Music

As Mr. Carl Gaertner’s “Art of Singing ” ¹ does not purport to be a condensed translation of an important French work on the same subject, it would perhaps be impertinent to say the translation is very badly done ; yet there is so much in the book that, although disguised by a clumsy and ungraceful diction, evidently owes its origin to Manuel Garcia’s Art du Chant, that we can hardly treat it as an original work. Mr. Gaertner has transcribed page upon page of the Art du Chant and given it to the world as his own. Nearly all that relates to the technical part of the cultivation of the voice, all the exercises with the exception of six vocalises, arc taken bodily from Garcia’s Work. But much that is important is left out. The exercises which Garcia has explained in the most careful manner are in Mr. Gaertner’s work put before the pupil almost without explanation. Of that part of the book which is original with Mr. Gaertner it is difficult to speak except in the vaguest terms. He flounders about in a curiously indefinite and aimless way among such truisms as “the power of song is, in its noblest, highest senses, marvellous, irresistible ! ” and other expressions equally ecstatic and from the point. At times the spirit of partisanship lashes him into something distantly approaching definite expression, and lie belabors the advocates of ideas opposed to his own with great candor and considerable show of temper. Against the employment of the Italian portamento lie is particularly violent. “ Those vocal theoreticians and teachers,” he says, " who consider the portamento as something mysterious, believe that, with the disappearance of ‘ giants and heroes,’ the mystery has ceased to be comprehensible to us, unless we contrive wholly to appropriate their method of instruction. I differ from them, and can express my views through the following assertion : The German, who can boast of possessing the greatest musical master-works of the world, and who has been cultivated in the same, requires neither castratos nor Italian schools of Pistocchis, Berlochis, Berlachis, etc., in order to learn about the binding or tying together of notes. And is it then necessary to go to Bologna to find out what this binding or tying together of notes is ? These excellent professors who pamper themselves so greatly in their own folly, and strew sand in the eyes of the public, that they may fix their price of tuition as high as possible, and make a stir and excitement, are often unable to teach rightly the A B C. If these gentlemen and ladies took pains to impart to their pupils the foundations of a good school, we should have singers enough who could understand how to study the solfeggio, and voices would then cease to be ruined by ignorant teachers, as is now too often the case.”

However little Mr. Gaertner and his countrymen may require Italian schooling (concerning which statement we must confess to some grave doubts), he most assuredly stands in need of an Italian or Latin dictionary to teach him that portare does not signify to tie, as he says “ every musician of any degree of cultivation knows,” but to carry. Some of his other statements in opposition to the French and Italian schools are more plausible because put more coolly and dispassionately. He says : “Duprez goes too far in the very beginning of his school, by directing his exercises (solfeggios) to be sung with religious character (religioso), with resignation, passionately, with transport, etc., etc. One ought to aim at making the sense and import of a composition clearly perceptible ; and whilst we do so by rendering it correctly as it is written, there the idea is forced upon the composition. With us, the expression is a natural consequence of the understanding ; there, it is introduced at pleasure as an imaginary supposition.” Now this idea, namely, that expression in singing and playing is the natural consequence of the understanding or of sentiment, is one that always has been and still is received with great favor by a certain class of persons, especially by dilettanti and critics who know nothing of the ways and means of attaining to a correct and artistic interpretation of a composition, however well they may be qualified either by their general musical education or natural musical instincts to judge of the excellence or imperfections of such interpretation. Everybody who has had practical experience in the dramatic part of music,— that is, in making others feel what he himself feels,— knows that perception, feeling, or appreciation are vastly different things from expression. Every actor knows that if he expressed sorrow, joy, anguish, on the stage as he would in real life, the impression upon the audience would be either to put them to sleep — that is, no impression at all—or to make them laugh. Those persons who advocate with so much earnestness the naturalistic school of acting, forget that the whole atmosphere of the stage is artificial. Hysterical sobbing, the contortions of the body and countenance in an epileptic fit or after poisoning, red and swollen eyes, appeal to the heart very keenly, when we know that there is a terrible reality behind them. If we could but see Juliet just awakened from her trance and Romeo dying from poison, we should no doubt be deeply affected. But when we see Mr. A as Romeo and Mrs. or Miss B as Juliet in that scene, the probability of Romeo’s smoking his cigar and of Juliet’s going home to a comfortable mutton-chop and glass of stout as soon as the curtain falls, acts as a fearful disenchanter, unless A and B know how to express to us the feelings of the real Romeo and Juliet, and make us feel what we should feel were we witnessing the real catastrophe. It is just the same with expression in singing or playing. Let the singer feel the sentiment of his song ever so keenly, let him identify himself with the composer as he may, he may yet make no impression upon his hearers. If he allows himself to be too much affected by what he is singing, he loses control over his voice, his fortissimo grows to a bellow and his pianissimo degenerates into a whine. No, no ! Let him go about all day in a musical ecstasy, let him lose sight of all sublunary affairs while alone, but when he comes to sing to us he must bear in mind that we do not come together to see him transfigured, but to be transfigured ourselves. He must now play the part of a reflector and turn back upon us all the luminous and thermic rays that fall upon him from that sun, the composer, that we may be illumined and glorified. Many, very many singers are most excellent absorbing agents of musical light, but it is only the few great artists who have learnt to be good reflectors.

