Chapter IV: Preface (4)

Frederick Corder, the English composer and conductor, was born at Hackney, London, Jan. 26, 1852. He was a student at the Royal Academy of Music in 1874, and in the following year gained the Mendelssohn scholarship. From 1875 to 1878 he studied at Cologne with Hiller, and in 1879 returned to London, where he engaged for a time in literary pursuits. His abilities as a writer are very clearly shown in the librettos to his works. In 1880 he was appointed conductor of the orchestra at the Brighton Aquarium, and since that time he has devoted himself to teaching and composition. His principal works are "In the Black Forest," an orchestral suite, and "Evening on the Seashore," idyl for orchestra (1876); the opera "Morte d'Arthur" (1877); the one-act opera "Philomel" (1879); cantata, "The Cyclops" (1880); "Ossian," a concert overture for orchestra, produced by the London Philharmonic Society (1882); the cantata "Bridal of Triermain" (1886); and the opera "Nordisa," founded upon a Norwegian subject and brought out with great success in January, 1887 by the Carl Rosa opera troupe. Mr. Corder is one of the most ambitious and promising of all the younger English composers, and his music shows in a special degree the influence of Wagner. That he has also literary talent of a high order is evinced by his contributions to periodical literature and the librettos of his last two works,--"The Bridal of Triermain" and "Nordisa."

The Bridal of Triermain.

"The Bridal of Triermain" was written for the Wolverhampton (England) Festival of 1886, and was one of the most notable successes in the festival performances of that year. The subject is taken from Walter Scott's poem of the same name. The adaptation has been made in a very free manner, but the main incidents of the poem have been carefully preserved. Sir Roland's vision of the "Maid of Middle Earth;" the bard Lyulph's recital of the Arthurian legend, which tells of Gyneth's enchantment in the valley of St. John by Merlin, where she must sleep

"Until a knight shall wake thee
For feats of arms as far renowned
As warrior of the Table Round;"

the magic wrought by Merlin in the valley to delude Roland and thwart his effort to rescue Gyneth; his daring entrance into the palace grounds; the discovery of the Princess in the enchanted hall, and her final rescue are the themes which the composer has treated. In arranging his libretto he has, as has been said, made a free adaptation of the poem, sometimes using verses entire, at other times changing the text and rearranging it to suit the composer's musical demands, even at the expense of the original beauty and symmetry of the work.

The cantata has no overture, but opens with a choral introduction ("Where is the Maiden of Mortal Strain?"). An orchestral interlude in the form of a tender graceful nocturne follows, leading up to the tenor solo, "The Dawn of an autumn Day did creep," in which the Baron relates the apparition he has seen in his dream. A short bass recitative by Lyulph the bard introduces the Legend, which is told in an effective number for soprano solo, bass solo, and chorus ("In Days e'en Minstrels now forget"). The next number, a very dramatic dialogue for soprano and tenor, gives us the conversation between Arthur and Gyneth, and leads to an energetic full chorus with very descriptive accompaniment, picturing the bloody tourney and its sudden interruption by the appearance of Merlin the enchanter. The first part closes with a charming number ("'Madmen,' he cried, 'your Strife forbear'") arranged for bass solo, quartet, and chorus, in which is described the spell which Merlin casts upon Gyneth.

The second part, after a short allegro movement for orchestra, opens with a contralto solo ("Of wasted Fields and plundered Flocks") which prepares the way for a concerted number for solos and chorus ("And now the Moon her Orb has hid"), describing the magical arts which Merlin employed to thwart the Baron. This number alone is sufficient to stamp Mr. Corder as a composer of extraordinary ability. A succession of bass, tenor, and contralto recitatives ("Wroth waxed the Warrior") leads to another powerful chorus ("Rash Adventurer, bear thee back"), the song of the "four maids whom Afric bore," in which the composer has caught the weird, strange color of the scene and given it vivid expression. A tenor recitative ("While yet the distant Echoes roll") leads up to a graceful, sensuous soprano solo and female chorus ("Gentle Knight, awhile delay"). Its counterpart is found in the tenor recitative and spirited, dignified male chorus ("Son of Honor, Theme of Story"). The _dénouement_ now begins. A contralto solo, declamatory in style ("In lofty Hall, with Trophies graced"), and a short soprano solo of a joyous character ("Thus while she sang") lead to the final number ("Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels"), beginning with full chorus, which after short solos for tenor and soprano takes a spirited martial form ("And on the Champion's Brow was found") and closes with a quartet and chorus worked up to an imposing climax.

