Between R. Johnson's time and the present day I cantrace twenty operas on this subject, but none of them has held the stage. The only modern one that was produced in London seems to beHalévy'stwo-act operaLa Tempesta, book by Scribe, produced at Her Majesty's in Italian. The story of how this work came to be composed is rather interesting. In October 1831, Mendelssohn gave a grand concert at Munich, and was so successful that he received a commission to compose an opera for the Munich theatre. He consulted with Immerman as to the libretto, and arranged with him for one founded onThe Tempest. The composer and librettist, however, soon quarrelled, and the opera scheme lay dormant for some time. About the middle of October Mendelssohn was in communication with Lumley, lessee of Her Majesty's, for an opera, libretto by Scribe, on the same subject. Mendelssohn did not like this libretto, and finally turned it down; and Jacques François Fromental Elias, "a Jew whose real name was Levy," as Grove'sDictionaryprettily phrases it, then set the libretto. Halévy was born in Paris, 1799, and studied at the Conservatoire under Cherubini. Having won the second prize twice, he finally carried off the Grand Prix de Rome itself.
The opera was produced at Her Majesty's, London, on June 14, 1850, and made an enormous success. The first act is opened by a chorus of Air Spirits, who obey the orders of Ariel. Sleeping Sylphs are wakened, and make together a most poetic choreographic effect, which is repeated again in the first tableau summoned by Prospero. Carlotta Grisi acted with great success as Ariel in this work, and Lablache was terrible and grotesque, though sometimes tender, as Caliban. Sontag was the Miranda, and the whole performance was conducted by our own Michael Balfe. The most popular numbers in the score were the cavatina, "Parmi una voce mormore"; the duet, "S' odio, orror di me non hai"; and the finale to the second act, which is full of movement and originality.
A lyrical drama, after Shakespeare, by Armand Silvestreand Pierre Berton, music byVictor Alphonse Duvernoy, was produced in the Salle du Chatelet on November 24, 1880. This remarkable work won the Grand Prix for musical composition offered every two years by the town of Paris. It obtained a very well-deserved success at the first public performance for its great qualities of form and style. Much of the opera was greatly applauded, especially the duet of Ferdinand and Miranda, "Parle encore, que ta voix m'enivre," the dramatic trio, "Courbe-toi, vaincu sous la chaîne," the very original song of Caliban, the symphonic music descriptive of Miranda's sleep, the prelude to the third act, and the pretty ballet air of the Sylphs.
Larousse, the musical historian, says that it is a truly interesting work, and certainly produces a grand effect on the stage. The composer of this opera was born in Paris, 1842.
Zdenko Fibich'sthree-act opera,Boûre, orDer Sturm(1895), is a recent opera on this subject, and is by far the most modern in treatment. All Shakespeare's principal characters are present, and the libretto is very ingenious. There is no overture proper, but a fairly long orchestral introduction opens the first act; it consists of very furious storm music, with Prospero's principal theme hammered out on the bass brass. As the curtain rises, Prospero and Miranda are discovered watching the storm; the storm dies away, and Miranda, in a very melodious passage, asks her father all about it, and what has happened to the sailors and the ship which they have both seen in great difficulties. In a very dignified quasi-recitative passage Prospero tells her that the storm is of his own planning, and he then relates much of the story of his life and wrongs.
Though long, the orchestral accompaniment to this is so interesting and varied that no one could be bored by it. At the end Prospero puts Miranda to sleep, and after a beautiful orchestral interlude summons Ariel, who tells him in charming musical phrase what she has done with ship and sailors, and then exits to a delicate orchestralpassage for wood wind. Prospero awakes Miranda, and sends her into his cave; then he calls for Caliban, who presently appears to a grotesque tune played on the basses. To characteristic music he grumbles at his perpetual labour, till Prospero, angry, sends him off. Ariel and a spirit chorus now lure Alonzo and the rest, by their singing, to where Prospero is, and totally bewilder them; a very beautifulensemblefollows for chorus and principals, which finishes on the exit of all except Prospero and Miranda. Ariel returns bringing Ferdinand, whom Miranda recognises as the being she had seen in her dream. Ariel sings a very pretty adaptation of "Full fathom five," and the two lovers-to-be make friends, Prospero looking on unseen. Suddenly Prospero breaks in upon them very angrily, and displays to Ferdinand some of his miraculous powers, causing lightning and thunder, and finally paralysing him.
This is all done to a most effective and appropriate setting, and the curtain falls on the first act to a fine dramatic situation, much heightened by excellent music.
