Eight
"Heart and Brain in Music:"
The Genesis of Schoenberg's Die glückliche Hand
Joseph Auner
In the 1946 essay "Heart and Brain in Music" Schoenberg challenges the "misconception . . . that the constituent qualities of music belong to two categories as regards their origin: to the heart or to the brain."[1] He argues that the so-called cerebral aspects of his musical language such as intricate counterpoint and "sophisticated form" were in fact often the products of spontaneous inspiration, whereas "beautiful melodies" that appeared to be pure emotional outpourings were produced by "deliberate calculation." Referring to the rapid composition of many of his works and the frequent lack of sketches or revisions, Schoenberg acknowledges that "it often happens to a composer that he writes down a melody in one uninterrupted draft and with a perfection that requires no change and offers no possibility of improvement."[2] But many compositions required hard work. Of the First Chamber Symphony, for instance, he notes that his "perfect vision" of the whole work included only the "main features";[3] the details had to be worked out in the course of the composition. In language he had used in several previous essays he concludes:
But one cannot pretend that the complicated ones required hard work or that the simple ones were always easily produced. Also, one cannot pretend that it makes any difference whether the examples derive from a spontaneous emotion or from a cerebral effort.
. . . But one thing seems to be clear: whether its final aspect is that of simplicity or of complexity, whether it was composed swiftly and easily or required hard work and much time, the finished work gives no indication of whether the emotional or the cerebral constituents have been determinant.
. . . everything of supreme value in art must show heart as well as brain.[4]
No doubt this essay was in part a response to the frequent charge that twelve-tone composition was a purely cerebral exercise.[5] More important,
however, I believe the essay addressed a fundamental conflict in Schoenberg's mind about the relationship between compositional process, structure, and expression.
The intensity with which Schoenberg in 1946 argued for the interdependence of inspiration and intellect was matched by his insistence on their incompatibility in the years leading up to the First World War. With the completion of that remarkable series of works in the summer and early fall of 1909 — the Three Piano Pieces, op. 11; the Five Orchestra Pieces, op. 16; and Erwartung, op. 17 — Schoenberg felt he was on the threshold of a new intuitive art unmediated by the intellect and convention. Music, he wrote to Ferruccio Busoni in 1909, "should be an expression of feeling, as our feelings, which bring us in contact with our subconscious, really are, and no false child of feelings and `conscious logic.'"[6] Anticipating the language of his later critics, Schoenberg wrote in even stronger terms to Kandinsky in 1911:
art belongs to the unconscious! One must express oneself! Express oneself directly! Not one's taste, or one's upbringing, or one's intelligence, knowledge or skill. Not all these acquired characteristics, but that which is inborn, instinctive. And all form-making, all conscious form-making, is connected with some kind of mathematics, or geometry, or with the golden section or suchlike.[7]
Such revolutionary pronouncements have understandably been treated with skepticism. It is difficult to reconcile Schoenberg's claims of unconscious, instinctive expression with the elaborate organizational strategies in many of his atonal works.[8] Moreover, Schoenberg's remarks are themselves full of ambiguities; alongside his most radical utterances he often hints at underlying continuities with the past.[9] In fact, increasingly in his later writings Schoenberg contradicted or repudiated many of his earlier statements, stressing instead the evolutionary features of his development and his continuity with tradition.
Nonetheless, a study of Schoenberg's writings and works from the prewar years suggests that the ideal of direct emotional expression continued to have a profound impact on his compositional process and his approach to musical structure in the works he composed from the end of 1909 to early in 1912, when he began Pierrot lunaire, Op. 21. These works include op. 11, no. 3; op. 16, no. 5; Erwartung; the unfinished Three Pieces for Chamber Orchestra (1910); the Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (1911); and Herzgewächse, op. 20 (1911).[10] But at the same time that he sought to make his vision of spontaneous, intuitive creation a reality, he found that composition was becoming increasingly problematic. In his writings he began to question his ability to live up to the demands of his creative ideal, and whether the path might be an error. With Pierrot lunaire and the works that followed, he began to distance himself from his most radical stance.
Die glückliche Hand, op. 18, provides unique insight into this crucial turning point in Schoenberg's attitude toward the "heart and brain." In contrast to the rapid composition of most of the atonal works, Schoenberg wrote this "drama with music" in a number of stages between 1910 and 1913. The work thus bridges a period of tremendous diversity in his creative output. Vestiges of these stylistic transformations remain in the opera. In its dramatic content, musical structure, and what can be traced of its creation it provides a record of Schoenberg's painful acceptance of the distance between inspired vision and attainment. Whereas some passages resemble Erwartung's constant change and diversity, other sections are closer to Pierrot's thematic development, clearly defined form, and use of contrapuntal devices. Scholars have noted the differences between Die glückliche Hand and Erwartung, but insufficient knowledge about the genesis of the work has made it difficult to fit the opera into a comprehensive view of the period.[11] Examined in the light of a new compositional chronology, the sketches document that in the course of the work's evolution Schoenberg's approach to musical organization and the creative process changed as he began grudgingly to acknowledge a role for the "conscious intellect."[12]
Schoenberg left little direct information about the composition of Die glückliche Hand. The libretto bears a June 1910 date of completion, and the composition's beginning and ending are indicated on the draft as 9 September 1910 and 18 November 1913, respectively. Through references in Schoenberg's correspondence it is possible to establish at least five separate stages during which Schoenberg worked on Die glückliche Hand, and the many surviving compositional materials for the work suggest chronological layers in the score corresponding to these five stages. On the basis of these sources the chronology of Die glückliche Hand may be summarized as follows: only the libretto, some of the artwork for the staging, and a few musical sketches originated in 1910;[13] the earliest portion of the draft, starting at measure 58 and extending to the end of scene 2 and possibly the beginning of scene 3, dates from the second period of composition, in the summer of 1911; the bulk of the score, including the third and fourth scenes as well as much of the first two scenes, was composed in 1912-1913, after Pierrot lunaire.[ 14]
In "Heart and Brain in Music" Schoenberg maintained that it made no difference whether a work was composed quickly or with great effort, but in 1910 he believed that the true artist was defined by the ability to compose spontaneously. The central climax of Die glückliche Hand occurs when the main character, the Man, outrages a group of artisans by forging a jeweled diadem with a single hammer stroke. The polarity between a craftsman's repetitive labor and the miraculous creation of genius reflects Schoenberg's conviction that a work of art must be created fully formed, not assembled from component parts. In 1912 he wrote:
For the work of art, like every living thing, is conceived as a whole — just like a child, whose arm or leg is not conceived separately. The inspiration is not the theme, but the whole work. And it is not the one who writes a good theme who is inventive, but the one to whom a whole symphony occurs at once.[15]
It followed that Schoenberg regarded sketching, planning, and revision as unwanted intrusions of the conscious intellect, and in fact in the period leading up to Die glückliche Hand he sketched very little and the draft manuscripts show few revisions.[16]Erwartung is perhaps the culmination of this tendency: the 426 measures of the draft were written in seventeen days, and the only sketches for it are a few brief ideas jotted down in the text manuscript. But the compositions that followed — the Six Little Piano Pieces, the unfinished pieces for chamber orchestra, and Herzgewächse — were also composed very rapidly and without sketching. And, although more sketches are preserved for Die glückliche Hand than for any of the other atonal works, there are few sketches for the early stages of its composition.
The sketches consist of six pages bound in a typed copy of the libretto, which Schoenberg labeled Compositions Vorlage, and a collection of nineteen pages.[17] These two sources differ in many ways, most importantly in what they reveal about Schoenberg's creative process. Although all the sketch material is undated, a number of factors suggest that many of the Compositions Vorlage sketches represent Schoenberg's earliest thoughts on the score; most of these sketches correspond to passages at the end of scene 2 and the beginning of scene 3. Other sketch pages from the Compositions Vorlage, which relate primarily to the second half of scene 3 and scene 4, appear to date from the later stages of the composition in 1912-1913. Figure 10 reproduces two facing pages from the Compositions Vorlage, showing the libretto and adjacent musical sketch that correspond to measures 58 through 61. Like the sketches in the text manuscript of Erwartung, these notations do not record Schoenberg actively working with material in various forms; rather, they represent small autonomous passages that he incorporated into the final score with few changes.[18] This kind of sketch is associated with a particular point in the text and does not serve as a source for themes or motives that are subsequently developed in the score. This is in sharp contrast to Schoenberg's approach in the later stages of the work or in Pierrot lunaire, where sketched material is developed over substantial passages.[19]
The idea of eliminating "the conscious will in art" had a profound impact on Schoenberg's organization of musical structure as well. Increasingly he had come to regard the "craftsmanly deftness, technique, and play with material" of traditional developmental procedures with suspicion. Schoenberg in 1911 makes a sharp distinction between intellect and feeling, talent and genius, craft and art:
Fig. 10.
