Felix Mendelssohn
Feb. 3rd, 2009 07:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calimacBorn 200 years ago today in Hamburg, Germany, and my userpic for this post. I can perhaps best express my love for his music by quoting a bit from something I once wrote on Mendelssohn and Shakespeare, with musical illustrations.
During the Middle Ages and Renaissance, England was one of the leading musical nations in Europe. While authors like Shakespeare and Marlowe were brightening the stage, composers like John Dowland and William Byrd were equally sparkling in music. Some of their works may even have been used for the musical cues in Elizabethan plays. It is a curious thing, however, that after the death of Henry Purcell in 1695, England became completely bereft of important native-born composers for exactly 200 years. The English continued to love music and perform it with passion, but they had to import it. In particular they imported a series of German composers, each of whom came over for visits, achieved enormous popularity, and swept all before them. And all the obscure native-born composers rushed to write works that were just like theirs.
First, in the early 18th century, came George Frederick Handel, who actually settled down permanently in England and, like the Hanoverian kings who came over at about the same time, evolved into the archetypal bluff hearty Englishman, writing bluff hearty English works like the Water Music and the oratorio Messiah.
Then, in the later 18th century, came Johann Christian Bach, youngest son of the great Johann Sebastian, and Joseph Haydn, who charmed with their elegant and witty symphonies.
And in the 19th century, the German who swept his way over all English music for two generations to come was Felix Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn first visited England in 1829 and often returned until his early death in 1847. He was a smooth and charming man who became a confidant of the royal family. He accompanied Queen Victoria’s singing on the piano, and encouraged Prince Albert’s attempts at composition. And his own compositional style dominated British music for most of the rest of the century.
The most famous works that Mendelssohn wrote under the influence of his British visits were his Scottish travelogue pieces, the Scotch Symphony and the Fingal’s Cave or Hebrides Overture. (Mendelssohn didn’t actually like Scotland: sailing to the islands made him seasick, but that doesn’t emerge in the music.)
But his most profoundly influential British composition is one he wrote without any British visit in mind and indeed began before he’d ever been there. It is, however, a deeply felt response to a great work of English literature. This is his incidental music for Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Mendelssohn had grown up in a wealthy, cultured family in Berlin (his father was a successful banker), and he and his sister were prodigies in many respects, particularly music. But they also read literature, and one work that struck the young Felix’s imagination was Schlegel’s recent Shakespeare translation, Ein Sommernachtstraum. At the age of 17 – about the same age that Mozart produced his first masterpieces – Mendelssohn composed what he called an overture to the play.
It wasn’t really an overture. It wasn’t intended, at that time, to be used with any performance of the play. It was more what would later come to be called a tone poem. Like Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet and many other such works to come, it intended not to retell the story of the play but to evoke its characters, plot, and general nature, as might a painting inspired by the same play. This was a painting in sound.
We know what Mendelssohn’s specific inspirations were because he told us, and because he used some of the same music for specific events or characters in the incidental music that was to come later. I’m going to play the beginning of the overture and point out some of what Mendelssohn is painting for us.
The chords for woodwinds that open the piece are our gateway into Faerie. It’s like a curtain through which we pass to enter the secondary world, Shakespeare’s sub-creation. The scurrying string music that follows, of course, represents the fairies, followed by Oberon’s hunting horns. Oberon doesn’t hunt in Shakespeare, but he does in some other Oberon stories. Mendelssohn was unsurpassed at writing light, airy music of this kind. Nobody ever succeeded at equaling this musical evocation of Shakespearean fairies – except Mendelssohn himself, many years later. Listen:
In addition to reusing the overture, Mendelssohn wrote underscoring for the more magical events. He also wrote entr’actes, scene-changing music that introduced new parts of the story.
Including this, for the break before Act 2, to introduce the fairies, just about the only time in history that a middle-aged artist has perfectly replicated a magical achievement of his youth without just copying it:
For the mass weddings near the end of the play, he wrote a wedding march. You’ve all heard it; it goes like this:
And for the song lyrics by which the fairies sing Titania to sleep, he wrote a vocal setting. It’s not heard very often, but it’s a really remarkable piece, as evocative as the fairy scherzo I played a moment ago. But what’s most remarkable about it is the influence that it, and other Mendelssohn vocal works like it, had on that younger English composer, Sir Arthur Sullivan. The harmonization, the staccato winds supporting lyrical melody, the style of the vocal line and repetitions of words – in particular the little half-cadences at the ends of the verses, followed by a repetition of the last line on a full cadence – are uncannily similar. Sullivan learned almost everything he knew about text-setting from Mendelssohn works like this, and if I told you that Sullivan wrote it, you’d probably believe me. Here's a bit from that.
During the Middle Ages and Renaissance, England was one of the leading musical nations in Europe. While authors like Shakespeare and Marlowe were brightening the stage, composers like John Dowland and William Byrd were equally sparkling in music. Some of their works may even have been used for the musical cues in Elizabethan plays. It is a curious thing, however, that after the death of Henry Purcell in 1695, England became completely bereft of important native-born composers for exactly 200 years. The English continued to love music and perform it with passion, but they had to import it. In particular they imported a series of German composers, each of whom came over for visits, achieved enormous popularity, and swept all before them. And all the obscure native-born composers rushed to write works that were just like theirs.
