Poetic verse is commonly organized according to patterns based on alternations of stressed and unstressed words and syllables. Meter, a term familiar to any musician, is an effective means for coordinating these patterns in poetic verse and for providing cohesion to the pace and flow of the words. It is generally organized in terms of groupings, whereby stressed and unstressed words or syllables together form a single metric unit (or “foot”). Most English verse is based on five types of poetic feet: iamb, trochee, dactyl, anapest and amphibrach.
A dactylic foot consists of one stressed word or syllable followed by two unstressed words or syllables. The term is taken from the Greek word for “finger,” since fingers are composed of one long and two short joints. This three-part poetic foot is naturally energetic, inasmuch as the two unaccented units provide a powerful forward motion to the single accented unit, and is often incorporated in verses to suggest joy or vitality. It can also be advantageous for poems with vigorous subject matters. This might explain why Alfred Lord Tennyson introduced the dactylic foot in the fifth stanza of his poem The Charge of the Light Brigade, even purposely omitting words so that the dactyl might be realized:
Can-non to right of them,
Can-non to left of them,
And later:
Came thro’ the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Trisyllabic words can be dactylic as well, such as ra-di-o, sub-ma-rine and bas-ket-ball, as are such proper names as Bee-tho-ven, Men-dels-sohn and Ten-ny-son.
Poetic feet may also be encountered in music, each foot serving a very specific purpose. Dactyls are often incorporated in musical contexts, as in poetic contexts, to suggest joy or to project vitality and may be realized in one of two ways. They may appear in the guise of a rhythmic pattern, for example, an eighth note followed by two sixteenth notes. This could be described as a “rhythmic dactyl,” in that the pattern is realized by means of duration. Dactyls may also appear in the guise of a metric pattern, for example, a stressed unit followed by two unstressed units. This could be described as a “metric dactyl,” in that the pattern is realized by means of accentuation.
Regardless of the form, the two unstressed or shorter units are instrumental in providing a forward thrust to the stressed or longer unit. Numerous instances may be found in musical literature in which the motion that dactyls create establishes sensations of joy or contributes to a vitality that no other means could create as effectively. Examples are evident in modal music (for example, the third rhythmic mode is dactylic) and non-tonal music, although with far less frequency than in tonal music, suggesting that somehow the dactyl is most effective in tonal contexts.
Rhythmic dactyls may be found in countless examples in isolated instances, but examples in which they are the primary rhythmic units are far more telling. Johann Sebastian Bach seemingly delighted in the power of the rhythmic dactyl, and he was likewise fond of inverted dactyls (i.e., short-short-long, or an anapest). For example, the tenor aria “Erwäge,” no. 20 from the St. John Passion, is composed predominantly with dactylic rhythmic figures, both in the tenor voice and the accompanying violas d’amore and continuo. Focusing on the scourging of Jesus by the Roman soldiers, the aria urges the listener to “Consider how his blood-stained back in every aspect is like heaven, upon which, after the watery deluge was released on our flood of sins, was placed the most beautiful rainbow as God’s sign of grace.”
Although dealing with an intensely horrific episode in the telling of the passion, the aria is a bittersweet meditation on Jesus’ self-sacrifice. Ironically, Bach encourages the listener to regard the whole event as something beautiful, creating a metaphor with a rainbow appearing in the sky as a symbol of divine grace. Albert Schweitzer regarded this aria as “indescribable felicity,” and undoubtedly much of this felicity is realized through the ubiquity of dactylic rhythms (in this instance, sixteenth note, two thirty-second notes) in an elegiac C-minor tonality:
A dactylic foot consists of one stressed word or syllable followed by two unstressed words or syllables. The term is taken from the Greek word for “finger,” since fingers are composed of one long and two short joints. This three-part poetic foot is naturally energetic, inasmuch as the two unaccented units provide a powerful forward motion to the single accented unit, and is often incorporated in verses to suggest joy or vitality. It can also be advantageous for poems with vigorous subject matters. This might explain why Alfred Lord Tennyson introduced the dactylic foot in the fifth stanza of his poem The Charge of the Light Brigade, even purposely omitting words so that the dactyl might be realized:
Can-non to right of them,
Can-non to left of them,
And later:
Came thro’ the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Trisyllabic words can be dactylic as well, such as ra-di-o, sub-ma-rine and bas-ket-ball, as are such proper names as Bee-tho-ven, Men-dels-sohn and Ten-ny-son.
Poetic feet may also be encountered in music, each foot serving a very specific purpose. Dactyls are often incorporated in musical contexts, as in poetic contexts, to suggest joy or to project vitality and may be realized in one of two ways. They may appear in the guise of a rhythmic pattern, for example, an eighth note followed by two sixteenth notes. This could be described as a “rhythmic dactyl,” in that the pattern is realized by means of duration. Dactyls may also appear in the guise of a metric pattern, for example, a stressed unit followed by two unstressed units. This could be described as a “metric dactyl,” in that the pattern is realized by means of accentuation.
Regardless of the form, the two unstressed or shorter units are instrumental in providing a forward thrust to the stressed or longer unit. Numerous instances may be found in musical literature in which the motion that dactyls create establishes sensations of joy or contributes to a vitality that no other means could create as effectively. Examples are evident in modal music (for example, the third rhythmic mode is dactylic) and non-tonal music, although with far less frequency than in tonal music, suggesting that somehow the dactyl is most effective in tonal contexts.
Rhythmic dactyls may be found in countless examples in isolated instances, but examples in which they are the primary rhythmic units are far more telling. Johann Sebastian Bach seemingly delighted in the power of the rhythmic dactyl, and he was likewise fond of inverted dactyls (i.e., short-short-long, or an anapest). For example, the tenor aria “Erwäge,” no. 20 from the St. John Passion, is composed predominantly with dactylic rhythmic figures, both in the tenor voice and the accompanying violas d’amore and continuo. Focusing on the scourging of Jesus by the Roman soldiers, the aria urges the listener to “Consider how his blood-stained back in every aspect is like heaven, upon which, after the watery deluge was released on our flood of sins, was placed the most beautiful rainbow as God’s sign of grace.”
Although dealing with an intensely horrific episode in the telling of the passion, the aria is a bittersweet meditation on Jesus’ self-sacrifice. Ironically, Bach encourages the listener to regard the whole event as something beautiful, creating a metaphor with a rainbow appearing in the sky as a symbol of divine grace. Albert Schweitzer regarded this aria as “indescribable felicity,” and undoubtedly much of this felicity is realized through the ubiquity of dactylic rhythms (in this instance, sixteenth note, two thirty-second notes) in an elegiac C-minor tonality:
John Eliot Gardiner has proposed that the dactylic rhythms and their upward-downward melodic curves in this aria (as in m. 6) are rhetorical devices that evoke images of the rounded arch of a rainbow, further likening them with the curved elliptical bridge of the viola d’amore (John Eliot Gardiner. Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2013, p. 381).
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s unmatched musical ear was highly sensitive to the power of rhythmic dactyls, and he appropriately used them in a variety of instances, as in the first movement of his Symphony No. 40. He composed a very different effect with them in the celebrated aria “Finch’ han del vino” from Act 1 of Don Giovanni. In this instance, Don Giovanni orders his servant Leporello to prepare a grand festivity, while feverishly extolling wine, women and song in a rapid, toe-tapping dance. Part of the merriment that this aria projects is achieved through dactylic rhythms (quarter note, two eighth notes):
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s unmatched musical ear was highly sensitive to the power of rhythmic dactyls, and he appropriately used them in a variety of instances, as in the first movement of his Symphony No. 40. He composed a very different effect with them in the celebrated aria “Finch’ han del vino” from Act 1 of Don Giovanni. In this instance, Don Giovanni orders his servant Leporello to prepare a grand festivity, while feverishly extolling wine, women and song in a rapid, toe-tapping dance. Part of the merriment that this aria projects is achieved through dactylic rhythms (quarter note, two eighth notes):
The anapest may be found in this aria as well (for example, the second and fourth measures of this example), although they occur with far less frequency. What makes the dactyls especially pronounced in this aria is that they are almost invariably set to individual words or syllables, contrary to the anapests which are exclusively melismatic; that is to say, the syllabic setting allows the dactyl to be more aurally conspicuous and thus more effective as agents of vitality. Consequently, the demands on the voice for clear enunciation in this Presto aria are formidable.