Mr. Gaertner’s style is often obscure, and he affects the use of such disagreeable Teutonic agglutinations as “ mouth-opening,” “ voice-culture,” “ tone-instrument,” and the like. In fine, we see no good and sufficient cause for Mr. Gaertner’s book appearing at all. All that is valuable in it is taken directly out of Garcia’s work, and what Mr. Gaertner has written himself resolves itself into an attempt to prove the inferiority of the French and Italian schools of singing to what he calls the German school (every German with any ideas whatever on art, religion, or politics calls his opinions “national”), the fact being that a German school of singing, as such, does not exist, and whatever reputation many German singers may have, they almost without exception belong to the French or Italian schools. There is hardly a hometaught singer in Germany whose reputation is more than local:

Of recently published songs² Frederic Clay’s “ She wandered down the Mountain-side ” is particularly attractive. It is already well known as Miss Clara Louise Kellogg’s cheval de bataille of ballads. It is very effective and can be ranked with the best songs of the Blumenthal type. It begins quietly, but not tamely, and steadily grows in intensity to the end, the climax being well led up to both in the melody and the accompaniment. In this respect it is far better than many of Millard’s concert songs. The song is published in two different keys and with different accompaniments. In the edition in C the accompaniment strikes us as the better, though the first part of it sits rather awkwardly upon the piano. The edition in E is better in this respect, but the nervous, restless syncopation that adds so much to the effect of the song in the latter half is here introduced too soon, and we prefer the smooth flow of the accompaniment in C for the quieter passages. Charles Santley’s “ Only to Love ” is a good, vigorous song of the same school. It is, perhaps, one of those songs which, when not well sung, have no particular interest, but in the hands of a fine singer may be made wonderfully effective. “ Nelly Darling,” by the same composer, is thoroughly charming in its quaint, English spontaneity and directness of melody. H. Eisoldt’s “The Snapped Thread” has many good points, but the last few bars are weak and bring the whole to an unsatisfactory conclusion. The best part of the song is from the change to F Major to the return to the original key of C. “Non So,” by Enrico Bevignani is rather a commonplace song of the Italian school, though the last few measures of the second verse have a certain élan that shows it to be the composition of a singer who knows how to use his voice well. The accompaniment is in many places badly written for the pianoforte, as is the case in many Italian songs, but on the whole supports the voice well enough. Ilenry Smart’s “The Sailor’s Story ” reminds one forcibly of songs of the old English school, — those hearty, vigorous bits of melody and harmony with which singers like Incledon and Braham used to delight their audiences. The melody is pleasing, if not distinctly original, and the harmony uncommonly well written, full of energy and vitality. J. R. Thomas’s “ O sing unto the Lord,”for quartette of mixed voices, and C. A. White’s “ Queen of the Beautiful,” are not wholly without merit, though commonplace and uninteresting in their respective styles.

In piano-forte music* we notice several pieces by William Mason, Some years ago this young composer published, among other things, a piece called “ Silver Spring,” which has since had considerable vogue as a concert and exhibition piece. Though otherwise not a remarkable composition, it showed, in the way in which it was written for the instrument, that the composer had at his command all the various resources of modern piano-forte playing and knew how to use them to good effect. The pieces by him that we notice to-day give like evidence of having been written by an accomplished pianist. In them he seems to have based his style upon the Modern Romantic German school. The Scherzo and Novelette are very pleasing, though the former strains perhaps too much after quaintness and oddity in some of its harmonic progressions. The Valse Impromptu in A seems to have been written more spontaneously, and on that account pleases us better. It is full of easy, natural grace, and is most beautifully put upon the instrument. The Prelude in A Minor strikes us as less good than the preceding and as rather forced, at times almost ugly. Goldbeck’s “Supplication” is beautiful from beginning to end, the serioso movements in the middle showing much real sentiment and beauty of expression, Stephen A. Emery’s “ Impromptu ” is written with great refinement of style, and shows a thorough acquaintance with the pianoforte. It is one of the most praiseworthy pieces of piano-forte writing that we know of by an American. Ernst Perabo’s arrangement of the Schubert Variations is an interesting addition to the piano-forte literature of the day, and serves well to recall to the mind the effect of the variations in their original form. Sidney Smith’s “ Fuenesse Dorée ” is a brilliant, taking galop, worked up with great spirit at the end with a crescendo in Rossini fashion.