The historical lineage of the English Organ Sonata

William B. Newman described the sonata at the onset of the Classical era as:

In England the term ‘sonata’ had long had a pedagogical relevance similar to that on the continent, and this has a significant bearing on the genesis of the nineteenth-century English organ sonata tradition, steeped as it was in older models. In English keyboard music of the late-eighteenth century, the term ‘lesson’ was equated with ‘sonata’; thus in Samuel Arnold's Eight Lessons, Op. 7 (c. 1770), each of the works is called a sonata, whereas the opposite titling was the case in Samuel Webbe's Six Sonatas, which appeared approximately 10 years later and was intended for the same purpose.Footnote ⁴ As students learned the piece, they also learned the instrument. Inasmuch as the English were adopting continental musical forms into the increasingly cosmopolitan music centre of London, it is important to establish that this freedom with terminology had also long extended to France, Italy, Spain and Portugal. As Newman commented, the lesson-sonata equation can be likened to the esercizi-sonata of Domenico Scarlatti's first publication, around 1739; Johann Joachim Quantz freely adopted ‘solo’ to mean sonatas, as did Felice Giardini in his Six Solos, Op. 16 of 1788. In France, the predominant equation was for pièce de clavecin-sonate, whether used for the larger set of works or the individual titles, for example Jean-Joseph de Mondonville's Pièces de clavecin en sonates, Op. 3 (c. 1734). Certainly, by 1770 (with Samuel Webbe) the English concept of the sonata as a vehicle for pedagogical advancement was well known, with many simpler pieces forming a backbone for early keyboard study. This concept quickly took on a further extension with the introduction of ‘Sonatinos’ by James Hook in 1776 and 1779, alongside the added publishing definitions of works being ‘easy’, ‘short’, ‘kleine’, ‘leichte’, ‘piccolo’, or ‘brevi’.Footnote ⁵ The custom of publishers defining works according to their level of difficulty continues to this day and now extends to works in multiple genres, not least through the development of graded examinations.

The question of cogency and the formation of an ‘English Style’

The English organ sonata tradition began in 1856, with contributions by W.T. Best and William Spark. (The connection to Mendelssohn's earlier organ sonatas – works in title but not in form – will be discussed below.) Two key aspects set the English organ sonatas of the mid-nineteenth century (see Appendix for works under consideration) apart from their earlier piano counterparts. Firstly, there is the obvious stylistic independence of movements while being part of the larger sonata structure, more akin to the conception of a ‘suite’. Whereas the movements of earlier keyboard sonatas do not necessarily relate to each other to form a cohesive whole, the advancement of a genre in which each of the three movements could easily be written by a different composer is something new. Indeed, the sonatas of the mid-late nineteenth century consistently have a ‘portfolio’ aspect to them, thus demonstrating the composer's ability to be a master across several styles.

Secondly, there is the ever-present fugue as the last movement. Even though fugal writing could occur in the ‘traditional’ classical sonata (not least Beethoven Op. 106), the inclusion of strict polyphony into an otherwise galant texture creates a significant aesthetic contrast that does not readily allow for the movement to be viewed in direct relation to the larger work, hence the definition of a ‘portfolio sonata’. Therefore, in examining the pieces under consideration we can fairly conclude that the first movement (in sonata form) was to exhibit the composer's proficiency in the great Classical genre; the second movement, typically akin to a Mendelssohn sonata slow movement, offered a technically less demanding interlude which the novice player could nonetheless perform; and the third movement presented the academic fugue, demonstrating proficiency in the noble church style. These points are expanded upon specifically later.

In every sense – briefly putting to one side the question of overarching compositional cohesion – the work was a ‘sonata scholastica’ (Hoffmeister c. 1790); imbued with an ancient model, it was a work that demonstrated worthiness and an association with past models, albeit with a contemporary English twist.

