Late-Blooming Prodigy

At 51, Sir William Walton stands second in England's current trinity of famous composers. Less prolific than either 80-year-old Ralph Vaughan Williams or 39-year-old Benjamin Britten, he has turned out some pieces (e.g., his Symphony and Viola Concerto) that are considered better than any of their more celebrated works. In the U.S. he is known for Fac,ade, an impudent accompaniment for Edith Sitwell's eccentric verses; Belshazzar's Feast, a big dramatic choral work; and Orb and Sceptre, a grandiose march commissioned for the coronation. Visiting the U.S. with his Argentine born wife, he will conduct these three works in the Hollywood Bowl this week.

Standing a well-proportioned six feet and looking something like a less rugged version of Cinemactor George Sanders, Sir William (knighted in 1951) is a gracious example of a sheltered English composer. Unlike that other popular British musician, Sir Thomas Beecham, Walton is no heady phrasemaker, either in speech or music. Although his music often sounds witty and facile, he writes slowly and for perfection.

A Very Fury. His father was a music teacher in the town of Oldham, and young William went to Oxford as a chorister. There he made friends with Sacheverell Sitwell, of the well-to-do writing Sitwells. The family took a fancy to William and helped him financially while he was trying to make his way; few modern composers have been able to concentrate on their work with fewer mundane worries.

Walton leaped to fame in 1926 with Facade. His Belshazzar was, to London Sunday Times Critic Ernest Newman, "bursting with a very fury of exultation." Walton wrote a Violin Concerto for his friend Jascha Heifetz, but was driving an ambulance in London during the war when the work was premiered and never heard it until it was recorded.

By that time Composer Walton, a kind of late-blooming prodigy, already feared that his ability was fading. "Today's white hope is tomorrow's black sheep," he remarked when he was 37. "I seriously advise all serious composers to die at the age of 37." His production, always slow, fell off sharply, although he turned out excellent film scores for Laurence Olivier's Hamlet and Henry V.

A Secret Love. For the past three years, he has been working on a new opera. "British composers," says Walton, "are all writing operas now." With about 20 minutes of music left to write, Walton thinks he may finish in another year. The work is Troilus and Cressida, based on Chaucer's poem, not Shakespeare's play ("You can't set Shakespeare's to music"), and the world's top opera houses have already made bids for the premiere. The story, adapted by British Librettist Christopher Hassall, is practically foolproof opera material. The scene is

Homeric Troy during the Greek siege. Troilus is smitten with love for the beautiful young widow Cressida, but he is too shy to take the initiative. Her uncle, a worldly gent and Troilus' helpful friend, asks her to spend the night in his house. Troilus lies in hiding, ready to sprint to the guest room at the earliest opportunity. There follow three years of passionate, secret love. Finally, Cressida's father, a Greek fellow traveler who has gone over to the enemy, gets her out of. besieged Troy and into the Greek camp. There, she is all too soon seduced by another man. When it is clear that Cressida is gone for good, Troilus furiously kills "thousands" of Greeks, finally dies on Achilles' blade.

Says Composer Walton: "It's great fun."

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