THE REFORMERS OF OPERA: MONTEVERDE, GLUCK, AND WAGNER.
Reforms, and the reasons thereof—Monteverde’s
influence—Musical innovations—The stage discards
music of the ecclesiastical order—The beauty of
Scarlatti’s arias—Their weakness—Gluck—Gluck’s
explanation of his reforms—Triumph of his
methods—Another retrogression—Rossini—Wagner—The
leit-motif—Influence on subsequent composers—Will
further reforms become necessary, and what shape will
they take?
[Sidenote: =Reforms=]
The word reformer is here used in its original sense, for each of the
composers named in the heading to this chapter had very considerable
influence in the reconstitution and re-casting of the structure of
opera in his day.
These were the men who, perhaps more than all others, were not content
to leave opera in the groove in which they found it: for at the
respective periods in which they lived opera had drifted into grooves,
and it was the influence of these composers that arrested its progress
in the various wrong directions in which they found it drifting; they
set themselves first of all to stem the currents that were carrying
opera astray, and then constructed new works as examples of what could
and should be done.
Hence we call them the reformers, and may now examine into the
achievements of each of them in turn, noticing the condition of things
that prevailed when they first entered the field, their influence upon
it, and the result of their work.
[Sidenote: =Monteverde’s Influence=]
First of all, Monteverde. So many innovations are connected with his
name, that he would appear to have been a reformer of music in general;
it is not certain, however, that all that history credits him with is
really his due. But this is certain, that opera before his time was a
very different thing to opera subsequent to that period.
The efforts of the early Florentine amateurs, the Palazzo Bardi
enthusiasts, of whom more anon, had been towards the production of
opera on the lines of the ancient Greek play. This was opera as
Monteverde found it. He, original thinker and worker that he was,
applied the same daring innovations to his operatic music which he had
employed in his compositions for the church. These consisted mainly in
an utter disregard for the principles of strict counterpoint, and a
free use of unprepared discords.
[Sidenote: =Musical Innovations=]
Now these discords, harsh and ill-sounding, when performed by a number
of voices without accompaniment in the church, made a very different
effect in the opera-house: the effect of a solo voice, accompanied by
instruments, was very different to that of a chorus; and discordant
passages, which violated both the spirit and the meaning of sacred
words, were quite in their place—nay, more, they frequently heightened
the dramatic intensity of the situation when used in opera. So great
was Monteverde’s success, so dramatic and expressive his music, that
all composers since his day have followed in his footsteps, and have
composed operas on the model of free and unfettered writing originated
by him.
[Sidenote: =The Church style of Music given up for the Stage=]
His novelties of orchestration; his use of instruments, grouped quite
in the modern manner for accompanying certain characters, or for
defining particular situations, have already been touched upon; and
these characteristic features continue to give him a very prominent
position as a reformer of early opera. By him the complexion of matters
was utterly changed, and the groove of writing in the church style for
the stage, prevalent until his day, was left for ever.
[Illustration: SCARLATTI.]
[Sidenote: =The beauty of Scarlatti’s Arias=]
A century and more later we find a new reformer in Gluck. What had
happened in the meanwhile? Opera had fallen under the great and
commanding influence of Alessandro Scarlatti, whose methods, if
not amounting to reform, had certainly led to abuse. It has been
mentioned that he invented the _Da Capo_ Aria; this was at first a
welcome feature, because it gave point and meaning to the music,
more definiteness of idea, and greater unanimity of design. Compare
it with what had gone before, an endlessly dreamy musical recitation
without form, without symmetry or rhythm, without set melody; the
only attributes of the older style were its dramatic intensity and
truth. And then Scarlatti appeared upon the scene; invented beautiful
melodies, and cast them into regular mould, so that an audience knew
that it only had to wait while a second part was gone through, to hear
again a first part that had perhaps given much pleasure: it was a kind
of encore, granted without trouble or uncertainty. We can imagine the
melody-loving Italians of the day welcoming this beautiful and artistic
innovation.
[Sidenote: =Their weakness=]
But the beauty and charm of the idea compassed its own ruin; for,
being but a formal procedure, it did not equally suit every situation;
indeed, it may readily be understood that there must have been very
many occasions when it was little short of absurd, for stage purposes,
to go twice through the same emotional aspects and crises. In the
operas, and in many of the oratorios of our own master, Handel, we may
hear, and perhaps it may be confessed, be wearied by this inevitable
repetition; for the sense of appreciation in music is readier than it
used to be, and the more truthfully dramatic music of later generations
tends to render almost intolerable a long, unchanged recapitulation of
something already heard.
