, he intended his book for a wide audience, using the largely
extemporaneous lecture style that he developed teaching children at Wickersdorf. His
goal was to write in a manner that would feel familiar and be accessible to every reader,
regardless of musical training. He aimed to show his audience how the music works,
without superimposing narratives on the music. His focus was on the various dynamic
features (that is, the harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic impulses) within musical form.
His approach provided a valuable alternative to the various hermeneutic approaches that
were so popular in the musical criticism of his day. Teaching methods like Halm’s can

21 Halm, “Unsere Zeit und Beethoven,” 153, 160; quoted in Rothfarb “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality,”
174-75.
22 Rothfarb, “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality,” 181.

11
be seen in music education today, particularly in music appreciation courses and before-
concert lectures.
Lee Rothfarb has done extensive archival research on Halm for his forthcoming
monograph. He discovered that in Halm’s letters to his then fiancé, Hilda Wyneken
(Gustav’s sister), Halm refers to the “Beethoven book” that he was working on. This
became Von zwei Kulturen der Musik. Two essays that later appeared in the text first
appeared in periodicals.23 The first, entitled “Über den Fugenform” appeared in Die Tat
in 1910. The second article, about the development section of Beethoven’s “Pastorale”
was published in Der Kunstwart in 1905.24
Von zwei Kulturen der Musik begins with a 26-page introduction, in which Halm
describes the audience that he hopes his book will find. He writes, “For my work
addresses itself by no means exclusively or even primarily to professional musicians, but
rather aims to serve the evermore awakening need of those outside of the narrower circle
for insight into the artistically essential dimension of music.” Halm then goes on to
introduce the musical terms that a less-experienced musician will need to understand the
text. He explains this strategy by saying that “I…take it upon myself at the very outset
to present the main elementary material, whose knowledge the subsequent material
presupposes. Instead of listing the commonly used technical words to briefly explain
each as a single entity, I will attempt to organize this material and treat it in a manner that
is appropriate to the seriousness and the richness within even the most basic concepts.”25

23 The information on the evolution of Von zwei Kulturen came from conversations with Rothfarb, where
he shared some of the findings from his archival research. As previously noted, Rothfarb is currently
preparing a monograph on Halm.
24 Die Tat (1909-1939) was a German monthly serial that dealt with matters of politics and culture, and
was later subtitled Sozial-religiöse Monatsschrift für deutsche Kultur. Der Kunstwart, a publication about
the arts and culture, was published from 1887-1912.
25 August Halm, Von zwei Kulturen der Musik, 3rd ed. (Munich: Georg Müller, 1913; reprint Klett:
Stuttgart, 1947), XIX.
12
 Halm begins by explaining intervals, consonance, and dissonance. He describes
cadences, tonality, musical sequences, secondary chords, and non-chord tones, as well as
contrapuntal techniques such as inversion and imitation. The circle of fifths and
modulation are discussed as well. Finally he touches on chromaticism, but chooses to
discuss only one rhythmic feature—syncopation.
After he covers matters of musical concepts, Halm reiterates the qualities of his
intended audience. He writes, “As I indicated previously, the readers of this book are
friends of artistic understanding who are not satisfied with a vague impression, but are
determined to arrive at the causes themselves. These friends seek more than the apparent
explanation that others seek to legitimize, for they understand that such explanations
actually cover up clarity.” In addition, Halm discusses the characteristics that a good
analysis should have. “Furthermore, these friends reject a hermeneutic that employs the
imagination and the impressions of another [non-musical] area in order to interpret the
music according to the so-called content. [The readers of my work] also reject others’
practice of taking the visual element as a allegory, for they realize that many who practice
and teach this never get beyond the picture in their attempts understand the musical
process in the material.”26
The introduction closes with a short section in which Halm leads from matters of
vocabulary to the subject of the text: Two Cultures of Music. Halm writes:

I talk about two cultures, because I am clearly aware of radically different ideals
of composition in each: the ideal of form and the ideal of style. Under “form” I
understand the great organism as such, the first rank belonging to sonata form.
“Style” [on the other hand] concerns a piece’s individuation. One can certainly
name either of these as a form in the larger sense, but I will discuss only the more
commonly accepted forms—fugal form and sonata form.27

26 Ibid., XLI.
27 Ibid., XLIII.
13
 As the book progresses, Halm clarifies his definitions of the two cultures. The
first culture is melody, exemplified by Bach’s fugues, which Halm describes as
controlled by the “stylistic” ideal of composition. Here, the fugal subject generates the
entire form. The second culture is harmony, exemplified by Beethoven’s sonatas, or the
ideal of “form.” To Halm, Beethoven sacrifices the melodic element to serve the form,
just as Bach sacrificed the dramatic articulation of harmonic areas to serve melody.
Following the introduction is Book I: Form. Its first chapter is entitled, “Fugal
Form, Its Essence and Its Relationship to Sonata Form.” Halm writes, “Fugal form is the
form of unity and sonata form is the form of opposition.” The reader might expect that
Halm intends to define the fugue and sonata form, but he soon remarks, “It seems

impossible to say what a fugue is or what a sonata is. We can only describe what
happens in each of the forms and what each requires. So far, I have not succeeded in
defining the fugue or the sonata, nor have I encountered a successful definition of either
of them.”28 Halm does, however, clarify his viewpoint that a series of energetic events
yields musical form. He describes the fugue as the form of unity generated from the
melodic energy of the fugal subject. Therefore, a fugue will only be as good as its
subject, for its subject must contain enough energy to allow a whole piece to grow from
it. As the form is governed by local design, Halm describes it as the “formula of
individuality” [Formel einer Individualität].

Halm suggests general characteristics that good fugues share and the general
structural principles that apply. As the chapter progresses, he describes the
characteristics of a good fugal subject, discussing its length, character, and typical
intervallic structure. At the beginning of the chapter, however, his unique perspective
emerges in a discussion of the key organization of a typical three-section fugue. He

28 Ibid., 7, 9.
14
contrasts the harmonic structure of a fugue to the harmonic structure of a sonata, but
notes a primary difference between the way that Bach and Beethoven (in his movements
in sonata form) articulate the tonal areas. Halm writes:

And here it must be said that, strictly speaking, there is a weakness in Bach’s
music. When [Bach] introduces a new key area, we seldom notice it. Of course
we hear, for example, that after an exposition in F major we have another in D
minor, but we are not alerted to its arrival. There is not a marked intensification,
agitation, or tremor to announce an important event or a decisive act. A listener
who is unable to recognize the keys will rarely notice that something happened.
If Bach needs F major, he brings it about “with a calm hand,” or he imparts F
major.29

Halm then notes that “when composers learned to differentiate key areas and to
lend different characters to individual sections, fugal form was truly improved.”
However, Halm softens his criticism by mentioning that Bach would have been able to
differentiate the fugal sections more, had he wanted to. If Bach were to emphasize
strongly each change of key or harmonic climax, the unity of the subject would be
compromised.
Halm seems to contradict his own opinion about the mastery of Bach’s fugues
when he notes that Beethoven brought great progress to the fugue when he “treated the
different [formal] groups differently and emphasized the entrance of a new group,” but it
becomes apparent that Halm considered the fugue to have evolved throughout musical

history. He states that the greatest advances occurred in the music of Bruckner, who “is
the first absolute musician of great style and mastery since Bach…For if the fugue were
to be fertilized by the spirit of the new music, it needed to find formal contrast while
leaving thematic unity unscathed.”30

29 Ibid.,13.
30 Ibid.,16-17. Unfortunately, Halm does not name specific Beethoven or Bruckner works in support of
his ideas.
15
 Halm clarifies his conception of the fugue as a living being capable of evolving at
the end of Chapter I, when he writes, “[A fugue] is more like an entity or a living
organism, something like a tree if I may use a concrete example; it is the formula of an
individual [die Formel einer Individualität]. The sonata, on the other hand, is the model
of collaboration between many individuals and an organism in the large: it is equivalent
to the state [gleicht dem Staat].31

Chapter 2 is entitled “On the Spirit of the Sonata Form.” At the beginning of the
chapter, Halm writes, “It seemed impractical to begin with a similarly descriptive
counterpart to the first essay (about the fundamentals of the fugue). Instead, I believe
that the different task demands a different path.”32 Halm’s approach in this chapter is to
discuss his second culture—harmony as exemplified by sonata form—through a
examination of a popular music critic of the time, Paul Bekker. Halm describes the
sonata as “a multifaceted being whose unity is achieved through contrast, through
contrasting elements. However, this property makes it especially vulnerable to unmusical
interpretations.”33 Halm believed that proper analysis would strengthen the reader's
understanding of music and enable him or her to evaluate music on its strengths or
weaknesses. Analysis or criticism that relied upon hermeneutic description not only
failed to educate one on the merits of good music, but also encouraged one to evaluate
music according to the inventiveness of the analyst or critic. In Part I of Von zwei

Kulturen, Halm discusses the weaknesses of Paul Bekker’s analysis of Beethoven's

“Tempest” Sonata.34 He believed that Bekker's tendency to anthropomorphize musical

31 Ibid., 33.
32 Ibid., 37.
33 Ibid.
34 Paul Bekker (1882-1937) was an important German music critic. His most important position was as
chief critic with the Frankfurter Zeitung from 1911-23, but he wrote several important monographs as well.
Christopher Hailey notes, “In its examination of the poetic idea in Beethoven’s music, Bekker’s 1911
biography of the composer is a provocative example of historical hermeneutics.” Christopher Hailey,
16
events and his attempts to “explain” musical events hermeneutically through the
application of a dramatic plot did not explain the most important aspect of music: form.
Thus, Bekker's work did not elucidate the important elements of the music and instead
steered listeners toward a discovery of the music as “enacted by the musical characters of
Bekker's imagination” rather than uncovering the “interior musical drama staged by
musical characteristics.”35
In his discussion of the first movement of Beethoven’s “Tempest” Sonata, Halm
begins to clarify the opposition between his two cultures of music—melody and
harmony—and the effects of history upon this opposition. Here, in Beethoven’s sonata,
melody has become secondary to harmony. He writes, “The Largo theme is a chord; the
Allegro theme is a scale; the theme of the soprano (beginning in measure 23) is a turn.
Thus, they are not themes. They are motives of the most ordinary kind—primordial
motives—that appear on their own, but are not easily recognizable as themes.”36
Halm then turns to another Beethoven work, the first movement of his Sixth
Symphony, “Pastoral.” Here, Halm describes the development section. He writes, “The
first movement…is one of the best examples of a movement ordered with conscious
will.”37 In this analysis, Halm endeavors to show the how the listener anticipates events,
and how the form is a drama of forces. It is here that Halm’s phenomenological cast of
mind is most clearly evident. Rothfarb, in his article “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics:
August Halm’s Phenomenological Perspective,” writes that “throughout Halm’s analysis,
he interprets musical events based on their local properties, as well as on translocal
influences exerted on the musical present by past events, and even by future events, in the

“Bekker, Paul,” in Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy (accessed 23 September 2007),
http://www.grovemusic.com.
35 Rothfarb, “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality,” 181.
36 Halm, Von zwei Kulturen, 76.
37 Ibid., 84. Lee Rothfarb discusses Halm’s analysis in his article “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics.”

17
case of the anticipated recapitulation. The result is a cross-referential network of events
that unfolds according to an emergent design.”38
Part III, entitled Structural Harmony and Rhythm, is a short section about sonata
form. Halm discusses the tonal plan and modulatory techniques in Beethoven’s G-major
Sonata, Op. 31, No. 1, the first movement of the “Appassionata” and the “Waldstein,” as
well as other works, in order to demonstrate his second culture—harmony. Halm writes,
“Harmony and rhythm are the eminent forming powers in the sonata; the themes are its
material and are of secondary importance, particularly in the Classical sonata. Here one
can distinguish between that which is active and that which is passive, and can state that
the thematic element [Thematik] of the fugue is commanding and active, while the
thematic element of a sonata is servile, suffering, and even needy, while harmony and
rhythm are at the top [in importance].”39
In Part IV, The Thematic Way of Thinking, Halm returns to the fugue, comparing
and contrasting the thematic element as it appears in the fugue and in the sonata. Here,
Halm most clearly articulates his evolutionary conception of his two cultures: melody and
harmony. Halm writes, “the thematic element had to weaken from good to efficient in
order for it to be suitable for the sonata.” He clarifies his approach with comparisons
between the analyses of Beethoven’s “Tempest” and “Pastorale” and selected Bach fugue
themes.
The next major section of Von zwei Kulturen is Book II: Language and Style.
Halm explains the title of this section at the end of his introduction, where he writes:

The title of Book II, [Language and Style], will become clearer as you read. It
should be assumed that I do not intend to separate language and style, but I want
to express that which I believe cannot be adequately characterized by the terms
“style” or “language” alone. To me, musical language means more than the

38 Ibid., 82.
39 Ibid., 117.
18
 expression of a feeling or the projection of that which is represented or thought,
because I do not believe that the art of tones or sound can be [represented] in a
verbal language. The foreign word “Diktion” might come closer to what I
understand here as language.

Here, Halm discusses the way that local design influences the whole. He begins the first
chapter of Book II (Rhythm and Dynamics) by stating, “I know no criterion that would
better identify how well-formed the musical sense of a composer is, or how developed his
tonal language is, than the means and manner in which he creates and discontinues
motion.”40 Halm discusses successful and unsuccessful examples in several Bach fugues.

He then turns to a discussion of Beethoven’s “Waldstein” Sonata, where he determines

that Beethoven sometimes struggled with leading the listener through a juxtaposition of
different rhythmic ideas.
The second chapter of Book 2 is entitled Symmetry. Here, Halm explains that
while symmetry is an important characteristic of music, it can be perilous: “Symmetry is
an indispensable device for making a melodic and harmonic event understandable, for we
intuitively demand it. At the same time, symmetry is risky in that it can flatten out and
paralyze an event. Observing the purpose of symmetry is a vital matter in art, for its
utilization and domination is a characteristic of mature art.”41 In this section, Halm
shows examples of several composers to demonstrate the multifaceted role of symmetry
in music.

Halm follows this chapter with Chapter III, The Art of Theme. He opens the
chapter by stating, “Here we will undertake to establish the hierarchy of the thematic
element and justify it.”42 He goes on, “For our present task, we can develop the
following principle: the more that a theme absorbs the fundamental musical powers and

40 Halm, Von zwei Kulturen, 143.

41 Ibid., 190.
42 Ibid., 205.

19
uses them for its spiritual construction, the more life and value a theme has.”43 Halm
uses Bach’s Fugue in Bb Minor from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II, as an
example, for he believes that it is “one of its most vital themes, a fact that makes it also
the most instructive.”44 This discussion, at thirteen pages, is one of the more lengthy
discussions on a single piece of music in the book. Halm discusses the pitch and
rhythmic structure of the theme in detail, and even discusses questions of performance
practice here. Halm’s high opinion of this theme is quite evident, as he proclaims, “If we
compare this theme to other themes of Bach, the greatest master of the thematic principle,
we can see that it exhibits a large measure of this vitality. In contrast to other themes, I
would even say that this theme is among those that have eternal life.”45
The book closes with a brief “Afterword and Outlook,” in which Halm
summarizes the central thesis of the work. He begins with a rhetorical question about
Beethoven, who allowed harmony to become superior to melody: “Is there so much to
hear in his musical forms that we do not hear the insufficiency of the individual
elements?” He adds, likening the sonata to an ant colony where the individual’s purpose
is to serve the whole, “The theme has a place and function in the whole, and the theme
receives life only from its function.” Lest he leave the reader with the impression that
Bach’s fugues are superior, he writes as an historian, stating, “…Bach’s music is more
music than that of the Classical composers. But, we miss this state-like conception
within it—a conception that does not escape our thoughts now that we have been exposed
to it [by Beethoven’s sonatas].46 Furthermore, Halm writes:

A third culture, the synthesis of each of the two cultures that I have endeavored to
illustrate in this work, is to be expected. It will be the only complete culture of

43 Ibid., 206.
44 Ibid. Alexander Rehding discusses this analysis in his article, “August Halm’s Two Cultures as Nature.”
45 Ibid., 218.
46 Ibid., 253.

20
 music. Furthermore, I believe that this culture has already been established, and
that it might have already been achieved.

I see it germinate and live in Anton Bruckner's symphonies. That he succeeded in

creating the exalted beauty of the individual more than any other Classical
composer is less disputed today than that he also succeeded in the great endeavor
of ruling the masses, which for him are no longer masses. I showed elsewhere
why this must be affirmed; in some of his works, and particularly his last one, I
see the ideal of form united with that of the individual in such a wonderful way as
nowhere else.47

The first edition of Von zwei Kulturen der Musik was published in 1913. The
second edition was published in 1920, and in it, Halm includes a new section entitled

“Afterword.”48 He begins the Afterword by stating that he was initially reluctant to edit
the work for a second edition, but that he eventually agreed, writing, “I have indeed
found important information since the first edition, and have learned from others.” He
specifically mentions Schenker’s Harmonielehre (1906), which he states “has a lot to
offer concerning a structural concept of harmonics in his theory of harmony.”
Furthermore, he notes that the publication of Ernst Kurth’s “Grundlagen des linearen
Kontrapunkts,” (published in 1917) influenced his decision to republish it. He writes that
the publication of Kurth’s work fulfills a wish that Halm articulated in Von zwei Kulturen
on page 55:

Since I am already speaking about the future, I will tell you what I foresee.
Twenty years from now, no one, except perhaps a historian who wants to study
my time, will want to read an essay like this or find it appropriate or necessary. I
hope that I can then (or even earlier) unapologetically offer the positive elements
in what I have said, without apology for what should be obvious, or using
polemics against what should not have ever been said in the first place. Of
course, in the meantime, I guess many will read it as it is now, so I hope that those
few with keen eyes and a will to capture that which is fundamental are not do
weakened and dulled by today’s habits. [55] My greatest hope is that after some
time even the positive elements of my writings too will be superseded and

47 Ibid., 253-54.
48 August Halm, Von zwei Kulturen der Musik, 2d. ed (Munich: Georg Müller, 1920). This new
“Afterword” follows the “Afterword and Outlook” that ended the first edition of the book.
21
 become superfluous because they will have been improved, supplemented, and
presented systematically.49
Halm does hasten to add that Kurth’s Grundlagen should not be considered to be
derivative of his own. He also notes that some of his own subsequent publications,
specifically, Von Grenzen und Ländern der Musik, Die Symphonie Anton Bruckners, and
his essay “Über J.S. Bachs Konzertform” that appeared in 1919 “belong in the context of
[the second edition of] this book and add important aspects to it.” Despite this, Halm,
writes of “an inner conviction” to leave the work mostly unchanged. Halm states that he
considers the book to be more than “a sum of information that may be increased at will,”
for it also has a “certain status that is valuable to me, a status of a certain youthfulness,
almost an intoxication of first insight and discovery, that I did not want to change.”50
The differences between the first and second editions are mostly nominal. On
pages 11, 56, 59, 83, 87, 98 and 112, there are simple changes to word order or an added
word here and there, but no substantial differences in meaning. On page 73 of the second
edition, a new footnote refers the reader to another of Halm’s works, Von Grenzen und
Ländern der Musik, which was published in 1916. On page 188 of the second edition,
Halm includes a differently ornamented version of the beginning of the theme of Bach’s
“Goldberg” Variations that he proclaims to be as impossible as the version given by
Rheinberger [see Halm page 188]. The additional text reads, “Certainly, this is not the
only possible form; one can also embellish it differently. But it is also certain that the
form mentioned before is simply impossible.”51 The most significant difference between
the first and second editions is that two pages of text from the first edition are omitted in
the second edition. In the first edition, Chapter III: The Art of the Theme, begins on page
205 with an introductory section where Halm defines the thematic element, discusses its

49 Ibid., 55-56
50 Ibid., 253-4.
51 Ibid., 188.

22
importance, and foreshadows his approach in the chapter. Its omission in the second
edition would seem to suggest that Halm or the publisher thought that the material was
unnecessary.
The third edition, which appeared in 1947 (after Halm’s death), is a reprint of the
first, with an introduction by Gustav Wyneken, the co-founder of the Free School at
Wickersdorf and Halm’s brother-in-law. Wyneken describes Halm’s reasons for writing
Von zwei Kulturen, noting that Halm wished to “present the will of music” as it appears
in a specific works, for “beyond the manifestations of the will of the individual piece,
there rises something serious and great that may be termed the categorical imperative of
music.” Wyneken notes that Halm’s musical worldview [musikalische Weltanschauung]
was not a preexistent dogma that Halm applied to music, but something that he developed
as a “student, listener, teacher, and creator.”52 Wyneken writes that Halm envisioned a
“Kingdom of Music, analogous to the Kingdom of God,” and that Halm sought to gather
people for this kingdom. The path to this kingdom was musical education. Wyneken
closes his introduction by thanking the publishers of Halm’s book for presenting the
public with the thoughts of “this leading, clear and faithful mind”… and for this
“important contribution to the rebuilding of German culture.”53
At least two reviews of Von zwei Kulturen were published (Fritz Jöde and
Wilhelm Schafer). In addition, Paul Bekker discussed Halm’s book at some length in his
article entitled “Wohin treiben wir?” In the first of these, Fritz Jöde, an important music
educator and founder of the Jugendmusikbewegung in the 1920’s, printed a review in Der
Wanderer in 1916. In his review, Jöde refers to Halm’s cultures as compositional
ideals—that of form and that of style, as achieved by the two great composers, Bach and
Beethoven, who stand in opposition. Jöde further writes that Halm begins with an

52 Gustav Wyneken, Introduction to Von zwei Kulturen, 3d ed., X, VIII.

53 Ibid., XVI.
23
“eloquent description of fugal counterpoint, and then proceeds beyond its limitations
toward the musical progress brought by the sonata form.” Jöde notes that Halm discusses
the sonata’s disadvantage when compared to the fugue—its homophonic texture—and
contrasts this to the sonata’s primary advantage over the fugue—its greater harmonic
wealth, and concedes that this is the basis of “the new musical life in the sonata: the
musical soul.” Jöde seems to have somewhat mischaracterized the two cultures, but in
addition, and more seriously, he fails to mention that Halm saw a third culture in
Bruckner’s work—a true Hegelian synthesis.54
Perhaps the most important part of Jöde’s review is his characterization of Halm’s
intended audience. He writes, “ Some people will get the impression that Halm’s work
merely deals with musicological issues that are of no interest to the educated, but non-
professional musician. Nothing could be more wrong than that.” Jöde emphasizes that
Halm’s work is intended to “fulfill the growing desire of laypersons to receive insight
into the essential nature of music.” He proclaims Halm’s work to be an “unsurpassed
achievement against the increasing superficiality of musicological literature,” and praises
his “extraordinary pedagogical skills, which are so rare in the field of music.”55
Wilhelm Schafer also commented on Halm’s text in Die Rheinlande in 1913. In
this commentary, he opens with a short paragraph about Halm’s importance. Schafer
describes Von zwei Kulturen as a “wide-ranging introduction into the inner workings of
music.” He notes that Halm is a “creative artist with an unusually keen knowledge of all
basic elements of musical production, which leads him to strict standards which he…is

54 Fritz Jöde, review of Von zwei Kulturen der Musik, Der Wanderer 7, 1916; reprinted in Die deutsche
Jugendmusikbewegung in Dokumenten ihrer Zeit von den Anfängen !bis 1933, comp. Wilheim Scholz und
Waltraut! Jonas-Corrieri (Wolfenbüttel-Zurich: Möseler, 1980), 70.
55 Ibid.

24
able to argue with a clarity and audacity that goes beyond the scope of music.” He then
follows with several extended quotes taken directly from Von zwei Kulturen.56
Paul Bekker discusses on the work in his essay entitled “Wohin treiben wir?”
(“Where Are We Drifting?”), which first appeared in the Frankfurter Zeitung in 1913 and
was later published in his collection of essays entitled Kritische Zeitbilder. 57 The work is
primarily an essay about current trends in music aesthetics, but he does discuss Halm’s
text. In this essay, Bekker claims that musical criticism has dissolved into anarchy, and
he gives several examples of this corrupt critical style. To remedy this situation, Bekker
claims that critics must attempt to define the essence and content of music itself, for
music’s essence and content is the foundation of aesthetic judgment. Though Halm and
Bekker disagree on what music contains, Bekker respects Halm, and names Halm as one
of the most thorough and serious writers in musicology at the time. He writes, “I would
like to emphasize the intellectual and art-pedagogical abilities of this man even more, as a
substantial part of his book is an attack on me. I count Halm among the opponents one
has to salute.”58
Bekker notes that he disagrees with Halm’s thesis—his idea that there are two
cultures of music that are synthesized into a third in the works of Bruckner. Bekker calls
Halm’s aesthetic an aesthetic of Bruckner, and states that Halm was mistaken to attempt
to derive a general aesthetics from his thesis. Furthermore, Bekker describes Halm’s idea
of historical progress in the line from Bach-Beethoven-Bruckner as primitive and naïve at
best—even if, Bekker notes, one considers Bruckner equal to Bach and Beethoven.
Bekker notes that Halm rejects his discussion of the “poetic idea” in Beethoven’s

56 Wilhelm Schafer, Review of Von zwei Kulturen der Musik” Die Rheinlande (1913): 477-478. Opening
paragraph translation by Frank Dietz.
57 Paul Bekker, “Wohin treiben wir?” Frankfurter Zeitung, 24 Dec. 1913, 1-3; reprinted in Kritische
Zeitbilder. (Berlin: Schuster and Loeffler, 1921), 247-59.
58 Ibid., 253.

25
“Tempest” sonata, and contrasts his “analysis of affects” with a technical analysis.
Bekker contends that his style of “affect analysis” is the most obvious means of
understanding a work of art.59 While studying Halm’s archival materials, Rothfarb found
a response that Halm wrote to Bekker’s essay that he had hoped to publish (probably in
the Frankfurter Zeitung) but was rejected. Rothfarb added that in his response to Bekker,
Halm refuted some of Bekker’s points, but primarily defends himself by asserting that
Bekker obviously must have misunderstood him.60
August Halm’s Von zwei Kulturen der Music is a unique view of late 19th and

early 20th-century theoretical perspectives and it provides a substantive critique of

analyses of theorists contemporary with Halm. His ideas and analyses offer a valuable
alternative to Schenker’s analytical method and to the hermeneutic and narrative
approaches taken by Kretzschmar, Bekker, and other theorists and critics contemporary
to Halm.
Halm’s ideas are valuable today as well. His idea of two cultures of music—
melody and harmony—provides a unique, easily understandable, and effective
perspective from which to consider music and its history. Halm conceived of form as a
dynamic system that manifests itself in the fugue and sonata (that is, his two cultures of
music), and he believed that this “drama of forces” could be understood by even a novice
listener. The use of superimposed narratives or another type of imposed “agent” to

explain that drama was unnecessary to Halm, undermined his pedagogical goals, and
potentially could corrupt the general culture.

59 Ibid., 256-57.
60 This information came from correspondence with Rothfarb, for which I am most grateful.
26
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

I have endeavored to preserve the informal, conversational style of Halm’s

writings. I did eliminate most contractions, except for those that would significantly
change the informal tone of language if changed. For example, I have largely kept the
contraction “let’s” as I believe it more clearly reflects Halm’s meaning more closely than
“let us,” which can sound formal and stilted.
Long sentences have been divided to enhance readability. Paragraph structure,
however, has been maintained except in a few cases where noted in the footnotes.
Section divisions have been replicated, though I have made some changes in the
formatting of his headings. For example, in his introduction, Halm places the musical
terms in the margins beside the corresponding paragraph. In addition, some of these
terms are listed within an outline form. I have moved these headings to the beginning of
each paragraph and maintained Halm’s outline structure (see Halm’s pages XXVII-
XXX). Finally, where Halm includes lower-level headings that are only Roman
numerals, I have subtitled the section, placing my text in brackets.
Though Halm does include several musical examples in the text, I have added
many more. Halm did not caption his examples, with the exception of the cadence
examples and the sequence example that appear in his introduction. I have included
captions for all examples in the translation. The captions for the examples in Halm’s text
conclude with [Halm]. The captions for the examples that Halm did not include in the
text that I added conclude with [Translator].
It is a challenge to render Halm’s ideas into English. Certain terms like Geist and
Wesen are notoriously problematic for German to English translation. More specifically
to the present text, Halm uses nouns like “Melodische,” which are not easily translated
into English. In cases like this, I have had to insert another word to function as a noun.

27
Thus, “Melodische” was rendered as “melodic element.” One example of this occurs on
page 65 of Halm’s text. “Der erwähnte doppelte melodische Gang in die Tiefe war
nämlich ein Ausblick in das typisch Melodische der beiden Rezitative, deren Sinn wir uns
jetzt bis zum Greifen- und Begreifen-können angenähert haben.” In this example, Halm
used “melodische” as an adjective (“melodische Gang”) and as a noun with its own
adjective modifier (“typisch Melodische”). My translation of the sentence reads: “The
aforementioned octave-doubled melodic progression in the lower register provides a
preview of the typical melodic element [Melodische] of both recitatives, whose meanings

we are coming close to grasping and understanding.”

Halm’s lengthy and complicated sentences also make it difficult for the translator.
The final sentence of the “Conclusion of Book I” on pages 142-143 provides a good
example of Halm’s writing style, and is shown below. I have included an explanation of
the translation method following the translation.

Und auch die Betrachter höherer Grade, die vom Einzelpersönlichen zu

irgendeiner Art von Sozialem aufsteigen, um das Niveau für Beethovens Music zu
gewinnen, die also in ihr aussermusikalische Angelegenheiten eines Komplexes
von Menschen, statt eines Einzelmenschen, behandelt sehen und etwa die
gewaltigen inneren und äusseren Stürme [143] der damaligen Zeit brausen
hören: auch sie haben teil an der Schuld eines Zeitalters, welches das für den
Geist der Musik Schädliche zu erkennen und zu überwinden, die wirkliche
Kulturtat für ihn zu nützen nicht die Kraft hat, weil es eben dem Glauben an
diesen Geist abgesagt hat.

And also those observers of a higher rank, who rise from the subjectively!
individual to some sort of socially integrative level in order to achieve !the!
[proper] standard for Beethoven's music, who thus see in its extramusical aspects
the concerns of a complex of humankind, not of an isolated individual human
being and perchance hear the powerful roar of the interior and exterior storms
[143] of !that! bygone era: they too share in the guilt of an epoch that does not
possess! the !strength to recognize and overcome what is harmful for the spirit of
music,! and !to profit from true cultural action for it [the spirit], precisely! because it
!has rejected belief in that spirit.

28
 The subject of this sentence is “those observers” (“die Bretrachter”). The subject
is modified first with the prepositional phrase “of a higher rank” (“höherer Grade”) after
which there are a series of clauses that further modify the subject (“die vom…aufsteigen,”
“die also in… Menschen,” "die also in ihr…sehen…brausen hören").
The main verb of the sentence is share (“haben teil”). The verb follows the colon
and the pronoun “sie,” which refers to the main subject “those observers.” The direct
object of the verb is a prepositional phrase “in the guilt” (“an der Schuld”). The direct
object of the verb is followed by another prepositional phrase, “of an epoch” (“eines
Zeitalters”), that serves as the indirect object.
Thus, the main sentence—stripped of its modifiers—reads, “Those observers
share in the guilt of an epoch.” The subject modifiers all follow the subject “those
observers” (“die Betrachter”). The first modifier is the previously mentioned
prepositional phrase “of a higher rank,” which is followed by “who rise from the
subjectively individual to some sort of socially integrative level” (“die vom
Einzelpersönlichen zu irgendeiner Art von Sozialem aufsteigen”). This leads to the
prepositional phrase “in order to achieve the [proper] standard for Beethoven's music”
(“um das Niveau für Beethovens Music zu gewinnen”). “Those observers” is then
modified again with the long clause “who thus see in its extramusical aspects the
concerns of a complex of humankind, not of an isolated individual human being and
perchance hear the powerful roar of the interior and exterior storms [143] of !that! bygone
era” (“die also in ihr aussermusikalische Angelegenheiten eines Komplexes von

Menschen, statt eines Winzelmenschen, behandelt sehen und etwa die gewaltigen inneren
und äusseren Stürme der damaligen Zeit brausen hören”).
The sentence predicate “auch sie haben teil an der Schuld eines Zeitalters,”
follows the colon. It contains the subject pronoun (“sie”), the verb, share (“haben teil”),

29
the direct object, in the guilt (“an der Schuld”), and the indirect object, of an epoch
(“eines Zeitalters”). The indirect object “an epoch” is then modified by two clauses: [this
epoch] does not possess the strength to recognize and overcome what is harmful for the
spirit of music (“welches das für den Geist der Musik Schädliche zu erkennen und zu
überwinden”), and [this epoch] does not possess the strength to profit from true cultural
action for it [the spirit] (“die wirkliche Kulturtat für ihn zu nützen nicht die Kraft hat”).
Finally, the clause “precisely because it has rejected belief in that spirit” (“weil es eben
dem Glauben an diesen Geist abgesagt hat”) describes the reason that “the epoch” is
deficient in its strength.

30
 OF TWO CULTURES OF MUSIC

Introduction

As was customary until recently (and as often still occurs today), music
instruction chose to suppress important matters. I fear, therefore, that some who might
otherwise be certain of a full understanding of everything I will present here may
nevertheless be deterred from reading it by strange technical terminology or, in its
content, insufficiently familiar concepts, or, further, may find the clear continuity
interrupted while reading. For my work addresses itself by no means exclusively or even
primarily to professional musicians, but rather aims to serve the ever-more-awakening
need of those outside the narrow circles for insight into the artistically essential
[Künsterlisch-Wesentliche] dimension of music. I therefore take it upon myself at the
very outset to present the most elementary material, whose knowledge the subsequent
material presupposes. Instead of just listing commonly used technical words to briefly
explain each as a single entity, I will attempt to organize this material and treat it in a
manner that is appropriate to the seriousness and richness found within even the most
basic concepts. It requires more than knowledge to understand musical life; it requires
the sense of the power of music’s content [die Kraft ihres Gehalts].61

Nature gives us the tone as a kind of refined, purified noise. This productive
[XX] tone gives us other tones, specifically the overtones.

61 Halm occasionally inserts extra blank lines within sections (as he does here). Those have been preserved
in the translation. The paragraph structure of the original text has been preserved in the translation where
possible. In those cases, however, where I have broken up particularly long paragraphs, the change will be
noted in the footnotes. Page numbers from the third edition of Halm’s text are given in brackets.
31
 These tones, by their nature, are foundations for the system of music [Grundtöne];
that is, they are mobile and active in relationship to their chord.62

Intervals, Consonance, and Dissonance63

Human nature takes possession of nature’s gift and uses it in its own way.
We name the overtones according to their position in the scale, (which thus is
primary for our consciousness if not also for our emotions!) or, to be more precise, we
name the overtones according to their distance from the first note of the scale; as the
boundaries of such gaps [(intervallum)] that we call “intervals” [“Intervalle”]. But we
hear and perceive their relationship immediately as a living relationship; in us it changes
from quantity into quality.
Strangely enough, we perceive the first overtone (the octave) as something new,
yet not as something new—we hear it as a rejuvenated fundamental.64 We perceive the
fifth in terms of a relation of friendship [Freundschaftsverhältnis] between the two tones
[the fundamental and the octave]; the same is true of the third, but with a different
character.
To be more precise, these intervals—the perfect octave, the perfect fifth (for
example, from C to G) and the major third—are those we describe as “consonant.”
The seventh (C-Bb) [the sixth overtone] carries an unmistakable unrest within it;
its notes are inharmonious [auseinanderklingend] or “dissonant.” [XXI] The third is the
predecessor of the seventh in that both are “leading tones,” or “notes sensibles,” that is,

62 Here Halm’s conception of music as a dynamic system is apparent. This principal notion of motion in
music leads many to classify Halm as one of the numerous theorists at the turn of the century who are
interested in “Energetics.” For extensive discussion of energetics, see Lee Rothfarb, “Energetics” in the
Cambridge History of Western Music Theory, ed. Thomas Christensen (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2002), 927-956.
63 Halm’s section titles are given in the page margins.
64 A.H. See my essay: “The Wonder of the Octave,” in the monthly journal, “Die Rheinlande,” April 1912.
Translator’s note: The footnotes that Halm includes in his text begin with his initials.
32
tones that are restricted in their direction. The seventh leads downwards, and the third
wants to be led upwards, though it desires that less strongly.
Acoustical studies can only demonstrate the numerical relationships of the tones,
which consistently become more complex. They cannot yield the characteristics of these
relationships.

Fifth Relationships

We can perceive the individual intervals (i.e. the fifth, and the third) to be
consonant. But we perceive the consonance of a triad or chord—the harmoniousness of
the fifth and the third (for example, C-E-G)—even more strongly. [The word]
“consonant,” describes a harmonious merging in which there is repose, which is capable
of ending [Schlussfähig].
The seventh chord represents dissonance to us, i.e., it is a disturbed rest [gestörte
Ruhe] or a tension that needs dissolution or “resolution.” C-E-G-Bb, for example, will
naturally move toward an F triad. The similarly-constructed ninth chord (C-E-G-Bb-D)
has the same desire for resolution, but it is even stronger. It stretches the limits of what is
immediately understandable to us in terms of the natural overtones of a tonic.
We call such a desire “relatedness” [Verwandtschaft] of chords. It is their
tendency to “connect” with other chords, viewed more precisely, to flow into other
chords. The fundamental of a chord is its natural representative, for it [XXII] produces
the chord. For example, we can see that the triad C-E-G originates from the tone C.
Consequently, the root and the fifth are the two most closely related tones, and the chords
built upon these roots are the most closely related chords.

33
Third Relationships

The third, which already originates more indirectly from the root, is the basis of a
more distant relationship of chords, those whose roots are a third apart. When we
progress through third-related chords, for example, the chord progression from C major
to E major, a significant element of the first chord (here, the G, which must change to a
G#) is destroyed. By contrast, in progressions of fifth-related chords, the first will yield
to the new one but does not destroy the memory of that which was just heard.

Cadence and Tonality

F major and G major are equally related to C major as they are each fifth-related.
That the two chord progressions are nevertheless not equivalent for our perception is
based on a special characteristic by virtue of which we can speak at all of above and
below, of high and low in connection with tones, [i.e. based] on the ability or the
compulsion to detect something like gravity in the realm of tones. We prefer the fifth
descent, for example, the progression from C major to F major. The cadence (von
cadere, fallen) is its double application, i.e. C-F, G-C, whereby the [XXIII] letters signify
the major triads of which we are speaking. It therefore does not impact the harmony if
the bass—the carrier of the harmony—reaches from C to F through a falling fifth or

through its inversion, a fourth ascent. The fourth is an inverted fifth; the latter is the
primary, decisive harmony.
When I say that I hear the tonality of C major, I mean that I expect the C major
triad as a close, whether it is fully presented, only suggested, or even if it is just a
possibility. Thus, as long as the key of C major dominates, everything and all harmonic
events in the final instance are related to the C major triad, the goal. The perception of
tonality is an intuitive recognition and ordering of harmonic qualities. [XXIV]

34
Example 1: Major Cadence [Halm]

Example 2: Customary Minor Cadence [Halm]

The Dominants

[XXIV] The cadence shown above [Example 1] is its shortest complete formula.
With the reappearance of the beginning chords, it is established as tonic and the tonality
is fulfilled. The other triads of the cadence are considered to be the primary triads [along
with the tonic triad]. These chords are the two dominants. The one that lies a fifth below
the tonic is called the “subdominant,” and the one that lies a fifth above the tonic is called

the “upper dominant” [Oberdominant]. The former is a temporary destination of the

35
progression, while the latter is the station [Station] before the return, the final goal.
However, the upper dominant is more than just a station, for it is charged with
momentum toward the tonic, making it the dominant in the first degree; that is to say, if
one speaks of the dominant, he is always referring to the upper dominant.
One can prove the supremacy of this dominant relationship, the descending fifth,
over the subdominant relationship, the ascending fifth, by playing the cadence
backwards. This results in a double subdominant relationship whose energy does not
match the normally used cadence.65 [XXV] One calls the cadence based upon this
subdominant relationship the “inauthentic cadence” or “plagal cadence.”

Sequence

Diametrically opposed to the cadence, the means of ending, is the sequence, the
formula of avoiding ending, or, one might say, the formula of the law of inertia. The
sequence and the cadence are both expressions of tonal consciousness
[Tonartbewusstseins], but the sequence presupposes the tonality as it uses its melodic
representative, the scale.

65 When the cadence is played backwards, the root motion between the first and last pairs of chords, C-G
and F-C, is that of the ascending fifth.
36
Example 3: Sequence in C Major [Halm]

[XXVI] External nature and our human nature give us the major triad in its
essence as tendency—in that it wants to descend by a fifth, thus acting as a dominant—
that is, as an active chord. How can we augment what is given to us? How can we go
beyond the boundaries of the natural desire of the dominant?

