Scene VI. Land and Thanksgiving. "As the evening darkened, Columbus took

his station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his

vessel, ranging his eye along the horizon, and maintaining an intense and

unremitting watch."

The cantata opens with a brief orchestral prelude of a sombre character

begun by the trombone sounding the Gregorian intonation, and leading to

the barytone solo of the priest ("Ye men of Spain, the Time is nigh"),

appealing to the crew to commit themselves to Heaven, to which the full

male chorus responds with ever-increasing power, reaching the climax in

the "Ora pro nobis." Twice the priest repeats his adjuration, followed by

the choral response, the last time with joy and animation as the flag of

Castile is raised and they bid farewell to the shores of Spain. A short

allegro brings the scene to a close.

The second scene is a bass aria for Columbus ("Eighteen long Years of

Labor, Doubt, and Scorn"), of a vigorous and spirited character, changing

to a solemn adagio in the prayer, "Lord of all Power and Might," and

closing with a few spirited phrases in the opening tempo. It is followed

by the Vesper Hymn, "Ave Maris Stella," a number in which the composer's

eminent ability in sacred music is clearly shown. Its tranquil harmony

dies away in the softest of pianissimos, and is followed by an agitated

prelude introducing the furious chorus of the mutinous crew "Come,

Comrades, come," which gathers intensity as it progresses, voices and

instruments uniting in broken but powerful phrases, sometimes in full

chorus and again in solo parts, until the climax is reached, when

Columbus intervenes in brief solos of great dignity, to which the chorus

responds, the scene closing with the renewal of allegiance,--a stirring

bass solo with choral accompaniment.

The fifth scene is a tenor recitative and love-song of a most graceful

character, and one which will become a favorite when it is well known:--

"In Andalusia the nightingale

Sings,--sings through the live-long night;

Sings to its mate in pure delight:

But, ah me! ah, my love!

Vanished and lost to my sight

In distant Andalusia."

The final scene is very elaborate in its construction, and brings the

work to a sonorous and stately close. It opens with a very dramatic

recitative by Columbus ("The Night is dark, but many a Sign seen through

this Day proclaims the Goal at Hand"), at the close of which there is a

short orchestral prelude, which serves to introduce a trio ("Here at your

Bidding") for Columbus and two officers (first tenor and first bass). At

the cry of a seaman, "Land ho!" the chorus responds with animation.

Columbus bids his crew join him "in prayer and grateful praise." The

answer comes in a splendidly-written "Hallelujah," which is fairly

majestic in its progression, reaching its close in full broad harmony,

with the accompanying strains of trumpets.

The Light of Asia.

Mr. Buck's latest cantata, "The Light of Asia," well-nigh reaches the

dimensions of an opera or oratorio. It was written in 1886 and first

published in England. Its name reveals its source, and the composer has

made compensation for the privilege of using Mr. Edwin Arnold's beautiful

poem, by a graceful dedication of the work to him. The libretto was

prepared by the composer himself, who has shown great skill in making his

selections in such manner as not to disturb the continuity of the story.

The purely philosophical portions are omitted, and only those are

retained which have a human interest. In this manner he has avoided the

obstacle which the lack of human sympathy in the poem, beautiful as it

is, would otherwise have placed in his way. The text, as will be

remembered, has no definite metre, much of it being in blank verse, and

does not readily lend itself to musical expression; but it will be

conceded that the composer has also overcome this difficulty in a very

remarkable manner. The cantata is divided into four parts,--Prologue, the

Renunciation and Temptation, the Return, and Epilogue and Finale.

The first part has nine numbers. A brief prelude leads to the opening

chorus:--

"Below the highest sphere four regents sit,

Who rule the world; and under them are zones

Nearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead,

Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again."

It begins with a fugue, opened by the basses, simple in its construction

but stately in theme and very dignified throughout. It is followed by a

bass solo of descriptive character ("The King gave Order that his Town

should keep high Festival"), closing with a few choral measures, _sotto

voce_, relating that the King had ordered a festival in honor of the

advent of Buddha, and how a venerable saint, Asita, recognized the

divinity of the child and "the sacred primal signs," and foretold his

mission. The third number is the description of the young Siddârtha, set

in graceful recitative and semi-chorus for female voices, with a charming

accompaniment. The fourth is a spring song ("O come and see the Pleasance

of the Spring"), begun by tenors and basses and then developing into full

chorus with animated descriptive effects for the orchestra, picturing

"the thickets rustling with small life," the rippling waters among the

palms, the blue doves' cooings, the jungles laughing with the

nesting-songs, and the far-off village drums beating for marriage feasts.

A recitative for bass ("Bethink ye, O my Ministers"), in which the King

counsels with his advisers as to the training of the child, leads to a

four-part song for tenors and basses ("Love will cure these thin

Distempers"), in which they urge him to summon a court of pleasure in

which the young prince may award prizes to the fair. Then

"If one or two

Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek,

So may we choose for love with love's own eye."

The King orders the festival, and in the next number--a march and

animated three-part chorus for female voices--Kapilavastu's maidens flock

to the gate, "each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound." Then

comes the recognition, briefly told in soprano recitative. Yasôdhara

passes, and "at sudden sight of her he changed." A beautiful love-duet

for soprano and tenor ("And their Eyes mixed, and from the Look sprang

Love") closes the scene. The next number is a bass solo narrating the

triumph of Siddârtha over all other suitors, leading to a jubilant and

graceful wedding chorus ("Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired!"),

the words of which are taken from the "Indian Song of Songs."

The second part opens with a soprano solo describing his pleasure with

Yasôdhara, in the midst of which comes the warning of the Devas:--

"We are the voices of the wandering wind,

That moan for rest and rest can never find.

Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,--

A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife."

This number is a semi-chorus, set for female voices, interspersed with

brief phrases for tenor, and after a bass solo, relating the King's dream

and the hermit's interpretation, which induces him to doubly guard

Siddârtha's pleasure-house, leads up to a beautiful chorus, divided

between two sopranos, alto, two tenors, and two basses:--

"Softly the Indian night sunk o'er the plain,

Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars,

And cool with mountain airs sighing adown

From snow-flats on Himâla high outspread.

The moon above the eastern peaks

Silvered the roof-tops of the pleasure-house,

And all the sleeping land."

The next scene opens with a soprano solo ("Within the Bower of inmost

Splendor"), in which Yasôdhara relates her dream of the voice crying "The

Time is nigh," to Siddârtha, and closes with a tender duet for soprano

and tenor. The next number is a brief chorus ("Then in her Tears she

slept"), followed by the tenor solo, "I will depart," in which Siddârtha

proclaims his resolve "to seek deliverance and the unknown light," and

leading to a richly-colored and majestic chorus:

"There came a wind which lulled each sense aswoon

Of captains and of soldiers:

The gates of triple brass rolled back all silently

On their grim hinges;

Then, lightly treading, where those sleepers lay,

Into the night Siddârtha passed,

While o'er the land a tremor spread,

As if earth's soul beneath stirred with an unknown hope,

And rich celestial music thrilled the air

From hosts on hosts of shining ones."

