Chapter X: Part III: Feast of the dedication at Jerusalem, after Judas and his (3)

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

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

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

Christus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MOZART.

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

The Requiem.

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

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

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

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

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

"Some passages, though they may perhaps strengthen Suessmayer's claim to
have filled in certain parts of the instrumentation, stand on a very
different ground to those which concern the composition of whole
movements. The 'Lacrymosa' is quite certainly one of the most beautiful
movements in the whole 'Requiem'--and Mozart is credited with having
only finished the first eight bars of it! Yet it is impossible to study
this movement carefully without arriving at Professor Macfarren's
conclusion that 'the whole was the work of one mind, which mind was
Mozart's.' Suessmayer may have written it out, perhaps; but it must have
been from the recollection of what Mozart had played or sung to him,
for we know that this very movement occupied the dying composer's
attention almost to the last moment of his life. In like manner Mozart
may have left no _Urschriften_ (sketches) of the 'Sanctus,'
'Benedictus,' and 'Agnus Dei,'--though the fact that they have never
been discovered does not prove that they never existed,--and yet he may
have played and sung these movements often enough to have given
Suessmayer a very clear idea of what he intended to write. We must
either believe that he did this, or that Suessmayer was as great a
genius as he; for not one of Mozart's acknowledged masses will bear
comparison with the 'Requiem,' either as a work of art or the
expression of a devout religious feeling. In this respect it stands
almost alone among instrumental masses, which nearly always sacrifice
religious feeling to technical display."

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

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

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

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

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

PAINE.

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

St. Peter.

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

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

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

ROSSINI.

Gioachino Antonio Rossini, the father of the modern Italian school of opera, was born Feb. 29, 1792, at Pesaro, in the Romagna. His father was an accomplished musician, and his mother a professional singer, so that he was brought up in a musical atmosphere. Even as a boy he sang with his mother in the theatre. He first studied with Mattei, and later with Martini. His first opera, "Demetrio e Polibio," was brought out at Rome in 1812, and before he had concluded his life-work, more than forty of his operas had been given in almost every part of Europe,--a crowning result of labor and contemporaneous fame not often enjoyed by composers. His "Tancredi," which was produced for the first time at Venice in 1813, was the opera which made him famous, and its remarkable success spread his reputation far and wide. In 1815 appeared "L' Italiana in Algeri" and "Aureliano in Palmira;" in 1816, "Elisabetta," "Otello," and his splendid work "The Barber of Seville," which, though his masterpiece, is said to have been written in fourteen days; in 1817, "La Cenerentola," "La Gazza Ladra," and "Armida;" and in 1819, "Ricciardo e Zoraide," "La Donna del Lago," and many others. From 1815 to 1822 Rossini was under the "management" of the _impresario_ Barbaja in Naples, who had much difficulty in keeping him to the work of composition, his facility in writing often leading him to defer work until it was the very eve of performance. In 1823, under the auspices of Barbaja, and with the assistance of the prima donna, Colbran, whom Rossini married about this time, his opera "Zelmira" and others of his works were given with such brilliant success as to raise his aspirations for a wider and more promising field of labor. In the year 1823 he went to Paris and London, finally settling in the former city, where he not only began a new grand opera, but also gave himself to the study and development of orchestral music and the encouragement of artists. His home was the Mecca of singers, and, like Liszt's at Weimar, the centre of art influences. The new work was "William Tell," which was first brought out in Paris in 1829. It was his last important effort. It met with only temporary success, though it enjoys to-day a reputation almost equal to that of the "Barber." His most celebrated work in sacred music is the "Stabat Mater," which, though written in operatic style and very brilliant in coloring, has retained its place in popular favor, and is to-day as eagerly sought for by artists and the public as it was in his own day. Among his other sacred works is "Moses in Egypt,"--originally written as an oratorio for the San Carlo in Naples, and brought out there in 1818, though subsequently recast and provided with a revised libretto for the Paris Grand Opera in 1827. The "Prayer" from this work has a world-wide popularity. During the latter years of his life Rossini gave up composition entirely,--in part because of the eventual failure of his "William Tell,"--and enjoyed the fruits of his labors at his beautiful villa in Passy. He died Nov. 14, 1868. His sacred works, besides those already mentioned, are a few Italian oratorios, now unknown, three choruses, "Faith, Hope, and Charity," the "Petite Messe Solenelle," a "Tantum Ergo," a "Quoniam," and an "O Salutaris."

Stabat Mater.

The great Stabat Maters in the musical world are those of Palestrina, Pergolesi, Haydn, Steffani, Clari, Astorga, Winter, Neukomm, Rossini, and the one recently written by the Bohemian composer, Dvorak. Of all these no one has been so popular as that of Rossini, nor made the world so familiar with the text of the Virgin's Lamentation. After the failure of "William Tell," Rossini abandoned opera-writing, though he had a contract with the Grand Opera at Paris for four more works, and contemplated taking up the subject of Faust. "William Tell" was his last work for the stage; but before his absolute retirement he was to produce a work destined to add to his fame. In 1832 his friend Aguado induced him to compose a "Stabat Mater" for the Spanish minister, Don Valera, which was not intended to be made public. Before its completion he fell ill, and Tadolini wrote the last four numbers. The work was dedicated to Valera, with the understanding that it should always be retained by him. Nine years afterwards Valera died, and Rossini learned that his heirs had sold the work to a Paris publisher for two thousand francs. He at once claimed the copyright and brought an action, in which he was successful. He then composed four new numbers in place of those written by Tadolini, and sold the work complete to the publisher, Troupenas, for six thousand francs. The latter sold the right of performance for a limited time to the Escudiers for eight thousand francs, and they in turn sold it to the Theatre Italien for twenty thousand. Its first complete performance was at the Salle Ventadour, Jan. 7, 1842, Grisi, Albertazzi, Mario, and Tamburini taking the principal parts.

A brief but brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the opening chorus, "Stabat Mater dolorosa," arranged for solos and chorus, and very dramatic in style, especially in its broad, melodious contrasts. It is followed by the tenor solo, "Cujus Animam," which is familiar to every concert-goer,--a clear-cut melody free of embellishment, but very brilliant and even jubilant in character, considering the nature of the text. The next number ("Quis est Homo"), for two sopranos, is equally familiar. It is based upon a lovely melody, first given out by the first soprano, and then by the second, after which the two voices carry the theme through measure after measure of mere vocal embroidery, closing with an extremely brilliant cadenza in genuine operatic style. The fourth number is the bass aria "Pro peccatis," the two themes in which are very earnest and even serious in character, and come nearer to the church style than any other parts of the work. It is followed by a beautifully constructed number ("Eia Mater"), a bass recitative with chorus, which is very strong in its effect. The sixth number is a lovely quartet ("Sancta Mater"), full of variety in its treatment, and closing with full, broad harmony. After a short solo for soprano ("Fac ut Portem"), the climax is reached in the "Inflammatus,"--a brilliant soprano obligato with powerful choral accompaniment. The solo number requires a voice of exceptional range, power, and flexibility; with this condition satisfied, the effect is intensely dramatic, and particularly fascinating by the manner in which the solo is set off against the choral background. A beautiful unaccompanied quartet in broad, plain harmony, "Quando Corpus," leads to the showy fugued "Amen" which closes the work.

Unquestionably the "Stabat Mater" is one of the most popular of all the minor sacred compositions; and the secret lies on the surface: it is to be found in the delightful and fascinating melodies, which are strewn so thickly through it, as well as in the graceful bravura, which was so characteristic of Rossini, and which when delivered by accomplished artists is very captivating to a popular audience. As to its sacred form, it is as far from the accepted style of church music as Berlioz's or Verdi's requiems. Indeed, Rossini himself remarked to Hiller that he wrote it in the "mezzo serio" style. In connection with this matter one or two criticisms will be of interest. Rossini's biographer, Sutherland Edwards, says: "The 'Stabat Mater' was composed, as Raphael's Virgins were painted, for the Roman Catholic Church, which at once accepted it, without ever suspecting that Rossini's music was not religious." The remark, however, would be more pertinent were it not for the fact that the Church itself has not always been a good critic of its own music, or a good judge of what its music should be, as Liszt discovered when he went to Rome full of his purposes of reform in the musical service. Heine, in a letter to the "Allgemeine Zeitung" in 1842, replying to certain German criticisms, went so far as to say,--

"The true character of Christian art does not reside in thinness and
paleness of the body, but in a certain effervescence of the soul, which
neither the musician nor the painter can appropriate to himself either
by baptism or study; and in this respect I find in the 'Stabat' of
Rossini a more truly Christian character than in the 'Paulus' ['St.
Paul'] of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy,--an oratorio which the
adversaries of Rossini point to as a model of Christian style."

