  Mr. Criticus Flub-Dubbe’s program study class began the season yesterday afternoon with every member present and keenly attentive. After a preparatory sketch of old Italian music, Mr. Dubbe told us about the Neapolitan Sixth, which, he said had exercised so strong an influence on music that, if Naples had never done anything else, this alone would have insured to the city fame in history. “The Neapolitan Sixth,” said Mr. Dubbe, “is so called because the composers of the Neapolitan school of opera were the first to introduce it freely. D. and A. Scarlatti were at the head of the school and were well-known musicians. Bach, who was not so well known, also used this sixth.” “Which used it first?” asked Mrs. Givu A. Payne. “Bach, of course,” replied Mr. Dubbe. “Bach used everything first.” “Dear old Bach!” exclaimed Miss Georgiana Gush. “The Neapolitan Sixth,” continued Mr. Dubbe, “is usually found in the first inversion; hence the [p 238] />name, the sixth indicating the first inversion of the chord.” “How clever!” said Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat. “It is an altered chord, the altered tone being the super-tonic. The real character of the chord is submediant of the subdominant key; that is, it is a major chord, and the use of such a major chord in the solemn minor tonalities is indicative of the superficiality of the Italian school—a desire for a change from the strict polyphonic music of the times. Even the stern Bach was influenced.” “The Italians are so frivolous,” said Mrs. Boru-Stiffe. “A reign of frivolity ensued,” went on Mr. Dubbe. “Not only was Italian music influenced by this sixth, but Italian art, architecture, sculpture, even material products. Take, for example, Neapolitan ice-cream. Observe the influence of the sixth. The cream is made in three color tones—the vanilla being the subdominant, as the chord is of subdominant character; the strawberry being the submediant, and the restful green the lowered supertonic or altered tone.” “What is the pineapple ice?” asked Miss Gay Votte. “The pineapple ice is the twelfth overtone,” replied Mr. Dubbe. “There doesn’t seem to be anything that Mr. [p 239] />Dubbe doesn’t know,” whispered Mrs. Fuller-Prunes to me with a smile. I should say there wasn’t! After the lecture we had a lovely hand-made luncheon. Miss Ellenborough presided at the doughnuts and Mrs. G. Clef poured. It was such a helpful hour. II.“You remember,” said Mr. Dubbe, “that Herr Weidig, in his lecture on the wood winds, gave a double bassoon illustration from Brahms’ ‘Chorale of St. Anthony,’ which you are to hear to-day. But Herr Weidig neglected to mention the most interesting point in the illustration—that the abysmal-toned double bassoon calls attention to the devil-possessed swine, St. Anthony being the patron saint of swine-herds. I want you to listen carefully to this swine motive. It is really extraordinary.” Mr. Dubbe wrote the motive on the blackboard and then played it on his double bassoon, which, he said, is one of the very few in this country. “The bassoon,” said Mr. Dubbe, “was Beethoven’s favorite instrument. I go further than Beethoven in preferring the double bassoon. Among my unpublished manuscripts are several compositions for this instrument, and my concerto for two double bassoons is now in the hands of a Berlin publisher. [p 240] “C. Major—that’s the man who wrote ‘Dorothy Vernon,’” giggled Miss Vera Cilly. “I am not discussing ragtime variations,” said Mr. Dubbe, severely. “Not knocking anybody,” whispered Miss Gay Votte. “Another interesting point in connection with this week’s program,” resumed Mr. Dubbe, “is the river motive in Smetana’s symphonic poem, ‘The Moldau.’ Three flutes represent (loosely speaking; for, as I have often told you, music cannot represent anything) the rippling of the Moldau, a tributary of the Danube. If the composer had had a larger river in mind he would have used nine flutes. If this composition of Smetana’s seems rather unmusical, allowance must be made for him, as the poor man was deaf and couldn’t hear how bad his own music was.” “Wasn’t Beethoven deaf?” asked Miss Sara Band. “Only his physical ears were affected,” replied Mr. Dubbe. “Smetana’s soul ears were also deaf.” At the close of the lecture Miss Ellenborough [p 241] />gave us a surprise in the way of raised doughnuts made in the form of a G clef. Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat poured. III.There was an ominous flash in Dr. Dubbe’s eye when he arose to address the class. “We have this week,” he began, “a program barbarous enough to suit the lovers of ultra-modern music. There is Saint-SaËns’ overture, ‘Les Barbares,’ to begin with. This is as barbaric as a Frenchman can get, and is interesting chiefly as a study of how not to use the trumpets. But for sheer barbarity commend me to Hausegger’s ‘Barbarossa.’ Here we find the apotheosis of modern exaggeration. Hausegger strove to make up for inimportant themes by a profuse use of instruments. Only one theme, which occurs in the third movement, is of any account, and that is an imitation of an old German chorale. In this most monotonously muted of tone-poems the composer forgot to mute one instrument—his pen.” “My! but Dr. Dubbe is knocking to-day,” whispered Miss Sara Band. “The thing is in C major and opens with a C major chord,” continued Dr. Dubbe. “That is the end of the C major; it never returns to that key. This is modern music. Take the third movement. It opens with a screeching barbershop [p 242] />chord. A little later ensues a prize fight between two themes, which continues until one of them is knocked out. In this edifying composition, also, snare drum sticks are used on the kettle drums. More modern music. Bah!” I have never seen Dr. Dubbe so irritated. “Let us turn to something more cheerful,” resumed Dr. Dubbe; and seating himself at the piano he played the Schubert C minor impromptu. “On the second page,” he said, “where the key becomes A flat major, occurs a harmony which looks and sounds like a foreign chord. Treated harmonically it is a second dominant formation, and should read C flat, D natural, A flat, diminished seventh of the key of the dominant. Schubert does not, however, use it harmonically, otherwise the B natural would read C flat. These notes are enharmonic because, though different, they sound the same.” “How clear!” exclaimed Miss Gay Votte. “But Schubert, instead of progressing harmonically, goes directly back into the tonic of A flat major.” “How careless of him!” said Mrs. Givu A. Payne. “Schubert uses it in its natural position. If the enharmonic C flat were used the chord would then be in its third inversion. Each diminished seventh harmony may resolve in sixteen different ways.” [p 243] Dr. Dubbe passed his hand across his brow as if wearied. “I shall never cease to regret,” he said, “that Schubert did not write C flat. It would have been so much clearer.” After the lecture Miss Ellenborough gave us another surprise—doughnuts made in the shape of flats. Dr. Dubbe ate five, saying that D flat major was his favorite key. I rode down in the elevator with him and he repeated his remark that Schubert had unnecessarily bemuddled the chord. “I am sure you made it very plain,” I said. “We all understand it now.” “Do you, indeed?” he replied. “That’s more than I do.” Of course he was jesting. He understands everything. IV.Dr. Dubbe was in his element yesterday. The trinity of B’s—Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms—or, as Dr. Dubbe put it, the “trinity of logicians,” was much to his taste: a truly Gothic program. “But what a contrast is the second half,” said Dr. Dubbe. “In the first we have the Kings of absolute music. In his youth Beethoven strayed from the path (for even he must sow his musical [p 244] />wild oats), but in his maturer years he produced no music that was not absolute. But in the second half we have Berlioz and program music.” “I thought program music was music suitable for programs,” said Mrs. Givu A. Payne. “Berlioz,” continued Dr. Dubbe, “instituted the ‘musical reform’ in Germany—the new German school of Liszt and Wagner. Berlioz’s music is all on the surface, while Brahms’ music sounds the depths. He uses the contra-bassoon in about all of his orchestral compositions (you will hear it to-day), and most of his piano works take the last A on the piano. If his bass seems at times muddy it is because he goes so deep that he stirs up the bottom.” “How clear!” exclaimed Miss Gay Votte. “Take measure sixty-five in Berlioz’s ‘Dance of the Sylphs,’” said Dr. Dubbe. “The spirits hover over Faust, who has fallen asleep. The ’cellos are sawing away drowsily on their pedal point D (probably in sympathy with Faust), and what sounds like Herr Thomas tuning the orchestra is the lone A of the fifth. The absent third represents the sleep of Faust. This is a trick common to the new school. Wagner uses it in ‘Siegfried,’ in the close of the Tarnhelm motive, to illustrate the vanishing properties of the cap. In measure fifty-seven of the Ballet you will find a chord of the augmented five-six, a harmony [p 245] />built on the first inversion of the diminished seventh of the key of the dominant, with lowered bass tone, and which in this instance resolves into the dominant triad. Others claim that this harmony is a dominant ninth with root omitted and