37
 We have not yet discussed the other consonance, the minor triad, or the so-called
triad with the minor third (for example, C-Eb-G) that we understand as the opposite of
the major triad, regardless of whether it just appeared or whether it was somehow created
or developed. We will not enter here into the argument as to how it originated or how to
justify it.66 It is enough to say that we have the minor consonance and with it the minor
tonality.
Although consonance is the goal of harmonic activity, consonance is static and
not capable of development. In fact, musical motion—the sense of flowing through time
[XXVII] —is not contained within consonance, for its goal is complete rest. The actual
driving energy of music is the resolution of its dissonance, or the dominant. The
dominant chord, although consonant, carries the leading tone, which gives it an active
quality. Thus, in essence it is a veiled dissonance. Only dissonance is capable of
development.
Therefore, the question I posed above is nothing other than the question of the
possibility of music itself. More precisely, how do we achieve the richness [Reichtum] of
harmony, (that is, how do we multiply or enhance dissonances)? In other words, how can
we ignore the law of natural chord progressions or free ourselves from the force of the
dominant relationship?
Both questions will be answered only in a general way here, and in so doing we
will restrict ourselves to the more easily conceptualized major key.
A. 1. First, we can achieve harmonic diversity because we understand harmonic
analogies. The natural seventh chord on C (C-E-G-Bb) leads to the F triad. Thus,
it belongs to the F-major or F-minor tonality. Instead of the natural minor
seventh, C-Bb, the major seventh (C-B) can also appear on C, and particularly if I

66 Halm is obviously reluctant to discuss dualism.

38
 have previously heard the natural element [minor seventh] as a model, I
understand the chord C-E-G-B as a reflection [Nachbild] of the natural element
[minor seventh] under the influence of the key of C major, which dictates B-
natural. [XXVIII] Sequence one [example 3] begins with the natural [dominant]
seventh chord G-B-D-F (the same quality as C-E-G-Bb) in its inverted form, B-D-
F-G; this is followed immediately by its afterimage, the major seventh chord F-A-
C-E, (the same quality as C-E-G-B).

Secondary Triads

We also perceive the fourth chord of Example 3, the diminished triad B-D-F, as a
consonance (even as it fades away) because of our ability to accept analogies,
here enabling us to include this chord among the secondary triads. [These
secondary triads], the triads built on scale degrees 2, 3, 6, and 7, are constructed
according to the law of tonality (as it is established in the scale), and are
indispensable for the harmonic representation of a key, that is, for a cadence.

2. [Secondly, harmonic diversity arises from] a multitude of dissonances that are

found in the melodic process or evolve through the fertilization of harmony
through the melodic principle.
a) Instead of having each chord move as a block as happened in the
first cadence example, we can free the chord-forming voices to a certain
extent and make them independent without changing the harmonic
content. [XXIX]

39
Suspension

In the first variant of the cadence [see the * in Example 1], the
upper voice hesitates, holding back for the duration of an eight note while
its companions sound the new chord. This newly dissonant component
from the first chord withholds a note from the second chord—a process we
call suspension. Sequence 2a [Example 3] varies Sequence 2 by the use of
suspensions.
I can also cite here one of the most radical multiple suspensions

[Example 4]; it is one of the most common variants of the Rheingold Song
Motive in Wagner’s Ring Cycle.

Example 4: Wagner, Rheingold Song Motive [Halm]

Supensions are described as prepared when the dissonant note was

consonant in the previous chord. Its opposite (as shown in Example 4) is
the “freely inserted” suspension.

Anticipation

In contrast to the hesitating suspension, the anticipation is a

component of the coming [XXX] chord that arrives early [as shown] in
Variant II of the cadence, [see the * in Example 1].

40
Passing Tone

b) While moving from one harmonic note to another, a voice can

play one or two notes that lie between [the chord tones] and that are
foreign to the harmony. These are called “passing notes.”67 For an
example, see the alto and tenor eighth notes in Variant I [see Example 1].
c) Finally, certain embellishments belong [to this discussion of
melodic dissonances], particularly the trill with its various executions; the
long trill with its repeated strikes as well as the short “Pralltriller” (or

“inverted mordent”) and “Mordent” which consist of one or two trills; the
first one trilling up, the second one down.
The calm swaying of a tone [through its neighbor and back] is
harmonically more effective than the whirling about of the trill, as can be
seen in the first beat of the alto and the third beat of the tenor in bar 1 or
cadence Variant Two [see Example 1]. This is fundamentally nothing
other than a trill, as the tone departs from its position of equilibrium, but
without wandering off.

In each one of these cases we understand and enjoy a disturbed chord! Since we

can distinguish between harmonically [XXXI] essential and non-essential notes and have
the capacity [to understand] that the [non-chord tones] are subordinate to the [chord
tones], we are not disturbed by the dissonance, but become masters of that disturbance.
Thus, arising in the atmosphere of spiritual freedom and effort, the dissonant element
flowers into a charming, stimulating, intoxicating, and even elevating power and beauty.
* * *

67 Durchgangsnoten and durchgehende Töne—these are synonyms and translate as passing tones.
41
 Our understanding of the combination [Zusammen] of the tones C-E-G as a C
major chord is not bound to the order in which the overtones result from the fundamental
C, nor to the sounding of the root itself. We understand the chord spelled E-G-C or E-C-
G (the six-three chord) and G-C-E or G-E-C (the six-four chord) also as C major, that is,
as its inversions. The second chord of the second sequence example [in Example 3] is
the first inversion, or the sixth chord, of F major, acting here as the subdominant of the C
major tonality. (See also the inversion of the seventh chord in the first example [Example
3, beginning of the sequence]).

Various Types of Inversion

Because of our ability to do without the root, it follows that the bass can
emancipate itself from the root. The real base (which is the meaning of the [part] name
“bass”) does not need to be identical with the ideal, i.e. the fundamental. This however,
means nothing less than that the bass can become melodic. [XXXII] Schopenhauer
correctly noted that the bass in chord progressions normally moves by fifths except where
it becomes melodic through contrapuntal inversion [invertible counterpoint].68 Indeed,
that the bass is capable of this assumes that the bass is released from the constraint to
proceed by fifth! Only after this intellectual deed [geistigen Tat], namely the inversion of
the chord, can the bass voice take over the melody or lead a melody itself.
In the [previously shown] sequence example 1a [of Example 3], the bass has the
same melodic line that the soprano had in the first sequence example. A1 is the
contrapuntal inversion of the first sequence, for the melodic role or melodic domain is
switched between two or more voices.

68 ArthurSchopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, vol. 3, trans. R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1883; reprint 1948), 333-335.
42
 One can also speak of the inversion of a theme, i.e. a melodic line, in terms of a
mirror image. [There are two methods of inversion. In the first,] the direction of the
intervals in the original melody is reversed, as if it were perceived as a reflection in the
surface of water. [In the second,] the melody is read from back to front, or in
“retrograde.” It might be clearer if one were to differentiate between a vertical and
horizontal inversion. As an example, I cite the theme of my C-minor Fugue for String
Orchestra.69 [XXXIII]

Example 5: Halm, Theme from C-minor Fugue for String Orchestra [Halm]

Counterpoint

One can with some justification take care to incorporate these into the
contrapuntal discipline, insofar as the contrapuntal is [understood as] a primarily melodic
art.
In the first cadence example [Example 1], the chords moves so that no voice
raises itself over the others—even the soprano does not move ahead melodically; it will

69 A.H. This work appears in Book IV of my “Compositions for Pianoforte,” G. A. Zumsteeg publishers,
Stuttgart [1915].
43
be perceived as the melodic voice only because it is the highest voice of the chordal unit.
Although we can identify and extract the single voices, (i.e. alto, tenor and bass) not one
of these predominates or demands emphasis. The harmony is simply completed by an
orderly method instead of being refined. The “voice leading” is correct, but crude.

Imitation [and] Transposition

On the other hand, when an individual voice exhibits even a bit of an intellective
profile [geistiger Physiognomie], the contrapuntal principle is functioning. Therefore the
cadence variants [XXXIV] are clear, albeit modest, beginnings of contrapuntal thinking;
the individual vocal lines want to be understood for their melodic content. In this case,
[their desire for individuation] arises through their right to be animated by dissonance on
the one hand, and through the application of the contrapuntal technique of “mimicking”
or “imitation,” on the other hand. In imitation, one voice repeats a motive that another
voice has modeled. The restatement of a motive within one and the same voice on
another step is called transposition. In example 6, the first motive fills the first measure,
and the alto imitates it in the second measure, while the upper voice plays the
transposition of the motive.

Example 6: Bach, F-minor Prelude for Organ (Peters II), mm. 1-3 [Halm, p. 177]

In sequence example 2B [Example 3], the bass imitates the soprano a fifth lower.
If this were to be continued for a longer duration, it would be called canonical imitation
or canon. In this example, the tenor also moves in canon with the alto.

44
 In the contrapuntal style, therefore, the voices take upon themselves the melodic
responsibility for their existence in addition to creating harmonic qualities with the other
voices. Indeed, with highly developed counterpoint, and for a listener up to the task, the
harmonic impression arises secondarily, as if through a vertical [XXXV] cross-section.
The harmony is the overall result of voices, which, in their free independence, are
amicable with one another; it is the spirit of their amicability. For the composer,
however, the harmony is far more often primary, the assumed beginning from which his
melodic art must win freedom for the individual voices and which he frequently modifies
for the sake of that freedom.
The expressions double, triple, and quadruple counterpoint describe a specific
technique within the contrapuntal art, namely the composing out of the voices, based on
their capacity for inversion so that each voice can serve as an upper or lower voice (of a
pair) or as the middle voice of several.
* * *

The Circle of Fifths

B. If C-F is the most natural chord progression, then it would also be natural to
begin on the chord that was achieved, F, and repeat the same falling fifth to yield
the chord progression F-Bb and to continue in the same manner so that each
resultant chord is reinterpreted as an initial chord, or dominant, according to its
goal. We can go all the way back to the C in this manner, thus around the circle.
This ability is due to the tempered voices for which Bach entitled his main work
for the keyboard, [XXXVI] The Well Tempered Clavier. These tempered voices
enable the circle of fifths through compromised [intervallic ratios] that are evenly
distributed over the entire keyboard. Theoretically, by moving through repeated

45
 fifth leaps, [from dominant to tonic] we move further away from C major in order
to approach it again, yet we never entirely achieve it, for we actually moved in a
spiral: C-F-Bb-Eb-Ab-Db-Gb-Cb-Fb-Bbb-Ebb-Abb-Dbb. The Dbb and C are
identical, just as the Gb from the series can be read as F#, or the Cb as B, and this
allows us to stay on the same level [of accidentals] on which we find C. These
enharmonic equivalents are the result of this compromise [or temperament] that
facilitates this harmonically highly developed music. If not for this, the keyboard
would either have to have an enormous, incalculable number of keys, rendering it
unplayable, or it would have to sacrifice several tonalities. This triumph—that the
player can use all of the tonalities—Bach proclaims with the structure of the
previously mentioned work, which is subtitled “24 Preludes and Fugues Through
All the Keys.”

Modulation

As in the theoretical spiral of fifths [mentioned above], following the practical

circle of fifths means that there is a continuous change in tonality in which each goal is
negated as attained, for each new tonic is transformed into the dominant of the new key.
Therefore “modulation” (the changing of the mode [XXXVII] or tonality, or the play of
keys), and “tonicization,” (the temporary “replacement” of one tonality by another) is
deeply grounded in our nature. This centrifugal tendency [to change keys] is paired (as a
corollary and corrective) with the centripetal tendency, the need to remain in one tonality.
These contrasting elements [the centrifugal and centripetal tendencies] when regulated
and organized, experience their synthesis in musical form, especially in the fugue and the
sonata form, as these have as their law the temporary domination of the other keys but at
the same time the first right and right of final closure of the main tonality.

46
 Neither a chord nor a single chord progression may be called music. What then
frees us from this natural, but unmusical circle-of-fifths?
It is the will of tonality, as it forms the cadence that commands the succession of
the subdominant and the dominant—a succession of chords that functions as a harmonic
ellipse.70 We are able to sense or to perceive a connection [between tonalities], even if it
is skipped over and we can find a connection in hindsight pleasing: once again, a
principle that is highly capable of development.

C. A chord can tolerate foreign tones, that is, components of other chords, and we
can still understand it as a unit. Tonality [XXXVIII], the higher spiritual unity,
has the same property in that it tolerates components of other tonalities.
Therefore, there are chords that are dissonant to the tonality that temporarily
disturb and endanger the image, but disappear, leaving the image intact. These
may be passing chords or chords that lead to a new key that continue.

Chromaticism

In [m. 7] of the well-known Andante from Haydn’s “Drumbeat Symphony”

[Symphony no. 94 in G Major, “Surprise”], there is a solemn [ernst] F# that is foreign to
the ruling key of C major which facilitates the transition to G major [see Example 7]. In
contradistinction to this, the foreign note D# that later appears [in m. 20] is a dissonance
imposed onto the continuing tonality of C major. Thus, [in the same section of the
piece], there is a harmonic passing tone and a tonal passing tone.71

70 By the harmonic ellipse, Halm is referring to the fact that although the subdominant and the dominant
both lie a fifth away from the tonic, (an equal relationship), in practice, the dominant is far closer to the
tonic than the subdominant is, for the dominant displays greater energy than the subdominant because it
contains the leading tone.
71 The harmonic passing tone is a passing tone between key areas and a tonal passing tone is a passing tone
within a single key area.
47
Example 7: Haydn, Andante of Symphony No. 94, “Surprise,” mm. 7-8 [Halm]

We call the alteration of a tone, such as here the D to D#, a “chromatic”

progression, [and we call] the scale that moves entirely in semitones the chromatic scale.
Its contrasting scale, the “diatonic” scale leads “through the tone realm,” meaning
through the realm of the unaltered prevailing [XXXIX] key. The diatonic scale has two
half steps, occurring between the third and fourth steps and between the seventh and
eighth steps. It might not appear to be rich in content, but it is more differentiated than
the chromatic scale. One could rightfully call the diatonic scale the natural scale and the
chromatic scale the synthetic [künstliche] (but not unnatural [unnatürliche]) scale. We
should actually refer to the chromatic scale as the mixed diatonic and chromatic scale, for
the two semitone steps of the diatonic scale are already available to the chromatic scale.
The chromatic scale simply artificially inserts a semitone between each natural whole
tone, which it does through borrowing from another key. It is reasonable and logical that
the more melodic chromaticism (which colors the harmony without moving it from the

governing tonality) grew into the essential tonal chromaticism whose beginnings can be
seen in a harmonic succession of two third-related chords or keys.

That a chord takes on a component of another one presupposes the existence of

that other chord, and further that this other chord lies nearby in constant readiness for
interaction with the original one. The same is true of the possibility of one tonality
borrowing something from the other. And as in the first case, with the uncertainty of
individual chords, here [too] the uncertainty of tonality can surely be attempted when the

achieved [XL] condition of music allows or calls for it. In such cases, then, the main
48
feature is not the key and related ones but rather the very interaction among tonalities,
their fluctuation.
A wonderful example of extreme harmonic chromaticism, by which not only the
key steadily changes but the sense of tonality [Tonartgefühl] itself becomes as good as
non-functioning is the “Magic Sleep” motive from Wagner’s “Die Walküre”. To use
chromaticism in such a way does not demonstrate anarchy, but a near dissolution. This
transition state—be it intoxicating or tiresome—in this case, serves to make an
impression of diminished consciousness or of a state of pleasant weakness, [that is
appropriate to the plot], which would, after all, be good to acknowledge.
I still believe today that I demonstrated the fundamentals of harmony in my small
Harmoniehehre (Göschen Number 120), and I refer the reader who wishes for more
details to it. I do not deny that this work lacks certain things that are contained in other,
more well-known Harmonielehren. But, I have substituted, or tried to substitute other
things in place of the omissions. To be more specific, I have included sections on
structural harmony and on harmonic economy [XLI]. To hear its function in the
construction of a large-scale work—that grants complete insight into the essence of
harmony.

Syncopation

I believe that everyone understands what rhythm is, which excuses me from
having to define the concept and explain its essence. Thus, I will restrict myself and
speak only about one particular type of rhythm, the syncopation. Syncopation occurs
when a rhythmic event is displaced from its natural metrical position, which can seem
like a lagging behind or a pouncing ahead [Überfallen]. [It can seem] like it is sneaking
up on something, or like it was thrust up into the air. It can seem like something that is

49
weak [Schwäche], or like a force or forcefulness. The natural place for an event is on the
beat—preferably on an accented beat. Through the syncopation, the beat, which would
otherwise be accented, is consumed [verschlungen]. Dr. [Karl] Grunsky speaks of this
process in a noteworthy manner in his Music Aesthetic (Collection Göschen number 344,
page 98-102).

[Summary]

As I indicated previously, the readers of this book I have in mind are friends of
artistic [XLII] understanding who are not satisfied with an indefinite impression, but are
determined to arrive at causes; who no longer validate ostensible explanations that in
reality only conceal, but do not even conceal, an abandonment of clarity. Furthermore,
my intended readers] reject a hermeneutic that employs mental images and sensations of
other domains in order to interpret the music according to its so-called content, that
adopts the image [Bildnis] not merely in analogy but rather sticks to that image and
pretends to see, (and to teach how to see) in it the substance of musical processes. In
short, I wish for readers whom Goethe described as energetic, ambitious spirits [lebhaft
vordringenden Geister] whose numbers are beginning to grow enormously in our day,
[and] for whom my book may be appropriate to recruit more followers into their
community.72
[To be energetic and ambitious] does not mean to proceed in a hurried and
impatient manner. On the contrary, participating in an artistic event is akin to patience.
Some are suspicious of the analysis of an artwork and claim that it stifles its vitality
[lebendiges Wirken]. It is impossible for a good analysis to ever be boring. Sterile
dreariness [Unfruchtbare Öde] in an analysis comes from hastiness or incompleteness,

72 JohannWolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey, trans. W. H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer (San Francisco:
North Point Press, 1982), 393. Translation of lebhaft vordringenden Geister is from this book.
50
from the superficiality of the questions that [the theorist] poses, or from choosing a banal
work for his analysis. [XLIII]
By good analysis we understand something far deeper than customary
documentation of thematic evidence can bring to light, and something far higher than a
retracing of the composer’s mere handicraft allows us to see. My analyses show more
than can be expressed in words. Here, I only express the wish that the reader will follow
with the same commitment to the task as the author has seen as his duty, and whose
demands have seemed progressively (the more often he returned to it) less like a task or
burden.
* * *

I talk about two cultures, because I am clearly aware of radically different ideals
of composition in each: the ideal of form and the ideal of style.
Under “form” I understand the great organism as such, the first rank belonging to
sonata form. “Style” [on the other hand] concerns a piece’s individuation. One can
certainly name either of these as a form in the larger sense, but I will discuss only the
more commonly accepted forms—fugal form and sonata form. I will concentrate on
these forms in order to show the concept of form as a whole, as the collaboration of
organized powers [eines Zusammenwirkens von organisierten Kräften zu verbinden].
[XLIV]
In this respect, I once called a well-developed and vital theme a “form,” but in the
present work, I will discuss the question of thematics in Book II [under Style], since a
theme is an individuality [Einzelnes].
The title of Book II [Language and Style], will become clearer as you read. It
should be assumed that I do not intend to separate language and style, but I want to

51
express that which I believe cannot be adequately characterized by the terms “style” or
“language” alone. To me, musical language means more than the expression of a feeling
or the projection of that which is represented or thought, because I do not believe that the
art of tones or sound can be [represented] in a verbal language. The foreign word
“Diktion” might come closer to what I understand here as language.73
The words that we need do not exist, and so with this short title [Language and
Style], I have only approached that which can only be made clear through description, for
just as the words “language” and “style” are terribly inadequate words to describe
musical laws, so is the word “form.”
August Halm
Ulm, Spring of 1913.

73 Halm considers “Diktion” to be synonymous with rhetoric, in that it governs local design.
52
 Book I: Form

CHAPTER I: FUGAL FORM, ITS ESSENCE, AND ITS RELATIONSHIP TO SONATA FORM

I. [The Fugue]

Fugal form is the form of unity and sonata form is the form of opposition. The
former is principally concerned with one theme, the latter with several or many. If I hear
a second theme in a fugue, I know that even if it appears alone at first and is self-
contained, it will not remain alone for long, but will be heard in combination with the
first theme, so that it is brought into a direct relation to the first musically—it is in
counterpoint with it. Of course, this is also possible in sonata form, but there it is not
based in the nature of the form. When I hear a second theme in a sonata form, I do not
expect that it will be combined with the first—even if I were to realize that both themes
could be combined contrapuntally and were to expect the composer to take advantage of
this pretty opportunity.
Fundamentally, all events in a fugue refer to a main theme, a principle that
restricts its length. The fugue cannot be freely expanded, (or at least does not [8] require
expansion), something we will later show is a function of its relatively limited tonal and
harmonic resources. Sonata form, on the other hand, has proven to be the insatiable and
expansive form that has undertaken greater and greater tonal resources as well as more
and more time. Today the symphony (i.e. the sonata for large orchestra) is the norm, and
it seems entirely natural for such a work to last an hour or more. On the contrary, two or
three fugues cannot be easily combined into a larger work, and indeed a ten-minute fugue
would already seem long. No wonder: for the fugue offers less variety than the sonata,
and allows no relaxation because it lacks caesuras in which all voices participate. The

fugue never releases the listener from tension, and it releases the composer just as little or
53
even less—reason enough for its relative brevity. A sonata movement can be punctuated
by empty places that the listener forgives or even ignores. If a beautiful or pretty theme
appears after one of the half-cadences that are so popular in the Classical style, the
listener is easily comforted and won back by a pleasant surprise or an interesting episode.
With the lighter diction of the sonata, the listener can more easily accept a closing or
preliminary transitional section, and might even overlook its insufficiency. In contrast,
the part-oriented structure of the fugue forces the listener to hear everything [9] as
distinctly as possible, and to give serious attention right from the beginning. Even the
less weighty episodes still require close attention to the conduct of the voices. The fugue
composer who puts forth something empty or inappropriate betrays our expectations,
losing much more than would the sonata composer. In fact, everything can be lost all at
once, for the steady progression of the piece and the uninterrupted course of the music
extinguish the expectation of hearing something new; the composer cannot easily repair
such a situation. At every moment, the fugue demands the most vital presence and full
musical awareness. Thus a composer should write a fugue only if he is confident that he
has the necessary skill. Fugal writing is not a product of erudition as one sometimes
reads, but one of advanced skill, particularly in melody. The love of fugue-making
indicates renunciation as much as a feeling of power. It is a sign of artistic pride and self-
confidence.

II. [The Fundamentals of the Fugue]

It seems impossible to say what a fugue is or what a sonata is except when we

describe what happens in each of the forms and what each requires. So far, I have not
succeeded in defining the fugue or the sonata, nor have I encountered a successful
definition of either of them.

54
 Fundamental to the fugue is a contrapuntal way of thinking [10] and the
approximately equal right of each voice to the theme. The independent conduct of the
voices, so that each has its own meaningful course, can occur in or even dominate other
musical forms, like the sonata form. Beethoven intended his Sonata for Piano and Violin
in A Minor, op. 23, as a three-voiced, contrapuntal sonata, though I must admit that this
was an infelicitous attempt. We are more likely to expect a polyphonic style in sonatas
for string quartet or trio, where each player presents a single part and musically embodies
an autonomous part that is already meaningful in itself, regardless of whether it is more
important, secondary, or equal to its partners. But, a quartet can exist without such a
condition; some of the best examples among Classical quartets blend counterpoint and
homophony. But the fugue offers no choice—counterpoint is its vital element. Each
voice has a right to present the main theme. Thus, each voice must be constantly ready
for this important role, continually vigilant and [11] self-aware; each must assume a
responsible and meaningful presence. A voice may occasionally drop out and listen to
the activity of the other voices, then rejoin them after a time. But as long as it is involved
in the action, it must not cede its own meaning; that is, it must not lead an existence that
is explained and justified merely by its “utter dependence.” When one voice is crowned
with the main idea, the others may not appear by comparison impoverished or poorly
garbed. Rather, they must seem to be peers worthy of the crown at any moment,
provided that, owing to the greater freedom of movement that is incumbent upon them,
they do not assume a more beautiful and noble demeanor than is possible for the bearer of
the subject. For not infrequently the subject is like a more stringent, less adorned habit,
or, better, like a simpler life-form that first achieves the splendor of fuller blossom in the
environment of a fugue.74

74 “Eine einfachere Daseinsform” is translated here as “simpler plant form” instead of as a “simpler form
of existence” as it reflects Halm’s biological metaphor more clearly.
55
 The three-section fugue is considered the structural norm. Its first group of
subject entries is devoted to the main key, its second to the relative key, and its third to
the subdominant. Within each group, its respective dominant is always used for the
“answer” of the theme. In the third section, the dominant of the subdominant is the
original tonic, and thus the tonic is reestablished at the end. At the end of this third
section (also known as a development), depending on its length and level of activity, [12]
the composer might include a dominant pedal to prepare for the end and perhaps add a
coda, if one is desired or seems necessary. This is determined by the characteristics of
the individual piece, not by the nature of the fugue itself.
This organization would appear to aim more for more harmonic richness than the
sonata form does. In the sonata form, the second theme group is in a key that is a fifth or
third away from the original key, and, according to rule, the main key is reserved for the
recapitulation. On the other hand, the development section [of the sonata form] has great
and truly unrestricted harmonic freedom, and as the sonata form became more expansive
and broadened in content, the rule that demands each group be dominated by a single key
was no longer strictly kept. The sonata is capable of a greater richness of harmonic
activity, in practice, but the fugue has the harmonically richer schema: it touches a greater
selection of keys in its basic plan. The selection of keys is rational to the highest degree,
because it takes account of the closest key relations, that is, the most effective and most
fruitful relations. Closely related keys are the ones that have the greatest tendency
toward connection; it is thus only natural that these ties are permitted or even encouraged
in a piece.
It is just as natural that warmth [Wärme] [13] originates in this way [i.e. from the
carefully chosen key relationships], that things do not proceed trivially. If I play in F
major, the related dominants, C major and Bb major, and the relative key, D minor

56
constantly lie in wait, so to speak. Their arrival is an event that is awaited, desired, the
fulfillment of a yearning that we may ultimately ascribe not only to us, but to musical
form, if we are capable of empathizing with the music just a bit, or capable of attributing
a soul to it. A more rigorous critique would have to identify here a shortcoming of
Bach’s music. That event is absent in his fugues. When Bach introduces a new thematic
group, often it happens that we do not notice it. After a group in F major, we do hear that
another follows in D minor, but we do not notice anything—no purposeful escalation, no
excitement, no tremor heralds an important event, a decisive deed. A listener who is
unable to recognize the keys will rarely notice that something happened. If Bach needs F
major, he brings it about “with a calm hand,” or he imparts F major. His fugue has
contrapuntal mastery, but lacks formal mastery. It is formally correct, but nothing more.
The voices live, but the form does not—it has no soul and no will, it does not yearn, hope
or rejoice. When composers learned to differentiate key areas and to lend different
characters to individual [14] sections, fugal form was truly improved. Furthermore, these
developments allowed for more lengthy fugues, which alone is progress.
A good ten-minute fugue is of greater value than two good five-minute fugues
provided that the length of each is appropriate to its material. Establishing connections
within a larger context is more meritorious, but it is also more difficult.
That differentiating between of the groups of the fugue was reserved for the new
art seems to be more coincidental than the other advance that has appeared with
sophisticated harmony, namely, that of the more vividly understood form as is expressed
in the manner of introducing the new group. The latter can be immediately explained by
the enriched harmonic means that allow varying levels of intensity that were foreign to
Bach. However, we cannot claim that Bach did not differentiate between the different
groups, or that he did not characterize them differently. With more penetrating self-

57
reflection we can go back to the immanent will of his art, to his artistic way of thinking to
find a single fundamental principle for both.
Instead of assuming that Bach lacked the ability to exploit harmonic climaxes,
[15] it is really more accurate to assume that doing so was far from his artistic intentions.
His climaxes were contrapuntally constructed, not harmonically constructed; Bach
considered the highpoint of a piece to be where the melodic factors, the “voices,” are
multiplied and most complicated. If we consider the enormous harmonic riches over
which he ruled and fearlessly commanded, (which, even today, can astonish or even
startle the listener), we can hardly question his technical capability. In fact, Bach’s
greatest achievements were in harmony, not counterpoint. Bach, as a master of
counterpoint, is an eclectic or a collector, and a synthesizer; of course, he is also an
improver and perfecter. As a master of harmony, on the other hand, he had no model,
and was essentially self-taught. He invented architectonic harmony, and found and
governed its powers and virtues as were necessary for the construction, the coherence and
structure, and the vaulting of large musical arches. Below an old picture of the master it
reads “Johann Sebastian Bach, Germany’s greatest harmonist.” This is more aptly put
than it was supposed at the time, for then “harmonist” was used to mean only the
musician or composer.
Bülow’s impression that Handel looks like a dilettante when compared to Bach is
particularly grounded in [16] the harmonic superiority of Bach’s music. Whether one
thinks that Bach was exhausted by his great discovery [of architectonic harmony] or that
dramatic harmony (if I may use this very misunderstood expression) just did not suit his
purposes, is probably a matter of personal opinion.
It is not coincidental that the greatest master of the Classical sonata also brought
about great progress in the fugue. When Beethoven treated the different [formal] groups

58
differently and emphasized the entrance of a new group, he certainly improved the form.
Simply offering change is no virtue, but differentiating and organizing [the events]
certainly is. Both are one advance that originated in the will toward expansion and
thorough representation [of the form]. The distinction of the separate parts was necessary
to expand the form, as a lengthier fugue needs to have distinct high points and broad
arches. In this enabling of an expansion of form might lie the final and deepest musical
meaning of the entire harmonic development that characterizes our so-called modern
music, though its immediate goal may lie in another field. This achievement was placed
into service of intensified and sophisticated “expression” [“Ausdrück”]—indeed it was
invented for this end—but we learned [17] how it actually serves and is suited for music
thanks to the revelations of Anton Bruckner. Bruckner is the first absolute musician of
great style and complete mastery since Bach. He is the creator of dramatic music—the
enemy and the conqueror of the music drama. For if the fugue were to be fertilized by
the spirit of the new music, it needed to find formal contrast while leaving thematic unity
unscathed.

Most fugues begin by presenting the main theme in one voice without
accompaniment. This single-voiced presentation of the subject may not make the
beginning seem impoverished: the theme, the musical thought, must be self-sufficient,
not demanding an accompaniment because it bears its own harmony. Its form must be
comprehensible and dignified; no uneasiness or fear of solitude may cling to it.
To put it more strongly, the theme actually must resist an “accompaniment.” The
best fugal themes resist even the thought of an accompaniment, they tolerate no support,
and they desire solitude or the company of equals. Thus, the desire for self-sufficiency
[18] must already be alive in them. They permit and even encourage other themes to be

59
independent. Musically speaking, the best fugue themes are contrapuntal by nature and
are inclined toward counterpoint.
Occasionally, we encounter an attempt to avoid this demand. We hear themes we
do not immediately understand, that only reveal their form and meaning when
harmonically illuminated or clarified by a counter-theme. This may be pretty,
stimulating, or it may even arouse suspicion, like a riddle or a half-heard whisper can.
However, the musical art gains little by such things. Once we know the solution to the
riddle or goal of the path, the inherent magic is lost, leaving only the proper value [of the
original idea]. The most important thing for a fugue theme therefore is propriety and
solidity—and if it is blessed with beauty besides, so much the better. Thus, that which
we generally call “interesting,” or which aims for surprise, is best left out of the fugue.
Surprises wear out; they are inimical to the whole style of the fugue, and to the
uninterrupted course of the theme itself. The value of surprise in a theme its not
questionable—it is undoubtedly harmful to the theme, which will, of course, be repeated
often. The theme is supposed to convince, but it is not supposed to dominate or conquer
once and for all. A degree of moderation and rhythmic restraint better suits it. [19] The
abrupt gestures, brusque commands, and agitated calls such as Beethoven sometimes uses
in his sonata openings would be of little use in a fugue. They would soon become
unbearable. In a fugue, civility of construction is required at the least, where possible
culture. Just how much culture is achieved in Bach’s best fugue subjects—whether those
may be heard simply and almost as if picked up on main street by chance—to show that
requires a special study.
The answer to the subject, or to put it better, the answering form of the subject, to
which compositional theory ascribes specific laws, is in the dominant of the subject’s
key. The resulting constant alternation of fifth-related keys tends to threaten the pace and

60
flow of the harmony with cumbersome tenacity. This alternation of keys is also an
obstacle for [harmonic] chromaticism, the essential element of modern harmony.
However, melodic chromaticism like that which Bach uses (even more frequently than
we might prefer today) is uninhibited. This type of chromaticism seems to us to be mere
play, or embellishment, for we have come to know the seriousness and the fruitfulness of
the genuine (that is, harmonic) chromaticism.75
The theme itself also must avoid harmonic chromaticism, and it is not allowed to
move far from the main key, because constantly [20] repeated transitions back to the
desired key are more tiresome than simple adherence to normality. Only when we can
answer the question of whether or not a harmonically “modern” fugue is possible will we
be able to determine how much chromaticism the subject and the episodes can tolerate.
We cannot consider the fugato sections in sonatas or symphonies to be decisive here. An
occasional episodic fugato within another form is fundamentally different from a fugue, a
fact that is already clear in the fugato sections of the Classical composers. For example,
the fugal passage in the Finale of Mozart’s Symphony in G Minor is rather effective
within this largely non-contrapuntal piece, yet it would be quite unsuccessful if it were to
stand alone, as a real fugue. The whole question of life and nourishment, so to speak, is
posed in a different way in a fugue than in a fugato.
A fugato has the technique but not the style of a fugue. In order to illuminate a
particular feature of fugal themes, let us compare two uses of the same theme; first as a
sonata theme, and then in its appearance as a fugato subject. Beethoven often uses fugal
techniques in the development sections of his sonatas or symphonies. In these cases, we
find that Beethoven avoids a sudden or even a clear ending [21] of the theme. One need
only think of the “Hammerklavier” Sonata and the Finale of the Sonata in A Major, op.

75 Paragraph break inserted here by the translator.

61
101. A fugue theme must not cadence, for the melody must continue to be spun out when
the next voice begins its statement, and the voice which first had the subject may not just
stop here, externally or internally. The caesura must be completely avoided since all
voices should not stop at the same time. “Unending melody” [“unendlich Melodie”]
dominates in the fugue. The newly entering voice produces a caesura only with its
entrance; thus, the first voice must abstain from a close here, at least a strong one with a
“masculine ending.” It was not easy for Bülow to decide where the subject of Bach’s D-
minor Fugue from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 2, ends, for Bach deliberately
veiled its ending, as he did with other themes as well.
A reader who takes this treatise seriously will excuse me if I refer here to one of
my own fugues for string orchestra [see Example 8].76 Its theme closes with a suspension
and its resolution in the dominant, and thus its natural progression to the tonic is denied.
In its place, an eighth rest appears after which the melody continues in the dominant. [22]
Here, the caesura is evaded or is rendered ineffective by the harmonic tension that is
sustained through the pause. If I had closed the theme in the tonic instead of with the
pause, it would certainly have deserved reproof. Bach’s otherwise beautiful G#-minor
Fugue from the first book of The Well-Tempered Clavier suffers at least somewhat from
the complete cadence that closes the theme, even if it is not a strikingly energetic
cadence. The cadence’s reappearance throughout the piece gives it something of a
sectional character, like a terrace—hardly suitable for a fugue.

76 A.H.
Fugue in F Major, published for piano for four hands by G.A. Zumsteeg in the second volume of
Compositions for Pianoforte, [1914].
62
Example 8: Halm, Fugue in F Major (Compositions for Piano, Book II), mm. 1-8
[Translator]

When Beethoven transformed the first theme of the first movement of the
“Hammerklavier” Sonata for fugal use, the huge leap from the upbeat to the first accented
note was scaled back to a modest fourth. This remarkable adjustment is required by fugal
technique, which demands that a subject be easily recognized. To that end, intervals

must also be easily understood: they should be natural and small. Widely spaced tones in
different registers in a texture of three or four independently moving voices would sunder
the theme due to the changing tone colors. Even a sixth leap can be difficult if it lies in a
middle voice as, for example in the B-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book
One. Beethoven was mostly, but not entirely, successful [23] at observing this rule of
compression in the beginning of the theme in the fugal finale of the “Hammerklavier,”
because the suddenly broken-off, strikingly hammered first note and the trill on the

63
second note powerfully penetrates and bores into the consciousness of the listener,
[ensuring the subject’s recognition].
To be thorough, we should speak about the length of the theme, which should not
exceed the bounds of comprehensibility just as much as it avoids registral expansion. But
it is more difficult to set limits for length than it is for range, for a listener can learn to
remember longer stretches of music. Nevertheless, some themes are clearly too long,
especially when the composer himself seemed to have felt that they are too long. In the
“Hammerklavier,” Beethoven obviously saw himself burdened by the long theme, for his
patience failed and he neglected to follow the theme through completely. A fugue with
an impatient character cannot yield a strong texture. Rather, patient energy or energetic
patience is the signature of a fugue. Without trust in or even love for the theme, there can
be no fugue.
Finally, a certain neutrality and modesty of ambitus is required for the theme
because the soprano as well as the bass and the middle voices will take it up. For this
reason too, rapidity of motion in the theme is more limited than in other forms [24] since
the low tones are by their nature more difficult (in which case they might be helped by
the augmentation of the theme in the bass). But, as I already mentioned, the theme
should be restricted to a moderation in movement for the sake of easy comprehensibility.
Finally, a special quality of a theme that is good for a complete fugue is its potential for
transformation into major or minor, as will be required for the group in the relative key.
To summarize what has been said, we find that a fugue theme must renounce
many attractive features that we value in a sonata theme or a rondo theme. That which is
capricious, surprising, dominating, or enchanting is a threat or a defect that grows with
each repetition. A fugue theme is not simply an “idea,” but a state of musical order. Its
construction is eminently natural, reasonable, and even practical, but can be artful when

64
its forces of motion are more worked out and differentiated. In any case, the fugue theme
is more a product of the selection of proper elements or intellectual effort than it is a
product of “inspiration.” We can easily understand the extent to which fugal composition
demands a positive artistic virtue through our own attempts [at composing fugues] and by
comparing proven sonata themes with good fugue themes. We can hardly imagine the
themes of the fugato sections described above as themes for a proper fugue, for they are
not substantial enough! They would [25] not stand irrevocably and self-evidently from
the beginning as is proper for a fugue theme. To put it more precisely, their duty to
ensure a responsible beginning would deprive them of their status as themes of a fugal
interlude.