The work is largely in narrative form; but this, instead of being a hindrance, seems to have been an advantage to the composer, who has not failed to invest his music with dramatic force that is remarkable. Mr. Corder is credited with being an ardent disciple of Wagner, and his cantata certainly shows the influences of that school. It is throughout a vigorous, effective work, and gives promise that its composer will yet be heard from outside the English musical world.

COWEN.

Frederic H. Cowen, the favorite English song-writer, was born at Kingston, Jamaica, Jan. 29, 1852, and went to England at a very early age. His first teachers were Benedict and Sir J. Goss, with whom he studied until 1865. During the next three years he continued his musical education at the conservatories of Leipsic and Berlin, returning to England in 1868. His earlier works were an operetta called "Garibaldi," a fantasie-sonata and piano concerto, a few pieces of chamber music, and a symphony in C minor. These served to introduce him to public notice, and since that time nearly all of his works have met with remarkable success, among them "The Rose Maiden" (1870); music to Schiller's "Joan of Arc" (1871); festival overture (1872); "The Corsair," composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1876; a symphony in F major and the Norwegian symphony, which have been favorably received in this country. His most important opera is "Pauline," which was produced in London with great success by the Carl Rosa company, Nov. 22, 1876. As a song-writer, Mr. Cowen is also well known; many of his lyrics, especially those written for Antoinette Sterling and Mrs. E. Aline Osgood, the American singers, having obtained a wide-spread popularity.

The Sleeping Beauty.

"The Sleeping Beauty," written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, the poem by Francis Hueffer, has for its theme the well-known fairy tale which has been so often illustrated in music and upon canvas. It is a great favorite in England, and has also met with a successful reception in Paris, where it was brought out not long since by the Concordia Society of that city, under the title of "La Belle au Bois Dormant," the translation having been made by Miss Augusta Holmes, herself a musician of considerable repute.

After a brief orchestral introduction, a three-part chorus (altos, tenors, and basses) tells the story of the ancient King to whom an heiress was born when all hope of offspring had been abandoned, the gay carousal which he ordered, and the sudden appearance of the twelve fays, guardians of his house, with their spinning-wheels and golden flax, who sing as they weave:--

"Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child's behoof:
Future, dark to human eyes,
Openly before us lies;
As we will and as we give,
Haply shall the maiden live;
Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child's behoof."

In beauty of melody and gracefulness of orchestration this chorus of the fays is specially noticeable. Its charming movement, however, is interrupted by a fresh passage for male chorus, of an agitated character, describing the entrance of the Wicked Fay, who bends over the cradle of the child and sings a characteristic contralto aria:--

"From the gold of the flaxen reel
Threads of bliss have been spun to thee;
By the whirl of the spinning wheel
Cruel grief shall be done to thee.
Thy fate I descry:
Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,
Ere a score of thy years have flown,
Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die."

Following this aria, the male chorus has a few measures, invoking a curse upon the Fay, which leads to a full chorus of an animated character, foretelling that there shall dawn a day when a young voice, more powerful than witchcraft, will save her; at the close of which the guardian fays are again heard drawing the thread and weaving the woof in low, murmuring tones, with a spinning accompaniment. It is followed by a trio (soprano, tenor, and bass), with chorus accompaniment, announcing the departure of the fays, and leading to a very melodious tenor solo, with two graceful orchestral interludes, which moralizes on what has occurred and closes the prologue.

The first scene opens in a hall in the King's palace, and is full of animation. A brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the full chorus in waltz time ("At Dawn of Day on the first of May"), which moves along with a fascinating swing, and closes in a very vigorous climax. At this point the King makes his appearance and expresses his joy that the time has passed when the prophecy of the Wicked Fay could take effect, for this is the Princess's twentieth birthday. A dialogue follows between the King and his daughter, closing with a beautiful chorus ("Pure as thy Heart"), after which the dance-music resumes. Unobserved the Princess leaves the banqueting-hall, glides along a gallery, and ascends the staircase to a turret chamber. Before she enters she sings an aria, of a tranquil, dreamy nature ("Whither away, my Heart?"), and interwoven with it are heard the gradually lessening strains of the dance-music, which ceases altogether as her song comes to an almost inaudible close.

