Scan 4
Musical Courier 1910-02-16: Vol 60 Iss 7, 1910
13 lines. Read by computer on 26 September 2026. No printed page number was found. See the scan on archive.org.
A town on its own line is one of the directory's headings. That is where the town on a maker's page comes from.
1BERLIN
3BERLIN, W., January 29, 1910.
4MOTZ St., 36.
6August Enna's opera "Cleopatra" scored a big success at the Volks Oper on the 27th. This was its first performance in Germany, although it has been given in other countries. It is not a new work, but was written more than a decade ago, and was accepted for performance by the Royal Opera soon after it was finished; but it was never produced there. The libretto, which is by Einar Christiansen, is based on Rider Haggard's sensational novel, "Cleopatra," and has nothing to do with Shakespeare's Egyptian queen. It is a story of love and Egyptian politics. The old Egyptian national party in Alexandria is incensed at the power of Cleopatra, who is greatly under the influence of Rome and Greece, and the priest, Sepa, has instigated a conspiracy, with the intent to make away with the queen and put upon the throne Harmaki, the last of the Pharaohs. To Harmaki himself falls the lot of killing the queen. He is brought into her presence as an astrologer and interpreter of dreams, and Cleopatra, not knowing who he really is, looks upon him with favor and offers him a position in her court as royal astrologer. This idea is at first repugnant to Harmaki, but persuaded by Charmion, daughter of Sepa and lady-in-waiting to Cleopatra, he accepts. In his high tower, where he ostensibly studies the stars, he is visited one night by Charmion, who brings a message from the conspirators that on the next evening there is to be a banquet at the palace and that after all have withdrawn and the queen is alone, he is to go to her and reveal her future as he has read it in the stars; and while she is unsuspectingly studying his chart of the heavens, he is to stab and kill her, shortly before midnight. The conspirators will be waiting outside and at the stroke of midnight will overpower the watch and seize the palace. Harmaki, on whom the grace and charm and kindly interest of the queen has worked to dull somewhat the edge of his ambition, demurs, but reminded of his oath, promises to carry out his design. While they are talking, they suddenly hear some one approaching and, recognizing Cleopatra's voice, Charmion hastily conceals herself, dropping her veil as she runs. Harmaki acknowledges himself much honored by this visit of the queen, who says that, unable to sleep, it had occurred to her to see how he lived in his tower and to learn something from him of the stars. Discovering the veil, she twits him on his professed indifference to women; he tells her that it was dropped by one of the slaves, and to prove that its owner has no place in his thoughts, throws it out of the window to the ground. In a spirit of raillery she hands him a wreath of flowers, which had been a present from herself, and tells him to throw that out, too; this, however, he places against his heart. The queen tells him that she needs a man friend whom she can trust and after further expression of her interest and confidence in him, retires, first obtaining his promise to come to her the next night to reveal her future. Charmion, incensed by what she has seen, then comes forth from her hiding-place and accuses Harmaki of weakening in his purpose, and when he questions her right to criticise him she admits that she loves him and begs him to lift her to the throne with him. Harmaki spurns her and, mad with jealousy and intent on revenge, Charmion goes to the queen and reveals the whole plot against her. On the next evening when Harmaki is left alone with Cleopatra and unfolds his chart of the heavens, pointing out the stars with one hand while with the other he fumbles with the dagger concealed in his breast, she, aware of his design and watchful of his every movement, exerts at the same time all her woman's wiles and lures him on to a confession of the love against which he has long been struggling. But when he bends over her to claim the kiss she has promised him, she snatches instead the dagger from his bosom and reviles him as a traitor both to herself and his friends. The stroke of midnight sounds and the watch enters, bringing Sepa and the other conspirators in chains. Charmion, horrified at the ruin she has wrought, confesses having revealed the plot, and Harmaki, seeing that all is lost, thrusts the dagger, which Cleopatra had disdainfully thrown at his feet upon the entrance of the watch, into his own heart, and falls dead. Charmion throws herself across the prostrate body and bewails her own treachery while the others silently withdraw, leaving Cleopatra to enter alone