Russian Concert

Includes programme.

Interview with the prince.

“Two hundred people sat in the auditorium of Steinway Hall last night to listen to the first concert of Prince Galitzin, a scion of Russia, interpreted by a chorus of forty-six and an orchestra of forty. The programme comprised selections from the principal Russian composers, and it abounded in descriptions or sketches of the composers and the muisic. The only soloist was Levy, the celebrated cornet player, who really made the grand success of the evening by his inimitable playing. We think that there is no cornet player in Europe or America that can compare with Levy; and his manager, Fisk, Jr., may feel proud of securing permanently such a magnificient artist. The following remarks about Russian music must prove interesting:--During the past few years music in Russia has made immense progress. Two conservatories—one at St. Petersburg, the other at Moscow—have been established by the brothers Rubinstein, and these two institutions enjoy the special patronage of the Grand Duchess Helen, widow of the Grand Duke Michael, the uncle of the Emperor. There even exists in the two capitals of the empire a circle (somewhat limited, it is true) formed by disciples of the new German school (Zukunftsmusik) of the music of the future. Not only are Wagner’s operas performed at the ‘Russian Opera House,’ but the works of Schumann, Berlioz and Liszt appear upon the progammes of concerts given by the several Philharmonic societies in St. Petersburg and Moscow. As regards Russian music itself, there can be no doubt but that among the names of its composers—Glinka, Dargomijsky, Verstofsky, Séroff, Rubinstein, Titingoff, Kachperoff, Korsikoff, Cui, Moussergsky, Bowdine, Balakéreff, Tchaikowsky, Ladijinky, Tchirkoff, Bortnionsky, Lwoff, Lanakine, Varlamoff, Titoff, Alabieff and many others. The name of Glinka is the central sun of the Russian artistic firmament. Russian music presents itself under different forms. The popular song, whose origin is generally unknown; the romance, known only during half a century; the ballad, the apostle of which is Dargomijsky, and also his pupils, Moussersky, R. Korssikoff, Balakéreff—and especially Cui, who ranks as one of the most distinguished composers of the age—and the opera, which seems to have entered upon a very brilliant phrase. Since Glinka’s period Russian composers have given their country some twenty-five or thirty operas, for the greater part based on national historical subjects. Next in order comes the church music, a capella. But we shall defer reference to this special class of composition until Prince Galitzin shall commence his series of sacred concerts. Remarking that Glinka is the Mozart, and judging from a certain portion of his compositions, the Beethoven of Russia, we shall say a few words concerning this genius of the North. Possessing a very fragile constitution, Glinka completed his education at home, nor could he be prevailed upon to take active part in the service of the crown, inasmuch as his artistic impulses directed his steps in other directions. He travelled extensively, chiefly in Italy, devoting his youthful mind to the close study of the great masters, especially Mozart, and thus fortified and true to his nationality he undertook his masterwork, ‘A Life for the Czar.” This great effort is certainly the most perfect work of its kind. It may be briefly analyzed. The five acts of which it consists contain upwards of fifty melodies of the most embracing character. Moreover, while each number, in form, rhythm and color, is unmistakeably Russian, no single melody has been filched from the treasury of national song. The recitatives are all singularly melodious and clad in rhythmical forms. They bear not the slightest resemblance to the customary recitative passages of other operas. They are not at all cosmopolitan in nature, and it would be impossible to transplant them into any other score or replace them in the original without altering the entire meaning of the musical drama itself. The orchestration is truly sublime, and from the first note of the score to the last there is nothing to be desired. Every vocal or instrumental phrase has its just place and an obvious reason for its being. It would be a sacrilege to add to or subtract in the smallest degree from this product of genius. A striking and novel effect is, for example, produced in Wania’s song (contralto) a rhythm of three-four time being counterbalanced by one in common time. The subject of the opera is suggested by the Polish invasion of Russia, and the composer defines the movements of the Polanders by using the three-four rhythm (Polonaise), while illustrating the doings of the opposing Russians by means of the tempo two-four, four-four, six-eight, & c., this ingenious process serving to keep in mind the antagonism existing between the two forces engaged in the scenes.

