Philharmonic Society of New York Concert: 5th

“The programme for the fifth concert of the [illegible] season of this Society, Saturday evening, was as follows [see above].

The Haydn Symphony has never been played before by the Philharmonic Society. How fresh and delightful the cheery old master seems after the severe intellectual music which of late years has crowded him into the background! The Oxford symphony is not, we suppose, what would now-a-days be called a great work, and yet it is a model of elegant construction, spontaneous melody, and ingenious scoring, a work which only one or two musicians who ever lived could have equaled. The two adagios are exquisite in sentiment, and the final presto is an irresistible bit of gayety equally remarkable for its spirit and its refinement.

The audience reserved their interest, however, for the ‘Dante’ symphony, which is regarded as one of Liszt’s greatest and most scientific works. It was played by the Philharmonic Society just three years ago, and we then discussed at some length the theory of the composition which seems to us a radically false one. Attempting to illustrate the Inferno and Purgatorio of the ‘Divina Commedia,’ it deals with a subject which is incapable of musical representation. If it could portray, as it attempts to do, the torments of the damned, the shrieks and curses of the evil spirits, the ‘frightful tempest which drives the reprobate to and fro in eternal darkness,’—if it could even symbolize the anguish of that middle state where the incorporeal part of man is supposed to be purged by fire from the remnant of earthly [imperfection?], it would not be music at all; it must be nothing more than a horrible succession of discords. Dante made the lower world the mere theatre upon which he brought the personages of his drama, and occupied our minds rather with the story of his actors than their condition. But the musician has not this [illegible]. He can only indicate vaguely a general state of torture and remorse, not the narrative of an individual character. Liszt therefore has failed of necessity to reproduce the poetical—or shall we say the orthodox?—[illegible] of Hell, and has failed, but less conspicuously, to portray the Catholic Purgatory. The Paradise he has not attempted, for he confined himself to the first two divisions of Dante’s poem. Nevertheless he has produced one of the most terrible ‘tone pictures’ ever painted. Perhaps there is none of his works more trying to the unskilled listener, none more vexed with problems of counterpoint or more abrupt in melodic phrases; a first hearing of the symphony is indeed for most people a painful task; but the impression left by it is nothing less than awful. In its final effect upon the mind it surpasses every other musical composition with which we are familiar, except the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven. The Inferno opens with a tremendous passage for the trombones, supposed to typify the inscription over the gates of Hell [illegible four-line Latin quote].

The uproar and commotion of the succeeding allegro frenetico, broken with wild cries and groans, the shriek of violins, the scream of oboes and bassoons, is doubtless the nearest approach which music can make to a representation of that fearful state where the concord of sounds must be forever unknown. Out of this dismal abyss Liszt brings forth not the yell of the demons, but the wail of suffering and sorrowing souls. There is an interval of comparative rest, disturbed only by a fitful, uneasy movement of the muted violins and the harp, and in the midst of it the bass clarionet and flutes take up an exquisitely mournful dialogue on those pathetic lines of the poet, Nessun maggior dolore, etc.

‘There is no greater sorrow

Than to be mindful of the happy time

In misery.’

This leads to the andante amoroso, and an indescribably sorrowful strain, in which violins, violas, and ‘celli, in turn seem to bear the burden of agonizing reminiscence. The whole passage is a marvel of poetic expression, beautiful yet terrible, and laden with a grief that is beyond earthly experience. The sudden recurrence of the infernal tumult brings us back from this extraordinary [illegible] with a shock, and the movement closes with a fearful repetition of the curse, ‘Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here.’

In the Purgatorio the purpose of the composer was to combine with the expression of pain, penitence, and [illegible] some rays of hope and something of the beauty of prayer. A choral theme, the motive of which is borrowed from a Gregorian chant, succeeds the short introduction and is followed (we quote from the descriptive programme) by ‘a second theme (lamentoso) indicative of self accusation, patient resignation, and inexpressible sorrow. A fugue movement is introduced—lamenting, weeping, entreating—commencing with one voice and gradually developing into a chorus of voices innumerable, striving with ever increasing fervor in prayer. At the climax of the fugue, the principal theme originally introduced after the manner of a chorale stands out boldly, and soon after shrinks back as it were in humility and contrition, and accompanied by a plaintive recitative, disappears altogether.’ We are only confirmed in the opinion we expressed of this portion of the work three years ago, that it is both vague and monotonous. As a triumph of scientific skill and ingenuity in the resolution of harmonic difficulties, it is a deeply interesting study to musicians; but the average musical public, which cares nothing for the [illegible, two words] of hard knots in the score, [illegible] the constant [illegible] of phrases tedious, and the sentiment far less pathetic than in the andante amoroso of the Inferno. At the close, Liszt introduces a soprano and alto chorus ‘The sound of harps announces that Paradise is near.’ The Gregorian chant arises, Magnificat anima mea Dominum, ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord!’ and the symphony closes with an outburst of joy, as heaven opens and the purified souls enter into their reward. Here is true grandeur, almost equal to the lurid terrors of the Inferno. But, after all, it leaves us uncomfortably perplexed. The day has gone by when Liszt and Wagner could be derided as mad fanatics. The new music is [turning ground?], it has conquered the allegiance of a [illegible, several words] of connoisseurs; it is played and sung in every city of the civilized world; we must listen to it whether we like it or not; and the wisest of us have resolved to learn to like it if possible, or at least to pretend to like it if we can do no more. And yet it is rather saddening to think that the symphony of the future is to be like this ’Dante’—poetic, imaginative, forcible, and thoughtful as it is, but so terrible, [hard?], and so grotesque. It is saddening to be told that there shall never be another Haydn; that the world shall never be gladdened with the bright fancies and graceful sentiment of a new Mozart; that even the [illegible] of Schumann are fashions of the irrevocable past; that we shall wrestle with melodies as if they were Greek [illegible], suffer all the pangs of Purgatory before we can work out a tune, and go to Hell for our inspiration.