A tenor solo describes the six long years of wandering, followed by a

characteristic chorus of voices of earth and air bidding him pass to the

tree under whose leaves it was foretold that truth should come to him for

the saving of the world. A short bass recitative leads to a vigorous

descriptive chorus relating the temptations of Siddârtha, in which the

orchestra is used with masterly effect. A brief soprano solo, the

apparition of Yasôdhara among the wanton shapes floating about the tree,

imploring him to return, and the tenor response, bidding the shadow

depart, intervene; and then the chorus resumes with increased vigor,

reaching a furious climax as the legions of hell tempt him, but dying

away in the close to phrases of tender beauty:--

"Radiant, rejoicing, strong, Buddha arose,

And far and near there spread an unknown peace.

As that divinest daybreak lightened earth,

The world was glad."

The third part (the Return) opens with a soprano solo of a slow and

mournful character, relating the sorrow of Yasôdhara and the visit of her

damsels, who announce the arrival of merchants with tidings of Siddârtha.

They are summoned, and tell their story in a short chorus, which is

followed by a brief soprano solo ("Uprose Yasôdhara with Joy"), an

exultant chorus ("While the Town rang with Music"), and another brief

phrase for soprano, leading to a fine choral outburst ("'Tis he!

Siddârtha, who was lost"). The next number, a bass solo describing the

King's wrath when he learns that Siddârtha has returned as a yellow-robed

hermit instead of with "shining spears and tramp of horse and foot," is

very sonorous as well as dramatic, and is followed by a tenor and bass

dialogue developing into a trio of great beauty ("Thus passed the Three

into the Way of Peace"). The final number is a masterpiece of choral work

both in the elaborateness of its construction and the majesty of its

effect, and brings the cantata to a close with the mystic words:--

"The Dew is on the Lotus! Rise, great Sun!

And lift my leaf and mix it with the wave.

The Sunrise comes! the Sunrise comes!

The Dewdrop slips into the shining sea.

Hail, High Deliverer, Hail!"

CORDER.

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.

George Frederick Handel was born at Halle, in Lower Saxony, Feb. 23,

1685, and like many another composer revealed his musical promise at a

very early age, only to encounter parental opposition. His father

intended him to be a lawyer; but Nature had her way, and in spite of

domestic antagonism triumphed. The Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels recognized

his ability and overcame the father's determination. Handel began his

studies with Zachau, organist of the Halle cathedral. After the death of

his father, in 1697, he went to Hamburg, and for a time played in the

orchestra of the German opera. It was during his residence in that city

that he wrote his first opera, "Almira" (1705). In the following year he

went to Italy, where he remained several months under the patronage of

the Grand Duke of Florence. During the next two years he visited Venice,

Rome, and Naples, and wrote several operas and minor oratorios. In 1709

he returned to Germany, and the Elector of Hanover, subsequently George

I. of England, offered him the position of capellmeister, which he

accepted upon the condition that he might visit England, having received

many invitations from that country. The next year he arrived in London

and brought out his opera of "Rinaldo," which proved a great success. At

the end of six months he was obliged to return to his position in

Hanover; but the English success made him impatient of the dulness of the

court. In 1712 he was in London again, little dreaming that the Elector

would soon follow him as king. Incensed with him for leaving Hanover, the

King at first refused to receive him; but some music which Handel

composed for an aquatic fête in his honor brought about the royal

reconciliation. In 1718 he accepted the position of chapel-master to the

Duke of Chandos, for whom he wrote the famous Chandos Te Deum and

Anthems, the serenata "Acis and Galatea," and "Esther," his first English

oratorio. In 1720 he was engaged as director of Italian opera by the

society of noblemen known as the Royal Academy of Music, and from that

time until 1740 his career was entirely of an operatic character. Opera

after opera came from his pen. Some were successful, others failed. At

first composer, then director, he finally became _impresario_, only to

find himself confronted with bitter rivalry, especially at the hands of

Bononcini and Porpora. Cabals were instituted against him. Unable to

contend with them alone, he formed a partnership with Heidegger,

proprietor of the King's Theatre, in 1729. It was broken in 1734, and he

took the management of Covent Garden. The Italian conspiracies against

him broke out afresh. He failed in his undertaking and became a bankrupt.

Slanders of all sorts were circulated, and his works were no longer well

received. In the midst of his adversity sickness overtook him, ending

with a partial stroke of paralysis. When sufficiently recovered he went

to the Continent, where he remained for a few months. On his return to

London he brought out some new works, but they were not favorably

received. A few friends who had remained faithful to him persuaded him to

give a benefit concert, which was a great success. It inspired him with

fresh courage; but he did not again return to the operatic world.

Thenceforward he devoted himself to oratorio, in which he made his name

famous for all time. He himself said: "Sacred music is best suited to a

man descending in the vale of years." "Saul" and the colossal "Israel in

Egypt," written in 1740, head the list of his wonderful oratorios. In

1741 he was invited to visit Ireland. He went there in November, and many

of his works were produced during the winter and received with great

enthusiasm. In April, 1742, his immortal "Messiah" was brought out at

Dublin. It was followed by "Samson," "Joseph," "Semele," "Belshazzar,"

and "Hercules," which were also successful; but even in the midst of his

oratorio work his rivals did not cease their conspiracies against him,

and in 1744 he was once more a bankrupt. For over a year his pen was

idle. In 1746 the "Occasional Oratorio" and "Judas Maccabæus" appeared,

and these were speedily followed by "Joshua," "Solomon," "Susanna,"

"Theodora," and "Jephthah." It was during the composition of the

last-named work that he was attacked with the illness which finally

proved fatal. He died April 14, 1759, and was buried in Westminster

Abbey. During the last few days of his life he was heard to express the

wish that "he might breathe his last on Good Friday, in hopes of meeting

his good God, his sweet Lord and Saviour, on the day of His

resurrection." The wish was granted him; for it was on Good Friday that

he passed away, leaving behind him a name and fame that will be cherished

so long as music retains its power over the human heart.

Acis and Galatea.

The first idea of Handel's famous pastoral, "Acis and Galatea," is to be

found in a serenata, "Aci, Galatea, e Polifemo," which he produced at

Naples in July, 1708. The plan of the work resembles that of the later

pastoral, though its musical setting is entirely different.[21] Little

was known of it however until nearly a quarter of a century afterwards,

when the composer revived portions of it in one of his London concerts,

as will shortly be seen.

In 1718 Handel entered the service of James, Duke of Chandos, as

chapel-master, succeeding Dr. Pepusch. His patron had accumulated an

immense fortune and spent it in a princely manner. He had built a marble

palace, at an enormous expense, at Cannons in Middlesex, where he lived

in almost regal state. It was the chapel attached to this mansion over

which Handel was called to preside, and there were ready for his use a

large choir, a band of instrumental performers, and a fine organ. The

anthems and services of his predecessor were laid aside, and that year

Handel's busy pen supplied two new settings of the Te Deum and the twelve

Chandos Anthems, which are really cantatas in form. His first English

opera, "Esther," was also composed at Cannons, and was followed by the

beautiful pastoral which forms the subject of this sketch. "Esther" was

first performed Aug. 20, 1720, and it is generally agreed that "Acis and

Galatea" followed it in the same year, though Schoelcher in his biography

assigns 1721 as the date. Nine characters are contained in the original

manuscript,--Galatea, Clori, and Eurilla, sopranos; Acis, Filli, Dorinda,

and Damon, altos; Silvio, tenor; and Polifemo, bass.

After this private performance the pastoral was not again heard from

until 1731-32, when it was given under peculiar circumstances. On the

13th of March, 1731, it was performed for the benefit of one Rochetti,

who took the rôle of Acis; but with this representation Handel had

nothing to do. The act of piracy was repeated in the following year, when

Mr. Arne, father of Dr. Arne the composer, and the lessee of the Little

Theatre in the Haymarket, announced its performance as follows:--

"At the new theatre in the Haymarket, on Thursday next, 11th May, will

be performed in English a pastoral opera called 'Acis and Galatea,'

with all the choruses, scenes, machines, and other decorations, etc.

(as before), being the first time it was ever performed in a theatrical

way. The part of Acis by Mr. Mourtier, being the first time of his

appearance in character on any stage; Galatea, Miss Arne.[22] Pit and

boxes, 5_s._"

Handel had taken no notice of the 1731 performance; but this

representation, given at a theatre directly opposite the one of which he

was manager, roused his resentment, though piracy of this kind was very

common in those days. He determined to outdo the manager "over the way."

On the 5th of June he announced in the "Daily Journal":--

"In the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, the present Saturday, being

the 10th of June, will be performed a serenata called 'Acis and

Galatea,' formerly composed by Mr. Handel, and now revised by him, with

several additions, and to be performed by a great number of the best

voices and instruments. There will be no action on the stage,[23] but

the scene will represent in a picturesque manner a rural prospect, with

rocks, groves, fountains, and grottos, among which will be disposed a

chorus of nymphs and shepherds; the habits, and every other decoration,

suited to the subject. Also on the 13th, 17th, 20th. The libretto

printed for J. Watts, in three acts."

The rival establishment had produced the work as it was originally given

at Cannons; but as intimated in his advertisement, Handel made additions,

interpolating a number of airs and choruses from the serenata which he

had composed at Naples, thus requiring the work to be sung both in

Italian and English,--a polyglot practice from which our own times are

not exempt. The part of Acis was sung by Senesino, a male soprano;

Galatea by Signora Strada; and Polyphemus by Montagnana. The other

parts--Clori and Eurilla sopranos, Filli and Dorinda contraltos, and

Silvio tenor--were also represented. It was performed eight times in

1732, and was brought out in the same form at Oxford in 1733; but in 1739

Handel restored it to its original shape as it had been given at Cannons.

It is now generally performed in two parts with the three characters

Galatea, Acis, and Polyphemus, and choruses of nymphs and shepherds.

The pretty pastoral will always possess more than ordinary interest, as

four celebrated poets are represented in the construction of the poem.

Gay wrote the most of it. It also contains a strophe by Hughes, a verse

by Pope,[24] and an extract from Dryden's translation of the Galatea myth

in the Metamorphoses of Ovid.[25] The story is based on the seventh fable

in the thirteenth book of the Metamorphoses,--the sad story which

Galatea, daughter of Nereus, tells to Scylla. The nymph was passionately

in love with the shepherd Acis, son of Faunus and of the nymph Symoethis,

and pursued him incessantly. She too was pursued by Polyphemus, the

one-eyed Cyclops of Ætna, contemner of the gods. One day, reclining upon

the breast of Acis, concealed behind a rock, she hears the giant pouring

out to the woods and mountains his story of love and despair: "I, who

despise Jove and the heavens and the piercing lightnings, dread thee,

daughter of Nereus; than the lightnings is thy wrath more dreadful to me.

But I should be more patient under these slights if thou didst avoid all

men. For why, rejecting the Cyclop, dost thou love Acis? And why prefer

Acis to my embraces?" As he utters these last complaints, he espies the

lovers. Then, raging and roaring so that the mountains shook and the sea

trembled, he hurled a huge rock at Acis and crushed him. The shepherd's

blood gushing forth from beneath the rock was changed into a river; and

Galatea, who had fled to the sea, was consoled.

The overture to the work, consisting of one movement, is thoroughly

pastoral in its style and marked by all that grace and delicacy which

characterize the composer's treatment of movements of this kind. It

introduces a chorus ("O the Pleasures of the Plains!") in which the easy,

careless life of the shepherds and their swains is pictured. Galatea

enters seeking her lover, and after the recitative, "Ye verdant Plains

and woody Mountains," relieves her heart with an outburst of melodious

beauty:--

"Hush, ye pretty warbling choir!

Your thrilling strains

Awake my pains

And kindle fierce desire.

Cease your song and take your flight;

Bring back my Acis to my sight."

Acis answers her, after a short recitative, with another aria equally

graceful ("Love in her Eyes sits playing and sheds delicious Death"). The

melodious and sensuous dialogue is continued by Galatea, who once more

sings:--

"As when the dove

Laments her love

All on the naked spray;

When he returns

No more she mourns,

But loves the live-long day.

Billing, cooing,

Panting, wooing,

Melting murmurs fill the grove,

Melting murmurs, lasting love."--

Then in a duet, sparkling with the happiness of the lovers ("Happy We"),

closing with chorus to the same words, this pretty picture of ancient

pastoral life among the nymphs and shepherds comes to an end.

In the second part there is another tone both to scene and music. The

opening chorus of alarm ("Wretched Lovers") portends the coming of the

love-sick Cyclops; the mountains bow, the forests shake, the waves run

frightened to the shore as he approaches roaring and calling for "a

hundred reeds of decent growth," that on "such pipe" his capacious mouth

may play the praises of Galatea. The recitative, "I melt, I rage, I

burn," is very characteristic, and leads to the giant's love-song, an

unctuous, catching melody almost too full of humor and grace for the

fierce brute of Ætna:--

"O ruddier than the cherry!

O sweeter than the berry!

O nymph more bright

Than moonshine night,

Like kidlings, blithe and merry.

"Ripe as the melting cluster,

No lily has such lustre.

Yet hard to tame

As raging flame,

And fierce as storms that bluster."

In marked contrast with this declaration follows the plaintive tender

song of Acis ("Love sounds the Alarm"). Galatea appeals to him to trust

the gods, and then the three join in a trio ("The Flocks shall leave the

Mountain"). Enraged at his discomfiture, the giant puts forth his power.

He is no longer the lover piping to Galatea and dissembling his real

nature, but a destructive raging force; and the fragment of mountain

which he tears away buries poor Acis as effectually as Ætna sometimes

does the plains beneath. The catastrophe accomplished, the work closes

with the sad lament of Galatea for her lover ("Must I my Acis still

bemoan?") and the choral consolations of the shepherds and their

swains:--

"Galatea, dry thy tears,

Acis now a god appears;

See how he rears him from his bed!

See the wreath that binds his head!

Hail! thou gentle murmuring stream;

Shepherds' pleasure, Muses' theme;

Through the plains still joy to rove,

Murmuring still thy gentle love."

[21] The superior attractions of the English serenata will probably

prevent the earlier work from ever becoming a popular favorite; more

especially since the rôle of Polifemo needs a bass singer with a

voice of the extraordinary compass of two octaves and a

half.--_Rockstro's Life of Handel_.

[22] Miss Arne, afterwards Mrs. Cibber, enjoyed, under the latter name, a

great reputation as a singer. Her husband was Theophilus Cibber, the

brother of Colley Cibber, a poet laureate in the reign of George

II.--_Schoelcher's Life of Handel_.

[23] This undoubtedly is the manner in which this charming little piece

ought to be performed. It is a dramatic poem, but not an acting play,

and the incidents are such as cannot be represented on the stage. A

few years ago another attempt was made to perform it as an opera, but

without success. Polyphemus is entirely an ideal character, and any

attempt to personate him must be ridiculous; and the concluding

scene, in which the giant throws a huge rock at the head of his

rival, produced shouts of merriment. "Acis and Galatea" is performed

in an orchestra in the manner in which oratorios are performed; but

its effect would certainly be heightened by the picturesque scenery

and decorations employed by Handel himself.--_Hogarth's Musical

Drama_.

[24]

"Not showers to larks so pleasing,

Not sunshine to the bee,

Not sleep to toil so easing,

As these dear smiles to me."

[25]

"Help! Galatea! Help, ye parent gods!

And take me dying to your deep abodes."

Alexander's Feast.

Handel composed the music for Dryden's immortal ode in 1736. In the

original score the close of the first part is dated January 5, and the

end of the work January 17, showing rapid composition. Three years before

this time he had had a violent quarrel with Senesino, his principal

singer at the opera-house in the Haymarket, which led to his abandonment

of the theatre and its occupancy by his rival, Porpora. After an

unsuccessful attempt to compete with the latter, which nearly bankrupted

him in health and purse, he decided to quit opera altogether. He sought

relief for his physical ailments at Aix-la-Chapelle, and upon his return

to London in October, 1735, publicly announced that "Mr. Handel will

perform Oratorios and have Concerts of Musick this Winter at Covent

Garden Theatre." One of the first works for these concerts was

"Alexander's Feast," completed, as stated above, Jan. 17, 1736. The poem

was prepared by Newburgh Hamilton, who says in his preface:--

"I determined not to take any unwarrantable liberty with the poem,

which has long done honor to the nation, and which no man can add to or

abridge in anything material without injuring it. I therefore confined

myself to a plain division of it into airs, recitatives or choruses,

looking upon the words in general so sacred as scarcely to violate one

in the order of its first place. How I have succeeded the world is to

judge, and whether I have preserved that beautiful description of the

passions, so exquisitely drawn, at the same time I strove to reduce

them to the present taste in sounds. I confess my principal view was,

not to lose this favorable opportunity of its being set to music by

that great master who has with pleasure undertaken the task, and who

only is capable of doing it justice; whose compositions have long shown

that they can conquer even the most obstinate partiality, and inspire

life into the most senseless words. If this entertainment can in the

least degree give satisfaction to the real judges of poetry or music, I

shall think myself happy in having promoted it; being persuaded that it

is next to an improbability to offer the world anything in those arts

more perfect than the united labors and utmost efforts of a Dryden and

a Handel."

In addition to the preface Hamilton appended a poem "To Mr. Handel on his

setting to Musick Mr. Dryden's Feast of Alexander," in which he

enthusiastically sings:--

"Two glowing sparks of that celestial flame

Which warms by mystick art this earthly frame,

United in one blaze of genial heat,

Produced this piece in sense and sounds complete.

The Sister Arts, as breathing from one soul,

With equal spirit animate the whole.

Had Dryden lived the welcome day to bless,

Which clothed his numbers in so fit a dress,

When his majestick poetry was crowned

With all your bright magnificence of sound,

How would his wonder and his transport rise,

Whilst famed Timotheus yields to you the prize!"

The work was first performed at Covent Garden Theatre, February 19, about

a month after it was written; the principal singers being Signora Strada,

Miss Young,[26] John Beard, and Mr. Erard. It met with remarkable

success. The London "Daily Post," on the morning after its production,

said:--

"Never was upon the like Occasion so numerous and splendid an Audience

at any Theatre in London, there being at least 1,300 Persons present;

and it is judged that the Receipt of the House could not amount to less

than £450."

It was repeated four times, and then withdrawn to make room for "Acis and

Galatea" and the oratorio of "Esther." In March, 1737, it was revived,

with two additional choruses made by Hamilton for the work; and upon the

same occasion an Italian cantata in praise of Saint Cecilia was sung.

It is unnecessary to inform the reader of the nature of a poem familiar

the world over. The overture is written for strings and two oboes.

Throughout the work the orchestration is thin, bassoons and horns being

the only instruments added to those named above; but in 1790 Mozart

amplified the accompaniments,--an improvement which he also made for the

score of "Acis and Galatea." The great solos of the composition are the

furious aria, "'Revenge, Revenge!' Timotheus cries," and the descriptive

recitative, "Give the Vengeance due to the valiant Crew," in which Handel

employs his imitative powers with consummate effect. Clouet, in his

"Chants Classiques," says of the passage "And the king seized a flambeau

with zeal to destroy:--

"He paints Alexander issuing forth in the midst of an orgie, arming

himself with a torch, and followed by his generals, running to set fire

to Persepolis. While the accompaniment sparkles with the confused and

unequal glare of the torches, the song expresses truthfully the

precipitation and the tumult of the crowd, the rolling of the flames,

and the living splendor of a conflagration."

The choruses of the work are equally strong, and some of them are among

the best Handel ever wrote, particularly, "He sang Darius great and

good," "Break his Bands of Sleep asunder," "Let old Timotheus yield the

Prize," and "The many rend the Skies with loud Applause." They are as

genuine inspirations as the best choruses of the "Messiah" or of "Israel

in Egypt."

In 1739 Handel also set to music Dryden's shorter "Ode for St. Cecilia's

Day," beginning,

"From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony

This universal frame began,"

the music for which had been originally composed in 1687 by Giovanni

Baptista Draghi, an Italian, who was music-master to Queen Anne and Queen

Mary, and at that time was organist to Catharine of Braganza, widow of

Charles II. Handel's setting was first performed on the anniversary of

the saint's festival, Nov. 22, 1739. The programme announced:

"Lincoln's Inn Fields. At the Theatre Royal in Lincoln's Inn Fields,

Thursday next, November 22 (being St. Cecilia's Day), will be performed

an Ode of Mr. Dryden's, with two new Concertos for several instruments,

which will be preceded by Alexander's Feast and a Concerto on the

organ."

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

magnificent choruses.

[26] Cecilia, a pupil of Geminiani, and afterwards wife of Dr. Arne.

L'Allegro.

"L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato," the first two movements of

which contain a musical setting of Milton's well-known poem, was written

in the seventeen days from Jan. 19 to Feb. 6, 1740, and was first

performed on the 27th of the latter month at the Royal Theatre, Lincoln's

Inn Fields, London. Upon this occasion the first and second parts were

preceded, according to the handbook, by "a new concerto for several

instruments," and the third by "a new concerto on the organ," which was

played by the composer himself. It was performed again Jan. 31, 1741,

with the addition of ten new numbers to the music, which in the original

manuscript appear at the end, marked by Handel, "l'Additione." At a still

later period Handel omitted the third part ("Moderato") entirely, and

substituted for it Dryden's "Ode on St. Cecilia's Day," which he composed

in 1739.

The text of the first two parts is by Milton, Allegro, as is well known,

chanting the praises of pleasure, Penseroso those of melancholy; Allegro

represented by tenor and Penseroso by soprano, and each supported by a

chorus which joins in the discussion of the two moods. There is a radical

difference between the poem as Milton wrote it and as it appears set to

Handel's music. Milton presented two distinct poems, though allied by

antithesis, and Penseroso does not speak until Allegro has finished. In

the poem as adapted for music they alternate in sixteen strophes and

antistrophes. The adaptation of these two parts was made by Charles

Jennens, who was a frequent collaborator with Handel.[27] He also

suggested the addition of a third part, the Moderato, and wrote the

words, in which he counsels both Allegro and Penseroso to take the middle

course of moderation as the safest. The wisdom of the poet in suggesting

the _via media_ is more to be commended than his boldness in

supplementing Milton's stately verse with commonplaces, however wise they

may have been. Chrysander, the German biographer of Handel presents a

philosophical view of the case. He says:

"In the two pictures a deeply thoughtful mind has fixed for itself two

far-reaching goals. With these the poem has reached its perfect end,

and in the sense of its inventor there is nothing further to be added.