It will hardly be claimed, however, even by Heine's friends, that this sweeping statement is either just to Mendelssohn or true of Rossini. Perhaps they will also concede that Heine was not a very good judge of Christianity in any of its aspects, musical or otherwise. The veteran Moscheles in one of his letters criticizes the work very pertinently. He says,--

"It is, as you may imagine, a model of 'singableness' (if I may say
so); but it is not sufficiently church music to my taste. His solitary
fugue is clumsy. The criticisms on the work are very various. Some
agree with me; but the majority delight in the captivating Italian
phrases, which I admire too, but which I cannot think are in the right
place."

He might have added, "Because they are the phrases of 'Semiramide,' 'Tancredi,' and the 'Barber.'" There is scarcely a number of the "Stabat Mater" which might not be detached from it and reset in one of Rossini's operas without doing violence to whatever of the real religious style it may be supposed, or was intended, to have. The "Stabat Mater" music would be captivatingly beautiful in any setting.

RUBINSTEIN.

Anton Gregor Rubinstein was born, Nov. 30, 1829, at the village of Wechwotynetz, in Russia. His parents, who were in moderate circumstances, moved to Moscow during his infancy, and in that city he received his first musical instruction. His mother gave him lessons at the age of four, with the result that by the time he was six she was unable to teach him anything more. He then studied the piano with Alexander Villoing, a pupil of John Field. His first composition appeared in his twelfth year, and soon his songs and two and four hand piano-pieces began to attract the attention of musicians. In 1840 Villoing took him to Paris and placed him in the Conservatory, where he attracted the attention of Liszt, Chopin, and Thalberg. He remained in that city eighteen months, devoting himself to unremitting study, and then made some professional tours, in which he met with extraordinary success, particularly in England. From that country he went to Holland and Sweden, everywhere meeting with an enthusiastic reception. In 1844 his parents removed to Berlin, and he was placed under Dehn, the famous contrapuntist, to study composition, his brother Nicholas being a companion in his work. The father dying in 1846, the mother and Nicholas returned to Russia, leaving Anton alone. During the next two years he taught music in Pressburg and Vienna, and in the latter part of 1848 went back to Russia. About this time he received an honorary musical appointment from the Grand-Duchess Helene. For eight years he studied and wrote in St. Petersburg, and at the end of that time had accumulated a mass of manuscripts destined to make his name famous all over Europe, while his reputation as a skilful pianist was already world-wide. He visited England again in 1857, and the next year returned home and settled in St. Petersburg, about which time he was made Imperial Concert Director, with a life-pension. At this period in his career he devoted himself to the cause of music in Russia. His first great work was the foundation of the Conservatory in the above city in 1862, of which he remained principal until 1867. He also founded the Russian Musical Society in 1861, and in 1869 was decorated by the Czar. In 1870 he directed the Philharmonic and Choral Societies of Vienna, and shortly afterwards made another tour, during which, in 1872, he came to this country with the eminent violinist Wieniawsky, as will be well remembered. His visit here was marked by a succession of ovations. No other pianist ever achieved such a wonderful success, not only among musicians, but among the people of all classes. Musicians were astounded at his remarkable knowledge, while musical and unmusical people alike were carried off their feet by the whirlwind-style of his playing. It was full of grace, nobility, breadth, and dignity; but it combined with these qualities a fire, an intensity, and a passion which sometimes invested the piano with orchestral effects, and again transformed it into an instrument that wept, laughed, sang, and danced. His power was irresistible and electric. As a composer he ranks very high. His greatest works are the Ocean Symphony, Dramatic Symphony, and a character sketch for grand orchestra called "Ivan the Terrible;" his operas, "Children of the Heath," "Feramors," "Nero," "The Maccabees," "Dimitri Donskoi," and the "Demon;" the oratorios "Paradise Lost" and "Tower of Babel;" and a long and splendid catalogue of chamber, salon, and concert music, besides some beautiful songs which are great favorites in the concert-room.

