Theodore Thomas Symphony Concert: 5th

“Mr. Thomas’s fifth symphony concert, given at Steinway Hall last evening, was just as numerously attended as its predecessors. It was not, however, equal to them in points of interest, or, to speak with greater precision, in point of charm. There is every reason for being grateful to Mr. Thomas for the opportunity afforded of hearing a new work by Herr Rubinstein, but we cannot say that, in our judgment, the result was worth the labor of the executants or the painful attention of the audience. The ‘Symphonique Dramatique,’ in D minor, which made up the second half of the programme, is divided into four movements, and occupies exactly one hour in its recital. We cannot hope to do it justice by description. Parts of it are réveries and parts of it sound like a composer’s nightmares. Restlessness, ungratified longings, stormy outbreaks, and mad notions succeed each other for sixty minutes. Only in the adagio, which is of a broad character, full of suave progressions and rich harmonies, though devoid apparently of a single symmetrical idea, is relief to be found from the meaningless tempest raised by quartet, wind and brass, throughout the other portions of the composition. If by chance Herr Rubinstein lights upon what seems likely to be a tuneful phrase, he takes good care not to finish it, and just as the listener thinks himself about to be satisfied, an odd modulation or a sudden and utterly purposeless interruption casts him adrift again. We confess to losing patience with an effort of this sort. To what end Herr Rubinstein’s mastery of orchestral combinations, if he has no thoughts to convey, and no sensations to depict? Music need not, it is true, have so profound a significance as some of the German theorists desire should attach to it, but if it does not mean something, it must at least have some beauty of form, or some excellence of detail to deserve recital, and if we except the soothing third movement, and some pretty alternations of the wood and string instruments in the second, we cannot discover in the ‘Symphonie Dramatique’ aught to impress. Mr. Thomas’ forces played it admirably, but the general impression was that their labor had rarely been expended to so little purpose. The first part of the evening was filled by a highly-appreciative and delicate reading of Haydn’s ‘Oxford’ symphony, which may be antiquated and thin, but which will ever be commended to music-lovers by clearness, simplicity, and piquancy; and by a really magnificent rendering of the second overture to Beethoven’s ‘Leonore.’ Between these pieces, Miss Dradil sang in the right spirit and with even more than her wonted skill in the recitative (‘Awake, Saturnia,’) and the air (‘Hence, hence,’) from Handel’s ‘Semele.’”

“That New York is a musical city and that a large proportion of its amusement public are earnest, intelligent admirers of the divine art, might be seen last night in the immense audience that filled Steinway Hall and the warm welcome extended to Mr. Thomas and his orchestra and the soloist of the occasion, Miss Drasdil. Apart from the well known excellence of the performers, such an audience served as additional stimulus to them. The new symphony in D minor by Rubinstein was the distinguishing feature of the concert. It was meet for one to whom we are indebted for the first hearing of the greatest modern works, as well as some exhumed from the archives of the past, to introduce what may be justly termed a colossal tone poem, an orchestral epic. One would be inclined to fear that a long career of triumph would tend to relax Mr. Thomas’ efforts to make America acquainted with the grand structures of instrumentation that are constantly being created by the favored children of genius across the Atlantic, and to relax also the stern discipline that has made his band the first in this country and second to none in Europe. But he never falters in his noble task, and there is always something new to be admired in the playing of these sixty men at each concert, something gained, something of a closer communion of ideas. They acquired a fresh interest with their hearers last night in the performance of one of the most marvelous instrumental works which has been written for half a century. The symphony of Rubinstein marks a new epoch in the life of the composer, and considering that he is but forty-five years of age, we may look to see him for many an enduring monument of musical genius. The feverish, nervous spirit and impetuous style of writing that marred many of his earlier works, making them appear more as improvisations than carefully considered thoughts arranged together on a cohesive plan, has been brought within bounds, and in his latest composition there is a grandeur of outline partaking of the nature of a Beethoven. His choice of subjects is the offspring of a noble, elevated mind, to which vulgar themes are unknown. The strangeness of the forms and treatment of this work at once arrest attention at the very opening of this gigantic work, and the wayward genius of the composer, constantly seeking unknown paths and introducing at the most unexpected times strange episodes and eccentric effects, renders the task of the conductor one beset with almost unsurmountable difficulties. This task Mr. Thomas accomplished last night with remarkable success. The symphony is extremely long, its performance lasting nearly seventy minutes; but it is so rich, varied and imaginative that it can never tire a musician who listens to it. The four movements into which it is divided—1. Lento. Allegro moderato; 2. Presto. Allegro non troppo; 3. Adagio; 4. Largo. Allegro con fuoco—have so many subdivisions that each may be almost considered a complete work in itself. The composer is lavish of motivi, pouring them forth with an exuberance that renders it difficult at a first hearing to note the wonderful skill with which he afterward combines them, exhibits them in new and beautiful forms and adorns them with that rich Oriental bijouterie of effect that is so characteristic of him. In the two last movements the climax of grandeur is reached. There is a sublime quality about the Adagio that reminds one of the ocean at rest, and the finale of the symphony is as if the ‘mighty monster’ was lashed into fury by a hurricane. But there is something to admire in every part of the work, and Mr. Thomas will undoubtedly gratify his numerous patrons by an early repetition of it. The technical difficulties are enormous, and the thorough manner in which they were vanquished was a grand triumph for the orchestra.

