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 Towards a Harmonic Grammar of Grieg’s Late Piano
Music

The music of Edvard Grieg is justly celebrated for its harmonic

richness, a feature especially apparent in the piano works written in
the last decades of his life. Grieg was enchanted by what he styled
the ‘dreamworld’ of harmony, a magical realm whose principles the
composer felt remained a mystery even to himself, and he was not
alone, in that the complex nature of late-Romantic harmony around
1900 has proved a keen source of debate up to the present day.
Grieg’s music forms a particularly profitable repertoire for focusing
current debates about the nature of tonality and tonal harmony.
Departing from earlier approaches, this study is not simply an
inventory of Griegian harmonic traits but seeks rather to ascertain
the deeper principles at work governing their meaningful
conjunction, how elements of Grieg’s harmonic grammar are utilised
in creating an extended tonal syntax. Building both on historical
theories and more recent developments, Benedict Taylor develops
new models for understanding the complexity of late-Romantic tonal
practice as epitomised in Grieg’s music. Such an investigation casts
further valuable light on the twin issues of nature and nationalism
long connected with the composer: the question of tonality as
something natural or culturally constructed and larger
historiographical claims concerning Grieg’s apparent position on the
periphery of the Austro-German tradition.

Benedict Taylor is Chancellor’s Fellow in the Reid School of Music,

University of Edinburgh. He is the author of Mendelssohn, Time and
Memory: The Romantic Conception of Cyclic Form (Cambridge,
2011) and The Melody of Time: Music and Temporality in the
Romantic Era, (Oxford, 2016).
 ROYAL MUSICAL ASSOCIATION MONOGRAPHS

General Editor: Simon P. Keefe

This series is supported by funds made available to the Royal Musical

Association from the estate of Thurston Dart, former King Edward
Professor of Music at the University of London. The editorial board is
the Publications Committee of the Association.

Recent monographs in the series (for a full list, see the end of this
book):

Skryabin, Philosophy and the Music of Desire (2012)

Kenneth M. Smith

The politics of plainchant in fin-de-siècle France (2013)

Katharine Ellis

Brahms Beyond Mastery: His Sarabande and Gavotte, and its

Recompositions (2013)
Robert Pascall

Regina Mingotti: Diva and Impresario at the King’s Theatre, London

(2013)
Michael Burden

Heinrich Schenker and Beethoven’s ‘Hammerklavier’ Sonata (2013)

Nicholas Marston

The Politics of Verdi’s Cantica (2014)

Roberta Montemorra Marvin
Johann Mattheson’s Pièces de clavecin and Das neu-eröffnete
Orchestre (2014)
Margaret Seares

Singing Dante: The Literary Origins of Cinquecento Monody (2014)

Elena Abramov-van Rijk

The ‘Ars musica’ Attributed to Magister Lambertus/Aristoteles (2015)

Christian Meyer, editor and Karen Desmond, translator

Magister Jacobus de Ispania, author of the Speculum musicae

(2015)
Margaret Bent

Towards a Harmonic Grammar of Grieg’s Late Piano Music (2016)

Benedict Taylor

The Genesis and Development of an English Organ Sonata (2016)

Iain Quinn
Towards a Harmonic Grammar of
Grieg’s Late Piano Music

Nature and Nationalism

BENEDICT TAYLOR
First published 2017
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa

business

© 2017 Benedict Taylor

The right of Benedict Taylor to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or

reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
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Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks

or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Taylor, Benedict, 1981-
Title: Towards a harmonic grammar of Grieg’s late piano music:
nature and nationalism / Benedict Taylor.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2016. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016035300| ISBN 9781472456588 (hardback: alk.
paper) | ISBN 9781315307350 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Grieg, Edvard, 1843-1907. Piano music. | Grieg,
Edvard, 1843-1907—Harmony. | Piano music—19th century—
Analysis, apperciation.
Classification: LCC ML410.G9 T39 2016 | DDC 786.2092—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016035300

ISBN: 978-1-4724-5658-8 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-315-30735-0 (ebk)

Typeset in Palatino Linotype

by codeMantra
***
 Contents

List of figures
List of music examples
Acknowledgements

Introduction: Enticements

1 Extending tonality: Klang, added-note harmonies and the

emancipation of sonority

2 Modality and scalar modulation

3 Systematisation: Chromaticism, interval cycles and linear

progressions

Conclusion: Nature and nationalism

Bibliography
Index of Grieg’s works cited
General index
 List of figures

1.1 Tetrachordal voice-leading network for stanza III of ‘Ved Gjætle-

Bekken’, Op. 67 No. 8, represented on Jack Douthet and Peter
Steinbach’s ‘Power Towers’ model
1.2 Tetrachordal voice-leading network for stanza IV of ‘Ved Gjætle-
Bekken’, Op. 67 No. 8, represented on Richard Cohn’s ‘Boretz
spider/octatonic pool’ model as minimal displacements of
perfectly even diminished sevenths

2.1 Network of pitch collections and their hierarchies in ‘I Ola-

Dalom’, Op. 66 No. 14
2.2 Pitch-class overlap between successive scale collections in
Grieg’s ‘Dream Vision’, Op. 62 No. 5

3.1 Georg Capellen’s ‘Left’, ‘Middle’ and ‘Right’ designation of

harmonic function
 List of music examples

0.1a Edvard Grieg, ‘Kulokk’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66 No. 1

0.1b Kulokk melody of Grieg’s Op. 66 No. 1, in the original
transcription by Frants Beyer.

