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Example 3. Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2010, MS. M. Deneke Mendelssohn c.101, p.1

Figure 2 Example 3. Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2010, MS. M. Deneke Mendelssohn c.101, p.1

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Example 1. Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2010, MS. M. Deneke Mendelssohn c.101, p. 1
Example 1. Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2010, MS. M. Deneke Mendelssohn c.101, p. 1
[14] The physical contiguity of the elements of the manuscript never obscures the message of the composition. Although the watercolor bleeds into the score, complicating the borders and even slightly obscuring the key signature, the straightforward structure of the musical phrasing begins with a simple trajectory as if there were no complexity, reiterating perfectly the emotior of the watercolor. The tonic key, F¥, is instantly established by the first chord and affirmed by a repeated drone-like low F¥ in the bass. The melodic range of the vocal part is limited to between an Ef and the F# a minor ninth above, and there are few leaps ot disjunctions. The contour of the melodic line is smooth and flowing, the meter is in a lilting 6/8, and the tempo is slow, in the style of a gently rocking lullaby. With the modulation to the major at the conclusion of the piece, Mendelssohn conjures 2 nostalgic mood of melancholy that echoes the watercolor and ends with a sweet uplift. The work is imbued, like the image of ar empty landscape, with a sense of reminiscence, just as the subject of Lenau’s poem also recalls a past object of his affection.
[14] The physical contiguity of the elements of the manuscript never obscures the message of the composition. Although the watercolor bleeds into the score, complicating the borders and even slightly obscuring the key signature, the straightforward structure of the musical phrasing begins with a simple trajectory as if there were no complexity, reiterating perfectly the emotior of the watercolor. The tonic key, F¥, is instantly established by the first chord and affirmed by a repeated drone-like low F¥ in the bass. The melodic range of the vocal part is limited to between an Ef and the F# a minor ninth above, and there are few leaps ot disjunctions. The contour of the melodic line is smooth and flowing, the meter is in a lilting 6/8, and the tempo is slow, in the style of a gently rocking lullaby. With the modulation to the major at the conclusion of the piece, Mendelssohn conjures 2 nostalgic mood of melancholy that echoes the watercolor and ends with a sweet uplift. The work is imbued, like the image of ar empty landscape, with a sense of reminiscence, just as the subject of Lenau’s poem also recalls a past object of his affection.
{40} Thus, Mendelssohn anticipates Liszt's sentiments about the organicism of the “gradual dissolve, and even, in miniature, foreshadows Wagner’s attempts at a grand “reunification of the arts” (Wagner quoted in Démling 1994, 8). Unlike a Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk, however, in which each of the forms of expression under his direction—including dramatic direction, music, and stage design—was intended for presentation to a large audience in a single theatrical performance, Mendelssohn’s illustrated score was not intended for presentation in a public venue. Indeed, in any but an intimate performance of the song, perhaps with friends gathered around the parlor piano, the watercolor and the calligraphy could not be observed by any listener apart from the performer herself. (18) Conversely, the recent exhibition that featured the unique Schi/flied in a glass case at the Bodleian Library of Oxford University excluded a performance of the music. Either manner of presentation obscures a key element of Schitflied; yet, for the reasons discussed above, the expressive qualities of whichever media are concealed in performance or exhibition are still infused into the presentable element, performing a sort of silent accompaniment, at least for any performer who uses the original manuscript, such as Henriette Keyl. In this way, it recalls a fashion line designed by Stella McCartney described by David Owen as “a series of satin-and-crépe dresses in which the satin was all on the inside, hidden from view: it was intended solely for the pleasure of the wearer” (Owen 2001, 137-138). The inlay of McCartney’s dress, though invisible, still affects how the model “performs” the wearing; the secrecy of the satin confers a sort of exclusive intimacy between designer and model. Although the public may detect that there is something unusual about the dress, only an intimate few—the model, the designer, and perhaps others who have had the chance to examine the dress themselves—are conscious of the entire design and acquainted with its exclusive secrets. It is just so with Mendelssohn’s work, a performance of which will hint at, but will not ultimately reveal to the uninitiated audience, the organic integration of the arts that is achieved in the manuscript.