III. [The Fugue Today]

It is no wonder that in our time—a time that values persuasive art—the fugue is
only rarely cultivated today and is seen as something of a rarity because its “linearity”
[Stimmigkeit] is not concordant with our orchestral thinking. If the multi-colored
character of the large orchestra were applied to the fugue, it would cause an uneasiness
[Unrhe] that is inimical to the fugue’s very style. Certainly, there are successful settings
of fugato sections for large orchestras, but the distinction between a fugato and a fugue
remains, and there must be no confusing the two. The sudden appearance or
disappearance of a color would destroy the unity of the voice in a fugue even if it may be
appropriate for the symphony, which has a freer style and can tolerate contrasting events.
Indeed, adding and subtracting colors to a fugue might have a similar [distracting] effect
as a blinking light in an electric sign. Admittedly, the listener may well wish for the
radiance of a trumpet or the noble fullness of the horn notes in many places in a fugue,
but we [26] simply cannot always have what we would like. We can try to introduce the

65
desired tone colors, but soon we will curse the unintentional edges and corners that are
exposed by [the various orchestral sounds] and correct them. The most appropriate
acoustical medium for the fugue is the string orchestra. That we make so little use of this
most elastic, fluid, and noble medium, and that we have so completely tied our thinking
to the sounds of wind instruments (although when compared to the strings they are short-
breathed, frequently obtrusive, or hollow and flat, though still sometimes beautiful, but
demanding and self-centered) demonstrates a certain impatience and irrationality of
which we should desire to be cured.
I certainly do not wish to renounce the rich, splendid, powerful, and delicate
resource of the full orchestra, but it should not dominate our thinking. If I must state a
preference, then it is for the string orchestra. It is not multi-colored, but it can be highly
colorful. It is has less variety, but it still houses a wealth of tonal values. The string
quartet, however, is something fundamentally different; it is not merely a weak substitute
for the string orchestra. Many modern compositions for string quartet are orchestrally
conceived, and the performers must visibly and [27] audibly struggle without a beautiful
fruit to reward their labor. Today, when there are so many options available to a
composer, he must carefully choose the compatibility of the means to the end.
But some have claimed that the fugue is not only inadequate for our present-day
wishes, but that it is also fundamentally foreign to art in general. After all, what else can
we call it if we relegate fugal composition to academic study as if it were not art but
belonged to some other realm? After all, people have described fugue making as an
“arithmetic problem” instead of an art. Yet strangely enough, it is also supposed to be
necessary for a musical education, and proficiency in fugal writing is often demanded on
examinations. Thus, most of us do not trust ourselves to simply dismiss it completely,
but we still do not know exactly what to do with it. How has this come about? Has it

66
come from the progressiveness or from the regressiveness in our contemporary music?
Or, let us ask point-blank: where does the blame lie for the incompatibility of fugue form
and contemporary attitudes regarding composition? By no means is fugal form musically
“finished.” Only an Alexandrite or a Byzantine77 by profession would claim that there
can be no progress in the fugue after Bach, and only a innovator “at all costs,” or a
revolutionary without goals or ideas would be satisfied with more inadequate structure,
more unruly counterpoint, and more undisciplined use of [28] dissonances. The fugue
still can still grow in beauty and significance! If we have abandoned the fugue, then we
must consider if we have not moved farther away from music in general! If we survey
the progression of forms that were previously cultivated by composers, or, more
correctly, the forms that were effective and active in musical composition—we will find
that the principal forms are the fugue and the sonata. Furthermore, we will determine
that the fugue is the oldest of the musically noble forms and that it is conducive to a great
vitality. Should the fugue have been extinguished just as it attained perfection and
maturity in the works of Bach? And, if Bach led the fugue through its youthful vigor, are
we to believe that it was supposed to have stopped forever on the path of perfection and
fecundity?
We should not regard what we call form as a restrictive fence or a wall, nor as one
of the wineskins of the parables into which no new wine may be poured, nor as a bronze
casting for a bell. Musical forms are the life laws of art, productive forces, for which the
other arts may well be envious. I do not know what painting and poetry have to show in
this regard. In painting, there are historical pictures, landscapes, [29] genre pictures and
portraits; basic forms that are named according to the material or for what they depict.
Thus, they are forms in a subordinate sense. It is much the same in poetry. The “epic” is

77 In
German, “Byzantine” describes something that is antiquated or out of date. Similarly, an Alexandrite
would be one that is intellectually stuck in the past.
67
not a form in a true sense, the word describes the material to some extent, and it does not
contain a definite arrangement or order of succession. With the term “drama,” we
describe, above all, a manner of depicting imaginary people and events. The sonnet is not
a form, but a technique, a determined number of verses and ordering of the rhymes. It is
far easier to determine forms in architecture—although these are not deduced so much
from the nature of the work as they are by their respective purpose. Here, in this
existence of real musical forms lies the real precedence of music. For this reason, and not
because of its deep effect on the souls of people, music is first among the arts. Music is
the genuine art. Many composers have labored with theoretical errors and eccentricities
in musical practice in attempts to deprive music of this superiority. Musical dramatists
and composers of program music and their pieces endeavor to destroy this advantage. Of
course, if we compare these works to those of Anton Bruckner, they are pushed into the
appropriate background, once we recognize his great achievement. [30]
Of all the musical forms, fugue and sonata have best proven their worth and been
perfected. That the later-born sonata in its sudden growth has claimed all musical blood
for itself, so to speak, still does not explain the principal hostility between the sonata and
fugue. The latter was already strong enough to calmly and patiently watch as the former
grew in popularity. Of course, pensioning off the fugue by placing it in the hands of the
composition teachers and counterpoint students is not something in which we should take
pride. And even there, academic study does not confer the ability to write a good fugue,
no matter what students and faculty may claim in the name of God and the conservatory.
Relegating fugue composition to the field of organ composition was unfavorable as well,
for the cold, unintelligent tone of the organ cannot summon the necessary qualities to
endow it with beauty and dress it with majesty.

68
 But cannot this be merely an interim period? How could this eminent [31]
musical form in which each voice is equally blessed with meaning and dignity, not come
to life again?

Let us ask the fundamental question: are we supposed to be the master of the
music or is music the master of us? If we answer that we rule the music, then we are
entitled to create new forms, just as we are entitled to breed new species. We would
similarly have the right to destroy the [musical forms] that we find less appealing, and to
banish them to zoos, so to speak. But, if we answer that music is our master, then we are
the servants of music’s spiritual power, and we can easily recognize our position and
duty. After all, we long ago weaned ourselves from the banal narrow-mindedness that
considered music to be mere entertainment for teatime. We must not become simpletons
who use music to create “nervous tremors” or “inner experiences” (that is, intensified or
subliminal animalistic experiences), or those who view music as nothing but a surrogate
of emotional life. Even those who use music as a background for poetic pleasures lower
it to a subordinate status, although this practice is preferable to using music in the ways
mentioned above. Let us endeavor to regain respect for music’s autonomy, through
which we will see the evolution of musical forms through music history in a new light.
We will respect experiments as exceptions, [32] but we will not consider dubious
achievement or unclear distinctions as a sign of creative genius. We will instead perceive
the steadily growing idea, and the command for and need of the ever more suitable
embodiment of preexisting form when we understand the victory of autonomous form
over the multiplicity of forms with distorted, confusing, and miscarried concepts.
Finally, it will no longer seem to us as if there were merely fugues and sonatas, but we
will sense that, when all is said and done, the fugue, the sonata exists.

69
IV. [The Fugal Theme]

To sum up the previous discussion, comparing the two forms, we can say that the
fugue is basically ruled by one law—the theme, through which the fugue’s individual
characteristics and virtues are validated and developed. The fugue’s driving force lies in
the theme’s potential to become inverted, augmented, diminuted, variously set in stretto,
and beyond this to associate with its significant companions, [that is, its countersubjects]:
they should contribute to its growth. Sonata form, on the other hand, is more like the
unfolding of a plot which the main themes and the manner of their development serve. In

a sonata, there are many themes that are merely [33] stated but are not worked out, for
they are only steps along the way, much like a scenic view, or a moment of rest for a
traveler to enjoy. In short, much more goes on here than in a fugue; indeed it functions as
a whole.
The sonata of three or four movements is only the projection to the large form of
essentially the same processes [Geschehens] with which the first movement is usually
concerned. So in the sonata, a wealth of unrelated material is made serviceable to a
whole. The materials, regardless of quality, are subject to the form and to the idea of the
sonata (of course, I do not mean what we may call a poetic “idea” in a sonata!). By
contrast, fugal form is dedicated to the idea of a [single] theme and its embodiment. The

fugue has more a structure than a construction [mehr Struktur als Aufbau]. It is more like
an entity or a living organism, something like a tree if I may use a concrete example; it is
the formula of an individual [die Formel einer Individualität]. The sonata, on the other
hand, is the model of collaboration between many individuals, and an organism in the
large: it is equivalent to the state [gleicht dem Staat]. [35]

70
CHAPTER II: THE SPIRIT OF THE SONATA FORM

If we play or hear a typical Beethoven sonata or symphony after a typical Mozart

sonata or symphony, we will feel as if the music is suddenly seized and conquered by
severity [Ernst]. The music seems to have acquired a goal and a will, and that which is
contemplative or playful has vanished or has been suppressed. It seems to follow and
staunchly pursue a straight path, staked out from the beginning that acts like a law or a
powerful compulsion. Furthermore, an important characteristic of Beethoven’s music is
that we perceive this strong impression of directness is awakened in the first measures of

a piece instead of during the course of the piece and certainly not as a summary after it
has reached its goal, rebus bene gestis. This is Beethoven’s fundamental superiority over
his predecessors, and, in fact, even more so over Mozart than over Haydn. [When
Mozart’s works are compared to Beethoven’s], they sometimes appear to have finer
details, but are, nonetheless, weaker as wholes.
We understand this characteristic as a spiritual force [geistige Kraft] and perceive
its superiority while we completely disregard the power of the psychic or physical effect
of an affront [Angriff], or influence that we perhaps must bear. Beethoven’s great virtue
is discipline; he is strict [36] with his music and strict with himself, and to this his works
owe their lengthy duration of vital energy [lange Dauer der Lebenskraft]. It is not the

highly praised depth of his ideas, nor an individual element or even a summation of
beauty, but the way all of the events are ordered, thought-through [Durchdachte], and
willed-through [Durchwollte] that distinguishes Beethoven’s works to such an extent that
most works of Mozart and Haydn seem less successful or even less well-behaved in
comparison. But Beethoven commands the music while he serves it, and he dominates
the music while he obeys it. The spiritual will shines and radiates from the act of creation,
and this luster does not die away even when the beauty has faded.

71
 We thus owe to Beethoven the idea of form as a spiritual act [geistige Tat] or
content of activity [Inhalt des Tuns], and the complete and final victory over [the idea of
form] as a mere arrangement of material. In this sense, form as a whole is a magnificent
synthesis, comparable to what happens in the harmonic cadence, in which the unified
consciousness of the key arises as the ruling content, intent, and success of a harmonic
process.
* * *

When we speak of the sonata, we are referring to its [37] basic form
[Hauptform]—the sonata form. If we are going to discuss only individual movements,
we will surely not have to justify that we have chosen typical examples (or parts of
examples) of this basic form. On the other hand, that I have chosen to begin analytically
will be explained briefly.
It seemed impractical to begin with a similarly descriptive counterpart to the first
essay (about the fundamentals of the fugue). Instead, I believe that the different task
demands a different path.
First of all, as I already mentioned, the sonata itself is a multifaceted being whose
unity arises from contrast [Gegensätzliches], or is wrested from contrasting elements
[Gegensätzen]. However, this property makes it especially vulnerable to unmusical
interpretations. Beethoven’s sonatas in particular were especially gladly seized upon by
interpreters whom, as guests, the sonatas seemed to invite for a visit with their
pronounced characters, as though in powerful and alluring colors, luminous, animated,
and luscious. But, on the other hand, these are the same sonatas that can provide us with
the most beautiful insight into that which is essential to this genre; for we can learn more
from a single one of Beethoven’s most successful and strictly controlled musical-statelike

72
structures [musik-staatlichen Gebilden] than from even a multiplicity of his predecessors’
works. Thus, we must consider the image and the events in his music, but [38] as we do
so, we must shoo off and keep away a cloud of swarming beings that believe they are a
part of this culture.78
For all intents and purposes, we are not perchance speaking now of music analysis
as opposed to psychological, scenic or extramusical interpretation of music generally.
Analysis is for us far more than merely a weapon. It is, rather, demanded by the
multifaceted nature of sonata form itself, which is itself a kind of analysis of musical
forces that first achieves synthesis for the listener in its course.79 Through this we realize
that in this, the sonata differs from the fugue to such an extent that the quantitative
difference between them seems to be qualitative, but that the question of a fundamental
[urspünglich] qualitative difference between the two forms now arises, and that we can
make a judgment about this by considering the sonata in terms of its different character
[Habitus] and the function of thematicism within it.

Part I: Beethoven’s Clavier Sonata in D Minor, Op. 31, [No. 2] Mvt. 1: Musical
Analysis and Musikfeuilleton80

I will undertake to return the reader’s attention to [39] musical processes, or to

win back attention to the musical [qualities] of the sonata, as I suspect that the reader has
been substantially or even completely distracted by various factors. Extra-musical
elements do appear to play a role in this sonata—in fact, it appears to have a real

78 The “cloud of swarming beings” refers to those who use a programmatic style of musical interpretation.
Halm was opposed to these hermeneutic approaches to analysis, as I have discussed in the introduction to
the translation.
79 Here, Halm means that the thematic element in sonata form separates, or “analyzes” melody and
harmony into separate entities.
80 A feuilleton is generally known as a part of a European newspaper that is devoted to light fiction,
reviews, and articles of general entertainment. It can also refer to a short literary composition with an
informal tone, which is what Halm is intending in this section.
73
program. I admit that I intend to demonstrate that the musical, technical, and artistic
element here too is the more interesting, because it is real and essential. Thus, I cannot
be reproached for choosing a particularly uncongenial example for the opponents of my
viewpoint. On the contrary, one must agree that even here, [in a programmatic work] the
musical dimension is of the utmost importance, if I am capable of proving its importance
and its authenticity.
The first movement, here the representative of the whole sonata, gives it the
character of a “storm” sonata. This movement can be interpreted purely
programmatically and perhaps also completely psychodramatically, or one could even
use one or another type of interpretation. The first and predominant impression is one of
violent events of a stirred-up nature—an “Appasionato” of the elements that might
remind us of the F-minor Sonata, Op. 57, which, in many sections, is strikingly similar to
the D-minor Sonata, but strongly contrasts with the introspective “Pathétique.”
In his book, Beethoven, Paul [40] Bekker discusses his own interpretation of this
sonata, which is partially psychological and partially scenic.81 [In his interpretation],
Bekker considers the somber beginning, the ominous ascent as if from a dark chasm, and
the anxiety-stirring pianissimo to represent a specter or a frightening phantom. We can
object to this just as little or as much as to the fact that Bekker sees a powerful resistance
[to the phantom] in the following restless eighth notes; admittedly, it would not be worse
to see this contrasting figure as an anxious and frantic running about. The content of the
beginning in general, then, is calmness and restlessness [Ruhe und Unruhe]—and the
unmediated succession [of the events] leads us to suspect cause and effect here; the
calmness causes the restlessness, thus, for the interpreter it is a frightening image or it is

81 Paul Bekker, Beethoven, 2d ed. (Berlin: Schuster and Loeffler, 1912), 151-152. Lee Rothfarb gives a
detailed comparison of Halm’s and Bekker’s opposing analyses of the “Tempest” sonata in “Music
Analysis, Cultural Morality,”171-196. The English translation of Bekker’s text by M.M Bozman omits
most of the discussion of the sonata.
74
felt as the oppressive stillness before a storm. On the other hand, the restlessness can
mean either the rushing of a frightened crowd, for example, of people aboard a ship
frightened by something dangerous, or the first thrashing shocks of the storm, which
immediately will unleash a whistling, clattering, and howling as its second messenger.
[Interpreted] in this manner, the second appearance of calmness and restlessness is easier
to imagine, while, on the other hand, it caused embarrassment to Bekker, misleading him
to unclear vision—or [leading him] to be satisfied with unclear vision. If one doubts that
he saw a [41] calming element [Sich-beruhigen] before the entrance of the second Largo
in the sixth measure, he can certainly be challenged when he continues: “But, with the
surprising turn to C major, the phantom returns, more serious and admonishing” [mm.7-
8].82 [I wonder if] anyone could have believed in this calmness? But, did anyone really
think that the phantom, or whatever we want to call the beginning theme, had actually
disappeared? Surely not—and this “but” points out one of the many, many problems
with today’s music criticism. We read examples of false dramaticism or artificial
conflicts invented by the interpreter who misinterprets the actual drama. We read about
events—no, we read about the shadowy image of the events—that the critic projects on a
stage of his own invention distorting the image even further. Such a critic literally forces
reality through a camera obscura! (By the way, I must ask; Can anyone tell me how this
C major—surprising as it is—intensifies the seriousness of the situation or the
admonition [of the phantom]? If we need an allegory, let us not confuse it with reality. I
ask again; a phantom [appears] where the key turns to C major?)

82 Measure numbers within the brackets are mine. Halm labels the first measure of each section as measure
one and so forth. When Halm includes measure numbers within the text, I will supply measure numbers
that number the measures from the beginning of the piece, and will enclose them in brackets. Additionally,
I include measure numbers at times when Halm does not, to enable the reader to more easily follow the
analysis.
75
 Let’s allow Bekker to continue: “The resisting figures [i.e. the eighth notes]
answer, more intensely than before, mounting up83 in frightened excitement to F3” [mm.
9-13]—may I again interrupt here to correct Bekker’s manner of speech? Musical figures
cannot “mount up.” [42] They can ascend, or I might even say, they storm up, rage up, or
simply travel up or upwards to a specific pitch that can be named. Figures that “mount
up” are not of a musical nature, but are figures in a drama, like people, ghosts, or gods.
We see that the author [Bekker] has again made the same mistake, for the phrase
“mounted up in frightful excitement” has nothing to do with a musical scale. [41] Let’s
listen further; “then, the eighth-note figure falls into the depths, where a chromatic scale
unleashes the storm.” [mm.19-20] Now, in this lies confusion! From the beginning, the
pictorial aspect was without support or a clear meaning: a “phantom” appeared, against
which a “violently resistant, energetic eighth-note rhythm” was set. This does not make
sense because it plays on different levels, making the drama unsuccessful. I can well
believe that Bekker would have scorned my image of a storm, or of a struggling ship
battling the storm because it would seem superficial to him to suppose that Beethoven’s
intention was merely tone painting.84 I would agree with him if the description
[Schildern] were the most important thing; however, if we want to understand music as
[43] extramusical, we must choose an image once and for all that corresponds best to it
and is most consistent with the music, and that is consistent in itself! Bekker, after
directing the reader to the twenty-first measure continues, “Under the rolling eighth-note
triplets, the theme appears: it is the Largo-vision” (the realized vision, so to correspond
better with the sound; or, the terror itself, which had first only threatened terror). “With

83 Rothfarb, “Music Analysis,” 185. The translation of auffahren is Rothfarb’s.

84 A.H. I want to state specifically that I do not want to characterize Paul Bekker’s writing activities as a
whole or even in principle. Here, I attack the weak side of his work, and in fact, I do so because here he is
in danger of revising one of the obsolete, internally rotten methods of musical criticism, and because this is
still customary in our time, for which it should not be suffered but is still an obstacle and even a danger. I
have explained my opinion of Bekker’s entire work on Beethoven in the May, 1912 issue of “Rheinlande.”
76
demonic power it penetrates upwards.” Stop! Wasn’t it already up in the high register?
Yes, it already was. It was even up there twice, if I got it right [mm.1-2 and 7-8]. Thus,
this demonic force, or let’s say more humbly and applicably, the force, is what matters
here, or the “self-realization” [“Sich-durch-setzen”] of the theme, as Bekker puts it
shortly afterward—where we would prefer to delete the addition “with annihilating
force” since nothing is actually annihilated, at least nothing of what Bekker as well as
Beethoven himself had in mind. However, [formal] functions are certainly created here,
of which we must yet speak, functions that Beethoven most probably arrived at through
clear reasoning or surely through intuition, even if they remained hidden from Bekker.
[44] For I consider it impossible that Bekker recognized these functions and just took
them to be less important than the pictorial element. On the contrary, values are created
(which I will discuss later). Of course, one who knows what is good and real does not
freely accept an unsatisfactory surrogate over that which is real. Because this surrogate
has become distressingly popular, let us further consider the reasons that I find it to be
unsatisfactory. Bekker had to have felt that he was in an awkward position (whether or
not he remembers feeling this way makes no difference), when he saw the theme, the
terrifying creature, rising up again, without having noticed that it re-submerged (might I
suspect that we want to imagine it?), so he would have been at a complete loss during its
“return.”
Let us again allow Bekker to continue, regardless of whether or not he ignores the
repetition of the first part that Beethoven notated. To me, the two recitative-like passages
[mm. 143-148; 153-158] of the recapitulation are a difficulty, or a puzzle, or perhaps an
error of the composer, but for Bekker, they must be nonsense. Unfortunately, they leave
him neither at a loss nor confused. About this place, namely the so-called return after the
development, he writes, “There—during the second return of the beginning, the spell

77
appears to be broken.85 The theme begins to speak. Out of the chordal motive, a
recitative of painfully bitter [45] expression struggles through. In vain. For soon
pounding chords and a struggling chordal progression that stifle but do not calm the
excitement are heard.”
It is daring to see a form in the tones at one time, and then, at another time—in
fact, immediately afterwards—to hear the tones as a speech, but [Bekker] can venture to
do so because the recitative character differs so greatly from the character of the rest of
the movement and even the rest of the sonata. That the enormous phantom (the theme
which is supposed to be the speech) has a mezzo-soprano or alto voice, and even more,
the manner in which it speaks is, in fact, very disconcerting, but not completely without
meaning. People have nightmares (and, in ghost stories, dreams are at least partly
definitive) in which some hideous being suddenly admits a tender feeling and reveals its
own misery. But, how can a listener who still thinks the tale is about suffering people
understand this? What if I were to think that the recitative represents the speech of a soul
prepared for death, or that it is a priestess blessing the damned, or that the [raging]
elements and chaotic mass has become reverential and still? Many would say that’s also
good [auch gut].86 Surely we consider the striking pianissimo chords and their hesitant
rhythm to be an event [that deserves representation]. Would it be impossible for them to
signify a [46] crowd that is paralyzed by fear—a crowd, which becomes a single mass
from its mortal fear or through a blessing [Segen], that feels only one heartbeat, and
breathes and gasps as one? Is it possible to decide which interpretation is correct? First,
I will discuss the commonly used excuse of those who desire exemption from the
requirement for clarity, and then I will discuss why it is not possible to determine which

85 A.H. Contrary to custom, Bekker is reckoning the onset of the development with the opening motive as
the first return.
86 Halm uses the expression “auch gut” again on at the top of page 52 of the original text.

78
interpretation is correct. When I said above that something or someone was not right—
which, if true, must be said—those in favor of such poeticizing will quickly tell me that
“One must not force the image.” One must not? On the contrary, one may, and one
should if one wishes to paint an image. One should “print it” [and permanently affix it to
the music]. Our imagination requires it. It does not toy but rather operates; it creates
according to its own laws, not according to extraneous caprice. If you call this cheerful
work playing—well, then, let the imagination play for all I care. But in no case does the
imagination allow us to play games with it; in no case does it allow us to jockey it back
and forth and distort it, at least not when it is vivid.
But one might interject that music is interesting and beautiful because it cannot be
forced into a specific representation and that it leaves room for imagination and hundreds
of possibilities.
Now, I believe that if the many people who would reply to me in this way are
allowed to talk about interest and fantasy, then [47] I may do so too. If they are not
allowed to do so, I might, nevertheless. Thus, I do not find that which is unclear to be
interesting [ich finde in nichts Unklarem etwas Interessantes], but I am interested in that
which is not yet clear but will be clarified, especially when I feel that I am called upon to
help clarify it. But, that which must remain fundamentally unclear I will avoid clarifying,
because I believe this to be unsuccessful, not merely misleading. I know that we all
desire fantasies, and I know that they must exist—after all, we have an imagination.
However, vague dreaming detached from an image that is incapable of sustaining or!
portraying a picture: no, that is surely not imagination, at least not! vivid imagination.
And such an enfeebled entity is surely grateful if the intrusion [that is, the extramusical
!element] comes from the outside, for then it feels the impotence less—a feeble awareness
and frail indulgence that is! enjoined to nibble, so to speak.

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 But, I ask, if music is nothing but a playground for unsatisfactory fantasy, then
why would anyone with an imagination even want to create music?
To think! Are we now supposed to believe that Beethoven’s music might be a
hotbed of weakness and unclearness? Can we believe this of Beethoven, the greatest of
the Classical composers, whose music surpasses the others in power, and who is the first
strategist of music [48] in the true sense of the word? Admittedly, it is often said that he
sees “above and beyond” music in his sonatas or symphonies; that is, that he sees above
and beyond music.87 True as that might be, if he himself valued a qualitative “more” in
the beyond, are we now obligated to subordinate ourselves to his emotion? Do we want
to be led by the lack of clarity in Beethoven’s musical-philosophical thought or by the
clarity of his music? At the very least, I would rather choose the latter as the guide and as
the object of my desire for understanding, and from such a choice, I derive the authority
to lead others. Now, therefore, let us turn to the musical issues.
It is important to show that Beethoven acted according to musical considerations
for all important and significant events, but I cannot claim that he always did. Was
Beethoven supposed to have been immune from errors and mistakes? Do some people
want to convince me that I could fix some musically invalid place by using a remedy
from some wonderland or fairyland?
As well as we know Beethoven, we know that we must seek the values of the D-
minor Sonata in its construction and organization. A universal method for this is to try
something [49] different in individual places [that is, reordering the musical sections to
elucidate the formal values]. I really do not know if should be proud that I have come to
do this type of experimenting; if I should be ashamed that I started using this obvious

87 I combined two paragraphs for greater ease of reading.

80
method so recently, or if I should regret that my teachers did not teach me this method
earlier, for it would have helped me a great deal, and made me better prepared.
Now, for the most difficult question: how do the recitatives come into being?
First of all, let us play the recitative as if it were the beginning of the sonata. This seems
impossible. Now, let us try a different method. How would it sound if the sonata were to
open with the twenty-first measure? Flat, is it not? This measure, which worked so
powerfully before, has now lost its power, for its power is not present within it, but
comes from the preceding measures. [The previous measures] give this measure its force,
its duty and its worth. Without them, this measure becomes worthless. This catastrophe
is not caused by a demonic power, nor by a devastating power, nor even power in
general, but by the power that arises that was not there before—that “now” is the whole
meaning! In other words, it is unclear if the theme initiates its own appearance or
whether [50] it was disturbed and dragged from a state of repose and overcome.
Thus, we are unsure if the theme is active or passive, although the former may be
somewhat more plausible. There is a power somewhere, whether it is within the theme or
whether that power is its destiny. We can imagine that this latent energy that initially has
no “object” will find substance, as the sun gives warmth only when it has something on
which to shine, and the storm only rages if it has something to drive and to whip. We
sense the strength of the theme [when this energy is made tangible], or, conversely, we
sense that the theme is the substance that leads into movement. This fundamental
uncertainty is only interesting until we realize that we are uncertain. Thus we must leave
this question undecided. Our uncertainty, however, has taught us that the question is not
based in reality. The more we leave concrete images, like a thing or a person behind, the
closer we come to understanding the action and its function. We have a drama of forces
before us, not a drama of people or personifications. In the first theme, we do not see a

81
rising form or a phantom—it does not matter which figure we imagine—we see the [51]
rising itself. The rules of imagination dictate that the form could have only risen once,
but [Bekker writes] that it supposedly rose again and again and climbed higher and
higher, and that it finally vanished from our sight and submerged before it emerged again.
But the rising theme can arrive as often as the composer invoked it, and each time it does
so, we can feel it happen. Music is pre-mythological, is itself nature—a higher nature, of
course. Who will not think here of Richard Wagner, for whom fire, as [physical]
condition or process, and the character Loge are one and the same music, merging deceit,
fickleness, incomprehensibility, and flickering into one musical concept that Wagner
simply varies, allowing different qualities and life-expression to arise from one seed, one
root? Indeed, Wagner had a place in his mind or heart that thought and felt much more
musically than occurs with his programmatic interpreters, or perhaps even with program-
music composers themselves. But to we critics and observers what a composer assuredly
did is in any case of more concern than what he perhaps wanted to do and, further, also
what for us [i.e. in our mind] can be verified or determined with certainty as what he
perchance wanted to do.
How sensitive we found the musical dimension to be when we attemped to
rearrange the events [in Beethoven’s D-minor Sonata]! How trivial we find that which
the poetizing critic falsely claims to be deeper [52] content of the events! But try and
find this “also good” [“auch gut”] in the music, as the exegetes find them dozens of times
over.88 Bekker states that the theme begins to speak, and the spell appears to be broken
[m. 21]. What spell? Was speaking banned? And why does this phantom speak? (As we
know, the phantom is supposed to be the main theme.) Didn’t it already say something
nice to us? On the other hand, if the situation were reversed and the phantom had spoken

88 “Auch gut” comes from the discussion of the blessing of the priestess on page 45.
82
at the beginning and was only now silenced, I bet that a hermeneutic critic would be just
as ready to explain it, perhaps by claiming that the phantom reappears, but has no need to
announce itself, for it just needs to raise his hand in order to get your heart beating, or
such. The blessing of a priestess would also be made a beginning and would later be just
as expendable. A storyteller or a dramatist can begin with any stage of a ship’s distress
or a storm’s force, and if music followed from this so-called poetic idea, it would be
justified by that. In that case, the sonata could begin as effectively with the twenty-first
measure as with the first.
Therefore, the poetic idea is trivial even if it were legitimate because it does not
serve understanding. Understanding an event means understanding its reasons, basis and
its goal. One might ask, “Is that true?” Is that really all [that is necessary for
understanding]? No, of course this is not always the case, and there are very good things
for which [53] this may not be sufficient, for there can be an event that should be viewed
for its own sake. Let’s speak about this later, when we will agree that even in a piece that
is completely dependent on the sequence of its events, understanding does not come from
a narrative content of the individual events, but from the knowledge of the artistic, well-
ordered succession of its musical events. [While attending a play], I might see one
character kill another. But, merely seeing this does not mean that I understand the drama.
I still do not understand it even if I understand his motives or judge whether or not he had
the right to do it. Understanding comes to me only if I know why and with which artistic
right the author inserts the violent act. I do not understand the Falstaff scene within a
serious royal drama if I merely find it funny or even if it bores me stiff; I understand it
only when I feel and recognize the function of the grotesque events within the whole.
Recognizing the object portrayed in a painting does not mean I understand that painting,
for understanding it depends on the scenic and graphic values within the composition.

83
The observing eye is led by the image in the direction that the creator intends, and therein
lies the main process of a “composition.”
Is it not astounding that we see the numerous interpreters [54] dealing with
musical compositions exactly as was the custom with photographs in illustrated family
magazines of long ago? And has not that part of the text become for us one of the
striking traits of their being old and old-fashioned? Do they not appear to us—especially
in that respect—rumpled and rank? When I consider that we in music journalism have
arrived at a place and have settled down and feel decidedly complacent, as though we had
in mind an extended period of coziness and comfort, [a place] where dilettantism reigns,
and where the observation of visual art was stuck around twenty-five years ago: then I
pity the music aesthetics of my time, which does not even sense its lack of freedom or—
what would be worse—that it feels the lack of freedom as a desired and genial freedom
from responsible work. For after the period of the huge, yet dangerous,
“Gesamtkuntstwerk” there might arise a period of a great and beneficial holistic
[“Gesamt-Kunst-Gesinnung”] approach to art, within which each aesthetic of an
individual art form is strengthened and declines to borrow from others; [a period] in
which even the example of a good or improving aesthetics of an individual [55] art form
simply forces the aesthetics of another art form to abandon its false ways or its
complacency.89 This monstrous phantom that muddles the thinking and this imagined
union of temporal art, spatial art, and even non-art that confuses the thinking, or as
Goethe would say, vexes the best [die Besten änstigt]90 of art, will be overcome. [54] The

89 Halm makes a pun here by pairing “Gesamt-Kunstwerks” (his spelling) and “Gesamt-Kunst-Gesinnung.”
90 The Goethe reference comes from Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, Book 7, Chapter 9. Goethe writes, “Ihr
Geschwätz halt de Schüler zurück, und ihre beharrliche Mittelmäßigkeit ängstigt die Besten,” (“Their
babbling detains the scholar: their obstinate mediocrity vexes even the best.)”
Lee Rothfarb located this reference, and provided the English translation given above.
84
reverence for that which is art and its knowledge of its soul and spirit works within us
and watches over us, ensuring that no field will be falsely planted, tilled, or mismanaged.
Since I am already speaking about the future, I will tell you what I foresee.
Twenty years from now, no one, except perhaps a historian who wants to study my time,
will want to read an essay like this or find it appropriate or necessary. I hope that I can
then (or even earlier) unapologetically offer the positive elements in what I have said,
without apology for what should be obvious, or using polemics against what should not
have ever been said in the first place. Of course, in the meantime, I guess many will read
it as it is now, so I hope that those few with keen eyes and a will to capture that which is
fundamental are not weakened [56] and dulled by today’s habits. My greatest hope is
that after some time even the positive elements of my writings will be superseded and
become superfluous because they will have been improved, supplemented, and presented
systematically.
Before this interlude, I posed the question of the meaning of the two recitatives
[in the recapitulation, mm. 143-158] and I proposed that we could not answer it without
turning our attention away from its so-called meaning and toward its function—this was
my goal in this section.
We saw that placing the recitatives at the beginning of the movement was
detrimental. We also saw that omitting the recitatives in the recapitulation does not work
either. The recitatives impede the forward motion [retardieren]—this is their content.
We understand them when we understand [first] why they must do this and [second]
when we understand to what extent they are or are not the best method for achieving the
ritardando in this place. For the time being, the latter remains uncertain; I already
professed that I do not completely understand these places. The former is not difficult to
discover. Before that, however, we need to deal with its predecessors.

85
 The recitatives are unbound melodies. Their nearest predecessor is the quieted
melodic progression in the low register [mm. 87-92] that follows the Stürmen und
Drängen of the harmonically active character that shifts between the low and high
registers. The melodic contrast [57] to the recitatives is the Allegro section, which also
has its own history. Each of these themes evolves, and becomes intensified, concentrated
and strengthened. Furthermore, each of these themes affects the other. Thus, these two
themes are not inimical to each other, for each provides a fruitful contrast to the other. In
order to show the history of the melodic element and its function, I begin with the
repeated A’s in measures 38-40 and with the corresponding repeated chords directly after
the second recitative in the recapitulation [mm. 159-160, 163-164, 167-168]. Both places
are very closely related and are probably deliberate variants. Each place leads into the
second theme. These [repeated] chords, first pianissimo and in the end fortissimo, recall
the independently struck notes [at the top of the texture] that had earlier been set against
rolling chords [mm. 30, 32, 34, 36, 38-40]. These repeated notes are the essence of the
preceding melodic element [Melodischen] [that first appears in mm 22-24].
The melodic element veiled its existence and its intention during its first
appearance [mm. 2-5] in the restless, fluttering eighth notes of the first Allegro that
Bekker interprets as a fierce resistance [to the phantom]. It would be better to describe
this melody as a character that has just been startled so that we take into account the way
that it gathers itself and then retreats. Of course, it is significant that these eighth notes
return from the high A to the same A on which the gesture began. This guise or gesture
suggests restlessness, but its character is static, and it functions as a counterbalance that
delays [58] the forward motion. This is no constraint of animosity, but a strengthening
opposition; in a sense the material of an energy or the material that energy requires in
order to work, in order to feel itself.

86
 The beginning theme, a chord that progresses like a slow melody [mm. 1-2], also
hides a contradiction within it. The fact that it ascends foreshadows the striving of its
character, though it conceals it in the garment of calm. The immediately following
contrasting element is persistence in the habit of haste. All will change and become
clarified as the music progresses. The hurried quality [of the Allegro theme] is freed
from its confines; it storms far beyond its initial boundaries [mm. 8ff]. The [Largo]
opening partakes of its force, and that is the theme’s emergence in measure 21, whereby
we do not want to forget that the other theme had emerged as well [in mm. 8-20]! Or, for
the time being, just the one, liberating aspect of its dual character; the other [stationary]
aspect will yet get its due. The [Allegro] theme splits itself in two or “divides itself.”
However, in this confusion, each theme becomes conscious of the other. Here, the
moving energy of the eighth notes meets with the striving of the beginning—not as an
opponent, but as a helper; and when they merge, we experience the warmth and force of
the fulfillment, the “now” of the twenty-first measure. After the achievement and success
of one of these opposing characters, a new, stationary [59] character is added [in the
upper voice in mm. 22-23]. This new character does not come in need, nor does it create
distress, but it comes of itself. [58] The stationary element now presents itself completely
clearly: A-G#-[A]-Bb-A in quarter notes, followed by reverberating A half notes
(beginning in the upbeat to mm. 23-24] that appear as if by their own accord. 91 Although
this passage has a smaller range, reducing the interval of ascent and return, and the
rhythm is different, it is simply a variant of the events from the upbeat of measures three
through six. The repeated quarter-note strikes on the octave-higher A in measures 38, 39,
and 40 do not represent the stationary element any more, but rather, they verify it; they
are a result standing in place of a process. We can also say that the repeated quarter note

91 Halm omits the A that follows the G#.

87
A’s are the seed, the real intent, or the meaning of this passage, but this meaning is not
fully realized. The quarter notes are given meaning only in relation to what has happened
before. At this point, also [mm. 38-40], the harmonic current stalled, over which the
upper voice, represented by only one pitch [A4 in mm. 23-24], had previously drifted
indecisively. Having arrived at A5 [m. 38], the upper voice restrains itself, or re-
establishes itself, and there is no doubt that it is reinforced in this [self-restraining] by the
memory of the stationary A4 of the middle register [mm. 23-24]. The chords after the
second recitative [mm. 159-160] signify where this pronounced retarding moment takes
on its own momentum. The two rolled chord progressions that follow it hide this stasis,
[60] but they are unable to banish it, for they return to their starting point in the same
manner as the first Allegro at the beginning of the movement. In each of these places,
(technically speaking: [in this first Allegro and] at the end of the transition group before
the entrance of the second main theme) we anticipate a new event. Now, however, we
must admit that we are not in a position to distinguish between the impression of the
restraining element and the impression of the urging force, but we do not have to choose
between them as long as we avoid a “poetic” explanation and all personification. It is
only then that the impossibility of distinguishing between acting and being acted upon
does not cause us confusion. It was impossible to say above if the repeated tone or this
theme that returns within itself was actively inhibited, or whether it was a symptom of the
inhibited power. The restraining element here promotes the power; it does not paralyze
it. A barricade hinders or reduces the flowing energy in one place while it strengthens
the energy in another place. Bekker would have been correct if he had interpreted the
“only suppressed, not calmed excitement” dynamically instead of using half-human
psychology [halb-menschlich-psychologisch] or pathology.

88
 We interpreted the chordal strikes [mm. 159-160] of the recapitulation (which
correspond to the repeated A before measure 41) according to their restraining nature as
well as according to their duty to prepare for the entrance of the second theme. Thus, we
can see [61] that the transition that begins at the end of m. 22 of the exposition does not
appear in the recapitulation and that Beethoven is content to allow both extremes—the
poles of the restraining essence and the [Largo theme]—to touch. Beethoven could
expect the listener to understand that these themes belong together in the recapitulation
because of the exposition’s transition. He includes the transition in the development
section, but he omits each of these contrasting themes. It is notable that the soprano is
again reduced to a single tone in the recapitulation, but here, Beethoven refrains from
repeating a note as he had done before in the first entrance of the second main theme
[mm. 38-40]. There it was played three times—and for good ears and minds this is much
more than twice—and significantly, it happened with the stationary harmony. In the
development, however, Beethoven brings in the inserted tones only twice each [mm. 112
ff.] and in fact, he does so with progressive harmony, by which it is internally changed.
And here, in this decisive place that was in danger of becoming a mere “parallel-place”
[Parallel-Stelle], he sets the individual tone free instead of having the G# or D occur
twice in mm. 119 and 120. Such seemingly minute distinctions are by no means
insignificant, [62] but are symbols of Beethoven’s eminent virtue of genius. There is no
room for the second theme in the development. We do not wait in vain for this theme,
and we are not troubled by its absence because we have sensed the [thematic] economy
from the beginning, but we will only fully understand it during the recapitulation; better
said, if we listen to the processes within the recapitulation in such a way that the content
of the development—what happens and what does not happen—still continues to affect
us.

89
 We hear this highly simple development similarly to the way we hear the concise
dynamic program of the first movement. Here Beethoven understands music as
momentum [Schwung]! After the initial theme, recalled three times, appears to take flight
through its expansive arpeggios, the condition of the twenty-first measure comes about
without having been prepared by the counterplay of the opposing characters, a situation
now presumed to be possible, i.e., assumed to be understandable. The previously
described events of the soprano belong to the uncomplicated evolution no less than the
hurried and more direct harmonic progression belongs to the beginning of the
development when we think back to the beginning of the movement.
Stopping the harmonic flow by a half-cadence in the main key might or might not
be a dynamic [63] feature, but it is at least partially grounded in the harmonic
requirements of the sonata form. It seems advisable to examine several similar cases, and
at the very least, I want to pose the question although I must postpone the answer.
The repeated half-cadences of measures 30-40 of the development [mm. 122-132
of the movement] are the counterimage [Gegenbild] to the repeated half-cadences of
measures 55-59 of the first part.92 But each of these sections is different from the section
that is characterized by the back-and-forth motion [Sich-hin-und-her-schleudern-lassen]
of the half-cadences between measures 65 and 75 of the exposition, where the newly
achieved A-minor tonality is momentarily abandoned before it is recaptured.93 Such
things are intentionally kept from the development, [to avoid disturbing] its simplicity
and directness. The forty-first measure of the development [m. 133 of the movement]

92 A.H. I count, beginning with measure one, from the Largo beginning of the development [m. 93]. I do
the same in the recapitulation, which follows the fiftieth measure of the development. By the way, editions
of important works are supposed to indicate the [formal divisions] with symbols or at least indicate the
measure numbers. The writer and the teacher must call for this; we have to create this need. Here, I must
ask the reader to make the effort and to count the measures. [Translators note: my measure numbers in
brackets start with the first measure and continue throughout the movement.]
93 See Rothfarb, Music Analysis, Cultural Morality, p. 190. These sections of the music exemplify what
Rothfarb describes as the restraining forces that the note A is subjected to throughout the movement.
90
abruptly introduces sustained chords, perhaps mediated somewhat by the rather
remarkable splitting of the previously uniform movement of the two hands. The contrary
motion [64] produced in measure 38 of the development [ms. 133 of the movement]
allows, indeed, almost requires a slight broadening into a marcato, as the chords in the
newly attained low register seem heavier and thicker. The impelling effect of the unison
setting is thus lessened in two ways before the whole-note chords arrive [in mm. 133-38],
which consequently are still not entirely credible, nor should they become so. This
calmness seems to have been desired or commanded rather than having been achieved.
Only the chords of the recapitulation can claim the full credibility that is achieved
through the decisiveness of the repetition. The recapitulation is, in all of the finest
instances, accompanied by a manifest or veiled triumph of regaining possession [of the
movement’s opening], of a re-conquering, of strengthened possession. Here, this is
achieved by the use of the repeated [melodic] progression in the lower register [mm. 47-
50 of the development, or 139-142 of the movement], which is actually nothing more
than a surface variant of the preceding chord progression of mm. 41-46 of the
development [mm. 133-138 of the movement]. This progression—now a melody—that
is rhythmically articulated and somewhat extended, justifies the previous forceful but
insufficiently motivated stop, because it moderates the tempo and because the quarter-
note movement allows for a clear ritard. This melody now logically leads into the new
Largo beginning that was heralded previously by the long chords, yet had not actually
occurred. Thus, the development changes again into a more complicated [65] being
[Dasein] in the end, thereby preparing the return. Its primary task was to make the strong
and fruitful competition of the opposing elements in the return to a real world bearable,
even welcome, that is, comprehensible through an ideal image of the events. The
aforementioned octave-doubled melodic progression in the lower register [mm. 139-142]

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provides a preview of the typical melodic element [Melodische] of both recitatives,
whose meanings we are coming close to grasping and understanding. We cannot leave
them out—to understand this means to understand them negatively. To know that they
belong here means that we have a sense of their value. We cannot be satisfied with either
of them. We can see the melody that had been hidden or inhibited and dependent is freed
in the recitatives. Previously, the melodic element had its greatest freedom in the ending
progression of the development (with its choir-like octave doubling) [mm. 139-142], but
it remained only half-conscious, dreamy, and had an inflexible rhythm. It is finally
awakened in the first recitative, where it recognizes itself and becomes an individual.
Nevertheless, would Bekker be correct if he says that the spell appears broken?
He could have even left out the cautious word “appears.” Well, his words are probably
right, in that they mean the right thing, but the context of his sentence is not correct. [66]
The first recitative grows out of the double-natured beginning theme that first revealed its
melodic sense when it loosed one part of itself from the other. The fact that the other part
of the beginning theme, i.e. the urgent chordal character, ruled the development but does
not appear in the recapitulation is highly significant. The first Allegro [eighth-note]
theme, whose fluttering garments hide its quiet melodic progression, appears in the
recapitulation [after the first recitative]. However, the recapitulation does not contain the
second appearance of the Allegro theme [mm. 8-20] that initially hinted at the melodic
character but subsequently emancipated itself to an increasing extent from the melodic
element. The contrasting elements hardly appear anymore, for Beethoven knows that he
has accomplished what he wanted and he does not need to do the same thing again for he
understands the state of the listener and uses it to his advantage. For Beethoven, music is
the art of time in its eminent sense [Sinn], just as painting among the best “composers” is
the art of space.