The absence of organ sonatas in the early nineteenth century

Prior to the development of the pedal compass, beginning in the 1830s, no solo organ sonatas appear to have been composed by English composers. The relationship between the development of the instrument's capabilities and the emergence of sonata composers is coincidental with a reassessment of the organist's profession during the same period. As organists increasingly sought esteem and respect, the organists-composers aligned themselves with the respected figures of the past. The notion of the ‘work-concept’ (Lydia Goehr),Footnote ⁶ whereby the choice of genre for composition was of critical importance to composers, has particular bearing to the re-envisioning of the organists profession in the nineteenth century. Prior to this, composers who had ready access to an organ in the regular course of their (secular) employment freely wrote in a sonata form for alternate instrumental forces (e.g. concerto), or other keyboard instruments. Chief among these figures are James Hook who contributed keyboard concertos for the concerts at Vauxhall Gardens, and Samuel Arnold and Samuel Webbe. However, the sonata as a solo genre had not taken hold with organist-composers until Best's and Spark's contributions, and it is noteworthy that the first sonatas were written for civic concerts in prominent venues. In promoting works that could find ready parallels with the unimpeachable models of the Baroque and Classical eras, alongside transcriptions of major orchestral works by the masters, Best and Spark aligned themselves with the upper echelons of concert programming and consequently promoted the solo literature at a superior level.

That said, the burden of legacy and critical reception of new works would nonetheless be judged by peers, as well as the by older generation of composers who were familiar with the form in its highest Classical art-form; to imitate to the Classical masters (as will be shown) was bait for ready criticism, but it was not forthcoming. Rather, the ‘portfolio’ model continued to thrive, although with a continual backwards glance at history. Dahlhaus's comments bear repetition here:

In relating this commentary specifically to the community of organists, we can see the uniqueness – beyond the fact that most composers generally contributed only one sonata – to the desire for legacy and professional acceptance amongst colleagues, and to the ‘substance handed down’, a semblance to the past which (due to the paucity of organ composition in the previous century) can be viewed as the creation of a tradition. The sonata could be seen as a public display of ability and achievement, and once a work in the noble form was accepted, other works could follow, although few composers felt the need to contribute either a second sonata or another large piece.

Indeed it is the ‘substance handed down’ that organists seized upon, most especially in the propagation of so many sonatas with movements (but not necessarily whole sonatas) of a mid-romantic aesthetic. However, the sonata concept soon moved forward and, in the organ repertoire, had been given an eclectic English identity with a selective pruning of past eras for inspiration.

In this vein, if one considers that the organ is inextricably linked to the church, then the tradition of looking to past models was one founded in the Reformation and continued through the influence of the respected musicians of the Chapel Royal who did not have to counter public opinion so readily. Looking to the past for the finest fruits was both rational and intelligent if the result could be justified. Thus, the practice was only being renewed and tailored for contemporary needs by the Victorians.

Moreover, to paraphrase Rosen,Footnote ⁸ the mid-nineteenth century also provided for a purification of the style from the ‘irrelevant residue of past traditions’, which was of itself a musical ‘cleansing’ or filtering; the organists therefore chose the sonata as the superior vehicle for their endeavours and not, for instance, the scherzo. The euphoric buoyancy of so much eighteenth-century repertoire, especially that heard in the church, not least in poor Handelian imitations, could be left in the past whilst the ‘higher’ plain could be prepared with an idealism – if not to say formalism – that could lay surer foundations for future repertoire. It was a musical return to the ‘manners campaign’Footnote ⁹ ideology that had begun in earnest in the late seventeenth century, whereby aspects of church music were found to be tied to a desire for an increase in moral pursuits. The residuum of organ repertoire from the eighteenth century was so meagre in England by comparison to other countries in the Baroque era that the adoption of classical models and compositional styles was all the more appealing as a starting point as those fields had yet to be ploughed. The English could pick up where the best of their continental peers had left off. The standard achieved by Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven was known to be un-matchable, but the sonata as a concept still retained a necessary imprimatur that composers could now consider anew. Further, London had become a well-known centre for sonata composition during the Classical period, and not solely because of the extraordinary output of Clementi. Whilst Paris led the field with 75 sonata composers, London could boast 53, ahead of Vienna with 49 and Berlin with 24.Footnote ¹⁰

Technical demands and pedagogical application

A unifying factor, running through the sonatas from W.T. BestFootnote ¹¹ and William Spark'sFootnote ¹² contributions of 1858 to Basil Harwood's first sonata of 1886Footnote ¹³ (and to some extent beyond) is the relative limited technical difficulty of the works. Indeed, even if a work had one difficult movement, the larger piece would include an easier accompanying movement. This tradition was maintained until the Elgar sonata of 1895.Footnote ¹⁴ Harwood's First Sonata (1886) is a consummate example in this regard with its commanding outer movements offset by a short, lyrical central movement. But why should this be the case? Surely, as most organists had a command of the piano and would be familiar with classical sonatas and early romantic works, a natural translation of their technique to the organ should not pose any obstacle. In turn, why would there be a lack of a ‘virtuoso’ sonata until the publication of Elgar's sonata in 1895?

