In teaching harmony, I have again and again been struck with the very inadequate attention given in most text-books to its tonal aspect—that is, to the relation of notes and chords, especially dissonances, to the tonic or key-note as well as one to another. It is with the view of emphasizing this aspect of the subject that the following notes have been written. Whether or not I have over-estimated its importance, I must leave it to my audience to decide; but at least it must be conceded that to study harmony without giving any attention to the question of tonality would be absurd—nay, would not be to study harmony at all.

The subject on which I am about to address you has been so often before the public of late, in one form or another, that I might well have hesitated to bring it forward again, were it not that its great importance—which I assume no one will question—gives me reason to hope that I may count on your patience while I lay before you certain aspects of it upon which I greatly desire to elicit opinion. The necessity for careful study of the scope and meaning of art, and of the duties which devolve upon its interpreters, becomes more pressing every day; and yet the number of those who undertake it is exceedingly small. This, at least, I infer from the fact that the majority of those who express themselves on the subjects in question speak as though there were no difficulties in the way—a sure sign that they have given little attention to the problems involved. My own sense of these difficulties is such that I have prepared this paper less as an assertion of personal views than as an incentive to discussion. With that end before me I have drawn largely on the opinions of great writers, feeling that truth would become visible in proportion to the number of variously coloured lights I could bring to bear.

In venturing to offer for your consideration a few thoughts on “Judgment and Taste with regard to Music,” I might almost take as my starting point, if not exactly as my motto, the words of the Laureate with regard, not to music, but to the spirit or tendency of the age generally:—

I propose to-night to trace the development of opera in broad outlines, not so much from a musical as from a dramatic point of view. It is my contention that music is capable of heightening and interpreting dramatic action and that it does not appear unnatural that the drama should be expressed by song in the place of speech. I mention this because some are of opinion that, inasmuch as music is not the usual form of human utterance, music-drama can never be more than an artistic anomaly, an essentially artificial form of drama striving to be natural, and that, therefore, the. artificiality of both_music-drama and opera being equal, the latter is to be preferred as being a more purely musical form of art. I think, on the contrary, that music-drama is natural.

Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen,—I must first of all apologize to you for presenting a paper which has been, I regret to say, very hastily prepared, owing to my recent severe illness, and to consequent pressure upon the time at my disposal. I must next ask you to believe that I approach my subject with great diffidence for two reasons—-firstly, the inability of any one mind to comprehend the various and multitudinous thoughts and ideas that must from time to time possess the soul of every true musician; and secondly, because of my personal inability to give adequate expression—even to my own views upon so difficult and delicate a matter as the consideration of the relative position of our Art-Science to the unenlightened or popular world.

The abundant leisure of Eastern life affords ample opportunity for the study of the curious customs, the cultured arts, the profound sciences of the people, who are never slow to extend to the Western, who dwells, though but for a few years, among them, the graciousness of their hospitality; and to open freely the treasure-houses wherein the stores of their learning lie hoarded. But you will well understand that difficulties innumerable impede the acquisition of exact information by those who are ignorant of the languages. So much of Eastern learning is traditional, so much of the practice is hereditary, that it is of first importance to acquire it only from those who are in the direct succession of knowledge. When they are discovered, and the necessary formal introductions have been accomplished in accordance with the rigour of native etiquette, a fresh difficulty arises which is in truth a very labour of Sisyphus, so often has the stone of knowledge to be rolled over the same ground. The interpreter must possess not only a good knowledge of English, but also a quick intelligence to grasp the technicalities of the subject, the double set of art terms used by the questioner and the questioned. In such a subject as music, where each can only use those terms with which he is familiar, you will easily understand the patience necessary to arrive at facts, the prolonged process of sifting to which all statements have to be subjected, and the almost indefinite postponement of conclusions.

Some weeks ago, a paper was read by Mr. Jacques on the “Composer's Intention,” and it struck me, while listening, that a great deal might be said from the composer's point of view to show how his intention might be worked out in his composition.

Your Council have done me the honour of inviting me to read a paper before you this evening, and have suggested as a subject “Fugal Structure.” It gives me very great pleasure to accede to their request. I presume that the choice of the subject proposed to me is due to my having recently published a book on Fugue, in which I have ventured to express views differing considerably in some respects from those to be found in most other text-books; and I think I may probably take it that I am virtually invited to explain and justify the position I have taken up. If this be so, I most willingly accept the challenge; for my only object is the truth, and there is everything to be gained by full and free discussion. I fear, however, that for those who have already read my book on Fugue, the present paper will present but little novelty; for it will necessarily be little more than an abstract of the contents of my volume. There is one advantage at least; it will furnish an opportunity for thrashing the subject out thoroughly; and I think it very probable that the discussion which I hope will follow my paper may prove to be the most interesting and profitable part of this evening's proceedings. In order to leave as much time as possible for discussion, I shall endeavour to condense what I have to say, as far as I can do so without sacrifice of clearness.