One must inevitably feel sorry for the lot of women
composers in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. If they were
related by blood or marriage to more famous composers their music was
regarded as an adjunct to that of their male relatives and sometimes
even published under their names. Such was the fate of Fanny Mendelssohn,
Clara Schumann and Alma Mahler - who was even forbidden to compose after
her marriage to Gustav. Others, who did not have the cachet of a famous
name, were often simply ignored, and only the most talented - Augusta
Holmès or Louise Farrenc, both French-based - managed to get
their works performed and then often on a small scale. Yet others -
such as Mathilde Malibran or Pauline Viardot - made their living as
performers, only venturing into composition as a sideline. It was not
until the advent of Ethel Smyth in London at the height of the suffragette
movement that it was ever admitted that women could write on the grandest
of scales. Even then Smyth had to exert all her power and influence
to get her opera
The Wreckers staged by the young Thomas Beecham.
Then there was yet another category: women whose compositions
were
published and performed, but who had to rely on their own personal incomes
or those of their husbands in order to survive at all. Their compositional
activities were treated as a private hobby which could be indulged at
their own expense, but not otherwise taken seriously. Amy Beach, for
example, was only allowed to emerge from the shadows towards the end
of her life, well into the twentieth century. Baroness Mathilde de Rothschild
comes into this latter category. She was a member of the famous German
banking family, and she was regarded by her family as a talented pianist;
this in the days when playing the piano was
de rigueur for refined
young ladies. When she married in 1849 her husband insisted that she
should abide by his strict orthodox Jewish values which restricted her
subsequent social activities. In her early years she was at least allowed
to study seriously, including lessons with Chopin. From the 1860s onwards
quite a number of her songs had been published including
Si vous
n’avez rien a me dire which was recorded by Adelina Patti.
Oddly enough this song is omitted from this 2 CD conspectus of her work.
Although she lived with her husband in Frankfurt, she also had a thriving
career as a writer of French
chansons, and one of these CDs is
devoted to songs in German while the other is in French.
The booklet note by Francesco Izzo freely acknowledges that among the
words that can be used to describe Rothschild’s output are “varied”,
“eclectic” and “cosmopolitan”. Cosmopolitan,
certainly: there is a wide range of poets set here, both in German and
French, and some major poems at that. There is also a definite distinction
in style between the French and German settings. Rothschild is clearly
well acquainted with songs in not only these languages but also in Italian
… and possibly English
via the Mendelssohnian school. The
influences of all these composers testifies to her eclectic tastes,
although the music always remains firmly rooted in the early nineteenth
century with no hint that Wagner and Debussy were revolutionising the
setting of the German and French languages during the last fifty years
of the composer’s life.
This is the real problem with the music of Mathilde de Rothschild. It
is all just a little too
polite. She understands the poems she
is setting. She knows well how to set them in a manner which enhances
their meaning. She is adept at providing an atmospheric accompaniment
that will set them off properly. All that said, the spark of individuality,
of the willingness to take a risk, is missing in a manner that is decidedly
not the case with Fanny Mendelssohn, Clara Schumann, Louise Farrenc
or Augusta Holmès in their music. One cannot imagine that if
one or another of these songs were published under the name of Felix
Mendelssohn or Robert Schumann - as apparently happened with the two
first examples cited - they would have passed muster for long. These
are not just
salon or parlour songs designed for amateurs. Some
of them demand a technique which expects performance by professionals.
Neither are they designed to tax the interpretative powers of their
singers.
One must however admire the determination of Charlotte de Rothschild,
the composer’s descendant, to rehabilitate her ancestor’s
music, describing her in a personal note in the booklet as “a
truly gifted musician and a composer worthy of greater recognition”.
She has personally collected and selected the items featured in this
survey. There are a number of unpublished songs here including the most
substantial work present, the setting of Sylvain Blet’s
La
voix qui dit je t’aime. The presentation is really handsome;
apart from the booklet containing the essays by Charlotte de Rothschild
and Francesco Izzo, we are given a second booklet containing the complete
texts and translations of all the songs included here. It is derived
from the gigantic online collection of songs texts by the indefatigable
Emily Ezust whose stupendous labours in this field are so valuable in
remedying the defects in the documentation supplied by so many other
companies.
Charlotte de Rothschild has recorded a few songs by her ancestor before,
but this compendious survey at last enables us to get a real impression
of Mathilde’s music. She sings well, if sometimes a little tremulously,
and her close acquaintance with the songs both as performer and editor
pays dividends. Most of the songs are strophic, but the composer has
a nice line in slightly sly piano accompaniments. These impart an attractive
surface patina if no real sense of depth although
Vous avez bien
faire et beau dire (CD 2, track 10 - the title is given confusingly
as
Obstination in the translation booklet) has a nice dying fall
in the final bars. The longest single song here, the unpublished setting
of Blet to which I have already referred, with its gently rocking accompaniment,
sets three stanzas in what sounds like an identical manner although
the text rings some fairly drastic changes of mood.
The piano pieces, well played by Adrian Farmer, serve to break up the
succession of songs on both the discs, and clearly show the influence
of Chopin. Again one looks in vain for a sense of individuality or independence.
They are generally good imitations of the style of a greater composer,
but no more. The
Mazurka however has a nicely wry inflection
which is not unworthy of Chopin, if without that composer’s wide-ranging
sense of tonality. Clearly Mathilde de Rothschild was possessed of the
inner demon that haunts all composers and demands that they give expression
to their thoughts through the medium of their music; she would hardly
have persevered with her writing otherwise. However the sheer sense
of driven mania is missing. Perhaps she was just a little too comfortable;
that is certainly the impression left by her music, where even when
she is expressing feelings of anguish she does so in the most restrained
of manners. One would perhaps have welcomed some indication as to the
dates when these songs were written, which would have served to place
them in a historical context. Most of them sound as though they date
from early in the composer’s life, but that may simply be an impression
created by the style of the music.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
See also review by
Gary
Higginson
Track listing
German Lieder
Seven songs (1876)
[12.02]
Seven songs (1897) [11.31]
Twelve songs (c1885-90)
[21.09]
Das flotte Herz [2.57]
O sage nicht! [1.31]
Der Komet [2.01]
So war die Sonne scheinet [1.39]
Die Gletcher leuchten [1.56]
Komm! Geh’ mit mir in Waldesgrun [2.16]
Am See [2.05]
French chansons
Bluette [1.49]
Appelle-moi ton âme [2.58]
Près du lilas [2.25]
Coquetterie [2.49]
C’etait en Avril [2.18]
Romance Magyar [2.30]
Vous avez beau faire en beau dire [3.31]
Les papillons [2.16]
Le rossignol [2.04]
Si mes vers avaient des ailes [2.38]
Charmeuse [4.04]
Danziam [2.43]
Souvenir [2.16]
Si j’etais rayon [2.03]
Je n’ose pas [2.16]
Enfant rêve encore [2.53]
Chanson du pêcheur [3.41]
Tristesse [2.22]
La vallon natal [3.59]
Unpublished songs
Auf den Bergen [1.45]
Seitdem du mich verlassen [2.00]
Parle-moi [2.23]
Quand vous me montrez [2.49]
La voix qui dit je t’aime [5.32]
Piano music
Feuillets d’album Nos 1-3 and 6 [11.16]
Mazurka [1.42]
Waltz [1.24]
