Centrepiece
My sentiments exactly
Cohn Welch
Ilikened Messrs Kinnock and Healey in 1.Moscow to Hansel and Gretel lost in the forest: Hansel was, I suppose, Mr Healey, whatever fear he felt masked by bluster. As I wrote there stole into my mind (on its way perhaps into Pseuds Corner), as it often does unbidden and especially at Christmas time, the warm and comforting evening prayer melody which opens and closes Humperdinck's overture, which reappears throughout the opera like a golden thread, wondrously transformed and combined. It seems familiar to us even on first hearing, as reassuring as Hymns A. and M., recalling slightly the Revd J. B. Dykes's tune for Holy, holy, holy. How comes it that a theme of such simplicity was never hit on before? Or was it? Humper- dinck uses genuine folk music at times `Em Mannlein steht im Walde' and `Shwes- terlein, Mit dich fein' — though most of what seems authentically volkisch is his own inspired pastiche. If the evening prayer was not consciously or unconscious- ly lifted, it is proof in its way of Stravin- sky's dictum that there is still much good music to be written in C major; and proof too that the greatest inventions appear simple once genius has discovered them. The overture is described on the Karajan record sleeve as 'a perfect example of the Pot-pourri type'. Strictly true, in that it introduces and develops leading themes from the score. So does the prelude to Die Meistersinger, which it strongly resembles in form and contrapuntal felicity. But `Pot-pourri' does seem a bit inadequate for such masterpieces, like calling the prize song a ditty or number. Martin Cooper, once chief music critic of the Daily Telegraph, is as greatly respected for his general culture as for his musical taste and knowledge, and for his almost unique ability to place all music in the cultural, intellectual and religious context Which nourished it. It was thus with a certain sadness that I remember him specu- lating on how it could be (I quote from memory) that an old carthorse like Hum- perdinck could hit the jackpot, while a thoroughbred like Ravel could produce L'Heure Espagnole and L'Enfant et les Sortileges without entering the standard repertoire. The first part of this compari- son baffles me still. Some carthorse this, with brain as well as heart, with such protean powers of apt and varied invention and combination, his counterpoint never ,clry, pedantic or for show, but clear, full of life and added meaning. Some carthorse, who could move with consummate ease from grave to gay, from radiant happiness to shuddering terror, who in particular in the witch's music is a master purveyor of that sinister sugariness which makes the scalp tingle. What a part, the witch's, a fantastic blend of Ortrud and the Mar- shallin (not my phrase, alas), one in which some fine tenors, Peter Schreier for one, and many loved sopranos have ended up Marta MCA, Else Schiirhoff, Anny Schlemm, a special favourite of mine when she and I were young, with that irresistible little catch in her voice. Was the tempta- tion resisted in the 1930s to play the witch as Jewish? I wonder: so much of what was innocent in Germany was tarnished with the guilt of that awful time, and has become suspect to us, not least German ideas of evil.
Some carthorse, too, who had absorbed from Wagner all the rich, solid orchestra- tion useful to him, without letting it drown his singers or his own individuality. Help- ing Wagner with Parsifal, he actually wrote part of the transformation scenes, which were too short to permit the stage machin- ery to complete its cumbrous miracles. Which parts? They don't show: the cart- horse was a pro.
What baffles me too is why the carthorse' never hit the jackpot again, though KOnigskinder contains much beautiful music, too much perhaps, if endless euphony can be a fault. A bit baffling too, if true, is why Hansel and Gretel is not quite the success it was and deserves to be. The name Engelbert Humperdinck, they say, means only one thing, Hansel and Gretel. Does it everywhere mean even that? Does it not mean for many the pop star who stole it, presumably because it was funny, a crime as grave as stealing a shadow? What do the names Jagger and Harty mean now? Mick and Russell surely, rather than the sculptor of the artillery memorial or the Halle's great conductor. And like the name of its composer, H. and G. seems to have fallen on slightly hard times. It appears at Christmas time some- times for a few nights (I saw it once with shabby old sets and the Coliseum half-full) or monstrously distorted and 'hyped-up' on television, by people who don't under- stand, trust or respect it — just for the children, you know.
For the children? Well, it did originate in a little party Singspiel for the children of Humperdinck's sister and librettist, Adelheid Wette. It was then developed into a full-scale opera. Much of it remains definitely for children — immediately ac- cessible, the plot familiar but thrilling, the effects, when properly done, eye-opening, the forest terrifying, the witch half-comic, half-bloodcurdling. But much of the de- velopment is highly adult, with longish Wagnerian monologues laid on top of complex .orchestration. The children's father, a bit sozzled, moans on about hunger being the best cook, fine when there's money in your purse, hell when there isn't, and then boasts at length about his success at the market. These economic facts of life among the poor make many children fidget. So does some of the heavy orchestration and subtle harmonisation, a taste for which comes slowly, if at all, like so much else, with puberty and maturity. The whole opera is accessible only to grown-ups who remember their own child- hood, love children (and music of this sumptuous sort) and know by experience or imagination the anguish, joys and fears of parental love.
But don't adults find it too sentimental? Martin Cooper did, and I find this a bit baffling too. Whether the music is sen- timental or not is a matter of taste, I agree, though it seems too varied, earthy and vigorous for the cap to fit all of it well. That the work is full of feeling is undeniable; but must we in shameful embarassment reject as sentimental all that moves us?
The basic theme or message of H. and G. can, I think, be dismissed as sen- timental only by those who regard Christ- ianity as sentimental; and that I know Mr Cooper would never do. The opera is saturated with religion: perhaps this is why it is no longer the rage. As much as Parsifal does it deserve the title, sacred festival drama. It is about many things but, above all, it is about the power of prayer. At nightfall in the forest the children pray for the protection of their guardian angels, and the prayer is answered. Fourteen angels descend a golden staircase to encircle the sleeping children. This dream pantomime (another slightly ridiculous though accu- rate term) is accompanied by music of a tenderness, power and majesty which seems to be sublime. Is it sentimental? It might be, I suppose, if Humperdinck in- tended the episode to be taken literally; but it is, after all, a dream. At one level the angels may be taken as supernatural beings, appearing (sentimentally!) on re- quest to guard against danger, natural and supernatural.
At a deeper level they are symbols of that inner calm, confidence and courage which prayer alone can bring, and symbols of God's love, forever with us whatever may befall. The final victory and deliver- ance is seen as the work of the angels, of agents of God who, in the last words of the opera, 'will reach out His hand to us just when our grief is past bearing'. Foolish he who relies on God and angels to protect him from all earthly dangers. Not so foolish he who relies on prayer and God's love to give him the resolution to face all dangers. If this is sentimental, then much Christianity is so too. Sentimental would it be for me to wish you a very happy Christmas, which I do all the same — oh, yes, Pseuds Corner included.
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