ary basis? MacDowell
exhibits here the half-heartedness which I have elsewhere remarked
in his attitude toward representative music.

In this sonata MacDowell has been not only faithful to his text, he
has illuminated it. Indeed, I think it would not be extravagant to say
that he has given us here the noblest musical incarnation of the
Arthurian legend which we have. It is singular, by the way, how
frequently one is impelled to use the epithet "noble" in praising
MacDowell's work; in reference to the "Sonata Eroica" it has an
emphatic aptness, for nobility is the keynote of this music. If the
work, as a whole, has not the dynamic power of the "Tragica," the
weight and gravity of substance, it is both a lovelier and a more
lovable work, and it is everywhere more significantly accented. He has
written few things more luxuriantly beautiful than the "Guinevere"
movement, nothing more elevated and ecstatic than the apotheosis which
ends the work. The diction throughout is richer and more variously
contrasted than in the earlier work, and his manipulation of the form
is more elastic.

Apparent as is the advance of the "Eroica" over its predecessor, the
difference between these and the two later sonatas--the "Norse" and
the "Keltic"--is even more marked. The first of these, the "Norse"
sonata (op. 57) appeared five years after the publication of the
"Eroica." In the interval he had put forth the "Woodland Sketches,"
the "Sea Pieces," and the songs of op. 56 and op. 58; and he had,
evidently, examined deeply into the resources and potentialities of
his art. He had hitherto done nothing quite like these two later
sonatas; they are based upon larger and more intricate plans than
their predecessors, are more determined and confident in their
expression of personality, riper in style and far freer in form: they
are, in fact, MacDowell at his most salient and distinguished. He has
placed these lines of his own on the first page of the score of the
"Norse" (which is dedicated to Grieg):

"Night had fallen on a day of deeds.
The great rafters in the red-ribbed hall
Flashed crimson in the fitful flame
Of smouldering logs;
And from the stealthy shadows
That crept 'round Harald's throne
Rang out a Skald's strong voice
With tales of battles won:
Of Gudrun's love
And Sigurd, Siegmund's son."

Here, evidently, is a subject after his own heart, presenting such
opportunities as he is at his happiest in improving-