The Voyage of Columbus.“The Voyage of Columbus” was written in 1885, and first published in Germany. The text of the libretto was prepared by the composer himself, extracts from Washington Irving’s “Columbus” forming the theme of each of the six scenes, all of which are supposed to transpire at evening, and are therefore styled by the composer “night-scenes.” Their arrangement, which is very skilfully accomplished, is as follows:—Scene I.In the chapel of St. George at Palos, Aug. 2, 1492. “The squadron being ready to put to sea, Columbus, with his officers and crew, confessed themselves to the friar, Juan Perez. They entered upon the enterprise full of awe, committing themselves to the especial guidance and protection of Heaven.”Scene II.On the deck of the Santa Maria. “Eighteen years elapsed after Columbus conceived his enterprise before he was enabled to carry it into effect. The greater part of that time was passed in almost hopeless solicitation, poverty, and ridicule.”Scene III.The Vesper Hymn. “In the evening, according to the invariable custom on board the admiral’s ship, the mariners sang the Vesper Hymn to the Virgin.”Scene IV.Discontent and Mutiny. “In this way they fed each other’s discontent, gathering into little knots, and fomenting a spirit of mutinous opposition ... finally breaking forth into turbulent clamor.”Scene V.In distant Andalusia. “He compares the pure and balmy mornings to those of April in Andalusia, and observes that they wanted but the song of the nightingale to complete the illusion.”Scene VI.Land and Thanksgiving. “As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch.”The cantata opens with a brief orchestral prelude of a sombre character begun by the trombone sounding the Gregorian intonation, and leading to the barytone solo of the priest (“Ye men of Spain, the Time is nigh”), appealing to the crew to commit themselves to Heaven, to which the full male chorus responds with ever-increasing power, reaching the climax in the “Ora pro nobis.” Twice the priest repeats his adjuration, followed by the choral response, the last time with joy and animation as the flag of Castile is raised and they bid farewell to the shores of Spain. A short allegro brings the scene to a close.The second scene is a bass aria for Columbus (“Eighteen long Years of Labor, Doubt, and Scorn”), of a vigorous and spirited character, changing to a solemn adagio in the prayer, “Lord of all Power and Might,” and closing with a few spirited phrases in the opening tempo. It is followed by the Vesper Hymn, “Ave Maris Stella,” a number in which the composer’s eminent ability in sacred music is clearly shown. Its tranquil harmony dies away in the softest of pianissimos, and is followed by an agitated prelude introducing the furious chorus of the mutinous crew “Come, Comrades, come,” which gathers intensity as it progresses, voices and instruments uniting in broken but powerful phrases, sometimes in full chorus and again in solo parts, until the climax is reached, when Columbus intervenes in brief solos of great dignity, to which the chorus responds, the scene closing with the renewal of allegiance,—a stirring bass solo with choral accompaniment.The fifth scene is a tenor recitative and love-song of a most graceful character, and one which will become a favorite when it is well known:—“In Andalusia the nightingaleSings,—sings through the live-long night;Sings to its mate in pure delight:But, ah me! ah, my love!Vanished and lost to my sightIn distant Andalusia.”The final scene is very elaborate in its construction, and brings the work to a sonorous and statelyclose. It opens with a very dramatic recitative by Columbus (“The Night is dark, but many a Sign seen through this Day proclaims the Goal at Hand”), at the close of which there is a short orchestral prelude, which serves to introduce a trio (“Here at your Bidding”) for Columbus and two officers (first tenor and first bass). At the cry of a seaman, “Land ho!” the chorus responds with animation. Columbus bids his crew join him “in prayer and grateful praise.” The answer comes in a splendidly-written “Hallelujah,” which is fairly majestic in its progression, reaching its close in full broad harmony, with the accompanying strains of trumpets.The Light of Asia.Mr. Buck’s latest cantata, “The Light of Asia,” well-nigh reaches the dimensions of an opera or oratorio. It was written in 1886 and first published in England. Its name reveals its source, and the composer has made compensation for the privilege of using Mr. Edwin Arnold’s beautiful poem, by a graceful dedication of the work to him. The libretto was prepared by the composer himself, who has shown great skill in making his selections in such manner as not to disturb the continuity of the story. The purely philosophical portions are omitted, and only those are retained which have a human interest. In this manner he has avoided the obstacle which the lack of human sympathy in the poem, beautiful as it is, would otherwise have placed inhis way. The text, as will be remembered, has no definite metre, much of it being in blank verse, and does not readily lend itself to musical expression; but it will be conceded that the composer has also overcome this difficulty in a very remarkable manner. The cantata is divided into four parts,—Prologue, the Renunciation and Temptation, the Return, and Epilogue and Finale.The first part has nine numbers. A brief prelude leads to the opening chorus:—“Below the highest sphere four regents sit,Who rule the world; and under them are zonesNearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again.”It begins with a fugue, opened by the basses, simple in its construction but stately in theme and very dignified throughout. It is followed by a bass solo of descriptive character (“The King gave Order that his Town should keep high Festival”), closing with a few choral measures,sotto voce, relating that the King had ordered a festival in honor of the advent of Buddha, and how a venerable saint, Asita, recognized the divinity of the child and “the sacred primal signs,” and foretold his mission. The third number is the description of the young Siddârtha, set in graceful recitative and semi-chorus for female voices, with a charming accompaniment. The fourth is a spring song (“O come and see the Pleasance of the Spring”), begun by tenors and basses and then developing into full chorus with animated descriptive effects for the orchestra, picturing “thethickets rustling with small life,” the rippling waters among the palms, the blue doves’ cooings, the jungles laughing with the nesting-songs, and the far-off village drums beating for marriage feasts. A recitative for bass (“Bethink ye, O my Ministers”), in which the King counsels with his advisers as to the training of the child, leads to a four-part song for tenors and basses (“Love will cure these thin Distempers”), in which they urge him to summon a court of pleasure in which the young prince may award prizes to the fair. Then“If one or twoChange the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,So may we choose for love with love’s own eye.”The King orders the festival, and in the next number—a march and animated three-part chorus for female voices—Kapilavastu’s maidens flock to the gate, “each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound.” Then comes the recognition, briefly told in soprano recitative. Yasôdhara passes, and “at sudden sight of her he changed.” A beautiful love-duet for soprano and tenor (“And their Eyes mixed, and from the Look sprang Love”) closes the scene. The next number is a bass solo narrating the triumph of Siddârtha over all other suitors, leading to a jubilant and graceful wedding chorus (“Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired!”), the words of which are taken from the “Indian Song of Songs.”The second part opens with a soprano solo describing his pleasure with Yasôdhara, in the midst of which comes the warning of the Devas:—“We are the voices of the wandering wind,That moan for rest and rest can never find.Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,—A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.”This number is a semi-chorus, set for female voices, interspersed with brief phrases for tenor, and after a bass solo, relating the King’s dream and the hermit’s interpretation, which induces him to doubly guard Siddârtha’s pleasure-house, leads up to a beautiful chorus, divided between two sopranos, alto, two tenors, and two basses:—“Softly the Indian night sunk o’er the plain,Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,And cool with mountain airs sighing adownFrom snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.The moon above the eastern peaksSilvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,And all the sleeping land.”The next scene opens with a soprano solo (“Within the Bower of inmost Splendor”), in which Yasôdhara relates her dream of the voice crying “The Time is nigh,” to Siddârtha, and closes with a tender duet for soprano and tenor. The next number is a brief chorus (“Then in her Tears she slept”), followed by the tenor solo, “I will depart,” in which Siddârtha proclaims his resolve “to seek deliverance and the unknown light,” and leading to a richly-colored and majestic chorus:“There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoonOf captains and of soldiers:The gates of triple brass rolled back all silentlyOn their grim hinges;Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,Into the night Siddârtha passed,While o’er the land a tremor spread,As if earth’s soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,And rich celestial music thrilled the airFrom hosts on hosts of shining ones.”A tenor solo describes the six long years of wandering, followed by a characteristic chorus of voices of earth and air bidding him pass to the tree under whose leaves it was foretold that truth should come to him for the saving of the world. A short bass recitative leads to a vigorous descriptive chorus relating the temptations of Siddârtha, in which the orchestra is used with masterly effect. A brief soprano solo, the apparition of Yasôdhara among the wanton shapes floating about the tree, imploring him to return, and the tenor response, bidding the shadow depart, intervene; and then the chorus resumes with increased vigor, reaching a furious climax as the legions of hell tempt him, but dying away in the close to phrases of tender beauty:—“Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,And far and near there spread an unknown peace.As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,The world was glad.”The third part (the Return) opens with a soprano solo of a slow and mournful character, relating the sorrow of Yasôdhara and the visit of her damsels, who announce the arrival of merchants with tidings of Siddârtha. They are summoned, and tell their story in a short chorus, which is followed by a brief soprano solo (“Uprose Yasôdhara with Joy”), an exultant chorus (“While the Town rang with Music”),and another brief phrase for soprano, leading to a fine choral outburst (“’Tis he! Siddârtha, who was lost”). The next number, a bass solo describing the King’s wrath when he learns that Siddârtha has returned as a yellow-robed hermit instead of with “shining spears and tramp of horse and foot,” is very sonorous as well as dramatic, and is followed by a tenor and bass dialogue developing into a trio of great beauty (“Thus passed the Three into the Way of Peace”). The final number is a masterpiece of choral work both in the elaborateness of its construction and the majesty of its effect, and brings the cantata to a close with the mystic words:—“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!”CORDER.Frederick Corder, the English composer and conductor, was born at Hackney, London, Jan. 26, 1852. He was a student at the Royal Academy of Music in 1874, and in the following year gained the Mendelssohn scholarship. From 1875 to 1878 he studied at Cologne with Hiller, and in 1879 returned to London, where he engaged for a time in literary pursuits. His abilities as a writer are very clearly shown in the librettos to his works. In 1880 he was appointed conductor of the orchestra at the Brighton Aquarium, and since that time he has devoted himself to teaching and composition. His principal works are “In the Black Forest,” an orchestral suite, and “Evening on the Seashore,” idyl for orchestra (1876); the opera “Morte d’Arthur” (1877); the one-act opera “Philomel” (1879); cantata, “The Cyclops” (1880); “Ossian,” a concert overture for orchestra, produced by the London Philharmonic Society (1882); the cantata “Bridal of Triermain” (1886); and the opera “Nordisa,” founded upon a Norwegian subject andbrought out with great success in January, 1887 by the Carl Rosa opera troupe. Mr. Corder is one of the most ambitious and promising of all the younger English composers, and his music shows in a special degree the influence of Wagner. That he has also literary talent of a high order is evinced by his contributions to periodical literature and the librettos of his last two works,—“The Bridal of Triermain” and “Nordisa.”The Bridal of Triermain.“The Bridal of Triermain” was written for the Wolverhampton (England) Festival of 1886, and was one of the most notable successes in the festival performances of that year. The subject is taken from Walter Scott’s poem of the same name. The adaptation has been made in a very free manner, but the main incidents of the poem have been carefully preserved. Sir Roland’s vision of the “Maid of Middle Earth;” the bard Lyulph’s recital of the Arthurian legend, which tells of Gyneth’s enchantment in the valley of St. John by Merlin, where she must sleep“Until a knight shall wake theeFor feats of arms as far renownedAs warrior of the Table Round;”the magic wrought by Merlin in the valley to delude Roland and thwart his effort to rescue Gyneth; his daring entrance into the palace grounds; the discoveryof the Princess in the enchanted hall, and her final rescue are the themes which the composer has treated. In arranging his libretto he has, as has been said, made a free adaptation of the poem, sometimes using verses entire, at other times changing the text and rearranging it to suit the composer’s musical demands, even at the expense of the original beauty and symmetry of the work.The cantata has no overture, but opens with a choral introduction (“Where is the Maiden of Mortal Strain?”). An orchestral interlude in the form of a tender graceful nocturne follows, leading up to the tenor solo, “The Dawn of an autumn Day did creep,” in which the Baron relates the apparition he has seen in his dream. A short bass recitative by Lyulph the bard introduces the Legend, which is told in an effective number for soprano solo, bass solo, and chorus (“In Days e’en Minstrels now forget”). The next number, a very dramatic dialogue for soprano and tenor, gives us the conversation between Arthur and Gyneth, and leads to an energetic full chorus with very descriptive accompaniment, picturing the bloody tourney and its sudden interruption by the appearance of Merlin the enchanter. The first part closes with a charming number (“‘Madmen,’ he cried, ‘your Strife forbear’”) arranged for bass solo, quartet, and chorus, in which is described the spell which Merlin casts upon Gyneth.The second part, after a short allegro movement for orchestra, opens with a contralto solo (“Ofwasted Fields and plundered Flocks”) which prepares the way for a concerted number for solos and chorus (“And now the Moon her Orb has hid”), describing the magical arts which Merlin employed to thwart the Baron. This number alone is sufficient to stamp Mr. Corder as a composer of extraordinary ability. A succession of bass, tenor, and contralto recitatives (“Wroth waxed the Warrior”) leads to another powerful chorus (“Rash Adventurer, bear thee back”), the song of the “four maids whom Afric bore,” in which the composer has caught the weird, strange color of the scene and given it vivid expression. A tenor recitative (“While yet the distant Echoes roll”) leads up to a graceful, sensuous soprano solo and female chorus (“Gentle Knight, awhile delay”). Its counterpart is found in the tenor recitative and spirited, dignified male chorus (“Son of Honor, Theme of Story”). Thedénouementnow begins. A contralto solo, declamatory in style (“In lofty Hall, with Trophies graced”), and a short soprano solo of a joyous character (“Thus while she sang”) lead to the final number (“Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels”), beginning with full chorus, which after short solos for tenor and soprano takes a spirited martial form (“And on the Champion’s Brow was found”) and closes with a quartet and chorus worked up to an imposing climax.The work is largely in narrative form; but this, instead of being a hindrance, seems to have been an advantage to the composer, who has not failedto invest his music with dramatic force that is remarkable. Mr. Corder is credited with being an ardent disciple of Wagner, and his cantata certainly shows the influences of that school. It is throughout a vigorous, effective work, and gives promise that its composer will yet be heard from outside the English musical world.COWEN.Frederic H. Cowen, the favorite English song-writer, was born at Kingston, Jamaica, Jan. 29, 1852, and went to England at a very early age. His first teachers were Benedict and Sir J. Goss, with whom he studied until 1865. During the next three years he continued his musical education at the conservatories of Leipsic and Berlin, returning to England in 1868. His earlier works were an operetta called “Garibaldi,” a fantasie-sonata and piano concerto, a few pieces of chamber music, and a symphony in C minor. These served to introduce him to public notice, and since that time nearly all of his works have met with remarkable success, among them “The Rose Maiden” (1870); music to Schiller’s “Joan of Arc” (1871); festival overture (1872); “The Corsair,” composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1876; a symphony in F major and the Norwegian symphony, which have been favorably received in this country. His most important opera is “Pauline,” which was produced in London with great success by the Carl Rosa company, Nov. 22,1876. As a song-writer, Mr. Cowen is also well known; many of his lyrics, especially those written for Antoinette Sterling and Mrs. E. Aline Osgood, the American singers, having obtained a wide-spread popularity.The Sleeping Beauty.