Erected by M. and Mme. Flamand Grétry in Enghien, Montmorency, to
receive the heart of the illustrious Grétry.
]
[Illustration:
INTERIOR OF CHAPEL.
]
We cannot close this biography of the most celebrated musician of
Liège—one of the most musical cities in Europe—without mentioning the
Musée Grétry at the conservatory in the capital of the Walloon country.
This most interesting museum, where may be seen the objects which either
formerly belonged to the celebrated composer or serve to remind us of
him, is the personal work of the present director of the Liège
Conservatoire, the learned and distinguished composer, Theodore Radoux.
We have had the pleasure of visiting this museum—a veritable
shrine—accompanied by M. Radoux, who described the various objects
exhibited, in a most lucid and instructive manner.
Grétry left Rome for Geneva in the month of January, 1767. A short time
before, Favart’s “Isabelle et Gertrude” had been represented at the
Comédie Italienne in Paris. It was a success, but the music seemed to be
weak. Grétry seized upon this comedy and wrote new airs for it.
“Isabelle et Gertrude” was represented at Geneva, and was very well
received.
In Paris Grétry was present at a representation of “Dardanus,” by
Rameau, which he did not altogether understand, and which, as he
admitted later, he found to be almost wearisome. He was still too full
of the memories of Italian music—although it had exercised very little
real influence on his genius—to be able to thoroughly appreciate at its
proper value this essentially dramatic French music, which was at times
somewhat crude as to harmony and melodious expression, but always suited
to the action. Nevertheless, although this work of the immediate
predecessor of Gluck did not appeal to him strongly, Grétry was not long
in recognizing its true merit. He told himself that Music, although not
merely the humble handmaid of Poesy, with which she is allied, ought to
aid her to express her feelings with due effect, and that consequently
theatrical music should, as far as possible, be subject to the rules of
pure elocution. Following the example of Lully—for whom Grétry always
expressed great admiration—he was wont to attend the Théâtre-Français to
find the notes, so to speak, of spoken declamation, and unite it
intimately with song and melody. Moreover, the difficulty he experienced
in finding a piece to set to music gave him a good deal of leisure;
indeed the first two years of Grétry’s stay in Paris were devoted to a
search for a poem. At last he obtained from an unknown poet named du
Rozoy, “Les Mariages Samnites,” a piece in three acts which was destined
for the Comédie Italienne but was not accepted at that theatre and was
afterwards rewritten for the Opera. The work was represented there, but
with great difficulty and bitter mortification for the composer.
This essay, which failed to impress the public of the Académie de
Musique, was followed by “Le Huron,” a comedy in two acts by Marmontel,
which was represented for the first time at the Italiens on the 20th of
August, 1769. The piece was unanimously and we might say even
enthusiastically applauded, both by the audience and by the critics.
Above all, the care taken by the composer as to good prosody and the
proper feeling peculiar to the _dramatis personæ_, was greatly
applauded. The songs were considered very happy, although they did not
exhibit that graceful variety of form and contour then characteristic of
the music which the public were accustomed to hear at the Italiens by
masters like Piccinni, Pergolèse, Jomelli, Galuppi, etc.
After “Le Huron” was given “Lucile,” also a poem by Marmontel, in which
a quartet on the words: “Où peut-on être mieux qu’au sein de sa
famille?” was long celebrated. But in reality “Le Tableau Parlant,” the
comic opera which followed “Lucile,” consisting of one act in verse by
Ansaume, produced at the Italiens, was the starting point of Grétry’s
fortune. While fully preserving the good humor of the subject of the
piece and the words which are sung during its progress, the composer
succeeded in clothing the work of the author of the words with
impressive sonorousness, the telling and well-chosen passages being at
the same time instinct with frank gaiety.
From that day forth, it may be said that the celebrated composer
thoroughly realized his capacity, and it was easy to see that he would
take his place in the first rank of comedy in music.
[Illustration:
Fac-simile musical manuscript written by Grétry; from Cherubini’s
collection.
The name in upper left-hand corner was written by Cherubini.
]
Grétry did not and could not succeed in grand opera music. Nature had
not endowed him with the lofty sentiment of lyric tragedy; he would have
needed a courage bordering upon temerity or a high-strung imagination to
dare to measure himself with the formidable Gluck, surnamed the Æschylus
of music. But if lyric tragedy was a closed book to him, he nevertheless
succeeded at the theatre of the Grand Opera in lyric comedy, which he
was the first to bring to the notice of the Academy. Grétry himself
takes care to tell us this fact in the following passage of his book:
“When I introduced lyric comedy on the stage of the opera, I was looked
upon as a culpable innovator, and yet I saw that the public was weary of
tragedy, which was always on the boards. I heard many lovers of dancing
murmur because their favorite art was only allowed to play a subsidiary
and frequently a useless rôle in tragedy. I saw the managers who were
desirous of adopting the best possible productions, and were feeling
their way, unsuccessfully revive fragments or pastorals of former times,
and I said as often as I had the opportunity that two styles of music
placed in opposition lent each other mutual charms; that the French
comedians alternately produced tragedy and comedy, and that if they were
obliged to give up these two styles they would not know what to do.” It
would appear that the public of the Grand Opera shared Grétry’s opinion,
as the composer gave several comedies to that theatre which were
brilliantly successful, in particular “La Caravane du Caire,” which had
a long and fashionable run. This piece was represented for the first
time before the Court at Fontainebleau in October, 1783, and a little
later at the Opera. At court, as before the general public, the piece
and its music gave the greatest delight to the spectators. The short but
brilliant and extremely graceful overture of this work speedily became
popular, not only in France but all over Europe. The morceaux of song
are gay but elevated and are all agreeable, although the public would
have liked them better had they been more strongly tinged with oriental
color than they are. If Grétry did not possess the dramatic afflatus in
lyric tragedy, he exhibited in all his operas of a semi-character an
elevated style which, combined with his exceptional wealth of melody,
places him in the first rank of the French masters of the last century.
He gave to pathetic scenes a wonderful sublimity, an admirable instance
of which may be found in the beautiful prison scene in “Richard Cœur de
Lion.” In this work, the fruit of such a rich imagination, Grétry has
exhibited the full measure of his genius and all the talent of which he
was possessed as a harmonist. It is interesting to remark in regard to
this opera that Grétry made of certain portions of the celebrated
ballad, “Une Fievre brûlante,” a sort of _leit motiv_ after the manner
of Wagner. Indeed, this fragmentary theme returns again and again under
different aspects at least nine times in the course of the score. But we
shall see later that Grétry was Wagner’s predecessor not only for the
_leit motiv_, but that he was also the first to suggest an invisible
orchestra such as that of the theatre of Bayreuth. As to the
characteristic theme of “Richard Cœur de Lion” (the fragmentary ballad
considered in its transformations as playing the part of the modern
_leit motiv_), it is curious to notice that Grétry used it in this comic
opera with exactly the same idea as Wagner in his lyric dramas. Whenever
allusion is made to the royal prisoner, described in the ballad sung by
Blondel, a fragment of this air appears. And when Blondel sings to this
same air, but in common measure, the following words:
Sa voix a pénétré mon âme,
Je la connais, Madame,
“is it not,” writes Grétry, “as though he said: ‘His voice has gone to
my heart while he sang the air which he made for you.’”
[Illustration: