SEVENTH CONCERT, MONDAY, MAY 27, 1833.

ACT I.

ACT II.

Beethoven’s first symphony was that in C, which at once, without the usual gradatim rise, placed him on a level with Haydn and Mozart. It is now nearly forty years since it was written, but, owing to the state of the continent, did not reach this country till about fifteen years after its appearance at Vienna, and was then only attempted by bold instrumentalists. This Society, however, from its very commencement took it up,—it was the first symphony ever performed by the Philharmonic band, and then was heard everywhere in some shape or other; till at length—such is the fate of all that is good in music—by too frequent repetition, it began to ‘pall upon the sense,’ and was laid aside. It now came out, after many years’ repose, in much of its pristine freshness,—it was actually new to some of the audience, and was welcomed by all.

Mr. Potter’s symphony is not only the best composition that has yet proceeded from his pen, but a work that will give him an honourable place in the temple of fame,—a work, that the oftener it is heard the better it will be understood, and the more it will be liked; for not only the experienced master, but the man of genius, is evinced in every movement. It consists of an allegro con fuoco, in G minor, strikingly original; a very melodious and effective andante in D minor; a bold scherzo in G minor, and trio in E flat; and a finale in G minor. The only point in this symphony that seems to us liable to objection, is, that all the movements, except a short trio, are in the minor key, and this three times the same; thus a want of contrast is felt at the beginning and ending of each, though in the modulations the major third is sufficiently often introduced to afford the necessary relief.

The Fantasia Drammatica, for the full orchestra, is a descriptive piece; but M. Neukomm has had the good sense to attempt only to describe generally, never particularly. The last four books of Paradise Lost have supplied him with subjects, as his printed argument will show. The numbers distinguish the movements:—

The phrase alluded to by the composer is the first few bars of ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth,’ which he has introduced in a most felicitous manner. That the whole of this is well written, we hardly need say. There is some imagination in the various movements, but not of that vigorous kind which will put the indelible stamp of genius on the work.

M. Hummel’s concerto—the same that he produced at his recent benefit—is a very masterly composition, and, with a far superior band, went off much better now than at his own concert. The duet between Lindley and Dragonetti fixed the attention of the whole room, and pleased all. The last movement was loudly encored, for the wonderful command obtained over so intractable an instrument as the double-base naturally enough excites a desire to witness more of it than the single hearing of so brief a piece affords an opportunity of doing. The soft, low tones also, after the brass band had been very active, operated as a great relief to the auricular nerves.

Though the vocal portion of this concert furnished nothing new, the manner in which it was executed by Madame Pasta and Signor Tamburini gave a charm to it that was most sensibly felt by all present, who testified their pleasure by the warmest applause; and applause is not here lavishly or indiscriminately bestowed.

Madame Puzzi and her smaller half took more pains with the aria of Rossini than, as a composition, it deserved, but not more than that respect which they always feel for their audience taught them was required.

EIGHTH CONCERT, MONDAY, JUNE 10, 1833.

ACT I.

ACT II.

The symphony in B flat of Beethoven, though less known than two or three of his others, is inferior to none in beauty, and in that kind of originality which does not strike the hearer who is content to enjoy without inquiring into the remoter causes of his pleasure. Both this and Mozart’s in G minor, which it is needless to praise, were performed and received with a warmth of feeling that acts by reciprocation, and is a cause, a main one, of the acknowledged, the vast superiority of the instrumental performances at these concerts. The overture by M. Mendelssohn in C, declares itself the offspring of genius and knowledge. Its rapidity and, what appears, wildness, render an analysis of it impossible, without either frequent hearing or an examination of the work on paper; we therefore venture no further opinion of it than the very general one we now express.

Great curiosity was excited to hear M. Herz, whose name has for some time past been pretty well known in all the music-shops of Europe. To those who consider mechanical dexterity, or that sort of command of the key-board which persevering labour is sure to bestow, the perfection of piano-forte playing,—or, in other words, to such as think what is termed execution the only reasonable aim and desirable end of music,—this gentleman must appear the realization of the beau-ideal of a performer: the neatness with which, without any apparent effort, he does extraordinary feats, is surprising—quite as astonishing as some things accomplished by Paganini on the violin, and equally valuable, in the eyes of those who ground their judgment on anything like sound principle. He crosses his hands, he weaves his fingers, with the cleverness of a juggler; an automaton constructed by Maelzel could hardly surpass him in precision. He invents and masters passages which the greatest musicians never dreamt of, which the best players never did and never will attempt, and is a most successful rival of that self-playing piano-forte which is manufactured and to be purchased somewhere in London within sound of Bow-bell. But with those who think that sentiment or expression,—that taste, that rich harmony, that air ‘che nell’ anima si sente,’ are all or any of them essential to good music, M. Herz has small chance of becoming a favourite. To which party the majority of our readers belong, we only know by conjecture: we lay the case before them in the best way that our ability will permit, and respectfully leave them to guess our opinion. The concerto performed by M. Herz is in C minor, and at least on a par with most of the other compositions by the same author.

M. de Beriot’s concerto, though not as a composition equal to that he played on the sixth night, proved highly gratifying to his audience, for his performance was marked by excellencies in which he has no rival. He was greeted with acclamations.

Not less animated were the applauses that followed the scena of Mozart, ‘Ecco il punto,’ and aria, ‘Non piÙ di fiori,’ in which Madame Malibran displayed a compass of voice, (from A below to A above the treble staff,) a power in delivering this fine recitative, and a correctness of taste in the execution of the air, that, altogether, we never knew equalled. In the duet, which is one of the best things that Mercadante has produced, the two ladies were quite equal in their respective styles, and established a just right to the almost enthusiastic approbation they met with. The aria sung by Signor Zuchelli, a clever composition, is among the Operngesaenge of Mozart, but he was not at home in it: probably he had not had time enough to study it sufficiently. He was nearly overpowered, too, by an unmercifully loud accompaniment, a fault, and a very glaring one, in these concerts, which the directors ought to have corrected. Most of the audience stayed to hear the profound overture to Egmont, which terminated a remarkably fine and universally admired concert.