“The Sleeping Beauty,” written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, the poem by Francis Hueffer, has for its theme the well-known fairy tale which has been so often illustrated in music and upon canvas. It is a great favorite in England, and has also met with a successful reception in Paris, where it was brought out not long since by the Concordia Society of that city, under the title of “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” the translation having been made by Miss Augusta Holmes, herself a musician of considerable repute.After a brief orchestral introduction, a three-part chorus (altos, tenors, and basses) tells the story of the ancient King to whom an heiress was born when all hope of offspring had been abandoned, the gay carousal which he ordered, and the sudden appearance of the twelve fays, guardians of his house, with their spinning-wheels and golden flax, who sing as they weave:—“Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof:Future, dark to human eyes,Openly before us lies;As we will and as we give,Haply shall the maiden live;Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof.”In beauty of melody and gracefulness of orchestration this chorus of the fays is specially noticeable. Its charming movement, however, is interrupted by a fresh passage for male chorus, of an agitated character, describing the entrance of the Wicked Fay, who bends over the cradle of the child and sings a characteristic contralto aria:—“From the gold of the flaxen reelThreads of bliss have been spun to thee;By the whirl of the spinning wheelCruel grief shall be done to thee.Thy fate I descry:Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,Ere a score of thy years have flown,Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”Following this aria, the male chorus has a few measures, invoking a curse upon the Fay, which leads to a full chorus of an animated character, foretelling that there shall dawn a day when a young voice, more powerful than witchcraft, will save her; at the close of which the guardian fays are again heard drawing the thread and weaving the woof in low, murmuring tones, with a spinning accompaniment. It is followed by a trio (soprano, tenor, and bass), with chorus accompaniment, announcing the departure of the fays, and leading to a very melodious tenor solo, with two graceful orchestral interludes, which moralizes on what has occurred and closes the prologue.The first scene opens in a hall in the King’s palace, and is full of animation. A brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the full chorus in waltz time (“At Dawn of Day on the first of May”), which moves along with a fascinating swing, and closes in a very vigorous climax. At this point the King makes his appearance and expresses his joy that the time has passed when the prophecy of the Wicked Fay could take effect, for this is the Princess’s twentieth birthday. A dialogue follows between the King and his daughter, closing with a beautiful chorus (“Pure as thy Heart”), after which the dance-music resumes. Unobserved the Princess leaves the banqueting-hall, glides along a gallery, and ascends the staircase to a turret chamber. Before she enters she sings an aria, of a tranquil, dreamy nature (“Whither away, my Heart?”), and interwoven with it are heard the gradually lessening strains of the dance-music, which ceases altogether as her song comes to an almost inaudible close.The second scene opens in the turret chamber, where the Wicked Fay, disguised as an old crone, is spinning. After a short dialogue, in which the Fay explains to the Princess the use of the wheel, she bids her listen, and sings a weird ballad (“As I sit at my Spinning-wheel, strange Dreams come to me”), closing with the refrain of the old prophecy, “Ere the Buds of her Youth are blown.” The Princess dreamily repeats the burden of the song, and then, fearing the presence of some ill-omen, opens the door to escape. She hears the dance-musicagain, but the Fay gently draws her back and induces her to touch the flax. As she does so, the Fay covertly pricks her finger with the spindle. She swoons away, the dance-music suddenly stops, and there is a long silence, broken at last by the Fay’s triumphant declaration: “Thus have I wrought my Vengeance.” The next number is the Incantation Music (“Spring from the Earth, red Roses”), a very dramatic declamation, sung by the Fay and interwoven with snatches of chorus and the refrain of the prophecy. A choral interlude (“Sleep in Bower and Hall”) follows, describing in a vivid manner, both with voices and instruments, the magic sleep that fell upon the castle and all its inmates, and the absence of all apparent life save the spiders weaving their webs on the walls as the years go by:—“The spells of witchcraft which enthrallEach sleeper in that desolate hall,Who can break them?Say, who can lift the deathly blightThat covers king and lord and knight,To give them back to life and light,And awake them?”The answer comes in an animated prelude, through which is heard the strain of a horn signal, constantly growing louder, and heralding the Prince, who enters the silent palace, sword in hand, among the sleeping courtiers, knights, and ladies. After a vigorous declamation (“Light, Light at last”) he passes on his way to the turret chamber, where he beholds the sleeping Princess. The love-song which follows(“Kneeling before Thee, worshipping wholly”) is one of the most effective portions of the work. His kiss awakes her, and as she springs up, the dance-music at once resumes from the bar where it had stopped in the scene with the Wicked Fay. An impassioned duet follows, and the work closes with the animated waltz-chorus which opened the first scene.DVOŘÁK.Anton Dvořák, the Bohemian composer who has risen so suddenly into prominence, was born at Mülhausen, near Prague, Sept. 8, 1841. His father combined the business of tavern-keeper and butcher, and young Dvořák assisted him in waiting upon customers, as well as in the slaughtering business. As the laws of Bohemia stipulate that music shall be a part of common-school education, Dvořák learned the rudiments in the village school, and also received violin instruction. At the age of thirteen he went to work for an uncle, who resided in the village where the schoolmaster was a proficient musician. The latter, recognizing his ability, gave him lessons on the organ, and allowed him to copy music. Piano lessons followed, and he had soon grounded himself quite thoroughly in counterpoint. At the age of sixteen he was admitted to the organ-school of Prague, of which Joseph Pitsch was the principal. Pitsch died soon after, and was succeeded by Kreyci, who made Dvořák acquainted with the music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn.The first orchestral work he heard was Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony,” during its rehearsal under Spohr’s direction. In 1860, being then in his nineteenth year, he obtained an engagement, with the meagre salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a year, as violinist in a band that played at cafés and dances. Two years later he secured a position in the Bohemian Opera House at Prague, then under the direction of Mayer, where he remained until 1871, in which year he left the theatre and devoted himself to teaching, with the prospect of earning two hundred and fifty dollars a year. These were hard days for the young musician; but while he was there struggling for a bare subsistence, he continued writing compositions, though he had no prospect of selling them or of having them played. About this time he wrote his “Patriotic Hymn” and the opera “König und Köhler.” The latter was rejected after an orchestral trial; but he continued his work, undaunted by failure. Shortly after this he received the appointment of organist at the Adelbert Church, Prague, and fortune began to smile upon him. His Symphony in F was laid before the Minister of Instruction in Vienna, and upon the recommendation of Herbeck secured him a grant of two hundred dollars. When Brahms replaced Herbeck on the committee which reported upon artists’ stipends, he fully recognized Dvořák’s ability, and not only encouraged him, but also brought him before the world by securing him a publisher and commending him to Joachim, who still further advancedhis interests by securing performances of his works in Germany and England. Since that time he has risen rapidly, and is now recognized as one of the most promising of living composers. Among his works which have been produced during the past few years are the “Stabat Mater,” the cantata “The Spectre’s Bride,” three operas in the Czechist dialect, three orchestral symphonies, several Slavonic rhapsodies, overtures, violin and piano concertos, an exceedingly beautiful sextet, and numerous songs.The Spectre’s Bride.The legend of the Spectre’s Bride is current in various forms among all the Slavonic nations. The Russians, Servians, Slovaks, Lithuanians, and Poles all have poems in which the ghostly ride of the spectre and the maiden forms the theme. The German version, told by Bürger in his famous ballad “Lenore,” is best known; and Raff has given it a musical setting in his Lenore Symphony. In general, the story is the same. The Spectre comes for his Bride and she rides away with him through the night, amid all manner of supernatural horrors, only to find at the end that she has ridden to the grave with a skeleton. The Bohemian poem used by Dvořák is that of Karel Jaromir Erben, a poet who obtained a national fame by making collections of the songs and legends of his country during hisservice as Secretary of the Royal Bohemian Museum and Keeper of the Archives at Prague. In his version, unlike the German, the Spectre and his Bride make their grewsome journey on foot. Thedénouementin the churchyard differs also, as the maiden is saved by an appeal to the Virgin. In the opening scene she is represented gazing at a picture of the Virgin, mourning the death of her parents and the absence of her lover, who has failed to keep his promise to return. His parting words were:—“Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,And every day remember me.Spin in the first year, spin with care,Bleach in the next the fabric fair;Then garments make, when the years are three,And every day remember me.Twine I that year a wreath for thee;We two that year shall wedded be.”She has faithfully followed the counsel. The three years have expired, but still no tidings have come. As she appeals to the Virgin to bring him back, the picture moves, the flame of the lamp upleaps, there is an ominous knock at the door, and the voice of the apparition is heard urging her to cease praying and follow him to his home. She implores him to wait until the night is past, but the importunate Spectre bids her go with him, and she consents. On they speed over rough bowlders, through thorny brakes and swamps, attended by the baying of wolves, the screeching of owls, the croaking of frogs, and the fitful glow of corpse-candles. One by one he compels her to throw away her prayer-book, chaplet, and cross, and resisting all her appeals to stop andrest, at last they reach the churchyard wall. He calms her fears with the assurance that the church is his castle and the yard his garden, and bids her leap the wall with him. She promises to follow him, but after he has cleared it, sudden fear seizes her; she flies to a tiny house near by and enters. A ghastly scene takes place; spectres are dancing before the door, and the moonlight reveals to her a corpse lying upon a plank. As she gazes, horror-stricken, a knock is heard, and a voice bids the dead arise and thrust the living one out. Thrice the summons is repeated, and then as the corpse opens its eyes and glares upon her, she prays once more to the Virgin. At this instant the crowing of a cock is heard. The dead man falls back, the ghastly, spectral crew disappear, and night gives way to a peaceful morning.“All who to Mass at morning wentStood still in great astonishment;One tomb there was to ruin gone,And in the dead-house a maiden wan;On looking round, amazed were they,On every grave a garment lay.“Well was it, maiden, that thy mindTurned unto God, defence to find,For He thy foes did harmless bind;Had’st thou thyself, too, nothing done,Ill with thy soul it then had gone;Thy body, as the garments were,Mangled had been, and scattered there.”Such is the horrible story which forms the theme of Dvořák’s cantata. It was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1884, and the text was translated by the Rev. Dr. Troutbeck, from a German translationof the original poem made by K. J. Müller. It contains eighteen numbers, each of considerable length, of which eleven are descriptive, the barytone, with chorus response, acting the part of the narrator, and accompanied by instrumentation which vividly paints the horrors of the nocturnal tramp, even to the realistic extent of imitating the various sounds described. It is unnecessary to specify each of these numbers in detail, as they are all closely allied in color and general effect. The music which accompanies them is picturesque and weird, increasing in its power and actual supernaturalism until it reaches its climax in the dead-house where the maiden takes refuge; and in these numbers the orchestra bears the burden of the work. The remaining numbers are almost magical in their beauty and fascination, particularly the first song of the maiden, lamenting her lover, and closing with the prayer to the Virgin, which is thoroughly devotional music, and the second prayer, which saves her from her peril. There are four duets, soprano and tenor, between the Bride and Spectre, and one with chorus, in which are recounted the episodes of the chaplet, prayer-book, and cross, besides the hurried dialogue between them as he urges her on. These, too, abound in quaint rhythms and strange harmonies set against a highly-colored instrumental background. The story is not a pleasant one for musical treatment,—at least for voices,—and the prevailing tone of the composition is sombre; but of the wonderful power of the music and its strange fascination there can be no doubt.FOOTE.Arthur Foote, a rising young composer of Boston, whose works have already made more than a local reputation, was born at Salem, Mass., March 5, 1853. While at Harvard College he studied composition with Prof. J. K. Paine, and after graduation determined to devote himself to the musical profession. He studied the piano-forte and organ with Mr. B. J. Lang of Boston, and soon made his mark as a musician of more than ordinary promise. Among his published works which have attracted favorable attention are various songs and piano compositions; pieces for violin and piano, violoncello and piano; a string quartet; trio for piano, violin, and violoncello; and “Hiawatha,” a ballad for male voices and orchestra. A suite for strings, in manuscript, has obtained the honor of performance at the London symphony concerts (January, 1887), and an overture, “In the Mountains,” also in manuscript, was played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in February, 1887. He is now living in Boston, where he is engaged in teaching the piano and organ.Hiawatha.“The Farewell of Hiawatha,” for barytone solo, male voices, and orchestra, modestly styled by its composer a ballad, is a cantata in its lighter form. Its subject is taken from Longfellow’s familiar poem, and includes the beautiful close of the legend beginning with the stanza:—“From his place rose Hiawatha,Bade farewell to old Nokomis,Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.”The composer has made use of the remainder of the poem without change, except in repetitions demanded by musical necessity and in the omission of the seven lines immediately preceding the final words of farewell, which does not mar the context. A short orchestral introduction,andante con moto, followed by a chorus of tenors and basses in a few bars, recitative in form and sung pianissimo, lead to a barytone solo for Hiawatha (“I am going, O Nokomis”) of a quiet and tender character. A graceful phrase for the violoncello introduces another choral morceau relating Hiawatha’s farewell to the warriors (“I am going, O my People”) a melodious combination of sweetness and strength, though it only rises to a display of energy in the single phrase, “The Master of Life has sent them,” after which it closes quietly, and tenderly, in keeping with the sentiment of the text. The remainder of the work is choral. The westward sail of Hiawathainto the “fiery sunset,” “the purple vapors,” and “the dusk of evening” is set to a very picturesque accompaniment, which dies away in soft strains as he disappears in the distance. An allegro movement with a crescendo of great energy introduces the farewell of “the forests dark and lonely,” moving “through all their depths of darkness,” of the waves “rippling on the pebbles,” and of “the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, from her haunts among the fen-lands.” The last division of the chorus is an allegro, beginning pianissimo and closing with an exultant outburst:—“Thus departed Hiawatha,Hiawatha the Beloved,In the glory of the sunset,In the purple mists of evening,To the regions of the home-wind,Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,To the Islands of the Blessed,To the kingdom of Ponemah,To the land of the Hereafter!”The work, which was written for the Apollo Club of Boston, is not a long one, nor is it at all ambitious in style. The composer has evidently tried to reflect the quiet and tender sentiment of the farewell in his music, and has admirably succeeded. Poetic beauty is its most striking feature, both in the instrumental parts, which are well sustained, and in the vocal, which are earnest, expressive, and at times very pathetic, of this pretty tone-picture.GADE.Niels W. Gade was born at Copenhagen, Oct. 22, 1817. His father was a musical-instrument maker and intrusted his early education to the Danish masters Wershall, Berggren, and Weyse. He made such good progress that he soon entered the royal orchestra of that city as a violinist and began to be known as a composer. His first important work, the overture “Nachklänge von Ossian,” obtained a prize from the Copenhagen Musical Union and also secured for him the favor of the King, who provided him with the means for making a foreign journey. Prior to starting he sent a copy of a symphony to Mendelssohn, which met with the latter’s enthusiastic approval. He arrived at Leipsic in 1843, and after producing his first symphony with success, travelled through Italy, returning to Leipsic in 1844, where during the winter of that year he conducted the Gewandhaus concerts in the place of Mendelssohn, who was absent in Berlin. In the season of 1845-46 he assisted Mendelssohn in the same concerts, and after the latter’s death became the principaldirector, a post which he held until 1848, when he returned to Copenhagen and took a position as organist, and also conducted the concerts of the Musical Union. In 1861 he was appointed Hofcapellmeister, and was honored with the title of Professor of Music. Since that time he has devoted himself to composition, and has produced many excellent works, especially for festivals in England and elsewhere. Among them are the cantatas “Comala,” “Spring Fantasie,” “The Erl King’s Daughter,” “The Holy Night,” “Spring’s Message,” “The Crusaders,” and “Zion;” the overtures “In the Highlands,” “Hamlet,” and “Michael Angelo;” seven symphonies, and a large number of songs and piano pieces, as well as chamber-music compositions.Comala.“Comala,” one of the earliest of Gade’s larger vocal works, was first produced at Leipsic in March, 1843. Its subject is taken from Ossian, and relates the tragedy of “Comala,” daughter of Sarno, King of Innistore, who had conceived a violent passion for Fingal, King of Morven. Her love is returned by the warrior, and disguised as a youth the princess follows him on his expedition against Caracul, King of Lochlin. On the day of the battle Fingal places her on a height, near the shore of the Carun, whence she can overlook the fight, and promises her ifvictorious that he will return at evening. Comala, though filled with strange forebodings, hopefully waits her royal lover’s coming. As the tedious hours pass on a fearful storm arises, and amid the howling of the blast the spirits of the fathers sweep by her on their way to the battlefield to conduct to their home the souls of the fallen,—the same majestic idea which Wagner uses with such consummate power in his weird ride of the Valkyries. Comala imagines that the battle has been lost, and overcome with grief falls to the ground and dies. The victorious Fingal returns as evening approaches, accompanied by the songs of his triumphant warriors, only to hear the tidings of Comala’s death from her weeping maidens. Sorrowing he orders the bards to chant her praises, and joining with her attendants to waft her departing soul “to the fathers’ dwelling” with farewell hymns.The cantata is almost equally divided between male and female choruses, and these are the charm of the work. Many of the songs of Comala and her maids are in graceful ballad form, fresh in their melody, and marked by that peculiar refinement which characterizes all of Gade’s music. The parting duet between Fingal and Comala is very beautiful, but the principal interest centres in the choruses. Those of the bards and warriors are very stately in their style and abound in dramatic power, particularly the one accompanying the triumphal return of Fingal. The chorus of spirits is very impressive, and in some passages almost supernatural. The femalechoruses, on the other hand, are graceful, tender, and pathetic; the final full chorus, in which the bards and maidens commend the soul of Comala to “the fathers’ dwelling,” has rarely been surpassed in beauty or pathos. The music of the cantata is in keeping with the stately grandeur and richly-hued tones of the Ossianic poem. The poetry and music of the North are happily wedded.Spring Fantasie.Though the “Spring Fantasie” is in undoubted cantata form, Gade designates it as a “Concertstück;” that is, a musical composition in which the instrumental parts are essential to its complete unity. Its origin is unquestionably to be found in the idea of Beethoven’s “Choral Fantasie,” which was subsequently developed in the choral symphony on a still larger and grander scale. The instrumental elements of the “Spring Fantasie” are unquestionably the most prominent. They do not play the subordinate part of accompaniment, but really enunciate the ideas of the poem, which are still further illustrated by the voices, acting as the interpreters of the meaning of the instrumentation.The “Fantasie” was written in 1850, its subject being a poem by Edmund Lobedanz, which of itself might appropriately be called a fantasy. The work consists of four movements, for four solo voices, orchestra, and piano-forte. The prominencewhich Gade has given to the instrumental parts is shown by his characterizing the movements,—I.Allegro moderato e sostenuto; II.Allegro molto e con fuoco; III.Allegro vivace. The poem in the original is one of more than ordinary excellence. The translation in most common use is one made by Mrs. Vander Weyde for a performance of the work in London in 1878 at the Royal Normal College and Academy of Music for the Blind, under the direction of Herr von Bülow.The first movement is in the nature of an invocation to spring, in which the longing for May and its flowers is very tenderly expressed. The second movement depicts with great vigor the return of the wintry storms, the raging of the torrents, the gradual rolling away of the clouds, the approach of more genial breezes, and the rising of the star, typifying “the joy of a fair maiden’s love.” The closing movement is full of rejoicing that the spring has come. Voices and instruments share alike in the jubilation:—“For the spring-time has come, the May is here,On hill and in vale all is full of delight.How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,—Its kingdom is over us all.”
The Voyage of Columbus.“The Voyage of Columbus” was written in 1885, and first published in Germany. The text of the libretto was prepared by the composer himself, extracts from Washington Irving’s “Columbus” forming the theme of each of the six scenes, all of which are supposed to transpire at evening, and are therefore styled by the composer “night-scenes.” Their arrangement, which is very skilfully accomplished, is as follows:—Scene I.In the chapel of St. George at Palos, Aug. 2, 1492. “The squadron being ready to put to sea, Columbus, with his officers and crew, confessed themselves to the friar, Juan Perez. They entered upon the enterprise full of awe, committing themselves to the especial guidance and protection of Heaven.”Scene II.On the deck of the Santa Maria. “Eighteen years elapsed after Columbus conceived his enterprise before he was enabled to carry it into effect. The greater part of that time was passed in almost hopeless solicitation, poverty, and ridicule.”Scene III.The Vesper Hymn. “In the evening, according to the invariable custom on board the admiral’s ship, the mariners sang the Vesper Hymn to the Virgin.”Scene IV.Discontent and Mutiny. “In this way they fed each other’s discontent, gathering into little knots, and fomenting a spirit of mutinous opposition ... finally breaking forth into turbulent clamor.”Scene V.In distant Andalusia. “He compares the pure and balmy mornings to those of April in Andalusia, and observes that they wanted but the song of the nightingale to complete the illusion.”Scene VI.Land and Thanksgiving. “As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch.”The cantata opens with a brief orchestral prelude of a sombre character begun by the trombone sounding the Gregorian intonation, and leading to the barytone solo of the priest (“Ye men of Spain, the Time is nigh”), appealing to the crew to commit themselves to Heaven, to which the full male chorus responds with ever-increasing power, reaching the climax in the “Ora pro nobis.” Twice the priest repeats his adjuration, followed by the choral response, the last time with joy and animation as the flag of Castile is raised and they bid farewell to the shores of Spain. A short allegro brings the scene to a close.The second scene is a bass aria for Columbus (“Eighteen long Years of Labor, Doubt, and Scorn”), of a vigorous and spirited character, changing to a solemn adagio in the prayer, “Lord of all Power and Might,” and closing with a few spirited phrases in the opening tempo. It is followed by the Vesper Hymn, “Ave Maris Stella,” a number in which the composer’s eminent ability in sacred music is clearly shown. Its tranquil harmony dies away in the softest of pianissimos, and is followed by an agitated prelude introducing the furious chorus of the mutinous crew “Come, Comrades, come,” which gathers intensity as it progresses, voices and instruments uniting in broken but powerful phrases, sometimes in full chorus and again in solo parts, until the climax is reached, when Columbus intervenes in brief solos of great dignity, to which the chorus responds, the scene closing with the renewal of allegiance,—a stirring bass solo with choral accompaniment.The fifth scene is a tenor recitative and love-song of a most graceful character, and one which will become a favorite when it is well known:—“In Andalusia the nightingaleSings,—sings through the live-long night;Sings to its mate in pure delight:But, ah me! ah, my love!Vanished and lost to my sightIn distant Andalusia.”The final scene is very elaborate in its construction, and brings the work to a sonorous and statelyclose. It opens with a very dramatic recitative by Columbus (“The Night is dark, but many a Sign seen through this Day proclaims the Goal at Hand”), at the close of which there is a short orchestral prelude, which serves to introduce a trio (“Here at your Bidding”) for Columbus and two officers (first tenor and first bass). At the cry of a seaman, “Land ho!” the chorus responds with animation. Columbus bids his crew join him “in prayer and grateful praise.” The answer comes in a splendidly-written “Hallelujah,” which is fairly majestic in its progression, reaching its close in full broad harmony, with the accompanying strains of trumpets.
“The Voyage of Columbus” was written in 1885, and first published in Germany. The text of the libretto was prepared by the composer himself, extracts from Washington Irving’s “Columbus” forming the theme of each of the six scenes, all of which are supposed to transpire at evening, and are therefore styled by the composer “night-scenes.” Their arrangement, which is very skilfully accomplished, is as follows:—
Scene I.In the chapel of St. George at Palos, Aug. 2, 1492. “The squadron being ready to put to sea, Columbus, with his officers and crew, confessed themselves to the friar, Juan Perez. They entered upon the enterprise full of awe, committing themselves to the especial guidance and protection of Heaven.”
Scene II.On the deck of the Santa Maria. “Eighteen years elapsed after Columbus conceived his enterprise before he was enabled to carry it into effect. The greater part of that time was passed in almost hopeless solicitation, poverty, and ridicule.”
Scene III.The Vesper Hymn. “In the evening, according to the invariable custom on board the admiral’s ship, the mariners sang the Vesper Hymn to the Virgin.”
Scene IV.Discontent and Mutiny. “In this way they fed each other’s discontent, gathering into little knots, and fomenting a spirit of mutinous opposition ... finally breaking forth into turbulent clamor.”
Scene V.In distant Andalusia. “He compares the pure and balmy mornings to those of April in Andalusia, and observes that they wanted but the song of the nightingale to complete the illusion.”
Scene VI.Land and Thanksgiving. “As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch.”
The cantata opens with a brief orchestral prelude of a sombre character begun by the trombone sounding the Gregorian intonation, and leading to the barytone solo of the priest (“Ye men of Spain, the Time is nigh”), appealing to the crew to commit themselves to Heaven, to which the full male chorus responds with ever-increasing power, reaching the climax in the “Ora pro nobis.” Twice the priest repeats his adjuration, followed by the choral response, the last time with joy and animation as the flag of Castile is raised and they bid farewell to the shores of Spain. A short allegro brings the scene to a close.
The second scene is a bass aria for Columbus (“Eighteen long Years of Labor, Doubt, and Scorn”), of a vigorous and spirited character, changing to a solemn adagio in the prayer, “Lord of all Power and Might,” and closing with a few spirited phrases in the opening tempo. It is followed by the Vesper Hymn, “Ave Maris Stella,” a number in which the composer’s eminent ability in sacred music is clearly shown. Its tranquil harmony dies away in the softest of pianissimos, and is followed by an agitated prelude introducing the furious chorus of the mutinous crew “Come, Comrades, come,” which gathers intensity as it progresses, voices and instruments uniting in broken but powerful phrases, sometimes in full chorus and again in solo parts, until the climax is reached, when Columbus intervenes in brief solos of great dignity, to which the chorus responds, the scene closing with the renewal of allegiance,—a stirring bass solo with choral accompaniment.
The fifth scene is a tenor recitative and love-song of a most graceful character, and one which will become a favorite when it is well known:—
“In Andalusia the nightingaleSings,—sings through the live-long night;Sings to its mate in pure delight:But, ah me! ah, my love!Vanished and lost to my sightIn distant Andalusia.”
“In Andalusia the nightingaleSings,—sings through the live-long night;Sings to its mate in pure delight:But, ah me! ah, my love!Vanished and lost to my sightIn distant Andalusia.”
“In Andalusia the nightingale
Sings,—sings through the live-long night;
Sings to its mate in pure delight:
But, ah me! ah, my love!
Vanished and lost to my sight
In distant Andalusia.”
The final scene is very elaborate in its construction, and brings the work to a sonorous and statelyclose. It opens with a very dramatic recitative by Columbus (“The Night is dark, but many a Sign seen through this Day proclaims the Goal at Hand”), at the close of which there is a short orchestral prelude, which serves to introduce a trio (“Here at your Bidding”) for Columbus and two officers (first tenor and first bass). At the cry of a seaman, “Land ho!” the chorus responds with animation. Columbus bids his crew join him “in prayer and grateful praise.” The answer comes in a splendidly-written “Hallelujah,” which is fairly majestic in its progression, reaching its close in full broad harmony, with the accompanying strains of trumpets.
The Light of Asia.Mr. Buck’s latest cantata, “The Light of Asia,” well-nigh reaches the dimensions of an opera or oratorio. It was written in 1886 and first published in England. Its name reveals its source, and the composer has made compensation for the privilege of using Mr. Edwin Arnold’s beautiful poem, by a graceful dedication of the work to him. The libretto was prepared by the composer himself, who has shown great skill in making his selections in such manner as not to disturb the continuity of the story. The purely philosophical portions are omitted, and only those are retained which have a human interest. In this manner he has avoided the obstacle which the lack of human sympathy in the poem, beautiful as it is, would otherwise have placed inhis way. The text, as will be remembered, has no definite metre, much of it being in blank verse, and does not readily lend itself to musical expression; but it will be conceded that the composer has also overcome this difficulty in a very remarkable manner. The cantata is divided into four parts,—Prologue, the Renunciation and Temptation, the Return, and Epilogue and Finale.The first part has nine numbers. A brief prelude leads to the opening chorus:—“Below the highest sphere four regents sit,Who rule the world; and under them are zonesNearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again.”It begins with a fugue, opened by the basses, simple in its construction but stately in theme and very dignified throughout. It is followed by a bass solo of descriptive character (“The King gave Order that his Town should keep high Festival”), closing with a few choral measures,sotto voce, relating that the King had ordered a festival in honor of the advent of Buddha, and how a venerable saint, Asita, recognized the divinity of the child and “the sacred primal signs,” and foretold his mission. The third number is the description of the young Siddârtha, set in graceful recitative and semi-chorus for female voices, with a charming accompaniment. The fourth is a spring song (“O come and see the Pleasance of the Spring”), begun by tenors and basses and then developing into full chorus with animated descriptive effects for the orchestra, picturing “thethickets rustling with small life,” the rippling waters among the palms, the blue doves’ cooings, the jungles laughing with the nesting-songs, and the far-off village drums beating for marriage feasts. A recitative for bass (“Bethink ye, O my Ministers”), in which the King counsels with his advisers as to the training of the child, leads to a four-part song for tenors and basses (“Love will cure these thin Distempers”), in which they urge him to summon a court of pleasure in which the young prince may award prizes to the fair. Then“If one or twoChange the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,So may we choose for love with love’s own eye.”The King orders the festival, and in the next number—a march and animated three-part chorus for female voices—Kapilavastu’s maidens flock to the gate, “each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound.” Then comes the recognition, briefly told in soprano recitative. Yasôdhara passes, and “at sudden sight of her he changed.” A beautiful love-duet for soprano and tenor (“And their Eyes mixed, and from the Look sprang Love”) closes the scene. The next number is a bass solo narrating the triumph of Siddârtha over all other suitors, leading to a jubilant and graceful wedding chorus (“Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired!”), the words of which are taken from the “Indian Song of Songs.”The second part opens with a soprano solo describing his pleasure with Yasôdhara, in the midst of which comes the warning of the Devas:—“We are the voices of the wandering wind,That moan for rest and rest can never find.Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,—A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.”This number is a semi-chorus, set for female voices, interspersed with brief phrases for tenor, and after a bass solo, relating the King’s dream and the hermit’s interpretation, which induces him to doubly guard Siddârtha’s pleasure-house, leads up to a beautiful chorus, divided between two sopranos, alto, two tenors, and two basses:—“Softly the Indian night sunk o’er the plain,Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,And cool with mountain airs sighing adownFrom snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.The moon above the eastern peaksSilvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,And all the sleeping land.”The next scene opens with a soprano solo (“Within the Bower of inmost Splendor”), in which Yasôdhara relates her dream of the voice crying “The Time is nigh,” to Siddârtha, and closes with a tender duet for soprano and tenor. The next number is a brief chorus (“Then in her Tears she slept”), followed by the tenor solo, “I will depart,” in which Siddârtha proclaims his resolve “to seek deliverance and the unknown light,” and leading to a richly-colored and majestic chorus:“There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoonOf captains and of soldiers:The gates of triple brass rolled back all silentlyOn their grim hinges;Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,Into the night Siddârtha passed,While o’er the land a tremor spread,As if earth’s soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,And rich celestial music thrilled the airFrom hosts on hosts of shining ones.”A tenor solo describes the six long years of wandering, followed by a characteristic chorus of voices of earth and air bidding him pass to the tree under whose leaves it was foretold that truth should come to him for the saving of the world. A short bass recitative leads to a vigorous descriptive chorus relating the temptations of Siddârtha, in which the orchestra is used with masterly effect. A brief soprano solo, the apparition of Yasôdhara among the wanton shapes floating about the tree, imploring him to return, and the tenor response, bidding the shadow depart, intervene; and then the chorus resumes with increased vigor, reaching a furious climax as the legions of hell tempt him, but dying away in the close to phrases of tender beauty:—“Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,And far and near there spread an unknown peace.As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,The world was glad.”The third part (the Return) opens with a soprano solo of a slow and mournful character, relating the sorrow of Yasôdhara and the visit of her damsels, who announce the arrival of merchants with tidings of Siddârtha. They are summoned, and tell their story in a short chorus, which is followed by a brief soprano solo (“Uprose Yasôdhara with Joy”), an exultant chorus (“While the Town rang with Music”),and another brief phrase for soprano, leading to a fine choral outburst (“’Tis he! Siddârtha, who was lost”). The next number, a bass solo describing the King’s wrath when he learns that Siddârtha has returned as a yellow-robed hermit instead of with “shining spears and tramp of horse and foot,” is very sonorous as well as dramatic, and is followed by a tenor and bass dialogue developing into a trio of great beauty (“Thus passed the Three into the Way of Peace”). The final number is a masterpiece of choral work both in the elaborateness of its construction and the majesty of its effect, and brings the cantata to a close with the mystic words:—“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!”
Mr. Buck’s latest cantata, “The Light of Asia,” well-nigh reaches the dimensions of an opera or oratorio. It was written in 1886 and first published in England. Its name reveals its source, and the composer has made compensation for the privilege of using Mr. Edwin Arnold’s beautiful poem, by a graceful dedication of the work to him. The libretto was prepared by the composer himself, who has shown great skill in making his selections in such manner as not to disturb the continuity of the story. The purely philosophical portions are omitted, and only those are retained which have a human interest. In this manner he has avoided the obstacle which the lack of human sympathy in the poem, beautiful as it is, would otherwise have placed inhis way. The text, as will be remembered, has no definite metre, much of it being in blank verse, and does not readily lend itself to musical expression; but it will be conceded that the composer has also overcome this difficulty in a very remarkable manner. The cantata is divided into four parts,—Prologue, the Renunciation and Temptation, the Return, and Epilogue and Finale.
The first part has nine numbers. A brief prelude leads to the opening chorus:—
“Below the highest sphere four regents sit,Who rule the world; and under them are zonesNearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again.”
“Below the highest sphere four regents sit,Who rule the world; and under them are zonesNearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again.”
“Below the highest sphere four regents sit,
Who rule the world; and under them are zones
Nearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,
Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again.”
It begins with a fugue, opened by the basses, simple in its construction but stately in theme and very dignified throughout. It is followed by a bass solo of descriptive character (“The King gave Order that his Town should keep high Festival”), closing with a few choral measures,sotto voce, relating that the King had ordered a festival in honor of the advent of Buddha, and how a venerable saint, Asita, recognized the divinity of the child and “the sacred primal signs,” and foretold his mission. The third number is the description of the young Siddârtha, set in graceful recitative and semi-chorus for female voices, with a charming accompaniment. The fourth is a spring song (“O come and see the Pleasance of the Spring”), begun by tenors and basses and then developing into full chorus with animated descriptive effects for the orchestra, picturing “thethickets rustling with small life,” the rippling waters among the palms, the blue doves’ cooings, the jungles laughing with the nesting-songs, and the far-off village drums beating for marriage feasts. A recitative for bass (“Bethink ye, O my Ministers”), in which the King counsels with his advisers as to the training of the child, leads to a four-part song for tenors and basses (“Love will cure these thin Distempers”), in which they urge him to summon a court of pleasure in which the young prince may award prizes to the fair. Then
“If one or twoChange the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,So may we choose for love with love’s own eye.”
“If one or twoChange the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,So may we choose for love with love’s own eye.”
“If one or two
Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,
So may we choose for love with love’s own eye.”
The King orders the festival, and in the next number—a march and animated three-part chorus for female voices—Kapilavastu’s maidens flock to the gate, “each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound.” Then comes the recognition, briefly told in soprano recitative. Yasôdhara passes, and “at sudden sight of her he changed.” A beautiful love-duet for soprano and tenor (“And their Eyes mixed, and from the Look sprang Love”) closes the scene. The next number is a bass solo narrating the triumph of Siddârtha over all other suitors, leading to a jubilant and graceful wedding chorus (“Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired!”), the words of which are taken from the “Indian Song of Songs.”
The second part opens with a soprano solo describing his pleasure with Yasôdhara, in the midst of which comes the warning of the Devas:—
“We are the voices of the wandering wind,That moan for rest and rest can never find.Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,—A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.”
“We are the voices of the wandering wind,That moan for rest and rest can never find.Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,—A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.”
“We are the voices of the wandering wind,
That moan for rest and rest can never find.
Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,—
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.”
This number is a semi-chorus, set for female voices, interspersed with brief phrases for tenor, and after a bass solo, relating the King’s dream and the hermit’s interpretation, which induces him to doubly guard Siddârtha’s pleasure-house, leads up to a beautiful chorus, divided between two sopranos, alto, two tenors, and two basses:—
“Softly the Indian night sunk o’er the plain,Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,And cool with mountain airs sighing adownFrom snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.The moon above the eastern peaksSilvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,And all the sleeping land.”
“Softly the Indian night sunk o’er the plain,Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,And cool with mountain airs sighing adownFrom snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.The moon above the eastern peaksSilvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,And all the sleeping land.”
“Softly the Indian night sunk o’er the plain,
Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,
And cool with mountain airs sighing adown
From snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.
The moon above the eastern peaks
Silvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,
And all the sleeping land.”
The next scene opens with a soprano solo (“Within the Bower of inmost Splendor”), in which Yasôdhara relates her dream of the voice crying “The Time is nigh,” to Siddârtha, and closes with a tender duet for soprano and tenor. The next number is a brief chorus (“Then in her Tears she slept”), followed by the tenor solo, “I will depart,” in which Siddârtha proclaims his resolve “to seek deliverance and the unknown light,” and leading to a richly-colored and majestic chorus:
“There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoonOf captains and of soldiers:The gates of triple brass rolled back all silentlyOn their grim hinges;Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,Into the night Siddârtha passed,While o’er the land a tremor spread,As if earth’s soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,And rich celestial music thrilled the airFrom hosts on hosts of shining ones.”
“There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoonOf captains and of soldiers:The gates of triple brass rolled back all silentlyOn their grim hinges;Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,Into the night Siddârtha passed,While o’er the land a tremor spread,As if earth’s soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,And rich celestial music thrilled the airFrom hosts on hosts of shining ones.”
“There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoon
Of captains and of soldiers:
The gates of triple brass rolled back all silently
On their grim hinges;
Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,
Into the night Siddârtha passed,
While o’er the land a tremor spread,
As if earth’s soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,
And rich celestial music thrilled the air
From hosts on hosts of shining ones.”
A tenor solo describes the six long years of wandering, followed by a characteristic chorus of voices of earth and air bidding him pass to the tree under whose leaves it was foretold that truth should come to him for the saving of the world. A short bass recitative leads to a vigorous descriptive chorus relating the temptations of Siddârtha, in which the orchestra is used with masterly effect. A brief soprano solo, the apparition of Yasôdhara among the wanton shapes floating about the tree, imploring him to return, and the tenor response, bidding the shadow depart, intervene; and then the chorus resumes with increased vigor, reaching a furious climax as the legions of hell tempt him, but dying away in the close to phrases of tender beauty:—
“Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,And far and near there spread an unknown peace.As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,The world was glad.”
“Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,And far and near there spread an unknown peace.As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,The world was glad.”
“Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,
And far and near there spread an unknown peace.
As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,
The world was glad.”
The third part (the Return) opens with a soprano solo of a slow and mournful character, relating the sorrow of Yasôdhara and the visit of her damsels, who announce the arrival of merchants with tidings of Siddârtha. They are summoned, and tell their story in a short chorus, which is followed by a brief soprano solo (“Uprose Yasôdhara with Joy”), an exultant chorus (“While the Town rang with Music”),and another brief phrase for soprano, leading to a fine choral outburst (“’Tis he! Siddârtha, who was lost”). The next number, a bass solo describing the King’s wrath when he learns that Siddârtha has returned as a yellow-robed hermit instead of with “shining spears and tramp of horse and foot,” is very sonorous as well as dramatic, and is followed by a tenor and bass dialogue developing into a trio of great beauty (“Thus passed the Three into the Way of Peace”). The final number is a masterpiece of choral work both in the elaborateness of its construction and the majesty of its effect, and brings the cantata to a close with the mystic words:—
“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!”
“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!”
“The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!
And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.
The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!
The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.
Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!”
CORDER.Frederick Corder, the English composer and conductor, was born at Hackney, London, Jan. 26, 1852. He was a student at the Royal Academy of Music in 1874, and in the following year gained the Mendelssohn scholarship. From 1875 to 1878 he studied at Cologne with Hiller, and in 1879 returned to London, where he engaged for a time in literary pursuits. His abilities as a writer are very clearly shown in the librettos to his works. In 1880 he was appointed conductor of the orchestra at the Brighton Aquarium, and since that time he has devoted himself to teaching and composition. His principal works are “In the Black Forest,” an orchestral suite, and “Evening on the Seashore,” idyl for orchestra (1876); the opera “Morte d’Arthur” (1877); the one-act opera “Philomel” (1879); cantata, “The Cyclops” (1880); “Ossian,” a concert overture for orchestra, produced by the London Philharmonic Society (1882); the cantata “Bridal of Triermain” (1886); and the opera “Nordisa,” founded upon a Norwegian subject andbrought out with great success in January, 1887 by the Carl Rosa opera troupe. Mr. Corder is one of the most ambitious and promising of all the younger English composers, and his music shows in a special degree the influence of Wagner. That he has also literary talent of a high order is evinced by his contributions to periodical literature and the librettos of his last two works,—“The Bridal of Triermain” and “Nordisa.”
Frederick Corder, the English composer and conductor, was born at Hackney, London, Jan. 26, 1852. He was a student at the Royal Academy of Music in 1874, and in the following year gained the Mendelssohn scholarship. From 1875 to 1878 he studied at Cologne with Hiller, and in 1879 returned to London, where he engaged for a time in literary pursuits. His abilities as a writer are very clearly shown in the librettos to his works. In 1880 he was appointed conductor of the orchestra at the Brighton Aquarium, and since that time he has devoted himself to teaching and composition. His principal works are “In the Black Forest,” an orchestral suite, and “Evening on the Seashore,” idyl for orchestra (1876); the opera “Morte d’Arthur” (1877); the one-act opera “Philomel” (1879); cantata, “The Cyclops” (1880); “Ossian,” a concert overture for orchestra, produced by the London Philharmonic Society (1882); the cantata “Bridal of Triermain” (1886); and the opera “Nordisa,” founded upon a Norwegian subject andbrought out with great success in January, 1887 by the Carl Rosa opera troupe. Mr. Corder is one of the most ambitious and promising of all the younger English composers, and his music shows in a special degree the influence of Wagner. That he has also literary talent of a high order is evinced by his contributions to periodical literature and the librettos of his last two works,—“The Bridal of Triermain” and “Nordisa.”
The Bridal of Triermain.“The Bridal of Triermain” was written for the Wolverhampton (England) Festival of 1886, and was one of the most notable successes in the festival performances of that year. The subject is taken from Walter Scott’s poem of the same name. The adaptation has been made in a very free manner, but the main incidents of the poem have been carefully preserved. Sir Roland’s vision of the “Maid of Middle Earth;” the bard Lyulph’s recital of the Arthurian legend, which tells of Gyneth’s enchantment in the valley of St. John by Merlin, where she must sleep“Until a knight shall wake theeFor feats of arms as far renownedAs warrior of the Table Round;”the magic wrought by Merlin in the valley to delude Roland and thwart his effort to rescue Gyneth; his daring entrance into the palace grounds; the discoveryof the Princess in the enchanted hall, and her final rescue are the themes which the composer has treated. In arranging his libretto he has, as has been said, made a free adaptation of the poem, sometimes using verses entire, at other times changing the text and rearranging it to suit the composer’s musical demands, even at the expense of the original beauty and symmetry of the work.The cantata has no overture, but opens with a choral introduction (“Where is the Maiden of Mortal Strain?”). An orchestral interlude in the form of a tender graceful nocturne follows, leading up to the tenor solo, “The Dawn of an autumn Day did creep,” in which the Baron relates the apparition he has seen in his dream. A short bass recitative by Lyulph the bard introduces the Legend, which is told in an effective number for soprano solo, bass solo, and chorus (“In Days e’en Minstrels now forget”). The next number, a very dramatic dialogue for soprano and tenor, gives us the conversation between Arthur and Gyneth, and leads to an energetic full chorus with very descriptive accompaniment, picturing the bloody tourney and its sudden interruption by the appearance of Merlin the enchanter. The first part closes with a charming number (“‘Madmen,’ he cried, ‘your Strife forbear’”) arranged for bass solo, quartet, and chorus, in which is described the spell which Merlin casts upon Gyneth.The second part, after a short allegro movement for orchestra, opens with a contralto solo (“Ofwasted Fields and plundered Flocks”) which prepares the way for a concerted number for solos and chorus (“And now the Moon her Orb has hid”), describing the magical arts which Merlin employed to thwart the Baron. This number alone is sufficient to stamp Mr. Corder as a composer of extraordinary ability. A succession of bass, tenor, and contralto recitatives (“Wroth waxed the Warrior”) leads to another powerful chorus (“Rash Adventurer, bear thee back”), the song of the “four maids whom Afric bore,” in which the composer has caught the weird, strange color of the scene and given it vivid expression. A tenor recitative (“While yet the distant Echoes roll”) leads up to a graceful, sensuous soprano solo and female chorus (“Gentle Knight, awhile delay”). Its counterpart is found in the tenor recitative and spirited, dignified male chorus (“Son of Honor, Theme of Story”). Thedénouementnow begins. A contralto solo, declamatory in style (“In lofty Hall, with Trophies graced”), and a short soprano solo of a joyous character (“Thus while she sang”) lead to the final number (“Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels”), beginning with full chorus, which after short solos for tenor and soprano takes a spirited martial form (“And on the Champion’s Brow was found”) and closes with a quartet and chorus worked up to an imposing climax.The work is largely in narrative form; but this, instead of being a hindrance, seems to have been an advantage to the composer, who has not failedto invest his music with dramatic force that is remarkable. Mr. Corder is credited with being an ardent disciple of Wagner, and his cantata certainly shows the influences of that school. It is throughout a vigorous, effective work, and gives promise that its composer will yet be heard from outside the English musical world.
“The Bridal of Triermain” was written for the Wolverhampton (England) Festival of 1886, and was one of the most notable successes in the festival performances of that year. The subject is taken from Walter Scott’s poem of the same name. The adaptation has been made in a very free manner, but the main incidents of the poem have been carefully preserved. Sir Roland’s vision of the “Maid of Middle Earth;” the bard Lyulph’s recital of the Arthurian legend, which tells of Gyneth’s enchantment in the valley of St. John by Merlin, where she must sleep
“Until a knight shall wake theeFor feats of arms as far renownedAs warrior of the Table Round;”
“Until a knight shall wake theeFor feats of arms as far renownedAs warrior of the Table Round;”
“Until a knight shall wake thee
For feats of arms as far renowned
As warrior of the Table Round;”
the magic wrought by Merlin in the valley to delude Roland and thwart his effort to rescue Gyneth; his daring entrance into the palace grounds; the discoveryof the Princess in the enchanted hall, and her final rescue are the themes which the composer has treated. In arranging his libretto he has, as has been said, made a free adaptation of the poem, sometimes using verses entire, at other times changing the text and rearranging it to suit the composer’s musical demands, even at the expense of the original beauty and symmetry of the work.
The cantata has no overture, but opens with a choral introduction (“Where is the Maiden of Mortal Strain?”). An orchestral interlude in the form of a tender graceful nocturne follows, leading up to the tenor solo, “The Dawn of an autumn Day did creep,” in which the Baron relates the apparition he has seen in his dream. A short bass recitative by Lyulph the bard introduces the Legend, which is told in an effective number for soprano solo, bass solo, and chorus (“In Days e’en Minstrels now forget”). The next number, a very dramatic dialogue for soprano and tenor, gives us the conversation between Arthur and Gyneth, and leads to an energetic full chorus with very descriptive accompaniment, picturing the bloody tourney and its sudden interruption by the appearance of Merlin the enchanter. The first part closes with a charming number (“‘Madmen,’ he cried, ‘your Strife forbear’”) arranged for bass solo, quartet, and chorus, in which is described the spell which Merlin casts upon Gyneth.
The second part, after a short allegro movement for orchestra, opens with a contralto solo (“Ofwasted Fields and plundered Flocks”) which prepares the way for a concerted number for solos and chorus (“And now the Moon her Orb has hid”), describing the magical arts which Merlin employed to thwart the Baron. This number alone is sufficient to stamp Mr. Corder as a composer of extraordinary ability. A succession of bass, tenor, and contralto recitatives (“Wroth waxed the Warrior”) leads to another powerful chorus (“Rash Adventurer, bear thee back”), the song of the “four maids whom Afric bore,” in which the composer has caught the weird, strange color of the scene and given it vivid expression. A tenor recitative (“While yet the distant Echoes roll”) leads up to a graceful, sensuous soprano solo and female chorus (“Gentle Knight, awhile delay”). Its counterpart is found in the tenor recitative and spirited, dignified male chorus (“Son of Honor, Theme of Story”). Thedénouementnow begins. A contralto solo, declamatory in style (“In lofty Hall, with Trophies graced”), and a short soprano solo of a joyous character (“Thus while she sang”) lead to the final number (“Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels”), beginning with full chorus, which after short solos for tenor and soprano takes a spirited martial form (“And on the Champion’s Brow was found”) and closes with a quartet and chorus worked up to an imposing climax.
The work is largely in narrative form; but this, instead of being a hindrance, seems to have been an advantage to the composer, who has not failedto invest his music with dramatic force that is remarkable. Mr. Corder is credited with being an ardent disciple of Wagner, and his cantata certainly shows the influences of that school. It is throughout a vigorous, effective work, and gives promise that its composer will yet be heard from outside the English musical world.
COWEN.Frederic H. Cowen, the favorite English song-writer, was born at Kingston, Jamaica, Jan. 29, 1852, and went to England at a very early age. His first teachers were Benedict and Sir J. Goss, with whom he studied until 1865. During the next three years he continued his musical education at the conservatories of Leipsic and Berlin, returning to England in 1868. His earlier works were an operetta called “Garibaldi,” a fantasie-sonata and piano concerto, a few pieces of chamber music, and a symphony in C minor. These served to introduce him to public notice, and since that time nearly all of his works have met with remarkable success, among them “The Rose Maiden” (1870); music to Schiller’s “Joan of Arc” (1871); festival overture (1872); “The Corsair,” composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1876; a symphony in F major and the Norwegian symphony, which have been favorably received in this country. His most important opera is “Pauline,” which was produced in London with great success by the Carl Rosa company, Nov. 22,1876. As a song-writer, Mr. Cowen is also well known; many of his lyrics, especially those written for Antoinette Sterling and Mrs. E. Aline Osgood, the American singers, having obtained a wide-spread popularity.
Frederic H. Cowen, the favorite English song-writer, was born at Kingston, Jamaica, Jan. 29, 1852, and went to England at a very early age. His first teachers were Benedict and Sir J. Goss, with whom he studied until 1865. During the next three years he continued his musical education at the conservatories of Leipsic and Berlin, returning to England in 1868. His earlier works were an operetta called “Garibaldi,” a fantasie-sonata and piano concerto, a few pieces of chamber music, and a symphony in C minor. These served to introduce him to public notice, and since that time nearly all of his works have met with remarkable success, among them “The Rose Maiden” (1870); music to Schiller’s “Joan of Arc” (1871); festival overture (1872); “The Corsair,” composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1876; a symphony in F major and the Norwegian symphony, which have been favorably received in this country. His most important opera is “Pauline,” which was produced in London with great success by the Carl Rosa company, Nov. 22,1876. As a song-writer, Mr. Cowen is also well known; many of his lyrics, especially those written for Antoinette Sterling and Mrs. E. Aline Osgood, the American singers, having obtained a wide-spread popularity.
