Music: Intermezzo

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Vienna, the Gay—Vienna, rival of Paris, was last week preparing joyfully to revive its famed Redouten Bal, its opera ball, after four years of "interruption." Its committee was resolved it should miss no facets of the sparkle of days before the War. The entire building of the Opera House was last week in readiness for dancers, whom five famed orchestras, no less, were to serve. With faith in her charms, Vienna invited the wealth and beauty of Europe to attend.

As distinguished prelude to this gayety, there occurred the Vienna première of Intermezzo, newest opera by Richard Strauss. He, its composer, has lately been unkind to Vienna. Only last month, he refused to conduct the Viennese Opera unless the government granted him a huge salary, complete autocratic powers, a once royal palace for the duration of his life—this at a time when the Viennese are living on rations. But Vienna could not do without him. He alone could be the central jewel of a reconstructed crown.

Critics have nearly always prophesied speedy neglect for Richard Strauss,* now 62, and have simultaneously hailed him again and once more the foremost living composer. The subject of their judgment may be an old man, his apogee undoubtedly passed. But the creations of Richard Strauss, are never treated casually, for his work is intensely personal and his personality is provoking. Looking upon the philosophical brow, dreamy eyes, sensitive lips, effeminate chin, one marvels how this musician can grate so on the world. There is his mercenariness. Once he invited notables from all parts of Europe to a supper given after the premiere of his ballet La Legende de Joseph, then served upon each guest a bill for his share of the food. There is his snobbish insincerity: "I have always said my work was superficial." Many people will never forgive him for the satirical hoaxes of program music composed specially to test how much cacophony, dissonance, exaggeration, clowning the dilettante audiences would applaud, the grave critics would ponder. They are puzzled by his laughing acceptance of derogatory criticism, recall his wife's remark: "You may say what you like about his music, but if you don't praise his handwriting he will be cross with you." Many of these people curl the lip, reflect with Hugo Riesmann: "His last works only too clearly reveal his determination to make a sensation at all costs."