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 Thus, it is now clear why Beethoven chose to use a recitative form. The
recitative's natural renunciation of an accompaniment serves the melodic element, as does
the basis of its ability to do this—namely, the freedom from a strong period rhythm that
is a property of the recitative style. In this respect, the recitative here has its typical task
of initiating an aria; [67] it is a melodic prelude before the real melody. Here, it is
valuable to the composer as it makes the interlude manner more impressive. The entire
movement has a melodic seed, the melodic principle is effective within it, but melodic
thinking is not the focus nor is it the goal. Indeed, the recitative was probably the best
means that Beethoven could have chosen! Now, we can direct our little suspicion that
something here is still not completely right to a definite, single place—the Allegro that
follows the first recitative [mm. 148-151]. Its beginning is a variant of the end of the
preceding recitative [the descending line of mm. 146-147] and its content is that of a
troubled melody, as was previously stated. Though it seems to be in great contrast to the
recitative, it is actually more of a regression than a real contrast. We can probably say
that this C major chord, which needed to be repeated in faithfulness to the opening,
demanded that this Allegro passage be included here as well. It is not up to me to prove
that this Allegro section is at least somewhat unsuccessful despite the fact that it adds to
the effectiveness of the recitative. Actually, the execution of this place is somewhat
awkward. The Allegro does not seem to fit—it almost as if the composer interrupts his
music by starting to lecture or as if an artist begins to speak instead of painting. It is as if
[he] turns to the listener after the recitative and says, “We were almost here before; we
were very near, but it was not the time—[68] do you remember?” Then, he plays that
which the listener should remember. In the second recitative, the rhythm is more
assertive. It contains an assured melodism, which is soon followed by the non-melodic

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chordal strikes that distract us from the melodic element without completely destroying
it.
Beethoven recomposed the recapitulation instead of simply recopying the
exposition, and he was the first to make this virtuous practice obligatory. This allowed
him not just to satisfy a desire for variety, but to recognize the altered situation of a return
and the new problems that arise or are created. I have little to say about the second theme
group, and nothing that would not already have been more interesting to perceive within
the first theme group and the following transition group. Here, it seems to me that the
composer does not so actively play with the contrasting themes. Instead, he seems to
prefer that the musical elements seem more independent, allowing for plenty of give and
take [Hin und Her] between them. He still does not complicate any individual elements,
and so makes the listener’s life [Leben] and task [Aufgabe] easier.
However, I must point out that there is a difference between the first part of the
second main group in the recapitulation and the exposition. [69] In the forty-seventh
measure of the recapitulation, [mm. 189] there is an intensity-stirring dissonant passage
that was not present in the corresponding part in the exposition. In my copy of the work,
an ossia gives the progression in octaves to prevent these dissonances. Bülow, however,
disavows this edition and its usability, whether or not the dissonances were intended [by
Beethoven] from the beginning, or were used because the piano at that time did not have
a large enough range or full enough sounding tones to enable the higher octave. Even if
the latter were true, Beethoven surely intended the dissonances; they are not coincidental.
However, this is about more than just harmonic values. If we realize that Beethoven
made the repetition of one tone so important within this movement, we can recognize that
he purposefully organized the movement. We do not have to fear that we sought this
intellectually for we sought to recognize the spirit of the sonata. The D, the tonic, is

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validated in the recapitulation, and the dissonances increase the weight so that this D acts
as a counterweight to balance the earlier repeated A. Incidentally, while this probably
produces only a latent impression in some listeners, it can produce a conscious
impression in a proficient listener. The question of what [70] exists and what is effective
is more important than the question of what the composer desired or foresaw and what he
did not.

Although I believe that I have discussed what is most important in this sonata
movement, I do not think that it is justifiable to conclude here. A larger question is still
open, namely, whether what I have identified is the most important. I might have proven
that poetic exegeses are unsuccessful as well as irrelevant when compared to the other
approach, especially since I have used Bekker’s widely-disseminated and often highly
valued work as an example of scenic, or extra-musical interpretations that differ from
mine. I believe that the reader will understand that I have not used Bekker's writings to
make my own job easier, but that I cited Bekker because his work best represents this
unsuccessful approach (I am not including Albert Schweitzer here for he has an
exceptional position of his own). If it appears I was too easily able to contradict Bekker’s
misguided example, it is not Bekker’s fault. The fault lies in the nature of this type of
work.
The other questions however—Is that really everything? Do we understand the
music if we understand how it functions?—we can answer calmly in the affirmative. To
confirm this, of course, we must speak of its intrinsic value, and in fact, [71] for the time
being, we must assume that the answer is clear and unanimous. If I were to say this
sonata does not contain a full-fledged melody that has the courage and right to appear
independently as an end in itself, one would indeed agree with me. And is this movement

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perchance even beautiful at all? It does not even occur to it to be beautiful. Indeed,
seldom does it seem to occur to the movement; seldom does it seem to reflect on whether
there is even something like beauty. It behaves as such during the beginning theme and
also during the recitatives. The first measures are pretty in the passive sense, just as
every triad that does not lie too low or too high for our own ears is pretty and as all that is
element in art is beautiful. I have been delighted by Karl Scheffler’s writings about the
immanent or half-elemental beauty of the triad and the most common progressions—of a
beauty that even a hurdy-gurdy can produce.94 The initial theme by no means offers a
desiring or achieved beauty, that is, the beauty as an artistic creation. The recitatives do
possess a bit more beauty, but only comparatively more and not much of it. The
recitatives are not independent as the melodies are not effective in themselves, and only
become effective because they fulfill or explain a desire. The chief value of the
recitatives is their temporal essence [Zeitliche], i.e. their “now and finally” [“Jetzt und
Endlich”]. Furthermore, the melodies within this movement are small and utilitarian, not
glorious [herrliche], or self-important. This was clearly evident from the impossibility of
their appearing at the beginning [72] of the movement, and is further signified by their
indispensability for the recapitulation, whose tranquil demeanor and sense of rejuvination
announce it most beautifully, or to say it better, most suitably. [71] It signifies the
blooming of the melodic element [Melodischen] here. And if despite that we want to call
them beautiful, they are still merely an intermezzo, a gracious glimpse of beauty that
drops into a world of partly gloomy, partly garish colors. I know that many enjoy the
wildness, excitement and restlessness of such music. But, I also know that many of those
who enjoy the alleged excessiveness of this music have not yet recognized its mastery or
learned to completely admire it. Furthermore, I must mention that the writers who

94 Scheffler was an art critic and early German historian of modern art who lived from 1869-1951.
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describe the effect of the individual elements without referring to the essential or to the
ruling artistic virtues neglect to recognize that which is essential. Those of us who do not
allow or no longer allow ourselves to be deadened have posed the pertinent question
about the value of the individual elements; we enjoy the formative power, but we also
want to know about the status of that which is being formed.
Such a sonic organsim rushes towards us and evokes our first impression! The
music rages, rests, shakes, shoves; it groans, pants, roars and howls; it whistles, rolls, and
clatters. Even the silence is loaded with force. We have seen also that the [73] question
of force here is a question of the temporal ordering [of the events], just as we have seen
that the forceful impression is actually not peculiar to the themes and their nature.
Indeed, these themes present a special case. If I say that, besides the properties of
noble melody, besides the rhetorical refinement or civilization, the uniqueness of these
themes is also not great or is lacking, I will probably run up against objections.
Nevertheless, I have to decline to acknowledge their uniqueness. I wish to state only one
fact to support my opinion. Though it is certain that Beethoven employs mechanical
powers, directly and simply or through [more] complicated means, we cannot be sure
where these powers dwell because of the primitiveness of his themes, or their immaturity
[Unerwachsenheit], as I like to call it.
In the half cadences of measures 55-59, Paul Bekker discovered that the upper
voice has the inversion of the motive from the end of measure 22. It is one of the few
remarks about musical technique that he makes about this movement and I want to thank
him for it, though I do not consider it to be a groundbreaking discovery. When I first
read this, I was embarrassed [74] that I had not noticed it myself considering how many
times I have played this movement. However, I relaxed almost immediately, for I
realized that the relationship between the motives is unfruitful, if it exists at all. If we

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were to consider basic events like the half-cadence or the motion of an ornament
thematically important, then every event would have to be considered significant, and in
turn, we would miss that which is structurally important (thought I admit that Bekker
uses his discovery for another reason). I just cannot believe that Beethoven wants to
remind us of the first group and transition in the middle of the second theme group. Even
if we disregard Beethoven's intentions, we must ignore the hesitant rhythm to see the
correspondence. This similarity is not functional. We hear the will of the theme in the
beginning and the end. Though the melodic inversion is not formally significant, it must
be noted that it does exist. We can even find the same figure in the original and inverted
form in the accompaniment to the second main theme [75] (although the first half step is
a whole step here) [41 ff.]. Additionally, in the half-cadences that begin in measure 30 of
the development, [mm.122 ff.] the tonic (D) is suppressed, which contrasts with the other
figures where the tonic is stated at the beginning and the end.
The [stepwise descending] soprano line of measures 41-45 of the development
[mm. 133-137 of the movement] is almost the same as it was in measures 77-78 of the
exposition, but where the latter becomes syncopated [mm. 81 and 82 in the soprano], it is
more similar to the first Allegro, whose anticipations might be considered to be dissolved
suspensions. Before the end of the movement [mm. 205 ff.], the chordal figures in the
bass, which of course are derived from the figures that were previously heard in the high
register, express more clearly than ever their derivation from the Largo theme…95
I seriously believe that one must not press such [analytical discoveries], and that
is simply because they have nothing to offer. One can certainly disregard them. At any
rate, I must admit that Bekker’s remark led me to analyze this music, and even those who

95 Ellipses are given by Halm.

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only partially agree with me so far will understand and probably share my gratitude in
this.
Perhaps there is something to be said about where, to what extent, and how deeply
understanding musical events comes from proving such thematic relationships or their
derivation. [76] To me, it seems that nothing is served by that sort of thing, for analysis of
these types of relationships only offers us some clarification about the quality of the
themes. One who refuses to look for these similarities may be right in the end, or they
may be wrong.
The Largo theme is a chord; the Allegro theme is a scale; the theme of the
soprano (beginning in measure 23) is a turn. Thus, they are not themes. They are
motives of the most ordinary kind—primordial motives—that appear on their own, but
are not easily recognizable as themes. What makes them recognizable as themes is the
rhythm, and therefore my examples of this type of thematic topography are just as trivial
as the example that I quoted from Bekker’s book. But this inconsequentiality is not
unimportant to us, for it is instructive. I will gladly consider it valid—only not as an
objection to what has been said—that Beethoven regarded the first Largo and the first
Allegro together as a single theme that works together as a whole. This gives a unified
result, but more like cooperative work that results in a operational machine-like entity—it
does not form an organic unity. [77]
As in many cases, Beethoven gives us here motives rather than themes, and! these
as a mere substratum, as material for action or for being acted upon in a mechanical way,
as signs and indicators of a dynamic condition, as !symbols of force! The music's destiny
is our destiny. We take part in its evolution and history. Beethoven intends this, and he
shapes the work’s destiny accordingly. He does not compose themes; he composes entire
movements, or entire sonatas. Bach composes themes; he orders the events within the

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theme, dispenses the energy, and organizes its energy into a viable thematic body.
Beethoven “disposes” [dis-poniert] the energies, which are the themes themselves. He
“takes them apart" and allows them to “come to terms with themselves.” He leads them,
sends them, and pulls them back and forth. They are submissive to him and his will.
Sometimes, he even treats them like lifeless beings that he splits apart and chops up.
Bach, the creator of living themes, sees his spirit in theirs, and he has deep respect for
them. Unlike the great strategist, Bach does not choose that which suits him from the
masses of music before him and beneath him. We frequently admire the distinct
conciseness of Beethoven’s themes, but in the aforementioned sonata and in many of his
other works, we can derive its formal structure through [an analysis of] the sharp outlines
[78] or clear silhouettes of the theme. The themes of his Allegro movements in particular
have the character of inspirations. He simply picks or plucks a motive from the air and
uses it to fill an empty space. He cultivates it carefully, allowing the seed to open and the
plant to grow, but he does not create anything out of this void. He inserts material to
increase the stability, and the steadfastness and resistance against the unknown generates
warmth and the energy. The motive has a will, which makes it concrete and powerful.
Beethoven composes motives and themes that are in contrast to each other, either directly
or indirectly. I could replace the second theme of one of Beethoven’s sonatas with a
second theme from another one of his works without having any difficulty with the
harmonic plan, which is often very simple. Or, for a second theme, I could even choose a
first theme from a different work, like the first movement theme of his String Quartet in F
Major, Op. 18! [79] Beethoven was clearly conscious that one of the chief strengths of
his artistry lay in [finding complementary themes], that this fundamental recognition of
the mechanical issues, of the dynamic task, distinguishes him from his co-advocates of
the culture of the sonata. Beethoven is supposed to have referred to “two principles”

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when he spoke about one of his sonatas, and I think that he intentionally used the word
“principle” instead of the word “theme.” He said, "Two principles—thousands fail to
understand it.”96 This sounds proud and grandiose. Has not the clumsiness of [the types
of] interpretation that have been imposed on his works justified his statement? In my
experience, one who only interprets the music in a personal sense misjudges the
principles and the main content. One critic might describe the music as unfruitful,
indifferent, and trivial, while another might spin a tale of reunited lovers who are again
parted. A critic might even refer to Beethoven’s own words (whether or not he actually
said them). Each of these approaches is superficial.
* * *
The listener that Bach assumes or who he wants to nurture for his ideal of music
is one who works with him, who thinks with him, or who examines the actions in the
music. [80] A good listener of Beethoven’s music, who is pointed much less towards
thinking and understanding the language of tone as means of expression for thought, if
not as an act of thought itself, and sometimes is even moved away from that, feels with
the will, albeit not with what Beethoven in person wanted, desired, or suffered and
endured, but with what it wants and wanted through him.
Bach’s listener takes part in a celebration when he hears or plays a fugue. He
celebrates when a second theme appears from another side and befriends the first and
joins with it, or when a theme with varied intervals joins with another in counterpoint, or
in more than one place, or in more than one length [that is, presented in augmentation]; to
him, this is a spiritual experience. How can so many of us nowadays overlook such
things? With Beethoven it is different celebrations that invite us to participate, and we
have made an effort to awaken engagement or, where it perhaps already existed, to

96 Rothfarb mentions this in his article, “Music Analysis, Cultural Morality” on page 189. See footnote 38.
The piece in question is his op. 14.
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reinforce it. In doing so, we feel opposed to what we call music feuilleton, and what we
have shown to belong to that genre. The culture of the sonata, while perhaps not brought
to the fullest blossoming possible, was in its particular requirements certainly recognized
and prefigured by Beethoven. He ushered in a new epoch for musical art, the epoch of
the large organisms. Let us take as seriously as we possibly can what was achieved and
mastered, but also no less seriously [81] what it leaves us wanting, what hope it arouses
in us.

Part II: Harmonic Economy97

A. The Development of Beethoven’s “Pastoral” Symphony, First Movement

The development section has fewer rules than the other sections of a sonata form.
This does not mean that the composer may follow his every whim, but that he is
responsible for determining his own rules for its evolution.
There are two fundamental precepts for the development that a composer must
follow. First, he should construct the development from material from the exposition
without introducing anything new. Second, the development must lead back to the main
key.
The first precept—more a prohibition than a precept—is not just incorporated into
the development section, but is derived from the concept [of development] itself, which
indeed is probably the criterion for the significance of the prohibition in general.
The second precept concerns the harmonic plan of the development, and it is
imposed by the higher power of the harmonic [82] will. The abandoned main key
remains as latent energy that will be attracted from its harmonic remoteness by a stream

97 Rothfarbstates that Halm considered "Harmonic Economy" to be the way that "Beethoven achieved
dynamic effect through strategic use of ordinary harmonic means" in his article "Beethoven's Formal
Dynamics,” 75.
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of desire [Strom von Wollen], and the moment in which this energy again will become
visible is one of the great times in the sonata form, for it is there that the warmth and
beams of light [Wärme-und Lichtstrahlen] collectively appear. The power of the re-
entering main key satisfies the listener’s memory while it fulfills the recurring main
theme [by imbuing it] with new life and new breath. The composer must lead the listener
to anticipate the tonal return, whether or not he suddenly initiates it. Furthermore, its
arrival must be convincing and believable. This is the most splendid task that a composer
is given, with respect to the larger musical form. However, to perceive such a truly
creative law as an annoying burden would mean nothing other than resisting the Spirit; to
ignore it would mean destroying a seed of great beauty; and to see in it something like
laudable daring would be the worst kind of bungler mentality.

Aside from the aforementioned precepts, there is no prescribed plan for the
development’s construction, though the other events in a sonata form are subject to
certain customs. The composer can use any material from the exposition [83] in the
development. He does not have to use every theme, and he may fragment the themes that
he does use into motives. Thus, the organization of the development differs from piece to
piece. The composer will choose the musical materials that will combine well and that
are most malleable. Beethoven is regarded as the greatest master of the development not
only because of his imagination, but also because of his strictness. In this regard, his
skills are far beyond his predecessors and his models. In the previous section, we
recognized his superiority most clearly in the initial conception of the entire sonata form,
and sought to demonstrate his fundamental superiority. It is perhaps possible to gain a
clear understanding of his achievements through a study of several of his development
sections, but this lies outside of my current ability and my intent, which is to show the

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harmonic organization [in the development section] of a single piece. To do so, I will use
a particularly distinctive development and I will concentrate on its harmonic economy
[84] to simplify matters. By focusing on the harmonic economy, we will see that
granting the harmony greater, or almost absolute freedom imposes greater responsibility
[on the composer]. If the recapitulation is the goal, then the development must cede its
time and path to it. When the development reveals its approach to the recapitulation, its
duty is fulfilled. Its motion toward the goal is preordained, but its life and activities are
not restricted.

The first movement of the Pastoral Symphony is one of the best examples of a
movement ordered with conscious will.98 Beethoven adeptly led an improvisatory
episode throughout the entire movement. To do so, he had to ensure that each of the
events had a distinct character and sufficient breadth and he had to carefully organize the
themes within the form without undermining the spirit of each. The development is
masterfully ruled and administrated in my opinion. It is simultaneously self-disciplined
and free, and I will not easily lay it aside in favor of a development section by another
Classical composer.

The development of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony has three main sections.99 The
shortest section [mm. 135-150] opens [85] and introduces the development while it
confirms the end of the exposition. The development actually begins four measures
before the double bar [in m. 135] with the measures that had first led back into the
repetition of the exposition, but will lead into the rest of the development after the repeat.

98 Halm’s analysis of the Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony first appeared in Der Kunstwart 18 (1905), 545-
47 under the title “Musikalische Logik.” This analysis is expanded in the present work. Lee Rothfarb
writes about this analysis in his article “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics.”
99 A. H. The reader needs to have a score or piano reduction.

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The first signpost of the new territory is at the double bar where the abbreviated main
theme appears in a new harmonic form [m. 139]. It appears over a dominant seventh in F
major, and the motive is exactly as it was in the first measures of the piece, but here the
music is propelled forward. This theme, when it appeared in the beginning of the
movement, began on the tonic and created a sense of calmness, in the same way that the
movement's first fermata on the dominant calmly looked into the distance. The theme,
highlighted by the impetus of an appoggiatura to the chordal seventh, is deployed twice
on the harmony that presses toward F major. The immaterial [unkörperliche] image of F
major treads between desire and achievement, for the unison melody only hints at the key
before the theme then unfolds over the dominant of Bb major [mm. 147-150]. After
these four measures, (which parallel the first four measures of the development before the
double bar) the finally realized F dominant seventh chord appears, as we expected. [86]
Measures 9-12 [mm. 147-150] (for simplicity, I will always count from the double bar)
correspond to measures 1-4 [mm. 139-142], but are enriched by the imitation in the flute
and by the awakened or enlivened character that is granted to it. Here, the listener will
understand that something calm is created in the second, longer, and most substantial
section of the development [mm. 151-242]. Admittedly, the listener must wait through
the repeated figures, the tension of the sustained Bb major chords, and the illusion of
forward motion or floating, until a visible and audible forward motion occurs; however,
he cannot wait patiently, but must wait actively. Measures 13-24 [mm. 151-62] are really
in the key of Bb major which is the current tonic. The thematic figure appears eight
times on the root of the tonic triad, and four times on the third of the tonic triad. But
suddenly, the harmony seems to leap into the key of D major [by means of a mediant
shift]. It is the first surprise in that the development—or actually the whole movement
brings, but its harmony is actually highly ordinary or primitive. To us, the chord and the

105
progression from Bb major to D major seem familiar, yet we are aware of the impression
of the sudden momentum.
The suitability of this [87] agent [Organe]100 is a mystery of a unified and tasteful
style. When used appropriately, the listener forgets how the modulation was achieved,
but it affects him by means of spiritual agility or familiarity with the style, without
disturbing him or causing him difficulty. Admittedly, this modulation may have been
more of a surprise to Beethoven’s contemporaries than it seems today, when we only feel
a relative surprise, but that does not mean that they came nearer to the meaning of the
place. Good style, namely, never aims at surprise as an objective. Unexpected action,
i.e. introducing something unmotivated, is no virtue. In particular, we designate as
unmotivated all action that takes its authority and meaning from any external source, thus
also the premature intrusion, which is mistakenly considered to be highly dramatic, [and]
a new event that disrupts one that has not at least been provisionally completed. So the
good and everlasting meaning of this place is especially well founded, but in fact, the
more expected a sudden contrast [Gegensatz] is, the better it works. The sustained
passage in a single key is a contradiction to the gentle, yet energetic forward and upward
striving in the preceding part of the development. [88] The energy of this striving has not
dissipated, but has retreated into the area of dynamics, it speaks out of the crescendo,
contradicts through the hesitation of the harmonic flow. The simultaneously slow and
powerful crescendo summons and gathers the ongoing energy in contradiction to the
underlying harmony; suddenly, the reins are loosened, so a leap into the distance instead
of a step into a closely related key is produced with the logical consequence of a physical
event.

100 Halm is using the word Organe to refer to the mediant shift between the two keys.
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 We now linger in this newly achieved harmonic domain, as though savoring the
triumph but also with something like weariness. Let us note the difference between the
longer section in measures 25-53 [mm. 163-191] in D major and the preceding section in
Bb major. In the Bb-major section, there was never an entrance of the motive on the
chordal fifth, while the first four measures of the D-major section begin on the fifth. In
the D-major section, the motive occurs on the chordal third for the next four measures,
and then it is on the octave for the next 11 measures. This escalation [Erhebung]101
reminds us of the beginning of the section in Bb major [m. 151]. Until now, the motive
had always occurred in the high register, but the bass takes up the motive in the 37th
measure [m. 175], in order to show its outermost limits of energy during the next five
measures. The fifth measure is the first of a new rhythmic period, where the motive does
not remain in one voice or register, [89] but is thrown like a ball from one to another, and
in measure forty-one [m. 179], the accompanying chords are interrupted and then are
discontinued after the forty-third measure [m. 181]. After the climax of this excitation, or
if you will, this ecstasy [Ekstase], the harmony is relinquished in the stormy back and
forth play, as if it were abducted from solid ground. The motive, driven as if by clouds
and winds, gives the impression of strength by its arrogance, but the groundlessness and
the fluttering about exhausts it. Indeed, [this change of effect] is heralded by a piano that
results from a diminuendo and the dissolution of the motive into its smallest conceivable
part; two eighth notes that leap down a fourth [mm. 187-190]. This is still only an echo
or mechanical reverberation of the previous violent movement. That the motive always
occurs on the same interval and in the upper voices during the four measures of
diminuendo is important. For not only does this condition prepare for a calming, for a re-

101 Iam using Rothfarb’s translation of Erhebung as escalation; see “Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics.”
Throughout this article, Rothfarb refers to the two escalations that happen with the mediant shifts in mm.
163 and 209.
107
gathering of composure, [Sich-von-neuen-Sammeln], but also, owing precisely to its
contrast with the immediately preceding ascents and descents and the simultaneous
changes in the entrance interval [of the motive],102 refers back to the beginning of the
entire group, whereby a section is marked off for us. Admittedly, we do not feel that the
circle is closed here because this ending is inconclusive. Actually, [90] the course is not
circular, but spiral; we have not come back to the beginning part, but have come toward it
on a higher level.
A decrease of motion occurs as the D major that is still resounding in our ear [in
mm. 187-192] is interpreted as the dominant of G as it moves to this related key. The
short G-major episode of measures 53-58 [mm. 191-196] can be interpreted as parallel to
measures 9-12 [mm. 147-150], since it goes back to the beginning of the main theme,
which is now complete and is accompanied by a new scalar closing figure. Although this
sounds very modest, it is effective because of its rhythm and the suspension that forms a
gentle impulse with its entrance. It is an example of realized, not-fundamental, but still in
itself valuable counterpoint.
A great, powerfully resurgent escalation into a higher register follows. The motive
of the main theme’s second measure is repeated in G major, then the harmony moves to
E-major through a mediant shift [m. 209]. Here, as in the D major place, the modulation
occurs as a result of that which was very actively gained and proliferated, but then
collapses into itself as the power decreases. Within the G major section, the motive (in
four-measure units) occurs first on the third [mm. 197-200], then on the octave [mm.
201-204], and then finally on the fifth [mm. 205-208]. That the motive occurs on the
fifth in the E major section [mm. 209-212], emphasizes that these keys are foreign to
each other and gives an [91] impression of a harmonic acceleration that is in contrast to

102 Compare mm. 191-196 to mm. 139-150.

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the previous transition from Bb major (where the motive was on the third) to D major
(where the motive was on the fifth) [mm. 159-163]. The significant difference of these
two corresponding places lies in the inner quality of each transition, and not on its style
or presentation. In this regard, it must be noted that the slightly fuller instrumentation,
with the addition of the flutes (which had been used sparingly since the beginning) only
assists, or perhaps more precisely is an expression of the greater animation; it is not color
that is painted upon it, but illumination that comes from within it. If the intensification is
not related to the musical existence, the art of instrumentation is only decoration. The
opposite holds true as well; inconspicuous details, like the entrance of the flutes, are
dignified only when they are a reflection of the function of the increased energy.
The greater energy of the leap to E major [m. 209] lies in the refined type of the
mediant relationship that is employed. If the transition here had been transposed to
correspond to the previous one, B major would follow G major.103 Now, Bb major is
further from D major, and G major is further from B major than G major is from E major
in the circle of fifths, and this might lead one to suggest that this makes the second
transition the harmonically weaker one. [92] But, in fact, the second transition is more
effective, for the third of D major is an F#, which is dissonant to the key of Bb major, but
when E major follows G major, [the G# in the key of E major] destroys the fundamental
or the octave, and with it the root [of the previous key]. The abandonment of the tonic
signifies that the new key is triumphant and that it is more powerful than the original key.
In addition, it means that keys that are further apart are more dissonant to each other, and
when these dissonances are overcome, the listener senses the increase of activity, or finds
momentum within it.

103 Here, the mediant shift is down a third instead of up a third as it was before.
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 With this intensification of the harmonic activity, Beethoven decides upon a
course that leads to the most fruitful and cheerful realm, and I believe that recognizing
this as anticipating the future is the most valuable insight that can arise out of almost
every detail of this instructive development.
Nevertheless, we cannot stop here even though we may believe that we have
penetrated into the essence [of this development] for it is also important to note the after-
effects of the action, for the third and closing act of the development is intensified by the
dramatic climax, [93] and there are values within it of which we should be aware.
One might ask how the short and calmer episode between the two escalations
happens [mm. 225-243]. Furthermore, it can even be assumed that this contrasting
episode confuses the listener, even if the motive is simply transposed from G major to A
major, because this material [in mm. 179-197] previously served as an anticipation of the
mediant shift. But this episode is too neutral to serve in this way; the germ of renewal, or
self-renewal lies within it, but there is no distinct or determined desire. This episode
serves as a recovery of a former power. In addition, the fact that a similar decrease [of
energy] followed the first and second intensification allows us to anticipate that the
dynamically intensified character will not only come to mind, but that it will cause a
recollection of something different; and because of this, we hear the short A-major
episode differently from the nearly identical episode in G major. The entrance of the
development’s last section in measure 105 [m. 243] is not surprising in the sense of the
unexpected, but it allows us to feel the importance of the moment. The line of the entire
development now has its turning point. The movement begins with a short, goal-
oriented, but not powerful ascent, the middle part has a steep ascent that took us to the
highest peaks, and the third section quietly [94] descends, not to a lower level, but to a
plateau on which the recapitulation will occur. Therefore, the first and third sections

110
correspond in a thoroughly spiritual [durchgeistigten] symmetry. The middle part could
diverge from the symmetry if viewed statically, but this symmetry is necessary because
of its two ascents, which I suspect are justified by the harmony. The third relationship
that functions here is distinguished from the harmonic character of the rest of the
movement, and it demands to be justified or strengthened by its repeated appearance.
The value of this intensification is that it elevates and ennobles the ordinary symmetry.
The repetition must strengthen that which has been expressed [rather than simply
repeating it at the same level], and this is necessary for more than the prevention of
monotony; thus it is natural that the intensification is repeated and more strongly
expressed. Therein lies the reason that sensitive composers avoid simple echo effects
whose cheapness is nevertheless not prohibited, particularly for a master, who neither
spurns that which is easily accessible or available nor that which is difficult, but is willing
to accept what is good about it and to conquer it.
Thus, thinking like a master, Beethoven reverts to [95] a more primitive and
ordinary progression of harmonies [mm. 247-258], which he had used only occasionally
in the middle part of the development. He leads us back to the main key from the
distantly related E major by using nothing but [major keys] along the circle of fifths, until
we reach G minor.104 [94] He steadily leads the listener in the following contrasting
section [mm. 263-75], which is in retrospect even more powerful and fruitful, for after
the powerful energy charge and discharge the listener is now more trusting and is
prepared for a quiet episode, or for a comfortable ride [bequemen Fahrt], as Goethe liked
to say, to the impending goal that lies before him. We are now prepared to greet the
character of the main theme that we had so enjoyed in the beginning of the entire

104 Rothfarb writes the following about Halm’s analysis of this section: “ The G-minor chord in mm. 257-
60 is particularly effective. It surprises by interrupting the pattern of major chords in the falling-fifth series
and in one stroke directs the harmony toward F major, providing an unexpected glimpse of the goal.”
“Beethoven’s Formal Dynamics,” p. 81.
111
movement. During the activity of the development, we lost the image of the whole, but
now, in [mm. 263-75 of] the third stage of the development, we can see it clearly and can
comprehend the calm closing phrase of the theme that has not appeared since its first
entrance in measures 9-16 of the movement, which convinces us that we will once again
enter familiar ground. I do not recall a single development in the Classical repertory in
which the recapitulation has elicited such a satisfied feeling. Of course, this effect is not
[96] achieved through the recapitulation alone, but is a result of the totality of the
development that is organized into a development of such a uniform and seemingly
simple character that we only recognize its clear complexity as a pure miracle when
analyzing it.105
In order to avoid burdening the presentation, we have simplified some things that
are not simple.
When we designated the first part of the development as an ascent we were
mainly right, but the harmony actually descends from C major [at the end of the
exposition] to Bb major [beginning in m. 151]. In contradiction to the [descending]
harmony, the melody gives an impression of onward and upward striving in which we
can see the germination of the growth and the intense crescendo of the opposing elements
that strive to be freed in the central events of the development. The ascending melodic
progression has been playful rather than goal-oriented, and it coincides with the forte
dynamic that was prepared by the crescendo from the piano dynamic of measures one
and nine after the double bar. This still half-unconscious, juvenile urgency transforms
into fundamental seriousness in the middle of the act. The resolute contradiction
becomes a resistance to the constraining element and a breaking away from the
constraint. Only in the third act do we enjoy the sunny exhilaration of free rein, of the

105 "einwahres Wunder von einer klaren Komplizierheit." Clear complexity, is, of course, an oxymoron,
which I believe Halm has chosen to emphasize the "miracle" that he describes.
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assurance, [97] to speak with Goethe, whose outlook on life, indeed whose wisdom on
life in general is recalled by the end of the development section in particular. In what
other music could he have more of a chance to discover himself than in this play of tones
in a gentle flow, for which an effervescent source of energy, contained but not weakened,
created broad support, which would smooth out the movement just as it would a surge in
a stream. Precisely in this last act he certainly would have recognized the more genuine,
the ethical intensification.
Let’s not be satisfied simply with this impression, but let us examine the musical
technique involved in the last part of the development [mm. 261-78]. The [pairing of]
melodic ascent and harmonic descent does not seem to have been a contradiction to
Beethoven; they are united most beautifully into a progressive whole, which allows the
image of a growing stream to arise on its own within us. A balance is perhaps achieved
by the fact that the melody not only rises but also strives again toward the high register
that it abandoned in measure 109 [m. 247], a register that it makes rare use of. Still more,
the repercussions of the tension in the middle part [of the development] now act so that
we especially feel the security and peacefulness in striving and activity. Contradiction is
an element in music; the way it appears creates its character, while a contradiction that is
thoroughly overcome or reconciled signifies a complete close. [98]
Though the third act of the development is [mm. 243-279] is richly motivated, it
is differentiated from its sharply contrasting predecessor.
This act begins in A major, which arose through its dominant, E major. A major
then becomes a dominant that leads to D major. This, however, leads to G minor instead
of G major, and we must ask why. A characteristic of a master is that he can satisfy
several and varying needs by using the same means. Beethoven has fended off the threat
of monotony while he has instructed us, so that we can see that we have reached our goal

113
through the use of G minor (the supertonic of F major). The listener's attention is satisfied
and aroused by the conspicuously heightened and concentrated harmony of the theme and
its intensified expression. The third measure of the theme has two harmonies, and a new
harmony begins in the fourth measure, (see measures 107-108; 111-112) [mm. 245-46;
249-50]. The pace of the melody is deliberate, and the weight is distributed evenly over
the theme. In measure 117 [m. 255], the melody is lightened, and the weights are
dispensed onto two harmonies to which the theme is subordinate. This weight will be
formed and impelled by the two sforzando-pianos [in mm. 117-19], [99] for the tranquil
element has yielded to the elastic element. With this, we also understand that the
accumulating energy has enabled the melody to rise up into the middle register in
measures 109-116 [mm. 247-54]. The next group of measures, 121-125, [mm. 259-262],
harmonically identical to the preceding measures 117-121, [mm. 255-258] intensifies the
events. Here, because the melody is stated in the middle register and because it has
accumulated power, it can easily be joined by an accompanying third. Depending on its
use, a weight can hinder motion or it can help motion, just as a combustible object can
suffocate or feed a fire, depending on its type. In this way, we can even derive the
energetic harmonic action106 of the 123rd measure [m. 261] from the cautiously
intensified and growing motion. The G minor is understood to have yet another
advantage; it is effective because it hints at what is to come and because of its yielding
character. The B-natural [in measure 261], banishing the imminent and expected Bb, or
annihilating the Bb [100] still resounding in the memory, has a volitional effect—yet
more, a commanding effect. It is clearly a leading tone, and its correlate, the
complementary leading tone, not only reinforces the B-natural but appears to be
summoned by it, as something self-evident, as having been brought about through a

106 The applied dominant in the key of F major in this measure.

114
chemical formula. The sudden dominant quality of the recently arising chord, nothing
extraordinary in itself, becomes an event here, since the earlier, gradual shift of a chord
from tonic to dominant quality still dictates our appraising feelings.107 The higher and
more difficult art is elevating the ordinary to the status of an event, not seeking out the
extraordinary in order to render an event palpable. The methodical aspect—I would
almost say the aspect of correctness—in musical thinking manifests itself here as the
means of such exquisitely effective creativity.
The powerful conclusion of this last part of the development section [mm. 263 ff.]
thus also owes its possibility to such correctness in musical thinking. Harmonically, it
derives from the mediatory condition of measures 109 through 116 [mm. 247-54], such
that the steps of the melody distinguish themselves more from one another, acquiring
more autonomous life. Dynamically, however, Beethoven dares to subordinate this
process to the two main accents—a process upon which, moreover, he imposes the full
weight of the orchestra. He could expect that only of a sonically as well as harmonically
simplified melody. Additionally, the [orchestral] massiveness that joins in the intensified
movement now obeys him. The drama [101] of the development section thereby arrives
at an apex and also its end, merging with the drama of the recapitulation which, linked
most intimately with the development, is to engage us simultaneously in its
[development’s] conclusion.
The theme breathes in long breaths—as if it were winded by activity, or as if
every movement were difficult, or as if it were relieved from its labor—and it stretches
out and allows us to see the goal. In measures 107-108 [mm. 245-46], we hear the theme
with the downward leap of a fourth for the last time in the airy heights as an ideal image
that appears, pulls and lures, but does not really do anything. When the theme goes into

107 Halm is referring to the very beginning of the development, where the C major tonic triad before the
double bar becomes a dominant-seventh chord in the key of F major at the double bar.
115
the lower register [mm. 247 ff.], it is not really a drop, but a compression that signifies the
beginning of its aspiration and effect, of its service [Dienens], or I might even say of its
achievement [Verdienens]. The leap of a fourth turns into a step of a second, and the
theme, made more modest, urgently desires to serve in the striving toward the height. It
reaches it and finds its characteristic form again in measures 137-145 [mm. 275-283] in
the melody played by the first violins. Here, immediately before the recapitulation, the
orchestra becomes fragmented before it forms its largest mass. The recapitulation is
revealed in measure 141 [mm. 279] by the second violins and violas, while the first
violins continue to play the [102] augmentation of the consequent theme [from mm. 11-
12]—D for four measures, C for three measures, and G for four measures—alone in the
high register. Measure 143 remains under the control of the tone C, or rather it is the
expression of a tendency from C toward G, as a cadentially filled-out, or as people used
to say, “diminuted” step of a fourth; or also, if we prefer, as a rhythmically and
melodically exectuted portamento from C to G that is sufficiently clear in order to bring
out and animate the melody of the consequent phrase without disrupting its line; in fact
expanded to this size, as such a detailed silhouette actually requires! The trill that enters
on the restful [ruhende] G [m. 282] is also effective, and the eighth notes spring from its
source, upon which the concluding phrase of the melody comes together with the
remaining and anticipated events. The G signifies the end of the development and the
looming recapitulation, and with the following eighth notes it signifies the first pause of
the recapitulation, which corresponds to the fermata on the dominant in measure four of
the whole movement. The first movement of the Fifth Symphony also has a cadential
fermata in the recapitulation that is far more daring but less successful than this one.
By forming the return in this way, Beethoven creates [103] a peculiar sense of
satisfaction in the listener. From measure 125 forward [m 263 ff.], he demands patience

116
of the listener, as the dominant [C] of the returning main key [F major] enters forming a
contrast to the dominant of C major [as the applied dominant in F major] in measure 123
[m. 261]. The dominant of F enters gradually, yet it is more complete than the
movement's previous dominants, for it is a ninth chord [built on C] that, like a shadow,
can be traced back to preceding measures. (For example, refer to the first measure of the
development and the beginning of the second main theme of the movement). At the same
time, Beethoven only gives authenticity [das Wort] to the second, impatient part of the
motive, and now the pure subdominant treads between anticipation and fulfillment, if one
can describe as pure a dissonance that disappears instead of resolves. In measure 137,
half of the orchestra stops playing and the homophonic forward motion is broken off
here, and the dissonance is relaxed and freed, without being fulfilled.108 The contrapuntal
thinking is melodically and formally determined in as much as the development and the
recapitulation are contrapuntally related. The pliable body of the string section now does
all of the joyful, light work. The recapitulation is not strained, but rather what came
before was, and the spiritually [geistig] [104] more potent polyphonic nature contents
itself with the lesser material, indeed, prefers it. A bright clarity overlays the home
territory, which we have already reached before we sensed it, though it lay before our
eyes. Or, on the other hand, it is as if our homeland was hidden or it was closer than we
thought it to be, making us feel even more joyful when we reach it. We feel the great
event at the same time that we feel this satisfying moment in measure 137 [m. 275].
During the quietly floating melody, we are a little ill at ease, and the figures from
measure 137-141 [mm. 275-279] seem to be mere reflections, for they contain no
impatience or yearning. The piano dynamic announces and enables the posed and
yearning movement, but it does not cause it. In fact, the way that Beethoven sharply

108 Halm is referring to the deceptive resolution of the dominant function chord to the subdominant in
measure 275.
117
distinguishes the dynamics is particularly noteworthy. The passive, pulsating figures
appear immediately in a piano dynamic, while the sustained melody notes lead us through
a diminuendo and engage our senses for a while longer. If I were to conduct this
symphony, I might even lengthen the diminuendo, and not allow the middle voices to
reach the piano until the 143rd measure, so that the uniform [105] intensity would
originate at the same time as the formal uniformity.
We have still not fully explained the value of the motion from the dominant to the
subdominant of the tonic in measure 137. First of all, here we have the [augmented]
consequent phrase [from mm. 11-12] instead of the original form restored to its original
harmony, by which we understand that the accompanying bass and the first violins
belong together, and with their mutual diminuendo, they stretch the return beyond the
recapitulation. However, the subdominant chord acts as a detour, which we can easily
recognize as an artistic principle, while it also completes the cadence of the main key.
Finally this subdominant leads the harmonic power, which has not been used much to this
point, and certainly has not been used up, because the relationship of the subdominant to
the tonic has remained in the distance up to this point.
The development section follows the evolution of the first theme, as the following
illustration shows.
Introduction to the first act (from the double bar): 1st motive of the theme.

