Volume 16, Number 3, August 2010 Copyright © 2010 Society for Music Theory Noting Images: Understanding the Illustrated Manuscripts of Mendelssohn’s Schilflied and Hindemith’s Ludus Tonalis Daniel K. S. Walden NOTE: The examples for the (text-only) PDF version of this item are available online at: http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.10.16.3/mto.10.16.3.walden.php KEYWORDS: Visual, illustration, score, Mendelssohn, Hindemith, Romanticism, organicism, metaphor, Modernism, semiotics ABSTRACT: Felix Mendelssohn and Paul Hindemith, composing about one hundred years apart, integrated visual elements, including drawings and illustrated notations, into musical manuscripts they designed as gifts for women they admired. The two documents, illustrating Mendelssohn’s Schilflied (1842) and Hindemith’s Ludus Tonalis (1942), are strong declarations of compositional and artistic ideology. This article examines the scores as reflecting, respectively, aspects of nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century conceptions of musical composition and form, and their relation to visual media. Received February 2010 [28] [1] Felix Mendelssohn and Paul Hindemith, composing about one hundred years apart, integrated visual elements, including drawings and illustrated notations, into musical manuscripts they designed as gifts for women they admired. The two documents, illustrating Mendelssohn’s Schilflied ( Reed Song , 1842) and Hindemith’s Ludus Tonalis (1942), are intended for use within a close circle of friends, family, or students, and are strong declarations of compositional and artistic ideology. Although there is a long history of musical scores coupled with graphic illustration—medieval illuminated manuscripts, Biber’s Mystery Sonatas, and contemporary graphic scores, for example—these manuscripts are unusual in that both the illustration and the conventional notation are in the hand of the same composer. Interpretation of these musical scores is enhanced by an understanding of the role played by the visual elements. Likewise, analysis of the illustrations should be coupled with a close examination of the music. (1) [2] Mendelssohn’s manuscript, a gift for his friend Henriette Keyl, features a watercolor depicting reeds in a reflective lake under a dark sky and full moon. (2) This scene, inspired by the poem that forms the text to Mendelssohn’s song, appears to the left of the first staff of the calligraphic copy of the score. The reeds in the watercolor, the stems of the notes, and the flowing cursive blend into each other and are reflected in the sinuous melody of the music; visual and aural elements of the work serve as metaphors for one another. Hindemith, on the other hand, makes a very different use of visual elements than Mendelssohn. His manuscript, a gift for his wife Gertrud, features numerous cartoon sketches of lions in a variety of poses and colors. The drawings of lions have nothing directly to do with the subject of the music, at least in the sense of evoking specific emotions that are analogues to the music, unlike the drawing of reeds in Mendelssohn’s manuscript. Instead, the lions operate as markers in a game and serve as guides to understanding the system behind the score. [3] In the study that follows, I will describe the manner in which these composers, writing a century apart, combine images and music as reflecting different styles of signification, that is to say, different semiotic strategies. For Mendelssohn, art could be expected to achieve innate organic form when the constituent parts of the artwork were linked by similarities that were understood to be natural, and not artificial. For Hindemith, it is convention and artifice that link the parts of a work together into an architectural, and therefore meaningful, construction. Mendelssohn’s Schilflied 1 of 15 [4] In 1845, Mendelssohn sent his illustrated manuscript of the song Schilflied to Henriette Keyl, the wife of a Frankfurt wine merchant. The work, composed in 1842, was a setting of the fifth poem in a series entitled Schilflieder written in 1832 by the Austrian poet Nikolaus Lenau. (3) The text and image depict a scene by a pond lit by moonlight and populated by reeds, which suggest “ ein süsses Deingedenken ” (“a sweet remembrance of you”). The text reads: Auf dem Teich, dem regungslosen, Weilt des Mondes holder Glanz, Flechtend seine bleichen Rosen In des Schilfes grünen Kranz. Hirsche wandeln dort am Hügel, Blicken durch die Nacht empor; Manchmal regt sich das Geflügel Träumerisch im tiefen Rohr. Weinend muß mein Blick sich senken; Durch die tiefste Seele geht Mir ein süßes Deingedenken, Wie ein stilles Nachtgebet! (4) Mendelssohn often sent musical compositions to acquaintances and colleagues. (5) He also occasionally sent illustrated manuscripts