Rubinstein Matinee

Event Information

Venue(s):
Steinway Hall

Manager / Director:
Maurice Grau

Price: $1.50; $2 reserved seat; $1 gallery

Record Information

Status:
Published

Last Updated:
5 October 2024

Performance Date(s) and Time(s)

28 Sep 1872, Matinee

Performers and/or Works Performed

2)
aka Moonlight; Quasi una fantasia
Composer(s): Beethoven
Participants:  Anton Rubinstein
4)
Composer(s): Field
Participants:  Anton Rubinstein
5)
aka Erlkonig
Composer(s): Schubert
Participants:  Anton Rubinstein
6)
aka Grand march; Turkish march; Bulgarian Gypsy dance
Composer(s): Beethoven
Participants:  Anton Rubinstein
7)
Composer(s): Rubinstein
8)
Composer(s): Mendelssohn-Bartholdy
Participants:  Louise Liebhart

Citations

1)
Advertisement: New-York Times, 22 September 1872, 7.
2)
Review: New-York Times, 29 September 1872, 4.

“The first Rubinstein matinée occurred at Steinway Hall yesterday. It was very largely attended, and the eminent pianist’s recital of his transcription of ‘The Ruins of Athens’ elicited applause so enthusiastic and long continued that, for the first time since his debut in this country, he consented to repeat it.”

3)
Review: New-York Daily Tribune, 30 September 1872, 2.

Brief; “There was an immense audience at the matinee on Saturday, when Rubinstein and Wieniawski played together Rubinstein’s Sonata for piano and violin.”

4)
Review: New York Post, 30 September 1872, 4.

“Rubinstein disappointed his audience at last Saturday’s matinée. Instead of the ‘Sonata Appasionata,’ which was eagerly expected, he performed the ‘Sonata in C minor.’ But few artists who have attempted the former of these have yet pleased us by their interpretation, while we have often heard the latter beautifully played. In fact, notwithstanding the consideration due to Mr. Rubinstein’s performance of it, it was not superior to that of many artists of less renown. The general intention of the first movement was excellent, and in conformity with tradition, still his touch seemed somewhat hard in spite of its extraordinary singing qualities. We believe, too, that the Arpeggio passages are rendered with a better effect by a soft, delicate blending of all the tones, than by the marked articulation of every single note. The Scherzo was well played, without any particular individuality—for which we are rather inclined to give him credit. The last movement however, it seems to us, was played too fast—indeed so much so that the tones comprised in the diatonic run could not be distinctly heard. Besides, the general rapidity of the movement required a decided più lento in the rendition of the melodic phrase, which, we think, tended to detract from the unity of the composer’s design. 

For the second series of his pieces, however, we can find no other words but those of admiration. In the first place, great credit is due to him for reinstating Field’s name—so long banished from the concert programme—in its old honors. There are few authors so much forgotten by the general public, and at the same time so much cherished by those who know and understand them, as sweet, kindly old Field. His charming Concerti, so long the delight of the last two generations, are at present hardly obtainable at the music stores, and even his lovely Notturni have ceased to be studied and understood. We repeat, that Rubinstein deserves great praise for re-introducing this sterling composer, and no less admiration for the enravishing manner in which he interpreted his composition. It was so exquisitely lovely, so full of enrapturing conceits, that nothing we have ever heard can be said to approach it.

Of his wonderful performance of the ‘Erl King’ we may say that it almost attains the bounds of possibility. Only his iron arm could endure that enormous stress without flinching—the tones as mighty in the end as they were in the beginning. It is not so much, however, of his execution that we intend to speak as of his wonderful conception. The calm though anxious voice of the father, the terrible wailings of the child, are portrayed in living colors; but it is the voice of the ‘Erl King’ which sends a thrill through our frames. It is but the phantom of a sound, and yet so enticing is the siren melody, so full of demoniac voluptuousness and horrible allurements, that we can well understand why the child shrieks in terror, and why the father hurries on, ‘through night and storm,’ faster and faster to his home, only to find a corpse in his arms. 

The next piece on the programme was Rubinstein’s arrangement of the march of the Janizaries. Who that has ever heard Beethoven’s ‘Die Ruinen von Athen,’ can forget the invocation, and that march? How wild are the tones which picture the insolence of the brutal Turks stamping out Grecian liberty, amid the heart-rending cries of their despairing victims; how terrible is that chorus of the dervishes which follows—so fanatic and ferocious that it makes the blood curdle in the veins! And then, to cap the climax, the voluptuous march of the Janizaries is discerned in the distance, it approaches, it comes nearer and nearer, and then bursts upon us in full force. Barbaric, full of pride, triumphant, with not a tender note to assuage its fierceness, it strides exultingly along and loses itself in the distance. 

