Act iv., Scene 4) are not Shakespeare's, but quoted by him from Richard

Edwards's _Paradise of Daintee Devices_, and sung to a so-called traditional tune. But if there is no song like "Sigh no more, ladies," or "Who is Sylvia?", there is little doubt that a greater number of composers have been inspired (more or less) by this tragedy than by any other of Shakespeare's subjects if we except _Hamlet_. A mere list of the names is imposing. The most popular work is, no doubt, Gounod's opera _Romeo et Juliette_. The book, which adheres fairly closely to the original play, is by Barbier and Carre, and the work was first performed at the Lyrique, Paris, on April 27, 1867. The characters are the same as those of Shakespeare's play, with the addition of Stephano, page to Romeo (mez. sop.), and Gregorio, a watchman. The waltz in Act i. is a very popular _coloratura_ soprano song, but is not in the least the kind of thing the real Capulet would have allowed the real Juliet to sing to his guests. Mercutio's Queen Mab scena is very effective, as are the Balcony duet and the prelude to the fifth act. But the most successful and to my mind the most Shakespearian character in the whole opera is Friar Laurence, a conception full of dignity and pathos. Pol Plancon was {119} magnificent in this part. Taken altogether, Gounod has turned out a very successful French grand opera, which will hold its place in opera repertories for many years to come.

The only other opera on this story that has had any great success is +Bellini's+ work in three acts, _I Capuletti ed i Montecchi_, book by Romani, produced at Venice, March 11, 1830. It is a real Bellini, full of florid arias, word repetitions, bravura passages, cadenzas, and all the vocal gymnastics so beloved of his period; but the music, as a whole, would fit any story quite as badly as it does that of Romeo and Juliet. The overture is rather curious. The first subject, second subject, development, recapitulation, and coda are all in the same key, that of D major. The effect is overwhelming. It is a perfect tonic orgy. An amusing account of this opera is given by Berlioz in his _Autobiography_. During the time he held the Prix de Rome, passing through Florence, he heard some strangers at a _table d'hote_ talking of Bellini's _Montecchi_, which was soon to be given. He writes: "Not only did they praise the music, but also the libretto. Italians as a rule care so little for the words of an opera that I was surprised, and thought--at last I shall hear an opera worthy of that glorious play. What a subject it is! Simply made for music. The ball at Capulet's house, where young Romeo first sees his dearly loved one; the street fight at which Tybalt presides, patron of anger and revenge; that indescribable night-scene at Juliet's balcony; the witty sallies of Mercutio; the prattle of the Nurse; the solemnity of the Friar trying to soothe the conflicting elements; the awful catastrophe; and the reconciliation of the rival families over the bodies of the ill-fated lovers. I hurried to the Pergola Theatre. What a disappointment! No ball, no Mercutio, no babbling Nurse, no balcony scene, no Shakespeare! And Romeo sung by a small _thin_ woman, Juliet by a tall stout one. Why, in the name of all things musical--why?"

{120}

I will just enumerate the remainder of the operatic settings, giving date and place of production and names of composer and librettist. It is rather a formidable list, but one never hears any of the works mentioned, save those of Steibelt and Vaccaj, at the outside; and as for Bellini's version, it would scarcely be possible to hear it anywhere out of Italy.

_Romeo e Giulietta_, a serious opera in three acts, by +Zingarelli+, was composed in Milan and first performed in that city (1796). It was produced in Paris in 1812, and had some success. Nicolo Antonio Zingarelli was born in Naples, 1752. He was celebrated in his lifetime, and was thought much of by Haydn, who prophesied a great career for him. According to Coppa, his librettist, he wrote the opera in "forty hours less than ten days." He composed a cantata for the Birmingham Festival of 1829, and, as he could not take it to England himself, entrusted it to his pupil Costa. This was Michael Costa's first introduction to the English public. Hence the Philharmonic pitch and loud orchestral playing from which we suffered for so many years. The two most celebrated numbers in the opera are the duet "Dunque mio ben" for soprano and contralto, and the air "Ombra adorata aspetta." The Emperor Napoleon I. was unable to hide his emotion when he heard this song, especially when sung by Crescentini (Romeo); who achieved so great a success with this melody that he persuaded himself that he was the real composer. This fable obtained, very unjustly, some credence from the general public. The last time the Emperor heard Crescentini sing this song he was so affected that he sent him from his own breast the Order of the Iron Crown, and gave the composer an order for a Mass for the Imperial Chapel that should not last longer than twenty minutes. He had it rehearsed in his presence, and was so pleased that he gave the musician 6000 francs. Zingarelli was an enormously productive composer, and wrote a great number of operas, as well as quantities of church and chamber music, but one {121} seldom hears his name now. His music is still sung in provincial Catholic churches.

_Romeo et Juliette_, an opera in three acts, book by M. de Segur, music by +Daniel Steibelt+, was produced at the Theatre Feydeau, 1793, just four months after the production of a work on the same subject by Monnel and Dalayrac, _All for Love_, or _Romeo et Juliette_. In spite of this clashing, the opera was a success. It had been refused by the Academy of Music, so the authors cut the recitatives, put in prose dialogue, and produced the piece as an _opera comique_. The _Moniteur_ of September 23 describes the music as "learned, but laboured and ugly." However, the public loved it, and other critics say it had power and originality and distinguished voluptuous melody. Juliette's song, "The calm of the night," and the quartet, "Graces, virtues," held their own for a long time; as did the funeral chorus at the end of the second act.

In 1825, at the Theatre Italien de Paris, in Milan, +Nicolo Vaccaj+ produced his opera on the same subject. It is one of the composer's best efforts, the finest scene being that at the tomb. The air, "Ah, se tu dormi svegliati," is pathetic and passionate. The last act of this work is often substituted for the last act of the Bellini opera already dealt with, as the latter composer's fourth act is very weak. Nicolo Vaccaj was born at Tolentino in 1790. He spent some years in London, where he was a very successful singing teacher. He wrote a great amount of music, but none of it is very distinguished.

The +Marquis Richard d'Ivry+ composed an opera on this subject, produced in Paris in 1878. He was a gifted amateur, born, February 4, 1829, at Beaune (Cote-d'Or), and composed several other operas. This one was dedicated to Edward VII. when he was Prince of Wales, and was called _Les Amants de Verone_, a lyric drama in five acts, words and music by d'Ivry. The music, not at all {122} ambitious, is tuneful and simple. The most important number is the farewell duet between Romeo and Juliet in the second act. A critic, writing of this work, says: "It is a pity that the author has not corrected in his poem those vulgar expressions that disfigure it, and in his music those old-fashioned formulas (_peu nouvelles_)." As I have only the piano solo copy before me, I cannot speak on the first complaint; but on the second I agree with the critic. The work is amateurish and old-fashioned, often in the abusive sense of the word, but it is certainly melodious and generally unpretentious. Each act has quite a pretty and effective prelude, and the occasional dances are graceful.

+Pietro Carlo Guglielmi's+ opera on this play, _Romeo e Giulietta_, was produced in London in 1810. The composer was born at Naples in 1763. There are several detached numbers in the British Museum Library. They are just the ordinary Italian opera music of the time. The wonder of the story does not seem to have made the slightest impression on the composer, who proceeds calmly on his conventional way, after one interesting burst of originality: he actually makes Romeo a bass baritone! After this one is not so surprised to find Juliet a deep mezzo, nearly a contralto. To make up for the lack of tenor interest, the part of Paris is made quite important, and among other numbers he is given a very effective duet with Juliet. One of Juliet's songs is described as "The Favourite Prayer," and is quite a good example of the conventional operatic music of the period; as is Romeo's song with chorus, in which he strives to quiet the street-quarrel between the rival houses. The love duets with Juliet are thoroughly vocal; and the trios, called "Favourite" again, for the lovers and the Friar, and for Bianca and the lovers, are pretty melodious stuff, but utterly lacking any sense of drama.

Of the non-operatic works on this subject, +Berlioz's+ symphony _Romeo and Juliet_ is by far the greatest. {123} During the six years that Hector Berlioz was a student at the Paris Conservatoire, the two influences that affected him and his work most, according to his own memoirs, were those of William Shakespeare and Ludwig van Beethoven. It is interesting and strange that perhaps the greatest of all French musicians should have been so profoundly moved by the plays of an English poet and the music of a Dutch musician. I speak of Beethoven here intentionally as Dutch, because his father was Dutch, and had only lived in Germany two years when Beethoven was born; and I consider that a man takes his nationality from his father and not from his actual birthplace. Beethoven could certainly have played cricket for the Rhineland on a strict birth qualification; but he was distinctly of Dutch blood, and took the precaution of leaving Germany for Austria as soon as he could. Finally came another influence to drive Berlioz further into the arms of Shakespeare but not of Beethoven--also a foreign one, that of Henrietta Smithson, the Irish actress. She was playing Shakespeare heroines at the Odeon early in 1833. He fell madly in love with her and went to see her whenever she played, just as our modern gilded youths haunt the stalls every night to see their favourite musical-comedy actress; the only difference being that Berlioz saw his dear one in many different and exquisite characters, while our youths hear their favourites say the same few lines or sing the same little song every night of the year. Berlioz composed music for her and gave concerts of his own compositions in her honour (the latter must have bored her very much, judging from the attitude of the average actress towards serious music--and Miss Smithson, from all accounts, was not a great actress); and finally he married her. They lived together as unhappily as possible for several years, and then parted; but at least one great art work was the result of their union: I mean the Fifth Symphony. "Romeo et Juliette, symphonic dramatique avec choeurs, solos de chant, et prologue en recitatif choral, op. 17," to give it its full title, was finished in 1838, produced in 1839 at the Conservatoire, and {124} repeated three times within a short period. The work had a very mixed reception. Berlioz was never popular in Paris or among his own countrymen; but all admitted that the general conception was colossal. It is now regarded as a classic throughout the world, but it is a big undertaking to produce. Little bits of it "would never please" as _entr'actes_ or incidental music to a production of the play in London. The words are by Berlioz, inspired by Shakespeare, and versified by Emil Deschamps; and the work is dedicated to Paganini, who a little earlier had presented Berlioz with twenty thousand francs to show his admiration for the earlier Symphonie Fantastique. Berlioz says in his autobiography: "I remember in one of my Campagna rides with Mendelssohn (this was during his tenure of the Prix de Rome) expressing my surprise that no one had ever written a scherzo on Shakespeare's sparkling little poem, _Queen Mab_. He, too, was surprised, and I was very sorry I had put the idea into his head. For years I lived in dread that he had used it: for he would have made it impossible, or at any rate very risky, for anyone to attempt to do it after him. Luckily he forgot." This was a very generous tribute to Mendelssohn's power as a fairy-music composer, coming from a musician in no very great sympathy with his style.

