THE STANDARD CANTATAS. (continued 3)

The Culprit Fay.

“The Culprit Fay,” a musical setting of Joseph Rodman Drake’s well-known fairy poem, was written in 1879. It is divided into three parts,—the first containing five, the second five, and the third eight numbers; the solos being divided among soprano, alto, tenor, and barytone, the last named taking the [158] part of the Fairy King. The exquisitely graceful fairy story told in the poem is too well known to need description. It is admirably adapted to music by its rhythmic fluency as well as by the delicacy of its poetical sentiment; and while it does not call for earnestness or strength in any of its movements, there is ample opportunity for melodious and attractive pictures in tone of the dainty descriptions of the poet. The composer has improved these opportunities with much skill, and, notwithstanding the intrinsic lightness of the score, has secured musical unity and poetical coherence by the artistic use of the leit-motif. Nine of these motives are employed, characterizing the summer night, the elfin mystery, the life of the fairies, the fay’s love for the mortal maid, the penalty for this violation of fairy law, night on the river, the spells of the water imps, the penalties imposed upon the culprit, and the Sylphide Queen’s passion for the Fay. The skilfulness with which these motives are adapted to characters and situations, and interwoven with the general movement in their proper recurrence, shows that the composer has not studied Wagner, the master of the leit-motif, in vain.

After a short introduction for the horns and strings, the cantata opens with a full chorus of graceful, flowing character (“’Tis the Middle Watch of a Summer’s Night”) describing the moonlight scene about “Old Cro’ Nest.” It is followed by the mystery motive announcing a weird alto solo, “’Tis the Hour of Fairy Ban and Spell.” It is the summons [159] of the sentry elf, ringing the hour of twelve, indicated in the score by the triangle, and calling the fairies to confront the culprit. A stirring and blithe instrumental introduction, followed by a short chorus (“They come from Beds of Lichen green”), describes the gathering of the fays, retarded at the close, and growing sombre as it is announced that “an ouphe has broken his vestal vow.” A tenor solo (“He has loved an earthly Maid”) tells the sad story of the guilty one who “has lain upon her lip of dew” and “nestled on her snowy breast.” They gather about to hear his doom, and do not have to wait long; for the tenor song leads without break to a barytone solo, in recitative form, by the Fairy King (“Fairy, Fairy, list and mark”), pronouncing the penalties he must pay for his transgression,—the catching of a drop from the sturgeon’s silver bow to wash away the stain on his wings, and the relighting of his flamewood lamp by the last faint spark in the train of a shooting star.

A graceful chorus (“Soft and pale is the moony Beam”) opens the second part, picturing the scene upon the strand bordering the elfin land; and the leaps of the sturgeon, followed by a tenor solo and recitative describing the sorrow of the lonely sprite and his desperate effort to push his mussel-shell boat down to the verge of the haunted land. The alto, which does all the mystery work, goes on with the description of the vain attempt of the river imps to wreck his frail craft, and his discovery and pursuit of the sturgeon; then there is a pause. The [160] full chorus, in a quick movement, pictures the pretty scene of the sturgeon’s leap, the arch of silver sheen, and the puny goblin waiting to catch the drop. The tenor recitative announces his success, and a full jubilant chorus of the sprites (“Joy to thee, Fay! thy Task is done”) bids him hasten back to the elfin shore.

The third part opens with a full chorus, very animated in its progression (“Up to the Cope, careering swift”), describing the ride of the Fay past the sphered moon and up to the bank of the Milky Way, where he checks his courser to wait for the shooting star. In the next number, a short recitative, the alto has a more grateful task; this time it is the graceful sylphs of heaven who appear, weaving their dance about the Fay, and leading him on to the palace of the Sylphide Queen. It is followed by two charming soprano solos,—the one descriptive of her beauty as she listens to the story of the Fay, and the other (“O Sweet Spirit of Earth”) of her sudden passion and the tempting inducements by which she seeks to make him forget the joys of fairy-land. Once more the tenor, who plays the part of narrator, enters, and in solo and recitative assures us how like a brave homunculus the Fay resisted her blandishments. A very vigorous and descriptive chorus, as fast as can be sung, pictures the Fay careering along on the wings of the blast up to the northern plain, where at length a star “bursts in flash and flame.” The tenor announces his second success, and the final chorus (“Ouphe and Goblin! [161] Imp and Sprite”) sings his welcome back in an animated manner, beginning with a moderate movement which constantly accelerates and works up to a fine climax; after which—

The Praise Song to Harmony.

“The Praise Song to Harmony,” written in 1886, is a musical setting of a poem of the same name by David Ebeling, a German poet who lived in the latter part of the eighteenth century. The composition is in a strict sense a symphonic cantata, somewhat in the manner of Mendelssohn’s “Hymn of Praise,” being prefaced with a symphonic allegro in the classical form which is written in a very scholarly manner and displays great skill in thematic treatment.

The cantata proper opens with a short introduction, consisting of massive chord foundations for the full orchestra, connected by a figure for the strings, ushering in a chorus for male voices (“Hail thee, O Harmony, offspring of Heaven”). The words contain a description of the creation of worlds and of music, as the song of stars unites with the angel chorus in praise of the Almighty. At the close of this number begins a choral theme for trumpets, horns, and trombones, followed by [162] strings and woodwinds, and introducing a soprano recitative (“With Grace, thy Gaze, O Harmony”) descriptive of the blessing brought into the world by music, followed by a picture of the misery of the race without its consolation. At the close the brasses give out a solemn march-like theme. A short chorus (“Joy to us! Again descending, thou Heavenly One”) describes the might of song. A brief orchestral interlude follows, preparing the entrance of a barytone solo with chorus (“Blessed Comforter in Grief”). The work closes with a partial repetition of the opening chorus, with a more elaborate and brilliant figural accompaniment, in the course of which the march-like subject is heard again in the brasses. At the end the strings maintain a tremolo while the rest of the orchestra presents a passage with varied harmonies. The opening theme of the cantata, though not a repetition, bears a strong analogy to the introduction of the symphony movement.

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HANDEL.

George Frederick Handel was born at Halle, in Lower Saxony, Feb. 23, 1685, and like many another composer revealed his musical promise at a very early age, only to encounter parental opposition. His father intended him to be a lawyer; but Nature had her way, and in spite of domestic antagonism triumphed. The Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels recognized his ability and overcame the father’s determination. Handel began his studies with Zachau, organist of the Halle cathedral. After the death of his father, in 1697, he went to Hamburg, and for a time played in the orchestra of the German opera. It was during his residence in that city that he wrote his first opera, “Almira” (1705). In the following year he went to Italy, where he remained several months under the patronage of the Grand Duke of Florence. During the next two years he visited Venice, Rome, and Naples, and wrote several operas and minor oratorios. In 1709 he returned to Germany, and the Elector of Hanover, subsequently George I. of England, offered [164] him the position of capellmeister, which he accepted upon the condition that he might visit England, having received many invitations from that country. The next year he arrived in London and brought out his opera of “Rinaldo,” which proved a great success. At the end of six months he was obliged to return to his position in Hanover; but the English success made him impatient of the dulness of the court. In 1712 he was in London again, little dreaming that the Elector would soon follow him as king. Incensed with him for leaving Hanover, the King at first refused to receive him; but some music which Handel composed for an aquatic fête in his honor brought about the royal reconciliation. In 1718 he accepted the position of chapel-master to the Duke of Chandos, for whom he wrote the famous Chandos Te Deum and Anthems, the serenata “Acis and Galatea,” and “Esther,” his first English oratorio. In 1720 he was engaged as director of Italian opera by the society of noblemen known as the Royal Academy of Music, and from that time until 1740 his career was entirely of an operatic character. Opera after opera came from his pen. Some were successful, others failed. At first composer, then director, he finally became impresario, only to find himself confronted with bitter rivalry, especially at the hands of Bononcini and Porpora. Cabals were instituted against him. Unable to contend with them alone, he formed a partnership with Heidegger, proprietor of the King’s Theatre, in 1729. It was broken in 1734, [165] and he took the management of Covent Garden. The Italian conspiracies against him broke out afresh. He failed in his undertaking and became a bankrupt. Slanders of all sorts were circulated, and his works were no longer well received. In the midst of his adversity sickness overtook him, ending with a partial stroke of paralysis. When sufficiently recovered he went to the Continent, where he remained for a few months. On his return to London he brought out some new works, but they were not favorably received. A few friends who had remained faithful to him persuaded him to give a benefit concert, which was a great success. It inspired him with fresh courage; but he did not again return to the operatic world. Thenceforward he devoted himself to oratorio, in which he made his name famous for all time. He himself said: “Sacred music is best suited to a man descending in the vale of years.” “Saul” and the colossal “Israel in Egypt,” written in 1740, head the list of his wonderful oratorios. In 1741 he was invited to visit Ireland. He went there in November, and many of his works were produced during the winter and received with great enthusiasm. In April, 1742, his immortal “Messiah” was brought out at Dublin. It was followed by “Samson,” “Joseph,” “Semele,” “Belshazzar,” and “Hercules,” which were also successful; but even in the midst of his oratorio work his rivals did not cease their conspiracies against him, and in 1744 he was once more a bankrupt. For over a year his pen was idle. In [166] 1746 the “Occasional Oratorio” and “Judas Maccabæus” appeared, and these were speedily followed by “Joshua,” “Solomon,” “Susanna,” “Theodora,” and “Jephthah.” It was during the composition of the last-named work that he was attacked with the illness which finally proved fatal. He died April 14, 1759, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. During the last few days of his life he was heard to express the wish that “he might breathe his last on Good Friday, in hopes of meeting his good God, his sweet Lord and Saviour, on the day of His resurrection.” The wish was granted him; for it was on Good Friday that he passed away, leaving behind him a name and fame that will be cherished so long as music retains its power over the human heart.

Acis and Galatea.

The first idea of Handel’s famous pastoral, “Acis and Galatea,” is to be found in a serenata, “Aci, Galatea, e Polifemo,” which he produced at Naples in July, 1708. The plan of the work resembles that of the later pastoral, though its musical setting is entirely different.^[21] Little was known of it however until nearly a quarter of a century afterwards, [167] when the composer revived portions of it in one of his London concerts, as will shortly be seen.

In 1718 Handel entered the service of James, Duke of Chandos, as chapel-master, succeeding Dr. Pepusch. His patron had accumulated an immense fortune and spent it in a princely manner. He had built a marble palace, at an enormous expense, at Cannons in Middlesex, where he lived in almost regal state. It was the chapel attached to this mansion over which Handel was called to preside, and there were ready for his use a large choir, a band of instrumental performers, and a fine organ. The anthems and services of his predecessor were laid aside, and that year Handel’s busy pen supplied two new settings of the Te Deum and the twelve Chandos Anthems, which are really cantatas in form. His first English opera, “Esther,” was also composed at Cannons, and was followed by the beautiful pastoral which forms the subject of this sketch. “Esther” was first performed Aug. 20, 1720, and it is generally agreed that “Acis and Galatea” followed it in the same year, though Schoelcher in his biography assigns 1721 as the date. Nine characters are contained in the original manuscript,—Galatea, Clori, and Eurilla, sopranos; Acis, Filli, Dorinda, and Damon, altos; Silvio, tenor; and Polifemo, bass.

After this private performance the pastoral was not again heard from until 1731-32, when it was given under peculiar circumstances. On the 13th of March, 1731, it was performed for the benefit of [168] one Rochetti, who took the rôle of Acis; but with this representation Handel had nothing to do. The act of piracy was repeated in the following year, when Mr. Arne, father of Dr. Arne the composer, and the lessee of the Little Theatre in the Haymarket, announced its performance as follows:—

“At the new theatre in the Haymarket, on Thursday next, 11th May, will be performed in English a pastoral opera called ‘Acis and Galatea,’ with all the choruses, scenes, machines, and other decorations, etc. (as before), being the first time it was ever performed in a theatrical way. The part of Acis by Mr. Mourtier, being the first time of his appearance in character on any stage; Galatea, Miss Arne.^[22] Pit and boxes, 5s.”

Handel had taken no notice of the 1731 performance; but this representation, given at a theatre directly opposite the one of which he was manager, roused his resentment, though piracy of this kind was very common in those days. He determined to outdo the manager “over the way.” On the 5th of June he announced in the “Daily Journal”:—

“In the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket, the present Saturday, being the 10th of June, will be performed a serenata called ‘Acis and Galatea,’ formerly composed by Mr. Handel, and now revised by him, with several additions, and to be performed by a great [169] number of the best voices and instruments. There will be no action on the stage,^[23] but the scene will represent in a picturesque manner a rural prospect, with rocks, groves, fountains, and grottos, among which will be disposed a chorus of nymphs and shepherds; the habits, and every other decoration, suited to the subject. Also on the 13th, 17th, 20th. The libretto printed for J. Watts, in three acts.”

The rival establishment had produced the work as it was originally given at Cannons; but as intimated in his advertisement, Handel made additions, interpolating a number of airs and choruses from the serenata which he had composed at Naples, thus requiring the work to be sung both in Italian and English,—a polyglot practice from which our own times are not exempt. The part of Acis was sung by Senesino, a male soprano; Galatea by Signora Strada; and Polyphemus by Montagnana. The other parts—Clori and Eurilla sopranos, Filli and Dorinda contraltos, and Silvio tenor—were also represented. It was performed eight times in [170] 1732, and was brought out in the same form at Oxford in 1733; but in 1739 Handel restored it to its original shape as it had been given at Cannons. It is now generally performed in two parts with the three characters Galatea, Acis, and Polyphemus, and choruses of nymphs and shepherds.

The pretty pastoral will always possess more than ordinary interest, as four celebrated poets are represented in the construction of the poem. Gay wrote the most of it. It also contains a strophe by Hughes, a verse by Pope,^[24] and an extract from Dryden’s translation of the Galatea myth in the Metamorphoses of Ovid.^[25] The story is based on the seventh fable in the thirteenth book of the Metamorphoses,—the sad story which Galatea, daughter of Nereus, tells to Scylla. The nymph was passionately in love with the shepherd Acis, son of Faunus and of the nymph Symœthis, and pursued him incessantly. She too was pursued by Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops of Ætna, contemner of the gods. One day, reclining upon the breast of Acis, concealed behind a rock, she hears the giant pouring out to the woods and mountains his story of love and despair: “I, who despise Jove and the heavens and the piercing lightnings, dread thee, daughter of Nereus; than the lightnings is thy wrath [171] more dreadful to me. But I should be more patient under these slights if thou didst avoid all men. For why, rejecting the Cyclop, dost thou love Acis? And why prefer Acis to my embraces?” As he utters these last complaints, he espies the lovers. Then, raging and roaring so that the mountains shook and the sea trembled, he hurled a huge rock at Acis and crushed him. The shepherd’s blood gushing forth from beneath the rock was changed into a river; and Galatea, who had fled to the sea, was consoled.

The overture to the work, consisting of one movement, is thoroughly pastoral in its style and marked by all that grace and delicacy which characterize the composer’s treatment of movements of this kind. It introduces a chorus (“O the Pleasures of the Plains!”) in which the easy, careless life of the shepherds and their swains is pictured. Galatea enters seeking her lover, and after the recitative, “Ye verdant Plains and woody Mountains,” relieves her heart with an outburst of melodious beauty:—

Acis answers her, after a short recitative, with another aria equally graceful (“Love in her Eyes sits playing and sheds delicious Death”). The [172] melodious and sensuous dialogue is continued by Galatea, who once more sings:—

Then in a duet, sparkling with the happiness of the lovers (“Happy We”), closing with chorus to the same words, this pretty picture of ancient pastoral life among the nymphs and shepherds comes to an end.

In the second part there is another tone both to scene and music. The opening chorus of alarm (“Wretched Lovers”) portends the coming of the love-sick Cyclops; the mountains bow, the forests shake, the waves run frightened to the shore as he approaches roaring and calling for “a hundred reeds of decent growth,” that on “such pipe” his capacious mouth may play the praises of Galatea. The recitative, “I melt, I rage, I burn,” is very characteristic, and leads to the giant’s love-song, an unctuous, catching melody almost too full of humor and grace for the fierce brute of Ætna:—

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In marked contrast with this declaration follows the plaintive tender song of Acis (“Love sounds the Alarm”). Galatea appeals to him to trust the gods, and then the three join in a trio (“The Flocks shall leave the Mountain”). Enraged at his discomfiture, the giant puts forth his power. He is no longer the lover piping to Galatea and dissembling his real nature, but a destructive raging force; and the fragment of mountain which he tears away buries poor Acis as effectually as Ætna sometimes does the plains beneath. The catastrophe accomplished, the work closes with the sad lament of Galatea for her lover (“Must I my Acis still bemoan?”) and the choral consolations of the shepherds and their swains:—

Alexander’s Feast.

Handel composed the music for Dryden’s immortal ode in 1736. In the original score the close of the first part is dated January 5, and the end of [174] the work January 17, showing rapid composition. Three years before this time he had had a violent quarrel with Senesino, his principal singer at the opera-house in the Haymarket, which led to his abandonment of the theatre and its occupancy by his rival, Porpora. After an unsuccessful attempt to compete with the latter, which nearly bankrupted him in health and purse, he decided to quit opera altogether. He sought relief for his physical ailments at Aix-la-Chapelle, and upon his return to London in October, 1735, publicly announced that “Mr. Handel will perform Oratorios and have Concerts of Musick this Winter at Covent Garden Theatre.” One of the first works for these concerts was “Alexander’s Feast,” completed, as stated above, Jan. 17, 1736. The poem was prepared by Newburgh Hamilton, who says in his preface:—

“I determined not to take any unwarrantable liberty with the poem, which has long done honor to the nation, and which no man can add to or abridge in anything material without injuring it. I therefore confined myself to a plain division of it into airs, recitatives or choruses, looking upon the words in general so sacred as scarcely to violate one in the order of its first place. How I have succeeded the world is to judge, and whether I have preserved that beautiful description of the passions, so exquisitely drawn, at the same time I strove to reduce them to the present taste in sounds. I confess my principal view was, not to lose this favorable opportunity of its being set to music by that great master who has with pleasure undertaken the task, and who only is capable of doing [175] it justice; whose compositions have long shown that they can conquer even the most obstinate partiality, and inspire life into the most senseless words. If this entertainment can in the least degree give satisfaction to the real judges of poetry or music, I shall think myself happy in having promoted it; being persuaded that it is next to an improbability to offer the world anything in those arts more perfect than the united labors and utmost efforts of a Dryden and a Handel.”

In addition to the preface Hamilton appended a poem “To Mr. Handel on his setting to Musick Mr. Dryden’s Feast of Alexander,” in which he enthusiastically sings:—

The work was first performed at Covent Garden Theatre, February 19, about a month after it was written; the principal singers being Signora Strada, Miss Young,^[26] John Beard, and Mr. Erard. It met with [176] remarkable success. The London “Daily Post,” on the morning after its production, said:—

“Never was upon the like Occasion so numerous and splendid an Audience at any Theatre in London, there being at least 1,300 Persons present; and it is judged that the Receipt of the House could not amount to less than £450.”

It was repeated four times, and then withdrawn to make room for “Acis and Galatea” and the oratorio of “Esther.” In March, 1737, it was revived, with two additional choruses made by Hamilton for the work; and upon the same occasion an Italian cantata in praise of Saint Cecilia was sung.

It is unnecessary to inform the reader of the nature of a poem familiar the world over. The overture is written for strings and two oboes. Throughout the work the orchestration is thin, bassoons and horns being the only instruments added to those named above; but in 1790 Mozart amplified the accompaniments,—an improvement which he also made for the score of “Acis and Galatea.” The great solos of the composition are the furious aria, “‘Revenge, Revenge!’ Timotheus cries,” and the descriptive recitative, “Give the Vengeance due to the valiant Crew,” in which Handel employs his imitative powers with consummate effect. Clouet, in his “Chants Classiques,” says of the passage “And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy:—

“He paints Alexander issuing forth in the midst of an orgie, arming himself with a torch, and followed by [177] his generals, running to set fire to Persepolis. While the accompaniment sparkles with the confused and unequal glare of the torches, the song expresses truthfully the precipitation and the tumult of the crowd, the rolling of the flames, and the living splendor of a conflagration.”

The choruses of the work are equally strong, and some of them are among the best Handel ever wrote, particularly, “He sang Darius great and good,” “Break his Bands of Sleep asunder,” “Let old Timotheus yield the Prize,” and “The many rend the Skies with loud Applause.” They are as genuine inspirations as the best choruses of the “Messiah” or of “Israel in Egypt.”

In 1739 Handel also set to music Dryden’s shorter “Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day,” beginning,

the music for which had been originally composed in 1687 by Giovanni Baptista Draghi, an Italian, who was music-master to Queen Anne and Queen Mary, and at that time was organist to Catharine of Braganza, widow of Charles II. Handel’s setting was first performed on the anniversary of the saint’s festival, Nov. 22, 1739. The programme announced:

“Lincoln’s Inn Fields. At the Theatre Royal in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Thursday next, November 22 (being St. Cecilia’s Day), will be performed an Ode of Mr. Dryden’s, with two new Concertos for several instruments, which will be preceded by Alexander’s Feast and a Concerto on the organ.”

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Though one of the shortest of his vocal works, it contains some magnificent choruses.

L’Allegro.

“L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato,” the first two movements of which contain a musical setting of Milton’s well-known poem, was written in the seventeen days from Jan. 19 to Feb. 6, 1740, and was first performed on the 27th of the latter month at the Royal Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. Upon this occasion the first and second parts were preceded, according to the handbook, by “a new concerto for several instruments,” and the third by “a new concerto on the organ,” which was played by the composer himself. It was performed again Jan. 31, 1741, with the addition of ten new numbers to the music, which in the original manuscript appear at the end, marked by Handel, “l’Additione.” At a still later period Handel omitted the third part (“Moderato”) entirely, and substituted for it Dryden’s “Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day,” which he composed in 1739.

The text of the first two parts is by Milton, Allegro, as is well known, chanting the praises of pleasure, Penseroso those of melancholy; Allegro represented by tenor and Penseroso by soprano, and each supported by a chorus which joins in the discussion of the two moods. There is a radical difference between the poem as Milton wrote it and as it appears set to Handel’s music. Milton [179] presented two distinct poems, though allied by antithesis, and Penseroso does not speak until Allegro has finished. In the poem as adapted for music they alternate in sixteen strophes and antistrophes. The adaptation of these two parts was made by Charles Jennens, who was a frequent collaborator with Handel.^[27] He also suggested the addition of a third part, the Moderato, and wrote the words, in which he counsels both Allegro and Penseroso to take the middle course of moderation as the safest. The wisdom of the poet in suggesting the via media is more to be commended than his boldness in supplementing Milton’s stately verse with commonplaces, however wise they may have been. Chrysander, the German biographer of Handel presents a philosophical view of the case. He says:

“In the two pictures a deeply thoughtful mind has fixed for itself two far-reaching goals. With these the poem has reached its perfect end, and in the sense of its inventor there is nothing further to be added. The only possible, the only natural outlet was that into a life of action, according to the direction which the spirit now should take; already it was the first step into this new domain which called forth the divided feeling. The two moods do not run together into any third mood as their point of union, but into active real life, as different characters, forever separate. Therefore ‘Moderation’ could not bring about the [180] reconciliation; only life could do it; not contemplation, but deeds. Gladness and Melancholy are symptoms of a vigorous soul; moderation would be mediocrity. And herein lies the unpoetic nature of the addition by Jennens; read according to Milton, the concluding moral of a rich English land-owner whose inherited abundance points to nothing but a golden mean, and whose only real problem is to keep the balance in the lazy course of an inactive life, makes a disheartening impression.”

The work as a whole is one of Handel’s finest inspirations. The Allegro is bright and spirited throughout; the Penseroso grave and tender; and the Moderato quiet and respectable, as might be expected of a person who never experiences the enthusiasms of joy or the comforts of melancholy. The most of the composition is assigned to solo voices which carry on the discussion, though in the Moderato it is mainly the chorus which urges the sedate compromise between the two.

The work opens without overture, its place having originally been supplied by an orchestral concerto. In vigorous and very dramatic recitative Allegro bids “loathed Melancholy” hence, followed by Penseroso, who in a few bars of recitative far less vigorously consigns “vain, deluding joys” to “some idle brain;” Allegro replies with the first aria (“Come, come, thou Goddess fair”), a beautifully free and flowing melody, responded to by Penseroso, who in an aria of stately rhythm appeals to his goddess, “Divinest Melancholy.” Now Allegro summons his retinue of mirth:—

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and the chorus takes up the jovial refrain in the same temper. The aria itself is well known as the laughing song. Indeed, both aria and chorus are full of unrestrained mirth, and go laughingly along in genuine musical giggles.^[28] The effect is still further enhanced by the next aria for Allegro (“Come and trip it as you go”), a graceful minuet, which is also taken by the chorus. After a recitative [182] by Penseroso (“Come, pensive Nun”), and the aria, “Come, but keep thy wonted State” the first Penseroso chorus occurs (“Join with thee calm Peace and Quiet”), a short but beautiful passage of tranquil harmony. Once more in recitative Allegro bids “loathed Melancholy” hence, and then in the aria, “Mirth, admit me of thy Crew,” leading into a chorus, sings of the lark, “startling dull Night” and bidding good-morrow at his window,—a brilliant number accompanied with an imitation of the lark’s song. Penseroso replies with an equally brilliant song (“Sweet Bird, that shuns’t the Noise of Folly”), in which the nightingale plays the part of accompaniment. Another aria by Allegro (“Mirth, admit me of thy Crew”) gives an opportunity for a blithe and jocund hunting-song for the bass, followed by one of the most beautiful numbers in the work (“Oft on a Plat of rising Ground”) sung by Penseroso, in which the ringing of the far-off curfew, “swinging slow, with sullen roar,” is introduced with telling effect. This is followed by a quiet meditative aria (“Far from all Resorts of Mirth”), when once again Allegro takes up the strain in the two arias, “Let me wander not unseen,” and “Straight mine Eye hath caught new Pleasures.” The first part closes with the Allegro aria and chorus (“Or let the merry Bells ring round”), full of the very spirit of joy and youth; and ending with an exquisite harmonic effect as the gay crowd creep to bed, “by whispering winds soon lulled to sleep.”

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The second part begins with a stately recitative and aria by Penseroso (“Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy”), followed by one of the most characteristic arias in the work (“But O, sad Virgin, that thy Power might raise!”) in which the passage,

is accompanied by long persistent trills that admirably suit the words. The next number (“Populous Cities please me then”) is a very descriptive solo for Allegro, with chorus which begins in canon form for the voices and then turns to a lively movement as it pictures the knights celebrating their triumphs and the “store of ladies” awarding prizes to their gallants. Again Allegro in a graceful aria sings, “There let Hymen oft appear.” It is followed by a charming canzonet (“Hide me from Day’s garish Eye”) for Penseroso, which leads to an aria for Allegro (“I’ll to the well-trod Stage anon”), opening in genuinely theatrical style, and then changing to a delightfully melodious warble at the words,—

This is followed by three characteristic arias, “And ever, against eating Cares,” “Orpheus himself may heave his Head,” and “These Delights, if thou canst give,”—the last with chorus. Penseroso has a short chorus in plain but stately harmony (“There [184] let the pealing Organ blow”), with pauses for the organ ad libitum, followed by the aria, “May at last my weary Age,” and the majestic devotional fugued chorus, “These Pleasures, Melancholy, give!” which close the second part.