The second scene opens in the turret chamber, where the Wicked Fay, disguised as an old crone, is spinning. After a short dialogue, in which the Fay explains to the Princess the use of the wheel, she bids her listen, and sings a weird ballad ("As I sit at my Spinning-wheel, strange Dreams come to me"), closing with the refrain of the old prophecy, "Ere the Buds of her Youth are blown." The Princess dreamily repeats the burden of the song, and then, fearing the presence of some ill-omen, opens the door to escape. She hears the dance-music again, but the Fay gently draws her back and induces her to touch the flax. As she does so, the Fay covertly pricks her finger with the spindle. She swoons away, the dance-music suddenly stops, and there is a long silence, broken at last by the Fay's triumphant declaration: "Thus have I wrought my Vengeance." The next number is the Incantation Music ("Spring from the Earth, red Roses"), a very dramatic declamation, sung by the Fay and interwoven with snatches of chorus and the refrain of the prophecy. A choral interlude ("Sleep in Bower and Hall") follows, describing in a vivid manner, both with voices and instruments, the magic sleep that fell upon the castle and all its inmates, and the absence of all apparent life save the spiders weaving their webs on the walls as the years go by:--

"The spells of witchcraft which enthrall
Each sleeper in that desolate hall,
Who can break them?
Say, who can lift the deathly blight
That covers king and lord and knight,
To give them back to life and light,
And awake them?"

The answer comes in an animated prelude, through which is heard the strain of a horn signal, constantly growing louder, and heralding the Prince, who enters the silent palace, sword in hand, among the sleeping courtiers, knights, and ladies. After a vigorous declamation ("Light, Light at last") he passes on his way to the turret chamber, where he beholds the sleeping Princess. The love-song which follows ("Kneeling before Thee, worshipping wholly") is one of the most effective portions of the work. His kiss awakes her, and as she springs up, the dance-music at once resumes from the bar where it had stopped in the scene with the Wicked Fay. An impassioned duet follows, and the work closes with the animated waltz-chorus which opened the first scene.

DVORÁK.

Anton Dvorák, the Bohemian composer who has risen so suddenly into prominence, was born at Mülhausen, near Prague, Sept. 8, 1841. His father combined the business of tavern-keeper and butcher, and young Dvorák assisted him in waiting upon customers, as well as in the slaughtering business. As the laws of Bohemia stipulate that music shall be a part of common-school education, Dvorák learned the rudiments in the village school, and also received violin instruction. At the age of thirteen he went to work for an uncle, who resided in the village where the schoolmaster was a proficient musician. The latter, recognizing his ability, gave him lessons on the organ, and allowed him to copy music. Piano lessons followed, and he had soon grounded himself quite thoroughly in counterpoint. At the age of sixteen he was admitted to the organ-school of Prague, of which Joseph Pitsch was the principal. Pitsch died soon after, and was succeeded by Kreyci, who made Dvorák acquainted with the music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn. The first orchestral work he heard was Beethoven's "Ninth Symphony," during its rehearsal under Spohr's direction. In 1860, being then in his nineteenth year, he obtained an engagement, with the meagre salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a year, as violinist in a band that played at cafés and dances. Two years later he secured a position in the Bohemian Opera House at Prague, then under the direction of Mayer, where he remained until 1871, in which year he left the theatre and devoted himself to teaching, with the prospect of earning two hundred and fifty dollars a year. These were hard days for the young musician; but while he was there struggling for a bare subsistence, he continued writing compositions, though he had no prospect of selling them or of having them played. About this time he wrote his "Patriotic Hymn" and the opera "König und Köhler." The latter was rejected after an orchestral trial; but he continued his work, undaunted by failure. Shortly after this he received the appointment of organist at the Adelbert Church, Prague, and fortune began to smile upon him. His Symphony in F was laid before the Minister of Instruction in Vienna, and upon the recommendation of Herbeck secured him a grant of two hundred dollars. When Brahms replaced Herbeck on the committee which reported upon artists' stipends, he fully recognized Dvorák's ability, and not only encouraged him, but also brought him before the world by securing him a publisher and commending him to Joachim, who still further advanced his interests by securing performances of his works in Germany and England. Since that time he has risen rapidly, and is now recognized as one of the most promising of living composers. Among his works which have been produced during the past few years are the "Stabat Mater," the cantata "The Spectre's Bride," three operas in the Czechist dialect, three orchestral symphonies, several Slavonic rhapsodies, overtures, violin and piano concertos, an exceedingly beautiful sextet, and numerous songs.

The Spectre's Bride.

The legend of the Spectre's Bride is current in various forms among all the Slavonic nations. The Russians, Servians, Slovaks, Lithuanians, and Poles all have poems in which the ghostly ride of the spectre and the maiden forms the theme. The German version, told by Bürger in his famous ballad "Lenore," is best known; and Raff has given it a musical setting in his Lenore Symphony. In general, the story is the same. The Spectre comes for his Bride and she rides away with him through the night, amid all manner of supernatural horrors, only to find at the end that she has ridden to the grave with a skeleton. The Bohemian poem used by Dvorák is that of Karel Jaromir Erben, a poet who obtained a national fame by making collections of the songs and legends of his country during his service as Secretary of the Royal Bohemian Museum and Keeper of the Archives at Prague. In his version, unlike the German, the Spectre and his Bride make their grewsome journey on foot. The _dénouement_ in the churchyard differs also, as the maiden is saved by an appeal to the Virgin. In the opening scene she is represented gazing at a picture of the Virgin, mourning the death of her parents and the absence of her lover, who has failed to keep his promise to return. His parting words were:--

"Sow flax, my love, I counsel thee,
And every day remember me.
Spin in the first year, spin with care,
Bleach in the next the fabric fair;
Then garments make, when the years are three,
And every day remember me.
Twine I that year a wreath for thee;
We two that year shall wedded be."

