A well-known musical critic sums up his judgment of Halévy in these
words--"If in France a contemporary of Louis XIV., an admirer of
Racine, could return to us, and, full of the remembrance of his
earthly career under that renowned monarch, he should wish to find the
nobly pathetic, the elevated inspiration, the majestic arrangements of
the olden times upon a modern stage, we would not take him to the
Théâtre Français, but to the Opera on the day in which one of Halévy's
works was given."
Unlike Méhul and Spontini, with whom in point of style and method
Halévy must be associated, he was not in any direct sense a disciple
of Gluck, but inherited the influence of the latter through his great
successor Cherubini, of whom Halévy was the favourite pupil and the
intimate friend. FROMENTAL HALÉVY, a scion of the Hebrew race, which
has furnished so many geniuses to the art world, left a deep impress
on his times, not simply by his genius and musical knowledge, which
was profound, varied, and accurate, but by the elevation and nobility
which lifted his mark up to a higher level than that which we accord
to mere musical gifts, be they ever so rich and fertile. The motive
that inspired his life is suggested in his devout saying that music is
an art that God has given us, in which the voices of all nations may
unite their prayers in one harmonious rhythm.
Halévy was a native of Paris, born May 27, 1799. He entered the
Conservatory at the age of eleven years, where he soon attracted the
particular attention of Cherubini. When he was twenty the Institute
awarded him the grand prize for the composition of a cantata; and he
also received a government pension which enabled him to dwell at Rome
for two years, assiduously cultivating his talents in composition.
Halévy returned to Paris, but it was not till 1827 that he succeeded
in having an opera produced. This portion of his life was full of
disappointment and chilled ambitions; for, in spite of the warm
friendship of Cherubini, who did everything to advance his interests,
he seemed to make but slow progress in popular estimation, though a
number of operas were produced.
Halévy's full recognition, however, was found in the great work of "La
Juive," produced February 23, 1835, with lavish magnificence. It is
said that the managers of the Opera expended 150,000 francs in putting
it on the stage. This opera, which surpasses all his others in
passion, strength, and dignity of treatment, was interpreted by the
greatest singers in Europe, and the public reception at once assured
the composer that his place in music was fixed. Many envious critics,
however, declaimed against him, asserting that success was not the
legitimate desert of the opera, but of its magnificent presentation.
Halévy answered his detractors by giving the world a delightful comic
opera, "L'Éclair," which at once testified to the genuineness of his
musical inspiration and the versatility of his powers, and was
received by the public with even more pleasure than "La Juive."
Halévy's next brilliant stroke (three unsuccessful works in the
meanwhile having been written) was "La Reine de Chypre," produced in
1841. A somewhat singular fact occurred during the performance of this
opera. One of the singers, every time he came to the passage,
"Ce mortel qu'on remarque
Tient-il
Plus que nous de la Parque
Le fil?"
was in the habit of fixing his eyes on a certain proscenium box
wherein were wont to sit certain notabilities in politics and finance.
As several of these died during the first run of the work,
superstitious people thought the box was bewitched, and no one cared
to occupy it. Two fine works, "Charles VI." and "Le Val d'Andorre,"
succeeded at intervals of a few years; and in 1849 the noble music to
Æschylus's "Prometheus Bound" was written with an idea of reproducing
the supposed effects of the enharmonic style of the Greeks.
Halévy's opera of "The Tempest," written for London, and produced in
1850, rivalled the success of "La Juive." Balfe led the orchestra, and
its popularity caused the basso Lablache to write the following
epigram:--
"The 'Tempest' of Halévy
Differs from other tempests.
These rain hail,
That rains gold."
The Academy of Fine Arts elected the composer secretary in 1854, and
in the exercise of his duties, which involved considerable literary
composition, Halévy showed the same elegance of style and good taste
which marked his musical writings. He did not, however, neglect his
own proper work, and a succession of operas, which were cordially
received, proved how unimpaired and vigorous his intellectual
faculties remained.
The composer's death occurred at Nice, whither he had gone on account
of failing strength, March 17, 1862. His last moments were cheered by
the attentions of his family and the consolations of philosophy and
literature, which he dearly loved to discuss with his friends. His
ruling passion displayed itself shortly before his end in
characteristic fashion. Trying in vain to reach a book on the table,
he said, "Can I do nothing now in time?" On the morning of his death,
wishing to be turned on his bed, he said to his daughter, "Lay me down
like a gamut," at each movement repeating, with a soft smile, "_Do_,
_re_, _mi_," etc., until the change was made. These were his last
words.
The celebrated French critic Sainte-Beuve pays a charming tribute to
Halévy, whom he knew and loved well:--
"Halévy had a natural talent for writing, which he cultivated and
perfected by study, by a taste for reading which he always
gratified in the intervals of labour, in his study, in public
conveyances--everywhere, in fine, when he had a minute to spare. He
could isolate himself completely in the midst of the various noises
of his family, or the conversation of the drawing-room if he had no
part in it. He wrote music, poetry, and prose, and he read with
imperturbable attention while people around him talked.
"He possessed the instinct of languages, was familiar with German,
Italian, English, and Latin, knew something of Hebrew and Greek. He
was conversant with etymology, and had a perfect passion for
dictionaries. It was often difficult for him to find a word; for on
opening the dictionary somewhere near the word for which he was
looking, if his eye chanced to fall on some other, no matter what, he
stopped to read that, then another and another, until he sometimes
forgot the word he sought. It is singular that this estimable man, so
fully occupied, should at times have nourished some secret sadness.
Whatever the hidden wound might be, none, not even his most intimate
friends, knew what it was. He never made any complaint. Halévy's
nature was rich, open, and communicative. He was well organised,
accessible to the sweets of sociability and family joys. In fine, he
had, as one may say, too many strings to his bow to be very unhappy
for any length of time. To define him practically, I would say he was
a bee that had not lodged himself completely in his hive, but was
seeking to make honey elsewhere too."