This symphony is scored for a very large orchestra. The first movement consists of a fine musical imitation of a street fight, culminating in the entrance of the Prince (on the full bass), who stops the fight. Then comes a choral prologue for contraltos and basses, giving a rough idea of the plot. Then a Queen Mab scene for tenor and chorus, and a great concert and ball given at the Capulets'. This finishes the second part. The third part is the love scene (Balcony scene as we call it) in Capulet's garden. There is some very exquisite love-music here; and the whole movement, which is really the so-called "slow movement" of the conventional symphony, is very beautiful. The fourth section (Scherzo) is called "Queen Mab," and is one of those delicate, gossamer, fairylike works in which Berlioz {125} so excels. Then come choral music for the funeral cortege of Juliet, and Romeo's invocation at the tomb of the Capulets. The finale takes place in the graveyard: Montagues and Capulets are both there, Friar Laurence explains everything, and there is reconciliation between the rival houses, ending in their swearing over the graves to be friends for ever. I know this is a very bald account. The work should be heard to be understood fairly; but a very interesting couple of hours can be spent by a musician on the full score of this work in the British Museum reading-room. The text is given in both French and German. Wagner, in his letters from Paris, 1841, says of Berlioz: "He has no friend deemed worthy to be asked for counsel, none he would permit to draw his notice to this or that sin against form in his works. In regard to this, I was filled with regret by a hearing of his symphony, _Romeo et Juliette_. Amid the most brilliant inventions, this work is heaped with such a mass of trash and solecisms that I could not repress the wish that Berlioz had shown this composition before performance to some such man as Cherubini, who, without doing its originality the slightest harm, would certainly have had the wit to rid it of a quantity of disfigurements.... Wherefore Berlioz will always remain imperfect, and, maybe, shine as nothing but a transient marvel." There is some sound though exaggerated criticism in these sentences; but Wagner could not have known on what sort of terms Cherubini and Berlioz were. That the latter could submit a work for correction to the former is impossible for anyone knowing anything about their personal and artistic relations to consider for a moment. Still, the personal criticism of one great composer by another is always interesting and informing.

Tschaikowsky's Overture-Fantaisie, _Romeo et Juliette_, is scored for an ordinary symphony orchestra with horn and harp. It is very modern and very emotional, and at times almost hysterical. The work begins in a quasi-organ manner, but the first subject is very bold. Whether {126} it is to express Montague or Capulet I don't know. It seems too robust to express my idea of Romeo, but it may be Tschaikowsky's. The second subject is obviously Juliet, and the two themes are developed to the end, which, curiously enough, for the last few bars is quite lively. The work makes a very interesting contrast to Berlioz, but I suspect that the great Frenchman had a deeper insight into Shakespeare's poem than the Russian. Tschaikowsky's work could be done without any mention of Romeo and Juliet or Shakespeare; Berlioz's could not.

+Joseph Joachim Raff+, a composer whose name is unfortunately mostly associated with the well-known or notorious Cavatina, is a much underrated man. He was an indefatigable worker and an outstanding example of the fatuity of Carlyle's definition of genius. Undoubtedly Raff was no genius, but he was a composer of far from common ability. His four Shakespearian overtures, of which the one to _Romeo and Juliet_ is the first, are all most interesting. They are not absolute programme music. They give the idea more than the story, but are none the worse for that. The Romeo overture opens with a fine broad theme for the horns, swiftly followed by a somewhat suave melody for the strings, the other instruments gradually joining in. The middle part is quite tragic, and the whole is carried out to a well-constructed finish. Without achieving great music, Raff rises to certain heights in this overture.

+Hugo Pierson's+ concert overture _Romeo and Juliet_, op. 86, is very interesting, but not so much so as his symphonic poem _Macbeth_, which I described at some length in an earlier section. Composed for a large orchestra, it opens with a short _allegro appassionato_ introduction; but this soon changes to a graceful theme typical of the luxurious life of Verona, broken in upon occasionally by suggestion of the hate between the rival houses of Montague and Capulet. This is followed by an amorous subject typical of Romeo, and by a gay theme for the great dance. The {127} Balcony scene is beautifully portrayed. The remainder of the music becomes high tragedy, and it remains so till the very end. The overture is quite short and not so difficult as most of Pierson's work, and it is full of melody and broad orchestral effects. The themes are all original, as is their treatment, and the tonality is interesting though difficult to follow.

+Edward German+ composed the whole of the music for Forbes-Robertson's production of _Romeo and Juliet_ at the Lyceum, September 1895, and also dedicated it to him. It is a complete piece of work, admirably carried out and suited for the occasion. It opens with a fine sombre prelude, showing the atmosphere of hate which was brooding over the otherwise pleasant town of Verona. This feeling of hate and the love-music are the two most important themes in the prelude, which finishes up with six bars, _religioso_, to suggest the tomb. For the remainder of the music Mr German has himself made a selection of themes containing all that is of the most importance. The curtain music for the first act is a broad theme in common time, which serves to open the scene and is otherwise harmless. Then comes the Peter _motif_--a good Old English comedy theme with an excellent descending bass. The March which follows is a thoroughly good Old English march of the kind to which Mr German has accustomed us. The Capulets' Reception music and Juliet's theme (I am quoting Mr German) are graceful six-eight numbers, and if taken a little faster than marked would make excellent Old English country dances. Even at the proper time one expects to see shepherds, not great ladies and gentlemen. The Love _motif_ is sombre enough--Mr German never seems to give his lovers time to be happy; but the Nurse theme is a real bit of German at his best, and is very welcome. The music for Paris at the tomb of Juliet is necessarily sad, and the Death theme, the last number, is quite in keeping with the end of Shakespeare's tragedy. There is a charming nocturne which makes a very effective {128} _entr'acte_, delicately scored and very original. The Pastoral, again, is a delightful composition. But the best number, to my mind, is the Pavane. Here Mr German has got the real Romeo-Juliet-Shakespeare atmosphere, and in this simple dance has done more to express in music what Shakespeare was showing to us than in his complicated prelude or in the rest of the incidental music. This Pavane is a real gem.

+Joseph Holbrooke's+ poem for chorus and orchestra, _Queen Mab_, was first performed at the Leeds Festival in 1904. The chorus part is _ad lib._, but if properly performed makes a very effective addition to the fairly large orchestra that Mr Holbrooke has scored for. The opening is in the guise of a scherzo, very brilliant and difficult; then comes a long slow episode; then much development; and finally the entrance of the chorus. The time is _adagio_, and the words begin, "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon," ending six lines afterwards. These lines are repeated again and again, quite in the so-called old-fashioned style; the chorus dies away; and the orchestra finishes the work with a coda _fortissimo_. Queen Mab has long since disappeared.

+Johann Severin Svendsen+, born 1840, Christiania, wrote a _Romeo and Juliet_ overture, but there is no copy of it in the British Museum.

The following operas are mentioned in Mr Barclay Squire's interesting article on Shakespearian operas, from the book _Homage to Shakespeare_, 1916. As they more or less complete the list, I mention them; but I cannot find copies of them or any reference as to their comparative merits, or otherwise:--Dramma per Musica, in 2 acts, pub. Berlin in 1773, with no composer's name; opera by Benda, Gotha, 1776; T. G. Schwanenberg, Leipzig, 1776; L. Marescalchi, Rome, 1789; Von Rumling, Munich, 1790; Porta, Paris, 1806; Schuster, Vienna, {129} 1809. This article gives a fairly complete list of the music inspired by our play. It seems curious that with so magnificent a theme only one composer--Berlioz, of course--should have risen to absolutely supreme heights. I suppose his work is performed very occasionally; whereas Gounod's is in every operatic repertory in the world.

{130}

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

This play seems, on the whole, to have been very much avoided by musicians. There must be a certain amount of music in any work of Shakespeare, but producers appear to have been content to use old stuff and adapt it for this piece. +Noel Johnson+ wrote some very pretty music for the Asche-Brayton production; but Sir Frank Benson's version had hardly any music in it: just a dance (the beautiful Rigadoon, by Rameau), a gavotte by Handel, and a song by Sir Henry Bishop, "Should he upbraid"--words not from the _Shrew_, nor even by Shakespeare.

A musical version, chiefly by +Braham+ and +T. S. Cooke+, was produced in London in 1828. But the really important work on the subject is +Hermann Goetz's+ opera, _Der Widerspenstigen Zaehmung_, produced at Mannheim, 1874, book by Joseph Victor Erdmann. This work is Goetz's only complete opera, as, unfortunately for music, he died at the early age of thirty-five, in the height of his powers. His _Taming of the Shrew_ is still in the repertory of the German opera-houses.

The characters have the same names as in the play--Katharina and Bianca, sopranos; Hortensio and Lucentio, bass and tenor; Baptista and Grumio, basses; the Tailor, tenor; and Petruchio, baritone.

