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--- REVIEWS ---
Charles Auchester is the first (and best-known) of six novels written by Elizabeth Sheppard
(1830-1862). She apparently started work on it when she was only sixteen, and it was published
in 1853. It was much admired by Disraeli, who said of it that “No greater book will ever be
written upon music”. The music critic Henry Chorley, reviewing it in the Athenaeum, was much
less complimentary.
Why am I reviewing the book for the Berlioz Society Bulletin? Simply because the characters in
the novel are believed to represent actual musicians of the time: and one of those musicians is
Berlioz. The preface to the Everyman edition (by Jessie A Middleton) identifies them as follows:
Chevalier Seraphael: Mendelssohn
Florimond Anastase: Berlioz
Aronach: Carl Friedrich Zelter (1758-1832; German composer and music teacher)
Charles Auchester: Charles Horsley (1822-1876; English musician)
– although a different source identifies him with Joseph Joachim (1831-1907; Hungarian violinist)
Clara Benette: Jenny Lind (1820-1887; Swedish soprano)
Joseph Cerinthia: Manuel Garcia II (1805-1906; Spanish baritone and singing teacher)
Maria Cerinthia: Maria Malibran (1808-1836; Spanish mezzo soprano, sister of Manuel Garcia II)
Josephine Cerinthia: Pauline Viardot (1821-1910; Spanish mezzo soprano, sister of Manuel Garcia II)
Lenhart Davy: John Hullah (1812-1884; English composer and music teacher)
Miss Lawrence: Miss (Fanny?) Horsley (sister of Charles Horsley)
Milans-André: Sigismond Thalberg (1812-1871; pianist and composer)
Santonio: Prosper Sainton (1813-1890; French violinist)
Starwood Burney: Sir William Sterndale Bennett (1816-1875; English composer)
Most of these identifications seem plausible. There can be no doubt that the central character,
the “Chevalier Seraphael” – seen as a virtually angelic figure, as implied by his name - is
indeed based on Mendelssohn, even though in the book he marries, and has twins by, the Jenny Lind
character (Clara Benette, known as “La Benetta Benedetta” rather than “the Swedish nightingale”),
before both he and the twins die. There seem equally good grounds for accepting that “Santonio”
is based on Sainton, “Starwood Burney” on Sterndale Bennett and the three Cerinthias on Manuel,
Maria (Malibran) and Pauline Garcia. However, Charles Auchester himself – a violinist in the book
– has been linked with both Charles Horsley, an organist, and Joseph Joachim, who at least played
the right instrument.
The link between “Anastase” and Berlioz is still more remote. Anastase again is a violinist (and
Auchester’s teacher at the German music academy where he studies). There seems to be no
unmistakable respect – apart from the passion for music which is shared by all the principal
characters, and evidently the author too - in which he could be said to represent Berlioz. On the
other hand, the timing is (just about) plausible. The book appeared the year after Berlioz had
been in London to conduct six concerts of the New Philharmonic Society, three of which included
works by Mendelssohn, which would no doubt have commended him to the young Miss Sheppard.
Perhaps she might even have attended one or more of these concerts. He had also included a work
by Mendelssohn in the second concert of his first visit in 1847/48, so even if she started work
on the book in about 1846/47 it is not impossible that she might have heard of Berlioz quite
soon thereafter.
“Anastase” first appears on page 208; he is described as “very slim and fair, … though not tall”,
with a slender brown moustache, and Auchester finds him initially slightly off-putting. He plays
a less than central role in the story; he and Maria Cerinthia are destined for marriage, but she
dies after composing a symphony (truly Mendelssohnian in style, no doubt), and he then rather
disappears from view. On page 283 of the Everyman edition, he sends tickets for Maria and her
father to attend a concert in Paris, at which he himself plays a violin solo by Fesca (1789-1826;
German composer and violinist); but it seems far-fetched to suggest that this might in some way
reflect the performance of the Symphonie Fantastique in 1832 at which Harriet Smithson was present
in the audience. There is also (on page 345) a brief intimation of a possible tendresse between
Anastase and Clara Benette.
