Meyerbeer, a man of handsome private fortune, like Mendelssohn, made
large sums by his operas, and was probably the wealthiest of the great
composers. He lived a life of luxurious ease, and yet laboured with
intense zeal a certain number of hours each day. A friend one day
begged him to take more rest, and he answered smilingly, "If I should
leave work, I should rob myself of my greatest pleasure; for I am so
accustomed to work that it has become a necessity." Probably few
composers have been more splendidly rewarded by contemporary fame and
wealth, or been more idolised by their admirers. No less may it be
said that few have been the object of more severe criticism. His youth
was spent amid the severest classic influences of German music, and
the spirit of romanticism and nationality, which blossomed into such
beautiful and characteristic works as those composed by his friend and
fellow-pupil Weber, also found in his heart an eloquent echo. But
Meyerbeer resolutely disenthralled himself from what he appeared to
have regarded as trammels, and followed out an ambition to be a
cosmopolitan composer. In pursuit of this purpose he divested himself
of that fine flavour of individuality and devotion to art for its own
sake which marks the highest labours of genius. He can not be exempted
from the criticism that he regarded success and the immediate plaudits
of the public as the only satisfactory rewards of his art. He had but
little of the lofty content which shines out through the vexed and
clouded lives of such souls as Beethoven and Gluck in music, of Bacon
and Milton in literature, who looked forward to immortality of fame as
the best vindication of their work. A marked characteristic of the man
was a secret dissatisfaction with all that he accomplished, making him
restless and unhappy, and extremely sensitive to criticism. With this
was united a tendency at times to oscillate to the other extreme of
vain-gloriousness. An example of this was a reply to Rossini one night
at the opera when they were listening to "Robert le Diable." The "Swan
of Pesaro" was a warm admirer of Meyerbeer, though the latter was a
formidable rival, and his works had largely replaced those of the
other in popular repute. Sitting together in the same box, Rossini, in
his delight at one portion of the opera, cried out in his impulsive
Italian way, "If you can write anything to surpass this, I will
undertake to dance upon my head." "Well, then," said Meyerbeer, "you
had better soon commence practising, for I have just commenced the
fourth act of 'Les Huguenots.'" Well might he make this boast, for
into the fourth act of his musical setting of the terrible St.
Bartholomew tragedy he put the finest inspirations of his life.
Singular to say, though he himself represented the very opposite pole
of art spirit and method, Mozart was to him the greatest of his
predecessors. Perhaps it was this very fact, however, which was at the
root of his sentiment of admiration for the composer of "Don Giovanni"
and "Le Nozze di Figaro." A story is told to the effect that Meyerbeer
was once dining with some friends, when a discussion arose respecting
Mozart's position in the musical hierarchy. Suddenly one of the guests
suggested that "certain beauties of Mozart's music had become stale
with age. I defy you," he continued, "to listen to 'Don Giovanni'
after the fourth act of the 'Huguenots.'" "So much the worse, then,
for the fourth act of the 'Huguenots,'" said Meyerbeer, furious at the
clumsy compliment paid to his own work at the expense of his idol.
Critics wedded to the strict German school of music never forgave
Meyerbeer for his dereliction from the spirit and influences of his
nation, and the prominence which he gave to melodramatic effects and
spectacular show in his operas. Not without some show of reason, they
cite this fact as proof of poverty of musical invention. Mendelssohn,
who was habitually generous in his judgment, wrote to the poet
Immermann from Paris of "Robert le Diable"--"The subject is of the
romantic order; _i.e._, the devil appears in it (which suffices the
Parisians for romance and imagination). Nevertheless, it is very bad,
and, were it not for two brilliant seduction scenes, there would not
even be effect.... The opera does not please me; it is devoid of
sentiment and feeling.... People admire the music, but where there is
no warmth and truth, I cannot even form a standard of criticism."
Schlüter, the historian of music, speaks even more bitterly of
Meyerbeer's irreverence and theatric sensationalism--"'Les Huguenots'
and the far weaker production 'Le Prophète' are, we think, all the
more reprehensible (nowadays especially, when too much stress is laid
on the subject of a work, and consequently on the libretto of an
opera), because the Jew has in these pieces ruthlessly dragged before
the footlights two of the darkest pictures in the annals of
Catholicism, nor has he scrupled to bring high mass and chorale on the
boards."
