Chapter XV: Part 15

The concerto, dedicated at first to Leopold Auer, but afterwards to Adolf Brodsky—and thereby hangs a tale—was performed for the first time at a Philharmonic concert, Vienna, December 4, 1881. Brodsky was the solo violinist. An interesting letter from him to Tchaikovsky after the first performance, is published in Modeste’s Life of his brother (Vol. II, p. 177): “I had the wish to play the concerto in public ever since I first looked it through. That was two years ago. I often took it up and often put it down, because my laziness was stronger than my wish to reach the goal. You have, indeed, crammed too many difficulties into it. I played it last year in Paris to Laroche, but so badly that he could gain no true idea of the work; nevertheless, he was pleased with it. That journey to Paris which turned out unluckily for me—I had to bear many rude things from Colonne and Pasdeloup—fired my energy (misfortune always does this to me, but when I am fortunate then am I weak) so that, back in Russia, I took up the concerto with burning zeal. It is wonderfully beautiful. One can play it again and again and never be bored; and this is a most important circumstance for the conquering of its difficulties. When I felt myself sure of it, I determined to try my luck in Vienna. Now I come to the point where I must say to you that you should not thank me: I should thank you; for it was only the wish to know the new concerto that induced Hans Richter and later the Philharmonic Orchestra to hear me play and grant my participation in one of these concerts. The concerto was not liked at the rehearsal of the new pieces, although I came out successfully on its shoulders. It would have been most unthankful on my part, had I not strained every nerve to pull my benefactor through behind me. Finally we were admitted to the Philharmonic concert. I had to be satisfied with one rehearsal, and much time was lost there in the correction of the parts, that swarmed with errors. The players determined to accompany everything _pianissimo_, not to go to smash; naturally, the work, which demands many nuances, even in the accompaniment, suffered thereby. Richter wished to make some cuts, but I did not allow it.”

The concerto came immediately after a _divertimento_ by Mozart. According to the account of the Viennese critics and of Brodsky there was a furious mixture of applause and hissing after the performance. The applause prevailed, and Brodsky was thrice recalled, which showed that the hissing was directed against the work, not the interpreter. Out of ten critics only two, and they were the least important, reviewed the concerto favorably. The review by Eduard Hanslick, who was born hating programme music and the Russian school, was extravagant in its bitterness, and caused Tchaikovsky long-continued distress, although Brodsky, Carl Halir, and other violinists soon made his concerto popular. Tchaikovsky wrote from Rome, December 27, 1881, to Jurgenson: “My dear, I saw lately in a café a number of the _Neue Freie Presse_ in which Hanslick speaks so curiously about my violin concerto that I beg you to read it. Besides other reproaches he censures Brodsky for having chosen it. If you know Brodsky’s address, please write to him that I am moved deeply by the courage shown by him in playing so difficult and ungrateful a piece before a most prejudiced audience. If Kotek, my best friend, were so cowardly and pusillanimous as to change his intention of acquainting the St. Petersburg public with this concerto, although it was his pressing duty to play it, for he is responsible in the matter of ease of execution of the piece; if Auer, to whom the work is dedicated, intrigued against me, so am I doubly thankful to dear Brodsky, in that for my sake he must stand the curses of the Viennese journals.”

The review of Hanslick is preserved in the volume of his collected _feuilletons_ entitled, _Concerte, Componisten, und Virtuosen der Letzten fünfzehn Jahre, 1870-1885_, pp. 295, 296 (Berlin, 1886). The criticism in its fierce extravagance now seems amusing. Here are extracts: “For a while the concerto has proportion, is musical, and is not without genius, but soon savagery gains the upper hand and lords it to the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played: it is yanked about, it is torn asunder, it is beaten black and blue. I do not know whether it is possible for anyone to conquer these hair-raising difficulties, but I do know that Mr. Brodsky martyrized his hearers as well as himself. The _adagio_, with its tender national melody, almost conciliates, almost wins us. But it breaks off abruptly to make way for a _finale_ that puts us in the midst of the brutal and wretched jollity of a Russian _kermess_. We see wild and vulgar faces, we hear curses, we smell bad brandy. Friedrich Vischer once asserted in reference to lascivious painting that there are pictures which ‘stink in the eye.’ Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto brings to us for the first time the horrid idea that there may be music that stinks in the ear.” Modeste Tchaikovsky tells us that this article disquieted Peter till he died; that he knew it by heart, as he did an adverse criticism written by César Cui in 1866.

The concerto was dedicated first to Leopold Auer. Tchaikovsky, in the Diary of his tour in 1888, wrote: “I do not know whether my dedication was flattering to Mr. Auer, but in spite of his genuine friendship he never tried to conquer the difficulties of this concerto. He pronounced it impossible to play, and this verdict, coming from such an authority as the St. Petersburg virtuoso, had the effect of casting this unfortunate child of my imagination for many years to come into the limbo of hopelessly forgotten things.” The composer about seven years before this wrote to Jurgenson from Rome (January 16, 1882) that Auer had been “intriguing against him.” Peter’s brother Modeste explains this by saying: “It had been reported to Peter that Auer had dissuaded Emile Sauret from playing the concerto in St. Petersburg;” but Modeste also adds that Auer changed his opinion many years later, and became one of the most brilliant interpreters of the concerto.

The following orchestration was used by Tchaikovsky in his last three
symphonies (with no percussion but timpani in the Fifth): piccolo, two
flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two
trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals,
triangle, and strings. In the _Romeo and Juliet_ overture, the English
horn and harp were added for color, and the bass drum (with the
customary kettledrums) sufficed for percussion. In the piano and
violin concertos there was the same scheme of orchestration (without
the additional percussion).—EDITOR.