But apart from its dramatic unfitness, the real mischief of the _Da
Capo_ Aria lay in the fact that it attracted too much attention from
the plot. Each of the principal singers in the caste demanded that he
or she should have at least one example to sing, whether it suited
the exigencies of the situation or no. The audience went to the opera
house, not to hear an opera performed, but rather to delight in a
series of bravura airs, and exercises in vocal agility, performed by
popular singers. The real origin of opera was lost sight of, dramatic
considerations were practically ignored, and the performance became of
a lyrical, rather than of a dramatic, nature.
[Sidenote: =Gluck 1714-1787=]
Now Gluck, curiously enough, had written many operas on this plan
before it occurred to him to try to reform it; but his artistic nature
at last revolted against the absurdities of works of this type,
successful though he had been in the production of such. After much
thought and labour he set himself the task of remodelling the music, in
a manner which can best be explained by quoting his own words, written
in the prefix to the score of _Alceste_:—
[Sidenote: =Gluck’s explanation of his Reforms=]
“When I undertook to set the opera of _Alceste_ to music, I resolved to
avoid all those abuses which had crept into Italian opera through the
mistaken vanity of singers and the unwise compliance of composers, and
which had rendered it wearisome and ridiculous, instead of being, as
it once was, the grandest and most imposing stage of modern times. I
endeavoured to reduce music to its proper function, that of seconding
poetry, by enforcing the expression of the sentiment, and the interest
of the situations, without interrupting the action, or weakening it by
superfluous ornament.... I have been very careful never to interrupt
a singer in the heat of a dialogue, not to stop him in the middle of
a piece, either for the purpose of displaying the flexibility of his
voice on some favourable vowel, or that the orchestra might give him
time to take breath before a long sustained note.... My object has been
to put an end to abuses against which good taste and good sense have
long protested in vain.... There was no rule which I did not consider
myself bound to sacrifice for the sake of effect.”
[Sidenote: =Triumph of his Methods=]
From these quotations we may form some idea both of the serious errors
that had crept into opera and of the thorough nature of the reforms
which Gluck contemplated. He had many, and severe, battles to fight
before he gained public opinion to his side; but eventually he brought
the artistic world round to his point of view, with the result that a
complete change of method was again adopted by composers: the progress
of opera, which had drifted into a wrong channel, was again headed in
the right direction by a masterly hand, and for some time a more real
and genuine school of opera held the boards.
[Sidenote: =Another Retrogression=]
But history repeats itself. Years passed away and operas were written
both good and bad: Mozart, with his beautiful and delicate pen;
Beethoven, with his imperishable picture of the faithful wife; Weber,
the composer _par excellence_ of Romantic opera; Spohr, and others
all left their influences—and in the main thoroughly artistic and
beautiful ones—upon music drama. To this chain of great classics there
succeeded, however, a group of lesser luminaries whose tendencies were
less truthfully artistic, whose leanings were popular rather than
æsthetic, and whose influence was to a great extent mischievous.
[Sidenote: =Rossini, 1792-1869=]
Most grievous of such offenders was Rossini, whose gifts of ready and
spontaneous melody led him sadly astray. His knowledge of effect was
wonderful, but his methods were of the clap-trap order, and although
there are admirable points in his work, its appeal was made to popular
taste rather than to the musician, and popular taste is a fickle
thing. For a while, Rossini, with his sensuous melodies, his whirling
_crescendi_, his tricky orchestration, carried Europe with him—into
wrong paths; for the taste for such things is not a healthy one, nor
can the appetite always be satisfied by a glut of sweetmeats.
Besides Rossini there was, as always, a host of imitators who follow
their hero at more or less respectful distances, producing works which
were pleasant enough but had little or none of the material that makes
for endurance, even though the whims, fancies, and tastes of some of
our _prime donne_ are responsible for their production, now and again,
even in the twentieth century.
Opera, indeed, during all this period was again straying from the
right lines: again the singers, with their executive abilities, were
distracting attention from the equally important dramatic meaning of
the works performed. Again the aria and duet were usurping the place
of music which should have been defining the stage situation, and
conveying to the ear of the auditor a tone-picture to match the scenic
representation, and to help to carry on the action of the piece, which,
indeed, during these vocal performances suffered much from stagnation.
