A JOURNEY TO GERMANY
On Sunday, August first, Hartmann and I went to hear _Parsifal_ at the
Wagner Theater at Bayreuth. After we had heard this _miracle unique_ we
visited the capital of Upper Franconia. Some of the monuments there are
worth while seeing. I wanted especially to see the city church. It is an
example of the Gothic architecture of the middle of the Fifteenth
Century and was dedicated to Mary Magdalene. It is not hard to imagine
what memories drew me to this remarkable edifice.
After running through various German towns and visiting different
theaters, Hartmann, who had an idea of his own, took me to Wetzler,
where he had seen Werther. We visited the house where Goethe had written
his immortal romance, _The Sorrows of Young Werther_.
I knew Werther's letters and I had a thrilling recollection of them. I
was deeply impressed by being in the house which Goethe made famous by
having his hero live and love there.
As we were coming out Hartmann said, "I have something to complete the
obviously deep emotion you have felt."
As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a book with a binding yellow with
age. It was the French translation of Goethe's romance. "This
translation is perfect," said Hartmann, in spite of the aphorism
_Traduttore traditore_, that a translation utterly distorts the author's
thought.
I scarcely had the book in my hands than I was eager to read it, so we
went into one of those immense beer halls which are everywhere in
Germany. We sat down and ordered two enormous bocks like our neighbors
had. Among the various groups were students who were easily picked out
by their scholars' caps and were playing cards or other games, nearly
all with porcelain pipes in their mouths. On the other hand there were
few women.
It is needless to tell what I endured in that thick, foul air laden with
the bitter odor of beer. But I could not stop reading those burning
letters full of the most intense passion. Indeed what could be more
suggestive than the following lines, remembered among so many others,
where keen anguish threw Werther and Charlotte into each other's arms
after the thrilling reading of Ossian's verses?
"Why awakest me, breath of the Spring? Thou caresseth me and sayeth I am
laden with the dew of heaven, but the tune cometh when I must wither,
the storm that must beat down my leaves is at hand. To-morrow the
traveler will come; his eye will seek me everywhere, and find me no
more...."
And Goethe adds:
"Unhappy Werther felt crushed by the force of these words and threw
himself before Charlotte in utter despair. It seemed to Charlotte that a
presentiment of the frightful project he had formed passed through her
soul. Her senses reeled; she clasped his hands and pressed them to her
bosom; she leaned towards him tenderly and their burning cheeks
touched."
Such delirious, ecstatic passion brought tears to my eyes. What a moving
scene, what a passionate picture that ought to make! It was _Werther_,
my third act.
I was now all life and happiness. I was wrapped up in work and in an
almost feverish activity. It was a task I wanted to do but into which I
had to put, if possible, the song of those moving, lively passions.
Circumstances, however, willed that I put this project aside for the
moment. Carvalho proposed _Phoebe_ to me and chance led me to write
_Manon_.
Then came _Le Cid_ to fill my life. At last in the summer of 1885,
without waiting for the result of that opera, Hartmann, Paul Milliet, my
great, splendid collaborator in _Herodiade_, and I came to an agreement
to take up the task of writing _Werther_.
In order to incite me to work more ardently (as if I had need of it) my
publisher--he had improvised a scenario--engaged for me at the
Reservoirs at Versailles, a vast ground floor apartment on the level of
the gardens of our great Le Notre.
The room in which I was installed had a lofty ceiling with Eighteenth
Century paneling and it was furnished in the same period. The table at
which I wrote was the purest Louis XV. Hartmann had chosen everything at
the most famous antiquarians.
Hartmann had special aptitude for doing his share of the work. He spoke
German very well; he understood Goethe; he loved the German mind; he
stuck to it that I should undertake the work.
So, when one day it was suggested that I write an opera on Murger's _La
Vie de Boheme_, he took it on himself to refuse the work without
consulting me in any way.
I would have been greatly tempted to do the thing. I would have been
pleased to follow Henry Murger in his life and work. He was an artist in
his way. Theophile Gautier justly called him a poet, although he
excelled as a writer of prose. I feel that I could have followed him
through that peculiar world he created and which he has made it possible
for us to cross in a thousand ways in the train of the most amusing
originals we had ever seen. And such gaiety, such tears, such outbursts
of frantic laughter, and such courageous poverty, as Jules Janin said,
would, I think, have captivated me. Like Alfred de Musset--one of his
masters--he had grace and style, ineffable tenderness, gladsome smiles,
the cry of the heart, emotion. He sang songs dear to the hearts of
lovers and they charm us all. His fiddle was not a Stradivarius, they
said, but he had a soul like Hoffman's and he knew how to play so as to
bring tears.
I knew Murger personally, in fact so well that I even saw him the night
of his death. I was present at a most affecting interview while I was
there, but even that did not lack a comic note. It could not have been
otherwise with Murger.
I was at his bedside when they brought in M. Schaune (the Schaunardo of
_La Vie de Boheme_). Murger was eating magnificent grapes he had bought
with his last louis and Schaune said laughing, "How silly of you to
drink your wine in pills!"
As I knew not only Murger but also Schaunard and Musette, it seemed to
me that there was no one better qualified than I to be the musician of
_La Vie de Boheme_. But all those heroes were my friends and I saw them
every day, so that I understood why Hartmann thought the moment had not
come to write that so distinctly Parisian work, to sing the romance that
had been so great a part of my life.