RICHARD
WAGNER

(Born at Leipsic, May 22, 1813; died at Venice, February 13, 1883)

It is not easy for anyone who did not live through the period of the Wagnerian excitement to understand the fierceness of the controversy. The younger generation reads at its ease accounts of protests against compositions by Strauss, Reger, Schönberg; how this or that piece was hissed by some in a concert hall and applauded by others; it reads and is amused, but it regards the discussion as academic. The Wagner question, like the Beecher trial, like the Ibsen controversy in Norway, divided households.

The world has moved since 1876. Much water has flowed under the bridge. Wagner is still one of the most commanding figures in the temple, but it is no longer an act of irreverence to discuss him as Verdi, Gluck, Richard Strauss are discussed. It is now generally agreed that this towering genius was after all a mortal; that he was often verbose, that he could be dull in his musical speech, as other geniuses were before him.

The great public today cares nothing about Wagner’s philosophy, or the “metaphysics” of his _Ring_. Wotan, Mime, Siegfried, and the rest of them, heroic or shabby characters, are as Radames, Salome, Mélisande, Edgardo, Leonora, Manrico in the tower; they are persons in a drama who sing, and do not speak the dialogue. We have the heartiest admiration for the great scenes in the _Ring_, and yet find Wotan long-winded and tiresome in his reminiscences and narrations. Mime is like Artemus Ward’s kangaroo, “an amoozin’ little cuss.” Alberich with his gibbering and his jumping about is also amusing. The Dragon and the Bird do not excite our ridicule. We accept them and find their singing no more surprising than the vocal endurance of Tristan on his deathbed or the moving scenery in the first act of _Parsifal_. The dragon is a familiar figure in art, and we should not rub our eyes more than once if we should see one in the wilds of New Jersey. We enjoy seeing him in his proper place in _Siegfried_ and do not wish to be told what he represents or typifies.

Enemies of Wagner, esthetic enemies, used to reproach him for the “immorality” of his librettos. In _Tannhäuser_ there is the Venusberg. In _Die Walküre_ there is the incestuous and adulterous pair whose amorous shoutings shocked Arthur Schopenhauer. Reading the story of _Tristan_, these rigid moralists held the nose and called for civet. Fie on Kundry’s case!

We now hear little about the “immorality” of the music dramas. King Mark’s long harangue is more immoral than the rapturous duet of the lovers; the Landgrave is more immoral than Venus; for Mark and the Landgrave, by reason of their long-winded platitudes, make Virtue boresome and Respectability a monster.

And in the expression of certain emotions and passions, in the expression of amorous ecstasy and the mystery of death, Wagner reached a height of eloquence that has seldom been attained by makers of music. Hearing the announcement by Brünnhilde of Siegmund’s fate, the love song of Tristan and Isolde under the cloak of the conniving night, the rustle and murmur of Siegfried’s forest, we marvel at the genius of the man who first heard these things and had the ability to let the world hear them with him.

OVERTURE TO “RIENZI, THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES”

The overture to _Rienzi_ is at the best mere circus music. It is a good thing to hear it once in a while, for it shows that Wagner, on occasion, could be more vulgar than Meyerbeer, whom he so cordially disliked.

* * *

Wagner left Königsberg in the early summer of 1837 to visit Dresden, and there he read Bärmann’s translation into German of Bulwer’s _Rienzi_. And thus was revived his long-cherished idea of making the last of the Tribunes the hero of a grand opera. “My impatience with a degrading plight now amounted to a passionate craving to begin something grand and elevating, no matter if it involved the temporary abandonment of any practical goal. This mood was fed and strengthened by a reading of Bulwer’s _Rienzi_. From the misery of modern private life, whence I could nohow glean the scantiest material for artistic treatment, I was wafted by the image of a great historico-political event in the enjoyment whereof I needs must find a distraction lifting me above cares and conditions that to me appeared nothing less than absolutely fatal to art.” The overture to _Rienzi_ was completed October 23, 1840. The opera was produced at the Royal Saxon Court Theater, Dresden, October 20, 1842.

The overture is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, serpent (third bassoon), two valve horns, two plain horns, two valve trumpets, two plain trumpets, three trombones, one ophicleide, kettledrums, two snare drums, bass drum, triangle, cymbals, and strings. The serpent mentioned in the score is replaced by the double bassoon, and the ophicleide by the bass tuba.

All the themes of the overture are taken from the opera itself. The overture begins with a slow introduction, _molto sostenuto e maestoso_, D major, 4-4. It opens with “a long-sustained, swelled and diminished A on the trumpet,” in the opera, the agreed signal for the uprising of the people to throw off the tyrannical yoke of the nobles. The majestic _cantilena_ of the violins and the violoncellos is the theme of Rienzi’s prayer in the fifth act. The last prolonged A leads to the main body of the overture. This begins _allegro energico_, D major, 2-2, in the full orchestra on the first theme, that of the chorus, “_Gegrüsst sei hoher Tag!_” at the beginning of the first _finale_ of the opera. The first subsidiary theme enters in the brass, and it is the theme of the battle hymn (“Santo spirito cavaliere”) of the revolutionary faction in the third act. A transitional passage in the violoncellos leads to the entrance of the second theme—Rienzi’s prayer, already heard in the introduction of the overture—which is now given, _allegro_, in A major, to the violins. The “Santo spirito cavaliere” theme returns in the brass, and leads to another and joyful theme, that of the _stretto_ of the second _finale_, “Rienzi, dir sei Preis,” which is developed with increasing force. In the _coda, molto più stretto_, the “Santo spirito cavaliere” is developed in a most robust manner.