The answer rests with two factors, the first liturgical and pragmatic and the second pedagogical. In the sacred setting the organist is expected to present new solo repertoire every week, if not multiple times during a week. Repertoire can be repeated to a certain extent but professionalism suggests organists continue to learn new repertoire until such time as a broad repertoire is at their quick disposal. This circumstance separates the organist from the mainstream of practical music making. Whereas a pianist may study a work over several months and then include it in a concert programme that is performed in multiple cities, the organist's art is limited, on the whole, to a solitary location. Indeed even if the organist travels midweek to give a concert, the Sunday duty soon returns, and new repertoire – or at the very least repertoire that is new from the previous week – is required. Thus, large-scale, technically demanding pieces would not offer a pragmatic appeal to the average liturgical organist with only limited practice time available between church and teaching commitments. This predicament continues to this day, with anthologies of shorter works – whose editorship differs little in principle from those of their predecessors in the past 100 years – continuing to provide much of the weekly repertoire for organ voluntaries Sunday-by-Sunday in countless parish churches. Thus the creation of shorter, tuneful works that had few technical demands and could potentially be studied between one Sunday and another were of significant interest, especially if found within the structure of a larger (noble) work by a well-known senior colleague. Therefore, the publication of sonatas could also build upon the numerous popular anthologies published with shorter works while also being part of a greater musical lineage.

The pedagogical aspect of the sonatas, and indeed an essential component of their contribution to the literature, stems from the relative paucity of organ primers available mid-century beyond Rinck's method (in Wesley's translation c. 1850). However, George Cooper contributed a method around 1860, with W.T. Best adding his own in 1853, 1869 and 1883, respectively; these were followed by John Stainer's in the late 1870s, and several primers went into multiple editions, which allowed for an increase in the technical demands being placed on organists (not least with the use of the pedals) as time progressed. Best's primers include a significant number of his own works, alongside ‘editions’ of the works of the masters that are heavily edited towards his individualistic style of interpretation; among the pieces included is the last movement of his (first) organ sonata.

Tried and tested

The majority of the Victorian sonatas follow a surprisingly similar template and, as Novello's publishing house was a common factor, we must at least consider that their house editors had a tried and tested formula in place. Beyond the sonatas that owe a strong allegiance to classical idioms (Best, Macfarren and Ouseley), the model for compositional technique (as opposed to compositional style) is consistently Mendelssohn. Though the Mendelssohn sonatas are not inheritors of the classical sonata form, but rather works related to the broader use of the term, they nonetheless display a pragmatism that was readily imitated and can thus be defined by the following characteristics:

1. 1. Restricted range for manual writing with hands generally focused on the central part of the keyboard.

2. 2. Limited solo pedal lines – where more extensive writing for the pedals is incorporated, the manuals are either unplayed, or in a largely stationary hand position, e.g. holding or repeating similar chords (see Figure 1 taken from Luard-Selby's first sonata of 1881).

   Fig. 1

   Luard-Selby, First Sonata, Allegro con brio, bars 1–7

   

3. 3. Conservative key selection: key signatures do not generally extend beyond four sharps or flats, and if they do it is not for all movements. The majority do not extend beyond three, possibly for reasons of tuning.

4. 4. Movements are concise with the average sonata lasting no longer than 10–12 minutes, across three movements Mendelssohn sonatas do not have three movements as a rule.

5. 5. Each movement can be played independently.Footnote ¹⁵

6. 6. Sonatas are consistently written in a conservative ‘church’ style, but equally ‘tuneful’ enough to find a place in concert performance.

7. 7. Technically challenging movements are balanced within the same sonata with easier movements.

Although the pieces satisfied publishing and liturgical expectations, as well as bringing forward the composer professionally, they could also be studied in the tradition of earlier sonatas (lessons). The pedagogical aspect of organ music that could also be equally played liturgically, or in concert, is highlighted with the earlier (1841) publications of Carl Czerny's organ works by Robert Cocks & Co. in London. The cover of the Twenty Short Voluntaries, Op. 698 notes the works as ‘Exercises for the obbligato employment of the pedals’. Further, the edition is dedicated to William Crathern, an established London piano teacher and composer, who was also published by Cocks.