She has faithfully followed the counsel. The three years have expired, but still no tidings have come. As she appeals to the Virgin to bring him back, the picture moves, the flame of the lamp upleaps, there is an ominous knock at the door, and the voice of the apparition is heard urging her to cease praying and follow him to his home. She implores him to wait until the night is past, but the importunate Spectre bids her go with him, and she consents. On they speed over rough bowlders, through thorny brakes and swamps, attended by the baying of wolves, the screeching of owls, the croaking of frogs, and the fitful glow of corpse-candles. One by one he compels her to throw away her prayer-book, chaplet, and cross, and resisting all her appeals to stop and rest, at last they reach the churchyard wall. He calms her fears with the assurance that the church is his castle and the yard his garden, and bids her leap the wall with him. She promises to follow him, but after he has cleared it, sudden fear seizes her; she flies to a tiny house near by and enters. A ghastly scene takes place; spectres are dancing before the door, and the moonlight reveals to her a corpse lying upon a plank. As she gazes, horror-stricken, a knock is heard, and a voice bids the dead arise and thrust the living one out. Thrice the summons is repeated, and then as the corpse opens its eyes and glares upon her, she prays once more to the Virgin. At this instant the crowing of a cock is heard. The dead man falls back, the ghastly, spectral crew disappear, and night gives way to a peaceful morning.

"All who to Mass at morning went
Stood still in great astonishment;
One tomb there was to ruin gone,
And in the dead-house a maiden wan;
On looking round, amazed were they,
On every grave a garment lay.

"Well was it, maiden, that thy mind
Turned unto God, defence to find,
For He thy foes did harmless bind;
Had'st thou thyself, too, nothing done,
Ill with thy soul it then had gone;
Thy body, as the garments were,
Mangled had been, and scattered there."

Such is the horrible story which forms the theme of Dvorák's cantata. It was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1884, and the text was translated by the Rev. Dr. Troutbeck, from a German translation of the original poem made by K. J. Müller. It contains eighteen numbers, each of considerable length, of which eleven are descriptive, the barytone, with chorus response, acting the part of the narrator, and accompanied by instrumentation which vividly paints the horrors of the nocturnal tramp, even to the realistic extent of imitating the various sounds described. It is unnecessary to specify each of these numbers in detail, as they are all closely allied in color and general effect. The music which accompanies them is picturesque and weird, increasing in its power and actual supernaturalism until it reaches its climax in the dead-house where the maiden takes refuge; and in these numbers the orchestra bears the burden of the work. The remaining numbers are almost magical in their beauty and fascination, particularly the first song of the maiden, lamenting her lover, and closing with the prayer to the Virgin, which is thoroughly devotional music, and the second prayer, which saves her from her peril. There are four duets, soprano and tenor, between the Bride and Spectre, and one with chorus, in which are recounted the episodes of the chaplet, prayer-book, and cross, besides the hurried dialogue between them as he urges her on. These, too, abound in quaint rhythms and strange harmonies set against a highly-colored instrumental background. The story is not a pleasant one for musical treatment,--at least for voices,--and the prevailing tone of the composition is sombre; but of the wonderful power of the music and its strange fascination there can be no doubt.

FOOTE.

Arthur Foote, a rising young composer of Boston, whose works have already made more than a local reputation, was born at Salem, Mass., March 5, 1853. While at Harvard College he studied composition with Prof. J. K. Paine, and after graduation determined to devote himself to the musical profession. He studied the piano-forte and organ with Mr. B. J. Lang of Boston, and soon made his mark as a musician of more than ordinary promise. Among his published works which have attracted favorable attention are various songs and piano compositions; pieces for violin and piano, violoncello and piano; a string quartet; trio for piano, violin, and violoncello; and "Hiawatha," a ballad for male voices and orchestra. A suite for strings, in manuscript, has obtained the honor of performance at the London symphony concerts (January, 1887), and an overture, "In the Mountains," also in manuscript, was played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in February, 1887. He is now living in Boston, where he is engaged in teaching the piano and organ.

Hiawatha.