OVERTURE TO “DER FLIEGENDE HOLLÄNDER” (“THE FLYING DUTCHMAN”)

The overture to _The Flying Dutchman_ gives the condensed and essential drama. We are relieved of the avaricious father who is delighted at the thought of handing his daughter to the mysterious stranger; nor does one have to hear the bleatings of the saphead lover. No wonder Senta preferred the Dutchman.

Wagner’s overture is a stormy seascape. The Dutchman knew no calm seas. The music that typifies him is one of Wagner’s happiest inventions. Poor Vanderdecken sings nothing so compelling, not even in his monologue. One hears enough of Senta’s ballad in the overture; one is not tempted to laugh at the operatic spinning wheels that stick when they should revolve; one does not find Wagner trying to write with Italian melodiousness.

* * *

The overture was sketched at Meudon near Paris in September, 1841, and completed and scored at Paris in November of that year. In 1852, Wagner changed the ending. In 1860 he wrote another ending for the Paris concerts.

It opens _allegro con brio_ in D minor, 6-4, with an empty fifth, against which horns and bassoons give out the “Flying Dutchman” motive. There is a stormy development, through which this motive is kept sounding in the brass. There is a hint at the first theme of the main body of the overture, an _arpeggio_ figure in the strings, taken from the accompaniment of one of the movements in the Dutchman’s first air in Act I. The storm section over, there is an episodic _andante_ in F major in which wind instruments give out phrases from Senta’s ballad of the Flying Dutchman (Act II). The episode leads directly to the main body of the overture, _allegro con brio_ in D minor, 6-4, which begins with the first theme. This theme is developed at great length with chromatic passages taken from Senta’s ballad. The “Flying Dutchman” theme comes in episodically in the brass from time to time. The subsidiary theme in F major is taken from the sailors’ chorus, “Steuermann, lass’ die Wacht!” (Act III). The second theme, the phrase from Senta’s ballad already heard in the _andante_ episode, enters _fortissimo_ in the full orchestra, F major, and is worked up brilliantly with fragments of the first theme. The “Flying Dutchman” motive reappears _fortissimo_ in the trombones. The _coda_ begins in D major, 2-2. A few rising _arpeggio_ measures in the violins lead to the second theme, proclaimed with the full force of the orchestra. The theme is now in the shape found in the _allegro_ peroration of Senta’s ballad. It is worked up energetically.

The overture is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, four horns, two bassoons, two trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, harp, strings.

OVERTURE TO TANNHÄUSER

_Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg_, Romantic Opera in three acts, book and music by Wagner, was produced at the Royal Opera House in Dresden, under the direction of the composer, on October 19, 1845.

The overture was written in Dresden, probably in March-April, 1845. The first performance of it as a concert piece was at a concert at Leipsic for the benefit of the Gewandhaus Orchestra Pension Fund, February 12, 1846. Mendelssohn conducted it from manuscript.

Wagner’s own programme of the overture was published in the _Neue Zeitschrift_ of January 14, 1853. It was written at the request of orchestral players who were rehearsing the overture for performance at Zurich. The translation into English is by William Ashton Ellis.

“To begin with, the orchestra leads before us the Pilgrims’ Chant alone; it draws near, then swells into a mighty outpour, and passes finally away.—Evenfall; last echo of the chant. As night breaks, magic sights and sounds appear, a rosy mist floats up, exultant shouts assail our ears, the whirlings of a fearsomely voluptuous dance are seen. These are the Venusberg’s seductive spells, that show themselves at dead of night to those whose breast is fired by daring of the senses. Attracted by the tempting show, a shapely human form draws nigh; ’tis Tannhäuser, Love’s minstrel.... Venus, herself, appears to him.... As the Pilgrims’ Chant draws closer, yet closer, as the day drives farther back the night, that whir and soughing of the air—which had erewhile sounded like the eerie cries of souls condemned—now rises, too, to ever gladder waves; so that when the sun ascends at last in splendor, and the Pilgrims’ Chant proclaims in ecstasy to all the world, to all that lives and moves thereon, Salvation won, this wave itself swells out the tidings of sublimest joy. ’Tis the carol of the Venusberg itself, redeemed from curse of impiousness, this cry we hear amid the hymn of God. So wells and leaps each pulse of Life in chorus of Redemption; and both dissevered elements, both soul and senses, God and Nature, unite in the atoning kiss of hallowed Love.”

The overture is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, cymbals, triangle, tambourine, and strings.

PRELUDE TO “LOHENGRIN”

We remember how at one of Theodore Thomas’s concerts at Central Park Garden in New York—it was in the ’seventies—when this prelude was played we heard strong hissing from many who would not have “the music of the future.” And so today there are “lovers of music” who cannot endure the music of the present and swear it cannot be the music of future, for they have ears but they do not and will not hear.

“Ephraim is joined to idols; let him alone.”

* * *

_Lohengrin_, an opera in three acts, was performed for the first time at the Court Theater, Weimar, August 28, 1850. Liszt conducted.

Liszt described the prelude as “a sort of magic formula which, like a mysterious initiation, prepares our souls for the sight of unaccustomed things, and of a higher signification than that of our terrestrial life.”

Wagner’s own explanation has been translated into English as follows:

“Love seemed to have vanished from a world of hatred and quarreling; as a lawgiver she was no longer to be found among the communities of men. Emancipating itself from barren care for gain and possession, the sole arbiter of all worldly intercourse, the human heart’s unquenchable love-longing again at length craved to appease a want, which, the more warmly and intensely it made itself felt under the pressure of reality, was the less easy to satisfy, on account of this very reality. It was beyond the confines of the actual world that man’s ecstatic imaginative power fixed the source as well as the outflow of this incomprehensible impulse of love, and from the desire of a comforting sensuous conception of this supersensuous idea invested it with a wonderful form, which, under the name of the ‘Holy Grail,’ though conceived as actually existing, yet unapproachably far off, was believed in, longed for, and sought for. The Holy Grail was the costly vessel out of which, at the Last Supper, our Saviour drank with His disciples, and in which His blood was received when out of love for His brethren He suffered upon a cross, and which till this day has been preserved with lively zeal as the source of undying love; albeit, at one time this cup of salvation was taken away from unworthy mankind, but at length was brought back again from the heights of heaven by a band of angels, and delivered into the keeping of fervently loving, solitary men, who, wondrously strengthened and blessed by its presence, and purified in heart, were consecrated as the earthly champions of eternal love.

“This miraculous delivery of the Holy Grail, escorted by an angelic host, and the handing of it over into the custody of highly favored men, was selected by the author of _Lohengrin_, a knight of the Grail, for the introduction of his drama, as the subject to be musically portrayed; just as here, for the sake of explanation, he may be allowed to bring it forward as an object for the mental receptive power of his hearers.

“The prelude is scored for three flutes, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, cymbals, and strings.”

PRELUDE AND LIEBESTOD FROM “TRISTAN UND ISOLDE”

The subject of _Tristan und Isolde_ was first mentioned by Wagner in a letter to Liszt in the latter part of 1854; the poem was written at Zürich in the summer of 1857, and finished in September of that year. The composition of the first act was completed at Zürich, December 31, 1857 (some say, but only in the sketch); the second act was completed at Venice in March, 1859; the third act at Lucerne in August, 1859.

Wagner himself frequently conducted the prelude and Love-Death, arranged by him for orchestra alone, in the concerts given by him in 1863. At those given in Carlsruhe and Löwenberg the programme characterized the prelude as _Liebestod_ and the latter section, now known as _Liebestod_, as _Verklärung_ (Transfiguration).

The prelude, _langsam und schmachtend_ (slow and languishingly), in A minor, 6-8, is a gradual and long-continued _crescendo_ to a most sonorous _fortissimo_; a shorter _decrescendo_ leads back to _pianissimo_. It is free in form and of continuous development. There are two chief themes: the first phrase, sung by violoncellos, is combined in the third measure with a phrase ascending chromatically and given to the oboes.

These phrases form a theme known as the “Love Potion” motive, or the motive of “Longing”; for passionate commentators are not yet agreed about the terminology. The second theme, again sung by the violoncellos, a voluptuous theme, is entitled “Tristan’s Love Glance.”

The prelude is scored for three flutes (and piccolo), two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, harp, and the usual strings.

Wagner wrote this explanatory programme:

“A primitive old love poem, which, far from having become extinct, is constantly fashioning itself anew, and has been adopted by every European language of the Middle Ages, tells us of Tristan and Isolde. Tristan, the faithful vassal, woos for his king her for whom he dares not avow his own love, Isolde. Isolde, powerless to do otherwise than obey the wooer, follows him as bride to his lord. Jealous of this infringement of her rights, the Goddess of Love takes her revenge. As the result of a happy mistake, she allows the couple to taste of the love potion which, in accordance with the custom of the times, and by way of precaution, the mother had prepared for the husband who should marry her daughter from political motives, and which, by the burning desire which suddenly inflames them after tasting it, opens their eyes to the truth and leads to the avowal that for the future they belong only to each other. Henceforth, there is no end to the longings, the demands, the joys and woes of love. The world, power, fame, splendor, honor, knighthood, fidelity, friendship, all are dissipated like an empty dream. One thing only remains: longing, longing, insatiable longing, forever springing up anew, pining and thirsting. Death, which means passing away, perishing, never awakening, their only deliverance.... Powerless, the heart sinks back to languish in longing, in longing without attaining; for each attainment only begets new longing, until in the last stage of weariness the foreboding of the highest joy of dying, of no longer existing, of the last escape into that wonderful kingdom from which we are furthest off when we are most strenuously striving to enter therein. Shall we call it death? Or is it the hidden wonder-world from out of which an ivy and vine, entwined with each other, grew up upon Tristan’s and Isolde’s grave, as the legend tells us?”

PRELUDE TO “DIE MEISTERSINGER VON NÜRNBERG”

The idea of the opera occurred to Wagner at Marienbad in 1845. He then sketched a scenario which differed widely from the one finally adopted. It is possible that certain scenes were written while he was at work on _Lohengrin_; there is a legend that the quintet was finished in 1845. Some add to this quintet the songs of Sachs and Walther. Wagner wrote to a friend on March 12, 1862: “Tomorrow I hope at least to begin the composition of _Die Meistersinger_”—the libretto was completed at Paris in 1861. He worked at Biebrich on the Rhine in 1862 on the music. The prelude was sketched in February of that year. The instrumentation was completed in the following June.

He wrote to his friend Dr. Anton Pusinelli from Penzing near Vienna on March 14, 1864: “I have tried with the greatest care to ensure myself the proper leisure for completing the _Meistersinger_ by next winter. Unfortunately, everything has been very difficult for me because my continual indisposition and my sad frame of mind have kept company with my other trials, so as to make it more difficult for me to have any desire for work.” He wrote again to Pusinelli in a long letter about his “poor wife” Minna, questioning whether he should return to her: “Under favorable conditions I finally _can_ complete my _Meistersinger_. Very probably this work will quickly become popular, and it _can_ bring in good returns for me. But one can’t _count_ on this, and my life from month to month must not depend on such possibilities; for if I have no ‘good inspirations,’ then I have nothing to write down, and with continual worries I no longer have very good inspirations now.”

At Lucerne on May 10, 1866, he wrote that he had won for a little time the quiet for creating “a great and joyful work. Wish me this success and—perhaps I dare to say it—wish it to the world!” He had already completed Act I and was progressing well with Act II, which was finished in December.

