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"For, wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise; Poetic fields encompass me around, And still I seem to tread on classic ground." Addison. |
THE opera, or music drama, in which, in lieu of the ordinary forms of speech, music and song are used to give elevated expression to thought, is the most extensive, and, to nearly all lovers of melody, the most charming, of musical compositions. In its construction several of the other forms of music are most pleasingly united.
In the opera, with the language of poetry, music is associated, giving increased ornamentation; and it is used also to bridge over, so to speak, the places where mere language, either common or poetical, could never pass. That is to say, there are some phases of feeling of such fineness and depth, that only the soulful tones of music can call them into exercise, or give them expression.
The requirements for operatic construction are of course very great,—so great, that none may hope to succeed in the same save those endowed, if not with genius, at least with very superior talents. They must possess both marked originality, and power for continuity of thought; in fact, must form in their capabilities a very "Ariel," a fountain-head of music, from which must constantly flow melody after melody, harmony after harmony, ever new, ever pleasing, the whole presenting an artistically-woven story of the vicissitudes of human life. In the composition of an opera, two persons are usually associated; the one creating the words of the drama (the song), and the other composing its music.
In this field of musical creation, men of great genius find a more varied, a wider scope for the employment of their powers; and but a few of the world's most eminent composers of music have failed to avail themselves of its opportunities for grand achievements, success in it being generally considered as necessary for a rounding-out of their inventive harmonic capacities; while, for the establishment of their titles to greatness, they have sought to make some grand opera the chef-d'œuvre of their life-work.
I would not imply, however, that all the great composers of opera worked simply for fame. To assert that they did, would, no doubt, be unjust, as it would be denying that they possessed the "sacred fire of genius," and that deep and pure affection for art, which, judging from the noble beauty, the grandeur, of their works, they must have possessed. It does not seem allowable, for instance, to believe that Beethoven created the charming and exalted beauties found in the opera of "Fidelio" while inspired by no higher feelings than those which fill the breast of him who labors mainly for renown. No: we think of Beethoven, and of others like him, as those, who, while they were favored with extraordinary native powers, were also imbued with a pure love for music,—a love of such strength, that it formed a part of their very natures. To such minds and hearts elevated artistic work was as natural as life itself; in truth, we might almost say, was necessary to life.
But, if great powers are required by the composer of an opera, so also is it necessary that those who are to make known its meanings fully—especially those who are to interpret its leading parts—should possess, as singers and actors, more, to say the least, than ordinary abilities; and those who, in their capability for complete, soulful sympathy with the author's aims, who form, in fine, the very embodiment of the latter's ideals, certainly deserve to stand next to him in greatness.
Generally the brightest vocal stars have shed their effulgence upon the operatic stage: here these singers have found the widest range for their extensive powers of voice and dramatic action. The part of a performer in opera (and here I refer not alone to one who acts the leading rôle) is a most exacting one; for the artist must unite in himself the qualities of both the singer and the actor. While called upon to demonstrate with proper melody of voice and expression the meaning of the music of the opera, he is also required to portray by suitable dramatic movements its corresponding meaning as found in the libretto. These remarks apply more particularly to those who constitute the dramatis personæ in operatic presentation. Of course we do not forget the very important aid afforded by those who are included in the pleasing chorus, nor those who by instrumental accompaniment add to the charm of—in fact, give indispensable support to—the whole performance.
It would perhaps be superfluous to here dwell, at least more than incidentally, upon the deep pleasure enjoyed by the lovers of music and of dramatic art when witnessing the performance of a good opera. At such a time their truly musical souls enjoy a delicious, a sumptuous feast of melody; while the kaleidoscopic prospect, formed by richly-costumed actors, and appropriate, beautiful scenery, fills them with delight. The harsh realities of every-day life are so much relieved by the poetic charms of the ideal, that they live amidst a scene of fairy-like enchantment. Nor does all that belongs to the bewitching occasion end with the regretted close of the performance; for
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"Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory;" |