of his compositions as gifts, but the Schilflied he presented to Keyl is a truly remarkable work, containing an exquisitely detailed watercolor and notation and text in Mendelssohn’s finest handwriting. Although Mendelssohn was, in his own words, kein gelehrter Maler (no adept painter) ( Todd 2003 , 325) —he claimed to have trouble depicting the human figure —there is no question that his artistic skills were exceptional and worthy of high merit for an amateur. [5] The Keyl manuscript is not simply a visual delight; it also embodies the nineteenth-century aesthetic ideal of “organic unity” ( Solie 1980 , 148). A key element of art in this period was the glorification of nature and organicism, as opposed to more formalist aesthetics. Leonard Meyer writes that for the Romantics, nature represented “change and growth, development and openness. The core of this Romantic view of nature was the metaphor of organicism,” which was “crucial for the history of music because it furnished the central metaphors of Romantic aesthetics” ( Meyer 1989 , 190). In the German Romantic critic August Wilhelm von Schlegel’s formulation: Form is mechanical when it is imparted to any material through an external force, merely as an accidental addition, without reference to its character.... Organic form, on the contrary, is innate; it unfolds itself from within, and reaches its determination simultaneously with the fullest development of the seed.... In the fine arts, just as in the province of nature—the supreme artist—all genuine forms are organic. (Schlegel, On Dramatic Art and Literature , quoted in Meyer 1989 , 190). The Lenau poem Mendelssohn chose echoes this celebration of Nature as the supreme artist, of the poetical as manifest in natural form. [6] As Ruth Solie observes, the use of organic metaphors for works of art belonged quintessentially to the critical language of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, including music theory and criticism, and even tended to shape and control the observations of those using them; thus “the analyst dealing with a ‘musical organism’ will likely respond to it differently from one studying a ‘linguistic structure’ or perhaps ‘fluid architecture’” ( Solie 1980 , 147). (6) Such totality, or “organic unity,” is achieved by the “balance of disparate qualities,” as well as the harmonious and reciprocal relationships of the part to the whole ( Solie 1980 , 148). To illustrate, she observes that for the music theorist Heinrich Schenker, an “organicist par excellence ” (Solie 1980 , 151), metaphors of the totality of a musical composition are central: for him, “[w]holeness stems from a central generative force to which everything else is subordinate” and relies on a concept of organicism that sees music’s origin in nature ( Solie 1980 , 151). (7) [7] The key concept of the organic relationships between parts and whole recalls the earlier writings of the Enlightenment critic and philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, grandfather of the composer, who also wrote expansively about the relationship between nature and art. In 1761, he published his Philosophical Writings , which included his essay, “On the Main Principles of the Fine Arts and Sciences.” There, he writes that the task of the artist is to collect parts from nature and to bind them together into an artistic whole: He [the human artist] gathers together in a single viewpoint what nature has diffusely strewn among various objects, forming for himself a whole from this and taking the trouble to represent it just as nature would have represented it if the beauty of this limited object had been its sole purpose ( Mendelssohn, M. 1997 , 176). The multiplicity of parts, he writes, is central to a fine artwork: “Art’s replica must unite all the requirements of a beautiful object. Hence, in the first place, it will have to have multiple parts. The monotonous, the meager, and the sterile are unbearable to good taste” ( Mendelssohn, M. 1997 , 175). Each of these parts “must harmonize in a sensuous manner to constitute a whole,” in a way that is perceptible to the viewer yet imitates nature, and thus is beautiful ( Mendelssohn, M. 2 of 15 1997 , 175). This conception of the artistic process carries through to the nineteenth century, when Franz Liszt writes about uniting component parts: Art, like nature, is made up of gradual transitions, which link together the remotest classes and the most dissimilar species and which are necessary and natural, and hence also entitled to live.... In nature, in the human soul, and in art, the extremes, opposites, and high points are bound one to another by a continuous series of various varieties of beings. (Franz Liszt and Carolyne von Sayn-Wittgenstein, Berlioz and His “Harold” Symphony , quoted in Meyer 1989 , 172.)