Overtures to and potpourris from the principal Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas are integral to the repertory of salon and pop orchestras everywhere. In all cases, the overture is made up of the opera’s main melodies, and in most cases these overtures were written by others.
The Gondoliers was the last of the Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas to survive in the permanent repertory. It was produced on December 7, 1889. After the operatic pretension of the Yeomen of the Guard which had preceded it, The Gondoliers represented a welcome return by the authors to the world of paradox, absurdity, and confusion. It has aptly been described as a “farce of errors.” The setting is Venice in the middle of the 18th century. The Duke and Duchess of Plaza-Toro come to Venice accompanied by their daughter, Casilda, and a drummer boy, Luiz, who loves her. In her childhood, Casilda had married the infant heir to the throne of Barataria. This heir had then been stolen and entrusted to the care of a gondolier who raised him as one of his two sons. In time the gondolier himself has forgotten which of his two boys is of royal blood. To complicate matters even further, the two gondolier boys, Marco and Giuseppe, are married. Thus it seems impossible to solve the problem as to who really is the heir to Barataria’s throne and by the same token Gasilda’s husband. But when this problem is finally unscrambled it turns out that the heir is neither Marco nor Giuseppe, but none other than Luiz.
The following are the principal selections from The Gondoliers: Antonio’s song, “For the Merriest Fellows Are We”; the duet of Marco and Giuseppe, “We’re Called Gondolieri”; the autobiographical chant of the Duke of Plaza-Toro, “The Duke of Plaza-Toro”; the duet of Casilda and Luiz, “There Was a Time”; the song of the Grand Inquisitor, “I Stole the Prince”; Tessa’s song, “When a Merry Maiden Marries”; the duet of Marco and Giuseppe, “For Everyone Who Feels Inclined”; Giuseppe’s patter song, “Rising Early in the Morning”; Marco’s serenade, “Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes”; and the song of the Duchess, “On the Day that I was Wedded.”
Iolanthe, introduced on November 25, 1882, carried Gilbert’s love of paradox, confusion and absurdity into the fairy kingdom. To Isaac Goldberg, this comic opera, both as words and as music is “a peer among its kind. It is surprisingly complete. It is, indeed, of Gilbert and of Sullivan, all compact. The Gilbertian conflict between reality and fantasy is mirrored in details great and small—in scene, costume, in line, in gesture.... It would be difficult to find among the remaining thirteen comic operas one that reveals the collaborators playing so neatly into each other’s hands—responding so closely to the conscious and unconscious demands of the reciprocal personality.” The heroine, Iolanthe, is a fairy who has married a mortal and thus has been banished to the bottom of a stream by the Queen of her kingdom. But the Queen eventually forgives Iolanthe. Upon returning to her fairy kingdom, Iolanthe discovers she is the mother of a son, Strephon, who is half fairy and half mortal; and Strephon is in love with the mortal, Phyllis, who, in turn, is being pursued not only by her guardian, the Lord Chancellor, but even by the entire House of Peers. When Phyllis finds Strephon with Iolanthe she suspects him of infidelity, since she has no idea that Iolanthe is Strephon’s mother. Immediately she begins to bestow her kindly glances upon two members of the House of Peers. Summoned for help, Iolanthe reveals that Strephon is, indeed, her son, and that his father is none other than the Lord Chancellor. By this time the other fairies of the kingdom have succumbed to the charms and appeal of the Peers. Iolanthe is saved from a second punishment when the Lord Chancellor helps change fairy law to read that any fairy not marrying a mortal is subject to death.
Leading numbers from Iolanthe include the following: the opening chorus of the fairies, “Tripping Hither, Tripping Thither”; Strephon’s song, “Good Morrow, good Mother”; the love duet of Phyllis and Strephon, “Thou the Tree and I the Flower”; Entrance, chorus, and march of the Peers, “Loudly Let the Trumpet Bray” followed immediately by the Lord Chancellor’s monologue, “The Law is the True Embodiment”; the Lord Chancellor’s personal credo, “When I Went to the Bar”; the song of Willis, the sentry, “When All Night Long a Chap Remains”; Lord Mount Arrat’s chauvinistic hymn, “When Britain Really Ruled the Waves”; the Fairy Queen’s song, “Oh, Foolish Fay”; the Lord Chancellor’s patter song about a nightmare, “When You’re Lying Awake”; the trio of the Lord Chancellor, Mount Ararat and Tolloler, “If You Go In”; Strephon’s song, “Fold Your Flapping Wings”; and the finale, “Soon as We May.”
The Mikado was a sensation when first performed in London on March 14, 1885; and with many it is still the favorite of all Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas. By 1900, it had received over one thousand performances in London and five thousand in the United States. Since then these figures have multiplied. It has been adapted for motion pictures, and in New York it has been given in two different jazz versions (The Hot Mikado and Swing Mikado). In 1960 it was presented over television with Groucho Marx as the Lord High Executioner.
In its own day much of its appeal was due to its exotic setting of Japan and strange Japanese characters. Such a novelty for the English stage was the strong spice that endowed the play with much of its succulent flavor. Gilbert’s inspiration had been a miniature Japanese village set up in the Knightsbridge section of London which aroused and stimulated the interest of the English people in all things Japanese. Gilbert was one of those who became fascinated by this Oriental exhibit, and his fascination led him to conceive a comic opera with a Japanese background.
