MUSIC.

"BORIS GODOUNOW."

THE evolution and rapid development of the Russian school is one of the wonders of the history of music. Forty years. ago the world only knew of the existence of one Russian

opera, Glinka's Life for the Tsar, and one semi-Russian com- poser, Anton Rubinstein. The transcendent pianistic powers of this great artist stood in the way of a general acceptance of his works, and certainly prevented him from applying to their construction the care and the concentration which alone could save them from prolixity and superficiality. His cosmopolitan interests reflected themselves in his music, and it was only in odd moments that he showed any freedom from Teutonic influence and spoke Slay. None the less, he and his brother Nicolas were in complete sympathy with Russian ideals, and were undoubtedly pioneers in spreading them. Next to Rubinstein, and long after he had reached the zenith of his powers, the name best known to Western Europe was that of Tschaikowsky. His influence was more distinctively Russian, more retiring in personality, but more volcanic in expression; none the leas, he too was greatly affected by the styles of Western schools, notably by that of Italy, and he cannot be claimed as an outstanding specimen of the Russian in music. Ethnologically speaking, this is but the natural outcome of their mixed descent. The Semitic strain which was in both, as their names (the " stone of Reuben " and the "son of Jacob ") prove, had as usual the defects of its qualities, and made them prone to water down the charac- teristics of the country of their birth with those of other lands with which they were familiar.

While these two great personalities were looming large in the cosmopolitan eye, much stronger, newer, and sounder impulses were at work at home than the rest of Europe dreamed of. But they were developing in silence, and could not make themselves known for lack of the one thing needful to general acceptance, printer's ink. There was no publisher with enterprise enough to put them on the market, or pre- science enough to see the great future before them. But the compelling force was there and the man appeared. It is to the single-minded and patriotic action of Belaieff that we owe the speedy recognition of all that is best in modern Russian music. His wise mind grasped that the finest work is of no possible use to art if the manuscript is accumulating dust on its composer's shelves. He wiped off the dust and printed it. for the public to possess. It is to him that the world owes its daily increasing knowledge of and admiration for such men as Rimaky-Korsakoff, Glazounow, Borodin, Balakirew, and the astonishing hosts of names which adorn the Russian page in recent musical history. Without the powerful impulse which, he gave to the wider dissemination of the creations of his countrymen we should not have seen in London this summer the memorable performance of Boris Godounow.

It is difficult to believe that this masterpiece was written forty-two years ago, five years before Bayreuth existed; and surprise is tempered by the tragedy of a fate which has the full fruition of a hardly-won success for nearly half a century and until its composer can know of it. no more. As the world treated Bach, Schubert, Bizet, so it. treated Moussorgsky. It never learns, and always regrets. too late. It occasionally makes frantic efforts to keep pace with new work in the hope of behaving better, but usually hits upon the wrong thing to worship is its hurry to do con- temporary justice. Its lack of insight makes it an easy prey- to the schemer and the impostor, and when it finds out its

mistakes it relapses into its former indifference. Sooner

or later, however, and unhappily later rather than sooner, sincerity of purpose and nobility of expression will bring a composer into his own ; and it is the possession of these two vital qualities which has ensured the long-delayed success of Boris Godounow. As an opera it has many defects, notably a lack of concentration in the construction of the drama, of

varied interest in the combination of characters, of any definite thread or clue of musical design. It is more a masque of isolated scenes than a connected series of events leading inevitably up to a central point of climax. It is rather a portrayal of individual characters, each of them finished in itself and - for itself, than a complete grouping of figures which all bear upon the main idea and lead the eye infallibly to the commanding personality of the piece. And as it is in the plot so it is in the music. There is but little attempt to rivet the ear by sonic large phrase or haunting melody which i-lamps the musical illustration together. A composer with an Overpowering instinct for footlight effects, such as Meyerbeer, would have found material in abundance in the music of the coronation scene, founded upon the folk-song immortalized by Beethoven in one of the Rasoumoffsky quartets, and in the plethora of wonderful tunes sung by the old nurse. Under ordinary conditions these shortcomings, or perhaps rather this refusal of concessions to the demands of cheap effect, would have sealed the fate of any opera. In spite of them it triumphs. There is scarcely a scene or an act which does not end quite softly. That alone would have been enough to make Costa turn in his grave. His indignation when he lound the overture to Coriolan at the end of a programme was recorded by Sir George Grove. "I will never play it again ; it ends pianissimo !" was his characteristic anathema. The quality which compels the attention without even a momentary flagging is that of producing consistent and imitable atmosphere. At the back of the atmosphere is the -quality which is at once the most wholesome and the most appealing, the power of folk-song. Upon this sure founda- tion the work rests, and the superstructure will endure. Of the well-known operatic composers it shows hardly a trace. There is no Wagner except for an occasional touch of characteristic colour, such as the use of brass instruments io accompany declamation. The only masters whose influence it shows are Palestrina and occasionally Beethoven. There is no lack of modernity, and that far ahead of its time, but novelty of expression is never allowed to overstep the Emits of sanity and of beauty. Such crudities as there are :are those of a man who is trying to express himself sincerely and without calculation, but is somewhat hampered by lack of

.experience or of application of finished technique. In one scene of dramatic intensity, where Boris imagines the presence

of the ghost of the Tsarevitch, the orchestral scheme of colour and design breaks wholly new ground, and the same may be said of the amazingly powerful song of Varlaam in ;the scene of the Inn. It is difficult to preserve one's sense of perspective and remember that the songs of the nurse and children, and the interweaving of the music which accom- panies them, were composed long before Hansel and Gretel was thought of.

Of the performance of this unique work it is impossible to speak in terms too high. It ranked with that of the first presentation of the Meistersinger at Bayreuth, and no greater ,praise can be accorded to it. The only obstacle was the poor vocal quality of the tenors. The basses, solo and choral alike, were magnificent in richness and in sonority. Chief of them _stood out a figure, of which as actor the like has not been :seen since Salvini, and which as singer rivals the records of Lablache, Chaliapine. In the face of such an artist as this all his contemporaries pale, and the bass voice has come into its own at last. In dignity of bearing, in 'restraint of gesture, in blood-curdling intensity of horror, and in pathos, the present generation has not beheld its equal. He possesses power which could raise the roof of the

theatre; he only uses so much of it as is required for the picture, and, be it never so loud, suggests a reserve force of as much again. He holds the audience in the hollow of his land, makes them see ghosts which (with true art) are not visible to the eye, and gets more expression from a ripple of lie fingers than most actors from a waving of the arm. His movements are wholly unconventional; some of them in the teeth of convention, such as his gestures from the hip rather than the shoulder, which no one but a past master .could attempt. His declamation never exceeds the bounds of singing, and his bed canto and riezga vacs are equally masterly. Next to him must be placed the chorus, all (like the Meiningen crowds) finished actors, who produce a wealth and volume .a tone quite new to opera-goers. The roles of the monk rimeaa, the old nurse, and the bootees of the inn were all in the

hands of excellent artists, with well-trained and sympathetic voices.

The setting of the opera deserves a word to itself. The scheme of colour was exactly in harmony with the piece.

The economy of space in some scenes, and the consequent enhancement of effect obtained by the occasional use of the whole stage, corresponded to the orchestration of a finished master who husbands his forces for his more striking moments. The final scene was worthy of comparison with that of the Grail-Hall in Parsifal, which is high praise.

If the Russian visit has done nothing else, it has proved that this country is not behind its neighbours in whole- ilearted appreciation of a noble work, nobly given.

L B. M.