Music and Drama.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 1, 5 July 1911, Page 14

Music and Drama.

By

BAYREUTH.

BOOKINGS. (Dates subject to alteration.) AUCKLAND HIS MAJESTY’S. July 17 to 22—Auckland Amateurs (“Pirates of Penzance”). July 24 to August 5 “Jack and the Beanstalk." August 14 to September 2—“ The Arcadians." WELLINGTON OPERA HOUSE. July 6-20 -Ularke and Meynell, “The Area dlnns.” July 20, August 4 “The Scarlet Troubadours,’’ August 7-16 J. and N. Tait. August 17-26- J. C. WiliamsoH, Pantomime, “Jack and the Beanstalk.” August 2R, September 4 Florence Baine Comedy Company. September 11-30 Clarke and Meynell. October 5-25 .1. C. Williamson. November 316 Clarke and Meynell. December 2-16 Maxwell Dramatic Co. December 23, January 16 J. C. Williamson.

Sheffield Voices and Choral Music in New Zealand. 4“\ T. HARRISS has already let it be I . ■ understood that he hopes next / . vear to see a still larger body of British musicians make a ■worldwide tour. The proposal a tremendous lot to recommend K.in. the eyes of all enthusiasts who are afwejtrjts to see music advance in this Dnihfri.Loii along the lines that have already been developed in s Britain. Without entering into the controversial question' 'jg- to what-prices should be paid to hear such a fine body of voices which Dr. has brought to this country, the visit of

the Sheffield Choir will do a lot to raise existing conceptions of what is good choral singing and what is bad. The eyes and the ears of the New Zealand public have been opened. The quality of local efforts takes its true perspective alongside the choir’s finished interpretation bf a’modern oratorio like “The Dream of’ though the opportunity of hearing Elgar’s beautiful work was .confined to the one performance in each of the centres. It is impossible in one Heading for an audience to grasp' the extraordinary wealth of composition which t|ip music reveals at a second on a third hearing. The next time, therefore, that a big choir of representative voices conies to this side of the world, it is to be hoped that it will be found possible to make a more extended stay, to give more concerts, and to retluce the charge for admission.

Example and Defects. The Sheffield voices we heard can but illustrate what organisation and training can do with a choir. So long as our choral societies are content to rub along in dreary mid-\ ictorian ruts reviving old-fashioned and frequently wearisome oratorios, so will concerted singing stag nate. It is surprising to find that in one of our cities at least a choral society’s choice of music is deter.nined by a committee, and not by the conductor. I’he thing is an anachronism. How can mu<ic progress if (he choice in such matters is left, not with the one man who, it is (o be assumed, knows best, 'but with a number of incompetent local individuals instead to whom music is a pastime and not a profe^sioii? I should like to see the commit tee that would endeavour to decide the choice of a .selection where conductors like Dr. Richter or Sir Henry .1. Wood are concern ’d. The abrogation of such powers by a committee of amateur musicians is a reflection upon any conductor. It is common sense to conclude that our conductors in New Zealand are capable of choosing a programme which will stimulate mii'ical development and interest, the public as well. If they art* not, then it is time we had capable men to till their position. So far as the Imperial aspect of the visit of Sheffield voices to New Zealand is concerned, well —I think it is not' a happy thing to mix up politics with in t. British Imperialism is distinctly a movement of party politics aiming to l>o a national realisation. Music, on tha pther hand, is wholly international. There ,me no barriers of language ’or * Dread noughts” where art js wncerned.

Professor Henderson has used this method freely, and the general effect has. on the whole, justified him, but I most earnestly protest against being held respmsible for his data. The book makes some statements which are obviously impossible. It contains several interesting and instructive dissertations which are in flat contradiction to one another. It is already attracting a stream of American pilgrims to a house in Osnaburgh-strcct in which 1 never lived, and which, as T guess, was photographed by Mr. Alvin Coburn in preference to the right house (for T really did live in Osna-burgh-street once) because it reminded him of the subject of one of Whistler’s Chelsea lithographs. It contains a portrait of me said to bo taken in Dublin in a year, when. as the biography itself shows T was in London when the photograph was actually taken. These thing do not matter. The American can worship as devoutly at the ginger beer shop as if O.snaburgh-street wore really my first home .in London in-