1.1 Grieg, ‘Elsk’, Haugtussa, Op. 67 No. 5

1.2 Grieg, Ballade, Op. 24
1.3 Grieg, String Quartet in G minor, Op. 27, first movement
1.4 Grieg, Poetic Tone Pictures, Op. 3 No. 6
1.5 Grieg, Violin Sonata No. 2 in G, Op. 13, first movement
1.6 Grieg, ‘Det syng’, Haugtussa, Op. 67 No. 1
1.7a Grieg, ‘Ved Gjætle-Bekken’, Haugtussa, Op. 67 No. 8
1.7b Harmonic reduction of stanzas III and IV of ‘Ved Gjætle-
Bekken’, Op. 67 No. 8: connecting lines show pitches retained
across successive harmonies
1.8a ‘In Ola-Dalom, I Ola-Kjønn’, original transcription by Frants
Beyer
1.8b Grieg, ‘I Ola-Dalom, i Ola-Kjønn’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op.
66 No. 14
1.9a ‘Jeg går i tusind tanker’, original transcription by Frants Beyer
1.9b Grieg, ‘Jeg går i tusind tanker’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66
No. 18, second stanza
1.10 Grieg, ‘Jon Vestafe’s springdans’, Slåtter, Op. 72 No. 2, opening
1.11 Grieg, ‘Tussebrureferda på Vossevangen (Gangar)’, Slåtter, Op.
72 No. 14
1.12a Grieg, ‘Bruremarsj fra Telemark’, Slåtter, Op. 72 No. 3, bb. 1–3
1.12b Grieg, ‘Bruremarsj fra Telemark’, Slåtter, Op. 72 No. 3, bb. 10–
12
1.13 Grieg, ‘“Skuldalsbrura” Gangar’, Slåtter, Op. 72 No. 15
1.14 Grieg, ‘Gibøens bruremarsj’, Slåtter, Op. 72 No. 1
2.1 Grieg, Piano Sonata in E minor, Op. 7, second movement
2.2 Grieg, ‘Bådnlåt’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66 No. 15
2.3a Grieg, ‘The Brook’, Lyric Pieces, bk. VII, Op. 62 No. 4, bb. 1–40
2.3b Grieg, ‘The Brook’, Lyric Pieces, bk. VII, Op. 62 No. 4, bb. 65–
81
2.4 Grieg, ‘Dream Vision’, Lyric Pieces, bk. VII, Op. 62 No. 5
2.5 Grieg, ‘Ho vesle Astri vor’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66 No.
16
3.1 Grieg, ‘Jølstring’, 25 Norwegian Folksongs and Dances, Op. 17
No. 5
3.2 Grieg, ‘In Ballad Style’, Lyric Pieces, bk. VIII, Op. 65 No. 5, final
cadence
3.3 Grieg, ‘Erotic’, Lyric Pieces, bk. III, Op. 43 No. 5, approach to
final cadence
3.4 Grieg, ‘Solveig’s Cradle Song’, Peer Gynt, Op. 23 No. 23, opening
and close
3.5 Grieg, ‘Once upon a Time’, Lyric Pieces, bk. X, Op. 71 No. 1,
opening
3.6 Grieg, Ballade, Op. 24, opening theme (first half)
3.7a Grieg, ‘Kulokk’, Two Nordic Melodies, Op. 63 No. 2/i
3.7b Harmonic paradigm underpinning Grieg’s ‘Kulokk’, Op. 63 No.
2/i, bb. 19–23
3.7c Rhythmic paradigm underpinning Grieg’s ‘Kulokk’, Op. 63 No.
2/i, bb. 19–22
3.8 Grieg, ‘Kulokk’, 25 Norwegian Folksongs and Dances, Op. 17 No.
22
3.9 Grieg, ‘Stabbelåten’, Two Nordic Melodies, Op. 63 No. 2/ii
3.10a Grieg, ‘Notturno’, Lyric Pieces, bk. V, Op. 54 No. 4, bb. 1–14
3.10b Grieg, ‘Notturno’, Lyric Pieces, bk. V, Op. 54 No. 4, bb. 46–63
3.11a ‘Siri Dale Visen’, original transcription by Frants Beyer
3.11b Grieg, ‘Siri Dale Visen’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66 No. 4
3.12 Grieg, ‘Gone’, Lyric Pieces, bk. X, Op. 71 No. 6, opening
3.13 Grieg, Four Album Leaves, Op. 28 No. 2
3.14 Grieg, ‘Melody’, Lyric Pieces, bk. IV, Op. 47 No. 3, opening
3.15 Grieg, ‘Gangar’, Lyric Pieces, bk. V, Op. 54 No. 2
3.16 Grieg, ‘Resignation’, Stemninger, Op. 73 No. 1
3.17 Grieg, ‘Scherzo Impromptu’, Stemninger, Op. 73 No. 2
3.18 Grieg, Humoresques, Op. 6 No. 3
3.19 Grieg, ‘Vanished Days’, Lyric Pieces, bk. VI, Op. 57 No. 1
3.20 Grieg, ‘Wild Dance’, EG 112, from 3 Piano Pieces EG 110–112
3.21 Grieg, ‘Bell Ringing’, Lyric Pieces, bk. V, Op. 54 No. 6
3.22 Grieg, ‘Night Ride’, Stemninger, Op. 73 No. 3, opening section
3.23 Grieg, ‘Bridal Procession Passes By’, Scenes from Folklife, Op.
19 No. 2
3.24 Grieg, ‘March of the Trolls’, Lyric Pieces, bk. V, Op. 54 No. 3
3.25 Grieg, ‘Summer Evening’, Lyric Pieces, bk. X, Op. 71 No. 2
3.26 Grieg, ‘Peace of the Woods’, Lyric Pieces, bk. X, Op. 71 No. 4
136
 Acknowledgements