[Sidenote: =Wagner, 1813-1883=]
It needed a strong hand to stem the tide on this occasion, and a strong
hand was available in the person of Richard Wagner, whose efforts have
revolutionized opera to so great an extent that it is unlikely that any
great work for the stage will ever be conceived in the future which
will not show traces of his influence. For he took no half-measures,
but went to the root of the matter, and that in so thorough a way
that he really invented an utterly new phase of expression. Until his
employment of the kind of music which we call _Melos_ (a continuous
stream of melody without definite rhythm, tune, or cadence) music in
general, and more especially operatic music, had always, from the
time of the early composers of the Monodic School, paid some little
regard to form and shape. But Wagner, whose great idea it was that in
the rendering of opera the arts of Music, Action, Poetry, and Scenery
should stand on an equal footing, was unable to allow attention to be
devoted to the music in the very special way in which it was drawn when
set forms of song or air were admitted. It overturned the balance which
he deemed so desirable, and threw into prominence _one_ art at the
expense of the others.
[Illustration: WAGNER.]
[Sidenote: =The Leit-Motif=]
Consequently, with wondrous energy, skill, and in the face of the usual
relentless opposition, he gradually worked his way to the construction
of what was, until his time, an absolutely unknown form of dramatic
accompaniment. In so far as it was continuous, and expressive of the
stage situation, it resembled the music of the Italian composers who
preceded Scarlatti. But the great and original innovation of Wagner was
his use of melody (a feature non-existent in the works of the Monodic
writers); not melody of the stereotyped nature which we designate
as tune, nor even the rhythmic, square-cut, and often beautifully
appropriate melody of a Mozart or a Beethoven. Wagner’s melodies
were so constructed that they had, generally speaking, definite
signification: every subject (or _leit-motif_, as it was called) was
intended to suggest to the mind of the hearer some definite idea
connected with something occurring upon, or suggested by the stage.
Not that the entrance of a certain character was always accompanied by
certain music; rather, a deeper psychological problem was offered, the
words sung calling up definite ideas, or such suggestions being left to
the music alone on occasion.
And for this type of theme Wagner chose either certain definite
passages or fragments of melody, such as the opening phrase of
“Parsifal”—
[Music: Melodic Leit-motif. (Wagner’s “Parsifal.”)]
or certain chord progressions, such as the following:—
[Music: Harmonic Leit-Motif. (Grail Theme, “Lohengrin.”)]
or sometimes characteristic methods of orchestration. Moreover, since
the stage action or words would very often describe or suggest many
ideas at the same time, these themes would be often superimposed; with
the result that the music of Wagner’s operas—at any rate the later
ones—is not so much a stream of melody as a flow of many combined
melodies, working together in contrapuntal richness and fertility into
a harmonious whole, which can be listened to either casually (in which
case it may or may not please the auditor) or after considerable study,
when it will undoubtedly awake interest and admiration.
Now, between this kind of opera and that of the Rossini school it is
very evident that a very vast amount of difference exists. Whereas in
the latter the hearer had his ear delighted and tickled, without any
trouble to himself, to his immediate satisfaction, the Wagner operas
demand careful attention, study, and oft-rehearing for intelligent
appreciation.
The lazy, pleasure-loving portion of mankind was immediately up in arms
against such startling methods as these, and even to-day, although the
Wagner-cult is a very considerable one, it is to be doubted whether
the real tastes of the majority of operatic listeners are not rather
for something demanding less careful and close attention. Whether
this be so or no, the point remains that Wagner’s innovations, when
once understood and grasped, were seen to be so dramatically true and
fitting that all composers of operas, since his works became widely
known, have come under his influence, and have in large measure framed
their dramatic music on the lines laid down by him.
Here, then, was another revolution, and an important one. Formal melody
still exists on the stage, but the continuous inter-connecting links
of _melos_ are derived from Wagner, while the wondrous harmonies and
chord combinations which he was the first to introduce into the realm
of opera, have been so many additions to the material which the modern
composer has for manipulation.
Since Wagner there have been no reformers; we do not yet see in what
direction reform is to come. If we are to rely on history, which
certainly seems to repeat itself with regard to opera, we are probably
slowly trending in some wrong direction or other. What that wrong
direction is we shall only know when some mighty master mind has turned
us out of it. It may be that the Wagner operas, which seem at the
present time to be the height of dramatic perfection, may yet contain
many serious flaws, either in workmanship or in method; this much is
certain, that no imitator of Wagner has achieved permanent success:
the Colossus stands alone, and none can vie with him on his own ground.
But opera must go on: if the Wagner reforms cannot be successfully
adopted and used by others, operas will be written (as they are being
written) on other lines. Some of these new works will be good and
some bad, but the present seems to be a period of interregnum such as
succeeded the times of Monteverde and of Gluck. We are experiencing a
spell of more or less unimportant operatic production which will, in
all probability, go on slowly in some wrong direction until the brain
of some clear-sighted and gifted genius has discovered that we are all
astray, and will alter the whole course of things. Until his advent we
have no name to add to our list of reformers of opera.