The Lyre of Orpheus

Honoured Sir:

In order that I may make myself as plain as possible I am writing this in German, to be translated by my esteemed friend and colleague Schauspieldirektor Ludwig Devrient, into English, of which I have myself only the most imperfect knowledge. Not so imperfect, however, that I ca

It has been my happiness during my life to see great changes in music, and many musicians have been so generous as to say that I have been not unhelpful in bringing such changes about. For as you doubtless do not know, I have written a great deal of musical criticism and have been happy in the commendation of the eminent Beethoven, to say nothing of the friendship of Schuma

When I speak of the opera of my dreams, it is no forced elegance of words, I assure you, but the expression of what I believe music to be, and to be capable of expressing. For is not music a language? And of what is it the language? Is it not the language of the dream world, the world beyond thought, beyond the languages of Mankind? Music strives to speak to Mankind in the only possible language of this unseen world. In your letters you stress again and again the necessity to reach an audience, to achieve a success. But what kind of success? I am now at a point in my life—an ending, I fear—when such success has no charms for me. I have not long to speak and I can only be content to speak truth.

I beg you to be so good as to reconsider. Let us not prepare another Singspiel, full of drolleries and elfin persons, but an opera in the ma

No, I see the drama as springing from King Arthur’s recognition of the noble love of Lancelot for Guenevere, and the great pain with which he accepts that love. You have all that anyone could need in your English romance Le Morte d’Arthur. Draw upon that, I beg you. Let us have that great love, and also the sorrow with which Lancelot knows that he is betraying his friend and king, and Lancelot’s madness born of remorse. Let us make an opera about three people of the highest nobility, and let us make Arthur’s forgiveness and understanding love for his Queen and his friend the culminating point of the action. The title I propose is Arthur of Britain, or The Magnanimous Cuckold. Whether that has the right ring in English I ca

But let us, I entreat you, explore the miraculous that dwells in the depths of the mind. Let the lyre of Orpheus open the door of the underworld of feeling.

With every protestation of respect and regard I am,

Honoured Sir,

May 1, 1822

Post Scriptum: I enclose a quantity of rough notes I have prepared for the sort of opera I so greatly desire, hoping that they will convey to you a measure of the feeling of which I speak—a feeling, to use a word now coming much into fashion, that is profound in its Romanticism.

Now, there, my dear Kemble, what do you make of that? What do I make of that? It all sounds to me like Germans who have been smoking their long pipes and sitting up late over their thick, black beer. Of course I know what he is talking about. It is Melodrama, or verses spoken or chanted to music, and it is quite useless for the purposes of opera as we know it at Covent Garden.

But I kept my temper. Never be out of temper with a musician is a good principle, as you know from your frequent altercations with the explosive Bishop, in which you have always prevailed by your splendid Phlegm. I wrote again, trying to coax Hoffma

Now, I think I may say, not in vanity but as a man who has won his place in the theatre with several pieces, all markedly successful, that this is rather neat. Do you agree?

Several weeks have elapsed, and I have had no word from our German friend. But time wears on, and I shall stir him up again, as genially as I know how.

Yours, etc.

June 20, 1822

There is a notation on this letter in Kemble’s hand, which says: ‘News reaches me of Hoffma

There was heavy silence among the Cornish Foundation, as Pe

It was Hollier who spoke first. “What do you suppose poor dying Hoffma

“A modern audience would certainly see it as jocose indecency. Language has taken some queer turns since Planché’s time,” said Darcourt.

“Queer’s the word,” said Arthur.

“Don’t be too sure about a modern audience,” said Powell, who seemed to be the least depressed of the group. “You recall that song in A Chorus Line? Rather a lot about Ass and Tit, sung by a girl with magnificent limbs? The audience couldn’t get enough of it.”