I - The Aim and The Inner Nature of Compositions

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Aesthetics and the Art of Musical Composition in the German Enlightenm
ent
Selected Writings of Johann Georg Sulzer and Heinrich Christoph Koch
einrich Christoph Koch, Johann Georg Sulzer, Edited by Nancy Baker, Thomas Christense
Book DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348
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Chapter
I - The aim and the inner nature of compositions and, above all, the w
ay in which they arise pp. 144-204
Chapter DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348.009
Cambridge University Press

THE AIM AND THE INNER NATURE OF
COMPOSITIONS AND, ABOVE ALL,
THE WAY IN WHICH THEY ARISE
[MUSIC AND FEELING]

*Music is a fine art which has the intention of awakening noble feelings
[*sentiments, Empfindungen] in us.
Feelings lie dormant in man's nature and are properly aroused only
by certain natural causes. For example, the possession of something
which we suppose to be good engenders pleasure, and the idea that
we might meet with misfortune awakens fear in us.
Feelings bring about resolutions: pleasure prompts us to seek certain
possession of the good which produced it, and fear causes us {16} to
take measures to prevent the dreaded misfortune from befalling us.
The fine arts in general, and thus also music, possess a unique
property which enables them through artistic means [kunstliche Veran-
lassungen] to awaken feelings in us. They awaken pleasure through the
enjoyment of a good represented through art and fear through an evil
brought forth by it. Thus, if the fine arts make use of their special
power to have the feelings they arouse inspire noble resolutions, to
affect the education and ennoblement of the heart, then they serve
their highest purpose and show themselves in their proper worth. If
deprived of this noble function, if used to another end, then the fine
arts are degraded, they are dishonored.
Therefore, the proper aim of music is to awaken feelings. Accepting
this as a given, we now wish to consider more closely the principal
aspect of this art, that is, compositions and the works arising therefrom.
144
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Music and feeling 145
First, I consider it necessary to examine the conditions under which

the composer can awaken feelings and which feelings he is able to
arouse. Then I can proceed to my real purpose and can try to show
the beginner how {17} a composition must form in the mind of the
creating composer and what it must be like in order to attain the aim
of art.
Should I have to demonstrate that these are genuine issues which
the beginning composer must understand properly to avoid the danger
of following wrong paths in his work and missing the goal of art? I
do not believe so. Furthermore, neither the size nor the proper aim
of this endeavor permits me to treat all these subjects in sufficient
detail. At present, I intend only to make the beginning composer
more familiar with the course which he must follow in order to reach
his set goal and to show him the point of view from which he must
consider his art. In short, I wish to give him the opportunity to
ponder subjects of his education and to read the relevant treatises on
the fine arts and belles lettres. Besides those works which belong entirely
to the field of {18} music, these writings include above all Sulzer's
General Theory of the Fine Arts, and Ramler's Introduction to
Literature [Einleitung in die schonen Wissenschaften], from the French
of Mr. Batteux, etc.1
The first matter to be examined concerns the question: Under
what circumstances can the composer awaken feelings? Even minimal
attention to the effect of music is sufficient to show that the
performance of some compositions has no effect, while others trans-
port most listeners. The reasons for such differences of effect may lie
partly in the composition itself, partly in the manner of its perfor-
mance, but partly also in the listeners.
Before I examine the reasons for this difference in the music, I
wish first to say a word about the listeners. Experience obliges me to
divide these into three types. There are people who possess neither
1 Johann Georg Sulzer, ed., Allgemeine Theorie der schonen Kiinste in einzeln, nach alphabetischer
Ordnung der Kunstworter auf einander folgenden Artikeln abgehandelt, 2 vols. (Leipzig: M. G. Weid-
manns Erben und Reich, 1771-74). Karl Wilhelm Ramler, Einleitung in die schonen Wissenschaften
[1756-58],4th revised edn.,4 vols. (Leipzig:M.G. Weidmanns Erben und Reich, 1777). The latter
work was a translation with commentary of Charles Batteux's Cours de belles lettres ou Principes de
la litterature (1747-50), in which Batteux had further discussed the ideas advanced in his Les beaux
arts reduits a un meme principe (1746); see note 16, p. 116 above. Ramler (1725-98) was a
well-known German poet many of whose works were set to music; his Der Todjesu provided the
text for Carl Heinrich Graun's famous cantata of 1755, to which Koch frequently refers. [B.]

146 Heinrich Christoph Koch
ear nor heart for the effect of music; with these, I will not concern
myself other than to give them the well-meaning advice never to
attempt to feel and still less to judge the effect of music.
{19} A composition can have an effect only on those listeners
whose souls and nerves are attuned to this art. Yet these also are of
different types. Some come entirely dispassionate to the place where
music will be performed, they come merely with the intention of
abandoning themselves to the pleasure which music affords them. As
yet no specific emotion has seized them; their hearts, open to every
beautiful sentiment, are receptive to all those feelings which the music
will arouse. These listeners are the only kind with whom music can
achieve its proper goal, for only they can completely feel the pleasure
of music. Others, although equipped with the most refined capability
of feeling, come already overpowered by a definite sentiment or
passion, and are unlikely to be affected by a composition which aims
to arouse an incongruous feeling.
A person might be eager to attract somebody else's attention
inconspicuously, not in a direct, but rather in a seemingly accidental
manner. Knowing that the other will attend the opera or a concert,
he goes there too, full of schemes and projects to realize his plan.
{20} Is music indeed capable of arousing feelings in such a listener?
Another one has met with some good fortune. He is filled with
joy over his good luck, and, under these conditions, a composition
aiming at putting its listener in a sweet melancholy mood will hardly
be able to have that effect on him.
Still another is perhaps a luckless lover "whose idol ignores him,"
who, furthermore, comes to the concert hall solely to see the object
of his affection. Will indeed a composition whose character is joy
affect him with its full strength? No! music will be able to draw this
one to itself only through melancholy feelings.
And who can see so deeply into men as to know all hindrances
which diminish the listeners' receptiveness for the particular feeling
which music is endeavoring to awaken?
Thus we see that, if it is to attain its aim, music requires only such
listeners {21} in whom no impediments to its effect are present, only
those who possess receptiveness for the feelings which are to be
awakened.
The question arises whether the composer could not discover means
to make his music imperceptibly overcome those listeners whose minds

were preoccupied with certain feelings? As long as we are speaking

of several such listeners who are already mastered by different feelings
or as long as these feelings are predominant, it will be difficult to
bring these very different feelings of several listeners to one stable
point which music could use and from which it could draw in the
listeners to itself.
Larger works in which music is combined with poetry and in
which different kinds of feelings follow one another, as, for example,
an opera or a cantata, already contain a means to arouse in now one,
now the other of the listeners described above the feeling that the
music has tried to awaken. In these compositions, there need be only
one passage which portrays a feeling {22} in harmony with that of
such a listener; this passage will strike the tone in accord with the
listeners heart and it will affect him, it will draw him in. Once having
gained this advantage, the music will be able to retain this listener.
The feelings may follow one another only as they do according to
the nature of our soul. The composer may not leave any gaps, and he
may not jump randomly from one feeling to the other; everything
must be connected according to the nature of the feelings and passions.
By proceeding in this way, the music will not allow her listener, once
affected, to retreat into himself so easily; the music will carry him
along and will be able to impress upon him the feelings which it
aims to awaken.
Shorter compositions, which aim to arouse only one feeling, lack
the advantage we have just shown in longer works. Thus it is very
difficult for short pieces to shake a preoccupied listener out of his
mood and to awaken that feeling which is the aim of the music.
{23} To be sure, even here a few means may be used which can
be effective with this or that listener; but in general the effect of these
resources is just as slight as the possibility of their use. One of these
means is the unexpected. This can manifest itself in various ways; it
can be contained in the ideas themselves and also in the way they
are presented. For now, I shall give only one such example in which
the unexpected is of an external nature. That is, the beginning of a
concerto usually is an Allegro; but if a brief Grave precedes this Allegro,
the unexpected happens, which, although it consists in merely ignoring
the customary approach, is nevertheless capable of arousing attention.
Precisely this attention can cause the feeling filling the listener to be
driven away, or at least to be weakened. Thus music finds a means to

attract the listener more strongly, and to awaken in him the feeling
she is seeking to bring forth. Unfortunately this and similar means
can be used but seldom, if they are to have any effect.
{24} Another means for music to have an effect upon this type of
listener appears to me to be the opposite of the previous one, namely
to arouse in the listener the expectation of the specific feeling which
the music is to produce. Supposing that the listener knows in advance
that in the concert hall a composition of a specific content is to be
performed, then this knowledge will let him easily determine what
sort of feeling he can expect from the music. Therefore should not
the thought of these feelings and the expectation of them be able to
diminish the obstacles present in these listeners? This appears to me
to be very likely, for the memory of a feeling, the anticipation of it,
is indeed already one hindrance less. But even this means is not
generally applicable, for in very few places is it customary to announce
in advance which compositions will be performed in a concert. And
even if this were done, one would have to perform either vocal works
with quite specific contents or customary pieces containing nothing
but similar feelings.
{25} The same is true with all means one might find intending a
composition of a certain feeling to affect listeners who are already
too carried away by another feeling or passion. I currently do not
wish to investigate the reasons that at times bring about a general
effect of such smaller compositions, for they are usually a combination
of circumstances which depend entirely neither on the music nor on
the listener. Thus, for example, a composition written for a particular
ceremony as a rule would have a stronger and more widespread effect
with its solemn performance on that occasion than when presented
at other times.
This should suffice to demonstrate that the composer can awaken
feelings in his listeners only if no obstacles are present.
We shall now leave the listeners and examine the question "Under
which circumstances can the composer awaken feelings?" by focusing
on aspects of the music. There are two main points to consider: the
nature of the composition itself and the {26} manner of its perfor-
mance. How a composition must be formed if it is to awaken feelings
is really the subject of the following pages; thus I will only say a word
about the performance.
If a composition has all the qualities necessary to attain its goal,

then, in order to do so, it must be played by all the musicians together

according to its character. The difficulty of having an accurate pre-
sentation of his works is peculiar to the composer and perhaps unique
in the fine arts. The poet, the painter, and the sculptor needs no
middleman for the proper presentation of his work or for the effect
which he aims to produce; he can affect feelings directly with his
works. With the work of the composer, this must occur indirectly as
he must leave his work to the discretion of the performers. A single
one can destroy the spirit of the piece necessary for the faithful
presentation of the work, be it from lack of *taste [Geschmack], from
incorrect interpretation of this or that idea, at times, I daresay, also
from malice.
{27} This is not the place to speak of the execution or of the
performance of compositions in general. Yet it is to be hoped that
amateurs in music accustomed to judge the merit of compositions
exceedingly quickly might take this crucial fact into consideration.
Therefore, the composer can attain the goal of his art only if the
essence of his works is revealed in their performance.
The answer to the question under what circumstances the composer
can arouse feelings will become still clearer once we examine which
are the feelings the composer can awaken.
At the very beginning of this treatise, I said that the proper aim
of music is to awaken in us noble feelings. Should therefore disagree-
able feelings such as fear, sorrow, and the like by definition be excluded
from music?
One would have to consider whether feelings which are unpleasant
due to their natural causes would prove similarly so when awakened
through art.
{28} Certainly outside the sphere of the fine arts an unpleasant
feeling may not always affect us as unpleasant. If, when presented
through art, such unpleasant feelings can affect us in a pleasant way,
why should we not be entitled to awaken them through art!
Fear is an unpleasant feeling and will always affect us as such if we
are threatened by an evil or a misfortune. Yet, for example, we hear a
friend in whose fortune we take great interest relate how some disaster
threatened him. With his account, we experience all the degrees of
fear caused by the misfortune menacing him; but is, indeed, the fear
produced by his story unpleasant to us?
We see Alceste between anguish and hope; we see her form her

noble resolution having heard the utterance of the oracle. She becomes
dear to us, we love her. In brief, after the most tender parting from
her husband and her children, we see her finally die. We shed many
tears over her. Strong as the illusion may be, {29} nevertheless the
feeling aroused in us by the dying Alceste ultimately is very different
from the emotion which a beloved person who were really dying
would cause us. Now, would we hurry to a second performance of
this opera if these feelings, unpleasant in the abstract, had made a truly
disagreeable impression upon us, if they had not really pleased us?2 Is
it not in our nature to shun genuinely unpleasant feelings? Enough
of this. I intend now to examine briefly which types of agreeable or
disagreeable feelings music would be capable of arousing. In examining
this matter, the main point is whether music is to awaken feelings by
itself or in connection with poetry.3
To be sure, music itself speaks the language of feeling. It needs
neither {30} representation through pantomime, nor ideas or images
expressed through words; it affects our heart directly and elicits pleasant
as well as unpleasant feelings. But music is not capable of making
known to us the reasons why this or that feeling is aroused, why we
are led from one feeling to the other; it can make us comprehend
neither the image of a pleasure whose enjoyment is to gratify us, nor
the image of a misfortune which is to arouse fear. If the emotion
caused by music alone cannot on the occasion of its creation forge
a close relationship to our heart, if the music does not arouse joy in
connection with a joyous occasion or sorrow in connection with a
melancholy one, then the joy or sorrow aroused is without purpose.
It interests our heart very little because we do not understand why
the composer wishes to make us happy or sad. And these feelings
present without reference cannot bring forth in us noble resolutions
and cannot influence the education of our heart.
But the case is altogether different if music is combined with poetry
or dance. Poetry not only precisely defines those feelings whose {31}
expressions are similar to one another and protects the composer from
being misunderstood, but it also makes known the reasons why
Koch is probably referring to the opera Alceste (1773) composed by Anton Schweitzer (1735-87)
to a libretto by Christoph Wieland (1733—1813). Koch thought highly of this very successful
work and mentioned it several times in the Versuch. [B.]
It would take too long to deal with the union of music and dance in particular. What I observe
about the union of music with poetry will be applicable to the union of music with dance. [K.]