Schoenberg, Die glückliche Hand, Compositions Vorlage, sketch for
mm. 58-61. 61. Reproduced courtesy of Lawrence Schoenberg.
Mathematics and mechanics cannot produce a living being. Inspired by a true feeling, a rightly functioning intellect brought this form to completion. But a rightly functioning intellect almost always does the opposite of what is appropriate to a true feeling. A true feeling must not let itself be prevented from going constantly down, ever and anew, into the dark region of the unconscious, in order to bring up content and form as a unity.[20]
Schoenberg was of course aware that his works did not fully live up to this ideal. Writing to Busoni of the challenge of allowing "nothing to infiltrate which may be invoked either by intelligence or consciousness" he ac-
knowledged that "perhaps this is not yet graspable. It will perhaps take a long time before I can write the music I feel urged to, of which I have had an inkling for several years, but which, for the time being, I cannot express."[21] Intuitive expression was thus not a free reverie in which the results would be accepted without critique but involved editing out any aspects of musical language that he regarded as impurities.[22] The works of 1908-1911 show a gradual elimination of what he described to Busoni as the "architectural values and . . . cabalistic mathematics" of tonality,[23] and conventional structural elements such as thematic statements and development, form based on repetition, and imitative counterpoint. As he wrote in the 1911 essay "Problems of Teaching Art":
There is no style to carry one through, no ornament to give a lift; pomposity is out of the question, and fraud too. This is morality; an idea makes its appearance for what it is worth — no less, but no more either.[24]
Perhaps no concepts are more frequently linked to Schoenberg's music and thought than logic, construction, and comprehensibility. Looking back in 1941 to the period before World War I, Schoenberg wrote of the inevitable emergence in a composer of the "desire for conscious control" and the quest for knowledge of the "laws and rules which govern the forms which he has conceived `as in a dream.'"[25] But at the time of Erwartung his reliance on intuition was accompanied by a deep ambivalence about the value of order and logic in composition. In his 1911 Harmonielehre he wrote: "It should not be said that order, clarity, and comprehensibility can impair beauty, but that they are not a necessary factor without which there would be no beauty; they are merely an accidental, a circumstantial factor."[26] Although Schoenberg did not renounce "all symbols of cohesion" in even his most radical works, there the unifying elements are attenuated to an unprecedented degree as a result of pursuing an image of composition as the transcription of the constantly changing and irrational unconscious. He described this to Busoni in 1909:
[I]t is impossible for a person to have only one sensation at a time. One has thousands simultaneously. . . . And this variegation, this multifariousness, this illogicality which our senses demonstrate, the illogicality presented by their interactions, set forth by some mounting rush of blood, by some reaction of the senses or the nerves, this I should like to have in my music.[27]
As Robert Morgan has suggested, the mysterious quality of music was for Schoenberg one of its most distinguishing features.[28] In a letter to Kandinsky from 1912 he objected to the painter's notion of a higher order standing behind apparent disharmony, adding, "We must be conscious that there are puzzles around us. And we must find the courage to look these puzzles in the eye without timidly asking about the `solution.'"[29]
Works like Erwartung, Herzgewächse, and the early compositional stages of Die glückliche Hand show that Schoenberg attempted to carry out his vision of an intuitive art in the years 1909-1911. Despite his achievements during these years, the initial feelings of liberation soon gave way to anxiety and doubt as composition became increasingly difficult. In 1910, after making only a few isolated sketches, he set Die glückliche Hand aside and completed no other work that year. In 1911 he completed only the Six Little Piano Pieces and Herzgewächse, both composed in just a few days. In all of his writings from the prewar years Schoenberg stressed the necessity for abso-