The book is a paean to the power and importance of music, and more specifically to Mendelssohn as
its personification, by a young lady clearly passionate about both (her other musical gods include
Bach, Handel and Beethoven). There is not much in the way of plot: in essence the book covers
Charles Auchester’s musical education, from his early childhood in an unspecified town in England,
via Germany, where he studies under Zelter (Mendelssohn’s music teacher and Goethe’s friend, whose
damning critique of the Huit Scènes de Faust may have been the reason why Goethe never responded
after Berlioz had sent him the score) before going to the “Cecilia school” headed by Seraphael, and
then back in England. All of the principal characters are much too good to be true. There are a
couple of less perfect, and potentially more interesting, characters, but they receive correspondingly
less attention. The most intriguing of these is the dancer Laura Lemark; then there is Marc Iskar,
a fine violinist who lacks a true musical soul, but whose part in the book is only marginal; and
Milans-André / Thalberg, whose brief appearances show him in a less than complimentary light.
The tone is relentlessly old-fashioned and formal. For much of the story the main characters are
in their teenage years, and they address their elders almost unfailingly as “Sir”, with copious use
of “thee” and “thou”. This becomes somewhat oppressive over 420 pages, as do the overwrought
descriptions of flowers and dresses which betray the sex and youth of the author. She was also
evidently mighty proud of her Jewish ancestry, and comes close to implying that no other race can
aspire to true musicianship.
At the end of the day, the interest of this book for a Berlioz-lover is much more limited than I
might have hoped. For a Mendelssohn fanatic, though, it might be a different matter …
ALASTAIR ABERDARE
Charles Auchester – by Elizabeth Sheppard (J M Dent & Sons, London / E P Dutton & Co, New York:
Everyman’s Library No 505 – first published 1911, reprinted 1928)
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Les Troyens in Boston under James Levine.
On Sunday, May 4, 2008, at 3pm in the Symphony Hall, Boston,
there was a Concert Performance and a Symposium devoted to Berlioz's opera,
Les Troyens, given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by James Levine.
A review of this major event can be seen at
http://www.berkshirereview.net/music/berlioz_troyens.html
King Lear overture 12 December 2007 – Barbican Hall, London
Les nuits d’été Sir Colin Davis – London Symphony Orchestra
Harold in Italy Anne Schwanewilms, soprano; Tabea Zimmermann, viola
Against the inevitably high expectations engendered by Sir Colin Davis conducting the LSO in an
all-Berlioz concert on the day after the composer’s 204th birthday, I found the first half
disappointing. The King Lear overture (not, I must confess, one of my favourite Berlioz works)
seemed disjointed and bombastic, with the LSO on less than top form. The beautiful oboe theme,
supposedly representing Cordelia, was delightfully done, contrasting favourably with the huffing
and puffing elsewhere in the piece. Most impressive of all was Sir Colin himself, who, far from
huffing and puffing, displayed the energy and enthusiasm of a man half his age on the podium.
He and the orchestra were in fine form for Les nuits d’été, perfectly creating the perfumed
atmosphere of Berlioz’s glorious songs of yearning and love. Anne Schwanewilms has a lovely voice,
and “all the notes”, but conveyed little feeling for the music or the meaning of the songs. She
sang with her hands clasped primly in front of her throughout, and with almost total lack of
expression – that expression which Berlioz insisted his music was all about. The rose in the
second song sounded more as if it had arrived via Clapham Junction than from Paradise.
Schwanewilms enunciated poorly, with a very un-French accent, and seemed generally uninvolved;
she never sang out, but deferred to Sir Colin and the orchestra, almost as if taking part in a
run-through rather than a proper performance.
The signs were poor from the start, with a Villanelle of little charm or impact. The most
successful song was Sur les lagunes, where the sheer beauty of Schwanewilms’s voice was effective;
the same was true at the beginning of Au cimetière. It may have been through a transferral of my
own thoughts that I sensed a lack of rapport between soloist and conductor, as well as between
soloist and music. Even so, much of the beauty of these marvellous songs came across, despite a
singer who was more passenger than driver (or even co-driver).
After the interval came Harold in Italy: there was more feeling in the first two notes of Tabea
Zimmermann’s sensational performance of the solo viola part than in all of Schwanewilms’s six
songs. The communication between soloist and conductor was now electric, and the performance as
a whole superb.