In so far that such a combination of singers has startled the musical populace of the Dominion into the realisation of their own shortcomings, the choir has done good. It has also done splendid service in giving us an opportunity of hearing something like representative choral works of the day. But as for imperialism, well, the thing in practice is a tittle bit too sordid to associate with good music. Shaw Ou Himself. Bernard Shaw cannot keep out of print. If he were not so witty and so daring in his literary effusions to the Press lie would be an insufferable bore—like Hall Caine, for instance. Shaw,' however, is always good reading. He has lately reviewed the review published by “The Morning Post,” in London, of Professor Henderson’s recent biography of the dramatist, which we noticed in these columns recently. Ihe book has been reviewed, writes G.B.'S., ■on the assumption that I read the proofsheets and am therefore responsible for everything it contains. This is not the case; though 1 must add that the fault is mine and not Professor Henderson's. He strove to make me, read my own life in manuscript, and strove in vain: 1 had had eumi’gb ‘p£ Xt .whilst living it. AlHkmgh 4haf7 ; as a whole, the book js a most remarkable achievement, and jh perhaps as near the facts as it is the nature of such a work to be, yet there •are, a few' slips in it which have made my haii\ stand on end. One of them identifies a certain character in “The Doctor’s Dilemma” with Aubrey Beardsley. ‘ It is not clear that Professor Henderson, when he wrote, was thinking of the shady side of the character in question; hut every reader will suppose that he was. 1 inust therefore declare that I never thought of Aubrey Beardsley In connection with the character of Dubedat, and that I have not the small-

est reason for supposing that Dubedat resembles BeaixlsTey in anything except his extraordinary artistic gift and his Carly death frdm‘ consipwption. Professor Hendewm- also ventured on a guess that iF I were still a professional critic of miisie my attitude towards the \vorks of Sir Edward Elgar would be the same as that in which I received certain attempts to resuscitate Eighteenth .Century oratorio by musicians who loved Handel not wisely but too well. On the contrary. 1 consider that the history of original English music, broken off by the death of Purcell, begins again with Sir Edward Elgar. There is also a saying attributed to me by Professor Henderson and quoted by Mr Whibley: “If Henley had been a good fellow ] should doubtless have influenced him.” Of this sentence I can make neither head nor tail. I repudiate the implication in the first part of it most energetically. And as to the second part. I have no reason to suppose that Henley was not influenced by mo. Tn reading Professor Henderson’s pages it must always be borne in mind that by profession he is a mathematician. Now the higher mathematics are based on the discovery, made simultaneously bv Newton and Leibnitz, that by proceeding on inconceivable -assumpt ions, provisional approximations, and impossible hypotheses, you can arrive at trust wort liv working results.

stead of my third, and as if the authentic temple were not in .another part of the street. , 1 should not have said a word that could detract from tlip credit of my friend Henderson’s masterpiece were it not that there are jieople still living who will be glad to know' that the few personal references 1 have mentioned did not pass through my hands, and do not represent any sentiments entertained by me now or at any former time. Wagner s Autobiography. Although Wagner was ever known to be a fantastic and a dreamer, his autobiography. which has just made its appearance in London, throws new light on his character, and also of, his

strong inclination to the mystic, and almost at times to the demoniac. We see it in the fascination “Der Freiscliutz” exercised over him in early childhood, and later came the overwhelming effect of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. He tells of an experience at Spezia in September, 1853. Sick and exhausted, he tried in vain to sleep on his hard couch, but finally sank into a kind of trance: “Suddenly I seemed to be sinking in swift-running water. The rushing of the water took on the musical sound of an E flat major chord, wliich was tossed hither and thither by the waves, and continually breaking up into melodious variations of ever-increasing movement, yet never losing the ]>erfect harmony of the chord, which, by its persistency, appeared to wish to impart some infinite signification to the element in which 1 was sinking. \\ ith the sensation of waves roaring high above my head, I awoke in a fright from the trance. Then I immediately recognised that the orchestral prelude to ‘Des Rheingold,’ which had long been in me, but which I had never been able to properly find, had arisen.” Of the “Sturm and Drang” period, Wagner relates that he had in April, 1857, found rest for the first time after bitter circumstances. Gazing from his window' into the spring sunshine, he remembered it was Good Friday. The connection of this fact with the recollection of Wolfram’s “Parsifal” took possession with such force that he