Hector Berlioz, no doubt influenced by the infamous gallop theme in the overture to Rossini’s Guillaume Tell, incorporated rhythmic dactyls to suggest the inexorable ride of Mephistopheles’ black horses in “La course à l’abîme,” Scene 18 from La Damnation de Faust, Op. 24. In this scene, Faust is tricked by Mephistopheles to believe that Marguerite, his beloved, is imprisoned, to be hanged on the following day for killing her mother. Mephistopheles offers assistance, if only Faust relinquishes his soul, which he impetuously does. Together, they ride off on a pair of black horses to her aid, although in truth they are riding directly to hell. En route, Faust becomes terrified as he witnesses demonic apparitions and observes that the environs are becoming increasingly bleak and grotesque. Once Faust realizes Mephistopheles’ trickery, he is captured by demonic spirits, who lead him to eternal damnation:
Hector Berlioz, no doubt influenced by the infamous gallop theme in the overture to Rossini’s Guillaume Tell, incorporated rhythmic dactyls to suggest the inexorable ride of Mephistopheles’ black horses in “La course à l’abîme,” Scene 18 from La Damnation de Faust, Op. 24. In this scene, Faust is tricked by Mephistopheles to believe that Marguerite, his beloved, is imprisoned, to be hanged on the following day for killing her mother. Mephistopheles offers assistance, if only Faust relinquishes his soul, which he impetuously does. Together, they ride off on a pair of black horses to her aid, although in truth they are riding directly to hell. En route, Faust becomes terrified as he witnesses demonic apparitions and observes that the environs are becoming increasingly bleak and grotesque. Once Faust realizes Mephistopheles’ trickery, he is captured by demonic spirits, who lead him to eternal damnation:
The dactylic gallop motive (eighth note, two sixteenth notes), appearing in virtually every measure in this scene, is a strategic means for adding a dynamic charge to the music. It not only convincingly emulates the run of the horses, but it propels the scene forward, taking the listener on an exhilarating ride that culminates in the ensuing “Pandemonium” scene.
Richard Wagner’s music drama Tristan und Isolde, dwelling extensively on Schopenhauerian themes of night and renunciation, would seem to offer no opportunity for expressions of joy or vitality. Yet the conclusion of Act 1, following the moment of reckoning between the two unsuspecting lovers, is a rare instance of such expressions. In this scene, the ship carrying the betrothed Isolde arrives in King Mark’s dominion of Cornwall, and the ship’s sailors break into a vivacious song and dance in celebration of their safe passage. Appropriately, Wagner employs dactylic rhythms (eighth note, two sixteenth notes), in conjunction with a sunny C-major Meistersinger tonality:
Richard Wagner’s music drama Tristan und Isolde, dwelling extensively on Schopenhauerian themes of night and renunciation, would seem to offer no opportunity for expressions of joy or vitality. Yet the conclusion of Act 1, following the moment of reckoning between the two unsuspecting lovers, is a rare instance of such expressions. In this scene, the ship carrying the betrothed Isolde arrives in King Mark’s dominion of Cornwall, and the ship’s sailors break into a vivacious song and dance in celebration of their safe passage. Appropriately, Wagner employs dactylic rhythms (eighth note, two sixteenth notes), in conjunction with a sunny C-major Meistersinger tonality:
This is essentially a nineteenth-century hornpipe (or sailors’ dance), an exultant brass fanfare that triumphantly (and ironically) closes the opening act. Typical of many hornpipes, such as those in Purcell’s music, it is composed with dactylic rhythms. These closing moments of Act 1 are rare expressions of joy and vitality that briefly interrupt the austere character of the drama as a whole. They provide the listener with a short respite from the unsettled chromatic harmonies that accompany the new and bewildered feelings of the two main characters.