The second act opens with a fairly long orchestral prelude; it is on a dominant pedal, fifty-five bars in length, and depicts the depths of a tropical forest. Ferdinand sings, and is presently joined by Miranda. Now we have a really amusing comedy scene for Trinculo, Stephano, and Caliban, the last-named having an excellent grotesque song, in which the others join. The drinking scene is very well set to music, the part of Caliban being strongly marked and individual.
Ariel breaks in on this festive scene with her spirit chorus, and the comedians exit. Gonzalo and the other nobles enter, and, as in the play, spirits bring mysterious food and drink, and strange music is everywhere heard. All this is capitally done. Ariel, in a dramatic manner, denounces them all as "men of sin." Prospero then enters, to a finemaestosobass movement, explaining everything; and the act finishes with a solemn march, to which all the spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water enter and do homage to Prospero.
The last act opens with a long prelude signifying Prospero's magic powers. Sometimes we get charming light Ariel music, sometimes music suggesting a deeper, more awful, kind of magic, and sometimes a grotesquely comic dance rhythm, which is, nevertheless, almost sad, suggesting poor Caliban. It is altogether a most interesting prelude, and would make an excellent concert number by itself. The curtain rises on Prospero's cave to mysterious sounds; alchemical instruments are scattered about, and great books in ancient bindings lie on the table. Prospero and Ariel are discovered. The Spirit tells him that Caliban and his friends are going to kill him in his sleep. Ferdinand and Miranda enter hand in hand, and Prospero summons the Spirits, who sing sweetly to the lovers. Presently Caliban and his friends enter, and Ariel and the other spirits chase them away jeeringly. Ariel claims liberty; and, to sonorous music, Prospero renounces his magic arts. With a great musical noise his cave disappears, and the scene changes to the landscape of the first act. In the rocky cove Alonzo's ship is ready to sail; Prospero calls on Ariel for the last time; and, to solemn tones, all the mortals enter from different parts of the stage. The end is now very near. Ariel is set free; Prospero promises all a comfortable, safe voyage; the sailors sing of the joys of home life; and the curtain falls to the Spirits singing of their new freedom. The Caliban and Spirit music is the best part of the opera. All the mysterious magical effects are most impressively done, but the composer is not so happy with his lovers. The orchestral interludes are excellent, and the many choruses of unseen Spirits are most melodious, and not too difficult.
Alfred M. Hale, a very progressive young composer, has written an opera on this subject, parts of which were performed at the Queen's Hall on February 28, 1912. Among the numbers given was a duet for Miranda and Ferdinand. A well-known musical critic writes as follows concerning this number: "Mr Hale has written vocal partsin the style of an intoned conversation; no really vocal phrases are apparent, but the text is moaned to a vague backing of orchestral activity. Occasionally one heard snatches ofTristanorPelléas. All is vast, vague, and vacuous. Mr Hale's orchestra breathes with its mouth wide open." So we will leave it at that.
Sullivan'sTempestcontains some of his finest music. Composed at Leipsic when he was Mendelssohn Scholar, it has all the freshness of youth and none of its immaturity. It was first performed at the Crystal Palace, June 8, 1862, and was enthusiastically received, Charles Dickens complimenting the young composer very highly. Though not written expressly for the theatre, the music can be used almost as it stands; but I have never heard it without additional numbers. When it was adopted for Henrietta Hodson's production, Sullivan's "Where the bee sucks" was cut out and Arne's substituted. Arne's setting is his best work, and, in my opinion, the most beautiful of all the versions extant; but Sullivan's is fine too, and the former did not blend with the rest of the score but stood out and spoilt the whole musical scheme.
Taubertwrote capital incidental music for this play, but I have never heard it without additional numbers. Sir Frank Benson used a great deal of this setting in his production ofThe Tempest, but he made use of much other music as well. In his version the play began with a "Storm Chorus" by Haydn, supposed to have been inspired by his first (a bad) crossing to England; at least, this was the tradition in the Benson company. Then he went on to Taubert for "Come unto these yellow sands" and "Full fathom five," both very pretty arrangements for Ariel (soprano) and chorus; back to Arne for "Where the bee sucks," and to Sullivan for "Honour, riches." A song for Ariel, "Oh, bid thy faithful Ariel fly," by T. Linley, was interpolated, the words not even by Shakespeare. For the closing scenes, Sir Frank returned toTaubert; and if the whole affair was a hotchpotch, it was a very agreeable one.
The last, and quite the most important, music written forThe Tempestsince Sullivan's time is Humperdinck's.Engelbert Humperdinckis well known in England as the composer of the operaHänsel und Gretel, the scores ofKönigskinderandThe Miracle, but few English people know his Shakespearian works. His music toThe Tempestwas first heard at a great production of the play in Berlin at the Neue Schauspielhaus on October 25, 1906. It consists of a long prelude, running into storm melodrama music for the whole of the first scene, calming down beautifully for Miranda's first entrance. All the lyrics and choruses are set, and in all there are eighteen important numbers. The music is difficult, and the chorus and orchestra must be on a large scale; but it would make a very interesting production if it could be done exactly as the composer devised it, with no added numbers, extra lyrics, or pseudo-Elizabethan bilge. Here are ninety pages of closely printed pianoforte score; enough, surely, for the most old-fashioned producer without additional numbers. Very effective use is made of the male and female chorus, singingbouche ferméeinstead of the orchestra playing, as melodrama music. Ariel's "Where the bee sucks" is a charming setting, and the choruses and dances are most carefully and reverentially done. There is no German equivalent to Shadwell, Davenant, or Dryden. Here we have nothing but the exact text of Shakespeare, and really it seems quite enough. The Prosperomotif, a fanfare, occurring frequently, holds the entire work together, and the magic music would be a great help to any Shakespeare production. I hope one day to see a straight production of this play with the music as composed.
Berliozwas early attracted toThe Tempest, and even called one of the ladies he adored—Miss Moke, subsequentlyMme. Pleyel—Ariel. At the end of 1828, after the failure at rehearsal of the Symphonie Fantastique, he was asked to write something for Girard, conductor of the Théâtre Italien. He then composed his Fantasia with choruses onThe Tempest, but Girard at once saw it was too big for his theatre and could only be done at the Opéra. There was to be a concert for the Artists' Benevolent Fund, and the work was accepted for performance by the director of the Academy, M. Loubbert, of whose care and kindness during the production Berlioz speaks most highly. He quotes Shakespeare about him (he often quoted Shakespeare), saying to a friend, "He was a man, Horatio." I cannot do better than transcribe the composer's interesting account of the first performance, taken from hisAutobiography: "All went splendidly at rehearsal; everything seemed to smile, when, with my usual luck, an hour before the concert, there broke over Paris the worst storm that had been known for fifty years. The streets were flooded, practically impassable, and for the first half of the concert when myTempest, damnedTempest, was being played, there were not more than three hundred people in the place." Just Berlioz's luck! Something nearly always went wrong with his work in Paris. In London, Petrograd, Berlin, anywhere else, he was immensely successful, but in Paris never quite a success, even at the height of his fame. The second performance, the following year, was much less unfortunate. Of the work itself Berlioz writes: "It is new, fresh, grand, sweet, tender, surprising."
It is a pity composers do not tell us more often what they think of their own works. I mean in autobiographies and signed articles, of course; not, as has sometimes happened, in inspired articles written by their friends, or in anonymous ones written by themselves.
To come to the work itself, Berlioz incorporated it in hisLelio, orThe Return to Life(lyric melodrama). This is one of the most extraordinary hotchpotches in all music. It begins with a ballad by Goethe, then there is a long apostrophe to Shakespeare, then a brigand's song andchorus, then a song of bliss; finally, the composer, Lelio or Berlioz, decides to write a fantasia onThe Tempest, and calls on Shakespeare to stand by him. The orchestra and chorus then perform the fantasia. It is scored for full orchestra, but also for two pianosà quatre mains. The first number is a chorus of air spirits, soprani, alti, and tenori—1 and 2 calling on Miranda to come to her destined husband. (This is a rough translation.) After this comes a long orchestral interlude with a greatcrescendoanddiminuendo, returning again to the Miranda chorus. The next is also a long orchestral interlude, introducing Caliban. The chorus shoutfortissimoat him, calling him "Orrido monstro," which, I believe, means "horrid monster." After another long orchestral bit, the chorus again begins about Miranda, and sings a farewell chant to her as she is leaving the island. The coda is markedpiù animato confuoco, and keeps upanimatoto the end. Whether it is supposed to show general relief on the part of the inhabitants of the island on the departure of Prospero and the rest of the mortals, or sorrow for the same reason, I do not profess to know. Lelio (Berlioz) says a few words to the performers, finishing, "You have indeed made progress, so much so that we may henceforth attempt works of greater depth than this feeble sketch." But this "feeble sketch" makes a very difficult work to tackle; and if Berlioz had developed it, Heaven only knows where we should end!