"The Farewell of Hiawatha," for barytone solo, male voices, and orchestra, modestly styled by its composer a ballad, is a cantata in its lighter form. Its subject is taken from Longfellow's familiar poem, and includes the beautiful close of the legend beginning with the stanza:--

"From his place rose Hiawatha,
Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered."

The composer has made use of the remainder of the poem without change, except in repetitions demanded by musical necessity and in the omission of the seven lines immediately preceding the final words of farewell, which does not mar the context. A short orchestral introduction, _andante con moto_, followed by a chorus of tenors and basses in a few bars, recitative in form and sung pianissimo, lead to a barytone solo for Hiawatha ("I am going, O Nokomis") of a quiet and tender character. A graceful phrase for the violoncello introduces another choral morceau relating Hiawatha's farewell to the warriors ("I am going, O my People") a melodious combination of sweetness and strength, though it only rises to a display of energy in the single phrase, "The Master of Life has sent them," after which it closes quietly, and tenderly, in keeping with the sentiment of the text. The remainder of the work is choral. The westward sail of Hiawatha into the "fiery sunset," "the purple vapors," and "the dusk of evening" is set to a very picturesque accompaniment, which dies away in soft strains as he disappears in the distance. An allegro movement with a crescendo of great energy introduces the farewell of "the forests dark and lonely," moving "through all their depths of darkness," of the waves "rippling on the pebbles," and of "the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, from her haunts among the fen-lands." The last division of the chorus is an allegro, beginning pianissimo and closing with an exultant outburst:--

"Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom of Ponemah,
To the land of the Hereafter!"

The work, which was written for the Apollo Club of Boston, is not a long one, nor is it at all ambitious in style. The composer has evidently tried to reflect the quiet and tender sentiment of the farewell in his music, and has admirably succeeded. Poetic beauty is its most striking feature, both in the instrumental parts, which are well sustained, and in the vocal, which are earnest, expressive, and at times very pathetic, of this pretty tone-picture.

GADE.

Niels W. Gade was born at Copenhagen, Oct. 22, 1817. His father was a musical-instrument maker and intrusted his early education to the Danish masters Wershall, Berggren, and Weyse. He made such good progress that he soon entered the royal orchestra of that city as a violinist and began to be known as a composer. His first important work, the overture "Nachklänge von Ossian," obtained a prize from the Copenhagen Musical Union and also secured for him the favor of the King, who provided him with the means for making a foreign journey. Prior to starting he sent a copy of a symphony to Mendelssohn, which met with the latter's enthusiastic approval. He arrived at Leipsic in 1843, and after producing his first symphony with success, travelled through Italy, returning to Leipsic in 1844, where during the winter of that year he conducted the Gewandhaus concerts in the place of Mendelssohn, who was absent in Berlin. In the season of 1845-46 he assisted Mendelssohn in the same concerts, and after the latter's death became the principal director, a post which he held until 1848, when he returned to Copenhagen and took a position as organist, and also conducted the concerts of the Musical Union. In 1861 he was appointed Hofcapellmeister, and was honored with the title of Professor of Music. Since that time he has devoted himself to composition, and has produced many excellent works, especially for festivals in England and elsewhere. Among them are the cantatas "Comala," "Spring Fantasie," "The Erl King's Daughter," "The Holy Night," "Spring's Message," "The Crusaders," and "Zion;" the overtures "In the Highlands," "Hamlet," and "Michael Angelo;" seven symphonies, and a large number of songs and piano pieces, as well as chamber-music compositions.

Comala.

"Comala," one of the earliest of Gade's larger vocal works, was first produced at Leipsic in March, 1843. Its subject is taken from Ossian, and relates the tragedy of "Comala," daughter of Sarno, King of Innistore, who had conceived a violent passion for Fingal, King of Morven. Her love is returned by the warrior, and disguised as a youth the princess follows him on his expedition against Caracul, King of Lochlin. On the day of the battle Fingal places her on a height, near the shore of the Carun, whence she can overlook the fight, and promises her if victorious that he will return at evening. Comala, though filled with strange forebodings, hopefully waits her royal lover's coming. As the tedious hours pass on a fearful storm arises, and amid the howling of the blast the spirits of the fathers sweep by her on their way to the battlefield to conduct to their home the souls of the fallen,--the same majestic idea which Wagner uses with such consummate power in his weird ride of the Valkyries. Comala imagines that the battle has been lost, and overcome with grief falls to the ground and dies. The victorious Fingal returns as evening approaches, accompanied by the songs of his triumphant warriors, only to hear the tidings of Comala's death from her weeping maidens. Sorrowing he orders the bards to chant her praises, and joining with her attendants to waft her departing soul "to the fathers' dwelling" with farewell hymns.