particular feelings are aroused, why we are led from one feeling to
the other. Thus it has an effect on the higher powers of the soul; it
lets us compare cause and effect, action and feeling. As a result, not
only is our heart interested in these feelings, but also these feelings,
present for a purpose, will now bring about resolutions in us and will
be able to contribute to the ennoblement of our heart.
The means through which both these arts have an effect are
continuous. Thus, not only can they let rise and fall any one feeling
or passion, but also they can pass from one feeling to the other and
lend each other a helping hand for the accomplishment of their
common goal. This is possible because through the poetry the subject
matter as well as the aim of the whole becomes clear.
The pleasure produced by music in combination with poetry is no
longer a feeling existing without reference, without reason and
purpose; no! we {32} now know the source whence it flows, we
perceive, as it were, the object of our pleasure in all its charm, we
see every terrible characteristic of the evil which appears to threaten
us. Poetry inspires feelings through ideas and images, and, with the
feeling which they awaken, music penetrates directly to the heart.
Thus both arts united bring about a high degree of feeling and the
subsequent pleasure which neither of these arts could arouse alone.
Thus music in combination with poetry may attempt to awaken
nearly all kinds of pleasant and unpleasant feelings and to maintain
them in various modifications. But both arts may not be able to
stimulate all feelings to the same degree. Now and then, music will
have to yield to poetry the stronger degree of effect and will serve
merely as a support; it will be able to affect the heart of the listener
only slightly. Thus, for example, in an opera music is not capable of
arousing contempt over the cruelty of a tyrant. Instead it will try to
reach the listener indirectly by portraying only one characteristic {33}
of the feeling of contempt, namely how the spirit raises itself above
the despised subject. Still less will music be able to attempt to portray
the two feelings of hatred and envy. With most of the other types of
feelings, unpleasant and pleasant, music not only will be able to have
an effect equal to that of poetry, but often will bring forth the highest
levels of various passions, for which poetry has no more indications,
speech no further expression. Of this nature is, for example, the feeling
of anguish, or a high degree of tenderness, of joy, of sorrow, of
compassion, and so forth.

All this goes to prove that music can attain its highest aim and
proper goal only in combination with poetry, and to be separated
from poetry is most detrimental to its effect.
Now we are in a position to define the limits within which music
must keep when arousing emotions if it is to strive for its effect alone,
without combining with any of the other fine arts.
{34} When music is united with poetry, it can have a definite effect
upon the listener, because the ideas and images contained in the poetry
do not so easily expose the composer to the danger of being
misunderstood. But if music alone is to awaken feelings, then the
composer must adhere to more general feelings. To be sure, pleasant
and unpleasant emotions also belong in his sphere, but he must beware
of choosing to portray specific types of these feelings, if they are
distinguished by similar expressions. He may only try to awaken a
specific kind of pleasant or unpleasant feeling in his listeners in so
far as he is capable of making the expressions of this feeling distinctive
enough. For example, in the class of pleasant feelings, the composer
can most clearly differentiate for the hearts of his listeners joy from
tenderness, the sublime [Erhabne] from the playful; he will therefore
also be able to awaken in them these different kinds of pleasant feelings.
But never will he be able to bring forth a precise enough distinction
{35} between fear and pity through his music alone, without running
the risk of being misunderstood by all his listeners. Thus, if it is to
awaken feelings, more narrow limits are set for music by itself than
when it is united with poetry.
Now we can form a realistic idea of what effect we can expect
from music alone when it is used not for joyous or sad occasions, but
in ordinary concerts or chamber music. At most, there are a few
specific feelings which have no relation to our heart, which are there
for no particular reasons, and in which then we take an interest only
if we are already in accord with one of them. And yet, if we look at
recent compositions, we have to contrast an almost countless number
of instrumental pieces with a small number of vocal pieces. How
much the possible effect of music is lessened with this prevalent
separation from poetry is easy to understand. Much harder it is to
comprehend {36} why, in a concerto, which is often performed with
so much pomp, one is content with the mere effect of instrumental
music, since the pleasure could be greatly increased and ennobled
through combination with poetry! Neither the scope nor the aim of

these pages permit me to engage in this inquiry. Nor shall I examine

how many of the multitude of these instrumental pieces, how many
of our symphonies, concertos, quartets, and so on, really are adequate
to the aim of art, how many of them are capable of awakening pleasure
through arousal of this or that feeling! I now wish to warn against
two dangerous ways of action. Some beginning composers devote
themselves to one instrument as concert performers and study com-
position only with the intention of learning to compose instrumental
works, especially concertos, for their instrument.
Skill on the instrument is a highly necessary characteristic to every
player. It is undeniable that in this specialty music has made giant
strides in the past eighteen to twenty years. Concert performers on
all instruments who have acquired quite extraordinary skill are no
longer a rarity. {37} There are even entire orchestras where all parts
are played by musicians every one of whom is an accomplished soloist.
Thus how great could be the effect of music if this generally apparent
skill, if this mechanical dexterity were applied throughout to the true
goal of music. How fortunate for music where this occurs! But this
aspect which might improve music s effect is very often wrongly used
and causes the greatest damage to the essential goal of art. The majority
of concert performers merely aim at displaying mechanical dexterity;
far from applying this acquired skill in order to arouse in their listeners
beautiful feelings and to gratify them in a noble way, they seek only
to call attention to the mechanics of their art; they require from their
listeners nothing more than applause of their skill.
If such performers happen to be also composers, it should come
as no surprise that they stuff their concertos with nothing but
difficulties and passages in fashion, instead of coaxing the hearts of
their listeners with beautiful melodies. {38} This way, they achieve
what they wish, namely the approval of the masses. But the young
musician who does not think independently enough to strive only
for the genuine approval of a few high-minded men is thereby carried
along; he tries to play only concertos which abound in difficulties;
for the most part, he torments himself in vain, because he may have
more natural predisposition for truth in art than for difficulties, and
he gradually succumbs to poor taste. Even many of those young artists
who recognize the false glamour of these so highly esteemed diffi-
culties, because they themselves may not be able to compose their
concertos, are often obliged to have recourse to such pieces, if they

wish to have sufficient variety. Unfortunately, there are places where

the performer nowadays may never hope for applause unless his
concerto features a romance and a rondo.4 — Thus chance circumstances
make evil more universal and gradually drive away good taste.
{39} One should not be surprised that men of good taste now
consider our concertos, chamber music, and table music merely as
mechanical exercise of the musicians and as idle amusement on the
part of the listeners.
Now you young artists who read these pages for instruction, avoid
this fallacy and strive only towards the lofty calling of a practitioner
of one of the fine arts; may your single aim be to please your listeners
through beautiful feelings. Endeavor to attain this high goal of art
through the writing of your compositions; do not hanker after the
applause of the masses, because for you too Gellert wrote the fine
fable: "The Nightingale and the Cuckoo."5 You too should learn to
feel what means
The escape of a silent tear,
Brings (to true artists) far more glory,
Than loud applause.
{40} If you have attained a high degree of skill on your instrument,
if the execution of even the greatest difficulties comes to you easily,
all the better for you. Good taste does not require you never to show
off your skill. Only use it with taste, and beware of seeking approval
merely through virtuosity, else you resemble the buffoon, who gets
applause for mere mechanical skill.
The second fallacy of which I intend to warn you consists in a
wittiness detrimental to the purpose of music. "People who are called
witty have always started the decline of the fine arts (says Batteux).
They have done more harm to the arts than the Goths, who only
carried out what a Pliny, a Seneca and their imitators had begun. -
— Wittiness is dazzling, and the easier to imitate, the more contagious
4 Romance and rondo both have their proper worth, which I do not wish to dispute; but there is
the ridiculous tyranny of fashion that allows approval of no other type of Adagio movement than
the romance, and no other last Allegro than the rondo. Might they both be in danger of being
forgotten? Still, what will we gain if instead of romances and rondos we incessantly introduce brief
movements with variations? [K.]
5 [Christian Fiirchtegott Gellert (1715-69)] G E Gellerts sdmmtliche Schriften, rev. edn., 10 books in
5 volumes (Leipzig: M. G. Weidmanns Erben und Reich, und Caspar Fritsch, 1784), vol. I, Book
2 (1748), "Die Nachtigall und der Kukuk," 224. To reinforce his point, Koch paraphrases the last
three lines of this fable: "Der Ausbruch einer stummen Z'ahre / Bringt Nachtigallen weit mehr
Ehre, / Als dir der laute Beyfall bringt." [B.]

it is."6 Therefore, beginning composers in particular must take this

hint, as that malpractice has tried to wangle its way into the world
of music. This happened in two ways. On the one hand, people wrote
compositions filled not with feeling, but with entertainment for the
{41} intellect. How, for example, does the composer represent an
absent-minded person in an instrumental piece? The distinguishing
traits of his composition are extrinsic; he connects sections which
properly do not belong together; he makes a triple rhythm where we
expect a duple; without reason he alternates the minor mode with
the major, and so on. These aspects embody the essence of such
compositions. Now (since the composer does not appear to aim at
any feeling) will the spirit of the listener be engaged by such a piece,
will he perhaps delight in guessing what the composer has wished to
represent? No, listeners will never be able to do this; thus one tries
to make the defining characteristics of such a composition known to
them in advance by writing them on the cover and over the parts.
In this way, music can paint hypochondriacs and music boxes, thunder-
storms and lovers' quarrels, and so forth. Thus instead of having an
effect on the heart through art, the intellect of the listener is engaged
through wit. The most amusing aspect of this subject is that many
such compositions please simply as abstract music [Ideal des Compo-
nisten], that is, as long as their pictorial nature is unknown, {42} and
only displease when heard for their intended purpose.
This type of wit in music, however, is as yet not sufficiently
widespread as to threaten great damage to the art. Only it is regrettable
that at times even Homer nods off.7
But far more dangerous and far more damaging it is for art when
it is allowed to become clownery. For some time this evil has begun
to be contagious. Those who make this mistake do not know how
6 Ramler, Einleitung, vol. I, 72. The minor deviations from the original in the quotations from
Ramler may be caused by Koch's having used a different edition. [B.]
7 A reference to Horace, Ars poetica in Horace: Satires, Epistles and Ars poetica, translated with
commentary by H. Rushton Fairclough, rev. edn. 1929, reprinted, Loeb Classical Library
(Cambridge, Mass, and London: Harvard University Press, 1991), 479 and 481: "But when the
beauties in a poem are more in number, I shall not take offence at a few blots which a careless
hand has let drop, or human frailty has failed to avert. What, then, is the truth? As a copying clerk
is without excuse if, however much warned, he always makes the same mistake, and a harper is
laughed at who always blunders on the same string: so the poet who often defaults, becomes,
methinks, another Choerilus, whose one or two good lines cause laughter and surprise; and yet I
also feel aggrieved, whenever good Homer 'nods,' but when a work is long, a drowsy mood may
well creep over it." [B.]