It was the work of Edvard Grieg that first drew me towards music
many years ago, and thus writing this book was in many ways a
return to a first love, one that had not dimmed in the interim. I may
have grown out of the tendency to compose music consisting almost
solely of interminably slipping chromatic harmonies, but my desire to
understand why Grieg’s worked, whereas mine never did, was a
guiding stimulus behind this study. Like Grieg, I am still baffled by
the dreamworld of harmony, but I hope that a few pointers have
been set out here within this mysterious terrain, ones which may
elucidate aspects of Grieg’s music just as they might – being
hopelessly optimistic – suggest further possible courses for
compositional endeavours.
Although it had long been on my mind to write a study of Grieg,
this project was finally made possible by a Mellon Postdoctoral
Fellowship at the University of Oxford in 2012–13 and written during
the unusually wintery month of March 2013, and I would especially
like to thank Daniel Grimley, Jonathan Cross and Eric Clarke for
supporting this fellowship. In particular, Dan has been a constant
inspiration through his pioneering work on Grieg and Scandinavian
music and an ever-helpful colleague whose knowledge of this
repertoire is seemingly endless. The present account has benefited
immeasurably from his input. Several years before at Princeton,
Dmitri Tymoczko had stimulated several of the theoretical lines of
inquiry found here, besides being admirably curious to explore this
often-overlooked repertoire, and gave kind feedback on the draft of
this book. Going even further back, Dean Sutcliffe, my
undergraduate director of studies, first revealed how much there
was to say about Grieg’s music with his now legendary analysis
supervision on ‘Klokkeklang’ (I now in turn have inflicted this piece
on a future generation of undergraduates, though without the same
skill or exacting precision as Dean). To my brother Nathaniel and his
family I owe thanks for helping make some sense of some of the
more obscure Norwegian dialects I encountered along the way, and
perhaps even more importantly, shared memories of a distant trip to
Norway in which the Hardangerfjord, Bergen and Troldhaugen were
encountered in a miraculous June sunshine. (Such clemency, I have
since learned, should not be expected in that part of the world.) To
my brother Damian I owe gratitude again for his careful and patient
reading that has saved this book from a number of errors.
Musical examples contained within this study are primarily based
on scores published in the Grieg Gesamtausgabe (GGA): Edvard
Grieg, Samlede Verker (Frankfurt: C.F. Peters, 1977–95). However, in
a number of instances errors have been inadvertently introduced
into this critical edition that were not present in earlier editions, and
thus such mistakes have been tacitly rectified wherever identified.
The transcription of these examples has been expertly done by Jake
Spence, and made possible by a subvention from the American
Musicological Society’s Joseph Kerman Endowment. I would also like
to express my deep gratitude to Siren Steen and the Bergen Public
Library for their kind permission to reproduce extracts from Frants
Beyer’s original transcription of the melodies used by Grieg in his Op.
66 collection. Finally, Simon Keefe has been an ideally helpful and
generous series editor for RMA Monographs and I would like to
express my sincere thanks for the support he has shown for this
volume.
 Introduction
Enticements

The opening ‘Kulokk’ from Grieg’s 19 Norske Folkeviser, Op. 66, forms
a fittingly sonorous starting point for this late piano collection of
1896–7. A miniature of particular yet unassuming beauty, the
apparent simplicity of this piece is deceptive. Within its brief twenty
bars this example contains many of the distinctive elements that
make up Grieg’s mature harmonic style (Ex. 0.1a).
Example 0.1a Edvard Grieg, ‘Kulokk’, 19 Norwegian Folksongs, Op.
66 No. 1
 The opening chord resonates with a wonderfully warm sonority;
analytical description barely conveys how the harmony simply glows
when played on the piano. Grieg’s spacing of the D major chord
clearly reflects the natural overtones of the harmonic series, but
there is something about the tessitura chosen that imparts the
particular inner radiance to the sound produced. Above this harmonic
foundation the treble’s opening melodic figure – the actual kulokk
(‘cow-call’, more literally ‘cow enticement’) promised in the work’s
title – enters, suspended from the sixth scale degree b2, the highest
pitch in the piece heard simultaneously against the lowest. Resolving
as an appoggiatura to and continuing as if free of measure down
notes drawn from the D major arpeggio, the implicit pentatonic
colouring of this motive suggests a folk-like or ‘natural’ tincture
(Siegfried’s woodbird might be called to mind). The initial added sixth
sounding above the bass, aided by the sustained reverberation
created by the pedalling, forms a gently impressionistic sonority that
seems to fold in on itself, one that, like the naturalistic call of the
title, entices us into the dreamworld of Griegian harmony.1 The allure
of such a realm is subtly enacted by the yearning quality physically
conveyed in performance by the two-octave leap in the right hand
from the opening low f to this b2 above. No less significantly, the gap
created between the bass’s D and the b2 in the treble three and a
half octaves higher opens up a registral space that the subsequent
course of the piece will ingeniously and systematically fill.
The fourteen bars that form the central section of the piece
harmonise a simple folk-tune that, as Dag Schjelderup-Ebbe has
observed, with the exception of the embellishing upper neighbour-
note G and a solitary passing C is entirely restricted to a pentatonic
collection.2 In fact the melody is little more than a succession of
ornamented repetitions of a three-note ascending figure d2–e2–f 2,
subjected to an unselfconscious principle of developing-variation. For
instance the anacrusic sixth beat, filled in at b. 4 with an ornamented
passing note e2 that balances the ascending three-note figure with its
mirror inversion, gives rise to a stronger syncopated emphasis on this
pitch in b. 5; the ornamental triplet formula is then extended in the
consequent phrase formed by bb. 7–11 before being reconfigured as
the extended upbeat to the climactic phrase at b. 12. Such is the
continual variation so created that it is not until six bars into this
highly repetitive design that a melodic unit is reheard in exactly
corresponding form (b. 8 mirroring b. 4). Nonetheless, there is still a
clear sense of higher-level repetition within the phrase, working
architectonically beneath the evolving linear process. Beyond the
initial sense of periodicity created between bb. 3–6 and 7–11, the
tail-figure of bb. 10–11 – an appended b1–a1 suspension harking
back to the opening cow-calling figure – breaks the entire kulokk into
two larger, unequal parts, with the second (bb. 12–16) formed from
the abridged and modified repetition of the end of the first. It is all
the more notable, then, that despite the apparently artful, almost
Brahmsian quality of this design, Grieg is simply remaining true to the
original melody, as notated by his friend Frants Beyer following a
walking tour the two shared in the Jotunheimen mountain region in
Western Norway (Ex. 0.1b).