Wagner, the last of the great German composers, cannot find words too
scathing and bitter to mark his condemnation of Meyerbeer. Perhaps
his extreme aversion finds its psychological reason in the
circumstance that his own early efforts were in the sphere of
Meyerbeer and Halévy, and from his present point of view he looks
back with disgust on what he regards as the sins of his youth. The
fairest of the German estimates of the composer, who not only cast
aside the national spirit and methods, but offended his countrymen by
devoting himself to the French stage, is that of Vischer, an eminent
writer on æsthetics--"Notwithstanding the composer's remarkable
talent for musical drama, his operas contain sometimes too much,
sometimes too little--too much in the subject-matter, external
adornment, and effective 'situations'--too little in the absence of
poetry, ideality, and sentiment (which are essential to a work of
art), as well as in the unnatural and constrained combinations of the
plot."
But despite the fact that Meyerbeer's operas contain such strange
scenes as phantom nuns dancing, girls bathing, sunrise, skating,
gunpowder explosions, a king playing the flute, and the prima donna
leading a goat, dramatic music owes to him new accents of genuine
pathos and an addition to its resources of rendering passionate
emotions. Though much that is merely showy and meretricious there come
frequent bursts of genuine musical power and energy, which give him a
high and unmistakable rank, though he has had less permanent influence
in moulding and directing the development of musical art than any
other composer who has had so large a place in the annals of his time.
The last twelve years of Meyerbeer's life were spent, with the
exception of brief residences in Germany and Italy, in Paris, the city
of his adoption, where all who were distinguished in art and letters
paid their court to him. When he was seized with his fatal illness he
was hard at work on "L'Africaine," for which Scribe had also furnished
the libretto. His heart was set on its completion, and his daily
prayer was that his life might be spared to finish it. But it was not
to be. He died May 2, 1864. The same morning Rossini called to inquire
after the health of the sick man, equally his friend and rival. When
he heard the sad news he sank into a fit of profound despondency and
grief, from which he did not soon recover. All Paris mourned with him,
and even Germany forgot its critical dislike to join in regret at the
loss of one who, with all his defects, was so great an artist and so
good a man.
Meyerbeer seems to have been greatly afraid of being buried alive. In
his pocket-book after his death was found a paper giving directions
that small bells should be attached to his hands and feet, and that
his body should be carefully watched for four days, after which it
should be sent to Berlin to be interred by the side of his mother, to
whom he had been most tenderly attached.
The composer was the intimate friend of most of the celebrities of his
time in art and literature. Victor Hugo, Lamartine, George Sand,
Balzac, Alfred de Musset, Delacroix, Jules Janin, and Théophile
Gautier were his familiar intimates; and the reunions between these
and other gifted men, who then made Paris so intellectually brilliant,
are charmingly described by Liszt and Moscheles. Meyerbeer's
correspondence, which was extensive, deserves publication, as it
displays marked literary faculty, and is full of bright sympathetic
thought, vigorous criticism, and playful fancy. The following letter
to Jules Janin, written from Berlin a few years before his death,
gives some pleasant insight into his character:--
"Your last letter was addressed to me at Königsberg; but I
was in Berlin working--working away like a young man,
despite my seventy years, which somehow certain people, with
a peculiar generosity, try to put upon me. As I am not at
Königsberg, where I am to arrange for the Court concert for
the eighteenth of this month, I have now leisure to answer
your letter, and will immediately confess to you how greatly
I was disappointed that you were so little interested in
Rameau; and yet Rameau was always the bright star of your
French opera, as well as your master in the music. He
remained to you after Lulli, and it was he who prepared the
way for the Chevalier Gluck: therefore his family have a
right to expect assistance from the Parisians, who on
several occasions have cared for the descendants of Racine
and the grandchildren of the great Corneille. If I had been
in Paris, I certainly would have given two hundred francs
for a seat; and I take this opportunity to beg you to hand
that sum to the poor family, who cannot fail to be unhappy
in their disappointment. At the same time I send you a power
of attorney for M. Guyot, by which I renounce all claims to
the parts of my operas which may be represented at the
benefit for the celebrated and unfortunate Rameau family.
Why will you not come to Königsberg at the festival? Why, in
other words, are you not in Berlin? What splendid music we
have in preparation! As to myself, it is not only a source
of pleasure to me, but I feel it a duty, in the position I
hold, to compose a grand march, to be performed at
Königsberg while the royal procession passes from the castle
into the church, where the ceremony of crowning is to take
place. I will even compose a hymn, to be executed on the day
that our king and master returns to his good Berlin.
Besides, I have promised to write an overture for the great
concert of the four nations, which the directors of the
London exhibition intend to give at the opening of the same,
next spring, in the Crystal Palace. All this keeps me back:
it has robbed me of my autumn, and will also take a good
part of next spring; but with the help of God, dear friend,
I hope we shall see each other again next year, free from
all cares, in the charming little town of Spa, listening to
the babbling of its waters and the rustling of its old grey
oaks.
"Truly your friend,
"Meyerbeer."