In 1868 he wrote from Lucerne: “In Dresden I had in mind an attempt to procure some guarantee for the _Meistersinger_ against abominable incompetence of the _Kapellmeisters_ there, and with what a nice reception was I met there!” The principal _Kapellmeister_ was Julius Rietz, who was hostile to Wagner, as he had been at Leipsic.

The prelude is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals, harp, and the usual strings.

Wagner in his Autobiography tells how the idea of _Die Meistersinger_ formed itself; how he began to elaborate it in the hope that it might free him from the thrall of the idea of _Lohengrin_; but he was impelled to go back to the latter opera. The melody for the fragment of Sachs’ poem on the Reformation occurred to him while going through the galleries of the Palais Royal on his way to the Taverne Anglaise. “There I found Truinet already waiting for me and asked him to give me a scrap of paper and a pencil to jot down my melody, which I quietly hummed over to him at the time.” “As from the balcony of my flat, in a sunset of great splendor, I gazed upon the magnificent spectacle of ‘Golden’ Mayence, with the majestic Rhine pouring along its outskirts in a glory of light, the prelude to my _Meistersinger_ again suddenly made its presence closely and distinctly felt in my soul. Once before had I seen it rise before me out of a lake of sorrow, like some distant mirage. I proceeded to write down the prelude exactly as it appears today in the score, that is, containing the clear outlines of the leading themes of the whole drama.”

Wagner conducted the two overtures. The hall was nearly empty; there was a pecuniary loss. This was a sore disappointment to Wagner, who had written to Weissheimer on October 12, 1862: “Good: _Tannhäuser_ overture, then. That’s all right for me. For what I now have in mind is to make an out-and-out sensation, so as to make money.” He had proposed to add the prelude and _finale_ of _Tristan_ to the Prelude to “_Die Meistersinger_”; but his friends in Leipsic advised the substitution of the overture to _Tannhäuser_. There was not the faintest applause when Wagner came on the platform; but the prelude to _Die Meistersinger_ was received with such favor that it was immediately played a second time.

One critic wrote of the _Meistersinger_ prelude, “The overture, a long movement in moderate march tempo, with predominating brass, without any chief thoughts and without noticeable and recurring points of rest, went along and soon awakened a feeling of monotony.” The critic of the _Mitteldeutsche Volkzeitung_ wrote in terms of enthusiasm. The _Signal’s_ critic was bitter in opposition. He wrote at length and finally characterized the prelude as “chaos,” a “tohu-wabohu and nothing more.”

A SIEGFRIED IDYL

Cosima Liszt, daughter of Franz Liszt and the Countess d’Agoult, was born at Bellagio, Italy, on Christmas Day, 1837. She was married to Hans von Bülow at Berlin, August 18, 1857. They were divorced in the fall of 1869.

Richard Wagner married Minna Planer on November 24, 1836, at Königsberg. They separated in August, 1861. She died at Dresden, January 25, 1866.

Wagner and Cosima were married at Lucerne, August 25, 1870. Their son, Siegfried Wagner, was born at Triebschen, near Lucerne, on June 6, 1869.

In a letter to Frau Wille, June 25, 1870, Wagner wrote of Cosima: “She has defied every disapprobation and taken upon herself every condemnation. She has borne to me a wonderfully beautiful boy, whom I can boldly call ‘Siegfried’; he is now growing, together with my work; he gives me a new long life, which at last has attained a meaning. Thus we get along without the world, from which we have wholly withdrawn.”

The _Siegfried Idyl_ was a birthday gift to Cosima. It was composed in November, 1870, at Triebschen. Hans Richter received the manuscript score on December 4, 1870. Wagner gave a fine copy of it to Cosima. Musicians of Zürich were engaged for the performance. The first rehearsal was on December 21, 1870, in the foyer of Zürich’s old theater. The Wesendocks were present. Wagner conducted a rehearsal at the Hôtel du Lac, Lucerne, on December 24. Christmas fell on a Sunday. Early in the morning the musicians assembled at Wagner’s villa in Triebschen. In order to surprise Cosima, the desks were put on the stairs and the tuning was in the kitchen. The orchestra took its place on the stairs, Wagner, who conducted, at the top; then the violins, violas, wood-wind instruments, horns, and at the bottom the violoncello and the double bass. Wagner could not see the violoncello and the double bass; but the performance, according to Richter, was faultless. The orchestra was thus composed: two first violins, two second violins, two violas (one played by Richter, who also played the few measures for a trumpet), one violoncello, one double bass, one flute, one oboe, two clarinets, one bassoon, two horns. Richter, in order not to excite Cosima’s suspicions, practised for some days the trumpet part in the empty barracks. “These daily excursions and several trips to Zürich awakened the attention of Mme Wagner, who thought I was not so industrious as formerly.” The performance began at 7.30 A. M. The _Idyl_ was repeated several times in the course of the day, and in the afternoon Beethoven’s Sextet was performed without the variations.

The _Idyl_ was performed at Mannheim on December 20, 1871, in private and under Wagner’s direction. There was a performance on March 10, 1877, in the Ducal Palace at Meiningen. Wagner conducted. The score and parts were published in February, 1878. The first performance after publication was at a Bilse concert in Berlin toward the end of February, 1878. The music drama _Siegfried_ was then so little known that a Berlin critic said the _Idyl_ was taken from the second act. And Mr. Henry Knight, a passionate Wagnerite, wrote verses in 1889 in which he showed a similar confusion in mental operation.

This composition first bore the title _Triebschener Idyll_. The score calls for flute, oboe, two clarinets, bassoon, trumpet, two horns, and strings.

Siegfried was born while Wagner was at work on his music drama _Siegfried_. The themes in the _Idyl_ were taken from this music drama, all save one: a folk-song, “Schlaf’, mein Kind, schlaf’ein”; but the development of the themes was new.

“THE RIDE OF THE VALKYRIES,” FROM “DIE WALKÜRE”

After an instrumental introduction to Act III of _The Valkyrie_, the curtain rises.

“On the summit of a rocky mountain. On the right a pine wood encloses the stage. On the left is the entrance to a cave; above this the rock rises to its highest point. At the back the view is entirely open; rocks of various heights form a parapet to the precipice. Occasionally clouds fly past the mountain peak as if driven by storm. Gerhilde, Ortlinde, Waltraute, and Schwertleite have ensconced themselves on the rocky peak above the cave; they are in full armor.

“Flashes of lightning break through the clouds, and from time to time a Valkyrie is seen on horseback with a slain warrior hanging from the saddle. We quote John F. Runciman’s description of the Valkyries’ Ride:[51]

“The drama here is of the most poignant kind; the scenic surroundings are of the sort Wagner so greatly loved—tempest amidst black pine woods with wild, flying clouds, the dying down of the storm, the saffron evening light melting into shadowy night, the calm, deep blue sky with the stars peeping out, then the bright flames shooting up; and the two elements, the dramatic and the pictorial, drew out of him some pages as splendid as any even he ever wrote. The opening, ‘The Ride of the Valkyries,’ is a piece of storm music without a parallel. There is no need here for Donner with his hammer; the All-Father himself is abroad in wrath and majesty, and his daughters laugh and rejoice in the riot. There is nothing uncanny in the music: we have that delight in the sheer force of the elements which we inherit from our earliest ancestors: the joy of nature fiercely at work which is echoed in our hearts from time immemorial. The shrilling of the wind, the hubbub, the calls of the Valkyries to one another, the galloping of the horses, form a picture which for splendor, wild energy, and wilder beauty can never be matched.

“Technically, this Ride is a miracle built up of conventional figurations of the older music. There is the continuous shake, handed on from instrument to instrument, the slashing figure of the upper strings, the kind of _basso ostinato_, conventionally indicating the galloping of horses, and the chief melody, a mere bugle call, altered by a change of rhythm into a thing of superb strength. The only part of the music that ever so remotely suggests extravagance is the Valkyries’ call; and it, after all, is only a jodel put to sublime uses. Out of these commonplace elements, elements that one might almost call prosaic, Wagner wrought his picture of storm, with its terror, power, joyous laughter of the storm’s daughters—storm as it must have seemed to the first poets of our race....

“It is worth looking at the plan of this Ride—which is, be it remembered, only the prelude to the gigantic drama which is to follow. After the _ritornello_ the main theme is announced, with a long break between the first and second strains; and again a break before it is continued. Then it sounds out all its glory, terse, closely gripped section to section, until the Valkyries’ call is heard; purely pictorial passages follow; the theme is played with, even as Mozart and Beethoven played with their themes, and at the last the whole force of the orchestra is employed, and Wagner’s object is attained—he has given us a picture of storm such as was never done before, and he has done what was necessary for the subsequent drama—made us feel the tremendous might of the god of storms.”

The arrangement for concert use calls for these instruments: two piccolos, two flutes, three oboes, English horn, three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, eight horns, three trumpets, four trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, side drum, cymbals, triangle, and the usual strings.

PRELUDE TO “PARSIFAL”

Wagner, with his theatrical sense, was right: this music is not so impressive when it is performed, no matter how well, outside of the Bayreuth theater consecrated to the music dramas. We heard _Parsifal_ the year it was produced at Bayreuth. No performance of the prelude has since awakened the same emotions. There was the silence of deep devotion; the presence of the worshipers, fanatics in the great majority; the expectation of marvelous scenes to come as the wailing first phrase rose from the unseen orchestra. Put this prelude in the conventional opera house, or in the concert hall, and it cannot be ranked with Wagner’s greatest works.

* * *

The prelude to _Parsifal_ was composed at Bayreuth in September, 1877. The first performance was a private one in the hall of the Villa Wahnfried at Bayreuth, on December 25, 1878, to celebrate the birthday of Cosima Wagner. The prelude was performed as a morning serenade by the Meiningen Court Orchestra, led by Wagner. The performance was repeated the evening of the same day, when guests were invited.

The score and orchestral parts were published in October, 1882. _Parsifal_, “a stage-consecration-festival play” in three acts, book and music by Richard Wagner, was first performed at Bayreuth for the patrons, July 26, 1882. The first public performance was on July 30, 1882. Hermann Levi conducted.

Wagner’s version of the story of Percival, or, as he prefers, Parsifal, is familiar to all. There is no need in a description of the prelude to this music drama of telling the simple tale or pondering its symbolism. The ethical idea of the drama is that enlightenment coming through conscious pity brings salvation. The clearest and the sanest exposition of the prelude is that included by Maurice Kufferath in his elaborate essay, _Parsifal_ (Paris: Fischbacher, 1890). We give portions of this exposition in a greatly condensed form:

Without preparation the prelude opens with a broad melodic phrase, which is sung later in the great religious scene of the first act, during the mystic feast, the Lord’s Supper.

The phrase is sung, at first without accompaniment, in unison by violins, violoncello, English horn, clarinet, bassoon, _sehr langsam_ (_lento assai_), A flat major, 4-4. This motive is repeated by trumpet, oboes, and half the first and second violins in unison against rising and falling _arpeggios_ in the violas and remaining violins, repeated chords for flutes, clarinets, and English horn, and sustained harmonies in bassoons and horns. This theme is known as the motive of the “Last Supper.” The second phrase of the motive is given out and repeated as before.