immediately constructed and sketched the entire drama. A description of the misery of liis union with Minna PJauer and his years of poverty in Paris rend the reader’s heart. Once lie walked from his poor dwelling at Mevdon to Paris, to beg or borrow sf, but was forced to return the long and weary way without it. When, however, a 'butcher or a baker could be prevailed upon to give them credit, everything was rosy for the moment. Wagner gives ample evidence of his Well-known good-natured humour in the description of the people who played a part in his life. There is the fat Kapellmeister Poleuz, who conducted Beethoven’s' Ninth Symphony with the cheerfulness of a Haydn scherzo, and a Leipzig fellow-student who was physically so terribly strong that nobody ventured to tell him how stupid he was; and there is a'corpulent bass singer of the MagdImrg Opera, who made love to his manager’s wife in order to get his salary paid jinnetHally. Among the friends who understood and assisted the struggling young musician most was the famous singer, Frau Sehroder-DeVrient, 'whose dramatic greatness inspired his idea of Senta in "The Flying Dutchman,” and to whom Wagner repeatedly and warmly acknowledges his deep debt of gratitude. Early Experiences. Relating in his memoirs his early experiences. the Master Mind of Grand Opera says that when at the age of 9 he was introduced! to Weber, the latter asked his mother whether the boy was likely to become a musician. His mother replied that, although Richard was perfectly mad about the opera “Der Freisehutz,” she had never yet noticed anything in him that pointed to musical talent. He was the only one of his family not allowed to learn to play the piano, his mother fearing that if he did so it might awaken his slumbering affection for the theatre. Thus, when his love for music overpowered him, he began to learn secretly, and also devoted himself to the study of harmony, whereby he totally neglected all his school studies. When he became a student at Leipzig

University he plunged into a fighting corps, wore the colours proudly, and) narrowly’ escaped some serious duels. The manner in which Wagner describes what was a tragic episode of his student days, the unsparing way in which he confesses his faults, throws new light upon his character, in simple but exceedingly moving words he tells of the gambling passion that held him like a demon; his long run of ill-luck maddened) him; he lost interest in all else but play. Indifferent to the opinion of his former companions, he vanished from their midst, passing night after night with only the lowest of students in the small gambling houses of Leipzig. \\ ith dull apathy he bore the contempt of his sister Rosalie, who, like his mother, rarely caught a glimpse of him. Finally, having lost everything, he used some money he held in trust for his mother, and that, too, was swallowed up with the exception of one thaler. Sick in mind and body —he had eaten nothing for hours—he sat through that terrible night distracted. He knew that the thaler represented his whole life and existence, for, that lost, he could never return home, and he saw himself wandering aimlessly in the grey of the morning through the fields and woods—a prodigal son. Suddenly, while on the verge of despair, he won and won again. Mechanically he staked again, and still he won, until there was sufficient to repay all his debt. The warmth, that filled, his soul and body was, he says,. of a sacred nature; he felt that he was not abandoned by God and His angels; he felt a holy presence whispering warning and consolation. He was cured. He went home and slept soundly for hours, and awoke new born. Deterred by no sense of shame, he told his mother of his experience in that momentous night, and returned her money, under acknowledgment of his sin. She folded her hands and thanked God for the grace He had shown her son. and expressed her firm conviction that he was saved, and that temptation would never again assail him. This was actually the case, and Wagner then threw himself with renewed ardour into his musical studies, entering upon a new and serious phase. The publication of the autobiography is the greatest event of the year in musical literature, and likely to exert’ considerable influence on the varied opinions that exist as to his marvellous qualities - of philosopher, poet, mechanician,, libr,ef--tist, and musician. - ’ » Santley’s Farewell. ' *

Before some tens of thousands of Listeners, Sir Charles Sant ley, his score trembling violently in his hands,'sang at the Crystal Palace for the last time in London recently. Despite the gaiety of the scene there was no" little melancholy in this farewell of the greatest singer England has ever produced. Sir Charles looked touchingly bent and frail, according to all accounts, but liis voice rang out across the vase spaces—the Crystal Palace is a Sahara among •concert halls—with surprising resonance. He sang “There is a green hill far away*’ and “LJonour an.? Arms*’ of Handel with such' polished style as to it would still fie a true pleasure, quite apart from the sentiment of the thing, to hear his relic of a glorious voice—Sir Charles is aged seventy-seven—in a ?ess. inordinately huge hall. Patti, Albani, and Sa nt ley have been making farewell appearances for years, so that there may be “absolutely the last appearance” to come yet. The British public is used to this sort of thing, pays up handsomely. and continues to marvel at the vitality and power of its favourites, who have grown old and grey in the service of song. Moody-Manners Farewell.

Yet another farewell is mat of Mr. Charles Manners ami Madam Fanny Moody, known to the musical world as the leaders of tup Moody-Manners Opera Company, who have. ooili retired from the stage for good. Reviewing his 32 years of opera singing to an interviewer, Mr. Manners said recently: — ’‘Financially I have been successful, From the artistic point of view I am the most disappointed and disillusioned of men. After all the labour and enthusiasm 1 have expended over my daydream—the establishment of a National Opera House in London on a permanent basis—it seems not a bit nearer realisation. Not that 4 am going to give up! The money that has been lost over Opera in London, the schemes that have (failed—nothing of that discourages me.