lute self-confidence for the composer who would abandon theory and eliminate the conscious will, but Schoenberg's own courage was faltering, and his writings during 1910-1911 reflect his preoccupation with the themes of failure, doubt, error, and a loss of faith.[30]
In a program note to the January 1910 performance of parts of Gurrelieder and Das Buch der hängenden Gärten Schoenberg proclaimed his break-through into a new art free from "every restriction of a bygone aesthetic," but acknowledged at the same time that
though the goal toward which I am striving appears to me a certain one, I am, nonetheless, already feeling the resistance I shall have to overcome; I feel how hotly even the least of temperaments will rise in revolt, and suspect that even those who have so far believed in me will not want to acknowledge the necessary nature of this development.[31]
Schoenberg's self-doubt was certainly motivated in part by the outrage and incomprehension his works had encountered. Nevertheless, rejection was not something new in the period after Erwartung. I believe that a more significant cause for Schoenberg's creative crisis was his inability to live up to the uncompromising demands of his own aesthetic beliefs, as well as a growing sense that his exclusive reliance on intuition was an error. In contrast to the bold pronouncements about eliminating the conscious will in art, Schoenberg increasingly characterized the relationship between heart and brain as a struggle in which, as he wrote in "Franz Liszt's Work and Being," "one must avoid the disturbing intervention of the constantly worried frightened intellect";[32] he describes an "undissolved residue" between the artist's "expressive urge and his powers of depiction," and the resultant need to rely on technique to unify "the outward phenomena to disguise the gaps and deficiencies of the inner."[33] In the Harmonielehre Schoenberg wrote that although what really matters is the ability "to look deep into oneself[,] . . . [t]he average person seems to possess this ability only in a few sublime moments, and to live the rest of the time, not according to his own inclinations, but according to principles."[34]
Schoenberg's changing attitude toward an art free from tradition and technique is also reflected in his involvement with painting. He had started to paint around 1907 and continued to do so sporadically throughout his life, but in 1910-1911 painting assumed a central place in his creative life. For a time he considered pursuing it as a second career.[35] Like many of his contemporaries, especially Kandinsky and Kokoschka, Schoenberg's turn to an art form other than that in which he had been trained was motivated by the desire to liberate himself from the constraints of inherited technique. He was a gifted painter, and many of his portraits show considerable technical ability,[36] but that aspect held little interest for him; he explained his point of view to the painter Carl Moll, who had discouraged him from
showing his paintings because of what he perceived as their primitive level of achievement.
At first glance it must seem strange that I assume that someone who can do nothing is suddenly capable of doing something. However, I do not consider this unusual; it is with me, in any event, routinely the case. I have always been able to do only that which is suited to me — absolutely, immediately and almost without any transition or preparation. On the other hand, the things that others can do — that which passes for "education" — have always caused me difficulties.[37]
However, despite promising developments in his painting career, as he began to question the intuitive ideal, his enthusiasm for painting also waned. Just before beginning Pierrot he wrote to Kandinsky:
I do not believe that it is advantageous for me to exhibit in the company of professional painters. I am surely an "outsider," an amateur, a dilettante. Whether I should exhibit at all is almost already a question. Whether I should exhibit with a group of painters is almost no longer a question.[38]
It is not that he could no longer produce paintings like the intuitive "gazes" or "visions," but rather that he no longer felt that this approach to painting — without technique or training — was valid. By denying that his paintings were legitimate, by calling himself an "amateur, a dilettante," Schoenberg called into question the basic premise of intuitive art and reaffirmed the traditional conception of art as dependent on acquired skills and "artistic methods."
