Scan 12
Musical Courier 1895-05-15: Vol 30 Iss 793, 1895
91 lines. Read by computer on 20 September 2026. Printed page 13. See the scan on archive.org.
1BOSTON, Mass., May 12, 1895.
3I AM delighted to learn from THE MUSICAL COURIER that Melba comes of "a strict Scotch Presbyterian family." I have known singers who were of the hot Scotch tribe.
5Gilmore's Band gave a concert at the Boston Theatre the 5th. I was not present. The playing of the band was praised highly by competent judges. Miss Frieda Simonson made her first appearance in Boston, and Mr. Woolf in the Herald thus spoke concerning her:
7There were singing by Mme. Louise Natali, autoharp solos by Mr. Aldis T. Gerry, 'cello solos by Mr. Herbert, and solos by other artists' but the laurels in this regard were carried off by a little girl pianist eleven years of age, and by name Frieda Simonson, who is beyond question the most astonishing of musical prodigies. She played with Mr. Herbert Chopin's introduction and polonaise for piano and 'cello, and at once excited wonder by the fluency, the clearness and the finish of her technic, the musically quality of her phrasing, and the precision and ease of her playing generally. She has a charming touch and a fine sense of rhythm. There was nothing in her performance that suggested, even remotely, the clever pupil reciting her lesson by rote. In response to an encore she played Chopin's Berceuse with exquisite charm of style and grace of technic, and later gave the allegro Brillante, by Moscheles, and the Schubert-Liszt Wohl in delightfully, and again won thunders of applause that were deservedly bestowed. All her selections she played from memory. She is really a remarkable wonder-child, but she is still more, for young as she is she is already an artist in the true sense of the word. Her technic is amazing enough in one of such tender years, but the maturity of her taste and of her style is still more so. Her success was brilliant and overwhelming.
9As a matter of record, I here state that the summer season of operetta at the Castle Square Theatre began the 6th. The opera was The Beggar Student. The chief singers were Miss Louise Eissling, Miss Marie Manl Bell, Miss Rissi, Messrs. J. E. McWade and Seamans. The chief comedian was Mr. William Wolff, of Titanic voice and sledge hammer humor. There will be a weekly change of opera. The mounting of The Beggar Student was complete and handsome.
11The Apollo Club gave a concert the 8th. Among the numbers of the program were Osgood's In Picardie, Foote's Bugle Song and Miss Lang's Boatman's Hymn. Mrs. Jennie Patrick-Walker sang a solo and the soprano part in Hiller's Easter Morning. Miss Maud Powell played the violin. I understand that the singing by the chorus was by far the most satisfactory feature of the concert, for neither Mrs. Walker nor Miss Powell was in the vein.
13Mrs. Antonia H. Sawyer gave a concert in Steinway Hall the 9th, assisted by Mr. Timothée Adamowski and Mr. Victor Harris. The program was as follows:
15Amour Viens Alder………………………………….Saint-Saëns
16Melody…………………………………………………….Harris
17I Know Not if Moonlight……………………………..Harris
18Si j'e'tais Jardinier…………………………………….Chaminade
19Prize Song (Die Meistersinger)………………………..Wagner-Wilhelm
20Spanish Dance…………………………………………Sarasate
21Pensée d'Automne………………………………………Massenet
22Gypsy Dance…………………………………………..Sarasate
23Chant Hindou…………………………………………..Bemberg
24An Irish Folk Song……………………………………Foote
25Ecstasy……………………………………………………Beach
26My Little One…………………………………………..Collins
27Mr. Sawyer……………………………………………..Mr. Sawyer.
29There was a very applause audience that filled the hall to overflowing. Mrs. Sawyer was unfortunate in this: the heat was unendurable, and as the windows were opened the street noises were such as to annoy seriously singer and audience. Nor did Mr. Harris do himself justice as an accompanist. He often pounded.
31Mrs. Sawyer has a full, rich and sympathetic voice. It is a voice that at the same time is appealing and authoritative. She displays the attributes of the accomplished singer. She knows what legato means; she phrases as a musician; she is earnest, sincere and mistress of a marked temperament. If she was occasionally guilty Thursday evening of false intonation there was ready forgiveness, for it seemed impossible for anyone to sing at all in such a stifling atmosphere. It would undoubtedly be a pleasure to hear Mrs. Sawyer in a larger hall and in oratorio.
33The Pop Concerts, Mr. de Novellis conductor, opened last evening in Music Hall. Mr. Schnitzler was the concert-master, and the other men were likewise from the Symphony Orchestra. The program included: March, Queen of Sheba Gounod; overture, Masaniello; waltz, Amour et Printemps, Waldteufel: selection, Falka; prelude to Act III. Lohengrin; overture, William Tell; intermezzo, Cavalleria Rusticana; selections from suite L'Arlésienne No. 2; overture, Light Cavalry; waltz, Grubenlichter, Zeller; gavot, La Coquette, Sudessi, and march, Tabasco. Mr. de Novellis showed himself to be the man for the place. He directed with intelligence and firmness. The audience was loud in manifestations of delight, and there were several encores.
35Here begins a paraphrase of a fantastic "moralité" by Jules Laforgue. His style is a despair to the imitator. Such is his feeling for color, his unerring instinct for the one, the right, the only word. This Englishing is not literal. I have only tried to give some idea of the fantastic word weavings of the poet who died too young.
37LOHENGRIN, SON OF PARSIFAL.
39By the side of his dear sleeping body I have watched night long, searching the cause of his wish to get away from reality.
41ARTHUR RIMBAUD.
43Oh, how irreparable, even in imagination only, are the nights of Great Sacrifices!
45Naturally they had chosen the rising of the first Full Moon, implacable and divine, for the degradation of the vestal Elsa, place du Parvis-Notre-Dame. All the bells rang the knell of Nox Irae, in sight of the eternal sea of beauteous nights.
47On two platforms draped inviolably with linen, vis-a-vis, were the White Council and the Corporation of Vestals; a crowd whispered between these bodies, and all this company, all standing; and eyes blue, green, gray, bewildered with waiting, in the sight of the superhuman sea of beauteous nights.
49It was still broad daylight; no breeze of mercy to torment the curt flames of waxen tapers.
51Oh! who is this who prepares herself?
52Oh! I pray you, how white and barbarous is all this, by the brim of this sea in solemn basin! Oh! how far is all this from my little village!
54Now Notre-Dame appears on the enchanted horizon.
55Yes, indeed, the fair, full moon, all of olden gold, amazed, hallucinating, palpable, round! So near, you would say it were a work of men of the Earth, some aerostatic experiment of modern times (yes, a moon naive in its hugeness like unto a loosed balloon!).
56It sheds cold, as always.
57And, as always, the chalky façades of the square, with balconies dressed with professional winding sheets, and the rose window of sepulchral efflorescence in the Basilica of Silence assume an interesting pallidness; and in this fresh enchantment the curt yellow flames of the waxen tapers are like poor old family jewels.
58Salve Regina des Lys!
59Host of Lethe! Transfiguring Mirror!
60Mecca of polar sterilities!
61Oh, on the ocean-ciborium, Eucharist with bruises, Eucharist poorly cauterized!
62The bells are still.
63And the crowd, then, ululates (all, men, women, children, old men, in shrill soprano) the Stabat of Palestrina, but infinitely expunged!
64And, at this high-pitched signal, the lantern-cot of the Lighthouse of the Goddess releases the sacred gulls!
65Ah, how they fly away with wild squallings, like bird moths, toward the Great Moon and turn about under her look; and after these preliminary devotions they attend to their little fishing, the fishing by beauteous night.
66Everyone is seated, drunk with this preluding.
67What a silence!
68The eldest High Priest of Selené has arisen; he performs the three offertories of the censer in honor of the Full Moon in the polar stillness; then he says:
69"My sisters, these nights suit decidedly your beauty!
70"Lo, you come to us over the insuperable lagoons of the sea, Immaculate Conception (the only one)! I salute you, Virgin of nights, plain of ice; may your name be blessed among all women, you who satin their breasts of distinction, and cause the necessary milk to rise therein."