Act I. Measures 1-5 [mm. 139-43], the first half of the main theme; mm. 5-9 mm.
143-147], its first motive alone: the prelude leads to the episode; measures 9-13
[mm. 147-51], the first half of the theme again. [106]

118
 Act II. Mm. 13-49 [mm. 151-87]; the second motive of theme alone; 49-53 [mm.
187-91], still only its second half; 53-57 [191-95], episode of the entire theme;
57-58 [mm. 195-96], its third motive alone. [106]

Act III. Mm. 105-133 [mm. 243-271], the consequent phrase of the theme; its
second half from the m.133 [m. 271] to the end of the development.

That Beethoven constructs the entire form from a phrase and its consequent
proves his mastery and demonstrates his understanding of a germinating content.
However, the drama of forces [dynamische Drama] itself is more important to us, and to
Beethoven himself it was obviously the essential factor, to which he even placed the
thematic element in service. His outstanding ability is particularly obvious in the
powerful and clear conception of the whole process, in its rhythmic processes, but even
more in its harmonic processes, in which we can admire wisdom and strength, each in
equal measure.

Beethoven certainly created some works in which he excited and drove more; and
those that would tend to measure the greatness of a work according to the degree that it
bewitches and stirs his feelings might also pronounce that Beethoven expressed greater
things in other works than he did in the Pastoral Symphony. [107] So let us look at that
which makes a work beyond the personal [überpersonlich], not only in that its author as a
personality is overcome, but also in that its character as an individual work of art is
superseded through its prototypical quality through the perfection of its form. If we
consider the gain in vitality and corporeality that music as a intellectual [geistigen] power

119
brings to it, and we weigh the merit of objective music; then we must grant the highest
rank to the Pastoral Symphony's first movement, and in particular, to its development.

B. Harmonic Intensification

The dramatic character of the sonata demands the art of intensification, and we
can see into the center of the history of the sonata through the history of intensification.
When we analyzed the development section [of Beethoven's "Pastoral"
Symphony] above, we acknowledged that the second mediant shift is more harmonically
intense than the first. To say it more precisely, it is an intensification of distance109 as
Beethoven uses elsewhere.
In the first Allegro of the “Waldstein” Sonata, Beethoven is clearly aware of that
which the listener remembers, and directs the listener to be aware of present and past
events. At the very least, Beethoven manages the listener's impressions by [allowing
him] to compare the [108] impression of one place with another. Thus, here he had to
more finely distinguish and more strongly command [these impressions] and lead the
various interrelated lines.
I perceive a new phrase at the entrance of Bb major in m. 5. The feeling! of a new
beginning, of a mounting up predominates. The feeling of a direct! continuation of C
major by way of G major is nearly suppressed; [it is] in any case,! vanquished.110 Another
interesting harmonic event occurs within the rhythmically altered phrase [mm.14-20].
The progression from G major to D minor (mm. 16-18) is more expansive [than the
corresponding progression from G major to Bb major in mm. 4-5], and it increases the

109 Here, Halm refers to the fact that the two keys involved in the second mediant relationship are further
apart than the two keys involved in the first mediant shift.
110 Lee Rothfarb discusses this analysis in “Hermeneutics and Energetics,” 57-61. Rothfarb clarifies
Halm’s argument by explaining that to Halm, the thematic correspondence of the phrases beginning at
measure 1 and 5 leads us to associate them, simultaneously causing us to disassociate the harmonic
progression from C major to G major that occurs in mm. 1-4.
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forward motion, though the keys are more closely related than the keys of the previous
progression.111 A capable listener will remember that which he has previously heard, and
will supplement his previous perception, producing the impression of the direct harmonic
progression at the first appearance of the altered phrase [m. 14].112 What seemed simple
is actually complicated by the recollection [of past events].113 The higher register and
lighter presentation of the chords helps the momentum over the second phrase.114 This is
all very important, but it is not the most important thing.
The harmonic cleft between the G major in the third measure and the Bb major in
the 5th measure is expanded in the fourth measure by the active rhythm of the theme and
its conspicuously high register. [109] If only we were able to cease our harmonic hearing
and could hear the similarly-structured beginning of [the next phrase] as a return to the
first line, then we could perceive the excellence of the chord progression from C major to
Bb major with the appearance of the Bb major chord. [Instead], this takes place
afterwards, as we perceive the progression from C major to D minor [mm. 14-18].115 I
have shown the spatial advantage of the character of the lines and the expanded
dimension in my contribution to the 1909-1910 Wickersdorf Yearbook by E. Diedrich
1909-1910, where I also dealt with its most insightful harmonic execution in the

111 Rothfarb writes, “The G-D-minor association between the members of the second phrase pair escalates
over the analogous G-Bb association in the first pair. This interpretation seems counterintuitive at first,
since the mediant-related G and Bb harmonies are more remote, and would thus seem more energetic, than
the fifth-related G and D harmonies. However, precisely because the connection between G and Bb
harmonies is remote, we tend to disassociate them.” Ibid., 59-60.
112 Rothfarb writes, “Halm interprets the re-orientation toward C through the extended dominant harmony
as a logical result of the disorienting tonal tension generated by the Bb passage.” “Hermeneutics and
Energetics,” Ibid., 60.
113 Halm is saying that the direct progressions from C to G in mm. 1-4 and Bb to F in mm. 5-8 seem
simple, yet with the thematic correspondence, we equate the two phrases, and hear their connection above
the direct fifth progression. The connection of the Bb harmony with the C major harmony of the beginning
leads us to expect that we will move back to C, and we do so in measure 14.
114 The chordal eighth-notes are replaced here by a sixteenth-note alternating figure in both hands.
115 When C major moves to D minor, we hear their thematic correspondence, which makes us
retroauditively recognize that the move to Bb major was accomplished in the same manner.
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recapitulation of the Allegro, but here I confine myself to this place, for it is particularly
useful for our present task. The [move to D minor] at the second rhythmically altered
phrase [m.18] functions as an intensification [above that which occurred in the first six
measures] that increases the tension and momentum.
While in harmonic theory D minor is lower than C major, D minor can substitute
for the subdominant of C as its parallel minor chord in the cadence. The progression
from G major to D minor is actually more energetic than the progression from G major to
Bb major, since the dissonant B-F tritone is present in the [the former progression], and
because the keys of the second progression are not related. Above all, however, that
which we have previously heard allows us to perceive that the present progression is an
intensification. We [110] hear more than chords following one another; we hear chord
progressions as characters or as values, and we experience the relationship of one value
to another when we acknowledge the indebtedness of their relationship.
With this insight, we can understand that the local intensification [Nahsteigerung]
is in contrast to the intensification that happens on a broader level [Steigerung auf
Distanz]. It is important however, to separate these two fundamentally different
harmonic actions from one another, but separating them intensifies each, which is exactly
what we wanted to avoid. In my Harmonielehre, I have described the use of the
dominant pedal point as an intensification, using the section before the entrance of the
third main group of Bruckner’s E-major Symphony as a model.116 There, where I
concentrate more on the differences of technique rather than effect, I use the expression
"increased charge" [“vermehrte Ladung”] to describe the large building-up of the
dominant that appears increasingly more dissonant while it contributes to the growth and
accumulation of the pent-up energy. On the other hand, if I claim that the swelling of the

116 August Halm, Harmonielehre, (Leipzig: Göschen, 1902; reprint, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter and Co.,
1925), 122 (page citation is to the reprint edition).
122
tonic in the end of Bruckner's symphony movements elevates the drama, serves a
harmonious peace, and confirms the triumph of the victorious, the difference is justified
more by the consonant [111] characteristic of the tonic, which is in itself the spiritually
gained consonance. In both examples, stable elements are increased and forced into
effect, forcing the tension and momentum to increase while the power is dammed up and
intensified. However, [in the aforementioned Bruckner example], the genuine stability
makes us enjoy the feeling of home even more. Because we personally experience the
increase of the power—although its function was inhibited so long that its success
seemed precluded—we not only feel its yearning and repression, but we also feel for that
which has been repressed. This allows the not-yet-expressed power to take effect, giving
us the impression of the intensification once the rising flow of the dominant is dammed
up like it rebelled before a revolution. This is a common means of dramatic
intensification for the Classical composer, and we have even seen it used in Bach's
works, for example in the final section of the first Prelude in Bb Minor of The Well-
Tempered Clavier.117 The harmonic intensification is a crescendo, while its opposite is a
decrescendo of the harmonic activity, but not of desires, obligations, nor of persistence.
The way that space is conquered is in question here. The fundamental concern here is the
increase and decrease of progression and retrogression.
One could be tempted to assume that a broad-level intensification is greater and
more intellectually sound than a [112] local intensification, because the longer stretches
of time demand more of the memory, as can be seen in the middle part of the “Pastoral”
Symphony and the “Waldstein” Sonata. However, in order to make immediate

117 Inthe prelude there is a repeated eighth-note dominant pedal point that is sounded throughout two
measures beginning five measures from the end. The final measure and a half repeats this idea with a
repeated eighth-note tonic pedal that leads to the end.
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connections and complicate the choice between complexes of harmonic progressions, one
needs fertile material.
Two stages are not sufficient for a local-level intensification; we must have more
to assess the harmonic progressions and to understand their dynamic characteristics or
feel them properly. And from this we can understand why this kind of intensification
seldom appears in the Classical literature; the means had not yet been perfected or even
consciously invented, if we can avoid giving preference to the fact that the spirit of the
sonata was still not adequately recognized. I have already written elsewhere about Anton
Bruckner, the greatest master of the harmonic climax.118 But, more useful for our present
task than repeating what was said there is to view a small, but significant intensification
that Bach gives us in his A-minor Fugue [BWV 944].119 The fact that the fundamental
element [113] of a sonata is invited to participate in the fugue is strange enough, but [we
must admit] that it is only a guest that helps to form an episode here.120 In measure 72,
the harmony goes from A minor to an F-major chord that will [in the next measure]
become the dominant-seventh chord in Bb major. [In mm. 74 and 75] the imitation of
this progression is a more energetic modulation from Bb to C. This progression is laden
with more energy, because the resolution of the suspension in the minor chord [that was
seen] in measure 72 energizes the major chord in measure 74.121 However, the first
intensification actually happens in the second sequence; in measure 76, the harmony goes
back into the minor mode, from where it leaps into back into major—thus in reality, it is
more important. If the first type of modulation were used again here, in measure 77 we

118 A.H. Bruckner issue of "Musik," 1906.

119 A.H. "Prelude with Fugue," Keyboard Works, Ed. Peters, No. 8040 [BWV 944].
120 By the fundamental aspect of a sonata, Halm is referring to the fifth relationship of keys.
121 In m. 72, the D in the soprano is suspended above a C in the bass in an a-minor chord. In m. 74,
however, the suspended note in the soprano is an Eb above a bass note D in a Bb major chord. Thus, the
suspension in the major chord, a minor ninth is more dissonant than the major ninth that is suspended in the
minor chord.
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would have the dominant of Db instead of D.122 The modulation that Bach chooses here
is stronger than the first, which moves from A minor to Bb major, and it yields greater
energy. The middle modulation from Bb major to C minor stands between the two
qualitatively. The example is given below. [114]

Example 9: Bach, Fugue in A Minor [BWV 944], mm. 70-78 [Halm]

If we were to bring all of the modulations onto a scheme in which all of them are
permitted to proceed from the same pitch, we would see that the following successive
distances would have been traversed [115]: I. A minor to Bb major; II. A major to B
minor; III. A minor to B minor.
The first modulation is accomplished by using the consonant note in the first key
[the tonic] and reinterpreting it as the third [of the dominant seventh chord] or the leading

122 The modulation in measures 72 was from A-minor to Bb major; thus it was up one half step. To
correspond, the modulation from C-minor should go to Db major, but it instead moves to D.
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tone of the new tonic. In contrast, the second modulation [from Bb to G in mm. 74-75]
destroys the octave of the first tonic [by changing the B-natural to a Bb] in order to
produce the required major third of the [G dominant-seventh chord], or the leading tone.
When this modulation is compared to the gentle first modulation and the powerful third
modulation, the second modulation seems to result from an act of violence, for it destroys
the octave and the third of the old key and demands that the sixth scale degree, which we
have not yet heard, be raised, destroying it as well. However, because a minor key is
taken up in measure 76, we will hear the third group in relationship to the first [because it
too, was minor] instead of in relationship with the middle one, causing us to hear the
strongest contrast of the keys in the end.
That is the most important feature of this intensification: the higher degree of
tension and its arrangement forces the listener to make comparisons and to have feelings
about the relatedness of the keys whereby he or she gains the impression that the moving
force and the movement are increased on their own.

Let us summarize and complete what has been said.

We can distinguish the following types of musical processes that yield an
intensification. [116]

I. The spatially broader presentation of a harmony such that its impact is

intensified through the growth in volume, also of fullness, probably also through
its tendency by means of continually heightened dissonance—this
[intensification] having the effect of a confirmation or a charging up, depending
on the circumstances.

126
 II. The acceleration of the harmonic events or its harmonic progression, i.e. rapid
changes of chord and tonal progressions (frequent substitutes for internal,
qualitative harmonic crescendos).123

III. The accumulation of power within an event, along with the perception of the
power’s exertion by a listener who can sympathize with the motion. [This can in
fact be]:
A. An event that is intensified by its subsequent appearance, where its
model is distant from the next appearance [i.e. where the intensification
depends on the listener’s memory].
B. A steady and connected growth.
In each of the above cases, the methodical progression of events (whether they are
related only in the memory or are actually physically near one another) is similar, but the
stronger momentum requires the chord and tone progression as the means of the
intensification. In regard to a psychological interest, or interest in putting a stop to a false
psychological analysis, it should be noted that I could have written “points toward” or
“indicates” instead of requires [in the previous sentence]. Passive and active cannot be
distinguished [117] here, either. Rather, that distinction cannot even be at issue. It would
mean giving up the advantage that musical thinking has over thinking by means of
language, if we wanted to attempt here [in music] to do with force what thinking must
first free itself from with effort and almost by force, in other words—to speak with
Nietzsche—if we wanted to commit ourselves to the enterprise of the offenders’
poeticizing.

123 A qualitative harmonic crescendo is an intensification that is achieved through the relationship of keys,
in the way that Halm analyzed the development of the Pastoral Symphony.
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Part III: Structural Harmony and Rhythm

Harmony and rhythm are the eminent forming powers in the sonata; the themes
are its material and are of secondary importance, particularly in the Classical sonata.
Here one can distinguish between that which is active and that which is passive, and can
state that the thematic element [Thematik] of the fugue is commanding and active, while
the thematic element of a sonata is servile, suffering, and even needy, while harmony and
rhythm are at the top [in importance]. If Beethoven is the greatest sonata composer of the
classic era, then he must be the greatest [master] of harmony or rhythm, or, most likely,

of both.
Though I am not yet able to recognize all the relevant characteristics of his music
in this respect and classify these aesthetic concepts in a systematic way, [118] it seems to
me that it is possible and necessary to speak about it, providing that one has observed that
which is important.
Although we emphasized the method in the preceding pages, it was, in fact, quite
clear to us that Beethoven follows principles, without using a rigid prescription, and that
he thinks methodically, but does not unthinkingly follow a specific method. The
important thing is that he sees problems in the forms, and from these problems, he
deduces a method that solves them. Comparing a larger number of similar procedures

would certainly inform us about his ways of thinking, but I believe that these few
examples, which supplement the previous chapters, suffice to give a picture of freedom
of method that in the last analysis is absolutely not freedom from method.
In the G-major Sonata, Op. 31, No. 1, Beethoven uses the same device that he
used in the “Waldstein” sonata for the initial movement away from the main key, 124 but
from there the return [Rückgang] proceeds differently. Here, after he establishes the first

124 Here, as in the "Waldstein" the main theme is immediately repeated a whole step lower. Measures 12-
22 are a repetition a step lower of the first 11 bars.
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theme, which he leads to the dominant of the new key, he seeks a remote key—
specifically the subdominant of the subdominant [measures 12-22 are in F]. Thus, he
uses a key that is a minor third higher, or three fifths lower from the dominant of the
main key—and that is the idea—to begin again a whole step or two fifths [119] lower
than the tonic. After this sudden transition [Sprung], the harmony again ascends
stepwise, that is, by a typical progression of fifths.125 We perceive that the energetically
interrupted key [of G major] is restored in a more energetic and natural manner and that it
demands to be acknowledged, [and in order to achieve this], Beethoven repeats the
cadence in the main key. Specifically, he repeats the decisive and conclusive cadence
[from mm. 25-26] twice, after the cadence on the mediating key of C major [mm. 22-23].
Although the theme has appeared in F major, Beethoven guards against confirming it by
avoiding a cadence in F major. Of course, he also avoided a cadence in G major at the
beginning [before the section in F major], but there, G major was still secure in its role as
the ruling key, and the lack of the cadence here is more significant than it was there. We
can see the effectiveness of the harmonic and rhythmic elements in this first evolution
[Entwicklung] and this meaningful distribution of weights has a partly rhythmic and
spatial character. Whether to call forth or fend off that kind of a cadence is a question of
harmony, while repeating or not repeating a cadence has harmonic, that is, tonal
significance. However, it is also a spatial property; I can value the space, I can sketch a
curve of the events, and something like rhythm is in this line; it would be non-rhythmic if
it proceeded symmetrically. [120]
Despite all my admiration for them, I would still not ascribe such developments to
a genuine culture of thought; far more, I see them as nearing the limit of that culture.

125 Inmm. 21-22, the F major section ends with a half cadence on C, the subdominant of the main key, G
major.
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 Underscoring important elements is an external means; the higher, refined style
conveys important events more powerfully. Beethoven disposes elements exceptionally
well, but often provides only a good disposition without executing it. Thus, the frequent
repetition of a dominant chord, of a half cadence, is often better mentally conceived and
intended than [musically] well put and accomplished.
Beethoven did not discover the third relationship, but he was the first to discover
its structural value. Perhaps it was for him sometimes, or preferentially, merely a matter
of! the! qualities of iridescence or color in such chord progressions, but his more loftily
directed harmonic poetics and aspirations were not satisfied with that, and what we are
encouraged to observe about them belongs to the! realm of music-historical events. It
would be very superficial to assume that Beethoven used harmonic experimentation, as
in, for example the beginning of Mozart’s great C-minor Fantasy as a model for his
[harmonic] technique [für solches Tun]. Not even the introduction of [Mozart's] C-major
"Haydn" Quartet [the “Dissonant” Quartet, K. 465] could be considered a model for such,
because its deeply thoughtful, hesitant, and inelastic character prevents us from noticing
the [harmonic] achievement, which could have arisen from a similar harmonic plan for
the form, if Mozart had sought it. Thus, [121] Mozart does not utilize the power of tonal
consciousness in the course of the action, to the detriment of his work, as in the beginning
of the [aforementioned] “Fantasy,” where it is given plainly just out of hand. Beethoven,
in contrast, intensifies the power, as one increases the strength of the bow by stretching it.
If one were to argue this point by saying that Mozart is fantasizing here while Beethoven
is not, he would be deferring the question to another stage. It is precisely for that reason
that Beethoven takes such qualities seriously, that his diligence in matters of form causes
him to see such qualities and allows him to apply them, that he undertakes the
harmonically now-related, now perhaps occasionally similar action, and thereby

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simultaneously subdues and enhances the effect to achieve the desired function. In
Mozart there is innovation and boldness [of method], but in Beethoven there is
achievement. In Mozart’s music we see freedom from method, but in Beethoven’s we
see a unity of method and freedom. I am not a musical historian, so I might have arrived
at an historical error. However, according to my experience with the literature, I believe
that Beethoven’s achievement not only increases the wealth of musical means, but also,
and more importantly, that it taught us to better manage [the musical means]; thus, we
have to honor him for his discovery of the harmonic-chromatic value. Of course, he did
not seek delicate or indulgent harmony, or harmony that flickers and wanes, or yearning
and suffering harmony; instead, he sought a structural, [122] chromatic harmony that was
the dawning of a new era.
Let us consider two examples of the simultaneous use of logical thinking and
flexible forms that makes Beethoven’s harmonic treatment exemplary.
The first theme of [Beethoven’s] “Appassionata” [Sonata, Op. 57] goes from the
tonic (F minor) to the dominant [mm. 1-4]. It then recurs in Gb major, which moves to
its dominant [mm. 5-8]. Even one who can only hear melodically, [who cannot recognize
the keys themselves], can feel that the second entrance of the melody has been raised by a
half step. However, this mechanical effect is very similar to that of the building
momentum from the depths [Ausholens von der Tiefe], as, for example, in measure 5 of
the first movement of the “Waldstein” Sonata, but is less similar to the pressing forward
[Weiterstrebens] of meaure 18, [where the theme is presented in sixteenth notes in D
minor]. However, Gb major is not actually harmonically higher than F minor—it is
lower because we can substitute the consonant triad Gb-Bb-Db (“the Neapolitan sixth
chord”) for the diminished G-Bb-Db chord [or iiø7], and thus use it as a subdominant.
This explains the calm effect of the repeated theme.

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 In the “Waldstein” Sonata, the contrasting nature of building momentum from the
depths [Ausholens von der Tiefe] and pressing forward is clearly distinguished and
reinforced. Here in the “Appassionata,” the simultaneous melodic escalation and
harmonic attenuation is united into a subtle, but nevertheless fruitful conflict, whose
mediation lends justification and internal force to the subsequent powerful entry of the
[123] dominant seventh chord [mm. 16].
In the first Allegro of the C-major Quartet, Op. 59 No. 3, Beethoven repeats the
main theme in D minor (a step higher) immediately after the theme in C major reaches a
half cadence and feminine ending.126 In the “Waldstein” sonata, Beethoven uses a
similar method after a half cadence on the dominant of C major, but in a later place [mm.
12-13, after the main theme has been played Bb major]. The Allegro of the quartet is
preceded by [an introduction that appears] externally calm and restrained, but is actually
tense and intensifying, and from this, the Allegro theme shoots out like a feather suddenly
released from the hand. That the urgent harmonies of the Allegro beginning are not
prepared over again [with music similar to the introduction before the recapitulation] is
extremely logical. The return to C major is stated with sudden resolve in long, held-out
notes as if it were suddenly jerked back into action [V7 chord in C major is sustained
from mm. 173-177]. This is followed by a lively, courageous character in the upper
voices, which briefly, but significantly, reminds us of D minor. The first violin rises
almost arrogantly as it flies upwards into the highest regions and plunges into the deepest
depth—a display of power that is the expression of an achieved energy and does not
[indulge in] self-enjoyment or animation.

126 Afterthe twenty-nine bar introduction, the main theme is played in C major in mm. 30-34, and then in
D minor mm. 39-40. The cadence that concludes the C major theme is in measure 34, but this is not a half
cadence. The cadence is formed with the notes B and F (in the viola and violin 1) that move to C and E.
The tonic chord occurs on beat three, leading Halm to describe it as feminine.
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 It was even reserved for Beethoven to imbue something completely
commonplace—the movement from the subdominant to the tonic—[124] with a hitherto
uncommon function. Even in this, however, he did not exert a foreign coercion [fremden
Zwang] on this old progression, but liberated it through the task he assigned to it—a force
that was within in it from the very beginning, which he awoke from its slumber, whose
partial awakening we may see in the so-called plagal cadences, but which we can only
understand once it has been demonstrated, fully awake and more clearly acting, by
Beethoven.
In the first movement of the Pastoral Symphony, the coda [beginning in ms. 414]
begins like the development; [but] before it appears, the C-major ending of the first part
[that is, the exposition] is transposed to F major, which leads, as a dominant, to Bb major,
just as it happens in the ninth measure of the development, counting from the double bar
[or, [ms. 147 of the movement]. [Here, in the coda], this subdominant of the main key
[F major] is granted its own tonal life, which was only partially granted in the
development; thus, here this relationship comes into its own natural right. But, even more
important here is the surprisingly calm manner in which the F-major tonality is regained
[wiedergewonnen], or as I would rather say, is retrieved [zurückgeholt], with a
surprisingly brilliant [geistvollen] primitivism, which clearly announces to us the
unequivocal domination of the home key, as if it would had once again entered into a
victorious struggle. When the main key is recovered and restored in the Finale “Les
retour” in the “Les Adieux” Sonata, we have more of an impression of impatience than
one of an attack. [125] The different place within the form where we find ourselves each
time justifies the difference no less than does the different character of the two pieces.
In general, the awareness of where listeners find themselves is conveyed by
Beethoven in a unique way in comparison to other Classical composers. We believe we

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get information from the air that we breathe, through the barometric pressure that we
sense, from the height and depth of the terrain. In such leadership only Haydn might
perhaps have been Beethoven’s teacher, but he did not face anywhere near the difficult
tasks as did his greater disciple. Mozart, however, is more carefree [unbekümmert], less
guarded [sorglos] and more fragile than either [Beethoven or Haydn], although he is finer
[feiner] and nobler [edler]. His harmony may be stylistically richer than that of
Beethoven’s, but if the real value is located where the funds are best managed, then
Beethoven is the wealthier harmonist, even if his possessions might be more modest, (a
point which, by the way, would have to be proven). Beethoven's rhythmic [sense] is
superior to that of Mozart's, and in this, I am concentrating on the more narrow and
essential sense of this concept—its formal significance. Beethoven generally introduces
the weights of the supplementary themes or motives with greater understanding than
Mozart, and it would be desirable to have clarified the growth of that understanding
during his creative activity. I suspect the feeling [126] of having found a new path—a
feeling which, according to Czerny’s account, Beethoven announced so prominently and
animatedly around the time of his opus 31—arises from the harmonic and rhythmic
functions of form that he noticed then coming to fuller consciousness within himself.
Paul Bekker in fact says that this very opus 31 probably could not have been meant since
the D-minor Sonata itself is “is likely the apex of tendency taken up in the fantasy
sonatas, but not a ‘new path’ in Beethoven’s sense.”127 Now, I have proven that this D-
minor Sonata was the opposite of a fantasy sonata. I have also shown that as soon as one
breaks the habit of fantasizing and enjoying the music in an amateurish fashion, it is easy

127 Paul Bekker, Beethoven, trans. Margaret M. Bozman (London: J.M. Dent and Sons Ltd., 1925; reprint,
New York: AMS Press, 1971), 115-117 (page citations are to the reprint edition). Bekker cites the
following, “’I am by no means satisfied with my works hitherto, and I intend to make a fresh start from to-
day [sic],’ said Beethoven according to Carl Czerny’s account to his friend Wenzel Krumpholz, the violin
teacher. Czerny believes that the remark was made shortly before the appearance of Op. 31, “in which,” he
says, “one can trace the partial fulfillment [sic] of his new resolution,” 115.
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to understand that the strict ordering of the energy was of the utmost importance to
Beethoven, and that he himself recognized that his main task and superiority lay in his
strategic art. I would like to know—where, prior to the D-minor Sonata, could one have
seen history in its essence, instead of as a mere event, as it is experienced by the
contrasting theme? Where before have such strong currents been led through such wide
stretches? It is certainly not a completely new way, but the stronger consciousness may
very well have led Beethoven to this view, and the quantitatively larger may have given
him the impression of something better and newer. His works lay open for us, and some
things that he had already [127] achieved in! a smaller way, or hinted at imperfectly, or
had discovered only in part, we !now understand as powerfully germinating [keimkräftig]
and auspicious [zukunftsvoll]. However, !Beethoven himself may have forgotten, perhaps
also underestimated, previous! achievements in periods of fresh creative momentum
[Sich-sammelns] and preparation for !higher deeds [Sich-bereitens]. And if one
understands the new technical means as a new way to the goal, then a new way actually
appears to have been created in opus 31, and as we previously noted, Beethoven availed
himself of it repeatedly from that point on.
It is not a new goal toward which he leads. Even if he sometimes detoured from
it, it was surely its actual goal. We understand as the agenda of his creative activity that
in his first piano sonata he set the goal in advance for his compositions for piano, so to
speak. Yet, what a direct will is at work, particularly in the first movement [of op. 2 no.
1]! The first theme grasps the commonly-tread [Allgemeingut] ascending triad in such a
different way than does the beginning of [Carl] Philipp Emmanuel Bach’s F-minor
Sonata or Mozart's C-minor Sonata! How paralyzed is the forward motion by the
equilibrium of the contrasting themes in the latter, and how animated, in contrast, is the
drive [Dynamik] of Beethoven’s rhythm; animation that is achieved within its equal

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proportions! This C-minor Sonata of Mozart, more varied than nourished by fertile
contrasts, gets its seriousness and energy from the individual measures or groupings of
measures [Taktperioden], and it is perceptible [128] how the embers must be fanned over
and over again. Its recapitulation is no more eventful than any other recapitulation if it is
not altered. Yet, Beethoven demonstrates the seriousness of the form and that he feels
with the form [even] in his first piano sonata [Op. 2, No. 1]. How well he distinguishes
the power of the returning main theme [in the recapitulation, m. 101] from the lighter
character that it had at the beginning of the movement! He leaves the lighter character
behind when the [first] theme, without the upbeat [that it had in the beginning], comes
into its own. He gives it the same strength and harmonic structure that it had in the
beginning, but in the second half [of the first theme], the accompaniment becomes
heavier; thus he presents the theme with more gravity, as the listener would expect in the
victorious recapitulation. Musical-psychologically or formal-psychologically, the end of
the development is shaped into the ideal upbeat, as it were, which not only replaces the
real upbeat of the theme, but also makes it dispensable and removes it through
intellectuality [Geistigeres], in which he expresses the listener’s state of expectation
through the music. The premonition of the returning theme is not so much awakened as
it is more [simply] presented. The premonition itself seems active and involved in the
music at the point between the attained dominant—i.e. between the possibility of
recapitulation—and the recapitulation itself, the as yet incorporeal allusion to the small
thematic fragment simultaneously announces and delays the corporeal appearance of the
theme.
Even though I too believe in coincidences in the activity of invention, [129] in
!few cases of that sort do I consider it coincidental to whom such! coincidences occur, and
with regard to success it is by no means a matter! of indifference to whom they occur. In

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any event, I consider it meritorious when, [in the first movement of the Piano Sonata, Op.
2 No. 1] Beethoven reminds the listeners of the secondary main key, Ab major in the last
measures [through an applied dominant and resolution in measures 148-149], by which
he makes a intellectual connection [geistiges Band] from the coda back to the first part
and to the beginning of the development [which began in Ab major]. And though this
connection fulfills a good listener’s stirring or [still] latent wish, he may only have
perceived it through its fulfillment. Because Ab major—the key which had opposed the
home key (F minor) before it was abandoned—is at least powerful enough to remind us
of its earlier dominance when we hear it, it appears connected harmonically to the
primary key when it appears in the extended F-minor cadence that ends the movement.
It must be granted that Mozart expresses many fine and also beautiful things in his
sonatas, quartets, and symphonies on occasions of sonata form. For Beethoven, however,
the sonata tends not to be just an occasion. Hadyn has a well-developed sense, a fine
feeling for form. With Beethoven, however, there is more, and we said with every
intention more when we attribute to him a feeling with form, as well as the art of getting
the listener to empathize with it, to hope and rejoice, wrestle and prevail with it. The
form desires and lives through the listener, its passion is validated through the listener,
and the form is [130] jealous of the listener; [in this way] the emotions of the form are
expressed for the first time.

Part IV: The Thematic Way of Thinking

The jealousy of the sonata is directed toward the art of the theme, almost as if the
latter were hostile or dangerous.
A Bach theme is itself already a form; hence the natural opposition which can
only lead to cooperation [that is, between the thematic and harmonic operations] on a

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higher plane of musical culture. Initially, it was form against form, and the one form, that
of the thematic !element, had to yield. Sonata form was poorly suited to the thematic
element, as one !type of art. However, sonata form is well suited to harmony. Here [in
sonata! form], new forces were liberated, and that liberation aligned with its !nature, which
was first strengthened through its new role. The harmony does not merely exhibit the
form. It orders, builds, drives and arranges it. It is not a being [Sein], but a doing [Tun];
it is connection [Beziehung] and striving [Streben].
On the other hand, the thematic element [Thematik] had to weaken [verkümmern]
from good to efficient in order for it to be suitable for the sonata. The second book of
this treatise is dedicated to the inherent values of a good theme and the life that it leads,
but here, we have only come to understand the activity within the theme. Meanwhile, I
recall my description of [Beethoven’s] D-minor Sonata [131] earlier, where I stated that
individual motives seem to be participants in industrial activity, instead of being found
together as a thematic organism. The first theme of the “Pastoral” Symphony is better;
but that, in its own life and its interior events, it can by no means be measured against one
of Bach’s well-developed themes [is something that] we do not have to justify now or in
the future, once we have recognized the quality of such good themes. For now, it is
sufficient to observe that Beethoven himself did not respect his theme as a living
creation. We have outlined the treatment of the themes of the development, but we have
not yet stated that the theme, such as it is, is treated badly there, even if it is very well-
utilized. Beethoven prefers neutral themes that he can repeat, hold, or bid farewell to,
according to his needs. He prefers themes that are stripped of their own will, which he
can direct to command or to submit, and themes that allow interpretation and
transformation and that do not defend themselves—themes that can be cut up, frayed
apart, or chopped up without bothering the listener, themes that are unwoundable and

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bloodless and will not show a scar when they are put back together again. But he also
protects themes that were initially granted a better and gentler fate, and he does so
without forcible interventions. It is remarkable how well he can convince us that his right
is the right of the form, which [132] leads us to conclude that his themes are not living
organisms of music.
Otherwise, how would we be able to hear the theme of Beethoven’s "Pastoral"
Symphony, one of the most charming and winning themes that Beethoven created, so
religiously as a whole within the recapitulation after its treatment in the development?
Not only were the motivic components [of the theme] fragmented [zerlegt], but the
motivic components themselves were also fragmented, and then split again [wieder
gespalten], and—what is especially noteworthy—the fragments appear here and there in
the theme, so that the phrases appear first one way then another. Does it speak for its
vitality or to its sophisticated style, that it endured this [treatment], or if we, as witnesses,
endured this sight? Or, [on the other hand], does it not attest to its insensitivity or its
lifelessness, in which we may see merely a collection of tones? To think that the process
is like that in anatomy is purely theoretical and mistaken, for the anatomist avoids
destroying the structure of important parts while he exposes them. Instead, [in the
symphony], the theme appears to fall apart and to be put together again as if by itself. In
fact, the theme’s own will does not initiate these events, but they are initiated by the
form; the theme’s obligation [to the form] holds the theme together and disperses it. It is
not animated by its own will; [133] no bloodstream of relationships flows through it. The
sonata has given to the theme its life force, and the sonata has taken it away. We should
then name the sonata…no, let us wait for a little while in order to laud and praise it. We
have always talked about that which is good in the sonata, and that which serves it well.
However, whether the sonata itself is good has not been proven, nor is it understood. For

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the time being, let us, as a given, examine the sonata according to its activity and its
needs.
Let us imagine if the theme of the first G-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered
Clavier were to be cut up. The [motive] would probably come from the first turn [in m.
1], which would be thrown back and forth between the high and low registers, after
which the bass would seize it and bang it around. Certainly, that could be done
effectively, but we note and appreciate that Bach would not have done that sort of thing
in the episodes of this fugue. Doing so would not have been a big deal for him. But, [if
he had], how could a good listener, who senses and expects the goodness of the theme
and its internal relationships be satisfied by that?
Yes, let’s consider the listener's right to thematic clarity. It might be that the
“Pastoral” theme can suffer the phrasings applied to it—and therefore the listener also
will tolerate them—but does this justify the instability and the unreliability of the [134]
phrasing? I hope that the reader does not consider this to be an idle question. What is the
relationship between a composer and his listener? Is it, for example, that of a leader and
his followers, or rather that of the temperamental lord to his devoted servants? I assume
that the active and free listener will take precautions to avoid having his perception torn
back and forth [in the manner that instability in phrasing would cause]. One who is
satisfied with this probably does not have a lot of will or a capacity for understanding—
or he possesses a changeability of understanding or conceptualizing, a trait that really
should be considered a weakness.
On the other hand, I know that experience counts against me there. It all goes
smoothly. Are we good or bad listeners? Let us test ourselves, [to find out] whether we
really understand the themes, whether we have the flexibility to follow its different
characters willingly, or if we are too weak for this weakness! We believe that we are

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going along with [the music], but in reality we are not. Instead, we are passive and we let
everything happen to us. We warm ourselves [in the sun], allowing it to shine on us,
[and] we allow ourselves to be rained or hailed on. Is this because we were badly
educated, so to speak, by the Classical sonata? If the sonata is not a matter of valuable,
but [only] of competent and obedient themes, it probably also wants a listener who wants
to be with it or does not want anything (at least nothing better than the sonata has to
offer!). [135]
The way that Beethoven uses the Pastoral theme may be an exception to his
principles, only in that he does not frequently use long beginning themes. In the first
movement of his F-major Quartet op. 59, [we can see] that Beethoven rejects the
reasonable demand that a composer should respect his themes and his own decisions
about the interpretation of their phrasing, and by doing so, he has evoked the intellectual
[Geistreichen], in the negative sense of the word. However, it is obvious that we must
seek yet another point of view [to consider] the listener’s psychology, by which we can
gain insight into the real processes. There is not only a lofty pleasure to see and
recognize what is beautiful and noble, but also the joy of recognition, of re-cognition per
se, as a mental [geistigen] act, and we are thankful for this pleasure, whether if it is
offered to us in an easy way, or even if we are teased by a riddle. Only thus can we
understand, it seems to me, why musical people are satisfied with meager themes, and
why they do not even notice their meagerness even though they are not compensated by
the impression of the form as a whole, which many cannot perceive. However, where the
power of perception for the activity of form is fully present, the joy of viewing oneself as
well-oriented [in the form], and above all of having the feeling of [136] orienting oneself,
holds off the dislike of the terrain in which we get our bearings, even if a dislike were
justified.

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 On a similar basis rests the possibility that such flexibility should satisfy the
listener. If he, like Abu Zayd of Saruj,128 discovers the theme in an unexpected form, he
is pleased with his own shrewdness and detection, along with the curious astonishment
about what he can do with such a theme, or what it is capable of and can do within itself.
However, in each case, we are speaking no less of a weakness in the listener, who even in
some of the best cases can see something important but overlook something else of
[equal] importance.
When playing Beethoven’s first piano sonata, we can find ourselves getting
caught up in such thematic pleasures and at the same time, maintain our modesty
[Bescheidenheit]. I purposely said that this happens while playing the sonata instead of
while listening to it. Actually, I find that Beethoven's music demands that the listener
participate more in the reproductive activity than Mozart's or even Bach’s does.129 Once
in a while, I experience remarkably empty moments while I listen to Beethoven works
that I play with pleasure and interest, but I am otherwise not aware that I comprehend the
music better when I play it than when I hear it.
So, with the following, I believe that I have hit upon the condition [137] of the
listener who is also the performer. In the development [of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Op.
2, No.1], where the bass plays the second theme, and the middle voices play the chordal
accompaniment in eighth notes [mm. 68-73], a small motive appears in the soprano [m.