La Tempête, Fantaisie pour orchestrebyP. Tschaikowsky, is a very long and complicated symphonic poem, with a definite programme. It really tells a good deal of the story of Shakespeare's play-poem. It opens with "The Sea." After a few preliminary bars for wind, the stringspianissimo, and very much divided, play without any change of expression for fifty-three bars, and for the same number of bars the bass is F, with occasional changes to F sharp. It is a wonderful tone picture of a calm sea. Then comes Ariel, very light and feathery, presently ordered to bring about a great storm: and it comes—quite one of the most terrificin all music. The storm having calmed down, we get the love-music of Ferdinand and Miranda—very timid music, but finally swelling up to a fineforteeffect; however, before this happens there is an amusing dialogue (if one may use the word) between Ariel and Caliban. To most impressive music, Prospero surrenders his magic powers, and the mortals quit the island. The sea music starts again just as in the opening, and the work ends on a perfectly calm sea even as it began. It is, of course, as with all the composer's greater works, very difficult, and scored for a large orchestra; but its effects are certain, and it is grateful to conduct or play. The storm is undoubtedly one of the most graphic imitations of Nature in all musical art.
Frederick Corder'sConcert Overture "Prospero" is a very good example of the composer's work. It was produced in 1885, and themottois fromThe Tempest, Act iii., Scene 3: "What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!"
It opens with afortetheme for trombones and tuba, obviously Prospero himself; followed by flute solo, again obviously Ariel, accompanied bypianissimoviolin (very high sustained chords) and harp. These two subjects hold a sort of dialogue in which Prospero has the last word till theAllegro con fuococommences.
This theme is a very high, swift, semiquaver passage for violins, with some occasional help from the wood wind. It leads to a subject for 'cello of quite a melodic, easy-going character, which might easily be Ferdinand, and, as the first violins join in, Miranda. Then enters Prospero with his trombones against this sweetness, and the drama of the overture begins—Prospero drowns his books, Ariel is heard singing joyfully, but somewhat sadly, and, in the end, the spirits of the island, free at last, are heard in a great rejoicing.
I wish Mr Corder had written even the vaguest programme for this overture. I have tried to write one, but I may be wrong the whole time; anyway, I have done my best, andcan heartily express my great admiration for the overture and the attitude it takes according to my reading of the play.
Mr Corder has also set "Come unto these yellow sands" and "Full fathom five" for soprano and female chorus, with harps for the first number, and contralto and orchestra for the second; both are melodious and effective, though there is much repetition of the words.
J. F. Duggan, born 1847, died 1894, whose name does not appear in any musical biographical dictionary that I can find, has done a couple of interesting settings of songs for Caliban. The first, curiously enough, is for a tenor: I have often thought of Caliban musically, but never as a tenor; still, here it is. The words begin, "No more dams I'll make for fish," and the setting is quite appropriately grotesque. The second is elaborate. It was first sung by Sir Charles Santley, to whom it was dedicated, and is for high baritone. The words begin, "Art thou afeared?" and the music is quite decorative in its harmonic progressions, and gives points quite excellently to the curious lines in which Caliban describes the musical wonders of the island to Trinculo and Stephano, while Ariel plays on his tabor and pipe. This song was published in 1871, and that is the only further biographical detail I can give.
Clarence Lucas, a Canadian composer (b. 1866), has written a very brilliant Scherzo for piano solo, entitled "Ariel." He has taken as his motto Shakespeare's words, "On the bat's back I do fly," and has certainly illustrated the familiar passage with great dexterity. It is a gossamer piece of work, and, though difficult, is highly effective. It bears strong traces of the composer's years of study at the Paris Conservatoire.
Joseph Spaight, a clever young English composer, has written a string quartet called "Ariel," which is really very interesting. The work is divided into eight sections,each one expressing some Ariel episode in the play. The episodes are described in a few words, such as "On a ship in a storm," "Invisible," "Playing time on tabor and pipe and leading Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo away." They are highly descriptive, but one may well question whether the string quartet is the proper vehicle for such programme music.
The only opera mentioned by Mr Barclay Squire that might have been founded on this play isTimone, Misantropo, by theEmperor Leopold I., produced at Vienna in 1696. Leopold I., Emperor of the West, was born in 1640, and educated by the Jesuits for the Church, and he probably learned music from them. I have read fine biographies of him; but though I find he was not a really good ruler, there is no mention of his gifts as a musician. It would be interesting to discover a copy of an opera, libretto by the King of Dramatists, music by the Emperor of the West, King of Hungary and Bohemia; but with the exception of the name and the date I can discover no record of the work at all: not even a popular selection for the pianoforte—Leopold-Liszt!