The execution of the symphony on Saturday calls for [respectful?] adverse criticism. The chorus, numbering [illegible] voices, was placed behind and above the orchestra. The effect would have been immeasurably better if it could have been hidden from the view of the audience, and so stationed that the voices would have [illegible] to come from a distance. Of the performance of the orchestra we can speak with general approval. It was [illegible], it was delicate, it was appreciative. It lacked nothing but a certain indefinable spirit and life.

Mr. Hoffman is always welcome to the concert room, and it is a pity that the large general public has not more frequent opportunities of admiring his clean and beautiful touch, his dexterity, and his taste. He played the ‘Concertstück’ admirably. Miss Corradi has sung once before for the Philharmonic Society. She has a strong and rather brilliant soprano voice, well trained in a good school, and she gave Rossini’s elaborate ‘Bel Raggio’ with abundant facility of execution and excellent expression. Her reception was of the most flattering kind, for she was twice recalled by an audience not much given to demonstrations.”

“The following was the programme of the fifth concert of the season, which took place at the Academy of Music on Saturday evening [see above].

The symphony of Haydn in G, with which the concert began, was quite a treat, and not at all ‘rococo,’ as some have asserted who are themselves ‘rococo,’ in an age when certain enthusiasts are endeavoring to make us swallow music destined for another—the ‘music of the future.’ This symphony of Haydn is, perhaps, one of the most spontaneous, flowing, genial and enjoyable of this master’s orchestral efforts. The performance of it by the orchestra was masterly, and deserved all the applause bestowed upon it, at its conclusion, by the audience.

The cavatina from ‘Semiramide’ was the medium through which was introduced to the philharmonic audience an exceedingly valuable addition to the ranks of our local artists. In Mlle. Henriette Corradi we have a pure, clear voice, and her singing of ‘Bel Raggio’ exhibited much admirable style and finished execution combined with great sensibility, passion, abandonment, ease and self-possession. Her voice in some parts is wanting in power, especially in the upper register, but it is telling and flexible throughout, some of the bravura passages in the cavatina coming out, in their execution, with great ease and rapidity. Her phrasing, however, was too frequently unfinished, and she had not always her voice under perfect control. She is, we repeat, a valuable acquisition, especially in a city where we have so little vocal culture; where each young lady, with an agreeable voice, is persuaded by her indiscreet friends that her gifts, unpolished as they may be, are deserving, at once and without sufficient preparation, of the highest honors of the lyric stage. Mdlle. Corradi, at the conclusion of her performances, was greeted with rapturous applause, being several times recalled.

The Concert-stücke of Weber served to display the exquisite purity of tone, faultless mechanism and command of expression for which Mr. Richard Hoffmann, as a pianist, is so justly renowned.

The concerto chosen for this occasion is one distinguished for the symmetry and clearness of its construction, and proves the master, as in every work by Weber, by his refined yet always passionate ideas; by his effective writing for the solo instrument, and by the beautiful tone of his orchestration.

The performance created much satisfaction, and at the conclusion the performer was recalled by the unanimous acclimations of the assembly.

We wish we could bring the review to a close with as much satisfaction with which we commenced it. The endeavor to read a railway guide under a street-lamp, during a storm at night, is but a feeble treat compared to the effort of following Liszt in his voluntary meanderings through the infernal regions and purgatory of Dante’s ‘Divina Comedia.’ The world at large is fully aware of the splendor of Liszt’s talents as a pianist and composer for his instrument, but, with the exception of a few devoted adherents who indulge in ultra-musical philosophy, and amusingly spend their time with him in a search after the mysterious laws which Liszt avers bind the art of musical sounds to universal nature, no one can gather the slightest gleam of intelligence from such a mass of incongruous harmony. The whole is one eternal round of a play with sounds, based upon a resolution of the chord of the seventh of the second species in its third inversion, with major fourth, augmented third, superfluous fifth, minor seventh, resolving on a chord of the eleventh, and such like progressions.

