Euryanthe, grand heroic-romantic opera in three acts, book founded by Helmina von Chezy on an old French tale of the thirteenth century, “Histoire de Gérard de Nevers et de la belle et vertueuse Euryant de Savoye, sa mie”—a tale used by Boccaccio (Decameron, second day, ninth novel) and Shakespeare (Cymbeline)—music by Weber, wasproduced at the Kärnthnerthor Court Opera Theater, Vienna, October 25, 1823. The composer conducted. Domineco Barbaja, manager of the Kärnthnerthor and the An der Wien theaters, had commissioned Weber to write for the former opera house an opera in the style ofDer Freischütz. Weber had several librettos in mind before he chose that ofEuryanthe; he was impressed by one concerning the Cid, by Friedrich Kind. The two quarreled. Then he thought of the story of Dido, Queen of Carthage, as told by Ludwig Rellstab, but this subject had tempted many composers before him. Helmina von Chezy, living in Dresden when Weber was there, had written the text of “Rosamunde” to which Schubert set music. The failure of this work apparently did not frighten Weber from accepting a libretto from her. She had translated a version of the old French tale mentioned above for a collection of medieval poems (Sammlung romantischer Dichtungen des Mittelalters), edited by Fr. Schlegel, which was published at Leipsic in 1804. She entitled her version, “Die Geschichte der Tugendsamen Euryanthe von Savoyen” (The Story of the Innocent Euryanthe of Savoy). The original version is in theRoman de la Violette, by Gilbert de Montreuil.
As soon as the text of the first act was ready (December 15, 1821), Weber began to compose the music. He wrote a large portion of the opera at Hosterwitz. The opera was completed without the overture on August 29, 1823. Weber began to compose the overture on September 1, 1823, and completed it at Vienna on October 19 of that year. He scored the overture at Vienna, October 16-19, 1823.
Weber wrote to his wife on the day after the first performance, “My reception, when I appeared in the orchestra, was the most enthusiastic and brilliant that one could imagine. There was no end to it. At last I gave the signal for the beginning. Stillness of death. The overture was applauded madly; there was a demand for a repetition; but I went ahead, so that the performance might not be too long drawn out.”
Max Maria von Weber, in the life of his father, gives a somewhat different account. A grotesque incident occurred immediately before the performance. There was a tumult in the parterre of the opera house. There was laughing, screaming, cursing. A fat, carelessly dressed woman, with a crushed hat and a shawl hanging from her shoulders, was going from seat to seat, screaming out: “Make room for me! I am the poetess!” It was Mme von Chezy, who had forgotten to bring her ticket and was thus heroically attempting to find her seat. Thelaughter turned into applause when Weber appeared in the orchestra, and the applause continued until the signal for the beginning was given. “The performance of the overture,” says Max von Weber, “was not worthy of the usually excellent orchestra; indeed, it was far inferior to that at the dress rehearsal. Perhaps the players were too anxious to do well, or, and this is more probable, perhaps the fault was in the lack of sufficient rehearsal. The ensemble was faulty—in some places the violins actually played false—and, although a repetition was demanded by some, the impression made by the poetic composition was not to be compared with that made later in Berlin, Dresden, and the Gewandhaus concert in Leipsic.” Yet Max von Weber says later that Count Brühl wrote the composer, January 18, 1824, that the overture played for the first time in Berlin in a concert by F. L. Seidel hardly made any impression at all. To this Weber answered, January 23: “That the overture failed is naturally very unpleasant for me. It must have been wholly misplayed, which I am led to believe from the remarks about its difficulty. The Vienna orchestra, which is in no way as good as that of Berlin, performed itprima vistawithout any jar to my satisfaction, and, as it seemed, with effect.”