lowered fifth.” “It has always seemed so to me,” said Mrs. Fuller-Prunes. But I don’t believe she knows a thing about it. “I think it’s all awfully cute,” said Miss Georgiana Gush. “The harmony,” resumed Dr. Dubbe, frowning, “really sounds like a dominant seventh, and may be changed enharmonically into a dominant seventh and resolve into the Neapolitan sixth. This is all clear to you, I suppose?” “Oh, yes,” we all replied. Dr. Dubbe then analyzed and played for us Brahms’ First Symphony, after which Miss Ellenborough served doughnuts made in the shape of a Gothic B. We all had to eat them—one for Bach, one for Beethoven, and one for Brahms. V.Dr. Dubbe did not appear enthusiastic over this week’s program. I guess because there was no Bach or Brahms on it. But we enjoyed his lecture just the same. “Raff was the Raphael of music,” said Dr. [p 246] />Dubbe. “He was handicapped by a superabundance of ideas, but, unlike Raphael, he did not constantly repeat himself. This week we will have a look at his Fifth Symphony, entitled ‘Lenore.’” “Oh!” exclaimed Miss Georgiana Gush, “that’s the one the hero of ‘The First Violin’ was always whistling.” “As you all know,” said Dr. Dubbe, “this symphony is based on BÜrger’s well-known ballad of ‘Lenore,’ but as only the last movement is concerned with the actual ballad I will confine my remarks mainly to that. I wish, however, to call your attention to a curious harmony in the first movement. Upon the return of the first theme the trombones break in upon a dominant B major harmony with what is apparently a dominant C major harmony, D, F, and B. But the chords are actually enharmonic of D, E sharp, and B. This is a dominant harmony in F sharp. Listen for these trombone chords, and pay special attention to the E sharp—a tone that is extremely characteristic of Raff.” “I think I have read somewhere,” said Mrs. Givu A. Payne, “that Raff was exceedingly fond of E sharp.” “He was,” said Dr. Dubbe. “He often said he didn’t see how he could get along without it. But to resume: “The fourth movement opens with Lenore’s [p 247] />lamentation over her absent lover and her quarrel with her mother—the oboe being the girl and the bassoon her parent. Lenore foolishly curses her fate (tympani and triangle), and from that moment is lost. There is a knock at the door and her dead lover appears with a horse and suggests something in the nature of an elopement. Not knowing he is dead, Lenore acquiesces, and away they go (trumpets, flutes and clarinets). “’Tis a wild and fearful night. Rack scuds across the moon’s wan face (violas and second violins). Hanged men rattle in their chains upon the wayside gibbets (triangle and piccolo). But on, on, on go the lovers, one dead and the other nearly so. “At last they reach the grave in the church-yard, and death claims the lost Lenore (’cellos and bass viols pizzicato). For a conclusion there is a coda founded on the line in the ballad, ‘Gott sei der Seele gnÄdig.’ It is very sad.” Dr. Dubbe seemed much affected by the sad tale, and many of us had to wipe tears away. But Miss Ellenborough came to our rescue with some lovely doughnuts made in the shape of a true lovers’ knot. These, with the tea, quite restored us. VI.There really wasn’t any study class this week—that is, Dr. Dubbe did not appear. While the [p 248] />class waited for him and wondered if he were ill a messenger brought me the following note: “My Dear Poeta: Kindly inform the class that there will be no lecture this week. I cannot stand for such a trivial program as Herr Thomas has prepared. C.F.-D.” “He might have told us sooner,” said Miss Georgiana Gush. “Why, yes; he knew last week what the next program would be,” said Mrs. Faran-Dole. “The eccentricity of genius, my dear,” remarked Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat. “Genius is not tied down by rules of conduct of any sort.” “Well,” said Mrs. Givu A. Payne, “I don’t blame him for not wanting to analyze this week’s program. There isn’t a bit of Bach or Brahms on it.” “Ladies,” said Miss Ellenborough, coming forward with a gentleman who had just arrived, “let me introduce Mr. Booth Tarkington, of Indiana. Mr. Tarkington came up to attend the lecture, but as Dr. Dubbe will not be here Mr. Tarkington has kindly consented to give a doughnut recital, so to speak.” “Oh, how lovely!” we all exclaimed. “Mr. Tarkington,” added Miss Ellenborough, “is well known as the author of the Beaucaire doughnut, the pride of Indiana doughnutdom.” [p 249] After tea we all adjourned to the concert, which we enjoyed immensely, in spite of the absence of Bach and Brahms. Not knocking Dr. Dubbe. |
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