Example 0.1b Kulokk melody of Grieg’s Op. 66 No. 1, in the original

transcription by Frants Beyer. (Grieg Archive, Bergen
Public Library, mb op. 66 [Tekst og skisser til folkeviser
som inngår i op. 66])
The most evident feature in Grieg’s harmonisation of this melody is
its construction around a large-scale descending diatonic line in the
bass, normally paralleled in tenths with an inner voice. This feature is
manifest in the scalic descent from the d1 in b. 7 to the F in b. 13, to
which the E of bb. 14–15 and final D of b. 17 clearly belong, albeit
now separated by the interspersed notes from the prominent cycle of
fifths presented in root position, which now takes over as the
constructive principle. Thus the bass’s initial two-octave leap in bb. 1–
3 is smoothly filled in through every intervening diatonic note across
the ensuing seventeen bars.3 This descent is already nascent,
though, in the parallel inner-voice movement in the melody’s first four
bars, from which it emerges as a registrally expanding outgrowth.
For the initial in the melody the downbeat of b. 3 is harmonised
by Grieg with a in place of the more readily expected tonic. A
moment of colour that softens the music with a subdominant tinge,
the prominent in this chord could also be a reflection of the first
melodic event of the piece, the b3 of b. 1. However, rather than
resolving down as a simple plagal-like suspension (as the
behaviour of the opening appoggiatura would suggest), the thirds in
the inner voices shift up a diatonic step to , followed by another step
to , before the process circles around on itself. Evidently the mildly
recalcitrant inner voices decline to resolve to a state of harmonic
ease; the plagal cadence implicit in b. 3, and the harmonic release
onto the tonic that would come with it, is not realised.
As if resulting from the accumulated harmonic and linear tension of
these opening bars, the one hitherto stable element, the bass’s tonic
pedal, now moves. It effectively splits into two voices: the tenor
remains steadily holding the d1 pedal while the bass takes over the
conjunct movement formerly confined to the inner voices.
Alternatively, read in more linear fashion, a voice-exchange may be
posited in b. 7 between the tenor’s otherwise unresolving g1 and the
treble’s ensuing f 2, the melody’s d2 at the start of the bar being
taken down an octave into the bass voice. Either way, the result is
the momentary replacement of the conjunct parallel thirds with sixths
for a bar, before tenths reassert themselves at b. 84. From this point
to the attainment of a structurally decisive tonic at b. 13, the lower
voices move in a recurring 4–5 linear intervallic pattern across the
span of an octave and a half. What first appeared as a colouristic
local oscillation in the inner voices comes to take over the texture and
registral space of the piece, emerging as the decisive motivating
factor in the work’s formal process.
 The final, climactic stage of the setting is reached in b. 13 as
systematised linear succession gives way to strong cadential
movement through the cycle of fifths. The progressive descent has
gained increasing momentum and harmonic tension, forces that are
concentrated in the diatonic half-diminished of b. 124, which
well-nigh inevitably falls to the tonic first inversion, coinciding with
the reintroduction of the melody’s second half. An a in the alto line
significantly marks the first manifestation of chromaticism, forming an
augmented triad on I easily reinterpreted through its constituent
intervallic equivalency as a chromatically altered V6–5/VI based on
root III, thus leading smoothly to the VI of b. 14 and with it the cycle
of fifths VI–II9– –V9–[I]. By eliding the resolution of the dominant-
functioning VI with a further secondary seventh on II Grieg springs
two steps forward in one movement, yet by leaving the f 2 of b. 14
hanging across to the next E7 harmony he creates a sensuous major
ninth from the tardy resolution of the previous chord.4 A new
common-time variant of the tail-figure from bb. 10–11 is fused with
the harmony that seems to lead us, finally, to the tonic that
has for so long been withheld. This is the point where the melody, in
Beyer’s transcription, breaks off, left dangling on .
Harmonically and melodically, we feel the music’s need to resolve
the b1 down to the a1 , corresponding to the earlier appearance of
this melodic paradigm in bb. 10–11, alongside a perfect cadential
progression resolving the V9 chord to I. We might also recall the
reiterated harmonies in the opening passage that had all along
held out the promise of plagal resolution, one that has so far been
denied. Grieg grants us a perfect cadence of sorts, and this long-
sought - resolution too, but in both cases this is accomplished
through unexpected means. For this melodic and harmonic cadential
longing is met with the return of the cow-calling motive of the
opening bars – an addition of Grieg’s to the notated folk-tune that
interposes the melody as such within this wider frame. The composer
steps forward as it were to complete what nature (or at any rate the
herding girl) had left open and incomplete.
 The high b2–a2 of the kulokk motive both resolves the melodic line
an octave above and reengages the registral space left at the
opening, just as the bass’s D completes the large-scale linear descent
by similarly reattaining the pitch formed by its starting point. Its
opening motivically redefined through this adroit linkage technique,
the final pitch of this kulokk figure now finds an unexpected
functional use. As we have glimpsed, register and line appear to be
of great importance in Grieg’s music, and here the a1 crucially
completes the - motion left open by the b1 of b. 16, back in the
correct register. Harmonically, meanwhile, the cycle of fifths
overshoots the tonic by turning it into a ninth chord – the dominant
of its subdominant. (The impressionistic clime of the resulting six-
note sonority, with the added sixth high above, is even more
pronounced than in the beginning.) And yet this subdominant leaning
– a tendency which, as Kurt von Fischer has shown, runs throughout
the piece at the expense of dominant and tonic affirmation alike –
acts now as the means for resolving this aspect of the piece’s
harmonic organisation.5 For in these last two bars the plagal
implication the melody’s initial harmonisation and melodic
concentration on had lead us to expect is finally realised, balancing
the registral separation of the kulokk gesture and its underpinning
harmony by being stated in the keyboard’s warm middle range. The
formal rounding off provided by the return of the opening bars
simultaneously elides with the cadential course of the intervening
melody and resourcefully completes its process. There is a sense of
resolution and peace to these bars, the fulfilment of what was always
promised but until now withheld.
From the analysis above one may identify three distinct elements
that constitute Grieg’s harmonic resource in this piece: the emphasis
on Klang, on the sensuous quality of sound in itself, as evidenced in
the added-sixth sonority and resonant spacing of the opening and
closing bars; the strongly profiled, systematic linear writing of the
scalic descent that takes up the greater part of the piece; and finally
the functional fifth progression brought into use on nearing the final
cadence. Yet as was shown, this functionality, already decorated by
the colouristic use of secondary and dominant ninths, is
simultaneously overrun and undercut by the elided cadence onto the
tonic ninth in b. 17, the recall of the opening sonority, and a final,
dominant-denying plagal cadence. With this return, too, harmonic
and linear/registral processes, set up in the opening bars, find their
final resolution. The three elements defined above become interlaced
as part of a broader process that mixes traditional tonal progression
with colouristic and systematic elements of more Romantic,
impressionist, or even proto-modernist provenance. We move from
an examination of individual principles of harmonic construction to an
account of their functional interrelation: an exploration of Griegian
harmonic grammar becomes comingled with an account of Griegian
syntax.

