 | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques |  |
MUSICAL REVIEW EXTRAORDINARY.
As your valuable work is not suposed to be so entirely
identified with San Franciscan interests, as to be careless
what takes place in other portions of this great kedntry, and
as it is received and read in San Diego with great interest
(I have loaned my copy to over four different literary gentlemen,
most of whom have read some of it), I have thought it
not improbable that a few critical notices of the musical performances
and the drama of this place might be acceptable to
you, and interest your readers. I have been, moreover, encouraged
to this task by the perusal of your interesting musical
and theatrical critiques on San Francisco performers
and performances; as I feel convinced that, if you devote so
much space to them, you will not allow any little feeling of
rivalry between the two great cities to prevent your noticing
ours, which, without the slightest feeling of prejudice, I must
consider as infinitely superior. I propose this month to call
your attention to the two great events in our theatrical and
and the production of Tarbox's celebrated “Ode Symphonie”
of “The Plains.”
The critiques on the former are from the columns of The
Vallecetos Sentinel, to which they were originally contributed
by me, appearing on the respective dates of June 1st and
June 31st.
Miss Pelican.—Never during our dramatic experience, has a
more exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our
theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright, resplendent
and particular star, whose honored name shines refulgent
at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded,
almost unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen
across the plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm
in her favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the
San Diego Lyceum, last evening, in the trying and difficult character
of Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to
describe our sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her
superhuman efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by
far the superior of any living actress; and, as we believe hers to
be the perfection of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief
that no one hereafter will ever be found to approach her. Her
conception of the character of Ingomar was perfection itself; her
playful and ingenuous manner, her light girlish laughter, in the
scene with Sir Peter, showed an appreciation of the savage
character, which nothing but the most arduous study, the most
elaborate training could produce; while her awful, change to the
stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the tragic scene of
Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss Pelican is
about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and most
thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably,
as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her most
very creditably, etc., etc.
Miss Pelican.—As this lady is about to leave us to commence
an engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should
regret exceedingly if any thing we have said about her, should
send with her a prestige which might be found undeserved on
trial. The fact is, Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed,
one of the most indifferent ones we ever happened to see.
She came here from the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised
her so injudiciously that she became completely spoiled. She
has performed a round of characters during the last week, very
miserably, though we are bound to confess that her performance
of King Lear last evening, was superior to any thing of the kind
we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about forty-three years of age,
singularly plain in her personal appearance, awkward and embarrassed,
with a cracked and squeaking voice, and really dresses
quite outrageously. She has much to learn—poor thing!
I take it the above notices are rather ingenious. The
fact is, I'm no judge of acting, and don't know how Miss
Pelican will turn out. If well, why there's my notice of
June the 1st; if ill, then June 31st comes in play, and, as
there is but one copy of the Sentinel printed, it's an easy
matter to destroy the incorrect one; both can't be wrong;
so I've made a sure thing of it in any event. Here follows
my musical critique, which I flatter myself is of rather
superior order:
The Plains. Ode Symphonie par Jabez Tarbox.—
This glorious composition was produced at the San Diego
Odeon, on the 31st of June, ult., for the first time in this or
any other country, by a very full orchestra (the performance
of the entire “Sauer Kraut-Verein,” the Wee Gates Association,”
and choice selections from the “Gyascutus” and “Pike-harmonic”
societies. The solos were rendered by Her Tuden
Links, the recitations by Herr Von Hyden Schnapps,
both performers being assisted by Messrs. John Smith and
Joseph Brown, who held their coats, fanned them, and furnished
water during the more overpowering passages.
“The Plains” we consider the greatest musical achievement
that has been presented to an enraptured public. Like
Waterloo among battles; Napoleon among warriors; Niagara
among falls, and Peck among senators, this magnificent composition
stands among Oratorios, Operas, Musical Melodramas
and performances of Ethiopian Serenaders, peerless and
unrivalled. iL frappe toute chose parfaitment froid.
“It does not depend for its success” upon its plot, its
theme, its school or its master, for it has very little if any of
them, but upon its soul-subduing, all-absorbing, high-faluting
effect upon the audience, every member of which it causes to
experience the most singular and exquisite sensations. Its
strains at times remind us of those of the old master of
the steamer McKim, who never went to sea without being unpleasantly
affected;—a straining after effect he use to term it.
Blair in his lecture on beauty, and Mills in his treatise on
logic, (p. 31,) have alluded to the feeling which might be
produced in the human mind, by something of this transcendentally
sublime description, but it has remained for M. Tarbox,
in the production of The Plains, to call this feeling forth.