In 1678, Thomas Shadwell produced his version ofTimon of Athens, under the title "The History of Timon of Athens, the Man Hater, made into a play by Thomas Shadwell." Of the atrocities committed by the adapter on Shakespeare in this version it is not easy to speak with restraint. Suffice it to say that ten years after the production Shadwell became Poet Laureate! The masque in Act i. is written entirely by Shadwell, with music byHenry Purcell. Whether this work comes legitimately within the scope of my theme I am not certain. Undoubtedly the author and composer must have been under the influence of, if not inspired by, Shakespeare: as we have so little music for this strange play, I will therefore make a short analysis of the masque. Julian Marshall, in his foreword to the PurcellSociety's edition, says: "This work was not well calculated to inspire the genius of Purcell. Written to order, and perhaps in some haste, the score is slight in character and design." There are several beautiful numbers.
The work consists of an overture and thirteen numbers. The first part of the overture is taken from the "Trumpet Sonata," and is fairly familiar to lovers of Purcell. The duet for two nymphs that follows is preceded by a "Symphonie of Pipes" to imitate birds: this is played on two flutes with a very pretty effect. The bass song, "Return, revolting rebels," sung by Bacchus, has a fine bold melody; and a slow trio in the minor is in strong contrast to the principal theme. The best chorus is "Who can resist such mighty charms?", which, though simple in construction, has some fine broad effects.
The last duet and chorus, for Cupid and Bacchus, is very bright and melodious, composed in six-four time, and makes a merry end to the masque. After the epilogue comes a "Curtain tune on a ground," for strings only—by far the most interesting number in the piece. The persistent use of the idiom of "false relation" throughout the whole piece gives it a curious interest; and the contrapuntal and harmonic devices are also quite elaborate. I should think there is more of the real Timon in this one number than in all Shadwell's perversions.
In spite of its great poetical beauties,Twelfth Nighthas not attracted many composers. There is only one opera that I can trace, and that isCesario, byK. G. Wilhelm Taubert, produced in Berlin at the Royal Opera House in 1874. There is no attempt to foster the delusion that anyone who is not next door to an idiot could ever mistake Sebastian for Viola, orvice versâ. Viola, in this version, is a soprano, and her brother a tenor-baritone, so it is hard to understand how even Orsino was taken in; but he was (and he a baritone, not a tenor!).
The opera opens with an overture, conventional and not very characteristic, and the curtain rises on a scene in Illyria, near Orsino's palace.
A chorus of maidens, wives, sailors, children, and musicians is discovered, singing a very bright and melodious number, which, though very tuneful, does not help the action at all. The second scene opens with storm music bringing on Viola and the Sea Captain.
The librettist, Emil Taubert, does not adhere any too closely to the original, so I will just describe the most effective numbers. Sir Toby's drinking song in the first act is a thoroughly good German drinking song, with the usual low bass E for the end; and directly afterwards Sir Andrew has a grotesque love-song with no little humour in it.
In the fourth scene there is a very sentimental duet between Viola and Orsino. As the work progresses we get farther and farther away from Shakespeare, and so I leave the only opera founded on this exquisite play. Ithink a great deal of its weakness is due to the librettist cutting out Feste, the clown. There is no "Come away, Death," "O mistress mine," or "When that I was."
So it is with pleasure that I turn toHumperdinck'sdelightful music for Reinhardt's production at the Deutsches Theater, Berlin, produced on October 17, 1907. The first scene is in Orsino's court (as in Shakespeare), and gives the whole romantic atmosphere of the rest of the play. Most producers begin with the short scene of Viola's shipwreck, thus cunningly avoiding the whole idea of the plot. Two violins, viola, and viol-da-gamba are discovered playing the music of "O mistress mine" on the stage; and if it is impossible to obtain a viol-da-gamba, the composer allows one to use a violoncello. Also there is a guitar off the stage. The text is closely followed. The setting ('cello solo) for the words "If music be the food of love" is very beautiful; and until the Duke's words, "Enough, no more," the incidental music fits in with every shade of expression in that perfect monologue. The next number is the serenade for the clown (Feste). He is supposed to accompany himself on the guitar, but the guitar part is cued in for the harp if the singing-actor has not enough skill on the instrument. It is a very charming song, not in the least like the settings of the same words to which we are all so accustomed, but none the worse for that. The catch "Hold thy peace" is a perfect canon at the unison, sung by Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and the clown. All the verses in the kitchen scene are set to music, the versatile clown playing the accompaniments on his ever-ready guitar.