There is but one word to describe Rubinstein’s execution of this march—it is astounding. The gradual crescendo to the fortissimo is superb, while for the diminuendo we are at a loss for an expression. When we already believe that the extreme of pianissimo is reached we are surprised by still softer and still softer sounds, so that we half think he will carry it on ad infinitum. This is, of course, but a tour de force, but as such it has the merit of being strikingly original and effective. 

Space will not permit us to speak of Mr. Rubinstein as a composer, but we cannot conclude without referring to Mr. Wieniawski’s delightful playing. His tone is, next to Joachim’s, the finest we have ever heard. His bowing is perfect, while his staccato is really extraordinary. The first of these qualities he showed to great advantage in Bach’s aria—all of them combined in the pretty composition of his own, styled ‘Valse Caprice.’ In his duet with Rubinstein, moreover, he proved himself a finished ensemble player.

We do not know whether Mlle. Ormeny is one of the ‘spoilt children of the public’ or not; but we think that she would do well to sing what the programme promises, and not to pass off the ‘Una Voce’ of the ‘Barbier’ for an aria of Handel’s. We hope that the time will come when an artist will understand that failing to perform what is on the programme is equivalent to breaking his contract with the public.”

5)
Review: New York Herald, 30 September 1872, 7.

“There was a larger audience in Steinway Hall on Saturday afternoon than we have seen there since the Nilsson matinees. They were well repaid for going there. The programme was the best, as yet, given by the great Russian pianist and the no less great Polish violinist, Wieniawski. No orchestra was there, but its absence was not felt. Rubinstein commenced the concert with Beethoven’s orchestra to ‘Egmont,’ and next essayed the most lovely of the immortal composer’s works, the never-to-be-forgotten ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ in C sharp minor, opus 27, No. 2, which was erroneously called in the programme ’Sonata Appassionata in F minor.’ The opening adagio sostenuto, a tone idyl which is instinct with the true spirit of poetry, was played by Rubinstein in a manner calculated to touch every heart. Every light and shade, every nuance of expression and the wondrous beauty of those triplets stood forth revealed, as they did seventy years ago in the teeming brain of the composer. Then came the 3-4 time allegretto, about fifty bars of an expressive introduction to the brilliant presto agitato, which was heard for the first time in its true spirit. Nothing could be a more complete triumph of art than the impetuous rendering of this movement. A short pause ensued, broken by a song by Mlle. Ormeni, called on the programme an aria of Handel, although we never knew before that ‘Una voce poco fa’ was at all connected with the composer of ‘The Messiah,’ and a couple of characteristic violin works, superbly played by Wieniawski. Three piano works then came on and they were gems. Rubinstein played one of those delicious nocturnes which old John Field knew so well how to compose, and it was a tidbit of delicacy and poetry. The ‘Erl King’ and the march from ‘The Ruins of Athens,’ and the pieces de resistance of the Russian pianist, followed, and so great and so persistent was the applause that the rugged Chalmuck face unbended itself for once, and, with one of those rare things that seems so foreign to Rubinstein—a smile—the pianist actually responded to the encore. The second part of the programme had one commanding feature, the colossal sonata for piano and violin by Rubinstein. It is in four movements; the first grand and impressive and abounding in enormous technical difficulties and in a Beethoven style of treatment; the second a scherzo of quaint irregular measures, the third a reminiscence of Mozart in one of the most beautiful andantes we have ever heard in a sonata, and the last a perfect whirlwind of intricate passages, in which is dimly seen a Titanic subject, like the turrets of an old castle in the hurly-burly of a hurricane. As might be expected from the composer, the violin occupies a subordinate position to the piano. Wieniawski had not the opportunity one would wish to display his graceful, finished style in this sonata; but the little he had to do he did well. This sonata might as well be called a piano sonata with violin obligato as a sonata for piano and violin. But the leading spirit in it was Rubinstein, and he carried off all the honors. It is a long, intricate work, which must be heard often to be well understood, and the audience cannot grasp at first hearing its numerous excellences. And here we may speak of the great bugbear which has caused so much discussion, and that is, what is the precise meaning of a popular work in concert? The term popular is a myth. An artist can make a work popular by constant repetition and can educate an audience up to the highest standard of art. It is a mistake to say that nursery ditties and dance tunes comprise popular music. The best classical works can become as popular as ‘Champagne Charlie’ or ‘Shoo Fly,’ and Rubinstein, with his severe classical school, is gradually working his way into popularity. We have heard many persons express doubts about the success of the Rubinstein concerts on the score that the music was too classical for America. What is the real result? The attendance was far better at Saturday’s matinée than during the first three concerts, and now there is a general feeling among the musical public to hear and receive instruction from such a genius. Mlle. Liebhart on Saturday sang a little lied by Mendelssohn.”