That Best included a final sonata movement in his primer illuminates the pedagogical value he saw in the piece. Equally the publishing by Novello of Four Sonatinas by Arthur PlantFootnote ¹⁶ in 1894 – only a year before the publication of the Elgar – that are written in a simple style akin to mid-romantic works of more than half a century before, indicates that the pedagogical role of the sonata, founded in the eighteenth century, still held its place at the very end of the nineteenth century. The Fourth Sonata of Plant (based on the Passion Chorale) bears the clear hallmarks of Mendelssohn's Sixth Sonata (1845), thus also showing the reach of the mid-romantic style and Mendelssohn's abiding influence.

As such, the nineteenth-century English organ sonata served the role long established within the English psyche. For the performer the sonata was technically straightforward but nonetheless of practical benefit. Basic pedal technique could be mastered and the liturgical requirements could be accomplished all in one piece. For the composer, there was the validation of their work by a (major) publisher and the strengthening of relationships with colleagues (by dedication). For the public there was the ready assimilation of a structure already established, and – in the case of the Mendelssohnian influence on the sonatas – with a familiar (and popular) harmonic and melodic vocabulary.

Of the validation by colleagues, it is inconceivable that the names of organists who appeared at the head of publications (most obviously Walter Parratt, Alan Gray, and especially the institution of the College of Organists) would have considered any association with a work composed below an acceptable professional standard, or that was solely for amateur consumption. This is a far cry from the eighteenth century (which had nonetheless provided consistent inspiration not least in the fugal writing discussed later) where Giovanno Marco Rutini's Sonatas, Op. 7, (1770) bore the subtitle ‘To the Signori dilettanti of the cembalo’ continuing by saying that the sonatas have ‘sought to avoid confusion, trying to make them natural and without difficult keys. It seems to me I have achieved what I wanted to, since a little girl ten years old plays them all without finding anything beyond her ability’!Footnote ¹⁷ Rather, the Victorian organists sought association with the best classical models and at the same time the most respected colleagues.

Dedications

It is especially noteworthy that amongst distinguished colleagues the conservative figure of Walter Parratt was the most commonly present dedicatee. He held multiple senior appointments including being organist of St George's Chapel, Windsor, and was the first of the RCM professors to receive a knighthood. We can further note that not one of the sonatas surveyed (or contemporaneous contributions) appears to have been commissioned with any financial inducement by the dedicatee, and furthermore, no work was formally commissioned by a specific institution.

The Portfolio Sonata

With the genesis of the portfolio sonata composers re-ordered the organic process of musical chronology. Many continued writing with a mid-romantic musical language akin to Mendelssohn, whereas others offered first movements that bore close relation to the openings of classical symphonies. From this standpoint it would be simple to suggest that they were merely following in the tracks laid by the great masters of the past, albeit obviating the course of continental progress by several decades. But with the new Victorian organ at their disposal with its tonal capabilities, vastly increased dynamic range, and increased pedal compass, what aesthetic considerations could have supported what was, on the surface, so regressive a stance for a profession so intent on advancement?

Central to this consideration will be the two prevailing genres of the English nineteenth century, the sonata and fugue, the latter occurring as the last movement in the overwhelming number of English sonatas. Sonatas absent any fugue or alternate contrapuntal form were very rare and indeed the William Spark sonata of 1858 (see Figure 2 for cover illustration) includes two, one in a Mendelssohnian style and the other an embellishment on stile antico. With this consistent creative framework set in place, the English had made a conscious decision to chart a unique course separate not only from the Classical sonata tradition but also from contemporary developments across the channel. On the continent, the cause of new music for the organ moved ahead but not as quickly as it had in other fields of endeavour. The French sonata tradition of Alexandre Guilmant was effectively discontinued in favour of the organ symphony, following Franck's lead, inspired by Charles-Valentin Alkan's symphony for piano. Whereas the German model departed from the pedagogical style set in place by Mendelssohn and developed with a reliable conservatism with Josef Rheinberger but later with pronounced audacity by Sigfrid Karg-Elert and Max Reger.

