(From the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung.)
[A specimen of criticism from the most esteemed and widely-circulated musical journal of Germany, will not be uninteresting to our readers. The beauty of M. Mendelssohn’s overture has excited in M. Fink’s mind a lively recollection of Shakspeare’s most fanciful drama, and almost turned the brain of the critic. He has wrought himself into a belief that music is equal to language in the power of describing. His reverie is amusing; but the intimate acquaintance he manifests with the works of our great dramatic poet, is a circumstance more gratifying to us than all the sallies of his imagination.]
Overture to Shakspeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, composed by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, arranged as a Duet for the Piano-Forte, by the composer. (Property of the publishers.) Leipzig. Published by Breitkopf and Härtel. Pr. 1 Thaler.
The same Composition arranged for the Piano-Forte (for one performer) by F. Mockwitz.
Reviewed by G. W. Fink, (the Editor.)
IT was announced last year in one of the numbers of this publication that the orchestral parts of this excellent work had appeared at the above publisher’s; and we then expressed our regret that they should have been published without the score, for want of which the overture could not be reviewed. Up to the present time we have not relaxed in our endeavours to meet with the score, but we have been unsuccessful. This would have been a matter of still deeper regret to us if we had not had the good fortune to hear the overture, the arrangements of which are lying before us, played by our orchestra, which, at the first performance, got through the difficult composition in such a delightful manner, that a tolerably distinct impression of it remained upon our mind, which, upon looking over and playing the two clever arrangements, is powerfully called back to our memory. From the impression produced by the instrumental performance, and from these two published arrangements, we cannot but give the palm to this production of the persevering young composer, as evincing a greater degree of ability and genius than any other of his works with which we are acquainted.
Tones of simple melody seem to float, like soft and delicate whispers, through the shadows of night. It seems as though something mystic were approaching, from the distance shrouded in darkness, which suddenly settles like a gleam of moonshine on the desired spot. Now gentle and vigorous sounds alternate, as though a power of both those characters, veiled in the misty clouds, were at hand; and in a chord of silvery softness, Titania beckons her fairy followers, who, forthwith forming in couples, wind through the silent wood in fantastic twirling dances. Here, detaching themselves from their companions, a diminutive elfin couple creep into a polished acorn-cup, and sing in delicate fairy strains to the elegant movements of the rest. Pea-blossom, Mustard-seed, Moth, and Cobweb, are there among the busy revellers in the moonshine; and there is such a twirling and flirting, and rustling and glitter, that one would fain be present at the nuptial revels of the bright-helmed Theseus, were it even in the capacity of a tinker. Anon somebody trips in with a prying look, softly and slyly, as though he were plotting mischief; and this personage is no other than Friend Oberon, attended by his roguish Puck, projecting a little spell to punish his refractory consort. And lo! on a sudden, matters become coarsely real and corporeal. The ‘rude mechanicals’ are about to rehearse their ‘most lamentable comedy’ in the wood; and the lovers are eloping, because the cruel father will not let his daughter marry him she loves. The night is as busy and full of life as though it were open day, and a legato cantabile, keeping up the character of the scene, expresses the impassioned prayer of the maiden, exhausted by her flight, imploring that she may be allowed to slumber undisturbed on the mossy rock. In the foreground beneath the trees the mechanics are rehearsing their drama, each according to his part; Oberon surveys unseen the strange performance, and gives his commands to the sly Puck. The scene is now one of wonderful bustle and confusion; mortals rehearse and elves dance, Oberon smiles, and Puck, ever frolicsome and mischievous, returning, dives through the dewy atmosphere and presents to his radiant master the magic floweret, Love in idleness, whose penetrating juice changes the wise to stupid and the stupid into wise. This is, between ourselves, the very flower which, among other things, is the cause that the most shallow effusions thus metamorphosed are the most assiduously read and strummed. Dip them in the water, their element, and Puck’s observation is perfectly legible upon their hairy foreheads—
‘Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.’