The Sleeping Beauty.“The Sleeping Beauty,” written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, the poem by Francis Hueffer, has for its theme the well-known fairy tale which has been so often illustrated in music and upon canvas. It is a great favorite in England, and has also met with a successful reception in Paris, where it was brought out not long since by the Concordia Society of that city, under the title of “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” the translation having been made by Miss Augusta Holmes, herself a musician of considerable repute.After a brief orchestral introduction, a three-part chorus (altos, tenors, and basses) tells the story of the ancient King to whom an heiress was born when all hope of offspring had been abandoned, the gay carousal which he ordered, and the sudden appearance of the twelve fays, guardians of his house, with their spinning-wheels and golden flax, who sing as they weave:—“Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof:Future, dark to human eyes,Openly before us lies;As we will and as we give,Haply shall the maiden live;Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof.”In beauty of melody and gracefulness of orchestration this chorus of the fays is specially noticeable. Its charming movement, however, is interrupted by a fresh passage for male chorus, of an agitated character, describing the entrance of the Wicked Fay, who bends over the cradle of the child and sings a characteristic contralto aria:—“From the gold of the flaxen reelThreads of bliss have been spun to thee;By the whirl of the spinning wheelCruel grief shall be done to thee.Thy fate I descry:Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,Ere a score of thy years have flown,Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”Following this aria, the male chorus has a few measures, invoking a curse upon the Fay, which leads to a full chorus of an animated character, foretelling that there shall dawn a day when a young voice, more powerful than witchcraft, will save her; at the close of which the guardian fays are again heard drawing the thread and weaving the woof in low, murmuring tones, with a spinning accompaniment. It is followed by a trio (soprano, tenor, and bass), with chorus accompaniment, announcing the departure of the fays, and leading to a very melodious tenor solo, with two graceful orchestral interludes, which moralizes on what has occurred and closes the prologue.The first scene opens in a hall in the King’s palace, and is full of animation. A brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the full chorus in waltz time (“At Dawn of Day on the first of May”), which moves along with a fascinating swing, and closes in a very vigorous climax. At this point the King makes his appearance and expresses his joy that the time has passed when the prophecy of the Wicked Fay could take effect, for this is the Princess’s twentieth birthday. A dialogue follows between the King and his daughter, closing with a beautiful chorus (“Pure as thy Heart”), after which the dance-music resumes. Unobserved the Princess leaves the banqueting-hall, glides along a gallery, and ascends the staircase to a turret chamber. Before she enters she sings an aria, of a tranquil, dreamy nature (“Whither away, my Heart?”), and interwoven with it are heard the gradually lessening strains of the dance-music, which ceases altogether as her song comes to an almost inaudible close.The second scene opens in the turret chamber, where the Wicked Fay, disguised as an old crone, is spinning. After a short dialogue, in which the Fay explains to the Princess the use of the wheel, she bids her listen, and sings a weird ballad (“As I sit at my Spinning-wheel, strange Dreams come to me”), closing with the refrain of the old prophecy, “Ere the Buds of her Youth are blown.” The Princess dreamily repeats the burden of the song, and then, fearing the presence of some ill-omen, opens the door to escape. She hears the dance-musicagain, but the Fay gently draws her back and induces her to touch the flax. As she does so, the Fay covertly pricks her finger with the spindle. She swoons away, the dance-music suddenly stops, and there is a long silence, broken at last by the Fay’s triumphant declaration: “Thus have I wrought my Vengeance.” The next number is the Incantation Music (“Spring from the Earth, red Roses”), a very dramatic declamation, sung by the Fay and interwoven with snatches of chorus and the refrain of the prophecy. A choral interlude (“Sleep in Bower and Hall”) follows, describing in a vivid manner, both with voices and instruments, the magic sleep that fell upon the castle and all its inmates, and the absence of all apparent life save the spiders weaving their webs on the walls as the years go by:—“The spells of witchcraft which enthrallEach sleeper in that desolate hall,Who can break them?Say, who can lift the deathly blightThat covers king and lord and knight,To give them back to life and light,And awake them?”The answer comes in an animated prelude, through which is heard the strain of a horn signal, constantly growing louder, and heralding the Prince, who enters the silent palace, sword in hand, among the sleeping courtiers, knights, and ladies. After a vigorous declamation (“Light, Light at last”) he passes on his way to the turret chamber, where he beholds the sleeping Princess. The love-song which follows(“Kneeling before Thee, worshipping wholly”) is one of the most effective portions of the work. His kiss awakes her, and as she springs up, the dance-music at once resumes from the bar where it had stopped in the scene with the Wicked Fay. An impassioned duet follows, and the work closes with the animated waltz-chorus which opened the first scene.
“The Sleeping Beauty,” written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, the poem by Francis Hueffer, has for its theme the well-known fairy tale which has been so often illustrated in music and upon canvas. It is a great favorite in England, and has also met with a successful reception in Paris, where it was brought out not long since by the Concordia Society of that city, under the title of “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” the translation having been made by Miss Augusta Holmes, herself a musician of considerable repute.
After a brief orchestral introduction, a three-part chorus (altos, tenors, and basses) tells the story of the ancient King to whom an heiress was born when all hope of offspring had been abandoned, the gay carousal which he ordered, and the sudden appearance of the twelve fays, guardians of his house, with their spinning-wheels and golden flax, who sing as they weave:—
“Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof:Future, dark to human eyes,Openly before us lies;As we will and as we give,Haply shall the maiden live;Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof.”
“Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof:Future, dark to human eyes,Openly before us lies;As we will and as we give,Haply shall the maiden live;Draw the thread and weave the woofFor the little child’s behoof.”
“Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child’s behoof:
Future, dark to human eyes,
Openly before us lies;
As we will and as we give,
Haply shall the maiden live;
Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child’s behoof.”
In beauty of melody and gracefulness of orchestration this chorus of the fays is specially noticeable. Its charming movement, however, is interrupted by a fresh passage for male chorus, of an agitated character, describing the entrance of the Wicked Fay, who bends over the cradle of the child and sings a characteristic contralto aria:—
“From the gold of the flaxen reelThreads of bliss have been spun to thee;By the whirl of the spinning wheelCruel grief shall be done to thee.Thy fate I descry:Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,Ere a score of thy years have flown,Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”
“From the gold of the flaxen reelThreads of bliss have been spun to thee;By the whirl of the spinning wheelCruel grief shall be done to thee.Thy fate I descry:Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,Ere a score of thy years have flown,Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”
“From the gold of the flaxen reel
Threads of bliss have been spun to thee;
By the whirl of the spinning wheel
Cruel grief shall be done to thee.
Thy fate I descry:
Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,
Ere a score of thy years have flown,
Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”
Following this aria, the male chorus has a few measures, invoking a curse upon the Fay, which leads to a full chorus of an animated character, foretelling that there shall dawn a day when a young voice, more powerful than witchcraft, will save her; at the close of which the guardian fays are again heard drawing the thread and weaving the woof in low, murmuring tones, with a spinning accompaniment. It is followed by a trio (soprano, tenor, and bass), with chorus accompaniment, announcing the departure of the fays, and leading to a very melodious tenor solo, with two graceful orchestral interludes, which moralizes on what has occurred and closes the prologue.
The first scene opens in a hall in the King’s palace, and is full of animation. A brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the full chorus in waltz time (“At Dawn of Day on the first of May”), which moves along with a fascinating swing, and closes in a very vigorous climax. At this point the King makes his appearance and expresses his joy that the time has passed when the prophecy of the Wicked Fay could take effect, for this is the Princess’s twentieth birthday. A dialogue follows between the King and his daughter, closing with a beautiful chorus (“Pure as thy Heart”), after which the dance-music resumes. Unobserved the Princess leaves the banqueting-hall, glides along a gallery, and ascends the staircase to a turret chamber. Before she enters she sings an aria, of a tranquil, dreamy nature (“Whither away, my Heart?”), and interwoven with it are heard the gradually lessening strains of the dance-music, which ceases altogether as her song comes to an almost inaudible close.
The second scene opens in the turret chamber, where the Wicked Fay, disguised as an old crone, is spinning. After a short dialogue, in which the Fay explains to the Princess the use of the wheel, she bids her listen, and sings a weird ballad (“As I sit at my Spinning-wheel, strange Dreams come to me”), closing with the refrain of the old prophecy, “Ere the Buds of her Youth are blown.” The Princess dreamily repeats the burden of the song, and then, fearing the presence of some ill-omen, opens the door to escape. She hears the dance-musicagain, but the Fay gently draws her back and induces her to touch the flax. As she does so, the Fay covertly pricks her finger with the spindle. She swoons away, the dance-music suddenly stops, and there is a long silence, broken at last by the Fay’s triumphant declaration: “Thus have I wrought my Vengeance.” The next number is the Incantation Music (“Spring from the Earth, red Roses”), a very dramatic declamation, sung by the Fay and interwoven with snatches of chorus and the refrain of the prophecy. A choral interlude (“Sleep in Bower and Hall”) follows, describing in a vivid manner, both with voices and instruments, the magic sleep that fell upon the castle and all its inmates, and the absence of all apparent life save the spiders weaving their webs on the walls as the years go by:—
“The spells of witchcraft which enthrallEach sleeper in that desolate hall,Who can break them?Say, who can lift the deathly blightThat covers king and lord and knight,To give them back to life and light,And awake them?”
“The spells of witchcraft which enthrallEach sleeper in that desolate hall,Who can break them?Say, who can lift the deathly blightThat covers king and lord and knight,To give them back to life and light,And awake them?”
“The spells of witchcraft which enthrall
Each sleeper in that desolate hall,
Who can break them?
Say, who can lift the deathly blight
That covers king and lord and knight,
To give them back to life and light,
And awake them?”
The answer comes in an animated prelude, through which is heard the strain of a horn signal, constantly growing louder, and heralding the Prince, who enters the silent palace, sword in hand, among the sleeping courtiers, knights, and ladies. After a vigorous declamation (“Light, Light at last”) he passes on his way to the turret chamber, where he beholds the sleeping Princess. The love-song which follows(“Kneeling before Thee, worshipping wholly”) is one of the most effective portions of the work. His kiss awakes her, and as she springs up, the dance-music at once resumes from the bar where it had stopped in the scene with the Wicked Fay. An impassioned duet follows, and the work closes with the animated waltz-chorus which opened the first scene.
DVOŘÁK.Anton Dvořák, the Bohemian composer who has risen so suddenly into prominence, was born at Mülhausen, near Prague, Sept. 8, 1841. His father combined the business of tavern-keeper and butcher, and young Dvořák assisted him in waiting upon customers, as well as in the slaughtering business. As the laws of Bohemia stipulate that music shall be a part of common-school education, Dvořák learned the rudiments in the village school, and also received violin instruction. At the age of thirteen he went to work for an uncle, who resided in the village where the schoolmaster was a proficient musician. The latter, recognizing his ability, gave him lessons on the organ, and allowed him to copy music. Piano lessons followed, and he had soon grounded himself quite thoroughly in counterpoint. At the age of sixteen he was admitted to the organ-school of Prague, of which Joseph Pitsch was the principal. Pitsch died soon after, and was succeeded by Kreyci, who made Dvořák acquainted with the music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn.The first orchestral work he heard was Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony,” during its rehearsal under Spohr’s direction. In 1860, being then in his nineteenth year, he obtained an engagement, with the meagre salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a year, as violinist in a band that played at cafés and dances. Two years later he secured a position in the Bohemian Opera House at Prague, then under the direction of Mayer, where he remained until 1871, in which year he left the theatre and devoted himself to teaching, with the prospect of earning two hundred and fifty dollars a year. These were hard days for the young musician; but while he was there struggling for a bare subsistence, he continued writing compositions, though he had no prospect of selling them or of having them played. About this time he wrote his “Patriotic Hymn” and the opera “König und Köhler.” The latter was rejected after an orchestral trial; but he continued his work, undaunted by failure. Shortly after this he received the appointment of organist at the Adelbert Church, Prague, and fortune began to smile upon him. His Symphony in F was laid before the Minister of Instruction in Vienna, and upon the recommendation of Herbeck secured him a grant of two hundred dollars. When Brahms replaced Herbeck on the committee which reported upon artists’ stipends, he fully recognized Dvořák’s ability, and not only encouraged him, but also brought him before the world by securing him a publisher and commending him to Joachim, who still further advancedhis interests by securing performances of his works in Germany and England. Since that time he has risen rapidly, and is now recognized as one of the most promising of living composers. Among his works which have been produced during the past few years are the “Stabat Mater,” the cantata “The Spectre’s Bride,” three operas in the Czechist dialect, three orchestral symphonies, several Slavonic rhapsodies, overtures, violin and piano concertos, an exceedingly beautiful sextet, and numerous songs.
Anton Dvořák, the Bohemian composer who has risen so suddenly into prominence, was born at Mülhausen, near Prague, Sept. 8, 1841. His father combined the business of tavern-keeper and butcher, and young Dvořák assisted him in waiting upon customers, as well as in the slaughtering business. As the laws of Bohemia stipulate that music shall be a part of common-school education, Dvořák learned the rudiments in the village school, and also received violin instruction. At the age of thirteen he went to work for an uncle, who resided in the village where the schoolmaster was a proficient musician. The latter, recognizing his ability, gave him lessons on the organ, and allowed him to copy music. Piano lessons followed, and he had soon grounded himself quite thoroughly in counterpoint. At the age of sixteen he was admitted to the organ-school of Prague, of which Joseph Pitsch was the principal. Pitsch died soon after, and was succeeded by Kreyci, who made Dvořák acquainted with the music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn.The first orchestral work he heard was Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony,” during its rehearsal under Spohr’s direction. In 1860, being then in his nineteenth year, he obtained an engagement, with the meagre salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a year, as violinist in a band that played at cafés and dances. Two years later he secured a position in the Bohemian Opera House at Prague, then under the direction of Mayer, where he remained until 1871, in which year he left the theatre and devoted himself to teaching, with the prospect of earning two hundred and fifty dollars a year. These were hard days for the young musician; but while he was there struggling for a bare subsistence, he continued writing compositions, though he had no prospect of selling them or of having them played. About this time he wrote his “Patriotic Hymn” and the opera “König und Köhler.” The latter was rejected after an orchestral trial; but he continued his work, undaunted by failure. Shortly after this he received the appointment of organist at the Adelbert Church, Prague, and fortune began to smile upon him. His Symphony in F was laid before the Minister of Instruction in Vienna, and upon the recommendation of Herbeck secured him a grant of two hundred dollars. When Brahms replaced Herbeck on the committee which reported upon artists’ stipends, he fully recognized Dvořák’s ability, and not only encouraged him, but also brought him before the world by securing him a publisher and commending him to Joachim, who still further advancedhis interests by securing performances of his works in Germany and England. Since that time he has risen rapidly, and is now recognized as one of the most promising of living composers. Among his works which have been produced during the past few years are the “Stabat Mater,” the cantata “The Spectre’s Bride,” three operas in the Czechist dialect, three orchestral symphonies, several Slavonic rhapsodies, overtures, violin and piano concertos, an exceedingly beautiful sextet, and numerous songs.
