The Double Trajectory: Ambiguity in Brahms and Henry James

Author(s): Roland Jordan and Emma Kafalenos

Source: 19th-Century Music, Vol. 13, No. 2 (Autumn, 1989), pp. 129-144
Published by: University of California Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/746651
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The Double Trajectory:
Ambiguity in Brahms
ROLAND JORDAN AND EMMA KAFALENOS
Even initially and prior to analysis, certain
works elicit a recognition of the significant
characteristics they share. The ability to
confirm a typology by perceiving similarities in
a group of works from about the same time is
the basis of historical periodization, and one
method of testing its validity. A parallelcorrela-
tion in the way we experience works of the
same period from different art forms challenges
us to expand the scope of our approach.Com-
parative analysis can increase our understand-
ing of the works themselves, clarify the useful-
ness of the methodologies of each field, and lead
to increasingly precise and accurate descrip-
tions of historical typologies.
The opening moments of Brahms's Inter-
mezzo, op. 119, no. 1, and HenryJames's"Owen
19th-CenturyMusic XIII/2(Fall 1989). ? by the Regents of
the University of CaliforniaPress.
and Henry James
Wingrave" suggest such a relationship. The
story begins:
"Upon my honour you must be off your head!"cried
Spencer Coyle as the young man, with a white face,
stood there panting a little and repeating"ReallyI've
quite decided," and "I assure you I've thought it all
out" (p. 269).1
This conversation brings us into the story in the
midst of what is clearly an ongoing scene, an ar-
gument between two men: Spencer Coyle and
Owen Wingrave. As we read on, we gain little
further information. We cannot begin to ask
ourselves how the story will develop, much less
end; we can only attempt to discover the subject
of the disagreement.
'Henry James, The Novels and Tales of Henry James, vol. 17
in 26 (1909; New York, 1907-17), pp. 269-319. Revised by
James for the New York edition, "Owen Wingrave" first ap-
peared in the Atlantic Monthly, April 1892.
129
 19TH Finally in the seventh paragraph we learn
CENTURY that Coyle is a "professional 'coach' [who] pre-
pare[s]aspirants for the army" (p. 270); but for
those unfamiliar with the training of British
army officers, it is only near the end of the first
of the story's four sections that the initial situa-
tion is explained clearly, in a passagethat draws
attention simultaneously to the words them-
selves. In a conversation with his other student,
Coyle reports the decision Owen Wingravehas
just announced:
so Mr.Coylehadto continue:"Hedeclinesto go up.
He chucksthe wholeshop!"
ThefirstthingthatstruckYoungLechmerein the
casewasthefreshness,as ofa forgottenvernacular,
it
had impartedto the governor'svocabulary."He
doesn'twantto go to Sandhurst?"
(p.275).
In 1892, the year "Owen Wingrave"was pub-
lished, Brahms composed the Intermezzo, op.
119, no. 1. The collection of pitches with which
the piece begins gives us little sense of tonal ref-
erence; we hear a falling arpeggiated ninth
chord (F#-D-B-G-E), or perhapstwo triads (F#-
D-B; B-G-E). The information offered in the
second and third measures leads us to assume
that the key is D majoror possibly B minor; the
assumption that it can be either is confirmedby
the interchangeability of mm. 4-5 and 6-7. Al-
though B minor seems to be confirmed by the
introduction of A# in m. 4, in m. 6 a new harmo-
nization of the same melodic pitches points to
D major.The tonal "problem"is not unambigu-
ously solved. In m. 8 another F# dominant pre-
pares the second statement of the primaryma-
terial (ex. 1).2
In the story, the opening section poses a ques-
tion: either Owen will succeed in withdrawing
from a military career,or Coyle and Wingrave's
family will make him conform to the military
tradition of his ancestors. In the end, both
events occur; Owen does not join the army, al-
though he dies a military death. But to end this
tale that begins as an analysis of hard-nosedmil-
itary attitudes, James has to turn to the super-
natural. Coyle discovers Owen dead, in the
room where decades earlierOwen's great-great-
2Toavoid duplicatingmusical examples, we have designed
nos. 1-4 and6 to serve more than one function; the horizon-
tal barsmarkingoccurrencesof trichordspertainto analyti-
cal observationspresentedlater in this paper.
130
grandfather-the Wingravefamily ghost-had
died without a wound or any other indication of
a struggle. The effect of the ending is one of sur-
prise, not the horror of inevitability, because
however many continuations from the opening
scene the readermight have imagined, a super-
natural ending will not have been one of them.
The closure is oddly unsatisfying; it raises as
many questions as it offers answers.
We left the BrahmsIntermezzo at the end of
its first eight measures with the articulationof a
tonal problem. As the piece continues there is
still no solution. Brahmsreturns to his original
material in m. 9, but continues to evade a defini-
tive tonic by allowing the melody to dissolve as
the music moves to a new tonal region, Fj mi-
nor (ex. 2). The highly contrasting middle sec-
tion of the ternaryform establishes D major(ex.
3), but without reachinga cadence it leads to the
only transition in the work and to the third
statement of the music of the opening mea-
sures. A final occurrence of the primarytheme
(beginningin m. 55) attempts to close the struc-
ture. But the harmonic alteration necessary is
so drastic that the tune again dissipates as the
music is pulled lower and lower until, in one
more reference to the first measures of the
piece, the harmony "clears" to the only stable
B-minor chord in the work (ex. 4). The tonal
problem raised in the first measure of the piece
is finally resolved in the last measure, but with-
out the expected conventional cadence. Rather
than attaining its tonal goal by directedmotion,
the music seems to dissolve into it.
II
The similarities between op. 119, no. 1, and
James'sstory are obviously not on the semantic
level. The Intermezzo is not a statement on
courage and honor, nor does it tell about an at-
tempt to coerce a young man to pursue a mili-
tary career. The difficulty in making specific,
detailed comparisons between musical and lit-
erary works, in the terms in which Lawrence
Kramerdefines it, is a function of the "comple-
mentarity in the roles that the two artsassign to
their connotative and combinatory aspects:
each art makes explicit the dimension that the
other leaves tacit." Kramercontinues:
Music achieves its unique suggestiveness, the power
... to embody complex states of mind as they might
 JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
Brahmsand
HenryJames
q f

Example 1: mm. 1-8.

i(y)
i(x)
9 12 i 16
rit.
I,
Ad I ---l- fl
- " j<pN b ~d I L lo-- ._N
am
10-
:10E
TT49