The Tower of Babel.

"The Tower of Babel," a sacred opera, as Rubinstein entitles it, was written in 1870, the text, which is somewhat of a travesty on sacred history, by Julius Rodenberg. An English critic very pertinently says: "One item alone in all the multitude of details crowded by Herr Rodenberg into his canvas has any foundation in fact. He adopts the theory that there really was a tower of Babel, and all the rest he founds on conjecture." In point of fact, the anachronisms are numerous enough to make the text almost a burlesque. Nimrod, the mighty hunter, is made the chief builder of the tower, which is supposed to be in process of erection as an insult to the Deity. Abraham appears upon the scene (many years before he was born), and rebukes Nimrod for his presumption; whereupon the hunter-king orders "the shepherd," as he is called, to be thrown into a fiery furnace, after the manner of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. The angels watch over the patriarch, and he comes out of the fire unharmed. Some of the people standing by ascribe the miracle to Baal, some to Dagon, some to Ashtaroth, and a few to Jehovah, and at last get into a quarrel with each other. Nimrod interposes his authority, and orders them to their work on the tower again. Soon the heavens cloud over, and a storm is seen approaching. Abraham prophesies destruction, and Nimrod orders him to be seized and hurled from the summit of the tower; but before his commands can be executed, a thunderbolt strikes it and crumbles it into a heap of shapeless stones. While Abraham exults over the destruction, the dispersion of the three races, the Shemites, Hamites, and Japthides, occurs. Nimrod laments over the result of his folly, and at last acknowledges the authority of the Divine Power, and thus the story ends.

The _dramatis personae_ are Nimrod (bass), Abraham (tenor), Master Workman (baritone), four Angels (boys' voices), the choruses by Nimrod's followers, the People, Angels, and Demons. The overture is a confused, formless number, indicating the darkness. In the beginning there is no clear musical idea; but at last the subject assumes definite form as the dawn breaks and the Master Workman announces the sunrise and calls the People to their work, in the recitative, "Awake! ye Workers, awake!" The summons is followed by the chorus, "To work," in which the vocal part is noisy, broken, and somewhat discordant, representing the hurry and bustle of a crowd of working-men,--with which, however, the orchestra and organ build up a powerful theme. The song of the Master Workman is also interwoven, and the chorus is finally developed with great vigor and splendid dramatic effect. Nimrod now appears, and in a triumphant outburst ("Stately rises our Work on high") contemplates the monument to his greatness now approaching completion. Abraham rebukes him ("How, Mortal, canst thou reach His Presence?"). The scene at this point is full of dramatic vigor. Nimrod hurls imprecations at Abraham, followed by strongly contrasting choruses of the angry People and protecting Angels, which lead up to the mixed chorus of the People, indicating the confusion of tongues as they severally ascribe the escape of Abraham from the furnace-fire to Baal, Dagon, Ashtaroth, and Jehovah, and closing with tumultuous dissension, which is quelled by Nimrod. The effect of the Angels' voices in the hurlyburly is exceedingly beautiful, and the accompaniments, particularly those of the fire-scene, are very vivid. Nimrod's order to resume work on the tower is followed by the angelic strain, "Come on! let us down to Earth now hasten." Once more the Builders break out in their barbaric chorus, "To work," followed by the portentous outburst of the People, "How the Face of Heaven is o'ershadowed!" In a vigorous solo Abraham replies, "No! 'tis not Vapor nor Storm-clouds that gather." There is a final controversy between Abraham and Nimrod, and as the latter orders the patriarch to be thrown from the tower, the storm breaks, and amid the shrieks of the chorus ("Horror! horror") and the tremendous clangor of organ and orchestra on the theme already developed in the opening, the tower is destroyed.