Hymn of Praise.

Hymn of Praise.The "Lobgesang" ("Hymn of Praise") was written at Leipsic in 1840, the occasion which gave birth to it being the fourth centennial celebration of the art of printing. The musical features of the festival were intrusted to Mendelssohn, the ceremonies occupying two days, June 24 and 25 of the above year. On the evening of the 23d there was a performance of Lortzing's opera, "Hans Sachs," written for the occasion. On the morning of the 24th there was a service in the church, followed by the unveiling of the statue of Guttenberg in the public square, and an open-air performance of the composer's "Festgesang" for two choirs, with trombone accompaniment, David conducting one choir, and Mendelssohn the other. In the afternoon of the 25th the "Hymn of Praise" was given for the first time in St. Thomas's Church, preceded by Weber's "Jubilee Overture" and Handel's "Dettingen Te Deum." Lampadius, who was present at the performance, says:--"The work called out the greatest enthusiasm, which could hardly be repressed within bounds even by the fact that the audience were seated within the walls of a church. After the first duet a subdued[214]whisper of applause ran through the edifice and betrayed the suppressed delight of the listeners. On one of the evenings following, a torchlight procession was made in honor of the great composer. Mendelssohn, who then lived in Lurgenstein's Garden, appeared at the window, his face lighted up with joy. 'Gentlemen,' he said in his neat, quiet way, with a sensible trembling of the voice, 'you know that it is not my manner to make many words; but I heartily thank you.' A loud 'Hoch!' three times shouted, was our reply."Its next performance was at Birmingham, Sept. 23, 1840, Mendelssohn himself conducting. After this performance it was considerably changed, and the whole scene of the watchman was added. The idea occurred to him after a sleepless night, during which, as he informed a friend, the words, "Will the night soon pass?" incessantly came into his mind.The title given to the "Hymn of Praise," "a symphony-cantata," was first suggested by his friend Carl Klingemann, of London, as will be seen by the following interesting extract from a letter written by Mendelssohn to him, Nov. 18, 1840:--"My 'Hymn of Praise' is to be performed the end of this month for the benefit of old invalided musicians. I am determined, however, that it shall not be produced in the imperfect form in which, owing to my illness, it was given in Birmingham; so that makes me work hard. Four new pieces are to be added, and I have also much improved the three sets of symphonies, which are now in the hands of the copyist. As an introduction to the chorus, 'The Night is passed,' I[215]have found far finer words in the Bible, and admirably adapted to the music. By the by, you have much to answer for in the admirable title you hit on so cleverly; for not only have I sent forth the piece into the world as a symphony-cantata, but I have serious thoughts of resuming the first 'Walpurgis Night' (which has been so long lying by me) under the same cognomen, and finishing and getting rid of it at last. It is singular enough that at the very first suggestion of this idea I should have written to Berlin that I was resolved to compose a symphony with a chorus. Subsequently I had not courage to begin, because the three movements were too long for an introduction; and yet I never could divest myself of the impression that something was wanting in the shape of an introduction. Now the symphony is to be inserted according to my original intention, and the piece brought out at once."The text to the "Hymn of Praise" is not in narrative form, nor has it any particular dramatic significance. It is what its name indicates,--a tribute of praise. Lampadius says the composer undertook to show "the triumph at the creation of light over darkness. With his pious and believing heart he could easily enter into that theme, and show with matchless power and skill the closing-in of those ancient foes, and the victory of light when darkness cowered and ignobly shrank away." The expression of delight over this victory is very well brought out, not only in the music, but also in the arrangement of the Scriptural texts, which begin with exhortations of praise, and appeals to those who have been in distress and affliction to trust the Lord.[216]The tenor, who may be regarded as the Narrator, calls upon the Watchman, "What of the night?" The response comes that the night has passed. In exultation over the victory, once more the text ascribes praise to the Lord. "All that has life and breath" sings to His name.The symphony is in three parts, beginning with a maestoso movement, in which the trombones at once give out the choral motive, "All that has life and breath sing to the Lord,"--a favorite theme of Mendelssohn. This movement, which is strong and energetic in character, is followed by an allegretto based upon a beautiful melody, and to this in turn succeeds an adagio religioso rich in harmony. The symphony clearly reflects the spirit of the cantata, which follows. The opening chorus ("All that has Life and Breath") is based upon the choral motive, and enunciates the real hymn of praise. It moves along in a stately manner, and finally leads without break into a semi-chorus, "Praise thou the Lord, O my Spirit," a soprano solo with accompaniment of female voices. The tenor in a long dramatic recitative ("Sing ye Praise, all ye redeemed of the Lord") urges the faithful to join in praise and extol His goodness, and the chorus responds, first, the tenors, and then all the parts, in a beautiful number, "All ye that cried unto the Lord." The next number is an exquisite duet for soprano and alto with chorus ("I waited for the Lord"). It is thoroughly devotional in style, and in its general color and effect reminds one[217]of the arias, "O Rest in the Lord" from "Elijah," and "The Lord is mindful of His own" from "St. Paul." This duet is followed by a sorrowful, almost wailing tenor solo, "The Sorrows of Death had closed all around me," ending with the piercing, anxious cry in recitative, "Watchman! will the Night soon pass?" set to a restless, agitated accompaniment and thrice repeated. Like a flash from a cloud comes the quick response of the chorus, "The Night is departing," which forms the climax of the work. The chorus is beautifully constructed, and very impressive in its effect. At first the full chorus proclaims the night's departure; it then takes the fugal form on the words, "Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness," which is most effectively worked out.In the finale the male voices are massed on the declaration, "The Night is departing," and the female voices on the response, "The Day is approaching;" and after alternating repetitions all close in broad, flowing harmony. This chorus leads directly to the chorale, "Let all Men praise the Lord," sung first without accompaniment, and then in unison with orchestra. Another beautiful duet, "My Song shall alway be Thy Mercy," this time for soprano and tenor, follows, and prepares the way for the final fugued chorus, "Ye Nations, offer to the Lord," a massive number, stately in its proportions and impressive in its effect, and closing with a fortissimo delivery of the splendid choral motive, "All that has Life and Breath."[218]Notwithstanding that the choral part is brief as compared with the "St. Paul" and "Elijah," there are many critics who are inclined to pronounce the "Hymn of Praise" Mendelssohn's greatest work. In its combination of the symphony and the voice parts, the one growing out of the other and both so intimately connected, it stands almost alone. Some critics have condemned Mendelssohn for imitating Beethoven's Choral Symphony, though in that colossal work the chorus is not only subordinate to the symphony, but is even trifling in length as compared with it, and very inferior in style. While in Mendelssohn's work the symphony is subordinated to the choral part, and serves only as an introduction to it, they are yet conventionally connected; but in Beethoven's work the chorus was the product of necessity, as the idea could not have been developed without it. The instruments had gone as far as possible; the voicesmustspeak.

The "Lobgesang" ("Hymn of Praise") was written at Leipsic in 1840, the occasion which gave birth to it being the fourth centennial celebration of the art of printing. The musical features of the festival were intrusted to Mendelssohn, the ceremonies occupying two days, June 24 and 25 of the above year. On the evening of the 23d there was a performance of Lortzing's opera, "Hans Sachs," written for the occasion. On the morning of the 24th there was a service in the church, followed by the unveiling of the statue of Guttenberg in the public square, and an open-air performance of the composer's "Festgesang" for two choirs, with trombone accompaniment, David conducting one choir, and Mendelssohn the other. In the afternoon of the 25th the "Hymn of Praise" was given for the first time in St. Thomas's Church, preceded by Weber's "Jubilee Overture" and Handel's "Dettingen Te Deum." Lampadius, who was present at the performance, says:--

"The work called out the greatest enthusiasm, which could hardly be repressed within bounds even by the fact that the audience were seated within the walls of a church. After the first duet a subdued[214]whisper of applause ran through the edifice and betrayed the suppressed delight of the listeners. On one of the evenings following, a torchlight procession was made in honor of the great composer. Mendelssohn, who then lived in Lurgenstein's Garden, appeared at the window, his face lighted up with joy. 'Gentlemen,' he said in his neat, quiet way, with a sensible trembling of the voice, 'you know that it is not my manner to make many words; but I heartily thank you.' A loud 'Hoch!' three times shouted, was our reply."

Its next performance was at Birmingham, Sept. 23, 1840, Mendelssohn himself conducting. After this performance it was considerably changed, and the whole scene of the watchman was added. The idea occurred to him after a sleepless night, during which, as he informed a friend, the words, "Will the night soon pass?" incessantly came into his mind.

The title given to the "Hymn of Praise," "a symphony-cantata," was first suggested by his friend Carl Klingemann, of London, as will be seen by the following interesting extract from a letter written by Mendelssohn to him, Nov. 18, 1840:--

"My 'Hymn of Praise' is to be performed the end of this month for the benefit of old invalided musicians. I am determined, however, that it shall not be produced in the imperfect form in which, owing to my illness, it was given in Birmingham; so that makes me work hard. Four new pieces are to be added, and I have also much improved the three sets of symphonies, which are now in the hands of the copyist. As an introduction to the chorus, 'The Night is passed,' I[215]have found far finer words in the Bible, and admirably adapted to the music. By the by, you have much to answer for in the admirable title you hit on so cleverly; for not only have I sent forth the piece into the world as a symphony-cantata, but I have serious thoughts of resuming the first 'Walpurgis Night' (which has been so long lying by me) under the same cognomen, and finishing and getting rid of it at last. It is singular enough that at the very first suggestion of this idea I should have written to Berlin that I was resolved to compose a symphony with a chorus. Subsequently I had not courage to begin, because the three movements were too long for an introduction; and yet I never could divest myself of the impression that something was wanting in the shape of an introduction. Now the symphony is to be inserted according to my original intention, and the piece brought out at once."

The text to the "Hymn of Praise" is not in narrative form, nor has it any particular dramatic significance. It is what its name indicates,--a tribute of praise. Lampadius says the composer undertook to show "the triumph at the creation of light over darkness. With his pious and believing heart he could easily enter into that theme, and show with matchless power and skill the closing-in of those ancient foes, and the victory of light when darkness cowered and ignobly shrank away." The expression of delight over this victory is very well brought out, not only in the music, but also in the arrangement of the Scriptural texts, which begin with exhortations of praise, and appeals to those who have been in distress and affliction to trust the Lord.[216]The tenor, who may be regarded as the Narrator, calls upon the Watchman, "What of the night?" The response comes that the night has passed. In exultation over the victory, once more the text ascribes praise to the Lord. "All that has life and breath" sings to His name.

