Berlioz was early attracted to The Tempest, and even called one of the ladies he adored—Miss Moke, subsequently Mme. Pleyel—Ariel. At the end of 1828, after the failure at rehearsal of the Symphonie Fantastique, he was asked to write something for Girard, conductor of the Théâtre Italien. He then composed his Fantasia with choruses on The Tempest, but Girard at once saw it was too big for his theatre and could only be done at the Opéra. There was to be a concert for the Artists' Benevolent Fund, and the work was accepted for performance by the director of the Academy, M. Loubbert, of whose care and kindness during the production Berlioz speaks most highly. He quotes Shakespeare about him (he often quoted Shakespeare), saying to a friend, "He was a man, Horatio." I cannot do better than transcribe the composer's interesting account of the first performance, taken from his Autobiography: "All went splendidly at rehearsal; everything seemed to smile, when, with my usual luck, an hour before the concert, there broke over Paris the worst storm that had been known for fifty years. The streets were flooded, practically impassable, and for the first half of the concert when my Tempest, damned Tempest, was being played, there were not more than three hundred people in the place." Just Berlioz's luck! Something nearly always went wrong with his work in Paris. In London, Petrograd, Berlin, anywhere else, he was immensely successful, but in Paris never quite a success, even at the height of his fame. The second performance, the following year, was much less unfortunate. Of the work itself Berlioz writes: "It is new, fresh, grand, sweet, tender, surprising."
It is a pity composers do not tell us more often what they think of their own works. I mean in autobiographies and signed articles, of course; not, as has sometimes happened, in inspired articles written by their friends, or in anonymous ones written by themselves.
To come to the work itself, Berlioz incorporated it in his Lelio, or The Return to Life (lyric melodrama). This is one of the most extraordinary hotchpotches in all music. It begins with a ballad by Goethe, then there is a long apostrophe to Shakespeare, then a brigand's song and chorus, then a song of bliss; finally, the composer, Lelio or Berlioz, decides to write a fantasia on The Tempest, and calls on Shakespeare to stand by him. The orchestra and chorus then perform the fantasia. It is scored for full orchestra, but also for two pianos à quatre mains. The first number is a chorus of air spirits, soprani, alti, and tenori—1 and 2 calling on Miranda to come to her destined husband. (This is a rough translation.) After this comes a long orchestral interlude with a great crescendo and diminuendo, returning again to the Miranda chorus. The next is also a long orchestral interlude, introducing Caliban. The chorus shout fortissimo at him, calling him "Orrido monstro," which, I believe, means "horrid monster." After another long orchestral bit, the chorus again begins about Miranda, and sings a farewell chant to her as she is leaving the island. The coda is marked più animato confuoco, and keeps up animato to the end. Whether it is supposed to show general relief on the part of the inhabitants of the island on the departure of Prospero and the rest of the mortals, or sorrow for the same reason, I do not profess to know. Lelio (Berlioz) says a few words to the performers, finishing, "You have indeed made progress, so much so that we may henceforth attempt works of greater depth than this feeble sketch." But this "feeble sketch" makes a very difficult work to tackle; and if Berlioz had developed it, Heaven only knows where we should end!
La Tempête, Fantaisie pour orchestre by P. Tschaikowsky, is a very long and complicated symphonic poem, with a definite programme. It really tells a good deal of the story of Shakespeare's play-poem. It opens with "The Sea." After a few preliminary bars for wind, the strings pianissimo, and very much divided, play without any change of expression for fifty-three bars, and for the same number of bars the bass is F, with occasional changes to F sharp. It is a wonderful tone picture of a calm sea. Then comes Ariel, very light and feathery, presently ordered to bring about a great storm: and it comes—quite one of the most terrific in all music. The storm having calmed down, we get the love-music of Ferdinand and Miranda—very timid music, but finally swelling up to a fine forte effect; however, before this happens there is an amusing dialogue (if one may use the word) between Ariel and Caliban. To most impressive music, Prospero surrenders his magic powers, and the mortals quit the island. The sea music starts again just as in the opening, and the work ends on a perfectly calm sea even as it began. It is, of course, as with all the composer's greater works, very difficult, and scored for a large orchestra; but its effects are certain, and it is grateful to conduct or play. The storm is undoubtedly one of the most graphic imitations of Nature in all musical art.
Frederick Corder's Concert Overture "Prospero" is a very good example of the composer's work. It was produced in 1885, and the motto is from The Tempest, Act iii., Scene 3: "What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!"
It opens with a forte theme for trombones and tuba, obviously Prospero himself; followed by flute solo, again obviously Ariel, accompanied by pianissimo violin (very high sustained chords) and harp. These two subjects hold a sort of dialogue in which Prospero has the last word till the Allegro con fuoco commences.
This theme is a very high, swift, semiquaver passage for violins, with some occasional help from the wood wind. It leads to a subject for 'cello of quite a melodic, easy-going character, which might easily be Ferdinand, and, as the first violins join in, Miranda. Then enters Prospero with his trombones against this sweetness, and the drama of the overture begins—Prospero drowns his books, Ariel is heard singing joyfully, but somewhat sadly, and, in the end, the spirits of the island, free at last, are heard in a great rejoicing.
I wish Mr Corder had written even the vaguest programme for this overture. I have tried to write one, but I may be wrong the whole time; anyway, I have done my best, and can heartily express my great admiration for the overture and the attitude it takes according to my reading of the play.
Mr Corder has also set "Come unto these yellow sands" and "Full fathom five" for soprano and female chorus, with harps for the first number, and contralto and orchestra for the second; both are melodious and effective, though there is much repetition of the words.
J. F. Duggan, born 1847, died 1894, whose name does not appear in any musical biographical dictionary that I can find, has done a couple of interesting settings of songs for Caliban. The first, curiously enough, is for a tenor: I have often thought of Caliban musically, but never as a tenor; still, here it is. The words begin, "No more dams I'll make for fish," and the setting is quite appropriately grotesque. The second is elaborate. It was first sung by Sir Charles Santley, to whom it was dedicated, and is for high baritone. The words begin, "Art thou afeared?" and the music is quite decorative in its harmonic progressions, and gives points quite excellently to the curious lines in which Caliban describes the musical wonders of the island to Trinculo and Stephano, while Ariel plays on his tabor and pipe. This song was published in 1871, and that is the only further biographical detail I can give.