to differentiate between the comic and the vulgar. They commit a

fault comparable to telling a dirty joke to a gathering of intellectuals.
Again the reason for this evil is the desire to gain the approval of the
masses. It appears that this thirst cannot be quenched with respect for
music; even extraordinary difficulties no longer help, and thus the
acquired skill is applied towards provoking laughter in order to reach
ones goal. Batteux and Ramler and others teach that the artist is
to imitate {43} nature. Thus it is no wonder that at times one hears
in music old women weep, posthorns sound, and cuckoos cry; and
the musical jesters refer to Batteux and Ramler, whom they have
neither read nor understood.8
Beware, young composers, also of these gross mistakes; strive to
attain good taste; never seek the approval of the masses through your
art or through your future compositions. Then you will not be subject
to the temptation of transgressing the limits of your art.
I have shown above what we can expect from music when it is
separated from poetry and from dance, and the nature of the feelings
which it can awaken by itself. Even the best compositions of the kind
which avoid all the errors I have mentioned and in which the
composer is aiming solely at arousing beautiful feelings yet show the
art much in need of improvement.
Consider the form of our usual compositions. Does not custom
show herself as a tyrant? What else forces us {44} in a symphony or
in a concerto to listen to three consecutive movements, each of which
is different with regard to the feeling to be aroused?
Take the most beautiful instrumental piece, in which not only the
first and last Allegro, but also the Adagio is able to awaken the feelings
which were the aim of its composer. Now let these three different
movements with their very different contents follow one another as
quickly as is usual, without any mediating ideas or feelings; study
whether under these circumstances they can indeed bring about just
what they would have had they been either connected through
mediating feelings or performed as entirely separate movements. In
the performance of a symphony, for example, the first Allegro will lift
us to a noble emotion. Hardly has this feeling taken possession of us,
than in the Adagio it gives way to sadness; in order, as it were, to
compensate for this sad feeling, which came suddenly and without
8 See Introduction by Nancy K. Baker, pp. 116-18 above. [B.]

The primary matter of music; melody and harmony 157
apparent reason, we jump just as quickly thence to even greater joy

in the last Allegro. Does this treatment correspond to the nature of
our souls, is it appropriate to the nature {45} of the succession of
feelings? Is it just as easy for the listeners to proceed from sorrow
into joy as it is easy for the musician to turn the page and begin the
last Allegro after the Adagio? Consider now the usual sequence and
contents of compositions, which are often played in concerts or in
chamber and banquet music, and judge.9
Various of my readers will charge that my ideas are too farfetched!
Good, I willingly resign myself to that - I let them have their pleasure
in music and do not envy {46} their taste. Perhaps others will indicate
that their patrons or their listeners desire no greater, no nobler pleasure!
This bodes ill for good taste in music! I realize that often the artists
are not solely responsible for choosing that which is nobler not only
for the listeners, but also for art. But could they not now and then
find an opportunity to let the performance of a vocal piece wrench
from their listeners the acknowledgment, guided by their own feeling,
that music can produce more noble pleasure than mere amusement?
This truth has already been demonstrated where opera is customary
and also where it is no extraordinary rarity to hear a vocal piece (be
it of dramatic or lyrical content) in the concert hall or in chamber
music.
{47} I have deviated too far from my goal; now I shall return to
the subject and will try to show the novice composer how a piece
of music must arise in his soul if it is to attain the aim of art.
[THE PRIMARY MATTER OF MUSIC;

MELODY AND HARMONY]
At the very beginning of the introduction to the first volume, I promised
to draw a line between *harmony and *melody, and to answer the
well-known controversial question whether harmony or melody came
9 Among all occasions at which music is customary, the tables of the great are probably the most
inappropriate. If used on an exceptionally festive day to augment the pomp and the magnificence,
then there is no objection if only a few compositions which have the character of the sublime or
pomp are performed; in such cases they will always attain the desired goal. But with the ordinary
use of them, not only the listener, but also the art loses in more than one respect. On such
occasions, not only are many who do not naturally like music obliged to become listeners; they
have to be quiet, contrary to habit. Necessary etiquette forces them to swallow many a learned or
witty idea unspoken, and thus they become enemies, secret persecutors of music. [K.]

first, whether a composition may be reduced to melody or harmony

in such a way that my readers could be at peace with the judgment. I
do not know how, from what I said concerning this point on pages 7
to 9, some could have deduced I meant to say that, at the creation of
a composition, harmony must arise first in the soul of the composer.10
This matter is too important to the beginning composer for me
not to seize this opportunity to clarify my opinion.
If the problem under discussion is to be completely resolved, it
must be considered from two different points of view, the material
and the formal.
{48} Considered materially, the question can arise when the theorist
tries to reduce the entire substance of a composition to its primary
matter [Urstoff] in order to define rules of composition. The entire
work was divided into melody and harmony, and here the question
was raised, which of the two arises first, or more clearly, to which of
the two may the composition be reduced? If one were to claim
melody to be first, one still had to admit that its notes were always
the tones of an underlying harmony; indeed, even successive tones,
once heard together, already had all the characteristics of harmony.
On the other hand, if harmony were given priority, it became evident
that the mere combination of two chords contained just as many
melodic progressions as the chords had parts; indeed, even the tones
of a single chord, heard successively, manifested all the characteristics
of melody. In short, the arguments were circular; one did not wish
to admit that the subject itself was as yet not sufficiently defined to
arrive at a definite principle. This gave me the opportunity for the
passage cited above, for neither melody nor harmony can constitute
the primary material of a composition. {49} Both bear characteristics
10 Koch did, in fact, say just that (Versuch, vol. I, 9): "Denn was kan [sic] in einem Tonstiicke eher
entstehen als die einfache Harmonie?" His concept of "simple harmony, "however, differed from
the generally accepted definition of harmony. The reactions prompted by this statement led him
to refine his terminology in volume II of the Versuch; he introduced the term Urstoff der Musik to
designate this primary material of music. See also his Preface to volume II, note I, above, p. 137,
where he discussed a review of volume I. Misunderstandings may have arisen in part because in
the first volume his definition of harmony or simple harmony seemed to include chords. He
described three ways of connecting tones (Versuch, vol. I, 7-8): "die erste, wo die Tone, nicht in
einer Reihe verbunden, bearbeitet werden, und diese wird Harmonie, Einfache Harmonie
genannt, die zweyte, wo sie in einer nach einander horbaren Reihe verbunden werden, und diese
wird Melodie genannt, die dritte, in einer zusammen horbaren Reihe, und diese nennet man
Contrapunct, Satz, oder begleitende Harmonie. His subsequent clarifications lessened the
possibility of misinterpretation concerning his view of harmony. [B.]

The order of composing 159
of what must precede both, namely the size of the tones determined
through an accepted fundamental tone, or what on page 16 [of Volume
I] I called "mode." This size of all musical tones as determined by a
fundamental tone is the primary material of a composition from which
all elements of the entire composition are formed. If this material or
if these tones are heard successively, then the material is melodically
manipulated; but it is used harmonically if some of these tones are
heard together. Thus I said in the introduction on page 7: "To produce
a composition, tones are joined either in a series or together; thus
they may be heard successively or simultaneously. Accordingly, there
are three different ways of connecting tones, and so forth." Thus I
understand by the improper expression simple harmony (which I
could have designated more clearly by the expression primary matter
of music [Urstoff der Musik], had I not wished to retain the word
harmony to show that the concept attached to it is too broad), all
that belongs to the way in which both modes originate {50} from
one accepted fundamental tone. And accompanying harmony,
composition, or counterpoint means the simultaneously audible
connection of this material, either in single chords or in entire
movements.
Viewing the issue in this way, it appears to me that the question
if considered materially is no question at all; for neither harmony nor
melody can constitute the final reduction of a composition. The two
originate in one and the same material; only this material is manipu-
lated differently in the context of melody or harmony.
Consequently I clearly could not have intended to indicate through
the passage cited in the introduction to volume one that the working
composer should first think of harmony.
[THE ORDER OF COMPOSING]

This will become still more evident if I now proceed to the formal
consideration of this subject. The question previously raised will now
be: What arises first in the mind of the composer in the creation of a
composition, melody or harmony? Or, in words more in keeping with
our proper aim: How does a composition arise in {51} the mind of
the composer, how does he invent it, how does he work?
This question is far more difficult to answer than the previous one,
because it concerns a matter which is better felt than described, and

in connection with which one easily runs the risk of being mis-
understood. Thus I would prefer to pass over this matter in silence.
But I am convinced that most beginners tend to form an entirely
incorrect idea of it, and I know that most teachers of composition,
in their verbal instruction, do not allude at all to this matter, so
important for the beginner. Therefore I wish to try to address the
beginning composer on this subject in a manner useful to him.
Let me remind you that when, in the course of this treatise, I deal
with the way in which a composition is formed, actually only one
movement of any composition will be discussed at a time, for example,
only the Allegro of a symphony or a concerto, or an aria of a vocal
work, and so on.
In discussions about the way in which works of the fine arts are
created, one speaks of *invention [Erfindung], a *sketch [Entwurf], a
{52} plan [*layout, Anlage] and a *disposition [Anordnung],11 likewise
also of realization [Ausfuhrung] and ^elaboration [Ausarbeitung], and so
on.
[THE PLAN: 1. THE MECHANICAL ELEMENTS]

As composers, we have essentially to consider three different stages in
the making of a composition: the plan, the realization, and the elaboration.
In the article "Plan" [Layout] of his General Theory of the Fine Arts,
Sulzer gives the following explanation of these three different types of
operation:
A plan is the presentation of the most essential sections of which some work
is composed. Every great art work is the result of a three-fold process: the plan,
the realization, and the elaboration. [...] In the plan, the overall design [Plan]
of the work, along with its sections is decided upon. {53} The realization gives
each of these sections its own characteristic form, while the elaboration works
out and ties together the smallest parts in an optimal manner and form. If the
11 Our current topic is not the composer's plan nor the disposition by means of which the composer
who, for example, wishes to work at a cantata, initially must decide for which voice this or that
aria is the most appropriate; or which wind instrument he considers the most fitting with this or
that aria, in order to maintain the necessary variety, and so on. The sole topic here is each separate
movement of a composition, for example, each aria in particular, as a self-contained unit. [K.]
Note that Anlage is always translated as "plan," rather than "layout," the term chosen for the
Sulzer translation. To avoid confusion in this portion of the volume, I have therefore altered the
quotations from Sulzer accordingly; in the first of these, I have also changed the translation of Plan
to "design." See Introduction by Nancy K. Baker, pp. 121-24 above. [B.]