First, in the early 18th century, came George Frederick Handel, who actually settled down permanently in England and, like the Hanoverian kings who came over at about the same time, evolved into the archetypal bluff hearty Englishman, writing bluff hearty English works like the Water Music and the oratorio Messiah.
Then, in the later 18th century, came Johann Christian Bach, youngest son of the great Johann Sebastian, and Joseph Haydn, who charmed with their elegant and witty symphonies.
And in the 19th century, the German who swept his way over all English music for two generations to come was Felix Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn first visited England in 1829 and often returned until his early death in 1847. He was a smooth and charming man who became a confidant of the royal family. He accompanied Queen Victoria’s singing on the piano, and encouraged Prince Albert’s attempts at composition. And his own compositional style dominated British music for most of the rest of the century.
The most famous works that Mendelssohn wrote under the influence of his British visits were his Scottish travelogue pieces, the Scotch Symphony and the Fingal’s Cave or Hebrides Overture. (Mendelssohn didn’t actually like Scotland: sailing to the islands made him seasick, but that doesn’t emerge in the music.)
But his most profoundly influential British composition is one he wrote without any British visit in mind and indeed began before he’d ever been there. It is, however, a deeply felt response to a great work of English literature. This is his incidental music for Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Mendelssohn had grown up in a wealthy, cultured family in Berlin (his father was a successful banker), and he and his sister were prodigies in many respects, particularly music. But they also read literature, and one work that struck the young Felix’s imagination was Schlegel’s recent Shakespeare translation, Ein Sommernachtstraum. At the age of 17 – about the same age that Mozart produced his first masterpieces – Mendelssohn composed what he called an overture to the play.
It wasn’t really an overture. It wasn’t intended, at that time, to be used with any performance of the play. It was more what would later come to be called a tone poem. Like Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet and many other such works to come, it intended not to retell the story of the play but to evoke its characters, plot, and general nature, as might a painting inspired by the same play. This was a painting in sound.
We know what Mendelssohn’s specific inspirations were because he told us, and because he used some of the same music for specific events or characters in the incidental music that was to come later. I’m going to play the beginning of the overture and point out some of what Mendelssohn is painting for us.
The chords for woodwinds that open the piece are our gateway into Faerie. It’s like a curtain through which we pass to enter the secondary world, Shakespeare’s sub-creation. The scurrying string music that follows, of course, represents the fairies, followed by Oberon’s hunting horns. Oberon doesn’t hunt in Shakespeare, but he does in some other Oberon stories. Mendelssohn was unsurpassed at writing light, airy music of this kind. Nobody ever succeeded at equaling this musical evocation of Shakespearean fairies – except Mendelssohn himself, many years later. Listen:
- (0:00) Enter the world of Faerie ...
- (0:16) and here are the fairies themselves.
- (1:09) Pompous music for King Oberon.
- (1:25) And his hunting horns.
- (1:45) Mixture of the themes of the fairies and the court.
- (2:16) Here are the four lovers.
- (2:53) Shh! Here comes Puck, watching them.
- (3:21) Here are the mechanicals, and Bottom braying.
- (3:50) And here’s Oberon’s hunting horns again.
- (4:17) And back to the fairies, and into the development of the themes ...
In addition to reusing the overture, Mendelssohn wrote underscoring for the more magical events. He also wrote entr’actes, scene-changing music that introduced new parts of the story.
Including this, for the break before Act 2, to introduce the fairies, just about the only time in history that a middle-aged artist has perfectly replicated a magical achievement of his youth without just copying it:
For the mass weddings near the end of the play, he wrote a wedding march. You’ve all heard it; it goes like this:
And for the song lyrics by which the fairies sing Titania to sleep, he wrote a vocal setting. It’s not heard very often, but it’s a really remarkable piece, as evocative as the fairy scherzo I played a moment ago. But what’s most remarkable about it is the influence that it, and other Mendelssohn vocal works like it, had on that younger English composer, Sir Arthur Sullivan. The harmonization, the staccato winds supporting lyrical melody, the style of the vocal line and repetitions of words – in particular the little half-cadences at the ends of the verses, followed by a repetition of the last line on a full cadence – are uncannily similar. Sullivan learned almost everything he knew about text-setting from Mendelssohn works like this, and if I told you that Sullivan wrote it, you’d probably believe me. Here's a bit from that.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-03 08:32 pm (UTC)http://rwl.livejournal.com/24144.html
no subject
Date: 2009-02-03 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-04 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-04 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-04 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-06 02:44 pm (UTC)Ashton's work is now available on DVD in a remarkable production by American Ballet Theatre, with the divine Alessandra Ferri as Titania.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-06 03:20 pm (UTC)I've heard of Ashton, of course, but I do not know his work. I've not seen much ballet, but there are two choreographers I've grown to like as well as know their work. Balanchine is one; the other is Lew Christensen.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-06 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-08 10:53 pm (UTC)