A life more peaceful, happy and regular, nay, even monotonous, or one
more devoid of incident than Auber’s, has never fallen to the lot of any
musician. Uniformly harmonious, with but an occasional musical
dissonance, the symphony of his life led up to its dramatic climax when
the dying composer lay surrounded by the turmoil and carnage of the
Paris Commune. Such is the picture we draw of the existence of this
French composer, in whose garden of life there grew only roses without
thorns; whose long and glorious career as a composer ended only with his
life; who felt that he had not lived long enough, and who clung
tenaciously to life, energetically refusing to drop this mantle of
mortality, postponing the final moment by the mere strength of his
powerful determination to live.
Auber, the most Parisian of Parisians, who could never tear himself away
from his dear native city, even for a short excursion in the summer, was
born,—as it happened—at Caen, towards the end of the month of January,
1782. I say, “as it happened,” because the composer’s parents were not
settled in that town and were only staying there temporarily when the
future author of “La Muette de Portici” made his entrance upon the stage
of life. His father was a print-seller in Paris. Being a thorough
business man he wished his son to become a business man also. To this
end, when his child had received a somewhat summary education, and had
almost reached man’s estate, he sent him to London to begin his career
in a house of business.
Even at this early period the young Auber was considered a distinguished
amateur musician. He played the piano well, and had made successful
attempts at minor composition, such as ballads, small morceaux for the
piano, etc. Realizing that he was not fitted for a business life, but
for that of a musician, Auber returned to Paris, where he was not long
in making for himself a reputation in the fashionable world. He was
looked upon as an agreeable pianist and a graceful composer, with
sparkling and original ideas. He pleased the ladies by his
irreproachable gallantry and the sterner sex by his wit and vivacity.
During this early period of his life Auber produced a number of
_lieder_, serenade duets, and pieces of drawing-room music, including a
trio for the piano, violin and violoncello, which was considered
charming by the indulgent and easy-going audience who heard it.
Encouraged by this success, he wrote a more important work, a concerto
for violins with orchestra, which was executed by the celebrated Mazas
at one of the Conservatoire concerts. He also composed, for his friend
Lamare, concertos which were applauded by the general public. This
Lamare was a violoncellist of great talent and erudition, but so barren
of musical creative power that he could not originate the simplest
melody nor compose a note for his own instrument. Auber adapted his
music so cleverly to the playing of the eminent instrumentalist that
Lamare said to him: “Nobody would think, my dear Auber, that I was not
the composer of these concertos, so strongly are they impressed with my
personality.” To which Auber replied: “Since that is so, my dear Lamare,
the concertos shall be published in your name.” And as a matter of fact
they were so published, successively, under the name of the
violoncellist. The public thought he was the author of them, but
musicians were aware of the truth, which has been an open secret for a
considerable time.
It is evident that although Auber made his début as a dramatic composer
at a late period, he early practised this art as an amateur, producing
his compositions in the Paris drawing-rooms. These drawing-rooms were
his academy of music up to the time when, convinced that he had still
much to learn in the practice of counterpoint, he sought assistance from
the illustrious Cherubini, whom he was destined one day to succeed as
director of the Paris Conservatoire.
The first work that Auber submitted to public judgment was a comic opera
in one act, entitled “Le Séjour Militaire,” which was produced at the
Théâtre Feydeau in 1813. Auber was then thirty-two years old. This piece
was not his first attempt in theatrical work, however; for he had
previously written a comic opera for the Prince de Chimay, and before
this, still another work for a small orchestra, which was represented in
an amateur theatre. He had also composed a Mass, with orchestra, in
which occurred the admirable chant which he used at a later date in the
famous prayer in his masterpiece, “La Muette de Portici.” “Le Séjour
Militaire” may be regarded merely as marking a date in the biography of
the French composer. This piece, of somewhat doubtful buffoonery, passed
unnoticed by the general public. Indeed the musician himself was very
slightly impressed with it, being but imperfectly inspired when he wrote
it. Nevertheless a writer then celebrated, M. Martinville, discovered in
this score several pretty _motifs_ and a great deal of wit.
From 1813 to 1819 Auber remained silent, and it might have been thought
that he had ceased to exist. What became of him during this long period?
He still continued to appear in society and, when in the humor, to write
as an amateur fugitive pieces of music set to subjects of the same
character. He asked dramatic poets to write pieces for him, but they
were not very anxious to do so after the failure of “Le Séjour
Militaire.”
About this time the composer’s father died, leaving a widow and two sons
without fortune. During this period, when the eminent musician that was
to be was still pursuing his studies, he found himself face to face with
pecuniary difficulties; but he supported them bravely, never
complaining.
Planard, the most fashionable librettist of that day, was accustomed to
gather around him in his little house at Passy—which was not then
considered one of the districts of Paris—a company of amateurs and
artists. There was music, and Auber, one of the most assiduous habitués
of the house, accompanied on the piano. In this way it came to pass that
Madame Planard took a great interest in Auber and espoused his cause.
