In spite of its great poetical beauties, _Twelfth Night_ has not
attracted many composers. There is only one opera that I can trace,
and that is _Cesario_, by +K. G. Wilhelm Taubert+, produced in Berlin
at the Royal Opera House in 1874. There is no attempt to foster the
delusion that anyone who is not next door to an idiot could ever
mistake Sebastian for Viola, or _vice versa_. Viola, in this version,
is a soprano, and her brother a tenor-baritone, so it is hard to
understand how even Orsino was taken in; but he was (and he a baritone,
not a tenor!).
The opera opens with an overture, conventional and not very
characteristic, and the curtain rises on a scene in Illyria, near
Orsino's palace.
A chorus of maidens, wives, sailors, children, and musicians is
discovered, singing a very bright and melodious number, which, though
very tuneful, does not help the action at all. The second scene opens
with storm music bringing on Viola and the Sea Captain.
The librettist, Emil Taubert, does not adhere any too closely to the
original, so I will just describe the most effective numbers. Sir
Toby's drinking song in the first act is a thoroughly good German
drinking song, with the usual low bass E for the end; and directly
afterwards Sir Andrew has a grotesque love-song with no little humour
in it.
In the fourth scene there is a very sentimental duet between Viola and
Orsino. As the work progresses we get farther and farther away from
Shakespeare, and so I leave the only opera founded on this exquisite
play. I {151} think a great deal of its weakness is due to the
librettist cutting out Feste, the clown. There is no "Come away,
Death," "O mistress mine," or "When that I was."
So it is with pleasure that I turn to +Humperdinck's+ delightful music
for Reinhardt's production at the Deutsches Theater, Berlin, produced
on October 17, 1907. The first scene is in Orsino's court (as in
Shakespeare), and gives the whole romantic atmosphere of the rest of
the play. Most producers begin with the short scene of Viola's
shipwreck, thus cunningly avoiding the whole idea of the plot. Two
violins, viola, and viol-da-gamba are discovered playing the music of
"O mistress mine" on the stage; and if it is impossible to obtain a
viol-da-gamba, the composer allows one to use a violoncello. Also
there is a guitar off the stage. The text is closely followed. The
setting ('cello solo) for the words "If music be the food of love" is
very beautiful; and until the Duke's words, "Enough, no more," the
incidental music fits in with every shade of expression in that perfect
monologue. The next number is the serenade for the clown (Feste). He
is supposed to accompany himself on the guitar, but the guitar part is
cued in for the harp if the singing-actor has not enough skill on the
instrument. It is a very charming song, not in the least like the
settings of the same words to which we are all so accustomed, but none
the worse for that. The catch "Hold thy peace" is a perfect canon at
the unison, sung by Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and the clown. All the
verses in the kitchen scene are set to music, the versatile clown
playing the accompaniments on his ever-ready guitar.
In Act ii., Scene 4, no expensive prima-donna is called upon to sing
"Come away, Death." Orsino simply sends for Feste, and tells his
orchestra to play the tune while they are all waiting.
When the clown does arrive to sing the song the audience has been
played into the exact mood Shakespeare wanted; and the number, lovely
as it is, gets a better chance of {152} success than if the orchestra
had been playing something quite different (as I have often heard), or
an entirely new character, a singing woman, had been introduced for
this special number. Feste sings "Hey, Robin, jolly Robin" and "I am
gone, sir," to specially composed music still accompanied by the
guitar, and there are two settings by Humperdinck of the epilogue song,
"When that I was." Both are written for Feste; but the first one is
accompanied only by the guitar, while the second has an elaborate
orchestral accompaniment. You can take your choice; both settings are
equally good.
This music, both in form and expression, is, perhaps, the ideal music
for a Shakespearian production. Nothing is forced on the hearer. When
Shakespeare wanted music he said so, either in his stage directions or
in the text. This is exactly what Humperdinck has given us. Never to
my knowledge has Shakespeare's text been so reverently treated by any
composer or producer. I often think that it is not entirely the fault
of the composer of Shakespearian music that so much of it is
superfluous; perhaps a little blame may lie with the
actor-manager-producer, who must have a march to bring him on and take
him off at every entrance or exit.
+Sir Alexander Mackenzie's+ delightful _Twelfth Night_ overture was
first produced at a Richter concert in 1888. Though it is not exactly
programme music, Sir Alexander gives occasional quotations on the score
indicating his intentions.
The opening is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Malvolio (taking up letter),
"By my life, this is my lady's hand." The 'cellos, basses, and violas
play a unison quaver passage of introduction, and Malvolio obviously
speaks through the medium of a bassoon. The clarinets and the rest of
the wood wind join in, the strings sustaining an accompaniment; and so
the first episode finishes.
The next is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Sir Toby, "Why, thou hast put
him in such a dream that when the image of {153} it leaves him he must
run mad." Then comes, to my idea, the triumphal music of Malvolio.
This is quickly followed by a label, Act ii., Scene 3, Sir Toby, "Shall
we rouse the night owl in a catch?" and for a few moments we have
bright sounds of revelry; but very swiftly the music gets slow and
_piano_, and presently we return to Act i., and the words on the score
are, "O, she that hath a heart of that frame, To pay this debt but to a
brother," etc. This subject is very beautiful, and admirably portrays
Orsino's love for Cesario. After this comes a bright, melodious
episode working up to a _fortissimo_ climax. Then we have another
label, Act iv., Scene 2, Malvolio, "Fool, there never was a man so
notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits as thou art."
The music then proceeds in _fugato_ manner for a long time, and there
are no more directions or quotations from the text in the score till
towards the end. This is now the regular coda, and very brilliant it
is. But just before the close one finds the label, Act v., Scene 1,
Malvolio, "I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you"; the original
Malvolio _motif_ being played by the violas and 'cellos and taken up by
the rest of the orchestra. The whole finishes _fortissimo_ and very
cheerfully. There is a curious kettledrum solo in the third bar before
the end. Taken all round, this overture is quite one of the best
Shakespearian commentaries extant. Without being in the least
pedantic, it has a smack of the period; and as a sheer, joyous bit of
comedy it ranks very high in the repertory of Shakespearian music.
+Sir Henry Bishop's+ third pasticcio opera was founded on _Twelfth
Night_. It was produced at the Royal, Drury Lane, in 1820. Contrary
to his usual custom there is no overture, and the first number is a
song for viola with bassoon _obbligato_ to the words, "Full many a
glorious morning" from the 33rd Sonnet. The first half is very unlike
the composer's usual manner, but in the second he soon gets back to his
original style. The next number is a quintet with words from _The Two
Gentlemen {154} of Verona_--"Who is Sylvia?" The melody of the first
verse is by Ravenscroft (1714), that of the second by Morley (1595),
and the whole is arranged by Sir Henry; so there is not much unity of
style about it, though if well sung and unaccompanied it should be
effective. The duet "Orpheus with his lute," words by Fletcher, for
Viola and Olivia, is really too bad; and with pleasure we turn to a
quartet by Thomas Ford (1580) and D. Calcott (1766). It is called
"Come o'er the brook, Besse, to me." The first line is from _King
Lear_, Act ii., Scene 6, but in the text it is "bourne" not "brook."
The rest of the lines are spurious. The first verse is by Ford, the
second by Calcott, and the whole arranged by Bishop; but this time he
has thrown in a harmonica part, the first that I have met with in this
orchestration. The quartet and chorus at the end of the second act are
by Bishop; the words, some of them from the second part of _Henry IV._,
and some spurious. The whole finale is very pretentious and of no real
musical value. In Act iii. we have the inevitable cavatina, "Take all
my loves," from the Sonnet No. 40, sung by Olivia. It is a most sugary
song; only a few lines are taken, and repeated _ad nauseam_. The duet
Olivia and Viola, called "Cesario," is adapted by Bishop from a work I
cannot trace (by a certain Winter). The only composer of that name in
any musical biography is Peter von Winter, born at Mannheim in 1755,
and pupil of Browning's celebrated Abt Vogler. The words are a very
corrupt version of Olivia's speech in Act iii., Scene 1 of this very
play, and the music sometimes fits in and sometimes does not.
Kit Marlowe's "Crabbed age and youth," set by Bishop for Olivia, has a
fine cadenza duet with the flute, but is otherwise not notable; and
"Bid me discourse," which follows, is too well known to need mention.
An old setting of the Clown's song, "When that I was," is arranged by
Bishop for the finale. Viola and Olivia have one chorus to themselves,
very _rubato_. The melody and chorus are frequently changed,
rhythmically and melodically, but it {155} makes a good finish to a
very extraordinary mix-up of styles and composers. True to his ideals,
Bishop does not use "Come away, Death," or "O mistress mine," two of
the loveliest lyrics in the language--I suppose because they happen to
occur in _Twelfth Night_!