I know my scheme is workable, and I am not going to leave, off talking about it. If it were adopted, a National Opera House eoiild be brought into existence and could be made to pay without a halfpenny of State aid. 200 Tons of Scenery.

“I am. not disbanding my opera company. It is touring now in the north of England, and is making money as usual. There is, Xhc .organisation, with 200 tons of scenery, 80 tons of costumes, and band parts of 25 the National Opera can have all that for nothing the moment it comes into existence.

“There are hundreds of fresh and beautiful voices waiting in Britain for a chance of recognition. There is more talent there than anywhere else in the world.} It is all wasted! There are three, touring operatic companies in England to-day. In Italy there are more than three hundred.”

"Have you any sentimental regrets at leaving the theatre?” he was asked. “Regrets? I am thankful to say goodbye to it,” Mr. Manners exclaimed warmly. “I am a disappointed man!” The Dramatic Critic.

So many complaints come from the public both at Home and in our own land that dramatic criticism is a farce, that the matter seems to deserve some attention. A writer in “M.A.P.” says that of late years criticism has been worth little or nothing. He says that the advertisement column, and the bond of good fellowship control Press notices, lie then goes on to say: “In London, most theatrical notices can be written before the production, leaving only the plot of the play and its reception to be added on afterwards. In most cases critics can afford to be honest about the play itself; but wheii it comes to the players, they cannot and do not really speak their minds. Nearly every popular actor is his own manager, which means that he is the man who pays for the daily, weekly, and monthly advertisements!

A rush of flattering Press notices tempts the manager to give the play a good boom in the display columns of newspapers. ..A ct even with the play itself the public has long since ignored dramatie cri- . -tfeism. Oik the night of its produc- : tion Rudolf Bester'S delectable comedy, woiidemned; but it became ,• a'^uec*6#«.-s-The. same is true of ‘Raffles’ - 'ami ‘Arseiie- tlfpin.’ On the other hand, several plays are received fulsomely, and do not run three weeks. • One reason- why critics Ido hot deal ■ plainly with -managers is the bond-of - personal friendship. Actors are now re- ' cogised in Society, and paragraphed-by the Press. They meet big critics wherever they get The manager is a useful friend for the critic to know, and vice - versa. The critics enjoy supper-parties, dinners, and free seats. There is also the softening influence of exhilarating cham-

pagne. - Critics do, indeed, give fair notices to the players of smaller parts, and often they pick out a clever performance by an unknown actor. All that part of their business is fail' and square, because it is not affected by personal friendship or ether considerations. The difficulty with the actor-manager is that he must be mentioned in the Press notice. Not only is mere silence impossible, but the mention of him must in practice be praise. 1 remember a case, now many years ago, where a. London manager produced a play which became a huge success; but on the first night it was regarded as somewhat ragged. The critic of a certain newspaper happened to be also the composer of the score, and his juiror attended the premiere. What the junior wrote caused trouble, and a fortnight later a second notice, of a very different character, appeared in the Press. It was written and signed by the composer, who happened also to be the critic. Tn the provinces, Press notices are considered to be the only way of bringing good fortune, but they are so uniformly laudatory that nobody reijlly pays any attention to them. It would be much better for the profession if there were more freedom. Cannot something be done to restore the absolute independence of the dramatic critic? Puff Pars. The remedy for this is to make Press notices aWsohitbly independent "*6T any

consideration of advertising or personal friendship. At first it might mean w small monetary loss, but in the end it would mean a financial gain. People read papers which tell the truth. The public expects, and 'has a right to expect, that criticism of plays shall be sincere. When readers are misled they take no notice of what a paper says, and consequently the circulation declines. Advertising is not a philanthropic proposition. An advertiser only advertises because it pays him to do so, and in the long run he advertises in the paper most widely read. No paper van really command advertisements unless its reading matter is reliable, and in theatrical mat ters the public looks for absolutely unbiassed opinions. Nor should any artist resent fair criticism if it comes from one who knows. To know a fault is half-way to cure it, and indiscriminate praise is no praise. It is easy to understand the difficult position in which the critic is placed. To praise is easy, and gains both friends ami appreciation. But a paper owes a duty to the public as well as to itself, uixl coinmonsense seems to tell us that “puff pars” cannot in the long run serve any useful purpose, because they are appraised at their real value by all parties and so defeat the end they are supposed to serve.