Fig. 2

Cover illustration to William Spark, Sonata for the Organ ¹⁸

Fig. 3a

Beethoven, Sonata, Op. 79, Vivace, bars 1–8

Fig. 3b

Ouseley, Sonata (Air with Variations), bars 1–8

Imitation and Fine Art

The question of worthiness through industrious effort was a primary concern of the Victorians. Given the allied concern for appropriateness, it cannot be surprising that the English organists would look to successful, if not revered, compositional figures. As William Crotch had looked to Palestrina and Handel, Best, Ouseley, and Macfarren would look to Mozart's and Beethoven's keyboard and symphonic styles (see Figures 3 and 4 for melodic similarities) for sometimes pastiche inspiration, whilst all would look to associate themselves with Bach, through scholarly fugal composition.

Fig. 4a

Beethoven, Symphony no. 5, Allegro (fourth movement), bars 1–8. Transcription for piano, Franz Liszt

Fig. 4b

G. A. Macfarren, Sonata, Allegro, bars 1–8

Fig. 5

Musical World, Vol. xxxiv, No 36, 6 September, 1856: 570-571

A key aspect of the emergence of ‘fine’ art that had peaked around 1800 with a general aestheticization of art rested with the association of value and aesthetic judgement of particular art works. If works were to be valued, then they needed to be compared with other works. Logically the easiest comparison of works would rest with those written in the same genre, and with the laudatory reception of the ‘48’ (preludes and fugues of Bach) and the ‘32’ (sonatas of Beethoven), the emergence of an English (organ) sonata tradition that also typically offered a last-movement fugue and a first movement classical sonata form is more than merely coincidental in the same era that placed increased emphasis on the formation of a canon in the larger musical world. Indeed, the parodying of Mozart and Beethoven provides an especially Footnote direct demonstration of this (see Figure 4 for the opening of Macfarren's sonata compared to the opening of the first movement of Beethoven's fifth symphony).

That the organ works were most often heard in the context of a sacred environment (whether liturgically or in a concert setting) also brings to bear the place of instrumental music occupying a ‘transcendent’ and elevated role within the larger musical œuvre. In a romantic creative aesthetic this was stressed with the adulation expressed towards composers of past generations; Samuel Wesley regarded Bach as a ‘saint’, ‘demi-god’, and ‘musical high priest’, whereas Bizet considered Beethoven not as a human but as a god. These descriptions assigned a superiority to the work of past masters that, in turn, represented the authority of those composers who themselves aspired to express higher ideals.Footnote ¹⁹ When composers chose to emulate their style, they were aligning themselves not only with the quality of earlier creative endeavour, but also the idea of being nearer to a superior artist who was (in their mind) closer to the Supreme Creator. Given the reforming zeal that took hold of the upper echelons of the organ community it is easy to see how assimilating with the past had such persuasive allure.

The elevation of superior repertoire

The sonata became the compositional genre by which English organist-composers could present their credentials to the profession at large, whilst also attaching themselves to an unassailable Teutonic model; through the portfolio sonata the English organist-composers could align with the populism of Mendelssohn, the public devotion to Mozart and Beethoven, as well as the sacred glow of Bach. Further, through the advancement of the Victorian organ, the sonata need not be a manualiter work any more, meekly serving as a present-day English successor to John Stanley's two-movement voluntaries or James Hook's concerti. Rather it could be a musical artwork that could emulate the grandeur of the baroque, the elegance of a classical symphony or the refinement found in Mendelssohn's organ works.

The culture of seeking out a superior form was further manifest in the orchestral transcriptions that were a staple of many recital programmes in the nineteenth century. As can be seen from W.T. Best's (1826–1897) programming at St George's Hall, Liverpool (see Figure 5), the interest in promoting the finest music, regardless of provenance, was the primary concern and because the Victorian organ had the dynamic scope to execute such works this was a natural progression.

A Museum Culture?

