EVENINGS IN GREECE, the Poetry by THOMAS MOORE, Esq., the Music composed and selected by HENRY R. BISHOP and Mr. MOORE. 2 vols. large 4to. (Power.) THE design of the present work is as praiseworthy as new: it is to connect together, Mr. Moore tells us, ‘a series of songs by a thread of poetical narrative,’ the object being ‘to combine recitation with music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to take a share in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel themselves competent as singers.’ We have often reflected with some surprise on the little effort made to vary the pleasures of domestic society. In a great, wealthy metropolis, where so many thousands congregate daily, who have only to enjoy themselves,—whose sole occupation is to devise means for passing time agreeably,—it might be imagined that some ingenuity would be exerted to so diversify the character of social amusement as to prevent that ennui which is less frequently complained of than felt. Music, no doubt, is a great resource; but those not actually engaged in it, who are not either singing or playing, who are mere listeners, feel a long evening rather heavy when filled up by a constant succession of song, or even an alternation of song and sonata, more especially if such pieces are, as too commonly happens, of the fashionable kind. Dancing is exclusively for the young; though really the quadrille, solemnly as it is walked—the countenances of the promenaders denoting the votaries of Melpomene rather than of Terpsichore—is quite as well calculated to exercise the aged as to divert the youthful. Cards almost universally shut out the young, females particularly, and are inimical to conversation. What then remains? we shall be asked. Why, among other things, that sort of mixture which is to be found in the volumes under notice—reading and music, in which every one in a small party may assist; and we are now only speaking of such parties, not of what till lately were called ‘at homes’—not of crowded assemblies. A couple of dozen persons might occasionally pass two or three hours very agreeably,—nay, advantageously,—over a poem, partly read, partly sung, every one present taking a share, a pause now and then being afforded for a critical or explanatory remark, or some little sally of wit or humour. But possibly we shall be called visionaries; we therefore quit our speculations for the improvement of society, and proceed to inquire how far the work before us is likely to answer its proposed end. And first we will briefly describe it. ZIA, where the scene of these evenings is laid, ‘was called by the ancients CEOS, and was the birth-place of Simonides, and other eminent persons.’ The poem opens with the embarkation of the young men of the island, who are proceeding to fight for the liberties of Greece. They sing a farewell hymn to the Zian nymphs, who, after the departure of their lovers, their relatives, and friends, resolve to meet every evening— ‘And try if sound of lute and song, If wandering mid the moonlight In various talk, could charm along, With lighter step, the lingering hours. Till tidings of that bark should come, Or victory waft their lovers home.’ They accordingly assemble; various modes of beguiling the time are proposed and adopted,—all, of course, of a somewhat romantic kind, but singing is predominant, thus affording a fit opportunity of blending music with narrative. Hopes and fears are, as may be supposed, the themes most employed, and a slight episode now and then varies the subject. But what is yet published does not appear to proceed very far with the plan, or enable the reader to form any conjecture of the denouement: the story, in fact, admits of being protracted, and, doubtless, is intended to be proportioned in length to the demand for the volumes as they shall from time to time make their appearance. The Farewell, beginning ‘The sky is bright,’ a trio for two trebles and a base, by Mr. Bishop, is easy and simple, and flows on agreeably in the key of F, which never changes. One of the nymphs, who ‘to Leucadia late had been,’ now relates some of the griefs of the hapless Lesbian maid, in a song, also by Bishop, entitled ‘Sappho at her loom,’ in E major, which is set with care and ability. The air, which is gentle and sweet, reminds us of the popular melody, ‘Home.’ But our limited space hints the necessity of noticing these songs without stopping to show their connexion with the poem, suffice it therefore to say, that they are part and parcel of it, though each is complete, musically considered, in itself. And the words of every song are also printed with the rest of the letter-press, so that the poetry forms a perfect whole, even without any vocal aid. ‘Weeping for thee, my love;’ a slow air by Massamino, a name more new to us than the music, is rather to be admired for its introductory symphony than for its melody. The accentuation in this is sometimes faulty—‘—no rest in darkness’—‘whose—dreary tread’—and ‘this—ruined heart,’ evidently are all contrary to the intention of the poet. Immediately after the song we meet with a moral truth, which many can verify, enunciated by Mr. Moore in the following very poetical language:— When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power;— As when the air is warm, the scent Of the most wild and rustic flower Can fill the whole rich element;— And, in such moods, the homeliest tune That’s linked with feelings, once our own,— With friends or joys gone by—will be Worth choirs of loftiest harmony! ‘The Romaika,’ composed by Mr. Moore, is a lively air, supposed to be sung to the accompaniment of the balalaika, a rude Russian instrument, a kind of guitar with only two strings. This is pretty, and, if sung characteristically, will be more generally effective than better music. Now the Zian maids grow playful, and putting themselves in martial array, sing ‘The War Dance,’ a trio by Mr. Bishop; though we are not told where they found a Grecian lady with a base voice to take the lowest part. This, however, does not matter: the composition is animating, is good, and not difficult. But why does Mr. Bishop so frequently treat the rules of prosody with such apparent contempt?—He must be aware that making the last syllable in the word ‘victory’ long, is not to be vindicated; yet he thus sets it:— now if he had only repeated a third time—(he has done so twice)—the words ‘to war,’ the evil might have been avoided. e. g. ‘Oh! memory,’ is the graceful well known air of Carafa, beginning:— But composers now and then are too proud ‘——meanly to borrow aid from sense,’ they too often agree with the goddess of the Stygian lake. ‘As on the shore,’ meant as a martial air, is common. No composer’s name is given. ‘The two fountains,’ by Mr. Bishop, is a sweet, quiet melody in E, six-eight time. The contrast expressed in the following notes is a happy thought:— but in character certainly not suited to sentiments so far removed from gaiety. ‘They are gone,’ said to be a Greek air, is expressive, though the musical rhythm is of a kind that will distress an ear which only delights in regular measure. Nevertheless there is something remarkably touching in the conclusion of each stanza, and as a whole this song will infallibly please. ‘Maidens of Zia,’ a trio for soprano, tenor, and base, by Mr. Moore, sets up no pretensions as a composition, lays no claim to science, and consists of nothing but the plainest counterpoint—but will operate as a charm on nine out of every ten who listen to its simple strains. We now commence the SECOND EVENING. Rumours have reached the isle of Zea, that the youthful warriors are on their return home, and every female bosom beats high with hope, not unmixed with anxiety. The maidens sing a hymn to the Virgin,—to ‘Mary, star of the sea ‘Blest be Love!’ is a short, good, frequently repeated chorus for the same voices, with an intervening solo for each, by Mr. Bishop. ‘The Caravan Song,’ is a Bohemian melody, and never yet was brought about a more forced, a more unhappy union of poetry and music. The verse plainly favoured some kind of common time, but is reluctantly wedded to three-four, and, like all ill-matched couples, these are very disagreeable when together, however pleasant when separated. The nymphs then are joined by a band of mountaineers, one of whom, a minstrel youth, ‘Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills, Of these wild children of the hills,’ in a ‘German air,’ lively, long, and rather deficient in novelty. But ‘sad minstrelsy’ now breaks on the ears of the lovely party. It proceeds from a bark, bearing some who ‘———from an isle of mournful name, From Missolonghi, last they came,’ and their dirge. ‘Thou art not dead,’ (the composer not named,) has at least simplicity to recommend it. Such sad sounds awaken sympathy in a ‘pensive maid,’ who sings, ‘Calm, as beneath its mother’s eyes,’ to an air possessing no little elegance, by Fiorillo, some phrases in which, however, are decidedly À la Mozart. This is also harmonized for two sopranos and base, and makes a terzetto that will invite attention to it. Sadness soon yields to mirth, and in fancy’s