But if Mr. Liszt will continue to write for the future let him, give us the healthy soil; lead us on the road to idealized naturalness and character, so that restricted by the proper limits of beauty and form we may arrive at another legitimate art epoch such as that begun by Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven.

And here it may not be out of place to ask if the directors of the Philharmonic Society would obligingly introduce to their subscribers, occasionally, the works of other composers, not exclusively German in thought and treatment, and so make us acquainted with the intellectual musical culture of other nations. At the present time it matters not where the lover of orchestral music may go for art recreation, the same eternal one-sided idea prevails. Have we not at present just a little too much of Liszt and Wagner and kindred spirits, to the exclusion of everything else?” 

“Although the Abbate Liszt has been often heard in this city through the medium of his orchestral compositions, and although a few of the musical committee of the Philharmonic Society seem determined to keep this crazy writer’s lucubrations before the public, the popular verdict, as well as that of every reasoning musician, is that such music has decidedly an unhealthy tendency. The ‘Dante Symphony’ has been played here before, far better, too, than it was on Saturday night; but there can be but one opinion about it, and that is decidedly unfavorable. There is an illustration of the ‘Inferno’ from ‘Le Divina Comedia.’ Of course, one must expect, quoting the words of the programme, ‘everlasting curses’ with trumpets and horns, ‘the frenzy of despair and uproar of the evil spirits’ illustrated by violins screaming on the E string, ‘celli coming in at intervals with a ludicrous figure, horns blowing out discords, reeds in the agony of uncouth modulations, contra basses divided between the imitation of an earthquake and a political émeute and instruments of percussion, Heaven knows where, and a finale worse than all the horrors just named. But let the subject be what it may, its illustration in music should be at least conformable with the very fundamental principles of the divine art. But Liszt reduces the orchestra to chaos and makes it very unpleasant. Some of his admirers—not the ultra ones—claim for him at least a wonderful knowledge of instrumental effects. Granted, but that is not enough to constitute a composer. There is more strength and grandeur in half dozen measures of the ‘Walpurgisnacht’ of Mendelssohn or the incantation scene of ‘Der Freischutz’ than one can find in the entire Dante Symphony of Liszt. Why, then, should the directors of the Philharmonic Society insist upon bringing forward again and again such works? It only serves to superintend a nightmare in the poor musicians and weariness and disgust in the audience. Still in this symphony there are positive merits; but, alas for the disciples of the Abbate! they are stolen. The choral symphony of Beethoven supplies some of the ideas in the last movement, and the choral for female voices (there were a number of ladies on the stage Saturday night, but whether they sung or not we cannot say, as nobody in the audience heard them through the heavy fire of brass and string) is taken in many respects bodily from the last work of Beethoven. In fine, we suggest to the audience compelled to listen to and the musicians compelled to play the Dante Symphony the words ‘Lasciate ogni speranza (della musica) che voi entrate.’

The programme on Saturday night commenced in the sunshine of Haydn, the charming ‘Oxford’ symphony, a work of beauty and genial spirit, and ended in the shadow of Liszt. Haydn’s work is like crystal in its clear, pure character, but in the slovenly manner in which the orchestra interpreted it there were queer spots in it. These were the only orchestral works in the programme.

There were two soloists, a soprano and pianist, Mlle. Corradi and Mr. Richard Hoffman. The lady sang the well-known ‘Bel Raggio,’ one of the best specimens of Rossini’s style that can be found in any of his works. Her execution is correct, if the want of flexibility of her voice be not taken into account, but she fails to show any quality of dramatic sentiment or real feeling. She sang much better than on the occasion of the Musical Fund concert, when we spoke of her last; but the impression, as far as expression is concerned, is just the same.

Mr. Hoffman was shipwrecked on the rock on which so many pianists have split. The ‘Concertstuck’ of Weber is a work that not one pianist out of a hundred can interpret. There is too much of the lady style of playing, that superficial nicety, about Mr. Hoffman to enable him to attack such a composition. He has made a success in a few works of Mendelssohn, Mozart and Beethoven, which have become with him specialties, but the ‘Concertstuck’ is entirely beyond his reach. Mere mechanism is not enough for those delicate passages which are woven into the magnificent instrumentation of Weber. Mr. Hoffman is the last victim in this piano Charybdis. Rubinstein was the only Ulysses we know of here that weathered it.”

“The orchestral performance was, as usual, weak; and the vocalism only passable, the most artistic performance being Mr. Hoffman’s excellent rendering of Weber’s difficult Concert-Stück.

The appearance of this gifted artist is so rare here that it is considered a great privilege to be present at a concert when he plays, and he has long been considered as the most thoroughly classical and refined artist whom we have among us.

Liszt’s symphony to the Divina Comedia is the subject of much discussion, and, as the work of a thorough musician, it should be seriously considered; but I should wish to hear it again before attempting to describe it or to form any opinion concerning its merits.”