Music

LONDON, May I, 1873.

OF the few things which we have lately heard, two operas, Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia at Drury Lane, and Meyerbeer’s L’Africaine at Covent Garden, are the most suggestive to us. We heard Lucrezia Borgia (avowedly Donizetti’s best work) the other evening, given under as happy conditions as can well be asked for any opera : with Mademoiselle Tietjens as the heroine, Madame Trebelli-Bettini as Orsini, and Signor Mongini as Gennaro, a more than competent orchestra under Sir Michael Costa, and with every attention to mise-en-scène. But in spite of some most brilliant flashes of genius in the music, and the excellent singing and acting of the performers, the work, as a whole, left a most dreary impression upon us. Even the finest passages were more tantalizing than satisfying; the suggestion they conveyed of what might have been was too painful to allow of any perfect enjoyment of what was. To take one exhaustive example, we will mention the famous larghetto ensemble piece, “ Maffeo Orsini, Signora, SOn io,” in the prologue. What instrument in the whole orchestra could furnish a fitter accompaniment to the grand, proclaiming theme, and better add brilliancy and decision to its rich, Southern sensuousness than the trumpet ? Of all the instruments which Berlioz calls epic, the trumpet is the most nobly heroic. But it can only speak effectively in its own language ; in the movement in question, instead of a grand proclamation, a crushing denunciation, in which every note of the trumpet should draw blood, we have a pair of trumpets compelled to mere emasculated cooing in thirds and sixths, and all grandeur gives way to vulgar bathos. The theme is thoroughly beautiful, and in every way worthy of the dramatic situation, which is a strong one ; it is the very beauty of the theme itself that imperatively forces the unworthiness of the accompaniment and this cheap degradation of the trumpet upon our notice, whereas, in a more commonplace composition, it might have been easily overlooked. To us the most completely beautiful number in the opera is Lucrezia’s air, “M'odi, ah! m’odi,” in the last act. Here, in spite of the total absence of all dramatic realism, there is a purity and truth of sentiment in the music that at once disarms all criticism. This air, as, indeed, all the music of the part, was superbly given by Mademoiselle Tietjens, whose voice, if it show some slight marks of wear, is still entirely under her control, both in respect to intonation and variety of timbre, and whose rare qualities as an artist are probably unsurpassed by those of any singer now living. Signor Mongini, although not in good voice, made a very good Gennaro, especially in the stronger passages ; but his acting is too much of the stereotyped, Italian-Opera stamp to show to advantage beside Mademoiselle Tietjens and in his dying air, the augmented intervals of which must be given with perfect exactness to be tolerable, his attempts at a too realistic rendering of the music resulted in an uncertainty of intonation that greatly marred the performance. Madame Trebelli-Bettini’s Orsini was characterized by great perfection of vocalization and the air of high-bred insouciance which is associated with that noble young rake; although to those who have been accustomed to the light, devil-may-care joviality of Miss Adelaide Phillips’s impersonation, her acting might seem a thought wanting in piquancy. She was best in the pathetic portions of the rôle, and the famous cry “ Gennaro ! ” from behind the scenes in the last act, was given with thrilling effect.

Meyerbeer’s L'A fricaine seems to us to be marked by some of the composer’s best as well as by some of his very worst traits. Excepting the consummate mastery over the modern orchestra that is shown in every page, some passages in the work, had they appeared in an Offenbach opérabouffe, might have been looked upon as a very clever musical satire upon Meyerbeer’s style. The unison chorus, “ Dieu qui le moude révèe” is almost ludicrous in its weak turgidity, especially in the phrase, “ Fais que ta grâce infini-i-i-i-i-i-ii-e” where a Cyclopean accent falls upon each separate i. The allegretto of Sélika’s swan - song in the upas-tree scene, “ Un cygne au doux ramage,” although full of a certain Parisian grace, seems to us thoroughly unworthy of the situation, which is a fine one, and one of great musical capabilities.

The scene can very well be compared to the closing scene in Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde; but Meyerbeer’s conception is so lacking in dignity when compared with Wagner’s, is so wholly theatrical, that one feels a touch of ill-will against the composer for taking up our time with such effete trivialities. As to the rest of the opera, with the exception of the very beautiful march theme at the entry of the Brahmins (Brahmins, with all their temples and sacred books, in Madagascar, in the time of Vasco de Gama !) in the fourth act, we can as yet arrive at no conclusion ; but we very much fear that it is immensely tedious. The performance was, in the main, a fine one ; the orchestra, under Signor Vianesi, doing full justice to Meyerbeer’s elaborate orchestration, and the chorus singing in good time and tune. Signor Nicolini made a superb Vasco de Gama, in singing, acting, and personal appearance. His voice is a clear, strong tenor, of expressive quality, and his delivery is good. Signor Contogni as Nélusko was also extremely good, never overdoing the savage brusquerie of the part. Madame Sinico, thorough, conscientious artist as she is, was entirely satisfying as Inès. The new Sèlika, Madame Albani, did not make any very marked impression one way or another.