The ‘Oxford’ symphony, one of the six last symphonies written by Haydn during his residence in London, for the Hanover Square Concerts, in compliment to the University that offered him the degree of Musical Doctor, and the second ‘Leonora’ overture of Beethoven, were given at this concert. What a contrast between the sweet and tranquil charm that Papa Haydn’s music brings with it in its artless beauty, and the fierce turbulence of the Russian composer. And yet the orchestra that could grasp the thunders of the latter piped as sweetly sub tegmine fagi and wooed the muse of Haydn with the utmost tenderness. The great overture, sturdy and picturesque, was also rendered to a charm. Miss Anna Drasdil’s noble contralto voice was heard in Juno’s recitative and air, ‘Awake, Saturnia,’ from the second act of Handel’s dramatic cantata, ‘Semele,’ as characteristic a work of the Colossus as the Cyclopean love song in ‘Acis and Galatea.’ The fair cantatrice sang it like an accomplished artist, although the air is not calculated to display the beauty of her voice to the same advantage as a less impetuous movement.”

“For his fifth Symphony Concert last Saturday evening, Theodore Thomas offered the following programme [see above].

This selection was a model one, for the pieces were all of very high value, they harmonized perfectly with one another, and they were arranged in effective and instructive order. It may be said, indeed, that the climax was reached with the ‘Leonore’ Overture in the middle of the evening, but we must not forget that Rubinstein is a legitimate successor of Beethoven, of whose discoveries he makes constant and reverential use, and although he has never risen to the sublime height of the great master, yet in his best works the symphonic methods of Beethoven are treated in such an elevated spirit, and with such strongly marked individuality, that it seems perfectly logical to place him at the end even of such a programme as that before us. It was one of the most remarkable concerts we have heard in several years. It illustrated the first formal development of the symphony under Haydn, the wonderful expansion which the music of his orchestra received from the genius of Beethoven, and the greater freedom toward which even conservative modern composers are tending under Beethoven’s influence. The ‘Oxford’ Symphony, which has never been played here by Thomas before, and only once by the Philharmonic Society, is one of the happiest in spirit and most perfect in structure of Haydn’s long series. Nothing in this simple and tender style could be more charming than the melodious Adagio, more fascinating than the natty Minuet or the tripping Presto, while the introductory movement presents a delightful example of the most cheerful thoughts expressed in a broad and dignified style. The performance of this work was beautiful, but it was eclipsed by the interpretation of the Overture, in which the conductor and his orchestra both seemed to be inspired. How exquisite were the pianissimo passages for the strings in the first part; and then what a crescendo; and when the full band came in with such mighty harmonies, every bow falling in precise time, every breath of sound from every individual [illegible] breathing in exact accord, every note and every rest having its precise value to the very minutest of action, it seemed as if the perfection of playing could go no further. Better than mere mechanical excellence, however, was the clearness and intelligence of Thomas’s sympathetic reading. This second Overture to ‘Leonora’ has not been played of late so often as one could have wished to hear it, although Thomas has occasionally given it at the Garden and elsewhere. It is highly interesting to compare it with the greater and longer No. 3, which it resembles so closely in many passages, that we heard some of the audience at this concert protest that it was No. 3, and that the programmes were in error. The principal motives are indeed the same in both, but there are curious differences in the [illegible] of treatment, and the second Overture contains at least two remarkable passages which have nothing corresponding with them in the third. Comparing the two is like watching the composer at his work, looking over his shoulder while he puts a new touch here and a new one there, and mercilessly throws away even beauties for the sake of the general effect. No. 3 is the most compact, vigorous, and elevated of the series, No. 2 has a peculiar interest not only as an earlier draft of that great work, but as the overture which was originally performed at the first representation of the opera.

