CHARLES IVES Piano Sonata No. 2 "Concord, Mass., 1840-1800” Second Edition MOVEMENTS | ase | 1. "Emerson"... ..- 1 2. “Hawthorne”... . . 21 3. "The Alcotts”. . 2. . 53 4. “Thoreau” we 59 ASSOCIATED MUSIC PUBLISHERS, INC. N.NOTE ‘According to the Ives Catalogue by John Kirkpatrick, Ives's own records and memos indicate that the Concord Sonata was mostly com- posed, or more exactly recomposed, in 1911-12, from the unfinished scores of the Orchard House Overture (1904), the Emerson Concerto (1907), and the Hawthorne Concerto (1910). Though Ives played the whole Sonata for a friend in 1912, he considered the last two move- ments not finished until 1915. The Essays Before A Sonata were written in 1919. In 1920, both the Sonata and the Essays were privately printed, the engraving of the Sonata being done by G. Schirmer, Inc., and the printing of the Essays by The Knickerbocker Press. The revised edition of the Sonata was prepared by Ives himself in 1940-47, with considerable help from George F. Roberts, and was published in 1947 by Arrow Music Press. This Arrow edition, subsequent- ly acquired by Associated Music Publishers, Inc., appears here as on unaltered reprint. utWhos seemed to the writer, that Emerson is greater identity more complete perhaps—in the realms of revelation “natural disclosure—than in those of poetry, philosophy, or prophecy. Though o great poet ond prophet, he is greater, Possibly as an invader of the unknown,—America's deepest ‘Explorer of the spiritual immensities,—o seer pointing his dit- overies in masses and with ony color that may lie ot hand— religious, human, even sensuous; a recorder, freely describing the inevitable struggle in the soul's upr ceiving from this inward source alone, that every foct is only the first of @ new series”; a discoverer, whose heart knows, with Voltaire, “that mon se left olone,” and would then discover, if he can, that drous chain wi 3 the heavens with earth—the world cf beings subject to one law.” In his reflections Emerson, unlike Plato, is not afraid to ride Arion’s Dolphin, and to go wherever, he is carried—to Parnassus or to “Musketaquid.”” We see him standing on a summit, at the door of the in- finite where many men do not dare to climb, peering into the mysteries of life, contemplating the eternities, hurling back whatever he discovers there,—now, thunderbolts for us to ‘grasp, if we can, and translate—now placing quietly, even tenderly, in our hands, things that we may see without effort if we won't see them, so much the worse for us... Emerson wrings the neck of any law, that would become exclusive and arrogant, whether a definite one of metaphysics or an indefinite one of mechanics. He hacks his way up and down, at near as he can fo the absolute, to the ‘oneness of all nature both human and spiritual, and to God's benevolence. To him the ultimate of a conception is its vast ness, and itis probably this, rather than the "‘blind-spots” in his expression that makes us incline to go with him, but halt- way, ond then stand and build dogmes. But if we can not follow all the way--if we do not always clearly perceive the whole picture, we are af least free to imagine it—he makes Us feel thot we are free to do so; perhaps that is the most hhe asks. For he is but reaching out through and beyond man- Kind, trying to see what he con of the infinite and its in- jes—throwing back to us whatever he con—but ever Conscious that he but occasionally catches a glimpse: cor scious that if he would contemplate the greater, he must wrestle with the lester, even though it dims an outline; that hhe must struggle if he would hurl back anything—even 0 broken fragment for men to examine and perchance in it find @ germ of tome part of truth; conscious at times, of the {ulilty of his effort and its message, conscious of its vogue- ness, but ever hopeful for it, and confident that its founds- tion, if not its medium is somewhere near the eventual ond “absolute good"’—the divine truth underlying all life. If Emerson must be dubbed an optimist—then an optimist Aight- iam, but not wallowing in it; an optimist, who doss by learning to enjoy tion is greater than his curiosity, who seeing the sign-post to Erebus, is strong enough to go the other way. This strength of ‘optimism, indeed the strength we find always underlying his tolerance, prophecies, ond reve- lations, is nt by “imagination- penetrative,”” @ thing concerned not with the combining ut the apprehending of things. A possession, akin to the power, Ruskin says, all great pictures have, which “depends on the penetration of the imagination into the true nature of the thing represented, and on the scorn of the imagination for ‘all shackles ond fetters of mere external fact that stand the way of its suggestiveness""—a possession which gives the strengh of distance to his eyes, and the strength of muscle to Ma ee ee ‘A devotion to an end ends to undervalue the means. A power of revelation may make one more concerned about his perceptions of the soul's nature than the way of more interested in what he per their disclosure. Emerson ceives than in tensity is consumed more with the substance of his creation than with the manner by which he shows it to others. Like Petrarch he seems more a discoverer of Beauty than an im- patter of it. But these discoveries, these devotions to aims, these struggles toward the absolute, do not these in them- selves impart something, if not all, of their own unity and coherence—which is not received, os such, at first, nor is foremost in their expression. It must be remembered that “teuth"" was what Emerson was after—not strength of outline, fr even beauty except in s0 far as they might reveal them- selves, naturally, in his explorations towards the infinite. To think hard and deeply and to say what is thought, regardless ‘of consequences, may produce @ first impression, either of great translucence, oF of great muddiness, but in the latter there may be hidden possiblities. Some accuse Brahms’ or- chestration of being muddy. This may be a good name for a ion of it. But if it should teem less 40, he might 19 what he thought. The mud may be a form of sincerity which demands that the heart be translated, rather than handed around through the pit. A clearer scoring micjat have lowered the thought. Cariyle told Emerson that some of paragraphs didn’t cohere. Enierson wrote by sentences or phrases, rather than by logical sequence. His underlying plan of work seems based on the large unity of a series of porticular aspects of a subject, rather than on the continuity Of its expression. As thoughts surge to his mind, he fills the hheavens with them, crowds them in, if necessary, but seldom ‘arranges them along the ground first... sss = = A.working woman after coming from one of his lectures said: "I love 10 go to hear Emerson, not because | understand him, but because he looks as though he thought ‘everybody was at good at he was." Is it not the courage— the spiritual hopefulness in his humility that makes this story potsible and truet Is it not this trait in his character that sets him above all creeds—that gives him inspired belief in the ‘common mind and soul? Is it not this courageous universalism that gives conviction to his prophecy and that makes his sym- phonies of revelation begin and end with nothing but the srength and beauty of innate goodness in man, in Nature ‘and in God, the greatest and most inspiring theme of Con- cord Transcendental Philosophy, as we hear i. ‘And it is from such a world-compelling theme and from such vantage ground, that Emerson rises to almost perfect freedom of action, of thought and of soul ‘and to any height. himself, places Milton, in Wordsworth's apostrophe 15 the naked heavens, majestic, free, 0 didst thou travel on "s common way in cheerful Godliness. ‘The Godliness of spiritual courage and hopefulness—th fathers of faith rise to a glorified peace in the depth of his ‘greater perorations. There is an “oracle” at the beginning of the Fifth Symphony—in those four notes lies one of Bee- thoven's greatest messages. We would place its translation above the relentlessness of fate knocking at the door, above the greater human-messuge of destiny, and strive io bring it towards the spiritual message of Emerson's revelations—even to the “common heart" of Concord—the Soul of humanity knocking at the door of the Divine mysteries, radiant in the faith that it will be opened—and that the human will become the Divine!I. “Emerson” rh Te pater, CHARLES E. IVES Slowly ee > >= > Sts - i Ree Sastor eta slower A = —_ slightly slow If ightly slower" —— wa be fs S Ha ARES, rh eee cs = — rh. faster =f slower ower A ‘Saster and faster be S f SF Co Fight 1947 hy Associated Music Pu W includine the right ot Inc, New York ante mance for prof Emerson 19© atitite faster tut firmly _ (2 oP 4 sai 9 Ar rr Emerson 19slightly slower FB ee Lette PN Heat Crt VP aya ttt al an ge = po ae a little faster and broadly Emerson 19Slowly and quietly Ree Se + —=Pp rit. yt pfeil ae t Emerson 19almost as a recitative iArough here) FP nna PP slowly - 7 moderately but decisively A ih PP ———— zat oS mB hester SS Emerson 19= val Li me irr , i m4 = = woken? a se se i k rm aon 19mp quite fast but slower than preceding passage Emerson 19PP a ee 2 quite fast again ‘ ‘= | SS V—- oF me oo ror. ie 5 | ‘ a HES till] 4 a 1 . <2. <2. 2a~ SPE SN PR = v Emerson 19ge = la Ee 2 5 gradually more animate: Ae pee inate ss — he ——S SS ES ed & o te A & = eS So Emerson 19 ALAey Zw Emerson 19=> Ps Tquite slowly and as a song) but not too evenly P | or ‘Faster and with more animation, yor Bmerson 19« A A ALPS |) tg ee ton a " a St D> (fa Saal a, (nd eat TF 3 ps Kp, AP us ‘somewhat faste SEN HE Emerson 1914 ans poe zeta pe a — almost 4 . deciiaty ond frety 2 _—_ = A oe ma HF Dy es =—S.. Emerson 1945 Poco ten, ad lib. Lh, more broadly but only a little slower Emerson 19hae oa. ts ie 98 ge a Seg. tt ba ow : Se tx = 5 ors — a F = = fa tt R11 _ v U4 st es = : | ea ¢: 2 ‘ —= nb on — =n PEE BB ised pode =—— — So Way 4 TS ae ae a a Sim Salst C ‘ jie a ieee = "poco it. 2p ; Ha 'Pi cresc. and faster oe £ ae * —— — (climbing up with rush and action) de fd pd det Ce Broadly and | pty somewhat slower” \ Emerson 1918 Faster and decivively oN yee, bt dp = ss J iddag, oa a v poco rit Ny = 4 7 NT stightly stower) aco deerese. i = p00 ateet. —— PP mp stoner P Emerson 19 F19 "DW pm gover pe |, a tid 3 4 5 Viola part (ad lid) Pp-if played-but bringing out accent. slowly (almost as a recitative) P is = slower but broadly PP * Pr ca fF ie pa 5 » » at PP PPR PPP th: PEPIN, LEP a slowly PP i : # # e g +) To be heard as a kind of an overtone PP rh. Emerson 19‘Any comprehensive conception of Hawthorne, either in words or music, must have for its bosic theme something that has to do with the influence of sin upon the conscience—something more thon the Puritan conscience, but something which is permeated by In fion he is wont to use what Hazlitt calls the “moral power of imagination.” Hawthorne would try to spirtualize © guilty Conscience. He would sing of the relentiessness of guilt, the in- heritance of guilt, the shadow of guilt darkening innocent posterity. This fundamental part of Hawthorne is not attempted in ‘our music (the 2d movement of the series) which is but on extended fragment” trying to suggest some of his wilder, fantastical adventures into the half-childlike, holf-foiryike phontasmal I may have ‘something to do with the children's excitement on that “frosty Berkshire morning, and the frost imagery on the enchanted hall window" or something to do with “Feathertop,"" the Scarecrow,’ and his “Look- ing Glass" and the little demons dancing around his pipe bowl: or something to do with the old hymn tune that haunts the church and ‘ings only to those in the churchyard, to protect them from secular noises, af when the circus parade comes down Main Street; or som thing to do with the concen at the Stamford comp meeting, or the “Slave's ShufRe"; or something to do with the Concord he-nymph, or the "'Seven Vagabonds,"" of "Circe's Palace,” or something else in the wonderbook—not something that happens, but the way somethin« happens; or something 10 do with the “Celestial Railroad,"* or “Phoebe's Garden,"" or something personal, which tries to be “national” sud- denly at twilight, and universal suddenly at midnight; or something ‘about the ghost of a man who never lived, or about something that never will happen, or something else that is not.24 II. “Hawthorne” Very fast Pans. Ie i= = Hawthorne 31Hawthorne 81Hawthorae 31Th. very fast - heavily, or ina CiMdop recktess way bh Slower —_—_—X$“" vould P nh. | Bradually lower) pp Hawthorne 31| Hel, « PP "P stowly Pits somewhat faster of Hawthorne a126 a ; a pris 7 tt eee SSS gee ae Z ————_————— Frvery fast again a a a ne >a Pe Tie ———— ist = slightly slower L —_ Sf re iF = Hawthorne 3127 Hawthorne 3128 Saster ra faster, at "a little slower a < te Ge < Hawthorne $1Fame * a ve ae —-. pee boo FSabe oe ta te: ee 15: ete gradually faster > 4 = ‘ 7 = < a Nis — SS very fast a gat ! ov Hawthorne 81= = | _ a Ht = a c Pe ieee To —_—_ eS =—— ~~ f ee a_i 3 i SSS SS a £ by —— =e #7 & ie et maid: _—___ = 2S > = q 4 ‘ GBt “pL eee gradually faster Hawthorne 8132 Hawthorne 31nn TA PPP very slowty pire Apia tes = Poe SS84 Hawthorne 3135 eee . ————— pnd Vine 4 RF >>> Hawthorne 91if SIS sPontiy tower ue fas the dram-corpa} Hawthorne 31loco * t — BLO oe ° Ly ‘Past again38Hawthorne 180a... * SIO ‘hold f pedal down to >) Faster and faster Hawthorne 3142 tse ee oN Ha ie et te de = oe _——— Hawthorne 91éter Peleg Git BEEP Eu od SF a € = = wf Th Sade | iS * ta bl: Za = =e we 4 =. T 4 7 gradually faster A — be iN 4 + wo ywet ites cet d ae ote = = ——— Hawthorne 91__; — | = SS = = STE a —— SSS ) Qe i | = ———— pa Sa = ; 3 = E ig % ié eee be: th. : > be * be 2 # jaa Se c tC = 7. pe ee EE a es 1 F tT T "= °Fid te. Hawthorue Stalittle slower fr aaa! Sa SS ae - St | ‘OL 4 F M ie! x ie! tt Te Hawthorne 31ay Jat ca d a pa fa te 2 ‘i z BUD cn nenetnnternnnnn seosnnney >Hawthorne 3tSF. a" te fet, = i tf Slat [ : te 4 ig t= pete | te RN RA PRK Pe (a Se 4 # * wf “ 2 p= $=. f. = . $ SSS —— abe = =, | Taf | ha eS = = : = = 2 St SSS at ge = — — Hawthorne 31 => —— —————— —S we fe e +50 Hawthorne 31eth JEP =. oreConcord village, itself, reminds one of that common virtue lying ot the height and root of oll the Concord divinities. As one walks dows the broad-orched street, passing the white house of Emerson— ‘ascetic guard of a former prophetic beauty—he comes presently be- neath the old elms overspreading the Alcott house. It seems to stand 1s a kind of homely but beautiful witness of Concord's common virtue it seems to bear o consciousness that its post is living, thet the “mosses of the Old Manse" and the hickories of Walden are not for away. Here is the home of the ""Marches"—all pervaded with the trials and happiness of the family ond telling, in @ simple way, the story of “the richness of not heving."” Within the house, on every side, lie remembrances of whet imagination can do for the better amusement of fortunate children who have to do for themselves— much-needed lessons in these days of automatic, ready-made, easy entertainment which deaden rather than stimulate the creative faculty ‘And there sits the litle old spinet-piano