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handling the old dances, it will not be surprising that his Gigues show all manner of rhythms, often neither the dotted English nor the triplet Italian; and very frequently Bach's Gigues, beyond a certain joyousness, hardly merit the name. But it will not be overlooked that it was the true original Jig that suggested, and to some extent influenced, even Bach's examples. This shaking off of the early characteristics of the Gigue soon led Johann Sebastian to greater freedom, and so inveterate a fuguist could not for long be restrained from using the Gigue as a basis for fugue-building. The result was an almost exclusive use of the fugal Gigue in his pianoforte compositions, and these are typical examples of the Leipzig Cantor's fugal art. Spitta says: In the French and German suites the fugal form generally predominated, the theme being treated in inversion in the second section. . . . The Italian Giga was homophonous and consequently much lighter in character; it was always in triple time, whether simple or compound." I cannot leave the historical side of the subject until I have mentioned the charming example written by Mozart in the autograph album of Herr Engel, Grand-Ducal organist at Leipzig. The piece, which Mozart wrote after listening to a long programme of Bach's music, is described by Köchel under No. 574 as a Gigue resembling those of Bach in the stricter form.

This, then, is what we know of the Jig's history. I have devoted more time to it than may have seemed necessary; but, considering its comparative importance in the history of musical form, it must be admitted that this length is to some extent justified. What has gone before will, I think, suffice to show that the Jig played a far more important part in the history of certain musical forms than it did in that of the dance. In the latter it was the wanton frolic of the leisured or the relaxation of the toiler, but as a suite movement, commencing as a simple eightbar melody and becoming gradually extended, it suggested the spirit that in many cases gave to the closing movements of the Sonata and Concerto their peculiar character; and the fact that this distinction is shared by certain other forms need not detract from the interest which attaches to the Jig.

DISCUSSION.

THE CHAIRMAN: Has anyone anything to say? I am sure there is much food for discussion in this interesting paper.

A VISITOR: Has the Gigue any connection with the Hungarian Csardas?

Mr. JEFFREY PULVER: I cannot see how it could have. The rhythms and structure are entirely different.

THE CHAIRMAN: It is most extraordinarily interesting to follow Mr. Pulver's distinction between the English and Italian forms, the difference between them, and so on. I wish I could have heard the paper about Courante and Coranto, in which the same two forms occur. I think it is very valuable to learn the influence of English musicians on the foreign courts, although Mr. Pulver does not claim a direct influence. Yet nothing is more likely than that Lully's English pupils should have shown him some English dances, which would give him a new kind of rhythm, and a new form to work at. Altogether it is very interesting to feel that was so. I have not the smallest wish to defend every statement in Grove: I am sure I shall not be suspected of that; at the same time, on other grounds than any personal wish to support the Dictionary, it is a very difficult attitude that Mr. Pulver requires us to adopt: that two words so identical should have no family connection at all, that two words connected with music, one meaning the musical instrument and the other meaning the dance, should be entirely independent of one another. Of course, it may be so; but, for one thing, I should have said the uncertainty of the spelling of the word in England might seem to support the theory that it was a foreign word introduced. Mr. Pulver will correct me if I am wrong, but in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book I think the words are written both with "J" and "G."

Mr. JEFFREY PULVER: I think always with "G."

THE CHAIRMAN: Of course that makes one suspect that the very characteristic j-i-g word is not perhaps original. If the word had been undoubtedly English in the first instance it would have been spelt in the ordinary English way, one would think. However, it is very interesting about the Scandinavian word, the Icelandic word from which we get our Gig." One would have hoped it had an English origin for the sake of our national pride and so forth. "Geige," a German fiddle, I suppose, is certainly from the Italian.

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Mr. JEFFREY PULVER: Concerning the spelling, as I said, the English often deliberately spelt words used in music phonetically, as if they were foreign, to make them appear more artistic." Geige," the fiddle, comes from the Middle High German "Giga."

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THE CHAIRMAN: But have we not that word any further back? Mr. JEFFREY PULVER: We have; but only as an instrument. I have simply traced the word so far as was necessary in regard to its dance meaning.

A vote of thanks having been accorded to Mr. Jeffrey Pulver for his Paper the Proceedings terminated.

MARCH 17, 1914.

CHARLES MACLEAN, Esq., Mus. Doc.,

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A YEAR or two ago an old friend and fellow-student of mine wrote me a letter in which he made some comments upon the character of modern music as it appeared to him. I have forgotten the exact wording of his criticisms, but it struck me at the time that there must be many musicians who have received theoretical training similar to our own who would share sympathetically in my friend's bewilderment at the tendencies of the day, and find it hard to reconcile them with anything which they had been taught in their youth. And so I made a mental note of his comments, meaning when opportunity arose to thrash the matter out.

If my memory serves me aright, he said, amongst other things, that the music of the day had reached a stage where everything we had learned to reject was made an important ingredient.

Part-writing and melodic outlines which had formerly been regarded as bad, chords and harmonic progressions which we had been told to reject as weak or ugly, were now made the very foundations of musical structure.

If this is a fair statement of facts-and, confronted with such music as that of Ravel, Stravinsky, Schönberg and others, I am not disposed to quarrel with it—it would seem that we are forced Owing to Mr. Dunhill's absence through illness, the paper was read by Mr. John Ireland.

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to hold one of two antagonistic views. Either modern music is utterly perverse, inartistic, and fundamentally unhealthy, or the theory of music which we have been taught is, in the face of modern developments, something so insecure and futile that its acceptance to-day implies an obstinate adherence to formulas which have no longer any meaning whatever.

If we hold the first view, and condemn modern music, we must expect to be regarded as hoary conservatives of the most bigoted type. We have fixed up our little barrier and said, "Thus far and no further." We have made up our minds to close our ears to all possible beauty that newer developments in music may have in store for us. We have not only confessed our own weakness, our own inability to sympathise and understand, but we have gloried in it.

It is vain to say the great masters of the past knew best, and that we are upholding their methods and their classic traditions against the passionate stream of unreasoning experiment. We know, though our obstinacy seeks to deny it, that these great masters themselves were in their own time experimenters, that they too overthrew conventions, seized upon what the builders before them had rejected, and made a new kind of beauty out of the harsh dissonances from which their grandparent artists had fled in terror.

And yet, despite that, we are content to believe that our own small power to discern is greater than that of the most prominent and active creative musicians of the present age. Instead of weathering the storms, we prefer to rest with the comfortable assurance that the only right thing to do is to sit and dream of the beauty of the past; and if we mildly encourage some pale music of to-day which faintly recalls that, we fancy we are keeping our artistic souls alive.

Well, I doubt if the prospect of taking our stand on that side is particularly alluring.

What of the alternative?

Are we ready to admit that the rules and principles of harmony as they have been taught for the past twenty-five years, are utterly meaningless for the student of to-day? If so, what attitude are we to assume with regard to theoretical study, and how are we to deal with the beginner who comes to us with hope, enthusiasm, and talent, but no knowledge; what are we to teach him, and how, indeed, are we to convince him of the necessity for a grammar which the actual practice of the day repudiates and laughs to scorn?

These are all questions of vital and urgent importance, and you will agree that the theorist (who must answer them before he can begin to teach at all with a clear conscience) is in a position of some difficulty and embarrassment.

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