The plan: 1. The mechanical elements 161
plan is complete, nothing more that is essential to the work should have to be
added. The work already contains the most important ideas, and therefore this
demands the most genius. A work accrues its greatest value on the basis of its
plan. It constitutes the soul of the work, and firmly establishes everything that
belongs to its inner character and intended effect.12
In pursuance of our aim, we must first of all try to form for
ourselves a clear idea of what we as the composer mean by the plan
of a composition, or how the concept advanced by Sulzer must be
applied to composition in particular. And we will find that we must
understand by the plan of a composition the main ideas of the piece
already connected with one another which together present themselves
to the composer as a complete whole, combined with its principal
harmonic features [harmonische Hauptziige]. As we shall see immediately,
the very nature of composition requires the conception of a plan in
this way exclusively.
{54} The composer working in the fire of imagination may be
fortunate enough to invent the main ideas of his piece directly in
such an *order and connection that these different ideas, as it were,
immediately appear to him as a complete whole; or he may not be
able to do this. In the first case, his plan is completed as soon as he
has thought out how the harmony is to contribute to the effect, in
other words, as soon as he has decided on the main features or the
movements and figures of notes which are to support this envisaged
whole in the accompanying parts. If the composer is able to invent
his plan in this way, then he has great serendipity with regard to the
effectiveness of his *genius [Genie] and his inspiration. But in the
second case, when the composer hits upon no such auspicious moment,
the situation is entirely different. Inspired genius is not always able to
invent immediately such a series of ideas which present themselves
to him as a harmonious whole and whose sections connect in such
a way as to please good taste entirely; often many similar ideas adequate
to the aim of the whole {55} occur to him at the same time, making
either their selection or connection more difficult for him. Usually
more ideas than he needs for his purpose emerge in this spiritual
condition of the composer. Such superabundance of ideas really should
not be detrimental to him, because he can choose the most beautiful
and the most appropriate for his goal; nevertheless, the superfluity
12 Sulzer, "Layout," above, p. 66. [B.]

often places the composer in difficulty, because usually various of these

sections which he deems to be the most beautiful for his purpose
may prove incompatible and incapable of joining together as a single,
complete picture in the composers mind.
Here the working composer often meets an unpleasant difficulty
which slows down the completion of his plan. He has more sections
than are necessary for his purpose; he feels that they are beautiful and
suitable to his objective; nevertheless, a few of them present themselves
as not completely appropriate to follow one another in the total
picture. Thus, notwithstanding the abundance of ideas, this causes a
real dilemma. The composer is obliged to wait for the lucky moment
in which he {56} finds the thought which enables him to connect
to his entire satisfaction the ideas which beforehand would not let
themselves be joined appropriately without offending his sensitivities.
For it is a principle of the utmost importance to us that the connection
and the sequence of these sections not be at all inimical to the feeling
of utmost tenderness which must accompany us in the fire of
inspiration.
If the composer now finds himself in the situation just described,
then the plan of his composition requires two different types of
procedure, namely the invention of the sections and their disposition
or connection [Verbindung] into a whole.
Herewith let me advise you beginners most urgently never to hurry,
especially with the connection of these sections; and never to force
the ideas together, as long as you do not feel that they present
themselves automatically as a complete whole, of which nothing is
too much or too little, and that all sections stand in such a relation
and follow one another in such a manner that they simply could not
be arranged otherwise. In short, the beginner must get into the habit
of not seeking to complete his plan {57} until the developing whole
affects himself in the highest degree and increases his inspiration.
Sulzer says in the article quoted before:
I would thus advise every artist to apply the utmost concentration to the
plan of the work and to deem it his most important job. He should not
consider any other part of his work until the plan is brought to as happy
and as satisfying a state as possible. Only with difficulty will a work attain a
modicum of perfection if its plan is not adequately thought out before its
realization. An imperfection in the plan robs the artist of the fire and fortitude
necessary for a work's realization. Partial elements of beauty will not be

enough to hide the flaws in the plan. It is better to throw out completely
a work with an imperfect plan than it is to expend effort in trying to carry
out its realization and elaboration. One of the most important rules of art
seems to be not to begin working out something before one is fully satisfied
with the perfection of its plan, since such satisfaction will be a catalyst to
the work's realization.13
These are the reasons, therefore, why, with regard to the plan, I
require of a composition (1) that {58} its main sections be connected
with each other, or that their sum not be considered a plan until
these parts appear to the composer as an entirely complete picture;
because it is still uncertain whether indeed he will be able to find a
suitable way of connecting these sections. (2) That it also is necessary
for a complete plan that the main harmonic features and the type of
harmonic accompaniment contained in the other parts be completely
determined and follow from the plan, since it is to establish everything
that belongs to the intrinsic character and to the effect which the
whole should have. But now it is well known that each movement
produces a different effect as soon as its accompaniment or the
subsidiary parts associated with the principal part are altered in the
harmony or also in their movement and figures. For example, a
composition will of necessity produce an entirely different effect if
either few dissonances are used in the parts which accompany a
principal melody or if these accompanying parts only sound the simple
harmonic tones of the underlying chords, than if the dissonances are
used more frequently or these accompanying parts, instead of simply
sounding {59} the harmonic tones of the underlying chords, are
elaborated with metrical figures.14 From this it is now clear that the
specific content of the accompaniment is an integral part of a complete
plan.
It appears to me to be still necessary to clarify this matter through
a practical example. But in order to avoid inserting not only the plan
of a composition, but also its realization and elaboration, thereby
making these pages more extensive, I will choose the movement of
a composition which is in everyone's hands, so that the beginner may
be able to compare that which I here call the plan with the realization
and form for himself a correct idea of the matter. For this example,
13 Sulzer, "Layout," above, pp. 66-67. [B.]
14 A harmonic tone is an overtone (mitklingenderTon) of the fundamental underlying a chord; Koch
is referring here to the octave, perfect fifth, and major third. [B.]

I choose the second aria from the Todjesu by Graun.15 In my judgment,

the following, no more, no less, could be considered the plan of this
aria.
Example la
Allegretto ,.
Ein Ge - bet
^ 3
um
m neu - e Star-ke, zur Voll - en -
I
dung
- hort gern er - hort es - gern _ der Herr er-hort es gern.
Arie Example lb
Allegretto I
Fl. I/II
Vie I/II
Via
Fg. I/II
B.c. m
15 Carl Heinrich Graun (ca. 1704-59) was a German singer and composer. He became Kapell-
meister for Frederick the Great of Prussia and wrote numerous Italian operas for Berlin, as well
as sacred works and chamber music. His most famous work is the Passion cantata Der Todjesu of
1755, composed to words by Karl Ramler (see note 1 above, p. 145). Koch had the highest
regard for the works of Graun and frequently used them to illustrate the Versuch. [B.]

^
nr 7TT LJ
r
Ein
r i r r f i r cf-Cf-ir r » ' T r r ir r r
Ge - bet um neu - e Star-ke, zur _ Voll - en - dung ed - ler _
t Ij r

r rr T zum Herrn,_ dringt zum Herrn,_ und der Hierr er -
m M
i
x I*
- hort
r ' nes gern, — er - hort es gern, der
Herr_
*r T T er - hort
r ^' '
I r
si I r r r 'h I- h
'J r
es gern, der Herr er-hort es
i 7#i;
""I ii ^

gern, der Herr er - hort es gem
uEin• JGe -l beti ? umJjJ neu - e Star - ke,

fz u r _i rVoll-
m
IJ. I] I]

J'UJ r i -i • i
teilt die Wol - ken, dringt zum Herrn, _ dringt zum Herrn,
r r ir cj
und der Herr _ er - hort es gern, _ er - hort, _
i I 1
r r plP n r
er - hort es gern, teilt die
^ lli 'lJ

teilt die Wol - ken, dringt zum Herrn
und der Herr er - hort es gern, _
j r'P ifc
hort es gern, _ er - hort, der Herr _
rrr
r r r irrr irrr
<r
er-hort es gern, und _ der _ Herr, der Herr er-hort es ger

n
140 ,
m
r r r i J
j > trfrg
r=f Fine
^F^
Allegretto 145
Klimm' ich
LJ
zu
LJ
der Tu -
LJ
gend
TTem - pel matt den

- em pel, •'urch _ die Hoff - nung _ je - ner scho - nen
ii - ber mir er - hab' - nen Sze - nen, und er
J*> P ir mm
- leicht' - re mei - nen Gang mit Ge - bet,
r fr $
:J==3=

p r cj"'P
- sang,
,mp
v P IT
bet, Ge - bet und mit Ge -
From the piano—vocal edition by Ulrich Haverkampf of Carl Heinrich Graun's Der Tod Jesu.
© Breitkopf and Hartel, Wiesbaden. Used by permission.

{62} First remark

If one considers this plan and contrasts it with the aria as Graun
has realized it, one will find that it contains all essential phrases of
the entire aria (until its second section, of which I will say a word
afterwards). No new idea which is not already contained in the
plan presents itself subsequently in the movement; everything is
either repetition, clarification, or continuation of the main ideas
contained in the plan.
The figure of the violins entering in the eighth measure [m. 32]
(counted from the beginning of the vocal part [in the completed
aria]) I include as part of the plan, for the reason that the author
thereby has connected two principal phrases [Haupttheile] of the
whole. Also, the movement of the violins, which commences in the
{63} seventeenth measure [m. 41] and continues in the following
measures, is an essential part of the plan, because it belongs to the
entire melodic picture of the composition.
The realization includes not only the repetition of the second
half of a principal idea [Hauptgedanke], which makes up the fifteenth
and sixteenth measures of the aria [mm. 39—40], but also the con-
tinuation of the movement from the twenty-third measure [m. 47]
until the conclusion of the first solo of the vocal part, as well as
the ritornelli and the entire second solo up to the main cadence.
In this case, I consider only the bass voice in combination with
the vocal line as part of the main harmonic features of this plan.
I assume that concurrently with the invention of his plan, the
author had determined that the {64} accompanying parts should
contain no special metrical figures. Rather, the first violin should
support the vocal part in unison; the second violin, where the
figures of the main part permit it, should accompany in thirds or
sixths, and, furthermore, should play only harmonic notes of the
underlying chords. Thus I consider the content of the second violin
as well as the accompaniment of the bassoon and the melodic line
of the viola, where it does not proceed with the bass at the octave,
to belong to the elaboration of the movement.
Incidentally, I purposely chose as an example a plan which is
very simple and easy for the beginner to take in at a glance, not
only with regard to its main harmonic features, but also considering
the entire realization and elaboration.

Second remark
Since we will discuss the aria later, a word concerning its second
section is not entirely inappropriate here. The second section of an
aria can be handled in different ways. {65} Guided by the text,
the composer may or may not find it necessary to present the
second section of the aria in an entirely different guise from the
first. If he does, the second section is not connected with the plan
of the first; rather it requires its own particular plan. If the composer
still feels strong enough after having completed the plan of the
first section, he can try to invent the plan of the second section
immediately. If he is capable of doing this, both sections of the aria,
to be sure different in themselves, gain a certain relation to one
another, which would not be so easy to obtain if he first realized
and elaborated the first section. But if the composer finds that with
the completion of the plan of the first section his facility to invent
or his fire of imagination [Feuer der Einbildungskraft] is beginning
to diminish, then he would do better to abandon this subtle relation
of the two different sections, which moreover only a very refined
artistic feeling perceives, rather than risk filling the second section
of his aria with an insipid invention.
{66} In the second case, if the composer, following the indica-
tions of the text, does not find it necessary to present the second
section of the aria in a way different from the first, then this second
section is part of the realization of his movement, and the ideas
contained therein are partly repetitions and partly also continuations
of the main ideas present in the plan. And if indeed the composer
feels obliged to use in this type of treatment an idea which has
nothing in common with what preceded, then this idea (just as
any other new phrase) must still be constructed so as to connect
well with the rest of the ideas.
Custom has made it almost a law to treat the second section of
the aria quite briefly and without perceptible realization. If the first
section is realized extensively, then this custom is, to some extent,
necessary; otherwise, if one wished also to realize the second section
and then to repeat the entire first section, the movement would
be extended to a tiresome degree. For the time being, I shall ignore
the question whether it {67} might be better to treat the first
section briefly, contrary to custom, in those arias in which the

second section of text is especially striking, and thus put off the
more extended realization until the second section.
In many recent compositions, the very tiresome Da capo, fre-
quently existing without any purpose, has come either to be
abandoned altogether or, should the text have been written with
that form in mind, to be curtailed. This is done either by repeating
only half of the first section or by abridging its contents concisely
and writing out the movement entirely.
Third remark
It is probably not surprising to the beginner in composition that
I said in the First Remark that the ritornelli of the aria and
consequently also the beginning ritornello belong to the realization;
thus, with the invention of an aria, the ritornelli cannot be thought
of until the plan is completed, or even until the first solo of the
vocal part is completely {68} realized. One will find this procedure
still less strange in connection with the invention and working out
of a chorus. In both cases, the text necessitates this manner of
treatment; it would be entirely inappropriate to handle these
movements differently. But this procedure is just as necessary when
dealing with a concerto, if one does not wish to double one's work.
Many who are only concerto composers for their instrument make
the treatment of these compositions much more difficult for
themselves by beginning with the invention of the ritornello which,
just as in the aria, is nothing but the introduction to the principal
material, or to that which the solo part should contain.
Does not an orator have to have determined most precisely the
contents of his address before he can, in the introduction, draw the
attention of his listeners to its contents? And does not the first
ritornello of a concerto have just the same relationship with the
contents of the solo part as the introduction of a speech with its
contents?
{69} Thus if the beginning composer does not wish to treat a
concerto contrary to its nature, and thereby make the work yet
more difficult for himself, he will first complete the plan and even
the realization of the first solo of his composition. Subsequently,
he will not lack in material for his ritornello, and with this manner
of treatment he will not run the risk of exhausting his creative

ability with the ritornello before he even approaches the invention

of the principal matter itself, namely the solo.
The first ritornello is generally very long in recent concertos,
as is the first Allegro movement of instrumental pieces. When a
master of the art does this, there is nothing at all to take exception
to, as long as it is completely satisfactory to his listeners. But a
beginner should beware of too lengthy movements; for it is always
better if the movements please the listeners so well that they wish
they could have lasted longer, than when they seem too long.
{70} This should be knowledge enough of what is meant by the
plan of a composition. Yet we still have to examine the most important
aspect of this subject, namely the way in which such a plan originates
in the mind of the composer or how the composer invents.
There are essentially three important matters connected with the
invention of compositions besides the knowledge of the mechanical
aspect of composition: (1) the facility of invention and disposition,
and also the innate feeling for the beauty of the musical sections and
their suitability to form a beautiful entity which will attain the
proposed aim; or, in other words, genius and taste; (2) the special
spiritual condition [Seelenzustand] in which the composer must be
when he wishes to invent a composition; and (3) the acquired skill
of thinking melodically and harmonically.
It is taken for granted that he who intends to become a composer
must be a practicing musician (be it a singer or an instrumentalist),
must possess the genius necessary for a composer, and must already
have honed his taste through much practice and listening to good
compositions. {71} These are characteristics to be expected of the
beginning composer whose necessity I need not demonstrate further.
I shall discuss the particular spiritual condition in which the composer
must try to place himself for the invention of his compositions, usually
designated by the expression *"inspiration" [Begeisterung]. First I will
clarify what I understand by melodic and harmonic thinking [melodisch
und harmonisch denken], and I will show that this skill is an essential
characteristic of the composer.

