The first act opens in Venice with a canal at the back of the stage. The gondoliers sing a bad Mascagni chorus, and Flora enters singing in imitation Italian style. All Flora's part is written in this manner, and unfortunately the composer has chosen a very bad model to imitate—good Mascagni is good, but bad is——! The music is in a curious jumble of styles: sometimes Italian, sometimes pseudo-modern French, with occasional attempts at Wagnerian imitations—Missa's constant use of intentional consecutive fifths becomes very wearing after a time. The music in the masked-ball scene is pretty, and the duet in which Flora tempts Posthumus is melodious, though the situation is rather comic. Imogen's song at the opening of the second act is the best number in the piece, and it is followed by a really good bit of pantomime music while she is preparing for bed; but on the entrance of Iachimo all becomes vulgar again. In the last act Iachimo dies to the tune to which Imogen prepared to go to bed; and if anyone, hearing it, should remember where he heard it before, it might raise a quiet smile. The music is admirably suited to the libretto. Both are in the worst possible taste, and the words "d'aprés Cymbeline de Shakespeare" seem rather in the nature of an outrage. Still, it is the only opera I can find on the subject, and perhaps on the whole I am glad; a few more Cymbeline operas in this style might smash the entente cordiale.
With the notable exception of the lyric, "Hark, hark, the lark," beautifully set to music by Schubert, very little attention has been paid by important composers to the songs in Cymbeline. True, more than a dozen composers, dating from 1750 to the present day, have set those words, and also the exquisite lyric "Fear no more the heat of the sun," but with indifferent success. An interesting story of the composition of "Hark, hark, the lark," by Schubert, is told by the composer's old friend Doppler. "Returning from a Sunday stroll with some friends through the village of Währing, he (Schubert) saw a friend sitting at a table in the beer-garden of one of the taverns. The friend, when they joined him, had a volume of Shakespeare on the table. Schubert seized it and began to read; but, before he had turned over many pages, pointed to 'Hark, hark, the lark,' and exclaimed, 'Such a lovely melody has come into my head, if I had but some music paper.' Someone drew a few staves on the back of the bill of fare; and there, amid the hubbub of the beer-garden, that beautiful song, so perfectly fitting the words, so skilful and happy in its accompaniment, came into perfect existence." Two other songs probably followed the same evening: the drinking-song from Antony and Cleopatra, marked "Währing, July 26," and Who is Sylvia? of the same date—a very good day's work. As for the other settings of these lyrics, G. A. Macfarren's part-songs for S.A.T.B. are, as is usual with him, very musicianly but not inspired.
HAMLET
Hamlet offers great scope for composers to show their virtues and their limitations, and a large number have done so from Graun, 1701, to the present day. This is the more curious, as there are fewer references to music in the text or the stage directions than in most of the plays. True, there are many fanfares, Ophelia's mad songs, and the gravedigger's song in the last act; but, as a whole, music is kept in a very subordinate position. I can find no trace of contemporary incidental music for this play. I should like to hear a real Hamlet tucket. From the text, we know that whenever King Claudius drank a cup of Rhenish a trumpet and a kettle-drum played a flourish, and a cannon was fired to let the Danes know exactly what the King was doing at that time. But, alas! I can find no trace of a real contemporary Hamlet fanfare. The versions still in use in this country of Ophelia's mad songs and the first gravedigger's song are supposed to be the originals, handed down by aural tradition from mother to daughter, from father to son; but I know something of the wonderful things, transformations, etc., that appear as the result of aural tradition. I have heard Zulus singing what the ordinary white visitor to Africa is told are native folk-songs; but these I have been able to trace from their sources, though the original composers, Messrs Moody and Sankey, would have some difficulty in recognising their own inspired tunes! It is well known, if a story is repeated from one to the other by a number of people, how strangely the last version varies from the original. If this is so in words, how much more so must it be in music, where the varying compass of the voices must be taken into consideration: the singer substituting a high note for a low note that he cannot touch, or vice versâ. Still, the songs in Hamlet may bear a general likeness to the songs sung in the first production. I wonder!
Of course, an enormous amount of incidental music has been composed for Hamlet. Every producer must have some Ghost music, fanfares, a King's march for the Play scene, and a funeral march for Ophelia. Also scene music helps to pass the time during the frequent scene changes that are necessary in this play, and this has been done and re-done by hundreds of composers, orchestrators, arrangers, and hack workers. But this stuff is mostly ephemeral, and at the end of the run or the tour the music goes to the stores in a basket (the remnants that have been collected from the orchestra), and is heard no more; unless, indeed, the stage manager thinks that perhaps the Hamlet march would suit a situation in the new modern patriotic play just about to be produced, or, with the assistance of a tam-tam, could be converted into a grand Oriental march for the forthcoming production of Ali Baba.
On the other hand, several important producers have commissioned celebrated composers to write for them. Thus, Sir Herbert Tree asked Sir George Henschel to do the music for his production, and, what is more, actually allowed it to be played more or less as written. Sir Frank Benson's music was obtained with the scenery and props, prompt books, etc., when he took over the company from Bentley, and is rather a hotch-potch. It has been added to from time to time, but it is beyond improvement. The Otho Stuart-H. B. Irving-Oscar Asche Hamlet music was insignificant. Hamilton Clark's music to Sir Henry Irving's production I cannot find, even at the British Museum, but I remember it well as thoroughly sound, effective incidental music, a great help to the play, and never obtrusive.
The Henschel music was far more complicated. Tree produced Hamlet at the Haymarket in January 1892. The prelude is a solemn largo movement, lasting about five minutes, with nothing very distinctive about it. The Ghost music is the usual 'cello and bass effect, long pianissimo holding notes (octaves), with plenty of pauses. The cock-crowing imitation on the oboe is most effective. The triple piano, high B flat, triplet dropping an octave, gives a most realistic effect. The next number is very important. It is called "Danish March," and I take Sir George Henschel's word for it that it is one. It is very long, and serves to bring the King, Queen, and court on and off whenever necessary. The prelude to Act ii. is called "Ophelia," and is quite conventionally affettuoso.
The fanfares are all good. There is a prelude to Act iii., allegro impetuoso, but it has no label, and might suit Hamlet or Laertes equally well. The prelude to Act iv., called "Ophelia's Death," is a funeral march for muted strings and timpani. There is very effective melodrama music while the Queen describes Ophelia's death, muted strings pianissimo, and the clarinets playing broken snatches of the mad songs. The prelude to Act v. is a pastorale for full orchestra, and the churchyard music is for solo organ on stage. At the end of the whole play, at the cue "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest," a female chorus on the stage sings, in three parts, "Good-night, sweet Prince, good-night," which makes a pretty ending. I gather this was Sir Herbert Tree's idea.