Glinka has also written another opera, founded on a poem by Puschkin (a celebrated Russian poet), called ‘Russlan and Ludmilla.’ This composition, considered merely as a symphony or examined in detail, number by number, surpasses even the opera ‘A Life for the Czar,’ but viewed as a whole it is far from meeting the requirements of a perfect opera.

Prince Galitzin is the first of his countrymen who has sought to elevate the national song—that is to say, he was the first who perceived the desirability of introducing the popular Russian melodies into the concert room. True, every national melody arranged by Prince Galitzin for chorus and orchestra, and invested with rich harmonious settings, becomes an artistic composition, although the original theme retains its pristine vigor and simplicity. It is perhaps significant that the Prince rescued this species of popular song from its vulgur associations at the very time when the attempt was made to introduce it here by a certain Slaviousky, who succeeded only in presenting it in the uncouth form that characterized its rendering by the street bands or in the concert saloons of the Russian cities. In his youth Glinka composed more than a hundred romances, all conspicuously melodious. His orchestral works are, among others, the ‘Kamarinskaya’ (Scherzo), ‘Une Nuit d’Eté,’ ‘La Jota Aragonaise,’ ‘Valse de Fantaisie,’ the music for a drama; ‘Le Prince Cholmsky,’ a tarantelle, with chorus, &c. We understand that Prince Galitzin has brought with him the complete score of the opera ‘A Life for the Czar,’ comprising all the orchestral parts, together with the designs for the several scenes, descriptions of the costumes required, and also an English translation of the libretto, and it is quite possible that one of these days we shall enjoy a performance of this beautiful opera at some one of our leading theatres. This may be the more easily accomplished, seeing that the mise en scene is not costly, and that only four principal singers are demanded—a soprano, contralto, tenor and bass. The incidental ballet music is indescribably beautiful, and the scenes disclosed are exceedingly interesting, expecially the last, representing Moscow and its historical Kremlin. The performance last night was an exemplification of a rule which all managers and musicians must understand sooner or later. Prince Galitzin engaged a chorus and orchestra which was mainly made up from the Italian opera; therefore these people had as much idea of his magnificent music—novel, mind, in every sense of the word—as a stage driver on Broadway has of the Sanscrit language. Those terrible people, the basses and and wind instrumentalists, who play the most important parts in Russian music, actually murdered their parts outright. Russian music is worthy of better representatives than those people who undertook to sing and play last night. We trust that the Prince will do better at his next concert than he did last evening.”

Karlbog’s ‘Circassian March,’ Glinka’s Polonaise and Prince Galitzin’s potpourri of Russian melodies illustrated our opening remark on the peculiar tone of the national imagination as expressed in their music. They were sung with great spirit by the chorus, and the latter two brought a warm encore. With a change in the barometer we shall expect to see the hall filled, and these singular concerts may be expected to attract, not only by their novelty, but also, unless the fascination of surprise misleads us, by more enduring charms.”

“The Prince Galitzin gave his first concert last evening at Steinway Hall. A wilder night the northeast winds have not given us this season. The gale roared and the rain fell so vigorously that few were bold enough to venture out. But, though the hall was scantily filled, those who attended heard a curious and in many respects interesting concert. The music was wholly by Russian composers, and consisted of selections from the popular songs of that people and of extracts from instrumental and vocal pieces from the works of Glinka and of the Prince himself. Whenever Russian music is mentioned Glinka is very certain to be referred to in the same breath, for he stands as the representative composer of that nation. The Russian opera company which visited us two winters ago familiarized us to some extent with his music. It then seemed to us monotonous, heavy, and wearisome. The selections made by Prince Galitzin, however, show the brighter side of his muse. An overture of Scherzos for orchestra, and a polonaise for chorus and orchestra from his opera ‘To Die for the Czar,’ were performed. They were works exhibiting originality and invention, but not to such a degree as to entitle Glinka to be ranked with the best of the German or Italian composers.

