Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Edited by
SARIKA VERMA
Industrial Waste Utilization, Nano and Biomaterials, CSIR-Advanced Materials and Processes
Research Institute (AMPRI), Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India
Academy of Scientific and Innovative Research (AcSIR), Ghaziabad, India
RAJU KHAN
Industrial Waste Utilization, Nano and Biomaterials, CSIR-Advanced Materials and Processes
Research Institute (AMPRI), Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India
MEDHA MILI
Green Engineered Materials and Additive Manufacturing, CSIR-Advanced Materials and
Processes Research Institute (AMPRI), Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India
Academy of Scientific and Innovative Research (AcSIR), Ghaziabad, India
S.A.R. HASHMI
Green Engineered Materials and Additive Manufacturing, CSIR-Advanced Materials and
Processes Research Institute (AMPRI), Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India
Academy of Scientific and Innovative Research (AcSIR), Ghaziabad, India
Contributors xi
Preface xv
Acknowledgments xvii
1.1 Introduction 1
1.2 Classification of ISW 2
1.3 Wastes from different industries: Generation, properties and uses 4
1.4 Conclusions and future prospects 21
References 22
2. Exploring brine sludge and fly ash waste for making nontoxic
radiation shielding materials
Sarika Verma, Sriparna Paul, Harsh Bajpai, Mohd. Akram Khan, and Medha Mili
2.1 Introduction 27
2.2 Brine sludge as radiation shielding materials 32
2.3 Fly ash as radiation shielding materials 37
2.4 Applications of brine sludge and fly ash as nontoxic radiation
shielding materials 37
2.5 Conclusion 41
2.6 Future perspectives 41
References 42
3.1 Introduction 45
3.2 Chemical properties of red mud 46
3.3 Physical properties of soil and red mud 47
3.4 Red mud as a soil stabilizer 47
3.5 Discussion 49
3.6 Conclusion 50
References 54
v
vi Contents
4.1 Introduction 57
4.2 Value-added chemicals from lignocellulosic biomass 61
4.3 Conclusions and future prospect 81
Acknowledgments 81
References 81
Index 357
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Contributors
xi
xii Contributors
xv
xvi Preface
Sarika Verma
Raju Khan
Medha Mili
S.A.R. Hashmi
Avanish Kumar Srivastava
Acknowledgments
The editors sincerely thank each chapter author for their contributions
to this book. Their sincere efforts, dedication, hard work, and analytical
approach are highly acknowledged. The editors also acknowledge pub-
lishers and associated teams for offering continuous support, guidance,
and motivation, which constantly pushed them forward to complete the
book. Dr. Sarika Verma expresses her special thanks to her parents,
husband, and sons for their everlasting love, enthusiasm for science,
and encouragement to pursue every task successfully. Further, the
editors—Sarika Verma, Raju Khan, Medha Mili, S.A.R. Hashmi, and
Avanish Kumar Srivastava—sincerely thank all those who have directly
or indirectly rendered valuable input to the book.
xvii
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former is the first of six such works published in 1837 as opus 35.
The prelude is the best part of it. Though here as elsewhere he
seems to have no new or interesting means to set the piano in
vibration, though he holds without change to close arpeggio figures
throughout, yet there is a breadth of style and a sweep which
approaches real power of utterance. The fugue is excellently put
together. The theme itself recalls Bach, for whom, be it mentioned,
Mendelssohn had profound and constant admiration, and whose
works his untiring labor resurrected and brought to public
performance. Still it need hardly be added that this fugue is a work of
art, more than of expression. The inversion of the theme is clever,
and there is a certain pompous grandeur in the sound of the chorale
just before the end. The other preludes and fugues in the set are
relatively uninteresting.
There are two concertos and a concert piece for piano and
orchestra. The latter owes its form and style very clearly to Weber’s
concert piece in F minor. Both the concertos are fluent and plausible
enough; the orchestra is handled with Mendelssohn’s customary
good taste and sensitiveness; but the writing for the pianoforte is
wholly commonplace and the themes themselves of little or no
distinction.
II
Meanwhile Robert Schumann was composing sets of pieces which
have been and long will be regarded as one of the most precious
contributions of the Romantic movement to pianoforte literature.