During his second visit to London, +Haydn+ composed his single
contribution to Shakespearian song. It is contained in the set of six
"Original Canzonets, composed for an English Lady of Position." The
words are from _Twelfth Night_, beginning "She never told her love,"
and the song is very pathetic. Curiously enough for the period, the
words "Smiling at grief" are the only ones repeated. The canzonet
opens with a long symphony for piano. The voice part is melodious and
vocal; the harmonies are more complicated than is usual with Haydn, and
there is more liberal use made of the chord of the diminished seventh
than one looks for in his work. The voice part is of just an octave's
range, and there are no aggressive _coloratura_ passages or high notes.
The only work of +Johannes Brahms+ in which I can trace the direct
inspiration of Shakespeare is his setting of the Clown's song, "Come
away, Death," from _Twelfth Night_, for trio of female voices, harp,
and two horns. This is an exquisite little work, very complete; there
is hardly any repetition of the words: just at the end Brahms repeats
"to weep there," but that is all. The combination of female voices,
harp, and horns seems on paper to be rather eccentric, but in practice
it is admirable, used as skilfully as Brahms has used it. This trio
was not written for the play. In any decent production the song must
be given to Feste, but how often is it? Time after time I have seen a
strange woman in tights dragged on to sing one of the numerous Wardour
Street versions, and no one seems to mind. Without this song, the
whole character of Feste, one of the best of all the Shakespearian
clowns, sinks into almost nothingness.
{156}
Perhaps somewhere, hidden away in some old music catalogue, I may find
something more of Brahms in relation to Shakespeare. Indeed, I hope
so. What a Hamlet overture he could have written!
The bridal song, "Roses, their sharp spines being gone," and graceful
dance (Malvolio), composed for Sir Herbert Tree's revival of _Twelfth
Night_, make one wish that the composer, +Paul Rubens+, had devoted
more time to this kind of work. The words, by Fletcher, are
beautifully set; and though there is no attempt at intentional
archaism, there is an inimitable quaintness about this song, and the
graceful dance which always accompanies Malvolio's entrances and exits,
that is hard to find in modern Shakespearian music.
+Augustus Barratt's+ setting of "Come away, Death," in the same
production, is very beautiful. +Frederick Corder's+ version of the
same lyric for a trio of female voices and piano is a sad little
number; but I wish he would set the words straight, without repetitions.
+Sir Charles Villiers Stanford's+ settings of the "Clown's songs" in
_Twelfth Night_ were not written for any special production, and were
first sung by Mr Plunket Greene. There is no needless repetition of
the words, every syllable being given its exact musical value; so, from
several points of view these versions are nearly perfect. The first,
"O mistress mine," has a flowing though not very significant melody,
and a graceful accompaniment. The second, "Come away, Death," is
naturally of a very sombre nature, the harmonies being rather more
elaborate than in the other two songs. The last lyric, "The rain it
raineth every day," is, to my mind, much the best of the three. It is
a very merry song, and the major effect and the little florid voice
passage at the end make a charming close. Unfortunately, Sir Charles
omits the last verse but one.
{157}
+Dr Arne's+ setting is beautiful. It has a curious burden to it, in
the accompaniment only; but the words are sadly chopped about.
+Sullivan's+ "O mistress mine" is quite one of his most effective
songs; and there is a beautiful flowing _obbligato_ in the
accompaniment which suggests that Sir Andrew, who played on the
"viol-de-gamboys," was playing it for the Clown.
+J. L. Hatton's+ setting of "When that I was" is quite pretty, but he
plays the deuce with the words. The exquisitely quaint first line,
"When that I was and a little tiny boy" becomes "When I was a tiny
boy"; the last verse but one is entirely omitted; and the last verse of
all is quite spoilt. There can be no possible excuse for Hatton or
anyone else changing "But that's all one; our play is done, and we'll
strive to please you every day," into "But that's all one, our song is
done, for the rain it raineth every day." This song, for tenor solo
and four-part male chorus, won a prize given by the Melodists' Club. I
suppose it was a word-distorting contest, and I congratulate the judges
on a fine decision.
+Samuel Coleridge Taylor's+ setting of "O mistress mine" is interesting
in several ways. It is not in the least like any other musical version
of the same words, and, though they are set quite straightforwardly,
the general effect is curiously bizarre. The accompaniment is in the
style of a guitar serenade, which is, of course, thoroughly in keeping
with the stage situation, although the song itself was not composed for
any special stage performance.
{158}