The history of nineteenth-century Hungarian art music, like that of England, is mainly one of foreign domination. Although Liszt and his chief national contemporary Ferenc Erkel both gave musical expression to racial consciousness—the one in his employment of popular gypsy airs, the other in a series of patriotic operas—the accumulated weight of German tradition (Liszt) and Italian operatic supremacy (Erkel) was too heavy suddenly to be overthrown. The results, viewed from the standpoint of an indigenous national art, cannot be considered important.

From the middle of the nineteenth century studies in the History of Music developed on a scholarly basis all over Europe. The purely aæthetic approach to works of art gave way, with the development of historical methods, to the historical approach which included aesthetic appreciation within itself and placed it on a sound basis. Works of remote periods were no longer judged by merely contemporary standards. They were brought into the right context and the range of accessible music immeasurably enlarged.

When the second world war began, arrangements for the celebration of Strauss's seventy-fifth birthday had been completed despite the shadows cast by the approaching catastrophy. They culminated in performances of six Strauss operas which, given before an audience still international in character at the Munich State Opera in August 1939, testified to the endeavours of Clemens Kraus and his collaborators to produce Strauss's stage works in exemplary performances with the composer's closest collaboration as to his final intentions in respect of style. During the first years of the war it was possible to extend this plan, and in October 1942 the ninth of Strauss's operas, ‘Capriccio,’ was first performed in Munich. The outbreak of war took Strauss by surprise in Baden (Switzerland); and in the course of discussing the opera the composer revealed his deep concern at the disaster which the Hitler régime had brought about, and his contention that the war would end in catastrophy for Germany.

In September 1944, Mr. Leslie A. Boosey contributed an article to this journal on the subject of the Covent Garden Royal Opera House, announcing the acquisition of the lease of the building by Boosey & Hawkes, Ltd., and indicating that a scheme was to be explored whereby the theatre might resume its original function as the home of British operatic activities on the grand scale. Although warning was given at the time that early developments should not be expected, more than one rather impatient letter has reached us, and comment has been heard here and there, indicating, shall we say, a polite disbelief in the possibility of any such scheme coming to fruition.

‘Macbeth’ and ‘Julius Caesar’ were chosen by the British Council as the first two Shakespeare plays from which to film scenes for export. The overseas audiences for whom such ‘shorts’ are intended are mainly those who have no opportunity of seeing a stage version of the plays, but who, through their studies of the English language, may be familiar with them. Henry Cass is the director, and the incidental music is by Benjamin Frankel. As might be expected, the filming of scenes from Shakespeare does not provide many musical opportunities for the composer, but those which presented themselves were met with imagination and technical deftness. Frankel recently showed his mettle in a string quartet produced by the London Contemporary Music Centre, a work of considerable emotional power and concentrated expression. As his reputation to date has been achieved principally as an orchestrator for the theatre, it was interesting to see what this composer would do with these two films. The result is striking, particularly in the title preludes and postludes where the music has free play. Frankel's scores combine freshness and originality with an easy and assured command of the orchestral medium.

The function of the music in the Old Vic production of ‘Œdipus’ is to provide occasional ‘background,’ fill in awkward gaps and, most important, to help solve the ever difficult problem of the chorus. This particular attempt at a solution seems better than most. The first question Hopkins asked his producer (M. Saint-Denis), I imagine, was: how much or how well can the chorus sing? The answer, I'm pretty sure, was: as little as possible, for (evading the second part of the question) they are not by any means trained musicians.