The third part, “Il Moderato,” is rarely given, and the work may well close with the fugue that so beautifully and harmoniously ends the second part. It opens with an aria in which Moderato tenders the sage advice:—

With such didactic commonplaces as the above, Moderato commends temperance, health, contentment, frugality, equanimity, and chaste love, and bids them,—

Thus Mr. Jennens’s mild philosophy goes on, one of his verses, “As steals the Morn upon the Night,” [185] set to a brilliant tenor and soprano duet, followed by the closing chorus, “Thy Pleasures, Moderation, give,” in full, broad, rich harmony. There needs no other proof of Handel’s genius, than that he could link such Tupperisms to his grand measures.

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HATTON.

John Liphot Hatton, a composer well known in America, not only by his songs and other works, but also by his visits here, was born in Liverpool in 1809. Though his early musical education was very scanty, he soon became known as a composer after his removal to London in 1832, and his works met with a very cordial reception. In 1842 he became conductor at Drury Lane Theatre, and while acting in that capacity brought out one of his operettas, called “The Queen of the Thames.” In 1844 he went to Vienna and produced his opera “Pascal Bruno.” Shortly afterwards he issued several songs under the nom de plume of “Czapek,” which secured for themselves widespread popularity. In 1848 he came to this country, and some years later made a concert-tour here. Upon his return to England he assumed direction of the music at the Princess’ Theatre, and while engaged there wrote incidental music for “Macbeth,” “Sardanapalus,” “Faust and Marguerite,” “King Henry VIII.,” “Pizarro,” “King Richard II.,” “King Lear,” “The Merchant of [187] Venice,” and “Much Ado About Nothing.” In 1856 he wrote “Robin Hood,” a cantata; in 1864 the opera “Rose, or Love’s Ransom,” for Covent Garden; and in 1877 “Hezekiah,” a sacred drama, which was performed at the Crystal Palace. He has also written a large number of part songs, which are great favorites with quartet clubs, and nearly two hundred songs which are very popular; among them, “Good-by, Sweetheart, good-by,” which has been a stock piece with concert tenors for years, and which the late Signor Brignoli used to sing with excellent effect. His music is specially characterized by grace and melodiousness. Hatton died in 1886.

Robin Hood.

The pastoral cantata of “Robin Hood” was written for the Bradford (England) Triennial Festival of 1856, Sims Reeves creating the part of the hero. Its name suggests the well-known story of the greenwood outlaw which has been charmingly versified by George Linley in the libretto. The personages are Maid Marian, Robin Hood, Little John, and “The Bishop.” Maid Marian, it will be remembered, was the mistress who followed Robin into the Sherwood Forest and shared his wild life; and Little John was his stalwart lieutenant, whose name was transposed after he joined the band, thus heightening the incongruity between his name and his great size. The incident contained in Linley’s [188] poem appears to have been suggested by Robin Hood’s penchant for capturing bishops and other ecclesiastics, notwithstanding his religious professions, which were exemplified by the retention of Friar Tuck as chaplain in the bold archer’s household; or it may be based upon the historical story of the expedition which Edward II. and some of his retainers, disguised as monks, made into the forest for the purpose of exterminating the outlaws and thus stopping their slaughter of the royal deer. As the old story goes, they were led into an ambuscade by a forester who had agreed to conduct them to the haunts of Robin, and were captured. When Robin recognized the King in the disguise of the abbot, he craved forgiveness for himself and his band, which was granted upon condition that he should accompany his sovereign to Court and take a place in the royal household. The old collection of ballads, “The Lytell Geste of Robyn Hood,” tells the same story and continues it, relating how after “dwelling in the Kynge’s courte” a year, he tired of it and obtained permission to make a visit to the woods again, but forfeited his word and never returned, dying at last in Kirklees priory, through the treachery of the abbess, and how in his last moments he blew a loud blast on his horn, summoning Little John from the forest, to whom, after he had forced his way into his chamber, the dying Robin said:

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The cantata opens with a chorus of the outlaws, who vigorously assert their independence of tribute, laws, and monarchs, followed by a bombastic bass aria by the Bishop, who threatens them for destroying the King’s deer. His grandiloquence is speedily interrupted by the outlaws, with Robin at their head, who surround him without further ado and make him the butt of their sport. Robin Hood sings a charmingly melodious ballad, “Under the Greenwood Tree,” in which the Bishop is invited to become one of their number and share their sylvan enjoyments. A trio and chorus follow, in the course of which the Bishop parts with his personal possessions in favor of the gentlemen around him in Lincoln green with “bent bows.” A chorus (“Strike the Harp”) also informs us that the ecclesiastic is forced to dance for the genial band much against his will as well as his dignity. Robin’s sentimentalizing about the pleasures under the greenwood tree is still further emphasized by a madrigal for female voices, supposed to be sung by the forest maidens, though their identity is not very clear, as Marian was the only maid that accompanied the band. After the plundering scene, the cantata grows more passionate in character, describing a pretty and tender love-scene between Robin and Marian, which is somewhat incongruous, whether Marian be considered as the outlaw’s mistress, or, as some of the old chroniclers have it, his wife Matilda, who changed her name when she followed him into the forest. From the musical standpoint, [190] however, it affords an opportunity for another graceful ballad of sentiment, in which Marian describes her heart as “a frail bark upon the waters of love;” a duet in which the lovers passionately declare their love for each other as well as their delight with the forest; and a final chorus of the band, jubilantly proclaiming their hatred of kings and courtiers, and their loyalty to Robin Hood and Maid Marian. It may be worthy of note in this connection that Bishop, the English composer, wrote a legendary opera called “Maid Marian, or the Huntress of Arlingford,” in which the heroine is Matilda.

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HAYDN.

Joseph Haydn, the creator of the symphony and the string quartet, was born at Rohrau, a little Austrian village on the river Leitha, March 31, 1732. His father was a wheelwright and his mother a cook, in service with Count Harrach. Both the parents were fond of music, and both sang, the father accompanying himself upon the harp, which he played by ear. The child displayed a voice so beautiful that in his sixth year he was allowed to study music, and was also given a place in the village church-choir. Reutter, the capellmeister of St. Stephen’s, Vienna, having heard him, was so impressed with the beauty of his voice that he offered him a position as chorister. Haydn eagerly accepted it, as it gave him an opportunity for study. While in the service of St. Stephen’s he had lessons on the violin and piano, as well as in composition. When his voice broke, and his singing was of no further value, he was thrown upon the tender mercies of the world. Fortune favored him, however. He obtained a few pupils, and gave himself to composition. [192] He made the acquaintance of Metastasio, Porpora, and Gluck. His trios began to attract attention, and he soon found himself rising into prominence. In 1759, through the influence of a wealthy friend and amateur, he was appointed to the post of musical director and composer in the service of Count Morzin, and about this time wrote his first symphony. When the Count dismissed his band, Prince Paul Anton Esterhazy received him as his second capellmeister, under Werner. When the latter died, in 1766, Haydn took his place as sole director. His patron meanwhile had died, and was succeeded by his son Nicolaus, between whom and Haydn there was the utmost good feeling. Up to this time Haydn had written thirty symphonies, a large number of trios, quartets, and several vocal pieces. His connection with the Prince lasted until 1790, and was only terminated by the latter’s death. During this period of twenty-eight years his musical activity was unceasing; and as he had an orchestra of his own, and his patron was ardently devoted to music, the incentive to composition was never lacking. Anton succeeded Nicolaus, and was generous enough to increase Haydn’s pension; but he dismissed the entire chapel, and the composer took up his abode in Vienna. He was hardly established before he received a flattering proposition from Salomon, the manager, to go to England. He had already had many pressing invitations from others, but could not accept them, owing to his engagement to Esterhazy. Now that he was free, he [193] decided to make the journey. On New Year’s Day, 1791, he arrived in London. Success greeted him at once. He became universally popular. Musicians and musical societies paid him devoted attention. He gave a series of symphony concerts which aroused the greatest enthusiasm. He was treated with distinguished courtesy by the royal family. Oxford gave him the honorary degree of Doctor of Music. The nobility entertained him sumptuously. After a year of continuous fêtes he returned to Germany, where he remained two years, during a portion of which time Beethoven was his pupil. In 1794 he made his second journey to England, where his former successes were repeated, and fresh honors were showered upon him. In 1804 he was notified by Prince Esterhazy that he was about to reorganize his chapel, and wished him for its conductor again. Haydn accordingly returned to his old position, where he remained during the rest of his life. He was already an old man, but it was during this period that his most remarkable works were produced, among them the Austrian National Hymn (“Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser”), the “Seven Words,” the “Creation,” the “Seasons,” and many of his best trios and quartets. He died May 31, 1809, a few days after the occupation of Vienna by the French, and among the mourners at his funeral were many French officers. Funeral services were held in all the principal European cities. Honored and respected all over Europe, he was most deeply loved by his own [194] countrymen, who still affectionately speak of him as “Papa” Haydn.

The Seven Words.

“The Seven Words of Jesus on the Cross,” sometimes called “The Passion,” was written by Haydn in 1785, for the cathedral of Cadiz, upon a commission from the chapter for appropriate music for Good Friday. It was at first composed as an instrumental work, consisting of seven adagio movements, and in this form was produced in London by the composer himself as a “Passione instrumentale.” He afterwards introduced solos and choruses, and divided it into two parts, separating them by a largo movement for wind instruments. It was then given at Eisenstadt in 1797, and four years later was published in the new form, with the following preface by the composer himself:—

About fifteen years ago I was applied to by a clergyman in Cadiz, and requested to write instrumental music to the seven words of Jesus on the cross. It was then customary every year, during Lent, to perform an Oratorio in the Cathedral at Cadiz, the effect of which the following arrangements contributed to heighten. The walls, windows, and columns of the church were hung with black cloth, and only one large lamp, hanging in the centre, lighted the solemn and religious gloom. At noon all the doors were closed, and the music began. After a prelude, suited to the occasion, the bishop ascended the pulpit, pronounced one of the seven words, which was succeeded by reflections [195] upon it. As soon as these were ended he descended from the pulpit and knelt before the altar. The pause was filled by music. The bishop ascended and descended again a second, a third time, and so on; and each time the orchestra filled up the intervals in the discourse.

My composition must be judged on a consideration of these circumstances. The task of writing seven adagios, each of which was to last about ten minutes, to preserve a connection between them, without wearying the hearers, was none of the lightest, and I soon found that I could not confine myself within the limits of the time prescribed.

The music was originally without text, and was printed in that form. It was only at a later period that I was induced to add the text. The Oratorio entitled “The Seven Words of our Redeemer on the Cross,” as a complete and, as regards the vocal parts, an entirely new work, was first published by Messrs. Breitkopf and Härtel, of Leipsic. The partiality with which this work has been received by scientific musicians leads me to hope that it will not be without effect on the public at large.

Joseph Haydn.

Vienna, March 1, 1880.

As the various movements are all of the same general tone and character, though varied with all that skill and mastery of instrumental effect for which Haydn was so conspicuous, it is needless to describe each separately. By many of the musicians of his day it was considered one of his most sublime productions; and Bombet declares that Haydn on more than one occasion, when he was asked to [196] which of his works he gave the preference, replied, “The Seven Words.”

It opens with an adagio for full orchestra, of a very sorrowful but impressive character. Then follow each of the Seven Words, given out in simple chorale form, followed by its chorus, namely:—

I. PATIENCE.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Chorus: “Lamb of God! Surely Thou hast borne our sorrows.”

II. THE PENITENT FORGIVEN.

“Verily I say unto thee, this day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.”

Chorus: “Lord, have mercy on me after Thy great goodness.”

III. THE MOURNERS.

“Woman, behold thy Son. Son, behold Thy mother.”

Chorus: “Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for Me.”

IV. DESOLATION.

“Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani?”

Chorus: “O my God, look upon Me.”

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V. THE BITTER CUP.

“I thirst.”

Chorus: “He treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath.”

VI. COMPLETE OBEDIENCE.

“It is finished.”

Chorus: “He came down from Heaven.”

VII. THE GREAT OBLATION.

“Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.”

Chorus: “Into Thy hands, O Lord.”

Following immediately after the last number the whole spirit of the music changes with the chorus, “The Veil of the Temple was rent in twain,” a presto movement, sung fortissimo, describing the darkness, the quaking of the earth, the rending of the rocks, the opening of the graves, and the arising of the bodies of the saints who slept, with all that vividness in imitation and sublimity of effect which characterize so many of the composer’s passages in “The Creation” and “The Seasons.” Haydn was by nature a deeply religious man, and that he felt the inspiration of the solemn subject is shown by the manner in which he conceived it, and by the exalted devotion of the music which accompanies the [198] last words of the Man of Sorrows. The lines which Bombet quotes from Dante in this connection are hardly exaggerated:—

Ariadne.

The cantata “Ariana a Naxos” was written in 1792, and is for a single voice with orchestra. As an illustration of the original cantata form, it is one of the most striking and perfect. Its story is an episode familiar in mythology. When Minos, King of Crete, had vanquished the Athenians, he imposed upon Ægeus, their king, the severe penalty that seven youths should be annually sent to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur. In the fourth year the king’s son, Theseus, was among the number. He was more fortunate than his predecessors, for he slew the Minotaur and was rescued from the labyrinth by following the thread of Ariadne, daughter of Minos, who had conceived a violent passion for the handsome warrior, conqueror of Centaurs and Amazons. Upon his return to Athens she accompanied him as far as the island Naxos, where the ungrateful wretch perfidiously left her. It is this scene of desertion which Haydn chose for his cantata.

Ariadne is supposed to have just awakened from sleep and reclines upon a mossy bank. The first [199] number is a recitative and largo in which she hopefully calls upon Theseus to return. The melody is noble and spirited in style, and yet tender and fervent in its expression of love for the absent one. In the next number, a recitative and andante (“No one listens! My sad Words Echo but repeats”), hopefulness turns to anxiety. The contrast between the blissful longing of the one and the growing solicitude expressed in the other number is very striking. The next melody, an allegro vivace,—

is remarkable for its passionate intensity and dramatic strength. The clouds of despair close over her, and she calls down the vengeance of the gods upon the deserter. In the next two numbers, an adagio (“To whom can I turn me?”), and an andante (“Ah! how for Death I am longing”), the melodies closely follow the sentiment of the text, accompanied by very expressive instrumentation. An allegro presto, infused with the very spirit of hopeless gloom and despair, ends the cantata:—

In the mythological version, however, consolation came; for Bacchus, “ever young,” and full of pity for lorn maids, married her, and gave her a crown of seven stars, which after her death was placed among the constellations. The music presents many [200] difficulties for a singer, as it requires the noblest style of declamation, peculiar refinement of sentiment, and rare musical intelligence, as well as facility in execution to give expression to its recitative and strongly contrasting melodies, which have no unity of key, but follow the varying sentiments, with their changes of tone-color, as closely as Theseus followed his thread.

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HILLER.

Ferdinand Hiller, one of the most eminent of modern German composers, and a writer of more than ordinary ability, was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main, Oct. 24, 1811. His musical talent displayed itself so early that in his tenth year he appeared in concerts. In 1825 he began his studies with Hummel, and two years afterwards accompanied him on a concert-tour to Vienna, where he published his first work, a piano-forte quartet. He next went to Paris, where he remained until 1835, occupying for a time the position of professor in Choron’s “Institution de Musique,” but principally devoting himself to piano-playing, composition, and concerts. In 1836 he returned to Frankfort, and for more than a year conducted the concerts of the Cœcilienverein. He then went to Milan, where he met Rossini, and with his assistance brought out his opera “Romilda” at La Scala, but without much success. About the same time he began his oratorio “The Destruction of Jerusalem,” one of his most important works. In 1841 he made a second [202] journey to Italy and gave particular attention to church music. On his return he first resided at Frankfort, but was soon in Leipsic, where he conducted the Gewandhaus concerts (1843-44), and after that time in Dresden, where he produced two more operas, “Traum in der Christ-nacht” and “Conradin.” In 1847 he was appointed municipal capellmeister at Düsseldorf, and three years later took a similar position at Cologne, where he organized the Conservatory. In that city he exercised a widespread influence, not alone by his teaching, but also by his direction of the famous Lower Rhine festivals. He also made many musical tours which increased his fame. In 1852-53 he conducted opera in Paris; in 1870, gave a series of successful concerts in St. Petersburg; and in 1871-72 visited England, where he produced his works both in public concerts and festivals. His compositions are very numerous, including among the most prominent, five operas, four overtures, a festival march for the opening of the Albert Hall, the Spring Symphony, the oratorios “Destruction of Jerusalem” and “Saul,” and the cantatas “Heloise,” “Night,” “Loreley,” “O weint um Sie,” “Ver sacrum,” “Nala and Damajanti,” “Song of Victory,” “Song of the Spirits over the Water,” “Prometheus,” and “Rebecca.” He has also enriched musical literature with many important works, among them, “Aus dem Tonleben unserer Zeit” (1867), “Personalisches und Musikalisches” (1876), “Recollections [203] of Mendelssohn” (1874), and “Letters to an Unknown” (1877). He died in May, 1885.

Song of Victory.

The “Song of Victory,” a cantata for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, was first produced at the Cologne Festival of 1871, and was written to celebrate the victorious conclusion of the Franco-German war of 1870. It consists of eight numbers, all of which are sacred in character, though their purpose is to express gratitude and joy over the triumph of the German arms.

The opening number is a vigorous, jubilant chorus (“The Lord great Wonders for us hath wrought”). It begins with a slow movement in massive chords, gathering animation as it proceeds, and closing pianissimo on the words, “There is none that searcheth or understandeth.” The second number is a soprano solo and chorus (“Praise, O Jerusalem, praise the Lord”) declamatory in style. The third (“The Heathen are fallen in the Pit”) is assigned to chorus, and is the most dramatic in the work, describing as it does the terrors of war. In the fourth (“See, it is written in the Book of the Righteous”), a short soprano solo, the melody is a tender lament for the dead. The fifth (“He in Tears that soweth”) is a soprano solo with chorus of first and second sopranos and altos. In this number lamentation gives way to hope and gladness, leading up to the last three numbers,—the [204] six-part chorus (“Mighty is our God”), full of effective sustained harmony, and the soprano solos and choruses of praise and hallelujah which resume the triumphant style of the opening chorus with increased power and enthusiasm.

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HOFMANN.

Heinrich Karl Johann Hofmann was born Jan. 13, 1842, at Berlin. In his younger days he was a scholar at the Kullak Conservatory, and studied composition with Grell, Dehn, and Wüerst. Prior to 1873 he devoted himself to private instruction, but since that time he has been engaged exclusively in composition. Among his works which first attracted public attention by their intrinsic excellence as well as by the knowledge of orchestration which they displayed, were an “Hungarian Suite” and the “Frithjof Symphony.” Among his piano compositions are the following four-handed pieces, which have been remarkably popular: “Italienische Liebesnovelle,” “Liebesfrühling,” “Trompeter von Säckingen,” “Steppenbilder,” and “Aus meinem Tagebuch.” His choral works are “Nonnengesang,” “Die Schöne Melusine,” “Aschenbrödel,” and “Cinderella.” Among his operas are “Cartouche” (1869), “Armin” (1878), and “Annchen von Tharau” (1878). He has also written several works for mixed chorus and [206] männerchor, piano pieces, songs, duets, a violoncello concerto, piano trios and quartets, and a string sextet.

Melusina.

The beautiful story of Melusina has always had an attraction for artists and musicians. Moritz von Schwind, the painter, has illustrated it in a cycle of frescos; Julius Zellner has told it for us in a series of orchestral tone-pictures; and Mendelssohn has chosen it as the subject of one of his most charming overtures. The version which Hofmann uses in his cantata entitled “The Fable of the Fair Melusina” (written in 1875) runs as follows: Melusina, the nymph of a beautiful fountain in the Bressilian forest, and Count Raymond have fallen in love with each other. They declare their passion in the presence of her nymphs, and plight their troth. Melusina engages to be his dutiful wife the first six days of the week, but makes Raymond promise never to inquire or seek to discover what she does on the seventh, which, she assures him, shall “never see her stray from the path of duty.” On that day she must assume her original form, half fish and half woman, and bathe with her nymphs. Raymond promises, calls his hunters, introduces his bride to them, and the wedding cortège moves joyfully on to the castle. In the second part Raymond’s mother, Clotilda, and her brother, Sintram, intrigue against Melusina. They denounce [207] her as a witch, and the accusation seems to be justified by a drought which has fallen upon the land since the marriage. The suffering people loudly clamor for the surrender of the “foul witch.” After long resistance Raymond is induced to break into the bathing-house which he had erected over the fountain. Melusina and her nymphs, surprised by him, call upon the king of the water-spirits to avenge his treason. The king appears and consigns him to death. Seized with pity, Melusina intercedes for him, and the king agrees to spare his life upon condition that they shall separate. Raymond once more embraces her, neither of them knowing that it will be fatal to him, dies in her arms, and the sorrowing Melusina returns to the flood.

The prologue describes Melusina’s fountain, and contains a leading motive which characterizes Raymond. The chorus part is very romantic in its style, and is set to a graceful, poetical accompaniment. The opening number introduces Melusina and her nymphs in a chorus extolling their watery abode (“For the Flood is life-giving”). In the second number she describes the passion she feels when thinking of Raymond. The song is interrupted by horn signals indicating the approach of her lover and his hunters, who join in a fresh, vigorous hunting-song and then disperse. In the fourth number Raymond gives expression to his love for Melusina, followed by a fervid duet between them, in which the lovers interchange vows of constancy. The sixth number, describing their engagement in presence of [208] the nymphs, and concluding with a stirring chorus of nymphs and hunters, closes the first part.

The second part begins with a theme from the love-duet, followed by a significant theme in the minor, ominous of approaching danger. In the eighth number the people clamor in furious chorus for the witch. In the ninth, a trio and chorus, Clotilda warns her son of the misery he has brought upon his house and people, and urges him to discover what his wife does on the seventh day. The next number introduces Melusina and her nymphs in the bath, the former singing a plaintive song (“Love is freighted with Sorrow and Care”). A noise is heard at the gate, and the nymphs join in a chorus in canon form (“Hark! hark! Who has come to watch”). As Raymond appears, the scene grows very dramatic. The king of the water-spirits is summoned; but before he rises from the water Melusina, in very melodious recitative, laments her lover’s treason. The scene culminates in the sentence, “Let Death be his lot.” He is spared by her intercession, but she is commanded to return to the flood. Raymond appeals for forgiveness, and a part of the love-duet is repeated. The final embrace is fatal to him, and he dies in her arms. The chorus repeats the melody of the opening number (“For the Flood is life-giving”), and she bids her dead lover a last farewell, and disappears with the nymphs and water-spirits, singing, “Forget with the Dwellers on Earth all earthly Woe.” The epilogue is substantially the same as the prologue.

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LESLIE.

Henry David Leslie was born in London, June 18, 1822, and in his sixteenth year began his musical studies with Charles Lucas, a famous violoncellist and for a long time principal of the Royal Academy of Music. Like his master, Leslie played the violoncello several years in the concerts of the Sacred Harmonic Society, subsequently becoming its conductor,—a position which he held until 1861. In 1855 he organized the famous Leslie choir of one hundred voices, which took the first prize at the international competition of 1878 in Paris. In 1863 he was chosen conductor of the Herefordshire Philharmonic Society, and in the following year became principal of the National College of Music. In 1874 he was appointed conductor of the Guild of Amateur Musicians in London. He has been a prolific and very popular composer, among his works being the following: Te Deum and Jubilate in D (1846); symphony in F (1847); anthem, “Let God arise” (1849); overture, “The Templar” (1852); oratorio, “Immanuel” [210] (1853); operetta, “Romance, or Bold Dick Turpin” (1857); oratorio, “Judith,” written for the Birmingham Festival (1858); cantata, “Holyrood” (1860); cantata, “The Daughter of the Isles” (1861); and the opera “Ida” (1864). In addition to these he has written a large number of songs, anthems, part songs, madrigals, and piano pieces, besides music for his choir.

Holyrood.

“Holyrood” was written in 1861, and was first produced in February of that year at St. James’s Hall, London. Leslie’s collaborator was the accomplished scholar Chorley, who has certainly prepared one of the most refined and attractive librettos ever furnished a composer. The story represents an episode during the period of Queen Mary’s innocent life, overshadowed in the close by the dismal prophecy of the terrible fate so rapidly approaching her. The characters are Queen Mary (soprano), Mary Beatoun (Beton), her maid of honor (contralto); Rizzio, the ill-fated minstrel (tenor); and John Knox (bass). The scene is laid in a court of the palace of Holyrood, and introduces a coterie of the court ladies and gentlemen engaged in one of those joyous revels of which Mary was so fond. In the midst of the pleasantry, however, the Queen moves pensively about, overcome with sadness, as if her thoughts were far away. Her favorite maid tries in vain to rouse her from her melancholy with [211] a Scotch ballad. The minstrel Rizzio is then urged to try his skill. He takes his lute and sings an Italian canzonet which has the desired effect. The sensuous music of the South diverts her. She expresses her delight, and seizing his lute sings her new joy in a French romance. It is interrupted by a Puritan psalm of warning heard outside. The revellers seek to drown it; but it grows in power, and only ceases when the leader, John Knox, enters with stern and forbidding countenance. The Queen is angry at first, but bids him welcome provided his mission is a kindly one. He answers with a warning. As he has the gift of prophecy, she orders him to read her future. After the bridal, the murder of the bridegroom; after the murder, battle; after the battle, prison; after the prison, the scaffold, is the tragic fate he foresees. The enraged courtiers call for his arrest and punishment, but the light-hearted Queen bids him go free:—

The cantata opens with a chorus for female voices in three divisions, with a contralto solo, in the Scotch style:—

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After a short recitative passage in which Mary Beatoun appeals to the revellers to lure the Queen from her loneliness, and their reply (“O Lady, never sit alone”), the maid sings a very characteristic and engaging Scotch ballad:—

As might have been expected, this mournful ditty fails to rouse the Queen from her melancholy, whereupon Rizzio takes his lute and sings the canzonet “Calla stagion novella,” a very slow and graceful movement, closing with a sensuous allegro, [213] written in the genuine Italian style, though rather Verdi-ish for the times of Rizzio. The canzonet has the desired effect, and is followed by a delightful French romance, sung by the Queen, in which a tender minor theme is set off against a fascinating waltz melody, closing with a brilliant finale:—

At the close of the pretty romance, the revel begins with a stately minuet and vocal trio (“Fal, lal, la”) for the Queen, Mary Beatoun, and Rizzio. It is interrupted by the unison psalm-tune of the Puritans, a stern, severe old melody set to a “moving bass” accompaniment:—

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There is a temporary pause in the revels, but at the Queen’s command they are resumed with a quick-step introduced by the pipes and full of the genuine Scotch spirit and bustle, the “Fal lal” trio and chorus still accompanying it. It is interrupted afresh by a repetition of the psalm (“A Hand of Fire was on the Wall”), after which John Knox enters. With his entrance the gay music closes and the work assumes a gloomy tragic cast as the dialogue proceeds and the terrible incidents of the prophecy are unfolded. It is a relief when they join in a hopeful duet (“E’en if Earth should wholly fail me”) which is very quiet and melodious. It leads to the Queen’s farewell, a quaintly-written bit, with an old-fashioned cadenza, followed by the final chorus, which takes up a theme in the same joyous spirit as the opening one:—

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LISZT.