The overture begins E flat,allegro marcato, con molto fuoco, 4-4, though the half note is the metronomic standard indicated by Weber. After eight measures of an impetuous and brilliant exordium the first theme is announced by wind instruments in full harmony, and it is derived from Adolar’s phrase: “Ich bau’ auf Gott und meine Euryanth’” (Act I, No. 4). The original tonality is preserved. This theme is developed brilliantly until, after a crashing chord, B flat, of full orchestra and vigorous drumbeats, a transitional phrase for violoncellos leads to the second theme, which is of a tender nature. Sung by the first violins over sustained harmony in the other strings, this theme is associated in the opera with the words, “O Seligkeit, dich fass’ ich kaum!” from Adolar’s air, “Wehen mir Lüfte Ruh’” (Act II, No. 12). The measures of the exordium return, there is a strong climax, and then after a long organ-point there is silence.
The succeeding shortlargo, charged with mystery, refers to Eglantine’s vision of Emma’s ghost and to the fatal ring. Eglantine has taken refuge in the castle of Nevers and won the affection of Euryanthe, who tells her the tragic story of Emma and her betrothed, Udo; for the ghost of Emma, sister of Adolar, had appeared to Euryanthe and told her that Udo had been her faithful lover. He fell in battle. Aslife was to her then worthless, she took poison from a ring, and was thereby separated from Udo; a wretched ghost, she was doomed to wander by night until the ring should be wet with the tears shed by an innocent maiden in her time of danger and extreme need (Act I, No. 6). Eglantine steals the ring from the sepulcher. She gives it to Lysiart, who shows it to the Court, swearing that he had received it from Euryanthe, false to Adolar. The music is also heard in part in Act III (No. 23), where Eglantine, about to marry Lysiart, sees in the madness of sudden remorse the ghost of Emma, and soon after reveals the treachery.
InEuryanthe, as in the old story of Gérard de Nevers, in the tale told by Boccaccio, and inCymbeline, a wager is made over a woman’s chastity. In each story the boasting lover or husband is easily persuaded to jealousy and revenge by the villain bragging of favors granted to him.
For these three overtures, Weber used the customary orchestration of wood-winds in twos, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, kettledrums, and strings.—EDITOR.
For these three overtures, Weber used the customary orchestration of wood-winds in twos, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, kettledrums, and strings.—EDITOR.
(Born at Down Ampney on the Borders of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire, England, on October 12, 1872)
It is doubtful whether without the title and descriptive programme a hearer, as the music was playing, would say, “Aha! London—I hear the Thames, the roar and bustle of the streets. Now we are in foggy, dismal Bloomsbury. Let’s go to the Thames Embankment. And now we see the march of the unemployed.” No. The austere, remote Delius wrote a symphonic poemParis, which is anything but the Paris ofLouise, and might be Rouen, Belfast, or Terre Haute.
A critic in London reproached Williams for introducing in this symphony a theme too much like the notes of “Have a banana!” from a song. “We’ll All Go Down the Strand,” a popular music-hall ditty in the London of 1897. Perhaps Williams did this deliberately for the sake of “local color.”
The symphony contains pages of great worth. The first two movements are the richest in musical thought and in powerful expression.The idea of sleeping London is admirably brought out, and the contrast with London awake is symphonically, not merely theatrically, dramatic. The second movement is an excellent example of tonal painting. It seems to us that the succeeding movements lack varied and contrasting coloring. The “Hunger March” of the unemployed is disappointing. The subject called for a Hector Berlioz. The epilogue is of a higher flight of imagination. On the whole, the symphony is an important contribution to orchestral literature, one of the most important—and they have not been many—in a dozen years.
This symphony was composed in 1912-13. The first performance was at one of F. B. Ellis’s concerts in Queen’s Hall, London, on March 27, 1914. Geoffrey Toye was the conductor. On May 4, 1920, the revised version of the symphony was brought out at Queen’s Hall, London, at a concert of the British Music Society. Albert Coates conducted. This performance was said to be the fourth. It was also said that the symphony had been “shortened a good deal, particularly at the closes of the movements, on the way.”