GRIEG AND LATE-ROMANTIC HARMONY: THEORETICAL

AND HISTORIOGRAPHICAL CONCERNS

The example of Op. 66 No. 1 just given serves as a useful prism for
isolating key aspects of Grieg’s harmonic language and showing how
these diverse grammatical elements interact in a syntactically
meaningful manner – the concerns, in short, of the present study.
Indeed, the collection from which this ‘Kulokk’ is drawn, the 19
Norwegian Folksongs, Op. 66, forms an apt starting point for a larger
consideration of harmony in Grieg’s music. This set in fact inspired
one of Grieg’s best-known statements on the nature of his
involvement with the world of harmony:

The realm of harmonies has always been my dreamworld, and the relation between
my harmonic way of feeling and Norwegian folk-tunes was a mystery even to
myself. I have found that the obscure depth of our melodies has its foundation in
their wealth of undreamt-of harmonic possibilities. In my Op. 66 arrangements of
folksongs and elsewhere, I have sought to give an expression to my awareness of
the hidden harmonies of our folk-tunes. To this end in particular the chromatic lines
in the harmonic texture have strongly attracted me.6
Notably, however, Grieg is not only speaking of his fascination with
harmony but moreover confessing his bafflement at how to explain
this feature more theoretically. Despite being christened in the year
that Op. 66 was conceived as one of the two ‘greatest creators of
harmony of the present day’, Grieg himself prefaces the oft-used
quotation with the assertion ‘to talk about harmonic innovations is
difficult for me’.7 Harmony was evidently something which puzzled
him just as much as it does musicians and scholars to this day.
For contemporary theorists still frequently profess their fascination
and bewilderment with the harmonic language of late-nineteenth-
century music.8 Beyond the evident richness and complexity of late-
Romantic harmonic practice, the question over to what extent
examples from this period exhibit tonal properties, indeed what
exactly constitutes tonality, stands not always helpfully as a
conceptual limiting factor behind any discussion. There is a nagging
suspicion that ‘tonality’, inevitably defined in opposition to ‘atonality’
(rather than modality) since the latter term was coined, often serves
as little more than a narrow ideological category, one which pays
scant regard to the sheer plurality of elements that make up what
common usage designates as ‘tonal music’. Often a multitude of
different, contrasting techniques seem to be implicated by this
repertoire. The positing of a ‘second practice’ has helped establish a
basis for many harmonic traits that, while departing from classical
practice, are common in later nineteenth-century usage,9 and
recently great developments have been made in related theories that
may broadly be termed ‘Neo-Riemannian’, created to deal with highly
chromatic though nonetheless triadically based music.10 But as
Grieg’s music readily demonstrates, music which is unquestionably
tonal in much of its rhetoric and functional behaviour may display
harmonic attributes that cannot be reduced to either a functional first
practice or the triadic chromaticism of a second, alternative tradition
– nor, even, to their juxtaposition and constant mediation.11 An
inventory of Griegian harmonic elements, reduced to the fewest
distinct genera, could well include the following traits:
• First-practice functional harmony: cycles of fifths, functional root
progressions.
• Second-practice triadic chromaticism: chromatic or parsimonious
voice leading, mediant shifts and common-tone modulation.
• Modality and other types of scalar modulation. Broadly understood,
this category could expand to include the use of the minor
dominant (especially in the major), plagal cadences, and falling
leading-note motion ( - - ), which soften dominant functionality.
• Extended tonal harmony: supra-triadic entities, added-note chords,
pandiatonicism, alongside a related delight in Klang as a
constitutive element in its own right.
• Systematisation, especially of lines (whether chromatic, scalar, or
through some other interval cycle), often allied to a marked
sensitivity to register. The use of pedals may also be included here.
This category may furthermore be applied to those above, resulting
in such features as the systematic exploration of fifth cycles,
chromatic lines, or the construction of higher-order tertiary entities.

One might of course argue that after the first two categories only the
fourth strictly constitutes a tonal property, as modality and related
types of scalar procedure are pre-tonal, and the systematisation of
pitch progression suggests a modernist, quasi-atonal procedure often
based around the measure of the chromatic scale-step as
fundamental unit. (From a hard-line perspective, say that of Heinrich
Schenker, even the second and fourth types would be debatable
inclusions.) But for the latter-day theorist or historian interested in
accounting for what attributes have been commonly accepted as
constituting tonality, rather than delimiting the concept to support a
particularly narrow, essentialist agenda of aesthetic inclusion and
exclusion, the properties above may surely relate to tonal behaviour
as generally understood, and certainly as manifested in Grieg’s
oeuvre.
What is needed, I would suggest, is a more flexible and inclusive
conception of what this elusive idea of tonality might entail. One
possible basis for such an approach is that provided by the recent
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Leaves from
a middy's log
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Title: Leaves from a middy's log

Author: Arthur Lee Knight

Release date: September 28, 2023 [eBook #71750]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1896

Credits: Bob Taylor, hekula03 and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book
was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEAVES

FROM A MIDDY'S LOG ***
LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S
LOG.
“In an agony of apprehension I knelt down at Charlie’s side.”
Page 33.
T. NELSON & SONS.
Leaves from a
Middy’s Log
BY

ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT

Author of “Adventures of a Midshipmite,” “The Rajah of Monkey Island,”
“The Cruise of the ‘Cormorant’.”
&c. &c.