These are but four of countless examples in the musical literature in which rhythmic dactyls are means for suggesting joy or promoting vitality. Metric dactyls can serve the same purpose, although in different ways. A three-part accentuation (strong, weak, weak) can be easily realized in a triple meter, and music set in triple meter often has a natural character of energy and vivacity. For example, the vigor and intensity of the choral episode “Sind Blitze, sind Donner in Wolken verschwunden,” no. 27b from Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, owe much to a setting in a clear triple meter:
These are but four of countless examples in the musical literature in which rhythmic dactyls are means for suggesting joy or promoting vitality. Metric dactyls can serve the same purpose, although in different ways. A three-part accentuation (strong, weak, weak) can be easily realized in a triple meter, and music set in triple meter often has a natural character of energy and vivacity. For example, the vigor and intensity of the choral episode “Sind Blitze, sind Donner in Wolken verschwunden,” no. 27b from Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, owe much to a setting in a clear triple meter:
The movement, opening with a mournful duet for soprano and alto soloists, is a lament on the capture of Jesus by the Roman soldiers. The breathtakingly abrupt interjection by the double chorus poses the question “Have lightning and thunder vanished in the clouds?,” as if an outraged crowd of onlookers is questioning the logic of the capture and urging hell itself to open its fury and destroy the betrayers (i.e., Judas and the High Priests, who engineered Jesus’ capture). Picander, the librettist of the St. Matthew Passion, no doubt understood the poetic vitality of the dactylic foot and appropriately used it when composing these words. Bach, in turn, rendered this vitality into a musical context by setting the words in triple meter.
It is certainly no coincidence that many dances throughout music history have been composed in triple meter, for the dactylic metric pattern promotes a compelling impression of vitality that is integral to dance movements. The third movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 (subtitled “Merry Gathering of the Country People”), a scherzo in triple time, is a musical depiction of the dancing and reveling of country people. The vivacity and spirit of this movement undoubtedly stem from the triple meter, particularly with the clear alternation of accented and unaccented quarter notes in the movement’s opening:
It is certainly no coincidence that many dances throughout music history have been composed in triple meter, for the dactylic metric pattern promotes a compelling impression of vitality that is integral to dance movements. The third movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 (subtitled “Merry Gathering of the Country People”), a scherzo in triple time, is a musical depiction of the dancing and reveling of country people. The vivacity and spirit of this movement undoubtedly stem from the triple meter, particularly with the clear alternation of accented and unaccented quarter notes in the movement’s opening:
The Trio of this movement switches to duple time, yet Beethoven preserves the spirit of the opening by means of rhythmic dactyls (eighth note, two sixteenth notes), which are by far the predominant rhythmic figures in this section (and are especially prominent in the symphony’s first movement):
Georges Bizet likewise captured the vitality of the metric dactyl in the fourth movement of his orchestral suite L’Arlésienne of 1872. Subtitled “Carillon,” the movement mimics the peal of church bells by means of a simple three-note ostinato played repeatedly by the horns:
The quarter-note ostinato, with the highest pitched note placed on the downbeat as a tonic accent, clearly reinforces the triple meter, which suggests a joyous and celebratory peal of the bells at a moderate tempo. The ostinato further underscores the E-major tonality throughout this section, despite the occasional chromatic wanderings that Bizet introduces.
Clearly, dactyls perform a function in music that no other means, rhythmic, metric or otherwise, can. In tonal contexts they can complement a tonal character to create an infectious merriment, as in Mozart’s “Finch’ han del vino.” In other instances, as in Bach’s “Erwäge,” they seem to conflict with the tonality to render a unique musical irony in response to Bach’s interpretation of the text. Nonetheless, musical dactyls have been crucial tools in the composer’s workshop and must be counted as one of the most reliable and convincing means for realizing a specific musical Affekt.
Clearly, dactyls perform a function in music that no other means, rhythmic, metric or otherwise, can. In tonal contexts they can complement a tonal character to create an infectious merriment, as in Mozart’s “Finch’ han del vino.” In other instances, as in Bach’s “Erwäge,” they seem to conflict with the tonality to render a unique musical irony in response to Bach’s interpretation of the text. Nonetheless, musical dactyls have been crucial tools in the composer’s workshop and must be counted as one of the most reliable and convincing means for realizing a specific musical Affekt.
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