Skip to main content
Read page text
page 4
276 The Gramophone, December) 1929 take i t up again. I find that with the microscope I can enter fairyland whenever I wish." And as he spoke there was a note in his voice which has remained vividly in my memory as a revelation of a mystical beauty to which he had penetrated and to which he was showing me the way. I have never since listened to any of his music without remembering the world of exquisite miniature he evoked that afternoon, or the subtle variety of the pattern he wove in that London club, as exquisite and various a pattern indeed as his own music. ''Yarnedby our first conversation I never attempted, when I had the privilege of talking to him on other occasions, to mention of my own accord the subject of music. But on another afternoon while we were sitting in the billiard-room of the old Savile Club I heard from the further end of the long settee the voice of "V. J. Turner say that he was going to the Queen's Hall to hear the Symphonie lJ'antastiq1te of Berlioz. Suddenly and sharply Sir Edward said to me: " What's that about the Symphonie lJ'antastique ? " When I told him that i t was being played that afternoon in the Queen's Hall, he asked me if I had ever heard i t , and on my telling him that I had not, he asked me if I would like to hear i t , and that if I would, he would take me With him to hear i t , because i t was a piece of music which one ought to hear and appreciate for i ts importance in the development of the art. " There is one thing in i t ," he added, "which is really tremendous, and that is the 111a'J"oh to the Guillotine. " I t was a Saturday afternoon, and as we drove along Piccadilly in the taxi to Queen's Hall I was aware while I listened to Sir Edward talking about Berlioz and Berlioz's world of music that I was enjoying a momentous occasion in my life. I was indeed listening with such absorption' that the taxi with Sir Edward and myself inside i t seemed to be standing still while the houses of Piccadilly a,nd Regent Street flowed past on either side until Queen's Hall reached us, and i t would have taken Dante to describe the awe I felt when following my Virgil upstairs to the first circle. The concert opened with Strauss's Don Juan, but who the conductor of the concert was I cannot remember, for to my fancy the whole of the orchestra and the whole of the audience was being conducted by my companion. I t was not until the Berlioz symphony began that I became aware of the emotion to which Sir Edward was exposed by the music. He was like a man in a strong gale of wind. Once or twice when tiresome people in front turned round and stared curiously at him I wanted to pick them up and pitch them over into the stalls, because they looked so idiotic staring at one who was himself music and yet whom they were only supposing to be a rather fidgety colonel. When the long third movement was over Sir Edward turned to me and said: " Now I am going to mark for you the rhythm of this astounding1Viarch to the Guillotine." And mark i t he did most vigorously on my ribs. Then he got angTy because the cymbal player was not handling his cymbals in the way they ought to be handled, and ejaculated under his breath several uncomplimentary remarks about him, whereupon some floppy young woman in front turned round and said "Hush!" She might as well have tried to hush Vesuvius in full eruption as Sir Edward Elgar that afternoon, for the merciless rhythm of that march was having such an effect upon him that I should not have been surprised if he had suddenly leapt from his seat, vaulted over the floppy young woman in front, and landed down on the conductor's dais in order to make that cymbal player handle his cymbals in the way he thought they ought to be handled. The crisis, however, was reached just as the oboist put his instrument to his mouth to play that ghastly phrase which signifies the last agony of the man about to be executed. He must have caught sight of Sir Edward Elgar in the circle at that moment, and whether he thought i t was his wraith or his ghost or Sir Edward Elgar himself I do not know. I have never seen on any man's face an expression of such horrified surprise, but when I turned and saw Sir Edward's eyes flashing down to where he was sitting I wondered that he was able to emit a sound from his oboe. During the last movement the great man who had given me such a memorable experience sat back a,pparently exhausted by the emotion of the music; and at the end of the symphony he rose abruptly. "You are not going to stay to heal' the Rachmaninoff concerto? " I asked. " No, no," sa,id Sir Edward. "As I have told you, I do not take the slightest interest in music any longer, but you'd better stay and hear i t ." "Vith this he hurried away up the aisle, the glances of the floppy young woman in front, who had only come to Queen's Hall to adore Rachmaninoff, following him indignantly. With Sir Edward's departure the atmosphere became so ordinary as to seem heavy, and though Rachmaninoff himself was playing, and though I have no doubt he gave a splendid performance of his last concerto, I have never been bored so intensely by music, and I have never wished so much for a concerto to come to an end. I have told this story at length and for the first t ime, because I feel that i t may do more to suggest to those who are hearing Sir Edward's music some of the dynamic force of his personality in the art of to-day than any amount of pretty programme writing about his works. * * * And now a merry Christmas to all our readers and advertisers. COMPTON MACKENZIE.
page 5
The Gramophone, December, 1929 277 THE GRAMOPHONE AND THE SINGER (Continued) By HERMAN KLEIN Columbia Album of "Madame Butterfly" FORTY years ago, come next April, there was performed at the Duke of York's Theatre a Japanese play, founded by David Belasco upon a magazine story from the pen of J. Luther Long, which had already won success in New York. Its title was Madame Butterfly. Someone-I fancy i t was Comm. Tito di Ricordi-brought the l i t t le drama the notice of Giacomo Puccini, then in Lo.ndon for the production of La Tosca. It interested him enormously. He was looking out for a subject for · another opera, and he quickly made up his mind that here was what he wanted-something quite novel, a dramatic plot that appealed to him, and just the right group of characters for an opera . The affair was soon arranged with Belasco and the script of the piece handed over to Puccini's able l ibrettists, Illica and Giacosa, who were equally delighted with i t . The composer made up his mind from the outset to lend" local colour" to his treatment of the story by imitating the method employed (if only slightly) in the score of The 1\11ilcado by Sir Arthur Sullivan and introducing into i t some genuine Japanese tunes. For this purpose, as we are reminded in the H.iVLV. publication, Opera at Home, he made use of some early gramophone records. "To this end the Gramophone Company presented him with a set of the first records ever made in Japan," and in addition he also borrowed, as we know, the theme of The StarspanglecZ Banner to typify "that devil of a Pinkerton," as the U.S. Consul Sharpless so accura,tely describes him. But I do not agree with the writer of the Puccini article in G"rove's D ictionary when he says that the composer of Butterfly "had not the geni\lS of the symphonic writer which can turn a common tune into a thing of tragedy or pathos" ; or that "the American and Japanese tunes in Butterfly remain to the end foreign elements." In my opinion Puccini utilized those elements with a fine perception of their possi bilities and blended or merged them into his own music with consummate skill. On the other hand I do agree that he was less successful in accomplishing a similar purpose in the sco re of The Girl of the Golden West, which opera he also derived from a play by Bela!Sco. No mystery attached to the failure of Butterfly on i ts first producti.on at La Scala in February, 1904. The ~1ilanese were simply unprepared for anything so strange, so quaint and original. Beside!S, in i ts initial form.,-two acts-it was unwieldya,nd overlong. The revised version, done at Brescia three months later, brought a complete reversal of the first verdict and with i t a triumph that has proved lasting. I remember well the enthusiasm that marked i ts reception at Covent Garden on July 10, 1905, when the principal parts were sustained by Emmy Destinn, Gabrielle Lejeune, Caruso, and Scotti; and, again, at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, when the same famous Italians sang i t with Geraldine Farrar and Louise Homer. Between those two productions i t fell to my lot to train the double cast of singers for the (English) first performance in America under the management of Henry W. Savage, which took place at Boston in November, 1906, and was followed by a tour of the States that lasted a year or more. Puccini came to America with Tito di Ricordi for the Boston performance and expressed himself delighted with i t . It was conducted by Walter Rothwellthen a newcomer-and the Butterfly was a charming Hungarian named Elza Szamosy, whom I subsequently heard at Budapest in 1913 in The Girl of the Golden West. So much for the general history of this fascinating work. For my own part I prefer i t to all Puccini's other operas, though many good judges, I am aware, now consider Turandot to be his masterpiece. The dazzling orchestration and immense cleverness of the posthumous opera are wonderful; but there is no humanity, no pathos, in the Chinese story, whereas the Japanese is full of both. The latter yields a melodic line that is delightfuUy vocal, besides being supported by new and alluring harmonies in an inexhaustible variety. Turandot at times seems to me very boring, but there is scarcely a dull moment in the whole of Butterfly. Hence is i t that I welcome with unqualified pleasure the appeara,nce of a Columbia album of this familiar score, executed in Milan by Italian artists, orchestra and chorus, on precisely the same model as the Traviata, Aida, and Boheme albums that were recently issued from the same atelier. It consists of fourteen discs (28 records) numbered from 9784 to 9797. The cast is as follows: Madama Butterfly, Rosetta Pampanini; Suzuki, Conchita Velasquez; Mrs. Pinkerton, Cesira Ferrari; · Pinkerton, Alessandro Granda; Sharpless, Gino Vanelli; Goro, Giuseppe Nessi; The Bonze, Salvatore Baccaloni; Yamadori, Aristide Baracchi; Commissioner, Lino Bonardi; with the Milan Symphony Orchef;tra, conducted by Cav.Lorenzo MolajolL