The Spectre’s Bride.The legend of the Spectre’s Bride is current in various forms among all the Slavonic nations. The Russians, Servians, Slovaks, Lithuanians, and Poles all have poems in which the ghostly ride of the spectre and the maiden forms the theme. The German version, told by Bürger in his famous ballad “Lenore,” is best known; and Raff has given it a musical setting in his Lenore Symphony. In general, the story is the same. The Spectre comes for his Bride and she rides away with him through the night, amid all manner of supernatural horrors, only to find at the end that she has ridden to the grave with a skeleton. The Bohemian poem used by Dvořák is that of Karel Jaromir Erben, a poet who obtained a national fame by making collections of the songs and legends of his country during hisservice as Secretary of the Royal Bohemian Museum and Keeper of the Archives at Prague. In his version, unlike the German, the Spectre and his Bride make their grewsome journey on foot. Thedénouementin the churchyard differs also, as the maiden is saved by an appeal to the Virgin. In the opening scene she is represented gazing at a picture of the Virgin, mourning the death of her parents and the absence of her lover, who has failed to keep his promise to return. His parting words were:—“Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,And every day remember me.Spin in the first year, spin with care,Bleach in the next the fabric fair;Then garments make, when the years are three,And every day remember me.Twine I that year a wreath for thee;We two that year shall wedded be.”She has faithfully followed the counsel. The three years have expired, but still no tidings have come. As she appeals to the Virgin to bring him back, the picture moves, the flame of the lamp upleaps, there is an ominous knock at the door, and the voice of the apparition is heard urging her to cease praying and follow him to his home. She implores him to wait until the night is past, but the importunate Spectre bids her go with him, and she consents. On they speed over rough bowlders, through thorny brakes and swamps, attended by the baying of wolves, the screeching of owls, the croaking of frogs, and the fitful glow of corpse-candles. One by one he compels her to throw away her prayer-book, chaplet, and cross, and resisting all her appeals to stop andrest, at last they reach the churchyard wall. He calms her fears with the assurance that the church is his castle and the yard his garden, and bids her leap the wall with him. She promises to follow him, but after he has cleared it, sudden fear seizes her; she flies to a tiny house near by and enters. A ghastly scene takes place; spectres are dancing before the door, and the moonlight reveals to her a corpse lying upon a plank. As she gazes, horror-stricken, a knock is heard, and a voice bids the dead arise and thrust the living one out. Thrice the summons is repeated, and then as the corpse opens its eyes and glares upon her, she prays once more to the Virgin. At this instant the crowing of a cock is heard. The dead man falls back, the ghastly, spectral crew disappear, and night gives way to a peaceful morning.“All who to Mass at morning wentStood still in great astonishment;One tomb there was to ruin gone,And in the dead-house a maiden wan;On looking round, amazed were they,On every grave a garment lay.“Well was it, maiden, that thy mindTurned unto God, defence to find,For He thy foes did harmless bind;Had’st thou thyself, too, nothing done,Ill with thy soul it then had gone;Thy body, as the garments were,Mangled had been, and scattered there.”Such is the horrible story which forms the theme of Dvořák’s cantata. It was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1884, and the text was translated by the Rev. Dr. Troutbeck, from a German translationof the original poem made by K. J. Müller. It contains eighteen numbers, each of considerable length, of which eleven are descriptive, the barytone, with chorus response, acting the part of the narrator, and accompanied by instrumentation which vividly paints the horrors of the nocturnal tramp, even to the realistic extent of imitating the various sounds described. It is unnecessary to specify each of these numbers in detail, as they are all closely allied in color and general effect. The music which accompanies them is picturesque and weird, increasing in its power and actual supernaturalism until it reaches its climax in the dead-house where the maiden takes refuge; and in these numbers the orchestra bears the burden of the work. The remaining numbers are almost magical in their beauty and fascination, particularly the first song of the maiden, lamenting her lover, and closing with the prayer to the Virgin, which is thoroughly devotional music, and the second prayer, which saves her from her peril. There are four duets, soprano and tenor, between the Bride and Spectre, and one with chorus, in which are recounted the episodes of the chaplet, prayer-book, and cross, besides the hurried dialogue between them as he urges her on. These, too, abound in quaint rhythms and strange harmonies set against a highly-colored instrumental background. The story is not a pleasant one for musical treatment,—at least for voices,—and the prevailing tone of the composition is sombre; but of the wonderful power of the music and its strange fascination there can be no doubt.
The legend of the Spectre’s Bride is current in various forms among all the Slavonic nations. The Russians, Servians, Slovaks, Lithuanians, and Poles all have poems in which the ghostly ride of the spectre and the maiden forms the theme. The German version, told by Bürger in his famous ballad “Lenore,” is best known; and Raff has given it a musical setting in his Lenore Symphony. In general, the story is the same. The Spectre comes for his Bride and she rides away with him through the night, amid all manner of supernatural horrors, only to find at the end that she has ridden to the grave with a skeleton. The Bohemian poem used by Dvořák is that of Karel Jaromir Erben, a poet who obtained a national fame by making collections of the songs and legends of his country during hisservice as Secretary of the Royal Bohemian Museum and Keeper of the Archives at Prague. In his version, unlike the German, the Spectre and his Bride make their grewsome journey on foot. Thedénouementin the churchyard differs also, as the maiden is saved by an appeal to the Virgin. In the opening scene she is represented gazing at a picture of the Virgin, mourning the death of her parents and the absence of her lover, who has failed to keep his promise to return. His parting words were:—
“Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,And every day remember me.Spin in the first year, spin with care,Bleach in the next the fabric fair;Then garments make, when the years are three,And every day remember me.Twine I that year a wreath for thee;We two that year shall wedded be.”
“Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,And every day remember me.Spin in the first year, spin with care,Bleach in the next the fabric fair;Then garments make, when the years are three,And every day remember me.Twine I that year a wreath for thee;We two that year shall wedded be.”
“Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,
And every day remember me.
Spin in the first year, spin with care,
Bleach in the next the fabric fair;
Then garments make, when the years are three,
And every day remember me.
Twine I that year a wreath for thee;
We two that year shall wedded be.”
She has faithfully followed the counsel. The three years have expired, but still no tidings have come. As she appeals to the Virgin to bring him back, the picture moves, the flame of the lamp upleaps, there is an ominous knock at the door, and the voice of the apparition is heard urging her to cease praying and follow him to his home. She implores him to wait until the night is past, but the importunate Spectre bids her go with him, and she consents. On they speed over rough bowlders, through thorny brakes and swamps, attended by the baying of wolves, the screeching of owls, the croaking of frogs, and the fitful glow of corpse-candles. One by one he compels her to throw away her prayer-book, chaplet, and cross, and resisting all her appeals to stop andrest, at last they reach the churchyard wall. He calms her fears with the assurance that the church is his castle and the yard his garden, and bids her leap the wall with him. She promises to follow him, but after he has cleared it, sudden fear seizes her; she flies to a tiny house near by and enters. A ghastly scene takes place; spectres are dancing before the door, and the moonlight reveals to her a corpse lying upon a plank. As she gazes, horror-stricken, a knock is heard, and a voice bids the dead arise and thrust the living one out. Thrice the summons is repeated, and then as the corpse opens its eyes and glares upon her, she prays once more to the Virgin. At this instant the crowing of a cock is heard. The dead man falls back, the ghastly, spectral crew disappear, and night gives way to a peaceful morning.
“All who to Mass at morning wentStood still in great astonishment;One tomb there was to ruin gone,And in the dead-house a maiden wan;On looking round, amazed were they,On every grave a garment lay.“Well was it, maiden, that thy mindTurned unto God, defence to find,For He thy foes did harmless bind;Had’st thou thyself, too, nothing done,Ill with thy soul it then had gone;Thy body, as the garments were,Mangled had been, and scattered there.”
“All who to Mass at morning wentStood still in great astonishment;One tomb there was to ruin gone,And in the dead-house a maiden wan;On looking round, amazed were they,On every grave a garment lay.
“All who to Mass at morning went
Stood still in great astonishment;
One tomb there was to ruin gone,
And in the dead-house a maiden wan;
On looking round, amazed were they,
On every grave a garment lay.
“Well was it, maiden, that thy mindTurned unto God, defence to find,For He thy foes did harmless bind;Had’st thou thyself, too, nothing done,Ill with thy soul it then had gone;Thy body, as the garments were,Mangled had been, and scattered there.”
“Well was it, maiden, that thy mind
Turned unto God, defence to find,
For He thy foes did harmless bind;
Had’st thou thyself, too, nothing done,
Ill with thy soul it then had gone;
Thy body, as the garments were,
Mangled had been, and scattered there.”
Such is the horrible story which forms the theme of Dvořák’s cantata. It was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1884, and the text was translated by the Rev. Dr. Troutbeck, from a German translationof the original poem made by K. J. Müller. It contains eighteen numbers, each of considerable length, of which eleven are descriptive, the barytone, with chorus response, acting the part of the narrator, and accompanied by instrumentation which vividly paints the horrors of the nocturnal tramp, even to the realistic extent of imitating the various sounds described. It is unnecessary to specify each of these numbers in detail, as they are all closely allied in color and general effect. The music which accompanies them is picturesque and weird, increasing in its power and actual supernaturalism until it reaches its climax in the dead-house where the maiden takes refuge; and in these numbers the orchestra bears the burden of the work. The remaining numbers are almost magical in their beauty and fascination, particularly the first song of the maiden, lamenting her lover, and closing with the prayer to the Virgin, which is thoroughly devotional music, and the second prayer, which saves her from her peril. There are four duets, soprano and tenor, between the Bride and Spectre, and one with chorus, in which are recounted the episodes of the chaplet, prayer-book, and cross, besides the hurried dialogue between them as he urges her on. These, too, abound in quaint rhythms and strange harmonies set against a highly-colored instrumental background. The story is not a pleasant one for musical treatment,—at least for voices,—and the prevailing tone of the composition is sombre; but of the wonderful power of the music and its strange fascination there can be no doubt.
FOOTE.Arthur Foote, a rising young composer of Boston, whose works have already made more than a local reputation, was born at Salem, Mass., March 5, 1853. While at Harvard College he studied composition with Prof. J. K. Paine, and after graduation determined to devote himself to the musical profession. He studied the piano-forte and organ with Mr. B. J. Lang of Boston, and soon made his mark as a musician of more than ordinary promise. Among his published works which have attracted favorable attention are various songs and piano compositions; pieces for violin and piano, violoncello and piano; a string quartet; trio for piano, violin, and violoncello; and “Hiawatha,” a ballad for male voices and orchestra. A suite for strings, in manuscript, has obtained the honor of performance at the London symphony concerts (January, 1887), and an overture, “In the Mountains,” also in manuscript, was played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in February, 1887. He is now living in Boston, where he is engaged in teaching the piano and organ.
Arthur Foote, a rising young composer of Boston, whose works have already made more than a local reputation, was born at Salem, Mass., March 5, 1853. While at Harvard College he studied composition with Prof. J. K. Paine, and after graduation determined to devote himself to the musical profession. He studied the piano-forte and organ with Mr. B. J. Lang of Boston, and soon made his mark as a musician of more than ordinary promise. Among his published works which have attracted favorable attention are various songs and piano compositions; pieces for violin and piano, violoncello and piano; a string quartet; trio for piano, violin, and violoncello; and “Hiawatha,” a ballad for male voices and orchestra. A suite for strings, in manuscript, has obtained the honor of performance at the London symphony concerts (January, 1887), and an overture, “In the Mountains,” also in manuscript, was played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in February, 1887. He is now living in Boston, where he is engaged in teaching the piano and organ.
Hiawatha.“The Farewell of Hiawatha,” for barytone solo, male voices, and orchestra, modestly styled by its composer a ballad, is a cantata in its lighter form. Its subject is taken from Longfellow’s familiar poem, and includes the beautiful close of the legend beginning with the stanza:—“From his place rose Hiawatha,Bade farewell to old Nokomis,Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.”The composer has made use of the remainder of the poem without change, except in repetitions demanded by musical necessity and in the omission of the seven lines immediately preceding the final words of farewell, which does not mar the context. A short orchestral introduction,andante con moto, followed by a chorus of tenors and basses in a few bars, recitative in form and sung pianissimo, lead to a barytone solo for Hiawatha (“I am going, O Nokomis”) of a quiet and tender character. A graceful phrase for the violoncello introduces another choral morceau relating Hiawatha’s farewell to the warriors (“I am going, O my People”) a melodious combination of sweetness and strength, though it only rises to a display of energy in the single phrase, “The Master of Life has sent them,” after which it closes quietly, and tenderly, in keeping with the sentiment of the text. The remainder of the work is choral. The westward sail of Hiawathainto the “fiery sunset,” “the purple vapors,” and “the dusk of evening” is set to a very picturesque accompaniment, which dies away in soft strains as he disappears in the distance. An allegro movement with a crescendo of great energy introduces the farewell of “the forests dark and lonely,” moving “through all their depths of darkness,” of the waves “rippling on the pebbles,” and of “the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, from her haunts among the fen-lands.” The last division of the chorus is an allegro, beginning pianissimo and closing with an exultant outburst:—“Thus departed Hiawatha,Hiawatha the Beloved,In the glory of the sunset,In the purple mists of evening,To the regions of the home-wind,Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,To the Islands of the Blessed,To the kingdom of Ponemah,To the land of the Hereafter!”The work, which was written for the Apollo Club of Boston, is not a long one, nor is it at all ambitious in style. The composer has evidently tried to reflect the quiet and tender sentiment of the farewell in his music, and has admirably succeeded. Poetic beauty is its most striking feature, both in the instrumental parts, which are well sustained, and in the vocal, which are earnest, expressive, and at times very pathetic, of this pretty tone-picture.