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS

London, Edinburgh, and New York

1896
 CONTENTS.

I. A STRANGE ADVENTURE, 9
II. WE STORM THE FORT, 26
III. A FIGHT FOR LIFE, 37
IV. WE RETURN ON BOARD, 43
V. THE NAVAL BRIGADE LANDS, 55
VI. “COLD PIG” AND “SLING THE MONKEY,” 62
VII. NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER, 68
VIII. “PREPARE FOR CAVALRY!” 78
IX. WE HEAR STRANGE NEWS, 86
X. A PERILOUS ADVENTURE, 96
XI. JIM BEDDOES’ YARN, 111
XII. TAKEN PRISONER, 124
XIII. NED IS FLOGGED, 137
XIV. IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN, 146
XV. A MARCH TO THE COAST, 162
XVI. IN IRONS, 172
XVII. ON BOARD THE PIRATE BRIG, 177
XVIII. THE PIRATES’ ISLAND, 193
XIX. IN THE CRATER CAVE, 211
XX. THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE, 222
XXI. HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS, 236
XXII. A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND, 244
XXIII. A RACE FOR LIFE, 255
XXIV. DEATH OF MIGUEL, 263
XXV. WE ESCAPE TO SEA, 271
XXVI. CONCLUSION, 279
LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.
 CHAPTER I.
A STRANGE ADVENTURE.