In Act ii., Scene 4, no expensive prima-donna is called upon to sing "Come away, Death." Orsino simply sends for Feste, and tells his orchestra to play the tune while they are all waiting.
When the clown does arrive to sing the song the audience has been played into the exact mood Shakespeare wanted; and the number, lovely as it is, gets a better chance ofsuccess than if the orchestra had been playing something quite different (as I have often heard), or an entirely new character, a singing woman, had been introduced for this special number. Feste sings "Hey, Robin, jolly Robin" and "I am gone, sir," to specially composed music still accompanied by the guitar, and there are two settings by Humperdinck of the epilogue song, "When that I was." Both are written for Feste; but the first one is accompanied only by the guitar, while the second has an elaborate orchestral accompaniment. You can take your choice; both settings are equally good.
This music, both in form and expression, is, perhaps, the ideal music for a Shakespearian production. Nothing is forced on the hearer. When Shakespeare wanted music he said so, either in his stage directions or in the text. This is exactly what Humperdinck has given us. Never to my knowledge has Shakespeare's text been so reverently treated by any composer or producer. I often think that it is not entirely the fault of the composer of Shakespearian music that so much of it is superfluous; perhaps a little blame may lie with the actor-manager-producer, who must have a march to bring him on and take him off at every entrance or exit.
Sir Alexander Mackenzie'sdelightfulTwelfth Nightoverture was first produced at a Richter concert in 1888. Though it is not exactly programme music, Sir Alexander gives occasional quotations on the score indicating his intentions.
The opening is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Malvolio (taking up letter), "By my life, this is my lady's hand." The 'cellos, basses, and violas play a unison quaver passage of introduction, and Malvolio obviously speaks through the medium of a bassoon. The clarinets and the rest of the wood wind join in, the strings sustaining an accompaniment; and so the first episode finishes.
The next is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Sir Toby, "Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image ofit leaves him he must run mad." Then comes, to my idea, the triumphal music of Malvolio. This is quickly followed by a label, Act ii., Scene 3, Sir Toby, "Shall we rouse the night owl in a catch?" and for a few moments we have bright sounds of revelry; but very swiftly the music gets slow andpiano, and presently we return to Act i., and the words on the score are, "O, she that hath a heart of that frame, To pay this debt but to a brother," etc. This subject is very beautiful, and admirably portrays Orsino's love for Cesario. After this comes a bright, melodious episode working up to afortissimoclimax. Then we have another label, Act iv., Scene 2, Malvolio, "Fool, there never was a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits as thou art."
The music then proceeds infugatomanner for a long time, and there are no more directions or quotations from the text in the score till towards the end. This is now the regular coda, and very brilliant it is. But just before the close one finds the label, Act v., Scene 1, Malvolio, "I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you"; the original Malvoliomotifbeing played by the violas and 'cellos and taken up by the rest of the orchestra. The whole finishesfortissimoand very cheerfully. There is a curious kettledrum solo in the third bar before the end. Taken all round, this overture is quite one of the best Shakespearian commentaries extant. Without being in the least pedantic, it has a smack of the period; and as a sheer, joyous bit of comedy it ranks very high in the repertory of Shakespearian music.
Sir Henry Bishop'sthird pasticcio opera was founded onTwelfth Night. It was produced at the Royal, Drury Lane, in 1820. Contrary to his usual custom there is no overture, and the first number is a song for viola with bassoonobbligatoto the words, "Full many a glorious morning" from the 33rd Sonnet. The first half is very unlike the composer's usual manner, but in the second he soon gets back to his original style. The next number is a quintet with words fromThe Two Gentlemenof Verona—"Who is Sylvia?" The melody of the first verse is by Ravenscroft (1714), that of the second by Morley (1595), and the whole is arranged by Sir Henry; so there is not much unity of style about it, though if well sung and unaccompanied it should be effective. The duet "Orpheus with his lute," words by Fletcher, for Viola and Olivia, is really too bad; and with pleasure we turn to a quartet by Thomas Ford (1580) and D. Calcott (1766). It is called "Come o'er the brook, Besse, to me." The first line is fromKing Lear, Act ii., Scene 6, but in the text it is "bourne" not "brook." The rest of the lines are spurious. The first verse is by Ford, the second by Calcott, and the whole arranged by Bishop; but this time he has thrown in a harmonica part, the first that I have met with in this orchestration. The quartet and chorus at the end of the second act are by Bishop; the words, some of them from the second part ofHenry IV., and some spurious. The whole finale is very pretentious and of no real musical value. In Act iii. we have the inevitable cavatina, "Take all my loves," from the Sonnet No. 40, sung by Olivia. It is a most sugary song; only a few lines are taken, and repeatedad nauseam. The duet Olivia and Viola, called "Cesario," is adapted by Bishop from a work I cannot trace (by a certain Winter). The only composer of that name in any musical biography is Peter von Winter, born at Mannheim in 1755, and pupil of Browning's celebrated Abt Vogler. The words are a very corrupt version of Olivia's speech in Act iii., Scene 1 of this very play, and the music sometimes fits in and sometimes does not.