“The heroic persons who attended the first of Prince Galitzin’s Russian Concerts, at Steinway Hall, last evening, were rewarded for their defiance of the elements. Few entertainments of the same order can be mentioned as having afforded equal pleasure, not only to enlightened lovers of music, but to its unskilled and enthusiastic admirers. In a previous article in reference to Prince Galitzin’s intentions and ambition, the object of the recitals about to commence was set forth at some length. This object is the popularization of Russian compositions in the United States, by means of their careful exposition under the direction of Prince Galitzin, a time-tried student of the art and a gentleman gifted with a musical temperament of the finest kind. From the favor with which several parts of the programme were received last night, we do not think that Prince Galitzin’s hopes will be disappointed. Some of the numbers interpreted are full of melody, and the treatment of the larger pieces would alone commend them to approval. It is true that exacting critics might claim that all the compositions are not characteristic of their native soil in a marked degree, but Prince Galitzin varied wisely, we opine, the monotony of strictly Russian airs by much music that was interesting on broader grounds than mere distinctiveness of scale or form. Everything done, of course, was the work of Russian hands. The composer Glinka has long been known throughout Europe as a musician of genius and culture. Yet we are not aware that until yesterday any of his writings have been made known to the American public. Glinka’s two operas, ‘Life for the Czar,’ and ‘Russlan and Ludmilla,’ contributed to the bill a polacca and and overture. The former, consisting of dance music in the familiar rhythm, alternating with brief choral passages, did not impress one at first hearing. But the overture, with which the concert was opened, was exceedingly effective, mainly by the instrumentation, which often suggested by its substantiality and by the author’s handling of the strings, points in Wagner’s operatic prefaces. A scherzo, also by Glinka, was conspicuous too, by its orchestral arrangement rather than by its ideas. More tuneful were the less important selections. Two original Russian popular songs, noted by Prince Galitizin, the first wild and plaintive, and the second animated to what might be called a rattling extent, proved very striking and were re-demanded. As much appreciation awaited Warlamoff’s ‘Red Sarafan,’ a pure and sweet melody, recognized at once by its earlier embodiment in one of Thalberg’s transcriptions, and prepared for chorus and orchestra with an exquisite management of the theme at a late stage of the composition. Especial delight was manifested at Prince Galitzin’s ‘Troika,’ one of the few pieces to which the printed text of the house bill, dealing with all as pure programme music, was really suited. The ‘Troika’ is a small post carriage, drawn by three horses, and the melody is a favorite with and is constantly sung by the coachman. The song has four verses, and is highly descriptive. In the two first the horses are encouraged by terms of flattery and subtle endearment; in the third they are forgotten, as the drivers dwell dreamily upon the blue eyes and red lips of of their sweethearts; in the fourth verse the lagging steeds awake the dreamers to their duty, and by voice and whips they strive to make up for lost time. The tune of ‘Troika’ is charming; the changes of time are very effective; the fourth repetition of the air, an accelerando vigorously accented by the brass, was followed by an imperative encore. More considerable than this is Prince Galitzin’s ‘Emancipation Fantasia.’ It is founded on three themes: the first is an old song of the boatmen on the River Volga; the second is a universally popular dance melody; the third is taken from the last act of Glinka’s opera, ‘Life for the Czar.’ The dance melody is most ‘taking.’ The structure of the fantasia, not to be analyzed after a single recital, can, nevertheless, be praised for its symmetry; the scoring is notable for variety and massiveness. In addition to the numbers cited in detail, the orchestra and chorus delivered, last evening, a Circassian march by Herr Karlberg, quaint and dramatic, without being as highly colored as Liszt’s ‘Mazeppa March;’ a potpourri of Russian airs, by Prince Galitzin, and a patriotic fantasia, combining American and Muscovite national songs; and a romance and a waltz for cornet-à-piston, by the same gentleman. Prince Galitzin conducted with infinite sympathy and skill, and with a magnetism not to be resisted, an orchestra that played with great spirit and finish, and a very good chorus, that will no doubt, ere the next concert occurs, be as prompt and unanimous as were the instrumentalists. The assistant conductor was Herr Karlberg, a practiced musician, who has been absent from America for upward of ten years. The two cornet solos were rendered by Mr. J. Levy, whose execution of the ‘Levy Polka’ was distinguished by the feats he has accustomed his hearers to expect, and whose delivery of the romance—a very graceful andante—was as expressive and tasteful as could be wished.”

“Prince George Nicholas Galitzin is a Russian nobleman of distinguished family who has been led by a genuine enthusiasm for music to adopt a quasi-artistic career, and to travel over the world with an orchestra and a chorus, interpreting the national and popular songs of his native country. In London and other parts of Great Britain his concerts have been well known for many years. He is a musician of many accomplishments, and a composer, not indeed of great originality, but of decided merit, with a vein of pleasing melody and skill in the handling of an orchestra. His entertainments therefore have claims to critical respect, and would be well worth our notice even were they not so interesting from the novel and striking character of the programmes. The Russian music of which they are composed is of two classes: the traditional popular melodies chanted by the serfs at their labor, their festivals, their social ceremonies, or sung by boatmen on the rivers, and reduced to musical notation by Prince Galitzin; and selections from the formal compositions of Russian composers, such as Glinka and the Prince himself. The performance in New-York is intrusted to a chorus of about fifty voices and a strong orchestra, both made up from the best material available in this city, and the Prince, a tall, stout man of imposing presence, conducts them with great skill. The popular songs are naturally the most interesting to a foreign audience. They are of very distinctly marked character, strongly tinged with melancholy, but full of a strange fire, which, at the first two or three hearings, powerfully affects the imagination. They are deficient in grace, but not in feeling. They abound in abrupt, and to our ears, unusual cadences, but, like all folk-songs, they have a simple melody, easily caught by the ear and retained in the memory. Sometimes they break out in quick, wild, yet musical shoutings, such as one might expect to hear at the merry makings of a half barbarous peasantry; and those passages, toned down perhaps by the Prince’s arrangement, and softened by the harmonies of the orchestra, are exciting in a very curious degree. The music is somewhat monotonous; but the music of an uncultivated society must always be that, because the rude musical instruments are of such limited capacity, and the song never gets much beyond the instrument.

The compositions of Glinka, who has furnished the Russian stage with its best and most popular operas, do not seem to us strongly characteristic of the nationality. Sometimes he borrows a few strains from the peasants’ songs, and often, without copying the airs, he seems to have drawn in something of their spirit; but Russian art is nothing but an expatriated German art, and Glinka’s method of treatment is much more suggestive of Leipsic than of St. Petersburg. The overture to his opera of ‘Ruslan and Ludmilla’ is a bright and spirited piece of writing, which betrays the Russian fondness for the blare of much brass and the tingling of the cymbals. It is not vulgar crash music, however, for the harmonies are rich, and the effects brilliant and legitimate. There was an excellent scherzo, also by the same composer, entitled ‘Kamarinskaja,’ based upon two wedding songs, and there was a polonaise from Glinka’s opera, ‘To Die, or the Czar.’ This polonaise, however, is Russian only in a political sense—that is to say, it is Polish. A remarkable Circassian March, for orchestra and chorus, and an arrangement by Prince Galitzin of a coachman’s song to his horses (‘Troika’) elicited especial enthusiasm, and certainly they well deserved it. In the last stanza of the ‘Troika’ the Prince shows a skill in working up strong and broad effects with simple materials that would do credit to Liszt. His ‘Emancipation Fantasie,’ composed in commemoration of the liberation of the surfs [sic], is an arrangement of three themes, two being folk-songs for the orchestra, and the third a chorus of Glinka’s. The piece is interesting, but it hangs together rather loosely and cannot be called a work of high art.

The only solo performer was Mr. Levy, who played a romanza and a polka of the Prince’s on the cornet. The audience was of course small, but considering the terrors of the storm it was larger than we looked for, and it was evidently delighted by the concert.”