But while the Japanese are certainly no longer curiosities in the theater—have, indeed, become a vogue on Broadway since the end of World War II—The Mikado has never lost its tremendous popularity. For The Mikado represents Gilbert and Sullivan at their creative peak. The whimsical characters, absurd situations, the savage malice of the wit and satire, and the strange and paradoxical deviations of the plot find Gilbert at the height of his whimsical imagination and skill; and at every turn, Sullivan was there with music that captured every subtle echo of Gilbert’s fancy.
The thought of having to marry the unattractive Katisha proves so distasteful to Nanki-Poo, son of the Mikado, that he puts on the disguise of a wandering minstrel and flees. After coming to the town of Titipu, he meets and falls in love with Yum-Yum who, in turn, is being sought after by her own guardian, Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner. The Lord High Executioner faces a major problem. The ruler of Japan has sent a message to Titipu stating that since no execution has taken place there for many years the office of Lord High Executioner will be abolished if somebody is not executed shortly. When Ko-Ko discovers that Nanki-Poo is about to commit suicide, rather than live without Yum-Yum, he finds a solution to his own problem. Ko-Ko is willing to allow Nanki-Poo to marry Yum-Yum and live with her for a month if at the end of that time he allows himself to be beheaded. The wedding takes place, but before the beheading can be consummated the Mikado arrives on the scene with Katisha. Only then is the discovery made in Titipu that Nanki-Poo is the Mikado’s son and that anyone responsible for his death must boil in oil. The news that Nanki-Poo is alive saves Ko-Ko from this terrible fate; but he soon confronts another in the form of Katisha, whom he must now marry to compensate her for her loss of Nanki-Poo.
Many of the excerpts from The Mikado are known to anyone who has ever heard or whistled a tune. These are the most significant: the opening chorus of the Japanese nobles, “If You Want to Know Who We Are”; Nanki-Poo’s self-introductory ballad, “A Wandering Minstrel I”; Pish-Tush’s description of the Mikado’s decree against flirtation, “Our Great Mikado”; Ko-Ko’s famous patter song, “I’ve Got a Little List”; the song of Yum-Yum’s companions, “Three Little Maids”; the affecting duet of Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum, “Were You Not to Ko-Ko Plighted”; Yum-Yum’s radiant song, “The Sun Whose Rays”; Ko-Ko’s allegorical song, “Tit Willow”; the madrigal of Yum-Yum, Pitti Sing, Nanki-Poo and Pish Tush, “Brightly Dawns Our Wedding Day”; the sprightly trio of Yum-Yum, Nanki-Poo and Ko-Ko, “Here’s a How-de-do”; the song of the Mikado, “My Object All Sublime”; the duet of Nanki-Poo and Ko-Ko, “The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring.”
Patience in 1881 directed its well aimed satirical pricks and barbs at the pre-Raphaelite movement in England with its fetish for simplicity and naturalness; and with equal accuracy at poets and esthetes like Oscar Wilde and Algernon Swinburne, leaders of an esthetic movement that encouraged postures, poses, and pretenses. Twenty maidens are turned into esthetes through their common love for the “fleshly poet” Bunthorne. Because of this love they hold in disdain their former sweethearts, the officers of the Heavy Dragoon. Bunthorne, however, is in love with the simple, unselfish milkmaid Patience, who dotes after the idyllic poet of heavenly beauty, Grosvenor. Since Patience is unselfish she cannot hope to win Grosvenor’s love, for to be loved by one so beautiful is the most selfish thing in the world. She decides to accept Bunthorne. Now the twenty love-sick maidens fall in love with Grosvenor and through his influence abandon estheticism for simplicity. Unaware of this new direction in their loved ones, the Dragoons desert their uniforms for esthetic garb, substitute their former practical everyday behavior for extravagant postures and poses. Weary of the demands made upon him by the doting maids, Grosvenor (with a push from Bunthorne) becomes commonplace. But, unfortunately for Bunthorne, since it is no longer selfish to be loved by a commonplace man, Patience returns to Grosvenor. The maidens, now interested in the commonplace, can now return to their Dragoons. But poor Bunthorne is left alone with nothing but a lily in his hand to console him.
The following are the principal selections from Patience: the opening female chorus, “Twenty Lovesick Maidens We”; Patience’s simple query about the nature of love, “I Cannot Tell What This Love May Be”; the chorus of the Dragoons, “The Soldiers of Our Queen” followed immediately by the Colonel’s patter song, “If You Want a Receipt”; Bunthorne’s recipe for success in the business of being an esthete, “If You’re Anxious For to Shine”; Grosvenor’s duet with Patience, “Prithee, Pretty Maiden”; Jane’s soliloquy, “Silvered is the Raven Hair” with which the second act opens; Grosvenor’s fable to the lovesick maidens, “The Magnet and the Churn”; Patience’s ballad, “Love is a Plaintive Song”; and the gay duet of Bunthorne and Grosvenor, “When I Go Out of Doors.”
Pinafore was the first of the successful Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas in which we encounter that strange topsy-turvy world over which Gilbert and Sullivan ruled; that we confront the accidents, coincidences, paradoxes, and mishaps that beset its hapless inhabitants. Pinafore is a devastating satire on the Admiralty in general and William H. Smith, its First Lord, in particular. But it also makes a mockery of social position. Ralph Rackstraw, a humble seaman, is in love with Josephine, daughter of Captain Corcoran, commanding officer of the H.M.S. Pinafore. But the first Lord of the Admiralty, Sir Joseph Porter, is also in love with her. Since Josephine’s father would never consent to have his daughter marry one so lowly as Ralph, the lovers decide to elope. But the plans are overheard by the seaman, Dick Deadeye, who reports them to the Captain with the result that Ralph is put in irons. An impasse is thus reached until Little Buttercup, a “Portsmouth Bumboat woman,” reveals an incident of the distant past. Entrusted the care of two infants she mixed them up with the result that the lowly born child, Corcoran, was mistaken for the one of high station and was thus able to rise to the station of Captain; but the child of high station believed to have been of lowly origin, Ralph, had been forced to become a seaman. By order of Sir Joseph, Ralph now becomes the master of the ship and can claim Josephine as his bride. The proud Captain, now reduced to a seaman, must content himself with Little Buttercup.