The following description by Mr. Coates of the symphony was published in the bulletin of the society:
“The first movement opens at daybreak by the river. Old Father Thames flows calm and silent under the heavy gray dawn, deep and thoughtful, shrouded in mystery. London sleeps, and in the hushed stillness of early morning one hears Big Ben (the Westminster chimes) solemnly strike the half-hour.
“Suddenly the scene changes (allegro); one is on the Strand in the midst of the bustle and turmoil of morning traffic. This is London street life of the early hours—a steady stream of foot passengers hurrying, newspaper boys shouting, messengers whistling, and that most typical sight of London streets, the costermonger (Coster ’Arry), resplendent in pearl buttons, and shouting some coster song refrain at the top of a raucous voice, returning from Covent Garden Market, seated on his vegetable barrow drawn by the inevitable little donkey.
“Then for a few moments one turns off the Strand into one of the quiet little streets that lead down to the river and suddenly the noiseceases, shut off as though by magic. We are in the part of London known as the Adelphi. Formerly the haunt of fashionable bucks and dandies about town, now merely old-fashioned houses and shabby old streets, haunted principally by beggars and ragged street urchins.
“We return to the Strand and are once again caught up by the bustle and life of London—gay, careless, noisy, with every now and then a touch of something fiercer, something inexorable—as though one felt for a moment the iron hand of the great city—yet, nevertheless, full of that mixture of good-humor, animal spirits, and sentimentality that is so characteristic of London.
“In the second movement the composer paints us a picture of that region of London which lies between Holborn and the Euston Road, known as Bloomsbury. Dusk is falling. It is the damp and foggy twilight of a late November day. Those who know their London know this region of melancholy streets over which seems to brood an air of shabby gentility—a sad dignity of having seen better days. In the gathering gloom there is something ghostlike. A silence hangs over the neighborhood broken only by the policeman on his beat.
“There is tragedy, too, in Bloomsbury, for among the many streets between Holborn and Euston there are alleys of acute poverty and worse.
“In front of a ‘pub’ whose lights flare through the murky twilight stands an old musician playing the fiddle. His tune is played in the orchestra by the viola. In the distance the ‘lavender cry’ is heard: ‘Sweet lavender; who’ll buy sweet lavender?’ Up and down the street the cry goes, now nearer, now farther away.
“The gloom deepens and the movement ends with the old musician still playing his pathetic little tune.
“In this movement one must imagine one’s self sitting late on a Saturday night on one of the benches of the Temple Embankment (that part of the Thames Embankment lying between the Houses of Parliament and Waterloo Bridge). On our side of the river all is quiet, and in the silence one hears from a distance coming from the other side of the river all the noises of Saturday night in the slums.(The ‘other’ side, the south side of the river Thames, is a vast network of very poor quarters and slums.) On a Saturday night these slums resemble a fair; the streets are lined with barrows, lit up by flaming torches, selling cheap fruit, vegetables, produce of all kinds; the streets and alleys are crowded with people. At street corners coster girls in large feather hats dance their beloved ‘double-shuffle jig’ to the accompaniment of a mouth organ. We seem to hear distant laughter; also every now and then what sounds like cries of suffering. Suddenly a concertina breaks out above the rest; then we hear a few bars on a hurdy-gurdy organ. All this softened by distance, melted into one vast hum, floats across the river to us as we sit meditating on the Temple Embankment.
“The music changes suddenly, and one feels the Thames flowing silent, mysterious, with a touch of tragedy. One of London’s sudden fogs comes down, making Slumland and its noises seem remote. Again, for a few bars, we feel the Thames flowing through the night, and the picture fades into fog and silence.
“The last movement deals almost entirely with the cruder aspect of London, the London of the unemployed and unfortunate. After the opening bars we hear the ‘Hunger March’—a ghostly march past of those whom the city grinds and crushes, the great army of those who are cold and hungry and unable to get work.
“We hear again the noise and bustle of the streets (reminiscences of the first movement), but these now also take on the cruder aspect. There are sharp discords in the music. This is London as seen by the man who is ‘out and under.’ The man ‘out of a job’ who watches the other man go whistling to his work, the man who is starving, watching the other man eat—and the cheerful, bustling picture of gay street life becomes distorted, a nightmare seen by the eyes of suffering.
