eant that with
that note a perfect major triad was to be sounded, considering
the note written as the root of the chord; a 3 was taken to
stand for a perfect minor triad; a 6 for the chord of the sixth
(first inversion of a triad), and 6/4 for the second inversion;
a line through a 5 or 7 meant that the triad was a diminished
fifth or a diminished seventh chord; a cross indicated a leading
tone; a 4 stood for the third inversion of the dominant seventh
chord. This system of shorthand, as it may be called, was and
is still of tremendous value to composers. In the olden days,
particularly, when many of the composers engraved their own
music for publication, it saved a great deal of labour. It is
probably not generally known that the engraving of music by
the composer was so common; but such was the case with Bach,
Rameau, and Couperin.

And this reminds me that the embellishments, as they were
called, which are so common in all harpsichord and clavichord
music, were also noted in a kind of shorthand, and for precisely
the same reason. The embellishments themselves originated
from the necessity for sustaining in some way the tone of
the instrument, which gave out little, dry, clicklike sounds;
if the melody were played in simple notes, these sounds would
mingle with the accompaniment and be lost in it. Therefore,
the embellishments served to sustain the tones of the melody,
and thus cause them to stand out from the accompaniment. Their
notation by means of symbols copied from the primitive _neumes_
vastly facilitated the work of engraving. Much confusion arose
in the notation of embellishments, owing to the fact that each
composer had his own system of symbols.

Alessandro Scarlatti and his son Domenico, both celebrated in
their day, are the next to demand attention. The former was
born about 1650 and died about 1725. He wrote many operas of
which we know practically nothing. His son was born about 1685
and died in 1757. He was the most celebrated harpsichord player
of his time; and although his style, which was essentially one
of virtuosity, was not productive of direct results, it did
nevertheless foreshadow the wonderful technical achievements
of Liszt in our own times. It is indeed a great pity that
Domenico Scarlatti's work did not bear more direct fruit in his
day, for it would have turned Mozart, as well as many others,
from the loose, clumsy mannerisms of the later virtuoso style,
which ran to the Alberti bas