FIVE COLLABORATORS
As is my custom, I did not wait for _Manon's_ fate to be decided before
I began to plague my publisher, Hartmann, to wake up and find me a new
subject. I had hardly finished my plaint, to which he listened in
silence with a smile on his lips, than he went to a desk and took out
five books of manuscript written on the yellow paper which is well known
to copyists. It was _Le Cid_, an opera in five acts by Louis Gallet and
Edouard Blatt. As he offered me the manuscript, Hartmann made this
comment to which I had nothing to reply, "I know you. I had foreseen
this outburst."
I was bound to be pleased at writing a work based on the great
Corneille's masterpiece, the libretto due to the fellow workers I had
had in the competition for the Imperial Opera, _La Coup de roi de
Thule_, in which, as I have said, I failed to win the first prize.
I learned the words by heart, as I always did. I wanted to have it
constantly in my thoughts, without being compelled to keep the text in
my pocket, so as to be able to work at it away from home, in the
streets, in society, at dinner, at the theater, anywhere that I might
find time. I get away from a task with difficulty, especially when, as
in this case, I am gripped by it.
As I worked I remembered that d'Ennery sometime before had entrusted to
me an important libretto and that I had found a very moving situation in
the fifth act. While the words did not appear sufficiently worth while
to lead me to write the music, I wanted to keep this situation. I told
the famous dramatist and I obtained his consent to interpolate this
scene in the second act of _Le Cid_. Thus d'Ennery became a
collaborator. This scene is where Chimene finds that Rodriguez is her
father's murderer.
Some days later, as I was reading the romance of Guilhem de Castro, I
came across an incident which became the tableau where the consoling
apparition appears to the Cid as he is in tears--the second tableau in
the third act. I was inspired to this by the apparition of Jesus to
Saint Julien the Hospitalier.
I continued my work on _Le Cid_ wherever I happened to be, as the
performances of _Manon_ took me to the provincial theaters where they
alternated it with _Herodiade_ both in France and abroad.
I wrote the ballet for _Le Cid_ at Marseilles during a rather long stay
there. I was very comfortably established in my room, at the Hotel
Beauveau, with its long latticed windows which looked out on the old
port. The prospect was actually fairylike. This room was decorated with
remarkable panels and mirrors, and when I expressed my astonishment at
seeing them so well preserved, the proprietor told me that the room was
an object of special care because Paganini, Alfred de Musset and George
Sand had all lived there once upon a time. The cult of memories
sometimes reaches the point of fetishism.
It was spring. My room was scented with bunches of carnations which my
friends in Marseilles sent me every day. When I say friends, the word is
too weak; perhaps it is necessary to go to mathematics to get the word,
and even then?
The friends in Marseilles heaped upon me consideration, attention and
endless kindness. That is the country where they sweeten the coffee by
placing it outside on the balcony, for the sea is made of honey!
Before I left the kind hospitality of this Phocean city, I received the
following letter from the directors of the Opera, Ritt and Gailhard:
"My dear Friend,
"Can you set the day and hour for your reading of Le Cid?
"In friendship,
"E. Ritt."
But I had brought from Paris keen anguish about the distribution of the
parts. I wanted the sublime Mme. Fides Devries to create the part of
Chimene, but they said that since her marriage she no longer wanted to
appear on the stage. I also depended on my friends Jean and Edouard de
Reszke, who came to Paris especially to talk about _Le Cid_. They were
aware of my plans for them. How many times I climbed the stairs of the
Hotel Scribe where they lived!
At last the contracts were signed and finally the reading took place as
the Opera requested.
As I speak of the ballet in _Le Cid_ I remember I heard the motif, which
begins the ballet, in Spain. I was in the very country of _Le Cid_ at
the time, living in a modest inn. It chanced that they were celebrating
a wedding and they danced all night in the lower room of the hotel.
Several guitars and two flutes repeated a dance tune until they wore it
out. I noted it down. It became the motif I am writing about, a bit of
local color which I seized. I did not let it get away. I intended this
ballet for Mlle. Rosita Mauri who had already done some wonderful dances
at the Opera. I even owed several interesting rhythms to the famous
dancer.
The land of the Magyars and France have been joined at all times by
bonds of keen, cordial sympathy. It was not a surprise, therefore, when
the Hungarian students invited forty Frenchmen--I was one--to go to
Hungary for festivities which they intended to give in our honor.
We started--a joyous caravan--one beautiful evening in August for the
banks of the Danube, Francois Coppee, Leo Delibes, Georges Clairin,
Doctors Pozzi and Albert Rodin, and many other comrades and charming
friends. Then, some newspaper men went along. Ferdinand de Lesseps was
at our head to preside over us, by right of name if not by fame. Our
illustrious compatriot was nearly eighty at the time. He bore the weight
of years so lightly that for a moment one would have thought he was the
youngest in the lot.
We started off in uproarious gaiety. The journey was one uninterrupted
flow of jests and humorous wit, intermingled with farce and endless
pleasantries.
The restaurant car was reserved for us. We did not leave it all night
and our sleeping car was absolutely unoccupied.
As we went through Munich, the Orient Express stopped for five minutes
to let off two travelers, a man and a woman, who, we did not know how,
had contrived to squeeze into a corner of the dining car and who had
calmly sat through all our follies. As they left the train, they made in
a foreign accent this rather sharp remark, "Those distinguished persons
seem rather common." We certainly did not intend to displease that
puritanical pair and we never overstepped the bounds of joviality and
fun.
That fortnight's journey continued full of incidents in which jokes
contended with burlesque.
Every evening, after the warmly enthusiastic receptions of the Hungarian
youth, Ferdinand de Lesseps, our venerated chief, who was called in all
the Hungarian speeches the "Great Frenchman," would leave us after
fixing the order of the next day's receptions. As he finished arranging
our program, he would add, "To-morrow morning, at four o'clock, in
evening dress." And the "Great Frenchman" would be the first one up and
dressed. When we congratulated him on his extraordinary youthful energy,
he would apologize as follows: "Youth must wear itself out."
During the festivities of every kind which they got up in our honor,
they arranged for a gala spectacle, a great performance at the Theatre
Royal in Budapest. Delibes and I were both asked to conduct an act from
one of our works.
When I reached the orchestra, amid hurrahs from the audience, only in
Hungary they shout, "Elyen," I found on the desk the score ... of the
first act of _Coppelia_, when I had expected to find before me the third
act of _Herodiade_ for me to conduct. So much the worse! There was no
help for it and I had to beat time--from memory.
The plot thickened.
[Illustration: The Forum from the First Act of Roma. _See page 300_]
When Delibes, who had received the same honors that I had, saw the third
act of _Herodiade_ on his desk, with me rejoining my companions in
the audience, he presented a unique spectacle. My poor dear great friend
mopped his brow, turned this way and that, drew long breaths, begged the
Hungarian musicians--who didn't understand a word he said--to give him
the right score, but all in vain.
He had to conduct from memory. This seemed to exasperate him, but
Delibes, the adorable musician, was far above a little difficulty like
that.
After this entertainment we were all present at an immense banquet where
naturally enough toasts were de rigeur. I offered one to that great
musician, Franz Liszt--Hungary was honored in giving him birth.
When Delibes's turn came, I suggested to him that I collaborate in his
speech as we had done at the Opera with our scores. I spoke for him; he
spoke for me. The result was a succession of incoherent phrases which
were received by the frantic applause of our compatriots and by the
enthusiastic "Elyens" of the Hungarians.
I will add that Delibes and I, like all the rest, were in a state of
delightful intoxication, for the marvellous vineyards of Hungary are
verily those of the Lord himself. Something must be the matter with
one's head, if he does not enjoy the charm of those wines with their
voluptuous, heady bouquet.
Four o'clock in the morning! We were, as ordered, in evening dress
(indeed we had not changed it) and ready to go to lay wreaths on the
tomb of the forty Hungarian martyrs who had died to free their country.
But through all these mad follies, all these distractions, and
impressive ceremonies, I was thinking of the rehearsals of _Le Cid_
which were waiting for my return to Paris. When I got back, I found
another souvenir of Hungary, a letter from the author of _La Messe du
Saint Graal_, the precursor of _Parsifal_:
"Most Honored Confrere:
"The Hungarian _Gazette_ informs me that you have testified
benevolently in my favor at the French banquet at Budapest. Sincere
thanks and constant cordiality.