Sophia Thoreau gove to the Alcott children, on which Beth played the old Scotch airs, and played ft the Fifth Symphony. There is « commonplace beauty about “Orchard House"”—a kind of spiritual sturdiness underlying its quaint picturesqueness—a kind of ‘common triad of the New England homestead, whose overtones tell us that there must have been something cnsthetic fbered in the Puritan severity—the self-sacrifcing part of the ideal—o valve that seems to sir a deeper feeling, a stronger sense of being nearer some perfect truth than @ Gothic cathedral or an Etruscan villa. All around you, unde’ the Concord sky, there still floats the influence of that human {ith melody, transcendent and sentimental enough for the enthusiast for the cynic respectively, reflecting an innate hope—a common in- teres! in common things and common men—a tune the Concord bards ‘are ever playing, while they pound away at the immensities with o Beethovenlike sublimity, and with, may we say, a vehemence and perseverance—for that part of greatness is not so difficult to emulate. We dare not attempt to follow the philosophic raptures of Bronson Alcott—unless you will assume that his apotheosis will show how “practical” his vision in this world would be in the next. And so ‘we won't try fo reconcile the music sketch of the Alcotts with much besices the memory of that home under the elms—the Scotch songs ‘and the family hymns that were sung at the end of each day—though there may be an attempt to catch something of that common senti ment (which we have tried to suggest abovel—a strength of hope that never gives way to despair—a conviction in the power of the ccomion soul which, when all is said and done, may be as typical as ‘any theme of Concord and its transcendentaliss.III. “The Alcotts” Pmoderatelyexcited way. el b ee ad bd pet ‘The Alcotts 555 aS GN rit. ay . , PP, st ag ts td ii a coe ‘and quietly ba bad) | pov! SS 3 ON ssibol back alittle SS : The Alcotts 556 A little faster my ted —— poco rit, —— ars fate: ee eS eS eo oe = SS ee 7 Les Pores pp ee hs ‘pradually more animated ‘The Alcottsec ee lee 2SNE é =iy-te Zee i= t ~ me CoS te te babe L be b = ( sc : me 6 Fe accel =~ oi D 4 37) a7 ——— -$—__f T—f—P ; teste eth » te hae ast and working up a Bininando. . . . . +... . te a bo St wg: he 2d gradually slower SF stowly and broadly - TESS gir”. = . as, <7 HIS. a-1HET = = WUTREN? Deer 2 == a: : =e va = F p—?—“*Fh FE Tower The Alcotts 6‘And if there shall be @ program let it follow his thought on an foutumn day of Indian summer at Walden—a shadow of a thought at first, colored by the mist and haze over the pond: Low anchored cloud, Fountain head and Source of rivers. . Dew cloth, dream drapery— Drifting meadow of the air. but this is momentary; the beauty of the day moves him to @ certain restlessness—to aspirations more specific—an eagerness for outward ‘action, but through it all he is conscious that itis not in keeping with the mood for this “Day.” As the mists rise, there comes a clearer thought more traditional than the frst, @ meditation more calm. As he stands on the side of the pleasant hill of pines and hickories in front of his cabin, he is stil disturbed by restlessness and goes down the white-pebbled and sandy eastern shore, but it seems not to lead him where the thought suggests—he climbs the path along the “bolder northern” and “western shore, with deep boys indented,” and now ‘long the railroad track, "where the Aolian harp plays.” But his eagerness throws him into the lithe, springy stride of the specie hunter =the naturalist—he is still aware of a restlessness; with these faster steps his chythm is of shorter span—it is still not the tempo of Nature, it does not bear the mood that the genius of the day calls for, it is too specifi, its nature is too external, the introspection too buoyant, ‘and he knows now that he must let Nature flow through him ond slowly; he releases his more personal desires to her broader rhythm, conscious that this blends more and more with the harmony of her solitude; it tells him that his search for freedom on that day, at least lies in his submission to her, for Noture is os relentless os she is be- nignant. He remains in this mood and while outwardly still, he seems to move with the slow, almost monotonous swaying beat of this au- tumnel day. He is more contented with a "homely burden" and is in his sunny doorway . . . rapt in every... amidst goldenrod, sandcherry, and sumach ... in undisturbed solitude.” At times the more definite ppertonal strivings for the idea! freedom, the former more active specu- more assured of “the brood margin to his life; he si lations come over him, a3 if he would trace o certain intensity his submission. “He grew in those seasons like corn in the night and they were better thon ony works of the honds, They were not time subtracted from his life but 40 much ever and above the usual allow- tance.” He realized “wha! the Orientals meant by contemplation and forsoking of works.” "The day advanced as if to light some work of his—it wes morning end lo! now it is evening and nothing mem- corable is accomplished ‘The evening train has gone by,"" and all the restiess world with it, The fishes in the pond no longer feel its rumbling and he is more alone then ever... ."" His meditations fare interrupted only by the faint sound of the Concord bell— tis prayer-meeting night in the village—"'a melody as it were, imported into the wilderness..." “A @ distance over the woods the sound ‘acquires a certain vibratory hum as if the pine needles in the horizon ‘were the strings of a harp which it swept. . .. A vibration of the uni versal lyre. . . . Just as the intervening wimosphere makes o distant ridge of earth interesting to the eyes by the azure tint it imparts.” Part of the echo may be “the voice of the wood; the same trivial words ‘and notes sung by the wood nymph.” It is darker, the poet's fute is heard out over the pond ond Walden hears the swan song of that Day" and faintly echoes. . . . Is it a transcendental tune of Con- cord? "Tis an evening when the “whole body is one sense,"".. . and before ending his day he looks out over the clear, crystalline water of the pond and catches a glimpse of the shadow-thought he saw in the morning's mist and haze—he knows that by his final submission, hhe possesses the ‘Freedom of the Night.” He goes up the “pleasant hillside of pines, hickories,"' and moonlight to iberty in Nature, a part of herself.”59 IV. “Thoreau” Starting slowly and quietly “*_ stsreiee _ cS a poco rit, Thoreau 1060 f rather hurried a = — and sustained gradually faster and louder. - - - - = - tohere (as an echo) slower ‘Thorean 10— fig. 