MUSIC.

The promise of the autumn has not been fulfilled; instead of the

anticipated feasts, we have had but few concerts, and, as yet, no opera.

Some few noteworthy incidents have occurred, however, which we desire

to record. We pass over the ever welcome orchestral concerts, the quiet

pleasures of our delightful chamber music, and the inspiring four-part

singing of the Orpheus Club. Neither can we give the space to notice

fully the _début_ of a young singer,--a singer with a rare voice, full,

flexible, and sympathetic, and who, with culture in a _larger_ style,

and with maturity of power and feeling, will be a real acquisition to

our musical public. Few young performers know

"How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in repose."

They dazzle us with pyrotechnics in the finale of _Com' e bello_ or _Qui

la voce_, but the simple feeling of _Vedrai carino_ is beyond their

grasp. Firmly sustained tones, careful phrasing, flowing grace in the

melody, and just, dramatic expression, are the great requisites; without

them the brilliant flourishes of a modern cadenza astonish only for a

brief period.

The appearance of Carl Formes in oratorio was something to be long

remembered. The Handel and Haydn Society brought out "Elijah" and "The

Creation" before immense audiences at the Music Hall. For the first

time we heard "Elijah" represented by a great artist, and not by a

sentimental, mock-heroic singer. He infused into the performance his own

intense personality. Every phrase was charged with his own feeling.

He thundered out the curses of Heaven upon idolaters; he prayed with

all-absorbing devotion to the "Lord God of Abraham"; he taunted the

baffled priests of Baal in grim and terrible scorn; he gently soothed

the anguish of the widow; and when his career was finished, he

reverently said, "It is enough; now take away my life!" The _music_

we had heard before; we had been rapt many a time while hearing the

magnificent choruses; but we never had known the dramatic power of the

composer as shown in the principal rôle.

"The Creation" was performed on the following evening. Its ever fresh

and cheerful melodies presented a fine contrast to the severely

intellectual style of "Elijah." In rendering purely melodic phrases,

Herr Formes was not so preëminent as in declamatory passages. Not always

strictly in tune, not specially graceful, slow in delivery, even beyond

the requirements of a dignified style, he impressed the audience rather

by the volume and richness of his tones and by a certain reserved force,

than by any unusual excellence in execution. Some one has said, that it

makes a great difference in the force of a sentence whether or not there

is a man behind it. This impression of a fulness of resources always

accompanied the efforts of Herr Formes; every phrase had meaning

or beauty, as he delivered it. Perhaps it is as idle to lament his

deficiencies, in comparison with artists like Belletti, for instance,

as to complain because the grand figures of Michel Angelo have not the

delicacy of finish that marks the sweetly insipid Venus de Medici. Of

the other solo performers in the oratorios it is not necessary for us to

speak, save to commend the fine voice and good style of Mrs. Harwood, a

rising singer, well known here, and whom the country, we hope, will know

in due time.

Another concert demands our attention, in which portions of a work by an

American composer were submitted to the test of public judgment. This we

must consider the most important musical event of the season; for great

singers, though surely not common among our English race, have not

been unknown; the ability to interpret God gives freely,--the power to

create, rarely. In any generation, probably not ten men arise who

write new melodies; of these, only a small proportion have either the

intellectual power or the aesthetic feeling to combine the subtile

elements of music into forms of lasting beauty. Most of them are

influenced by prevailing mannerisms, and their music is therefore

ephemeral, like the taste to which it ministers. Of all the composers

that have lived, probably not more than six or eight have attained to

an absolutely classic rank. These few are not in relations with any

temporary taste; their music might have been written to-day or a century

ago, and it will be as fresh a century hence. No one of the arts has had

fewer great masters. A new composer, therefore, has a right to claim our

attention. If, perchance, we discover that he has the gift of genius,

and is not merely a clever imitator, we cannot rejoice too much.

The work to which we allude is the opera "Omano,"--the libretto in

Italian by Signor Manetta, the music by Mr. L. H. Southard. We shall

not stop now to consider the question, whether American Art is to be

benefited by the production of operas in the Italian tongue; it is

enough to say, that, until we have native singers capable of rendering

a great dramatic work, singers who can give us in English the effects

which Grisi, Badiali, Mario, and Alboni produce in their own language,

we must be content with the existing state of things, and allow our

composers to write for those artists who can do justice to their

conceptions. We hope to live to hear operas in English; but meanwhile we

must have music, and, at present, the Italian stage is the only common

ground.

Mr. Southard's opera is founded upon Beckford's Oriental tale, "Vathek,"

with such alterations as are necessary to adapt it for representation.

We are told that the plot is full of dramatic situations, full of human

interest, and that its scenes appeal to all the faculties, ranging

through comedy, ballet, and melodrama, and leading to the awful Hall

of Eblis at last. The principal characters are the Caliph Omano,

_baritone_; Carathis, his mother, _mezzo soprano_; Hinda, a slave in his

harem, _soprano_; Rustam, her lover, _tenor_; and Albatros, _basso_,

a Mephistophelean spirit who tempts the Caliph on to his destruction.

Selections were made from this opera, and were performed by resident

artists, without the aid of stage effects or orchestral accompaniments.

Only the music was given, with as much of the harmony as could be played

on the grand piano by one pair of hands. There could be no severer test

than this. The music is generally Italian in form, especially in the

flowing grace of the _cantabile_ passages, and in the working up of the

climaxes. But we did not hear one of the stereotyped Italian cadenzas,

nor did we fall into old _ruts_ in following the harmonic progressions.

The orchestral figures--the framework on which the melodies are

supported--are new, ingenious, and beautiful. The duets, quartette,

and quintette show great command of resources and the utmost skill in

construction; we can hardly remember any concerted pieces in the modern

opera where the "working up" is more satisfactory, or the effect more

brilliant. How far the music exhibits an absolutely original vein of

melody, it is perhaps premature to say. No composer has ever been free

at first from the influence of the masters whom he most admired. To

mention no later instances, it is well known that Beethoven's early

works are all colored by his recollections of Mozart, and that his own

peculiar qualities were not clearly brought out until he had reached

the maturity of his powers. This seems to be the law in all the arts;

imitation first, self-development and originality afterwards. Happy

are those who do not stop in the first stage! It is certain that Mr.

Southard's music _pleased_, and that some of the most critical of the

audience were roused to a real enthusiasm. And it is to be borne in mind

that the music is cast in a grand mould; it has no prettiness; it is

either great in itself, or wears the semblance of greatness. On the

whole, we are inclined to think that the "Diarist" in Dwight's "Journal

of Music" was not extravagant in saying that no _first_ work since the

time of Beethoven has had so much of promise as the opera "Omano." We

shall look with great interest for its production upon the stage with

the proper accompaniments and scenic effects. It is due to the composer

that this should be done. If the music we heard had been performed by

a company of great artists in the Boston Theatre or in the Academy of

Music, it would have been received with tumultuous applause. The

singers on this occasion gained to themselves great credit by their

conscientious endeavors. They generously offered their services, and

sang with a heartiness that showed a warm interest in the work. One of

them, at least, Mrs. J. H. Long, would have established her reputation

as an accomplished artist, even if she had never appeared in public

before.

We suppose our readers will agree with us in looking with eager delight

to the promise of a national school of music. Every nation must create

its own song. The passionate music of Italy electrifies our cooler

blood, but it does not adequately express all our feelings nor in any

way represent our character. We also find many of the compositions of

Germany so purely intellectual that they do not touch us until we have

_learned_ to like them. If we ever have a school of music, it will be in

harmony with our rapidly developing characteristics. But it must grow

up on our own soil; exotics never flourish long under strange skies. We

think that many things point to this country as the place where music

will achieve new triumphs. We are not bound by old traditions, we have

few prejudices to unlearn, and we are able to see merit in more than

one school. The same audience that becomes almost intoxicated with the

excitement of the Italian opera will listen with the fullest, serenest

pleasure to the majestic symphonies of Beethoven or to the sublime

choruses of Handel. The devotees of the various European schools have

none of this catholicity. A very accomplished Italian musician used

frankly to say, that a symphony always put him to sleep; and as for the

songs of Franz and other recent German composers, he would rather

hear the filing of saws with an accompaniment of wet fingers on a

window-pane. The Germans, on the other hand, have an equal contempt for

Italian music. For them, Donizetti is melodramatic, Bellini puerile

and silly, and even Rossini (who has written as many melodies as any

composer, save Mozart) is only fit to compose for hand-organs. The

American musical public can and do render to both schools the justice

they deny each other,--and this because we appreciate the aim and

direction of both. The tendency of modern German music is more and more

in what we might call a mathematical direction; the Teutonic listener

examines the structure of a movement as he would a geometrical

proposition; he notices the connection and dependence of the several

parts, and at the end, if he like it, he thinks Q.E.D.; his pleasure is

quiet, but sincere. The Italian, on the other hand, makes everything

subordinate to feeling; for him the music must sparkle with pleasure,

burn with passion, or lighten with rage; borne upon the tide of emotion,

the under-current of harmony is a matter of little moment; there may be

symmetry of structure, and learning in the treatment of themes; if so,

well; if not, their absence is not noticed as an essential defect.

For lyrical purposes the Italian style will always take the precedence,

because music must primarily be addressed to the feelings. But it may

happen, if ever we have great composers here in America, that to the

instinctive grace and beauty of this Southern school the magnificent

orchestral effects of the North may be added, and thereby a grander

and more perfect whole be produced. At least, we can continue to be

eclectic, and in due time we may develope music which, like Corinthian

brass, shall contain the valuable qualities of all the elements we

appropriate.

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