A T the time when the adventures which I am about to relate took

place, I, Jack Darcy, was serving as a midshipman on board
H.M.S. Rattler, a smart frigate of fifty guns, commanded by Captain
Graves, who was a very distinguished officer and much beloved by
all who served under him. Our vessel was attached to the North
American squadron, and consequently we often visited the West
Indies and cruised in the Caribbean Sea. On this particular occasion
we were lying at anchor in the commodious harbour of Havana, the
capital of the beautiful and fertile island of Cuba, which its Spanish
masters delight to call “the pearl of the Antilles.”
A few days after we had come to anchor in the harbour, I, in
company with some of my brother-middies, obtained leave to go
ashore and have a look at the city and its Spanish and Creole
inhabitants. As the reader may suppose, we found plenty to interest
and amuse us. The afternoon, however, turned out so hot that we
made up our minds to return on board the ship earlier than we had
intended; and with this in view, we sauntered down to the wharf
under a burning tropical sun to seek for a shore-boat. In a few
minutes, the placid waters of the harbour, glowing like molten gold
under the fierce rays of an almost vertical sun, opened out before us,
crowded with shipping of various nationalities, amid which our own
beautiful, shapely frigate was clearly discernible with her lofty
tapering spars and shining black hull, the latter relieved by the broad
white streak across the portholes, from which the open-mouthed
guns frowned menacingly.
“I say, Jack,” exclaimed one of my messmates, Charlie Balfour, as
we were steering our way through the piles of merchandise that lay
strewn on the wharves, “that looks uncommonly like the officers’
recall flying at the Rattler’s masthead. What can the meaning of it
be?”
 We glanced in the direction of our ship, and sure enough there
flew the recall as a signal for every officer to return on board without
delay.
As we gazed a flash issued from one of the forecastle ports, and
the sullen boom of a signal-gun reverberated over the harbour and
died away in multitudinous echoes amongst the hills behind the city.
“Perhaps the flagship is coming in,” I suggested.
“Impossible, my dear fellow,” answered Charlie, who was a
particular friend of mine; “the admiral was at Halifax by last advices,
and was likely to remain there.”
“We shall soon solve the mystery, anyhow,” I answered, pointing
across the harbour, “for here comes my boat, the second cutter.”
A few minutes later, the craft in question glided alongside the
wharf, cleverly steered by Ned Burton, the coxswain.
“What’s up now, Ned?” we shouted in chorus; “why has the first
lieutenant hoisted the recall?”
The coxswain touched his hat as he answered, “There is a high
old row up somewhere along the coast, gentlemen; and the long and
the short of it is that the captain has ordered us round to Santiago—
leastways that’s the yarn upon the lower deck.”
At this moment a group of our wardroom officers hurried down to
the landing-stage, and we all sprang into the cutter, which was at
once pushed off into deep water and headed for the ship. The ten
lusty oarsmen gave way with a will, and sent the boat spinning along
at an exhilarating pace, whilst Ned Burton carefully steered her
through the maze of merchant shipping and fishing-craft that
thronged the harbour. In a quarter of an hour we were alongside the
Rattler, and found every one full of excitement, and a general
preparation for weighing anchor going forward.
It seemed that the crew of an English merchant vessel, more than
half of whom were foreigners, had mutinied upon the high seas, and
after murdering the captain and the first mate, and pitching their
bodies overboard, had taken charge of the ship, which had a very
valuable general cargo. They had run her into the harbour of
Santiago de Cuba, where, owing to the disturbed state of the island,
they imagined that they could perhaps dispose of the cargo, and
then either burn the ship and join the insurgents, or put to sea again
and trust to the hazardous chance of not falling in with an English
cruiser.
Fortunately, however, their diabolical schemes were nipped in the
bud by the successful escape of Mr. Osborne, the surgeon of the
vessel, whom the mutineers had kept in close confinement lest they
should require his services. On the arrival of the ship at Santiago,
the leading desperadoes went on shore to try to dispose of the
cargo. During their absence, the surgeon managed to give the others
the slip, and with considerable pluck swam to a small coasting-
steamer which was anchored not far off. The skipper of this craft had
easily been prevailed upon to steam off at once for Havana on the
promise of a reward; and to the surgeon’s delight he was soon en
route for the capital. On arriving at Havana, he at once reported
himself to Captain Graves, who paid the skipper of the steamer
handsomely for his co-operation; and after consulting with the
Captain-General of Cuba, he ordered the Rattler to hold herself in
readiness to proceed to Santiago.
As the sun sank to rest in a blaze of crimson glory which was
reflected in ruddy hues on city and shipping, and on the tranquil
waters of the harbour, we tripped our anchor and steamed slowly out
to sea. At the same time, the innumerable bells of Havana rang out
their confused and jangling summons to vespers from the church
and convent towers, their tones mellowed by distance as they came
sounding over the expansive bay. They seemed to be ringing out a
farewell to us as we faded from view in the short evanescent twilight,
which still glowed with some of the sunset’s rapidly-dissolving
glories.
We middies were of course full of excitement at the idea of fresh
adventures, and were burning to know what plans the captain had
laid for capturing this daring band of mutineers, who had had the
effrontery to murder their officers and seize the vessel on the high
seas.
 It soon became known that Captain Graves designed to capture
these villains by means of a little strategy. He intended to enter
Santiago de Cuba under easy steam, after nightfall, so as not to
arouse suspicion on board the craft which had been thus cleverly
seized, and which was called the Flying-fish. It would then perhaps
be possible to seize the crew in their hammocks before any
resistance could be offered. Mr. Osborne, who accompanied us,
gave it as his opinion that, on learning of his escape, the mutineers
would probably be seized with alarm, and betake themselves
elsewhere. It was highly improbable, indeed, that they could know of
the presence of a British man-of-war in Cuban waters; but still they
would not unnaturally conjecture that some Spanish gunboats might
be sent in chase of them, as soon as the facts of the mutiny and
murders reached the ears of the Captain-General at Havana.
Fortunately for our scheme, there was no moon, though the stars
shone down with the sparkling brilliancy so remarkable in tropical
climes. The night, however, was sufficiently dark for our purpose;
and toward the end of the middle watch, the Rattler, like a giant
phantom-ship, glided almost imperceptibly into Santiago harbour,
with forecastlemen stationed at the small bower anchor, and armed
boats’ crews ready to go on any service at a moment’s notice.
The captain knew the Santiago de Cuba anchorage well, besides
being provided with excellent charts; so the frigate was taken in at
the dead of night without the slightest hesitation. Mr. Osborne
declared that he distinguished the Flying-fish in about the same
position in which he had left her; consequently we anchored as
quietly as possible a few lengths distant from her, and at once
proceeded to put our plan into execution.
The second cutter, the boat of which I was midshipman, was one
of those told off for the enterprise, so I hurriedly got my side-arms,
and mustered my crew preparatory to manning the boat. Mr. Giles,
the master-at-arms, supported by some ship’s corporals and
marines, was to go with me, taking handcuffs with him. Mr.
Thompson, the gunnery lieutenant, was to command the party, and,
in company with Mr. Osborne—who had provided himself with a
revolver—was to go in the first cutter with my chum, Charlie Balfour.
These two boats the captain considered quite sufficient for the duty,
especially as a complete surprise was intended, and it was known
that the mutineers were very imperfectly supplied with arms.
With muffled oars, and long steady strokes, we pulled away over
the star-begemmed waters for the long low vessel, which with her
clear-cut spars and rigging, and somewhat rakish appearance, more
nearly resembled a pirate than a peaceful merchantman.
All seemed silent as death. Not a voice broke the stillness that
reigned fore-and-aft. The crew were apparently wrapped in slumber.
The first cutter hooked on at the vessel’s starboard gangway,
whilst we made fast to port, and quickly scrambled on board. The
deck was deserted, and a deathlike stillness reigned throughout the
ship.
I met Mr. Thompson and his party at the main-hatchway, and we
proceeded to light some dark lanterns we had brought with us, and
get our revolvers ready for use.
“Mr. Osborne has sprained his ankle in getting out of the boat,”
whispered the gunnery lieutenant, “and he is in such pain that we left
him in the cutter in charge of the bowmen. We can manage all right