The symphonie opens upon the wide and boundless plains,
in longitude 115° W., latitude 35° 21′ 03″ N., and about
sixty miles from the west bank of Pitt River. These data
are beautifully and clearly expressed by a long (topographically)
drawn note from an E flat clarionet. The sandy
nature of the soil, sparsely dotted with bunches of cactus
and artemisia, the extended view, flat and unbroken to the
horizon, save by the rising smoke in the extreme verge, denoting
the vicinity of a Pi Utah village, are represented by
the bass drum. A few notes on the piccolo, calls the attention
to a solitary antelope, picking up mescal beans in the
foreground. The sun having an altitude of 36° 27′, blazes
down upon the scene in indescribable majesty. “Gradually
the sounds roll forth in a song” of rejoicing to the God of
Day.
And great immensity
Now then we sing;
Beholding in gratitude
Thee in this latitude,
Curious thing.”
then decrescendo, mas o menos, poco pocita, dies away and
dries up.
Suddenly we hear approaching a train from Pike County,
consisting of seven families, with forty-six wagons, each
drawn by thirteen oxen; each family consists of a man in
butternut-colored clothing driving the oxen; a wife in butternut-colored
clothing riding in the wagon, holding a butternut
about the establishment; all are barefooted, dusty,
and smell unpleasantly- (All these circumstances are expressed
by pretty rapid fiddling for some minutes, winding
up with a puff from the orpheclide, played by an intoxicated
Teuton with an atrocious breath—it is impossible to misunderstand
the description.) Now rises o'er the plains in
mellifluous accents, the grand Pike County Chorus.
In the land of gold,
Through the forest old,
O'er the mounting cold,
With spirits bold—
Oh, we come, we come,
And we'll soon be thar.
Gee up Bolly! whoo, up, whoo haw!
The train now encamp. The unpacking of the kettles
and mess-pans, the unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about
the various camp-fires, the frizzling of the pork, are so clearly
expressed by the music, that the most untutored savage could
readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and lifelike was the
representation, that a lady sitting near us, involuntarily exclaimed
aloud, at a certain passage, “Thar, that pork's
burning!” and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified
expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar,
the pan was removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished.
This is followed by the beautiful aria:—
“O! marm, I want a pancake!”
Followed by that touching recitative:—
“Shet up, or I will spank you!”
To which succeeds a grand crescendo movement, representing
the flight of the child, with the pancake, the pursuit
of the mother, and the final arrest and summary punishment
of the former, represented by the rapid and successive strokes
of the castanet.
The turning in for the night follows; and the deep and
stertorous breathing of the encampment, is well given by the
bassoon, while the sufferings and trials of an unhappy father
with an unpleasant infant, are touchingly set forth by the
cornet à piston.
Part Second—The night attack of the Pi Utahs; the
fearful cries of the demoniac Indians; the shrieks of the
females and children; the rapid and effective fire of the rifles;
the stampede of the oxen; their recovery and the final repulse;
the Pi Utahs being routed after a loss of thirty-six
killed and wounded, while the Pikes lose but one scalp (from
an old fellow who wore a wig, and lost it in the scuffle), are
faithfully given, and excite the most intense interest in the
minds of the hearers; the emotions of fear, admiration and
delight, succeeding each other in their minds, with almost
painful rapidity. Then follows the grand chorus:
The Ingen Utahs.
With our six-shooters—
We gin 'em pertickuler fits.”
After which, we have the charming recitative of Herr
Tuden Links, to the infant, which is really one of the most
charming gems in the performance:
“Now, dern your skin, can't you be easy?”
Morning succeeds. The sun rises magnificently (octavo
flute)—breakfast is eaten,—in a rapid movement on three
sharps; the oxen are caught and yoked up—with a small
drum and triangle; the watches, purses, and other valuables
of the conquered Pi Utahs, are stored away in a camp-kettle,
to a small movement on the piccolo, and the train moves on,
with the grand chorus:—
Gee up Bolly! Whoo hup! whoo haw!”
The whole concludes with the grand hymn and chorus:—
Whup! Whoo, haw!
The greatest man that e'er land saw,
Gee!
Who this little airth was sent on
Whup! Whoo, haw!
To tell a `hawk from a hand-saw!'
Gee!”
The immense expense attending the production of this
magnificent work; the length of time required to prepare
the chorus; the incredible number of instruments destroyed
at each rehearsal, have hitherto prevented M. Tarbox from
placing it before the American public, and it has remained
for San Diego to show herself superior to her sister cities of
liberality, by patronizing this immortal prodigy, and
enabling its author to bring it forth in accordance with his
wishes and its capabilities. We trust every citizen of San
Diego and Vallecetos will listen to it ere it is withdrawn; and
if there yet lingers in San Francisco one spark of musical
fervor, or a remnant of taste for pure harmony, we can only
say that the Southerner sails from that place once a fortnight,
and that the passage money is but forty-five dollars.
| Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | |