Thomas Symphony Soirée: 5th

     “For the first time in my life, I think, I have heard two of Beethoven's symphonies within 24 hours. The Ninth was rehearsed by the Philharmonic Corps at the Acad. of Music 3 p.m. and this eve'g I heard the Seventh at Irving Hall with G.C.A. who dined here. It was the last of Theodore Thomas’ ‘Symphonie Soirees’ (Why does Mr. Thomas repudiate the English language?) – We heard a ‘Passacaglia’ by Bach (whatever that is) ‘arranged for full orchestra by H. Essen’ (whoever he is).  ‘First time in America.’  Would it be a serious blow to be told it was the last?  I honor Bach’s name and works, but this seemed a mere exercise in counterpoint, clear and compact but without significance or interest.  Mozart’s ‘Symphony for Violin and Viola’ with orchestra, was beautiful exceedingly—tho there was little orchestra but the strings, hardly a trace of color from wind instruments.  Schumann’s Overture to ‘The Bride of Messina’ was rubbish and rot.  Schumann means right and adopts the best models, but he produces only lifeless wax-work imitations of living flesh and blood.  His imitations are skillful and clever.  His overtures and symphonies are diligently and carefully built – one meaningless phrase out of three is so judiciously emphasized – there is such a semblance of climax in his work—and such a display of learning and labor bestowed on his worthless imagination, that one is tempted at first to think him an artist and poet whereas he is, me judice, a mere mechanic.  I went to the Irving Hall concert tingling with souvenirs of the 9^th Symphony, and especially of its 2^nd and 3^rd movements.  But No. VII has wiped them out.  I never felt its full intensity before.  Even its fourth movement, heretofore help cheap, revealed itself this evening as worthy of Beethoven.”

     “Since my last, Mr. Theodore Thomas has given his two final ‘Symphonie Soirées.’ In that of Saturday we had as novelties Bach’s Passacaglia, arranged for orchestra by Esser; a Symphony for Violin and Viola, with accompaniment of Orchestra, by Mozart; and Schumann’s overture to the ‘Bride of Messina.’. . . .Mr. Kreissmann’s absence, caused by illness, was very much regretted by many who think they hear too little of the celebrated Schumann and Franz songs.”

     “The fifth and last symphonie soirée at Irving Hall, on Saturday night, was largely attended, and the programme received with hearty applause. Owing to the illness of Mr. Kreissmann, who was announced to sing an indefinite number of songs from Heine, Mrs. Barclay was the vocalist of the evening, and in the airs from Donizetti and Pacini showed her ability as a concert singer. The orchestral features of the evening were Beethoven’s richly melodious symphony known as No. 7, which received far more applause than symphonic movements usually elicit; and the overture to the ‘Bride Messina,’ by Schumann—a work of marked originality. An orchestral arrangement of a ‘Passacaglia,’ by Bach, was another noticeable novelty.

     The series of concerts thus closed is probably the most successful sustained effort at classical music yet undertaken in our city; and we presume that for years to come, the Thomas symphonic soirees will prove important features of the winter music of New York.”

     The last symphony-soiree of Mr. Theodore Thomas has [already] happened, the last soiree of chamber music will take place next week, [and] the last Philharmonic concert will also happen this week: with this, we approach the time when the Muse of Sound takes her siesta.  It is very fitting, since this is a solemn time: the heights of art themselves must retreat before the interests which move the nation at this moment [death of Lincoln, four days earlier].

     Mr. Thomas concluded his series of symphony-soirees in a dignified manner, opening with Bach and closing with Beethoven.  And if we can say somewhere here, All’s well that ends well.  It was truly interesting to see the about-face in the public’s feeling, when suddenly the joyous sounds of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony began.  Just as the magic wand is capable of finding the source of the clear-water spring in the sandy desert, so these tones sounded in the sand-desert of music, through which we had to wander on that concert evening.  Bach’s, Mozart’s and Schumann’s genius is admittedly revered, but not everything these masters have written is capable of evoking higher emotions in us.  Compared to Beethoven’s music that evening, theirs sounded dry and lifeless.  With that, we don’t want to say that Bach’s Passacaglia, which opened the concert, is not a beautiful piece in which Bach’s complete art is unfurled, but since we dance passacaglias so seldom these days, this music has little to say to us.  Development of one single small theme like this, in all its imaginable variations, is something so completely foreign to our modern view of [compositional] art, that despite our admiration of Bach’s polyphony, all we can have for this sort of expression of his genius is a historical interest.

     And what is it about Mozart’s Concerto for violin and viola, played in this concert by Messrs. Thomas and Matzka, that is able to enchain us so completely?  Where do we find the link to our contemporary musical view, to today’s musical feeling?  We don’t find it: we encounter the serene musical convention whose complete fulfillment is [only] in plain form and euphony.  But where is the passion of expression for which poor Mozart was formerly criticized, as opposed to the rule-bound music of Haydn?  How calm this music sounds today, how bare of all passion, of all heightening of affect!  It is certainly true that Mozart can be better viewed as the high point of a past era than as a beginning point of a future period of art[istic production].

     To be sure, Schumann’s overture of Schiller’s play, “Die Braut von Messina,” approaches our modern sensibility closely enough, but passionate expression alone, without substantial content, doesn’t suffice either.  The latter is exactly what we miss in this work of Schumann’s, which otherwise features many of his characteristic passages.

     Clearly, all of this music could not hold a candle to the mighty tones of the Seventh Symphony, to its content-filled freshness and originality, to its ever-true and at the same time creative fantasy pictures, laid down by the master in this pure instrumental immortalization of joy.  Everyone felt it, but the musicians felt it more than any.  They played so very con amore that the impression was even more powerful.

     Mr. Kreissmann from Boston, who had been advertised as the singer, was unfortunately not able to come due to illness.  In his place, Mrs. Barclay sang.