eye a vision appears of two personages, who it is said are seldom found together. A song, ‘Love and Wisdom,’ tells their story; and we shall beg leave to repeat it in the poet’s own words, as a specimen of his verse and wit. The tale itself, we need hardly say, is of ancient date. I. As Love, one summer eve, was straying, Who should he see, at that soft hour, But young Minerva, gravely playing Her flute within an olive bower. I need not say, ’tis Love’s opinion That, grave or merry, good or ill, The sex all bow to his dominion, As woman will be woman still. II. Though seldom, yet the boy hath given To learned dames his smiles or sighs; So handsome Pallas look’d, that even Love quite forgot the maid was wise. Besides, a youth of his discerning Knew well that, by a shady rill, At sunset hour—whate’er her learning— A woman will be woman still. III. Her flute he prais’d in terms extatic, Wishing it dumb—nor car’d how soon— For Wisdom’s notes, howe’er chromatic, To Love seem always out of tune. But long as he found face to flatter, The nymph found breath to shake and thrill; As, weak or wise—it doth not matter— Woman, at heart, is woman still. IV. Love chang’d his plan, with warmth exclaiming, ‘How brilliant was her lips’ soft dye!’ And much that flute, the sly rogue, blaming, For twisting lips so sweet awry. The nymph look’d down—beheld her features Reflected in the passing rill, And started, shock’d—for, oh, ye creatures! Ev’n when divine, you’re woman still. V. Quick from the lips it made so odious, That graceless flute the goddess took, And, while yet fill’d with breath melodious, Flung it into the glassy brook; Where, as its vocal life was fleeting Adown the current, faint and thrill, At distance long ’twas heard repeating, ‘Woman, alas, vain woman still!’ The music to this is ‘French.’ Why should not the composer have been named? We have a mortal dislike to generalities in such cases; they are unjust, and may create surmises. The next song, ‘Who comes so gracefully,’ a waltz-like and very pretty melody, is described as a ‘foreign air.’ Now, what would the editor of these volumes say, if, when enjoying his friend’s choice bottle, he were to ask the name of the most precious juice, and to be answered, ‘’Tis foreign wine,’ would he not suspect that some sinister motive lurked in such a reply? But now uprises a ‘——nymph with anxious eye. ****** ——joy is in her glance! the wing Of a white bird is seen above.’ It is, in homely prose, a carrier-pigeon, who, of course, brings her the wished-for billet; and this calls upon her for a song, ‘Welcome, sweet bird,’ which does no little credit to Mr. E. Shulz, the composer, who has here shown much taste and greet feeling, if not equal fertility of invention. The party grows gay, and some of the elders of the company sing a Bacchanalian trio, ‘Up with the sparkling brimmer!’ which claims, it appears, Bohemia as its country, though the parent is not much honoured by this her progeny; any clime, or any pen, might have produced it. A warrior now gives breath to a martial air, ‘March! nor heed those arms that hold thee;’ another of ‘Bohemian’ origin, but spirited and very well adapted to the words. The assembly, however, having once tasted the ‘Zacynthian juice,’ loudly call for the cup again; then gratefully extol the source of their pleasures, in a rapturous eulogium on the tree that bears the wit-inspiring grape,—that is to say, in a trio, ‘’Tis the vine! ’tis the vine!’ in which the ladies join; we fear, therefore, that they, for want of something better, have pressed the sparkling chalice too often to their ruby lips, they chaunt the encomiastic strain so like true Bacchantes. This is by an anonymous composer, but the author need not have concealed his name, if fear of criticism alone led him to withhold it, for it is one of the best pieces in the volumes,—a pleasing air, good harmony, marked rhythm, the words are very appropriately set, and the accentuation perfect. We have thus at very considerable length entered into this work, for the standing and reputation of the poet and his coadjutor entitle them to more than common notice. The poetical part, though a little obscure in its unfinished state, exhibits all Mr. Moore’s glowing fancy, but without the slightest approach to that warmth of language so characteristic of some of his works; and abounds in richness of imagery. The musical portion has had the benefit of Mr. Bishop’s talent and experience, which are fully displayed in the accompaniments to the songs, the taste and fitness of which admit of no question. PIANO-FORTE.
THE first of these is the tenth number of a work under the title of Album des Pianistes de premiÈre force, a publication which has often come under our notice, and is especially suited to amateurs who have very vacant minds and many vacant hours; and most powerfully co-operates with those who wish to render piano-forte music ridiculous and repulsive. The whole of this,—introduction, variations, and all,—consists of a collection of difficult, stupid passages, not one of them having the slightest pretence to novelty, or exhibiting the smallest trait of either taste or feeling. There is nothing here, from the first note to the last, that a dull, plodding, industrious key-thumper, armed with pen, ink and paper, might not have produced, and it contains no one bar that a musician—who really understands his art—who is a man of enlarged mind—would not blush to avow. We have often warned professional men of the danger of encouraging such music, whether by using it, or by applauding it when performed in public. Their recommendation and affected approbation of it can only be placed to the account of ignorance or quackery. Ignorance in those who have not understanding enough to discriminate between good and bad in their art;—quackery in such as wish their own agility of fingers to be inferred from their admiration of it in others. But our warning has not been taken: a fact which too many know, to their cost. No. 2, which is called La Galopade, though it consists of an introduction and allegretto, as well as the dance, is the companion to La Romeca, noticed in our last; but while it is lively and exhibits no absurdities, it is not altogether equal to the first, arranged by the same. We must, however, admit that its vivacity will please many who do not enter into merits of a more sterling kind.
THE Pastoral of Kulau is an elegant composition, and being neither too slight in structure to be unworthy the The second is ill named, it has more of the pastoral character than the brilliant: six-eight time, allegretto, and a predominance of quavers, do not altogether authorize such an epithet. The subject is a barren one, therefore it is not a wonder that M. HÜnten has made little of it. Luckily it is not long, and a rather moderate price is fixed on it.
THIS is certainly a comical title, however it be pointed or read; but M. Adam, who we conclude knows as much of our language as of our contingent remainders, is not responsible for its construction, we, therefore, look only to his selection and arrangement, both of which show that he has more judgment than his scribe. The compositions chosen for the first fantasia are ‘Sento un interno voce,’ and ‘O Matutini Albori,’ by Rossini; Mozart’s ‘Giovinette;’ and ‘Voici venir,’ with ‘Povera Signora,’ by Auber. The second is composed of ‘Voyez que cette marche est belle,’ by Auber; Mozart’s ‘Batti, batti;’ a Swiss song, by Meyerbeer; ‘Ah! se tolto,’ by Rossini; ‘a song composed by Mad. Cinti;’ and almost the only praiseworthy air in La Cenerentola, ‘Non piu mesta.’ These are well amplified and combined; and if they display no extraordinary talent or vigour in the adapter, they at least prove him to be a rational being, not one of the note-splitters, who, having no brains themselves, wish to addle those of other people. These fantasias are far from difficult, and though many will find them rather too long, will prove generally acceptable.
No. 1 is a pretty, easy trifle; but it is quite clear that the composer either never heard the nightingale, or meant to ridicule imitations, for such notes as he has given to the ‘love-sick bird’ never yet were formed in its melancholy throat. But people will not be very scrupulous on a matter of fact of this kind, and will find this a pleasing bagatelle, of moderate length and price. The title-page of No. 2 tells us that the song chosen is ‘an admired’ one. No doubt: every song published now-a-days is not only admired, but ‘enthusiastically applauded,’ wherever performed. But, be it known, such songs are seldom heard anywhere but under the composer’s own roof, and it would, indeed, be cruel if his guests did not extravagantly praise his productions. For ourselves, we never before heard of ‘I will not chide,’ and are not now particularly anxious to become acquainted with it. We have played over the first page of No. 3, and—(really it grieves us to utter what may sound ungallant)—and earnestly recommend the lady-composer not to publish again till she has gained a little more knowledge of composition; and advise her, when she does again venture into print, to direct the writer on stone either to copy accurately, or mend what he copies. VOCAL.
