[22] One of the many names of what we know best as “harpsichord.” [23] What were known as “short octaves” were to be seen almost in our own time in certain old organs. For three centuries the following or a similar arrangement was practised. Supposing the lowest notes of the keyboard ran thus: E, F, F sharp, G, G sharp, the first E being that under the bass staff. But when the E key was put down, the note _sounded_ was the C a third below; when the F sharp key was played, the resulting note was the D below; the G sharp key produced the low E, which should have had its own key to itself. Thus the keyboard, which apparently stopped at E under the bass staff, really had D and C below, arranged to sound on two other keys. So to produce a diatonic scale beginning from the low C of the violoncello, the keys actually played had to be: E, F sharp, G sharp, F, G, etc., which would produce C, D, E, F, G, etc. [24] Penna’s name should not be connected with the word “Penna” in the title of Diruta’s book, where it merely means “quill,” and “stromenti di Penna” = “harpsichords.” [25] This is also the case with the English variations. The last one is commonly the most valuable and convincing. [26] It is right to mention here that Thomas Tallis actually did write a motet in forty parts, “Spem in alium non habui,” which, thanks to the enthusiasm of Dr Mann of Cambridge, has been published (1888), and performed in public on more than one occasion during the last few years. [27] Meaning a “manufacturer” of show pieces. [28] _Sfumato_ means “smoky,” and refers, in painting, to the blurring of the outlines. [29] The mordent is a grace where the main note is alternated rapidly with the note below. [30] This is a really fine passage, and (by the way) bears every mark of the madrigal for double chorus. [31] The passage has four times over a chromatic scale of six notes, _every note_ properly harmonised. Neither Purcell (a century later) nor Bach (later still) could have done it better. [32] The author here makes a startling leap of a century or so in his chronicle of English composers. From Munday, who was a grown man in 1586, he suddenly goes to Blow and Purcell, who flourished in 1690, and even mentions Arne in the same breath, who died in 1778.