The cantata is almost equally divided between male and female choruses, and these are the charm of the work. Many of the songs of Comala and her maids are in graceful ballad form, fresh in their melody, and marked by that peculiar refinement which characterizes all of Gade's music. The parting duet between Fingal and Comala is very beautiful, but the principal interest centres in the choruses. Those of the bards and warriors are very stately in their style and abound in dramatic power, particularly the one accompanying the triumphal return of Fingal. The chorus of spirits is very impressive, and in some passages almost supernatural. The female choruses, on the other hand, are graceful, tender, and pathetic; the final full chorus, in which the bards and maidens commend the soul of Comala to "the fathers' dwelling," has rarely been surpassed in beauty or pathos. The music of the cantata is in keeping with the stately grandeur and richly-hued tones of the Ossianic poem. The poetry and music of the North are happily wedded.

Spring Fantasie.

Though the "Spring Fantasie" is in undoubted cantata form, Gade designates it as a "Concertstück;" that is, a musical composition in which the instrumental parts are essential to its complete unity. Its origin is unquestionably to be found in the idea of Beethoven's "Choral Fantasie," which was subsequently developed in the choral symphony on a still larger and grander scale. The instrumental elements of the "Spring Fantasie" are unquestionably the most prominent. They do not play the subordinate part of accompaniment, but really enunciate the ideas of the poem, which are still further illustrated by the voices, acting as the interpreters of the meaning of the instrumentation.

The "Fantasie" was written in 1850, its subject being a poem by Edmund Lobedanz, which of itself might appropriately be called a fantasy. The work consists of four movements, for four solo voices, orchestra, and piano-forte. The prominence which Gade has given to the instrumental parts is shown by his characterizing the movements,--I. _Allegro moderato e sostenuto_; II. _Allegro molto e con fuoco_; III. _Allegro vivace_. The poem in the original is one of more than ordinary excellence. The translation in most common use is one made by Mrs. Vander Weyde for a performance of the work in London in 1878 at the Royal Normal College and Academy of Music for the Blind, under the direction of Herr von Bülow.

The first movement is in the nature of an invocation to spring, in which the longing for May and its flowers is very tenderly expressed. The second movement depicts with great vigor the return of the wintry storms, the raging of the torrents, the gradual rolling away of the clouds, the approach of more genial breezes, and the rising of the star, typifying "the joy of a fair maiden's love." The closing movement is full of rejoicing that the spring has come. Voices and instruments share alike in the jubilation:--

"For the spring-time has come, the May is here,
On hill and in vale all is full of delight.
How sweet is the spring-time, how lovely and bright,--
Its kingdom is over us all."

The Erl King's Daughter.

"The Erl King's Daughter" was written in 1852. Its story differs from that told in Goethe's famous poem, and set to music equally famous by Schubert in his familiar song. In Goethe's poem the father rides through the night clasping his boy and followed by the Erl King and his daughters, who entice the child unseen by the parent. In vain he assures him that the Erl King's voice is but the "sad wind sighing through the withered leaves," that his train is but the mist, and that his daughters are the aged gray willows deceiving his sight. The boy at first is charmed with the apparition, but cries in mortal terror as the Erl King seizes him, while the father gallops at last into the courtyard, only to find his child dead in his arms.

In the poem used by Gade it is the Erl King's daughter who tempts a knight to his death. The prologue relates that Sir Oluf at eve stayed his steed and rested beneath the alders by the brook, where he was visited by two of the daughters, one of whom caressed him while the other invited him to join their revels. At sound of the cock-crow, however, they disappeared. It was the eve of Sir Oluf's wedding day. He arrives home in a distraught condition, and in spite of his mother's appeals decides to return to the alder grove in quest of the beauties who had bewitched him. He finds the alder-maids dancing in the moonlight, singing and beckoning him to join them. One of the fairest tempts him with a silken gown for the bride and silver armor for himself. When he refuses to dance with her, she seizes him by the arm and predicts his death on the morrow morning. "Ride home to your bride in robe of red," she cries as he hastens away. In the morning the mother anxiously waits his coming, and at last beholds him riding desperately through "the waving corn." He has lost his shield and helmet, and blood drips from his stirrups. As he draws rein at the door of the castle he drops dead from his saddle. A brief epilogue points the moral of the story in quaint fashion. It is to the effect that knights who will on horseback ride should not like Oluf stay in elfin groves with elfin maidens till morning. It is unnecessary to specify the numbers in detail; as with the exception of the melodramatic finale, where the music becomes quite vigorous, it is all of the same graceful, flowing, melodic character, and needs no key to explain it to the hearer.

The Crusaders.