The selections from Handel’s secular oratorio, or more properly [illegible] of ‘Semele,’ consist of the prelude (symphony) to the [illegible]—a glorious movement, written for the strings alone—the noble recitative for Juno which begins the Act, and the aria that follows soon after, a little intervening music for Iris (soprano) being omitted. To the meagre string accompaniment which Handel’s skeleton score indicates for the vocal part, Thomas has added with great discretion a sparing use of flutes, hautboys, clarinets, bassoons, and horns. Miss Drasdil delivered the recitative with dignity, and sang the beautiful and rather trying air with the taste and intelligence of a true artist. Both the music and the interpretation of it appeared to give the [illegible] satisfaction, and there were loud demands for a repetition. Miss Drasdil contented herself however with twice returning to bow her acknowledgments.

The principal event of the evening was the performance of the new Symphony by Rubinstein. It is a work of the most imposing character and dimensions. Two weeks ago it was to be produced for the first time under the composer’s own direction at Berlin, and no account of the reception has yet reached this country. It is in the customary four movements, each of which, however, is subdivided into an unusual number of more or less distinct parts, and its execution takes more than an hour. The meaning of its title, a ‘dramatic’ symphony, is left to the penetration of the public. It has no preface or suggestive texts to explain what was in the composer’s mind; it must speak for itself. The instrumentation abounds with striking effects, but they are all produced by comparatively simple means. The modulations are not extravagant; and a glance at the score will show that Rubinstein does not habitually [illegible] at will among the keys, as Liszt does—though to this self restraint there are some notable exceptions. The structure of the symphony in fact is entirely regular and classical. In form it is a model; the [best?], the most carefully proportioned and the most highly finished of all the author’s works. It has certain [illegible], however, which will bewilder many [illegible] who hear it for the first time. These are in the rhythm of characteristic melodic phrases, and in the eccentricity of some of the measures. They are so difficult that only the very ablest of orchestras can overcome them. The conductor must be a man of unusual quickness, clearness and precision of insight, and the players must be a company of artists. It is such an orchestra that we heard on Saturday; inferior bands will do well to let this work alone. But when the ear has become accustomed to the unusual rhythms and strange variations of time, then the dignity of the whole work, its majestic [illegible] impetuosity, and its wealth of [illegible], must make a deep impression on the mind.

It is scored for flutes, hautboys, clarinets, bassoons, two trumpets in D, trumpets in F, two horns in F, tympani, and strings, with a piccolo and three trombones added to the last movement. The first movement (Lento) begins with the following passage, for the bass strings in unison: [musical example] and this, passing from instrument to another and entering into a multitude of ingenious harmonic combinations, now moving with stately step through the bass, now repeated at redoubled speed, again complicated with curious suspensions by the violins, is the principal subject of the first part of the symphony. It carries us into the Allegro Moderato, and then, when the time slackens a little, another important theme is introduced of which the following is an outline [musical example]. This is first heard from the two horns, with accompaniment of strings, bassoons and clarinet, the second part being a horn solo, changing to bassoon solo, with string harmonies, and some charming answering phrases from the two flutes. We hear these two subjects, interspersed with others hardly less prominent which we must hurry over, varying and combining in the most delightful manner, yet in strict subordination to a fixed plan of construction which will repay the most attentive study. The general character of the movement is elevated and imposing.