The only possible, the only natural outlet was that into a _life of

action_, according to the direction which the spirit now should take;

already it was the first step into this new domain which called forth

the divided feeling. The two moods do not run together into any third

mood as their point of union, but into active real life, as different

characters, forever separate. Therefore 'Moderation' could not bring

about the reconciliation; only life could do it; not contemplation, but

deeds. Gladness and Melancholy are symptoms of a vigorous soul;

moderation would be mediocrity. And herein lies the unpoetic nature of

the addition by Jennens; read according to Milton, the concluding moral

of a rich English land-owner whose inherited abundance points to

nothing but a golden mean, and whose only real problem is to keep the

balance in the lazy course of an inactive life, makes a disheartening

impression."

The work as a whole is one of Handel's finest inspirations. The Allegro

is bright and spirited throughout; the Penseroso grave and tender; and

the Moderato quiet and respectable, as might be expected of a person who

never experiences the enthusiasms of joy or the comforts of melancholy.

The most of the composition is assigned to solo voices which carry on the

discussion, though in the Moderato it is mainly the chorus which urges

the sedate compromise between the two.

The work opens without overture, its place having originally been

supplied by an orchestral concerto. In vigorous and very dramatic

recitative Allegro bids "loathed Melancholy" hence, followed by

Penseroso, who in a few bars of recitative far less vigorously consigns

"vain, deluding joys" to "some idle brain;" Allegro replies with the

first aria ("Come, come, thou Goddess fair"), a beautifully free and

flowing melody, responded to by Penseroso, who in an aria of stately

rhythm appeals to his goddess, "Divinest Melancholy." Now Allegro summons

his retinue of mirth:--

"Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee

Jest and youthful jollity,

Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,

Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek,

Sport, that wrinkled care derides,

And Laughter, holding both his sides;"

and the chorus takes up the jovial refrain in the same temper. The aria

itself is well known as the laughing song. Indeed, both aria and chorus

are full of unrestrained mirth, and go laughingly along in genuine

musical giggles.[28] The effect is still further enhanced by the next

aria for Allegro ("Come and trip it as you go"), a graceful minuet, which

is also taken by the chorus. After a recitative by Penseroso ("Come,

pensive Nun"), and the aria, "Come, but keep thy wonted State" the first

Penseroso chorus occurs ("Join with thee calm Peace and Quiet"), a short

but beautiful passage of tranquil harmony. Once more in recitative

Allegro bids "loathed Melancholy" hence, and then in the aria, "Mirth,

admit me of thy Crew," leading into a chorus, sings of the lark,

"startling dull Night" and bidding good-morrow at his window,--a

brilliant number accompanied with an imitation of the lark's song.

Penseroso replies with an equally brilliant song ("Sweet Bird, that

shuns't the Noise of Folly"), in which the nightingale plays the part of

accompaniment. Another aria by Allegro ("Mirth, admit me of thy Crew")

gives an opportunity for a blithe and jocund hunting-song for the bass,

followed by one of the most beautiful numbers in the work ("Oft on a Plat

of rising Ground") sung by Penseroso, in which the ringing of the far-off

curfew, "swinging slow, with sullen roar," is introduced with telling

effect. This is followed by a quiet meditative aria ("Far from all

Resorts of Mirth"), when once again Allegro takes up the strain in the

two arias, "Let me wander not unseen," and "Straight mine Eye hath caught

new Pleasures." The first part closes with the Allegro aria and chorus

("Or let the merry Bells ring round"), full of the very spirit of joy and

youth; and ending with an exquisite harmonic effect as the gay crowd

creep to bed, "by whispering winds soon lulled to sleep."

The second part begins with a stately recitative and aria by Penseroso

("Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy"), followed by one of the most

characteristic arias in the work ("But O, sad Virgin, that thy Power

might raise!") in which the passage,

"Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

Such notes as warbled to the string

Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,"

is accompanied by long persistent trills that admirably suit the words.

The next number ("Populous Cities please me then") is a very descriptive

solo for Allegro, with chorus which begins in canon form for the voices

and then turns to a lively movement as it pictures the knights

celebrating their triumphs and the "store of ladies" awarding prizes to

their gallants. Again Allegro in a graceful aria sings, "There let Hymen

oft appear." It is followed by a charming canzonet ("Hide me from Day's

garish Eye") for Penseroso, which leads to an aria for Allegro ("I'll to

the well-trod Stage anon"), opening in genuinely theatrical style, and

then changing to a delightfully melodious warble at the words,--

"Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child,

Warble his native wood-notes wild."

This is followed by three characteristic arias, "And ever, against eating

Cares," "Orpheus himself may heave his Head," and "These Delights, if

thou canst give,"--the last with chorus. Penseroso has a short chorus in

plain but stately harmony ("There let the pealing Organ blow"), with

pauses for the organ _ad libitum_, followed by the aria, "May at last my

weary Age," and the majestic devotional fugued chorus, "These Pleasures,

Melancholy, give!" which close the second part.

The third part, "Il Moderato," is rarely given, and the work may well

close with the fugue that so beautifully and harmoniously ends the second

part. It opens with an aria in which Moderato tenders the sage advice:--

"Come, with native lustre shine,

Moderation, grace divine,

Whom the wise God of nature gave,

Mad mortals from themselves to save.

Keep as of old the middle way,

Nor deeply sad nor idly gay;

But still the same in look and gait,

Easy, cheerful, and sedate,

Keep as of old the middle way."

With such didactic commonplaces as the above, Moderato commends

temperance, health, contentment, frugality, equanimity, and chaste love,

and bids them,--

"Come, with gentle hand restrain

Those who fondly court their bane;

One extreme with caution shunning,

To another blindly running.

Kindly teach how blest are they

Who nature's equal rules obey,

Who safely steer two rocks between,

And prudent keep the golden mean."

Thus Mr. Jennens's mild philosophy goes on, one of his verses, "As steals

the Morn upon the Night," set to a brilliant tenor and soprano duet,

followed by the closing chorus, "Thy Pleasures, Moderation, give," in

full, broad, rich harmony. There needs no other proof of Handel's genius,

than that he could link such Tupperisms to his grand measures.

[27] Jennens was an amateur poet of the period, descended from a

manufacturing family of Birmingham, from whom he inherited a large

fortune. He lived on terms of close intimacy with Handel, and was

mentioned in his will. He died Nov. 20, 1773.

[28] I was lucky enough to meet with the approbation of Mr. Bates in the

recitative of "Deeper and deeper still;" my next song was the

laughing one. Mr. Harrison, my predecessor at those concerts, was a

charming singer: his singing "Oft on a plat of rising ground," his

"Lord, remember David," and "O come let us worship and fall down,"

breathed pure religion. No divine from the pulpit, though gifted with

the greatest eloquence, could have inspired his auditors with a more

perfect sense of duty to their Maker than Harrison did by his

melodious tones and chaste style; indeed, it was faultless: but in

the animated songs of Handel he was very deficient. I heard him sing

the laughing song without moving a muscle, and determined, though it

was a great risk, to sing it my own way, and the effect produced

justified the experiment; instead of singing it with the serious

tameness of Harrison, I laughed all through it, as I conceived it

ought to be sung, and as must have been the intention of the

composer. The infection ran; and their Majesties, and the whole

audience, as well as the orchestra, were in a roar of laughter, and a

signal was given from the royal box to repeat it, and I sang it again

with increased effect.--_Michael Kelly's Reminiscences_, 1789.

