New-Yorker Stadt-Theater Opera: Lohengrin

For March 30; first performance in America.

Postponed until Monday, April 3.

"First time in America."

“The work has never been given in the United States, and much curiosity is awakened as to the impression its recital, in its entirety, will make.”

“The first performance in America of Wagner’s opera, ‘Lohengrin,’ was given at the Stadt last night before one of the largest audiences of the season. The event, as it may be considered one, has excited much attention and interest in musical circles, and many of the most eminent artists in America honored the occasion by their presence. It was first heard at Munich in the year 1853, where it was directed by the composer in person. It was afterwards produced by Weimar and Berlin, and Wagner experienced immense trouble in the difficulty of getting singers capable of interpreting such difficult music. The story is one of the most charming of those romantic legends of the Middle Ages, in which chivalry takes a hand in everything. Henry, Emperor of Germany, and his court make up the cast. The story is this: [a synopsis follows, which is omitted here]. It would be impossible at this late hour (midnight) and after a single hearing to pass a definite judgment on the opera, and we shall speak of the music in detail after another representation. Still our general impression is that it is in every sense of the word a great work, and the instrumentation is colossal and worthy of the most earnest attention of every musician. The first and last acts are better than the second, which is very tedious. Mme. Lichtmay, Mme. Frederici and Messrs. Habelmann, Vierling and Franosch deserve great praise for their admirable impersonation of their extremely trying rôles. No more difficult task could be applied to an artist’s voice than the music of this opera. Mr. Neuendorf proved himself a conductor of rare ability and courage, and both chorus and orchestra were far beyond the usual average. But to the Messrs. Rosenberg is due the highest credit for their enterprise and liberal management in giving to New York this remarkable work, from which many European impresarii have shrank in dismay.” 

“The interest taken in this country in Wagner’s music is great and genuine. Comparatively few outside of a narrow circle of German musicians are familiar with it; but the composer has been so heartily abused that there is a general curiosity among musical amateurs to decide whether or no the criticism is deserved. The orchestras have, moreover, made us acquainted with the overture, the march and the Pilgrim’s chorus from ‘Tannhäuser,’ with the ‘Rienzi’ and ‘Lohengrin’ and ‘Faust’ overtures. But beyond these extracts, Wagner is known to the majority of musical people here only by reputation—and that reputation is of a decidedly peculiar kind.

Last night, at the Stadt Theatre in the Bowery, was given the first performance in America of ‘Lohengrin.’ The opera had not been prominently advertised, but there was a very large audience present, including a great number of professional musicians and the leading newspaper critics of the city. The overture began at ten minutes past eight, and though the opera was not over til near midnight, there were very few who did not remain til the end.

The story of ‘Lohengrin,’ as written by Wagner—who is a poet as well as a musician—is a charming legend delightfully told [synopsis follows].

To this beautiful story Wagner has wedded his most characteristic music. The overture is an orchestral prelude marked by delicacy and sentiment, an unusual prominence being given to the flutes and violins. The first act contains several long and carefully orchestrated recitatives. There is an aria for Elsa, the ever-delightful ‘Song of the Swan’ for the tenor, and a concerted piece of marvelous beauty worked up to a splendid point of climacteric effect. The interest of the listeners is sustained throughout. There is wealth of orchestration, skillful arrangement of voices, and decided melody. The curtain falls amid approving shouts. The leading performers are twice called before the curtain, and the auditor who has looked upon Wagner as an incomprehensible riddle, begins to ask whether this man after all may not be the composer of the present age.

But the second act does not maintain the interest awakened by the first. Melody there is none. A brief passage in unison at the close of a long duet between Ortrud and Friedrich alone awakens applause. All the rest of this act is violent recitative, accompanied or rather overpowered by more violent orchestration. There are good dramatic points, but no music in the ordinary acceptation of the term. The deafening crash of the orchestra makes the listener forget the wonderful ingenuity of many of the combinations. There is throughout this act an undoubted expression of weariness in the faces of the audience; and the fall of the curtain becomes a welcome relief.

Yet in the third act all is changed again. The orchestral entr’acte prepares one for the delightfully, fresh and melodious bridal chorus with which the act opens. The duet for tenor and soprano is in Meyerbeer’s style rather than Wagner’s, and the same remark applies to the great air of Lohengrin, ‘In fernem Land,’ in which he reveals his name. The tremulous accompaniments of the violins strongly suggest the similar accompaniments in the great tenor air in ‘L’Africaine.’ There is also in this act a stirring patriotic chorus which seems just now peculiarly appropriate. It ends with the refrain—

Für deutsches Land das deutsche Schwert,

So sei des Reiches Kraft bewährt.

The exquisitely beautiful closing of the opera is worthy of a work which certainly possesses transcendent merit, though unequal and often wearisome. With our German citizens it must become more popular then ‘Tannhäuser,’ while to our amateurs generally it gives proof that Wagner is not, as is often thought, ‘mere sound and fury signifying nothing.’ We can hardly imagine the day when this music will take the place in popular regard of the genuine Italian, or the more melodious phases of the ordinary German school. It is when ‘Lohengrin’ approximates to these that it receives the greatest favor. When it is simply ‘Wagner-ish’ it is endured, not enjoyed.

As a matter of record we add the cast of last night’s performance [see above], only having space to say here that the performers all acquitted themselves creditably in the first American representation of this difficult and exacting work.”

“Wagner’s ‘Lohengrin,’ of which we have already spoken at length, will be repeated at the Stadt Theatre this evening. Of the performers there is much to be said that is eulogistic. Madame Lichtmay, who has one of the most extensive repertoires of any prima donna who has visited us, sings the difficult and rather ungrateful music of Elsa with great fervor, and with as much effect as it is capable of producing. It is very easy to imagine a more heroic Lohengrin than Habelmann; but he sings with much sweetness the ’Song of the Swan,’ and his voice, if not powerful and thrilling, is always agreeable to the ear. Herr Franosch is a stately King, and gives forth his resonant recitatives with force and dignity. Herr Vierling both acts and sings well; and Madame Frederici does her best with a part which offers some scope for dramatic singing, but which in no way appeals to the sympathies of the audience. The tenor part monopolizes the few bits of solo melody which the composer has allowed himself to indulge in.”

“It is twenty years since Richard Wagner’s romantic opera of ‘Lohengrin’ was first placed upon the stage. During this long interval the warfare has raged fiercely over his musical theories, and if he has made no perceptible advance in conquering the popular taste, he has at least seen the formation and development of a distinct school of art, and aroused a deep interest in his works all over the cultivated world. His ‘Tannhäuser’ is no longer a novelty even in New-York. His ‘Rienzi’ and ‘Der fliegende Holländer’ are well-known in many opera-houses. But ‘Lohengrin,’ written immediately after the ‘Tannhäuser,’ and bearing in spirit and workmanship a close relation to the composition, has never been played, we believe, outside of Germany and Switzerland, until it was brought out at our Stadt Theater on Monday night. We must congratulate Messrs. Hamann and Rosenberg, and the hard-working company under their direction, upon the creditable enterprise they have exhibited in the production of an opera which, to say the least of it, ought to have been heard long ago, merely as a curiosity.

The story of Lohengrin is borrowed from the legend of the Holy Grail [synopsis follows]. The whole of this story is foreshadowed in the singular Vorspiel, or Introduction, so well known to our concert rooms. It begins with a series of undulating strains, played pianissimo by the violins alone—first a single note, at a painfully high pitch, then one by one the other strings, anon faint breathings from the flute, and as the mysterious champion approaches, borne in his enchanted bark down the far-stretching tide, the music takes distincter coloring and louder tone; there is a full, soft, grateful chord from the reeds, and the orchestra gathers its mighty forces for a great sweep of rushing harmonies, in which we are to recognize the clash of hostile arms and the uproar of worldly passions. Then the overture dies away as it began. The Knight is borne back across the sea, and as the music disappears the music ceases with a faint high-drawn note on a single string. It has been called a perfect piece of musical perspective. We can almost believe that Tennyson must have had this Vorspiel in mind when he described the appearance of the Holy Grail to the pale nun, Sir Percivale’s sister [synopsis continues].

In the whole of the first scene there is nothing that appeals to the popular taste; there is forcible dialogue and strong dramatic coloring, enriched with the superb orchestration which Wagner lavishes upon all his work, but there is not a measure in the cantabile style, and hardly a suggestion of rhythm. The first formal melody is the aria, based upon the theme of the overture, in which Elsa describes her vision of the champion,--an exquisite number, embroidered with great wealth of instrumental accompaniment, and followed by a short invocation of the divine assistance by the Emperor and his nobles. A fine dramatic scene follows, wherein the angry accusations of the Count, the exclamations of the Brabançons, the voice of the Herald, again and again repeating the summons to the Unknown, mingle and alternate with the tender and moving strains in which Elsa pours out her prayers and expresses her confidence. The arrival of Lohengrin now takes us back to the strange music of the Introduction. Again ‘the slender sound as from a distance beyond distance grows, and along the lazy current of Scheidt the knight is seen approaching in a boat drawn by a swan. The mechanical business here is well managed, the stage handsomely set, and the entire scene effective. Lohengrin has an exquisite little solo, delivered mostly without accompaniment, and then comes a long delicious passage, based upon the Swan Song, varied in many charming modes, and borne in turn by the chief personages and the chorus. Lohengrin accepts the challenge. If he conquer, Elsa is to become his wife and share with him the crown of Brabant; but he exacts a promise that she will never inquire his name or rank, and never seek to know whence he came. A nobly phrased invocation by the Emperor serves as the prelude to the grand quintette and chorus, which seems to us one of the most magnificent and really inspiriting numbers that Wagner ever wrote—certainly the grandest thing in this opera. It is conceived in the most e levated spirit, and elaborated with all the master’s wonderful command of broad effects and gorgeous instrumental coloring, and on Monday night it was sung with a spirit and vigor that did it full justice. In a short combat Friedrich is disarmed, and there is another grand concerted piece, an outburst of jubilee and praise, fearfully difficult, and hardly less effective than the chorus and quintette preceding it. Upon this splendid scene the curtain falls [synopsis continued].

Ortrud feigns sorrow, penitence, and humility, and so works upon Elsa’s feelings that the generous girl forgives her injuries and takes her enemy into the palace. This part of the story is the theme of an admirable duet, remarkable for the strong contrast in the spirit and coloring of the two parts; it is always received with emphatic applause. As the day breaks… [synopsis continues].

So ends an opera which, despite the lack of [illegible] melody, despite the frequent sacrifice of musical form to dramatic conceptions, despite the hardness of the phrasing and the occasional monotony of important scenes, we must pronounce one of the most effective modern lyric compositions. That it owes a great deal to the beautiful legend with whose mystery it is so fully in accord may be readily understood. A great deal of the charm of the opera hangs about the music, and must have warmed the composer’s heart with unwonted tenderness, and [illegible] his pen to unaccustomed grace. A great deal of the effect on the first night was owing also to an unexpectedly good performance. The conductor, Mr. Neuendorf, under whose direction the work has been produced, has evidently bestowed upon it both care, intelligence and enthusiasm, and the result is apparent in one of those spirited performances which are sometimes much more important for the success of an opera than the excellence of individual singers. The principal artists who take part in the representation at the Stadt Theater are so well known that no elaborate criticism upon them is necessary. It is enough to say that notwithstanding all shortcomings, the general effect is even more than satisfactory, and there are consistent merits which we hardly anticipated. Mme. Lichtmay executes the trying music of her role with freedom and certainty. Mr. Habelmann is always at home in romantic characters, and he naturally invests the Knight of the Holy Grail with the charm of a picturesque presence and graceful action. He is well suited [illegible] with the music, and on Monday was in good voice. He relied rather too much upon Mr. Neuendorf’s assistance in taking the difficult intervals, but on the first night the occasional help of the conductor’s piano was perhaps excusable. Mme. Frederici has an ungrateful part vocally—that is to say it contains no music which [illegible] ever become popular—but she has the most vigorous of the dramatic writing and she interprets it with spirit and intelligence. Franosch and Vierling deserve more praise for intelligence, zeal, dignified bearing, and knowledge of the music, than for their voices, neither of which was in the best of trim. The chorus was imperfect on Monday, but will improve as it becomes more familiar with its work. The orchestra is strengthened with some of the best material in the city, and Mr. Neuendorf enjoyed on the first night the [honor?] of a call before the curtain, which he richly deserved. There are some gorgeous dresses and three well-arranged scenes, and the stage business is all effectively ordered.

The cast of the opera is as follows [see above].”

“Three successive representations of ‘Lohengrin’ have attracted very large audiences to the Stadt Theatre, which is not always conspicuous for enterprise equal to that proven by producing one of Mr. Richard Wagner’s gigantic works. It is twenty-one years since ‘Lohengrin’ was first sung at Weimar, and the work has never been done until now, either in London or in Paris, and was unknown, in its entirety, in the United States up to Monday night. As a simple matter of curiosity, it is surprising that so important a composition should not have been looked into before. The fact that ‘Tannhaueser’ has been reasonably popular in Germany, may, however, have been the single cause of its representation here, while to the indifference toward ‘Lohengrin’ in Mr. Wagner’s native land, may be ascribed the long-drawn hesitancy as to the advisability of its recital. There can be little doubt as to the greater interest of the last-named opera for the admirers of Mr. Wagner’s ideas. Mr. Wagner, to give an outline of his principal views, strives to bring dramatic music back to the absolute truth of nature, and to transform the conventional opera of the past into a grandiose action, wherein music and poetry shall characterize beings by invariable lines, and depict to the nicest shades the agitating passions. In modern works music, he thinks, which ought to be the means of expression, has become an end. Hence Meyerbeer is regarded by Mr. Wagner as the ‘most despicable music manufacturer of the period,’ and the whole Italian school is excommunicated at one fell swoop. Whether the reformer’s abstention from the ornamental in music is the result of poverty of inspiration, or a fixed resolve to adhere to his plans, Mr. Wagner is at least consistent, and whether or not the accompanied recitative is nearer to nature than the ornate cantabile, ‘Lohengrin’ is a perfect exemplar of his style. A majority of the assemblage on Monday was influenced, assuredly, by this fact, and gave an attentive ear to an opera the exposition of which lasted almost four hours. We shall endeavor to summarize Mr. Wagner’s libretto, remarkable for its simplicity of story and its observance of the unities, and to point out the most noteworthy parts of his score.

The overture to ‘Lohengrin,’ familiar to most frequenters of concerts, but not to be compared with that to ‘Tannhaueser,’ either for its melodic basis or for symmetry of structure, needs no lengthened description. The Holy Grail was the cup from which Christ drank at the last supper, and in which Joseph of Arimathea received the blood of the crucified Savior. Tradition tells that the second vase had been withdrawn from mankind as unworthy of its possession, but that God decided to place it in the hands of a privileged few, who, by their purity of soul and holiness of life, merited that honor. The introduction to ‘Lohengrin’ seeks, according to Mr. Wagner, to express the return of the Holy Grail to the mountain. But as Mr. Wagner avowedly depends for effect quite as much upon his poetry as upon his music, we can scarcely look for intelligibility in the one-quarter only. Moreover, his vorspielen he holds to be inseparable from his compositions; these, he claims, demanding consideration in their entirety. The last notes of the overture are bound to the opening bars of the first act, the curtain rising on a site on the banks of the Scheidt, near Antwerp. King Heinrich, Friedrich von Telramund, Ortrud, wife of the latter, an army crier and a host of Saxon and Brabantic noblemen are assembled. The King, in a protracted recitative, resting mainly upon the substantial groundwork of the quartet, and accented by blasts from the heralds’ trumpets, summons his vassals to war. This done, he seeks to ascertain the cause of dissension among the princes of Brabant. Friedrich, of whom he awaits an answer, responds by accusing Elsa, of Brabant, of the murder of her brother, the rightful heir to the Dukedom. The King calls Elsa into his presence. Her entrance is accompanied by the flutes and clarionets, whose strains in passages of like import are unsupported by strings or brass. In answer to the charge, she pictures a vision she has had, and of which an unknown Knight is the central figure. The melody on which her words are threaded is sweet, but vague, and it would be of slight impressiveness were it not for the accompaniment, of a most delicate order, and embodying the motive which courses, in an infinite variety of forms, through the whole opera. In a volume of librettos, with a few prefatory pages by way of a declaration of principles, Mr. Wagner has declared his partiality for such a [woof?]. “The great melody, as I conceive it,’ he says, ‘is that which enwraps the entire dramatic composition. The limitless diversity of details it presents must be discoverable, not only by the connoisseur, but by the uninitiated, by the most naïve temperament, so soon as the requisite degree of thoughtfulness shall be attained to.’ As we have already said, ‘Lohengrin” is, in this, as in many senses, the best exposition of his fulfilled intentions. The same phrase is again recited by the quartet when Elsa chooses for champion the unknown Knight, and again and again it is repeated—now in its completeness, now divided, and always in a fashion denoting the power of a master hand. To its delivery, as an ethereal accompaniment of a choral passage, a bark drawn by a swan approaches the river banks. Its utterance with the fullest instrumental force, strengthening a chorus of wonderment which swells to crashing might, marks Lohengrin’s appearance on shore. Lohengrin’s song to the swan, like Elsa’s first air, is moderately melodic, and at its close the text-phrase is heard once more in a choral. The dialogue between Elsa and Lohengrin, following, holds Elsa never to ask her defender’s name nor rank. The judgment of God as to her innocence or guilt, is then appealed to. The quintet, partially unaccompanied, preceding the combat, is striking, and admirably distributed as to the vocal parts. Lohengrin and Friedrich engage in strife, and the latter is vanquished. Elsa’s aria is full of passion, but as sung here it bears a closer resemblance to a commonplace Italian cabaletta than Mr. Wagner, from his printed opinions, would like it to. The quintet is then resumed, the prevailing motive being woven into it, and a tremendous finale in praise of Lohengrin ends the act.

In the second act, Friedrich and his wife, Ortrud, whose evil counsels have led to the downfall of both, are without the castle, bewailing their fate. Friedrich’s lament over his lost honor and his recriminations are, musically, of small value, and their inordinate length makes this part of the opera of less interest than either act the first or act the third. Ortrud advises Friedrich to charge Lohengrin with dark practices, and persuades him that by the loss of any portion of his body the unknown will be shorn of all might. Meanwhile she will induce Elsa to wring from Lohengrin the secret he withholds. The animated duet in unison concluding this scene is short, but highly dramatic in its purport and effect. The melodic recitative in which Elsa breathes her gratitude to the heavens is sustained by orchestral work of the most delicate texture. ‘Lohengrin’ offers numerous examples of similar contrasts, and treading upon the orchestra’s most vigorous performances come usually the musician’s daintiest specimens of writing. There is nothing remarkable in the converse between Ortrud and Elsa, consequent upon the latter’s humble prayer for pity, if we except the measures in which the vocal phrase and the instrumental support are united in a gentle but firm expression by Elsa of her faith in the loved one and her compassion for the erring being who tries to shake it. The action, until this incident, has been carried on by night. Now the sun reddens the battlements of the castle, and the trumpeters sound a morning call, to which the winds bear an answer from a neighboring tower. The knights of Saxony and of Brabant, awakened by the call, flock about the army crier who first makes proclamation that Friedrich is outlawed, and then announced that the nuptials of Lohengrin and Elsa are about to the celebrated. The familiar motive dominates in the chorus, to the strains of which the bridal procession flows toward the Munster. As it is about to enter, Ortrud casts off her humility and denounces Lohengrin. The King appears, and in his presence Friedrich, in an energetic declamation, adds his denunciations to those of his wife. The finale, amid which the bridal escort reach the cathedral at last, is noisy without being forcible.

A very fine prelude, symbolical of the wedding feast, is heard before the third act, and is linked to a tuneful and quaint bridal song, most felicitously conceived and scored. The love scene between Lohengrin and Elsa is a series of recitatives, of which the honeyed harmonies of the orchestra are the best part. Elsa insists upon a disclosure of Lohengrin’s name and title. His soft words are silenced by her importunities, and he is about to yield to them, when Friedrich is slain. The scene then changes to the banks of the Scheidt, and a tremendous instrumental din, for no other name can be applied to this number of the opera—forecasts the gathering of the Court. The King announces that Lohengrin is to lead the army to war, and a strongly-framed and telling chorus greets the tidings. But Lohengrin only stands forth to reveal his secret, and then to depart forever. The motive comes out clearly, while he makes known to an accompaniment of purest ethereality his mission on earth as a Knight of the Grail. General sorrow ensues. The swan returns with the bark, and Lohengrin bends the knee in prayer. The bird at once dives, and in its place reappears the lost youth who is heir to the dukedom of Brabant. Then a white dove descends from the blue, and leading the bark into which Lohengrin has stepped into the stream; the Knight vanishes, while Elsa sinks lifeless into her brother’s arms.

The interpretation of ‘Lohengrin’ at the Stadt Theatre does not call for lengthened criticism. That a performance on a larger scale vocally, histrionically, instrumentally and scenically, would be better suited to insuring the popularity of the opera need scarcely be told. But the one offered is fairly adapted to throw light on the exponent of Mr. Wagner’s system, and is to be praised, besides, as indicating an ambition we lauded above, and an immense amount of industry. Using the word in the sense to which it has been perverted by usage, we must say that Mme. Lichtmay is neither in appearance nor in action a very spirituelle Elsa. She has, however, an endurance which we are sorry all the artists who sing in ‘Lohengrin’ do not possess, and her strong soprano voice is used with skill always and frequently with charm. The trying role of Ortrud is assumed by Mme. Frederici, who is only sometimes equal to it. Herr Habelmann embodies Lohengrin, and lends to the air to the swan, to the love passages with Elsa, and to the discovery he makes previous to the close of the drama, tones of a very sympathetic quality. Herr Franosch acquits himself honorably of the weighty and ungrateful task of declaiming the lines of Koenig Heinrich, and Herr Vierling does almost as heavy, and quite as thankless work, by acting Friedrich. The chorus ought to be more numerous, and, in any case, ought to be steadier than it was at the outset of the run of ‘Lohengrin.’ With all respect for Mr. Wagner’s vast talent as an instrumentator, and with a warm appreciation of much of ‘Lohengrin,’ we are quite ready to admit that the result of the best possible representation of that composition might not be in proportion to the toil of preparation. But whatever is worth attempting, is worth attempting with a will, and of this the chorus ought to be mindful. More complimentary allusion can be addressed to the orchestra, which could easily be strengthened, but which lacks neither sentiment, vigor nor finish under the leadership of Mr. A. Neuendorff, an appreciative and zealous musician. The most easily detected beauties of ‘Lohengrin’ are cleverly set of by all the performers mentioned, and each night the hearers have availed themselves heartily of the chances of recognition afforded them.”

“In view of the late production of the above remarkable work at the Stadt Theatre, we may offer a few remarks on it here. It presents Wagner in the most favorable light and stamps him as a genius of a high order. We do not for a moment retract our previously expressed opinion that Wagner, Liszt et id omne genus have done more injury to music by their extravagances than can be imagined. But ‘Lohengrin,’ with all its massiveness, is not free from defects. These are mainly in the vocal parts. In his desire to reduce music to metaphysical principles and to give expression to conflicting passions without reference to the eternal laws of melody, he often stands on the verge of chaos. There is a restlessness about the instrumentation in the second act, in particular, which throws into bold relief the wild frenzy of Freiderich, the innocence and tenderness of Elsa, the dark designs of Ortrud and the calm dignity of Lohengrin. The duet between Elsa and Ortrud is the most perfect tone photograph of two opposite natures that has ever been created. The most remarkable feature in the opera is the distinct individuality given to each character by the orchestra alone. One can recognize each of the leading rôles by the orchestration, which gives them peculiar coloring. Again, the choruses are on a colossal scale, and although some of them are by no means melodious, yet they all show power. The opera must be heard frequently to be properly appreciated, and it grows upon the ear after each performance.”

“Wagner’s ‘Lohengrin’ has just been produced at the Stadt Theatre, and is to be given again this week. According to newspaper accounts it met with great success.”