They are merely little pieces—a “tour de force” in polyphonic
ingenuity; music rejoicing in its own inherent vitality. Accepted
in this spirit they are invigorating and charming.
The form in which polyphonic skill reaches its highest possibil-
ities is the Fugue; and the immortal examples of this form are
the Fugues of John Sebastian Bach, found in hisWell-tempered
Clavichordand in his mighty works for the organ. The funda-
mental structure of a fugue is implied in the term itself (from
the Latin “fuga”—flight); that is, in a fugue the main theme or
subject is always announced in a single voice, and the remaining
voices, appearing successively in accordance with definite prin-
ciples of key-relationship, seem to chase each other about and
to flee from pursuit. The several stratified entrances of the sub-
ject are relieved by intermediate passages called “Episodes.” An
Episode, as shown by the derivation ([Greek: ipi hodos], by the
way), is something off the beaten path—a digression; and it is in
these episodical portions of a fugue rather than in the formalis-
tic portions that the genius of the composer shines forth. This is
especially true of Bach, for almost any well-trained musician can
invent a subject which will allow of satisfactory fugal treatment
according to accepted usage; but no one save Bach has ever in-
vented such free and fanciful episodes—so daring in scope and
yet so closely connected with the main thought. The general ef-
fect of a fugue iscumulative: a massing and piling up of voices
that lead to a carefully designed conclusion which, in some of
Bach’s organ fugues, is positively overwhelming. A fugue may
be called a mighty crescendo, like the sound of many waters.
There is a popular conception, or rathermisconception, that a
fugue is a labored, dull or even “dry” form of composition, meant
only as an exhibition of pedantic skill, and quite beyond the
reach of ordinary musical appreciation. Nothing is farther from
the truth, as a slight examination of musical literature will show.
For we see that the fugal form has been used to express well-
nigh every form of human emotion, the sublime, the tragic, the
romantic; very often the humorous and the fantastic. When we
recall the irresistible sparkle and dash of Mozart’sMagic Flute
Overture, of the Overture to theBartered Bride by Smetana,
of the Finale of Mozart’sJupiter Symphony, and of many of
the fugues in theWell-tempered Clavichord, it is evident that to
call a fugue “dry” is an utter abuse of language. It is true that
there are weak, artificial and dull fugues, where the composer—
frankly—had nothing to say and merely filled out the form; but