{40} Thus, Mendelssohn anticipates Liszt's sentiments about the organicism of the “gradual dissolve, and even, in miniature, foreshadows Wagner’s attempts at a grand “reunification of the arts” (Wagner quoted in Démling 1994, 8). Unlike a Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk, however, in which each of the forms of expression under his direction—including dramatic direction, music, and stage design—was intended for presentation to a large audience in a single theatrical performance, Mendelssohn’s illustrated score was not intended for presentation in a public venue. Indeed, in any but an intimate performance of the song, perhaps with friends gathered around the parlor piano, the watercolor and the calligraphy could not be observed by any listener apart from the performer herself. (18) Conversely, the recent exhibition that featured the unique Schi/flied in a glass case at the Bodleian Library of Oxford University excluded a performance of the music. Either manner of presentation obscures a key element of Schitflied; yet, for the reasons discussed above, the expressive qualities of whichever media are concealed in performance or exhibition are still infused into the presentable element, performing a sort of silent accompaniment, at least for any performer who uses the original manuscript, such as Henriette Keyl. In this way, it recalls a fashion line designed by Stella McCartney described by David Owen as “a series of satin-and-crépe dresses in which the satin was all on the inside, hidden from view: it was intended solely for the pleasure of the wearer” (Owen 2001, 137-138). The inlay of McCartney’s dress, though invisible, still affects how the model “performs” the wearing; the secrecy of the satin confers a sort of exclusive intimacy between designer and model. Although the public may detect that there is something unusual about the dress, only an intimate few—the model, the designer, and perhaps others who have had the chance to examine the dress themselves—are conscious of the entire design and acquainted with its exclusive secrets. It is just so with Mendelssohn’s work, a performance of which will hint at, but will not ultimately reveal to the uninitiated audience, the organic integration of the arts that is achieved in the manuscript.
[24] In 1950, Hindemith took this playful approach one step further. As a gift for the fiftieth birthday of his wife Gertrud, whc was born under the astrological sign Leo, the lion, Hindemith decorated a printed copy of the score with hundreds of lions ir the margins.(3) On the cover, he dedicates the manuscript, in Latin, “Ad Pirolem,”’ or “to Pirol,’ alluding to one of his affectionate nicknames for Gertrud.@4) The manusctipt, which he re-titled Ludi Leonum, presents the lions engaging in a variety of exuberant activities, illustrated in bright colored pencil: waltzing, drinking beer, studying astronomy, strewing flowers from < basket, driving cars, and more. Although certainly amusing, the images are not simply light-hearted marginalia. Hindemith ofter stressed the importance of understanding the theoretical foundation of a composition before attempting to communicate it “Now something that cannot be understood by the analysis of a musician, making every conceivable allowance for individua characteristics, cannot possibly be more convincing to the naive listener” (Hindemith 1942, 2). Thus, the illustrated lions serve as a sort of gloss to the original composition that delineates formal elements, reveals hidden musical and visual relationships, anc suggests vatious performance techniques. The lions form a complex and nuanced semiological system, serving both as signs arbitrarily chosen, that indicate key structural points and provide a sort of pedagogical theoretical analysis, and as symbols images with some direct visual connection between the activities of the lions and the specific performance style to be evoked. 25 The coupling of the images with conventional musical notation accentuates the semiological nature of musical notation itself and, by association, of Hindemith’s music theory and performance interpretation.26) Whereas Mendelssohn’s manuscrip' emphasized the organic unity established by the relationship between the music, the handwriting, and the watercolor image Hindemith’s manuscript highlights the syntax, grammar, and architecture of the musical composition with the lion cartoons. 2”)
[24] In 1950, Hindemith took this playful approach one step further. As a gift for the fiftieth birthday of his wife Gertrud, whc was born under the astrological sign Leo, the lion, Hindemith decorated a printed copy of the score with hundreds of lions ir the margins.(3) On the cover, he dedicates the manuscript, in Latin, “Ad Pirolem,”’ or “to Pirol,’ alluding to one of his affectionate nicknames for Gertrud.@4) The manusctipt, which he re-titled Ludi Leonum, presents the lions engaging in a variety of exuberant activities, illustrated in bright colored pencil: waltzing, drinking beer, studying astronomy, strewing flowers from < basket, driving cars, and more. Although certainly amusing, the images are not simply light-hearted marginalia. Hindemith ofter stressed the importance of understanding the theoretical foundation of a composition before attempting to communicate it “Now something that cannot be understood by the analysis of a musician, making every conceivable allowance for individua characteristics, cannot possibly be more convincing to the naive listener” (Hindemith 1942, 2). Thus, the illustrated lions serve as a sort of gloss to the original composition that delineates formal elements, reveals hidden musical and visual relationships, anc suggests vatious performance techniques. The lions form a complex and nuanced semiological system, serving both as signs arbitrarily chosen, that indicate key structural points and provide a sort of pedagogical theoretical analysis, and as symbols images with some direct visual connection between the activities of the lions and the specific performance style to be evoked. 25 The coupling of the images with conventional musical notation accentuates the semiological nature of musical notation itself and, by association, of Hindemith’s music theory and performance interpretation.26) Whereas Mendelssohn’s manuscrip' emphasized the organic unity established by the relationship between the music, the handwriting, and the watercolor image Hindemith’s manuscript highlights the syntax, grammar, and architecture of the musical composition with the lion cartoons. 2”)
[27] The lions of Ludi Leonum simply and directly illustrate this intricate fugal structure. Each of the subjects is paired with a lion’s face of a different color—the first is yellow, the second is red, and the third is green, with lighter shades of the respective colors filling in the outlines. These appear at the beginning of each subject’s entrance. By manipulating and repeating these images at appropriate places in the score, Hindemith lays to rest any confusion or ambiguity about the compositional form, performing a detailed analysis on the manuscript itself for any theorist or musician who may seek to decipher the structure. The signs also reveal subtle or even opaque musical relationships. For example, in the final simultaneous combination of subject entrances in measure 46, Hindemith colors in each lion’s face with a shade previously reserved for another subject: the green lion is colored with red, the red lion with yellow, and the yellow lion with green (see Example 9). In this way, he emphasizes that the subjects are comprised of different permutations of the same musical elements. Hindemith uses the lions as a pedagogical device to point to structures requiring a student’s attention, much as a teacher may circle a passage that he wishes a student to reconsider or examine in greater depth.