without him. Have you got the handcuffs ready, Mr. Giles?”
“All right, sir,” replied that officer in the same undertone, and he
held up to view the instruments in question, and chuckled audibly.
“Now, men, keep perfect silence,” continued Mr. Thompson, “and
we’ll surprise these fellows in their berths, and bundle them into the
boats before they can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ Follow me down the
main hatchway, and in the first place we’ll overhaul the cabins, for it’s
there the rascals are sleeping, I expect.”
With cautious and stealthy steps—having divested ourselves of
our shoes—we followed our leader below. At this moment we almost
betrayed ourselves through a clumsy marine knocking his head
against the ship’s bell, which hung at the foot of the ladder, and gave
out a metallic ring that could have been distinctly heard by any
wakeful person on the main-deck or in the cabins.
 “Confound that bullet-headed lobster!” whispered Mr. Thompson
fiercely. “I’ll crack his skull in earnest for him if he doesn’t look out.”
The man, who had overheard this remark, and was ruefully
rubbing his head, slunk to the rear, and sheltered himself behind the
stalwart form of the master-at-arms.
“There are several men asleep in hammocks,” continued the
gunnery lieutenant, flashing his lantern as he spoke on the after part
of the deck.—“Mr. Darcy, you must take some of your crew and seize
the men that are in them. One of the corporals will go with you, and
two marines to handcuff them. I’ll push on with Mr. Balfour and
capture the mutineers that may be in the stateroom and the cabins,
and you can join me there as soon as possible.”
With a rush Ned Burton and my cutter’s crew surrounded the
unconscious sleepers, and hauled them with little ceremony out of
their hammocks; and thus before the men could recover from their
surprise, they were cleverly thrown down and handcuffed. Being half
dressed, they were all ready to be taken on board the Rattler; and I
was on the point of leaving them in charge of the marines, and
pushing on after Mr. Thompson, when one of them, who appeared
from his accent to be an American, broke out with an angry demand
as to the reason why he and his comrades had been taken
prisoners. I answered laconically that it was for murder and piracy
upon the high seas; and without paying any attention to a furious
rejoinder made by the fellow—who had a very unprepossessing
appearance—I hurried aft with Ned Burton and the rest of the blue-
jackets.
Having pushed open a door, I found myself in a very elegant
stateroom dimly lighted by two swinging lamps, which hung over a
table covered with the débris of what had apparently been a
sumptuous meal. Decanters and glasses sparkled in the rich dim
light, and fruit and sweetmeats were scattered about in profusion
over a snowy cloth of remarkably fine linen. Casting a hurried glance
around, I saw that the stateroom was handsomely and even
luxuriously furnished; everywhere signs of elegant taste were visible.
The bulkheads were painted grey and gold, and had a handsome
moulding running around them. The ports were draped with dainty
curtains, and pictures were suspended in every available space. A
rich carpet covered the deck, and was dotted with gipsy tables
covered with fancy china, stands for photographs, bowls of flowers,
and bric-à-brac.
“A curious place for mutineers this,” said I audibly, not a little
surprised at what I saw before me.
“Ay, they live like fighting-cocks, sir, there’s no question about that,
and they seem to have had a good tuck-in last night,” observed my
coxswain in a jocular tone. “Perhaps the gunnery lootenant will let us
finish up the scraps by-and-by.”
I was on the point of replying to Ned Burton, when a tremendous
hubbub and uproar commenced in the after-cabins opening from the
stateroom, to which Mr. Thompson had evidently penetrated with his
men. Angry shouts and furious oaths were heard, followed by the
sound of blows, the crashing of glass and furniture, and, more
appalling than anything else, the shrill screams of frightened women.
Recovering from our surprise, we were on the point of rushing to
our chief’s aid, when to our dismay the doors were burst open, and
the lieutenant and his men, with horror-struck countenances,
tumbled pell-mell into the stateroom, closely followed by a number of
excited-looking individuals arrayed only in their nightshirts, and
wielding chairs, walking-sticks, and any weapons that had come
conveniently to hand. In the distance, we caught a hasty glance of
two female forms retiring to the recesses of their sleeping-cabins.
From the hurried glance I had at their faces, they seemed pale with
alarm and dissolved in tears.
Directly my eye rested on the men who were following our party
out, I saw that some egregious mistake had been made; for they
were gentlemanly and superior-looking men, and were evidently as
much astonished at our appearance as we were at theirs.
Mr. Thompson immediately recovered his self-possession, and
ordered all the blue-jackets to leave the cabin, and wait for him
outside. He then advanced with every mark of concern to the man
who appeared to be the captain of the vessel, and offered the most
profuse apologies for the extraordinary blunder that had been made.
“As you can see, sir, by our uniforms,” he began, “we are British
naval officers. Acting on information which we had every reason to
believe genuine, we boarded your ship, imagining her to be an
English merchant vessel brought in here a few days ago by a
mutinous crew who had murdered their captain and the chief officer.
I can only say that I regret exceedingly the inconvenience and
annoyance you have been put to, and you must convey our most
heartfelt apologies to the ladies, who, I trust, will be none the worse
for their fright. Captain Graves will himself come on board and
personally make his excuses to-morrow; and of course any damage
that has been done will be paid for by our Government.”
The American captain—for such he was—could not forbear
smiling as he listened to Mr. Thompson’s narration.
“Stranger, I forgive you for this night’s work,” said he, “though I
must say it is rather uncomfortable to be roused out of a deep sleep
and arrested by a lot of fire-eaters like you and your men. I calculate
if the President heard of it, there’d be some dispatches passing
between the White House and St. James’s that wouldn’t be quite civil
in tone.”
Mr. Thompson again tendered his excuses, and prepared to
withdraw; but the American skipper and his friends, who had hastily
arrayed themselves in dressing-gowns, insisted on our taking a glass
of wine with them to show there was no ill-feeling, which we did,
though the gunnery lieutenant, I could see, was burning to retire from
a scene in which he had played so ridiculous a part.
“I calculate I can give you a hint as to the craft you’re looking for,”
remarked the skipper, as he quaffed his wine. “If I’m not mistaken,
she left this anchorage yesterday morning and steered in a southerly
direction. She is uncommonly like us in build, and much the same rig
aloft, but I’d lay a wager of a thousand dollars we could knock her
into fits, either running on a wind or close-hauled. If you capture her,
lieutenant, just bring the old hooker in here and we’ll have a racing
match.”
 Mr. Thompson smiled and said he’d see about it, and we then
made our adieus and retired.
“Now, Mr. Darcy,” exclaimed my superior, as soon as we were out
of earshot, “what shall we do to that rascal Osborne, who misled us
so? I vote we string him up to the mainyard-arm as a terrible warning
to other crack-brained medicos. By the powers, there might have
been a pretty kettle of fish to fry if those Americans hadn’t turned up
trumps. I was just on the point of spitting that skipper on the end of
my sword when the fray began, and it was only when the master-at-
arms rushed into the cabin of one of the ladies, with a couple of
marines, and the handcuffs ready for slipping on, that her loud
shrieks proved to me that there was something wrong. The whole lot
of them then turned out, women and all, and attacked us like a lot of
furies. I believe one of my little fingers is broken.”
We found that Mr. Osborne had been conveyed on board the
Rattler again, so for the present he escaped the storm of resentment
that was brewing in the gallant gunnery lieutenant’s breast.
As I passed under the merchantman’s stern on the way back, I
deciphered her name by the aid of a lantern, and read, “Snapping
Turtle, of Boston;” so there was no doubt about her nationality.
Ned Burton told me that the Yankee sailors had been in an
ungovernable rage till Mr. Giles had come out and released them.
Even then they had poured out volleys of invective, and threats of
what their Government would do to avenge the insult they had
received. At last Ned, stung by their remarks, offered to fight the
biggest man amongst them with his fists. This offer they declined,
and immediately grew more amicable, exchanging tobacco and
compliments before our blue-jackets were ordered off to man the
boats.
So ended a truly ludicrous adventure, in which we all cut a sorry
figure, and from which we retired, as it were, with our tails between
our legs.
Long and loud were the peals of laughter that greeted us when we
regained the Rattler’s quarter-deck, where we found most of the