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~g
#
t
h
'):## ~ ~~-,9:qliU q~~ '1~~4L?"'~~ Cr

^-
I
(x) III (x) 4I1
i (y)
I
i(x)

Example 2: mm. 9-16.

arise pre-verbally in consciousness, by resting its choice of a poem, ratherthan a narrativetext, is

tacit connotations on an explicit combinatorystruc-
ture that is highly chargedwith complexity, expect-
ancy, and tension. In poetry, this expressive balance
is reversed:poetic meaning, as it unfolds to an inter-
preter, is a virtually limitless play of explicit conno-
tative relationships [supported by] a combinatory
structure... that manifests itself in the rhythm and
sonority of the verse. [The combinatorystructure]is
experiencedtacitly, peripherally,by most readers.3
What Kramer calls "this asymmetry in semiotic
structure" between music and poetry (p. 7) also
describes the relations between music and nar-
rative. The specificity of semantic connotation
requires emphasis, in interdisciplinary ap-
proaches to music and literature, on the axis of
combination.
In Music and Poetry, Kramer selects for each
comparison a composition and a poem.4 His
3Music and Poetry: The Nineteenth Century and After
(Berkeleyand Los Angeles, 1984),p. 6.
4Kramerdevotes his attention to the interrelationsbetween
narrativeand music in a paperpresentedat the 1989 meet-
ing of the American ComparativeLiteratureAssociation:
perhaps determined by the fact that several
combinatory structures, based on repetition,
are recognized in poetry: patterns of nonseman-
tic elements, such as rhythm and repeated so-
nority, and patterns of semantic elements, such
as imagery, which mark the recurrenceof a con-
cept (orsignified), if not of the word (orsignifier)
that identifies it. It is as a result of parallelstruc-
tures on the combinatory axis, it would seem,
that, in Kramer'swords, "in principle, a compo-
sition and a poem may shape the flow of time in
commensurate ways."5
"Music,Narrative,andBeethoven'sLaMalinconia."A ver-
sion of this paper is incorporatedin chap. 6 of Kramer's
forthcoming book, Music as Cultural Practice, 1800-1900
(Berkeleyand Los Angeles, 1990).
5Kramer,p. 7. In RomanJakobson'sterms, "Thepoetic func-
tion projectsthe principleof equivalencefromthe axis of se-
lection into the axis of combination."Jakobsoncontinues:
"Only in poetry with its regularreiteration of equivalent
units is the time of the speech flow experienced,as it is-to
cite anothersemiotic pattern-with musical time" ("Clos-
ing Statement: Linguistics and Poetics," in Style in Lan-
guage, ed. Thomas A. Sebeok [Cambridge,Mass., 19601,p.
358).
131
 19TH 17 i(x) i (x) 20
CENTURY r I I
MUSIC

s
< P ~----~ ~
cresc.-

9!1*
3 r-i ^- ; -- ^" ; jr
'

j - ; 4 5Y i; 3
. ^

Example 3: mm. 17-23.

55

Example 4: mm. 55-67.

The temporal movement of narrative, as Kra-
mer demonstrates, is different from the tempo-
ral movement of lyric poetry (pp. 7, 10). The
combinatory (or syntagmatic) patterns of the
two genres are not the same. In poetry, repeti-
tion is more available at several levels; nonse-
mantic patterns are more readily perceived.
Studies in narratology, however, have identified
syntagmatic or combinatory structures in nar-
rative for which parallels can be discerned in
music. The nonsemantic level on which op.
119, no. 1, and "Owen Wingrave" show similar-
ities has perhaps been most clearly described by
the French structuralist A. J. Greimas. In con-
sidering narrative structures, Greimas sees
the need for a fundamental distinction between two
levels of representation and analysis: an apparent
level of narration[the text we read],at which the di-
verse manifestations of narrativeare subject to the
specific requirements of the linguistic substances
through which it is expressed, and an immanent
level, which is a kind of common structural trunk
where narrativity is located and organized at the
stage precedingits manifestation.6
6AlgirdasJulien Greimas, "Elementsof a NarrativeGram-
mar"(1969),in On Meaning:Selected Writingsin Semiotic
Theory,trans.PaulJ.PerronandFrankH. Collins (Minneap-
olis, 1987),p. 64.

