al theme, or a brief allusion
to it; but then, after a short development with modulation, there is a
return to the principal key and to the principal theme.[62] The final
movements, on the other hand, are of the usual _suite_ order. Of
interest and, indeed, of importance in our history of development are
the contents of the first section of the opening movements. In some of
the Scarlatti sonatas (see No. 56) there is to be found a fairly
definite second subject in the dominant key, or, in the case of a
minor piece, in the dominant minor or relative major. Here the process
of differentiation is continued; in the 2nd Sonata the contrast
between the two subjects is specially marked. We give the opening bar
of each--

[Music illustration]

In most of the developments the composer steers clear of the principal
key, so that at the return of the principal theme it may appear fresh.
To such a method, since Beethoven, we are quite accustomed; but it is
curious how little attention--even with the example of E. Bach before
him--Haydn paid to such an effective means of contrast in some of his
early sonatas. In Bach's No. 6, in A, the development assumes unusual
magnitude; it is even longer than the first section. And it is not
only long, but interesting. One passage, of which we quote a portion,
has rather a modern appearance:[63]--

[Music illustration]

The return of the principal theme is preceded by an unexpected entry
of the opening bars in B minor,--a first sign of that humour which
afterwards formed so prominent a feature in Bach's music. And the
theme itself, after the opening notes, is dealt with in original
fashion.

The middle movements of Nos. 2, 3, 5, and 6 are in the key of the
relative minor; that of No. 1 is in the tonic minor, and that of No. 4
(C minor), in the relative major. No. 1, twice interrupted by a
recitative (upper part and figured bass),[64] is dignified, yet
tender, and, in form, original. The Adagio, in C sharp minor, of No. 3
is a movement of singular charm; it is based on imitation, but, though
old in style, it breathes something of the new spirit, or rather--for
there is nothing new under the sun--of the old Florentine spirit which
freed music for a time from the fetters of polyphony. The genius of
Johann Sebastian Bach gained the victory over form, and, in fact,
exhausted fugue-form. It is in the clever, but dry fugues of some of
his contemporaries and, especially, successors, that one can f