THE DAYS AFTER THE WAR
The Commune had just gasped its last breath when we found ourselves
again at the family abode in Fontainebleau.
Paris breathed once more after a long period of trouble and agony;
gradually calm returned. As if the lesson of that bloody time would
never fade away and as if its memory would be perpetual, bits of burnt
paper were brought into our garden from time to time on the wings of the
wind. I kept one piece. It bore traces of figures and probably came from
the burning of the Ministry of Finance.
As soon as I saw again my dear little room in the country, I found
courage to work and in the peace of the great trees which spread over us
with their sweetly peaceful branches I wrote the _Scenes Pittoresques_.
I dedicated them to my good friend Paladilhe, author of _Patrie_, later
my confrere at the Institute.
As I had undergone all kinds of privation for so many months, the life
I was now living seemed to me most exquisite; it brought back my good
humor and gave me a calm and serene mind.
On this account I was able to write my second orchestral suite which was
played some years later at the Chatelet concerts.
But I went back to Paris before long, for I wanted to see, as soon as
possible, the great city which had been so sorely tried. I had hardly
got back when I met Emile Bergerat, the bright and delightful poet, who
later became Theophile Gautier's son-in-law.
How dear a name in French letters is that of Theophile Gautier! What
glory he heaped on them--that illustrious Benvenuto of style as they
called him!
Bergerat took me with him one day to visit his future father-in-law.
My sensations in approaching that great poet were indescribable! He was
no longer in the dawn of life, but he was still youthful and vivacious
in thought, and rich in images with which he adorned his slightest
conversation. And his learning was extremely wide and varied. I found
him sitting in a large armchair with three cats about him. I have always
been fond of the pretty creatures, so I at once made friends with them
which put me in the good graces of their master.
Bergerat, who has continued to be a charming friend to me, told him that
I was a musician and that a ballet over his name would open the doors of
the Opera to me. He developed on the spot two subjects for me: _Le
Preneur de Rats_ (The Rat Catcher) and _La Fille du Roi des Aulnes_. The
recollection of Schubert frightened me off the latter, and it was
arranged that the _Rat Catcher_ should be offered to the director of the
Opera.
Nothing came of it as far as I was concerned. The name of the great poet
was so dazzling that the poor musician was completely lost in its
brilliance. It was said, however, that I would not remain a nonentity,
but that I would finally emerge from obscurity.
Duquesnel, an admirable friend, then the director of the Odeon, at the
instance of Hartmann, my publisher, sent for me to come to his office at
the theater and asked me to write the stage music for the old tragedy
_Les Erinnyes_ by Leconte de Lisle. He read several scenes to me and I
became enthusiastic at once.
How splendid the rehearsals were! They were under the direction of the
celebrated artist Brindeau, the stage manager at the Odeon, but Leconte
de Lisle managed them in person.
What an Olympian attitude was that of the famous translator of Homer,
Sophocles, and Theocritus, those geniuses of the past whom he almost
seemed to equal! How admirable the expression of his face with his
double eye-glass which seemed a part of him and through which his eyes
gleamed with lightning glances!
How could they pretend that he did not like music when they inflicted so
much of it on him, in that work at any rate? It was ridiculous. That is
the sort of legend with which they overwhelm so many poets.
Theophile Gautier, who, they said, considered music the most costly of
all noises, knew and liked other marvellous artists too well to
disparage our art. Besides, who can forget his critical articles on
music which his daughter Judith Gautier, of the Goncourt Academy, has
just collected in one volume with pious care, and which are uncommonly
and astonishingly just appreciations.
Leconte de Lisle was a fervent admirer of Wagner and of Alphonse
Daudet, of whom I shall speak later, and had a soul most sensitive to
music.
In spite of the snow I went to the country in December to shut myself up
for a few days with my wife's good parents and I wrote the music of _Les
Erinnyes_.
Dusquesnel placed forty musicians at my disposal, which, under the
circumstances, was a considerable expense and a great favor. Instead of
writing a score for the regular orchestra--which would have produced
only a paltry effect--I had the idea of having a quartet of thirty-six
stringed instruments corresponding to a large orchestra. Then I added
three trombones to represent the three Erinnyes: Tisiphone, Alecto and
Megere, and a pair of kettle-drums. So I had my forty.
I again thank that dear director for this unusual luxury of instruments.
I owed the sympathy of many musicians to it and to him.
As I was already occupied with an opera-comique in three acts which a
young collaborator of Ennery's had obtained for me from the manager of
the theater--how my memory flies to Chantepie, vanished from the stage
too early--I received a letter from du Locle, then director of the
Opera-Comique, telling me that this work, _Don Cesar de Bazan_, must be
ready in November.
The cast was: Mlle. Priola, Mme. Galli Marie, already famous as
_Mignon_, later the never to be forgotten _Carmen_, and a young beginner
with a well trained voice and charming presence, M. Bouchy.
The work was put on hastily with old scenery, which so displeased Ennery
that he never appeared in the theater again.
Madame Galli took the honors of the evening with several encores. The
_Entr'acte Sevillana_ was also applauded. The work, however, did not
succeed for it was taken off the bill after the thirteenth performance.
Joncieres, the author of _Dimitri_, pled my cause in vain before the
Societe des Auteurs, of which Auguste Maquet was president, arguing that
they had no right to withdraw a work which still averaged so good
receipts. They were kind words lost! _Don Cesar_ was played no more.
I recall that later on I had to re-write the whole work at the request
of several provincial houses so that it might be played as they wished.
The manuscript of the score (only the entr'acte was engraved) was
burned in the fire of May, 1887, as was my first work.
An invincible secret power directed my life.
I was invited to dine at the house of Mme. Pauline Viardot, the sublime
lyric tragedienne. In the course of the evening I was asked to play a
little music.
I was taken unawares and I began to sing a bit from my sacred drama
_Marie Magdeleine_.
Although I had no voice, at that age I had a good deal of go in the
manner of singing my music. Now, I speak it, and in spite of the
insufficiency of my vocal powers, my artists get what I mean.
I was singing, if I may say so, when Mme. Pauline Viardot leaned over
the keyboard and said with an accent of emotion never to be forgotten,
"What is that?"
"_Marie Magdeleine_," I told her, "a work of my youth which I never even
hope to put on."
"What? Well, it shall be and I will be your Mary Magdalene."
I at once sang again the scene of Magdalene at the Cross:
_O bien-aime! Sous ta sombre couronne_....
When Hartmann heard of this, he wanted to play a trick on Pasdeloup, who
had heard the score not long before and who had refused it almost
brutally, so he created, in collaboration with Duquesnel at the Odeon,
the Concert National. The leader of the orchestra at this new popular
concert was Edouard Colonne, my old friend at the Conservatoire, whom I
had already chosen to conduct _Les Erinnyes_.
Hartmann's publishing house was the rendezvous for all the youngsters,
including Cesar Franck whose lofty works had not yet come into their
own.
The small shop at 17 Boulevard de la Madeleine became the center of the
musical movement. Bizet, Saint-Saens, Lalo, Franck, and Holmes were a
part of the inner circle. Here they chatted gaily and with every
enthusiasm and ardor in their faith in the great art which was to
ennoble their lives.
The first five concerts at the Concert National were devoted to Cesar
Franck and to other composers. The sixth and last was given to the full
performance of _Marie Magdeleine_.