“My dear,” she said to her husband, “can you not entrust one of your
poems to poor Auber, who is so well-bred, so witty, and so good an
accompanist? I am convinced that he will earn himself a name among our
composers. It is a pity that he should compose operatic airs without
words because he has none to work on.”
Women always gain the day, whenever they plead in favor of the unknown
and the lowly, and Auber was then both unknown and lowly. Madame Planard
pleaded so well in this particular instance that her protégé obtained
from Planard two pieces instead of one to set to music. The first was a
piece in one act, entitled “Le Testament et le Billet Doux,” which
unfortunately met with a much less favorable reception from the public
than “Le Séjour Militaire,” and that had been a failure. The next
venture was “La Bergère Châtelaine,” in three acts, and it made ample
amends for all previous mortifications. Its success was unanimous and
brilliant. None too soon indeed. Had the author lost this opportunity
his future as a composer would have been irretrievably ruined, for no
poet would have entrusted him with a libretto.
At the time when Auber produced “La Bergère Châtelaine,” the
turning-point in his artistic career, he was thirty-eight years of age,
just a year younger than Rossini when he closed his with that immortal
masterpiece “Guillaume Tell.”
Planard, having witnessed the failure of “Le Testament,” would have
liked to take back the libretto of “La Bergère Châtelaine” which he had
handed over to Auber some time before. But now he was very happy to have
another of his pieces, in three acts, entitled “Emma,” set to music by
the composer. This work was represented at the Théâtre Feydeau in 1821,
and was an extraordinary success. The high road to fortune was now open,
and for more than forty years the composer’s career was one long series
of triumphs, which continued to the last day of his life. One might have
thought, after the complete success of the two last comic operas upon
which Auber and Planard collaborated, that they would have continued to
work together for a long time; but it was not so. Scribe had just then
attained his brilliant position as a writer of vaudevilles. Fate had
decided that there should be a partnership between him and Auber, a
partnership which of all the combinations that ever existed between
word-writer and musician was the happiest and most lasting.
What was the secret of the union of these two minds, these two talented
beings who were so well constituted to understand each other that they
seem to have been born the one for the other, to work together for their
common glory and to the great delight of the public who applauded them
so well? It was in this wise.
A vaudeville by Scribe had just been accepted at the Théâtre de Madame,
which he rightly expected would meet with success. For a certain morceau
to be sung during the progress of the play he thought that the air of
the round in “La Bergère Châtelaine” was wonderfully well adapted.
Although he had never yet had an opportunity of seeing Auber, Scribe did
not on that account hesitate to write to him. This historic letter and
Auber’s reply to it have been preserved, and they are too interesting
not to be reproduced here, the more so as they are comparatively
unknown. They are as follows:
“TO MONSIEUR AUBER:—
“Will you kindly permit me, Sir, to place in a vaudeville which I am
just now writing for the Théâtre de Madame, your round from ‘La Bergère
Châtelaine’ which is so delightful and justly popular? I will not
conceal from you, Sir, that I have promised my director to make the
piece succeed, and that I have counted upon using your charming music.”
This note is quite gallant, but Auber replies to it with just as much
gallantry:
“TO MONSIEUR SCRIBE:—
“My round is but a trifle, Sir, and you are so gifted that you can
dispense with my poor assistance. However, if I grant you what you ask,
although you do not really need it, and you will allow me to lend you at
the same time the fine voice and pretty face of Mme. Boulanger, I think
we should both do a good stroke of business.”
The good stroke of business consisted in the thrice-happy collaboration
which resulted from this exchange of letters, a collaboration only
broken by the death of Scribe, which took place many years before that
of Auber. On one occasion Auber said to me: “I owe my successes to
Scribe. Without his assistance I feel that I should never have obtained
the place I occupy in the musical world.” Without detracting in any
degree from the value of Auber’s music, it may be said that this
statement is true; for the composer needed a librettist of such
versatile wit and resource of imagination that I do not see amongst the
comic-opera librettists a single poet who could have taken Scribe’s
place in this work. During the whole of his life Auber was accustomed to
compose the principal airs of his operas before the libretto was written
and almost without regard to the character of the scene in which these
airs would be used; and to these melodies Scribe wrote words with
extraordinary ease. Auber sang the airs, accompanying himself on the
piano, while Scribe, pencil in hand, instantly found the verses
naturally suited to the character of the music, cleverly adapting
himself to its rhythm, oftentimes very strange. I may mention the
“Seguidille” in “Le Domino Noir,” which was a singularly difficult test
of Scribe’s powers. Another instance is the song of Henriette in
“L’Ambassadrice,” which was also written by Auber without words. It was
an astonishing feat on the part of Scribe to find the comic and original
verses which he adapted to this melody, the scansion of which is so very
singular.
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