"F. Liszt."
26 August, '85. Weimar.
The stage rehearsals of _Le Cid_ at the Opera were carried on with
astonishing sureness and skill by my dear director, P. Gailhard, a
master of this art who had been besides the most admirable of artists
on the stage. He did everything for the good of the work with an
affectionate friendship. It is my pleasant duty to pay him honor for
this.
Later on I found him the same invaluable collaborator when _Ariane_ was
put on at the Opera.
On the evening of November 20, 1885, the Opera billed the first
performance of _Le Cid_, while the Opera-Comique played the same evening
_Manon_, which had already passed its eightieth performance.
In spite of the good news from the general rehearsal of _Le Cid_, I
spent the evening with the artists at _Manon_. Needless to say all the
talk in the wings of the Opera-Comique was of the first performance of
_Le Cid_ which was then in full blast.
Despite my apparent calmness, in my inmost heart I was extremely
anxious, so the curtain had hardly fallen on the fifth act of _Manon_
than I went to the Opera instead of going home. An irresistible power
pulled me thither.
As I skirted the outside of the house from which an elegant and large
crowd was pouring, I overheard a snatch of conversation between a well
known journalist and a reporter who hurriedly inquired the results of
the evening. "It is splitting, my dear chap."
I was greatly troubled, as one would be in any case, and ran to the
directors' room for further news. At the artists' entrance I met Mme.
Krause. She embraced me in raptures and said, "It's a triumph!"
Need I say that I preferred the opinion of this admirable artiste. She
comforted me completely.
I left Paris (what a traveler I was then!) for Lyons, where they were
giving both _Herodiade_ and _Manon_.
Three days after my arrival there, as I was dining at a restaurant with
my two great friends Josephin Soulary, the fine poet of _Les Deux
Corteges_, and Paul Marieton, the vibrant provincial poet, I was handed
the following telegram from Hartmann:
"Fifth performance of _Le Cid_ postponed a month. Enormous advance sale
returned. Artists ill."
I was nervous at the time; I fainted away and remained unconscious so
long that my friends were greatly alarmed.
At the end of three weeks, however, _Le Cid_ reappeared on the bills,
and I realized once more that I was surrounded by deep sympathy, as the
following letter shows:
"My dear Confrere:
"I must congratulate you on your success and I want to applaud you
as quickly as possible. My turn for my box does not come around
until Friday, December 11th, and I beg you to arrange for _Le Cid_
to be given on that day, _Friday, December 11._
"H. d'Orleans."
How touched and proud I was at this mark of attention from his Royal
Highness the Duc d'Aumale!
I shall always remember the delightful and inspiring days passed at the
Chateau de Chantilly with my confreres at the Institute Leon Bonnat,
Benjamin Constant, Edouard Detaille, and Gerome. Our reception by our
royal host was charming in its simplicity and his conversation was that
of an eminent man of letters, erudite but unpretentious. It was
captivating and attractive for us when we all gathered in the library
where the prince enthralled us by his perfect simplicity as he talked
to us, pipe in his mouth, as he had so often done in camp among our
soldiers.
Only the great ones of earth know how to produce such moments of
delightful familiarity.
And _Le Cid_ went on its way both in the provinces and abroad.
In October, 1900, the hundredth performance was celebrated at the Opera
and on November 21, 1911, at the end of twenty-six years, I read in the
papers:
"The performance of _Le Cid_ last night was one of the finest. A packed
house applauded enthusiastically the beautiful work by M. Massenet and
his interpreters: Mlle. Breval, Mm. Franz and Delmas, and the star of
the ballet, Mlle. Zambelli."
I had been particularly happy in the performances of this work which had
preceded this. After the sublime Fides Devries, Chimene was sung in
Paris by the incomparable Mme. Rose Caron, the superb Mme. Adiny, the
moving Mlle. Merentie, and particularly by Louise Grandjean, the eminent
professor at the Conservatoire.