HATTON.

John Liphot Hatton, a composer well known in America, not only by his

songs and other works, but also by his visits here, was born in Liverpool

in 1809. Though his early musical education was very scanty, he soon

became known as a composer after his removal to London in 1832, and his

works met with a very cordial reception. In 1842 he became conductor at

Drury Lane Theatre, and while acting in that capacity brought out one of

his operettas, called "The Queen of the Thames." In 1844 he went to

Vienna and produced his opera "Pascal Bruno." Shortly afterwards he

issued several songs under the _nom de plume_ of "Czapek," which secured

for themselves widespread popularity. In 1848 he came to this country,

and some years later made a concert-tour here. Upon his return to England

he assumed direction of the music at the Princess' Theatre, and while

engaged there wrote incidental music for "Macbeth," "Sardanapalus,"

"Faust and Marguerite," "King Henry VIII.," "Pizarro," "King Richard

II.," "King Lear," "The Merchant of Venice," and "Much Ado About

Nothing." In 1856 he wrote "Robin Hood," a cantata; in 1864 the opera

"Rose, or Love's Ransom," for Covent Garden; and in 1877 "Hezekiah," a

sacred drama, which was performed at the Crystal Palace. He has also

written a large number of part songs, which are great favorites with

quartet clubs, and nearly two hundred songs which are very popular; among

them, "Good-by, Sweetheart, good-by," which has been a stock piece with

concert tenors for years, and which the late Signor Brignoli used to sing

with excellent effect. His music is specially characterized by grace and

melodiousness. Hatton died in 1886.

Robin Hood.

The pastoral cantata of "Robin Hood" was written for the Bradford

(England) Triennial Festival of 1856, Sims Reeves creating the part of

the hero. Its name suggests the well-known story of the greenwood outlaw

which has been charmingly versified by George Linley in the libretto. The

personages are Maid Marian, Robin Hood, Little John, and "The Bishop."

Maid Marian, it will be remembered, was the mistress who followed Robin

into the Sherwood Forest and shared his wild life; and Little John was

his stalwart lieutenant, whose name was transposed after he joined the

band, thus heightening the incongruity between his name and his great

size. The incident contained in Linley's poem appears to have been

suggested by Robin Hood's penchant for capturing bishops and other

ecclesiastics, notwithstanding his religious professions, which were

exemplified by the retention of Friar Tuck as chaplain in the bold

archer's household; or it may be based upon the historical story of the

expedition which Edward II. and some of his retainers, disguised as

monks, made into the forest for the purpose of exterminating the outlaws

and thus stopping their slaughter of the royal deer. As the old story

goes, they were led into an ambuscade by a forester who had agreed to

conduct them to the haunts of Robin, and were captured. When Robin

recognized the King in the disguise of the abbot, he craved forgiveness

for himself and his band, which was granted upon condition that he should

accompany his sovereign to Court and take a place in the royal household.

The old collection of ballads, "The Lytell Geste of Robyn Hood," tells

the same story and continues it, relating how after "dwelling in the

Kynge's courte" a year, he tired of it and obtained permission to make a

visit to the woods again, but forfeited his word and never returned,

dying at last in Kirklees priory, through the treachery of the abbess,

and how in his last moments he blew a loud blast on his horn, summoning

Little John from the forest, to whom, after he had forced his way into

his chamber, the dying Robin said:

"Give me my bent bow in my hand,

And an arrow I'll let free,

And where that arrow is taken up,

There let my grave digged be."

The cantata opens with a chorus of the outlaws, who vigorously assert

their independence of tribute, laws, and monarchs, followed by a

bombastic bass aria by the Bishop, who threatens them for destroying the

King's deer. His grandiloquence is speedily interrupted by the outlaws,

with Robin at their head, who surround him without further ado and make

him the butt of their sport. Robin Hood sings a charmingly melodious

ballad, "Under the Greenwood Tree," in which the Bishop is invited to

become one of their number and share their sylvan enjoyments. A trio and

chorus follow, in the course of which the Bishop parts with his personal

possessions in favor of the gentlemen around him in Lincoln green with

"bent bows." A chorus ("Strike the Harp") also informs us that the

ecclesiastic is forced to dance for the genial band much against his will

as well as his dignity. Robin's sentimentalizing about the pleasures

under the greenwood tree is still further emphasized by a madrigal for

female voices, supposed to be sung by the forest maidens, though their

identity is not very clear, as Marian was the only maid that accompanied

the band. After the plundering scene, the cantata grows more passionate

in character, describing a pretty and tender love-scene between Robin and

Marian, which is somewhat incongruous, whether Marian be considered as

the outlaw's mistress, or, as some of the old chroniclers have it, his

wife Matilda, who changed her name when she followed him into the forest.

From the musical standpoint, however, it affords an opportunity for

another graceful ballad of sentiment, in which Marian describes her heart

as "a frail bark upon the waters of love;" a duet in which the lovers

passionately declare their love for each other as well as their delight

with the forest; and a final chorus of the band, jubilantly proclaiming

their hatred of kings and courtiers, and their loyalty to Robin Hood and

Maid Marian. It may be worthy of note in this connection that Bishop, the

English composer, wrote a legendary opera called "Maid Marian, or the

Huntress of Arlingford," in which the heroine is Matilda.

HAYDN.

Joseph Haydn, the creator of the symphony and the string quartet, was

born at Rohrau, a little Austrian village on the river Leitha, March 31,

1732. His father was a wheelwright and his mother a cook, in service with

Count Harrach. Both the parents were fond of music, and both sang, the

father accompanying himself upon the harp, which he played by ear. The

child displayed a voice so beautiful that in his sixth year he was

allowed to study music, and was also given a place in the village

church-choir. Reutter, the capellmeister of St. Stephen's, Vienna, having

heard him, was so impressed with the beauty of his voice that he offered

him a position as chorister. Haydn eagerly accepted it, as it gave him an

opportunity for study. While in the service of St. Stephen's he had

lessons on the violin and piano, as well as in composition. When his

voice broke, and his singing was of no further value, he was thrown upon

the tender mercies of the world. Fortune favored him, however. He

obtained a few pupils, and gave himself to composition. He made the

acquaintance of Metastasio, Porpora, and Gluck. His trios began to

attract attention, and he soon found himself rising into prominence. In

1759, through the influence of a wealthy friend and amateur, he was

appointed to the post of musical director and composer in the service of

Count Morzin, and about this time wrote his first symphony. When the

Count dismissed his band, Prince Paul Anton Esterhazy received him as his

second capellmeister, under Werner. When the latter died, in 1766, Haydn

took his place as sole director. His patron meanwhile had died, and was

succeeded by his son Nicolaus, between whom and Haydn there was the

utmost good feeling. Up to this time Haydn had written thirty symphonies,

a large number of trios, quartets, and several vocal pieces. His

connection with the Prince lasted until 1790, and was only terminated by

the latter's death. During this period of twenty-eight years his musical

activity was unceasing; and as he had an orchestra of his own, and his

patron was ardently devoted to music, the incentive to composition was

never lacking. Anton succeeded Nicolaus, and was generous enough to

increase Haydn's pension; but he dismissed the entire chapel, and the

composer took up his abode in Vienna. He was hardly established before he

received a flattering proposition from Salomon, the manager, to go to

England. He had already had many pressing invitations from others, but

could not accept them, owing to his engagement to Esterhazy. Now that he

was free, he decided to make the journey. On New Year's Day, 1791, he

arrived in London. Success greeted him at once. He became universally

popular. Musicians and musical societies paid him devoted attention. He

gave a series of symphony concerts which aroused the greatest enthusiasm.