“The music ends abruptly, and in the short silence that follows one again hears Big Ben chiming from Westminster Tower.
“There follows the epilogue, in which we seem to feel the great, deep soul of London—London as a whole, vast and unfathomable—and the symphony ends as it began, with the river, old Father Thames flowing calm and silent, as he has flowed through the ages, the keeper of many secrets, shrouded in mystery.”
And yet the composer has been quoted as saying:
“The title might runA Symphony by a Londoner—that is to say, various sights and sounds of London may have influenced the composer, but it would not be helpful to describe these. The work must succeed or fail as music, and in no other way. Therefore, if the hearers recognize a few suggestions of such things as the Westminster chimes, or the lavender cry, these must be treated as accidents and not essentials of the music.”
The symphony is dedicated “to the memory of George Butterworth,” a young composer of great promise, Lieutenant of the Durham Light Infantry, who was killed on August 5, 1916, “after successfully taking an enemy trench at the head of a bombing party.” It is scored for these instruments: three flutes (and piccolo), two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, two trumpets, twocornets-à-pistons, three trombones, bass tuba, a set of three kettledrums, snare drum, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, jingles (the little cymbals, or plates, fixed in the wooden hoop of a tambourine), tam-tam, glockenspiel, two harps, and strings.
[1]Translation into English by Charles Sanford Terry:Bach: A Biography, London, 1928.[2]C. H. H. Parry:Johann Sebastian Bach, 1909.[3]Hector Berlioz:À travers champs, 1862.[4]Michel Brenet (Marie Bobillier):Histoire de la Symphonie à l’orchestre.[5]Alexander von Ulibichev:Beethoven, ses critiques, et ses glossateurs, 1857.[6]Heinrich Reimann:Musikalische Rückblicke.[7]English translation by Ignatz Moscheles, 1841.[8]Paul Bekker:Beethoven, translated by M. M. Bozman, 1925.[9]Vincent d’Indy:Beethoven, a Critical Biography, 1911; translated by Dr. Theodore Baker, 1913.[10]J. G. Prod’hommeLes Symphonies de Beethoven, 1906.[11]A. W. Thayer: “Ludwig van Beethoven’s Leben,” 1866-79; revision in English by H. E. Krehbiel.[12]William Foster Apthorp.[13]Adolf Boschot:La jeunesse d’un romantique, 1906.[14]Julien Tiersot:Hector Berlioz et la société de son temps, 1904.[15]Ernest Legouvé:Soixante Ans de Souvenirs, 1886.[16]The year 1834 has been generally accepted as the year of Borodin’s birth. M. D. Calvocoressi (in theLondon Musical Times, June, 1934) reported that Serge Dianin had examined the church registers in Leningrad, and other documents which proved the date to have been October 31 (November 12), 1833, not 1834. “Borodin himself knew this quite well until October 31, 1873, when he wrote to his wife: ‘Today is my fortieth birthday.’ But on that very day an old servant of his mother, Catherine Beltzman by name, assured him that he was thirty-nine years old, not forty. Borodin was delighted, and never troubled to verify the information.”—EDITOR.[17]Walter Niemann:Brahms, 1920; translated by C. A. Phillips, 1929.[18]Richard Specht:Johannes Brahms, translated by Eric Blom, 1930.[19]See Kalbeck’sBrahms, Vol. III, Part II, pp. 384-85, Berlin, 1912.[20]Heinrich Reimann:Johannes Brahms, 1930.[21]Dr. Hermann Dieters:Johannes Brahms, a biographical sketch, translated by Rosa Newmarch, 1888.[22]Programme Bookof the Symphony Concert of the Royal Orchestra of Dresden, December 13, 1907.[23]Louis Laloy:Claude Debussy, 1909.[24]Lettres de Claude Debussy à son éditeur; published by Jacques Durand, 1927.