The work begins with a full concert overture, a capital number, which would make an excellent opening for any production of the play. The themes are bold, striking, and original, though the composer shows throughout the {131} strong influence of Schumann. The opera is in four acts, the first taking place in a street outside Baptista's house. Lucentio, with guitar, is singing a sentimental ballad, occasionally interrupted by Baptista's servants, who rush from the house singing "The Devil is loose in the house." Baptista asks them what is the matter, and the servants at once give notice on account of Katharina's outrageous behaviour. There is nothing much of Shakespeare in this act, but it makes a brilliant opening to the opera. Katharina then comes on the balcony and tells the people how good she is going to be. The neighbours all join in, and there is a beautiful bit of choral work for principals, neighbours, and chorus. All exit except Lucentio; the chorus in the house sing an unaccompanied sort of evening hymn, the music dies away, the lights in Baptista's house go out, and Lucentio serenades Bianca.

Presently she appears on the balcony, and they sing a beautiful love duet, say good-night, and exit. Hortensio arrives to serenade her also, and quarrels with Lucentio, and the pair of them make such a noise that they waken poor old Baptista, who appears at the house door in his dressing-gown, with a light, still wondering if he will ever get any peace. Petruchio enters to a very blustering tune (the Petruchio _motif_, I call it). They make themselves known to each other, and Petruchio, in a beautiful and melodious song, describes his deeds in the past, just as in the play, and says what a poor opinion he has of the power of a woman's tongue. The act ends very happily, with Petruchio promising to woo and win Katharina.

The second act starts with a short prelude, _sostenuto_ and slow, and as the curtain goes up Katharina and Bianca begin their quarrel scene, mostly on the former's part. Bianca produces a guitar and plays, while her sister says she will live and die a maid. Petruchio enters and woos the Shrew in a dramatic duet, and the act closes with a fine _ensemble_ for the principals.

The third act opens, after hardly any orchestral introduction, with a quartet for Bianca, Lucentio, Hortensio, {132} and Baptista, lamenting the absence of the bridegroom. Katharina joins in, very scornful about him, and the wedding guests enter, singing how difficult it is to have a wedding without a bridegroom. Then comes the familiar lesson scene. Lucentio sings the first lines of the first book of the _AEneid_, with his own additions. Hortensio also sings to his guitar--a method of music-teaching that even Bianca can see through; and then Baptista enters, and, in a very lively number, gives the news of Petruchio's return. He arrives, more bluff and hearty than ever, clad in eccentric clothes, and hurries his bride-to-be to the church. The domestics of Baptista's house sing a chorus, showing how glad they are that Katharina is finally married and got rid of. The bridal party returns, and Petruchio announces his intention of departing at once. The close of the act must be very effective, according to the stage directions, when properly done. Grumio brings in two horses. Petruchio springs on one, Grumio rides off on the second, the chorus and principals singing lustily the while.

The fourth and last act opens with a male chorus, Petruchio's servants being bullied by Grumio, awaiting their master's return. The bridal pair make a fine entrance, and, as in the play, the husband finds fault with all the food, and sends it away. Katharina is left alone, and sings a beautiful and pathetic soliloquy on her difficult position. Grumio introduces the Tailor, and there is a very amusing quartet for the four. After this the action is much hurried. The changed Katharina arrives at her father's house; her father congratulates his son-in-law on the admirable way in which he has reformed Katharina; everyone is pleased, especially the servants of Baptista, and the whole work ends with a joyous _ensemble_, making a very brilliant close to the opera.

The opera was refused by innumerable managers, but was finally staged by Ernst Frank at Mannheim, 1874, where its success was immediate and decisive. The next year it was performed at Vienna, Leipsic, Berlin, and other {133} German towns, and it was also produced in London at a matinee at Drury Lane, October 12, 1878. In 1880 it was revived by the Carl Rosa Company at Her Majesty's, Minnie Hauk taking the part of Katharina. It very well deserves a revival at the present day. Every note of it would be fresh to nine hundred and ninety-nine opera-goers out of a thousand. All the parts are good, and ample scope is given for brilliant singing.

{134}

THE TEMPEST

Of all the plays _The Tempest_ has been most popular with musicians. The earliest music to _The Tempest_ is generally believed to be by +Robert Johnson+, who wrote settings of "Where the bee sucks" and "Full fathom five." The _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ is quite definite on the subject; but as Johnson was born in 1604, and Shakespeare died in 1616, and had left off writing plays for several years before his death, Johnson must, as I said in the Introduction, have been something of a musical prodigy.

The next in order seems to be +Matthew Locke's+ instrumental music to an operatic version of _The Tempest_ (based on Dryden-Davenant), played in London in 1673. This work was revived and revised with additional numbers by +Henry Purcell+ in 1695. The exquisite "Come unto these yellow sands" was one of the additional numbers. In both of these adaptations the words are very much altered, or "improved," as the theatre people of the time thought; but a very good hotch-potch version can be made by taking the best numbers mentioned, scoring them lightly, and having them sung simply and not operatically.

+Arne's+ "Where the bee sucks" is his best work, and, I think, the most beautiful of all the settings.

+John Christopher Smith+, Handel's pupil and amanuensis, composed two operas on _The Tempest_, one of which was produced in London in 1756. The overture is the usual {135} one of the period; but Ariel's storm song, which opens the first act, beginning with a long orchestral prelude, is a very original piece of work. It is a dramatic recitative with elaborate orchestral accompaniment to the words, slightly adapted, from Ariel's speech to Prospero in Act i., Scene 2. The following numbers have no connection with Shakespeare's play, a delightful setting of "Come unto these yellow sands," for Ariel, being the next Shakespearian lyric taken--this for high soprano with strings, very florid but melodious; and the music for "Full fathom five" is also very much in keeping with the words. Caliban (baritone) sings "No more dams I'll make for fish" to a rollicking tune, and follows it with a curious song called "The owl is abroad." The words are not by Shakespeare, but it is said that it was a great favourite with audiences.

Ariel's song, "Before you can say come and go," is very gracefully set, and has a charming _obbligato_ part for the violin; but Prospero's recitative, "Now doth my project gather to a head," is Shakespeare's blank verse set to music. The duet ends peacefully and happily with a duet for Ferdinand and Miranda about "gentle love, innocence, and chaste desire." On the whole the work is disappointing. One could have done with a little more Shakespeare and less of Christopher Smith's own librettist; but it contains much charming music, some of which would sound very fresh if revived now.

+John Davy+, a West-countryman, born at Exeter, 1763, composed an overture and other music for _The Tempest_. It is dedicated to the memory of John Philip Kemble, and includes songs by Arne, Purcell, and Linley. The overture is a very simple affair, bringing in Purcell's "Where the bee sucks" and "Come unto these yellow sands," and is, therefore, not so independent of the rest of the music as the overture of this period usually is.

After the overture comes +Linley's+ graceful setting of "O, bid your faithful Ariel fly," sung in Prospero's cave {136} by Ariel (the words by Dr Laurence). Then follows a very simple so-called symphony by Davy, all very quiet and peaceful, going into Linley's horrible "Storm Chorus." Christopher Smith's Caliban song is introduced after the "Storm"--"No more dams I'll make for fish," which has a very cheerful tune; and Purcell's beautiful settings of "Come unto these yellow sands" and "Full fathom five" follow. Between Acts i. and ii. Davy introduced a symphony by himself, consisting of a very simple Largo, followed by an equally simple Rondo. The song and chorus that follow are by Purcell, to words by Dryden, beginning "King Fortune smiles," which, like the next song by the same authors, are too interesting to pass over in silence, though neither has any real connection with Shakespeare. The music for the appearance of Fairies is by Purcell, to words by Dryden, "Where does the black fiend ambition reside?", and is for two bass voices and chorus, with an interesting solo bassoon part.

The opening of the third act consists of a very pretty symphony by Davy, in the form of an air with variations. The only musical number in this act consists of a song, very grotesque in style, for Caliban, words by Ben Jonson, music by Christopher Smith. The prelude to the fourth act is in march rhythm, a pleasant, cheerful piece of music, composed by Davy. The setting of "Where the bee sucks" is Arne's delightful one, and is sung by Ariel, repeated by a quartet, with added words and the music much elaborated, while, according to the stage directions, Ariel and the spirits ascend into the sky. This is the last number, but the untiring Linley has added an appendix consisting of two songs for Ariel, "While you here do snoring lie" and "Ere you can say come and go," and a duet for Juno and Ceres, entitled "Honour, riches, marriage, blessing"; all with words by Shakespeare from this play--quite a concession on the part of a composer of this period, especially of T. Linley himself.

Between R. Johnson's time and the present day I can {137} trace twenty operas on this subject, but none of them has held the stage. The only modern one that was produced in London seems to be +Halevy's+ two-act opera _La Tempesta_, book by Scribe, produced at Her Majesty's in Italian. The story of how this work came to be composed is rather interesting. In October 1831, Mendelssohn gave a grand concert at Munich, and was so successful that he received a commission to compose an opera for the Munich theatre. He consulted with Immerman as to the libretto, and arranged with him for one founded on _The Tempest_. The composer and librettist, however, soon quarrelled, and the opera scheme lay dormant for some time. About the middle of October Mendelssohn was in communication with Lumley, lessee of Her Majesty's, for an opera, libretto by Scribe, on the same subject. Mendelssohn did not like this libretto, and finally turned it down; and Jacques Francois Fromental Elias, "a Jew whose real name was Levy," as Grove's _Dictionary_ prettily phrases it, then set the libretto. Halevy was born in Paris, 1799, and studied at the Conservatoire under Cherubini. Having won the second prize twice, he finally carried off the Grand Prix de Rome itself.