Paganini, of course, never played the viola part in the symphony, even though it was written for
him, apparently on the grounds that it was insufficiently virtuosic. Zimmermann might have led
him to think again. Her performance was breathtaking, with thread-like pianissimos, magical
arpeggios in the Pilgrims March, and perfect judgment of tone so that her presence was always felt
as and when it needed to be. The two middle movements were magnificently rendered by all concerned,
including some lovely woodwind solos. The boisterous finale provided a suitably rousing conclusion
to both the work and the evening.
ALASTAIR ABERDARE
Harold in Italy, etc – Barbican Hall, 12 December 2007
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La Damnation de Faust 6 September 2007 – Royal Albert Hall, London
James Levine – Boston Symphony Orchestra; Tanglewood Festival Chorus;
Finchley Children’s Music Group (BBC Proms 2007)
James Levine’s Berlioz is not mine. I look for drama, a sense of urgency and forward momentum,
even a few rough edges. Levine’s performance was tightly controlled, highly polished, extremely
beautiful – and in its own way rather wonderful. Appropriately enough it was dedicated to the
memory of Luciano Pavarotti, who had died that morning, and whose marvellous art sometimes
seemed to me more focused on sheer beauty of sound than on dramatic “truth”.
The stars of the evening were the orchestra and chorus. The Boston Symphony was magnificent,
constantly illuminating the beauties of the score, and with notable solo contributions from
numerous instruments – viola and cor anglais respectively in Marguerite’s two arias,
Mephistopheles’s trombones snapping and snarling, superb flutes and piccolos, splendid horns
in the hunting scene near the end, even some weird and wonderful sounds from the tuba in the
Ride to the Abyss. The orchestra was well matched by the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, almost
140 strong, with the men for once in the majority (about 80 to 60) – although I would have
liked even more of them for the Pandemonium scene. I can’t remember when (or even if) I last
heard a chorus sing without scores, but it certainly added to their immediacy and impact. The
Finchley Children’s Music Group added a nice touch to the final Epilogue, particularly with two
of their members singing the repeated interjections of “Marguerite!”.
Tempi were generally on the sedate side, and there was a loss of momentum in Part III, during
the scene in Marguerite’s room – the latter part of which is far from Berlioz at his strongest.
The Hungarian March, by contrast, was taken much too fast – undoubtedly exciting, but lacking
in menace and portent.
It must be hard for any singer to project strongly in a space as vast as the Albert Hall,
and none of the soloists overcame this challenge. Faust himself, as sung by Marcello Giordani,
was one of the performance’s weaker links. His lack of character seemed to go well beyond
mere ennui, and was not helped by his being placed some way back from the edge of the stage,
lurking amongst the first violins. He did best in ensemble passages, notably during the
Easter Hymn, where Levine maintained a near-ideal balance between chorus and soloist. He
also made a reasonable fist of the Invocation to Nature, although I would have liked it to be
altogether more impassioned.
José Van Dam’s Mephistopheles seemed disappointingly underpowered (despite impressively clear
enunciation and a deliciously elegant sneer in the voice). Patrick Carfizzi as Brander did
well enough in his brief contribution. Yvonne Naef was perhaps the most compelling of the
soloists, although she came across as a rather hard-edged Marguerite, lacking in warmth or
vulnerability, and her French was pretty mangled (maybe she hails from the German part of
Switzerland).
I’ve said little about James Levine, apart from my dislike for his approach to Berlioz. But
he deserves credit for leading such a well-drilled and exceptionally beautiful performance,
and presumably for the fact that the Boston Symphony is such an impressive band – noticeably
more so than when I last heard it. Many elements of the performance were exceptional – the
Easter Hymn, the Dance of the Sylphs (indeed the whole of the scene on the banks of the Elbe),
the Soldiers’ and Students’ choruses, the Ride to the Abyss and the final Epilogue. As a
whole it added up to a fine but not overwhelming occasion, memorable especially for the
contributions of the orchestra and chorus.
ALASTAIR ABERDARE
La Damnation de Faust – Royal Albert Hall, 6 September 2007
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