132
The "common structuraltrunk" is the object of
our investigation, although we are looking for
equivalent structures not in a set of narrative
texts but in a text and a piece of music.
Narratology is a branch of structuralism, a
theoretical activity whose origins arein linguis-
tics, and which spreadfrom there to anthropol-
ogy, literary theory, and other fields. One of the
tenets of structuralism is that language, be-
cause it is a human construct, provides a model
through which to explore other human con-
structs, including art works. To demonstrate in
simple terms the relationship between struc-
tural linguistics and narratology,let us consider
the sentence, which can be defined as an ongo-
ing trajectory-a combinatory or syntagmatic
structure-that is articulated into slots to be
filled by words from appropriatecategories. If
we take as our model trajectory
Article-Noun-Transitive verb-Article-
Adjective-Noun,
we can move from model to sentence by select-
ing words from the categories (orparadigms)the
model trajectory(or syntagma)specifies:
The cat scratches an antique chair.
The pianist plays a difficult sonata.
The semantic message dependson the selection
of words from the specified paradigms,but also
on the structure of the trajectory(orsyntagma).
If we reorderthe syntagma
Article-Adjective-Noun-Transitive verb-
Article-Noun,
the statement changes:
The difficult pianist plays a sonata.
What Greimas and other narratologistspro-
pose is that the structure of an ongoing syn-
tagma (or trajectory),along with paradigmsof
elements to fill its articulatedunits, is a pattern
that can be found at the "apparent"level of the
sentence, and also on "immanent" (abstractor
"deep") levels of structure. We propose that
similar patterns underlie music, and that on an
immanent level the trajectoryof an individual
text and of a composition may show striking
similarities.
III JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
Although both the Intermezzo and "Owen Brahmsand
Wingrave"achieve closure, neither ending is as Henry James
convincing as we might expect in works from
1892. The questions about continuity that are
raised at the beginning of both indicate the pos-
sibility that each work has more than one tra-
jectory. To explore this pattern initially on the
"apparent"or local level, let us analyze one of
James's sentences, knowing that a sentence-
even a sentence by HenryJames-is a trajectory
that is expected to conclude.
The second of the little boys in England,who was at
Paramorewith his grandfather,became the peculiar
chargeof his aunt, the only unmarriedone, and dur-
ing the interesting Sundaythat, by urgentinvitation,
SpencerCoyle, busy as he was, had, after consenting
to put Owen through,spent underthat roof, the cele-
bratedcrammerreceived a vivid impressionof the in-
fluence exerted at least in intention by Miss Win-
grave(p. 278).
What is most immediately apparent is the den-
sity of the structure, the stoppages, the very
number of commas, the quantity of disparate
information. Reading the sentence again and
underlining, this time, in each of the units sepa-
rated by commas the words that initially seem
most important, we select perhaps: little boy /
grandfather / aunt / her marital status / Sun-
day / invitation / Spencer Coyle / busy as he
was/ had. This is the point, it would seem,
where the linearity of the sentence nearly dis-
solves, seeming to turn back upon itself. When
we read the word "had," if we remember "Sun-
day"-the Sunday Coyle had at Paramore-we
assume that the dependent clause has con-
cluded, and that a new independent clause will
begin.
But the dependent clause does not stop at this
point. Let us look at it in its entirety:
duringthe interesting Sundaythat, by urgent invita-
tion, Spencer Coyle, busy as he was, had, after con-
senting to put Owen through, spent under that
roof.
The word "had," we discover, instead of turning
back to "Sunday," leads ahead to "spent": "had
spent." Even at the "apparent" level of syntax,
the direction of the trajectory is not immedi-
ately discernible. The significance of traditional
133
 19TH narrative structures rests upon two assump-
CENTURY tions on the partof the reader,that the narrative
construct is both teleological and causal. If we
perceive a series of events in the externalworld,
we do not assume that it is necessarily a se-
quence shaped with an end in view, nor do we
assume that because event A precedesevent B it
necessarily causes event B. Inherent to the nar-
rative pact, whether as readerswe are conscious
of it or not, is our assumption-once we label
the text we are reading as narrative-that it is
teleologically constructed to lead to a particular
end, and that if event A precedesevent B we will
probablydiscover that event A causes event B. If
either teleology or causality is brought into
question, the reader'sstable position in the nar-
rative universe is undermined.When we cannot
immediately discern the direction of the trajec-
tory in the clause we are considering, teleology
on the local level is subverted.
Readingthe clause once more, let us consider
it from the perspective of order and causality.
The "Sunday"Coyle had spent, we know, is in
the past; the "invitation" presumablypreceded
it; "Coyle, busy as he was" indicates a progres-
sive past of description that may continue
throughout the whole sequence; the "consent-
ing to put Owen through" is probablyprior to
the invitation that precedes the Sunday. If we
reorderthe completed actions accordingto the
sequence in which they seem to have occurred,
we begin with the "consenting to put Owen
through," which results in the "invitation,"
which leads to the "Sunday"visit to Paramore.
The orderof the telling-the Sunday,the invi-
tation, the consenting-reverses the order of
the action: the consenting, the invitation, the
Sunday.The latter is a causal sequence: the con-
senting causes the invitation, the invitation
causes the Sundayvisit. When the events arere-
orderedin the telling, the causal chain is sub-
verted; the visit does not cause the invitation.
The reorderedsequence of the telling, at the lo-
cal level, alreadybegins to undermine the narra-
tive pact.
Now let us go back to the other part of our
sentence, this time looking at its skeletal form,
the way it readswith both dependentclauses re-
moved:
The secondof the little boysin England... became
the peculiarchargeof his aunt,the only unmarried
134
one,and... the celebratedcrammerreceiveda vivid
impressionof the influenceexertedat leastin inten-
tion byMissWingrave.
The sentence contains two independent
clauses, in a tense indicating a completed past
action, held together only by the coordinating
conjunction "and." Each is a separate trajec-
tory. The first pertains to a distant past, the sec-
ond to a more recent past. The first denotes an