"The Crusaders" is one of the most powerful as well as beautiful of modern cantatas. It was written for performance in Copenhagen in 1866, and ten years later was produced at the Birmingham Festival, under the composer's direction. It is divided into three parts, and its story may be told in a word. Its theme is the same as that which Wagner has treated in "Lohengrin" and in "Tännhauser,"--the conflict of the human soul with the powers of darkness, sensual beauty and sorcery, and its final triumph. It is the story of the temptation of Rinaldo d'Este, the bravest of the Crusaders, by Armida and her sirens, who at last calls upon the Queen of Spirits to aid them in their hopeless task, the thwarting of the powers of evil, and the final triumph before Jerusalem.

The first part opens with a chorus of pilgrims and women in the band of the Crusaders, expressive of the weariness and sufferings they have endured in their long wanderings, the end of which still appears so far away. As the beautiful music dies away, the inspiring summons of Peter the Hermit is heard, leading up to the Crusaders' song,--a vigorous, war-like melody, full of manly hope and religious fervor. An evening prayer of pious longing and exalted devotion closes this part.

The second part is entitled "Armida," and introduces the evil genius of the scene. A strange, mysterious orchestral prelude indicates the baneful magic of the sorcerer's wiles. In a remarkably expressive aria, Armida deplores her weakness in trying to overcome the power of the cross. As she sees Rinaldo, who has left his tent to wander for a time in the night air, she calls to the spirits to obey her incantation:--

"Cause a palace grand to rise,
Let a sea before it glimmer.
In the walls of richest gold
Let the purest diamonds shimmer;
Round the fountains' pearly rim,
Where bright the sunbeams are glancing,
Plashing low and murmuring sweet,
Set the merry wavelets dancing.
In yon hedge of roses where fairies rock in softest dreaming,
Fays and elfins bid appear, and sirens float in waters dreaming.
All around let music ring,
Fill the air with sweetest singing;
Lure them on with magic power,
To our midst all captive bringing.
Sing remembrance from their hearts,
Till they bow, my will fulfilling;
Make them every thought forego,
Every wish, save mine own, stilling."

After another invocation of the spirits, the sirens appear, singing a sensuous melody ("I dip my white Breast in the soft-flowing Tide"). Then begins the temptation of the wandering Knight. He starts in surprise as he hears the voices rising from the waves, and again they chant their alluring song. They are followed by Armida, who appeals to him in a seductive strain ("O Rinaldo, come to never-ending Bliss"). The Knight joins with her in a duet of melodious beauty. He is about to yield to the temptation, when he hears in the distance the tones of the Crusaders' song. He wavers in his resolution, Armida and the sirens appeal to him again, and again he turns as if he would follow them. The Crusaders' song grows louder, and rouses the Knight from the spell which has been cast about him, and the scene closes with a beautifully concerted number, in which Rinaldo, Armida, the chorus of Crusaders and of sirens contend for the mastery. The fascination of the Crusaders' song is the strongest. The cross triumphs over the sorceress, and in despair she sings,--

"Sink, scenes illusive, deep in dark abyss of doom!
The light of day is turned to blackest night of gloom."

The third part, entitled "Jerusalem," is religious in character, and mostly choral. In rapid succession follow the morning hymn with beautiful horn accompaniment, the march of the Pilgrims full of the highest exaltation, the hermit's revelation of the Holy City to them, their joyous greeting to it, Rinaldo's resolution to expiate his offence by his valor, the hermit's last call to strife, their jubilant reply, and the final victory:--

"As our God wills it. Up, arouse thee!
Up! yon flag with hope endows thee.
Jerusalem! the goal is there.
We cry aloud, 'Hosanna!'"

GILCHRIST.

William W. Gilchrist, the American composer, was born at Jersey City, N. J., in 1846. He began his studies with H. A. Clarke, professor of music in the University of Pennsylvania. In 1872 he accepted the position of organist at the New Jerusalem Church in Cincinnati, Ohio, and was also appointed teacher in the Conservatory of Miss Bauer. A year later he returned to Philadelphia, where he has since resided. During this time he has done a great work for music in that city, having been conductor of several societies. He has been the recipient of honors on many occasions, having obtained several prizes from the Philadelphia Art Society and others for his compositions. In 1880 he contended for the prize offered by the Cincinnati Musical Festival Association, but stood third on the list, Dudley Buck being first and George E. Whiting second. In 1882 he made another trial for the Association's prize, and was successful; the committee, consisting of Carl Reinecke of Leipsic, M. Saint-Saens of Paris, and Theodore Thomas of New York, making him the award.

The Forty-sixth Psalm.