Saturday afternoon, the 26th instant, Mr. Manns gave his benefit concert at the Crystal Palace, assisted by various excellent artists. The programme consisted, among other things, of the overture and opening chorus, “ Now May again ” from Mendelssohn’s Walpurgis-Night, the two movements of Schubert’s unfinished gem of a Symphony in B-minor, Beethoven’s Fantasia for piano-forte, chorus, and orchestra, and the Tannhäuser Overture. Mr. Sims Reeves sang (mirabile dictu !) Handel’s “Deeper and Deeper still,” and “Waft her, Angels,” from Jephthah, and songs by Mendelssohn and Mariani ; Madame OttoAlvsleben sang Mozart’s “ Gli angui d’inferno ” ; Madame Norman-Neruda played a violin Fantasia by Ernst; and some of the customary Italian opera airs made up the list. We wish that the acoustic properties of the Crystal Palace concert-room were such as to have given us a better opportunity for judging of the quality of Mr. Manns’s orchestra. The room may be described as particularly favorable to an orchestra, inasmuch as everything heard in it sounds so vague and uncertain that all but the most glaring defects in performance are inevitably covered up. If there were any technical defects in the playing of Mr. Manns’s orchestra, they were unperceived by us, while we could catch glimpses of so many and great excellences, that we felt the performance could well bear being placed in a stronger and more searching light. One thing that particularly delighted us was Mr. Manns’s most admirable reading of the Tannhäuser Overture. The Pilgrims’ Chorus was for once taken slowly enough. The grandeur of this theme, taken at the tempo Wagner has plainly indicated in the score, can hardly be imagined even by its most ardent admirers, if they have only heard it at the tempo usual with us. It is a severe task for the trombones, to be sure, to sustain the long, fortissimo notes at so slow a tempo; but on the other hand, the too habitual forcing, with us, of the tone in brass instruments becomes here physically impossible, if the notes are to be sustained at all ; and in Mr. Manns’s rendering of the overture, instead of the vulgar, crackling blare of trombones, which has, unfortunately, in many minds, become inseparably associated with the “ Music of the Future,” we hear grandly sustained tones, comparable to those of the organ in decision and strength, and of inexpressible dignity. Then again the tempestuous accompanying figure of the violins gains greatly in volume of tone, and consequently in effect, when not forced to the damaging pace that we are accustomed to. In the final recurrence of the theme, the stirring effect of the slow, measured chant of the trombones, this time reinforced by three trumpets, heard through, but not overpowering, the whirlwind of the strings, almost surpasses belief.

The one point in the overture that was unsatisfactorily rendered was Venus’s enticing theme (to the words ”Geliebter komm', sieh’ dort die Grotte,” in the opera), which the clarinet holds against the tremolo of the violins and the spiral, ascending figure of the dancing nymphs. In this passage, if anywhere in the overture, absolute repose in the rendering is indispensable to the proper effect; and when we consider the almost insurmountable technical difficulties it presents to even the best trained orchestras, we cannot be surprised at the repeated failures we hear on all hands to realize the composer’s ideal. The ever-lovely Schubert B-minor came as a welcome friend ; but we are not sure that Mr. Manns’s rather rapid tempo in the first movement did

not rob the composition of much of its effect. The movement is marked allegro moderato, and the fascinating little second theme on the celli will not bear hurrying, or it loses much of its idyllic grace. But for this the symphony was superbly given. Beethoven’s Choral Fantasia was given with great spirit and precision. Mr. Charles Halle played the piano-forte part with all his accustomed finish and well-thought-out perfection of style, though a certain coldness and want of inspiration cannot but make itself felt in all that he does. Madame Otto-Alvsleben led the double terzetto of soloists with all the decision and artistic self-reliance that we remember to have admired in her some four years ago in Dresden. Her voice is strong and agreeable in quality, although a certain flutiness of timbre, a want of the fine, mordant, reedy quality that we notice in most of the great soprani, makes her singing lose in absolute distinctness of outline what it gains in perhaps rather insipid sweetness. Nevertheless, her rendering of the taxing Mozart aria was thoroughly fine, and showed her intrinsic musicianship to be far above the average. Mr. Sims Reeves’s singing of the great recitative and air from Jephthah was interesting, and that, too, from other causes than his great reputation alone. What remains of his voice, after so many years’ use, is still exquisite in timbre, light, delicate, and elastic, and of most sympathetic quality. That singing has become somewhat of an exertion to him Was very evident; and we would set down a certain tendency to sentimentalism — an exaggeration of soft and delicate effects that was noticeable in his style — to the necessity of husbanding his now limited vocal means to the utmost, rather than to a want of appreciation of the nobler and simpler qualities of the music. But in every note that he sang, in the exquisitely finished turning of every phrase, the consummate artist was plainly evident, and his singing was not made up of good intentions merely. Probably no singer was ever so careful of his voice as Mr. Sims Reeves has been throughout his whole professional career. He has always steadily refused to sing unless his voice was in perfect condition ; and the number of disappointing medical certificates that hungry audiences have had to accept in his stead, has become a standing joke with the good-natured English public. But we of the younger generation are now reaping the fruits of our fathers' disappointments in hearing the great singer’s voice in hardly diminished beauty.