Pinafore was a sensation when introduced in London in 1878, enjoying seven hundred consecutive performances. But it proved even more sensational in the United States, following its première there at the Boston Museum on November 25 of the same year. Ninety different companies presented this comic opera throughout the country in that first season, with five different companies operating simultaneously in New York. Pinafore was given by colored groups, children’s groups, and religious groups. It was widely parodied. Some of its catch phrases (“What never? No never!” and “For he himself has said it”) entered American argot.
As a bountiful source of popular melodies, the score of Pinafore is second only in importance to that of The Mikado. Here are the main ones: the opening chorus of the sailors, “We Sail the Ocean Blue”; Buttercup’s forthright self-introduction, “I’m Called Little Buttercup”; Ralph’s madrigal, “The Nightingale,” and ballad, “A Maiden Fair to See”; the Captain’s colloquy with his crew, “I Am the Captain of the Pinafore”; Josephine’s poignant ballad, “Sorry Her Lot”; Sir Joseph’s exchange with his sisters, cousins, and aunts, “I am the Monarch of the Sea,” and his autobiographical, “When I Was a Lad”; the Captain’s sad reflection, “Fair Moon to Thee I Sing”; the choral episode, “Carefully on Tip-Toe Stealing” followed by the tongue-in-the-cheek paean to England and Englishmen, “He Is an Englishman.”
The Pirates of Penzance was the only Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera to receive its world première outside England. This took place in New York at the Fifth Avenue Theater in 1879. (There was a single hastily prepared performance in Paignton, England, on December 30, 1879 but this is not regarded as an official première.) The reason why The Pirates was introduced in New York was due to the presence there of its authors. Numerous pirated versions of Pinafore were then being given throughout the United States in about a hundred theaters, and Gilbert and Sullivan decided to come to America for the dual purpose of exploring the conditions under which they might protect their copyright and to offer an authorized version of their opera. In coming to the United States, they brought with them the manuscript of their new work, The Pirates of Penzance, and arranged to have its première take place in New York.
The Pirates of Penzance is a blood relative of Pinafore. Where Pinafore made fun of the British Navy, The Pirates concentrates on the British Army and constabulary. In Pinafore two babies are mixed up in the cradle for a confusion of their identities; in The Pirates it is the future professions of babies which are confounded in the cradle. In Pinafore the secret is divulged by Buttercup, in The Pirates by Ruth. Pinafore boasts a female chorus of cousins, sisters and aunts while The Pirates has a female chorus made up of the Major General’s daughters.
The hero is young Frederic, apprenticed to a band of pirates by his nurse Ruth, who mistakes the word “pilot” for “pirate.” Frederic falls in love with Mabel, one of the many daughters of Major General Stanley and looks forward eagerly to his freedom from his apprenticeship to the pirate band, which arrives on his twenty-first birthday. But Frederic discovers that since he was born on leap year the year of his freedom—his twenty-first birthday—is many, many years off; that by the calendar he is still only a little boy of five. As a pirate he must join his confederates in exterminating Mabel’s father and the constables attending him. But all turns out happily when the pirates actually prove to be ex-noblemen, and are thus found highly acceptable as husbands for the daughters of Major General Stanley. The Major General is also in favor of the union of Mabel and Frederic.
The following are the leading musical selections: the opening chorus of the pirates, “Pour, Oh Pour, the Pirate Sherry”; the Pirate king’s hymn to his profession, “For I am a Pirate King”; the chorus of the Major General’s daughters, “Climbing Over Rocky Mountain”; Frederic’s plaintive plea for a lover, “Oh, Is There Not One Maiden Breast”; the Major General’s autobiographical patter song, “I Am the Very Pattern of a Modern Major General”; the rousing chorus of the constabulary, “When the Foeman Bares His Steel”; the tripping trio of Ruth, Fred and the Pirate King on discovering Fred is only a child of five, “A Paradox, a Most Ingenious Paradox”; Mabel’s haunting ballad, “Oh, Leave Me Not to Pine”; the Police Sergeant’s commentary on his profession, “When a Felon’s Not Engaged in His Employment”; the Pirates’ chorus, “Come Friends Who Plough the Sea,” a melody expropriated by an American, Theodore Morse, for the lyric “Hail, Hail the Gang’s All Here”; and the General’s idyllic ballad, “Sighing Softly To the River.”
Ruddigore, a travesty on melodrama, was first performed on January 22, 1887. Because the Murgatroyd family has persecuted witches, an evil spirit had fated it to commit a crime a day. Ruthven Murgatroyd tries to flee from this curse by assuming the identity of simple Robin Oakapple. He meets and falls in love with Rose who is being sought after by Ruthven’s foster brother, Richard. Since Ruthven as Robin Oakapple has the upper hand with Rose, Richard avenges himself by revealing the fact that his brother is really a member of the Murgatroyd family and like all of them is the victim of the ancient family curse. Back in his ancestral home, Ruthven must fulfil his quota of crimes, a job he bungles so badly that his ancestors suddenly come alive out of the picture frames on the wall, to condemn him. But after numerous convolutions of typically Gilbertian logic and reasoning, the curse is broken and Ruthven can live happily with his beloved Rose.