He was treated with distinguished courtesy by the royal family. Oxford

gave him the honorary degree of Doctor of Music. The nobility entertained

him sumptuously. After a year of continuous fêtes he returned to Germany,

where he remained two years, during a portion of which time Beethoven was

his pupil. In 1794 he made his second journey to England, where his

former successes were repeated, and fresh honors were showered upon him.

In 1804 he was notified by Prince Esterhazy that he was about to

reorganize his chapel, and wished him for its conductor again. Haydn

accordingly returned to his old position, where he remained during the

rest of his life. He was already an old man, but it was during this

period that his most remarkable works were produced, among them the

Austrian National Hymn ("Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser"), the "Seven

Words," the "Creation," the "Seasons," and many of his best trios and

quartets. He died May 31, 1809, a few days after the occupation of Vienna

by the French, and among the mourners at his funeral were many French

officers. Funeral services were held in all the principal European

cities. Honored and respected all over Europe, he was most deeply loved

by his own countrymen, who still affectionately speak of him as "Papa"

Haydn.

The Seven Words.

"The Seven Words of Jesus on the Cross," sometimes called "The Passion,"

was written by Haydn in 1785, for the cathedral of Cadiz, upon a

commission from the chapter for appropriate music for Good Friday. It was

at first composed as an instrumental work, consisting of seven adagio

movements, and in this form was produced in London by the composer

himself as a "Passione instrumentale." He afterwards introduced solos and

choruses, and divided it into two parts, separating them by a largo

movement for wind instruments. It was then given at Eisenstadt in 1797,

and four years later was published in the new form, with the following

preface by the composer himself:--

About fifteen years ago I was applied to by a clergyman in Cadiz, and

requested to write instrumental music to the seven words of Jesus on

the cross. It was then customary every year, during Lent, to perform an

Oratorio in the Cathedral at Cadiz, the effect of which the following

arrangements contributed to heighten. The walls, windows, and columns

of the church were hung with black cloth, and only one large lamp,

hanging in the centre, lighted the solemn and religious gloom. At noon

all the doors were closed, and the music began. After a prelude, suited

to the occasion, the bishop ascended the pulpit, pronounced one of the

seven words, which was succeeded by reflections upon it. As soon as

these were ended he descended from the pulpit and knelt before the

altar. The pause was filled by music. The bishop ascended and descended

again a second, a third time, and so on; and each time the orchestra

filled up the intervals in the discourse.

My composition must be judged on a consideration of these

circumstances. The task of writing seven adagios, each of which was to

last about ten minutes, to preserve a connection between them, without

wearying the hearers, was none of the lightest, and I soon found that I

could not confine myself within the limits of the time prescribed.

The music was originally without text, and was printed in that form. It

was only at a later period that I was induced to add the text. The

Oratorio entitled "The Seven Words of our Redeemer on the Cross," as a

complete and, as regards the vocal parts, an entirely new work, was

first published by Messrs. Breitkopf and Härtel, of Leipsic. The

partiality with which this work has been received by scientific

musicians leads me to hope that it will not be without effect on the

public at large.

Joseph Haydn.

Vienna, March 1, 1880.

As the various movements are all of the same general tone and character,

though varied with all that skill and mastery of instrumental effect for

which Haydn was so conspicuous, it is needless to describe each

separately. By many of the musicians of his day it was considered one of

his most sublime productions; and Bombet declares that Haydn on more than

one occasion, when he was asked to which of his works he gave the

preference, replied, "The Seven Words."

It opens with an adagio for full orchestra, of a very sorrowful but

impressive character. Then follow each of the Seven Words, given out in

simple chorale form, followed by its chorus, namely:--

I.

PATIENCE.

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

_Chorus_: "Lamb of God! Surely Thou hast borne our sorrows."

II.

THE PENITENT FORGIVEN.

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

_Chorus_: "Lord, have mercy on me after Thy great goodness."

III.

THE MOURNERS.

"Woman, behold thy Son. Son, behold Thy mother."

_Chorus_: "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for Me."

IV.

DESOLATION.

"Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani?"

_Chorus_: "O my God, look upon Me."

V.

THE BITTER CUP.

"I thirst."

_Chorus_: "He treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath."

VI.

COMPLETE OBEDIENCE.

"It is finished."

_Chorus_: "He came down from Heaven."

VII.

THE GREAT OBLATION.

"Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit."

_Chorus_: "Into Thy hands, O Lord."

Following immediately after the last number the whole spirit of the music

changes with the chorus, "The Veil of the Temple was rent in twain," a

presto movement, sung fortissimo, describing the darkness, the quaking of

the earth, the rending of the rocks, the opening of the graves, and the

arising of the bodies of the saints who slept, with all that vividness in

imitation and sublimity of effect which characterize so many of the

composer's passages in "The Creation" and "The Seasons." Haydn was by

nature a deeply religious man, and that he felt the inspiration of the

solemn subject is shown by the manner in which he conceived it, and by

the exalted devotion of the music which accompanies the last words of the

Man of Sorrows. The lines which Bombet quotes from Dante in this

connection are hardly exaggerated:--

"He with such piety his thought reveals,

And with such heavenly sweetness clothes each tone,

That hell itself the melting influence feels."

Ariadne.

The cantata "Ariana a Naxos" was written in 1792, and is for a single

voice with orchestra. As an illustration of the original cantata form, it

is one of the most striking and perfect. Its story is an episode familiar

in mythology. When Minos, King of Crete, had vanquished the Athenians, he

imposed upon Ægeus, their king, the severe penalty that seven youths

should be annually sent to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur. In the

fourth year the king's son, Theseus, was among the number. He was more

fortunate than his predecessors, for he slew the Minotaur and was rescued

from the labyrinth by following the thread of Ariadne, daughter of Minos,

who had conceived a violent passion for the handsome warrior, conqueror

of Centaurs and Amazons. Upon his return to Athens she accompanied him as

far as the island Naxos, where the ungrateful wretch perfidiously left

her. It is this scene of desertion which Haydn chose for his cantata.

Ariadne is supposed to have just awakened from sleep and reclines upon a

mossy bank. The first number is a recitative and largo in which she

hopefully calls upon Theseus to return. The melody is noble and spirited

in style, and yet tender and fervent in its expression of love for the

absent one. In the next number, a recitative and andante ("No one

listens! My sad Words Echo but repeats"), hopefulness turns to anxiety.

The contrast between the blissful longing of the one and the growing

solicitude expressed in the other number is very striking. The next

melody, an _allegro vivace_,--

"What see I? O heavens! Unhappy me!

Those are the sails of the Argosy! Greeks are those yonder!