Schumann was an enthusiast and an innovator. He was a poet and a
warm-hearted critic. He was the champion of the new and the fresh,
of self-expression and noble sentiment. In his early manhood a
strained finger resulted from over-enthusiastic and unwise efforts to
make his hand limber, and cut short his career as a concert pianist,
for which he had given up his study of the law, not without some
opposition. He turned, therefore, with all fervor to composing music
for the pianoforte, and before his long-delayed marriage with Clara
Wieck, daughter of his teacher, had published the sets of pieces on
which a great part of his fame now rests.
Perhaps the most distinctive feature of his style is his frequent use of
syncopated rhythms. This becomes at times an obsession with him;
and there are many passages in his music so continuously off the
beat, that the original measure is quite lost, and the syncopation is to
all practical purpose without effect. In such passages it seems hardly
possible that Schumann intended the original beat to be kept in mind
by the accentuation of notes that are of secondary importance;
unless, of course, the interest of the music is chiefly rhythmical. Yet
in some passages of purely melodic significance this may be done
without awkwardness, producing an effect of dissociation of melody
and harmony which may be what Schumann heard in his mind.
These are problems for the pianist, but a few of them may be
suggested here. The last movement of the very beautiful concerto is
in 3/4 time. There is no change of time signature for the second
theme. This, as first announced by the orchestra in E major and later
taken up by the piano solo in B major, is none the less in 3/2 time.
Such must be the effect of it, because the passage is long and
distinct enough to force the 3/4 beat out of the mind, since no note
falls in such a way as to accent it. But when the orchestra takes up
this theme, again in E major, the piano contributes a steadily flowing
stream of counterpoint. In this it is possible to bring out the original
measure beat, throwing the whole piano part into a rhythm counter to
the rhythm of the orchestra. Such an accentuation is likewise out of
line with the natural flow of the counterpoint; yet it may be what
Schumann desired here, as well as in the following section, where,
though the orchestra is playing in 3/2 time, the pianist may go
against the natural line of his own part and bring out a measure of
three-quarter notes.
Besides these cycles there are sets of short pieces which are
independent of each other. Such are the ‘Fantasy Pieces,’ the
Novelettes, the ‘Romances,’ and the Bunte Blätter, among others.
These may be fairly compared with the ‘Songs without Words’ of
Mendelssohn. How utterly different they prove to be, how virile and
how genuinely romantic! They are not only the work of a creative
genius of the highest order, they show an ever venturesome spirit at
work on the keyboard. Take, for example, the ‘Fantasy Pieces.’ The
first, called Des Abends, is as properly a song as any of
Mendelssohn’s short pieces which are so designated. The very
melody is inspired and new, rising and falling in the long smooth
phrases which are the gift of the great artist, not the mere music-
maker. The accompaniment appears simple enough; but the wide
spacing, the interlocking of the hands, above all, its rhythm, which is
not the rhythm of the melody, these are all signs of fresh life in
music. The interweaving of answering phrases of the melody in the
accompaniment figures, the contrast of registers, the exquisite points
of harmonic color which the accompaniment touches in the short
coda, these are signs of the great artist. It is remarkable how little
Mendelssohn’s skill prompted him to such beautiful involutions; how,
master as he was of the technique of sound, he could amble for ever
in the commonplace. And Schumann, with far less grasp of the
science, could venture far, far beyond him.
The second of the ‘Fantasy Pieces,’ Aufschwung, calls imperiously
upon the great resources of the pianoforte. There is power and
breadth of style, passion and fancy at work. It is a wholly different
and greater art than Mendelssohn’s. It is effective, it speaks, it
proclaims with the voice of genius. And in the little Warum? which
follows it, skill is used for expression. There is perhaps more
appreciation of the pianoforte in this piece, which by nature is not
pianistic, than there is in all the ‘Songs without Words,’ an
appreciation of the contrasting qualities of high and low sounds, of
the entwining of two melodies, of the suggestive possibilities of
harmony.