From Ruddigore come the following familiar sections: the opening chorus of the bridesmaids, “Fair Is Rose as the Bright May Day”; Hannah’s legend, “Sir Rupert Murgatroyd”; Rose’s ballad, “If Somebody There Chanced to Be”; the extended duet of Robin and Rose, “I Know a Youth Who Loves a Little Maid”; Richard’s ballad, “I Shipped, D’ye See, in a Revenue Sloop”; Robin’s song, “My Boy You May Take it From Me”; the chorus of the bridesmaids, “Hail the Bride of Seventeen Summers” followed by Rose’s madrigal, “Where the Buds Are Blossoming”; the duet of Robin and Adam, “I Once Was As Meek as a New Born Lamb”; Rose’s ballad, “In Bygone Days”; the chorus of the family portraits, “Painted Emblems of a Race”; Sir Roderic’s patter song, “When the Night Wind Howls”; and Hannah’s ballad, “There Grew a Little Flower.”
The Sorcerer, the first successful Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera, was introduced in 1877. Alexis, in love with Aline, wishes to spread around the blessings of love. For this purpose he enlists the cooperation of John Wellington Wells, the creator of a love brew. In an effort to perpetuate Aline’s love for him, Alexis has her drink this potion, only to discover that his beloved has fallen for the vicar, Dr. Daly, he being the first man she sees after drinking the draught. Since Alexis is not the only one to suffer from this now-general epidemic of loving, a serious effort must be made to offset the effects of this magic: a human sacrifice. Naturally that sacrifice becomes none other than John Wellington Wells who is driven to self immolation before things can once again be set normal.
The music of The Sorcerer is not so well known as that of the other famous comic operas, but it does contain several Gilbert and Sullivan delights. Among them are: the song with which Wells introduces himself and his black art, “Oh! My Name Is John Wellington Wells,” the first of the Gilbert and Sullivan patter songs; the vicar’s haunting ballad, “Time Was When Love and I Were Well Acquainted”; and the romantic duet of Aline and Alexis, “It Is Not Love.”
In the Yeomen of the Guard, produced on October 3, 1888, the topsy-turvy world of Gilbert and Sullivan is temporarily sidestepped for another of operatic pretensions. Of all the Gilbert and Sullivan plays this one comes closest to resembling an opera. The immediate stimulus for the writing of the text came to Gilbert from an advertisement in a railway station depicting a Beefeater. Out of this acorn grew the oak of Gilbert’s play in which Colonel Charles Fairfax is falsely accused by his kinsman, Poltwhistle, of sorcery. For this he must be condemned to death in the Tower of London. Since Fairfax is not married, his fortune will pass on to his accuser. But Charles thwarts such evil designs by marrying Elsie Maynard, a strolling player—if only for an hour. Then he manages to escape from the Tower disguised as a yeoman of the guard. When the execution is to take place there is no victim. Eventually, a reprieve enables Charles to live permanently with Elsie.
The most important selections from the Yeomen of the Guard are: Phoebe’s song with which the opera opens, “When Maiden Loves”; the chorus of the yeomen, “In the Autumn of Our Life”; Fairfax’ ballad, “Is Life a Boon?”; the extended duet of Point and Elsie, “I Have a Song to Sing, O”; Phoebe’s ballad, “Were I Thy Bride”; Point’s patter song, “Oh, a Private Buffoon Is a Light-Hearted Loon”; the quartet of Elsie, Fairfax, Dame Carruthers and Meryll, “Strange Adventure”; the trio of Fairfax, Elsie and Phoebe, “A Man Who Would Woo a Fair Maid”; the quartet of Elsie, Fairfax, Phoebe and Point, “When a Wooer Goes a-Wooing”; and the finale, “Oh, Thoughtless Crew.”
Besides his music for the comic operas there exists a vast repertory of serious music by Sullivan. Of this hardly more than two songs have retained their popularity. One is “The Lost Chord,” lyric by Adelaide Proctor, written by Sullivan in December 1876 at the deathbed of his brother, Fred. From Charles Willeby we get an account of how this deeply moving piece of music came into being: “For nearly three weeks he watched by his bedside night and day. One night—the end was not very far off then—while his sick brother had for a time fallen into a peaceful sleep, and he was sitting as usual by the bedside, he chanced to come across some verses by Adelaide Proctor with which he had some five years previously been struck. He had then tried to set them to music, but without satisfaction to himself. Now in the stillness of the night he read them over again, and almost as he did so, he conceived their musical equivalent. A stray sheet of music paper was at hand, and he began to write. Slowly the music took shape, until, becoming quite absorbed in it, he determined to finish the song. Even if in the cold light of day it were to prove worthless, it would at least have helped to while away the hours of watching. So he worked on at it. As he progressed, he felt sure this was what he had sought for, and failed to find on the occasion of his first attempt to set the words. In a short time it was complete and not long after in the publisher’s hands. Thus was written ‘The Lost Chord,’ perhaps the most successful song of modern times.”
“Onward Christian Soldiers,” words by Sabine Baring-Gould, is the most celebrated of Sullivan’s more than fifty religious hymns. It is effective not merely for its religious mood but also for its martial spirit. “The music,” says Isaac Goldberg, “has the tread of armies in it, and a broad diatonic stride.” Sullivan wrote it in 1873 upon being appointed editor of the Hymnal, a collection of hymns published by Novello for the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge and the Hymnary.
