A German poet, von Collin, had written a play, Coriolanus. To give relief to his tragedy, he took it to the composer of Fidelio and prayed him to write an overture. Perhaps Beethoven knew the English Coriolanus; perhaps the stern Roman pleased him so much by reason of his vindictive and indomitable character that one night, so say the historians, sufficed the composer to provide the magnificent pages that serve to preface the work for which we have to thank von Collin. The critics have found, with reason, the striking connection between Shakespeare's play and Beethoven's overture; but if the anecdote be true, these analogies are a proof of that intimate tie which binds together great men of genius. The overture is too well known to require analysis. Everyone will remember the austere opening, the turbulent principal theme, the perfect melody of the second theme, the wonderful fiery development, and the exquisite morendo at the end. Beethoven, one feels, must have known Shakespeare's Coriolanus.
Of real incidental music composed for this play very little has survived. Most managers were content to play the Beethoven overture if the orchestra was large enough, and to get through with a couple of marches—one for the Romans and one for the Volscians,—a few fanfares, and a little soft music to illustrate the "home life" of the hero.
Not so Sir Henry Irving, all honour to him. He commissioned Sir Alexander Mackenzie to write special music, which it is my privilege to discuss now. The composer has made his incidental music into a suite of four movements. The first number is called "Prelude," and is in C minor and common time. It opens with a vigorous, decisive chromatic theme lasting only for nine bars, and is followed by a very tender and beautiful subject for strings, which is soon developed, in an animated manner, into a forte passage, that quickly dies down and enables a tranquil melody for wood wind and harp to be heard. After a little while the trumpets enter with a rapid fanfare figure, which quickly spreads over the rest of the orchestra, and works up finely to the return of the first theme fortissimo. All these themes are now finely treated in various ways by the composer, and the movement ends with a brilliant coda in the major. The second number is a march in D major. After a quiet introduction for strings pizzicato, the violins give out a martial theme very quietly, and presently the wood wind joins in, and a graceful, rather florid theme for the wood is added; then comes the first theme again, and the march ends with some piano trumpet fanfares. The trio is in the minor and slower; its theme is broad and flowing, and at its end Sir Alexander introduces a longish piece of complex development music working to the first march theme, which is played for the first time fortissimo, but soon gets piano again. The coda is quite short and quiet, with a reference to the trio: the music gets slower and slower, and ends pianissimo.
The third number is a funeral march. The opening theme is practically the same as the few bars of the prelude, but is developed more lyrically. The middle part, or trio, is even more solemn; there is a very impressive kettledrum effect, and a fateful subject is played on trombone and cornet in octaves against a strong string passage. The first part is repeated with very little alteration, and the end is fitly funereal. The fourth and last number is by far the most descriptive of the suite; it is called "Voces Populi," and gives, musically, the effect of an angry crowd being gradually stirred up to great heights of wrath. This is followed by an expressive affettuoso theme, mostly for the violins, leading to a new melody, very triumphant and happy, but soon broken in upon by the murmuring of the people, this time sounding even more ominous. After a short appearance of the affettuoso theme the movement finishes triumphantly on the third theme in a great blaze of music. No stage music could be more in keeping with the true meaning of the play; it is all on a very high and important level, and is most worthy of its distinguished composer.
It is of this Coriolanus production that a very good story is told. After the final dress rehearsal two stage hands were discovered outside the stage door reading through the day-bill. One said: "Scenery designed by Sir Laurence Alma Tadema; music composed by Sir Alexander Mackenzie; produced by Sir Henry Irving—three knights. About all it will —— well run." Unfortunately, owing to no fault of the music, this prophecy was not very far out.
CYMBELINE
During my researches in Shakespearian music, operatic or other, I have been often hindered by the strange titles under which works were hidden. Having a smattering of French, German, Latin, and a tiny bit of Italian, I could recognise The Merchant of Venice under the title of Il Mercante di Venezia, or Der Kaufman von Venedig, or Shylock; but why Jessica? Yet there is an opera founded on that play, called Jessica, by a Frenchman named Louis Deffès. Romeo and Juliet is easy to discover under the title I Capuletti ed i Montecchi; but why Les Amants de Verone? Much Ado About Nothing one "spots" at once under the title Beaucoup de Bruit pour Rien, or Béatrice et Bénédict; but why Hero or Ero? The Tempest is easily discovered as La Tempesta, Die Geisterinsel, Der Sturm, or Miranda, as is The Winter's Tale as Wintermärchen or Conte d'Hiver; but why did Max Bruch call his opera on the same subject Hermione? Twelfth Night is easy to find as Was Ihr Wollt, not so easy as Cesario. Under the fine-sounding title, Ricardus, Angliæ Rex, ab Henrico Richmondæ comite vita, simul et Regno exitus, we find an old friend, Richard III.; and Timone Misantropo almost sounds like a pet name for Timon of Athens. The title Macbetto is a very thin and seemingly purposeless disguise for Macbeth; and King Lear is generally called Cordelia, operatically. The Merry Wives of Windsor is called severally Le Vieux Coquet, Falstaff, Falstaff, ossia Letre Burle, Die Lustigen Weibervon Windsor; and Antony and Cleopatra is generally named after the lady. But the greatest surprise I received was when I discovered, lurking under the name of Dinah, Shakespeare's Cymbeline!
It is an opera in four acts, book by Michel Carré, jun., and Paul Choudens, music by Edmond Missa. Carré fils is the son of the well-known librettist of Faust and Romeo fame, and Choudens is connected with Choudens Fils, who publish this opera; but concerning the composer, Grove and Riemann are silent. The opera was produced at the Comedie Parisienne, on June 27, 1894, and was not a success. There are only five characters, and a chorus of lords and courtesans. The scene is laid in Venice during the Middle Ages. The characters are Mentano (Posthumus), Iachimo, Philario, Dinah (Imogen), and Flora, a courtesan, a high soprano, not occurring in Shakespeare's text. Cymbeline and the rest of Shakespeare's characters are cut. Boiled down, the plot is (I will give Shakespeare's names):—Posthumus is the lover and beloved of Imogen; they are not married secretly, as in the play; Iachimo is so madly in love with Imogen that he forces a quarrel on Posthumus, and they fight. Just as Posthumus is about to fall under the furious attack of Iachimo, Philario enters and separates them. Iachimo then offers to lay his entire fortune that, within twenty-four hours, he will bring to Posthumus the bracelet the latter had given to Imogen, as proof that he is her lover. Posthumus accepts the wager. In the second act Iachimo creeps into Imogen's sleeping chamber and steals the bracelet. At the appointed hour Posthumus realises that, in one fell swoop, he has lost his fortune and his mistress. From this point the action becomes very obscure, involved, and difficult to follow. Somehow or other Imogen and Posthumus realise the truth; Philario mortally wounds Iachimo in a duel, and the curtain falls on Iachimo apologising handsomely for his shocking behaviour. It will be noted that there is very little Shakespeare in this version, but, really, I have given all there is; and were it not that the librettists have carefully said, "d'aprés Cymbeline de Shakespeare," few people would have noticed it. It is a mystery to me why the authors changed the beautiful name of Imogen into Dinah. I have always associated the name of Dinah with coon songs and the kitten in Through the Looking-Glass.