and move majestically across the background, with regal hauteur adding to the sting of the hapless girl's remorse by her scornful, taunting song of triumph. This stuff makes a fairly good operatic libretto and the music by the Danish composer has greatly enhanced it. Although not very original, it is written on broad, flowing, melodious outlines. Harmonically it is euphonious and yet modern to a great extent; the orchestral coloring is good and the impression it makes on the whole is exceedingly favorable. At any rate, it is music that is real music and carries conviction. One feels that it is written by an honest musician who composed as his heart dictated and who eschewed all pretense and all striving for effects that are not for him to attain. Enna understands both the treatment of the human voice and of the orchestra and his technical resources in both directions are ample. His orchestration sounds well and is effective; at times it sounded a trifle heavy for the voices, but on the whole the singers are well treated and do not have to force in order to be heard. Enna evidently does not believe very much in a declamatory style, for he has his singers express themselves almost entirely in real cantilena and that, with a modern orchestral background, is a real joy. The music is both lyric and dramatic. The subject offered opportunity for some very fine local coloring which the composer did not improve; on the contrary his style of making music is cosmopolitan; but it is a big style and it is the real operatic style. The performance was excellent. The orchestra acquitted itself of its difficult task in a most commendable manner. The title role was sung by Madame Frease-Green, who made a great deal out of the part both histrionically and vocally. She has a beautiful voice and a high degree of technical skill. Harmaki, which is a tenor part, was impersonated by Josef Pistori, a late acquisition of the Volks Oper, and Fräulein von Ballogk as Charmion was also very good vocally, though her acting was at times a bit awkward; while Rünger as Sepa proved to be, as usual, an intelligent artist. The applause was loud and both between the acts and at the close the composer, Director Alferi, Conductor Schüller and chief stage manager Glesinger and the quartet of singers were called out and floral offerings were presented. It was the biggest success the Volks Oper has yet had.
8Two concerts were given this week by the Munich Tonkünstler Orchestra under the leadership of Iwan Froebe. This organization was formerly known as the Kaim Orchestra and as such it attained a national reputation. Despite this fact, the attendance at the Philharmonie was very poor, which again goes to show that there are too many concerts in Berlin. It was the first visit of this famous orchestra to the Prussian capital and the attendance under normal conditions should have been good. On the first evening a classical program was rendered, consisting of Haydn's G major and C major and Beethoven's D major symphonies; while the program of the second concert was devoted chiefly to novelties. There were a symphony in G minor by Pottgessler and works by the St. Petersburg composer, Conus, and by Klose, of Heidelberg. None of them were compositions of importance. The Munich Orchestra proved to be first rate, although it is not up to the top notch of perfection represented by our two great local orchestras, the Philharmonic and the Royal. However, it must be confessed that it is superior to the Blüthner Orchestra, both in the strings and in the wind instruments. The woodwind was excellent, especially the flutes; in fact the Philharmonic has no such flutist as their first. But the strings of the Philharmonic have greater brilliancy and verve. The first violins of the Munich band were too weak against the second violins and the violas; they had the same number of second violins as first—namely, ten each. If the relationship were twelve to eight in favor of the first violins, the thematic work would have come out better. However, in point of ensemble, dynamics, tone color, intonation and technical accuracy, the visitors from the Bavarian capital did excellent work and made a very good impression. Iwan Froebe, to be sure, is not a Nikisch or a Strauss, but he is a good, straightforward, legitimate wielder of the baton, who knows how to give very acceptable interpretations and who makes his men play with a great deal of finish. Great passion he does not compass. With greater contrasts, with more light and shade and with more pronounced crescendi and diminuendo, this orchestra, with its excellent material, could give far more impressive performances. As it was, the men from Munich were very well received and it was interesting to make the acquaintance of this—one of Germany's premiere orchestras.