The opera was produced at Her Majesty's, London, on June 14, 1850, and made an enormous success. The first act is opened by a chorus of Air Spirits, who obey the orders of Ariel. Sleeping Sylphs are wakened, and make together a most poetic choreographic effect, which is repeated again in the first tableau summoned by Prospero. Carlotta Grisi acted with great success as Ariel in this work, and Lablache was terrible and grotesque, though sometimes tender, as Caliban. Sontag was the Miranda, and the whole performance was conducted by our own Michael Balfe. The most popular numbers in the score were the cavatina, "Parmi una voce mormore"; the duet, "S' odio, orror di me non hai"; and the finale to the second act, which is full of movement and originality.

A lyrical drama, after Shakespeare, by Armand Silvestre {138} and Pierre Berton, music by +Victor Alphonse Duvernoy+, was produced in the Salle du Chatelet on November 24, 1880. This remarkable work won the Grand Prix for musical composition offered every two years by the town of Paris. It obtained a very well-deserved success at the first public performance for its great qualities of form and style. Much of the opera was greatly applauded, especially the duet of Ferdinand and Miranda, "Parle encore, que ta voix m'enivre," the dramatic trio, "Courbe-toi, vaincu sous la chaine," the very original song of Caliban, the symphonic music descriptive of Miranda's sleep, the prelude to the third act, and the pretty ballet air of the Sylphs.

Larousse, the musical historian, says that it is a truly interesting work, and certainly produces a grand effect on the stage. The composer of this opera was born in Paris, 1842.

+Zdenko Fibich's+ three-act opera, _Boure_, or _Der Sturm_ (1895), is a recent opera on this subject, and is by far the most modern in treatment. All Shakespeare's principal characters are present, and the libretto is very ingenious. There is no overture proper, but a fairly long orchestral introduction opens the first act; it consists of very furious storm music, with Prospero's principal theme hammered out on the bass brass. As the curtain rises, Prospero and Miranda are discovered watching the storm; the storm dies away, and Miranda, in a very melodious passage, asks her father all about it, and what has happened to the sailors and the ship which they have both seen in great difficulties. In a very dignified quasi-recitative passage Prospero tells her that the storm is of his own planning, and he then relates much of the story of his life and wrongs.

Though long, the orchestral accompaniment to this is so interesting and varied that no one could be bored by it. At the end Prospero puts Miranda to sleep, and after a beautiful orchestral interlude summons Ariel, who tells him in charming musical phrase what she has done with ship and sailors, and then exits to a delicate orchestral {139} passage for wood wind. Prospero awakes Miranda, and sends her into his cave; then he calls for Caliban, who presently appears to a grotesque tune played on the basses. To characteristic music he grumbles at his perpetual labour, till Prospero, angry, sends him off. Ariel and a spirit chorus now lure Alonzo and the rest, by their singing, to where Prospero is, and totally bewilder them; a very beautiful _ensemble_ follows for chorus and principals, which finishes on the exit of all except Prospero and Miranda. Ariel returns bringing Ferdinand, whom Miranda recognises as the being she had seen in her dream. Ariel sings a very pretty adaptation of "Full fathom five," and the two lovers-to-be make friends, Prospero looking on unseen. Suddenly Prospero breaks in upon them very angrily, and displays to Ferdinand some of his miraculous powers, causing lightning and thunder, and finally paralysing him.

This is all done to a most effective and appropriate setting, and the curtain falls on the first act to a fine dramatic situation, much heightened by excellent music.

The second act opens with a fairly long orchestral prelude; it is on a dominant pedal, fifty-five bars in length, and depicts the depths of a tropical forest. Ferdinand sings, and is presently joined by Miranda. Now we have a really amusing comedy scene for Trinculo, Stephano, and Caliban, the last-named having an excellent grotesque song, in which the others join. The drinking scene is very well set to music, the part of Caliban being strongly marked and individual.

Ariel breaks in on this festive scene with her spirit chorus, and the comedians exit. Gonzalo and the other nobles enter, and, as in the play, spirits bring mysterious food and drink, and strange music is everywhere heard. All this is capitally done. Ariel, in a dramatic manner, denounces them all as "men of sin." Prospero then enters, to a fine _maestoso_ bass movement, explaining everything; and the act finishes with a solemn march, to which all the spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water enter and do homage to Prospero.

{140}

The last act opens with a long prelude signifying Prospero's magic powers. Sometimes we get charming light Ariel music, sometimes music suggesting a deeper, more awful, kind of magic, and sometimes a grotesquely comic dance rhythm, which is, nevertheless, almost sad, suggesting poor Caliban. It is altogether a most interesting prelude, and would make an excellent concert number by itself. The curtain rises on Prospero's cave to mysterious sounds; alchemical instruments are scattered about, and great books in ancient bindings lie on the table. Prospero and Ariel are discovered. The Spirit tells him that Caliban and his friends are going to kill him in his sleep. Ferdinand and Miranda enter hand in hand, and Prospero summons the Spirits, who sing sweetly to the lovers. Presently Caliban and his friends enter, and Ariel and the other spirits chase them away jeeringly. Ariel claims liberty; and, to sonorous music, Prospero renounces his magic arts. With a great musical noise his cave disappears, and the scene changes to the landscape of the first act. In the rocky cove Alonzo's ship is ready to sail; Prospero calls on Ariel for the last time; and, to solemn tones, all the mortals enter from different parts of the stage. The end is now very near. Ariel is set free; Prospero promises all a comfortable, safe voyage; the sailors sing of the joys of home life; and the curtain falls to the Spirits singing of their new freedom. The Caliban and Spirit music is the best part of the opera. All the mysterious magical effects are most impressively done, but the composer is not so happy with his lovers. The orchestral interludes are excellent, and the many choruses of unseen Spirits are most melodious, and not too difficult.

+Alfred M. Hale+, a very progressive young composer, has written an opera on this subject, parts of which were performed at the Queen's Hall on February 28, 1912. Among the numbers given was a duet for Miranda and Ferdinand. A well-known musical critic writes as follows concerning this number: "Mr Hale has written vocal parts {141} in the style of an intoned conversation; no really vocal phrases are apparent, but the text is moaned to a vague backing of orchestral activity. Occasionally one heard snatches of _Tristan_ or _Pelleas_. All is vast, vague, and vacuous. Mr Hale's orchestra breathes with its mouth wide open." So we will leave it at that.

+Sullivan's+ _Tempest_ contains some of his finest music. Composed at Leipsic when he was Mendelssohn Scholar, it has all the freshness of youth and none of its immaturity. It was first performed at the Crystal Palace, June 8, 1862, and was enthusiastically received, Charles Dickens complimenting the young composer very highly. Though not written expressly for the theatre, the music can be used almost as it stands; but I have never heard it without additional numbers. When it was adopted for Henrietta Hodson's production, Sullivan's "Where the bee sucks" was cut out and Arne's substituted. Arne's setting is his best work, and, in my opinion, the most beautiful of all the versions extant; but Sullivan's is fine too, and the former did not blend with the rest of the score but stood out and spoilt the whole musical scheme.

+Taubert+ wrote capital incidental music for this play, but I have never heard it without additional numbers. Sir Frank Benson used a great deal of this setting in his production of _The Tempest_, but he made use of much other music as well. In his version the play began with a "Storm Chorus" by Haydn, supposed to have been inspired by his first (a bad) crossing to England; at least, this was the tradition in the Benson company. Then he went on to Taubert for "Come unto these yellow sands" and "Full fathom five," both very pretty arrangements for Ariel (soprano) and chorus; back to Arne for "Where the bee sucks," and to Sullivan for "Honour, riches." A song for Ariel, "Oh, bid thy faithful Ariel fly," by T. Linley, was interpolated, the words not even by Shakespeare. For the closing scenes, Sir Frank returned to {142} Taubert; and if the whole affair was a hotchpotch, it was a very agreeable one.

The last, and quite the most important, music written for _The Tempest_ since Sullivan's time is Humperdinck's. +Engelbert Humperdinck+ is well known in England as the composer of the opera _Haensel und Gretel_, the scores of _Koenigskinder_ and _The Miracle_, but few English people know his Shakespearian works. His music to _The Tempest_ was first heard at a great production of the play in Berlin at the Neue Schauspielhaus on October 25, 1906. It consists of a long prelude, running into storm melodrama music for the whole of the first scene, calming down beautifully for Miranda's first entrance. All the lyrics and choruses are set, and in all there are eighteen important numbers. The music is difficult, and the chorus and orchestra must be on a large scale; but it would make a very interesting production if it could be done exactly as the composer devised it, with no added numbers, extra lyrics, or pseudo-Elizabethan bilge. Here are ninety pages of closely printed pianoforte score; enough, surely, for the most old-fashioned producer without additional numbers. Very effective use is made of the male and female chorus, singing _bouche fermee_ instead of the orchestra playing, as melodrama music. Ariel's "Where the bee sucks" is a charming setting, and the choruses and dances are most carefully and reverentially done. There is no German equivalent to Shadwell, Davenant, or Dryden. Here we have nothing but the exact text of Shakespeare, and really it seems quite enough. The Prospero _motif_, a fanfare, occurring frequently, holds the entire work together, and the magic music would be a great help to any Shakespeare production. I hope one day to see a straight production of this play with the music as composed.

+Berlioz+ was early attracted to _The Tempest_, and even called one of the ladies he adored--Miss Moke, subsequently {143} 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 Theatre 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 Opera. 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 {144} 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 _a 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 _piu 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 Tempete, 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 {145} 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 {146} 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.

+Clarence Lucas+, a Canadian composer (b. 1866), has written a very brilliant Scherzo for piano solo, entitled "Ariel." He has taken as his motto Shakespeare's words, "On the bat's back I do fly," and has certainly illustrated the familiar passage with great dexterity. It is a gossamer piece of work, and, though difficult, is highly effective. It bears strong traces of the composer's years of study at the Paris Conservatoire.