But after all, the thing that has most delighted us as yet in London has been Madame Norman-Neruda’s violin-playing. We are almost afraid to write about her, lest from common-sense we fall into rhapsodizing. We have always held that the violin is essentially a woman’s instrument. Since the days of Liszt and the modern piano-forte demigods, and the modern changes in the mechanical construction of the piano-forte itself, female pianists have had an insurmountable obstacle to fight against, namely, the want of physical, muscular strength. Mademoiselle Marie Krebs has, indeed, wonderful strength ; but let us only look at her position at the instrument, and we see how she gets her enormous power. She sits almost half a foot higher over the key-board than any pianist we have ever seen. Her arms fall almost vertically from the shoulder, with a very slight bend at the elbow. The keyboard is almost in her lap. She thus gets an immense power of striking almost straight from the shoulder, but this power is got at the expense of that delicate command over the wrist and fingers through a horizontal forearm. What she gains in intensity of tone she loses in quality. The man who brought the finest quality of tone out of the instrument, of all who ever played, was probably L. M. Gottschalk, Now, he sat so low down that the key-board came opposite his chest, much lower than any other pianist we have ever heard. All the strength he applied came from the wrist and forearm; he struck the keys with that peculiar elastic movement that we notice in the paw of a kitten, when she pats a ball of yarn. His position at the instrument was peculiarly adapted to this mode of striking, but peculiarly ill-adapted to gaining great power of striking hard. But all who ever heard Gottschalk play must remember his enormous power in strong passages. Gottschalk had, in fact, unusually great muscular strength in his arms, unusually great even for a strong man ; and it was this extraordinary strength alone that enabled him to sit so low as he did. To compare his playing with Mademoiselle Krebs’s, he did not probably play much louder than she does ; but in all his loudest passages he preserved that resonant, elastic quality of tone which was one of the greatest charms of his playing, whereas Mademoiselle Krebs has to force her tone, as it is called, by the direct application of all her strength, to the detriment of its quality. But in violin-playing this extreme degree of muscular strength is not required. The greatest female violinists have, to our ears, a pure, searching quality of tone, superior to that of any man we have ever heard; though we must confess to not yet having heard Joachim (or, indeed, Madame Schumann on the piano-forte). In this point Madame Neruda stands pre-eminent; in all purely technical respects, she is also fully equal to any female violinist. But it is in the higher artistic qualities, the breadth and perfection of phrasing, and, above all, the intense, unforced, feminine passion of her playing, and the finely cultivated musicianship she evinces, that she stands above all violinists we have yet heard.

At a very interesting chamber-concert given by Miss Agnes Zimmermann at the Hanover Square Rooms, we were especially delighted with an original suite for piano-forte, violin, and cello by the concertgiver herself. The suite consists of five movements, namely: 1.Introduction and Allegro con Spirito ; 2. Canon à la septième ; 3. Gavotte; 4. Air; 5. Gique. The composition shows throughout an easy mastery over musical form, and, what is more, a genuinely musical spirit that really surprised us. Many composers who have made no mean name in the world, might be glad to own Miss Zimmermann’s suite. As a pianist, Miss Zimmermann, if she gives no distinct signs of genius, must take a respectable rank from her well-considered and intellectual readings of the works of the great masters. The glorious Neruda also took part in the concert, and showed that mastery and admirable entrainant leadership in the concerted piece that one might expect from her genius. Herr Strauss’s performance of the violin part of Schubert’s Rondeau brillant showed that there are some strong, reposeful, masculine qualities in violin-playing that can shine, even beside the passionate genius of a Neruda. We must here bring our somewhat rambling letter to a close. Of Dr. Hans von Bülow and the concert of the Wagner Society, next time.

W. F. A.