10The greatest dramatic singer Germany has ever produced, Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient, died fifty years ago last Wednesday—on January 26, 1860. Separated from her husband and all her friends and relatives, her death occurred at Coburg under very sad circumstances, and was in dire contrast to the brilliant, dazzling career she had as an artist. A rival of Malibran and Henriette Sontag, she excelled both in dramatic power. For more than three decades all Europe was on its knees before her and even Beethoven, Goethe and Wagner offered her homage. According to Richard Wagner's own account, no singer, either on the operatic or concert stage, ever moved him as she did, and in creating the heroines of his great musical dramas, he ever kept her in mind. Wagner first heard Madame Schröder-Devrient at Dresden, where she was a member of the Royal Opera from 1823 until 1847. It was in 1834 that Wagner was in the audience at a performance of Bellini's "Romeo and Juliet"; Madame Schröder Devrient sang the part of Romeo, and although Wagner detested the opera itself, he never to his dying day forgot the impression made on him by the singer's wonderful impersonation of the role. He declared her to be a daughter of William Shakespeare and a direct descendant of the gods. In his essay entitled, "Music of the Future," he wrote that such a performance originated in him the desire to create a new kind of poetic, dramatic, musical work, which, however, he would not care to call opera. The great singer had stimulated his muse mightily. Later he heard Madame Schröder-Devrient in a work of his own; she sang in the first performance of "Rienzi." Years after her death, as late as 1892, Wagner spoke and wrote of her marvelous performance with veritable awe. Beethoven was moved in no lesser degree by her divine histrionic power; the poor man could no longer hear her sing, as he was quite deaf when she first essayed the part of Leonore in "Fidelio." That was at Vienna on November 9, 1822, and from that memorable performance dated the great and lasting success of Beethoven's opera. Prior to that time it had met with a very cool reception. When it was first suggested to the master that an eighteen year old girl should sing the taxing part of Leonore, he opposed it on the grounds that so young a person could not have the necessary dramatic power. It was in 1830 that Madame Schröder-Devrient sang for Goethe at Weimar. Of course, she had to sing something set to his own verses, and she selected Schubert's "Erl King," because of its dramatic scope. The aged poet—he was then eighty years old—had heard the piece before, but he did not approve of Schubert's musical setting of it. Madame Schröder-Devrient's rendition, however, quite took him off his feet. He took her head in both hands and kissed her on the forehead, saying, "A thousand thanks for this glorious artistic performance. I have heard this composition before, when it did not please me at all, but sung as you sing it, it appears in an entirely new light." Wilhelmine Schröder Devrient was born at Hamburg on December 6, 1804. She was the daughter of Sophie Schröder, the famous actress. At first it was planned that she should follow in the footsteps of her mother, and she made her debut in 1819 in Vienna, appearing with much success in Racine's "Phaedra." She soon took up the study of voice, however, with Joseph Mozatti and on June 20, 1821, she made her debut at the Vienna Royal Opera, appearing as Pamina in Mozart's "Magic Flute." Her success was instantaneous. Then she toured for a time, appearing in opera at Dresden, Leipzig and Cassel. It was her great success in "Fidelio" that brought her the offer from Dresden which she accepted in 1823. During the Dresden engagement she often had leave of absence so that she was enabled to appear as "Gast" in all the leading cities of Europe. Her success in Paris in the early thirties was enormous. While the great singer's artistic career was a chain of unbroken triumphs, her home life was for the most part far from happy. Her first husband was Carl Devrient; her second, a German officer named Von Doering, a miserable wretch, who, looking upon his wife's art as simply a source of income, dragged her from place to place until she was all worn out. She was literally compelled to buy herself free from him. In her third marriage to a nobleman named Von Bock, which occurred on March 14, 1850, she at last found conjugal happiness, but her turbulent nature could not find rest and composure anywhere. She could not endure the climate of Russia, where her husband owned a large estate; then the longing to return to public life left her no peace, though her physical condition would not permit her return to the stage. So this brilliant and much favored nightingale never knew real happiness.
12Helen Teschner, the young New York violinist, who made a successful debut here a few weeks ago, gave a second concert at Bechstein Hall on Saturday evening
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