[27] The lions of Ludi Leonum simply and directly illustrate this intricate fugal structure. Each of the subjects is paired with a lion’s face of a different color—the first is yellow, the second is red, and the third is green, with lighter shades of the respective colors filling in the outlines. These appear at the beginning of each subject’s entrance. By manipulating and repeating these images at appropriate places in the score, Hindemith lays to rest any confusion or ambiguity about the compositional form, performing a detailed analysis on the manuscript itself for any theorist or musician who may seek to decipher the structure. The signs also reveal subtle or even opaque musical relationships. For example, in the final simultaneous combination of subject entrances in measure 46, Hindemith colors in each lion’s face with a shade previously reserved for another subject: the green lion is colored with red, the red lion with yellow, and the yellow lion with green (see Example 9). In this way, he emphasizes that the subjects are comprised of different permutations of the same musical elements. Hindemith uses the lions as a pedagogical device to point to structures requiring a student’s attention, much as a teacher may circle a passage that he wishes a student to reconsider or examine in greater depth.
[26] After an episode composed of repetitions of the first half of the second subject (measures 30-34), Hindemith introduces all of the subjects simultaneously, with the second subject in the upper voice, the first subject in the middle voice, and the third subject in the lower voice. In measure 38, Hindemith rotates the simultaneous entrances of the subjects; the third subject moves up to the soprano, while the other two subjects shift down a voice. In measure 43, Hindemith preserves the same order of rotation, yet in measure 46, in the final simultaneous combination of all subjects, he uses the same arrangement as in measure 38. After a final statement of all three subjects, the piece ends slowly and quietly with a coda that leads to a final C in three different octaves.
[26] After an episode composed of repetitions of the first half of the second subject (measures 30-34), Hindemith introduces all of the subjects simultaneously, with the second subject in the upper voice, the first subject in the middle voice, and the third subject in the lower voice. In measure 38, Hindemith rotates the simultaneous entrances of the subjects; the third subject moves up to the soprano, while the other two subjects shift down a voice. In measure 43, Hindemith preserves the same order of rotation, yet in measure 46, in the final simultaneous combination of all subjects, he uses the same arrangement as in measure 38. After a final statement of all three subjects, the piece ends slowly and quietly with a coda that leads to a final C in three different octaves.
[29] Indeed, this is not the only occurrence in Hindemith’s work in which architecture is used as a metaphor for composition. In a passage of The Craft of Musical Composition, Hindemith writes about the relationship between music and architecture more generally: various intervals. 2) Hindemith’s illustration serves as a direct visual translation of the fugue: each of the three horizontal levels of bricks represents a different voice, each of the bricks corresponds to the duration of a measure, and each of the lions signifies a subject entrance.60) Thus, Hindemith compares the structure of a fugue to a specific famous architectural form similarly constructed in layers and composed of motivic repetition (see Example 12).
[29] Indeed, this is not the only occurrence in Hindemith’s work in which architecture is used as a metaphor for composition. In a passage of The Craft of Musical Composition, Hindemith writes about the relationship between music and architecture more generally: various intervals. 2) Hindemith’s illustration serves as a direct visual translation of the fugue: each of the three horizontal levels of bricks represents a different voice, each of the bricks corresponds to the duration of a measure, and each of the lions signifies a subject entrance.60) Thus, Hindemith compares the structure of a fugue to a specific famous architectural form similarly constructed in layers and composed of motivic repetition (see Example 12).