71The Vestals arise, and, with the exception of the last row of the youngest still consecrated to silence, repeat the invocation—and then all (in waltz time, but not without a certain very excusable deliberation of coquetry) throw back the pale cashmere, undo their linen guimpes, and show to the beneficent star their young breasts—oh, they are as many hosts, like as many aspiring moons; the novices shiver a little, as they feel their almonds harden under the caress of the sacred ray that comes from so far across the insuperable lagoons of the sea.
72One of them, isolated, in the first row, a stranger to this charming manifestation, lowers her head on her condemned bosom.
73Reassured, the High Priest who regarded her continued:
74"Almonds of breasts, seals of maternities, suck in the exhalations of the Eucharist who rises o'er the sea and makes the rounds of our dormitories. For you are still her virgins, worthy of cherishing her mysteries, concealing her philtres and formulas of incantation, worthy of blessing the bridal cakes. Noel! Noel, then to the Virginal Light-house, to the look-out of the Poles, to the Labarum of modern societies!"
75He sits down.
76Then stands up the vicar of Diana-Artemis. He is robed in Doric fashion; he is pale as the statue of the Commander of the Faithful.
77"Elsa! Elsa! Elsa!" thrice does he bugle forth with his organ of the complete sectarian.
78The vestal, isolated, in the front row, the little woman with breasts shamefully hidden, advances on the platform, with lowered head, with the air of one seriously offended.
79"Elsa, oath-bound vestal, guardian of the Mysteries. philtres, formulas and wheat of nuptial cakes, what hast thou done with the key of thy répertoire? Ah, ah! Thy breasts know another caress than that which came so far from the moon; thy flesh is inoculated with other knowledge than that of the cult; profane hands have untied thy girdle and broken the seal of thy little solitudes! And what hast thou to say in answer?"
80Elsa articulated angelically: "I believe that I am innocent. O cruel mistakes!" (and sotto voice: "My God, what idiotic stories!").
81The confessor of Hecate arose in his turn and unrolled the indictment.
82"During the night of ——, etc."
83(Nothing but suspicions; low, commonplace suspicions.)
84"The simple fact that you have been suspected publicly renders you unfit for the cult. Widow Elsa, forget that you were a Vestal. Forget the mysteries, the philtres, the formulas, the leaven of nuptial cakes! And now, Widow Elsa, look for the last time at the goddess; because, according to the rite, if, after three summonings, your betrothed does not appear in your behalf, your fair eyes will be burned, as delicately as possible, by touching them, with the Aerolith of Profanation which fell at the first moon of the Hegira and rests, as you know very well, on swaddling clothes, in the sepulchral vault of the Goddess, at the bottom of the Basilica of Silence. Now, People, according to custom, for the three soundings."
85They saw that Elsa did not even turn her eyes toward the crowd; she evidently did not expect a knight from that quarter.
86The matrons with sphinx-like headdresses make her to descend from the platform; they strip her of pale cashmere and linen guimpe and the pearls of the cult. They knot the pearls in the guimpe and the cashmere; and all this in a leaden chest sinks toward the submarine dwelling of the dead; startling succession of symbols.
87And now Elsa appears as a bride in the sight of the worthy people. Oh, interesting, full of promise, in long, wan gown starred from head to foot with peacocks' eyes (black, blue, golden, green, as you know, but it is a good thing to recall the fact), with naked shoulders, with arms angelically naked; her figure bound about just below her young breasts by a large blue girdle from which a peacock's feather hangs, still more magnificent; and over this jewel of a central eye the poor girl holds her little hands crossed modestly, her little hands in long blue mittens. But her eyes are as succulent as mouths, and her own mouth, now open, has all the sadness of a glance.
88A very noticeable whisper of admiration runs about among the women; and (for esprit de corps finds them, alas, always ready) they sing, "Happy, happy is he, believe us, who will lead her under his roof. She has adorable remnants; and she is not eighteen, unless we have been misinformed."
89Elsa does not deign to confirm this irresistible detail.
90But a herald advances; he raises on a patena the aéroolith which will corrode those beautiful, succulent eyes; he
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