+Joseph Spaight+, a clever young English composer, has written a string quartet called "Ariel," which is really very interesting. The work is divided into eight sections, {147} each one expressing some Ariel episode in the play. The episodes are described in a few words, such as "On a ship in a storm," "Invisible," "Playing time on tabor and pipe and leading Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo away." They are highly descriptive, but one may well question whether the string quartet is the proper vehicle for such programme music.

{148}

TIMON OF ATHENS

The only opera mentioned by Mr Barclay Squire that might have been founded on this play is _Timone, Misantropo_, by the +Emperor Leopold I.+, produced at Vienna in 1696. Leopold I., Emperor of the West, was born in 1640, and educated by the Jesuits for the Church, and he probably learned music from them. I have read fine biographies of him; but though I find he was not a really good ruler, there is no mention of his gifts as a musician. It would be interesting to discover a copy of an opera, libretto by the King of Dramatists, music by the Emperor of the West, King of Hungary and Bohemia; but with the exception of the name and the date I can discover no record of the work at all: not even a popular selection for the pianoforte--Leopold-Liszt!

In 1678, Thomas Shadwell produced his version of _Timon of Athens_, under the title "The History of Timon of Athens, the Man Hater, made into a play by Thomas Shadwell." Of the atrocities committed by the adapter on Shakespeare in this version it is not easy to speak with restraint. Suffice it to say that ten years after the production Shadwell became Poet Laureate! The masque in Act i. is written entirely by Shadwell, with music by +Henry Purcell+. Whether this work comes legitimately within the scope of my theme I am not certain. Undoubtedly the author and composer must have been under the influence of, if not inspired by, Shakespeare: as we have so little music for this strange play, I will therefore make a short analysis of the masque. Julian Marshall, in his foreword to the Purcell {149} Society's edition, says: "This work was not well calculated to inspire the genius of Purcell. Written to order, and perhaps in some haste, the score is slight in character and design." There are several beautiful numbers.

The work consists of an overture and thirteen numbers. The first part of the overture is taken from the "Trumpet Sonata," and is fairly familiar to lovers of Purcell. The duet for two nymphs that follows is preceded by a "Symphonie of Pipes" to imitate birds: this is played on two flutes with a very pretty effect. The bass song, "Return, revolting rebels," sung by Bacchus, has a fine bold melody; and a slow trio in the minor is in strong contrast to the principal theme. The best chorus is "Who can resist such mighty charms?", which, though simple in construction, has some fine broad effects.

The last duet and chorus, for Cupid and Bacchus, is very bright and melodious, composed in six-four time, and makes a merry end to the masque. After the epilogue comes a "Curtain tune on a ground," for strings only--by far the most interesting number in the piece. The persistent use of the idiom of "false relation" throughout the whole piece gives it a curious interest; and the contrapuntal and harmonic devices are also quite elaborate. I should think there is more of the real Timon in this one number than in all Shadwell's perversions.

{150}

TWELFTH NIGHT

In spite of its great poetical beauties, _Twelfth Night_ has not attracted many composers. There is only one opera that I can trace, and that is _Cesario_, by +K. G. Wilhelm Taubert+, produced in Berlin at the Royal Opera House in 1874. There is no attempt to foster the delusion that anyone who is not next door to an idiot could ever mistake Sebastian for Viola, or _vice versa_. Viola, in this version, is a soprano, and her brother a tenor-baritone, so it is hard to understand how even Orsino was taken in; but he was (and he a baritone, not a tenor!).

The opera opens with an overture, conventional and not very characteristic, and the curtain rises on a scene in Illyria, near Orsino's palace.

A chorus of maidens, wives, sailors, children, and musicians is discovered, singing a very bright and melodious number, which, though very tuneful, does not help the action at all. The second scene opens with storm music bringing on Viola and the Sea Captain.

The librettist, Emil Taubert, does not adhere any too closely to the original, so I will just describe the most effective numbers. Sir Toby's drinking song in the first act is a thoroughly good German drinking song, with the usual low bass E for the end; and directly afterwards Sir Andrew has a grotesque love-song with no little humour in it.

In the fourth scene there is a very sentimental duet between Viola and Orsino. As the work progresses we get farther and farther away from Shakespeare, and so I leave the only opera founded on this exquisite play. I {151} think a great deal of its weakness is due to the librettist cutting out Feste, the clown. There is no "Come away, Death," "O mistress mine," or "When that I was."

So it is with pleasure that I turn to +Humperdinck's+ delightful music for Reinhardt's production at the Deutsches Theater, Berlin, produced on October 17, 1907. The first scene is in Orsino's court (as in Shakespeare), and gives the whole romantic atmosphere of the rest of the play. Most producers begin with the short scene of Viola's shipwreck, thus cunningly avoiding the whole idea of the plot. Two violins, viola, and viol-da-gamba are discovered playing the music of "O mistress mine" on the stage; and if it is impossible to obtain a viol-da-gamba, the composer allows one to use a violoncello. Also there is a guitar off the stage. The text is closely followed. The setting ('cello solo) for the words "If music be the food of love" is very beautiful; and until the Duke's words, "Enough, no more," the incidental music fits in with every shade of expression in that perfect monologue. The next number is the serenade for the clown (Feste). He is supposed to accompany himself on the guitar, but the guitar part is cued in for the harp if the singing-actor has not enough skill on the instrument. It is a very charming song, not in the least like the settings of the same words to which we are all so accustomed, but none the worse for that. The catch "Hold thy peace" is a perfect canon at the unison, sung by Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and the clown. All the verses in the kitchen scene are set to music, the versatile clown playing the accompaniments on his ever-ready guitar.

In Act ii., Scene 4, no expensive prima-donna is called upon to sing "Come away, Death." Orsino simply sends for Feste, and tells his orchestra to play the tune while they are all waiting.

When the clown does arrive to sing the song the audience has been played into the exact mood Shakespeare wanted; and the number, lovely as it is, gets a better chance of {152} success than if the orchestra had been playing something quite different (as I have often heard), or an entirely new character, a singing woman, had been introduced for this special number. Feste sings "Hey, Robin, jolly Robin" and "I am gone, sir," to specially composed music still accompanied by the guitar, and there are two settings by Humperdinck of the epilogue song, "When that I was." Both are written for Feste; but the first one is accompanied only by the guitar, while the second has an elaborate orchestral accompaniment. You can take your choice; both settings are equally good.

This music, both in form and expression, is, perhaps, the ideal music for a Shakespearian production. Nothing is forced on the hearer. When Shakespeare wanted music he said so, either in his stage directions or in the text. This is exactly what Humperdinck has given us. Never to my knowledge has Shakespeare's text been so reverently treated by any composer or producer. I often think that it is not entirely the fault of the composer of Shakespearian music that so much of it is superfluous; perhaps a little blame may lie with the actor-manager-producer, who must have a march to bring him on and take him off at every entrance or exit.

+Sir Alexander Mackenzie's+ delightful _Twelfth Night_ overture was first produced at a Richter concert in 1888. Though it is not exactly programme music, Sir Alexander gives occasional quotations on the score indicating his intentions.

The opening is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Malvolio (taking up letter), "By my life, this is my lady's hand." The 'cellos, basses, and violas play a unison quaver passage of introduction, and Malvolio obviously speaks through the medium of a bassoon. The clarinets and the rest of the wood wind join in, the strings sustaining an accompaniment; and so the first episode finishes.

The next is labelled Act ii., Scene 5, Sir Toby, "Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of {153} it leaves him he must run mad." Then comes, to my idea, the triumphal music of Malvolio. This is quickly followed by a label, Act ii., Scene 3, Sir Toby, "Shall we rouse the night owl in a catch?" and for a few moments we have bright sounds of revelry; but very swiftly the music gets slow and _piano_, and presently we return to Act i., and the words on the score are, "O, she that hath a heart of that frame, To pay this debt but to a brother," etc. This subject is very beautiful, and admirably portrays Orsino's love for Cesario. After this comes a bright, melodious episode working up to a _fortissimo_ climax. Then we have another label, Act iv., Scene 2, Malvolio, "Fool, there never was a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits as thou art."

The music then proceeds in _fugato_ manner for a long time, and there are no more directions or quotations from the text in the score till towards the end. This is now the regular coda, and very brilliant it is. But just before the close one finds the label, Act v., Scene 1, Malvolio, "I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you"; the original Malvolio _motif_ being played by the violas and 'cellos and taken up by the rest of the orchestra. The whole finishes _fortissimo_ and very cheerfully. There is a curious kettledrum solo in the third bar before the end. Taken all round, this overture is quite one of the best Shakespearian commentaries extant. Without being in the least pedantic, it has a smack of the period; and as a sheer, joyous bit of comedy it ranks very high in the repertory of Shakespearian music.