The symphony is in three parts, beginning with a maestoso movement, in which the trombones at once give out the choral motive, "All that has life and breath sing to the Lord,"--a favorite theme of Mendelssohn. This movement, which is strong and energetic in character, is followed by an allegretto based upon a beautiful melody, and to this in turn succeeds an adagio religioso rich in harmony. The symphony clearly reflects the spirit of the cantata, which follows. The opening chorus ("All that has Life and Breath") is based upon the choral motive, and enunciates the real hymn of praise. It moves along in a stately manner, and finally leads without break into a semi-chorus, "Praise thou the Lord, O my Spirit," a soprano solo with accompaniment of female voices. The tenor in a long dramatic recitative ("Sing ye Praise, all ye redeemed of the Lord") urges the faithful to join in praise and extol His goodness, and the chorus responds, first, the tenors, and then all the parts, in a beautiful number, "All ye that cried unto the Lord." The next number is an exquisite duet for soprano and alto with chorus ("I waited for the Lord"). It is thoroughly devotional in style, and in its general color and effect reminds one[217]of the arias, "O Rest in the Lord" from "Elijah," and "The Lord is mindful of His own" from "St. Paul." This duet is followed by a sorrowful, almost wailing tenor solo, "The Sorrows of Death had closed all around me," ending with the piercing, anxious cry in recitative, "Watchman! will the Night soon pass?" set to a restless, agitated accompaniment and thrice repeated. Like a flash from a cloud comes the quick response of the chorus, "The Night is departing," which forms the climax of the work. The chorus is beautifully constructed, and very impressive in its effect. At first the full chorus proclaims the night's departure; it then takes the fugal form on the words, "Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness," which is most effectively worked out.

In the finale the male voices are massed on the declaration, "The Night is departing," and the female voices on the response, "The Day is approaching;" and after alternating repetitions all close in broad, flowing harmony. This chorus leads directly to the chorale, "Let all Men praise the Lord," sung first without accompaniment, and then in unison with orchestra. Another beautiful duet, "My Song shall alway be Thy Mercy," this time for soprano and tenor, follows, and prepares the way for the final fugued chorus, "Ye Nations, offer to the Lord," a massive number, stately in its proportions and impressive in its effect, and closing with a fortissimo delivery of the splendid choral motive, "All that has Life and Breath."

Notwithstanding that the choral part is brief as compared with the "St. Paul" and "Elijah," there are many critics who are inclined to pronounce the "Hymn of Praise" Mendelssohn's greatest work. In its combination of the symphony and the voice parts, the one growing out of the other and both so intimately connected, it stands almost alone. Some critics have condemned Mendelssohn for imitating Beethoven's Choral Symphony, though in that colossal work the chorus is not only subordinate to the symphony, but is even trifling in length as compared with it, and very inferior in style. While in Mendelssohn's work the symphony is subordinated to the choral part, and serves only as an introduction to it, they are yet conventionally connected; but in Beethoven's work the chorus was the product of necessity, as the idea could not have been developed without it. The instruments had gone as far as possible; the voicesmustspeak.

Elijah."Elijah," the most admired of all Mendelssohn's compositions, was finished in 1846. The plan of the work was first considered in 1837, and was discussed with his friend Klingemann in London. During the next year he had frequent consultations with another friend, Schubring, as to the preparation of the book, and many of the passages were selected and scenes sketched out; but[219]it was not until 1840 that he really began to put it into shape. We learn by a letter that in 1842 he was still at work upon the book itself. Two years later he received an invitation to conduct the Birmingham Festival of 1846; and it was evidently at that time he decided to prepare the work for that occasion. We learn by another letter that on the 23d of May, 1846, the entire first part and six or eight numbers of the second part were sent to London to a Mr. Bartholomew, who was engaged translating the text into English. That Mendelssohn himself was pleased with his work is evident from his own words, written to a friend after he had finished the first part: "I am jumping about my room for joy. If it only turns out half as good as I fancy, how pleased I shall be!" By the latter part of July the entire oratorio was in the hands of Mr. Bartholomew, and on August 18 Mendelssohn himself arrived in London and immediately began the rehearsals. The work was first performed on the 26th at Birmingham, coming between Haydn's "Creation" on the 25th, and Handel's "Messiah" on the 27th, the latter oratorio being followed by Beethoven's Mass in D. A correspondent who was present writes:--"How shall I describe what to-day has been in the Music Hall? After such an intense enjoyment it is a hard task to express one's feelings in cold words. It was a great day for the festival, a great day for the performers, a great day for Mendelssohn, a great day for art. Four da-capos in the first part, four in the[220]second, making eight encores, and at the close the calling out of the composer,--are significant facts when one considers that it was the rigid injunction of the Committee that the public should not testify its approval by applause. But the enthusiasm would be checked by no rules; when the heart is full, regulations must stand aside. It was a noble scene, the hall filled with men, the galleries gay with ladies, like so many tulip-beds, added to the princely music and their thundering bravas."Mendelssohn himself on the day after the performance writes to his brother in Berlin:--"No work of mine ever went so admirably the first time of execution, or was received with such enthusiasm by both the musicians and the audience, as this oratorio. It was quite evident at the first rehearsal in London that they liked it, and liked to sing and play it; but I own I was far from anticipating that it would acquire such fresh vigor and impetus at the performance. Had you only been there! During the whole two hours and a half that it lasted, the large hall, with its two thousand people, and the large orchestra were all so fully intent on the one object in question that not the slightest sound was to be heard among the whole audience, so that I could sway at pleasure the enormous orchestra and choir, and also the organ accompaniments. How often I thought of you during the time! more especially, however, when 'the sound of abundance of rain' came, and when they sang and played the final chorus withfurore, and when, after the close of the first part, we were obliged to repeat the whole movement. Not less than four choruses and four airs were encored, and not one single mistake[221]occurred in the first part; there were some afterwards in the second part, but even these were but trifling. A young English tenor[6]sang the last air with such wonderful sweetness that I was obliged to collect all my energies, not to be affected, and to continue beating time steadily."Notwithstanding his delight with the performance, he was not satisfied with the oratorio as a whole. He made numerous changes and re-wrote portions of the work,--indeed there was scarcely a movement that was not retouched. It is interesting to note in this connection that the beautiful trio, "Lift thine Eyes," was originally a duet, and very different in character. The first performance of the work in London took place April 16, 1847, when it was given by the Sacred Harmonic Society. Her Majesty and Prince Albert were in attendance; and after the performance the Prince sent to Mendelssohn the score which he had used in following the music, with the following tribute written in it:--To the noble artist who, surrounded by the Baal-worship of corrupted art, has been able by his genius and science to preserve faithfully, like another Elijah, the worship of true art, and once more to accustom our ear, lost in the whirl of an empty play of sounds, to the pure notes of expressive composition and legitimate harmony; to the great master who makes us conscious of the unity of his conception through the whole[222]maze of his creation, from the soft whispering to the mighty raging of the elements.Written in token of grateful remembrance byAlbert.Buckingham Palace, April 24, 1847.The text was mainly compiled from the First Book of Kings, and was translated, as has been said, by Mr. Bartholomew. Hiller says that the idea of the oratorio was first suggested by the verse in the nineteenth chapter, "Behold, the Lord passed by," and that Mendelssohn, while reading it, remarked to him, "Would not that be splendid for an oratorio?" The prominent scenes treated are the drought prophecy, the raising of the widow's son, the rival sacrifices, the appearance of the rain in answer to Elijah's appeal, Jezebel's persecution of Elijah, the sojourn in the desert, his return, his disappearance in the fiery chariot, and the finale, which reflects upon the meaning of the sacred narrative. The scenes themselves indicate the dramatic character of the oratorio. In this respect, indeed, Mendelssohn may almost be said to have created a new school of oratorio construction. "Elijah" could be placed upon the stage with scenery, costume, and properties as a sacred opera, and make a powerful impression,--almost as much so, indeed, as Rossini's "Moses." Mendelssohn's own testimony on this point is interesting. In a letter written Nov. 2, 1838, to Pastor Julius Schubring, who was assisting him in the preparation of the book, he says:--[223]"I figured to myself Elijah as a grand, mighty prophet, such as we might again require in our own day,--energetic and zealous, but also stern, wrathful, and gloomy; a striking contrast to the court myrmidons and popular rabble,--in fact, in opposition to the whole world, and yet borne on angel's wings.... I am anxious to do justice to the dramatic element, and, as you say, no epic narrative must be introduced.... I would fain see the dramatic element more prominent, as well as more exuberant and defined,--appeal and rejoinder, question and answer, sudden interruptions, etc."Again, on the 6th of December, he writes:--"In such a character as that of Elijah, like every one in the Old Testament (except, perhaps, Moses), it appears to me that the dramatic should predominate, the personages should be introduced as acting and speaking with fervor,--not, however, for Heaven's sake, to become mere musical pictures, but inhabitants of a positive, practical world such as we see in every chapter of the Old Testament; and the contemplative and pathetic element, which you desire, must be entirely conveyed to our apprehension by the words and the mood of the acting personages."The introduction to the oratorio is prefaced by a brief but very impressive recitative,--Elijah's prophecy of the drought; leading directly to the overture, a sombre, despairing prelude, picturing the distress which is to follow as the curse settles down upon the streams and valleys. At last the suffering is voiced in the opening chorus ("Help,[224]Lord"), which, after three passionate appeals, moves along in plaintive beauty, developing phrase after phrase of touching appeal, and leading to a second chorus, with duet for two sopranos ("Lord, bow Thine Ear to our Prayer"), the choral part of which is an old Jewish chant, sung alternately by the male and female voices in unison. It is followed by Obadiah's lovely tenor aria, "If with all your Hearts," full of tenderness and consolation. Again the People break out into a chorus of lamentation ("Yet doth the Lord see it not"), which at the close develops into a chorale of graceful and serene beauty ("For He the Lord our God"). Then follows the voice of an Angel summoning Elijah to the brook of Cherith, leading to the beautiful double quartet, "For He shall give His Angels Charge over thee," the melody of which is simple, but full of animation, and worked up with a skilful effect. Again the Angel summons Elijah to go to the Widow's house at Zarephath. The dramatic scene of the raising of her son ensues, comprising a passionate song by the mother ("What have I to do with thee?") and the noble declaration of the prophet, "Give me thy Son," and closing with the reflective chorus, "Blessed are the Men who fear Him."In the next scene we have the appearance of Elijah before Ahab, and the challenge of the Priests of Baal to the sacrifice on Mount Carmel, set forth in vigorous recitative, accompanied by short choral outbursts. At the words of Elijah, "Invoke your[225]forest gods and mountain deities," the Priests of Baal break out into the stirring double-chorus, "Baal, we cry to thee," which is fairly sensual and heathenish in its rugged, abrupt melodies, as compared with the Christian music. At its close Elijah bids them "call him louder, for he is a god; he talketh, or he is pursuing." Again they break out into a chorus of barbaric energy ("Hear our Cry, O Baal"), in the intervals of which Elijah taunts them again and again with the appeal, "Call him louder." The Priests renew their shouts, each time with increasing force, "pausing in vain for the reply, and closing with a rapid, almost angry expostulation ("Hear and answer"). Then follows the calm, dignified prayer of the prophet ("Lord God of Abraham"), succeeded by a simple, but beautiful chorale ("Cast thy Burden upon the Lord"). It is the moment of quiet before the storm which is to come. He calls for the fire to descend upon the altar, and a chorus of passionate energy replies, "The Fire descends from Heaven," accompanied by imitative music, and closing with a brief movement in broad harmony. In fierce recitative Elijah dooms the Priests of Baal to destruction, and after a short choral reply sings the bass aria, "Is not His Word like a Fire?"--a song of extraordinary difficulty, and requiring a voice of exceptional accuracy and power for its proper performance. A lovely arioso for alto ("Woe unto them") follows Elijah's vigorous declamation. These two arias are connecting links between the fire chorus and[226]the rain scene which ensues. Obadiah summons Elijah to help the People, and Elijah replies in an exquisite little andante passage, repeated by the chorus ("Open the Heavens and send us Relief"). Then follows a dialogue-passage between the prophet, the People, and the Youth, whom he bids "look toward the sea,"--the most striking features of which are the responses of the Youth and the orchestral climax as the heavens grow black and "the storm rushes louder and louder." As the deluge of rain descends, the thankful People break out into a passionate shout of delight ("Thanks be to God"), heard above the tempest in the orchestra. At first it is a brief expression of gratitude. The voices come to a pause, and Elijah repeats the tribute of praise. Then all join in a surging tumult of harmony, as fresh and delightful as was the pouring rain to the thirsty land, voices and instruments vying with each other in joyful acclamations, until the end is reached and the first part closes.The second part opens with a brilliant soprano solo ("Hear ye, Israel"), beginning with a note of warning, and then with trumpet obligato developing into another melody of an impetuous and animated description ("I, I am He that comforteth"). The solo leads to the magnificent chorus, "Be not afraid," in which, after a short pause, the entire force of voices, orchestra, and organ join in the sublime strain, sweeping on in broad, full harmony. There is a pause of the voices for two bars, then[227]they move on in a strong fugue ("Though Thousands languish and fall"). At its close they are all merged again in the grand announcement, "Be not afraid," delivered with impetuosity, and ending with the same subject in powerful chorale form. The scene which follows is intensely dramatic. The prophet rebukes Ahab and condemns the Baal worship. Jezebel fiercely accuses Elijah of conspiring against Israel, and the People in sharp, impetuous phrases declare, "He shall perish," leading to the chorus, "Woe to him!" After a few bars for the instruments, Obadiah, in an exquisite recitative, counsels him to fly to the wilderness. In the next scene we behold Elijah alone, and in a feeble but infinitely tender plaint he resigns himself. It is hard to conceive anything grander and yet more pathetic than this aria, "It is enough," in which the prophet prays for death. A few bars of tenor recitative tell us that, wearied out, he has fallen asleep ("See, now he sleepeth beneath a juniper-tree in the wilderness, and there the angels of the Lord encamp round about all them that fear Him"). It introduces the trio of the Angels, "Lift thine Eyes to the Mountains," sung without accompaniment,--one of the purest, loveliest, and most delightful of all vocal trios. An exquisite chorus ("He watching over Israel") follows, in which the second theme, introduced by the tenors ("Shouldst thou, walking in Grief"), is full of tender beauty; the trio and chorus are the perfection of dream-music. At its close the Angel awakes Elijah, and once more[228]we hear his pathetic complaint, "O Lord, I have labored in vain; oh, that I now might die!" In response comes an aria of celestial beauty, sung by the Angel ("Oh, rest in the Lord"), breathing the very spirit of heavenly peace and consolation,--an aria of almost matchless purity, beauty, and grace. Firmly and with a certain sort of majestic severity follows the chorus, "He that shall endure to the end." The next scene is one of the most impressive and dramatic in the oratorio. Elijah no longer prays for death; he longs for the divine presence. He hears the voice of the Angel: "Arise now, get thee without, stand on the mount before the Lord; for there His glory will appear and shine on thee. Thy face must be veiled, for He draweth near." With great and sudden strength the chorus announces: "Behold! God the Lord passed by." With equal suddenness it drops to a pianissimo, gradually worked up in a crescendo movement, and we hear the winds "rending the mountains around;" but once more in pianissimo it tells us "the Lord was not in the tempest." The earthquake and the fire pass by, each treated in a similar manner; but the Lord was not in those elements. Then, in gentle tones of ineffable sweetness, it declares, "After the fire there came a still, small voice, ... and in that still, small voice onward came the Lord;" and onward sings the chorus in low, sweet, ravishing tones to the end: "The Seraphim above Him cried one to the other, Holy, holy, holy, is God the Lord!"--a double chorus of majestic proportions. Once[229]more Elijah goes on his way, no longer dejected, but clothed with "the strength of the Lord." His aria, "For the Mountains shall depart," prepares us for the final climax. In strong accents the chorus announce, "Then did Elijah the prophet break forth like a fire;" his words were like "burning torches;" he overthrew kings; he stood on Sinai and heard the vengeance of the future on Horeb. Then comes a significant pause. The basses begin, "And when the Lord would take him away;" another brief pause, and the full chorus pictures in vivid color the coming of the fiery chariot and the whirlwind by which he was caught up into heaven. The picturesqueness and dramatic intensity of this splendid chorus can hardly be described in words. One more tenor aria ("Then, then shall the Righteous shine") and a brief soprano solo introduce the chorus, "Behold My servant." A beautiful quartet ("Oh! come, every one that thirsteth") follows, and the massive fugue, "And then shall your Light break forth as the Light of the Morning," closes this great masterpiece.[6]Mr. Lockey was the tenor on this occasion; the part of Elijah was sung by Standigl.

"Elijah," the most admired of all Mendelssohn's compositions, was finished in 1846. The plan of the work was first considered in 1837, and was discussed with his friend Klingemann in London. During the next year he had frequent consultations with another friend, Schubring, as to the preparation of the book, and many of the passages were selected and scenes sketched out; but[219]it was not until 1840 that he really began to put it into shape. We learn by a letter that in 1842 he was still at work upon the book itself. Two years later he received an invitation to conduct the Birmingham Festival of 1846; and it was evidently at that time he decided to prepare the work for that occasion. We learn by another letter that on the 23d of May, 1846, the entire first part and six or eight numbers of the second part were sent to London to a Mr. Bartholomew, who was engaged translating the text into English. That Mendelssohn himself was pleased with his work is evident from his own words, written to a friend after he had finished the first part: "I am jumping about my room for joy. If it only turns out half as good as I fancy, how pleased I shall be!" By the latter part of July the entire oratorio was in the hands of Mr. Bartholomew, and on August 18 Mendelssohn himself arrived in London and immediately began the rehearsals. The work was first performed on the 26th at Birmingham, coming between Haydn's "Creation" on the 25th, and Handel's "Messiah" on the 27th, the latter oratorio being followed by Beethoven's Mass in D. A correspondent who was present writes:--

"How shall I describe what to-day has been in the Music Hall? After such an intense enjoyment it is a hard task to express one's feelings in cold words. It was a great day for the festival, a great day for the performers, a great day for Mendelssohn, a great day for art. Four da-capos in the first part, four in the[220]second, making eight encores, and at the close the calling out of the composer,--are significant facts when one considers that it was the rigid injunction of the Committee that the public should not testify its approval by applause. But the enthusiasm would be checked by no rules; when the heart is full, regulations must stand aside. It was a noble scene, the hall filled with men, the galleries gay with ladies, like so many tulip-beds, added to the princely music and their thundering bravas."

Mendelssohn himself on the day after the performance writes to his brother in Berlin:--

"No work of mine ever went so admirably the first time of execution, or was received with such enthusiasm by both the musicians and the audience, as this oratorio. It was quite evident at the first rehearsal in London that they liked it, and liked to sing and play it; but I own I was far from anticipating that it would acquire such fresh vigor and impetus at the performance. Had you only been there! During the whole two hours and a half that it lasted, the large hall, with its two thousand people, and the large orchestra were all so fully intent on the one object in question that not the slightest sound was to be heard among the whole audience, so that I could sway at pleasure the enormous orchestra and choir, and also the organ accompaniments. How often I thought of you during the time! more especially, however, when 'the sound of abundance of rain' came, and when they sang and played the final chorus withfurore, and when, after the close of the first part, we were obliged to repeat the whole movement. Not less than four choruses and four airs were encored, and not one single mistake[221]occurred in the first part; there were some afterwards in the second part, but even these were but trifling. A young English tenor[6]sang the last air with such wonderful sweetness that I was obliged to collect all my energies, not to be affected, and to continue beating time steadily."

Notwithstanding his delight with the performance, he was not satisfied with the oratorio as a whole. He made numerous changes and re-wrote portions of the work,--indeed there was scarcely a movement that was not retouched. It is interesting to note in this connection that the beautiful trio, "Lift thine Eyes," was originally a duet, and very different in character. The first performance of the work in London took place April 16, 1847, when it was given by the Sacred Harmonic Society. Her Majesty and Prince Albert were in attendance; and after the performance the Prince sent to Mendelssohn the score which he had used in following the music, with the following tribute written in it:--

To the noble artist who, surrounded by the Baal-worship of corrupted art, has been able by his genius and science to preserve faithfully, like another Elijah, the worship of true art, and once more to accustom our ear, lost in the whirl of an empty play of sounds, to the pure notes of expressive composition and legitimate harmony; to the great master who makes us conscious of the unity of his conception through the whole[222]maze of his creation, from the soft whispering to the mighty raging of the elements.Written in token of grateful remembrance byAlbert.Buckingham Palace, April 24, 1847.

Written in token of grateful remembrance by

Albert.

Buckingham Palace, April 24, 1847.

The text was mainly compiled from the First Book of Kings, and was translated, as has been said, by Mr. Bartholomew. Hiller says that the idea of the oratorio was first suggested by the verse in the nineteenth chapter, "Behold, the Lord passed by," and that Mendelssohn, while reading it, remarked to him, "Would not that be splendid for an oratorio?" The prominent scenes treated are the drought prophecy, the raising of the widow's son, the rival sacrifices, the appearance of the rain in answer to Elijah's appeal, Jezebel's persecution of Elijah, the sojourn in the desert, his return, his disappearance in the fiery chariot, and the finale, which reflects upon the meaning of the sacred narrative. The scenes themselves indicate the dramatic character of the oratorio. In this respect, indeed, Mendelssohn may almost be said to have created a new school of oratorio construction. "Elijah" could be placed upon the stage with scenery, costume, and properties as a sacred opera, and make a powerful impression,--almost as much so, indeed, as Rossini's "Moses." Mendelssohn's own testimony on this point is interesting. In a letter written Nov. 2, 1838, to Pastor Julius Schubring, who was assisting him in the preparation of the book, he says:--

"I figured to myself Elijah as a grand, mighty prophet, such as we might again require in our own day,--energetic and zealous, but also stern, wrathful, and gloomy; a striking contrast to the court myrmidons and popular rabble,--in fact, in opposition to the whole world, and yet borne on angel's wings.... I am anxious to do justice to the dramatic element, and, as you say, no epic narrative must be introduced.... I would fain see the dramatic element more prominent, as well as more exuberant and defined,--appeal and rejoinder, question and answer, sudden interruptions, etc."

Again, on the 6th of December, he writes:--

"In such a character as that of Elijah, like every one in the Old Testament (except, perhaps, Moses), it appears to me that the dramatic should predominate, the personages should be introduced as acting and speaking with fervor,--not, however, for Heaven's sake, to become mere musical pictures, but inhabitants of a positive, practical world such as we see in every chapter of the Old Testament; and the contemplative and pathetic element, which you desire, must be entirely conveyed to our apprehension by the words and the mood of the acting personages."

The introduction to the oratorio is prefaced by a brief but very impressive recitative,--Elijah's prophecy of the drought; leading directly to the overture, a sombre, despairing prelude, picturing the distress which is to follow as the curse settles down upon the streams and valleys. At last the suffering is voiced in the opening chorus ("Help,[224]Lord"), which, after three passionate appeals, moves along in plaintive beauty, developing phrase after phrase of touching appeal, and leading to a second chorus, with duet for two sopranos ("Lord, bow Thine Ear to our Prayer"), the choral part of which is an old Jewish chant, sung alternately by the male and female voices in unison. It is followed by Obadiah's lovely tenor aria, "If with all your Hearts," full of tenderness and consolation. Again the People break out into a chorus of lamentation ("Yet doth the Lord see it not"), which at the close develops into a chorale of graceful and serene beauty ("For He the Lord our God"). Then follows the voice of an Angel summoning Elijah to the brook of Cherith, leading to the beautiful double quartet, "For He shall give His Angels Charge over thee," the melody of which is simple, but full of animation, and worked up with a skilful effect. Again the Angel summons Elijah to go to the Widow's house at Zarephath. The dramatic scene of the raising of her son ensues, comprising a passionate song by the mother ("What have I to do with thee?") and the noble declaration of the prophet, "Give me thy Son," and closing with the reflective chorus, "Blessed are the Men who fear Him."

In the next scene we have the appearance of Elijah before Ahab, and the challenge of the Priests of Baal to the sacrifice on Mount Carmel, set forth in vigorous recitative, accompanied by short choral outbursts. At the words of Elijah, "Invoke your[225]forest gods and mountain deities," the Priests of Baal break out into the stirring double-chorus, "Baal, we cry to thee," which is fairly sensual and heathenish in its rugged, abrupt melodies, as compared with the Christian music. At its close Elijah bids them "call him louder, for he is a god; he talketh, or he is pursuing." Again they break out into a chorus of barbaric energy ("Hear our Cry, O Baal"), in the intervals of which Elijah taunts them again and again with the appeal, "Call him louder." The Priests renew their shouts, each time with increasing force, "pausing in vain for the reply, and closing with a rapid, almost angry expostulation ("Hear and answer"). Then follows the calm, dignified prayer of the prophet ("Lord God of Abraham"), succeeded by a simple, but beautiful chorale ("Cast thy Burden upon the Lord"). It is the moment of quiet before the storm which is to come. He calls for the fire to descend upon the altar, and a chorus of passionate energy replies, "The Fire descends from Heaven," accompanied by imitative music, and closing with a brief movement in broad harmony. In fierce recitative Elijah dooms the Priests of Baal to destruction, and after a short choral reply sings the bass aria, "Is not His Word like a Fire?"--a song of extraordinary difficulty, and requiring a voice of exceptional accuracy and power for its proper performance. A lovely arioso for alto ("Woe unto them") follows Elijah's vigorous declamation. These two arias are connecting links between the fire chorus and[226]the rain scene which ensues. Obadiah summons Elijah to help the People, and Elijah replies in an exquisite little andante passage, repeated by the chorus ("Open the Heavens and send us Relief"). Then follows a dialogue-passage between the prophet, the People, and the Youth, whom he bids "look toward the sea,"--the most striking features of which are the responses of the Youth and the orchestral climax as the heavens grow black and "the storm rushes louder and louder." As the deluge of rain descends, the thankful People break out into a passionate shout of delight ("Thanks be to God"), heard above the tempest in the orchestra. At first it is a brief expression of gratitude. The voices come to a pause, and Elijah repeats the tribute of praise. Then all join in a surging tumult of harmony, as fresh and delightful as was the pouring rain to the thirsty land, voices and instruments vying with each other in joyful acclamations, until the end is reached and the first part closes.

The second part opens with a brilliant soprano solo ("Hear ye, Israel"), beginning with a note of warning, and then with trumpet obligato developing into another melody of an impetuous and animated description ("I, I am He that comforteth"). The solo leads to the magnificent chorus, "Be not afraid," in which, after a short pause, the entire force of voices, orchestra, and organ join in the sublime strain, sweeping on in broad, full harmony. There is a pause of the voices for two bars, then[227]they move on in a strong fugue ("Though Thousands languish and fall"). At its close they are all merged again in the grand announcement, "Be not afraid," delivered with impetuosity, and ending with the same subject in powerful chorale form. The scene which follows is intensely dramatic. The prophet rebukes Ahab and condemns the Baal worship. Jezebel fiercely accuses Elijah of conspiring against Israel, and the People in sharp, impetuous phrases declare, "He shall perish," leading to the chorus, "Woe to him!" After a few bars for the instruments, Obadiah, in an exquisite recitative, counsels him to fly to the wilderness. In the next scene we behold Elijah alone, and in a feeble but infinitely tender plaint he resigns himself. It is hard to conceive anything grander and yet more pathetic than this aria, "It is enough," in which the prophet prays for death. A few bars of tenor recitative tell us that, wearied out, he has fallen asleep ("See, now he sleepeth beneath a juniper-tree in the wilderness, and there the angels of the Lord encamp round about all them that fear Him"). It introduces the trio of the Angels, "Lift thine Eyes to the Mountains," sung without accompaniment,--one of the purest, loveliest, and most delightful of all vocal trios. An exquisite chorus ("He watching over Israel") follows, in which the second theme, introduced by the tenors ("Shouldst thou, walking in Grief"), is full of tender beauty; the trio and chorus are the perfection of dream-music. At its close the Angel awakes Elijah, and once more[228]we hear his pathetic complaint, "O Lord, I have labored in vain; oh, that I now might die!" In response comes an aria of celestial beauty, sung by the Angel ("Oh, rest in the Lord"), breathing the very spirit of heavenly peace and consolation,--an aria of almost matchless purity, beauty, and grace. Firmly and with a certain sort of majestic severity follows the chorus, "He that shall endure to the end." The next scene is one of the most impressive and dramatic in the oratorio. Elijah no longer prays for death; he longs for the divine presence. He hears the voice of the Angel: "Arise now, get thee without, stand on the mount before the Lord; for there His glory will appear and shine on thee. Thy face must be veiled, for He draweth near." With great and sudden strength the chorus announces: "Behold! God the Lord passed by." With equal suddenness it drops to a pianissimo, gradually worked up in a crescendo movement, and we hear the winds "rending the mountains around;" but once more in pianissimo it tells us "the Lord was not in the tempest." The earthquake and the fire pass by, each treated in a similar manner; but the Lord was not in those elements. Then, in gentle tones of ineffable sweetness, it declares, "After the fire there came a still, small voice, ... and in that still, small voice onward came the Lord;" and onward sings the chorus in low, sweet, ravishing tones to the end: "The Seraphim above Him cried one to the other, Holy, holy, holy, is God the Lord!"--a double chorus of majestic proportions. Once[229]more Elijah goes on his way, no longer dejected, but clothed with "the strength of the Lord." His aria, "For the Mountains shall depart," prepares us for the final climax. In strong accents the chorus announce, "Then did Elijah the prophet break forth like a fire;" his words were like "burning torches;" he overthrew kings; he stood on Sinai and heard the vengeance of the future on Horeb. Then comes a significant pause. The basses begin, "And when the Lord would take him away;" another brief pause, and the full chorus pictures in vivid color the coming of the fiery chariot and the whirlwind by which he was caught up into heaven. The picturesqueness and dramatic intensity of this splendid chorus can hardly be described in words. One more tenor aria ("Then, then shall the Righteous shine") and a brief soprano solo introduce the chorus, "Behold My servant." A beautiful quartet ("Oh! come, every one that thirsteth") follows, and the massive fugue, "And then shall your Light break forth as the Light of the Morning," closes this great masterpiece.

[6]Mr. Lockey was the tenor on this occasion; the part of Elijah was sung by Standigl.

Christus."Christus," which Mendelssohn intended as the third in the series with "Elijah" and "St. Paul," was left unfinished. The words were written by the Chevalier Bunsen and given to the composer in[230]1844, before he began "Elijah." With his customary fastidiousness, he altered and rearranged the text, and it was not until 1847, after "Elijah" was finished, that he touched the music. At this time he was in delicate health, and had not recovered from the shock of his sister's death. He sought consolation for his troubles and relief for his ailments among the mountains of Switzerland. Part of his time was devoted to mountain-rambling, and the remainder to work upon "Christus" and the opera "Loreley," neither of which he lived to finish.It is interesting to note in this connection that before Mendelssohn settled upon "Christus," the subject of Saint Peter occupied his attention, although he still had the former in view for later consideration. In a letter to his friend Schubring, written at Bingen-on-the-Rhine, July 14, 1837, he says:--"I wish to ask your advice in a matter which is of importance to me, and I feel it will therefore not be indifferent to you either, having received so many proofs to the contrary from you. It concerns the selection of a subject of an oratorio which I intend to begin next winter. I am most anxious to have your counsels, as the best suggestions and contributions for the text of my 'St. Paul' came from you. Many very apparent reasons are in favor of choosing St. Peter as the subject,--I mean its being intended for the Düsseldorf Musical Festival at Whitsuntide, and the prominent position the feast of Whit Sunday would[231]occupy in this subject. In addition to these grounds, I may add my wish (in connection with a greater plan for a later oratorio) to bring the two chief apostles and pillars of the Christian Church side by side in oratorios,--in short, that I should have a 'St. Peter' as well as a 'St. Paul.'"Another extract from the same letter will show the keenness with which he analyzed his themes. He writes:--"I need not tell you that there are sufficient internal grounds to make me prize the subject; and far above all else stands the outpouring of the Holy Ghost, which must form the central point or chief object. The question, therefore, is whether the place that Peter assumes in the Bible, divested of the dignity which he enjoys in the Catholic or Protestant Churches as a martyr, or the first Pope, etc.,--whether what is said of him in the Bible is alone and in itself sufficiently important to form the basis of a symbolical oratorio. For, according to my feeling, the subject must not be treated historically, however indispensable this was in the case of 'St. Paul.' In historic handling, Christ must appear in the earlier part of St. Peter's career; and where he appears, St. Peter could not lay claim to the chief interest. I think, therefore, it must be symbolical; though all the historical points might probably be introduced,--the betrayal and repentance, the keys of Heaven given him by Christ, his preaching at Pentecost,--not in an historical, but prophetic light, if I may so express myself, in close connection."The project was never carried out; but the deep earnestness with which Mendelssohn considered it[232]shows how thoughtfully he must have devoted himself to the scheme which took its place. Neither his letters nor his biographers throw much light upon the history of "Christus." Lampadius says: "The oratorio was laid out upon a grand scale. It was to be in three parts,--the career on earth, the descent into hell, the ascent to heaven." This plan must have been subsequently changed, for the fragments of the oratorio are included in two parts, though they entirely pertain to the earthly career. There are in all eight complete numbers,--three from the first part, and five from the second. The first part opens with a soprano recitative ("When Jesus our Lord was born in Bethlehem"), leading to a strong trio for tenor and two basses ("Say, where is he born?"), the question of the Wise Men from the East. The chorus replies, "Then shall a Star from Jacob come forth," closing with the old German chorale, "Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern" ("How brightly shines the Morning Star!"), in plain, flowing harmony.The fragments of the second part are in the form of the passion-music, and include five tenor recitatives, narrating the dialogue between Pilate, the Elders and the People, and his final order, "Take ye him and crucify him, for I cannot find a fault in him," and several short, angry choruses of the Jews, accusing Jesus and calling for his death, leading to a beautiful chorus for mixed voices ("Daughters of Zion, weep"), and closing[233]with an effective chorale for male voices in the genuine Bach style:--"He leaves his heavenly portals,Endures the grief of mortals,To raise our fallen race.O love beyond expressing!He gains for us a blessing,He saves us by redeeming grace."When thou, O sun, art shrouded,By night or tempest clouded,Thy rays no longer dart;Though earth be dark and dreary,If, Jesus, thou art near me,'Tis cloudless day within my heart."

"Christus," which Mendelssohn intended as the third in the series with "Elijah" and "St. Paul," was left unfinished. The words were written by the Chevalier Bunsen and given to the composer in[230]1844, before he began "Elijah." With his customary fastidiousness, he altered and rearranged the text, and it was not until 1847, after "Elijah" was finished, that he touched the music. At this time he was in delicate health, and had not recovered from the shock of his sister's death. He sought consolation for his troubles and relief for his ailments among the mountains of Switzerland. Part of his time was devoted to mountain-rambling, and the remainder to work upon "Christus" and the opera "Loreley," neither of which he lived to finish.

It is interesting to note in this connection that before Mendelssohn settled upon "Christus," the subject of Saint Peter occupied his attention, although he still had the former in view for later consideration. In a letter to his friend Schubring, written at Bingen-on-the-Rhine, July 14, 1837, he says:--

"I wish to ask your advice in a matter which is of importance to me, and I feel it will therefore not be indifferent to you either, having received so many proofs to the contrary from you. It concerns the selection of a subject of an oratorio which I intend to begin next winter. I am most anxious to have your counsels, as the best suggestions and contributions for the text of my 'St. Paul' came from you. Many very apparent reasons are in favor of choosing St. Peter as the subject,--I mean its being intended for the Düsseldorf Musical Festival at Whitsuntide, and the prominent position the feast of Whit Sunday would[231]occupy in this subject. In addition to these grounds, I may add my wish (in connection with a greater plan for a later oratorio) to bring the two chief apostles and pillars of the Christian Church side by side in oratorios,--in short, that I should have a 'St. Peter' as well as a 'St. Paul.'"

Another extract from the same letter will show the keenness with which he analyzed his themes. He writes:--

"I need not tell you that there are sufficient internal grounds to make me prize the subject; and far above all else stands the outpouring of the Holy Ghost, which must form the central point or chief object. The question, therefore, is whether the place that Peter assumes in the Bible, divested of the dignity which he enjoys in the Catholic or Protestant Churches as a martyr, or the first Pope, etc.,--whether what is said of him in the Bible is alone and in itself sufficiently important to form the basis of a symbolical oratorio. For, according to my feeling, the subject must not be treated historically, however indispensable this was in the case of 'St. Paul.' In historic handling, Christ must appear in the earlier part of St. Peter's career; and where he appears, St. Peter could not lay claim to the chief interest. I think, therefore, it must be symbolical; though all the historical points might probably be introduced,--the betrayal and repentance, the keys of Heaven given him by Christ, his preaching at Pentecost,--not in an historical, but prophetic light, if I may so express myself, in close connection."

The project was never carried out; but the deep earnestness with which Mendelssohn considered it[232]shows how thoughtfully he must have devoted himself to the scheme which took its place. Neither his letters nor his biographers throw much light upon the history of "Christus." Lampadius says: "The oratorio was laid out upon a grand scale. It was to be in three parts,--the career on earth, the descent into hell, the ascent to heaven." This plan must have been subsequently changed, for the fragments of the oratorio are included in two parts, though they entirely pertain to the earthly career. There are in all eight complete numbers,--three from the first part, and five from the second. The first part opens with a soprano recitative ("When Jesus our Lord was born in Bethlehem"), leading to a strong trio for tenor and two basses ("Say, where is he born?"), the question of the Wise Men from the East. The chorus replies, "Then shall a Star from Jacob come forth," closing with the old German chorale, "Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern" ("How brightly shines the Morning Star!"), in plain, flowing harmony.

The fragments of the second part are in the form of the passion-music, and include five tenor recitatives, narrating the dialogue between Pilate, the Elders and the People, and his final order, "Take ye him and crucify him, for I cannot find a fault in him," and several short, angry choruses of the Jews, accusing Jesus and calling for his death, leading to a beautiful chorus for mixed voices ("Daughters of Zion, weep"), and closing[233]with an effective chorale for male voices in the genuine Bach style:--

"He leaves his heavenly portals,Endures the grief of mortals,To raise our fallen race.O love beyond expressing!He gains for us a blessing,He saves us by redeeming grace."When thou, O sun, art shrouded,By night or tempest clouded,Thy rays no longer dart;Though earth be dark and dreary,If, Jesus, thou art near me,'Tis cloudless day within my heart."

"He leaves his heavenly portals,Endures the grief of mortals,To raise our fallen race.O love beyond expressing!He gains for us a blessing,He saves us by redeeming grace.

"He leaves his heavenly portals,

Endures the grief of mortals,

To raise our fallen race.

O love beyond expressing!

He gains for us a blessing,

He saves us by redeeming grace.

"When thou, O sun, art shrouded,By night or tempest clouded,Thy rays no longer dart;Though earth be dark and dreary,If, Jesus, thou art near me,'Tis cloudless day within my heart."

"When thou, O sun, art shrouded,

By night or tempest clouded,

Thy rays no longer dart;

Though earth be dark and dreary,

If, Jesus, thou art near me,

'Tis cloudless day within my heart."

[234]MOZART.Johann Chrysostomus Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, one of the most remarkable musical geniuses the world has produced, and the only one of his contemporaries whose operas still hold the stage with unimpaired freshness, was born at Salzburg, Jan. 27, 1756. He was the son of Leopold Mozart, the Salzburgian Vice-Capellmeister, who gave him and his sister Nannerl their earliest instructions in music, and with such good results that the children travelled and gave concerts with great success. Before he was seven years of age, he had composed several pieces for piano and violin, his earliest having been written at the age of five! At twelve he became court capellmeister in Salzburg. After his musical travels he went to Vienna, and there began his real period of classic activity, which commenced with "Idomeneus," reached its culmination in "Don Giovanni," and closed with the "Requiem,"--the "swan-song" of his wonderful life. In his brief life Mozart composed more than fifty great[235]works, besides hundreds of minor ones in every possible form of musical writing. His greatest compositions may be classed in the following order: "Idomeneus" (1780); "Entführung aus dem Serail" (1781); "Figaro's Hochzeit" ("The Marriage of Figaro"), (1785); "Don Giovanni" (1787); "Cosi fan tutti," "Zauberflöte" ("The Magic Flute"), and "Titus" (1790); and the "Requiem" (1791, the year of his death). The catalogue of Mozart's works is an immense one, for his period of productivity was unusually long. From the age of five to his death, there was not a year that was not crowded with his music. Besides his numerous operas, of which only the more famous are given above, he wrote a large number of symphonies (of which the "Jupiter" is now the best known), sonatas, concertos for all kinds of instruments, even to musical-glasses, trios, quartets, quintets, and sextets for all possible combinations of instruments, marches, fugues, masses, hymns, arias of extraordinary brilliancy,--many of them written for his sister-in-law, Aloysia Weber, to whom at one time he was engaged,--liturgies, cantatas, songs, and ballads, and indeed every form of music that is now known. His style was studied by Beethoven, and so closely imitated that the music of his first period, if published without autograph, would readily be attributed to Mozart. His style was so spontaneous and so characteristic that it has been well said there is but one Mozart. The distinguishing trait of his music is its rich melodic beauty and its almost ravishing sweetness. His melody pours[236]along in a bright, unbroken stream that sometimes even overflows its banks, so abundant is it. It is peculiarly the music of youth and spring-time, exquisite in form, graceful in technique, and delightful in expression. It was the source where all his immediate successors went for their inspiration, though it lacked the maturity, majesty, and emotional depths which were reached by such a Titan as Beethoven. Old as it is, and antiquated in form, especially as compared with the work of the new schools, its perennial freshness, grace, and beauty have made it immortal.

Johann Chrysostomus Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, one of the most remarkable musical geniuses the world has produced, and the only one of his contemporaries whose operas still hold the stage with unimpaired freshness, was born at Salzburg, Jan. 27, 1756. He was the son of Leopold Mozart, the Salzburgian Vice-Capellmeister, who gave him and his sister Nannerl their earliest instructions in music, and with such good results that the children travelled and gave concerts with great success. Before he was seven years of age, he had composed several pieces for piano and violin, his earliest having been written at the age of five! At twelve he became court capellmeister in Salzburg. After his musical travels he went to Vienna, and there began his real period of classic activity, which commenced with "Idomeneus," reached its culmination in "Don Giovanni," and closed with the "Requiem,"--the "swan-song" of his wonderful life. In his brief life Mozart composed more than fifty great[235]works, besides hundreds of minor ones in every possible form of musical writing. His greatest compositions may be classed in the following order: "Idomeneus" (1780); "Entführung aus dem Serail" (1781); "Figaro's Hochzeit" ("The Marriage of Figaro"), (1785); "Don Giovanni" (1787); "Cosi fan tutti," "Zauberflöte" ("The Magic Flute"), and "Titus" (1790); and the "Requiem" (1791, the year of his death). The catalogue of Mozart's works is an immense one, for his period of productivity was unusually long. From the age of five to his death, there was not a year that was not crowded with his music. Besides his numerous operas, of which only the more famous are given above, he wrote a large number of symphonies (of which the "Jupiter" is now the best known), sonatas, concertos for all kinds of instruments, even to musical-glasses, trios, quartets, quintets, and sextets for all possible combinations of instruments, marches, fugues, masses, hymns, arias of extraordinary brilliancy,--many of them written for his sister-in-law, Aloysia Weber, to whom at one time he was engaged,--liturgies, cantatas, songs, and ballads, and indeed every form of music that is now known. His style was studied by Beethoven, and so closely imitated that the music of his first period, if published without autograph, would readily be attributed to Mozart. His style was so spontaneous and so characteristic that it has been well said there is but one Mozart. The distinguishing trait of his music is its rich melodic beauty and its almost ravishing sweetness. His melody pours[236]along in a bright, unbroken stream that sometimes even overflows its banks, so abundant is it. It is peculiarly the music of youth and spring-time, exquisite in form, graceful in technique, and delightful in expression. It was the source where all his immediate successors went for their inspiration, though it lacked the maturity, majesty, and emotional depths which were reached by such a Titan as Beethoven. Old as it is, and antiquated in form, especially as compared with the work of the new schools, its perennial freshness, grace, and beauty have made it immortal.

The Requiem.Mozart's "Requiem" was written in Vienna in 1791 and was left in an unfinished state by the composer, who made suggestions and gave instructions as to its completion even upon his death-bed; it was literally his swan-song. No work by any composer has given rise to more romantic stories or more bitter discussion. It was long the popular belief that the "Requiem" was commissioned by a dark, mysterious stranger, whose appearance impressed Mozart with the conviction that he was a messenger of death; more than this, that he himself had been poisoned, and that he was writing his own death-song, upon the order of some supernatural power. There was some foundation for the belief, as the commission was given in a very mysterious[237]manner, and Mozart's health at that time was so delicate that he had had several premonitions of death. In his gloomy spirits he even said to his wife that he was writing his own requiem. The actual circumstances attending the commission, though they do not bear out the romantic versions of the story-tellers, are yet of extraordinary interest.The author of the commission was one Count von Walsegg, living in the village of Stuppach, whose wife had died early in 1791. He was an amateur musician of vast ambitions and small accomplishments, and had conceived the idea of purchasing a requiem anonymously from Mozart and passing it off as his own work. In pursuance of his scheme he despatched his steward, named Leutgeb, a tall, solemn, mysterious looking person, with an anonymous letter to Mozart, who at that time was in absolute poverty, asking for the music and requesting him to name his own price,--stipulating, however, that he should make no effort to discover the identity of his patron. The unsuspicious Mozart accepted the proposition, after consulting with his wife. He was about to begin work upon it at once, when he received a commission to write the opera of "Clemenza de Tito," in honor of the Emperor Leopold's coronation. This occupied him several weeks, and when it was completed he decided upon a visit to Baden. At the moment he was about to get into the carriage, the mysterious stranger again appeared and inquired about the progress of the "Requiem." Mozart excused himself, and replied that as soon as[238]he returned he would begin the work; and the stranger went away satisfied.Mozart came back to Vienna in September; and after the completion of the "Magic Flute," and its first performance, Nov. 30, 1791, he devoted himself assiduously to the "Requiem," though it served only to increase his gloom. One day he remarked to his wife: "I well know that I am writing this requiem for myself. My own feelings tell me that I shall not last long. No doubt some one has given me poison; I cannot get rid of the thought." It is now known that this suspicion was only the result of his morbid thoughts; but when it was publicly uttered, most unjust accusations were made against his rival, Salieri, embittering the old composer's life until its close. As the work progressed, his gloom increased. "The day before his death," Nohl says, "he desired the score to be brought to him in bed, and he sang his part, taking the alto voice. Benedict Shack took the soprano, his brother-in-law, Hofer, the tenor, and Gerl the bass. They had got through the various parts to the first bars of the 'Lacrymosa,' when Mozart suddenly burst into tears and laid aside the score." His sister-in-law has left an account of his last moments. She writes:"As I approached his bed, he called to me: 'It is well you are here; you must stay to-night and see me die.' I tried as far as I was able to banish this impression; but he replied: 'The taste of death is already on my tongue, I taste death; and who will be near to support my Constance if you go away?' Süssmayer[239][his favorite pupil] was standing by the bedside, and on the counterpane lay the 'Requiem,' concerning which Mozart was still speaking and giving directions. He now called his wife and made her promise to keep his death secret for a time from every one but Albrechtsberger, that he might thus have an advantage over other candidates for the vacant office of capellmeister to St. Stephen's. His desire in this respect was gratified, for Albrechtsberger received the appointment. As he looked over the pages of the 'Requiem' for the last time, he said, with tears in his eyes: 'Did I not tell you I was writing this for myself?'"Mozart's widow, after his death, fearing that she might have to refund the money advanced for the work, induced Süssmayer, who was thoroughly familiar with Mozart's ideas, to complete it. He did so, and the copy was delivered to Count von Walsegg, who did not hesitate to publish it as his own. Süssmayer, however, had kept a copy, and after completion published it; and in a letter to the publishers set up a claim to the instrumentation of the "Requiem," "Kyrie," "Dies Iræ," and "Domine," and to the whole of the "Sanctus," "Benedictus," and "Agnus Dei." The publication of Süssmayer's letter provoked a controversy which has raged from that day to this. The ablest critics and musicians in Europe have taken part in it. Nearly all of them have defended Mozart's authorship; but after half a century's discussion it still remains in doubt how far Süssmayer participated in the completion of the work as it now stands. The bulk of the evidence,[240]however, favors the theory that Süssmayer only played the part of a skilful copyist, in writing out the figurings which Mozart had indicated, carrying out ideas which had been suggested to him, and writing parts from the sketches which the composer had made. One of the most pertinent suggestions made in the course of this controversy is that of Rockstro, who says:--"Some passages, though they may perhaps strengthen Süssmayer's claim to have filled in certain parts of the instrumentation, stand on a very different ground to those which concern the composition of whole movements. The 'Lacrymosa' is quite certainly one of the most beautiful movements in the whole 'Requiem'--and Mozart is credited with having only finished the first eight bars of it! Yet it is impossible to study this movement carefully without arriving at Professor Macfarren's conclusion that 'the whole was the work of one mind, which mind was Mozart's.' Süssmayer may have written it out, perhaps; but it must have been from the recollection of what Mozart had played or sung to him, for we know that this very movement occupied the dying composer's attention almost to the last moment of his life. In like manner Mozart may have left noUrschriften(sketches) of the 'Sanctus,' 'Benedictus,' and 'Agnus Dei,'--though the fact that they have never been discovered does not prove that they never existed,--and yet he may have played and sung these movements often enough to have given Süssmayer a very clear idea of what he intended to write. We must either believe that he did this, or that Süssmayer was as great a genius as he; for not one of Mozart's acknowledged masses will bear comparison[241]with the 'Requiem,' either as a work of art or the expression of a devout religious feeling. In this respect it stands almost alone among instrumental masses, which nearly always sacrifice religious feeling to technical display."After an introduction, which gives out the subject of the opening movement,--a slow, mournful, solemn theme,--the first number begins with the impressive strain, "Requiem æternam dona eis," which gradually brightens in the phrase, "Et Lux perpetua," and reaches a splendid burst of exultation in the "Te decet hymnus," of which Oublichieff, the Russian critic, says: "One seems to hear the voice of an archangel, and Saint Cecilia herself with her organ sounding a fugued accompaniment which the most laborious efforts of mortals never could have power to reach." After a repetition of the "Requiem æternam," the number closes with the "Kyrie eleison," a slow and complicated fugue, which is sublime in its effect, though very sombre in color, as befits the subject.The next number is the "Dies Iræ," written for chorus in simple counterpoint, and very dramatic in its character, the orchestral part being constantly vigorous, impetuous, and agitated, and reaching intense energy on the verse, "Quantus tremor est futurus," the whole presenting a vivid picture in tones of the terrors of the last judgment. In the "Tuba mirum" the spirit of the music changes from the church form to the secular. It is written for solo voices, ending in a quartet. The bass[242]begins with the "Tuba mirum," set to a portentous trombone accompaniment; then follow the tenor ("Mors stupebit"), the alto ("Judex ergo"), and the soprano ("Quid sum miser"). This number is particularly remarkable for the manner in which the music is shaded down from the almost supernatural character of the opening bass solo to the beauty and sweetness of the soprano solo. From this extraordinary group we pass to the sublime chorus, "Rex tremendæ majestatis," once more in the church style, which closes with the prayer, "Salva me," in canonical form. With rare skill is this last appeal of humanity woven out of the thunder-crashes of sound in the judgment-music.The "Dies Iræ" is followed by the "Recordare," written, like the "Tuba mirum," as a quartet for solo voices. The vocal parts are in canon form and are combined with marvellous skill, relieved here and there with solos in purely melodic style, as in the "Quærens me," while the orchestral part is an independent fugue, with several subjects worked up with every form of instrumental embellishment, the fugue itself sometimes relieved by plain accompaniment. The whole is an astonishing piece of contrapuntal skill, apparently inexhaustible in its scientific combinations, and yet never for an instant losing its deep religious significance. Once more the orchestral part is full of agitation and even savage energy in the "Confutatis maledictis," as it accompanies a powerful double chorus, closing at last in a majestic prayer ("Oro supplex et[243]acclinis"), in which all the voices join in magnificent harmony.The "Lacrymosa" is the most elegant and poetically conceived movement in the "Requiem." It begins in a delicate, graceful, and even sensuous manner, which gradually broadens and strengthens, and at last develops into a crescendo of immense power, reaching its climax on the words "Judicandus homo reus." Then it changes to a plaintive prayer ("Huic ergo parce Deus"), and closes in a cloud of gloom in the "Dona eis requiem." The next number ("Domine Jesu Christe") is in pure church form, beginning with a motet by chorus in solid harmony, which runs into a fugue on the words "Ne absorbeat eas Tartarus," followed by a quartet of voices regularly fugued, leading to another great fugue on the passage, "Quam olim Abrahæ," which closes the number in a burst of sacred inspiration. The "Domine" is followed by the "Hostias," a lovely choral melody which leads to the "Sanctus," a sublime piece of harmony closing with a fugued "Hosanna." The "Benedictus," which follows it, is a solo quartet plaintive and solemn in character, but full of sweet and rich melodies magnificently accompanied.The "Agnus Dei" closes the work, a composition of profound beauty, with an accompaniment of mournful majesty, developing into a solemn, almost funereal strain on the words "Dona eis requiem," and closing with the fugue of the opening "Kyrie" on the words "Lux æterna." "Written under the[244]inspiration of death" might well be inscribed on this great monument of musical skill, this matchless requiem of awful majesty and divine beauty. In its own unity, its perfection of form and design, its astonishing skill, from the opening fugue of the "Kyrie" to its repetition in the finale, may be found the proof that Mozart and no other wrote the entire score, and that every thought and idea in it are the inspired work of the dying master.

Mozart's "Requiem" was written in Vienna in 1791 and was left in an unfinished state by the composer, who made suggestions and gave instructions as to its completion even upon his death-bed; it was literally his swan-song. No work by any composer has given rise to more romantic stories or more bitter discussion. It was long the popular belief that the "Requiem" was commissioned by a dark, mysterious stranger, whose appearance impressed Mozart with the conviction that he was a messenger of death; more than this, that he himself had been poisoned, and that he was writing his own death-song, upon the order of some supernatural power. There was some foundation for the belief, as the commission was given in a very mysterious[237]manner, and Mozart's health at that time was so delicate that he had had several premonitions of death. In his gloomy spirits he even said to his wife that he was writing his own requiem. The actual circumstances attending the commission, though they do not bear out the romantic versions of the story-tellers, are yet of extraordinary interest.

The author of the commission was one Count von Walsegg, living in the village of Stuppach, whose wife had died early in 1791. He was an amateur musician of vast ambitions and small accomplishments, and had conceived the idea of purchasing a requiem anonymously from Mozart and passing it off as his own work. In pursuance of his scheme he despatched his steward, named Leutgeb, a tall, solemn, mysterious looking person, with an anonymous letter to Mozart, who at that time was in absolute poverty, asking for the music and requesting him to name his own price,--stipulating, however, that he should make no effort to discover the identity of his patron. The unsuspicious Mozart accepted the proposition, after consulting with his wife. He was about to begin work upon it at once, when he received a commission to write the opera of "Clemenza de Tito," in honor of the Emperor Leopold's coronation. This occupied him several weeks, and when it was completed he decided upon a visit to Baden. At the moment he was about to get into the carriage, the mysterious stranger again appeared and inquired about the progress of the "Requiem." Mozart excused himself, and replied that as soon as[238]he returned he would begin the work; and the stranger went away satisfied.

Mozart came back to Vienna in September; and after the completion of the "Magic Flute," and its first performance, Nov. 30, 1791, he devoted himself assiduously to the "Requiem," though it served only to increase his gloom. One day he remarked to his wife: "I well know that I am writing this requiem for myself. My own feelings tell me that I shall not last long. No doubt some one has given me poison; I cannot get rid of the thought." It is now known that this suspicion was only the result of his morbid thoughts; but when it was publicly uttered, most unjust accusations were made against his rival, Salieri, embittering the old composer's life until its close. As the work progressed, his gloom increased. "The day before his death," Nohl says, "he desired the score to be brought to him in bed, and he sang his part, taking the alto voice. Benedict Shack took the soprano, his brother-in-law, Hofer, the tenor, and Gerl the bass. They had got through the various parts to the first bars of the 'Lacrymosa,' when Mozart suddenly burst into tears and laid aside the score." His sister-in-law has left an account of his last moments. She writes:

"As I approached his bed, he called to me: 'It is well you are here; you must stay to-night and see me die.' I tried as far as I was able to banish this impression; but he replied: 'The taste of death is already on my tongue, I taste death; and who will be near to support my Constance if you go away?' Süssmayer[239][his favorite pupil] was standing by the bedside, and on the counterpane lay the 'Requiem,' concerning which Mozart was still speaking and giving directions. He now called his wife and made her promise to keep his death secret for a time from every one but Albrechtsberger, that he might thus have an advantage over other candidates for the vacant office of capellmeister to St. Stephen's. His desire in this respect was gratified, for Albrechtsberger received the appointment. As he looked over the pages of the 'Requiem' for the last time, he said, with tears in his eyes: 'Did I not tell you I was writing this for myself?'"

Mozart's widow, after his death, fearing that she might have to refund the money advanced for the work, induced Süssmayer, who was thoroughly familiar with Mozart's ideas, to complete it. He did so, and the copy was delivered to Count von Walsegg, who did not hesitate to publish it as his own. Süssmayer, however, had kept a copy, and after completion published it; and in a letter to the publishers set up a claim to the instrumentation of the "Requiem," "Kyrie," "Dies Iræ," and "Domine," and to the whole of the "Sanctus," "Benedictus," and "Agnus Dei." The publication of Süssmayer's letter provoked a controversy which has raged from that day to this. The ablest critics and musicians in Europe have taken part in it. Nearly all of them have defended Mozart's authorship; but after half a century's discussion it still remains in doubt how far Süssmayer participated in the completion of the work as it now stands. The bulk of the evidence,[240]however, favors the theory that Süssmayer only played the part of a skilful copyist, in writing out the figurings which Mozart had indicated, carrying out ideas which had been suggested to him, and writing parts from the sketches which the composer had made. One of the most pertinent suggestions made in the course of this controversy is that of Rockstro, who says:--

"Some passages, though they may perhaps strengthen Süssmayer's claim to have filled in certain parts of the instrumentation, stand on a very different ground to those which concern the composition of whole movements. The 'Lacrymosa' is quite certainly one of the most beautiful movements in the whole 'Requiem'--and Mozart is credited with having only finished the first eight bars of it! Yet it is impossible to study this movement carefully without arriving at Professor Macfarren's conclusion that 'the whole was the work of one mind, which mind was Mozart's.' Süssmayer may have written it out, perhaps; but it must have been from the recollection of what Mozart had played or sung to him, for we know that this very movement occupied the dying composer's attention almost to the last moment of his life. In like manner Mozart may have left noUrschriften(sketches) of the 'Sanctus,' 'Benedictus,' and 'Agnus Dei,'--though the fact that they have never been discovered does not prove that they never existed,--and yet he may have played and sung these movements often enough to have given Süssmayer a very clear idea of what he intended to write. We must either believe that he did this, or that Süssmayer was as great a genius as he; for not one of Mozart's acknowledged masses will bear comparison[241]with the 'Requiem,' either as a work of art or the expression of a devout religious feeling. In this respect it stands almost alone among instrumental masses, which nearly always sacrifice religious feeling to technical display."

After an introduction, which gives out the subject of the opening movement,--a slow, mournful, solemn theme,--the first number begins with the impressive strain, "Requiem æternam dona eis," which gradually brightens in the phrase, "Et Lux perpetua," and reaches a splendid burst of exultation in the "Te decet hymnus," of which Oublichieff, the Russian critic, says: "One seems to hear the voice of an archangel, and Saint Cecilia herself with her organ sounding a fugued accompaniment which the most laborious efforts of mortals never could have power to reach." After a repetition of the "Requiem æternam," the number closes with the "Kyrie eleison," a slow and complicated fugue, which is sublime in its effect, though very sombre in color, as befits the subject.

The next number is the "Dies Iræ," written for chorus in simple counterpoint, and very dramatic in its character, the orchestral part being constantly vigorous, impetuous, and agitated, and reaching intense energy on the verse, "Quantus tremor est futurus," the whole presenting a vivid picture in tones of the terrors of the last judgment. In the "Tuba mirum" the spirit of the music changes from the church form to the secular. It is written for solo voices, ending in a quartet. The bass[242]begins with the "Tuba mirum," set to a portentous trombone accompaniment; then follow the tenor ("Mors stupebit"), the alto ("Judex ergo"), and the soprano ("Quid sum miser"). This number is particularly remarkable for the manner in which the music is shaded down from the almost supernatural character of the opening bass solo to the beauty and sweetness of the soprano solo. From this extraordinary group we pass to the sublime chorus, "Rex tremendæ majestatis," once more in the church style, which closes with the prayer, "Salva me," in canonical form. With rare skill is this last appeal of humanity woven out of the thunder-crashes of sound in the judgment-music.

The "Dies Iræ" is followed by the "Recordare," written, like the "Tuba mirum," as a quartet for solo voices. The vocal parts are in canon form and are combined with marvellous skill, relieved here and there with solos in purely melodic style, as in the "Quærens me," while the orchestral part is an independent fugue, with several subjects worked up with every form of instrumental embellishment, the fugue itself sometimes relieved by plain accompaniment. The whole is an astonishing piece of contrapuntal skill, apparently inexhaustible in its scientific combinations, and yet never for an instant losing its deep religious significance. Once more the orchestral part is full of agitation and even savage energy in the "Confutatis maledictis," as it accompanies a powerful double chorus, closing at last in a majestic prayer ("Oro supplex et[243]acclinis"), in which all the voices join in magnificent harmony.

The "Lacrymosa" is the most elegant and poetically conceived movement in the "Requiem." It begins in a delicate, graceful, and even sensuous manner, which gradually broadens and strengthens, and at last develops into a crescendo of immense power, reaching its climax on the words "Judicandus homo reus." Then it changes to a plaintive prayer ("Huic ergo parce Deus"), and closes in a cloud of gloom in the "Dona eis requiem." The next number ("Domine Jesu Christe") is in pure church form, beginning with a motet by chorus in solid harmony, which runs into a fugue on the words "Ne absorbeat eas Tartarus," followed by a quartet of voices regularly fugued, leading to another great fugue on the passage, "Quam olim Abrahæ," which closes the number in a burst of sacred inspiration. The "Domine" is followed by the "Hostias," a lovely choral melody which leads to the "Sanctus," a sublime piece of harmony closing with a fugued "Hosanna." The "Benedictus," which follows it, is a solo quartet plaintive and solemn in character, but full of sweet and rich melodies magnificently accompanied.

The "Agnus Dei" closes the work, a composition of profound beauty, with an accompaniment of mournful majesty, developing into a solemn, almost funereal strain on the words "Dona eis requiem," and closing with the fugue of the opening "Kyrie" on the words "Lux æterna." "Written under the[244]inspiration of death" might well be inscribed on this great monument of musical skill, this matchless requiem of awful majesty and divine beauty. In its own unity, its perfection of form and design, its astonishing skill, from the opening fugue of the "Kyrie" to its repetition in the finale, may be found the proof that Mozart and no other wrote the entire score, and that every thought and idea in it are the inspired work of the dying master.

[245]PAINE.John K. Paine, one of the very few really eminent American composers, was born at Portland, Me., Jan. 9, 1839. He studied the piano, organ, and composition with Kotzschmar in that city, and made his first public appearance as an organist, June 25, 1857. During the following year he went to Germany and studied the organ, composition, and instrumentation with Haupt and other masters in Berlin. He returned to this country in 1861 and gave several concerts, in which he played many of the organ works of the best writers for the first time in the United States. Shortly after his return he was appointed instructor of music in Harvard University, and in 1876 was honored with the elevation to a professorship and given a regular chair. He is best known as a composer, and several of his works have been paid the rare compliment of performance in Germany, among them his Mass in D and all his symphonies. The former was given at the Berlin Singakademie in 1867, under his own direction. Among his principal compositions are the oratorio[246]"St. Peter;" the Mass in D; the Centennial Hymn, set to Whittier's poem and sung at the opening of the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition; the overture to "As You Like It;" "The Tempest," in the style of a symphonic poem; the symphony in C minor and "Spring" symphony; besides numerous sonatas, fantasies, preludes, songs, and arrangements for organ and piano. His larger orchestral works have been made familiar to American audiences by Mr. Theodore Thomas's band, and have invariably met with success. His style of composition is large, broad, and dignified, based upon the best classic models, and evinces a high degree of musical scholarship.

John K. Paine, one of the very few really eminent American composers, was born at Portland, Me., Jan. 9, 1839. He studied the piano, organ, and composition with Kotzschmar in that city, and made his first public appearance as an organist, June 25, 1857. During the following year he went to Germany and studied the organ, composition, and instrumentation with Haupt and other masters in Berlin. He returned to this country in 1861 and gave several concerts, in which he played many of the organ works of the best writers for the first time in the United States. Shortly after his return he was appointed instructor of music in Harvard University, and in 1876 was honored with the elevation to a professorship and given a regular chair. He is best known as a composer, and several of his works have been paid the rare compliment of performance in Germany, among them his Mass in D and all his symphonies. The former was given at the Berlin Singakademie in 1867, under his own direction. Among his principal compositions are the oratorio[246]"St. Peter;" the Mass in D; the Centennial Hymn, set to Whittier's poem and sung at the opening of the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition; the overture to "As You Like It;" "The Tempest," in the style of a symphonic poem; the symphony in C minor and "Spring" symphony; besides numerous sonatas, fantasies, preludes, songs, and arrangements for organ and piano. His larger orchestral works have been made familiar to American audiences by Mr. Theodore Thomas's band, and have invariably met with success. His style of composition is large, broad, and dignified, based upon the best classic models, and evinces a high degree of musical scholarship.

St. Peter."St. Peter," Mr. Paine's only oratorio,--and from the highest standpoint it may be said the only oratorio yet produced in this country,--was written in 1872-73, and first performed at Portland, Me., in June of the latter year, under the composer's own direction. The solos were sung by Mrs. Wetherbee, Miss Adelaide Phillipps, Mr. George L. Osgood, and Mr. Rudolphsen. It was again produced with great success at the third Triennial Festival of the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, May 9, 1874, with Mrs. J. Houston West, Mr. Nelson Varley, Miss Phillipps, and Mr. Rudolphsen in the principal parts.[247]The establishment of Christianity, illustrated by the four principal scenes in the life of St. Peter, forms the subject of the oratorio. It is divided into two parts, and these are subdivided as follows: Part I. The Divine Call; The Denial and Repentance. Part II. The Ascension; Pentecost. The overture, a short adagio movement expressive of the unsettled spiritual condition of the world prior to the advent of Christianity, leads directly to the opening chorus, "The Time is fulfilled," which develops not only this subject, but also a second, "Repent, and believe the glad Tidings of God," in a masterly manner. The chorus, written in a very noble style, is followed by the tenor recitative, which describes the divine call of our Lord to Simon and Andrew as "He walked by the Sea of Galilee." It prepares the way for a soprano aria ("The Spirit of the Lord is upon me") which announces the glad tidings they are commissioned to deliver. Twelve male voices, representing the Disciples, accept the call in the chorus, "We go before the Face of the Lord," which is beautifully accompanied by and interwoven with the full chorus, closing with the smoothly flowing chorale, "How lovely shines the Morning Star." Then ensues the first dramatic scene. To the question of the Saviour, "Who do men say that I am," the twelve male voices first reply, followed by Peter in a few bars of very effective recitative, "Thou art the Christ." A tenor arioso, declaring the foundation of the Church "upon this rock," is followed by a noble[248]and exquisitely chaste bass aria for Peter ("My Heart is glad and my Spirit rejoiceth"), the scene ending with the powerful chorus, "The Church is built upon the Foundation of the Apostles and Prophets." The next scene, "The Denial and Repentance," opens with the warning to Peter that he will deny his Lord, and his remonstrance, "Though I should die with thee," which is repeated by the Apostles. These brief passages are followed by a very pathetic aria for tenor ("Let not your Heart be troubled") and a beautifully worked-up quartet and chorus ("Sanctify us through Thy Truth"). A contralto solo announces the coming of "Judas with a great multitude," leading Jesus away to the High Priest, and is followed by the very expressive chorus, "We hid our Faces from him." The scene of the denial is very dramatic, the alternating accusations of the servants and the denials of Peter being treated with great skill; it closes with a very effective contralto recitative, illustrating the sad words: "And while he yet spake, the cock crew. And the Lord turned, and looked on Peter; and he remembered the word of the Lord, and he went out and wept bitterly." An orchestral interlude follows, in the nature of a lament, a minor adagio full of deep feeling. It is followed by an aria for Peter ("O God, my God, forsake me not"), which is cast in the same strain of lamentation as the orchestral number which precedes and really introduces it. At its close a chorus of Angels, sopranos, and altos, with harp accompaniment ("Remember,[249]remember from whence thou art fallen"), is heard warning Peter, augmented on the introduction of the second subject ("And he that overcometh shall receive a Crown of Life") by the full chorus. This chorus is followed by a beautiful aria for alto ("The Lord is faithful and righteous to forgive our Sins"); and then a massive chorus, which is fairly majestic ("Awake, thou that sleepest"), closes the first part.The second part opens with a chorus ("The Son of Man was delivered into the Hands of sinful Men"), which tells the story of the crucifixion, not only with great power, but also with intense pathos, ending with the chorale, "Jesus my Redeemer lives," which invests the sad narrative with tender and consolatory feeling. The ascension scene is accompanied by graceful and expressive recitatives for tenor and bass, followed by a tenor arioso ("Go ye and teach") and a short soprano recitative ("And he lifted up his Hands"), leading to the full melodious chorus, "If ye then be risen." The next number is an impressive soprano solo ("O Man of God"), in which Peter is admonished "to put on the whole armor of God and fight the good fight." A beautifully written quartet ("Feed the Flock of God") closes the scene of the ascension. The last scene opens with a tenor solo describing the miracle of Pentecost, set to an extremely vigorous and descriptive accompaniment. It is followed by the chorus, "The Voice of the Lord," which is one of the most effective in the whole work, though[250]not constructed in the massive style of those which close the two parts. A contralto recitative links this chorus to its successor, "Behold! are not all these who speak Galileans?" After a brief soprano recitative, Peter has another vigorous solo ("Ye Men of Judæa"), which is as dramatic in its style and almost as descriptive in its accompaniment as the opening tenor solo of this scene. A reflective aria for alto ("As for Man") follows it, and bass and tenor recitatives lead up to the eagerly questioning chorus of the people, "Men and Brethren." The answer comes from Peter and the Apostles, "For the Promise is to you." An intricate chorus ("This is the Witness of God"), closing with a chorale ("Praise to the Father"), leads to the finale, which comprises the chorus, "Beloved, let us love one another," written for bass solo, tenors, and basses (the Disciples), and full chorus; an effective duet for soprano and tenor ("Sing unto God"); and the final majestic chorus ("Great and marvellous are thy Works").

"St. Peter," Mr. Paine's only oratorio,--and from the highest standpoint it may be said the only oratorio yet produced in this country,--was written in 1872-73, and first performed at Portland, Me., in June of the latter year, under the composer's own direction. The solos were sung by Mrs. Wetherbee, Miss Adelaide Phillipps, Mr. George L. Osgood, and Mr. Rudolphsen. It was again produced with great success at the third Triennial Festival of the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, May 9, 1874, with Mrs. J. Houston West, Mr. Nelson Varley, Miss Phillipps, and Mr. Rudolphsen in the principal parts.

The establishment of Christianity, illustrated by the four principal scenes in the life of St. Peter, forms the subject of the oratorio. It is divided into two parts, and these are subdivided as follows: Part I. The Divine Call; The Denial and Repentance. Part II. The Ascension; Pentecost. The overture, a short adagio movement expressive of the unsettled spiritual condition of the world prior to the advent of Christianity, leads directly to the opening chorus, "The Time is fulfilled," which develops not only this subject, but also a second, "Repent, and believe the glad Tidings of God," in a masterly manner. The chorus, written in a very noble style, is followed by the tenor recitative, which describes the divine call of our Lord to Simon and Andrew as "He walked by the Sea of Galilee." It prepares the way for a soprano aria ("The Spirit of the Lord is upon me") which announces the glad tidings they are commissioned to deliver. Twelve male voices, representing the Disciples, accept the call in the chorus, "We go before the Face of the Lord," which is beautifully accompanied by and interwoven with the full chorus, closing with the smoothly flowing chorale, "How lovely shines the Morning Star." Then ensues the first dramatic scene. To the question of the Saviour, "Who do men say that I am," the twelve male voices first reply, followed by Peter in a few bars of very effective recitative, "Thou art the Christ." A tenor arioso, declaring the foundation of the Church "upon this rock," is followed by a noble[248]and exquisitely chaste bass aria for Peter ("My Heart is glad and my Spirit rejoiceth"), the scene ending with the powerful chorus, "The Church is built upon the Foundation of the Apostles and Prophets." The next scene, "The Denial and Repentance," opens with the warning to Peter that he will deny his Lord, and his remonstrance, "Though I should die with thee," which is repeated by the Apostles. These brief passages are followed by a very pathetic aria for tenor ("Let not your Heart be troubled") and a beautifully worked-up quartet and chorus ("Sanctify us through Thy Truth"). A contralto solo announces the coming of "Judas with a great multitude," leading Jesus away to the High Priest, and is followed by the very expressive chorus, "We hid our Faces from him." The scene of the denial is very dramatic, the alternating accusations of the servants and the denials of Peter being treated with great skill; it closes with a very effective contralto recitative, illustrating the sad words: "And while he yet spake, the cock crew. And the Lord turned, and looked on Peter; and he remembered the word of the Lord, and he went out and wept bitterly." An orchestral interlude follows, in the nature of a lament, a minor adagio full of deep feeling. It is followed by an aria for Peter ("O God, my God, forsake me not"), which is cast in the same strain of lamentation as the orchestral number which precedes and really introduces it. At its close a chorus of Angels, sopranos, and altos, with harp accompaniment ("Remember,[249]remember from whence thou art fallen"), is heard warning Peter, augmented on the introduction of the second subject ("And he that overcometh shall receive a Crown of Life") by the full chorus. This chorus is followed by a beautiful aria for alto ("The Lord is faithful and righteous to forgive our Sins"); and then a massive chorus, which is fairly majestic ("Awake, thou that sleepest"), closes the first part.

The second part opens with a chorus ("The Son of Man was delivered into the Hands of sinful Men"), which tells the story of the crucifixion, not only with great power, but also with intense pathos, ending with the chorale, "Jesus my Redeemer lives," which invests the sad narrative with tender and consolatory feeling. The ascension scene is accompanied by graceful and expressive recitatives for tenor and bass, followed by a tenor arioso ("Go ye and teach") and a short soprano recitative ("And he lifted up his Hands"), leading to the full melodious chorus, "If ye then be risen." The next number is an impressive soprano solo ("O Man of God"), in which Peter is admonished "to put on the whole armor of God and fight the good fight." A beautifully written quartet ("Feed the Flock of God") closes the scene of the ascension. The last scene opens with a tenor solo describing the miracle of Pentecost, set to an extremely vigorous and descriptive accompaniment. It is followed by the chorus, "The Voice of the Lord," which is one of the most effective in the whole work, though[250]not constructed in the massive style of those which close the two parts. A contralto recitative links this chorus to its successor, "Behold! are not all these who speak Galileans?" After a brief soprano recitative, Peter has another vigorous solo ("Ye Men of Judæa"), which is as dramatic in its style and almost as descriptive in its accompaniment as the opening tenor solo of this scene. A reflective aria for alto ("As for Man") follows it, and bass and tenor recitatives lead up to the eagerly questioning chorus of the people, "Men and Brethren." The answer comes from Peter and the Apostles, "For the Promise is to you." An intricate chorus ("This is the Witness of God"), closing with a chorale ("Praise to the Father"), leads to the finale, which comprises the chorus, "Beloved, let us love one another," written for bass solo, tenors, and basses (the Disciples), and full chorus; an effective duet for soprano and tenor ("Sing unto God"); and the final majestic chorus ("Great and marvellous are thy Works").

Back to Index Next