event, the second the perception of it, the per-
ception of its intent. The first, even in its com-
plete form with all of its words, is much less
dense than the second.
In this sentence as well as in James'swork as
a whole, his language grows increasingly dense
as his focus turns from the event to the percep-
tion of it, through the filter of the character
whose consciousness he is dramatizing. Nor
can the emphasis on perception occur, even at
the local level, without a double trajectory:a se-
quence of events and a sequence of perceiving
them. Because of the nature of perception,
which can shift from the present to a reconsid-
ered past, there is no final end to which the
reader can assume a sequence of perceptions
will teleologically lead. Nor can events that are
told in the orderthey are perceivedbe expected
to retain the causal relationship implied by the
order in which they occur. Even at the local
level, James'ssentence bringsinto question the
underpinnings of the narrativepact, undermin-
ing teleology and causality.
IV
In the nineteenth century there still existed a
pact between composer and listener according
to which, in spite of seeming disruptions at the
"apparent"level, at the "immanent" level the
work would be causal, teleological, and closed.
Any tonal piece is a complex organization re-
sulting from the interactions of horizontal and
vertical, local and large-scalerelationships. The
outcome is a process, a trajectory,the percep-
tion of which allows us to compile potential ele-
ments of the completed structure even as the
music extends. The degree of complexity of a
specific work seems to be the result of the den-
sity of the relationships, or of the levels of rela-
tionships, we are led to constitute. The signifi-
cance of certain interactions is heightened by
the introduction of conflict between the power-
ful forwardthrust characteristic of tonal music
and resistance created by specific materials and
textures. Much of the dramaresides in the suc-
cessful completion of the tonal structure de-
spite various kinds and degrees of resistance. In
the Intermezzo the trajectoryof the musical dis-
course is constrained by its sheer mass of detail
and deflected by ambiguity and the irregulari-
ties in the continuity of its structure.7The pact
between composer and listener is seriously
weakened.
In listening to the opening measures of the
piece, we can entertain at least three readings.
In each of the first three measures, the falling
thirds can be heard as a single chord, an inter-
pretation that is supportedby the resolutions in
mm. 2 and 3 of the melody. But we also respond
to pairs of triads, particularlyin the second and
third measures; this second reading is rein-
forced by the cross-hand pattern in the transi-
tion that begins in mm. 43-44. A third reading
treats the first four measures as one unit, the ex-
pression of a single series of descending thirds
which is "turned"or stoppedby the A# and Ft of
m. 4 (ex. 5).8 A similar but extended series con-
tains the pitches of the transition and the return
to the initial material (mm. 43-50). Having dis-
covered three readings, we begin to understand
the richness of the initial moments of the piece.
Like one of James's clauses, Brahms's opening
refuses merely to move forward.
The melody that grows out of these opening
measures is tonally ambiguous. Unaccompa-
nied, it is apt to be heard in D. Implying no ten-
dency toward closure, it evolves for eight mea-
sures until its further extension is frozen by the
repetition that begins in m. 9 (ex. 1). Nor is its
rhythm as obvious as it initially seems; the
7Althoughambiguity is an essential factor in the temporal
unfolding of a tonal structure,in many works, includingop.
119, no. 1, the degreeand the sheer quantity of ambiguous
relationshipsgo beyondthose associatedwith the tonal sys-
tem. Studies of Brahms's work in particularhave treated
ambiguity on several levels, including rhythm,phrase,har-
mony, tonality, and form. See, for example, Jonathan
Dunsby, Structural Ambiguity in Brahms: Analytical Ap-
proaches to Four Works (Ann Arbor, 1981); and David Ep-
stein, Beyond Orpheus: Studies in Musical Structure (Cam-
bridge,Mass., 1979),esp. chap. 8, "Ambiguityas Premise."
8In an alternative approach to the thirds cycle, Dunsby
treats the thirds of mm. 1-4 as two cycles, the first falling
from F# to A, the second from F# to At (StructuralAmbi-
guity, pp. 94-95).
JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
Brahmsand
Henry James
Example 5: Series of descending thirds.
metric structureis not supportedby melodic ca-
dences, and the repetition of m. 4 in the sixth
measure is in conflict with the four-barhar-
monic periods. Cadencing in neither B minor
nor D major, the melody is unable to reach a
conclusion; in m. 12 it dissolves into repeti-
tions of the motive from m. 4 which lead us into
F#minor. The same procedureoccurs at the end
of the piece where, beginning in m. 47, after an
exact restatement of the first eight measures of
the melody, its dissolution is altered and ex-
tended. Even in its final occurrencethe melody
is not clearly in B minor.
In a more traditional piece, tonal ambiguity
in the melody can be clarifiedby the bass voice.
In this piece, however, the bass itself is ambigu-
ous until mm. 15-16, where it defines not B or
D, but F# minor. Farfrom simplifying our read-
ing of the trajectoryof the music, the relation-
ship between the outside voices adds a new
level of density. For three measures the bass
pitch seems to "force" melodic change in the
top voice, but the continuation of the bass line
imitates the soprano, at the seventh in mm. 4-
5, at the fifth in mm. 6-7. Additionally, since
the imitations are offset by only an eighth note,
the counterpoint between the two voices pro-
duces an unexpected rhythmic complexity. In
the move toward F# minor in mm. 12-16, the
imitative relationship between soprano and
bass reemerges, first at the third and then at the
fourth. This passage is the first in which the
bass articulates a clear tonality.
The tonal ambiguity of the melody and the
bass line in the opening measures is reflected in
the local harmonic structure. The first three
measures seem to be in D major, but in the
fourth measure there is a V4of B minor. The ex-
pected resolution in m. 5 is weakened, however,
by the delay of the pitch B until the second beat,
and the simultaneous move to G in the bass.
135
 19TH Also in m. 5, the significance of the A# is re-
CENTURY duced by its position following an A~ and its ab-
MUSIC
sorption into a cambiata-like appoggiatura
figure. Reinforcedby the neutralizationof Af by
Bb, mm. 6-7 again sound as if they were in D
major.The metric conflict createdby the repeti-
tion in m. 6 of the sopranopitches of m. 4 draws
attention to the differentharmonizations of the