The composition referred to in the sketch of Mr. Gilchrist's life which secured for him the Cincinnati prize in 1882 was "The Forty-sixth Psalm." The composer's own analysis of the work, furnished at the time, is appended:--

"The composition is a setting of the Forty-sixth Psalm for soprano
solo, chorus, orchestra, and organ, and has four principal divisions
exclusive of an introduction, each following the other without pause,
and connected by a gradual decrescendo in the orchestra. The opening of
the Psalm seemed to me to indicate a strong outburst of praise or of
thanksgiving for a deliverance from trials, which the introduction is
intended to convey. But instead of beginning with a strong outburst, I
lead up to it from a very subdued beginning, working gradually to a
climax at the entrance of the chorus on the words, 'God is our refuge
and our strength.' The opening movement of the chorus becomes a little
subdued very shortly as it takes up the words, 'A very present help in
trouble,' which is followed again by an _allegro con fuoco_ movement on
the words, 'Therefore we will not fear though the earth be removed,
though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.' This
movement leads into still another, a furioso movement on the words,
'Though the waters thereof roar, though the mountains shake with the
swelling thereof.' This is followed by an elaborate coda, in which all
the themes of the preceding movement are worked together, and which
brings the chorus to a close.

The second division, in E major, is marked by an _andante
contemplativo_ on the words, 'There is a river the streams whereof
shall make glad the city of God.' This movement is intended to be one
of tranquillity, varied with occasional passionate outbursts on the
words, 'God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved.' A peculiar
rhythmical effect is sought by the alternation of 4/4 and 3/4 time,
three bars of the first being answered by two bars of the second. This
movement ends very tranquilly on the words, 'God shall help her, and
that right early,' and is immediately followed by an _allegro molto_,
in B minor, on the words, 'The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved;
he uttered his voice, the earth melted.' In the middle of this chorus
the soprano solo enters for the first time on the words, 'He maketh
wars to cease unto the end of the earth; He breaketh the bow and
cutteth the spear in sunder.' The chorus works up to a strong climax on
the words, 'He burneth the chariot with fire,' which is suddenly
interrupted by a decrescendo on the words, 'Be still, and know that I
am God.'

This leads to the third division, which is a return of the second
division in E major, and which is played through almost entirely by the
orchestra, the chorus merely meditating on the words last quoted. This
leads to the final chorus, which is a fugue, in E major, with _alla
breve_ time, on the words, 'And the Lord of Hosts is with us; the God
of Jacob is our refuge,' towards the close of which a _Gloria Patri_ is
introduced, being woven in with fragments of the fugue to a strong
climax. The whole composition finishes with an impetuous accelerando.
My central idea was to make a choral and orchestral work, the solo,
while requiring a good singer, being only secondary. The Psalm seemed
to me particularly adapted for musical composition, as being capable of
a varied, even dramatic effect."

GLEASON.

Frederick Grant Gleason was born at Middletown, Conn., Dec. 17, 1848. He inherited the love of music from his parents,--his father having been a flutist and his mother an alto singer and pianist. In his sixteenth year he showed a decided talent for composition; and two of his works, an oratorio, "The Captivity," and a Christmas oratorio, though crudely written, gave such promise that he was placed under the tuition of Dudley Buck, with whom he studied the piano and composition. He made such rapid progress that his parents were induced to send him to Germany, where he at once entered the Leipsic Conservatory. Moscheles taught him the piano, and Richter harmony, and he also took private lessons from Plaidy and Lobe. In 1870 he went to Berlin, where he continued his piano studies with Raif, a pupil of Tausig, and his tuition in harmony with Weitzmann. After a visit home he went to England and resumed lessons on the piano with Berringer, another pupil of Tausig, and also studied English music. He subsequently made a second visit to Berlin, and improved his time by studying theory with Weitzmann, the piano with Loeschorn, and the organ with Haupt. During this visit he also issued a valuable work entitled "Gleason's Motet Collection." After the completion of his studies he returned home and accepted the position of organist at one of the Hartford churches. In 1876 he removed to Chicago and engaged as teacher in the Hershey School of Musical Art. At present he is still occupied in teaching and also fills the position of musical critic for the "Tribune" of that city. During these years his pen has been very busy, as the list of his compositions shows. Among his principal works are two operas, still in manuscript,--"Otho Visconti" and "Montezuma;" the cantatas "God our Deliverer," "The Culprit Fay," and "Praise of Harmony;" and several trios, sonatas, and other works for the chamber, as well as many songs. The selections from his operas which have been played by the Thomas orchestra show that they are compositions of unusual excellence and scholarship.

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 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 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 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! 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 hill-tops glow in morning's spring,
The skylark shakes his dappled wing,
The day glimpse glimmers on the lawn,
The cock has crowed and the fays are gone."

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 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.

HANDEL.