To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
Britten and Auden’s ‘choral operetta’ Paul Bunyan, written in New York in 1939–41, has often been seen as out of touch with its American context and as an anomalous precursor to the triumphant Peter Grimes (1945). A closer look, however, suggests a more complex engagement with American musical life and with the problem of American operatic populism. Indeed, if Paul Bunyan offered one set of answers to this problem, toying with popular genres and smaller forms, the rejection of this approach in Peter Grimes also seems tied to shifting American ideas about contemporary opera. Attention to Paul Bunyan in its American context highlights the transatlantic nature of both American and British operatic developments in the mid-twentieth century, while also recasting Britten’s operatic trajectory, restoring a sense of scepticism and uncertainty to his operatic project at its very beginnings.
Music is frequently overlooked by scholars of adaptation, who concentrate primarily on questions of literary and visual transformation. Undertaking a close reading of a pivotal scene in Joe Wright’s Atonement, this article demonstrates the vital contribution music can make to the adaptation process. Wright uses music, and Puccini’s in particular, in ways that are both narrative and reflexive, creating shifts of emphasis, deliberate ambiguities and intertextual allusions. Opera becomes a tool that allows the film-maker to interrogate notions of authorial and historical reliability, themes that lie at the heart of Ian McEwan’s highly self-aware novel.
This article explores the relationship between politics, society and culture in Napoleonic Milan (1796–1814) on the one hand, and opera reviews published in the city’s periodical press at the time on the other. This relationship is worth discussing for two reasons: first, Milan under French rule constituted the earliest, embryonic instance of the modern city in Italy; second, it was there that for the first time in Italy operatic criticism shifted from an undivided focus on the performance, mostly treated as a social occasion, to a prominent concern for the work being performed, which became the object of lengthy critical scrutiny. The article focuses specifically on the function of the periodical press as a crucial link between the discourse of opera and that of the city, exploring the complex ways in which Milanese society, culture and ideology, especially as represented in the city’s newspapers, are connected to the epoch-making shift from performance to work in the opera reviews published there.
Richard Wagner (1813–83) grew up in Dresden and served as Kapellmeister to King Frederick Augustus II of Saxony there from 1843 until he was forced to flee the country after the 1849 uprising. His operas Rienzi and Der fliegende Holländer received their first performances at the Dresden Court Theatre. During his time in the city, Wagner became firm friends with the composer and violinist Theodor Uhlig, the stage manager and chorus master Wilhelm Fischer, and the comedian and costume designer Ferdinand Heine. This collection of letters from the composer to his three great friends covers the period 1841–68. First published in 1888, the letters are reissued here in the 1890 English translation by the pianist and Beethoven scholar John South Shedlock (1843–1919). They offer an intimate and compelling insight into Wagner's personal and professional life and his forthright views on many contemporary musicians and public figures.
The German composer, performer and critic Ferdinand Praeger (1815–91) moved to London in 1834, and served as the London correspondent of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik from 1842. A lifelong devotee of Wagner, he helped engage the composer to conduct eight concerts at the Philharmonic Society in 1855. His enthusiasm for Wagner led to the publication of this work in English in 1892, although it was soon claimed that he had greatly overplayed his role in the composer's career. There were accusations of invented stories, distorted facts and altered letters, subsequently supported by evidence obtained by biographers such as William Ashton Ellis, and also by Houston Stewart Chamberlain's comparison of original letters with those featured in this biography. Such negative publicity caused the publishers of the German edition to withdraw the book. Nonetheless, it contains personal impressions which remain of interest, and is now considered less exaggerated than previously thought.
William Ashton Ellis (1852–1919) abandoned his medical career in order to devote himself to his Wagner studies. Best known for his translations of Wagner's prose works, Ellis also translated Wagner's letters to family and friends. In this 1899 publication, most of the letters are those which Wagner wrote to the wealthy retired silk merchant Otto Wesendonck, who provided Wagner with generous financial support and whose wife, Mathilde, provided the words for the Wesendonck Lieder. Also included here are letters to the German writer Malwida von Meysenbug, who was also a friend of Nietzsche, and to the novelist Eliza Wille, at whose house in Zurich, a meeting place for the cognoscenti, Wagner was a regular guest. She later published her memories of the composer. Despite the stylistic idiosyncrasies of the translations, these letters remain of value because they capture something of the colour of Wagner's prose and personality.