figure, the first ending on a V4 of B, the second
on a V4of D. Only on the last beat of m. 8 is the
dominant of B minor reinstated, but it leads us
back to the ambiguous sonority first heardin m.
1. Although the periodicity of the occurrences
of the F# dominant chords in mm. 4 and 8 gives
them more force than they might otherwise ex-
ert, the four-bar symmetry is in conflict with
the structure of the melody. The first uncon-
tested tonality, F# minor (minorv of B, the me-
diant of D), emerges in the passage from mm.
12-16 and ends with an F#-majorchord, one
that sounds more like a Picardythird in Ft than
a dominant of B.
In addition to the sheer density that is created
on the local level by rhythmic and tonal ambi-
guity, Brahms'spiece-like James'ssentence-
refers to earlier details, directing our attention
simultaneously to the present moment and to
the past event it seems to reinterpret.Forexam-
ple, when the pitches of m. 6 are duplicatedin a
different tonal context in mm. 24-25, the pass-
ing Bb of m. 6 is understood as a subtle borrow-
ing from D minor (ex. 6).
The most dramaticof these instances occurs
at the end of the piece. The lowest pitches of
mm. 58-60 form a pattern that is designatedin
the examples as x (set 3-7 in Allen Forte'sclas-
sification system). This trichord, transposedin
mm. 62-64 (ex. 4), re-createsthe pattern of the
lowest pitches in the first three measures of the
piece (andtheir repetition in mm. 47-49). Both
transpositions, like the initial version, are dis-
tributedin three-measureunits, drawingour at-
tention to the pattern itself and forcingus to re-
evaluate the significance of its earlier
statements. Looking closely at the three tri-
chords Brahms so clearly articulates, we note
that the seven pitch classes are those that are
common to D majorand B minor. Furthermore,
a set made up of the first pitch of each trichordis
an inversion of the original (ex. 7). As a result, if
the pitches of these crucial statements aregiven
horizontally, the resulting vertical trichords,
136
called i (x),prove to be inversions of the original
sets. The following diagramdemonstrates this
trichord complex and designates certain state-
ments of its elements.
i(x) i(x) i(x) occurrences
x E F# A mm. 58-60 (bass)
x DE G mm. 1-3, 47-49 (bass)
x B C# E mm. 62-64 (bass)
m. 63 (sopr.)
m. 62 (sopr.)
m. 59 (sopr.)
Late in the work we realize that much of the
music has been generatedfrom this trichordand
its variants:
trichordx = maj 2nd + min 3rd (set 3-7)
trichordy = min 2nd + maj 3rd (set 3-4)
trichordz = min 2nd + min 3rd (set 3-3)
Trichordsx and y and their inversions permeate
the piece (ex. 1, 4, 6).9 Trichordz provides the
lowest notes for the final (distorted)reference
(mm. 55-57) to the opening measures.
In readinga sentence by Jameswe must wait
until its completion to know how the parts fit
together, but we can always pause and reread
until the trajectory or trajectories are clear. In
listening to music we must hear a work again.
Although we continue to learn about the struc-
ture of any piece of music as it extends, in the
Intermezzo Brahms forces us to reappraiseand
reinterpretthe complex web of relationships to
an unusual degree. The Intermezzo does not
simply unfold. It grows by making constant ref-
erence to or commentary on what has come be-
fore, with an amazing concentration on in-
structing us about how the piece is made. As if
in an apprenticeshipto the work, we learn more
and more as it extends. This is an idea to which
we will return.
90nly the obvious occurrences of these trichords are
marked on exs. 1-4 and 6. Many of the pitches in the piece
can be generated from these sets. It is possible to segment m.
1, for example, to yield three x trichords (E-Ft-A, D-E-G,
A-B-D), three i (x) trichords (B-A-FO, A-G-E, E-D-B), one
y trichord (F#-G-B), and one i (y) trichord (G-F#-D).
 24
Example 6: mm. 24-30.
V mm. 1-3, 46-48
As we move to deeper levels of structure in
search of a "common structural trunk," let us
consider first the question of plot, applying to
the story a procedure developed by Tzvetan To-
dorov, another French structuralist and narrato-
logist, in his study of Boccaccio's Decameron.
Perceiving what he terms a "profound analogy
. . . between categories of language and those of
narrative," Todorov draws a correlation be-
tween the elements of a narrative and the parts
of a sentence: characters correspond to nouns,
their attributes to adjectives, and their actions
to verbs. Thus Todorov can represent plot as a
series of propositions, each of which has the
form of a clause. From his analysis of the Deca-
meron, he finds,
The minimal complete plot can be seen as the shift
from one equilibrium to another.... The two mo-
ments of equilibrium, similar and different,are sepa-
ratedby a period of imbalance.10
If we reduce James's story to a three-part se-
quence, closely following the pattern of one of
Todorov's examples, the result might read:
Owen violates family tradition--
Owen's family punishes Owen--_
Owen dies to atone
(The arrows indicate a causal relationship between
successive units.)
'0Tzvetan Todorov, "Structural Analysis of Narrative,"
Novel: A Forum on Fiction (1969), 70-76; rpt. in Contem-
porary Literary Criticism, ed. Robert Con Davis (New York,
1986), pp. 327-28. In this essay Todorov summarizes his
more extensive study of Boccaccio's Decameron, which un-
derlies aspects of our methodology: Grammaire du Deca-
meron (The Hague, 1969).
28 JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
Brahms and
Henry James
mm. 58-60 mm. 62-64
i(x)
Atu I I I
go# r
x --
x
x
Example 7: Trichords, mm. 1-3, 58-60, 62-64.
Following Todorov's explanation of stories
with similar deep structures, we can say that
the initial state of equilibrium is broken by
Owen's violation of tradition (his statement of
his desire not to continue in a military career).
As a result his family punishes him: his living
relatives "cut off his supplies-they're trying to
starve him out" (p. 292); Kate Julian, the woman
he has probably been expected to marry, tells
him "such conduct doesn't begin to be that of a
gentleman" (p. 308); the portrait of his great-
great-grandfather glowers at him, "fairly stirs
on the canvas, just heaves a little, when [he]
come[s] near it" (p. 297); presumably the great-
great-grandfather's ghost carries out the sen-
tence of execution. In dying, Owen atones for
his violation of tradition, restoring a similar but
different state of equilibrium.
The sequence of clauses to which we have re-
duced the plot conforms to the narrated events
at every point. Yet most readers of "Owen Win-
grave" would question whether the resultant
interpretation-that Owen's death is his pun-
ishment for having violated family tradition-
137
 19TH completely expresses their response to the sto-
CENTURY