Franz Liszt, the most eminent pianist of his time, who also obtained world-wide celebrity as a composer and orchestral conductor, was born at Raiding, Hungary, Oct. 22, 1811. His father was an accomplished amateur, and played the piano and violoncello with more than ordinary skill. He was so impressed with the promise of his son that he not only gave him lessons in music, but also devoted himself to his artistic progress with the utmost assiduity. In his ninth year Liszt played for the first time in public at Oedenburg. His performances aroused such enthusiasm that several Hungarian noblemen encouraged him to continue his studies, and guaranteed him sufficient to defray the expenses of six years’ tuition. He went to Vienna at once and studied the piano with Czerny, besides taking lessons in composition of Salieri and Randhartinger. It was while in that city that his first composition, a variation on a waltz of Diabelli, appeared. In 1823 he went to Paris, hoping to secure permission to enter the Conservatory; but Cherubini refused it on [216] account of his foreign origin, though Cherubini himself was a foreigner. Nothing daunted, young Liszt continued his studies with Reicha and Paer, and two years afterwards brought out a two-act opera entitled “Don Sancho,” which met with a very cordial reception. The slight he received from Cherubini aroused popular sympathy for him. His wonderful playing attracted universal attention and gained him admission into the most brilliant Parisian salons. He was a favorite with every one, especially with the ladies. For two or three years he made artistic tours through France, Switzerland, and England, accompanied by his father, and everywhere met with the most brilliant success. In 1827 the father died, leaving him alone in the world; but good fortune was on his side. During his stay in Paris he had made the friendship of Victor Hugo, George Sand, Lamartine, and other great lights in literature and music, and their influence prepared the way for his permanent success. From 1839 to 1847 he travelled from one city to another, arousing the most extraordinary enthusiasm; his progress was one continued ovation. In 1849 he went to Weimar and accepted the post of conductor at the Court Theatre. He made that city the musical centre of Europe. It was there that his greatest compositions were written, that the school of the music of the future was founded, and that Wagner’s operas first gained an unprejudiced hearing; and it is from Weimar that his distinguished pupils, like Von Bülow, Tausig, Bendel, Bronsart, Klindworth, Winterberger, [217] Reubke, and many others date their success. In 1859 he resigned his position and after that time resided at Rome, Pesth, and Weimar, working for the best interest of his beloved art, and encouraging young musicians to reach the highest standards. Few men of this century have had such a powerful influence upon music, or have done so much to elevate and purify it. His most important works were the “Divina Commedia” and “Faust” symphonies, the twelve symphonic poems, the six Hungarian rhapsodies, the “Graner Mass,” the “Hungarian Coronation Mass,” and the oratorios “Christus” and “The Legend of the Holy Elizabeth.” Besides these he wrote a large number of orchestral pieces, songs, and cantatas, and a rich and varied collection of piano-forte solos, transcriptions, and arrangements. He died July 31, 1886.

Prometheus.

Liszt’s cantata “Prometheus,” composed in 1850, is based upon the poem of the same name, written by Johann Gottfried von Herder, the court preacher of Weimar. The poem closely follows the well-known legend of Prometheus’ punishment for stealing fire from heaven, and his ultimate rescue by Hercules from the vulture which preyed upon his vitals. The poet pictures the victim in the midst of his sufferings, consoled by the knowledge [218] that he has been a benefactor to the human race. The spirits of the ocean mock and menace him, but the harvesters and tillers of the soil praise him for the bounteous gifts he has given to the earth. Ceres and Bacchus, protectors of the soil and its products, also pay their tribute of sympathy to him and thank him for the blessing of fire. Hercules at last releases him from his torture by killing the vulture and breaking the chains which bind him to his rock. The sufferer is brought before Themis, who announces that the divine wrath has been appeased by his long punishment, and that the gods forgive him.

In building up his cantata Liszt has introduced several prologues from the poem without music, which serve as narrators explaining the situations, linking and leading up to the musical numbers, which are mainly choral. Thus the opening prologue pictures the sufferings of Prometheus, the crime for which he is forced to endure such a terrible penalty, and the patience, hope, and heroism of the victim. The closing lines,—

introduce the opening chorus of sea-nymphs (“Prometheus, Woe to thee”), for female voices, arranged in double parts, and set to a restless, agitated accompaniment, expressive of fear and despair. The second prologue, reciting the wrath [219] of Oceanus “on his swift-winged ocean steed,” that mortals should have dared to vex his peaceful waters, and the reply of Prometheus that “on the broad earth each place is free to all,” introduces the choruses of Tritons and Oceanides. The first is a mixed chorus full of brightness and spirit (“Freedom! afar from Land upon the open Sea”). Their exultant song is followed by a fascinating melody (“Hail! O Prometheus, hail!”) for female chorus, with short but expressive solos for soprano and alto (“When to our Waters the golden Time shall come”), the number closing with double chorus in full rich harmony (“Holy and grand and free is the Gift of Heaven”). Thereupon follows the third prologue:—

It introduces a chorus of Dryads (“Woe to thee, Prometheus”) of the same general character as the opening chorus of sea-nymphs, and containing a very dramatic and declamatory alto solo (“Deserted stand God’s sacred Altars in the old Forest”). A dialogue follows between Gæa and Prometheus, in which the latter bravely defends his course. As the Dryads disappear, Prometheus soliloquizes:—

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A mixed chorus of gleaners follows (“With the Lark sweetly singing”), which can hardly be excelled for grace and loveliness of melody. In the next prologue Ceres consoles Prometheus, and while she is speaking a shout of gladness rises and Bacchus appears. He smites the rock, and at his touch a bower of grape-vines and ivy boughs interlaces over the head of the Titan and shadows him. This serves to introduce the chorus of Vine-dressers (“Hail to the Pleasure-giver”), a lively strain for male voices with an effective solo quartet. As Prometheus resumes his soliloquy, Hermes approaches, leading Pandora, and seeks to allure him from his purpose by her enchantments, but in vain:—

The voices are those of the spirits in the lower regions singing a very melodramatic chorus (“Woe! woe! the sacred Sleep of the Dead has been disturbed”). [221] An allegro moderato for orchestra follows, preluding the approach of Hercules, who bends his giant bow and kills the vulture, strikes the fetters off and bids him “Go hence unto thy Mother’s Throne.” The scene introduces the seventh number (“All human Foresight wanders in deepest Night”), an expressive and stately male chorus with solo quartet. The last prologue describes the scene at the throne of Themis, the pardon of Prometheus, and her assurance that “Henceforth Olympus smiles upon the Earth.” Pallas presents him with a veiled figure as the reward of his heroism, “who will bring to thy race the richest blessing,—Truth.” The goddess unveils her and declares her name “Agathea. She brings to man the purest, holiest gift,—Charity.” The closing chorus of the Muses follows:—

The Bells of Strasburg.

“Die Glocken des Strassburger Münsters” (“The Bells of Strasburg Cathedral”) was written in 1874, and is dedicated to the poet Longfellow, from whose “Golden Legend” the composer took his theme for musical treatment. The cantata, however, does not deal with the beautiful legend [222] itself as related by the old minnesinger, Hartmann von Aue, which Longfellow has told so powerfully in his “Christus,” but simply with the prologue, describing the futile attempt of Lucifer and the Powers of the Air to tear down the cross of the Strasburg Cathedral during the night storm. It was a subject peculiarly attractive to Liszt, as it offered him free scope for his fancies and unlimited opportunity for the display of his unique and sometimes eccentric orchestration. The work is written for barytone solo and mixed chorus, and is divided into two parts,—a short prelude which is entitled “Excelsior” (andante maestoso), and in which this word is several times repeated by the chorus with gradually increasing power from piano to fortissimo; and “The Bells,” which comprises the principal part of the work.