128 This refers to the tales of Abu Muhammad al-Qasim ibn ‘Ali al-Hariri (1054-1122), a government
official, businessman, and well-known scholar of the Arabic language and literature. These tales tell the
story of Abu Zayd of Saruj, a wanderer and confidence artist. Halm probably knew of the work through
Friedrich Ruckert's translation of the work entitled, Die Verwandlungen des Abu Seid von Serug, oder die
Makamen des Hariri, Stuttgart, 1826. The work has been translated into many languages, and first
appeared in English in 1867 as The Assemblies of Al-Hariri.
129 Halm believes that a good listener listens to a piece as if he or she is the performer. He clarifies his
meaning in the paragraph that follows.
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69 and 71] [Example 10]. This motive is meager and helpless—a step of a second, and
nothing more. No one would be tempted to call it a countermelody.130

Example 10: Beethoven, Piano Sonata Op. 2, No. 1, mvt. 1, mm. 69-72 [Translator]

Afterwards, the thematic elements disappear, leaving only this inconspicuousness,

this impossibility of a theme, and truthfully, one gives it something to experience! As if
the theme were not already made vulnerable enough, the motive [the second step] will be
cut up and the two notes will be separated, and moreover, it will be augmented [mm. 73-
79] as if its poverty and bareness had not been proclaimed already! [Example 11]

130 Paragraph break inserted here by the translator.

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Example 11: Beethoven, Piano Sonata Op. 2, No. 1, mvt. 1, mm. 73-78 [Translator]

But no! Wide of the mark says reality, but the motive grows, it does its job well,
and it lives and acts. In fact, what it does is like a miracle. It lends a thematic sense
[thematisiert] to the sequence in the middle of the development [mm. 73-79], which
would be lacking any thematic support without it, so that the harmonic event that is
intended here is only stated per se, but not also simultaneously represented and formed
[see Example 11, above]. Now, however, the bass has become as melodic (or even more
so) than the upper voice [in mm. 67-73], thanks to the small empty phrase that was sent
ahead of it, and this sequence, a silhouette of the beginning of the second theme, is
brought into the shadow of the thematic process and sheltered by it. But certainly, [138]
we are more enthralled or pleased when we understand the purpose of theses
relationships and connections than we are by their mere presence and existence—we have
already seen that this is common in Classical works.

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 The sonata needs times of tense silence in which nothing or almost nothing
happens to allow the music to recover or re-gather itself after an event. At first glance,
these places seem formless, but they are actually loaded with form, like a solution that
crystallizes when a catalyst is used. The Classical composers are, without a doubt, the
masters in finding the necessary kind of nothingness [Nichts], and in raising this
"nothingness" to an "almost nothingness” [“Fast-Nichts”]. Feelings of irony and
seriousness engage one another, fighting for dominance, when we wonder about whether
we should regard this as wonderful. Bruckner was the first to master this task with full
seriousness: negatively, through his grandiose, sincere, general pauses, as well as
positively, through his interludes—above all in the Ninth Symphony. In the first
movement of the First Symphony, he allows the necessary condition to be produced by
means of a charmingly cadencing theme especially composed for the purpose. In one
way or another, he places the better conscience of the sonata before the goddess Music,
and protects her [the sonata] from burdening herself [with guilt].
But now, at the end of this [139] section, let us try to understand even better the
activity of the Classical sonata composer, in which case we must, to be fair, take
Beethoven’s work as the yardstick. We designated the themes in the D-minor Sonata as
symbols of force, and found that dynamic and static qualities segregated and ordered, as
in a calculation, found it disassembled [analysiert] in order to see it develop toward
synthesis in the process. The form before us was not animated, but it was constructed of
lively, functioning contrasting relationships, which become unified through the effects of
these energetic relationships. Therefore, we do not conceive a nature that is alive and
creative, but we conceive a natural law, and we understand the unity of the differing
powers. We seem to have hit upon the contrast between natura naturans [creating
nature] and natura naturata [created nature], which the scholastics believed was the

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contrast between God and the created world.131 We understand that the thematic
conceptualization stands in contrast to thematic construction in which elements that do
not belong together are combined. There, it is neither anatomy nor a bloody vivesection.
Rather, the metamorphosis is documented as a principle, as though we were listening, not
to the highest God, not to the Logos, but to the great Demiurge, to the World-God as he
clarifies the plan of creation for his angels, [140] shows and sketches for them the image
of something living, perhaps of a plant, but not the living thing itself; how he will allow
growth from a seed, allow root to transform itself to trunk, leaf to blossom.
A preworldly state of being, a thinking before creation, that intimates the way
Beethoven's best works create and allows events to happen; this is the only way that we
can understand the profound effect that an appearance that is so imperfect in detail and so
inanimate has on those to whom so much more beautiful, noble and grand things have
appeared.
* * *

131 Alexander Rehding discusses this in his article, “Two Cultures as Nature.”
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CONCLUSION OF BOOK I

It is a tragedy of great intellects [Geister] who feel the incomplete as an

advantage, that it characterizes lesser intellects—and it is also the tragic fate of the
intellect in general.

One often hears in the street that the freedom of music began with the sonata. We
recognize that on the whole, this claim is unwarranted, and our discussion about
distinguishing between the [141] growth of the harmonic element and the decline of the
thematic power can serve as our response to this thoughtless gossip.
This [claim], furthermore, exposes not just a shortcoming of the distinction, but
also a clear error. Since what is undoubtedly meant by this comment is the thematic
element of the sonata in particular, one mistakes in a dreadful way the relief of the
listener’s tension for the freedom of the music. Therein lies the evil—that many listeners
have come to prefer loosely formulated thematic structure over the [structure] of taut and
essential connections, because the former demands less resilience of the listener, and
even more, that the listeners willingly renounce one burden, but are not as willing to take
upon the other in order to invigorate it. It is the particular tragedy of Beethoven that the
extreme emotion of the form gets confused with the form of the emotions, [that is,] the
misunderstood emotions, and that the first is underestimated in comparison to the second.
In part, Beethoven is probably to blame because he allows the listener to be biased by the
language of the affect, and to become detached [abgezogen] from [Beethoven’s] great
thoughts and actions. Some of us find many destructive elements [Schädliches] in his
[musical] language, but we surely can understand that these elements may have been a
means for him to arrive at his goal more quickly. Where many feel direct energy, we

often see haste and carelessness in the shaping of the individual elements, [142] and we
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even see fundamental carelessness and sketchiness; that is, a kind of thought that eschews
thinking in terms of the whole in favor of a focus on the sketch rather than a more
expanded concept—in that case, completely aside from all respect [for Beethoven], one
could hardly dare to think of correcting this view. But if we probe deeper into
Beethoven's position and into the consciousness of his mission, then we can realize that
he had grounds to fear for the sonata, and then we can hear something like angst and
anger about the danger that threatens its growth. To him, it must have seemed as if it had
to prematurely retire! Whoever sympathizes with the sonata implies that it is frivolous,
and anyone who exploits every stormy [moment] or accumulation in the music and likens
it to an everyday human function, or degrades Beethoven's creation by recognizing his
own personal spiritual feelings [within it], is really doing so to elevate himself. To
reduce Beethoven’s errors to weaknesses, and to enjoy the individual errors within it—
no, no honest critic could forget so completely the reverence that the great one deserves
as does this kind of admirer. And also those observers of a higher rank, who rise from the
subjectively! individual to some sort of socially integrative level in order to achieve !the!
[proper] standard for Beethoven's music, who thus see in its extramusical aspects the
concerns of a complex of humankind, not of an isolated individual human being and
perchance hear the powerful roar of the interior and exterior storms [143] of !that! bygone
era: they too share in the guilt of an epoch that does not possess! the !strength to recognize
and overcome what is harmful for the spirit of music,! and !to profit from true cultural
action for it [the spirit], precisely! because it !has rejected belief in that spirit.

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 Book II: Language and Style

CHAPTER I: RHYTHM AND DYNAMICS

I know no criterion that would better identify how well-formed the musical sense
of a composer is, or how developed his tonal language is, than the means and manner in
which he creates and discontinues motion. There are musical works in which this
problem has been avoided—works that employ a unified type of motion from beginning
to end, for example, as in the Allegretto of Beethoven’s F-major Sonata, Op. 54, the

Finale of his D-minor Sonata, Op. 31 [no.2], and Bach’s E-minor Fugue from The Well-
Tempered Clavier, [Book I]. We will not be considering such pieces [where the rhythm
is uniform throughout], since the motion in them is assumed from the outset without it
having been justified, which is of course appropriate, particularly because those
movements follow others. But it is another thing if a new type of motion appears within
a piece or within a theme. Here, the justification must not be absent in order for the
listener to feel secure and well-led, instead of feeling abandoned by the unexpected.
Once he has discovered it to be his right, he will begin to criticize many passages of
famous masters, which he previously accepted and tolerated, when he was not [yet] freed.
Namely, we must cultivate the distinctions between [148] need and intent on the
one hand and justification on the other. The issue at hand is not whether the motion is
desired or necessary at a particular place, but how that which is desired and necessary is
achieved. We must accept that motion is employed or discontinued according to the
formal intelligence, and we only ask about the intellect and feeling that is expressed in its
manner, since the need for restlessness [Unrast] or quiet [Ruhe] can always be debated.
I must point out now that, in this, Bach raised musical language to the height of a

real art, and that after him, this height could not be preserved.

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 In measure twelve of his Sonata in Ab Major, op. 110, Beethoven begins a new,
thirty-second note rhythm without having prepared the change of motion. I find this
suddenness unpleasant, particularly because the preceding measure has a limping
[hinkender] rhythm [that is strikingly different from the new rhythm].
The third measure of Bach’s Three-Part Invention in B Minor is similarly
disconcerting, as I find the change to the faster motion unmotivated. I regard this as an
evaluation, not as a matter of personal taste. It may very well be a matter of taste whether
we are ready to find something like humor or teasing in it, as the airy tingling of the
chords crashes into the more solid and staid, almost somber tonal structure, unpredictable
and moody, as it can be heard in [149] different intervals and for different durations.
We must not consider such errors to be humorous, so this explanation does not
excuse us from answering the original question—that of right or wrong. Thus, let us look
at the process itself a little closer.
As the new type of motion is so foreign to the first subject, and each of the two
motives so persists with its type [of motion], the whole piece sounds like a dialogue
between two musical characters or musical temperaments; thus, in its third measure, the
introduction of a new character does not seem to be the continuation of the preceding
events. But here, nevertheless, there would not be a problem for the direction that we
pursue in this treatise; and the superficial, clear-cut judgment made earlier would be
invalidated, not because it was proven false, but because it misses the point. We must
conclude that from its beginning this piece features two types of motion that prohibit a
relationship because [Bach] did not want the new motion to be motivated by that which
preceded it, because its bearer, the second theme, is supposed to appear to be an
interjection or refutation [to the first theme].

150
 Shouldn’t I reconsider the aforementioned section of Beethoven’s Ab-major
Sonata from the same point of view and approve it? Without wanting to decide this
myself, I will list the reasons against it, which I consider important, but not conclusive.
[150]
To me, the thirty-second notes appear too late for me to hear them as an
interjection or answer as in a dialogue—and besides that, they continue too long.
Moreover, two related melodic characters precede them, and the second character
(beginning in measure 3), is generated from the first, which as a kind of introduction or
heading, or so to speak, like the imagination, inviting and encouraging, controls the two
opening measures. A listener will generally let himself be led where he perceives
something that has already been developed, that is, where he is able to grasp the signs,
but he will be reluctant to deal with that which is incoherent or ambiguous.
It might work well to start out modestly, but it is disastrous to lower the high
expectations you once created. And, in any case, a small-scale invention is subject to
different laws than a large-scale and ambitious [grossgewollte] sonata. Still, the sharply
stamped dialogue character of Beethoven’s Sonata in E Minor, op. 90 is not so readily
illuminated.
Further, I can interpret the sixteenth-note arpeggiations in the Bach invention as a
theme because their appearance is not lengthy. I cannot do this with the thirty-second-
note arpeggiations in the Beethoven sonata because they command too large an area; they
are too meager to function thematically, which makes us look at this passage as a
concerted interlude which as such does not have its [151] own full existence, that simply
falls out of the previous passage, and opposes it as something new instead of growing out
of it. If earlier I dared not decide, so also I am not in a position to characterize the
passage as either unsuccessful or not well conceived, in that I am just not clear whether

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the error lies in clumsy expression or in an unclear intention. The former I could call
sketchiness in presentation, which did already cause some damage in the seemingly
rather makeshift accompaniment [that begins in m. 3]. In Bach’s Invention in B Minor, it
was not so much a matter of developing as of !merely stating the material. In that regard,
it resembles pieces! where only a single type of motion is assumed. Here, as there,
something! previously established prevails over the whole like a rule.! Here it is a duality,
and the piece is a effortless play of the !two pre-existing qualities. Because this is so
obvious, it should not be considered to be a particularly superior compositional
achievement.
Therefore, we cannot yet find the way Bach begins and discontinues motion here
to be inadequate and unsure. But the situation is less good in some of his other works.
There is a melodic hesitation in the initial upper voice in measure three of the first
Ab-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier, [Example 12]. [This measure] is
probably even more awkward because of the [152] shortness of the note when played on
the harpsichord. It might be more effective if the fugue were played by string
instruments, for the sustained pitches can better express its quality as the energy source
for the inserted sixteenth notes, making the entire course of the voices seem more
gradually hindered and supressed, because of the unbroken motion.

Example 12: Bach, Fugue in Ab Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-4
[Translator]

Only for greater clarity, not in order to attack them, we must mention the
conspicuously sprinkled-in [hineingestreuten], or poured-in [hineingeschütteten]

sixteenth notes in the melody of the D-major Musette from the Sixth English Suite that
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produce a trill of a third [Example 13].132 These sixteenth notes pass quickly, and they do
not suggest a new type of motion; it is as if the music suddenly bubbles over with
happiness. That they do not arise from an energy source is acceptable here because of
their brevity, and we can enjoy this harmless, amusing, and loose tinkling [of the keys],
for this charming piece is meant to present nothing more than cheerful pleasure in a
carefree, lively, and pleasant present. Although this place is not very significant, it is
important for us, nevertheless, to note that Bach’s mature works demonstrate his
excellent taste, even if we consider this joyful play to reach the boundary of what we can
justify musically.

Example 13: Bach, “Musette” from Six English Suites, VI, mm. 12-16 [Translator]

However, we consider the second half of the theme from Bach’s first F#-minor
Fugue, measures three through five [153] of the first F-minor Fugue [from The Well-
Tempered Clavier], and, from the organ works, the themes of the [two] C-major Fugues,
Peters III, nos. 7 [BWV 566] and 8 [BWV 564] to be less successful.133 If the second of
the C-major Fugues was actually written by Bach, it was certainly written by a less
mature master.134

132 This is more commonly referred to as a Gavotte, and is the second Gavotte from the Sixth Suite.
133 There are two versions of this Toccata, BWV 566, one in C Major and one in E Major. The C Major
version that appears in Peters within the main pages, while the E major version is in an appendix. The
modern Peters edition includes it as Variante zu Präludium und Fuge in E-dur, BWV 566.
134 BWV 564 is believed to have been written in 1712. In Grove Music Online, Christoph Wolff notes that
Bach adapted several features from Vivaldi in this work, particularly in the work’s Toccata. Christoph
Wolf: ‘Bach, Johann Sebastian Bach, Organ Music’, Grove Music Online ed. L. Macy (Accessed 6 August,
2007), <http://www.grovemusic.com>
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 In the first G#-minor Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier, we miss the eighth-
note motion on the second quarter of measures three and five. Their abrupt
discontinuation gives the upbeat too much weight.
But now, let us consider an example of perfection. In the 71st bar of Bach’s great
Eb-major Organ Prelude (Peters, Volume III) [BWV 552], the following theme appears
as a new event [Example 14].

Example 14: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 71-74 [Halm]

It begins with a special kind of syncopation that can express either a power that
has been refracted or reluctantly inhibited, depending on the context. Here, in the
beginning of the theme, accumulating rhythmic energy is hidden in the repeated tones
that break over one another like waves. And now, for our examination, a counterexample
springs to mind that is comparable in character and tempo and that has similar
syncopations; the bass voice in measure 50 of the first [154] Allegro of the “Waldstein”
Sonata. There we find an internally powerful [syncopation] here in the midst of a fast
and dynamic musical character [Wesens] that is at the plateau of its existence. The
difference between what Bach and Beethoven do with this source of strength is
astonishing. To briefly summarize, Bach utilizes the syncopation while Beethoven
“carries it in vain.” Bach creates from its lively, advancing impatience a movement that
adds a fundamentally new character to the piece, as the sixteenth notes we encountered
before did not really suggest a rhythmic activity, but rather a hint or preparation, or a
portamento effect. He exaggerates the second [note of the] syncopated figure] by letting

154
it be dissonant with second scale degree (D) in the bass line (which plays a quarter-note
ascent beginning on the tonic C) so that the rhythmic impatience joins the harmonic
impatience, achieving a harmonic “energy of levels.” Immediately after this charge
[Ladung], the energetic tonal sequences break from their reins.
In contrast, Beethoven, [in the aforementioned passage of the “Waldstein”
Sonata], follows the syncopation with the same type of motion that was already present
and even dominated the syncopation and, moreover, had greater intensity. The triplet
figures that appeared before the syncopation were melodic, but now [after the
syncopation] the triplet figures are mere arpeggios; the opposition exists no more. Thus,
the syncopation has nothing to say. [155] If we consider this to be a mistake, we need not
account for any particular error besides the fact that Beethoven does not intensify the
syncopations, but on the contrary, endangers them by repeating them too often: both
errors can be explained through the same deficiency of feeling. But that he destroys the
syncopation, just as if finally all rhythm should be ruined even before movement is
developed from it, that he isolates force and movement by breaking the syncope at the
decisive point, during the dynamic crisis, and splits it into a regular, conventional
anacrusis and an ineffective accent; that is more than wasteful, that is unfinished speech,
immature thought and feeling, and this results in the nullity of this section, whose
emptiness is completely turned into insipidness through the conspicuous and weighty
elements. What are we supposed to hear in this back and forth play between tonic and
dominant? Won’t the pleasure that we feel when we hear this new rhythmic event
actually turn out to be more disappointing than the thwarting of our harmonic
expectation, which at least was never explicitly evoked? Thus, Beethoven leaves an
unfortunate choice to us here. We must think either that his use of the syncopation was
insensitive or careless, or that he did not recognize its power, or finally, we must fear that

155
the sole purpose of the syncopation is to cover the meagerness of the triplets since
Beethoven failed to craft a countermelody for them, and which are too meager to be
called an [156] accompaniment themselves; in this, we must admit, he had to count on
the unassuming nature [Bescheidenheit] of the listener, who allows himself to be satisfied
with a displaced rhythm. If we arouse the listener’s attention through hinting rather than
through action, does not that spoil the listening experience?
One might claim that achieving great things with small means is the way of the
master. By extension, this means nothing other than that the means are taken seriously
and that nothing is used in vain. It is only in this way that the creative person serves art,
and in this he also fulfills his duty towards the witness, the person listening and
investigating—his only duty, namely, to educate him and to lead him to good hearing and
seeing. Thus to direct listeners in just any direction and to create a mood in any !manner
whatever, to delight or even to burden them, to soothe or shake !them, to allow them to
wallow or to tremble, to make them warm or fire them! up: that is by no means an
obligation. One can undertake this and in doing so, avoiding dangers for art and maybe
also for the listener, succeed; but considered as a duty, or even as the main duty, as
dominating thoughts and intentions, [careless misdirection] is a detriment and calamity
for art.
Nevertheless, Beethoven, the master of form, sometimes displays serious
shortcomings in style [157] which often interfere with its highest virtue, and that interfere
with his attempts to teach us to listen generously, since one can indulge oneself in the
individual places rather than listening to how these individual places serve the whole and
to the entire work. This imperfect power has a positive attractive energy, yet its
perfection, in fact, its triumph, keeps people at a distance. It is not persuasive, yet it is
alluring, and many dislike its splendor. I am far from believing that Beethoven himself

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sought this imperfection because! it was alluring. !The culture of form gave him enough to
do and discouraged him from !looking to the half-forgotten culture of language. It even
seems that Beethoven and other composers of his time had neither an extensive
knowledge nor intensive understanding of Bach’s music, so neither the leader nor the
followers completely understood its spirit. History might tell us that Beethoven admired
Bach, but he admired Handel no less, and from this we can conclude he saw each of them
as representative of a strong breed, but failed to distinguish between the culture of one
and the non-culture of the other.
Though we have finished comparing the example with the counterexample, we
have not exhausted the qualities of the aforementioned place of Bach’s [Eb-major Organ]
Prelude [BWV 552], as we now need to follow the course of the theme [from mm. 71-74]
[Example 15, below]. The motion that begins the work continues to the end, but [158] it
is internally weakened so that the voice can take a quieter course. The descent, namely,
occurring as a scale [in m. 71], is the more energetic activity !compared with the
arpeggiated chords or chord fragments in the same type of !rhythm in the second measure
[of the theme, m. 72], where no non-chordal dissonances need to be! negotiated, where the
arena of the activity is narrower and the rhythmic! motion has become more superficial or,
better, only has a retrospective !effect. Moving toward the end, this truly complex but
simply presented theme invites us toward rest, by slowing down the harmonic rhythm
with a suspension on the last two beats of measure two [m. 72] which we can understand
as a single chordal image, against which the preceding sixteenth-note motion is structured
so each quarter has a [scale] step.135 In the sixteenth notes of the last quarter the voice
has finally clearly split [into two voices] which arrests its flow; it is now free of the

135 Thelast 2 beats of measure 72 are the V7 chord in c minor (the governing key), with a 4-3 suspension.
The upper voice of the sixteenth-notes presents D, Eb, F, the stepwise motion that Halm describes.
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rhythmic compulsion.136 This one voice presents both leading tones of the dominant [B-
natural and F], which have opposite tendencies [as the leading tone would resolve
upwards while the seventh would resolve downwards], robbing the rhythmic impulse of
its unified direction. This loss of force helps Bach slow the course of the theme and to
impede the motion, but it still retains a harmonically driving force [159]. This causes the
quarters D and C [played by the left hand in the following two measures] to appear not
just appended to the theme, but to be a part of it; the C is the belated resolution to the B-
natural, whose will and right [for resolution] causes us to hold our breath beyond the
slowed-down [harmonic] motion, and enables us to mentally overcome the split [that is,
the compound melody], thus partially emancipating the interior action from the exterior
action, inwardly necessary for the progression.

Example 15: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 71-74 [Halm, p. 153]137

Let us examine that part where the theme disappears and makes way for the
opening theme that reappears in F minor, then Ab major. This is clearly a new section,
and reasons of tectonic design justify that the motion does not gradually fade away.
However, the motion is not simply cut off, and I think that Bach met the modicum
between that which is prepared and that which is unprepared, to ensure that the two
groups remain distinct. We perceive a preparatory function in the measure that leads to
the return [m. 98—the “return” begins in m. 99], which has a dominant harmony, thus

136 The undulating sixteenth-note effect gives way to the effect of the compound melody.
137 Halm included this example in the text on page 153. It is reproduced here for the ease of the reader.
158
giving the descending scale the feeling of something being tapered off. Furthermore, in
retrospect, we hear the sixteenth notes on beat two in measure 98 as the return of the
flowing sixteenth notes of the second quarter of the opening theme (see measure one) and
we also partially hear them as a substitution for the descending line in a dotted [160]
rhythm that occurs in the third measure of the opening theme [Examples 16 and 17]. We
hear it this way because Bach suppresses the first and second measures of the first theme
in the return and begins the return with the material from the third measure of the opening
theme, because of the harmony, which makes the connection with the preceding music
better and more intimate [than a mere melodic correspondence would have].138 The third
measure of the return is different from what happened before, but it actually is an
extension of the previous measure.139

Example 16: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 1-5 [Translator]

138 As Halm notes, he is interested in the harmonic correspondence between the two sections of the work.
The “return” [Wiederkehr] is a varied return of the theme, but cannot be called a true return as it is in the
wrong key. Measure one is controlled by tonic harmony, while mm. 2 and 3 are in the dominant. Tonic
harmony does not resume until m. 4, where the tonic chord appears with a 4-3 suspension in the highest
voice. In the “return,” m. 98 is controlled by the dominant harmony, but m. 99 moves directly to a tonic
chord, with a 9-8 suspension. Thus, harmonically, the motion from tonic to dominant from measures 1 and
2 is suppressed in this “return.”
139 Halm includes a dash between the end of this sentence and the beginning of the next. I have decided to
make a paragraph break here for ease of reading.
159
Example 17: Bach, Organ Prelude in Eb Major [BWV 552], mm. 98-99 [Translator]

I will not discuss the last recurrence of the main theme in the opening, which
works in a similar fashion but has some significant differences, for those comments
would lie outside of our topic, and I have already exceeded the limits that I previously
set. However, we have now justified [the claim] that a well-formed and individually
responsible language can go along with good formal design on the large scale. Sudden
interruption or aggressive dramaticism are only dramatic in the crudest sense of the word,
and may have a strong effect, but can rarely be praised as the sign of a strong poet.
I am too little a connoisseur of the literature to be able to determine with certainty
that Bach trained himself to have this clear vision, this sensitivity for rhythmic forces,
without the model of another master, but I suspect that this is the case. [161] Therefore, I
am less surprised to see some ambiguity in the way he uses rhythmic laws here or there,
[that is,] when I see that he did not completely obey them, or rather, that he did not
completely possess them, than I am astonished that this precious good—and such laws
are no less than that—was so little honored by the Classical sonata composers, that I
would have to wonder if they even know such laws existed, if I did not recall that a new
culture cannot so easily build upon an earlier, but different culture.

160
 In the Classical sonata, good and bad rhythmic elements seem to have arrived
almost as if by accident. In Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in G major, op. 31 [no. 1], we find
that the second polka-type theme [beginning in m. 66] is blessed with a perfect and
meaningful rhythm. The syncopation of a third [in m. 67] is intensified [in the following
measure] where the syncopated rhythm occurs on a repeated note and quicker motion
springs from its undisturbed energy [Example 18]. After having formed this theme, it is
incomprehensible that Beethoven could have made such an error in the “Waldstein”
Sonata [discussed above], a sonata that he carefully crafted and organized. Furthermore,
the error in the “Waldstein” could have easily been corrected, leaving us no choice but to
conclude that he did not feel that it was an error. Shouldn’t he have noticed the rhythmic
virtue of the polka theme [after using it so well in the G-major Sonata]? Shouldn’t he
have followed his own inspiration, in the current sense of the word? [162] Listing
examples in which Beethoven did not observe the rhythmic virtue, or, in turn, those
where he does pay attention to it will not be of use to us unless we want to become
preoccupied with music history. On the other hand, various types of rhythmic activity
will be either listed or discussed to some degree [below].140

Example 18: Beethoven, Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31, mm. 66-70 [Translator]

140 Paragraph break was inserted here.

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 In the finale of the [Piano] Sonata in A Major, op. 101, we see how syncopation
can be transformed in the good sense in the 15th and 16th measures before the repetition
[mm. 66-67], which is in direct contrast to the awkward metamorphosis that we found in
[m. 50 of] the “Waldstein” sonata. Nine measures before [m. 50, i.e. in m. 42] in the
“Waldstein,” a new [triplet] figure is unsuccessfully introduced. [In addition,] The [left
hand’s] eighth-note motion in the fifth measure of the first Allegro [that follows the
Adagio introduction] of the op. 81 Sonata “Les Adieux” is ineffective because it is simply
done, and not formed. On the other hand, the unprepared rhythmic character of the
eighth that appears toward the end of this movement [mm. 245 forward] is a dreamy
remembrance [Nachträumen] of that which we have experienced, not only in the poetic
sense, but it is also psychologically justified and more beautiful than that which is only
experienced as movement.
The end of the first Allegro of the op. 111 Sonata is distinguished by a peculiar
characteristic in which energy is weakened until it is ineffective. After the upward run in
the 14th and 15th measures before the end [mm. 143-145], the motion is suddenly
suppressed and remains invisible for four measures. To put it better, for a moment we are
transported from the realm of hearing, [163] and when we return to its sphere, it seems
shadowy and sounds more like an epilogue to us. If we are once set free and no longer
grasped by the rhythm, it can no longer hold us. This is achieved by the syncopation [in
these four measures], as the rhythm pulls the ground out from under our feet, and tears us
away as if with beating wings, we perceive that the [sixteenth-note] motion that follows
has been inserted as if from above. The movement toward the high register seized our
attention and revoked the [sensation of the rhythmic] motion for a little while. There is
no doubt here that, with this, Beethoven represses the genuinely important process and
conceals the crisis. But we admire his extraordinary boldness and its pleasantness as he

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lifts us up and away from this—it is one of the brilliant inspirations of his intellect
[Geistes].

Situated approximately in between good and bad stands the [compositional] type
that we can designate with the character of a play !between disallowed and allowed,
between experiment and success.! In such cases, there is an initially inhibited musical
desire that does not show its inhibition or lets it only peek through. When it is freed, our
satisfaction and relief replace the virtue of the theme—if one can accept it, that is. There
are so many of such cases that we must regard this method as a technical principle. The
finale of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 1 [164] begins by steadily irritating the listener
more and more, until the intentional beginning is granted to him, who receives a greater
value than befits its nature. It might almost be banal and careless; by playing with the
audience it gains a joking tone, but because it fulfills a need, it is taken more seriously,
without having been developed; while we are not given stones for bread, it is still a
surrogate rather than the real thing. Because if the first failed process is denied, or if its
nature is more of a resolution than a beginning, then the events must lead to it. But
validating this desire through this initial [character of] prohibition is not exactly an
authentic activity. Isn’t it a little reminiscent of an acrobatic trick where the trick is
sometimes preceded by two or three failed attempts? I stated that this type of thing was
situated between good and bad, because it shows that the composer at least attempted to
fix this inadequacy.141
[Beethoven’s] rhythmical sensibility, as seen in the way the first fast motion of
the “Appassionata” [op. 57] is introduced [in m. 14], belongs to a similar realm. Through
the preceding trills, well, really through the entire beginning which has a nervous

141 Paragraph break was inserted here.

163
character, we expect a release. Nevertheless [when the quick motion occurs], it is
disappointing, for we cannot dismiss the impression that it is only superficial. The quiet
knocking of the twitching [zuckender] eighths do not [165] lead well to the following
activity of the sixteenth notes [in measure 14]; it is clumsy and has jagged edges.
The sixteenth-note character that enters in measure 51 is even less successful than
[the one that began in] measure 14. Here, a good and strong listener feels the exact
opposite of the strength of the drama. It happens again, more artistically, when the
sixteenth-note motion is stopped in measure 93, and we are back to the knocking
[klopfenden] eighths. This passage has the advantage over an earlier passage (namely bar
64 and 65), that has a similar function, not only because of its driving eighth notes, but
also because it retains the dominant seventh harmony. [In addition], the uneven rhythms
of the upper voice [in the earlier passage] serve considerably to get away from the
sixteenth notes, but, in contrast, it was a mistake that the sixteenth-note motion was
completely restored in measure 64! Finally, it is an important distinction that the eighth-
note rhythm appears in a new register in the 93rd measure, against which the unprepared
piano dynamic seems even worse. Beethoven only partially fulfills the requirement to
end the first part before the development so that the listener can enjoy a break, without
believing that the ending is a complete rest. Thus, Beethoven made the situation too easy
for himself, while he made it more difficult for the audience and for the performer
[Vortragenden]. [166] In the Sonata “Les Adieux,” we find a similarly incomplete
transition in the 33rd and 34th measure before the end of the first Allegro [measures 223
and 224], so we must say that the composer was careless, and shifted part of his
responsibility onto the performer. It really is not possible for substitution in such things,
[that is, for the listener to act on behalf of the composer].

164
 The above-argued cessation [of rhythmic motion] before the development !section
in the “Appasionata” [mm. 64-65] would have turned out better if sixteenths of !stepwise
[diatonisch] type had immediately preceded the terminated !harmonically oriented
[harmonisch] sixteenths. At the point where the! melodic element passes control to the
chordal element, with identical! exterior motion, we sense the momentum as abated,
which is an advantage in the final! conclusion of the Allegro of the Sonata op. 111.

It is clear that the great melodic, arioso style is the most sensitive and dynamic
one with respect to these static and dynamic needs. An extended, uniform melody
represented by a dominating and exposed voice does not require help or assistance of
contrasting second or third themes; a careful judgment is demanded when it comes to
embellishments, or Agréments, in forceful melodic passages. For these reasons, I wish to
mention the Adagio with which J.S. [167] Bach opens his E-major Sonata for
Harpsichord and Violin as an instructive example because it lacks the mastery typically
found in his works. I find the unquestionably noble beauty increasingly spoiled by the
frequent inadequately justified stops and starts of the figured violin part. Although the
magic of the violin sound is very expressive, it does not give us the meaning of the event.
It enhances the work, but it cannot improve what is not good in itself. The piece grows
even less effective as one becomes more familiar with it and better music. Bach is his
own rival; in the land of the Classical musician, this Adagio should have been its highest
peak. One of his best works of this highly melodic style, the slow movement of the
Italian Concerto, lures the listener to study it carefully, and once the listener understands
the rich and exceptionally well-organized and thoroughly considered sense of the
rhythmic element he is most highly rewarded. We will [have to] be content here with
only recognizing two movements, because I believe that we will proceed better when we

165
seek the rhythmic principles by way of studying the use of embellishment in smaller
thematic constructions.

How many of us have perceived this kind of embellishment in Bach’s

compositions as tiresome or even calamitous? [168] And many have decided simply to
leave them out! Some believe that their reasons for such operations and amputations are
sound. Many claim that a considerable number of these handed-down embellishment
markings have been proven to be inauthentic, and that the resonant tones of our modern
keyboards do not require such aids any longer.
But if we assume that [the composers who composed] for these erstwhile meager
instruments had not only sworn by these embellishments but had also favored their
rampant proliferation [Wuchern], are we relieved of our obligation to judge it in
accordance with its purpose with this kind of historical knowledge about the formation of
their use? And, even if this need had led to the use of embellishment, couldn’t we see it
as a virtue that came from necessity, and, freed from the necessity, shouldn’t we bid
farewell to their use? Does the beautiful violin trill at the recapitulation in the first
movement of the Pastoral Symphony gain value from the tone quality of the violin? It is
obvious that the event longed for the trill, not the violin.

Let us take some of Bach’s themes, and remove the embellishment to compare the
embellished forms with the original forms. We will frequently find that the themes have
been become poorer, and that we have not only robbed them of decoration, but more
importantly, that we robbed them of their power, and that we have made them not only
[169] plain, but ugly.

166
 If I play the theme from the C-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book
II without the mordent on the first quarter note A, both of the quarter notes sound dull.
Bach’s treatment of the quarter as an elastic body that pushes toward motion and slightly
disturbs the equilibrium is better. [Example 19]. Those who recognize this will keep the
embellishment, even if historians and manuscript experts state that someone other than
Bach inserted it. Bach himself would certainly have played it. Of course, we cannot
always decide if, for example, a mordent or its counter-image, the “Pralltriller,” or
“Schneller” (a good expression) is called for, and sometimes it is irrelevant.142 The
traditional mordent, which could be described as the “Schneller nach unten,” the quick
movement down, is advantageous in this theme, as it is a non-rhythmic silhouette of the
beginning rhythmic motion [m.1] and a model for the new rhythmic motion that follows
[beginning in m. 3].

Example 19: Bach, Fugue in C Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 1-5
[Translator]

The ending of each part of the G-major Prelude in The Well-Tempered Clavier,
Book 2 is a similar case: the motion has an aftereffect [nach wirkt] [Example 20]. The
mordent on the end note might be a better choice here because its [descending] motion is
the same as the [descending] motion that leads to the final note; thus it strikes the lower
neighbor tone as [170] it stretches out the written note and then speeds back up again in

142 The Pralltriller and the Schneller both refer to the inverted mordent, which consists of quick movement
from the written note to the upper note.
167
the same register! The turn, that is, the inverted mordent with a lower termination note,
would also make sense here. The upward trill stroke would be understood as a
counterstroke [Gegenstoss] to the motion of the downward backstroke [Rückstoss] that is
then followed by the rest in the equilibrium.

Example 20: Bach, Prelude in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 16-
17 and mm. 47-48 [Translator]

The theme of the G-major Fugue of the first book of The Well-Tempered Clavier
would be read in the following manner without the embellishment [Examples 21 and
22]].

168
Example 21: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-3,
without the embellishment [Halm]

Example 22: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), m. 1,
original form [Halm]

Bach wrote both of these rhythmic turns in the first measure, and they proclaim a
very lively theme [Example 22]. But they do even more; they produce the momentum
used in the following sequences. However, there is something else here: the
embellishment is the cause, not the effect as it had been in previous examples. The turn
adds motion to the note without moving it from its position. We can compare it to a
warm-up when a ball player whirls his arms about before throwing the ball while playing
a game. In the same manner, [in the music], a turn frequently appears before a melodic
leap, in particular, before an ascending sixth leap. [171] Now, Bach does not put the
melodic leap immediately after the turn. Instead, he leads the melody a step higher, and
repeats the turn, thereby intensifying the charge [Ladung]. It sounds fundamentally
different from the unembellished theme that only marks the melodic process. It is now
clear that these embellishments are mechanical powers, and that they are factors or
consequences of the events. In other words, they proclaim the will of the theme and lend
meaning to the expression of the theme. The correct usage of the embellishments is

169
necessary for the theme’s very survival. Admittedly, Bach was not always so inspired in
his use of embellishment, but he appears to have been the first person to be consciously
aware of their extreme importance. After Bach, this culture of thought retreated.
When Richard Wagner writes turns to illustrate slipping, or possibly the sound of
sneezing, or if he translates the gesture of trembling with a turn, it is probably useful for
his purposes. And, in his view of music, he even has the right to let a lifeless, broken
figure follow a particularly violent turn to demonstrate the futile revolt of the cowardly
Wotan: but he can justify this usage extramusically. The seriousness of the musical logic
is not [172] obvious here, indeed, it is not even hidden—it is absent.
[Musical logic] is also absent when a composer chooses embellishment in order to
lend his work grace and elegance, as Classical composers frequently do. Where the
thought suffers from want, it is far from grace. The trill on the first note of the
Beethoven’s Adagio Grazioso of op. 31 makes it clear that Beethoven did not understand
this fact or was indifferent to it. In contrast, the lively beginning themes of his Sonata for
Violin and Piano in F Major are noble and delicate. This theme is remarkably similar to
Bach’s G-major Fugue theme that I cited previously. The difference lies in the inner
desire of both themes. We will investigate the Bach theme further in the chapter about
the art of the theme.
I consider the theme of the second F#-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier
to be unsuccessful—uneconomic, so to speak. It is difficult to find a justification for the
initial trill, which sounds poor and seems unjustified: it could be that one accepts it as a
resumption of the ending of the prelude, where the trill has the usual meaning as an
anticipation, namely as dominant play that anticipates the coming tonic; however, this
interpretation makes the beginning [173] of the subject too unreal [Unreal] for a fugue.
If we try to save it, however, through an energetic touch, what follows it sounds even less

170
convincing. I have felt embarrassed each time I have played this piece, and the
embarrassment has lingered even where the ailing part of the theme was absent. This
probably proves the saying that when it rains, it pours.
A further example of inadequate shaping can be seen in the Theme of Bach’s C-
major Fugue for Organ.

Example 23: Bach, Theme from the Fugue in C Major for Organ [Halm]

The theme is too short in relationship to its impulse. If I did not know the identity
of the composer, I would run the danger of guessing it was Handel, even though Bach
does occasionally make this mistake. This is evident to some extent in the theme of the
B-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I. After the rhythmically energetic
ascent, we believe that the manner in which the melody is unwillingly bent to descend is
more ordered than justified. Although the trill expresses the disquiet of the unresolved
conflict between the opposing powers—and it certainly can be interpreted and performed
in a manner so that it will die out—the theme seems to be unsure of its duty. [174]. I
believe that the tonal sequence of the theme in my own E-minor Fugue for Piano

demonstrates the optimal length and weight distribution. At any rate, we notice in the
Bach theme a considered necessity for embellishment. I added a mordent to the first
melodic note of my F#-minor Prelude to add motion to it, and Bach’s emotive language
inspired me to do so.143 This seldom-used embellishment was called for to serve as a
model for the following sixteenth-note figure, and if one were to suggest that I chose this

143 A.H. Compositions for Piano, Book I (published by G. A. Zumsteeg), [1915]. Translator’s note: Both
of the compositions to which Halm refers are included in this collection.
171
mordent to make my piece sound antiquated, he would be completely wrong. Moreover,
the mordent offered here has the advantage of gravity, or, rather dignity, because it brings
down the foreign whole step. (By foreign, I do not mean that it should sound strange and
odd, but that the lower neighbor tone clearly functions as a non-chord tone to the
harmonic note above it). The likewise “Bachish trill” in the third beat of the same piece
is justifiable by the restlessness of the desired continuation of the F#-minor chord which
is held fast by the leading tone, which already touches the resolution tone as a neighbor
tone before it can bring about the actual legitimate harmony. Thus, such a trill is the
outer impression of [175] restlessness, of the leading tone’s yearning, that is, of an
internally active note for its goal.
In the finale of the so-called “Jupiter” Symphony, Mozart distinguishes very
elegantly between the power of the dotted rhythm according to its position in the measure
and according to the emphasis that influences its character.