Take them piece by piece, the Grillen with its brusque rhythms, its
syncopations, its rapidly changing moods; the In der Nacht, with its
agitated accompaniment, its broken melodies, and the soaring
melody of the middle section, not to mention the brief canonic
passages which lead from this section back to the wild first mood;
the delicate Fabel, the Traumes Wirren with its fantastic, restless,
vaporish figures and the strange, hushed, shadows of the middle
section; and the Ende vom Lied, so full for the most part of good
humor and at the end so soft and mysteriously sad; these are all
visions, all prophecies, all treasure brought back from strange and
distant beautiful lands in which a fervid imagination has been
wandering. Into such a land as this Mendelssohn never ventured,
never even glanced. For Schumann it was all but more real than the
earth upon which he trod, such was the force of his imagination.
The imagination is nowhere more finely used than in the short pieces
called the Kinderscenen. Each of these pieces gives proof of
Schumann’s power to become a part, as it were, of the essence of
things, to make himself the thing he thought or even the thing he
saw. They are not picture music, nor wholly program music. They are
more a music of the imagination than of fact. Schumann has himself
become a child in spirit and has expressed in music something of the
unbound rapture of the child’s mind. So, even in a little piece like the
‘Rocking Horse,’ we have less the picture of the ‘galumphing’
wooden beast, than the ecstasy of the child astride it. In the Curiose
Geschichte there is less of a story than of the reaction of the child
who hears it. In the Bittendes Kind and the Fürchtenmachen this
quality of imagination shows itself with almost unparalleled intensity.
The latter is not the agency of fear, it is the fear itself, suspense,
breathless agitation. The former does not beg a piece of cake; it is
the anguished mood of desire. Only in the last two pieces does
Schumann dissociate himself from the moods which he has been
expressing. The former, if it is not the picture of the child falling
asleep, is the process itself; the latter is, as it were, the poet’s
benediction, tender and heartfelt.
The most imaginative and the most fantastic of the works as a whole
is the series of twenty short pieces which make up the Carnaval,
opus 9. Here there is a kaleidoscopic mixture of pictures, characters,
moods, ideas, and personalities; the blazonry of spectacle, the noise
and tumult, the quiet absorption that may come over one in the midst
of such animation, the cool shadows beyond the edge of it wherein
lovers may wander and converse; strange flashes of thought,
sudden darting figures, apparitions and reminiscences. All is
presented with unrelaxing intensity. One cannot pick out a piece from
the twenty which does not show Schumann’s imagination at fever
heat. There is a wealth of symbolism; the Sphinxes, mysterious
sequences of notes that are common to all the pieces, and dancing
letters which spell the birthplace of one of Schumann’s early loves.
The next two numbers in the scene are pictures of two figures
common to nearly every fair, the Pierrot and the Harlequin. The
distinction between them is exquisite. In Pierrot we have the clown,
now mock-mournful and pathetic, only to change in a second and
startle with some abrupt antic. Harlequin, on the other hand, is
nimble and quick, full of hops and leaps. At the end of the Pierrot, by
the way, there is the chance to experiment with the pedal in
overtones. The sharp fortissimo dominant seventh, just before the
end, will set the notes of the following chord, all but the fundamental
E-flat, in vibration if the pedal is pressed down; so that the keys of
this second chord need hardly to be struck but only to be pressed.
And when the pedal is lifted, this second chord will be left still
sounding, by reason of the sympathetic vibration which was set
about in its strings by the loud chord preceding.
The love of his whole life follows—Chiarina, his beloved Clara; and,
as if with her were associated the loveliest and most poetic of
pianoforte music, he calls Chopin to mind. Chopin at this fair! It is a
fantastic touch. More than when Eusebius speaks, the background
of gay dancers and masqueraders fades from sight. For a moment
Chopin is in our midst. Then he has vanished. And at once another
thought of Clara, this time as Estrella; then an acquaintance in the
throng. He has seen a face he knew, it is a friend. It is the Sphinx of
Chiarina in the music. Is it she he recognized? Are the lovely
interchanges in the middle section conversations with her? If so,
their mood is light. They have met at a fair. They are in the merry-
making.
III
The other cycles of Schumann comparable to it are the Papillons,
opus 2, the Davidsbündler Tänze, opus 6, and the
Faschingsschwank aus Wien, opus 26. The first of these is short and
slight, but of singularly faultless workmanship and rare charm. The
last must be cherished for the Romanza, the Scherzo, and the
splendid Intermezzo; but the first movement is rather out of
proportion, and parts of the last are perfunctory and uninteresting.
