Music Trade Review -- © mbsi.org, arcade-museum.com -- digitized with support from namm.org
THE MUSIC TRADE REVIEW
which was recently produced in London,
in the course of which he says:
"The truth is that these critics, these
terrible, terrible people, with the dust of
centuries in their eyes and hearts, who
have been trying to persuade the public
for ages past that music is a science and
not an art, have a positive hatred of any
composers who are not dull and labored,
who do not float to notoriety on their own
puffs and paragraphs, unless they be com-
posers who arrive here with a big conti-
nental reputation, and whose opinion they
dare not assail; and it is a hatred born
partly of ignorance and partly of sympathy
with the dust and midnight oil that are the
very essence of the schoolroom. The at-
mosphere of the schoolroom is the only
atmosphere they can appreciate or under-
stand. It is typical of themselves. They
hate freshness, spontaneity and the cour-
age that prompts a composer to write as
he feels rather than as they would dictate.
All these qualities are to them 'monu-
ments of conventionality,' and it is small
wonder, therefore, that their criticisms are
frequently monuments of stupidity. Day-
light is as foreign to them as it is to the
unsophisticated bat. They can only find
their way about in the night under cover
of the darkness."
*
WILL riOTTL CONDUCT HERE?
As it is probable that the conductor for
the Covent Garden season of opera in
London will fulfill the same duty during
the opera season later in this city, the fol-
lowing item from the London Musical
Standard, is of some interest: " Most
Wagnerians will be satisfied with the
choice of Herr Felix Mottl as conductor of
the forthcoming Wagner Festival at
Covent Garden. Indeed, when the death
of Anton Seidl was known in London, the
names of Dr. Richter and Herr Mottl were
the first that suggested themselves, so that
Mr. Schulz-Curtius has probably given
satisfaction to every one in engaging the
Carlsruhe conductor. Some of us, perhaps,
would have liked to have an opportunity
of hearing Herr Mahler again, especially
as he has made great strides in his profes-
sion since he was last here; but the
ordinary London amateur, so conservative
in his tastes, would probably have voted
for Felix Mottl, who at any rate is as good
if not better than the late Anton Seidl."
It is stated in other London papers that
offers of $10,000 to $20,000 for an American
season have been refused by Nikisch,
Mottl, Weingartner and Richter. A local
writer on musical topics says: " T h e
present indications are that great con-
ductors will soon ask and get as much as
great tenors and sopranos; and they ought
to."
*
In a song contest in Germany it is an-
nounced that 1,000 bottles of the finest
Moselle wine will be given to the poet and
composer who shall produce, within the
current year, such a song as is suited, in
the-opinion of the committee appointed
for the purpose, to become a Volkslied for
the German-speaking world. If the words
and the music are by different persons,
then each"is to receive 500 bottles.
A NEW POETESS.
The relation between music and poetry
is close and intimate. The one necessi-
tates the other. The truest poetry is
musical, and music is always more or less
poetic. While not identical, the two arts
are correlates.
Miss Minnie Gilmore is an illustration
of the truth. Her father, the famous
bandmaster, Patrick S. Gilmore, was an
incarnate baton, the daughter lisped in
numbers, and spoke in song.
She now comes before the public in a
handsome volume of poems, published by
F. Tennyson Neely, of New York and
London. Her poems are largely in one
vein, and that the theatrical. She is the
minstrel of the green room, and by her
doughty championship has earned the
gratitude of the players.
Her sense of fun and keen wit are
shown in a poem entitled, "L'Ingenue."
We subjoin a few specimen stanzas:
L'INGKNUE.
My rivals swear I'm thirty ;
The bills omit my name;
Behind, I'm fined as " flirty,"
In front, I'm hissed as " lame."
The leading-man is hateful,
The star won't even speak ;
And, worst of all, I'm grateful
For only twelve per week.
Rehearsals, all the morning;
Sub-study, half the night:
I'm cast without a warning,
For parts I can't recite.
I'm prompted nigh lo madness;
I breathe, eat, sleep by rule—
Oh ! Wouldn't I, with gladness,
Go back to boarding-school!
Young fools, old knaves, pursue me
With gilded lures to sin—
The married actors woo me,
The agent chucks my chin.—
I'm mother's girl, and will be !
Tho', frankly let me state,—
The hits all fall to Trilby,—
Ingenue's out of date !
Similar in tone and esprit, but with a
surprising denouement, is a poem called
A COQUETTE OF T H E BALLET.
Ah, oni! Monsieur ''adores thestage,
And me, Coquette, the season's rage."
I thank Monsieur, with all my art.—
Non, non—I mean, with all my heart.
Ah, naughty boy ! I must not hear.
Sad flatiereur you are, I fear.