To admit this in connection with his painting, however, was much easier than to accept the resurrection of craft and technique in his composition. Schoenberg had invested so much in the moral-religious-aesthetic nexus of the intuitive aesthetic that abandoning it meant losing all foundations for his thought.[39] If faith in oneself is the main prerequisite for the creative genius, any lack of conviction or faltering of courage becomes an admission of both creative and spiritual failure. Schoenberg's creative ideal allowed no compromise, as he wrote in the Harmonielehre:
The artist who has courage submits wholly to his own inclinations. And he alone who submits to his own inclinations has courage, and he alone who has courage is an artist.[40]
Composition of Pierrot lunaire between March and July of 1912 provided a temporary release from Schoenberg's aesthetic quandary. The fact that the work resulted from a commission gave him a feeling of detachment from the project, as he described to Kandinsky:
perhaps no heartfelt necessity as regards its theme, its content (Giraud's "Pierrot lunaire"), but certainly as regards its form. In any case remarkable
for me as a preparatory study for another work, which I now wish to begin: Balzac's Séraphita.[41]
It is revealing of his state of mind that he was able to complete the "preparatory study," while the more heartfelt work remained a fragment. As he began Pierrot Schoenberg still clearly aspired toward a spontaneous, intuitive expression. After completing the first of the melodramas, "Gebet an Pierrot," no. 9, he wrote: "The sounds here truly become an animalistically immediate expression of sensual and psychological emotions. Almost as if everything were transmitted directly."[42] Yet, although the twenty-one pieces that make up Pierrot exhibit an enormous range of approaches, the work shows the return of many traditional formal and developmental techniques. As Theodor W. Adorno noted, the ironic character of the work allowed Schoenberg to establish links to tradition without subjecting them to the intense scrutiny of aesthetic legitimacy.[43]
In contrast to his experience with preceding works, Schoenberg here felt less constrained in his compositional process as well; he considered different orderings of the cycle and made sketches for several movements.[44] Although most of the sketches, like those for Erwartung, are brief marginal notes in the text manuscript, they represent a very different working method and consequently a different attitude toward musical structure. Unlike the sketches for Erwartung or the early stages of Die glückliche Hand, which represented a single point in the completed score, many of the Pierrot sketches contain thematic and motivic material explicitly developed over the entire movement.
While he was completing Pierrot lunaire in the summer of 1912 Schoenberg again took up the score of Die glückliche Hand, but despite the relative ease and rapidity with which he had composed Pierrot, the opera still proceeded slowly. Again he set the work aside. It was completed only after a fourth period of composition at the end of 1912 and a final stage in the summer and fall of 1913. At each successive stage of work on the music drama, both compositional process and musical structure reflect the ongoing transformation of Schoenberg's aesthetic stance. Unlike the early stages from 1910-1911, the work Schoenberg did on it in 1912-1913 shows that he depended increasingly on thematic and motivic development, imitative counterpoint, and a clearly defined form based on large- and small-scale repetition. Though aspects of parody undoubtedly remain, all of the traditional techniques and procedures that had been reintroduced as ironic references in Pierrot lunaire were now used as legitimate, "genuine" features. The new structural approach was paralleled by a transformation in Schoenberg's working method, as is clear from the large number of sketches for the later compositional stages, including multiple sketches for several sections.
The thematic clarity and developmental logic of the end of the third scene, measures 166 through 202, strikingly demonstrate the distance Schoenberg had come. This passage is based on the contrapuntal development of a nine-measure theme first presented in the horns in measures 166 through 174, and repeated five times in complete and partial statements. More sketches survive for the horn-theme section than for any other part of Die glückliche Hand, and they record Schoenberg's experimentation with the horn theme and various canonic treatments of it, and culminate with a fully worked-out particell for measures 166 through 200.
Sketch page 2,440 contains sketches for the horn theme and the contrapuntal continuation (see figure 11). At the letter B he copied a version of the theme from a preceding sketch, then crossed out the final two measures of the theme at "2." Lower on the page at D he subsequently sketched a new conclusion that corresponds very closely to the final version. A significant addition to this revision is the sixteenth-note passage inserted before the concluding gesture, which recapitulates in order the first eleven pitches of the horn theme. The insertion prepares the cadence of the theme by returning to the pitch material of the opening. In a similar procedure, the diminution of the horn theme returns near the end of the passage, measures 193 and 194, to provide closure for the entire horn-theme section.
Schoenberg began with the intention of following the horn theme with a fairly strict canon-in-inversion based on the theme. This is worked out in detail in another sketch, but also hinted at here and at A, which presents the first two measures of the untransposed inversion of the horn theme (D-flat — C — A). At E he introduces a new countertheme, which appears with a whole-step transposition of the horn theme. While freer than the first version, this countertheme is closely related to the inversion, beginning with the same interval pattern and following the same general developmental process. Although Schoenberg did not ultimately use the literal inversion of the horn theme as the countertheme, he does refer to it in the oboe and chordal accompaniment in the winds of measures 174 and 175, which are sketched at C. In the second half of the measure, the first three pitches of the inversion of the horn theme (D-flat — C — A) are stated melodically along with D. These same four pitch classes are also stated harmonically at the first of the descending gestures, exemplifying his growing interest in equating horizontal and vertical presentations.