Most of the Dances of the Davidsbündler are beautiful. The series is,
however, much too long and too loose to be regarded as a whole.
There are passages of unsuccessful workmanship, notably in the
third; some of the dances are rambling, some rather commonplace.
On the other hand, many may be ranked among the best of
Schumann’s compositions. The second, seventh, and fourteenth
have been mentioned as among the beautiful utterances of
Eusebius; the fifth is less distinguished but is delightful pianoforte
music. Florestan does not make quite such a good impression,
except possibly in the fourth and the twelfth. The fifteenth speaks for
both Florestan and Eusebius; and the E-flat major section is
splendidly rich and full-throated music. The last dance of all is like a
happy, wayward elf waltzing along in the wake of more substantial
dancers. The series may properly end with the seventeenth; but, as
Schumann said, though Eusebius knew well that the eighteenth was
quite superfluous, yet one could see by his eyes that he was blissful
over it.[32]
Both the ‘Symphonic Studies’ and the Kreisleriana stand apart from
the works previously discussed. The former, opus 13, was written in
1834, the latter, opus 16, in 1838. A brief glance at opus 1, the
‘Abegg’ variations, written in 1830, will serve to make clear the
immense progress Schumann made in the art of composition in the
brief space of four years. The early work is by no means lacking in
interest. Schumann reveals himself in nearly every page. The theme
itself is made up of the notes a, b, e, g, g, spelling the name of the
honorable lady to whom the variations were dedicated. In the middle
of the last movement he experiments with a new style of
diminuendo, allowing a chord to die away by separate notes, till only
one note of it is left sounding. He tried the same effect again at the
end of the Papillons. But the workmanship, though clever, is for the
most part conventional. The statement of the theme is laughably
simple, particularly the ‘echoes,’ pianissimo, in broken octaves. Such
a device recalls the ‘Maiden’s Prayer’ and fountain curls. The
variations show a fine ear for pianoforte effects. The first especially is
in virtuoso style and makes more use of the upper registers of the
keyboard than is common in the later works. But the harmonies,
though richly altered, are conventional, and so are the figures. The
third, fourth, and fifth might have been written by Hummel.
It is, on the other hand, superb. The opening movement alone, with
its figures like short waves in a windy sea, its sharp cross-accents,
its filmy, elusive trio, is a masterpiece. The second movement is
unbalanced, yet at times most wondrously beautiful. The opening
theme in itself is inspired, though it is perhaps overworked. But what
is the meaning of the harsh chords which interrupt it and shatter the
mood which it might else instill? The style is polyphonic in places;
there are inner melodies that slide long distances up and down the
keyboard, oftenest in tenths. The two intermezzi furnish a welcome
contrast to the intense subjectivity of most of this second movement.
After the second there comes one of the loveliest pages in all
Schumann’s pianoforte music.
The third movement is built on a restless, jerky figure, in ceaseless
movement. There are strong accents and unusual harmonies. A
middle section offers yet another happy instance of Schumann’s skill
in dialogue between two melodies, such as we have already noticed
in Warum? and the eleventh of the ‘Symphonic Études.’ The
movement is somewhat slower than the main body of the piece, but
a strange sort of half-accompaniment does not allow the
restlessness to subside altogether.
The fourth and sixth movements are slow. In both there is some
thickness of scoring, a sinking too deep into the lower registers. Both
are about the same length and both are constructed on the same
plan; consisting of an incompleted, or broken, melody of the most
intimately expressive character, a few measures of recitative, the
melodious phrases again—in the one wandering down alone into the
bass, disappearing rather than ending, in the other not completing
itself, but developing into a contrasting section. In both there are
these contrasting sections of more articulate and more animated
music; and in both there is a return of the opening melody. There is
wonderful music in these two short movements; but it is mysterious,
fragmentary and incomplete, visionary, as it were, and without
definite line.
IV
The only worthy successor to Schumann in the realm of German
pianoforte music is Johannes Brahms. Into the hands of Brahms
Schumann may be said to have given over the standard which he