COWEN.
Frederic H. Cowen, the favorite English song-writer, was born at Kingston, Jamaica, Jan. 29, 1852, and went to England at a very early age. His first teachers were Benedict and Sir J. Goss, with whom he studied until 1865. During the next three years he continued his musical education at the conservatories of Leipsic and Berlin, returning to England in 1868. His earlier works were an operetta called “Garibaldi,” a fantasie-sonata and piano concerto, a few pieces of chamber music, and a symphony in C minor. These served to introduce him to public notice, and since that time nearly all of his works have met with remarkable success, among them “The Rose Maiden” (1870); music to Schiller’s “Joan of Arc” (1871); festival overture (1872); “The Corsair,” composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1876; a symphony in F major and the Norwegian symphony, which have been favorably received in this country. His most important opera is “Pauline,” which was produced in London with great success by the Carl Rosa company, Nov. 22, 1876. As a song-writer, Mr. Cowen is also well known; many of his lyrics, especially those written for Antoinette Sterling and Mrs. E. Aline Osgood, the American singers, having obtained a wide-spread popularity.
The Sleeping Beauty.
“The Sleeping Beauty,” written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, the poem by Francis Hueffer, has for its theme the well-known fairy tale which has been so often illustrated in music and upon canvas. It is a great favorite in England, and has also met with a successful reception in Paris, where it was brought out not long since by the Concordia Society of that city, under the title of “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” the translation having been made by Miss Augusta Holmes, herself a musician of considerable repute.
After a brief orchestral introduction, a three-part chorus (altos, tenors, and basses) tells the story of the ancient King to whom an heiress was born when all hope of offspring had been abandoned, the gay carousal which he ordered, and the sudden appearance of the twelve fays, guardians of his house, with their spinning-wheels and golden flax, who sing as they weave:—
“Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child’s behoof:
Future, dark to human eyes,
Openly before us lies;
As we will and as we give,
Haply shall the maiden live;
Draw the thread and weave the woof
For the little child’s behoof.”
In beauty of melody and gracefulness of orchestration this chorus of the fays is specially noticeable. Its charming movement, however, is interrupted by a fresh passage for male chorus, of an agitated character, describing the entrance of the Wicked Fay, who bends over the cradle of the child and sings a characteristic contralto aria:—
“From the gold of the flaxen reel
Threads of bliss have been spun to thee;
By the whirl of the spinning wheel
Cruel grief shall be done to thee.
Thy fate I descry:
Ere the buds of thy youth are blown,
Ere a score of thy years have flown,
Thou shalt prick thy hand, thou shalt die.”
Following this aria, the male chorus has a few measures, invoking a curse upon the Fay, which leads to a full chorus of an animated character, foretelling that there shall dawn a day when a young voice, more powerful than witchcraft, will save her; at the close of which the guardian fays are again heard drawing the thread and weaving the woof in low, murmuring tones, with a spinning accompaniment. It is followed by a trio (soprano, tenor, and bass), with chorus accompaniment, announcing the departure of the fays, and leading to a very melodious tenor solo, with two graceful orchestral interludes, which moralizes on what has occurred and closes the prologue.
The first scene opens in a hall in the King’s palace, and is full of animation. A brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the full chorus in waltz time (“At Dawn of Day on the first of May”), which moves along with a fascinating swing, and closes in a very vigorous climax. At this point the King makes his appearance and expresses his joy that the time has passed when the prophecy of the Wicked Fay could take effect, for this is the Princess’s twentieth birthday. A dialogue follows between the King and his daughter, closing with a beautiful chorus (“Pure as thy Heart”), after which the dance-music resumes. Unobserved the Princess leaves the banqueting-hall, glides along a gallery, and ascends the staircase to a turret chamber. Before she enters she sings an aria, of a tranquil, dreamy nature (“Whither away, my Heart?”), and interwoven with it are heard the gradually lessening strains of the dance-music, which ceases altogether as her song comes to an almost inaudible close.
The second scene opens in the turret chamber, where the Wicked Fay, disguised as an old crone, is spinning. After a short dialogue, in which the Fay explains to the Princess the use of the wheel, she bids her listen, and sings a weird ballad (“As I sit at my Spinning-wheel, strange Dreams come to me”), closing with the refrain of the old prophecy, “Ere the Buds of her Youth are blown.” The Princess dreamily repeats the burden of the song, and then, fearing the presence of some ill-omen, opens the door to escape. She hears the dance-music again, but the Fay gently draws her back and induces her to touch the flax. As she does so, the Fay covertly pricks her finger with the spindle. She swoons away, the dance-music suddenly stops, and there is a long silence, broken at last by the Fay’s triumphant declaration: “Thus have I wrought my Vengeance.” The next number is the Incantation Music (“Spring from the Earth, red Roses”), a very dramatic declamation, sung by the Fay and interwoven with snatches of chorus and the refrain of the prophecy. A choral interlude (“Sleep in Bower and Hall”) follows, describing in a vivid manner, both with voices and instruments, the magic sleep that fell upon the castle and all its inmates, and the absence of all apparent life save the spiders weaving their webs on the walls as the years go by:—
“The spells of witchcraft which enthrall
Each sleeper in that desolate hall,
Who can break them?
Say, who can lift the deathly blight
That covers king and lord and knight,
To give them back to life and light,
And awake them?”
The answer comes in an animated prelude, through which is heard the strain of a horn signal, constantly growing louder, and heralding the Prince, who enters the silent palace, sword in hand, among the sleeping courtiers, knights, and ladies. After a vigorous declamation (“Light, Light at last”) he passes on his way to the turret chamber, where he beholds the sleeping Princess. The love-song which follows (“Kneeling before Thee, worshipping wholly”) is one of the most effective portions of the work. His kiss awakes her, and as she springs up, the dance-music at once resumes from the bar where it had stopped in the scene with the Wicked Fay. An impassioned duet follows, and the work closes with the animated waltz-chorus which opened the first scene.
