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Test Bank Contemporary Behavior Therapy Michael D Spiegler 6th Edition Test Bank
Test Bank Contemporary Behavior Therapy Michael D Spiegler 6th Edition Test Bank
Description
Chapter 3
Behaviors
Maintaining Antecedents
In Theory 3-1: It’s Where You Are (Not Who You Are) That Counts:
“You are mistaken, caro Capraja,” said the duke. “There is a power in
music more magical in its effects than that of the roulade.” “What is it?”
queried Capraja. “The perfect accord of two voices, or of one voice and a
violin, which is the instrument whose tone approaches the human voice
most nearly.” Then follows a rhapsodic word duel between the old
amateurs, each contending for his favorite form. And is it not, though
purposely exaggerated, the same battle that is being fought to this very day
between the formalists and sensationalists? Some of us adore absolute
music and decry the sensualities of the music-drama. The war between the
roulade and the accord will never end. “Genovese’s voice seizes the very
fibres,” cries Capraja. “And La Tinti’s attacks the blood,” rejoins the duke.
Then follows a remarkable descriptive analysis of Rossini’s Moses in
Egypt, by the wealthy and beautiful Duchess Cataneo, otherwise Massimilla
Doni. It is cleverly done. The picture of the rising sun in the score in the
key of C proves Balzac a poet as well as a musician. The prayer, so famous
because of Thalberg’s piano transcription, is also described, and at the end
this opera—better known to us as an oratorio—is pronounced superior to
Don Giovanni!! Balzac, Balzac!
There is a realistic account of a small riot in the opera house because
Genovese, the tenor, sings out of tune. The Duke Cataneo rages
monstrously, Capraja is furious. Both tone-voluptuaries are deprived of
their accords and roulades. It turns out that the tenor is in love with the
soprano, and once away from her presence proves his art by singing the air,
Ombra adorata, by Crescentini. This he does at midnight on the Piazzetta,
Venice. The Venetian scene setting is lovely. Genovese sings his sweetest.
His listeners are rapt to paradise, but are tumbled earthwards when he asks
in injured accents, “Am I a poor singer?” Listen to Balzac’s comments upon
that phenomenon called a tenor singer: “One and all regretted that the
instrument was not a celestial thing. Was that angelic music attributable
solely to a feeling of wounded self-esteem? The singer felt nothing, he was
no more thinking of the religious sentiments, the divine images which he
created in their hearts, than the violin knows what Paganini makes it say.
They had all fancied that they saw Venice raising her shroud and singing
herself, yet it was simply a matter of a tenor’s fiasco.” Most operatic music
is.
The theory of the roulade is further explained:—
Capraja is intimate with a musician from Cremona who lives in the Capello palace;
this musician believes that sound encounters within us a substance analogous to that
which is engendered by the phenomena of light, and which produces ideas in us.
According to him man has keys within, which sounds affect, and which correspond to
our nerve centres from which our sensations and ideas spring. Capraja, who looks
upon the arts as a collection of the means whereby man can bring external nature into
harmony with a mysterious internal nature, which he calls an inward life, has adopted
the idea of this instrument maker, who is at this moment composing an opera. Imagine
a sublime creation in which the marvels of visible creation are reproduced with
immeasurable grandeur, lightness, rapidity, and breadth, in which the sensations are
infinite, and to which certain privileged natures, endowed with a divine power, can
penetrate—then you will have an idea of the ecstatic delights of which Cataneo and
Capraja, poets in their own eyes only, discoursed so earnestly. But it is true also that
as soon as a man, in the sphere of moral nature, oversteps the limits within which
plastic works are produced by the process of imitation, to enter into the kingdom,
wholly spiritual, of abstractions, where everything is viewed in its essence and in the
omnipotence of results, that man is no longer understood by ordinary intellects.
Now all this is quite satisfying when one realizes that Daudet, in his love
for music, steps out of the French literary tradition. French writers, even
those of this century, have never been fanatics for music, Stendhal and
Baudelaire excepted—Baudelaire who discovered Wagner to France. I
cannot recommend Stendhal as a musical guide. Châteaubriand, Victor
Hugo, Gautier, Alfred de Vigny, de Musset, Flaubert, Dumas fils, Zola, the
de Goncourts—the brothers secretly abominated music—this mixed
company was not fond of the heavenly maid. Catulle Mendès is a
Wagnerian, and in his evanescent way Paul Verlaine was affected by
melody. He wrote a magnificent and subtle sonnet on Parsifal. Perhaps it
was what the despiser of Kundry stood for rather than Wagner’s music that
set vibrating the verbal magic of this Chopin of the Gutter. Villier de l’Isle
Adam was another crazy Wagnerian, played excerpts on the piano, had his
music performed at his own deathbed, and sketched in a book of his the
figure of Liszt as Triboulet Bonhomet. Huysmans, of Flemish descent, has
made a close study of church music and the old ecclesiastical modes in En
Route and in several others of his remarkable books. The younger Parisian
writers are generally music lovers.
How well Daudet understood that elusive quantity, the artistic
temperament, may be seen in this bit of analysis: “Neither sculptor, nor
painter represents anything which did not exist before in the world. It is
somewhat different in regard to music. But, looking at things a little closer,
music is the lofty manifestation of a harmony, the models for which exist in
nature. Nevertheless the writer, the painter, the poet, the sculptor, and the
musician, whenever their work bears them honestly along, believe honestly
that they are adding to the world something which did not exist before their
time. Sublime illusion!”
On this clear, critical note let us leave the always delightful writer, the
once charming man. “Oh, Daudet, c’est de la bouillabaisse!” cries the
author of Evelyn Innes. Yes, but is not la bouillabaisse a fascinating dish,
especially when a master chef has prepared it?
GEORGE MOORE
I
E I
There must be a beyond. In Wagner there is none. He is too perfect. Never since the
world began did an artist realize himself so perfectly. He achieved all he desired,
therefore something is wanting.—G M .