" Non ?" All the same, I run away ;
As woman must, who—dares not—stay !
\
" Monsieur comes, too ?" Ah, what a man !
Coquette resists him,—while she can !
Enough
! Monsieur has conquered me !
II
To Del's ?"—Man cker, Monsieur, mcrci /
*
#
*
#
*
" Sauterne, half-shells,—as we begin ;
A bird, sorbet, and terrapin ; —
Champagne, and after, eau de vie?" —
Monsieur provides me charmingly.
Un reve d'amour,—this feast divine!
A kiss, Monsieur, I give—your wine.
" You love me?"—So !—And if I, too,
Am deep in love, Monsieur, with you ?— .
I say not, no! I say not, yes !
My silence means,—Monsieur will guess.
(Cu/!—For my sake, recognize
That all the world has open eyes !)—
Adieu, Monsieur. I seek my home.—
Non, I forbid that you shall come!
Monsieur insists ?—And Coquette, too !
Who shall be victor,—mot, or you ?—
Non, non, non, non ! Still non, I say! —
Ah! Wilful man !—Then have your way.
»
*
#
#
*
How sweet, n'est ce pas ?—This too short ride,—
Monsieur, Coquette, so—side by side!
Helas! It ends.—Yet welcome here,
Chez mot. Ascend, and share my cheer.
One, two, three flights, and yet one more.—
Behold, my high, yet humble door !
" I live alone ?" Mais, non ? Not so.
Too lonely it would be, you know.
I live with Jaque.—Appear, my page! —
Monsieur, my son ; just your own age?
In quite a different strain is the
SERENADE.
We dream of gifts the gods deny us,
Of goals our feet pursue in vain;
While Youth, and Love,—sweet Love,—flee by us,
On wings that turn not back again !
Too late we wake from dreams ideal,—
One dream has fled beyond recall;
The heart-dream, true, and pure, and real,
The Love-dream, sweetest dream of all.
Only one dream is sweet, dear,
Only one dream is true;
Who shall dream it with me, dear?
Who shall dream it with you ?
Dream my heart is a nest, dear,—
Dream your heart is a dove:
Life is sweetest and best, dear,
Dreaming the dream of Love.
Oh ! Naught are Gold, and Fame, and Pleasure,
But mocking phantoms, pale and chill!
Tho' hands o'erflow with their bright treasure,
The loveless heart is empty still.
One dream alone shall ever fill it,—
The dream that stands, though all dreams fall.
Nor Life, nor Death, shall wake or kill it,—
The Love-dream, sweetest dream of all.
Then mourn not, tho' they pass our portal,—
The dreams that hold not Love's red wine;
For Love's dream only, is immortal;
And Love's dream only, is divine.
Exult, O hearts, whom Love is given !
Ye vanquish Death, and grave, and pall !
For Love is not of earth, but Heaven ;
And Love's dream dreams beyond them all.
Miss Gilmqre's tribute to her father is
simple and touching. Space forbids more
than a bon bone he :
TO MY FATHER.
(P. S. G.)
Mute flowers droop upon the grave—
The silent grave, that beds his sleep;
Where, musing some celestial stave,
Twin-angels, vigils keep.
His lute of Life, no more shall sing,
For Death has hushed its golden strain;
But in my heart, its echoes ring
Immortal Love's refrain.
•
•
*
•
*
#
Death's saddest sting for Love, I hold,
Is not that we lose all, to-day,—
But that we lost so much, of old,
Ere Love was rent away.
" If we had only known," we wail,
" Had only known that we must part,—
Our life had been of more avail,
As prover of our heart!"
In this dainty volume Miss Gilmore has
done enough to whet our appetite. More
and even better things—a wider sweep of
interest and utterance—may be expected
from her when next her muse shall be
on the wing.
*
WANTED—A CONDUCTOR.
There continues to be much gossip and
conjecture regarding a successor to Seidl
as conductor of the Opera House, the
Philharmonic Society and the Permanent
Orchestra.
The names of Gericke,
Nikisch, Weingaertner, Richter, Mottl,
Thomas, Van Der Stucken, Schell, Lohse
and Paur are mentioned and will as a
matter of course continue to be mentioned
through the summer, and up until the
moment the appointment is made. One
thing is certain; the successor of Seidl
must be a man of eminence and authority,
and if the wishes of the majority of this
great musical center are taken into con-
sideration, he will be a progressionist—a
man broad enough to see some merit in
modern music—one who will hold out the
hand of encouragement to our native com-
posers. Had we a strong man antagonistic
to Bourbonism—a rather pertinent collo-
quialism—he could do wonders.
*
Dr. Dvorak's new opera which he has
been working on all the winter is entitled
'' The Devil and the Catin. " It is founded
on an old Slav legend, and will be first
produced at Prague,