Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 4, No. 8 (1930-05)

258 The Phonograph Monthly Review May, 1930 “Serenade de Don Quichotte,” sung by Louis Morturier; listed by the F. G. Co., (P-718). The lady, equally ready with protestations or denials, promises her favors if he will restore to her a necklace stolen by brigands. In act 3, he finds the robbers, who condemn him to death. They prepare the gallows, and the Don offers a prayer before he gives up his life. Priere; Part I: “Seigneur, recois mon ame, ,> Part 2: “Je suis le chavalier errant,” sung by Louis Morturier, (F. G. Co., P-672). The brig- ands are completely disarmed by his simplicity and noble nature, and, giving him the necklace, bid him take his freedom. Act 4 is the scene of a brilliant fete at the pal- ace of the fair Dulcinee. Queen of all hearts, and exhilarated by adulation, she sings a gay chansonette with colorature embellishments, to her own accompaniment upon the guitar. This is an extremely brilliant number “Alza! ne pen- sons qu’au plaisir d’aimer,” sung by Mile. Lucy Perelli, (G. G. Co., P-713). Act 5 shows a ravine overshadowed by great trees. Don Quixote is dying—this scene is ter- rible and gripping. He is stripped of his armor, and in utter exhaustion, lies stretched against a great tree-trunk. In the white and haggard face his eyes shine with the burning of the fever. His disordered fancy has cleared a little, dispell- ing the fantastic images that to him have seemed more real than life itself, but the final flame of knightly fortitude still flares brightly. He bids the faithful Sancho to dry his tears. “Why weep, my friend?” he asks wearily: “all is not yet lost! —see, I give to you that beautiful island of which we so often spoke—the Island of Dreams!” Then, through the gathering shadows he seems to see a loved presence—it it Dulcinea—the lady of his dreams—and to his ears comes the song she sings as she lightly sweeps the strings of her Lute. It is a love-song, and even now as he lis- tens, the sweet echoes fade away. He utters a shuddering groan—“Ah! Heaven!—thou art for- ever gone from me!” The lance falls from his nerveless hand—he drops back, and his eyes close —it is the death of Don Quixote. In the original story, Cervantes made the poor demented Knight die a death of peaceful illum- ination ; so did Richard Strauss in his great sym- phonic poem. Chaliapin, however, even when his knight is prone and abject, maintains the high, heroic note—indeed, Massenet and his lib- rettist admit no other attitude, which is easily un- derstood, Viewed from the operatic standpoint. It is probably that the most grippingly dramatic interpretation of this great death scene is the disk by Chaliapin. I can recall nothing like it in the entire range of recorded literature. I see nothing objectionable in the fact that the Rus- sian basso sings the music of Sancho Panza as well as that of Don Qlichotte—the issue is an unimportant one. Miss Olive Kline sings with great beauty of tone the few phrases allotted to La Belle Dulcinee. “Don Quinchotte;” Finale, Part I and Part 2: sung by Feodor Chaliapin, (Victor 6693). Concerning Chaliapin’s interpretations of this supremely dramatic scene, Mr. H. T. Parker Writes in illuminating fashion:—“The voice of the great basso may not be quite what it once was; sometimes he takes refuge in the saving fal- setto which often achieves a curious emotional poignancy—a resort to the spoken rather than the sung word,—a deflection that Massenet’s sup- ple-lined declamation rather encourages than otherwise: reliance upon tones so subtly colored that the listener hears them less as musical sounds than as a revealing and transmitting speech.” “At the close of the death scene,” he continues, “insidiously, pitifully, and almost without effort, Chaliapin implies that the world of unrealities becomes real.” There are some other extremely interesting records from “Don Quichotte.” The French Gramophone Co. offers a fine 12-inch disk, “Ecoute, mon ami’—from act 5, a part of the last scene—sung beautifully by' Vanni-Mar- coux, (jDB-809), and I found at the Gramophone Shop in New York, a most interesting selection of scenes from the opera—on 2 10-inch records (Nos. 934 and 935)—containing the Serenade from act I, and three “scenes” from act 5—the death of Don Quichotte. The various excerpts were sung with taste, appreciation, and a beauti- ful quality of tone by M. Vanni-Marcoux, whose many operatic triumphs are of too recent occur- ence to require extended notice in these columns. Conclusion It is rather a difficult and thankless task to en- deavor to decide what it is that most attracts us in the work of Massenet. It is very possible that the elegance of his style is the quality that makes the strongest appeal to many music-lovers, for in the work of this brilliant and many-sided member of the French school there is an entirely individual quality—an indefinable atmosphere of elegance and charm—the charm of a supremely fascinating woman, who is, as well, something of a coquette. His music has the manner, the air, the graces, the nonchalant elegance of well- bred and fashionable people. No one except Mas- senet has so mastered the art of penning coup- lets of refined sentiment—of picturing the pas- sion of the salon, and—completely capturing our hearts as he does it. Massenet is undeniably an eclectic—one who is skilled in turning to his own account all that happens around him. It must be admitted, however, that he has originated a style that is absolutely characteristic, for he has been imitated unceasingly, even to this day. His music is adored by some, disliked by others, and imitated by many, but at no time has he himself imitated any other composer. Massenet ranks unquestionably among the outstanding operatic geniuses of France; for he is French, melodious, elegant, passionate, alluring—profound, too, in the Gallic way, which is as different as possible from the German way, though no less worthy.