[25]Robert J. Buckley:Sir Edward Elgar, 1904.[26]D. G. Mason:Contemporary Composers, 1918.[27]Ernest Newman:Elgar, 1906.[28]Vincent d’Indy:César Franck, 1906; translated by Rosa Newmarch, 1929.[29]John F. Runciman:Old Scores and New Readings, 1899.[30]Romain Rolland:Handel, 1910; translated by A. E. Hull, 1916.[31]Victor Schoelcher:The Life of Handel, 1857.[32]C. F. Pohl:Josef Haydn, 1875, 1882.[33]Michel Brenet (Marie Bobillier):Haydn, 1909; English translation, 1926.[34]This year was given by the composer. The Catalogue of the Paris Conservatory gives 1851, the year also given by Adolphe Jullien.—P. H.[35]Le Guide musical, May, 1904.[36]Lina Ramann:Franz Liszt als Künstler und Mensch, 1880; translated by E. Cowdrey, 1882.[37]Ernest Newman: “Faust in Music,” inMusical Studies.[38]Wilhelm Adolf Lampadius:Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, 1848; translated by W. L. Gage, 1866.[39]Michael Kelly:Reminiscences, 1826; written by Theodore Hook, from material furnished by Kelly.[40]Lorenzo da Ponte:Memoirs, translated by Elizabeth Abbott, 1929.[41]Felix Borowski, Chicago Orchestra Programme.[42]“Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,Rope-dancer, conjuror, fiddler, and physician,All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;And bid him mount the sky—the sky he mounts!”Gifford’s Translation.Compare Dr. Johnson’s lines:All sciences the hungry Monsieur knows,And bid him go to hell—to hell he goes![43]SeeJohann Herbeck, by L. Herbeck, Vienna, 1885, page 165.[44]TheUnfinishedsymphony has the same orchestration.—EDITOR.[45]Paul Rosenfeld:Musical Portraits, 1920.[46]Philip H. Goepp.[47]Sibelius, by Cecil Gray, London, 1931.[48]Lawrence Gilman, Philadelphia Orchestra Programme Notes.[49]Quotations from the novel itself are here taken from the translation into English by Thos. Shelton (1612-20.)[50]M. Montagu-Nathan:Contemporary Russian Composers, 1917.[51]John F. Runciman:Richard Wagner, Composer of Operas, 1913.[52]William J. Henderson:Richard Wagner, His Life and His Works, 1901.
[1]Translation into English by Charles Sanford Terry:Bach: A Biography, London, 1928.
[2]C. H. H. Parry:Johann Sebastian Bach, 1909.
[3]Hector Berlioz:À travers champs, 1862.
[4]Michel Brenet (Marie Bobillier):Histoire de la Symphonie à l’orchestre.
[5]Alexander von Ulibichev:Beethoven, ses critiques, et ses glossateurs, 1857.
[6]Heinrich Reimann:Musikalische Rückblicke.
[7]English translation by Ignatz Moscheles, 1841.
[8]Paul Bekker:Beethoven, translated by M. M. Bozman, 1925.
[9]Vincent d’Indy:Beethoven, a Critical Biography, 1911; translated by Dr. Theodore Baker, 1913.
[10]J. G. Prod’hommeLes Symphonies de Beethoven, 1906.
[11]A. W. Thayer: “Ludwig van Beethoven’s Leben,” 1866-79; revision in English by H. E. Krehbiel.
[12]William Foster Apthorp.
[13]Adolf Boschot:La jeunesse d’un romantique, 1906.
[14]Julien Tiersot:Hector Berlioz et la société de son temps, 1904.
[15]Ernest Legouvé:Soixante Ans de Souvenirs, 1886.
[16]The year 1834 has been generally accepted as the year of Borodin’s birth. M. D. Calvocoressi (in theLondon Musical Times, June, 1934) reported that Serge Dianin had examined the church registers in Leningrad, and other documents which proved the date to have been October 31 (November 12), 1833, not 1834. “Borodin himself knew this quite well until October 31, 1873, when he wrote to his wife: ‘Today is my fortieth birthday.’ But on that very day an old servant of his mother, Catherine Beltzman by name, assured him that he was thirty-nine years old, not forty. Borodin was delighted, and never troubled to verify the information.”—EDITOR.