Kit Marlowe's "Crabbed age and youth," set by Bishop for Olivia, has a fine cadenza duet with the flute, but is otherwise not notable; and "Bid me discourse," which follows, is too well known to need mention. An old setting of the Clown's song, "When that I was," is arranged by Bishop for the finale. Viola and Olivia have one chorus to themselves, veryrubato. The melody and chorus are frequently changed, rhythmically and melodically, but itmakes a good finish to a very extraordinary mix-up of styles and composers. True to his ideals, Bishop does not use "Come away, Death," or "O mistress mine," two of the loveliest lyrics in the language—I suppose because they happen to occur inTwelfth Night!
During his second visit to London,Haydncomposed his single contribution to Shakespearian song. It is contained in the set of six "Original Canzonets, composed for an English Lady of Position." The words are fromTwelfth Night, beginning "She never told her love," and the song is very pathetic. Curiously enough for the period, the words "Smiling at grief" are the only ones repeated. The canzonet opens with a long symphony for piano. The voice part is melodious and vocal; the harmonies are more complicated than is usual with Haydn, and there is more liberal use made of the chord of the diminished seventh than one looks for in his work. The voice part is of just an octave's range, and there are no aggressivecoloraturapassages or high notes.
The only work ofJohannes Brahmsin which I can trace the direct inspiration of Shakespeare is his setting of the Clown's song, "Come away, Death," fromTwelfth Night, for trio of female voices, harp, and two horns. This is an exquisite little work, very complete; there is hardly any repetition of the words: just at the end Brahms repeats "to weep there," but that is all. The combination of female voices, harp, and horns seems on paper to be rather eccentric, but in practice it is admirable, used as skilfully as Brahms has used it. This trio was not written for the play. In any decent production the song must be given to Feste, but how often is it? Time after time I have seen a strange woman in tights dragged on to sing one of the numerous Wardour Street versions, and no one seems to mind. Without this song, the whole character of Feste, one of the best of all the Shakespearian clowns, sinks into almost nothingness.
Perhaps somewhere, hidden away in some old music catalogue, I may find something more of Brahms in relation to Shakespeare. Indeed, I hope so. What a Hamlet overture he could have written!
The bridal song, "Roses, their sharp spines being gone," and graceful dance (Malvolio), composed for Sir Herbert Tree's revival ofTwelfth Night, make one wish that the composer,Paul Rubens, had devoted more time to this kind of work. The words, by Fletcher, are beautifully set; and though there is no attempt at intentional archaism, there is an inimitable quaintness about this song, and the graceful dance which always accompanies Malvolio's entrances and exits, that is hard to find in modern Shakespearian music.
Augustus Barratt'ssetting of "Come away, Death," in the same production, is very beautiful.Frederick Corder'sversion of the same lyric for a trio of female voices and piano is a sad little number; but I wish he would set the words straight, without repetitions.
Sir Charles Villiers Stanford'ssettings of the "Clown's songs" inTwelfth Nightwere not written for any special production, and were first sung by Mr Plunket Greene. There is no needless repetition of the words, every syllable being given its exact musical value; so, from several points of view these versions are nearly perfect. The first, "O mistress mine," has a flowing though not very significant melody, and a graceful accompaniment. The second, "Come away, Death," is naturally of a very sombre nature, the harmonies being rather more elaborate than in the other two songs. The last lyric, "The rain it raineth every day," is, to my mind, much the best of the three. It is a very merry song, and the major effect and the little florid voice passage at the end make a charming close. Unfortunately, Sir Charles omits the last verse but one.
Dr Arne'ssetting is beautiful. It has a curious burden to it, in the accompaniment only; but the words are sadly chopped about.
Sullivan's"O mistress mine" is quite one of his most effective songs; and there is a beautiful flowingobbligatoin the accompaniment which suggests that Sir Andrew, who played on the "viol-de-gamboys," was playing it for the Clown.