[THE PLAN: 2. THE SKILLS OF MELODIC AND
HARMONIC INVENTION]
Even if the beginning composer is endowed with the greatest genius
and has cultivated his taste to the most refined degree, even if he
possesses a very lively imagination combined with the ability to raise
it easily to inspiration, he will not be able to apply these gifts if he yet
lacks the skill to think melodically and harmonically.
To think melodically is the ability of a composer to retain for a
while, completely pure in his mind, a melody or only sections of it,
which he either has heard from others or has himself imagined and
invented.16 {72} It is imperative that the composer be capable of
keeping in his imagination the invented melodic sections which he
wishes to combine until he has brought them into the configuration
which I have called the plan. However, this art of thinking melodically
would be of little help if he were not also capable of writing down
the sequence of intervals or their figures. There are many composers
who possess not only the skill of thinking melodically, but also the
aptitude to notate correctly the melody present in their imagination,
without having much practiced this. To these it may even appear
somewhat ridiculous that I treat this matter as a skill especially to be
acquired by the composer. Happy the young musician who possesses
this skill, if he has the intention of becoming a composer, for there
are {73} certainly many, if not most, composers who are incapable of
notating correctly a melody which they can play by heart. As soon
as they attempt this, they miss sometimes this, sometimes that interval
leap. They cannot do this without resorting to their instrument in
order to find the breadth of the intervals or the accidentals with
which this melody is written on the staff, for they have not become
accustomed to think of the names or signs corresponding to the
sequence of tones in their imagination. Usually this deficiency is found
in musicians who were not sent to singing school when they began
to learn music.
If a beginning composer finds he lacks this skill, I advise him with
the best intentions not to proceed in composition and especially in
the melodic component of it until he has acquired this ability, because
the little effort which he now expends upon it will be of frequent
16 Completely unchanged, or so that fantasy does not introduce any other notes or sequence of
notes to keep the picture or idea as pure as it was at its initial conception. [K.]

benefit to him in the future. For without this skill, he will never be
capable of composing, unless he resorts to picking out melodies on
his instrument {74} to help him invent and write down all the
thoughts he wants to join in a composition, instead of their arising
directly in his fantasy [Fantasie] and staying there until they are formed
into a well-connected unit. The bad effects of this method upon genius
and taste, and on the invention of a composition through which
feelings are to be awakened, are so obvious as to make it unnecessary
to explain myself further.
To avoid these bad consequences, the novice who finds himself in
this situation has no choice but to strive diligently for practice in
melodic thinking and to acquire the skill of notation. Every musician
possesses the ability to think or sing in his mind a melody which he
can play by heart on his instrument; therefore, if he cannot notate his
melody properly, what he lacks is the habit of paying attention to the
specific size of the different intervals which make up the melody.
Therefore, the beginning composer should now make it his {75} main
exercise to sing in his mind and to pay close attention to the width
of the intervals between every tone of the melody and the next, or,
better still, he should form the habit of accompanying the sequence
of tones he is singing in his mind with their corresponding letters as
if as a text. Once he has reached the proficiency of pronouncing the
correct name of the tones which he sings mentally as a text, then he
can write the proper sequence of tones and intervals that form the
melody. Next he needs only to determine precisely the duration of
every tone in order to express correctly the figures of which the
melody consists; and the latter usually tends to be far easier for the
instrumentalist than the former. But as the beginner should not yet
invent, he should take for this exercise those compositions which he
practices on his instrument and should sing those phrases which he
knows by memory a few times in the previously described manner;
subsequently he should try to write the piece in notes and compare
it with the already notated melody. He must continue with this exercise
until he is capable of writing with complete accuracy every {76}
melody which he sings in his mind, with regard not only to the
sequence of tones, but also to the figures of notes.
To those who do not like this exercise, the only advice I can give
is to let themselves be instructed by usual methods in the vocal art,

The plan: 2. The skills of melodic and harmonic invention 179
or they themselves must undertake the necessary exercises for the

acquisition of this art.
The melodic sections of a composition can be invented in different
ways. One can invent them without taking into consideration anything
but the melodic succession. Also, one can form a melody out of a
series of different chords connected with one another and from the
tones which they contain. Or one can have acquired the skill of
inventing melodic sections in such a way that one is simultaneously
able to pay attention to the ^variety [Mannigfaltigkeit] of harmony
necessary for the accompaniment. And this acquired skill is what I
call the ability to conceive of melody harmonically.
Those who invent a piece of music solely melodically, without
looking to a varied harmony, are either destitute of all harmonic
knowledge or they possess {77} the necessary harmonic knowledge,
but they have not gotten into the habit of making use of it when
inventing their melody. Thus they are not able to invent a melody
capable of skillfully accompanying the other parts and appropriate to
the aim of their composition. They simply connect melodic sections
leaving it to chance whether a great variety of harmony is possible.
This manner of invention is the source of such compositions which,
considering the multiplicity of harmony, have much similarity to the
following dance melody.
{78} Let us suppose that he who composes in this manner invents

the sections or the phrases of melody in such a way that they are capable
of more harmonic variation. Nevertheless, when they are connected, it
often turns out that the following phrase requires the same sequence
of chords which was necessary in the phrase immediately preceding.
To avoid this monotony, one is often obliged to compose forced bass
and middle parts in an entirely inappropriate place.
Now in this case the melody arises first in the soul of the composer,
but without any regard for the harmony. What we have said makes it
clear that the beginning composer must make no use of this manner

of inventing if he does not wish to run the risk of allowing himself

to be spoilt and of learning to invent melodies which are harmonically
monotonous. Even with his first attempts to invent melody, he must,
as we shall subsequently see, learn to take harmonic variety into
consideration. For surely it is undeniably better for the beginner in
composition to accustom himself from the very start to a good method
of composing, even if it is slow, rather than inventing things sooner,
{79} but by a bad method. To break that habit would be very
time-consuming later.
If harmony is to precede the invention of melody, then he who
wishes to invent melody in this manner must connect a series of
chords and, from the different tones of these chords, try to form his
melody. There has been no lack of musicians who have maintained
that, in the soul of the creating composer, the melody must arise from
the harmony. This indeed cannot happen in a way other than that
just described. It is assumed to be an acquired skill; nevertheless I am
inclined to believe that a muse entirely unknown to other composers
must inspire him who invents by this method compositions through
which feelings can be awakened.
This manner of invention appears to be quite similar to forcing a
poet to construct a poem on a series of given rhymes, as has occurred
now and then in the past. Granted an entity may result which has all
external characteristics of poetry, but does {80} that make this process
the ideal method of generating true poetry?
I will not dispute that perhaps this method of composing could
occur at a time when the attractiveness of melody was not appreciated
and when the interest was solely directed towards harmonic elabora-
tions and to polyphony. But as long as we are concerned with the
invention of the plan of modern compositions through which feelings
are to be aroused, we must declare this method of invention as wrong
and to be avoided.
And yet, one cannot do without this treatment in the entire range
of composition. For the realization and the elaboration, it is indispens-
able. The composer may, for example, in the realization of his
composition, wish to let this or that phrase of the melody be carried
by the bass part. In that case, he has to conceive a series of chords
for the tones of this melody in the bass voice and from the tones of
these chords he must form the melody of his upper voice. Furthermore,
the composition of the middle parts in the elaboration of the piece

depends entirely upon this procedure. We already know this method

of composition from the exercises of counterpoint in {81} which we
place the cantus firmus in the bass voice.17 The sole difference is that
if we use it in the future with the realization and elaboration of
compositions, we must pay attention to taste and to the specific goal
of the composition.
Incidentally, there is no denying that a beautiful melody could be
produced in this way. Nevertheless it would be only an accident
attributable wholly to mechanics, and certainly it is not the ideal
method by which to invent the plan of a composition through which
feelings are to be aroused. Never have great masters of the art tried
in this way to invent the melodic phrases for the plan of their
compositions.
But what then is the highest degree of perfection of the creative
mind of the composer? It is nothing other than the ability to conceive
a melody harmonically, that is, to invent it in such a way that one is
also simultaneously able to imagine the principal features of its
harmonic accompaniment. Batteux teaches this in his reduction of
the fine arts to a single principle, through a comparison drawn from
painting. "The painter (he says) who has conceived the color and
position of a head simultaneously also sees, {82} if he is a Raphael
or a Rubens, the colors and folds of the garment with which he must
clothe the remaining portion of the body."18 This parable of the
creative painter and the creative composer shows us the method of
inventing which the greatest masters of art have always used.
According to this comparison, the composer who invents the plan
of a piece of music which is to awaken this or that feeling must be
capable of imagining the content of the voices accompanying his
melody. In this way, he may create a more complete entity in which
all components help to promote the proposed aim.
The skill of conceiving melody harmonically manifests itself to
varying degrees according to the differing aims of the composer. The
composer who invents the plan of his composition either places the
17 In volume I, part 2, "Counterpoint," Koch provided a graduated course of instruction in the art
of counterpoint and reduced composition to five different methods [Setzarten]. Based upon his
explanation of the way in which tones and keys arise, these methods were of increasing harmonic
complexity. He hoped by this means to make the beginning composer understand how the tones
of a cantus firmus contained in themselves the basis for great variety in harmonic accompaniment;
see Versuch, vol. 1,229-374, especially 299-300. [B.]
18 Ramler, Einleitung, vol. I, 80. [B.]