'P slower aml ghadually with more and more action - - - - - 2 2 2 2am 2 ms ee I ——— slower Thoreaa 40slowly, and broadly——$———. > - = SS zi ——SS ote iee somewhat hurried with mare animation Se eeeoene te ~— A. lh. 2 be at 'f ia E i a ee § ee Ae ( ae eq 5) et ppp mw) PRP Siete — = sustained and quietly again fee ste 2 4 aE eS = ¥ z uT C r Cir iad f= Va ct ¢ ; cy b | Thoreaa 10 Sa eeslightly faster _ Fh. = - = 3. = eer tee] |e T= (alittle faster)” faorn ae Ea (evenly and perversely) i) Sa = Fd SEee Da ay 7S. SS gradually slowerslightly slower as a faster PP ne of eehe——" Gomtwnat hurried = - ee ee slowly again are cele 2, # bee £ 24 rs \ B ie SS = nf slightly faster i =~ ni sh = = —— = ST = * Small notes in piano to be played only if flute is not used. Thorean 10slightly slower aT fighily faster slorly Thoreau 10How far is anyone justified, be he on outhority or @ layman, in expressing or trying to express in terms of music (in sounds, if you like) the value of anything, material, moral, intellectual, (oF spiritual, which is usually expressed in terms other thon music? How far afield can music go ond keep honest as well as reasonable or artistic? Is it @ motter limited only by the com> poser’s power of expressing what lies in his subjective or ob jective consciousness? Or is it the composer? imited by any limitations of Hf one is wing to go no further than to accept the theory thot music is the language of the emotions and only that,—the motter is perhaps an insoluble problem; but one be- coming more interesting, perhops more possible of solution, if ‘stead of accepting the term “emotion” only as an "expres sion of" itself, itis received in o deeper sense—thot is, thot it is @ feeling influenced by some experience perhaps of a spiritual noture in the expression of which the intellect has some part. “The nearer we get to the mere expression of femotion,” says Professor Sturt in his Philosophy of Art and Personality "ein he antes of boys who have been promised ‘a holiday, the further we get away from art.” Whence comes the desie for expression? What the source of instinctive feelings, these vague intuitions and introspective sensations? The more we try to analyze them the more vague they become. To pull them apart and classify them os “‘subjective”” or “objective” or as this or as that, means, thot they may be well classified and that is about cll; it leaves us os far from the origin as ever. What does it all mean? What is behind it oll? The "voice of God,” says the trtist, “the voice of the devil," soys the man in the front row. Why try to trace any stream that flows through the garden of consciousness to its source only to be confronted by another problem of tracing this source to its source? Per- haps Emerson in the Rhodora answers by not trying to explain ‘That if eyes were made for seeing Then beauty is its own excuse for being Why thou wert there, O' rival ofthe rose! never though? 10 osk, | never knew; But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. Perhaps Sturt answers by substitutio~ the origin of an artistic intuition any more ~ ‘ony other primary function of our nature civilization is mainly founded on those kinss rman interests which we coll knowledge one ~- intelligible that we should have a poralie! call art closely okin and lending powerful su two. It is intelligible t00 that moral goodness power, high vitality, and strength should be approw intuition.” This reduces, of rather brings the prose~ to a tangible basis namely:—the translation of an o tuition into musical sounds approving ond reflecting. <* & deavoring to approve and reflect, @ “moral goodness, o high vitality,” ete,, or any other human attribute mental ‘Can music do more than this? Can it do this? and if so who ‘and what is to determine the degree of its failure or success? The composer, the performer [if there be anyl, or those who have to listen? One hearing or 0 century of hearings?—and if it isn't successful or if it doesn’t fail what matters if? A theme that the composer sets up as ““moral goodness” may sound like “high vitality," 10 hi friend ond but like a stagnant poo! to those not even his enemies. Expression to o great extent is (0 motter of terms and terms are anyone's. The meaning of "God" may have a billion interpretations if there be thet many souls in the world. There is @ moral in the "Nominolist ond Recalst™” thet will prove all sums. It runs something like this: No matter how sin- Gere and confidential men are in trying to know or ossuming that they do know each other's mood and habits of though the net result leaves a feeling that all is left unsaid; for the reason of their incapacity to know each other, though they Use the same words. They go on from one explanation 10 en: cther but things seem to stand about as they did in the begin ring “because of thet vicious assum But we would rether believe that music is beyond any analogy to word len {guage ond that the time is coming, but not in our lifetime when it will develop possibilities inconceivable now,—c ler. {Quage, $0 transcendent, that its heights ond depths will be ‘common to all mankind. (From “PrologueHow far is anyone justified, be he on authority oF @ layman, in expressing or trying to express in terms of music fin sounds, if you like) the value of anything, material, moral, intellectual, fF spiritual, which is usually expressed in terms other than music? How far afield can music go and keep honest as well as reasonable oF artistic? Is it @ matter limited only by the com poser’s power of expressing what lies in his subjective or ob- jective consciousness? Or is it limited by any limitations of the composer? oe Hone is willing to go no further than to accept the theory thet music is the language of the emotions and only that,—the matter is perhaps an insoluble problem; but one be coming more interesting, pethaps more possible of solution, if instead of accepting the term “emotion” only as an “expres: sion of" itself i is received in a deeper sense—that is, thot it is @ feeling influenced by some experience perhaps of spiritual nature in the expression of which the intellect has some part. “The nearer we get to the mere expression of ‘emotion,” says Professor Sturt in his Philosophy of Art and Personality, “as in the antics of boys who have been promised ‘holiday, the further we get ewoy from ai Whence comes the desire for expression? What is the source of instinctive feelings, these vague intuitions and introspective sensations? The more we try to analyze them the more vague they become. To pull them opart and classify them os “subjective” or “objective’” or as this or os thet, means, that they may be well classified and that is about all; it leaves us as far from the origin as ever. What does it all mean? Whot is behind it all? The “voice of God,” says the the voice of the devil,” says the man in the front row. Why try to trace any stream that flows through the garden of consciousness to its source only to be confronted by another problem of tracing this source to its source? Per haps Emerson in the Rhodora answers by not trying to explain That if eyes were made for seeing Then beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O' rival of the rose! I never though? to ask, | never knew: Bur, in my simple ignorance, suppose ‘The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. Perhops Sturt answers by substitution: "We cannot explain the origin of an artistic intuition any more than the origin of ‘ony other primary function of our nature. But if as I believe civilization is mainly founded on those kinds of unselfish hu: ‘man interests which we coll knowledge and morality itis easly intelligible that we should have a porollel interest which we call art closely okin and lending powerful support to the other two. It is intelligible t00 that moral goodness, intellectual power, high vitality, and strength should be approved by the intuition.” This reduces, oF rather brings the problem back to a tangible basis nomely:—the translation of an artistic in tuition into musical sounds epproving and reflecting, or en- deavoring to approve and reflect, a “moral goodness,” “high vitality,” ete., or any other humon cttribute mental, moral, or spiritve ‘Can music do more than this? Can it do this? and if so who cond whot is to determine the degree of its failure or success? The composer, the performer {if there be anyl, or those who have to listen? One hearing or o century of hearings?