RHEINBERGER.
Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger was born at Vaduz, in Lichtenstein, March 17, 1839, and displayed his musical talent at a very early age. He studied the piano in his fifth year, and in his seventh was organist in the church of his native place. At the age of twelve he entered the Munich Conservatory, where he remained as a scholar until he was nineteen, when he was appointed one of its teachers; at the same time he became organist at the Hofkirche of St. Michael, and afterwards director of the Munich Oratorio Society. In 1867 he was appointed professor and inspector of the Royal Music School, and since 1877 has been the royal Hofkapellmeister, directing the performances of the Kapellchor, an organization similar to that of the Berlin Domchor. He is a very prolific composer, nearly two hundred works having proceeded from his pen. Among them are the “Wallenstein” and “Florentine” symphonies; a Stabat Mater; two operas, “The Seven Ravens” and “Thürmer’s Töchterlein;” incidental music to a drama of Calderon’s; a symphony-sonata for piano; a requiem for the dead in the Franco-German war; theme and variations for string quartet; a piano concerto; five organ sonatas; the choral works, “Toggenburg,” “Klärchen auf Eberstein,” “Wittekind,” and “Christophorus;” and a large number of songs and church pieces, besides much chamber music.
Christophorus.
“Christophorus,” a legend, as Rheinberger calls it, was written in 1879, and is composed for barytone, soprano, and alto solos, chorus, and orchestra. Its subject is taken from the familiar story of the giant who bore the infant Christ across the flood. The chorus acts the part of narrator, and in its opening number relates the legend of Christophorus’ wanderings and his arrival before the castle whose master he would serve. He offers his services, but when they are accepted as an offering from the gods he haughtily declares that he only serves “for fame and chivalry.” A voice thereupon in an impressive solo (“Trust not this loud-voiced Stranger”) warns him away as an envoy of Satan, and the chorus repeats the warning. The giant departs with the intention of drawing his sword in Satan’s cause,—
“For he alone must be lord of all,
Whose name doth so valiant a monarch appall.”
In a very picturesque number the chorus describes his wanderings among the mountain crags and rocks where Satan weaves his spells about him; and then suddenly changing to a tender, delicate strain (“Over us Stars shine”) anticipates the Voice, which in a sensuous aria (“Who is the sovereign Lord of the Heart?”) sings the power of love. In graceful chorus the spirits taunt him, whereupon he once more resolves to fly and to abandon the cause of Satan, but is thwarted by them. A weird chorus closes the first part (“Satan a-hunting is gone”), ending with an impressive strain:—
“Stormily falleth the night:
Frightened maidens fleeing,
Demon hordes all around.
‘A cross, see, upraised!
Fly, master! too far we have come.
Hallowed is the ground.’”
The second part opens with a reflective soliloquy by the giant, followed by a plaintive chorus (“All now is lone and silent”) describing the suffering of our Saviour on the cross and the sadness of a hermit gazing upon the scene. The giant approaches the latter, and a dialogue ensues between them, in which the identity of the victim on the cross is revealed. Having found the King of the universe, Christophorus determines to devote himself to His cause, and inquires how he may serve Him. He is informed he must go to the swiftly-rolling river and carry the pilgrims across. A chanting chorus (“As flows the River seawards, so onward glide the Years”) describes the work of the faithful toiler. Then comes a voice calling him, and he beholds an Infant waiting for him. He takes Him upon his shoulders and bears Him into the flood, but as he advances, bends and struggles beneath his load “as though the whole world he bore.” He inquires the meaning, and the Voice replies:—
“Thou bear’st the world and bearest its Creator:
This Child is Jesus, God’s own Son.
Soldier of Christ!
Thine arms were charity and mercy,
The arms of love.
Now mayst rejoice:
The prize of thy faith is won.”
A joyful, exultant chorus, (“Blessed of Rivers, the Child embrace”) closes this very graceful little “legend.”
Toggenburg.
“Toggenburg,” a cycle of ballads, was written in 1880. The music is for solos and mixed chorus, the ballads being linked together by motives, thus forming a connected whole. The story is a very simple one. The bright opening chorus (“At Toggenburg all is in festive Array”) describes the pageantry which has been prepared to welcome the return of Henry, Knight of Toggenburg, with his fair young Suabian bride, the Lady Etha. The chorus is followed by a duet and alto or barytone solo, which indicate the departure of the Knight for the wars, and the Lady Etha’s loss of the wedding ring. The next number, a solo quartet and chorus (“Ah! Huntsman, who gave thee the Diamond Ring?”), is very dramatic in its delineation of the return of the victorious Knight, who, observing the ring on the finger of the huntsman, slays him, and then in a fit of jealousy hurls the Lady Etha from the tower where she was waving his welcome. The next number is a female chorus (“On mossy Bed her gentle Form reposes”), very slow in its movement and plaintive in character. It is followed by a weird and solemn chorus (“Through the Night rings the Horn’s Blast with Power”), picturing the mad ride of the Knight through the darkness, accompanied by the dismal notes of ravens and mysterious sounds like “greetings from the dead,” which only cease when he discovers the corpse of his lady with the cross on its breast. A short closing chorus, funereal in style, ends the mournful story:—
“Toggenburg all is in mourning array,
The banners wave, the gate stands wide,
Count Henry returns to his home this day,
In death he anew has won his bride.
Once more for their coming the hall is prepared,
Where flickering tapers are ranged around,
And far through the night in the valley are heard
The chants of the monks with their mournful sound.”
Though the work has somewhat both of the Schumann and Mendelssohn sentiment in it, it is nevertheless original and characteristic in treatment. The melodies are pleasing throughout, and cover a wide range of expression, reaching from the tenderness of love to the madness of jealousy, and thence on to the elegiac finale.