The second part opens with a massive introduction (allegro agitato assai), in which the bells, horns, and trumpets play an important part, leading up to the furious invocation of Lucifer:—

Without a break comes the response of the spirits, first and second sopranos, altos, and tenors (“Oh! we cannot, for around it”), followed by the Latin chant of the bells sung by tenors and basses, with a soft tremolo accompaniment:—

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Again with increasing power Lucifer shouts his command:—

As before, the chorus responds in a sweet harmonious strain (“All thy Thunders here are harmless”), again followed by the slow and sonorous chant of the bells:—

Lucifer reiterates his command with constantly increasing energy:—

In its response this time the chorus is full of energy and impetuosity as it shouts with great power, “O, we cannot! the Archangel Michael flames from every window.” The chant of the bells is now taken by the basses alone:—

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Lucifer makes his last appeal with all the strength that voice and orchestra can reach:—

In the choral response (“The Apostles and the Martyrs wrapped in Mantles”) the sopranos and altos are in unison, making with the first and second tenors a splendid effect. For the last time the first and second basses sing the chant of the bells:—

With no abatement of vigor the baffled Lucifer sounds his signal for retreat, and the voices reply, sopranos and altos in unison:—

As the voices die away, choir, organ, and orchestra join with majestic effect in the intonation of the Gregorian chant:—

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The cantata shows Liszt’s talent rather than his genius. It is a wonderful mosaic-work of fancies, rather than an original, studied composition with definite purpose. Its motives, while not inspired, are finely conceived, and are presented not only gracefully, but in keeping with the spirituality of the subject.

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MACFARREN.

George Alexander Macfarren, one of the most prominent of modern English composers, was born in London, March 2, 1813. He began the study of music under the tuition of Charles Lucas in 1827. Two years later he entered the Royal Academy of Music, and in 1834 became one of its professors. The latter year dates the beginning of his career as a composer, his first work having been a symphony in F minor. During the next thirty years his important works were as follows: overture, “Chevy Chace” (1836); “Devil’s Opera,” produced at the Lyceum (1838); “Emblematical Tribute on the Queen’s Marriage” and an arrangement of Purcell’s “Dido and Æneas” (1840); editions of “Belshazzar,” “Judas Maccabæus,” and “Jephthah,” for the Handel Society (1843); the opera “Don Quixote” (1846); the opera “Charles II.” (1849); serenata, “The Sleeper Awakened,” and the cantata “Lenora” (1851); the cantata “May Day,” for the Bradford Festival (1856); the cantata “Christmas” (1859); the opera “Robin [227] Hood” (1860); the masque “Freya’s Gift” and opera “Jessy Lea” (1863); and the operas “She Stoops to Conquer,” “The Soldier’s Legacy,” and “Helvellyn” (1864). About the last year his sight, which had been impaired for many years, failed. His blindness, however, did not diminish his activity. He still served as professor in the Royal Academy, and dictated compositions,—indeed some of his best works were composed during this time of affliction. In 1873 appeared his oratorio “St. John the Baptist,” which met with an enthusiastic reception at the Bristol Festival of that year. In 1875 he was elected professor of music at Cambridge, to fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of Sterndale Bennett, and in the same year was also appointed principal of the Royal Academy of Music. In 1876 his oratorio “The Resurrection” was performed at the Birmingham Festival, and in 1877 the oratorio “Joseph” at Leeds, besides the cantata “The Lady of the Lake” at Glasgow. Grove catalogues his other compositions as follows: a cathedral service, anthems, chants, psalm-tunes, and introits for the Holy Days and Seasons of the English Church (1866); “Songs in a Cornfield” (1868); “Shakspeare Songs for Four Voices” (1860-64); songs from Lane’s “Arabian Nights,” and Kingsley’s and Tennyson’s poems: overtures to “The Merchant of Venice,” “Romeo and Juliet,” “Hamlet,” and “Don Carlos;” symphonies, string quartets, and a quintet; a concerto for violin and orchestra; and sonatas for piano-forte alone, and in combination [228] with other instruments. As lecturer, writer, and critic, Sir George Macfarren also holds a high place, among his important works being “Rudiments of Harmony” (1860); six Lectures on Harmony (1867); analyses of oratorios for the Sacred Harmonic Society (1853-57), and of orchestral works for the Philharmonic Society (1869-71); and a “Musical History,” being a reprint of an article on this subject contributed by him to the Encyclopædia Britannica.

Christmas.

“Christmas,” the poem by John Oxenford, was written in 1859, and was first performed at one of the concerts of the Musical Society of London, on the 9th of May 1860. The poem itself contains no story. It is merely a tribute to the season; but at the same time it is not destitute of incident, so that it possesses considerable dramatic interest.

After a short instrumental introduction the cantata opens with a double chorus in antiphonal style, in which both the bright and the dark sides of winter are celebrated. The second choir takes up the theme:—

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and the first choir replies:—

The two then join and bring their friendly contest to a close:—

This double number, which is very effective, is followed by a soprano recitative and romance (“Welcome, blest Season”), tender and yet joyous in character, which celebrates the delight of friendly reunions at Christmas tide, and the pleasure with which those long absent seek “the old familiar door.” In the next number, an old English carol (“A Blessing on this noble House and all who in it dwell”), Christmas is fairly introduced. It is sung first in unison by full chorus, then changes to harmony, in which one choir retains the melody, and closes with a new subject for orchestral treatment, the united choirs singing the carol. Christmas would not be complete without its story; and this [230] we have in the next number for contralto solo and chorus, entitled “A Christmas Tale.” It is preceded by recitative, written in the old English style, and each verse closes with a refrain, first sung as a solo, and then repeated in full harmony by the chorus:—

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A graceful little duet for female voices (“Little Children, all rejoice”), picturing the delights of childhood and its exemption from care, follows the Saxon story and leads up to the finale, which is choral throughout, and gives all the pleasant details of Christmas cheer,—the feast in the vaulted hall, the baron of beef, the boar with the lemon in his jaw, the pudding, “gem of all the feast,” the generous wassail, and the mistletoe bough with its warning to maids. In delightfully picturesque old English music the joyous scene comes to an end:—

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MACKENZIE.

Alexander C. Mackenzie, one of the very few successful Scotch composers, was born at Edinburgh, in 1847. His father was a musician, and recognizing his son’s talent, sent him to Germany at the age of ten. He began his studies with Ulrich Eduard Stein at Schwartzburg-Sondershausen, and four years later entered the ducal orchestra as violinist. He remained there until 1862, when he went to England to study the violin with M. Sainton. In the same year he was elected king’s scholar of the Royal Academy of Music. Three years later he returned to Edinburgh and established himself as a piano-teacher. The main work of his life, however, has been composition, and to this he has devoted himself with assiduity and remarkable success. Grove catalogues among his works: “Cervantes,” an overture for orchestra; a scherzo, for ditto; overture to a comedy; a string quintet, and many other pieces in MS.; piano-forte quartet in B., op. 11; Trois Morceaux pour Piano, op. 15; two songs, op. 12; besides songs, part-songs, anthems, and [233] pieces for the piano. This catalogue can now be increased by four of the most important works he has produced: a Scotch Rhapsody, introduced into this country by the Theodore Thomas orchestra; the oratorio “Rose of Sharon” (1884); an opera, “The Troubadour” (1885), and the cantata, “The Story of Sayid” (1886), which forms the subject of the subjoined sketch.

The Story of Sayid.

“The Story of Sayid,” a dramatic cantata in two parts, the libretto by Joseph Bennett, was first produced at the Leeds Triennial Festival, Oct. 13, 1886. Its story is founded upon that of a poem in Edwin Arnold’s “Pearls of the Faith,” and embodies a myth which is current among nearly all Oriental nations. The characters are Ilmas, daughter of Sâwa (soprano); Sayid, an Arab chief (tenor); Sâwa, a Hindoo prince (barytone); a watchman (tenor or barytone); and a horseman (barytone). The opening scene pictures the desolation of the land of Sâwa, caused by the invasion of an Arab band, led by their chieftain, Sayid. In the midst of the popular lamentations a messenger announces the defeat of the Arabs and the capture of their leader, who is brought to the city and sentenced to death on the spot. As Sayid prepares to meet his fate, he is recognized by Sâwa as his rescuer at a time when he was hunting in the hills and perishing [234] with thirst. He offers him any boon he may ask except that of life. Sayid entreats that he may be allowed to visit his aged father, promising to return afterwards and suffer his fate. When Sâwa asks who will be hostage for him, his own daughter, Ilmas, offers herself. Moved to pity for the Arab, she persists in her offer, and her father at last reluctantly consents. The second scene opens in Ilmas’s palace, and we discover that pity has grown into passion for Sayid during his absence. She is interrupted in her meditations by Sâwa, who enters with his counsellors, and announces that lightnings have flashed from the altars of Siva, and that the gods have demanded that the hostage must suffer in the absence of Sayid. Ilmas bids her attendants array her in bridal robes, and in the next scene appears in an open space near the city gate, surrounded by the court retinue and soldiers, and accompanied by her maidens, strewing flowers in her path. Ilmas is led to the centre of the space and kneels down, the executioner standing over her and awaiting the signal to be given by the watchman when the sun sets. Before that time comes the latter excitedly announces the rapid approach of an Arab horseman. While the crowd stand eagerly waiting his arrival, Sayid gallops through the gateway and presents himself to the Prince. He then turns to Ilmas, who warmly receives him, and affirms that whatever fate may overtake him she shall always cherish his memory. Sâwa relents, bids the Arab live and be his friend, and we infer the happiness [235] of the lovers from the invocation of “Love the Conqueror,” which brings the Damon and Pythias story, to a close.