entire expression [Ausdruck] of the feeling to be awakened in his

principal voice; with the invention of this main part, he pays attention
only to a variety of harmony suitable to the nature of the feeling,
without attempting to outline particular melodic features which should
help to portray the feeling itself. Or, {83} with the invention of his
principal voice or his melody, he imagines the subsidiary parts as
melodic elements so that they help to heighten the expression of the
feeling through certain motions or metrical formulae. Or he creates
the expression of feeling in the inseparable combination of several
melodies or principal voices.
In the first case, if the composer wishes to place the expression of
feeling exclusively in his principal voice, then, with the invention of
its phrases, he does not need particularly to imagine the content of
his accompanying voices. It is enough if he envisages the intensity
and change in the harmony or the underlying chords necessary for
the feeling at hand, for the accompaniment of his principal voice
should contain no special melodic characteristics. Usually in such a
case the subsidiary voices are written so that they proceed in suitable
melodic lines with the principal voice in thirds or sixths, or the tones
of the underlying chords are either sounded simply or repeated several
times. The composition inserted above, which I considered as the plan
for the aria by Graun, is an example of this degree of skill at conceiving
melody harmonically.
{84} In the second case, if the composer wishes to enhance his
melody and the feeling to be awakened through particular melodic
passages in one or more accompanying voices, he must possess far
more skill in thinking harmonically than in the first case; for here he
must indeed invent completely according to the comparison cited by
Batteux. Not only must he be able to imagine the color and position
of a head, but he must at the same time have a mental picture of the
colors and folds of the garment with which he intends to clothe the
remaining portion of the body. In other words, not only must he be
capable of imagining his melody-to-be with a view to the feeling to
be awakened, but he must also notice the passages through which he
will strengthen the expression of the feeling in this or that accom-
panying voice. This occurs usually through continued metrical for-
mulae and so forth.
The following passage from an aria can act as an example of this
level of skill of conceiving melody harmonically. I have omitted the

vocal part which proceeds in unison with the first violin, because the
text taken out of context may not define the prevailing feeling anyhow.
Example 3
2 Flauti et
2 Viole, in
Adagio
U 1 i J J i i J
ottava alta
2 Violini
{87} The highest level of skill of a composer to conceive melody

harmonically manifests itself when he invents the essential portions
of the expression of the feeling to be aroused in a composite picture,
that is, in the inseparable union of two or more melodies. This manner
of invention assumes the composer is thoroughly trained through long

practice and has a very lively imagination. An example of this kind

of inventing would be the following phrase from a vocal duet, in
which both the upper voices are necessarily inseparable for the ideal
of the composer and for the effect which the phrase is to have. For
the sake of brevity, I again leave out the vocal parts, because in this
composition the first soprano begins with the first violin in the second
measure, and the second soprano begins with the obbligato viola in
the third measure, and they continue with these parts without
significant difference.
Example 4
Allegro pia.
Violino obi.
2 Violini
Fondam.
I 1 V pr r r
M

^, inffiimffli J
J J)
[ r
r r r rr
J I
{91} These different levels in the skill of conceiving the melody

harmonically can exist together in the soul of the composer. His
genius or the feeling to be expressed permit him in the fire of
imagination to make use of now this, now that style, without his
conceiving of them as special methods. I have presented them here
as separate only in order to make this important matter (of which
something yet remains which cannot be described) as clear as possible
for the beginner.
{92} Certainly each beginner has every reason to ask, how do I
acquire this skill? How do I learn to compose? This skill, too, must
be acquired following the general rules according to which one tries
to acquire any skill. One must begin with the easier and the least
complicated aspects of the subject, and progress gradually to its more
difficult and more complex elements. The beginning composer who
has attained the necessary skill in counterpoint, and thereby possesses
the ability to conceive melodically, already has laid the proper foun-
dation for this skill he seeks. And here now emerges the real reason
why in the process of learning the art of composition one begins
with its harmonic components. The exercises of counterpoint will
have taught the beginner the skill of setting an appropriate bass voice

to a melody. If he possesses the ability to conceive melodically, he can

imagine most precisely a melody or its phrases in their succession of
intervals. Thus he will easily acquire the skill of imagining for this
melody the bass voice, which he can compose readily If subsequently
he himself creates an entire melody or a section thereof, he can
determine immediately {93} whether these invented ideas are capable
of the necessary harmonic variety. Through both practice and attentive
consideration of such melodies which are well formed with regard
to harmonic variety, this multiplicity of harmony so necessary to a
melody becomes an instinct which seldom will let the composer
invent a melodic succession of tones which would not be useful in
view of its variety in harmony. Once one can imagine an appropriate
bass voice to a melody, one should go further and should try to attain
this skill also relating to a middle voice. At the beginning, one should
attempt this only with such a middle voice which either consists
simply of a good series of single tones suggested by the underlying
harmony, or, where the main melody permits it, [the middle voice]
progresses with it in thirds or sixths. In this manner one becomes
accustomed to conceive of subsidiary voices with a melody which
contain different types of movement and metrical figures; indeed,
eventually one will even be capable of inventing a compound melodic
picture or {94} expressing ones feelings in the combination of two
or more melodies.
[THE PLAN: 3. THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION

OF THE COMPOSER]
Theory will never be able to invent a truly effective means to indicate
just how the beginning composer should contrive that a beautiful
melody arises in his soul. The source from which music flows is genius,
and the judgment whether its elements are beautiful in themselves and
appropriate to the goal of the composer, whether they make up a
beautiful whole through which the purpose of art is attained belongs
before the tribunal of taste.
In order for some degree of facility in composing to manifest itself
in the composer who wishes to invent the plan of a composition
through which a certain feeling is to be aroused, he must be in a
spiritual condition called inspiration. Sulzer declares in the article
*"Inspiration" in the General Theory of the Fine Arts:

The plan: 3. The spiritual condition of the composer 187
All artists, even those possessing just a little genius, confirm that they sometimes
experience an extraordinary feeling in their soul by which their work is made
uncommonly easier. Ideas suddenly develop themselves with seemingly no
effort, and the best of themflowforth in such abundance as if {95 } the product
of some higher force. Without doubt, this is what one calls "inspiration." An
artist finding himself in such a state looks at his artwork in a totally different
light. His genius, led as if by divine force, discovers ideas without effort, and
is able to express them in an optimal manner.19
If you wish, you can look up this fine article in Sulzer. But you
will best be able to philosophize with him about inspiration if you
yourself have been inspired.
In this article, Sulzer has also shown the means to attain skill of
placing oneself in an inspired state. Besides these, the following
ploys appear to me to be appropriate particularly for the beginning
composer to coax at least the first signs of this spiritual condition.
The first is reading in the works of fine minds passages with vivid
descriptions of the feeling into which one wishes to submerge
oneself. And the second is the attentive singing or playing, repeated
a few times, of such passages from the works of good composers
which have as their subject just the emotion {96} one wishes to feel.
With the use of this last means, though, the beginner must take care
afterwards not to transfer unwittingly to his own invention any ideas
of the piece through which he wished to fan the fire of his own
imagination.
If the composer has invented in this spiritual condition the principal
phrases of his piece, and if they appear to him as a complete whole,
connected and accompanied by their principal harmonic features; if
he is entirely satisfied, not only with regard to the phrases, but also
considering their sequence and connection; if this beautiful whole
existing in his imagination completely engulfs him and heightens his
inspiration - then he should lose not a moment to put it on paper
as quickly as possible so that no idea, indeed, no feature of it is blurred
or even obliterated by other ideas perhaps still crowding his fantasy;
for what is lost from this image of fantasy often is irretrievable, and
the loss of a single passage and connection often makes an entirely
new plan necessary.
This plan visibly presented or written in notes is called the sketch
19 Sulzer, "Inspiration," above, p. 32. [B.]

of a piece.20 {97} It is necessary partly so that nothing is lost of the

whole formed in inspiration, especially when one begins to reflect
on how to develop this most advantageously, but partly also so that
with the realization one can take in at a glance the main phrases in
their closest connection. This will ensure that fantasy will not lead
the composer astray to unimportant subsidiary ideas [Nebenideen].
[THE REALIZATION: 1. THE MECHANICAL ELEMENTS]

In the writing of compositions, the realization follows after the
completion of the plan and its sketch. In the plan, the essential phrases
of the whole were established and the task of the realization is to subject
these phrases to various adaptations and fragmentations so as to form
the assorted principal periods; this process gives the piece its scope. The
number, the size and the placement of these periods, as well as the
modulation seen therein, the place where this or that principal section
of the whole is repeated, and so on, create the form of a piece.
For the realization, we must consider two things, the spirit or the
inner character of the composition, and its mechanical aspects.
{98} In realizing a composition, the composer repeats now this,
now that main idea, depending on how he wishes to modify the
feeling which he is treating. He uses one or another main idea and
pursues it by means of its prevailing figure, so that this continuation
sheds more light and clarity upon the thought itself. Or he connects
a main idea to a subsidiary idea which leads him back to another
principal idea, and so on. This process corresponds most closely to
the nature of our feelings, which likewise always return to the same
main subject which aroused them in the first place, and which always
gladly consider their subject from many viewpoints.
Whereas the plan was mainly a matter of inspired genius, the
realization is more a matter of taste, to which the higher spiritual
powers such as intellect and judgment must contribute their effect.
If, for example, in the realization the composer wished to handle a
movement which features a fleeting feeling in the same way that he
treats a movement whose feeling {99} willingly dwells on its subject,
either he would show that he has not thought through, not judged
20 The sketch [Entwurf] is technically the notated version of the plan, while the plan [Anlage] is but
a mental construct. Koch, however, does not stress this distinction and refers to his notated plan
of Graun's aria as the Anlage. [B.]

The realization: 1. The mechanical elements 189
his subject, or he would reveal a complete lack of knowledge of the

nature of feelings and of the manner in which they customarily
manifest themselves. Moreover, this example also shows how necessary
it is for the composer to study the theory of feelings, so that he is
able not only to discover all means through which feelings can be
awakened in music, but also so that he can adapt the realization to
the nature and character of the feeling he has in mind, and that he
can determine how one feeling must lead to another. I would deviate
too far from my goal if I elaborated further on this subject. The
beginning composer must himself try to acquire this knowledge.
The realization itself requires mainly two things: (1) a sufficient
variety of phrases, or enough modification and adaptation of the main
ideas, joined with connective phrases [Verbindungssdtzen], phrases made
up of fragmented ideas [Zergliederungssdtzen], or subsidiary ideas
[Nebengedanken], and (2) a close and completely appropriate connection
of all these ideas.21 In the realization, the composer must {100} be
careful to bring the principal phrases defined in the plan in different
configurations. He may cut them up, he may clothe them with
connective phrases suitable to the main subject and in different periods
and in keys related to the main key. Thus a sufficient variety and
alternation in the succession of main and subsidiary ideas will be
produced. For if he wished to repeat the phrases of the plan in the
following periods in just the order and with the same connective
phrases of the first period, then this process would prevent the arousal
of the feeling, could not affect us from different points of view, could
not heighten the feeling by means of the realization.
Care and most importantly a refined taste is necessary in the
presentation of this variety or in the process by which the main
phrases get different turns through various clarifying and connecting
subsidiary phrases, so as not to join an idea as a subsidiary phrase to
the main phrases of the whole which, under the existing circumstances,
21 Zergliederungssatz is a difficult term to translate. At the time Koch was writing, it seems to have
been a phrase which, in the realization, was fragmented, its parts were then manipulated, and the
result was extension of the original material. In his Lexikon (col. 1756), Koch defines zergliedem
as "das Verfahren, da8 man einen Theil eines solchen melodischen Satzes, der zwar an sich selbst
einen vollstandigen Sinn bezeichnet, durch Versetzungen, durch andere Wendungen u. dergl.
Hiilfsmittel erweitert, und dadurch dem ganzen melodischen Theile mehr Bestimmtheit seines
Inhaltes ertheilet."Thus Zergliederungssatz is a phrase which undergoes this process. See Ian Bent,
Music Analysis in the Nineteenth Century, 2 vols. (Cambridge University Press, 1994), vol. 1,21-23
for further discussion of the term. [B.]

cannot suitably be connected with it. If one makes a mistake in this

matter, {101} one falls into the error which Horace describes at the
very beginning of his poetic art.22 One connects throughout phrases
randomly collected and forms a ridiculous whole, whose parts by
definition cannot be joined. Beginning composers frequently make
this mistake, and nothing is able to prevent them from it other than
a refined taste heightened to artistic sensitivity. Therefore, it is ex-
tremely important to plan on the necessary variety and, at the same
time, to consider the suitability of the subsidiary ideas, which are to
connect the principal phrases in various configurations. A continued
principal idea properly can beget only a subsidiary idea; this subsidiary
idea must always be composed so that it leads us back to the main
conception, so that it again necessitates the succession of another
principal idea. This last maxim is especially important in compositions
which contain several principal periods, as, for example, the first
Allegro of a concerto, in which the second or third solo usually begins
with a new idea, connected with neither the close of the preceding
ritornello nor a principal phrase of the whole. {102} All works of
the fine arts must have *unity [Einheit]. To reach that unity in our
piece of music, this newly entering idea must necessarily follow
immediately after a principal idea, or must make necessary the
succession of a principal idea.
When dealing with lengthy realizations, it appears to me advanta-
geous to the beginner if, after the plan is completed, he bears in mind
or writes down for eventual use other ideas he had during the
invention of the principal phrases. He may have been unable to use
them at the time, partly because they would not combine easily with
the rest of the plan, but partly also because they were superfluous.
They may prove suitable for the realization, having originated in the
very spiritual condition and mood as the main ideas themselves. If
22 Horace, Ars poetica, 451 and 453: "If a painter chose to join a human head to the neck of a horse,
and to spread feathers of many a hue over limbs picked up now here and there, so that what at
the top is a lovely woman ends below in a black and ugly fish, could you, my friends, if favoured
with a private view, refrain from laughing? Believe me, dear Pisos, quite like such pictures would
be a book, whose idle fancies shall be shaped like a sick man's dreams, so that neither head nor
foot can be assigned to a single shape. 'Painters and poets,' you say, 'have always had an equal right
in hazarding anything.' We know it: this licence we poets claim and in our turn we grant the like;
but not so far that savage should mate with tame, or serpents couple with birds, lambs with tigers
... In short, be the work what you will, let it at least be simple and uniform." [B.]