Ule MUsle ala aDOUl NOW it sHOUld DE Pperrormimned, 1 We boisterous “Fuga Secunda in G,’ Hindemith depicts lions celebrating, each wearing a different hat and in a different dancing posture. When the fugue subjects appear in sfreffo, as in measures 24—25, the lions hold hands, indicating that the performer should overlap the two entrances. Similarly, in measure 59, Hindemith illustrates a lion wearing a Turkish fez and standing on the bottom rung of a ladder, located at the subject entrance in the middle voice (see Example 14). The lion reappears in the subject entrance in measure 61, drinking a bottle of wine on the middle rung, and in measure 63 he is shown at the top of the ladder, reeling back and forth. In measure 65, he tumbles off the ladder, landing on his back when the subject enters in the bass in measure 6( He rolls onto his left side when the subject enters in the same voice in a new metrical position again halfway through measure 6§ and then onto his right side in measure 71. At the final entrance, in measure 73, the lion leaps away, casting the ladder asid behind him. Thus, the performer is invited to imagine the voice as “climbing” while it ascends by intervals of two semitones i measures 59-63, and then as “falling” down to the bass in measure 65, where it “rests” on the same tone (G) for the next thre entrances, “rolling” between different parts of the meter, until it “leaps” away with the closing gesture of the piece. These sets o images interact as a type of playful counterpoint to the musical tones, seeming to demonstrate how the music works throug their costumes and gestures. 32) The ludic interaction between music and image perfectly embodies the wordplay of the origin: (click to enlarge) Latin title, as well as the light-hearted humor yet serious theoretical purpose of Ludus Tonalis. 3) [34] Later in his career, Hindemith began to recognize that these types of visual games could entirely supplant the traditional compositional process, replacing musical creativity with what he saw as superficial notational games derived from visual rather than musical relationships. 65) In A Composers World, reflecting once again upon pedagogy in the chapter entitled “Education,” Hindemith wrote derisively about the student composer who is duped into thinking he has written a composition simply by the impressive visual appearance of a fully notated score: [T]he further creative inclination of a youth inexperienced in practical music normally is the desire to express himself in some way or another. The ordinary urge to put something on paper is most readily attracted by notation symbols. Their being distinctly remote from the banalities of written language symbols, the widespread talismanic belief that by some power of their own they may turn from a vague conception into a work of art, and finally the pictorial satisfaction they give to people otherwise lacking the gift of drawing or painting—all these factors make the writing of notation symbols, following some self-imposed rules of combination, the ideal
Ule MUsle ala aDOUl NOW it sHOUld DE Pperrormimned, 1 We boisterous “Fuga Secunda in G,’ Hindemith depicts lions celebrating, each wearing a different hat and in a different dancing posture. When the fugue subjects appear in sfreffo, as in measures 24—25, the lions hold hands, indicating that the performer should overlap the two entrances. Similarly, in measure 59, Hindemith illustrates a lion wearing a Turkish fez and standing on the bottom rung of a ladder, located at the subject entrance in the middle voice (see Example 14). The lion reappears in the subject entrance in measure 61, drinking a bottle of wine on the middle rung, and in measure 63 he is shown at the top of the ladder, reeling back and forth. In measure 65, he tumbles off the ladder, landing on his back when the subject enters in the bass in measure 6( He rolls onto his left side when the subject enters in the same voice in a new metrical position again halfway through measure 6§ and then onto his right side in measure 71. At the final entrance, in measure 73, the lion leaps away, casting the ladder asid behind him. Thus, the performer is invited to imagine the voice as “climbing” while it ascends by intervals of two semitones i measures 59-63, and then as “falling” down to the bass in measure 65, where it “rests” on the same tone (G) for the next thre entrances, “rolling” between different parts of the meter, until it “leaps” away with the closing gesture of the piece. These sets o images interact as a type of playful counterpoint to the musical tones, seeming to demonstrate how the music works throug their costumes and gestures. 32) The ludic interaction between music and image perfectly embodies the wordplay of the origin: (click to enlarge) Latin title, as well as the light-hearted humor yet serious theoretical purpose of Ludus Tonalis. 3) [34] Later in his career, Hindemith began to recognize that these types of visual games could entirely supplant the traditional compositional process, replacing musical creativity with what he saw as superficial notational games derived from visual rather than musical relationships. 65) In A Composers World, reflecting once again upon pedagogy in the chapter entitled “Education,” Hindemith wrote derisively about the student composer who is duped into thinking he has written a composition simply by the impressive visual appearance of a fully notated score: [T]he further creative inclination of a youth inexperienced in practical music normally is the desire to express himself in some way or another. The ordinary urge to put something on paper is most readily attracted by notation symbols. Their being distinctly remote from the banalities of written language symbols, the widespread talismanic belief that by some power of their own they may turn from a vague conception into a work of art, and finally the pictorial satisfaction they give to people otherwise lacking the gift of drawing or painting—all these factors make the writing of notation symbols, following some self-imposed rules of combination, the ideal
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