In Bach’s music it is not the character
of the
melody that stirs us, but rather the tracing of a particular line, often
indeed of several lines, whose meeting, whether by chance or design, makes
the appeal. Through this conception of ornament the music acquires an almost
mechanical precision of appeal to which the audience reacts.
Let no one think that there is anything unnatural or artificial in this. It is infinitely more “true” than the wretched whimperings and the tentative wailings of lyric drama. Above all, the music keeps all its dignity; it never lowers itself by truckling to the desire for sentimentality of those of whom it is said that “they do so love music”; with greater pride it compels their respect, if not their worship. It is most noticeable that no one was ever known to whistle Bach. Such lip service has not been denied to Wagner when the doors of the concert rooms are opened and the pampered prisoners are released from their padded seats and there is heard in the streets the cheerful whistling of the Spring Song from Die Walküre or of the opening phrase of Die Meistersinger. I am well aware that, for many people, this is the pinnacle of fame for music. One may, however, think otherwise without an excess of abnormality.
Claude Debussy
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