Theseus! 'Tis he stands at the prow,"--

is remarkable for its passionate intensity and dramatic strength. The

clouds of despair close over her, and she calls down the vengeance of the

gods upon the deserter. In the next two numbers, an adagio ("To whom can

I turn me?"), and an andante ("Ah! how for Death I am longing"), the

melodies closely follow the sentiment of the text, accompanied by very

expressive instrumentation. An _allegro presto_, infused with the very

spirit of hopeless gloom and despair, ends the cantata:--

"Woe's me! deceived, betrayed!

Earth holds no consolation."

In the mythological version, however, consolation came; for Bacchus,

"ever young," and full of pity for lorn maids, married her, and gave her

a crown of seven stars, which after her death was placed among the

constellations. The music presents many difficulties for a singer, as it

requires the noblest style of declamation, peculiar refinement of

sentiment, and rare musical intelligence, as well as facility in

execution to give expression to its recitative and strongly contrasting

melodies, which have no unity of key, but follow the varying sentiments,

with their changes of tone-color, as closely as Theseus followed his

thread.

HILLER.

Ferdinand Hiller, one of the most eminent of modern German composers,

and a writer of more than ordinary ability, was born at

Frankfort-on-the-Main, Oct. 24, 1811. His musical talent displayed itself

so early that in his tenth year he appeared in concerts. In 1825 he began

his studies with Hummel, and two years afterwards accompanied him on a

concert-tour to Vienna, where he published his first work, a piano-forte

quartet. He next went to Paris, where he remained until 1835, occupying

for a time the position of professor in Choron's "Institution de

Musique," but principally devoting himself to piano-playing, composition,

and concerts. In 1836 he returned to Frankfort, and for more than a year

conducted the concerts of the Coecilienverein. He then went to Milan,

where he met Rossini, and with his assistance brought out his opera

"Romilda" at La Scala, but without much success. About the same time he

began his oratorio "The Destruction of Jerusalem," one of his most

important works. In 1841 he made a second journey to Italy and gave

particular attention to church music. On his return he first resided at

Frankfort, but was soon in Leipsic, where he conducted the Gewandhaus

concerts (1843-44), and after that time in Dresden, where he produced two

more operas, "Traum in der Christ-nacht" and "Conradin." In 1847 he was

appointed municipal capellmeister at Düsseldorf, and three years later

took a similar position at Cologne, where he organized the Conservatory.

In that city he exercised a widespread influence, not alone by his

teaching, but also by his direction of the famous Lower Rhine festivals.

He also made many musical tours which increased his fame. In 1852-53 he

conducted opera in Paris; in 1870, gave a series of successful concerts

in St. Petersburg; and in 1871-72 visited England, where he produced his

works both in public concerts and festivals. His compositions are very

numerous, including among the most prominent, five operas, four

overtures, a festival march for the opening of the Albert Hall, the

Spring Symphony, the oratorios "Destruction of Jerusalem" and "Saul," and

the cantatas "Heloise," "Night," "Loreley," "O weint um Sie," "Ver

sacrum," "Nala and Damajanti," "Song of Victory," "Song of the Spirits

over the Water," "Prometheus," and "Rebecca." He has also enriched

musical literature with many important works, among them, "Aus dem

Tonleben unserer Zeit" (1867), "Personalisches und Musikalisches" (1876),

"Recollections of Mendelssohn" (1874), and "Letters to an Unknown"

(1877). He died in May, 1885.

Song of Victory.

The "Song of Victory," a cantata for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra,

was first produced at the Cologne Festival of 1871, and was written to

celebrate the victorious conclusion of the Franco-German war of 1870. It

consists of eight numbers, all of which are sacred in character, though

their purpose is to express gratitude and joy over the triumph of the

German arms.

The opening number is a vigorous, jubilant chorus ("The Lord great

Wonders for us hath wrought"). It begins with a slow movement in massive

chords, gathering animation as it proceeds, and closing pianissimo on the

words, "There is none that searcheth or understandeth." The second number

is a soprano solo and chorus ("Praise, O Jerusalem, praise the Lord")

declamatory in style. The third ("The Heathen are fallen in the Pit") is

assigned to chorus, and is the most dramatic in the work, describing as

it does the terrors of war. In the fourth ("See, it is written in the

Book of the Righteous"), a short soprano solo, the melody is a tender

lament for the dead. The fifth ("He in Tears that soweth") is a soprano

solo with chorus of first and second sopranos and altos. In this number

lamentation gives way to hope and gladness, leading up to the last three

numbers,--the six-part chorus ("Mighty is our God"), full of effective

sustained harmony, and the soprano solos and choruses of praise and

hallelujah which resume the triumphant style of the opening chorus with

increased power and enthusiasm.

HOFMANN.

Heinrich Karl Johann Hofmann was born Jan. 13, 1842, at Berlin. In his

younger days he was a scholar at the Kullak Conservatory, and studied

composition with Grell, Dehn, and Wüerst. Prior to 1873 he devoted

himself to private instruction, but since that time he has been engaged

exclusively in composition. Among his works which first attracted public

attention by their intrinsic excellence as well as by the knowledge of

orchestration which they displayed, were an "Hungarian Suite" and the

"Frithjof Symphony." Among his piano compositions are the following

four-handed pieces, which have been remarkably popular: "Italienische

Liebesnovelle," "Liebesfrühling," "Trompeter von Säckingen,"

"Steppenbilder," and "Aus meinem Tagebuch." His choral works are

"Nonnengesang," "Die Schöne Melusine," "Aschenbrödel," and "Cinderella."

Among his operas are "Cartouche" (1869), "Armin" (1878), and "Annchen von

Tharau" (1878). He has also written several works for mixed chorus and

männerchor, piano pieces, songs, duets, a violoncello concerto, piano

trios and quartets, and a string sextet.

Melusina.

The beautiful story of Melusina has always had an attraction for artists

and musicians. Moritz von Schwind, the painter, has illustrated it in a

cycle of frescos; Julius Zellner has told it for us in a series of

orchestral tone-pictures; and Mendelssohn has chosen it as the subject of

one of his most charming overtures. The version which Hofmann uses in his

cantata entitled "The Fable of the Fair Melusina" (written in 1875) runs

as follows: Melusina, the nymph of a beautiful fountain in the Bressilian

forest, and Count Raymond have fallen in love with each other. They

declare their passion in the presence of her nymphs, and plight their

troth. Melusina engages to be his dutiful wife the first six days of the

week, but makes Raymond promise never to inquire or seek to discover what

she does on the seventh, which, she assures him, shall "never see her

stray from the path of duty." On that day she must assume her original

form, half fish and half woman, and bathe with her nymphs. Raymond

promises, calls his hunters, introduces his bride to them, and the

wedding cortège moves joyfully on to the castle. In the second part

Raymond's mother, Clotilda, and her brother, Sintram, intrigue against

Melusina. They denounce her as a witch, and the accusation seems to be

justified by a drought which has fallen upon the land since the marriage.

The suffering people loudly clamor for the surrender of the "foul witch."

After long resistance Raymond is induced to break into the bathing-house

which he had erected over the fountain. Melusina and her nymphs,

surprised by him, call upon the king of the water-spirits to avenge his

treason. The king appears and consigns him to death. Seized with pity,

Melusina intercedes for him, and the king agrees to spare his life upon

condition that they shall separate. Raymond once more embraces her,

neither of them knowing that it will be fatal to him, dies in her arms,

and the sorrowing Melusina returns to the flood.