“The Farewell of Hiawatha,” for barytone solo, male voices, and orchestra, modestly styled by its composer a ballad, is a cantata in its lighter form. Its subject is taken from Longfellow’s familiar poem, and includes the beautiful close of the legend beginning with the stanza:—
“From his place rose Hiawatha,Bade farewell to old Nokomis,Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.”
“From his place rose Hiawatha,Bade farewell to old Nokomis,Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.”
“From his place rose Hiawatha,
Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.”
The composer has made use of the remainder of the poem without change, except in repetitions demanded by musical necessity and in the omission of the seven lines immediately preceding the final words of farewell, which does not mar the context. A short orchestral introduction,andante con moto, followed by a chorus of tenors and basses in a few bars, recitative in form and sung pianissimo, lead to a barytone solo for Hiawatha (“I am going, O Nokomis”) of a quiet and tender character. A graceful phrase for the violoncello introduces another choral morceau relating Hiawatha’s farewell to the warriors (“I am going, O my People”) a melodious combination of sweetness and strength, though it only rises to a display of energy in the single phrase, “The Master of Life has sent them,” after which it closes quietly, and tenderly, in keeping with the sentiment of the text. The remainder of the work is choral. The westward sail of Hiawathainto the “fiery sunset,” “the purple vapors,” and “the dusk of evening” is set to a very picturesque accompaniment, which dies away in soft strains as he disappears in the distance. An allegro movement with a crescendo of great energy introduces the farewell of “the forests dark and lonely,” moving “through all their depths of darkness,” of the waves “rippling on the pebbles,” and of “the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, from her haunts among the fen-lands.” The last division of the chorus is an allegro, beginning pianissimo and closing with an exultant outburst:—
“Thus departed Hiawatha,Hiawatha the Beloved,In the glory of the sunset,In the purple mists of evening,To the regions of the home-wind,Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,To the Islands of the Blessed,To the kingdom of Ponemah,To the land of the Hereafter!”
“Thus departed Hiawatha,Hiawatha the Beloved,In the glory of the sunset,In the purple mists of evening,To the regions of the home-wind,Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,To the Islands of the Blessed,To the kingdom of Ponemah,To the land of the Hereafter!”
“Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom of Ponemah,
To the land of the Hereafter!”
The work, which was written for the Apollo Club of Boston, is not a long one, nor is it at all ambitious in style. The composer has evidently tried to reflect the quiet and tender sentiment of the farewell in his music, and has admirably succeeded. Poetic beauty is its most striking feature, both in the instrumental parts, which are well sustained, and in the vocal, which are earnest, expressive, and at times very pathetic, of this pretty tone-picture.
GADE.Niels W. Gade was born at Copenhagen, Oct. 22, 1817. His father was a musical-instrument maker and intrusted his early education to the Danish masters Wershall, Berggren, and Weyse. He made such good progress that he soon entered the royal orchestra of that city as a violinist and began to be known as a composer. His first important work, the overture “Nachklänge von Ossian,” obtained a prize from the Copenhagen Musical Union and also secured for him the favor of the King, who provided him with the means for making a foreign journey. Prior to starting he sent a copy of a symphony to Mendelssohn, which met with the latter’s enthusiastic approval. He arrived at Leipsic in 1843, and after producing his first symphony with success, travelled through Italy, returning to Leipsic in 1844, where during the winter of that year he conducted the Gewandhaus concerts in the place of Mendelssohn, who was absent in Berlin. In the season of 1845-46 he assisted Mendelssohn in the same concerts, and after the latter’s death became the principaldirector, a post which he held until 1848, when he returned to Copenhagen and took a position as organist, and also conducted the concerts of the Musical Union. In 1861 he was appointed Hofcapellmeister, and was honored with the title of Professor of Music. Since that time he has devoted himself to composition, and has produced many excellent works, especially for festivals in England and elsewhere. Among them are the cantatas “Comala,” “Spring Fantasie,” “The Erl King’s Daughter,” “The Holy Night,” “Spring’s Message,” “The Crusaders,” and “Zion;” the overtures “In the Highlands,” “Hamlet,” and “Michael Angelo;” seven symphonies, and a large number of songs and piano pieces, as well as chamber-music compositions.
Niels W. Gade was born at Copenhagen, Oct. 22, 1817. His father was a musical-instrument maker and intrusted his early education to the Danish masters Wershall, Berggren, and Weyse. He made such good progress that he soon entered the royal orchestra of that city as a violinist and began to be known as a composer. His first important work, the overture “Nachklänge von Ossian,” obtained a prize from the Copenhagen Musical Union and also secured for him the favor of the King, who provided him with the means for making a foreign journey. Prior to starting he sent a copy of a symphony to Mendelssohn, which met with the latter’s enthusiastic approval. He arrived at Leipsic in 1843, and after producing his first symphony with success, travelled through Italy, returning to Leipsic in 1844, where during the winter of that year he conducted the Gewandhaus concerts in the place of Mendelssohn, who was absent in Berlin. In the season of 1845-46 he assisted Mendelssohn in the same concerts, and after the latter’s death became the principaldirector, a post which he held until 1848, when he returned to Copenhagen and took a position as organist, and also conducted the concerts of the Musical Union. In 1861 he was appointed Hofcapellmeister, and was honored with the title of Professor of Music. Since that time he has devoted himself to composition, and has produced many excellent works, especially for festivals in England and elsewhere. Among them are the cantatas “Comala,” “Spring Fantasie,” “The Erl King’s Daughter,” “The Holy Night,” “Spring’s Message,” “The Crusaders,” and “Zion;” the overtures “In the Highlands,” “Hamlet,” and “Michael Angelo;” seven symphonies, and a large number of songs and piano pieces, as well as chamber-music compositions.
Comala.“Comala,” one of the earliest of Gade’s larger vocal works, was first produced at Leipsic in March, 1843. Its subject is taken from Ossian, and relates the tragedy of “Comala,” daughter of Sarno, King of Innistore, who had conceived a violent passion for Fingal, King of Morven. Her love is returned by the warrior, and disguised as a youth the princess follows him on his expedition against Caracul, King of Lochlin. On the day of the battle Fingal places her on a height, near the shore of the Carun, whence she can overlook the fight, and promises her ifvictorious that he will return at evening. Comala, though filled with strange forebodings, hopefully waits her royal lover’s coming. As the tedious hours pass on a fearful storm arises, and amid the howling of the blast the spirits of the fathers sweep by her on their way to the battlefield to conduct to their home the souls of the fallen,—the same majestic idea which Wagner uses with such consummate power in his weird ride of the Valkyries. Comala imagines that the battle has been lost, and overcome with grief falls to the ground and dies. The victorious Fingal returns as evening approaches, accompanied by the songs of his triumphant warriors, only to hear the tidings of Comala’s death from her weeping maidens. Sorrowing he orders the bards to chant her praises, and joining with her attendants to waft her departing soul “to the fathers’ dwelling” with farewell hymns.The cantata is almost equally divided between male and female choruses, and these are the charm of the work. Many of the songs of Comala and her maids are in graceful ballad form, fresh in their melody, and marked by that peculiar refinement which characterizes all of Gade’s music. The parting duet between Fingal and Comala is very beautiful, but the principal interest centres in the choruses. Those of the bards and warriors are very stately in their style and abound in dramatic power, particularly the one accompanying the triumphal return of Fingal. The chorus of spirits is very impressive, and in some passages almost supernatural. The femalechoruses, on the other hand, are graceful, tender, and pathetic; the final full chorus, in which the bards and maidens commend the soul of Comala to “the fathers’ dwelling,” has rarely been surpassed in beauty or pathos. The music of the cantata is in keeping with the stately grandeur and richly-hued tones of the Ossianic poem. The poetry and music of the North are happily wedded.
“Comala,” one of the earliest of Gade’s larger vocal works, was first produced at Leipsic in March, 1843. Its subject is taken from Ossian, and relates the tragedy of “Comala,” daughter of Sarno, King of Innistore, who had conceived a violent passion for Fingal, King of Morven. Her love is returned by the warrior, and disguised as a youth the princess follows him on his expedition against Caracul, King of Lochlin. On the day of the battle Fingal places her on a height, near the shore of the Carun, whence she can overlook the fight, and promises her ifvictorious that he will return at evening. Comala, though filled with strange forebodings, hopefully waits her royal lover’s coming. As the tedious hours pass on a fearful storm arises, and amid the howling of the blast the spirits of the fathers sweep by her on their way to the battlefield to conduct to their home the souls of the fallen,—the same majestic idea which Wagner uses with such consummate power in his weird ride of the Valkyries. Comala imagines that the battle has been lost, and overcome with grief falls to the ground and dies. The victorious Fingal returns as evening approaches, accompanied by the songs of his triumphant warriors, only to hear the tidings of Comala’s death from her weeping maidens. Sorrowing he orders the bards to chant her praises, and joining with her attendants to waft her departing soul “to the fathers’ dwelling” with farewell hymns.
The cantata is almost equally divided between male and female choruses, and these are the charm of the work. Many of the songs of Comala and her maids are in graceful ballad form, fresh in their melody, and marked by that peculiar refinement which characterizes all of Gade’s music. The parting duet between Fingal and Comala is very beautiful, but the principal interest centres in the choruses. Those of the bards and warriors are very stately in their style and abound in dramatic power, particularly the one accompanying the triumphal return of Fingal. The chorus of spirits is very impressive, and in some passages almost supernatural. The femalechoruses, on the other hand, are graceful, tender, and pathetic; the final full chorus, in which the bards and maidens commend the soul of Comala to “the fathers’ dwelling,” has rarely been surpassed in beauty or pathos. The music of the cantata is in keeping with the stately grandeur and richly-hued tones of the Ossianic poem. The poetry and music of the North are happily wedded.
Spring Fantasie.Though the “Spring Fantasie” is in undoubted cantata form, Gade designates it as a “Concertstück;” that is, a musical composition in which the instrumental parts are essential to its complete unity. Its origin is unquestionably to be found in the idea of Beethoven’s “Choral Fantasie,” which was subsequently developed in the choral symphony on a still larger and grander scale. The instrumental elements of the “Spring Fantasie” are unquestionably the most prominent. They do not play the subordinate part of accompaniment, but really enunciate the ideas of the poem, which are still further illustrated by the voices, acting as the interpreters of the meaning of the instrumentation.The “Fantasie” was written in 1850, its subject being a poem by Edmund Lobedanz, which of itself might appropriately be called a fantasy. The work consists of four movements, for four solo voices, orchestra, and piano-forte. The prominencewhich Gade has given to the instrumental parts is shown by his characterizing the movements,—I.Allegro moderato e sostenuto; II.Allegro molto e con fuoco; III.Allegro vivace. The poem in the original is one of more than ordinary excellence. The translation in most common use is one made by Mrs. Vander Weyde for a performance of the work in London in 1878 at the Royal Normal College and Academy of Music for the Blind, under the direction of Herr von Bülow.The first movement is in the nature of an invocation to spring, in which the longing for May and its flowers is very tenderly expressed. The second movement depicts with great vigor the return of the wintry storms, the raging of the torrents, the gradual rolling away of the clouds, the approach of more genial breezes, and the rising of the star, typifying “the joy of a fair maiden’s love.” The closing movement is full of rejoicing that the spring has come. Voices and instruments share alike in the jubilation:—“For the spring-time has come, the May is here,On hill and in vale all is full of delight.How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,—Its kingdom is over us all.”
Though the “Spring Fantasie” is in undoubted cantata form, Gade designates it as a “Concertstück;” that is, a musical composition in which the instrumental parts are essential to its complete unity. Its origin is unquestionably to be found in the idea of Beethoven’s “Choral Fantasie,” which was subsequently developed in the choral symphony on a still larger and grander scale. The instrumental elements of the “Spring Fantasie” are unquestionably the most prominent. They do not play the subordinate part of accompaniment, but really enunciate the ideas of the poem, which are still further illustrated by the voices, acting as the interpreters of the meaning of the instrumentation.
The “Fantasie” was written in 1850, its subject being a poem by Edmund Lobedanz, which of itself might appropriately be called a fantasy. The work consists of four movements, for four solo voices, orchestra, and piano-forte. The prominencewhich Gade has given to the instrumental parts is shown by his characterizing the movements,—I.Allegro moderato e sostenuto; II.Allegro molto e con fuoco; III.Allegro vivace. The poem in the original is one of more than ordinary excellence. The translation in most common use is one made by Mrs. Vander Weyde for a performance of the work in London in 1878 at the Royal Normal College and Academy of Music for the Blind, under the direction of Herr von Bülow.
The first movement is in the nature of an invocation to spring, in which the longing for May and its flowers is very tenderly expressed. The second movement depicts with great vigor the return of the wintry storms, the raging of the torrents, the gradual rolling away of the clouds, the approach of more genial breezes, and the rising of the star, typifying “the joy of a fair maiden’s love.” The closing movement is full of rejoicing that the spring has come. Voices and instruments share alike in the jubilation:—
“For the spring-time has come, the May is here,On hill and in vale all is full of delight.How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,—Its kingdom is over us all.”
“For the spring-time has come, the May is here,On hill and in vale all is full of delight.How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,—Its kingdom is over us all.”
“For the spring-time has come, the May is here,
On hill and in vale all is full of delight.
How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,—
Its kingdom is over us all.”