[17]Walter Niemann:Brahms, 1920; translated by C. A. Phillips, 1929.
[18]Richard Specht:Johannes Brahms, translated by Eric Blom, 1930.
[19]See Kalbeck’sBrahms, Vol. III, Part II, pp. 384-85, Berlin, 1912.
[20]Heinrich Reimann:Johannes Brahms, 1930.
[21]Dr. Hermann Dieters:Johannes Brahms, a biographical sketch, translated by Rosa Newmarch, 1888.
[22]Programme Bookof the Symphony Concert of the Royal Orchestra of Dresden, December 13, 1907.
[23]Louis Laloy:Claude Debussy, 1909.
[24]Lettres de Claude Debussy à son éditeur; published by Jacques Durand, 1927.
[25]Robert J. Buckley:Sir Edward Elgar, 1904.
[26]D. G. Mason:Contemporary Composers, 1918.
[27]Ernest Newman:Elgar, 1906.
[28]Vincent d’Indy:César Franck, 1906; translated by Rosa Newmarch, 1929.
[29]John F. Runciman:Old Scores and New Readings, 1899.
[30]Romain Rolland:Handel, 1910; translated by A. E. Hull, 1916.
[31]Victor Schoelcher:The Life of Handel, 1857.
[32]C. F. Pohl:Josef Haydn, 1875, 1882.
[33]Michel Brenet (Marie Bobillier):Haydn, 1909; English translation, 1926.
[34]This year was given by the composer. The Catalogue of the Paris Conservatory gives 1851, the year also given by Adolphe Jullien.—P. H.
[35]Le Guide musical, May, 1904.
[36]Lina Ramann:Franz Liszt als Künstler und Mensch, 1880; translated by E. Cowdrey, 1882.
[37]Ernest Newman: “Faust in Music,” inMusical Studies.
[38]Wilhelm Adolf Lampadius:Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, 1848; translated by W. L. Gage, 1866.
[39]Michael Kelly:Reminiscences, 1826; written by Theodore Hook, from material furnished by Kelly.
[40]Lorenzo da Ponte:Memoirs, translated by Elizabeth Abbott, 1929.
[41]Felix Borowski, Chicago Orchestra Programme.
[42]“Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,Rope-dancer, conjuror, fiddler, and physician,All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;And bid him mount the sky—the sky he mounts!”Gifford’s Translation.Compare Dr. Johnson’s lines:All sciences the hungry Monsieur knows,And bid him go to hell—to hell he goes!
“Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,Rope-dancer, conjuror, fiddler, and physician,All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;And bid him mount the sky—the sky he mounts!”Gifford’s Translation.
“Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,
Rope-dancer, conjuror, fiddler, and physician,
All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;
And bid him mount the sky—the sky he mounts!”
Gifford’s Translation.
Compare Dr. Johnson’s lines:
All sciences the hungry Monsieur knows,And bid him go to hell—to hell he goes!
All sciences the hungry Monsieur knows,
And bid him go to hell—to hell he goes!
[43]SeeJohann Herbeck, by L. Herbeck, Vienna, 1885, page 165.
[44]TheUnfinishedsymphony has the same orchestration.—EDITOR.
[45]Paul Rosenfeld:Musical Portraits, 1920.
[46]Philip H. Goepp.
[47]Sibelius, by Cecil Gray, London, 1931.
[48]Lawrence Gilman, Philadelphia Orchestra Programme Notes.
[49]Quotations from the novel itself are here taken from the translation into English by Thos. Shelton (1612-20.)
[50]M. Montagu-Nathan:Contemporary Russian Composers, 1917.
[51]John F. Runciman:Richard Wagner, Composer of Operas, 1913.
[52]William J. Henderson:Richard Wagner, His Life and His Works, 1901.
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