+Sir Henry Bishop's+ third pasticcio opera was founded on _Twelfth Night_. It was produced at the Royal, Drury Lane, in 1820. Contrary to his usual custom there is no overture, and the first number is a song for viola with bassoon _obbligato_ to the words, "Full many a glorious morning" from the 33rd Sonnet. The first half is very unlike the composer's usual manner, but in the second he soon gets back to his original style. The next number is a quintet with words from _The Two Gentlemen {154} of Verona_--"Who is Sylvia?" The melody of the first verse is by Ravenscroft (1714), that of the second by Morley (1595), and the whole is arranged by Sir Henry; so there is not much unity of style about it, though if well sung and unaccompanied it should be effective. The duet "Orpheus with his lute," words by Fletcher, for Viola and Olivia, is really too bad; and with pleasure we turn to a quartet by Thomas Ford (1580) and D. Calcott (1766). It is called "Come o'er the brook, Besse, to me." The first line is from _King Lear_, Act ii., Scene 6, but in the text it is "bourne" not "brook." The rest of the lines are spurious. The first verse is by Ford, the second by Calcott, and the whole arranged by Bishop; but this time he has thrown in a harmonica part, the first that I have met with in this orchestration. The quartet and chorus at the end of the second act are by Bishop; the words, some of them from the second part of _Henry IV._, and some spurious. The whole finale is very pretentious and of no real musical value. In Act iii. we have the inevitable cavatina, "Take all my loves," from the Sonnet No. 40, sung by Olivia. It is a most sugary song; only a few lines are taken, and repeated _ad nauseam_. The duet Olivia and Viola, called "Cesario," is adapted by Bishop from a work I cannot trace (by a certain Winter). The only composer of that name in any musical biography is Peter von Winter, born at Mannheim in 1755, and pupil of Browning's celebrated Abt Vogler. The words are a very corrupt version of Olivia's speech in Act iii., Scene 1 of this very play, and the music sometimes fits in and sometimes does not.

Kit Marlowe's "Crabbed age and youth," set by Bishop for Olivia, has a fine cadenza duet with the flute, but is otherwise not notable; and "Bid me discourse," which follows, is too well known to need mention. An old setting of the Clown's song, "When that I was," is arranged by Bishop for the finale. Viola and Olivia have one chorus to themselves, very _rubato_. The melody and chorus are frequently changed, rhythmically and melodically, but it {155} makes a good finish to a very extraordinary mix-up of styles and composers. True to his ideals, Bishop does not use "Come away, Death," or "O mistress mine," two of the loveliest lyrics in the language--I suppose because they happen to occur in _Twelfth Night_!

During his second visit to London, +Haydn+ composed his single contribution to Shakespearian song. It is contained in the set of six "Original Canzonets, composed for an English Lady of Position." The words are from _Twelfth Night_, beginning "She never told her love," and the song is very pathetic. Curiously enough for the period, the words "Smiling at grief" are the only ones repeated. The canzonet opens with a long symphony for piano. The voice part is melodious and vocal; the harmonies are more complicated than is usual with Haydn, and there is more liberal use made of the chord of the diminished seventh than one looks for in his work. The voice part is of just an octave's range, and there are no aggressive _coloratura_ passages or high notes.

The only work of +Johannes Brahms+ in which I can trace the direct inspiration of Shakespeare is his setting of the Clown's song, "Come away, Death," from _Twelfth Night_, for trio of female voices, harp, and two horns. This is an exquisite little work, very complete; there is hardly any repetition of the words: just at the end Brahms repeats "to weep there," but that is all. The combination of female voices, harp, and horns seems on paper to be rather eccentric, but in practice it is admirable, used as skilfully as Brahms has used it. This trio was not written for the play. In any decent production the song must be given to Feste, but how often is it? Time after time I have seen a strange woman in tights dragged on to sing one of the numerous Wardour Street versions, and no one seems to mind. Without this song, the whole character of Feste, one of the best of all the Shakespearian clowns, sinks into almost nothingness.

{156}

Perhaps somewhere, hidden away in some old music catalogue, I may find something more of Brahms in relation to Shakespeare. Indeed, I hope so. What a Hamlet overture he could have written!

The bridal song, "Roses, their sharp spines being gone," and graceful dance (Malvolio), composed for Sir Herbert Tree's revival of _Twelfth Night_, make one wish that the composer, +Paul Rubens+, had devoted more time to this kind of work. The words, by Fletcher, are beautifully set; and though there is no attempt at intentional archaism, there is an inimitable quaintness about this song, and the graceful dance which always accompanies Malvolio's entrances and exits, that is hard to find in modern Shakespearian music.

+Augustus Barratt's+ setting of "Come away, Death," in the same production, is very beautiful. +Frederick Corder's+ version of the same lyric for a trio of female voices and piano is a sad little number; but I wish he would set the words straight, without repetitions.

+Sir Charles Villiers Stanford's+ settings of the "Clown's songs" in _Twelfth Night_ were not written for any special production, and were first sung by Mr Plunket Greene. There is no needless repetition of the words, every syllable being given its exact musical value; so, from several points of view these versions are nearly perfect. The first, "O mistress mine," has a flowing though not very significant melody, and a graceful accompaniment. The second, "Come away, Death," is naturally of a very sombre nature, the harmonies being rather more elaborate than in the other two songs. The last lyric, "The rain it raineth every day," is, to my mind, much the best of the three. It is a very merry song, and the major effect and the little florid voice passage at the end make a charming close. Unfortunately, Sir Charles omits the last verse but one.

{157}

+Dr Arne's+ setting is beautiful. It has a curious burden to it, in the accompaniment only; but the words are sadly chopped about.

+Sullivan's+ "O mistress mine" is quite one of his most effective songs; and there is a beautiful flowing _obbligato_ in the accompaniment which suggests that Sir Andrew, who played on the "viol-de-gamboys," was playing it for the Clown.

+J. L. Hatton's+ setting of "When that I was" is quite pretty, but he plays the deuce with the words. The exquisitely quaint first line, "When that I was and a little tiny boy" becomes "When I was a tiny boy"; the last verse but one is entirely omitted; and the last verse of all is quite spoilt. There can be no possible excuse for Hatton or anyone else changing "But that's all one; our play is done, and we'll strive to please you every day," into "But that's all one, our song is done, for the rain it raineth every day." This song, for tenor solo and four-part male chorus, won a prize given by the Melodists' Club. I suppose it was a word-distorting contest, and I congratulate the judges on a fine decision.

+Samuel Coleridge Taylor's+ setting of "O mistress mine" is interesting in several ways. It is not in the least like any other musical version of the same words, and, though they are set quite straightforwardly, the general effect is curiously bizarre. The accompaniment is in the style of a guitar serenade, which is, of course, thoroughly in keeping with the stage situation, although the song itself was not composed for any special stage performance.

{158}

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

With the exception of the perfect lyric "Who is Sylvia?" composers have left this play severely alone; but +Sir Henry Bishop+ certainly produced a pasticcio opera on _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ at the Royal, Covent Garden, in 1821. The work is the usual jumble of words from the plays, poems, and sonnets, set to music for the most part by Bishop. There is an overture which is really a string of tunes, mostly in C major, not labelled by the composer, and which do not occur later in the opera. It is a very bad example of a very bad class of so-called overture. The first song is a setting of the fifth to the twelfth lines of the Sonnet No. 64, sung by a character called Philippe, who does not appear in Shakespeare's play. It was performed by a Master Longhurst, a boy of some importance in his time, as he is mentioned by name in several books of reference regarding this song. The song in question is not worth very much, but is a good example of how a perfect sonnet may be transformed into a very indifferent song. This is followed by a duet for Philippe and Julia, with words from Shakespeare's 92nd Sonnet, but the first line is unhappily changed from "But do thy worst to steal thyself away," into "Save, though you strive to steal yourself away." The improvement is obvious! and the musical setting quite in keeping with the improvement in the text; only a few lines of the poem are sung, but oh! how often repeated!

Sylvia has a great show in the next number. It is an extraordinary perversion of the Sonnet No. 109, "Oh, never say that I was false of heart," a poem that any {159} decent-minded pirate or burglar would have left alone. Still, Sir Henry rushes in with what is officially described as a bravura song. Certainly only lines 1-4 and 13-14 are set to music, but how the few words are contorted! In the coda Sylvia sings on the word "all," fourteen bars first and then fifteen!

A society for the protection of sonnets should certainly be formed. The ever-useful _Passionate Pilgrim_ is used for a mixture of Dr Arne and Bishop as an unaccompanied quartet, "Good night, good rest," and we will leave it at that; but the following number cannot be lightly treated. It is difficult to forgive a composer who seizes on the perfect sonnet in the world and writes a "Solo Brilliante" on the first four lines. These are certainly correctly printed, save that the word "curse" (Shakespeare) is transformed into "moan" (Bishop), and lines 9-12, with endless repetitions, are dragged in for the second half. This solo ends with a long cadenza for voice and flute, the voice only using the first half of the word "heaven"; there are just thirty bars on the syllable "hea-"! The four-part round, "To see his face," words from _Venus and Adonis_ (only the first four lines of stanza 183 are set), is an ingenious and entertaining piece of work, and should be most effective. For some strange reason, "Who is Sylvia?" is set as a quintet, with Julia on the top line. The first half of the melody is by Bishop, but the second half is believed to be by Rousseau; anyhow, no one would quarrel now as to how to apportion the requisite blame; the "dishonours" appear to be equally divided, except that Rousseau, being a Swiss, could not be expected to show so tender a regard for Shakespeare as Shakespeare's own fellow-countryman Bishop did. The cavatina sung by Julia is to the first eight lines of the 73rd Sonnet; and the male chorus, "Now the hungry lion roars," is, of course, from one of Puck's speeches in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, but is sadly cut and altered.

The duet, "On a Day," words from _Love's Labour's Lost_, and also _The Passionate Pilgrim_, is another "I know a {160} bank"-like thing, and quite as uninteresting. Julia's next song, "Should he upbraid," is familiar to all, and the words are founded on a speech of Baptista in _The Taming of the Shrew_. The finale is a duet by Sylvia and Julia, assisted by the full chorus: its title is "How like a winter," and the words are partly adapted, very freely, from the first four lines of the 97th Sonnet, and from the masque in _As You Like It_.

A stranger jumble of words could hardly be conceived; yet this opera was quite successful, and no one seemed to think any the worse of Bishop, who was mainly responsible for its monstrosities.

+Dr Arne's+ version of "Who is Sylvia?" is really a very charming song, very melodious, very vocal, and full of delicate grace-notes. The last verse is set as a trio, but can be sung as a solo without spoiling the composer's intentions; in fact, he says it may be done without additional voices.

+Macfarren's+ part-song is very good--I mean Sir George's, not Walter's. Both have set the words. But the best setting of "Who is Sylvia?" must for ever remain +Schubert's+--one of the perfect songs of the world.

{161}

THE WINTER'S TALE

There is only one opera, _Hermione_, by +Max Bruch+, founded on _The Winter's Tale_, and very little other music has been inspired by it, though the story possesses great operatic possibilities.

+Engelbert Humperdinck's+ music for the Reinhardt production in Berlin, September 15, 1906, is, as usual with his incidental music, perfectly appropriate--not a superfluous note in it; and also as usual in these productions, Shakespeare's Act i., Scene 1, is Reinhardt's. Before the rise of the curtain an orchestra of wood wind, horns, and harp plays soft and solemn music (called "Tafelmusik" in the score) behind the scenes, and the orchestra continues till a fanfare of trumpets announces the entrance of Leontes, Hermione, and their suite.

There is no more music until we come to Act iii., Scene 2, when, to open the Court of Justice scene, we have a broad, dignified fanfare, _quasi marcia_, scored for trombones, tuba, and drums, and part of this is played at the end of the scene. This is the motive associated with the Oracle.

At the end of Act iii., Scene 3, Time, a chorus, enters, and solemn music plays during his speech, composed in the manner of the Oracle. In the meantime, an act-change has been made, and without pause the curtain rises on the fourth act; the music dying away as Polixenes and Camillo speak, swelling up on their exit and running into the symphony of Autolycus's song, "When daffodils begin to peer." This is very beautifully set, and the composer adds the verse from the end of the scene, which makes six verses {162} instead of five; but this is quite legitimate, as the last verse is obviously part of the whole lyric, though separated from the rest by some dialogue.

The music to open the fourth scene is called "Sunday Bells." I confess I don't understand why it is introduced, unless it be to cover a scene-change, and I can find no mention of bells or Sunday in the text; but I am quite sure there is some good reason for this number, apart from its own beauty. It is _pianissimo_, scored for very high tremolo violins, celesta bells, and harp; and I should very much like to know exactly what it means in its present position in the play.

Now comes a long and elaborate march of shepherds and shepherdesses, beginning in march time, four in a bar; then the time changes to two in a bar, and a very wild dance follows. Again the time changes, to mazurka rhythm now, three in a bar, and a very graceful dance in this time follows; finally we return to the fast two-in-a-bar passage, and the whole dance finishes with a coda, during which the music gets faster and faster to the end. The whole number makes a short ballet, with plenty of rhythmic changes. It is most effective, as well as being part of Shakespeare's plot.

Almost immediately comes Autolycus's song, "Lawn as white as driven snow"; this also is very carefully set. The next number is very interesting. It is a trio, sung by Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopsa, accompanied by a _bouche fermee_ male-voice chorus--not singing the usual slow, sustained harmonies, but a quick four-part syncopated rhythm. This is a very ingenious number. After a little dialogue comes Autolycus's last song, "Will you buy any tape?" to a simple tune with an elaborate accompaniment. The Satyrs' dance that follows is a good example of strong but grotesque dance music in its first theme, but the trio is sensuous and suave, and the number finishes with a repetition of the first theme and a short but brilliant coda on the same melody.

In the last scene of the fifth act we have music {163} again. Paulina says, "Music, awake not; strike!" and very mysterious music is played until Hermione moves; then occurs a fine theme for brass and strings, while Hermione descends from the pedestal; after which, with a few pauses, the music continues to the end, when the curtain falls very slowly on Shakespeare's own last words. The melodrama music here is so superlatively good that one hardly notices it, such is its absolute Tightness. The situation, dramatically, is so strong that, though the music also is very individual, it does not for a moment counteract the strength of effect of the closing scene, but just helps it to a complete finish. Rarely has Shakespeare been better served by his acolytes.

{164}

SHAKESPEARE'S SONGS

+William Linley+, born 1771, edited two volumes octavo of settings to Shakespeare's lyrics, called _Dramatic Songs_. Some of them are by Purcell, Arne, etc.; but unfortunately the majority are by the editor, who seems to have had no exaggerated respect for Shakespeare's text, but a very high opinion of his own powers.

Mr Linley has some very naive remarks to make in the observations printed after the preface. Writing of the lyrics sung by Feste in _Twelfth Night_, he says: "Though there is a whimsical point about them, they are not inelegantly written." (This of "Come away, Death"!) Linley proceeds: "Shakespeare evidently meant that it should be sung with pathetic expression, but one is not prepared to relish it from the Clown; and there is nothing ludicrous in the words, and the plaintive wildness which they seem to demand from the music could not, by any aid of preparation, be given by the Clown so as to produce a feeling of melancholy--it would be more likely to excite laughter."

After these preliminary remarks, one may expect anything from our editor; and when one remembers the exquisite pathos of Mr Courtice Pounds' singing of +Augustus Barratt's+ setting at His Majesty's one can smile at the pretentious want of knowledge displayed in Linley's short introduction.

His own setting, which is before me, is sorry stuff. Words and phrases are repeated over and over again. He does not even set the first sentence correctly; he says, "Come away, Death, come away," and continues his "improvement" throughout the song.

{165}

The same kind of thing occurs throughout his two volumes; but it is interesting to note that for a long time it was considered a standard work, and Roffe, so late as 1867, speaks of it in his +Handbook of Shakespeare Music+ as "a happily conceived work."

It is a curious thing that the lyrics in the plays most popular with composers are either frankly not by Shakespeare or are very doubtful. The one most frequently chosen, "Take, oh take those lips away," from +Measure for Measure+, has been set, according to Roffe (1867), seventeen times; and, according to a work not quite truthfully describing itself as _A List of All the Songs and Passages in Shakespeare which have been Set to Music_, thirty times. Now, the second verse, "Hide, oh hide," is undoubtedly by Fletcher, from _The Bloody Brother_, and it is likely that Shakespeare merely quoted the first verse without acknowledgment, as he often did.

The next in order is "Orpheus with his lute." Roffe gives it sixteen settings, and _A List of all the Songs, etc._, twenty-two; the latter boldly states, "By John Fletcher." Act iii., Scene 1 is part of the Fletcher portion of _Henry VIII_. "Shakespeare wrote only 1168-1/2 of the 2822 lines of the play; the rest are Fletcher's." The editors responsible for this note are F. J. Furnivall and W. G. Stone.

"Come live with me" (_Merry Wives_) has been set, according to Roffe, sixteen times, and according to the "List" eighteen--the words being quoted from Kit Marlowe. "The Willow" song from _Othello_ (Roffe six and the "List" eleven) is much older than Shakespeare, and is quoted by him from a long poem now in Percy's _Reliques_.

Very naturally, since these dates (1867 and 1884) many other settings of songs from Shakespeare's plays have been made. Still, these four, two certainly not Shakespeare's and two quite doubtful Shakespeares, keep ahead in the list of music composed for or concerning the plays. I have referred to the "List," and think it only fair to give an account of it. It was published for "The New Shakespeare Society," and compiled by J. Greenhill, the {166} Rev. W. A. Harrison, and F. J. Furnivall; but unfortunately it was published in 1884, and has not been brought up to date. Here one may find that composers were not content with juggling and altering Shakespeare's perfect lyrics, but chose chunks of blank verse and snippets of sonnets to set, for no earthly purpose that I can see. Some of the composers' selections are quite incomprehensible. Why +R. J. Stevens+ should have chosen Prospero's magnificent lines, beginning "The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces," and made them into a glee for S.A.T.T.B.B., passes my wit to understand.

Also, why +Sir Henry Bishop+ chose Sonnet 109, "Oh, never say that I was false of heart" (lines 1-4 and 13-14), or Sonnet 29, "When in disgrace with fortune" (lines 1-4 and 9-12), with several verbal alterations. All this tends to show that the composer could not have had the smallest conception of the sonnet form, to cut and chop it about as he has done. Personally, I think that no sonnet ought to be set to music, but I know that quite good musical authorities differ from me, and I am content to say that either the whole sonnet or none of it must be set. It is impossible to cut a word or a sentence out of a sonnet without spoiling its form and balance; and, if these essentials are gone, how can it make a perfect song?

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INDEX

Adam, Adolphe, 87. Alexander, Sir George, 9, 105. Allitsen, Frances, 6. Alma-Tadema, 16. Ardevies, Jules, 76. Armbruster, Carl, 25. Arne, Dr, xiii, 7, 8, 11, 92, 94, 134-136, 141, 157, 159, 160, 164. Asche, Oscar, 22, 130. Atterbury, Luffman, 73. Attwood, 65. Auber, 67.

Bach, xi, 86. Balfe, 80, 81, 137. Balling, 5, 55. Bannister, xi. Barbier, 29, 118. Barker, Granville, 95. Barratt, Augustus, 156, 164. Battishill, 94. Bavaria, King of, 56, 70. Bazzini, 51, 52. Beecham, Sir Thomas, 100. Beethoven, xi, 14, 15, 58, 123. Bellini, 119, 120. Benayet, 98, 99. Benda, 128. Benson, Sir Frank, 5, 22, 54, 55, 88, 130, 141. Bentley, 22. Berio, Marquis de, 107. Berlioz, 3, 25, 36, 50-52, 56, 98, 100, 119, 122-126, 129, 142-144. Berlioz, Louis, 98. Bernhoff, 100. Berton, 138. Bethmann, 68. Bishop, Sir Henry, xiii, 1, 5, 7, 8, 10-12, 13, 63, 65, 92-96, 130, 153-155, 158-160, 166. Blau, 104. Bloch, 59, 61. Blow, 39. Boieldieu, 87. Boito, 29, 32, 50, 56, 83, 84, 108, 111. Bourchier, 78. Braham, 80, 130. Brahms, 155, 156. Brayton, Lily, 130. Brian, Havergal, 3. Bridge, 38. Broughton, The Misses, 43. Browning, Robert, 27, 86, 154. Bruch, Max, 17, 161. Buelow, von, 47. Burney, Dr, 28, 29. Butt, Clara, 6.

Callcott, D., 154. Calvert, 77. Campbell, Mrs Patrick, 78. Canepa, 117. Capelli, 7. Carlyle, 126. Carre, Albert, 60. Carre, Michel, 18, 29, 118. Chaplin, 51. Chelard, 56, 57. Cherubini, 125, 137. Chilcot, T., 5, 71. Chorley, 68. Choudens, Paul, 18. Cibber, Colley, 29, 31. Cimino, G. T., 74. Clark, Hamilton, 22. Clement, 1, 14, 32, 47. Coleridge Taylor, 114, 157. Collier, J., 6. Collin, Baron von, xi, 14, 58. Cooke, Dr, 88, 94, 130, 131. Coppa, 120. Corder, Frederick, 145, 146, 156. Corelli, Archangelo, 28. Corfe, 65. Costa, 120. Crescentini, 120. Crotch, 13. Cumberland, 3. Cummings, W. H., 54.

Dalayrac, 121. Dante, 108. Davenant, 29, 54, 134, 142. Davison, 68. Davy, 135, 136. Debussy, 100. Deffes, L., 17, 75, 76. Dent, 99. Deschamps, 124. Dickens, C., 141. D'Ivry, Marquis, 121. Dixon, C., 72. Doppler, 20. Dryden, 134, 136, 142. Duggan, 146. Dumas, A., 27. Duvernoy, A., 138. Dvorak, 107.

Eberlin, J. E., 117. Eccles, John, 55. Edward VII., 121. Edwards, Richard, 118. Eggers, J., 58. Elgar, Sir Edward, 40. Elias, J. F., 137. Enna, August, 2. Erdmann, J. V., 130.

Faccio, 29, 32. Faure, G., 78, 79. Ferrand, H., 98, 99. Fibich, Zdenko, 112, 113, 138. FitzGerald, 57. Fleg, 59. Fletcher, 43, 45, 46, 71, 72, 96, 154, 156, 165. Forbes-Robertson, 25, 127. Ford, T., 154. Frank, Ernst, 132. Frederick the Great, 27. Fuller-Maitland, 5. Furnivall, F. J., 46, 47, 165, 166.

Gade, 2, 38. Gainsborough, 72. Galliard, 71. Garal, Pierre de, 31. Gasparini, 28, 29. George III., 73. German, E., 9, 37, 38, 42-44, 105, 115, 116, 127, 128. Giordani, 72. Girard, 143. Godfrey, A., 62. Goethe, 143. Goetz, 130. Gounod, 118, 119, 129. Graun, 2, 21, 27. Greene, Plunket, 156. Greenhill, 47, 165. Grieg, 35, 38. Grisi, 80, 81, 137. Grove, 1, 18, 32, 70, 72, 73, 110, 137. Guglielmi, 122. Guillaume, 34.

Hale, 140, 141. Halevy, 32, 76, 137. Handel, xi, 2, 27, 38, 47, 73, 90, 91, 93, 94, 130, 134. Haraucourt, 78, 79. Harrison, 47, 166. Hatton, 42, 87, 157. Hauk, Minnie, 133. Haydn, 120, 141, 155. Henry VIII., 45. Henschel, Sir George, 22, 23, 117. Hignard, A., 31. Hodson, Henrietta, 141. Hohenzollern-Hechingen, Prince of, 51. Holbrooke, Joseph, 128. Horn, xiii, 12, 80, 88. Hueffer, Francis, 108, 111. Humperdinck, 77, 108, 112, 142, 151, 152, 161. Humphrey, xi, 39.

Immerman, 137. Irving, Sir Henry, 15, 16, 22, 37, 43, 55. Irving, H. B., 22.

Jackson, 72. Johnson, Noel, 130. Johnson, Robert, xi, xii, 134, 136. Joncieres, Victorin de, 27. Jonson, Ben, 136. Judith, Mme., 28.

Kean, Mrs C., 42. Kemble, Fanny, 57. Kemble, J. P., 57, 135. Kemp, Dr, 10. Kipling, 89. Kirchner, 9, 70. Kreutzer, K., 51. Kreutzer, R., 2. Krug, Arnold, 112.

Lablache, 80, 137. Laboix, 14. Lampe, J. F., 92. Lampe, Mrs, 92. Larousse, 1, 14, 32, 47, 138. Laurence, Dr, 136. Leborne, 28. Lennen, 87. Leonhardt, Caroline, 63. Leopold I., 148. Leveridge, 55. Levey, 57. Linley, 5, 135, 136, 141, 164. Lisle, Rouget de, 56. Liszt, 34, 57, 62, 65. Locke, xi, 54, 55, 134. Longhurst, Master, 158. Loubbert, 143. Lucas, 9, 146. Lumley, 137.

MacDowell, E. A., 37. Macfarren, 20, 45, 160. Mackenzie, Sir A. C., 15, 16, 31, 152. Maeterlinck, 108. Maggioni, 80. Mansfield, Richard, 115, 116. Marescalchi, 128. Marlowe, 12, 154, 165. Marshall, Julian, 148. Martin Harvey, Sir John, 26, 27. Mascagni, 19. Massenet, 31. Maurel, Victor, 84, 109. Mendelssohn, 43, 63, 65, 75, 88, 89, 96, 97, 124, 137. Mercadante, 40. Meredith, George, 112. Metzler, 45. Meurice, Paul, 27. Meyerbeer, 27, 63, 115. Missa, 18, 19. Moke, Miss, 142. Monnel, 121. Moody, 21. Morgan, M., 40. Morley, 124. Mosenthal, 81. Mozart, 86.

Napoleon I., 120. Nicolai, 80, 81, 82. Nicolini, 28. Novello, 54.

O'Neill, 26, 27.

Paganini, 124. Parry, 80. Pelham, 39. Pepys, 38. Percy, Bishop, 106, 165. Perrier, 28. Peters, 63. Piave, 56. Pierson, H. H., 63, 126, 127. Pinsuti, C., 74. Plancon, Pol, 102, 118. Playford, 71. Pleyel, Mme., 143. Plimmer, W. G., 112. Podesta, C., 104. Porta, 128. Portland, Earl of, 28. Pounds, Courtice, 164. Prout, E., 48. Prussia, King of, 89. Puget, P., 104. Purcell, Dan, 55, 77. Purcell, H., xi, 12, 54, 55, 71, 77, 90, 134, 135, 136, 148, 149, 164.

Raff, 63, 107, 126. Rameau, 130. Ravenscroft, 154. Reinhardt, 77, 151, 161. Richter, 37, 152. Ricordi, 85. Riemann, 1, 18, 32, 47, 110. Roffe, 165. Romani, 119. Ronald, Landon, 40. Rosa, Carl, 99, 133. Rosse, Frederick, 78. Rossini, 45, 106, 107, 108. Rousseau, 159. Roze, Raymond, 47, 48. Rubens, Paul, 156. Rubini, 80. Rumling, Von, 128.

Saint Georges, 87. Saint Saens, 43. Salvayre, 115. Sankey, 21. Santley, Sir Charles, 146. Sardinia, King of, 50. Scarlatti, D., 29. Schott, 70. Schroeder-Devrient, 57. Schubert, 5, 19, 20, 45, 160. Schumann, 47, 48, 62, 63, 131. Schuster, 128. Schwanenberg, 128. Scribe, 137. Segur, 121. Shadwell, 29, 134, 142, 148, 149. Sharp, Cecil, 95. Shaw, Bernard, 47. Silvestre, A., 137. Smetana, 116. Smith, J. C., 7, 90-92, 134-136. Smithson, Henrietta, 123. Smyth, Dr Ethel, 5. Sontag, 137. Spaight, 146. Spohr, 62-63. Squire, Barclay, 7, 34, 47, 128, 148. Stadfeldt, 34. Stanford, Sir Charles V., 100, 103, 156. Steibelt, 120, 121. Stephens, 11. Stevens, 166. Stevenson, Sir John, 73. Stone, 165. Strauss, R., 65, 66, 100, 112. Stuart, Otho, 22. Sturgis, Julian, 100, 103. Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 45, 55, 77, 141, 142, 157. Svendsen, 128.

Tamagno, 109. Tamburini, 80. Taubert, Emil, 150. Taubert, Wilhelm, 58, 141, 142, 150. Taylor, Coleridge, 114, 157. Terry, Ellen, 37, 44, 55. Thomas, Ambroise, 29, 30, 31. Tindal, W., 73. Tree, Sir Herbert, 22, 23, 47, 88, 114, 156. Troutbeck, the Rev. J., 36. Tschaikowsky, 23, 25, 35, 125, 126, 144.

Vaccaj, N., 120, 121. Verdi, 2, 40, 50, 51, 55, 56, 80, 83-86, 106, 108, 111, 112, 115. Veracini, F. M., 7. Viardot, Mme., 27, 57. Vogler, Abt, 27, 154.

Wagner, 2, 28, 30, 56, 57, 60, 62, 65, 67-70, 81, 84, 86, 108, 112, 125. Wagner, Cosima, 55. Webb, Gilbert, 41. Weber, 27, 88, 89. Weingartner, F., 52. Weiss, 5. Weldon, John, 71. Wilde, Oscar, 100. Wilson, Dr John, 71. Winter, Peter von, 154. Wolff, 51. Wood, Sir Henry, 2.

Young, Isabella, 92.

Zeno, Apostolo, 28. Ziani, 7. Zingarelli, 120.

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End of Project Gutenberg's Shakespeare and Music, by Christopher Wilson