I.

Few great names in art have been the occasion of such diversity of

judgment as Giacomo Meyerbeer, whose works fill so large a place in

French music. By one school of critics he is lauded beyond all measure

as one "whose scientific skill and gorgeous orchestration are only

equalled by his richness of melody and genius for dramatic and scenic

effects; by far the greatest composer of recent years;" by another

class we hear him stigmatised as "the very caricature of the universal

Mozart ... the Cosmopolitan Jew, who hawks his wares among all nations

indifferently, and does his best to please customers of every kind."

The truth lies between the two, as is wont to be the case in such

extremes of opinion. Meyerbeer's remarkable talent so nearly

approaches genius as to make the distinction a difficult one. He

cannot be numbered among those great creative artists who by force of

individuality have moulded musical epochs and left an undying imprint

on their own and succeeding ages. On the other hand, his remarkable

power of combining the resources of the lyric stage in a grand mosaic

of all that can charm the eye and ear, of wedding rich and gorgeous

music with splendid spectacle, gives him an unique place in music;

for, unlike Wagner, whose ideas of stage necessities are no less

exacting, Meyerbeer aims at no reforms in lyric music, but only to

develop the old forms to their highest degree of effect, under

conditions that shall gratify the general artistic sense. To

accomplish this, he spares no means either in or out of music. Though

a German, there is but little of the Teutonic _genre_ in the music of

Weber's fellow-pupil. When at the outset he wrote for Italy, he showed

but little of that easy assumption of the genius of Italian art which

many other foreign composers have attained. It was not till he formed

his celebrated art partnership with Scribe, the greatest of

librettists, and succeeded in opening the gates of the Grand Opera of

Paris with all its resources, more vast than exist anywhere else, that

Meyerbeer found his true vocation, the production of elaborate dramas

in music of the eclectic school. He inaugurated no clearly defined

tendencies in his art; he distinctively belongs to no national school

of music; but his long and important connection with the French lyric

stage classifies him unmistakably with the composers of this nation.

The subject of this sketch belonged to a family of marked ability.

Jacob Beer was a rich Jewish banker of Berlin, highly honoured for his

robust intellect and scholarly culture, as well as his wealth.

William, one of the sons, became a distinguished astronomer; another,

Michael, achieved distinction as a dramatic poet; while the eldest,

Jacob, was the composer, who gained his renown under the Italianised

name of Giacomo Meyerbeer, a part of the surname having been adopted

from that of the rich banker Meyer, who left the musician a great

fortune.

MEYERBEER was born at Berlin, September 5, 1791, and was a musical

prodigy from his earliest years. When only four years old he would

repeat on the piano the airs he heard from the hand-organs, composing

his own accompaniment. At five he took lessons of Lanska, a pupil of

Clementi, and at six he made his appearance at a concert. Three years

afterwards the critics spoke of him as one of the best pianists in

Berlin. He studied successively under the greatest masters of the

time, Clementi, Bernhard Anselm Weber, and Abbé Vogler. While in the

latter's school at Darmstadt, he had for fellow-pupils Carl von Weber,

Winter, and Gansbacher. Every morning the abbé called together his

pupils after mass, gave them some theoretical instruction, then

assigned each one a theme for composition. There was great emulation

and friendship between Meyerbeer and Weber, which afterwards cooled,

however, owing to Weber's disgust at Meyerbeer's lavish catering to

an extravagant taste. Weber's severe and bitter criticisms were not

forgiven by the Franco-German composer.

Meyerbeer's first work was the oratorio "Gott und die Natur," which

was performed before the Grand Duke with such success as to gain for

him the appointment of court composer. Meyerbeer's concerts at

Darmstadt and Berlin were brilliant exhibitions; and Moscheles, no

mean judge, has told us that if Meyerbeer had devoted himself to the

piano, no performer in Europe could have surpassed him. By advice of

Salieri, whom Meyerbeer met in Vienna, he proceeded to Italy to study

the cultivation of the voice; for he seems in early life to have

clearly recognised how necessary it is for the operatic composer to

understand this, though, in after-years, he treated the voice as

ruthlessly in many of his most important arias and scenas as he would

a brass instrument. He arrived in Vienna just as the Rossini madness

was at its height, and his own blood was fired to compose operas _à la

Rossini_ for the Italian theatres. So he proceeded with prodigious

industry to turn out operas. In 1818 he wrote "Romilda e Costanza" for

Padua; in 1819, "Semiramide" for Turin; in 1820, "Emma di Resburgo"

for Venice; in 1822, "Margherita d'Anjou" for Milan; and in 1823,

"L'Esule di Granata," also for Milan. These works of the composer's

'prentice hand met with the usual fate of the production of the

thousand and one musicians who pour forth operas in unremitting flow

for the Italian theatres; but they were excellent drill for the future

author of "Robert le Diable" and "Les Huguenots." On returning to

Germany Meyerbeer was very sarcastically criticised on the one side as

a fugitive from the ranks of German music, on the other as an imitator

of Rossini.

Meyerbeer returned to Venice, and in 1824 brought out "Il Crociato in

Egitto" in that city, an opera which made the tour of Europe, and

established a reputation for the author as the coming rival of

Rossini, no one suspecting from what Meyerbeer had then accomplished

that he was about to strike boldly out in a new direction. "Il

Crociato" was produced in Paris in 1825, and the same year in London.

In the latter city, Velluti, the last of the male sopranists, was one

of the principal singers in the opera; and it was said by some of the

ill-natured critics that curiosity to see and hear this singer of a

peculiar kind, of whom it was said, "Non vir sed Veluti," had as much

to do with the success of the opera as its merits. Lord

Mount-Edgcumbe, however, an excellent critic, wrote of it "as quite of

the new school, but not copied from its founder, Rossini; original,

odd, flighty, and it might be termed fantastic, but at times

beautiful. Here and there most delightful melodies and harmonies

occurred, but it was unequal, solos being as rare as in all the modern

operas." This was the last of Meyerbeer's operas written in the

Italian style.

In 1827 the composer married, and for several years lived a quiet,

secluded life. The loss of his first two children so saddened him as

to concentrate his attention for a while on church music. During this

period he composed only a "Stabat," a "Miserere," a "Te Deum," and

eight of Klopstock's songs. But he was preparing for that new

departure on which his reputation as a great composer now rests, and

which called forth such bitter condemnation on the one hand, such

thunders of eulogy on the other. His old fellow-pupil, Weber, wrote of

him in after-years--"He prostituted his profound, admirable, and

serious German talent for the applause of the crowd which he ought to

have despised." And Mendelssohn wrote to his father in words of still

more angry disgust--"When in 'Robert le Diable' nuns appear one after

the other and endeavour to seduce the hero, till at length the lady

abbess succeeds; when the hero, aided by a magic branch, gains access

to the sleeping apartment of his lady, and throws her down, forming a

tableau which is applauded here, and will perhaps be applauded in

Germany; and when, after that, she implores for mercy in an aria;

when, in another opera, a girl undresses herself, singing all the

while that she will be married to-morrow, it may be effective, but I

find no music in it. For it is vulgar, and if such is the taste of

the day, and therefore necessary, I prefer writing sacred music."

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