The second movement (Presto) begins in a fiery vein, which is soon interrupted by an odd little passage for two flutes and two hautboys, jumping octaves together. These first and second subjects alternate at considerable length and with a fine effect of contrast. The Moderato Assai of this movement opens a fascinating violin solo, beautifully played by Mr. Listemann, at the end of which the strings die away, one by one, in descending passages, and the furious Presto returns. The next thing that attracts particular notice is a delicate trio in D major (Allegro non Troppo) opened by hautboys and clarinet. Almost the whole movement is then repeated, and the first phrase of the trio above mentioned returns as a coda in the major key. The difficulties and obscurities of the symphony are mostly in the first two divisions. After this it is comparatively plain sailing, and the third and fourth movements are much more keenly appreciated by the general public than the other two.

The Adagio is almost simple, and anybody can follow the development of its beautiful theme with ease. It opens with a melody in F major, beginning as follows: [musical example].

This graceful and tender subject is unfolded slowly by the strings, with constantly increasing beauty in the soft harmonies, until at the seventeenth bar the ‘celli and tenors announce the following phrase, with expression, but with marked energy [musical example].

This second theme is scarcely set before us when we hear again the opening subject [musical example]—at first from the horn, then pianissimo, as a clarinet solo, with the most exquisite effect. To these subjects is afterwards added another by the violins, and the three are then delicately elaborated, retaining all through the movement their distinct melodic form. One of the prettiest devices in the whole work occurs in this movement where a solemn four part harmony by the bass strings in 8-8 time is repeatedly interposed at intervals of two bars between fragments of the opening phrase above quoted, played by the flute in 6-8. The whole of the Adagio may be described as a romanza, full of feeling and adorned with all the graces of the orchestra.

The last movement, notwithstanding an impetuosity that is almost furious, is also simple and [illegible], at least by comparison with the first and second. It has a broad Largo introduction for the full band, leading to an Allegro con Fuoco, which starts with this forcible phrase for all the strings in unison [musical example]—the second half of the subject being as follows: [musical example].

These two phrases give the character—the key-note, to speak metaphorically—of the movement as a whole, but they are developed with extraordinary facility of invention, and varied with several episodical passages, among which we can only cite the Moderato Assai, beginning with this clear-cut melody for the violins: [musical example].

It is the Finale, perhaps, which most distinctly stamps the quality of this great work. It opens grandly with a fortissimo chord in D major, and rushes on, gathering passion and force, working over previous themes in new forms and with new splendor, until it reaches the triumphant close.

This new work, we believe, is one of the most important symphonic productions of our time, and if it indicates—as it appears to—a new departure in Rubinstein’s career, it deserves to be welcomed with enthusiasm. We do not mean that it shows any change in the composer’s methods, or any new gifts of melody; but it does show the most earnest care and the most serious thought, and it is conceived in a much higher spirit than his previous compositions. If it does not please as quickly as his Ocean Symphony, it will gain upon us greatly by repetition.”

“The fifth of the series of Thomas’s Symphony Concerts, given on Saturday evening, was no less well attended than the previous ones. The programme was made up chiefly of the works of the earliest and the latest of symphony writers. Nothing could be sharper than the contrast between the simplicity, sweetness and grace of the Haydn Oxford symphony and the complex, fitful, impassioned Symphony ‘Dramatique’ by Rubinstein, his latest and perhaps most elaborate work. The earlier work seemed to us incomparably more enjoyable of the two, and that, doubtless, would be found to be the general impression of the audience. Rubinstein has the advantage of all the modern knowledge of orchestral resources and effects of the bolder harmonies and freer forms of composition of our day; but all these do not avail against real genius, and the old Oxford symphony will be played for long years after Rubinstein is forgotten. His work abounds in thought, and that thought is expressed in a thousand ingenious and varied forms, but the final impression left upon the mind is that the work is fragmentary and lacks consecutiveness and breadth. It is like the conversation of a brilliant man, whose restless mind touches upon a hundred subjects without exhausting either of them. There is no more wearisome reading than a succession of witty or bright paragraphs that have no relation of subject to one another, and Rubinstein’s immensely long work had the effect of such detached thought. No one could fail to recognize the power, energy and earnestness of the author in every phrase, and also his consummate knowledge of the treatment of his instruments, but in spite of this, we believe that the effect upon the hearers, even of those partial to the modern school, was one or weariness rather than of delight.