Example 24: Mozart, Symphony No. 41, “Jupiter,” Finale [Halm]

172
 The character of the dotted rhythm works most effectively as an intensified elastic
upbeat. It is used this way in the first theme [example 24A], and it gives power to the
tied quarter note. We understand the strength of its upbeat character when it is used
canonically and shifted onto the first beat of the measure [Example 24C].
This emphasis actually runs completely counter to the theme, but it is powerful
enough to surpass its natural destiny in the heat of the contrapuntal events. In the second
of these themes [Example 24B], the trill [176] is justifiable according to both the passive
and the active positions. The long-held tone, the goal of the ascent, arrives at a place of
uncertainty, and the trill, as if by itself, shakes out the following 16th and the final
unemphasized eighth, the highest tone of the theme. If not for the trill, to which the
highest note of the theme submitted its weight, the highest note easily could have been
heard as the melodic goal.

Once we become aware of such things, we also become sensitive to that which
might seem small and insignificant [at first]. When we hear such an unassuming
mordent, we are completely overcome with a sense of gratitude (in spite of the possible
initial antipathy [driven] by our undirected taste), for when this mordent subtly activates a
sustained note of a theme, we become aware of the anticipated motion. And again we
gratefully note when the repeated or transposed theme omits the mordent: that confronts
us as knowledgeable listeners and relies on our capability of inferring something. As an
example, I cite the first measures of Bach’s F-minor Prelude for Organ (Peters II)
[Example 25] [BWV 534]. Whether the imitating voice does not have the mordent
because of the above reason, or whether the mordent is [177] self-evident because of the
imitation and would be played anyway could be argued.

173
Example 25: Bach, Organ Prelude in F Minor (Peters II), mm. 1-3 [Halm]

Each interpretation is possible, but it is certain that when the upper voice moves
the theme to the beginning of the second bar, the embellishment is dismissed. This
makes it clear that Bach was very careful with his ornaments—a fact that is often
misunderstood.
In the second measure of the C-major Prelude (Peters II, no.7) [BWV 547], there
is a beautiful crescendo of events. The second third of this bar is distinguishable from the
first third only by the mordent [Example 26]. This not only prevents the threatening
monotony, but it also has the indispensable function of preparing us for the ascent in the
following measure.144

144 Note: In
the Barenreiter edition, the mordent is given on each of the quarter-notes of the measure.
Johann Sebastian Bach, Orgelwerke, Vol. 5, Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke (Kassel : Bärenreiter, 1972).
174
Example 26: Bach, Organ Prelude in C Major (Peters II, no. 7) [BWV 547], mm. 1-4
[Translator]

Bach’s deliberateness and precision is readily apparent in the C-minor Prelude

(No. 6 in the same volume) [BWV 546] [Example 27]. In the fifth measure, a richer life
unfolds. Prior to this, every measure was governed by a single [tonic] harmony, because
the fourth quarter of measures two [178] and four are merely transitional chords. In
contrast, the fifth measure is subordinate to two harmonies, the bass carefully introduces
eighth-note motion, but otherwise, the previous slow motion is retained. On the other
hand, in measure six, eighth-note motion dominates where the harmony is more insistent
but becomes more animated through passing chords, anticipations and suspensions that
maintain the energy, but transform it. The second highest voice, which leads the eighth
note movement in the sixth measure, receives its impetus from the mordent at the
beginning of the fifth measure, which can now be perceived at the same time as a
foreshadowing of the identical, but weightier figure in the bass. The pedal voice has
nothing but a written out and rhythmically solidified mordent on the second quarter [of
measure 5]. To a large extent, the second soprano voice has been raised above its
comrades by the embellishment, thereby proclaiming that this newly polyphonic
character has overcome the homophonic character of the beginning measures.145

145 Paragraph break inserted here for clarity.

175
Example 27: Bach, Organ Prelude in C Minor (Peters II, no. 6) [BWV 546], mm. 1-6
[Translator]

Musical features of this kind are indicative of a superior intellect, knowledge and
ability. It is a specific type of economy in which the composer practices careful
housekeeping of all of its powers—he knows them all, takes them all seriously and keeps
them in their place. However, avoidance and stinginess, as well as wastefulness, shows
that the possession [of this economy] is not controlled, and that it instead controls or is
indifferent to the owner, and that the owner does not understand how to honor and [179]
properly make use of it. The master’s economy is a commanding virtue, a true
possession. We can see it in the meaningful details that engage the listener, often without
the listener’s awareness of the important purposes of these details. We also see it in the
moments where the ideal relationships between the tonal formations allow us to
anticipate that which is coming and allow us to explain the present events by

176
understanding that which preceded them. It is the back-and-forth play of the power that
keeps us intellectually alert while at the same time that it comforts us.

We cannot avoid addressing free embellishments; that which we may call the
Fiorturen [flowering] or diminutions. Diminution varies an interval or a series of
intervals, while embellishments, in the narrow sense, are the different kinds of trills or
turns on a single tone that treats it like an elastic body without moving it from its place.
The [latter] type of embellishment serves the continuous striving of the music and
encourages or announces its reaction to another power. A free embellishment, or
diminution, fills a space, therefore, it has a fundamentally different purpose and demands
preparation. Admittedly, diminutions are effective, but they themselves must first be
made effective. It is difficult to begin a correct, full-fledged trill well, even if it can be
made more plausible [180] through a gradually intensified swaying. On the other hand,
the short hesitation of a mordent does not have to be justified; it is sufficient to justify it
retroactively by considering whether or not it fulfills a function. A mordent on the first
note of a piece could be immediately justified as soon as we perceive that the first note is
imbued with forward motion. The mordent will externally appear as a sforzando, in that
it would be understood to be an event. At the same time, the mordent would be perceived
as the aftershocks [Nachzittern] of a tone that fell from the preceding tonal world into this
world of appearances. The expression of excitement lies within it, and it is palpable to
the listener. But, the process must correspond with the desired expression. It is
completely different if an already established calm character is put into motion, for here
careful rhythmic justification is necessary in order for it to be effective. If we take the
expression “fiorituren” seriously, we can understand that richer events grow out of the
music in the way that flowers grow from a living plant. This expression does not

177
compare the embellishment to a single blossom or bloom, but it compares the music to
the blooming process. This is not to say that it should be decorated with flower
arrangements or garlands, but that the music [181] expects to become more vital. Hans
von Bülow, who was very perceptive, with such a clear and deep vision as to be almost
clairvoyant, wrote that Handel was a dilettante compared to Bach. In regard to the
rhythmic art one can appreciate the difference between these comrades in time
[Zeitgenossen] who are not comrades in art [Kunstgenossen], for Bach was a creator and
Handel was a decorator. The 17th [sic.] number of [Handel’s] Jephtha has a touching
passage [because of the text’s description of] a solemn hour but in reality, it is the
product of a lack of feeling or careless work [Example 28].146

146 This
is the fourth number of Jeptha, not the 17th. Halm notes this with a footnote in the caption to the
example, where he writes, “In the text, this is mistakenly called No. 17.”
178
Example 28: Handel, Jeptha, No. 4 mm. 1-8 [Halm]147

147 Halm includes this example at the end of the text in the first and third edition, but in the second edition
it appears within the text.
179
 The theme of the chorus from The Messiah entitled “Blessing and Honor, Glory
and Power, Be unto Him that Sitteth upon the Throne and unto the Lamb” reached its
fatal fame [fatalen Berühmheit] long ago [Example 29]. We hear:

Example 29: Handel, Messiah No. 53, Chorus "Blessing and Honor,” mm. 24-28 [Halm]

The worst feature of this chorus is not the psalmodizing on one tone, or even the
rapid and regular succession of monosyllabic words that give the strange impression of
cackling that is so at odds with the dignified text. [182] What happens next is even more
unfortunate. The unexpected pause that happens after the accented quarter and eighth
rest is bewildering [m. 3 of the example], for it occurs after a rhythmic descent that
promised freedom and animation. The same thing happens again after the pause, and the
movement is renewed as if nothing had even happened. The now following syncopation
would have been effective if it had not have been delayed, [for it] should have occurred
in the place of the first pause.
Let us look at a Bach theme that uses a similar formula from the Organ Sonata
Number VI (Peters I) [BWV 530] [Example 30].

Example 30: Organ Sonata No. 6 (Peters I) [BWV 530], mm. 1-5 [Halm]

180
 This theme’s character is courageous and careless, but it is not by any means
unscrupulous. In measure three, where the rhythmic motion is lessened, the melody
becomes more lively. The rhythmic power is transformed into a melodic power, and
even the harmony seems to be transformed in this very measure by the power of its
process. I once wrote that Handel is a man of great style. Even when he bores us—he
does it in a grand style. In this, I mean not only that the music can be very boring, but
also that he [183] refuses to veil this, as many others strive to do through modulations
[Wendungen]. But there is also a lack of inhibition that seems like good consciousness or
honesty, and that makes us unwilling to indict such a powerful man with his errors. In
Joshua’s aria in Handel’s oratorio of the same name, we cannot mistake the powerfully
ritualistic disposition for grandeur [Example 31].

Example 31: Handel’s Joshua (Act 1, No. 8) [Halm]

The eighths in the sixth measure are disruptive, and prove a lack of consciousness
and reliability.
The same error drags a sovereign melody [Melos] into flatness, and adds a slight
stroke of stupidity to a delightful song [Example 32].

181
Example 32: Handel, Judas Maccabeus, “See! The Conquering Hero Comes” (Act III,
No. 58) [Halm]

[Handel’s use of the same type of error] does not seem so bad, but it seriously
endangers this attractive and graceful [184] melody. Because he did not avoid the error,
one might even think that Handel intentionally used it to give the melody a childish

simplicity, but he didn’t only place the song in the mouths of children. There is even a
better example from the same oratorio, Judas Maccabeus [Example 33].

Example 33: Handel, Judas Maccabeus, "Sing Unto God" (Act III, No. 60) [Halm]

It is not how the coloratura sounds that is important in the first instance, but how
the composer allows it to arise. Richard Wagner used musical errors and poor
relationships between music and text to illustrate Beckmesser’s roulades; he lets Hans
Sachs offer a real correction, [185] and he offers a real correction to Hans Sachs in a
purely musical respect apart from the text. [Example 34] [184] The text declamation is
better, but it also can rightfully be called, “better sung.”148

148 The German text of this part reads, “Besser gesungen:"da fasst mein Herz sich einen guten, frischen"?
In translation, this is “Better to sing: "then my heart takes to itself a good, fresh..."
182
Example 34: Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, “Da fasst mein Herz” (Act 2,
Scene 6) [Halm]

* * *

We are faced with a very serious historical matter, or even with an intellectual
[geistigen] tragedy. The flowery style [Der blühende Stil] had actually become obsolete,
due to an often random, careless and irresponsible, and contextually excessive use of
ornamentation. It sickened and was discredited, and many believed that the taste of a
past era was becoming obsolete with it. That which is bad actually does not need to [go
through the process toward] obsolescence, for it was lifeless, diseased and aged from the
very beginning. We humans, however, sometimes only notice these weaknesses in
hindsight, and it is in this process of recognizing a weakness that allows us to call a usage
or style obsolete. But in this, there is always the danger that we, when we get rid of
something obsolete, will fall into another senility, that we exchange the weakness of
doing for a weakness of letting be, that we avoid the onerous and steep path from misuse
to proper use, and get on the [186] road of renunciation that leads comfortably
downwards. If this gives us a good conscience or even a feeling of strength, as if we had
overcome something, we are in a more ridiculous situation, but the situation is even more
threatening.

The misleading inference of an unworthy assignment from poorly executed!

assignments; of bad categories instead of poor care from bad models: such !inferences

183
have caused damage here. It could even occur that appointed! guardians and custodians
overlooked already attained assets, as though they !had been obscured by the primarily
numerous bad examples originating from! the same style but produced by lesser intellects.
But whether we perceive the light or the darkness and accept it, or whether our senses are
only aroused by goodness if its luminescence is shown against a dark background, or
whether we can experience the goodness on its own, or, finally, whether the light and
dark have combined and turned to dusk in our eye—this is a different matter.
The fact that a blinding fog can confuse even a good eye when it has not practiced
clear seeing should seriously warn us of the importance and indispensability of an
adequate aesthetic. Joseph Rheinberger, known as a great Bach scholar, fully believed
that he established—indeed rescued—the nobler simplicity of the ideal form by stripping
the supposed [187] external embellishment of Bach’s Goldberg Variations in his
arrangement for two pianos. The beginning of his arrangement follows [Example 35].
Thusly rendered, it was played only a short while ago at a particular Bach fest.

Example 35: Rheinberger's arrangement of the theme of Bach's “Goldberg” Variations

[Halm]

It is obvious that Bach intended a sense of floating rhythm, for if he had wanted a
more regular pace, then he would not have included the awkward, limping rhythm that
we so regret in measure two. No! This labored striding and trudging, and tripping and
sliding before gaining a foothold would not have happened if the theme were better

thought-out.

184
 The swooping upbeat to measure two had the purpose of preparing the B, which,
as a consonant anticipation [at the end of m. 1] of an ensuing dissonance, should be an
appoggiatura to the consonant A [at the beginning of measure 2].149 But this attempt is
futile, and energy spent on futility is merely toil. The half-note D is simply terribly
awkward; it screams for a suspension or an appoggiatura to relieve it of its awkwardness!
It would be rather strange if a [188] Bach connoisseur had not even heard it played as if
Bach had forgotten to write the appoggiatura here!
Bach intended that the second measure be played in a sustained manner, like a
keyboard portamento that connects the appoggiaturas to the harmonic notes. How blind
was this arranger not only to the will of this place, but to the will of Bach’s intellect!
Rheinberger only did half of the work. If we wanted to simplify the theme of the
first G-major Fugue from The Well-Tempered Clavier, we would have to do more than
merely rob it of its turns. If we were to let it go at that, we really would be committing
robbery. The simple form, or perhaps even the embryonic content of the theme can be
seen on page 229, [or below in Example 36]. But, Rheinberger paralyzes the forming
powers. He makes the theme more demanding by destroying its ability to speak. He
makes the theme more challenging by destroying its appeal. He does not! expect any less
of it, but he robs it of any assistance. Rendered by him, it therefore sounds as though half
formed, half unformed. It comports !itself angularly, in a certain sense unmannerly, if in
this usage, in its !full sense, we understand the expression "manners" as the means that he
![Rheinberger] abstracted from the theme. In contrast, when Bach’s theme is played in its
original version, it sounds animated, light, and elegant. We also recognize that these
manners are not to be viewed as social polish and not as mannerism, but that their

149 Halm implies that a B should occur as an accented dissonance at the beginning of measure 2 (“die
Vorhaltsnote zu der harmonischen Note a bilden soll”). Thus, the 16th-note B at the end of measure 1
would be a consonant anticipation to the B that Halm says should be present at the beginning of measure 2.
Many thanks to Lee Rothfarb for clarifying Halm’s intent here.
185
appearance corresponds to the fundamental habitus [189] and movement of the entire
body. In order to want to change the movement type, one would have to form a different
body. If it is possible even today to forget such connections; then how much must remain
to be done by aesthetics!

Example 36: Bach, Reduction of Theme from Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered
Clavier, Book I) [Halm, p. 229]150

150 Halm includes this example on page 229.

186
CHAPTER II: SYMMETRY

Symmetry is an indispensable device for making a melodic and harmonic event

understandable, for we intuitively demand it. At the same time, symmetry is risky in that
it can flatten out and paralyze an event. Observing the purpose of symmetry is a vital
matter in art, for its utilization and domination is a characteristic of mature art. The
beginning of the famous aria, “ Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön [from Mozart’s Die
Zauberflöte], belongs accordingly in a time of a melodic immaturity as do so many of the
melodies of the Classical composers!
The word “trivial” we can roughly render as “belonging to an elementary class of
things.” Some sort of conventional wisdom is meant by that which distinguishes no one
by its possession but which can still be very accurate even if it is in everyone’s mouth.
An antecedent that moves from the tonic to the dominant, yielding a consequent that
moves from the dominant back to the tonic is the general principle of musicality, but it is
actually a trivial progression. It is only elevated beyond primitiveness [191] and triviality
through artistic power. Therefore, if one wants to call a musical process trivial, he is not
criticizing the content, but the artistic whole [Gestalt], and in fact, he is not calling it
impossible or ugly, but undeveloped, or somehow weak and lame.
We do not need to justify that this previously described retreat [Zurückfallen] of
the harmony after a !small and brief escalation is an absolute textbook example for this
principle, if it is conceded that above all the issue in !music, as a temporal art, is the
necessity of the creation of continuation, and that !its chief work of design consists in that.
Harmony is patient, and can wait until the event gets underway, but the continuous
alteration of effort and relaxation of energy damages it. We need not further justify that
this damage was frequently caused by the Classical composers of the sonata—which is

why I do not believe that we should use one and the same name, Classical, to describe the
187
Classical sonata and Bach’s music. I believe that Bach’s superiority is most obvious in
that the germ and the seed of all its virtues is the artistic purpose, or, I want to say, even
its feeling or recognition. In any case, it has more to do with the character of the music
than its time period. We saw that Beethoven had used the sonata form and cultivated it to
serve this character, and therefore, that his sonata is [192] a cultural act because it
cultivates the essences of a spirit [Geistigen]. In his language, however, in specific
instances, his thinking reveals that he is still caught in the immaturity of the classic
composers. The beginning of the aforementioned aria from Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte is
pretty, sensuously enjoyable and allows for pretty-sounding singing; it does not annoy the
listener. So far as it has a casual beauty, it can be called beautiful, but it does not contain
artistic beauty. It is, artistically perceived, completely trivial.
And, in fact it has been this way from the beginning and will be for all times.
“Trivial” is not an historic, but an aesthetic concept of art. I can imagine a culture in
whom a musical artistic tradition lives and that has its artistic needs in its blood. On their
streets, alleys and marketplaces, one would hear no such trivialities.
Among J.B. Wekerlin’s collection of old French chansons, “Echos du temps
passé” we find artistically full melodies that nevertheless bear the character of the folk
song.151 [193] Here is the melody of the Chanson “Rossignol qui fredonnes”.

151 A.H. I have set three of these for use in the Free School in Wickersdorf, and I hope for the use f many
other songs for voice with obligatory string quartets. (Old French Chansons, published by G.A. Zumsteeg,
Stuttgart.) May there be a group of committed people for such a literature for the school that also would
uphold their responsibility of the spiritual level of the people in matters of music!
188
Example 37: "Rossignol qui fredonnes" [Halm]

Now, let’s recall the beginning of Beethoven’s Larghetto.

Example 38: Beethoven, Larghetto [from Symphony No. 2, op. 36, mvt. 2] [Halm]

This is a more short-breathed, less differentiated melody that belongs to an

inferior manner of melody, of which there are, admittedly, [other] beautiful examples.
In the art of spiritual leading of the breath [geistigen Atemführung], the above
chanson melody is far surpassed by the following Chanson melody (“Belle qui m’avez
blessé”).

189
Example 39: “Belle qui m’avez blessé” [193] [Halm]

[194] We can see, as clearly as if it were a textbook example, the difference in the
thinking of the two masters if we compare the first bar of the cello solo of the aria “Es ist
vollbracht” in Bach’s St. John’s Passion with a part of the development of Beethoven’s A
Major Sonata for Cello and Piano, [op. 69] (both melodies are approximately in the same
tempo).

Example 40: Bach, "Es ist vollbracht" from St. John’s Passion [Halm]

190
Example 41: Beethoven, Development section theme from Sonata No. 3 In A, Op. 69,
For Piano And Cello, mm. 107-111. [Halm]152

I now invite the reader to examine several cases that lie on the borderline between good
and not so good. [195]
Why is it not trivial that the third and fourth bar of the first theme of J. S. Bach’s
Italian Concerto [BWV 971] is simply a transposition of the first and second measures a
fifth higher? It is not trivial because the process still retains its tension. Had the
repetition concluded on the tonic, instead of as it happened, transposed and concluded
with a half cadence (on the dominant), we would have had a genuine triviality [Example
42].

Example 42: Halm’s Recomposed version of Bach’s Italian Concerto, mm. 3-4 [mm. 5-8
of original 2/4].

If we consider, that this answer, compared to a mere repetition on another scale

degree, represents the greater mental effort, that it is somewhat more expensive to

152 Halm transposed this example.

191
generate, because something has to be generated, then we see that it is not the individual
accomplishment of the composer, but rather that the composer gets the musical forces to
perform work, or that the accomplishment may sometimes consist in wanting something.
This is a case where Bach demanded the dominant to avoid stopping the energy and to
preserve the external symmetry from complete equilibrium that would prove fatal to it.
Thus, an answer that is a rhythmic mirror image [196] poses the main threat in this.
Then, if this seems valid, the historical intention of the composer and the knowledge of
what he did will not be lost.
If Bach had not kept the beginning of the F-minor Prelude (WTC II) free from
this impression of validity and otherwise left the answering character of the parallel
undisturbed, then this triviality would have been brought about according to a later
Classical model, while now it can only be emphasized by the performer, if he tries to
render this passage with feeling. As Bach well demonstrates it and wants it to be
performed, he did not want the beginning of the short motive to sound like a provisional
sketch, but like the precursor of a complete event. If he had added just a little more
weight into the parallel motive, or allowed it to arouse just a little more attention, or
allowed the details to have more breath, then the damage would have been done
[Example 43].

192
Example 43: Halm's Recomposed Version of mm. 1-2 of Bach's Prelude in F Minor, (The
Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) [Halm]153

The modesty of the motive saves the situation, which certainly is by no means of
high artistic value, and its simplicity makes it easier for us to [197] feel the entire
complex up to the entry of the dominant (which ends with a half cadence) in one breath.

Example 44: Bach, Prelude in F Minor, (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II ) mm. 1-4
[Halm]

Thus, Bach avoids having the response to the tonic on the dominant heard as the

main content. Nevertheless, this part is still somehow deficient, and I am embarrassed
that I once thought that the tied trills [Pralltriller] notated in my edition were truly
musical.154 Here, perhaps, they are only embellishments; more likely, they are supposed
to emphasize the first note of each bar, thus orienting the sense of meter, or are thought of

153 Halm included examples 41 and 42 in the text, but notated each on one staff. For clarity, I show both
examples on a grand staff.
154 The Bärenreiter Urtext edition shows trills notated on the first note of measures 2 and 3. Johann
Sebastian Bach, Das Wohltemperierte Klavier II, vol. 6.2 of Johann Sebastian Bach, Neue Ausgabe
sämtlicher Werke, ed. Alfred Dürr (Basel: Bärenreiter Kassel, 1957).
193
as a consequence of the stronger attacks on the first eighth notes of the first and second
bars, which would explain their exclusion from the subsequent passages. In any case,
they lack a rhythmic dynamic value, and I will not defend their genuineness or their right
to be there for a rhythmic or metrical purpose, and in the latter would verify a metrical
ambiguity, or a weakness of the motive. [197]
To accept what we have said so far would be to speak badly [of Bach], and yet
[this crude tonic-dominant pairing] appears in a composition from the period of his
mature style, in the prelude-like C-minor Fantasy for Piano [BWV 906], [Example 45].
The most relevant thing is that it exists in the middle of the fantasy, furthermore in the
beginning of the development, instead of at the beginning of the piece. We do not hear G
minor as the main key, and we hear it even less so just after the previous section’s
conclusion in G major. The same harmonic event would be completely different if were
brought into the beginning where the main key resided, and it is certainly no coincidence
that Bach avoided this. But here, at the beginning of the development, we are thankful
for the [199] confirmation of G minor, and we do not think of resting, for we are still
feeling the effects of the achieved momentum [Schwunkraft]. We are relieved of the
force of the harmonic sequence that pulls us down, and we are moved beyond its sphere
of influence, which would dominate us if we had just started listening to the music.

194
Example 45: Bach, Fantasy in C Minor for Clavier [BWV 906], mm. 17-18 [198] [Halm]

The way that Bach proceeds at the beginning of the Fantasy should probably be
given our attention [Example 46]. It was important to prevent the harmony from
establishing itself, for it would combine with the rhythmic parallelism and hinder the
forward motion. Bach shapes the first half cadence, as it happens on the dominant, into
an image of something specific to this key. The second half cadence [in m. 2], however,
as it is on the major subdominant, momentarily disturbs the key; it will be created tonally
though a transitional harmonic passage. Thereby, the weights are distinguished from one
another, overcoming the physical symmetry through intellectual characteristics; the
rhythmic parallels contradict the harmonic values. Of relevance is the [interval of a]
minor seventh at the beginning of m. 2,! which has the effect of a novel event, while the
[interval of a]! diminished seventh (or minor ninth)155 at the beginning of m. 3 reinstates
the !tonality, whose operation depends entirely on the third cadence and thereby !makes it

155 The minor ninth chord that Halm refers to is the descending diminished seventh-chord arpeggio in the
right hand, which Halm views as a root-less ninth chord, in the tradition of Rameau, (through Marpurg,
Kirnberger and Sechter).
195
more important than the first two.! This allows us to recover and breathe for a moment,
and with good logic, now that a pause has been substituted for the extended trill. [200]

Example 46: Bach, Fantasy for Clavier in C Minor [BWV 906], mm. 1-3 [Translator]

We get to feel the preliminary character of his work no less than the importance
of what has been thus achieved. We have not yet reached our harmonic goal, but we are
at the last station before the goal. The tonality, after what has disturbed it has been
removed, must then be affirmed in order to say that it has been won. When notes that are
foreign to the key appear with earnestness, their mere removal does not suffice. The need
for a fuller cadence appears at the same time as its possibility, and a steadily driving,
unopposed musical will expresses itself perfectly in the upward-moving bass figure; it
strikes us as having forged the ideal link to the upper voices. The trill would not be
appropriate here, not because it would be boring, but because this place has a different
type of task than what came before. Previously, each event quickly moved into a new
harmony, but now [in m. 4], the subdominant is taken up again in order to confirm and
fulfill the minor quality that was only hinted at before. In addition, the entrance of the

soprano on the upbeat after the rest gives the impression of a resumption. If the voice
196
were to enter on the first, accented beat of the measure, the pause would be shorter but it
would produce a greater internal distance and would open a chasm. We would feel the
resumption [201] as disturbed by the rhythm or else we would not feel it at all.
The following cadence [mm. 4-5] is now complete enough in order to clearly
establish the C-minor tonality, yet is incomplete enough to maintain the continuous
striving. Because the dominant becomes slightly over-emphasized due to the F# in the
bass voice, especially since it appears after the F, the F#’s unique replacement [by F-
natural], which occurs in a different voice, is not completely equalized. Thus, the listener
remains attentive to that which is to come, and Bach achieves this in a natural way rather
than through something surprising. Such music is not “interesting” but it is worthy of
interest. It is not “exciting” but it has the ability to excite. Because of this, it is immune
from triviality and an imposed exoticism that offers only a deceptive refuge. The greatest
expert [Bach] had the most finely honed taste. This is not an accidental merging together
of good qualities. And thus it gives us a certain pleasure to become aware of his safety in
critical situations in small matters, in a popular or agreeable style.
There is a snappy and cheerful march in the D-major Suite for Orchestra [Gavotte
II, BWV 1068]. [202]

197
Example 47: Bach, Suite in D Major for Orchestra, [Gavotte II, mm. 1-5] [Halm].156

Here, the bass provides for a longer breath with the suspension in the first
measure, which is held over the first break. On the other hand, it is the accompanying
bass that lends the melodic flow to the charming Siciliano from the C-minor Sonata for
Violin and Keyboard [BWV 1017]. Moreover, [in this Siciliano] the harmonic meaning
of the second sustained tone changes from consonant to dissonant, through which the
intelligent violinist will play a crescendo, which heralds the continued yearning of this
tone and its difference from the corresponding earlier place [m. 1], as well as the
omission of the caesura at this point.
The beginning of the Musette in the Sixth English Suite could lead to triviality, if
not for—indeed! How many of these “if-not-fors” could we seek out!
That is enough for examples and explanations—let us put the basic principles of
all of this before our eyes. Triviality is not that which is comfortable or ordinary [203],
but idleness [Bequemlichkeit] in thinking attracts triviality in the negative sense. A
period of relaxation can be good and necessary, or it can be bad and !inappropriate. It has

156 Halm included this example in the text, but notated it on one staff. For clarity, I use a grand staff.
198
the effect of convenience or weakness when it occurs !prematurely, such that a reversal
comes right after the first, slight !expression of force, when the relaxation period appears,
so to speak, as !an objective. In this discrepancy between rest and effort lies the threat of
ridiculousness, whether or not the composer tried to produce the discrepancy or is content
in his naïve equanimity, or whether he settled for it on behalf of his weakly motivated
listener. [204]

199
CHAPTER III: THE ART OF THE THEME

Here we will undertake to establish the hierarchy of the thematic element and
justify it. The thematic element is not to be understood as a coordinating concept
between harmony and rhythm. From this we can deduce that we do not yet know the
laws of the theme, although we have endeavored to understand harmonic and rhythmic
laws with some success. Thus, harmony and rhythm challenge us to discover their laws,
or to recognize them themselves. It seems that the laws of the theme are more passive, or
that the laws of the theme do not exist. A theme is supposed to sound clear, determined,
and pregnant—this may be good advice for the composer and a justifiable demand of the
listener, but it is no more a law than the well-intended direction in an old singing method
that one should sing nicely and not yell or scream. In short: a function that we desire is
not a law. Whether or not it is demanded of a higher principle, or is itself is a higher
principle, it can make natural principles useful to itself. Thus, the sonata form is a higher
spiritual law that [206] presides over the harmony. A theme, in the best sense of the
word, is exactly what the word means; it is a law—a spiritual law—that calls the power
of the rhythm and the harmony into its service. The organization of these powers serves
the spiritual life, but if these powers are left to their own devices, they have the capacity
to weaken and destroy. They are neutral and carefree, as natural powers are. The
preceding chapters were chiefly dedicated to the clarification of this fact. The content of
these principles is that which we call the aesthetic.
For our present task, we can develop the following principle: the more that a
theme absorbs the fundamental musical powers and uses them for its spiritual
construction, the more life and value a theme has.
Because we consider a theme to be an intellectual [geistige] biological unity, we

are obliged to describe some typical examples as well as we can. In doing so, we remind
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the reader that we have already characterized the situation, in which good observation
and precise observation are inseparable, and we cannot avoid asking the reader [again]
for a great deal of patience.

Part I: [Thematic Relationships]

Thematic relationships are like the bloodstream of a spiritual [207] being. They
do not nourish it, but enable it to nourish itself and make the powers its own. Such work
is the life of this being. Let us first examine this so that we can discuss the entire
thematic embodiment later.

A. Circulation of Relationships157

I choose the theme of the second Bb-minor Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier
to be one of its most vital themes, a fact that makes it also the most instructive.158

157 By using the word “circulation,” Halm is continuing the metaphor of thematic relationships as the
bloodstream.
158 See Rehding, “Two Cultures as Nature,” 144.

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Example 48: Bach, Bb Minor Fugue (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) mm. 1-5
[207] [Halm]159

The theme grows out of one motive that is proclaimed at the beginning [Example
48B.] In the third and fourth measure, the same motive is transposed [Example 48C].
[208]
But it is simultaneously varied. The ascending eighths of the third measure
signify that the motive has been intensified, and its greater power overcomes the model’s
quarter rest. This animation of the third measure was anticipated by the upbeat that
introduces the transposed motive. This transposed and repeated motive, however, is even
stronger and demands to be intensified.

159 A,
B, and C of Example 48 are on page 207 of Halm’s text. Example 48D appears on page 208 of
Halm’s text.
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 The upbeat of the third measure is heard as an imitation of the upbeat to the
second measure, clarifying that only the second of the three measures is related to the
first. This is made more complicated by the phrasing and the pauses are taken like
catches in the breath. A secondary phrasing [forming a compound melody] can be seen
clearly in this two-voice example [Example 48D].
The first half note of the transposed and varied theme [in m. 5] corresponds not
only to the eighths that replace the upbeat-prepared first half note of measure three, but
also to the second quarter note [A] of the second measure that follows the Eb quarter note
and serves as the leading tone. The need for the leading tone’s resolution helps to
mitigate [209] the break after the Bb half note in measure two. It also confirms that both
voices are present in this measure, and that this [harmonic phrasing] conflicts with the
primary phrasing that was first discussed. Without the impatience of this temporarily
unresolved leading tone, there would be no ambiguity here. The primary phrasing [the
melodic version, where two phrases are separated by the rest in measure two] would be
victorious, eliminating the necessity for the continuation of the theme, which would end
with the Bb, which was stressed in the beginning and would now be regained and
justified through its leading tone, A. The power of the theme’s course lies in this double
meaning of the theme. Its complexity lends to it a force and spiritual unity that are easily
perceived.
In the fourth measure, the model is changed even more than in the third measure.
I hardly need to mention that the [quarter and half-note] rhythm of the model, i.e., of the
second measure, could not have been continued against the newly achieved momentum.
Instead, the rhythm here must flood the first quarter of this measure. The rhythm could
only suddenly be put down through the composer’s melodic and harmonic tactics. The
goal of the third count of measure three was to reach the dominant above tonic, F, and

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this allows the beginning of the fourth measure to appear as the goal of this upward
striving. The Gb of the first quarter appears melodic, as if momentum carried it over the
goal [F], stretching the event’s boundaries [210] in order to revert back with the
resolution of the harmony, for both eighths—Gb and Eb—have the effect of a
suspension-like six-four chord of the subdominant, or like a suspension-like diminished
seventh chord, or even a real suspended chord, Bb, C, Eb, and Gb. Thus the F,
circumscribed on the first quarter-beat of measure 4 and actually! appearing on the second
quarter-beat, is provisionally conclusive. It! confirms something achieved, and the
upward-striving motion is actually! fulfilled at the end of measure 3, though it is not fully
completed in leading upward.! The eighth-notes at the beginning of measure 4 are thus
not active but passive! continuations, owing to the momentum of ongoing motion, [i.e.]
are, as! motion, not cause but rather result. There is reason for this ending even if it is only
temporary. The eighth movement is complete, since it has achieved its goal and fulfilled
its function (the effect, as we mentioned, surpassed its goal as sensitive music usually
does). The striving of the theme is at its peak, but it is not yet extinguished. Quite apart
from the necessity of a quieter discharge [of energy]—after the still always surprising
breaking off of the eighth-note movement (though it is done with great intelligence at the
most opportune and, so to speak, thoughtful, moment), the compulsion of the model
(which consists in symmetry) remains, and this leads (after the most effective quarter rest
of the theme)—to the Abgesang that is [211] nothing other than the weakened and
relaxed imitation of the hammered motive from measure two; in other words, what we
had expected at the beginning of the fourth measure, if the will of the third had not
forbidden it. In this context, it is good that the Gb returns after the quarter rest [in the
fourth bar] as a harmonic upbeat after it had appeared as an accented suspension. It is
even better that it should form the second goal, corresponding to the first, smaller peak

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(the Eb)—a wonderful example of free, uninhibited (that is, organically unfolding)
symmetry, in which this theme is particularly rich. The resumption of this Gb, which
undoubtedly is the beginning of the Abgesang, produces a melodic symmetry to the end
of eighth-note figure so that we perceive the seemingly strong quarter-note pause as a
gentle suggestion despite the rhythmic difference. The Gb-Eb-F-Gb motion [in m. 4]
functions even more as a unit the more we anticipate the return of the Gb; again [there is]
a double meaning in the phrasing. Presented as a harmonic tone, the Gb has become a
leading tone that is denied its resolution to F, a resolution that would have prevented the
continuation of the voices as required by the fugue form through a harmful full closure.
We do not mind the lack of resolution, however, because of weakness [212] of this
leading tone as it was expressed in the model, but even more because the memory of the
strongly emphasized F [beat 3 of m. 3] is still alive. That F [near the beginning of m. 4],
resolving the subsequent Gb in! advance, so to speak, acquires the necessary strength,
against the meter,! through the quarter-rest that follows it, as well as through the force of!
the motion that delays it, furthermore through our memory of the !corresponding accented
half-note Bb of the model in measure 2, and additionally !of the half-note C in measure 1.
For the melodic second Eb to F (or better, ! Gb to F) at the beginning of measure 4 calls to
mind the opening of the subject,! where the conspicuousness of the rest creates a
similarity between measures 1! and 4, which is to be especially noted. Thereby, the
beginning of measure 4 is an increasing synthesis of the beginnings of measures 1 and 2.
Perhaps this allowance for the entire Abgesang and this figure [Gb—F], which
arises from the overrunning of the upward ascent and its inversion [F—Gb], to go
immediately before the pause can be regarded in such a way that the tone sequence, Gb,
F, Eb, Db from measure four to the beginning of measure five is the inversion of the
progression from measures one and two, and that the Abgesang of the ascending

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progression C, Db, E, F [in m. 4] ends on F although it is not heard.160 In any case, this
[213] inversion is not difficult to see, and this ending to the theme provides an
appreciable counterweight to the beginning of the theme, [in which the rests] form a sort
of gravity that contradicts the theme’s impetus.

Within the theme we can see two types of rests. The rest in the second measure is
naturally rhythmic as it would—as previously mentioned—express an ending if the
harmony did not demand [the continuation of the theme]. The rest in the first measure is
fundamentally different even though it holds the same metrical position within the bar.
Here, the rest occurs before the listener knows the meter, and it does not coincide with a
harmonic cadence or half-cadence, but it does threaten to deaden the beginning theme if
it were taken seriously. As a tectonic feature, [the rest in m. 1] would be considered
unnatural; it wants to be taken merely as a caesura. The energy of the powerful
appearance of the first melodic steps shortens the second note [C], which would
otherwise be held longer—[for example], we can imagine a separated, marked dotted half
note in place of the half note and quarter rest. Only the beginning of the second measure
gives information about the meter type, and its first quarter usurps with it a great power
of emphasis, which will not be granted to the first eighths of the following measure
(which are melodically lower and have already been heard) in favor of the flow of the
third measure, and no less in favor of the emphasis [214] of the climax of the subject, and
the first beat of the fourth measure, thus, both quarters Gb and F, which, as both are
accented, are nothing but a crowded and energized version of the beginning [Example
49A] which is in conflict with the meter [Example 49B]. This rest is the most significant
one because it occurs in a different place than its predecessors and that it unites two

160 Rehdingnotes that Halm argues that F is implied because of the tritone from C to Gb in m. 4 that
demands resolution, and corresponds to the second bar. Ibid.,146.
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pauses within itself. It will be simultaneously heard as a postponed rest, which should
have happened on beat three as in the model, but was the victim of the [eighth-note]
motion [of m. 3].

Example 49: Rhythmic examples [Halm, from p. 214]

The previously shown double meaning of the phrasing of the first measure is
confirmed in the fourth measure, which takes apart, so to speak, the ambiguous figure,
creating two unambiguous figures; or restores the clarity in increasing measure, with
which the internally turbulent theme is allowed to come to rest, leaving the presenting
voice with more freedom for its task.

Example 50: Bach, Fugue in Bb Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 4-5
[Halm]

Figure A confirms and strengthens the ending character from the beginning of the
second measure. In contrast, Figure B, which is clearly [215] a reorganization of
measure two, reinterprets this character into one of continuation and yearning beyond the
pause. This is described above as the secondary relationship, and its quiet dissolution is
nothing more than the halting and interrupted dissolution of the theme of the second
measure in the beginning of the third measure. Notating the parallel places without [the
original] rhythm clarifies this.