As I speak of that period which is already in the distant past, I glory
in recalling that I knew Corot at Ville-d'Avray, as well as our famous
Harpignies, who despite his ninety-two years is, as I write, in all the
vigor of his immense talent. Only yesterday he climbed gaily to my
floor. Oh, the dear great friend, the marvellous artist I have known for
fifty years!
When the work was done, I went to M. Carvalho's on the twenty-fifth of
May. I had secured Mme. Rose Caron, then at the Opera, to aid me in my
reading. The admirable artiste was beside me turning the pages of the
manuscript and showing the deepest emotion at times. I read the four
acts by myself, and when I reached the climax, I fell exhausted,
annihilated.
Then Carvalho came to me without a word, but he finally said:
"I had hoped you would bring me another _Manon_! This dismal subject
lacks interest. It is damned from the start."
As I think this over to-day, I understand his impression perfectly,
especially when I reflect on the years I had to live before the work
came to be admired.
Carvalho was kind and offered me some exquisite wine, claret, I believe,
like what I had tasted one joyous evening I read _Manon_.... My throat
was as dry as my speech; I went out without saying a word.
The next day, _horresco referens_, yes, the next day I was again struck
down, the Opera-Comique was no more. It had been totally destroyed by
fire during the night. I hurried to Carvalho's. We fell into each
other's arms, embraced each other in tears and wept. My poor director
was ruined. Inexorable fate! The work had to wait six years in silence
and oblivion.
Two years before the Opera at Vienna had put on _Manon_; the hundredth
performance was reached and passed in a short time. The Austrian capital
had given me a friendly and enviable reception; so much so that it
suggested to Van Dyck the idea of asking me for a work.
Now I proposed _Werther_. The lack of good will on the part of the
French directors left me free to dispose of that score.
The Vienna Opera was an imperial theater. The management asked the
Emperor to place an apartment at my disposal and he graciously offered
me one at the famous Hotel Sacher beside the Opera.
My first call after my arrival was on Jahn, the director. That kindly,
eminent master took me to the foyer where the rehearsals were to be
held. It was a vast room, lighted by immense windows and provided with
great chairs. A full length portrait of Emperor Francis Joseph
ornamented one of the panels; there was a grand piano in the center of
the room.
All the artists for _Werther_ were gathered around the piano when Jahn
and I entered the foyer. As they saw us they rose in a body and bowed in
salutation.
At this touching manifestation of respectful sympathy--to which our
great Van Dyck added a most affectionate embrace--I responded by bowing
in my turn; and then a little nervous and trembling all over I sat down
at the piano.
The work was absolutely in shape. All the artists could sing their parts
from memory. The hearty demonstrations they showered on me at intervals
moved me so that I felt tears in my eyes.
At the orchestra rehearsal this emotion was renewed. The execution was
perfection; the orchestra, now soft, now loud, followed the shading of
the voice so that I could not shake off the enchantment.
The general rehearsal took place on February fifteenth from nine o'clock
in the morning until midday and I saw (an ineffable, sweet surprise) in
the orchestra stalls my dear publisher, Henri Heugel, Paul Milliet, my
precious co-worker, and intimate friends from Paris. They had come so
far to see me in the Austrian capital amid great and lively joys, for I
had really been received there in the most exquisite and flattering
manner.
The performances that followed confirmed the impressions of the
beautiful first performance of February 16, 1892. The work was sung by
the celebrated artists Marie Renard and Ernest Van Dyck.
That same year, 1892, Carvalho again became the director of the
Opera-Comique, then in the Place du Chatelet. He asked me for _Werther_,
and in a tone so full of feeling that I did not hesitate to let him have
it.
The same week Mme. Massenet and I dined with M. and Mme. Alphonse
Daudet. The other guests were Edmond de Goncourt and Charpentier, the
publisher.
After dinner Daudet told me that he wanted me to hear a young artiste.
"Music herself," he said. This young girl was Marie Delna! At the first
bars that she sang (the aria from the great Gounod's _La Reine de Saba_)
I turned to her and took her hands.
[Illustration: Posthumia (_Roma_) _See page 297_]
"Be Charlotte, our Charlotte," I said, utterly carried away.
The day after the first performance at the Opera-Comique, in January,
1893, I received this note from Gounod:
"Dear Friend:
"Our most hearty congratulations on this double triumph and we
regret that the French were not the first witnesses."
The following touching and picturesque lines were sent me at the
time by the illustrious architect of the Opera.
"Amico mio,
Two eyes to see you,
Two ears to hear you,
Two lips to kiss you,
Two arms to enfold you,
Two hands to applaud you.
and
"Two words to give thee all my compliments and to tell thee that
thy _Werther_ is an excellent hit--do you know?--I am proud of you,
and for your part do not blush that a poor architect is entirely
satisfied with you.
"CARLO."
In 1903, after nine years of ostracism, M. Albert Carre revived this
forgotten work. With his incomparable talent, his marvellous taste, and
his art, which was that of an exquisite man of letters, he knew how to
present the work to the public so as to make it a real revelation.
Many famous artistes have sung the role since that time: Mlle. Marie de
l'Isle, who was the first Charlotte at the revival and who created the
work with her fine, individual talents; then Mlles. Lamare, Cesbron,
Wyns, Raveau, Mmes. de Nuovina, Vix, Hatto, Brohly, and ... others whose
names I will give later.
At the revival due to M. Albert Carre, _Werther_ had the great good
fortune to have Leon Beyle as the protagonist of the part; later Edmond
Clement and Salignac were also superb and thrilling interpreters of the
work.