I
A few years ago _Punch_ had a satirical drawing representing a British
matron conveying a bevy of youthful daughters to the French play in
London. To a friend who called her attention to the rather risky
atmosphere of the very Parisian comedy which they were about to behold,
the worthy mother promptly explained that she was not bringing her
daughters to see the play itself; she was bringing them to see only the
acting. Probably a great many opera-goers would make a similar
explanation if they were asked whether they were interested in the book
of the opera or only in the music. They would be likely to protest that
they cared little or nothing for the libretto, and that they were
attracted solely by the score. But, as a matter of fact, the opera-goers
who might make this reply would be self-deceived. Whether they are aware
of it or not, they are unlikely to be attracted to any opera unless it
happens to have an interesting story, built up into a coherent and
captivating plot. When the libretto is unintelligible or uninteresting,
the most delightful music fails to allure them into the opera-house.
This is one of the reasons why the 'Magic Flute,' which contains much of
Mozart's most beautiful melodic invention, is so rarely heard in our
opera-houses, and why it is so sparsely attended when it is presented.
The libretto of the 'Magic Flute' is dull and ineffective, and even
Mozart's genius proved unable to overcome this initial handicap.
The ordinary opera-goer is likely to treat the libretto with calm
contempt. He is prone to assert that nobody cares about the words, and
he does not reflect that behind and beneath the words is the supporting
structure of the story. After all, an opera is a play, it is a
music-drama, and the plot is as important in a play the words of which
are to be sung as in a play the words of which are to be spoken. True it
is, of course, that in an opera the words may not be heard distinctly,
and perhaps they need not be seized with certainty, since the emotion
they set forth is more amply conveyed by the music. But the musician
cannot express emotion musically, unless there is emotion for him to
express, unless he has characters immeshed in a series of situations
which evoke vivid and contrasting sentiments for him to translate into
music. As the music-drama is a drama, it must obey the laws of the
drama; it must represent a conflict of contending desires; it must be
carried on by characters firm of purpose and resolute in achieving their
several aims. These characters must be sharply individualized and boldly
contrasted; and the story in which they take part must be at once strong
and simple, calling for no elaborate explanation and moving forward
steadily and irresistibly. It must have a lyric aspect, lending itself
naturally to song; and it ought also to afford opportunity for the
spectacular effects appropriate to the large stage of the opera-house.
So contemptuous of the libretto is the ordinary opera-goer that he
rarely inquires as to the name of the author of the book, altho he is
generally familiar with the name of the composer of the score. He may or
he may not be aware that Wagner was his own librettist, and quite
possibly he supposes that it is the ordinary custom of the composers to
write the words for their own music. He knows that 'Carmen' was composed
by Bizet, and that the 'Huguenots' was composed by Meyerbeer; but he
would be greatly puzzled if he was asked to name the librettists of
these two operas, the adroit playwrights who devised the skeletons of
dramatic action which sustained the composers and provided them with
ample opportunities for the exercise of their melodic gift. As a matter
of fact, the book of 'Carmen' was written in collaboration by two of the
most distinguished French dramatists of the nineteenth century, Meilhac
and Halevy, the authors of 'Froufrou' and of the librettos of
Offenbach's 'Belle Helene,' 'Grand Duchess of Gerolstein,' and
'Perichole.' And the book of the 'Huguenots' was the work of the master
stage-craftsman, Scribe, the author of 'Adrienne Lecouvreur' and of the
'Ladies' Battle,' and of countless other plays performed in every modern
language, and in all the countries of the world.
Bizet wrote other operas besides 'Carmen,' and if these other operas
have vanished from the stage, the reason may be that the librettos to
which they were composed were not as ingenious and not as interesting
as the book of 'Carmen.' One of these forgotten operas of Bizet's was a
dramatization of the 'Fair Maid of Perth,' and another was called the
'Pearl Fisher'; but neither of these books was devised by Meilhac and
Halevy. And Scribe was not only the librettist of the 'Huguenots' and of
the 'Africaine' for Meyerbeer; he also wrote the books of 'Fra Diavolo'
and of 'Crown Diamonds' for Auber, the book of the 'Dame Blanche' for
Boieldieu, and the book of the 'Juive' for Halevy. Indeed, it is evident
that Wagner himself as a librettist must be considered as a direct
disciple of Scribe; certainly his book of the 'Flying Dutchman' has its
points of resemblance with the books Scribe invented for 'Robert the
Devil,' and for the 'Prophet.' Even the libretto of Wagner's
'Master-Singers of Nuremberg,' altho it is far richer in tone than any
of Scribe's librettos for Auber, is constructed in accord with
principles already applied by the French playwright. In fact, the
influence of Scribe is patent thruout the long history of opera in the
nineteenth century; he was not only the most prolific of librettists
himself, but the operatic formula he devised was borrowed by the best of
the librettists who followed him. Scribe was not the writer of the books
of 'Faust,' or of 'Romeo et Juliet,' or of 'Aida,' but all these
librettos were carefully built in accord with the principles that he had
practised for half a century.