MUSIC ry's ending. Is punishment for a sin the only way
to understandOwen's death?
Let us reduce the story again, this time to a
different sequence of clauses:
Owenis a bravesoldier+
Owen'sfamilybelieveshe lackscourage+
Owendieslike a bravesoldier
(The"+ "indicatesthatunitsaresuccessivewithout
implyingcausality.)
This time we start with an attribute,Owen's ap-
titude for the military, which is emphasized
throughout the story. Coyle, whose profession
is "to make soldiers," says that "as regards
Owen Wingrave,there's no 'making'needed ...
to my sense he is, in a high sense of the term, a
fighting man" (p.308). In this second sequence,
also closely modeled upon one of Todorov's,the
characterdoes not change but the perception of
him does: Owen's family interpretshis desireto
leave the military as an indication of weakness
on his part. In agreeing to be locked up for the
night in the room haunted by his great-great-
grandfather,Owen finds a way to demonstrate
his courage,a demonstrationthat is all the more
heroic because he has already spent the pre-
vious night there. As Coyle perceives the situa-
tion, Owen shows his
readinessto faceGodknewwhatunholystrain-an
exposurethe moretryingto excitedsensibilitiesas
thepoorboyhadnowlearnedbythe ordealofthepre-
viousnighthow resolutean efforthe shouldhaveto
make(p.318).
In this second sequence the equilibrium is be-
tween the similar but different states repre-
sented by Owen as courageous and alive at the
beginning of the story and, at the end, coura-
geous anddead.Owen Wingravewins his grave.l1
This sequence too, like the first one, is sup-
ported by the factual data of the story. To-
dorov'smethod, which he developedas a way to
analyze and representthe relatively simple nar-
ratives of the Decameron, offersus a way to ana-
lyze and demonstrate the far greater narrative
"LeonEdelnotes in the name "Wingrave"a suggestionthat
Owen is "capable of winning his grave." See The Henry
JamesReader,ed. Leon Edel (New York, 1965),p. 510.
138
complexity of James's story. Whereas Todorov
can represent the stories of the Decameron by a
single trajectory, James's story requires two tra-
jectories, which are not only different but con-
tradictory. In the first trajectory, Owen's family
is victorious; Owen's death represents his fami-
ly's victory over him. In the second, Owen is
victorious; his death represents his victory over
his family, his proof that it was a mistake to
doubt his courage. Which Wingraves win?
We begin to understand why the ending of
"Owen Wingrave" may seem unconvincing.
When James wrote a dramatized version of this
story as a one-act play in 1908, George Bernard
Shaw, who read it in manuscript, criticized the
conclusion in words that express most readers'
sense of dissatisfaction when they first discover
that James's ending makes of the ghost a spiri-
tus ex machina. Shaw wrote to James:
It is really a damnablesin to drawwith such consum-
mate art a houseful of rubbish,and a deadincubus of
a father waiting to be scrapped;to bringon for us the
hero with his torch and his scrappingshovel; and,
then, when the audience is saturatedwith interest
andelated with hope, waiting for the triumphandthe
victory, calmly announce that the rubbish has
choked the hero, and that the incubus is the really
strong master of all our souls. Why have you done
this?
James wrote to Shaw, "You simplify too
much,"12 and refused to change his ending. The
name of the protagonist offers an additional in-
dication that James is fully aware of the com-
plexities of the double trajectory. Since the
names James gives his characters often suggest
aspects of their personalities that will be devel-
oped during the story, or acts that will come to
symbolize their lives, Owen Wingrave's name
may represent both trajectories of our two se-
quences: owe and win grave. Owen wins his
grave according to our second trajectory, in
which he dies to prove his courage. He owes his
death in our first trajectory, in which he dies to
atone for violating family tradition.
However deceptive and unsatisfying the end-
ing may initially seem, the more we contem-
plate it the richer it appears. Owen does show
'2Quotedin Ghostly Tales of Henry James, ed. Leon Edel
(1949;rpt. New York, 1963),pp. 143, 144.
his courage in the manner of his death, but his
reward is insufficient for a traditional story
about a single-minded military hero. Con-
versely, Owen's family succeeds in holding
Owen to a military career, with its attendant
end in death on the battlefield-but the fami-
ly's goal is surely for him to die in defense of his
country, not of a bedroom in the family home.
The double trajectories on the level of plot ex-
press a complexity of thought and judgement
that we have come to expect in much twenti-
eth-century literature. On a structurallevel, the
double trajectories create a form that is teleo-
logical and closed, but in which the ending can-
not be as conclusive as in a work with one main
trajectory.For events to coincide with two dif-
ferent trajectories,and for a single conclusion to
bring to a stop two contradictory trajectories
constrain the events-and particularlythe final
events-to conform to both trajectories.Inher-
ent to such a structureis the requirementthat it
contain no event that strongly indicates the pri-
ority of one trajectoryover the other.
VI
Brahms also gives us double trajectories:D
major and B minor. The interplay between the
two tonalities is a central determinant of the
nature of the piece. Our use of the term "double
trajectories"may suggest parallels between our
approach and the theory of the "double-tonic
complex," introduced by Robert Bailey and re-
cently employed by Christopher Lewis. For
Lewis, "It is this pairingof tonics established so
that 'either one can serve as a representativeof
the tonic' that Bailey refers to as a double-tonic
complex."13According to our reading,the Inter-
mezzo does not fluctuate between keys, either
of which can serve as a tonic, but instead pro-
poses two tonalities, neither of which is estab-
lished as a definitive tonic until the final mo-
ments. What interests us most is the ambiguity
that results from Brahms'sinterlacing of two in-
timately related keys.
Although one of the two keys predominates
eventually, Brahmsis able to continue both the
'3ChristopherLewis, "Mirrorsand Metaphors:Reflections
on Schoenberg and Nineteenth-Century Tonality," this
journal 11 (1987), 29-30; Lewis is quoting from an unpub-
lished paper by Robert Bailey, "Das Lied von der Erde."
D-major and the B-minor trajectories through- JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
out most of the piece. This is possible because of Brahmsand
the common ground between the two keys- HenryJames
pitches and collections that can exist in either
tonality. Closely juxtaposeddetails of the pitch