The realization: 2. The spiritual effect of modulation and form 191
this or that idea would not fit in immediately with the phrases of the
plan, it might fit all the better in the realization.
This should be sufficient on what the length of a composition
makes necessary. It would be superfluous to put up more rules and
principles in connection with this subject {103} because they cannot
help the beginner in the realization of his compositions. More
appropriate and of more use here are good practical examples, because
the completely suitable connection of the essential as well as the
subsidiary phrases of a piece is better felt than described. But since
the narrow limits of this treatise do not permit me to insert completely
realized compositions and to analyze them, I refer those desirous of
learning to the study of the scores of good masters. During this study,
one must first necessarily imagine the plan of the movement in order
to study the realization, that is, one must first determine which are
the principal ideas of it, which have been realized through different
configurations and fragmentations joined with extension and mixed
with subsidiary ideas.
Usually one considers the modulation and the form of the com-
position as the mechanical component of the realization; and the latter
is, for the most part, determined through the former. The form depends
partly upon the specific number of principal periods, partly upon the
key in which this or that period is presented, and partly also upon
the place where a principal section is repeated.
{104} Following my plan, I have allotted to these mechanical
elements of the realization their own section. Nevertheless, in con-
formity with the aim of this present division, I cannot refrain from
noting the effect which modulation and form can have upon the
spirit of the composition.
[THE REALIZATION: 2. THE SPIRITUAL EFFECT OF

MODULATION AND FORM]
First a word concerning modulation. The beginner must become familiar
with this subject considered in itself, not only as a mechanical element
of the composition, but also with regard to its aesthetic power. The
mechanical element includes the knowledge of the closer or more
distant relationship of keys to each other and also the way in which to
proceed from one key into another. In addition, the modulation from
one key to another may give to the idea in which it occurs a turn, an

expression and strength which under various circumstances can be

obtained through nothing other than this means. Especially in the
treatment of vocal compositions, the composer often finds with these
or those turns of his text or in a particular flow of ideas no other means
than the use of modulation for their expression and sensitive presentation.
{105} This subject is indeed of great importance for beginning
composers. Usually (I do not know for what reason) they consider
the modulation merely as a formality, incapable of contributing to the
expression of the feeling. Thus I wish to quote a few examples in
which the composer, being deprived of all other means, had to strive
for the effect of his composition solely by modulation. Although for
the sake of brevity I must tear these examples from their context,
which is absolutely necessary for the effect which they should produce,
nevertheless I shall thereby have the opportunity to make a few
observations useful for the beginner.
The following three strophes make up the last chorus of a formal
vocal composition:
Be our joy, O day, honor to the princess!
She is, for us, a blessing of the Lord. She, the sublime,
Is, paragon of princes, your glory -
Our joy, she is for us a blessing of the Lord!
The anxious longing for you, our beloved,
It is finally satisfied. Delight! at the day
Of joy to see him again!
Celebrate, celebrate the good fortune to see him again!
{106} Yet a single wish, father of the land,
Best of the princes, for you — but it is already
Granted; is thine heart not, O prince,
Completely full of bliss, a heaven in thee?
That is the concluding chorus of an ode arranged as a formal cantata.
Though the two last strophes belong to the cantata, they are not part
of the ode. Here is the explanation: The ode was dedicated to the first
celebration of the birthday of our Most Serene Highness the princess,
heiress apparent. I had received it ready for composition, and the ode
ended with the first of the three strophes. Meanwhile his Most Serene
Highness the prince, heir apparent, became very seriously ill. The prince
being restored to health, it was decided to celebrate his public re-
appearance together with the birthday of his spouse. This combination

of both these celebrations had to be acknowledged in the cantata. The

author of the ode, schoolmaster Weismann, expressed his opinion that
this combination was most highly desirable, only not for his ode, for as
a complete entity, it permitted no addition. Nevertheless, he promised
a compromise. Thus arose the last two of our three strophes.23
{107} The ode was later published by the author with a treatise
on the cantata, demonstrating mainly how well one could be arranged
as the other.
The first of these strophes makes up the first principal period of
the chorus, which is set in D major; as usual, this period turns towards
the key of the fifth and closes therein. After the close in the fifth, a
short ritornello leads the modulation back to the main key and makes
a fermata on the fifth, as preparation for the second [strophe], which
is here inserted as an example. For the sake of continuity, I show here
the last measures of the ritornello.24
Example 5
Allegro moderato t
, J , , ; i j i h 1
\ ~k~ «
Die
|
h~ f-
ban
-r- ge
tn
/ #==#=
Violoncelli
«T3
$
Sehn - sucht nach dir un - ser Ge lieb - ter,
r j rf |?
23 Johann Heinrich Weismann (1739-1806) wrote fiction, philosophical works, and a great deal of
poetry while serving as a private language instructor in Rudolstadt. According to a list of his
works, this ode was entitled " O d e auf das Geburtsfest der Fiirstin Aug. Luise Frid., Erbprinzessin
von Schw"; most likely it first appeared in the poet's Allmanach der Belletristen und Belletristinnen
fur's Jahr 1782. In that same year, Weismann wrote an essay on the cantata and included this poem
in his discussion: Ode auf das Geburtsfest ... nebst einer Abhandlung u'ber die Kantate. 1782. See the
entry on Weismann in Ludwig Friedrich Hesse, "Verzeichnis geborner Schwarzburger, die sich
als Gelehrte oder als Kiinstler durch Schriften bekannt machten" (21 parts, 1805-30) in
Programme des Rudolstddter Gymnasiums von 1802-1846 (Rudolstadt, n.d.), part 19 (1828), 16. [B.]
24 This was o n e of t h e four unpublished birthday cantatas written by Koch for the court at
Rudolstadt; as the manuscript is n o t extant, the portions cited in the Versuch are all that remain of
the work. [B.]

o
J-
end - lich sie ist uns end - lich ge - stillt. Won - ne!
I J * r i "i
J
Freu - de ihn wie-der zu sehn! Fei fei ert das
rr
jLAn /]J~lh
{110} The entire movement from which this example is taken, was,
as previously mentioned, the last chorus of a substantial vocal work.
This had to have all possible aesthetic power, partly because of its
content and also as the close of the entire work.25 {111} The first
period of the chorus distinguished itself by a full chorus and force of
harmony. Therefore, for the second strophe an entirely contrasting
25 As well with shorter compositions it remains an extremely important principle not to use the
greatest strength of expression until the piece hastens to a close. Only then it becomes imperative
for the expression of emotions to overwhelm the listener; else the sensation might diminish and
the end of the piece coincide with the disappearance of any pleasure the music provided. [K.]

means was chosen; the passage was made into a solo and modulation
employed. The minor key begins without melodic transition imme-
diately at the beginning of this [second] period, with the effect of
translating the anxious longing of the poet into the melody. Moreover,
it provided an essential opportunity to follow the lead of the poet
through the immediate entry of the key F major with the words:
"Delight! at the day of joy" [Wonne! am Tage der Freude] and so on.
Through this turn of modulation, the composition assimilates the
picture, the very sequence of ideas, that distinguishes the poetry of
this strophe from the preceding one, and poetry and its musical
transformation are all the more closely united. Through the words:
"Delight! at the day of joy" and so on, the hearts of the {112} listeners
were again attuned to joy, and not until now was it appropriate to
let the entire chorus sing in the main key, entering again with varied
realization of the tones of joy which accompanied the first strophe:
Delight! at the day
Of joy to see him again!
Celebrate, celebrate the good fortune to see him again!
This period of the chorus re-entering closes in the main key. The
following brief ritornello introduces at its end the key of the fourth,
with which the last strophe begins. This I will use as my second
example [Example 6]. For the sake of the connection, I quote a few
measures of the ritornello.
Example 6
CJ Noch

*» J J t
Lan des, ter de Lan - des de be
\
r rr
4=fe »• J
U U \ [—
f I w_r
Fur - sten fur schon ist er ge ahrt;
^ ^
J I *
-J J i
ist dein Herz nicht o Fiirst ganz von Se - lig - keit
r j M > r j t r r rr
J-J J J
voll ein Him - mel in dir? ein Him-melin dir, ein Him-melin dir?
{115} Note in this example the modulation of the passage on the

words: "but it is already granted" [aber schon ist er gewdhrt] and the
immediate return to the main key of the period. This last strophe was
treated as a solo partly to distinguish it as a passage standing on its
own and somewhat independent from the preceding strophe, but also
partly in order to make for a certain correspondence of the principal
periods to the form of the entire chorus.
The thrust of this entire strophe is reflected in the music not only
by a new key at the beginning of the passage, but also by a quick
modulation into the fifth at the words "it is already granted," {116}

immediately followed by a return to the principal key at the words

"is thine heart not ..." [ist dein Herz nicht ...]. To emulate this turn
of the text in the composition, under the existing circumstances there
was hardly any choice but to represent this train of thought through
the use of modulation.
Towards the end of this example, the modulation turns again to
the main key of the entire chorus. This pertains to the mechanical
element of modulation; it was necessary so that this last strophe could
be repeated with the principal musical phrases of the chorus as a
closing period in the main key.
I have analyzed these examples in detail partly to show the
beginning composer how much modulation often affects the presen-
tation of the flow of feelings, but also partly to give him an example
of how to study scores. He must pursue not only the turns of
modulation and their causes, but also the entire realization of a
movement, as it were, step by step, if this study is to be useful for
him.
{117} I now come to the *form of the movements of a composition.
It is undeniable that, on the one hand, their form is somewhat
fortuitous, and actually has little or no influence whatsoever upon the
inner character of the composition; on the other hand, there is just
no reason to object to much in the form of our movements in larger
and smaller compositions. This probably is the reason why many great
masters have written their arias nearly all according to the same form.
Yet it is equally undeniable that through the constant use of one
particular form, often much of the beauty of a movement can be lost.
For example, if one has heard a great many arias, all written according
to the same scheme, their common form will become so familiar to
our sensitivity that, already with the hearing of the first period, one
can usually determine with certainty whither the modulation is to
lead and which principal ideas will be heard again at this or that
place. The composition must necessarily lose, if no special turn of the
composer enlivens the form. Is it not intolerable, for example, when
with so great a number of arias which are set in the major key, the
second section always begins in the minor {118} key of the sixth!
However, in recent compositions, this well-worn change into the key
of the sixth for the second section of the aria has gone out of style.
But how must the composer realize his movements with regard to
the form? Is it better to work everything according to the customary

form, or is it better to strive for new forms with the realization? In

the first case, genius would be put in unnecessary shackles and be
forced to leave unused many a fine turn it had produced, or to ruin
them through the form. In the second case, a lot of nonsense might
appear, if new forms were sought for their own sake only; for surely
often situations would occur where the essence of art would be
overwhelmed by considerations of form, and thus more would be lost
than gained by the new form. Therefore, it is best to choose a
reasonable compromise. If the contents of a movement possess enough
aesthetic power in the usual form, or if there are beautiful turns in
the realization which correspond to the customary form, why then
consider a deviation from the usual form? But if a text requires an
{119} entirely individual form and an unusual turn of expression, as,
for example, the chorus described before, or if by chance a beautiful
phrase is found which necessitates a variation of the usual form (and
this can occur also in purely instrumental pieces), then one should
not cling timidly to the familiar form, but should mould it according
to the requirements of the movement, provided one is certain that
this will lead to its genuine improvement, and if no other chance
drawback appears in the whole.
For example, for arias which have a major key as a basis, the
customary form requires that in the first period of the first section
the modulation be led towards the key of the fifth and be closed in
it. And in this way, for example, the first period of the following aria
could be treated:
With terror sink down, as you call yourself,
The judging eyes of the princess, you disgrace to mankind,
Are your curse! They mean death to you. Go down below
Into the steaming bottomless pit of hell and die!
{120} The aria is set in the key of Et major, and thus, according
to custom, the first period should close in the key of B!> major. But
as I thought while working on this movement that the end of this
first period would be more effective if the words "and die!" [und
stirbf\ occurred here in an unusual key, I used the transition to the
fourth of the main key in order to close in it with the words "and
die!"; for example:26
26 This aria may be taken from one of the dramatic works which Koch composed either for the
school theater or for the court. [B.]

