"No," I answered, "I know what he ought to have said. What did he say?"
"He said," Auber replied, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 'Auber est un
grand musicien qui fait de la petite musique.'"
"That was pure envy," I said. "I should like to know what you said about
Rossini."
"Well, I said," and he hesitated before continuing, "I said that Rossini
_est un très grand musicien et fait de la belle musique, mais une
exécrable cuisine_."
Rossini adores Alboni, but deplores her want of confidence in herself. She
has such stage frights that she swears that she will have to leave the
stage. He has written "La Messe solennelle" for her voice. The "Agnus Dei"
is perfectly wonderful. She sang it after I had sung. If she had been
first, I never should have had the courage to open my mouth.
Auber asked him how he had liked the representation of "Tannhäuser"?
Rossini answered, with a satirical smile, "It is a music one must hear
several times. I am not going again."
Rossini said that neither Weber nor Wagner understood the voice. Wagner's
interminable dissonances were insupportable. That these two composers
imagine that to sing is simply to _dégoiser_ the note; but the art of
singing, or technic was considered by them to be secondary and
insignificant Phrasing or any sort of _finesse_ was superfluous. The
orchestra must be all powerful. "If Wagner gets the upper hand," Rossini
continued, "as he is sure to do, for people will run after the New, then
what will become of the art of singing? No more _bel canto_, no more
phrasing, no more enunciation! What is the use, when all that is required
of you is to _beugler_ (bellow)? Any _cornet à piston_ is just as good as
the best tenor, and better, for it can be heard over the orchestra. But
the instrumentation is magnificent. There Wagner excels. The overture of
Tannhäuser is a _chef-d'oeuvre;_ there is a swing, a sway, and a shush
that carries you off your feet.... I wish I had composed it myself."
Auber is a true Parisian, adores his Paris, and never leaves it even
during the summer, when Paris is insufferable. He comes very often to see
me, and we play duets. He loves Bach, and we play Mendelssohn overtures
and Haydn symphonies when we are through with Bach. Auber always takes the
second piano, or, if a four-handed piece, he takes the base. Sometimes he
says, "Je vous donne rendez-vous en bas de la page. Si vous y arrivez la
première, attendez-moi, et je ferai de même." He is so clever and full of
repartees.
I do not think I ever talked with a wittier person than he is. I always
wish I could remember what he says; but, alas! when he goes my memory goes
with him.
Though so old (he must be over eighty) he is always beautifully dressed in
the latest fashion, trim and neat. He says that he has never heard his
operas seated in the audience; it makes him too nervous. He has his seat
every night in the parquet of all the theaters in Paris. He only has to
choose where to go. He once said: "Je suis trop vieux; on ne devrait pas
vieillir, mais que faire? c'est le seul moyen de devenir vieux. Un
vieillard m'a toujours paru un personnage terrible et inutile, mais me
voici un vieillard sans le savoir et je n'en suis pas triste." He is not
deaf, nor does he wear glasses except to "déchiffrer ma propre musique"--
as he says. Another time he said: "I am glad that I never was married. My
wife would now have been an old, wrinkled woman. I never would have had
the courage to come home of an evening. Aussi j'aurais voulu avoir une
fille (une fille comme vous), et elle m'aurait certainement donné un
garçon."