—and if it isn't successful or if t doesn't fail what matters if? A theme that the composer sets up as “moral goodness" may sound like “high vitality,” to his friend and but like a "stagnant poo! to those not even his enemies. Expression to a great extent is 12 matter of terms and terms ore anyone's. The meaning of “God” may hove a billion interpretations if there be thet many souls in the worl. There is @ moral in the “Nominalist ond Realist” that will prove all sums. It runs something like this: No matter how sin- ere and confidential men are in trying to know or assuming that they do know each other's mood and habits of thought, the net result leaves a feeling thot all is left unsaid; for the reason of their incapacity to know each other, though they use the same words. They go on from one explanation to cn- cother but things seem to stand about as they did in the begin- ring “because of that vicious assumption.” But we would rather believe that music is beyond any analogy to word lan- ‘auage ond that the time is coming, but not in our lifetime, ‘when it will develop possibilities inconceivable now,—a lan- uage, s0 transcendent, that ils heights ond depths will be common to all mankind. (From "Prologue."+++ Can human qualities or attributes which go with personality be suggested, and artistic intuitions which porallel them be reflected in music? Actually accomplishing this is problem, more or less arbitrary to an open mind, more or less impossible to a prejudiced mind. That which the composer intends to represent as “high vitolity" sounds like something quite different to different lis- teners, That which | like to think suggests Thoreau’s submission to nature may, Hawthorne's ‘conception of the relentlessness of an evil conscience’’—and to the rest of our friends, but a series of unpleasant sounds. How can the composer be held accountable? Beyond a cer- tain point the responsibility is more or less undeterminable. The outside choracteristics—that is, the points furthest away from the mergings—are obvious 10 mostly anyone. A child knows @ "strain of joy," from one of sorrow. Those a litle colder know the dignified from the frivolous—the Spring Song from the season in which the “'meloncholy days have come” (though is there not a glorious hope in outumnl}. But where is the definite expression of lote-spring against early-summer, of happiness against optimism? A pointer paints a sunset— can he paint the setting sun? 10 another, seem something il In some century to come, when the school children will “whistle popular tunes in quarter-tones—when the diatonic scale will be of obsolete as the pentatonic is now—perhaps then these borderland experiences may be both easily expressed ‘and readily recognized. But maybe music wos not intended 10 satisfy the curious definiteness of man. Maybe itis better 10 hope thet music may always be a transcendental longuage in the most extravagant sense. Possibly the power of literally distinguishing these “shades of abstraction" these attributes paralleled by “artistic intuitions” (call them what you willl— «ever to be denied man for the same reason thot the begin- ning and end of a circle are to be denied. Human attributes are definite enough when comes to their description, but the expression of them, or the paralleling of them, has #0 be, as said cbove, more or less rbinary, but we believe that their expression may be less ‘vague if the bosic distinction ofthis art dualism is kept in mind. ‘rig morally certain that the higher partis founded, as Sturt suggests, on something that has to do with those kinds of un: selfish human interests which we call knowledge ond morality, “knowledge, no! in the sense of erudition, but as a kind of creation of creative truth, This allows us to assume that the higher ond more important valve of this dualism is composed of what may be called reality, quality, spirit, or substance fogainst the lower value of form, quantity, or manner. Of these terms "substance" seems to us the most cogent, and comprehensive for the higher, and "manner" for the under: volve, Substance in © human-art-quality suggests the body of, 6 conviction which hos its birth in the spiritual consciousness, ‘whose youth is nourished in the moral consciousness, and hose maturity as @ result of all this growth is then repre- ented in a mental image. This is oppreciated by the intuition, \¢ somehow translated into expression by ""manner”—o srocess always less important than it seems, or os suggested ‘he foregoing (in fact we apologize for this attempted defi. “onl. So it seems that “substance” is to0 indefinite to ana- y2e, in more specif terms. It is practically indescribable. Srutions (artistic or nott) will sense it—process, unknown Perhaps itis an unexplained consciousness of being nearer God, or being nearer the devil—of approaching truth or ap- aching unreality—o silent something felt in the truth-of- orure in Turner against the truth-of-ort in BoWicelli,or in the fre thinking of Ruskin against the fine soundings of Kipling, or in the wide-expanse of Titian agains! the narrow-expanse of Carpeceio, or 11 some such distinction that Pope sees be- ‘meer what he cals Homer's “invention” and Virgil's "judg: ment'’—epparéntly an inspired imagination against an artistic care, @ sense of the difference, pethaps, between Dr. Bush nell's Knowing God and knowing about God. A more vivid ‘explanation or illustration may be found in the difference be tween Emerson ond Poe, The former seems to be almost wholly “substance” and the latter “"manner."” The measure in artistic satisfaction of Poe's manner is equel to the measure of spiritual satisfaction in Emerson's “substance.” The total value of each man is high, but Emerson's is higher than Poe's because " substance’ is higher than “mannet"—because “sub: stance" leans towards optimism, and "manner" pessimism. We do not know that all this is #0, but we feel, or rather know by intuition that it is 50, in the same way we know intuitively that right is higher than wrong, though we con't always tell why @ thing is right or wrong, oF whot is always the difference ff the margin between right and wrong. Beauty, in its common conception, hos nothing to do with it (substance), unless it be granted that its outward aspect, oF the expression between sensuous beauty and spiritual beauty can be always and distinetly known, which it cannot, as the art (of musi is stil 'n its infancy. However, it cannot justly be sci that anything that has 10 do with art has nothing 10 do with beauty in any degree,—that is, whether beauly is there or not, ithas something to do with it. A casval ideo of it, a kind of a first necessary-physical impression, wos what we had in mind. Probably nobody knows what actual beauty is—except those serious writers of humorous essays in oft magazines, who ac- ccurately, but kindly, with club in hand, demonstrate for all time and men that beauty is @ quadratic monomial; that itis ‘absolute; that itis relatives thot itis not relative, that it is not The word "beauty" is as easy to use as the word “de- cadent.”" Both come in handy when one does or does not ‘agree with you. For our part, something that Roussel-Des- pierres soys comes nearer to what we like to think beauty is “an infinite source of good . . . the love of the beautiful © constant anxiety for moral beauty. ‘oround in @ circle—e thing apparently inevitable, if oné to reduce art to philosophy. But personally, we prefer to go ‘around in @ circle than around in @ parallelepipedon, for it seems cleaner ond perhaps freer from mathematics—or for the some reason we prefer Whittier to Baudelaire—a post to @ genius, or @ healthy to @ rotten apple—probably not so much becouse it it more nutritious, but because we like its taste better; we like the beautiful and don't like the ugly; therefore, what