Without any other transition than a series of broken chords, the trombones and the trumpets give out the second theme, the “Grail” motive, because it serves throughout the music drama to characterize the worship of the holy relic. It is a very short theme, which afterwards will enter constantly, sometimes alone, sometimes in company with other themes, often modified in rhythm, but preserving always its characteristic harmonies. As William J. Henderson says: “The second theme of the prelude is that of the Grail itself, which is here presented to us in a different musical aspect from that of the _Lohengrin_ score. There the Grail was celebrated as a potency by which the world was aided, while here it is brought before us as the visible embodiment of a faith, the memento of a crucified Saviour.”[52] This theme is not original with Wagner. The ascending progression of sixths, which forms the conclusion of the theme, is found in the Saxon liturgy and is in use today in the “Court” Church at Dresden. Mendelssohn employed it in the _Reformation_ symphony; therefore, zealous admirers of Mendelssohn have accused Wagner of plagiarism. The two masters, who knew Dresden well, probably were struck by the harmonic structure of this conclusion, and they used it, each in his own way. Anyone has a personal right to this simple formula. The true inventor of the “Amen” is unknown; the formula has been attributed to Silvani. Its harmonic nature would indicate that it belongs to the seventeenth century, but there are analogous progressions in Palestrina’s Masses. The “Grail” motive is repeated twice.

Then, and again without transition, but with a change of tempo to 6-4, comes the third motive, that of “Belief.” The brass first proclaims it.

The strings take up the “Grail” theme. The “Belief” motive reappears four times in succession, in different tonalities.

A roll of drums on A flat is accompanied by a tremolo of double basses, giving the contra F. The first motive, the “Lord’s Supper,” enters first (wood-wind, afterwards in the violoncellos). This time the motive is not completed. Wagner stops at the third measure and takes a new subject, which is repeated several times with increasing expression of sorrow. There is, then, a fourth theme derived from the “Lord’s Supper” motive. The first two measures, which are found in simpler form and without the appoggiatura in the “Supper” theme, will serve hereafter to characterize more particularly the “Holy Lance” that pierced the side of Christ and also caused the wound of Amfortas, the lance that drew the sacred blood which was turned into the communion wine; the lance that fell into the hands of Klingsor, the Magician.

At the moment when this fourth theme, which suggests the sufferings of Christ and Amfortas, bursts forth from the whole orchestra, the Prelude has its climax. This prelude, like unto that of _Lohengrin_, is developed by successive degrees until it reaches a maximum of expression, and there is a _diminuendo_ to _pianissimo_.

Thus the synthesis of the whole drama has been clearly exposed. That which remains is only a peroration, a logical, necessary conclusion, brought about by the ideas expressed by the different themes. It is by the sight of suffering that Parsifal learns pity and saves Amfortas. It is the motive of the “Lord’s Supper” that signifies both devotion and sacrifice; that is to say Love, and Love is the conclusion. The last chords of the expiring lament lead back gently to the first two measures of the “Lord’s Supper” motive, which, repeated from octave to octave on a pedal (E flat), end in a series of ascending chords, a prayer, or a supplication. Is there hope? The drama gives the answer to this question full of anguish.

The prelude is scored for three flutes, three oboes, English horn, three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, and strings.

“GOOD FRIDAY SPELL,” FROM “PARSIFAL”

When Parsifal turns slowly towards the meadow, a hymn of tender thanksgiving arises from the orchestra. The melody is played by flute and oboe, which muted strings sustain. In the development of this theme occur several figures—“Kundry’s Sigh,” the “Holy Supper,” the “Spear,” the “Grail” harmonies, the “Complaint of the Flower Girls,” which are all finally absorbed in the “Good Friday” melody. This pastoral is suddenly interrupted by the sound of distant bells, sounding mournfully from afar.

Gurnemanz and Kundry robe Parsifal. They set out for Montsalvat.

When Gurnemanz blesses Parsifal and salutes him king, horns, trumpets, and trombones play the “Parsifal” motive, which is developed imposingly and ends with the “Grail” theme, intoned by the whole orchestra _fortissimo_. A series of chords leads to the motives of “Baptism” and “Faith.”

CARL MARIA
VON WEBER

(Born at Eutin, Oldenburg, December 18, 1786; died at London, June 5,
1826)

Mr. William Apthorp frequently spoke of the “Weberian flourish,” of the chivalric spirit shown, not only in Weber’s overtures to _Euryanthe_ and _Oberon_, but in much of his music for the piano. Weber’s operas are wholly unknown as stage works to the younger generation. _Oberon_ is a dull opera, with some beautiful music. _Euryanthe_, too, is dull, dull beyond redemption, although at Dresden years ago we saw a most carefully prepared performance, for the cult of Weber in that city was then firmly established, and nowhere else was Der Freischütz so admirably performed. Yet Weber was a mighty man in his day, influencing composers of other countries than his own, praised to the skies by Berlioz and Wagner. The latter had good reason for his enthusiasm; the influence of _Euryanthe_ is observed in his early operas. Weber was a romanticist of the E. T. A. Hoffmann order. The music for the scene of the Wolf’s Glen in _Der Freischütz_ is in no need of fireworks and ghostly apparitions for its terrifying effects. There is charming fairy music in _Oberon_. Then there is the mysterious _largo_ in the _Euryanthe_ overture. The grand arias, the set pieces for a soprano, with the final _allegro_ section better suited to an orchestral instrument than the human voice, are now singularly out of fashion, but what could be better as music for a particular text than that for the opening scenes of _Der Freischütz_? The three overtures will long preserve the composer’s name.