A unifying factor that emerged in both sacred and secular arenas during the nineteenth century was the want for works to hold a place in the eternal museum of masterworks. The culture of musical museums was founded in the early-nineteenth century, and Liszt's commentsFootnote ²⁰ on the role of significant additions to the repertoire, and their place in a ‘musical museum’, bear as much relation to the secular world of the virtuoso as they do to the more prescribed world of the liturgical. Indeed, not only was an interest in the past formed from an academic interest in music history – consider Brahms's interest in Josquin and Palestrina – but true masterpieces would also transcend all ‘temporal and spatial barriers. One level of history was transcended to reach another’.Footnote ²¹ The composers were to pass through a crucible of higher, venerated art in order to discover their own true identity. This contemporary thinking must have been enormously gratifying to organists who sought both the intellectualization of their profession in the same way their instrumental colleagues sought acceptance of their work from the larger world.

The abiding influence of Crotch and the encouragement of orthodoxy

The Cambridge Ecclesiologists did not show an overt concern for the organ in their methodical response to the Oxford Movement of 1833,Footnote ²² but rather centred their musical focus on the promotion of psalmody sung to Gregorian chants and the choral repertoire of the Renaissance. However, in the nineteenth century, the organ world and the academic and clerical world drew ever closer with the establishment of music degrees in British universities, the development of curricula and in turn the rise of many organists within the academic realm. Chief amongst the musical figures at Oxford was the composer William Crotch, who placed the sacred canon of appropriate music in a doctrine of three styles. Orthodox though these views were compared to continental trends, even at their initial presentation, they were nonetheless the views of a prominent figure, and for the organists they could be seen as the sine qua non of professional (and generally acceptable) composition. It is especially noteworthy that Crotch's pupils held him in the highest regard, and Sir George Elvey, Sir William Sterndale Bennett, Sir John Goss and Dr Corfe united in an unsuccessful attempt to see posthumous publication of Crotch's final oratorio, the second version of Captivity of Judah. Indeed, the compositions of Goss and Elvey maintained an orthodox stance rooted in the mid-century or earlier with many of Elvey's (largely unpublished) choral works even reminiscent of Handel.

Crotch's role as a judge of musical competitions coupled with his position at Oxford provided him with arguably a powerful musical pulpit in the land for some generations. In relation to his thesis on the role of composers, the assigning of music into three styles has particular bearing on the aesthetic that ultimately governed the Victorians until the end of the century, and indeed the organ world into the early twentieth century. Adapting Sir Joshua Reynolds's theories of painting, he defined music, regardless of national origin, into the following categories:Footnote ²³ the sublime; the beautiful; the ornamental.

Crotch's Lecture VII of 1818 noted:

It is easy to observe how such descriptions would have appealed to Crotch's pupils, not least in an alliance to the mainstream of art as well as those keen on a museum culture as one that illumined superior craft. The emphasis was not so much on style as the superior quality of the art, which provided a perfect intellectual basis for the increasingly scholastic organist-composers, and of course this suggested practice stemmed from an English pen. That such a tradition of idealism coalesced the traditions of the continent and the greater views of art in England allowed these commentaries to be considered ideal in themselves.

Crotch's liberal invocation of Palestrina demonstrates a desire for communion with a musical deity whose reputation was beyond reproach, much as the organists in turn later adopted Bachian, Mozartian, Beethovian and Mendelssohnian models. His comments could equally have been applied a century and a half later.

Whether the musically orthodox response of many an organist-composer to Crotch was as a direct result of his views we cannot be certain, but the profusion of pieces to emanate from the composers’ pens that were a celebration of older models, and Crotch's close association with academia and the church, cannot be overlooked. Indeed it is marked, for even when considering the sonata form, the composers looked not only to Beethoven, but to the older Mozart. The eighteenth century ‘idealogy of taste’Footnote ²⁶ that had been prevalent in the concert world was therefore now all the more pronounced in the church environment.

In relation to the artistic decisions of composers, Theodore Adorno notes that ‘the forms of art record the history of mankind more impartially than do the documents’.Footnote ²⁷ This comment gives pause to our considerations, for it is not the individual or corporate activity of composers and the study of the minutiae of their works that bears relevance to a consideration of their creative output, but rather the more consequent decisions they took towards that end. As such, that composers should seek in particular a study of the (scholastically revered) fugue demonstrates not so much an adherence to an older, venerated, model but rather an association with a form that is as true as it is expressive and (perhaps also significantly in respect of the Victorian ethic) is as intellectually challenging. Furthermore, the concept and value of a ‘theme’ as a device from which ‘meditation’ or a ‘sequence of ideas’ could arise was considered the epitome of musical form in the nineteenth century (Schlegel).Footnote ²⁸