Miss Drasdil sang with great breadth and effect a recitative and aria from the second act of Handel’s Semele, and the orchestra played Beethoven’s Second Leonora overture with a fire and precision and intelligence that was truly wonderful. It seemed the climax of orchestral playing, a simply perfect performance, leaving only in the mind sentiments of wonder and of admiration.”

“On Saturday evening, Mr. Theodore Thomas gave the fifth symphony concert of the present series at Steinway Hall. As usual, the programme consisted of particularly good music, and a large and distinguished company assembled to hear it. The ‘Oxford’ symphony by Haydn, though played for the first time at these concerts, was not new to many, and reminded some of the distant past, when this music was considered Haydnishly (i.e., heathenishly), hard, and Corelli’s trios were repeatedly played. To those this symphony was specially welcome. The spirited Allegro, serious Adagio, courtly Minuet and lively Presto were all fully appreciated and applauded. Haydn’s music is natural and to us now technically simple. It is also characterized by a peculiar artless gaiety, ingenuousness, frankness and simplicity, by a certain open-heartedness and complacency which has come to be recognized as Haydnesque. Even in the Adagio the pathetic utterances and sympathetic responses do not seem to be the expression of any very deeply-seated grief, but rather that of a passing sorrow, nursed and cherished, with a slight waywardness, that it may be the pretext for the outpouring of such delicious plaints.

Miss Anna Drasdil displayed her fine contralto voice in Handel’s recitative and aria, ‘Awake, Saturnia, from thy lethargy!’ and ‘Hence, Iris, hence away,’ which she sang in the true Handelian style, delivering all the notes in each run with a firm, full tone, and the phrases with the requisite dignity and force. She was unanimously applauded and repeatedly recalled.

A magnificent performance of Beethoven’s second Lenore overture closed the first part.

The second part consisted of Rubinstein’s Symphonie Dramatique in D minor, (Opus 95), a review of which was given in Thursday’s Evening Post. This great work, though exceedingly difficult to perform and full of most complicated and labyrinthine progressions, was given with most remarkable ease and freedom; the complex rhythms were disentangled and made clear and the tempo so modified that each theme found its most complete and satisfactory interpretation. The subscribers to these concerts, therefore, were not only indebted to Mr. Thomas for producing this work, but also for performing it in such an attractive manner that its many beauties were fully revealed and contrasted.”

“The ‘Oxford” Symphony is a thoroughly fresh and delightful composition. No better example of Haydn’s genius could be offered. This symphony was long performed without the parts for trumpets and violoncellos; but it is now commonly given in its complete form. In substituting the Leonora overture No. 2 for the No. 3, which he usually plays, Mr. Thomas gave his audience an opportunity to compare the two compositions which are so nearly alike, and note their points of difference. All the excellent qualities for which the Thomas orchestra is distinguished were strikingly displayed in their performance of this piece.

Miss Drasdil sang Handel’s recitative and air with feeling and good taste; but her voice was pitched a little below the orchestra.

The great feature of the programme was Rubinstein’s new dramatic Symphony, recently produced I believe in Berlin. The Tribune gives an elaborate analysis of this work, which is cleverly burlesqued by another paper. For myself, having heard the symphony but once, I can give no description of it whatever; but if I have an opportunity of hearing it several hundred times I shall then be able to say whether I think I am going to like it or not.”