organization can point first to one tonal pole
then the other. The pitch AK,for example, exists
in both keys, but A# is essential to B minor. As
an appoggiatura,however, AKloses much of its
power to define B, and when it is associated
with C~ in this work it always indicates D. In
other words, the leading tone of B minor is not
uncommon in the D-major trajectory. The
pitches CF and BI seem tied exclusively to D
majorin this piece; thus, the powerful C~ in m.
57 predicts the turn toward D major that fol-
lows. In the first half of the D-majormiddle sec-
tion (mm. 17-30), Gt and Bl are both of impor-
tance; both support D major while denying B
minor. But in the second half of the section
(mm. 31-43) Bl is eliminated, and G# is heard
only in m. 32. Thus, while the second partis sol-
idly in D, its pitches exist in the common
ground of D major / B minor. The creation of
these and other small "signs" allows the tonal
question to tilt rapidly from one trajectory to
the other, implying finally that both keys are
present duringmost of the piece.
Of the first eight measures only two (4 and 8)
clearly point to B minor, while two (6 and 7)just
as clearly proposeD major.The other four mea-
sures are tonally ambiguous, but tend to favor
the major key. Although the Ff minor that
evolves in mm. 12-16 can be interpretedas the
mediant of D major,a more convincing reading
is that it supports B minor. Nonetheless, the
passage is not simply a tonicization of minor v.
We hear it as a proposedbut unsuccessful solu-
tion to the tonal ambiguity of the first eleven
measures, an attempt to absorbthe melodic F#s
that refuse to give way to either B or D. This at
least partially explains why the F#-majorchord
on the final eighth note of the passage (m. 16),
which has the effect of a Picardythird, is not a
convincing dominant.
The second section of the deceptively typical
ternary form is in D. Without transition from
the F -majorchord that ends the first section, a
new material generatedfrom the trichordof the
opening bass notes (x)begins on a D-majortriad.
After the dissolution of the first statement of
the tune into chromatic tetrachordsthat dropto
139
 19TH a dominant of D, a second and considerablyal-
CINUICRY tered statement completes this section, the
longest of the piece. In the first half of the D-ma-
jor section (mm. 17-30), Brahms moves away
from the common groundbetween D majorand
B minor with the insistent GOs that push toward
the dominant of his major trajectory,and with
the Bbsof mm. 24-26. Within this D-majorsec-
tion, all of the pitches in mm. 17-23 are invari-
ant with the pitch collection of mm. 12-16, in
Fj minor. In the second half of the section, after
a repetition of two measures of the melody, the
pitches of mm. 33-43, still solidly in D major,
duplicate the collection of the ambiguous mm.
1-8. In fact, the top voice (beginningin m. 32) is
a transformation of the bass line of those first
eight measures (ex. 8). The middle section of the
piece, although it never cadences, is clearlyin D
major. Nonetheless, what at first seem to be
symmetrical halves are in fact quite different.
The first draws sharplyaway from the common
groundwith B minor to exploit a chromaticism
more typical of D major, while the second re-
turns to the pitches common to both keys, rein-
terpreting the pitches of the opening, and even
transformingmaterial from the beginningof the
piece.
Only in the final statement of the primary
material, beginning in m. 55, is the nature of the
structure finally determined.Brahmscould eas-
ily have closed the piece by alteringthe music of
the F#-minorsegment (mm. 12-16) to cadence
in B minor. This would have relegatedD major
to its customary mediant function, the ambigu-
ities of the earlier sections would be resolved,
and the double trajectorieswould collapse.
But Brahms does not allow D majorto be ab-
sorbed by B minor. In mm. 55-57 the final and
most radical treatment of the opening material
points to the subdominant of B, whereas mm.
58-60, which include the first of the important
bass transpositions of trichordx, move instead
towardD. The eighth measure from the end (m.
60) presents the strongest dominant of D in the
work. At this point, although the closure might
not seem entirely satisfactory, the piece could
end in D simply by resolving the right-hand
pitches of m. 61 into a D-major triad in m. 62.
This solution would produce symmetrical six-
teen-barsections framingthe middle portion of
the form. But an A# on the last beat of m. 61 in-
terferes, and the second of the bass trichord
140
statements underpinsthree measures of ambig-
uous harmony (mm. 62-64). Again the piece
could end in D major after m. 65, in which the
altered figure borrowed from m. 2 is almost
identical to that of m. 61, but this time, afterthe
At again replaces the A, a seventh pitch in the
descending-thirdseries finally leaves us on a B.
A repetition of the B-minortriadin the last mea-
sure, after the right-handpitches resolve, rein-
forces the finality of the chord.
Brahms leaves the tonal question hanging
until the last chord, a triad that sounds twelve
measures after the final convincing statement
of its dominant. The D-major trajectory con-
tinues until that final chord. Like the James
story, the Intermezzo dependsupon nuance and
subtle "reading";it is the maintenance of the
double trajectorythat both necessitates andval-
idates the complexity of the work.
VII
The two trajectories distinguished at the
level of the sentence were those of the event and
the perception of the event. Both trajectories
have their parallel in the deeperstructureof the
story as a whole. The narrative structure that
Jamesis recognized for having developed in his
late works consists of a sequence of events anda
sequential perception of them, as two simulta-
neous processes. In James'slate work, including
"Owen Wingrave,"the readeris given what the
central consciousness (in this story, Spencer
Coyle) hears and sees, and also what he thinks
and feels in response to what he perceives.14
Dramatizing the event, as James terms his
method, means presenting most of the informa-
tion through conversations between the central
consciousness and generally one other charac-
ter.
Thus the reader and Coyle receive much of
their information simultaneously. The reader
hears and sees every word of the conversations
and every gesture that Coyle perceives. In addi-
tion, the readeris also given what Coyle thinks
and feels in response to the trajectoryof events,
'4Intwo passagesin the opening pages, "Owen Wingrave,"
although relatively late in James's corpus, escapes the
greaterrigorof the method in some of the last works;Coyle
at home alone and Owen in the Londonparkare described
directly, ratherthan as perceivedby anothercharacter.
 JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
Brahmsand
HenryJames