Schoenberg applied the clarity and logic of Die glückliche Hand in a still more refined way in the unfinished symphony he drafted in 1914-1915. His comment to Zemlinsky that the symphony would be a "worked composition," in contrast to the preceding "purely impressionistic works," could be taken to describe both the extensive sketching and planning, and his experimentation with protoserial structures.[45] Nevertheless, the conflict be-
Fig. 11.
Schoenberg, sketch for Die glückliche Hand (ASI microfilm 2440, box 18). Reproduced courtesy of Lawrence Schoenberg.
tween heart and brain was by no means resolved. There was a clear tension in Die glückliche Hand between the rigorous structures worked out in the sketches and the less systematic realizations of these passages that made their way into the final score. And although the symphony remained fragmentary, Schoenberg did complete the Four Orchestra Songs, op. 22 (1913-1916), which are in large measure consistent with his earlier structural ideals.
In his later writings Schoenberg minimized the differences in both style and aesthetic foundations between his twelve-tone works and his earlier tonal and atonal music. In his interpretation of his own development he focused on the continuity of his later works with tradition and on demonstrating that "the method of composing with twelve tones grew out of a necessity."[46] In 1928, for example, he wrote: "To be quite precise, I have been saying the same thing for about 25 years (if not more), only I am constantly saying it better."[47] Although there are undoubtedly significant continuities throughout his many stylistic transformations, the reintroduction in Pierrot lunaire and Die glückliche Hand of the conventional structural means he had systematically eliminated or suppressed between 1909 and 1911, and the solidification of the new compositional procedures, reflect Schoenberg's fundamental redefinition of the nature of art. And it is clear from his writings and the various compositional materials that this redefinition — in the course of which he had to abandon the Romantic image of the godlike artist and turn from an aesthetic ideal of "illogical" variegation to one of creation based on cohesion and logic — represented a profound crisis in his creative and spiritual life.
When he emerged from the most intensive period of self-examination early in 1912, he acknowledged to himself that he had passed a major turning point. As he began Pierrot, he wrote:
And maybe this is the reason why I suddenly, for two years, no longer feel as young. I have become strangely calm! This is also evident when I conduct. I am missing the aggressive in myself. The spontaneous leaving of all [physical] constraints behind oneself and attacking, taking over.[48]
The impossibility of "leaving all constraints behind," of bridging the gulf between the material and spiritual through near-miraculous creative feats, became a central theme in his writings and compositions after Erwartung. Whereas the George texts for the Second String Quartet of 1908 describe crossing "endless chasms" with ease to merge with the "holy fire," by the time of Die glückliche Hand the rift between vision and worldly attainment had become unbridgeable. The central two scenes of Die glückliche Hand
play out this pessimism in the recurrent drama of deception by the false lures of creative and personal fulfillment, symbolized by the "beautiful vision" of the Woman that cannot be captured but will "only slip away from you when you grasp it."[49] At the beginning of the work, the chorus laments:
Be still, won't you? You know how it always is, and yet you remain blind. Will you never be at rest? . . . Will you not finally believe? . . . Once again you trust in the dream. Once again you fix your longing on the unattainable. Once again you give yourself up to the sirens of your thoughts, thoughts that roam the cosmos, that are unworldly but thirst for worldly fulfillment![50]
Despite his many remarkable achievements, Schoenberg never lost this sense of defeat. Indeed, in the essay "Composition with Twelve Tones" he describes human creativity as a "long path between vision and accomplishment" where "driven out of Paradise even geniuses must reap their harvest in the sweat of their brows."[51]
It was with the completion of Die glückliche Hand that Schoenberg laid the aesthetic and structural foundations for his subsequent compositional development, yet the bitter struggle and sense of loss that accompanied this transition still resonated with him more than thirty years later. It is surely not a coincidence that Schoenberg begins "Heart and Brain in Music" with a reference to Balzac's novel Séraphita, the work that in 1912 he intended to use as the basis for a massive oratorio describing the angelic Séraphita's ascent into heaven. By 1946, however, Schoenberg identified more with the mortal earthbound character Wilfred; he begins the essay by quoting Balzac's description of Wilfred "as a man of medium height as is the case with almost all men who tower above the rest. His chest and his shoulders were broad and his neck was short, like that of men whose heart must be within the domain of the head."[52]