YOUTHFUL YEARS
When I took my seat on the benches of the Conservatoire, I was rather
delicate and not very tall. This was the excuse for the drawing which
the celebrated caricaturist Cham made of me. He was a great friend of
the family and often came to spend the evening with my parents. They had
many talks which the brilliant craftsman enlivened with his sprightly
and witty enthusiasms, seated around the family table lighted by the dim
light of an oil lamp. (Kerosene was scarcely known and electricity had
not come into use for lighting.)
We used to drink a sweet syrup on such occasions, for this was before a
cup of tea was the fashionable drink.
I was often asked to play, so that Cham had every opportunity to draw my
profile. He represented me as seated on five or six folios of music with
my hands in the air, scarcely reaching the keyboard. This was obviously
an exaggeration, but there was enough truth in it to show that it was
founded on fact.
I often went with Cham to see a lovely and lovable friend of his in the
Rue Tarranne. Naturally I was asked to "play the piano." I remember that
on one evening when I was asked to play I had just received third place
in a prize competition both on the piano and in solfeggio, and to prove
it I had two heavy bronze medals inscribed "Conservatoire imperial de
musique et de declamation." It is true that they listened to me no
better on this account, but I was affected by the honor nevertheless.
Some years later, in the natural course of events, I learned that Cham
had secretly married the beautiful lady of the Rue Tarranne. As he was
somewhat embarrassed by the marriage, he did not send announcement cards
to his friends, much to their surprise. When they asked him about it, he
replied, wittily,
"Of course I sent announcements.... They were anonymous."
In spite of my mother's extreme watchfulness, I escaped from home one
evening. I knew that they were giving Berlioz's _L'Enfance du Christ_
at the Opera-Comique and that the great composer was to conduct. I could
not pay my way in, but I had an irresistible desire to hear the work,
especially as it was a creation of Berlioz's, who aroused the enthusiasm
of all our young people. So I asked my companions who sang in the
children's chorus to take me in and let me hide among them. I must
confess that I secretly wanted to get behind the scenes of a theater.
As might be imagined, my escapade rather upset my mother. She waited up
for me until after midnight ... she thought I was lost in this vast
Paris.
Needless to say that, when I came in abashed and shamefaced, I was well
scolded. I bore up under two storms of tears--if it is true that a
woman's wrath, like the rain in the forests, falls twice; still, a
mother's heart cannot bear anger forever--and I went to bed made easy on
that scare. Nevertheless I could not sleep. I recalled all the beauties
of the work I had just heard and before my mind's eye I saw again the
tall and impressive figure of Berlioz as he directed the superb
performance in masterly style.
My life ran on happily and industriously, but this did not last. The
doctors ordered my father to leave Paris, as the climate did not agree
with him, and to take treatment at Aix-les-Bains in Savoy. My mother and
father followed this advice and went to Chambery taking me with them. My
artistic career was interrupted, but there was nothing else for me to
do.
I stayed at Chambery for two long years; still the life there was not
monotonous. I passed the time in classical studies, alternating with
diligent work on scales and arpeggios, sixths and thirds, as if I were
going to be a fiery pianist. I wore my hair ridiculously long, as was
the style with every virtuoso, and this touch of resemblance harmonized
with my dreams. It seemed to me that wild locks of hair were the
complement of talent.
Between times I took long rambles through the delightful country of
Savoy which was still ruled by the King of Piemont; sometimes I went to
the Dent de Nicolet, sometimes as far as Les Charmettes, that
picturesque dwelling made famous by Jean Jacques Rousseau's stay there.
During my enforced rustication I found, by sheer accident, some of
Schumann's works which were then little known in France and still less
in Piemont. I shall always remember that everywhere I went I did my
share by playing a few pieces on the piano. I sometimes played that
exquisite thing entitled _Au Soir_ and that brought me one day this
singular invitation, "Come and amuse us with your Schumann with its
detestable false notes." It is unnecessary to repeat my childish
outburst at these words. What would the good old people of Savoy say if
they could hear the music of to-day?
But the months went on, and on, and on ... until one morning, before the
first signs of day-break had come over the mountains, I escaped from the
paternal homestead and started for Paris without a sou or even a change
of clothes. For Paris, the city with every artistic attraction, where I
should see again my dear Conservatoire, my masters, and the "behind the
scenes," for the memory of them was still with me.
I knew that in Paris I should find my good older sister, who, in spite
of her modest means, welcomed me as though I were her own child and
offered me board and lodging; a very simple lodging and a very frugal
table, but made so delightful by the magic of greatest kindliness that I
felt exactly as though I were in my own home.
Imperceptibly my mother forgave me for running away to Paris.
What a good devoted creature my sister was! Alas! she died January 13,
1905, just as she was glorying in attending the five hundredth
performance of _Manon_, which took place the very evening of her death.
Nothing can express the sorrow I felt.
* * * * *
In the space of two years I had made up for the time I had lost in Savoy
and I had won a prize. I was awarded a first prize on the piano, as well
as one in counterpoint and fugue, on July 26, 1859.
I had to compete with ten of my fellow students and by chance my name
was number eleven in the order. All the contestants were shut up in the
foyer of the concert hall of the Conservatoire to wait until their names
were called.
For a moment Number Eleven found himself alone in the foyer. While
waiting for my turn, I studied respectfully the portrait of Habeneck,
the founder and the first conductor of the orchestra of the Societe des
Concerts. A red handkerchief actually blossomed in his left buttonhole.
If he had become an officer of the Legion of Honor and had several
orders to accompany that, he certainly would have worn, not a rosette,
but a rose.
Then I was called.
The test piece was the concerto in F minor by Ferdinand Hiller. At the
time it was pretended that his music was so like that of Niels Gade that
they would think it was Mendelssohn's.
My good master M. Laurent stayed close to the piano. When I had
finished--concerto and sight reading--he threw his arms about me without
thought of the public which filled the hall and I felt my face grow
moist from his dear tears.
Even at that age, I was apprehensive about success, and during my whole
life I have always fled from public rehearsals and first nights,
thinking it better to learn the worst ... as late as possible.
I raced all the way home, running like a gamin, but I found no one
there, for my sister had gone to the prize contest. However I did not
stay long, for I finally decided to go back to the Conservatoire. I was
so excited that I ran all the way. At the corner of the Rue
Sainte-Cecile I met my boon companion Alphonse Duvernoy, whose after
career as a teacher and composer was most successful, and I fell into
his arms. He told me what I might have known already, that Monsieur
Auber had announced the decision for the jury, "Monsieur Massenet is
awarded the first prize on the piano."
One of the jury was Henri Ravina, a master who was one of the dearest
friends I ever had, and my thoughts go out to him in affectionate
gratitude.
I scarcely touched the ground in getting from the Rue Bergere to the Rue
de Bourgogne where my excellent master M. Laurent lived. I found my old
professor at lunch with several generals who had been his comrades in
the army.
He had hardly caught sight of me when he held out two volumes to me: the
orchestral score of _Le Nozze di Figaro_, _dramma giocoso in quarti
atti_. _Messo in musica dal Signor W. Mozart._
The binding bore the arms of Louis XVIII and the following
superscription in gold letters: _Menus plaisirs du Roi_. _Ecole royale
de musique et de declamation. Concours de 1822. Premier prix de piano
decerne a M. Laurent._
My honored master had written on the first page:
"Thirty-seven years ago I won, as you have done, my child, the
prize for the piano. I do not think that there is any more pleasing
gift I could give you than this with my sincerest friendship. Go on
as you have begun and you will be a great artist.
"This is the opinion of the jury which to-day awarded you this fine
reward.
"Your old friend and professor,
"LAURENT."
It was indeed a fine thing for an honored professor to speak like this
to a youth who had hardly begun his career.