OVERTURE TO THE OPERA “OBERON”

_Oberon; or, the Elf-King’s Oath_, a romantic opera in three acts, book by James Robinson Planché, who founded it on Villeneuve’s story “Huon de Bordeaux” and Sotheby’s English translation of Wieland’s German poem, “Oberon,” was first performed at Covent Garden, London, on April 12, 1826. Weber conducted. The first performance in New York was at the Park Theatre on October 9, 1828.

Weber was asked by Charles Kemble in 1824 to write an opera for the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. Weber chose “Oberon” for the subject. Planché was selected to furnish the libretto. In a letter to him, Weber wrote that the fashion of it was foreign to his ideas: “The intermixing of so many principal actors who do not sing—the omission of the music in the most important moments—all these things deprive our _Oberon_ of the title of an opera, and will make him [_sic_] unfit for all other theaters in Europe, which is a very bad thing for me, but—_passons là-dessous_.”

Weber, a sick and discouraged man, buckled himself to the task of learning English, that he might know the exact meaning of the text. He therefore took one hundred and fifty-three lessons of an Englishman named Carey and studied diligently, anxiously. Planché sent the libretto to Dresden an act at a time. Weber made his first sketch on January 23, 1825. The autograph score contains this note at the end of the overture: “Finished April 9, 1826, in the morning, at a quarter of twelve, and with it the whole opera. _Soli Deo Gloria!!!_ C. M. V. Weber.” This entry was made at London. Weber received for the opera £500. He was so feeble that he could scarcely stand without support, but he rehearsed and directed the performance seated at the piano. He died of consumption about two months after the production.

Planché gives a lively account of the genesis and production of _Oberon_. He describes the London public as unmusical. “A dramatic situation in music was ‘caviare to the general,’ and inevitably received with cries of ‘Cut it short!’ from the gallery, and obstinate coughing or other significant signs of impatience from the pit. Nothing but the ‘Huntsmen’s Chorus’ and the _diablerie_ in _Der Freischütz_ saved that fine work from immediate condemnation in England; and I remember perfectly well the exquisite melodies in it being compared by English musical critics to ‘wind through a keyhole.’ ... None of our actors could sing, and but one singer could act, Madame Vestris, who made a charming Fatima.... My great object was to land Weber safe amidst an unmusical public, and I therefore wrote a melodrama with songs, instead of an opera such as would be required at the present day.”

The first performance in Germany of _Oberon_ was at Leipsic, December 23, 1826.

The overture begins with an introduction (_adagio sostenuto ed il tutto pianissimo possibile_, D major, 4-4). The horn of Oberon is answered by muted strings. The figure for flutes and clarinets is taken from the first scene of the opera (Oberon’s palace; introduction and chorus of elfs). After a _pianissimo_ little march, there is a short dreamy passage for strings, which ends in the violas. There is a full orchestral crashing chord, and the main body of the overture begins (_allegro con fuoco_ in D major, 4-4). The brilliant opening measures are taken from the accompaniment figure of the quartet, “Over the Dark Blue Waters,” sung by Rezia, Fatima, Huon, Scherasmin (Act II, Scene x). The horn of Oberon is heard again; it is answered by the skipping fairy figure. The second theme (A major, sung first by the clarinet, then by the first violins) is taken from the first measures of the second part of Huon’s air (Act I, No. 5). And then a theme is taken from the peroration, _presto con fuoco_, of Rezia’s air “Ocean! Thou mighty monster” (Act II, No. 13), and given as a conclusion to the violins. This theme ends the first part of the overture. The free fantasia begins with soft repeated chords in bassoons, horns, drums, basses. The first theme is worked out in short periods; a new theme is introduced and treated in _fugato_ against a running contrapuntal counter theme in the strings. The second theme is treated, but not elaborately; and then the Rezia motive brings the spirited end.

OVERTURE TO THE OPERA “DER FREISCHÜTZ”

What would conductors do without these three overtures of Weber? They are to them in time of perplexity what _Cavalleria Rusticana_ and _Pagliacci_ are to opera managers. And yet, in spite of countless performances, the overture to _Der Freischütz_ is not stale. The part song for the horns still charms the ear, although it is now associated with “when the sun glorious” and other sacred words for service in the meeting house. The Samiel motive is still dramatically sinister and brings back memories of the red-cloaked fiend as we have seen him on the German stage. And the clarinet theme, typical of Max, is still worthy of the famous praise of Berlioz. When there is talk of this overture there is frequently a reference to an article about it written by Douglas Jerrold. Was this article ever republished in an edition of Jerrold’s works? Has anyone now living ever read it?

* * *

_Der Freischütz_, a romantic opera in three acts, book by Friedrich Kind, music by Weber, was performed at Berlin, June 18, 1821. Weber wrote in his diary that the opera was received with “incredible enthusiasm; Overture and Folksong were encored; fourteen out of seventeen music pieces were stormily applauded. Everything went exceedingly well, and was sung _con amore_. I was called before the curtain and took Mad. [_sic_] Seidler and Mlle. [_sic_] Eunike with me as I could not get hold of the others. Verses and wreaths came flying. ‘_Soli Deo Gloria_.’” Some of these verses were malicious, and reflected on Spontini, much to Weber’s distress.

Weber began work on the overture on February 22, 1820. On May 13 he noted in his diary: “Overture of _Die Jägersbraut_ finished, and with it the whole opera. God be praised, and to Him alone be the glory” (_Die Jägersbraut_ was the original title of the opera; it was kept until into the year 1820, when Weber changed it to _Der Freischütz_ at the advice of Count Bruhl, Intendant of the Berlin Court theaters). Weber heard the music for the first time at a rehearsal of the Dresden Orchestra, June 10, 1820. This was the first music of the opera that he heard.