Example 7
Allegro
J J J J J K
Schan - de der Mensch-heit, der Fiir - stin rich - ten-der
J J J JJ J J J J J
m i i g " mty
Blick, Fluch dir, ist Tod dir, ist Fluch dir, ist Tod dir, hin-
"' ^ If J"
•r
K K |
ab in dem dam - pfen-den Pfuhl in den dam - pfen-den Pfohl der
10
JTT
= * =
—i—^ |9 i p j
H61 - le, u nd stirb! und stirb!
-LW —»F— 4^ _eJ J

£
{123} In the three last measures, this modulation into the fourth
misleads the expectation of the ear and the close of the entire period
is given a turn which corresponds to the underlying feeling.
The form is just as flexible in view of the number, the length and

the placement of periods, if other sufficient reasons exist for alteration

of the norm. Otherwise, as already said, there is nothing much to
object to in the usual forms of our compositions; only {124} excessive
use renders certain ones eventually boring. The rondo is a case in
point. This form, beautiful in itself, having provided the opportunity
for many a coaxing or touching melody and having eliminated many
a noisy Allegro from instrumental works, has become tedious through
excessive use; it is pleasing, after so many rondos, to hear a well-realized
last Allegro which is distinguished by a different form.
[THE ELABORATION]
Once the composer has decided how he intends to present the main
phrases of the movement contained in his sketch [plan] through various
turns and dissections, and, of course, in different periods; once he has,
at the same time, established the distinguishing harmonic features related
to the entire succession of the main melody arising in this manner, or
the distinguishing content of the subsidiary voices; and once he has
committed all this to paper together with the entire succession of the
bass voice or has begun his full score, the last step necessary for the
completion of his movement is the elaboration. This involves the
completion of those voices whose content has been determined in part,
and in the realization has been indicated in the score. Also, all the
remaining voices {125} meant to accompany the main part and whose
contents or tonal sequence is as yet undetermined throughout, must be
completed in conformity not only with the harmony underlying the
bass, but also with the feeling prevailing in the composition.
The beginning composer will have attained the skill necessary for
the mechanical aspect of the elaboration through his exercises in
counterpoint. Yet the application of this acquired skill to the character
and to the effect of a composition is a matter of a well-refined taste.
The elaboration is determined primarily by the feeling which the
composition seeks to awaken and by various incidental details. To these
chance particulars principally belong:
1. The actual kind of composition. Thus, for example, in the elabo-
ration the symphony is treated differently from an aria; and both
are treated differently from a chorus, and so on.

The elaboration 201
2. The place where a composition is performed. A piece which is

performed in a chamber, for example a concerto, bears greater and
more precise elaboration than a piece which is to be performed
in a very large hall or even out of doors. {126}
3. The number of parts written. In order to have a good effect, a
composition with numerous parts should not be as completely
elaborated as one performed by only a few artists. And there are
more incidental circumstances of this kind.
The most essential point the composer has to watch for in the elaboration
of his compositions, however, is the feeling which prevails in every
movement and the way in which he tries to rouse his audience to it.
It is mainly this which determines whether the movement takes much
or little elaboration; whether he must use the harmony in its full strength,
or could use only the main intervals of the chords; whether he lets the
subsidiary voices sound harmonic notes only, or can let them move
ornamented with figures and metrical formulae; and so on. But even
in this last case, when the existing feeling is compatible with a thundering
or a gently moving accompaniment, it must not be used to excess. This
is especially true if the motion of a particular voice does not belong
to the plan of the movement, that is, if it was not intended to awaken
a part {127} of the feeling but only to provide harmonic support.
This part of art (namely, the elaboration, says Sulzer) also has its pitfalls. One
can oversharpen a knife to the point that its blade is completely worn away.
Likewise a work can lose the elevated power it once possessed through excessive
elaboration. Those who believe that every single detail that can be imagined
should be expressed are gravely mistaken. They will certainly spoil their work
through this kind of elaboration.27
Too minute an elaboration and harmonic overrefinements should
be avoided especially where the feelings rise to a high level of their
expression; because the composer who on such occasions aims at
harmonic tricks, at imitations at different intervals and similar su-
perfluous ornamentation, as yet lacks the restraint of sacrificing small
incidental beauties to the higher aim of his art.
27 Sulzer, "Elaboration," above, p. 79. [B.]

[THE COMPLETED COMPOSITION]
Now we are in a position to see what a composition must be like if

it is to attain the aim of the art. The first and foremost characteristic
of a composition is that it {128} be the expression of a specific feeling.
The most important, if not the only, function of a perfect musical composition
is the accurate expression of feelings and passions with all their particular
shadings (says Sulzer in the article "*[Musical] Expression"). Any work that
fills our imagination full of harmonious tones but without touching our heart
can be compared to a painting of the sky at twilight. We may be entranced
by the pleasing mixture of differing colors; but we certainly will not see
anything in the patterns formed by the clouds which will touch our heart.
Now, if we hear in a song not just the most perfect succession of notes, but
also a speech that seems to be the outpourings of a sensitive heart, the pleasing
engagement of the ear serves as a kind of inducement to the soul by which
it can succumb to all the feelings brought forth through the expressiveness of
the song. The harmony commands our complete attention, stimulating the ear
so that it can give itself over to the more refined feelings aroused when the
nerves of the soul are touched. Expression is the soul of music. Without it,
music is but an entertaining diversion. But with it, music becomes the most
expressive speech overpowering the heart.28
{129} When we wish to judge the nature of a composition, how
can we tell whether or not it is the expression of a particular feeling?
There are no external criteria to go by. Only taste and artistic sensitivity
can recognize the presence or absence of the expression of feelings,
and only the effect which the composition has on us lets us come
to an informed opinion. A composition embodies the expression of
a specific feeling to the same degree that it is capable of arousing that
feeling in us. Thus it is self-evident that the nature of the matter does
not permit us to look to other means by which we could judge the
absence or presence of the expression of an emotion, because the
decision of that question belongs before the tribunal of feeling only.
Yet is it not enough that a composition awaken this or that specific
feeling; is it not enough as it were to touch the nerve of this feeling.
No! If the feeling is to become a pleasure, then the touching of these
nerves must be continuous and, {130} indeed, must persist in differing
strengths and weaknesses, that is, the feeling must be presented in
28 Sulzer, "Musical expression," above, pp. 50-51. Note that I have altered this quotation and
translated Empjindung as "feeling"; see Introduction by Nancy K. Baker, p. 118 above. [B.]

The completed composition 203
various modifications. It is in the nature of our feelings to make

themselves felt at times as stronger, at times as weaker, depending on
the varied presentation of their causes; they move quasi in a circle or
emerge from the very point in which the emotion really is concen-
trated, and proceed by means of such ideas as are connected most
closely with their causes and effects, so that they always return to that
initial point. The continuance of the feeling aroused remaining on the
same level of strength or weakness is, indeed, unthinkable. If they are
to last, they need, as it were, continually to receive new sustenance
through the imagination. There needs to be a steady flow of ideas
continually to attract us anew towards the pleasant feelings and cause
more and more aversion towards the unpleasant ones. If, for example,
we anticipate the enjoyment of an imminent pleasure, if the imagining
of this pleasure lets us experience it in advance, then from how many
aspects we savour it! To the anticipated enjoyment we will connect
all possible details having any relationship to it; {131} now this, now
that side of the matter will contribute to greater pleasure for us, and
so on. In short, the feeling will be continuous by our imagining it
in several contexts.
Similarly, the feeling awakened in us through a composition must
be maintained if its arousal is to cause pleasure for us. This can occur
only if the principal ideas invented in the plan of the composition,
which properly contain the expression of the feeling, have been taken
in different turns through their subordinate ideas; this treatment gives
variety to the composition, and this is the second main characteristic
of musical works through which feelings are to be aroused and
maintained.
The beginning composer must take care not to form a miscon-
ception of the multiplicity of the elements of a composition. He must
not believe, for example, that what matters is the amassing of many
ideas; not the quantity of principal phrases, it is not the great number
of the {132} figures of notes contained therein that make up the
complexity of a composition. No! if arranged in different configura-
tions, merely a few principal ideas, even with figures of notes similar
to one another, can contain enough musical variety for the sustaining
of the feeling; because what matters is not only the quantity of the
principal phrases, but rather their appearance in several different
connections. The composer working with genius and taste knows to
connect the few principal ideas of his composition through several

related subordinate ideas in such a fashion as to give the feeling ever

new charm for its continuation.
Not only the principal ideas of a composition, but also the subsidiary
ideas must be formed so that together they amount to a beautiful
whole, in which every phrase is concordant with the overall purpose
and in its configuration with the rest harbors no contradiction. There
can be no phrases which distract us from the {133} presentation of
the main point or from the feeling to be aroused and sustained. All
principal phrases must have one common goal, and the related
subsidiary ideas must have the property of showing them from an
ever new viewpoint; this requires unity as the third principal charac-
teristic of a composition which is to attain the aim of art. For as soon
as we hear thoughts which do not have the most intimate connection
with the feeling to be portrayed, which are not constituted so as to
keep leading us back to the main ideas, the imagination strays to ideas
alien to the existing feeling and the feeling itself, instead of being
maintained in a pleasant way, either fades greatly or relapses quietly
into its former slumber.
The aim of art cannot be attained if its harmonic or melodic rules
are disregarded in a composition. When, for example, the dissonances
have been resolved either not at all or in a manner contrary to their
nature, or when the rhythmical nature of an idea is not in accord
with that of the {134} preceding or succeeding idea, and so on, then
the ear is offended and impediments are placed in the way of the
awakening and sustaining of feelings. Therefore, the fourth and last
main characteristic of a composition consists of the observance of the
mechanical rules of the art.


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Cambridge Books Online

Aesthetics and the Art of Musical Composition in the German Enlightenm

Selected Writings of Johann Georg Sulzer and Heinrich Christoph Koch

Book DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348

Online ISBN: 9780511518348

Hardback ISBN: 9780521360357

Paperback ISBN: 9780521035095

ay in which they arise pp. 144-204

Chapter DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348.009

Cambridge University Press

[MUSIC AND FEELING]

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First, I consider it necessary to examine the conditions under which

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were preoccupied with certain feelings? As long as we are speaking

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then, in order to do so, it must be played by all the musicians together

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Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

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these pages permit me to engage in this inquiry. Nor shall I examine

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wish to have sufficient variety. Unfortunately, there are places where

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it is."6 Therefore, beginning composers in particular must take this

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to differentiate between the comic and the vulgar. They commit a

8 See Introduction by Nancy K. Baker, pp. 116-18 above. [B.]

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apparent reason, we jump just as quickly thence to even greater joy

[THE PRIMARY MATTER OF MUSIC;

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first, whether a composition may be reduced to melody or harmony

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[THE ORDER OF COMPOSING]

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[THE PLAN: 1. THE MECHANICAL ELEMENTS]

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12 Sulzer, "Layout," above, p. 66. [B.]

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often places the composer in difficulty, because usually various of these

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I choose the second aria from the Todjesu by Graun.15 In my judgment,

- hort gern er - hort es - gern _ der Herr er-hort es gern.

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Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

r rr T zum Herrn,_ dringt zum Herrn,_ und der Hierr er -

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gern, der Herr er - hort es gem

uEin• JGe -l beti ? umJjJ neu - e Star - ke,

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Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

teilt die Wol - ken, dringt zum Herrn

und der Herr er - hort es gern, _

er-hort es gern, und _ der _ Herr, der Herr er-hort es ger

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

- em pel, •'urch _ die Hoff - nung _ je - ner scho - nen

ii - ber mir er - hab' - nen Sze - nen, und er