Page Text

View plaintext

276

The Gramophone, December) 1929

take i t up again. I find that with the microscope I can enter fairyland whenever I wish."

And as he spoke there was a note in his voice which has remained vividly in my memory as a revelation of a mystical beauty to which he had penetrated and to which he was showing me the way. I have never since listened to any of his music without remembering the world of exquisite miniature he evoked that afternoon, or the subtle variety of the pattern he wove in that London club, as exquisite and various a pattern indeed as his own music.

''Yarnedby our first conversation I never attempted, when I had the privilege of talking to him on other occasions, to mention of my own accord the subject of music. But on another afternoon while we were sitting in the billiard-room of the old Savile Club I heard from the further end of the long settee the voice of "V. J. Turner say that he was going to the Queen's Hall to hear the Symphonie lJ'antastiq1te of Berlioz. Suddenly and sharply Sir Edward said to me:

" What's that about the Symphonie lJ'antastique ? " When I told him that i t was being played that afternoon in the Queen's Hall, he asked me if I had ever heard i t , and on my telling him that I had not, he asked me if I would like to hear i t , and that if I would, he would take me With him to hear i t , because i t was a piece of music which one ought to hear and appreciate for i ts importance in the development of the art.

" There is one thing in i t ," he added, "which is really tremendous, and that is the 111a'J"oh to the Guillotine. "

I t was a Saturday afternoon, and as we drove along Piccadilly in the taxi to Queen's Hall I was aware while I listened to Sir Edward talking about Berlioz and Berlioz's world of music that I was enjoying a momentous occasion in my life. I was indeed listening with such absorption' that the taxi with Sir Edward and myself inside i t seemed to be standing still while the houses of Piccadilly a,nd Regent Street flowed past on either side until Queen's Hall reached us, and i t would have taken Dante to describe the awe I felt when following my Virgil upstairs to the first circle.

The concert opened with Strauss's Don Juan, but who the conductor of the concert was I cannot remember, for to my fancy the whole of the orchestra and the whole of the audience was being conducted by my companion. I t was not until the Berlioz symphony began that I became aware of the emotion to which Sir Edward was exposed by the music. He was like a man in a strong gale of wind. Once or twice when tiresome people in front turned round and stared curiously at him I wanted to pick them up and pitch them over into the stalls, because they looked so idiotic staring at one who was himself music and yet whom they were only supposing to be a rather fidgety colonel. When the long third movement was over Sir Edward turned to me and said:

" Now I am going to mark for you the rhythm of this astounding1Viarch to the Guillotine."

And mark i t he did most vigorously on my ribs. Then he got angTy because the cymbal player was not handling his cymbals in the way they ought to be handled, and ejaculated under his breath several uncomplimentary remarks about him, whereupon some floppy young woman in front turned round and said "Hush!" She might as well have tried to hush Vesuvius in full eruption as Sir Edward Elgar that afternoon, for the merciless rhythm of that march was having such an effect upon him that I should not have been surprised if he had suddenly leapt from his seat, vaulted over the floppy young woman in front, and landed down on the conductor's dais in order to make that cymbal player handle his cymbals in the way he thought they ought to be handled. The crisis, however, was reached just as the oboist put his instrument to his mouth to play that ghastly phrase which signifies the last agony of the man about to be executed. He must have caught sight of Sir Edward Elgar in the circle at that moment, and whether he thought i t was his wraith or his ghost or Sir Edward Elgar himself I do not know. I have never seen on any man's face an expression of such horrified surprise, but when I turned and saw Sir Edward's eyes flashing down to where he was sitting I wondered that he was able to emit a sound from his oboe.

During the last movement the great man who had given me such a memorable experience sat back a,pparently exhausted by the emotion of the music; and at the end of the symphony he rose abruptly.

"You are not going to stay to heal' the Rachmaninoff concerto? " I asked.

" No, no," sa,id Sir Edward. "As I have told you, I do not take the slightest interest in music any longer, but you'd better stay and hear i t ."

"Vith this he hurried away up the aisle, the glances of the floppy young woman in front, who had only come to Queen's Hall to adore Rachmaninoff, following him indignantly.

With Sir Edward's departure the atmosphere became so ordinary as to seem heavy, and though Rachmaninoff himself was playing, and though I have no doubt he gave a splendid performance of his last concerto, I have never been bored so intensely by music, and I have never wished so much for a concerto to come to an end. I have told this story at length and for the first t ime, because I feel that i t may do more to suggest to those who are hearing Sir Edward's music some of the dynamic force of his personality in the art of to-day than any amount of pretty programme writing about his works.

* * *

And now a merry Christmas to all our readers and advertisers.

COMPTON MACKENZIE.

read next page

My Bookmarks

Buy this Book
Skip to main content