we like is beautiful, and what we don't like is ualy—and hence we are glad the beautiful is not ugly, for if it were we would like something we don’t like. So having un= settled what beauty is, let us be orbitrary enough to claim, with no definite qualification, that substance in music is the only veluable thing in it, ond moreover thot in two separate Pieces of music in which the notes are almost identical, one can be of “substance” with litle “manner,” and the other can be of “manner” with little “substance.” Substance has some- thing 10 do with character. Manner hes nothing to do with ‘The “substance” of @ tune comes from somewhere near the s0Ul, and the manner’ comes from—God knows where. The humblest composer will not find true humility in ciming low—he must never be timid or ofraid of trying to ‘express that which he feels is far above his power to express, ‘any more than he should be afraid of breaking away, when necessary, from easy first sounds, or afraid of admitting that those half truths that come to him at rare intervals, are half true, for instance, that all art galleries contain masterpieces which are nothing more than a history of art's beautiful mis: takes. Hf he “truly seeks," he “will surely find” many things to sustain him, He con go to a part of Alcot's philosophy —""thot all occupations of man’s body and soul in their diversity come from but one mind and soul!” If he feels that to subscribe to Even herall of the foregoing ond then submit, though not as evidence, the work of his own hands is presumptuous, let him remember that © man is not always responsible for the wart on his face, fr © girl for the bloom on her cheek, and as they walk out of © Sunday for an citing, people will see them—but they must have the air. He con remember with Plotinus, “that in every human soul there is the ray of the celestial beauty,” and there fore every human outburst may contain a partial ray. And he can believe that it is better to go to the plate and strike out than to hold the bench down, for by facing the pitcher, he may then know the umpire better, and possibly see @ new parabola. His presumption, if it be that, may be but a kind of courage Juvenal sings about, and no harm can then be done either side. "Cantabit vacuus coram latone viator.”" : Many will resent the abrupt separation thot o theory of duality in music suggests and say that these general sub- divisions are too closely inter-related to be labeled decisively ‘this or that." There is justice in this criticism, but our an: swer is that itis better to be short on the long than long on the short. In such an abstruse art as music it is easy for one 10 point to this as substance and to that ax manner. Some wil hhold and it is undeniable—in fact quite obvious—thot manner hhas a great deal to do with the beauty of substance, and that to make @ too arbitrary division, or distinction between them, isto interfere, to some extent, with an art's beauty and unity. There is a great deol of ruth in this too, But on the other hhand, beauty in music is too often confused with something that lets the ears lie back in an easy chair. Many sounds that we are used to, do not bother us, and for thot reaton, we are inclined to coll them beautiful. Frequently,—possibly almost invariably,—analytical and impersonal tests will how, we be lieve, that when @ new or unfamiliar work is accepted as beautiful on its first hearing, its fundamental quelity is one that tends to put the mind to sleep. A narcotic is not always unnecessary, but it is seldom a bosis of progress,—that is, wholesome evolution in any creative experience. This kind of progress has @ great deal to do with beauty—at least in its deeper emotional interests, if not in its moral volves. (The ‘above is only @ personal impression, but itis based on care. fully remembered instances, during @ period of about fifteen for twenty years.) Possibly the fondness for individual utter: ‘once may throw out a skin-deep arrangement, which is readily feccepted as beautiful—formulee that weaken rather thon toughen up the musical-muscles. If the composer's sincere conception of his art and of its functions and ideals, coincide to such an extent with these groove-colored permutations of tried out progressions in expediency, that he con arrange them over and over again to his transcendent delight—has he or has he not been drugged with an overdose of habit forming sounds? And as @ result do not the muscles of his clientele become fabbi ‘ond flabbier until they give way ‘altogether and find refuge only in a seasoned opera box— where they can see without thinking? And unity is too general- ly concevied of, or too easily accepted as analogous to form, ‘and form (as analogous) to custom, and custom to habit, and habit may be one of the parents of custom and form, and there are all kinds of parents. Perhaps all unity in art, at it inception, is half-natural and half-artifcial, but fF at least makes us, or inclines to make us fee! that it is all natural. It is easy for us to accept it as such. The “unity of dress" for @ man at a ball requires @ collar, yet he could donce better without it. pice ole bole : Coherence, to some extent, is presumably some- thing which satisfies the listener's subconscious perspective. But is this its only function? Has it not another of bringing ‘outer or new things into a wider coherence? Is the side of the sense of perspection which is usually the firs satisfied, unduly influenced by some things made by @ narrow (though natural ‘enough) conscious “plan of coherence''? How much of this influence is artificial and unnecessary? If this question coulé be answered (and | wouldn't want to try it, sould it exploin why mony musicians are apt to slide easily into sho habit of taking the “post” as o stronger criterion for the “future” than is fair to the "future"? A critic, by profession ond nature, oF ‘anyone who has to listen to a hundred concerts a ser.0n, in which there is much repetition, not only of the same pieces, but the same formal relation: of tones, cadences, progres: sions, etc., may subconsciously be over-influenced by a cer- tain routine-series of image-stimvlants, which he doesn’t seem to need until they disappear. For some such cause, this man may find himself more inclined t0 “the thinking about” than “the thinking in musie,""—more 10 “the looking towards it” than of “the going towards it.” a To Emerson, “unity ond the over-soul, oF the common-heart, are synonymous." Unity is at least nearer to these than to solid geometry, though geometry may be oll nity But to whatever unpleasantness the holding to this theory ‘of duality brings us, we feel that there is o natural low under: neath it all, and like all laws of nature, © liberal interpreta: tion is the one nearest the truth |, and @ sympathy for those greater contemplations that have been cought, as it were, in the "Werld's Soul" and nourished for us there in the soil of fature,—the thought-visions of men like Charles Kings ley, Marcus Aurelius, Whittier, Milton, Sophocles, Francis of Assisi, Voltaire, and all kindred spirits and souls of grect measure, from David down to Rupert Brooke,~if © study of the thought of such men creates a sympathy, even a love for them and their ideal-por, it is certain that this, however in- odequately expressed, is nearer to what music was given man for, than a devotion to “Tristan's sensual love of Isolde,” to the “Tragic Murder of @ Drunken Duke,” or to the sod thoughts of @ both-tub when the water is being let out The plan rather embraces all that should go with fon expression of the composite-volue. It is of the underlying spirit, the direct unrestricted imprint of one soul on another, © portrait, not @ photograph of the personality itis the ideo! part that would be caught in this canvas. It is @ sympathy for “substance"—the over-value together with @ consciousness that there must be a lower value—the ""Demosthenic part of the Philippics""—the "‘Ciceronic part of the Catiline,” the sublimity, against the vileness of Rousseau’s Confessions it Js something akin to, but something more than these pre dominant partial tones of Hawthorne—"the grand old counte nance of Homer; the decrepit form, but vivid face of sop, the dark presence of Dante; the wild Ariosto; Robelais’ smile fof deep-wrought mirth; the profound, pathetic humor of Ce" vontes; the all-glorious Shakespeare; Spenser, meet guest for cllegoric structure; the severe divinity of Milton; ond Bunyon, molded of humblest clay, but instinct with celestio! fire. There ore communities now, partly vanished, but cherished fond sacred, scattered throughout this world of ours, in which freedom of thought and soul, and even of body, have been fought for. And we believe that there ever lives in tho! part of the over-soul, native to them, the thoughts which these freedom-struggles have inspired. America is not 100 yourg to have its divinities, and its place legends. Many of those “Transcendent Thoughts" and "Visions" which hed the't 5 beneath our Concord elms—messages that have Drougrt salvation to many listening souls throughout the worid—are ill growing, day by day, to greater and grecter Decuty— ‘are still showing clearer and clearer man's way to Ged! The strains of one man may fall far below + ‘course of those Phaetons of Concord, or of the ges* Sec for of Westmoreland—but the greater the distance nis mu falls away, the more reason that some greote: mar sre bring his nearer those higher spheres.—(From Epicgue If an interestThe reading matter throughout (except these iast three poges) it taken from the composer's "Essays Before a Sonata," written primarily fo: a preface or reason for this [second pianoforte] Senata—“Con- cord, Mass, 1840-60" a group of four pieces, called a sonata for want of more exact name. The whole is on attempt to present [one person's] impression of the spirit of transcendentalism that is asso Cioted in the minds of many with Concord, Mass., of over a half cen- fury ago. This is undertaken in impressionistic pictures of Emerson and Thoreau, o sketch of the Alcotts, and Scherzo supposed Jo reflect @ lighter quolity which is often found in the fantastic side of Hawthorne. ‘The first and last movements do not oim to give any programs of the life or of any porticular work of either Emerson or Thoreau but rather composite pictures or impres ‘The First Edition together with the Book of Essays was published 1920. This Sonate was composed mostly in 1909 and 1910, the last movement fully completed in 1915. One of the principal themes and Fome passages were from an orchestral score—an Overture “Orchard House" (Alcotts) 1904, The first movement is parlly from an uncom pleted score of an Emerson Piano Concerto 1908-09. This movement for piano alone is not exactly an arrangement from the orchestral score. It is rather @ kind of free translation, though there are several passages, not suggested in the score, but to @ great extent, it has tnuch of the form end subject matter from the score sketch. This Second Edition in some passages contains more of this score thon does the First Edition, and olso has @ few revisions made since the First Edition was printed. in sections and passages in which there ore no key signatures nor measure marks, oll notes a © general rule are natural except the Some notes following that with an accidental in the same part; though ‘occasionally to avoid confusion, the accidental is again inserted espe Cally if one of these following nates is on the same bect, or in @ chord in which the some notes as to line ond space without an accidental in this or other octaves would make the insertion odvisable.1. EMERSON * p 1. Throughout this movement, and to some extent in the ‘others, there are many passages not to be too evenly ployed ‘and in which the tempo is not precise or static. lly with the mood of the day, as well as that of Emerson, the other Concord bards, and the player. A metronome cannot measure Emerson's mind and oversoul, any more than the old Concord Steeple Bell could. The tempo at starting may be around 72—80 — a quarter note. But even on the first page, during the 4th brace and the firs part of the 5th, the quarter note may have climbed up to over a 100, though the tempi reed not be precisely the same, each time played. The same ‘essay or poem of Emerson may bring a slightly different feel- ing when read at sunrise than when read at sunset + p3—(Grd brace), The melody part marked Solo, in the lower line of the treble clef was originally a horn theme, and should be heard distinctly. It stops ot the C# at the end of the brace and then becomes more @ part of the counterpoint. * p.6— (2nd brace.) T longer than a half note. it varies usu Hf chord may ring out just a * p 8 — (top brace). Here begins o section which may reflect some of Emerson's poetry rather than the prose. Also some ‘of the other passages may lean more towards the poetry than the prose. + p.9 — (4th brace). The melodychords in RLM. are but to sug: ‘gest some of the outdoor sounds over the Concord Hills ond the right-foot-pedal beginning here can be guided by the phrase marks in the upper cle + p14 —(5th brace). This is but one of Emerson's sudden calls for a Transcendental Journey, which may be more widely reflected on p. 17. Chord in RH. *(3rd brace, page 17), three lowest notes A, B and C hit with thumb. In the chord at the end of the first measure, Sth brace, on this page, the lower D (LH.) may be left out, the middle finger (LLH.) hitting the Bk ond C, first finger the D, and the thumb striking the E ‘and F in as strong and hard @ way as possible, almost os though the Mountains of the Universe were shouting os all of Humanity rises to behold the “Massive Eternities”” and the "Spit p19 — (3rd brace). The four small notes in lower clef, B fat, ‘A, Fe and G, if played, may be struck lightly by the left hand (05 quickly after the bass octaves are played as possible. (last brace). The upper C2's and E's in treble clet but played by LH. are but to reflect the overtones of the soul of humanity and os they rise away almost inauelbly to the Ulti- mate Destiny. Il, HAWTHORNE + p21, For the most part, this movement is supposed to be played as fast at possible and not too literally. Marks of tempo, expression, etc. are used as litle os possible. If the score itself, the preface or on interest in Hawthorne suggest nothing, marks may only make things worse. It is not intended that the relation 2: 1 between the 32nd cond 16th notes here be held to always literally. The use of the sustaining pedal is elmost constanlly re- avired. * p25. The group chords in upper clefs, ployed by using & strip of boord 14% inches long and heavy enough to press the keys down without striking * p26 ttop brace. These chords and others, somewhat simi lar, are more as arpeggios “from hand to hand” rather than from "finger to finger.”” + p 30 (lowest bracel. The smaller notes here if played, in stead of the usual sized notes in some LH. part, will not slow up the speed at some of the wider jumps would. * p33 (lop brace), The frst chord in the Hymn, (ppp), is to be played before the f#ff chord held with right foot pedal is stopped — as a Hymn is sometimes heard over a distant I just ofter @ heavy storm. The above also applies to the ‘sin the Ist and 2nd braces p. 34. + p34 — (Grd and 4th braces). Here the Hymn for a moment is slightly held up by a Friendly Ghost in the Church Yard. + p34 — (bottom brace — last measure). the Df's in the treble clef — also bass clef in first two measures, p. 35 — ore hit hord by the LH. as @ trombone would sometimes call the ‘Old Cornet Band to march. p36 — (bottom bracel. A Drum Corps gets the best of the Band — for a moment. + p.37. Playing the smaller notes in LH. speed. ‘p41 — (Grd brace), The LH. hits hard the lower 8 flat CGAB natural. help to keep the (Sth brace), These group-chords in RH. may, if the player {eels like it, be hit withthe clenched fist, and in the last meas ure of this brace the LH, run-ups may be played as suggested in the first two measures in some staff + p 42 — (4th bracel. After the first chord the G (eighth note) in RH. is played slightly after the chord, so that the phrase of the distant hymn may be heard as such. + p 45 — (4th and 5th braces). Small notes ad lib, instead of the others on same beat in LH. which moy tend to slow up the speed. + p47 — (2nd brace). The small B natural (LH.) may be left out. +p 48 — th bracel. Here og * p 49 — (2nd bracel. In several places from here to the end ‘of this movement the accents in both hands, as they are often ‘on different beats, should be hit as hard as possible + p50 — (Grd brace). As itis very dificult to play this “call of the cloud breakers’ rote in the RH, chords may be omitted (od lib). Wl, THE ALCOTTS 1p 55. The high small notes, Fi ond Cf, in RH., Ist brace, 3rd brace Ft, and p. 56, 2nd brace, may be held a litle longer before the next chord is played. They are but a kind of over- fone echoes over the “Orchard House” elms. IV. THOREAU + p59. This Thoreau movement is supposed to be played in @ lower dynamic ratio than usual; — i.., the “f" here is abou the “mf” of the preceding movements. Both pedals are used almost constantly small notes are of lib. ‘os fast of it wants 10 go, the lowest+ p60 — (ath brace). Small notes in treble clef ad fib but pp if played, while the other notes on some beat are mf p62 — ‘l2nd brace). As @ distant echo over Walden. p62 — "(3rd brace). Small notes here ppp but better played than omitted. + p67. A flute may play throughout this page but stops ot end of Ist brace on next page (68). Ino flute, the brace below the first (p 67) is for piano alone, and the small notes in these two lower braces and in the Ist brace on last page tre 10 be played — but Thoreau much prefers to hear the ute over Walden, + p 68 — (2nd brace). The last two chords (Wreble clef) are but distant echoes over the loke, the one in small notes if ployed is to be scarcely oudible. (4th brace). This echo may be played os the one above. (51h brace). I the last chord (treble clef) is not sounding when the last note Cz (LH. is played, it may be played again with the Cz but pppp. Sometimes, as on pages 62—65~68, on old Elm Tree may ike humming @ phrase from "Down in the Corn Field,” but usually very slowly; perhaps © quarter note goes down to 50, even lower, or thereabouts — as the weather vane on the old Red Barn may di fee! ‘As there have been many requests for copies of critical cond descriptive articles about this Sonata, the following may be of some interest, But itis also included as © to four sincere and gifted critics of music and literature ind of “mem — now gone to the next world: “Any effect which goes deeper into some mode or thought ‘or manner of living essentiolly and exclusively American must interest as @ movement in the direction of artistic integrity. It would not be the “nationel’ characteristics which would have value, save as they grew flowerclike from bole and branch, it would be the value of some unique phase of ovr North American life brought to artistic expression... The interest becomes astonishment when the printed score of one ff the larger works reveals music unlike anything one has seen before —a broad, strong and original style with no recognizable derivations from Debussy, Strauss or Stravinsky. “Turning to the book, we find a score without time or key Signature and no measure divisions. Certain rhythmical divi sions supply guidonce, The music is broad and stately, the Ih sways as freely os @ of idea in the thythmic arches are very wide. . tee top in the wind. Indeed there is no uni sense that one part grows out of another. One feels only a psychic kind of connection that might, in this case, reason: ‘ably be called musical logic. The Emerson movement is o¥ majestic and free ax clouds with the certainty of carved bronze."" (HENRY BELLAMANN — New Orleans Magazine of ‘at, Oct. 1919.) “This Sonota is exceptionally greot music—it is, indeed, the greatest music composed by an American, and the most deeply ond essentially American in impulse and implication. Iris wide-ranging and copacious. It hos possion, tenderness, humor, simplicity, homeliness. i has imaginative and spit vostness. I has wisdom, beauty and profundity, and @ sense Of the encompassing terror and splendor of human life and hhuman destiny —o sense of those mysteries that are both human and divine. ‘The Hawthorne movement is @ Scherzo of unearthly power and intensity, Wanscending its subject. In the Thoreau Trovement, there is music of @ poetic fervor and exaltation in Which the essence of Thoreau's imagination is magically captured and conveyed. The third movement, The Alcotts, ‘evokes for us Concord Village itself, ‘which reminds one of that common virtue lying at the height and root of all the Concord divinities.” . “But it isthe thought of Emerson that thas drawn from Mr. Ives o quality of musical utterance which is altogether ex- raordinary ond unique .. . pages in which the expressional power of musical speech is mysteriously extended ond re feased. This is wonderful writing, alembicaled and other- worldly; music worthy of the great and mystical sayings of Emerson himselt Charles Ives is 5 unchallengeably American as the Yole Fence. “Wt remains 10 be odded that to Mr. John Kirkpatrick, who made this music known to us in its entirety, an immeasurable debt of gratitude is due. His own achievement as an artist was something not soon to be forgotten — a prodigious feat of memory and execution. The Sonata is olmost unplayable. Its difficulties are appalling. Mr. Kirkpatrick conquered them os though they did not exist, His performance was that of @ poet cand a moster, an unobstrusive minister of genivs.” “(LAWRENCE GILMAN-—"A Masterpiece of American Music,” New York Herald Tribune—Janvary 21, 1939) “That is Ives; the American as an ertis, as a composer, ‘and the foremost of the Americans who hove expressed their feelings of life in musical forms. .. . The Concord Sonata in- deed remains the solidest piece of plano music composed by ‘an American. lis beauty ond its significance stil surprise uss they still are one of the wonders of the last years, which have revealed them. “(PAUL ROSENFELD—""Discoveries of o Music Critie™ Horcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1936) “ESSAYS BEFORE A SONATA" —by Charles E. Ives, Knick erbocker Press, New York “Charles Ives is © graduate of the Class of 1898, and is a son-in-law of the Yole Corporation. He is a musician, and has for once changed from notation into type. This is @ brilliant ‘ond provocative book, full of challenging ideas, and marked by chronic cerebration. | enjoyed every page of it, and I heartily recommend it to those who have minds, and who wish to use them.” * {PROFESSOR WILLIAM LYON PHELPS— Yale Alumni Weekly, New Haven, Connecticut, December 17, 1920.) “These extracts are reprinted by kind permission of the copy: ight owners.