No. 1 is an agreeable air, the marked rhythm of which makes it at once understood. The sixth bar of the symphony would be better and more correct if the 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th notes in the treble were altered to G, B, A, and F. No. 2 expresses in verse and song the deep sympathy of two highly talented ladies for the brutally oppressed, expatriated Poles. This is a short composition in C minor, air and chorus, which speaks as strongly in favour of the good feeling as of the taste and knowledge of the fair composer. No. 3 is a series of examples of the most erroneous accentuation, and as such may be recommended as beacons, to all students in composition. When it is stated that No. 4 is an animated composition—we are sure that the composer must always be correct—as much is said of it as impartial criticism will permit. No. 5 is a lively air, À la militaire, but doubtless owes much of the rapturous applause,—of which the title-page, vulgarly enough, boasts,—to the exertion and popularity of Madame Vestris. The words, however, are set with spirit, and correctly. There is much gentleness and grace in No. 6, and the words are, in all respects, appropriately and correctly set. The whole, too, is easy. Nos. 7 and 8 are wholly exempt from censure, though not entitled to any praise, except that of correctness. No. 9 is a clever composition, full of melody and good passages,—one more especially, beginning at the fifth bar of the second page, which indicates the real musician. The composer also has read and understood the poetry, both as regards its meaning and measure. No. 10 displays no inconsiderable talent. The guitar-like accompaniment is not only in good keeping—exactly what a serenade requires—but shows a taste and command in harmony. This is altogether a pleasing, easy vocal piece.
No. 1 is a very sweet air, and not devoid of original passages. It is moderate in compass, and easy both to sing and accompany. Nos. 2 and 3 are not equal to the preceding, but written in good taste. HARP AND PIANO-FORTE.
HUMMEL’s Notturno in F is well known to most amateurs, and being one of his earlier productions, is lighter than most of his later works—less the result of study. It makes a duet exactly calculated for social circles, the difficulty not being great for either instrument, and the air as well as variations being in a familiar style. The adaptor of No. 2 is not a very scrupulous person. There is no overture at all to Zelmira!—but as M. Bochsa is publishing arrangements of overtures, he at once changed the name of the Introduzione to this opera, and included it, under the new appellation, in his collection. It is in D minor, and one of Rossini’s best openings. The air and chorus which terminate the scene, are in the major key, and end the whole brilliantly. The air, No. 3, certainly a popular one among lovers of modern Italian music, is converted into a trio, and makes an effective one. It is not long or difficult, but requires three correct, neat performers. HARP.
No. 1 is the Bacchanale from the 3rd act of Robert, arranged in an easy manner. No. 2 is said to comprise the ‘favourite’ airs from Aureliano. We never before knew that this opera could boast of a single air that any person ever admired. We have here also a publication of the easy kind, and comparatively short. Had any of the four airs been long, they would have been intolerable. No. 3 is an imitation of Swiss melody, followed by a rondo composed for the Harmonicon, and still our property, having paid, and liberally too, for it years ago! We, however, have applied for no injunction, nor do we intend; it has answered our purpose as a piano-forte piece, and we hope it will satisfy harp players as much as it did our own subscribers. No. 4 is an easy arrangement of the Alpine March, or AlpensÄnger-Marsch, which is just now going the round of the different instruments. BIRMINGHAM MUSICAL FESTIVAL.IT has been generally supposed and expected, that the Musical Festival at Birmingham would take place during the ensuing autumn, in the newly erected Town Hall, and which (when finished) we are assured will be one of the finest rooms in Europe. We are, however, authorized to state that, in order to carry the various and necessary preparations into effect, and that the arrangements in every department may be as complete and as perfect as possible, the committee of management have, under these considerations, come to a determination to postpone their Grand Musical Festival (for the benefit of the General Hospital) until the autumn of 1834, when we have every reason to believe it will take place under the most favourable auspices, and be carried into effect with a degree of splendour unequalled on any previous and similar occasions, either in this or any other country. |