0
O1.

141
 19TH information that is inserted both within andbe-
CENTURY tween the individual conversations.
MUSIC
Reading, one perceives both trajectories si-
multaneously: watching the events unroll, and
also watching Coyle watch them unroll. A very
long sentence near the end of the story offersan
example. Note that Coyle discovers what has
happened by perceiving Kate Julian's response
to it, while we learn about it by watching Coy-
le's response.
At a turnofoneofthepassages[Coyle]cameuponthe
whitefigureofa girlin a swoonon a bench,andin the
vividnessof the revelationhe readas he went that
KateJulian,strickenin herpridetoo latewith a chill
of compunctionfor what she had mockinglydone,
had,aftercomingto releasethe victim of her deri-
sion, reeledaway,overwhelmed,fromthe catastro-
phe that was her work--the catastrophethat the
next moment he found himself aghastat on the
thresholdof anopendoor(pp.318-19).
In this climactic passage, it is the perception of
the event that is heightened emotionally, not
the event itself.
In a comparative study of the perception of
music and literature, EdwardT. Cone outlines
three stages of reading and rereading,taking as
his example one of the stories about Sherlock
Holmes. According to Cone's schema, after an
initial linear reading that follows the sequence
of the telling to discoverwhat has happened,the
readermoves to a second stage in which he ana-
lyzes the sequence of the telling to determine
its relationship to the sequence in which the
events occurred, a sequence remembered and
reconstructed from the earlier reading.In what
Cone proposes as an ideal third stage of reading,
the process of thought is portrayed as double
diachronic linearities of experience and mem-
ory; the readeris fully attentive to the sequence
of the telling, while suppressing memory suf-
ficiently to retain as much excitement as possi-
ble.15
If we attempt to re-createCone's three stages
of reading, adopting "Owen Wingrave"as our
"EdwardT. Cone, "Three Ways of Reading a Detective
Story-or a Brahms Intermezzo," Georgia Review 31
(1977), 554-74. Cone also uses the term "a double trajec-
tory" (p. 558), not as we do to describea structuraltype (an
aspectof a work)but to representthe doublediachronicline-
arities of the third stage of reading(apatternof perception).
142
text, the obstructions that arise in the endeavor
can illuminate the complexity inherent in the
double trajectory.To readJames'sstory initially
merely to discover what has happenedis unre-
warding; the density of the language precludes
rapidreading,and the ending producesas many
questions as answers. An analytical reading of
James's story most resembles the reading of a
detective story, a genre that characteristically
portrays its events as two separable,although
sometimes overlapping, chronological se-
quences: one series of events that culminates in
a crime, and another series that leads to its de-
tection. Since both of these sequences in a de-
tective story are easily understood in initial
readings, to suppress the memory of them can
add excitement to later readings. In James's
story, however, since no clear idea of what has
happenedis ever available,and since the percep-
tion of the event, not the event itself, is height-
ened emotionally, a third stage of readingis no
more successful than an initial reading. In
"Owen Wingrave,"the text instructs the reader
to move to an analytical mode, on the first and
any subsequent readings.
Cone's primarymusical example is Brahms's
Intermezzo, op. 118, no. 1, which he readsas if it
were a mystery story in which the mystery is
the detection of the tonic. Although the first
reading identifies the tonic, it is only after fol-
lowing a number of false "leads"that one even
recognizes that a mystery exists. In a second an-
alytical stage, the tonal relationships are cla-
rified and the piece can be seen as a unified
structure, but the mystery fails to materialize.
The third stage, in which a portion of the analy-
sis is suppressed, allows us to appreciate the
mystery, this time informed by an understand-
ing of the terms of its projection. Cone finds es-
sential to a successful hearing of op. 118, no. 1,
the ambiguity that results from the fact that
harmonic functions and tonal relationships
emerge in specific contexts in time, while real-
izing that the ambiguity dissolves when, with
the insight gained from analysis, the mystery in
all its facets is solved.
In op. 119, no. 1, however, Brahmshas done
more than exploit ambiguities inherent in the
temporal progression. The intensity of his ma-
nipulation of ambiguous relationships in this
piece results in a structure that cannot be re-
duced to a single tonal trajectory.The piece is
not analogous to a mystery story; its B-minor
ending is not surprising, nor does it "solve" is-
sues raised by the music that precedes it. By
maintaining both the B and D trajectories,
Brahms has created indeterminacies that analy-
sis cannot resolve without destroying not only
the enjoyment but the very identity of the
piece.'6 Induced to engage in a series of analyti-
cal readings, the listener is not given solutions
that resolve the ambiguities, but rather is in-
structed how to appreciate their beauty as well
as the depth of their significance to the struc-
ture of the piece.
Todorov discusses "the representation of the
process of learning [which] reaches its apotheo-
sis in the work of a Henry James . . . where we
are often told only the apprenticeship process
without ever learning anything at all."'7 In the
story, both the trajectory of the sequence of
events and the trajectory of Coyle's perception
of the events can be discerned. The apprentice-
ship process through which Coyle learns to un-
derstand the events he is perceiving represents
our experience as we read the story, and as we
listen to the Brahms piece. Although ultimately
the Intermezzo is in B minor, and "Owen Win-
grave" is a ghost story, to perceive them only as
such is to lose the very richness and ambiguity
on which their value rests. The double trajecto-
ries of both works undermine the stable posi-
tion of the perceiver in the causal, teleological
universe of a single-trajectory work, forcing the
reader and the listener to attend to the details in
the way Coyle attends to the details of what he
perceives. In an apprenticeship like Coyle's, we
learn how to perceive the story and the piece as
we read and listen to them.
VIII
Viewed historically, the double trajectory
may be seen as a transitional structure, one that
allows the introduction of a high degree of insta-
16Weare arguing against readings that validate a single tonal
interpretation. Dunsby, for instance, marks the harmony of
the opening measures of op. 119, no. 1, as if they were in B
minor and summarizes the form as two B-minor sections
flanking the D-major middle section (pp. 89-91, 101). Even
though Dunsby's discussion of the piece stresses its ambi-
guities, he insists on resolving the tonal question, reading
the piece as a mystery story (to be solved).
'7Tzvetan Todorov, Introduction to Poetics (1968, 1973),
trans. Richard Howard (Minneapolis, 1981), pp. 57-58.
bility in a form that still remains closed. It is JORDAN/
KAFALENOS
characterized by a weakened closure that Brahms and
lessens the finality of its conclusion, and by a Henry James
degree of density that demands great attentive-
ness to detail. Commenting on an earlier ver-
sion of this study, Lawrence Kramer raises the
question of how these works, and others of the
period that are similar in their degree of density
and ambiguity, "give a stylistic impression of
insistent, even exaggerated continuity."18 We
propose that the solution, at least for these
works, lies in the manner in which the two tra-
jectories are combined.
Recent approaches to narratology suggest
that sequences or trajectories may be combined
in addition to simply linking one after another,
either by embedding one within another, or al-
ternating parts of one with parts of the other.19
Embedding creates a hierarchy of container over
the contained; alternating creates gaps and dis-
continuities. In twentieth-century works one
often finds the discontinuities of alternating
patterns, or of an embedding that escapes hier-
archy by reversing it: the container holds the
contained, which also holds the container. In
our two works, however, with their "insistent
continuity," neither pattern seems to apply. In-
stead, in the James story and the Brahms piece,
both trajectories which make up each double
trajectory seem simultaneous and unbroken.
We demonstrate this pattern perhaps most
clearly with reference to the double trajectories
we have just been discussing in the story: the
trajectory of events and the trajectory of the per-
ception of events. Every perception Coyle gives
us adds to our information about the events;
everything we learn about the events is given to
us as one of Coyle's perceptions. Each moment
of the story adds simultaneously to both trajec-
tories.
In the Brahms piece too, the same material
conveys both trajectories. Most of the pitches
and many of the tonal constructs in B minor and
D major are identical. In more traditional tonal
works, the combination of pitch collection and
ordering guides us in the determination of key.
In this work, as we have seen, we lack the most
singly significant of such relationships, the
"In a letter to the authors, 2 June 1987.
9Todorov, Introduction to Poetics, pp. 52-53.
143
19TH dominant-to-tonic cadence. Even those pitches
CENTURY
that in other contexts would denote one key or
the other, in this piece raise the question of
whether to interpret them as decorative in one
key or as indicative of the other. Even at the
level of plot in the James story, our third deep-
structure double trajectory, the pattern of si-
multaneous trajectories holds. What indicates
to one perceiverthat Owen is very brave,for ex-
ample, indicates to someone else that Owen is
demonstrating a lack of courage.In each pair of
trajectories,in all three cases, every event con-
tributes to the ongoing process of both trajecto-
ries. The ambiguity created by the double tra-
jectory, while still avoiding the discontinuity of
twentieth-century patterns, places the "com-
mon structural trunk" of our two
works exactly at the end .
of the nineteenth century. .

IN OUR NEXT ISSUE(SPRING1990)

ARTICLES EVANBAKER:The Scene Designs for the FirstPerformance

of Carmen

DOLORESPESCE:Liszt's Annees de Plerinage, Book 3:

A "Hungarian" Cycle?

MARY SUE MORROW:Of Unity and Passion: The Aesthetics

of Concert Criticism in Early Nineteenth-Century Vienna

SCOTTBURNHAM:Criticism, Faith, and the Idee:

A. B. Marx's Early Reception of Beethoven

REVIEWS By David Grayson,JohnDaverio, LawrenceLevine,

and Piero Weiss

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