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Example 51: Bach, Fugue in Bb Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 2-3,
with rhythmic alteration [Halm]

Both eighth notes in figure B are a shadow or a reflection of the eighth-note

motion that occurred previously.
We value the strengths of these themes that are infused with multiple

relationships. A theme with such a dialogue of meanings is not demonstrative of an

intermediate state or lacking in clarity or a woeful ambiguity. It is rich and the conflicts
within it strengthen it and make it exciting.
But now, a question about performance arises. How should a performer proceed?
How will he choose where to phrase? Let us pause here to answer this question as well
as we can. The performer should not phrase at all, because he does not have a choice.
The theme wants to be played as it was composed, [216] so that no phrasing, even an
undoubtedly correct one, is forced on the audience where the composer himself wants to
leave another one available besides and along with it and even hints at it and sounds it

out. [215] A theme that wins power and a higher unity from the opposition of the
combination of different and opposing relationships does not offer the choice.
If I play the eighth notes of the third measure in a single legato while playing a
general crescendo, I give [the listener] the possibility of hearing multiple things.
Nevertheless, let’s consider the questions that this eighth-note passage elicits when
attempting to determine the phrases in the performance.
Since the eighth-note ascent [Aufsteigen] obviously corresponds to the ascent
[Ansteig] of the first measure, I must play the four eighths of the first half note together

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and the four eighths of the second half note together in order to express their relationship
to measure one. Now, the grouping of the second to the fifth eighth is a reflection of the
motion toward the goal that was postponed in measure one, but was achieved in measure
two. If I want to express this, then I naturally must phrase it differently. By playing a
regular legato, I leave both meanings open to the listener, and I do not have to distinguish
between them. But if one digs deeper into the purpose of the subtly differentiated
phrasings, [217] one does not easily find the answer. And so it could occur to one in our
position to suggest that the model from the first measure attempts to hint at the now-
suppressed or bridged-over pause [in measure two]. This interpretation is possible when
one chooses or figures out the performance dynamic in relationship to its intent. If this
attempt were successful, it would take away the best power from the entire measure, in
general, and in particular, it would spoil the purposefulness and the fulfillment of the F,
making the unresolved leading tone, Gb, too apparent. The main problem, however, is
that it would weaken the [quarter] rest in the fourth measure: a rest that is intended to be
the most energetic rest of the phrase. This common type of phrasing derived from the
thematic products of the Classical composer is not really suitable for every kind of theme.
Or to say it more clearly, what is effective in a weaker theme may not be suitable for the
stronger one: both have different needs.
Classical composers think in sections [Absätzen] and more in temporal lines that
clearly lead forward. Their themes tend to demand a clear phrasing, and where this is
absent, it is because the themes are lacking in form, not because they are complicated. If
the composer does not choose the phrasing, then we have to. Bach takes this choice
away; he makes it possible to choose both instead of making it an [218] either/or
situation. This is a necessary quality of the theme, lending significant vitality to it. If we
compare this theme to other themes of Bach, the greatest master of the thematic principle,

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we can see that it exhibits a large measure of this vitality. In contrast to the other themes,
I would even say that this theme is among those that have eternal life.

Let us now discuss an objection that many raise when speaking about the
properties of an artwork or of artistic media, not because the objection is meaningful, but
because it is so commonly used. In this case, [the objection] might be, “Do you really
believe that Bach thought about any of those things when he composed?” Inspiration and
intuition grants to the gifted artist that which all aesthetic wisdom cannot. Now, I have
not said what I think about Bach. I have only said what I think about his music, which is
what I endeavor to do. If tones were combined by pure, dumb luck, we would not view
the theme differently than we would if it were composed by a great and experienced
master. We would merely have to document that this stupid coincidence was very smart
this time.
Nobody knows what went on in the mind of the historical person Bach. Anyone
can think whatever he would like. But what happens in this [219] theme, since it has
existence: that we can and should know. Surely no one believes that we can hide behind
the impossibility of an answer to the first question [of what Bach thought about] in order
to avoid the demands of the question [of what happens in the theme] that can be
answered.
Nevertheless, Bach’s manner of fugal composition can give us a great deal of
insight into the first question. For although we do not know all of what Bach thought
when he discovered or! invented the subject, he does tell us clearly that he valued its
internal! coherence, the highly charged present, and that he viewed it as an individual,
!something indivisible. He treats only the Abgesang [m. 4] as a motive unto! itself,
allowing it to acquire a certain independence.! In measure 81, the bass begins the theme

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with the eighth notes from the third measure instead of at its beginning, and proceeds in
canon with the soprano. Here, it is particularly clear that Bach may protect the theme’s
parts from appearing without their connections within the whole theme, but he allows the
Abgesang the right to a freer activity, as it is in its nature freer than the theme.

We previously spoke of the main theme of the Pastoral symphony as a composite

state [Aggregatzustand] and now we can [220] confirm that. When compared to one of
Bach’s first themes, it seems like a cloudy image instead of a real, living thing.
Beethoven declares it to be the opposite of an individual, a dividual [Dividuum]. He does
not wrong it; no blood flows when it is divided, and no inner relationships are destroyed.
It may begin with the upbeat, it may begin with the second measure without the upbeat,
or the upbeat may free itself and do what it wants. All this and more can happen because
it has no internal need. When I called it lifeless, I meant this non-organicism. His
service [Dienst] is the surrogate of its own life and value; there is nothing to mediate in
itself, it has powers but does not utilize them for itself. It is not a system of powers. Yes,
it has to work and function, but it creates nothing, and it fulfills nothing. Literally
speaking, there is nothing behind it, no archetype shines through its reality, no law nor
fate hangs in the balance, and it must do without the holiness of becoming. Though its
delightfulness may be notable, it belongs among the many soulless themes. [221]

B. Content and Will

A large part of the content of the theme of the Fugue in Bb Minor that we have
been discussing is an upward moving scale. The scale is the ideal image through which
the events shine. The theme is dedicated to the scale and it becomes realized through it.

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 How? How can the most mundane be the ideal? No, it is not mundane, but
primordial [Ursprüngliche].
But let us talk about the practical usefulness of this method [of building a theme
based upon a scale] before we talk about its value or what it achieves.
The many relationships within the above-mentioned themes are instinctively
accessible to us because we feel the impact of the scale from the beginning of the piece.
This serves our understanding, that is, the instinctive organization of that which we hear,
similarly to the way that the great composers of art arrange simple geometric figures
within their paintings of figures and things to guide and quiet our eyes.
If we think of artwork as a body, we can compare its primordial form to the
backbone. Each carries the whole but cannot be seen. The scale is no more artistic than a
triangle, but it supports the form without our awareness, [222] just as we understand from
the position and movement of a clothed body that it has a backbone.
Let’s now dare to raise this simple comparison to an essential [theory]. The scale
is the musical primordial being and source like the triad is, though in another sense. It is
not a melody, and it is not there to be played, i.e. it will not even appear. Instead, it is the
possibility of melodic becoming, or the will of melodic appearance. It is the fundamental
succession of tones, or the seed of melody, through which the harmony becomes free, or
to say it better, the harmony wins the freedom to contradict the melody. It is nothing
ordinary, even when it is used as daily exercises for instrumentalists or vocalists. Its
nature comes from the Holy Mother Earth.
Whether Bach had recognized its value and character in this manner, or whether
he simply acknowledged and anticipated its usefulness is a question of historical interest.
For us, it is enough to endeavor to clarify that a great number of his themes, particularly
among the fugues, have and use the scale as a primary content. That the scales are not

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simply stated, nor self-evident, nor simply circumscribed, nor [223] varied, and
[furthermore] that such things are not necessary, is not yet self-evident.

For our final exam, we students of the Munich conservatory had to write a double
fugue, for which we were given the following theme that might have been written by J.
Rheinberger (the composition teacher at that time) or might have [only] been accepted by
him.

Example 52: Theme for Final Exam of the Munich Conservatory [Halm]

It is a silly theme, or a fiction, a real Faisnéant. It is demanding and nonsensical

because it does nothing but put on a display of energy for show.
Nevertheless, the theme is formed according to the scale! It is understandable and
concise, and it is full of variety, but what does it lack? Nothing other than will and soul,
or, expressed !more technically, it lacks materiality [Gegenständlichen]. Although it
contains contrasts, it! is not capable of making them operative, or of placing them in
service for itself.
I understand materiality [das Gegenständliche] very literally as that which! [224]
stands against or counteracts something, that is, as something that offers resistance
[Widerstand]. In this, the will is roused or demonstrated, and can be called artistic
activity. Art is, in itself, only appearance, and being and illusion are not distinguished

within it. Music that shows no will has no will and cannot hide that fact. This type of
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music can function energetically or profess energy, that is, it can puff itself up in
rhythmic, melodic and harmonic performance, show off, and waste energy—that it can
do, and we have already experienced this. We call such music inferior, and we include
the fugue theme that we just mentioned among it. However, we do not describe the
following equally weak-willed theme of Mozart as inferior.

Example 53: Mozart, Sonata in F Major K. 332, mm 1-12 [Halm]

It is pretty, and has a kind of modest and refined pleasantness. It has a sense of
what it is, and does not reach beyond itself, and therefore, it is neither full of wind nor
hollow. But its structure does not control that which is necessary, and allows the melody
to go back and forth arbitrarily. The contrast [between the rising and falling lines] does
not organize anything, and it does not signify a [225] controlled power, nor a strength for
us to perceive, and therefore, it has no power at all.
Dissonance gives the harmony its impetus, for the power that it conveys maintains
the harmonic tension and animates it. In a theme, the impetus comes from contradictions
in direction, most easily seen as the conflict between that which desires motion and that
which wants to remain stationary. It seems to me that once we have identified the
concepts of content and will of a theme, the differences between Classic themes and
typical themes of J. S. Bach’s are clearly apparent. Thus, now let’s analyze certain
themes of J.S. Bach in regard to certain points of view, thereby putting to use that which
we have said up to this point, as is proclaimed by the title of this chapter.

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Example 54: Bach, Theme of “Gigue” from the Partita A Minor [BWV 827], mm. 1-3
[Halm]

This theme from the Gigue of the A-minor Partita [BWV 827] is clearly, but not
completely dominated [226] by the tendency toward upward motion [Example 54]. In
the first measure, a restraining element [Hemmende] [A-G#A] occurs twice, and, in fact,
it is stronger the second time. This restraining element is excluded from [the first half] of
the second measure, but it appears in the second half [Bb-D-A] where it actively
contradicts the upward striving. This lively counterplay [between motion and restraint]
occurs throughout this part of the measure, but it could not have happened earlier without
confusing its listener. After that, the melodic line arises from the spell of the scale, which
had occurred on the accented parts of the measure [A, B, C, D]. The theme is full of
growing power and it has its own history.
We understand the extent to which Bach feels the mechanical problem of upward
and downward motion in the way that he inverts the theme for the second part of the
gigue. I have written about this in the fifth of my little essays about music (“Die
Rheinlande,” February 1912.)

The principle of opposition, particularly in the quality of inertia, plays a great role
in Bach’s melodic thinking. This reminds me of a place [from the second movement of
the Keyboard Concerto in D Minor, BWV 1052], and the oboe solo from the Aria “Ich
will bei menem Jesu wachen,” from St. Matthew’s Passion [Examples 55 and 56].

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Example 55: Bach, Second Movement of Keyboard Concerto in D Minor [BWV 1052],
mm. 6-7 [Halm]

Example 56: Bach, Oboe solo from the Aria “Ich will bei menem Jesu wachen,” from St.
Matthew’s Passion [226] [Halm]

[227] The content of the theme [from the Gigue of the D-major Partita, BWV
828] is the descending scale [Example 57]. It is disguised at the beginning, but becomes
increasingly clear, and this achievement of clarity is its self-fulfillment and its story. The
ideal starting-point, the upper octave, occurs on the weakest part of the measure, [beat 3].
The next [scale] degree [Etappe] will enter with a weightier step; the place itself is hardly
perfect—it is the second-lightest part of the measure—but the pause that follows it makes
the tone more substantial, which absorbs the movement, giving warmth to it, so to speak.
[The next step, B], which follows the pause, is artificially emphasized because it is
separated from the previous note by the pause and because of its resolute appearance.
[However, the next step, A], is naturally accented, and this turns the events into a process,
by which the desire of the theme has been elucidated and decided. The theme has
resolved its crisis. [228]

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Example 57: Bach, Gigue of the Partita in D Major, BWV 828, mm. 1-6 [Halm]

In the preceding chapter, I discussed the theme of the first G-major Fugue from

The Well-Tempered Clavier in terms of its rhythmic dynamics, but this work can also
serve us now as we attempt to gain insight into the structure of the themes [Example 58].
Its activity is controlled and even contested by two different wills. In the first part, the
upward-moving will is dominant, but in the second part, the downward-moving will is
more powerful. The content of each is the scale. Both tendencies fight with equal power
in the beginning. The beginning tone [G] strikes both neighbor tones, as does the
following [appearance of the motive in m. 1, beat 2], which already announces the first
victory of the upward-striving will [as it begins on A]. The third step of the scale is taken
up [in mm. 2 and 3] as the opposing power, [the downward-striving will] triumphs. The
previously victorious upward motion appears to have been sacrificed and to have lost its

position, which is achieved with the free-fall to the lower fourth [D] after the descent [in
m. 2]. However, the theme immediately leaps a seventh upwards to the fourth scale
degree, dragged back and forth in conflict. The motion of the three downward steps is
repeated [in m. 3], but this time, the free-fall is prevented. Instead, the three downward
steps descend by one more step, [to F#], scale-degree seven, from which the melodic line
quickly jumps up a seventh. Thus, the downward tendency is confirmed while it is
simultaneously weakened. On the other hand, the upward tendency is confirmed and

217
strengthened, [229] because the second leap of a seventh is stronger than the first. It is
harmonically stronger because it replaces the [outline of] the dominant seventh with the
[third and ninth] of the ninth chord, completely expressing the dominant, and even more,
as this is the first real leap [of the theme]. The first of these leaps was not such a [“real”]
leap, for the C, the seventh of the dominant, occurred immediately after its root, D, but
the C was already prepared by the previous upward motion [G-A-B of m. 1-2]. Scale
degree four [C], does not immediately follow scale-degree three, but it happens in the
next beat within the measure, though on a later part of the beat. It is not stressed,
however, in spite of the weight of the syncopation and the dignity of the event. The
second seventh-leap to E [m. 3] is not prepared by the ascending scale steps [as the first
leap was], which gives the descent that follows a sense of fulfillment.

Example 58: Bach, Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I), mm. 1-3
[Halm, p. 170]

The content of the upward progression can be reduced as such:

Example 59: Bach, Reduction of Theme from the Fugue in G Major (The Well-Tempered
Clavier, Book I) [Halm]

Even the form of this reduction could have a something like a melodic existence,

despite having no rhythmic power; it is a melodic sketch.

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 The primordial will [Urwille] has thus far not been expressed, [but we can see its]
agenda; [230] G, A, B, C, D. If the D [in m. 4] is supposed to clearly be the ending note,
or the goal of the journey, then the line should have curved down to this point.
A completely straight line has only direction, but does not lead us [anywhere]. It
surpasses the goal and moves into infinity, showing no will toward the goal.
Now, the master prepares the necessary [downward] curve by foreshadowing it
with its weaker model [in m. 2], which strengthens it and makes it more decisive.
Perhaps the counterplay of the opposite forces evolved from this thought, but this cannot
be said with certainty, since a perfect object has greater organizational needs in order to
be satisfied with uniform effects.
The decisive change of direction does not only occur in the model, but also in the
copy as well. The descent [from mm. 2 and 3] is repeated [in m. 4] almost as if it
happens by itself. The downward-reaching second from E to D is like a reflection of [the
descending motion] that has occurred before.

Example 60: Bach, Original Theme from G Major Fugue, mm. 4-5 [Halm]

The second motion back [Ausholen] from C [to B, mm. 2-3] is not only justified
by its rhythm and by its goal, the third of the dominant [triad], but it is also clearly related
to the first leap—[231] the seventh that outlines and accents the dominant. Yet, [this
motion from C to B] is also a reflection of this generally passive, or the “as if by itself,”
part of the theme. Because it goes easily and quickly downward, the contradiction
[between the leap upwards and the stepwise descent] is less effective. On the other hand,

the ascending motion shows great activity, effort and energy.

219
 It is very important to notice how, in particular, the rate of the action in the
descent appears matched to the liberated downward pull of gravity. The same rhythm in
measure one now leads us over a far greater distance.
And with this, we are reminded of the spiritual symmetry [Vergeistigte der
Symmetrie] inherent to this theme. There is an external symmetry as the first and the
fourth bars are equivalent, as are the second and the third bars. The two middle measures
have an identical harmonic content, but the second of these two is an intensification of its
model in two ways, as it contains the stronger dominant, and it is the first real leap of the
ascending character, and thereby it is the first appointed carrier of the “peripety.” The
fourth measure is rhythmically equivalent to the first as the third was to the second, but
its melodic content differs. The fourth measure refers to the whole complex, as in it
alone we stride across the entire territory that we have gained in the three previous
measures. Now, only the low D in the second half of measure two remains like a riddle
in our [232] recollection, but this is not in vain because the entry of the voice with the
subject on the dominant begins with this D, thereby giving it an office in all rights, or a
function, as it again takes up that which was formerly abandoned.

Let us take it to heart that this theme has the immortal originality of goodness and
meaningfulness, and let us open our eyes to its positive values that seek to replace that
which is strange, exotic, or surprising. Such values lie prepared to be lifted and
multiplied above the surface of the primitive and the ordinary, but the powerful magic
formula that allowed us to see and discover these positive values seems to have been lost.
Of course, this is really only the way it seems. We do not need a magic formula. We
need only rational qualities like seriousness, faithfulness and level-headedness, which are
borne and nourished by a deep faith and will and commitment to music. Thus with

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regard to something general about music,! that is, something generally comprehensible
and even !generally binding for music, something musically !objective, indeed with regard
to the musically! normal, let us be daring. Let us be candid with !the contempt that many
[critics] immediately show !for such an idea.
Therefore, I endeavor to demonstrate the positive values that are achieved in
Bach’s themes. In his art, we do not enjoy delicacies [Spezialitäten], [233] but we admire
inventions that we can respect, imitate—and perhaps develop—or better, [inventions] that
give us direction and the courage to find new laws, i.e. new productive powers. And
these powers are established within the primordial itself.
Progressive art does not escape from the primordial, nor does it abandon the
universal. It does not abandon a straight path and allow the beginning of the road to
become grown-over. It does not climb on an endless ladder and forget the first rung. Nor
does it surrender to mere historical consideration. Anything that was ever good for the
art is still good for it today and will always be. Nothing good is finished; one may and
always may do what one was allowed to do previously. Only the erroneous or the
incomplete belongs to history, and can perhaps be excused on a historical basis. To be
able [Können] and to have to [Müssen] are concepts which have merit in history, but to
be allowed to [Dürfen], and obliged to [Sollen], have nothing to do with science—they
are thoroughly and fundamentally beyond history.
Therefore, the image of progress is not really appropriate to art. It is better to
speak of its growth. An ongoing journey excludes that which stands still, but with that, it
excludes that which we possess, construct and manage; its line has no center or seed.
Rather, where art flourishes the area expands and bears better fruit. [234] There, fertile
ground will not become unfruitful and no achievements must be sacrificed if its value
should eventually be worn out. However, it is valuable to discover how even that which

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is rare and remote can be conquered, but it has less value if one must move far from
generalities and that which is familiar. But more and more, everything familiar and
exotic will find its own station, and the characteristic power and virtue will become
recognized and used. The growing art increases the boundaries of that which we may do
[Dürfen], and that which we ought to do [Sollen], but it demands such a strict ordering!
And those of us who want to participate in its growth and development must examine if
we are more or less sensitive to the result. Many say that they keep pace with progress
by putting themselves into a position of willingness and readiness, to tolerate any
possibility, but they have lost their [spiritual] home. Entirely influenceable, they react
only passively, though agreement, or “getting into the right attunement,” [“In-Stimmung-
kommen”]. They do not know where they go or how they go, and they let themselves be
pushed around, and they think that they move forward when they point their faces in the
right direction. The more the area seems unrecognizable and strange, the more they
appear to have progressed, because the feeling for that which is foreign comes with the
awareness of the familiarity of home, and they have lost the feeling of having stepped
onto the wrong path. These people wrongly imagine that they have climbed onto the
summit even if it is [235] uncomfortable, and where they know that fever and vertigo
threatens. After all, if they are feverish and dizzy, they have reached the summit,
correct?
Well, we have come neither higher nor further if we prefer the augmented to the
perfect fifth, or when we have begun to need altered sounds because the natural sounds
sound dull. Instead, we have progressed further only when we carry everything—the
normal and the exotic—to its highest power. It is more meritorious to allow the value of
a pure interval to function and assert itself than to waste a less-common interval.

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 Now, let’s look at Bach’s theme [from the G-major Fugue from The Well-
Tempered Clavier, Book I] again in this respect in order to learn more about it. We have
identified the second leap (of the seventh) as the first real upward leap of the theme.
However, according to the melodic sketch [shown previously in example 59], it is really a
fourth leap. The fourth is certainly a simple and common interval, but here it is an event,
thanks to the prudence and the genuine earnestness of its creator.
If I were talking about another, less-meaningfully sculpted theme, I would not so
easily dare to claim that the low D [in m. 2] remains unfinished in the memory and that it
thereby motivates the entry of the answer. A subtler, quiet dying away of the D would
have prevented this effect.
We can find something similar in the second F#-minor [236] Fugue of The Well-
Tempered Clavier. [Example 61]. The eighth-note F# in the second measure of its theme
is unprepared and receives no support within the theme even in retrospect. The
answering voice takes up the F# and placates us, allowing us to feel the groundlessness of
that unsupported tone within the otherwise-unified theme. Where everything depends on
responsibility, everything wins value, while still challenging the listeners’ sensitivity. We
can see how consciously Bach thought here by the fact that he has the second voice
(which is not followed by a third, higher one, which could help it in the same way) take
over again the abandoned C#, and even the same fifth-descent, in order to gradually move
towards the closed scale downwards from there. He even clearly recognized that which
was not yet created and justified.

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Example 61: Bach, Fugue in F# Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm. 1-6
[Translator]

Goethe said, “A little becomes a lot where there is passion.”161 Let us say instead
that the joy of the fullness of life lets us discover meaning and purpose. Bülow’s remark
“Here it is more a pure musical interest for the intervals,” about a Bach composition was
quoted by J[ose] Vianna da Motta in his supplement to Th[eodor] Pfieffer’s “Studies of
Hans Von Bülow. 162 When I reviewed that book years ago for a journal, I emphasized
that particular word [(interest)] as significant and even daring for those times, and
expressed the wish that it might be thought about [237] in relationship to musical
contemplation.
But with Bach, it is more than interest—it is love, respect and trust of natural
intervals that makes his themes exemplary and keeps them young. He does not just state
the themes, nor does he just make use of them. Instead, he lets them happen and he tends
to them.

161 Goethe, “Mit Mädchen sich Vertragen.”

162 Theodor Pfeiffer, The Piano Master Classes of Hans von Bülow: Two Participants’ Accounts, trans. and
ed. Richard Louis Zimdars (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993).
224
 If we can identify themes as belonging to the culture of scales that was previously
discussed, we can also see that a thematic creation arises from putting into motion a
single cultivated interval, [which is nothing less than] the fundamental thought or the
germ. The themes of the D-minor Fugue [Example 62] and the Ab-major Fugue from the
second part of The Well-Tempered Clavier are dominated by the interval of a fourth. A
reduction of the first is [shown in example 63, following its original version].

Example 62: Bach, Fugue in D Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II), mm 1-3
[Translator]

Example 63: Bach, Reduction of mm. 1-3 of the theme from the Fugue in D Minor (The
Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II) [Halm]

[In the original version], the first two intervals of a fourth are filled in by scalar

sixteenth-note triplets, but the next fourth is “free” [i.e. not filled in], similar to what we
saw in the sketch of the theme of the G-major Fugue. When the motion is discontinued,
the power is transformed and mounts up, resulting in the leap! After the passive
downward motion, there is a resolute accumulation [of power] on the G syncope, and the
original thought [Urgedanke] becomes again dominant, [238] and is embodied in the
fourth leap (which has not appeared since the beginning) from the second to the fifth

scale degree, which confirms this fourth motive and in the end proves its elasticity. Its
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will is not extinguished during the theme’s chromatic descent, and its reawakening gives
the beginning voices the energy for continuation that is appropriate to a fugue theme.
Thus, in this theme a simple interval of a fourth has become an event, in the way
it was first prepared and in the way that it springs forth with the accumulated power.
We can also “justify” the suitability of this interval by using its inversion. The
theme of the F-minor Fugue from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II begins with a
descending fifth from the fifth scale degree to the first [Example 64, below]. A
descending diminished seventh from Db to E-natural, i.e. from the minor ninth to the
major third of the dominant follows on the upbeat [of m. 2]. This second upbeat is split
into two sixteenths, the second of which is the seventh of the dominant, so that the first
interval, the perfect fifth [at the beginning], seems to be answered by the diminished fifth
from Bb to E. In the following measures, the boundaries that are ascertained [from Db to
E-natural] are filled in, reinforced, and put right. This type of belated justification raises
the value of that which has been established, [239] averts the impression that it was
coincidental or involuntary, and allows us to feel its seriousness and its will.163

163 Paragraph break inserted here, to clarify the musical examples that follow.
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Example 64: Bach, Theme of the Fugue in F Minor (The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book
II), mm. 1-5 [Translator]

For a counterexample, let’s look at a fugue theme by Aug[ust] Alex[ander]

Klengel [Example 65].

Example 65: Klengel, Fugue in C Minor, mm. 1-5 [Halm]164

The second measure [of Klengel’s theme] is disappointing. Its Biedermeier-type

character makes it sound as if it is apologizing for the previous measure in which we
might see something like heroism or initiative. It devalues the previous measure, letting
its impetus flutter away into the air as it denies its predecessor position as well as support.
A fleeting, windy, and empty enthusiasm becomes the general impression of this

164 August Alexander Klengel, Kanons und Fugen in allen Dur-und Moll-Tonarten (Leipzig: Breitkopf and
Härtel, 1910-1919?).
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embarrassed theme that seeks to rid itself of its youthful exuberance as quickly as
possible. The composer cannot hold on to what he had, Biblically speaking. Technically
speaking, he wastes, squanders, and fails to live up to his program. I consider the theme
of the second C-major Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier to be a model of fulfilled
promises and of a well-executed program, but I will not describe it here. Instead, I leave
it up to the reader to view other themes of similar construction and quality and themes
that have [240] emancipated themselves from such principles to examine their real value
and especially the permanence of their impressions. I have not undertaken to work on
Bach. Rather, I have intended to clarify the laws of the thematic element with the best
examples of good, neutral, successful, or even failed themes. So as not to appear to be
biased, [I must state that] I consider not a small number of Bach’s themes to be
inadequate. But here the task has been to acknowledge that Bach achieved the height of
thematic art, and to compare the level of thematic writing of subsequent composers with
this accomplishment.

Part II. [Thematic Virtue]

Let us consider another of Klengel’s themes, which at first glance might be

thought to have emerged from a composer of the school of Bach. I acknowledge that I
previously deliberately sought out one of Klengel’s pieces to typify an unsuccessful
theme, but not in order to disparage Klengel, only to serve clarity. [240]

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Example 66: Klengel, Fugue in D Major, mm. 1-5 [Translator]165

[241] Why does this theme seem too long? It is not because it is four measures

long and has a completely uniform rhythm. It is because it is poorly planned and is not
well-balanced. The D major chord at the end of the third measure sounds like it is the
main event, after which we would expect the Abgesang, but instead have a passive
waning out. That this scalar waning out does not set up a new character is already
awkward enough, but that it characterizes a previously suggested character that
deteriorates into rolling chords that finally disintegrate is even more awkward. The
listener, believing that the main event has already happened, expects a harmonic ascent of
the dominant. A theme can have two peaks, but that has to happen beat after beat. [This
theme is unsuccessful] because the second main event [m. 3, beat 3] occurs in the
corresponding [metrical] position to the first, leaving two almost equally-strong weights
hanging at the same level. That which appeared to be an Abgesang begins to build up
strength again, but it never becomes too strong, for the last event makes the events of
measures three and four seem too separate. These two measures are no longer a
discharge of energy [Auslauf], nor are they a mere appendix, but instead, they function
together as an appendage to the first two measures. The decrescendo in the fourth
measure is well-intended, [242] but contradicts the theme’s character and will, which, as I
mentioned before, leads harmonically higher [to the dominant].

165 Klengel, Kanons und Fugen in allen Dur-und Moll-Tonarten.

229
 Aside from that, [this appendage] claims an increase of energy. The melodic
line splits again [into a compound melody] toward the end. The beginning of the theme
is made up of two scales, one ascending and one descending, in one voice, which shows
its contradictory nature. In the second measure, this contradiction is nullified,
[aufgehoben] but not through artistic means.
Bach likes to begin a melodic line simply, and to split the theme toward the end
after it has accumulated energy and momentum. We discussed such a case on page 153,
where we recognized Bach’s intention to give weight to the theme. Here, now, in
Klengel’s theme, this weight pulls on the motion that has internally increased in contrast
to the third measure. At the end, the motion overcomes this weightiness thanks to its
harmonic effort, but we know that this is not what the composer intended because of the
decrescendo. And then there is the problem of the two splittings [Gespalten-sein] of the
theme. We can not, [however], reject the method in which we begin in this way and then
let the theme come together.
To the zealous student of composition is recommended the attempt to improve
such themes. [243] The practice of looking for the seed [Keime] and the desire for life
[Lebenswillen] can lead to the invention of new themes. We know from music history
that the theme of the Italian Concerto is an improved version of a theme from another
composition. Through this, we increase our awareness for that which is good and
successful, that which was well-positioned and intended, but was incompletely thought
out and artificial, and that which failed from the outset.
I do not think that the previously mentioned C-minor theme of Klengel can be
saved. The following theme of the same composer, which is entirely too confused and
incorrigible, must be completely changed to make it correct. [Example 65]

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Example 67: Klengel, Theme from the Fugue in E Minor [Halm]166

The [previously discussed] D-major theme [example 66] is naturally of higher

quality, [244] and can probably come in to its own even more. We can easily improve
its second measure.

Example 68: Halm's Alteration of m. 2 of Klengel's Fugue Theme in D Major [Halm]167

This would sound more lively and its animated character would be well motivated
or even demanded, for the power will be freed where the uniformity of the line has been
established and can no longer be split or artificially held together. It is also advantageous

166 Klengel, Kanons und Fugen in allen Dur-und Moll-Tonarten.

167 Ibid.

231
that the repeated D of the last sixteenth of each triplet functions more like a suspension
here than in the original.
From another perspective, the suggested form would help that which was
demanded from the beginning of the theme. The first two triplet groups emphasize the
common point of departure, [D], of the [scales that move in] opposite directions; the
points that are marked (that is, the scale steps) result from the energy that radiates from
this focal point. With the third triplet group, a new situation develops. The downward
scale seizes leadership and seems to overtake the other scale [because of the metrical
placement of its notes]. In the altered form of the second measure, I have shown a kind
of progression of the action, or a real sequence of the first “act.” By alternating accented
high [245] and low tones, I preserve the splitting of the theme, a state that was produced
in the first measure. The theme remains unified, but the low and high tones are more
distinct. There are still two lines—in fact they are parallel—but each has been endowed
with its own will. The higher line struggles for leadership, for it will not allow itself to be
taken in, and it will not relinquish its rights. I believe that this is what most helps the
theme. The tension remains unbroken, so that that which appeared to be the Abgesang
participates in this increased vitality, and is used more logically as part of the new and
last event. Now, perhaps we could shape the somewhat tedious downward-rolling chords
into something fresher, but they might be able to remain now that we improved the
tension in the passages that precede it that serve as a kind of recovery before the final
work of the theme. I will leave this question unanswered, for I do not want to make
presumptions for my readers. Instead, I hope that my words have encouraged the reader
to experiment.

232
 Every sound beginning of a theme, that is, every musically viable seed [Keim]
that is capable of life has to develop [wachsen] the way that it will progress and its
predetermined growth, but it probably must also contain multiple possibilities. The
preconceived [246] will of the composer and the composition’s characters, grandeur, and
mood are powerful to a certain extent, but they are not almighty. One can compare them
to the influences of climate and land, which can be favorable or damaging [to a crop].
The theme itself will tell us if it grows well or if it atrophies. Neither the composer nor
the character that he intends serves as the standard, for the standard is the thematic seed,
or its primordial form [Urform]. Anyone who does not believe this will at least have to
admit that there are a number of forms that contradict a thematic motif, thus proving our
point by its opposite.
* * *

I believe that I have proven—and have considered it my duty to do so—that it is

possible to speak about the inherent value of a theme or type of theme; that is, of a
theme’s virtue, and not only from its usefulness.
Symmetry is a necessity in a theme, but spiritual symmetry within a theme is
virtuous. A theme that progresses and flows well shows virtue, but a meaningful force in
a theme, its tension, its clearly defined will, its wealth of active and passive relationships
within itself and with each other is a higher virtue. With this, we can distinguish Bach’s
[247] best themes from the themes of the Classical composers, which are fundamentally
of a different nature.
We saw that Klengel’s D-major Fugue theme was ill but healable [Examples 66
and 68]. The intention within the theme is not certain, but Klengel expresses it clearly
enough for us to be able to help him come closer to what he intended. It is more a

233
question of style than of health. Of course, it fundamentally lacks so much that even
when improved it is not of superior style.
On the other hand, one has to say that as far as the characteristic themes of
Classical composers are concerned, particularly as they are good, i.e. well-developed and
useful in themselves, that this kind does not have a nobility of the spirit. And this should
be said about those that are relatively good, and should apply to the normal habit, as the
realm of the classics not just contains, but also uses inferior themes, which it, so to speak,
recognizes as its citizens and cultivates for their competence. This example is one of
many:168

Example 69: Beethoven, String Quartet No. 14 in C# Minor, Op. 131, Mvt. 7, mm. 2-5
[Halm]

The symmetry is laid out flatly. It is stated, but it does not happen. It is a call, or
an order, but not a law. It [248] is merely a phrase. It creates force, but it is weak within
itself. It is exciting, but does not contain tension within itself. It lacks an inner core. It is
competent, but not good. It appears to live, but does not have a life. It has bright colors,
but does not glow.
I consider Mozart’s F-major theme that was cited in the beginning of this treatise
[see Example 53] to be one of the better thematic products of the Classical composers.
Of even higher quality is the first theme of Mozart’s D-minor String Quartet, and the
themes of Beethoven’s great Bb-major Trios, op. 97, the F-major String Quartet of op.
59, and his “Pastoral” Symphony. These themes are more narrative, and contain their

168 Halm included this example in the text, but he did not identify the composer or title of the work.
234
history within themselves as we have seen in Bach’s superior themes. Their power,
beauty, or charm lies in their habitus and gesture more than in their being and character.
They appear to be freer, and they are more relaxed, but they are weaker, and [their
progress seems] less inevitable. They appear to flourish, but they do grow well, for they
have shallow roots. I have no intention of disregarding them, but I also am far from
placing this less-organically developed type of theme among those of higher quality. Our
ability to make distinctions between the different types of themes has been dulled, but
this should not be attributed to the Classical composers, for it is the fault of the
thoughtless cult of Classicism [249].
In his counterpoint and fugue composition text, Felix Draeseke, a master of
counterpoint and themes, lists some useful points for the composition of fugue themes,
after which he names the composers that he considers to be masters in thematic writing:
Bach, Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini, and Mendelssohn (Volume 2, page 55).169 But
I think that one should be careful when one opens the eyes of a student, and explain why
the composers named above are not all of the same rank. On page 73 of the same volume
we read the following about the second Bb-minor Fugue of The Well-Tempered Clavier:
“The theme, of considerable length, is marvelously invented and captures us particularly
because of its change in rhythm. We can distinguish three motives, separated by quarter
rests, which become increasingly animated, and whose last, which appears after a
surprising interruption, lends to the theme an energetic, almost dramatic end.”
In fact, as we have seen, the theme is extraordinarily well-invented, and if
Draeseke had clarified what is good and excellent within the theme, the text would have
an even higher instructional value. It was not necessary for him to focus on rhythmic
change, for everyone can already hear this by themselves, and because it is neither a

169 Draeseke(1835-1913). The book that Halm mentions is Der gebundene Styl: Lehrbuch für Kontrapunkt
und Fuge (Hanover, 1902).
235
difficult nor meritorious to create change with rhythm. The entire theme, not just [250]
the ending, is dramatic, and energy flows through the whole. Indeed, the reason for its
excellence is the complete opposite of that which Draeseke tells us! Is it possible to see it
more superficially than Draeseke did?

I cannot justify that I value that which is organic more highly than that which is
not, so I will allow the general consensus here, which I regard as instinctively reasonable
in this case. But if this point of view is accepted, we do not have to justify that the rich
and differentiated organism is superior to that which is poor and more primitive, for this
judgment follows the first evaluation—as a matter of fact, it does not follow it, because
both are identical judgments.
To highly respect something is not the same as finding it pleasant. We do not
necessarily select the most valuable themes as our “favorites,” for our natural tendency is
not always in accord with our [critical] judgment. There is much that is strict and not
very attractive in that which is so highly developed and spirited, almost inhuman, but
there is also something superhuman and holy. As a matter of fact, it is not easy to love a
theme like the Bb-minor Fugue theme, unless one loves God and the Spirit. I do not
claim that I love this sort of theme, [251] but I recognize and admire its dignity and
understand that creating such an art serves the highest purpose. The best theme can
conquer the world and release spiritual power, and it functions as a cosmic achievement.
It does not speak, but is. What must appear in it is what does appear in it. The
light of a preexistence flows out of it. It contains more than logic; it is supralogical
[Überlogische], metalogical, and its logos is made known through it. It has an eternal
existence and is continually becoming with its constant back-and-forth movement of the
powers and the simultaneous reaching-forward and reaching-back of its meaning. It is an

236
image of eternal life, not merely the reflection or an allegory of eternal life—and I use
this expression intentionally. I do not understand it as an impossibility or unimaginable
Nirvana, nor as a renunciation of temporality. Instead, I understand it as victory over
time through a series of temporal events.
And if our weak eyes could feel it as too bright for us to experience its beauty, it
is perhaps because it is the beauty of another, or better world—a world with stricter and
higher laws. [252]

237
 Afterword and Outlook

What I read in Heinrich Wölfflin’s book, Classic Art, about the compositional
mastery of Raphael completely satisfies me, and as long as I heed it alone, everything
seems fine. But this does not last, and other impressions that might have been repressed,
but not weakened, come back to life.
Such is the case with Beethoven. We must not reject the following question. Is
there so much to hear in his musical forms that we do not hear the insufficiency of the
individual elements? Indeed, we are supposed to discipline ourselves to hear as much as
possible so that we miss nothing, are we not?

Fundamentally, the Classical sonata is somewhat bureaucratic. The individual,

i.e. the theme or the melody, is not a being with its own rights and life. Instead, it is used
and used up. The theme has a place and function in the whole, and theme receives life
only from its function. It is subsumed and held together by the atmosphere of the entire
event. [253]
If one would prefer another comparison, I can liken the Classical sonata to an ant
colony, the embodiment of divided labor, which simultaneously amazes and frightens us.

The individual, biologically insignificant ant is born to its function in the state.
* * *

A state that functions at its highest capacity is not necessarily the ideal state, nor
is the ideally formed individual an ideal. This is even truer than my aforementioned
statement that Bach’s music is more music than that of the Classical composers. But we

238
miss this state-like conception [Staatsgedanke] within it—a conception that does not
escape our thoughts now that we have been exposed to it [by Beethoven’s sonatas].
A third culture, the synthesis of each of the two cultures that I have endeavored to
illustrate in this work, is to be expected. It will be the only complete culture of music.
Furthermore, I believe that this culture has already been established, and that it might
have already been achieved.
I see it germinate and live in Anton Bruckner's symphonies. That he succeeded in
creating the exalted beauty of the individual more than any other Classical composer is
less disputed today than that he also succeeded in the great endeavor of ruling the masses,
which for him are no longer masses. I [254] showed elsewhere why this must be
affirmed; in some of his works, and particularly his last one, I see the ideal of form united
with that of the individual in such a wonderful way as nowhere else. To me, the first
movement of the Ninth Symphony is the most beautiful music that has ever been created.
May the time have come that has the courage to honor and prove the right of the
last beginning of the art of tonality, but not its final end.

239
 Bibliography

Bach, Johann Sebastian. Orgelwerke, Vol. 5. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke. Kassel:
Bärenreiter, 1972.

Bekker, Paul. Beethoven. 2d ed. Berlin: Schuster and Loeffler, 1912.

________. Beethoven. Translated by M.M. Bozman. London: J.M. Dent and Sons, Ltd.,
1939.

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 Vita

Laura Lynn Kelly was born in North Platte, Nebraska on 16 June, 1968, the
daughter of Jim and Kathy Kelly. She graduated from Lincoln East High School in
Lincoln, Nebraska in 1986. She received her Bachelor of Music degree from the
University of Nebraska at Lincoln in 1991, and her Master of Music Degree from DePaul
University in Chicago, Illinois in 1993. Both degrees were in clarinet performance, and
both were conferred with distinction. She began her Ph.D. in music theory at the
University of Iowa in 1993, earning ABD status in 1998. In 1999, she accepted a full-
time position teaching music theory and music literature at the University of Texas at San
Antonio. While in San Antonio, she has also served as an adjunct instructor at Our Lady
of the Lake University and the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio. In Fall
2005, she transferred to the University of Texas to complete her Ph.D.
Laura lives in San Antonio, Texas with her husband Robert Black, her son Kevin
(born in 2003), and her daughter Miranda (born in 2006). She continues to teach music
theory and world music at the University of Texas at San Antonio. Her research interests
include the history of theory and theory pedagogy. She has presented papers at regional
and national meetings of the College Music Society, and has given pre-performance

lectures for the Soli Chamber Ensemble.

Permanent address: 11202 Whisper Falls, San Antonio, TX 78230

This dissertation was typed by the author.

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