J. L. Hatton'ssetting of "When that I was" is quite pretty, but he plays the deuce with the words. The exquisitely quaint first line, "When that I was and a little tiny boy" becomes "When I was a tiny boy"; the last verse but one is entirely omitted; and the last verse of all is quite spoilt. There can be no possible excuse for Hatton or anyone else changing "But that's all one; our play is done, and we'll strive to please you every day," into "But that's all one, our song is done, for the rain it raineth every day." This song, for tenor solo and four-part male chorus, won a prize given by the Melodists' Club. I suppose it was a word-distorting contest, and I congratulate the judges on a fine decision.
Samuel Coleridge Taylor'ssetting of "O mistress mine" is interesting in several ways. It is not in the least like any other musical version of the same words, and, though they are set quite straightforwardly, the general effect is curiously bizarre. The accompaniment is in the style of a guitar serenade, which is, of course, thoroughly in keeping with the stage situation, although the song itself was not composed for any special stage performance.
With the exception of the perfect lyric "Who is Sylvia?" composers have left this play severely alone; butSir Henry Bishopcertainly produced a pasticcio opera onThe Two Gentlemen of Veronaat the Royal, Covent Garden, in 1821. The work is the usual jumble of words from the plays, poems, and sonnets, set to music for the most part by Bishop. There is an overture which is really a string of tunes, mostly in C major, not labelled by the composer, and which do not occur later in the opera. It is a very bad example of a very bad class of so-called overture. The first song is a setting of the fifth to the twelfth lines of the Sonnet No. 64, sung by a character called Philippe, who does not appear in Shakespeare's play. It was performed by a Master Longhurst, a boy of some importance in his time, as he is mentioned by name in several books of reference regarding this song. The song in question is not worth very much, but is a good example of how a perfect sonnet may be transformed into a very indifferent song. This is followed by a duet for Philippe and Julia, with words from Shakespeare's 92nd Sonnet, but the first line is unhappily changed from "But do thy worst to steal thyself away," into "Save, though you strive to steal yourself away." The improvement is obvious! and the musical setting quite in keeping with the improvement in the text; only a few lines of the poem are sung, but oh! how often repeated!
Sylvia has a great show in the next number. It is an extraordinary perversion of the Sonnet No. 109, "Oh, never say that I was false of heart," a poem that anydecent-minded pirate or burglar would have left alone. Still, Sir Henry rushes in with what is officially described as a bravura song. Certainly only lines 1-4 and 13-14 are set to music, but how the few words are contorted! In the coda Sylvia sings on the word "all," fourteen bars first and then fifteen!
A society for the protection of sonnets should certainly be formed. The ever-usefulPassionate Pilgrimis used for a mixture of Dr Arne and Bishop as an unaccompanied quartet, "Good night, good rest," and we will leave it at that; but the following number cannot be lightly treated. It is difficult to forgive a composer who seizes on the perfect sonnet in the world and writes a "Solo Brilliante" on the first four lines. These are certainly correctly printed, save that the word "curse" (Shakespeare) is transformed into "moan" (Bishop), and lines 9-12, with endless repetitions, are dragged in for the second half. This solo ends with a long cadenza for voice and flute, the voice only using the first half of the word "heaven"; there are just thirty bars on the syllable "hea-"! The four-part round, "To see his face," words fromVenus and Adonis(only the first four lines of stanza 183 are set), is an ingenious and entertaining piece of work, and should be most effective. For some strange reason, "Who is Sylvia?" is set as a quintet, with Julia on the top line. The first half of the melody is by Bishop, but the second half is believed to be by Rousseau; anyhow, no one would quarrel now as to how to apportion the requisite blame; the "dishonours" appear to be equally divided, except that Rousseau, being a Swiss, could not be expected to show so tender a regard for Shakespeare as Shakespeare's own fellow-countryman Bishop did. The cavatina sung by Julia is to the first eight lines of the 73rd Sonnet; and the male chorus, "Now the hungry lion roars," is, of course, from one of Puck's speeches inA Midsummer Night's Dream, but is sadly cut and altered.
The duet, "On a Day," words fromLove's Labour's Lost, and alsoThe Passionate Pilgrim, is another "I know abank"-like thing, and quite as uninteresting. Julia's next song, "Should he upbraid," is familiar to all, and the words are founded on a speech of Baptista inThe Taming of the Shrew. The finale is a duet by Sylvia and Julia, assisted by the full chorus: its title is "How like a winter," and the words are partly adapted, very freely, from the first four lines of the 97th Sonnet, and from the masque inAs You Like It.
A stranger jumble of words could hardly be conceived; yet this opera was quite successful, and no one seemed to think any the worse of Bishop, who was mainly responsible for its monstrosities.