From an engraving in Clément’s Musiciens Célèbres. Probably suggested
by the Mignard portrait, although the face is reversed.
]
The first performance of this lyric tragedy at St. Germain was made
especially attractive because the dances were executed by lords and
ladies of the court, in conjunction with the ordinary dancers of the
Royal Academy of Music. Many of the morceaux in “Atys” are worthy of
mention. The critics of the time have greatly eulogized the air “Le
Sommeil” in the third act, on account of the persistence of the rhythm
in the bass (four quarter notes).
Just as “Atys” was called the “King’s Opera,” so “Isis” received the
name of the “Musicians’ Opera.” A music critic of the times writes as
follows concerning the work: “This opera is the most erudite ever
written by Lully, who spent an infinite time upon it. At the court
performance, the great number of instruments, played by the most
accomplished masters, contributed not a little to emphasize the beauties
of the music.”
M. de Lajarte, formerly the librarian of the Opéra library, and one of
the principal collaborators of the publisher, Michaelis, of Paris, has
recently realized the happy idea of reconstituting and condensing, with
piano accompaniment, the masterpieces of the French opera of the
seventeenth century, and he makes the following interesting remark
respecting this “great number” of instruments: “The extraordinary number
spoken of by Fresneuse dwindles down to trumpets in the prologue, and
flutes at the end of the third act. But, by a happy coincidence, these
two symphonic members of the work which so astonished our forefathers
are also a subject of astonishment for us modern critics, at least in
the matter of the trumpets. The degree of skill and certainty in
tonguing displayed by the trumpet players in Lully’s orchestra was
nothing short of marvellous.” The trumpet parts in the works of Bach and
Handel are not less difficult of execution, and at this day it would
seem that they could not possibly be played.
Now that the music known as imitative has made such notable progress,
frequently exceeding the limits of good taste, now that Meyerbeer,
Berlioz, and, above all, Wagner have carried to such perfection the
complicated art of orchestration, it is very interesting to read in the
score of “Isis” the air imitative of the noises in nature and called the
“air de Pan.” It enables us to realize the extraordinary progress made
in instrumentation since Lully’s time. This air was exceedingly popular
at that day. In addition to the sounds heard in nature, which are not
made very prominent, however, this page of music is rich in declamation,
and is not without charm. But sweeter to the ear, in our opinion, is the
duet of nymphs in the second act. It is simple, clear, and remarkably
graceful.
It will be readily understood that the limits of this biography will not
admit of an exhaustive criticism of Lully’s works. We can only point
out, in a somewhat cursory manner, the finest passages of his
better-known operas, “Psyché,” “Bellerophon,” “Proserpine,” “Armide,”
etc. In “Bellerophon” one is fain to quote the entire prologue, in order
to show the _ideas_, the _subjects_, or, to put it in another way, the
mere melody. This grand spectacular lyric tragedy was performed with
great success during ten consecutive months, and it was afterward
reproduced several times.
“Phaéton”—for some inexplicable cause—has been called the “people’s
opera,” just as “Armide” has been styled the “women’s opera.”
Lully’s “Armide,” although much inferior to the “Armide” of Gluck, must
nevertheless be included among his works best adapted for the stage, and
the most concentrated in style. Only eight years before the appearance
of Gluck’s immortal “Armide,” that is to say, in 1764, the Academy of
Music performed the opera of the same name by Lully for the last time,
and with brilliant success.
“Persée” is, without doubt, one of Lully’s finest works. The score
abounds with charming morceaux, the product of a skilled and fertile
pen. This opera held its place for long in the _répertoire_, and each
time it was revived the public accorded it a favorable reception. The
libretto, by Quinault, the faithful collaborator of the musician, is
written in a superior style, offering excellent situations for the
musician. Nor should we forget to mention “Proserpine,” Lully’s tenth
opera in order of representation.
We have already observed that the distinguishing trait of the dramatic
music of Lully, as compared with his contemporaries, is pre-eminently
the grandeur of his style, with a declamation so exact that it may be
described as perfect. His music is the embodiment of the art of
moderation in the recitative, and the accessories of song so lavishly
employed by nearly all the Italian composers of the seventeenth century
are not permitted by him to overwhelm the essential note of the melody.
Lully shows less variety, less flexibility in the ensemble of his
productions, than do Carissimi, Léo, Pergolèse, and Marcello, but he
comes nearer dramatic truth than any of these masters. His music, for
the most part, has the killing frost of age upon it; but that he was a
man of genius is scarcely in need of demonstration. He was an innovator,
as surely as was Gluck, and, moreover, was an epoch-maker in operatic
music. As a musician he was not without learning, as an examination of
his overtures will clearly evidence. Some charming pieces for the
clavecin show him as a pleasing and skilful writer for that instrument.
The student can still find much in Lully’s scores that will repay
thoughtful attention.
The name of Lully is inseparable from that of his faithful collaborator,
Quinault, the versatile and imaginative poet who aided the composer by
providing him subjects which were not only suited to the taste of the
time, but contained situations adapted for the purposes of the musician.
Before all and beyond all, Quinault, who in no wise deserved the bitter
satires that Boileau showered upon him, thoroughly understood the genius
of Lully, and knew how to adapt that genius to the tragedies which he
was thereby inspired to write.
It will be understood why we do not give a facsimile reproduction of
Lully’s musical manuscript, when we say that neither in the musical
library of the Opéra, nor in that of the Conservatoire, nor at the
National Library of Paris, nor anywhere else, can a single note of music
from the pen of the founder of French opera be discovered. The same is
true of his handwriting, not a line of which has come down to us. All
that remains of it are three signatures. The composer of the music of
“Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme” has this in common with its author, Molière,
of whose writing only two or three signatures are extant.
[Illustration: Oscar Comettant]
[Illustration: