The sorceress Armida was the subject of Joseph Haydn’s 1784 opera, one of his favourite works.
The tale of Armida falling in love with the sleeping crusader Rinaldo at the point of killing him, and transporting him to her enchanted garden seems to have sparked the imagination of a number of composers, artists and writers.
Rinaldo and Armida. Nicholas Poussin c.1630 (courtesy Dulwich Picture Gallery)
The themes of conflicting thoughts and interests, allegiance (political and spiritual), the consequences of love, as well as the metaphysical elements in the story, provided much scope for somebody like Haydn to have a field day of creative inspiration.
The overture to Armida summarises the course of this drama in a perfectly succinct form. It is sometimes called Sinfonia rather than Overture. It is. in a way, a miniature symphony, the brevity of which Haydn would have had a little chuckle of approval over.
Delphine von Schauroth aged 9, c. 1823 by Langlumé
Delphine von Schauroth is a forgotten star in the firmament of celebrated pianists. She was a close friend of Felix Mendelssohn and by all accounts his muse at the time that he wrote his first piano concerto (1830) – he dedicated the concerto to her. A child prodigy who had toured Europe, her playing deeply affected those who heard her. For instance, one listener wrote in ‘Der deutsche Horizont’ in 1832 : ‘I believe that the philosopher who asserted that the soul resides in the fingertips was either a money changer or he heard Miss von Schauroth play the piano! I speak not at all of the tremendous, almost incomprehensible skill, but only about the characteristic charm of the tenderness and interiority with which she knows how to give rise to the deepest, most secret spirits of the enchanted strings, so that they speak to her and unfold their secretly prevailing powers. As I was leaving, someone was so simple-minded as to ask of me: “How did you like Schauroth?” He could just as well have asked: “How did you like the dawn?” I merely said: “I just saw with my own ears the Graces dance the Iliad on the piano!’ ‘
Her playing came across as somehow magical and enchanted, especially when she improvised, which she did a lot. (Mendelssohn was also a celebrated improviser and all-round brilliant pianist.) It is no coincidence that the epigraph to the above portrait, from Tasso’s Gerusalemme conquistata, is part of a description of the music in the garden of Armida, translated as ‘The others fell silent to listen intently / And the winds stopped the whispers in the air.’
Delphine von Schauroth. Copyright: Joanna Kane, from The Somnambulists
(Stockport, England: Dewi LewisPublishing 2008)
I am grateful to the artist Joanna Kane for allowing the inclusion of this remarkable portrait, a contemporary photographic interpretation of a plaster life cast in the collection of the Edinburgh Phrenological Society. The cast, believed to be of Delphine von Schauroth, is very likely by the caster James De Ville, made sometime in the 1820s when von Schauroth was a touring musical prodigy. (Phrenology, a popular pseudo-science in the early 19th century, was the study of the size and shape of the skull in order to find out a person’s character or abilitities.)
Robert Schumann saw a parallel between von Schauroth and the improvising ancient Greek poet Corrina. He called her a Corrina-sister, acknowledging her superlative creative ability, particularly in the art and act of improvisation.
Corinne at Cap Misenum. François Gérard c.1820
Mendelssohn was the soloist at the first performance of his sparkling first piano concerto in Munich’s Odeon Hall in 1831.
This was, for sure, a large hall (sadly mostly destroyed in the second world war.) Bearing in mind that the pianos and orchestral instruments of that period would have sounded quite different to today’s instruments (arguably more delicately nuanced), the audiences would have needed to listen acutely in such a hall. No doubt they were rewarded with the brilliant and subtle artistry of Mendelssohn and the other performers.
Forty-five years earlier, Wolfgang Amadè (also known as Amadeus) Mozart, was in Prague having travelled there from Vienna with his wife, Constanze, some fellow musicians including the clarinettist Anton Stadler, a servant, and even his dog, all (except the dog presumably) playing word games in the coach.
The Estates Theatre, Prague. (photo: Andrew Gillett)
It is a wonder that the historic Estates Theatre is still standing and active as an opera and concert venue. It is easy to imagine what it was like when Mozart and his entourage were there, busying around preparing for the first performance of Don Giovanni or rehearsing for the premiere of his clarinet concerto.
The Estates Theatre, Prague. (photo: Andrew Gillett)
At a concert there, on January 19th (1787), Mozart’s 38th symphony, written specifically with the Prague musicians in mind (particularly their outstanding wind players), was given its first performance. After the concert, Mozart stayed on stage, improvising on the fortepiano (an even quieter instrument than the piano that Mendelssohn would play on) for half an hour. The audience was mesmerised. Mozart’s early biographer, Franz Niemetschek wrote: ‘The theatre had never been so full as on this occasion; never had there been such unanimous enthusiasm as that awakened by his heavenly playing. We did not, in fact, know what to admire most, whether the extraordinary compositions or his extraordinary playing; together they made such an overwhelming impression on us that we felt we had been bewitched.’
It is almost as if they were transported to Armida’s enchanted garden by Mozart’s music and his playing.
Prague helped provide the means and inspiration for several of Mozart’s last supreme musical achievements; works that continue to astound and marvel with their infusion of humanity, empathy and originality.
Mozart’s coffin followed by a dog. Unknown artist.