Franz von Suppé was born Francesco Suppé-Demelli in Spalato, Yugoslavia, on April 18, 1819. He played the flute at eleven, at thirteen started the study of harmony, and at fifteen completed a Mass. Nevertheless, for a while he entertained the idea of becoming either a physician or a teacher of Italian. When he finally decided upon music as a profession he attended the Vienna Conservatory. After serving an apprenticeship as conductor of operettas in Pressburg and Baden, he was appointed principal conductor at Theater-an-der-Wien in Vienna. In 1862 he assumed a similar post with the Karlstheater, and from 1865 until his death at the Leopoldstadttheater. While absorbing the influence and traditions of the opéra-bouffe of Offenbach, he began writing operettas of his own in a style uniquely his, setting and establishing many of the traditions and clichés which would henceforth identify the Viennese operetta. He had an unusual gift for light, caressing tunes, a gay and infectious spirit, and a direct emotional appeal. His first operetta was Jung lustig in alter traurig in 1841. Success came with his incidental music to Poet and Peasant (Dichter und Bauer), introduced on August 24, 1846; its overture is still his best known composition and a classic in the musical literature in a lighter vein. A succession of popular operettas, over twenty-five in number, made him one of Europe’s most celebrated composers for the stage. His most famous operettas were: Das Maedchen vom Lande (1847), Die schoene Galatea, or Beautiful Galathea (1865), Leichte Cavallerie, or Light Cavalry (1866), Fatinitza (1876), Boccaccio (1879), and Donna Juanita (1880). Suppé died in Vienna on May 21, 1895.
The overture to The Beautiful Galathea (Die schoene Galatea) opens with brisk music. Horns and woodwind lead into an extended portrayal of exaltated character by strings. Once again horns and woodwind appear, this time providing a transition to a caressing melody that soon develops into a fulsome song. After a theatrical passage, the overture’s main melody is heard in the strings, with harmonies filled in by the woodwind; this is a graceful dance tune which, towards the end of the overture, is repeated with harmonic and tonal amplitude by the full orchestra.
The Light Cavalry Overture (Leichte Cavallerie) is, as its name indicates, stirring music of martial character. Horn calls and forceful chords in full orchestra provide at once the military character of this music. A vivacious tune for the violins follows this forceful introduction after which comes the brisk melody for woodwind followed by the full orchestra that has made this overture so famous; the gallop of the cavalry is here simulated in a brisk rhythm. The agitation is dissipated by a sensitive transition in strings and clarinet to a spacious melody in strings in a sensual Hungarian style. The brisk military music and the open horning calls then give the overture a dynamic conclusion.
Morning, Noon and Night in Vienna (Ein Morgen, ein Mittag, ein Abend in Wien) is one of the composer’s famous concert overtures. A dramatic introduction—with forceful chords in full orchestra—leads to a beautiful and fully realized song for solo cello against plucked strings, one of Suppé’s most inspired flights of melody. The song ended, the dramatic opening is recalled to serve as a transition to two buoyant and graceful Viennese tunes in the strings, the second repeated vigorously and amplified by full orchestra. The overture ends in a robust rather than lyrical vein.
The Pique Dame (Queen of Spades) Overture begins with a murmuring passage for strings that grows in volume and changes character before an expressive melody unfolds in lower strings against an accompanying figure borrowed from the opening passage. A vigorous interlude of strong chords and a vigorous pronouncement by the brass lead into the most famous theme of the composition, a vivacious and jaunty melody for strings and woodwind. This subject is developed at some length before a melodic episode is offered by the lower strings as a preface to a soft, idyllic interlude for the woodwind. The conclusion of the overture is in a vigorous manner with an energetic restatement of earlier thematic material.
Of all the Suppé overtures, whether for the stage or the concert hall, the most famous undoubtedly is the Poet and Peasant (Dichter und Bauer). After a stately introduction there arrives a gentle song for the strings. This is succeeded by a more robust theme. The main melody of the overture is a pulsating melody in ⅜ time. Indicative of the enormous popularity of this overture in all parts of the world is that it has been adapted for almost sixty different combinations of instruments.
Johan Svendsen was born in Oslo, Norway, on September 30, 1840. The son of a bandmaster, he dabbled in music for many years before receiving formal instruction. When he was twenty-three he embarked for the first time on a comprehensive musical education by attending the Leipzig Conservatory where he was a pupil of Ferdinand David, Reinecke, and others. After that he toured Europe as a concert violinist and lived for a while in Paris where he played in theater orchestras. In 1870 he visited the United States where he married an American woman whom he had originally met in Paris. Following his return to his native land he was the conductor of the Christiana Musical Association from 1872 to 1877 and again from 1880 to 1883. In 1883 he settled in Copenhagen where for sixteen years he was court conductor, and part of that time conductor at the Royal Theater as well. As a composer Svendsen distinguished himself with major works for orchestra in a pronounced Norwegian style, the most famous being four Norwegian Rhapsodies and the Carnaval des artistes norvégiens, in all of which Norwegian folk melodies are used extensively. He also produced many works not of a national identity, among which were symphonies, concertos, chamber-music works, and the highly popular Carnival in Paris, for orchestra. Svendsen died in Copenhagen on June 14, 1911.
The Carnival in Paris (Carnaval à Paris), for orchestra, op. 9 (1873) is one of Svendsen’s best-known works, even though it is not in his characteristic Norwegian style. His early manhood in Paris had been one of the composer’s happiest experiences in life, and some of that joy and feeling of excitement is found in this music describing a Mardi Gras in Paris. The full orchestra enters after a swelling trumpet tone over drum rolls. There is then heard an exchange among the wind instruments and a quickening of the tempo to lead into the first main theme, a delicate subject for flutes and clarinets. This theme is twice repeated after which the music becomes stormy. Divided violins then bring on the second theme, which like the first is quiet and gentle. In the development, in which much is made of the first subject, there are effective frequent alternations of tempo. A rhapsodic section, with a subject for divided strings, followed by extended drum rolls and calls for muted horns, precede the concluding section.
Joseph Deems Taylor was born in New York City on December 22, 1885. He received his academic education in New York, at the Friends School, Ethical Culture School, and New York University. All the while he studied music with private teachers. Following his graduation from college, Taylor appeared in vaudeville, worked for several magazines, and from 1921 to 1925 was the music critic of the New York World. He first distinguished himself as a composer in 1919 with the orchestral suite, Through the Looking Glass. In 1925 he resigned from the World to concentrate on composition. In the next half dozen years he completed two operas, each successfully performed at the Metropolitan Opera: The King’s Henchman (with libretto by Edna St. Vincent Millay) in 1927, and Peter Ibbetson in 1931. Since 1927, Taylor has followed several careers besides that of one of America’s most important serious composers. He was editor of Musical America, music critic for the New York American, master of ceremonies on radio and television, program annotator, intermission commentator for broadcasts of opera and orchestral music, and author of several best-selling books on music. A highly sophisticated composer with a consummate technical skill, Taylor’s works are not for popular consumption. But he did write one composition in a popular style, Circus Day; and a second of his works, Through the Looking Glass, while intended for symphonic concerts, has enough wit and charm to fall gracefully into the semi-classical category.
Circus Day is a fantasy for orchestra, op. 18 (1925) written on commission from Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra. When Whiteman and his orchestra introduced it that year, the work was orchestrated by Ferde Grofé, but since then Taylor has prepared his own symphonic adaptation. Subtitled “eight pictures from memory” this fantasy strives “to convey one’s early impressions of a day at the circus.” The composer has provided his own program notes for the eight movements. The first, entitled “Street Parade,” describes the circus parade as it “passes on down the street.” “The playing of the band grows fainter and dies away in the distance.” “The Big Tops” tells in musical terms about “peanuts, popcorn, pink lemonade, bawling side-show barkers.” This is followed by “Bareback Riders.” “As the ringmaster cracks his whip, the riders perform the miraculous feats ... that make horseback riders the objects of such awe and admiration.” The fourth movement is in three parts. The first is devoted to “The Lion’s Cage.” “The roar of the lions is blood curdling, but they go through their tricks with no damage to any of us.” The second speaks about “The Dog and the Monkey Circus.” “Into the ring dash a whole kennel full of small dogs guised as race horses, ridden by monkeys dressed as jockeys.” In the third, we get a picture of “The Waltzing Elephants.” “The great beasts solemnly waltz to a tune that is a pachydermous version of the theme of the bareback riders.” In the fifth movement, “Tight-Rope Walker,” the performer “balances his parasol; he pirouettes and slips and slides as he makes his perilous way along the taut wire.” “The Jugglers,” in the sixth movement, “juggle little balls and big ones, knives, dishes, hats, lighted candles....” Even the orchestra is seized by the contagion and finally juggles its main theme, keeping three versions of it in the air. In “Clowns,” two of them “come out to play us a tune.... Finally, after a furious argument, the entire clown band manages to play the tune through, amid applause.” The finale, the composer goes on to explain, “might better be called ‘Looking Back.’ For the circus is over, and we are back at home, trying to tell a slightly inattentive family what we saw and heard. The helpful orchestra evokes recollections of jugglers, clowns, bareback riders, tight-rope walkers, trained animals.”
Through the Looking Glass, a suite for orchestra (1919) is a musical setting of episodes from Lewis Carroll’s delightful tale of the same name. Taylor’s suite is in four movements, for which he has provided his own program. The first movement, “Dedication; The Garden of Live Flowers,” consists of “a simple song theme, briefly developed,” which leads immediately to the brisk music of “The Garden of Live Flowers.” In the second movement, “Jabberwocky,” the theme of the frightful beast, the Jabberwock, “is first announced by the full orchestra. The clarinet then begins the tale [with] the battle with the monsters recounted in a short and rather repellant fugue.” The third movement, “Looking Glass Insects” tells of “the vociferous diptera that made such an impression on Alice—the Bee-elephant, the Gnat, the Rockinghorse fly, and the Bread-and-butter fly.” The last movement, “The White Knight” has two themes. “The first is a sort of instrumental prance, being the knight’s own conception of himself as a slashing daredevil. The second is bland, mellifluous, a little sentimental—much more like the knight as he really was.”
Peter Ilitch Tchaikovsky was born in Votkinsk, Russia, on May 7, 1840. Serious music study began comparatively late, since he prepared for a career in law and then for three years served as clerk in the Ministry of Justice. He had, however, revealed unusual sensitivity for music from earliest childhood, and had received some training on the piano from the time he was five. Intensive music study, however, did not begin until 1861 when he became a pupil of Nicholas Zaremba, and it was completed at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. His professional career began in 1865, the year in which he was appointed professor of harmony at the newly founded Moscow Conservatory. This was also the year when one of his compositions was performed for the first time: Characteristic Dances, for orchestra, introduced by Johann Strauss II in Pavlovsk, Russia. Tchaikovsky’s first symphony was introduced in Moscow in 1868; his first opera, The Voivoda, in Moscow in 1869; and his first masterwork—the orchestral fantasy Romeo and Juliet—in Moscow in 1870. During the next half dozen years he reached maturity as composer with the completion of his second and third symphonies, first two string quartets, famous Piano Concerto No. 1, and the orchestral fantasy, Francesca da Rimini.
In 1877, Tchaikovsky embarked precipitously on a disastrous marriage with Antonina Miliukova. He did not love her, but was flattered by her adoration of his music. In all probability he regarded this marriage as a convenient cloak with which to conceal his sexual aberration which was already causing some talk in Moscow and of which he was heartily ashamed. In any event, this marriage proved a nightmare from the beginning. Always hypersensitive, he now became a victim of mental torment which led him to try suicide. Failing that, he fled from his wife to find refuge in his brother’s house where he collapsed physically. For a year after that he traveled about aimlessly in Europe.
This strange relationship with his wife was followed by another one, even more curious and unorthodox, with the woman whom he admired and loved above all others. She was the wealthy patroness and widow, Nadezhda von Meck, with whom he maintained a friendship lasting thirteen years. But during all that time he never once met her personally, their friendship being developed through an exchange of often tender at times even passionate letters. She had written him to speak of her admiration for his music and he had replied in gratitude. Before long, she endowed him with a generous annual subsidy to allow him full freedom to write music. From then on, they wrote each other frequently, with Tchaikovsky often baring his heart and soul. The reason why they never met was that Mme. von Meck had firmly established that condition for the continuation of their friendship and her financial generosity. Why this strange request was made, and why she adhered to it so tenaciously, has never been adequately explained. She may have been influenced by their different stations in life, or by her excessive devotion to her children, or even by a knowledge of the composer’s sexual deviation.
Now financially independent—and strengthened by the kindness, affection and sympathy of his patroness—Tchaikovsky entered upon one of his richest creative periods by producing one masterwork after another: the fourth and fifth symphonies, the opera, Eugene Onegin; the violin concerto; the Capriccio italien, for orchestra; a library of wonderful songs. Inevitably he now assumed a rank of first importance in Russian music. In 1884 he was honored by the Czar with the Order of St. Vladimir, and in 1888 a life pension was conferred upon him by the Russian government.
In 1890, while traveling in the Caucasus, Tchaikovsky heard from Mme. von Meck that she had recently suffered financial reverses and was compelled to terminate her subsidy. The composer replied that he was no longer in need of her financial help but that he hoped their friendship might continue. To this, and to all subsequent letters by Tchaikovsky, Mme. von Meck remained silent. Upon returning to Moscow, Tchaikovsky discovered that his patroness was in no financial difficulties whatsoever, but had used this as an excuse to terminate a relationship of which she had grown weary. The loss of his dearest friend, and the specious reason given for the termination of their relationship, was an overwhelming blow, one largely responsible for the fits of melancholia into which Tchaikovsky lapsed so frequently from this time on.
In 1891, Tchaikovsky paid his only visit to the United States where he helped open Carnegie Hall in New York by directing a performance of his own Overture 1812. After returning to Russia, he became so morbid, and succumbed so helplessly to fits of despair, that at times he thought he was losing his mind. In such a mood he wrote his last symphony, the Pathétique, one of the most tragic utterances in all music; there is good reason to believe that when Tchaikovsky wrote this music he was creating his own requiem. He died in St. Petersburg on November 6, 1893, a victim of cholera contracted when he drank a glass of boiled water during an epidemic.
The qualities in his major serious works that made Tchaikovsky one of the best loved and most frequently performed composers in the world are also the traits that bring his lesser works into the permanent semi-classical repertory: an endless fund of beautiful melody; an affecting sentiment that at times lapses into sentimentality; a lack of inhibitions in voicing his deepest emotions and most personal thoughts.
The Andante Cantabile is a gentle, melancholy song in three-part form which comes from one of the composer’s string quartets, in D major, op. 11 (1871). This is the second movement of the quartet, and the reason why this work as a whole is still occasionally performed. This famous melody, however, is not original with the composer, but a quotation of a Russian folk song, “Vanya Sat on the Divan,” which the composer heard a baker sing in Kamenka, Russia. Tchaikovsky himself adapted this music for orchestra. In 1941, this melody was adapted into the American popular song, “On the Isle of May.”
Chanson Triste is another of the composer’s soft, gentle melodies that is filled with sentiment. This is the second of twelve children’s pieces for the piano “of moderate difficulty,” op. 40 (1876-1877).
Humoresque, op. 10, no. 2 (1871)—a “humoresque” being an instrumental composition in a whimsical vein—finds Tchaikovsky in a less familiar attitude, that of grotesquerie. This sprightly little tune is almost as celebrated as the very popular Humoresque of Dvořák; and like that of Dvořák, it originated as a composition for the piano, a companion to a Nocturne which it follows. Fritz Kreisler made a fine transcription for violin and piano, while Stokowski was one of several to adapt it for orchestra.
The Marche Slav, for orchestra, op. 31 (1876) was intended for a benefit concert in St. Petersburg for Serbian soldiers wounded in the war with Turkey. At that performance, the work aroused a “whole storm of patriotic enthusiasm,” as the composer himself reported. The work opens with a broad Slavic march melody which Tchaikovsky borrowed from a Serbian folk song. The middle trio section is made up of two other folk tunes. The composition ends with a triumphant restatement of the opening march melody, now speaking for the victory of the Serbs over the Turks.
The Melodie, in E-flat major, op. 42, no. 3 (1878) is a simple and haunting little song that originated as a piece for violin and piano. It appears in a set of three such pieces entitled Souvenir d’un lieu cher, of which it is the closing number. This melody was used in 1941 for the American popular song, “The Things I Love.”
The Months, op. 37b (1876) is a suite for piano out of which come several compositions exceedingly popular in transcriptions. Each movement of this suite is devoted to a month of the year. The sixth movement is June, a little barcarolle, or Venetian boat song. The tenth, for October, is Autumn Song, a gentle melody lightly touched by sadness. The eleventh, for November, is by contrast a lively piece entitled Troika en Traneaux, or The Troika.
“None But the Lonely Heart” is one of Tchaikovsky’s most famous songs, a melancholy setting of Goethe’s poem. This is the last of a set of six songs, op. 16 (1872) which is extensively performed in transcriptions of all sorts.
The Nutcracker Suite, or Casse-Noisette, op. 71a (1892) is a suite for orchestra adapted from a ballet score. The ballet (introduced in St. Petersburg in 1892) tells about a nutcracker, received as a Christmas gift by a little girl, which in her dreams becomes a handsome prince. He leads toys into battle against mice, and conducts the little girl to Jam Mountain, Arabia, where she is delighted with all kinds of games and dances. Those accustomed to associate the name of Tchaikovsky with lugubrious music will find this suite a revelation, for it is filled with the most enchanting moods, and is consistently light of heart and spirit. The highly popular suite for orchestra is made up of eight little movements. “Miniature Overture” is built from two lively tunes. The main subject of the “March” is a pert melody for clarinet, horn, and two trumpets; the trio section consists of a vivacious staccato melody for the woodwind and strings. “The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy” is a sensitive melody for the celesta, the “Trepak” is a vigorous, rhythmic Russian dance, the “Arabian Dance” is an exotic melody for the clarinet, and the “Chinese Dance” an Oriental subject for flute and piccolo. The two last movements are the “Dance of the Flutes” in which a sensitive melody for flutes is contrasted by a more robust section for trumpets, and the “Waltz of the Flowers,” where the waltz tune in horns and then in clarinets is followed by two more important ideas, the first in the strings, and the second in flutes and oboe.
The Overture 1812 is a concert overture for orchestra, op. 49 (1880) commissioned for the consecration of a temple built as a memorial to Napoleon’s defeat in Russia in 1812. This overture was intended by the composer to describe the historic events of Napoleon’s invasion of and flight from Russia. An introductory section quotes the well-known Russian hymn, “God Preserve Thy People.” In the main body of the overture, the Battle of Borodino is dramatically depicted, the two opposing armies represented by quotations from the Marseillaise and the Russian national anthem. A climax is reached with a triumphant restatement of the Russian national anthem.
The Polonaise is one of two celebrated dance episodes in the opera Eugene Onegin. (The other is the Waltz discussed below.) This three-act opera is based on a poem by Pushkin, adapted by Konstantin Shilovsky and the composer himself, and was introduced in Moscow on March 29, 1879. The setting is St. Petersburg in or about 1815, and its central theme concerns the frustrated love affair of Eugene Onegin and Tatiana. The brilliant music of the Polonaise is heard in the first scene of Act 3. In the palace of Prince Gremin there takes place a reception during which the guests dance to the vital strains of this courtly Polish dance, its vigor derived from sharp syncopations and accents on the half beat.
Romance, in F minor, op. 5 (1868) is a composition for piano written by the composer when he believed himself in love with the singer, Désirée Artôt, to whom the piece is dedicated. This music gives voice to a romantic ardor.
The Sérénade mélancolique in B-flat minor, op. 26 (1875) is a work for violin and orchestra. As the title indicates it is a sentimental rather than romantic effusion. Here a brief subject leads to a soaring three-part song for the violin.
Serenade for Strings, in C major, op. 48 (1880) is particularly famous for its second and third movements. The second is a Waltz, perhaps the most popular of this composer’s many well loved waltzes. This is a graceful, even elegant, dance movement, the waltz of the Parisian salon rather than the more vital and earthy dance of Vienna. Such a light-hearted mood is instantly dispelled by the gloom of the third movement, an eloquent Elegy, in which the sorrow is all the more poignant because it is so subdued and restrained.
Solitude, op. 73, no. 6 (1893)—sometimes known as Again as Before—is a song set to a poem by D. M. Rathaus. This is the last of a set of six songs. Stokowski made an effective arrangement for orchestra.
Song Without Words (Chanson sans paroles), in F major is the third of a set of three pieces for the piano collectively entitled Souvenir de Hapsal, op. 2 (1867). This tender melody is far more familiar in transcriptions than it is in its original version.
Tchaikovsky wrote three Suites for orchestra. From two of these come movements which must be counted with the composer’s most popular works. The Suite No. 1 in D minor, op. 43 (1880) is famous for its fourth movement, a Marche Miniature. The inclusion of this section into the suite was something of an afterthought with the composer, since it was interpolated into the work only after it had been published, placed as a fourth movement between an intermezzo and a scherzo. This march is in the grotesque, fantastic style of the piano Humoresque. The main subject is heard in the piccolo against plucked-string accompaniment. A transitory episode in strings and bells leads to a development of this melody.
The third movement from this same suite, Intermezzo, has two main melodies: the first appears in first violins, violas, bassoons and flute; the second, in cellos and bassoon. The coda is based on the first theme.