Opera has, since its origin, been considered the highest form of
theatrical pastime. The very appellation "opera" indicates that in the
land of its birth it was looked upon as the "work" _par excellence_, and
to this day it is the form of Art which is invariably honoured by
exalted patronage, and one that people pay the most to enjoy. It is
hardly necessary to advance documentary evidence in support of this
assertion; moreover, it is beyond the scope of this book to marshal all
the historical facts. My chief consideration will be to deal with the
prospect of National Opera in England, and to take the existing state of
things as the basis for future action. But some retrospect showing that
the originators of opera understood its importance, and knew admirably
how to define its scope, may prove interesting.
The following extract from the preface to Vitali's _Aretusa_, the score
of which is in the Barberini Library, performed in Rome on the 8th of
February 1620, is worth quoting in corroboration of the statement:--
"This style of work (opera) is a new style, born a few years ago at
Florence, of the noble intelligence of Messer Ottavio Rinuccini, who,
dearly beloved by the Muses and gifted with especial talent for the
expression of passions, would have it that the power of music allied to
poetry, tended rather to gather fresh strength from the combination,
than to suffer diminution in consequence. He spoke of it to Signor
Jacopo Corsi, Maecenas of every merit and most enlightened amateur of
music, proving that the mission of music united to poetry should be not
to smother words with noises, but to help those words to a more eloquent
expression of passion. Signor Corsi sent for Signor Jacopo Perri and
Signor Giulio Caccini, eminent professors of singing and counterpoint,
and after having discussed the subject, they came to the conclusion that
they had found the means for reaching the desired goal. Nor were they
mistaken. It is in this new musical style, the fable of Dafne to the
poem of Signor Ottavio Rinuccini, was composed and performed in Florence
at Signor Jacopo Corsi's, in the presence of the illustrious Cardinal
del Monte, a Montalto, and their most serene Highnesses the Grand Duke
and Grand Duchess of Tuscany. The work pleased them so much that they
were absolutely bewildered (_attonitidi stupore_). This style of music
acquired a still greater number of fresh beauties in _Euridice_, a work
by the same authors, and then in _Ariadne_, by Signor Claudio
Monteverdi, to-day _Maestro di Capella at Venice_."
Your modern theorist could hardly express his operatic creed with
greater felicity than the Florentine noble, Ottavio Rinuccini, and the
whole quotation breathes in its quaint phraseology, the spirit of love
for all that is new and beautiful in Art, which gave Italy her hegemony
amongst other nations.
The operatic spectacle, when first imported into France, was a Court
entertainment for the privileged few, but it soon tempted private
enterprise, and here, again, its importance, as an attraction, was not
underrated, for the first _impressario_, one Pierre Perrin, took good
care to obtain a monopoly for the new style of performances, whilst the
royal _privilege_ (letters-patent), granted to him, sets out their
advantages in unmistakable terms.[A]
Therein "Louis par la grace de Dieu," etc., concedes to his "ame et feal
Pierre Perrin" the exclusive rights of operatic performances throughout
France, not only that they should contribute to his own recreation, or
that of the public in general, but chiefly in the hope that his
subjects, "getting accustomed to the taste of music, would be led all
but unconsciously to perfect themselves in this the most noble of
liberal arts." (Que nos sujets s'accoustumant au goust de la musique, se
porteroient insensiblement a se perfectionner en cet art, l'un des plus
nobles de liberaux.) These Royal letters-patent were dated 1669,
demonstrating that two hundred and thirty-two years ago France
recognised the educational mission of the art of music, and its
accessibility by the means of opera.
The taste for this new entertainment grew and spread throughout Europe,
and it is a matter of common knowledge that everywhere the encouragement
and support came from the highest quarters, always having for its object
the benefit of the masses.
Thus Italy, France, Germany, Austria, Spain, Russia, Sweden, Norway,
Denmark, Greece have their endowed or subsidised theatres; they can
boast of an artistic musical past and operatic tradition, and make a
proud show of creative and interpreting talent for over two centuries.
It is equally well known that the patronage thus accorded, always took
the form of a monetary subsidy granted either by a Sovereign or by a
municipality--at times for a period of years, at others for a specified
occasion, sometimes unconditionally, sometimes under certain
restrictions, now limited to a given figure, then giving the manager
_carte blanche_. The solicitude and favour shown by the State went at
times the length of taking a direct interest in the management of an
opera house, as was the case for a certain period in France.
England alone in civilised Europe remained indifferent, and took no
active part either in fostering or patronising the new form of art; and
whilst the spirit of emulation was animating other states and nations
towards helping native production, England was satisfied to import
spectacles and performers from abroad, just as she would have imported
any other commodity. True enough, only the best article was brought
over, and the best price paid in the highest market. If one could reckon
up the money thus spent on foreign operatic performances within the last
hundred years, the figures would prove instructive--instructive, that
is, of England's foolhardiness in alienating so much national cash,
without any benefit to the nation, and to the direct detriment of native
talent. For over a century this country has been the happy
dumping-ground of Italian opera and Italian singers and dancers; for
there was a time when a ballet and a _prima ballerina_ were of paramount
importance in an operatic season. Within late years French, Belgian,
German, American, Polish and even Dutch singers have found their
El-Dorado in England. Composers of all nations have found hospitality
and profit. Foreign conductors, _virtuosi_, teachers and chorus-singers
have taken up a permanent abode here, and things have come to such a
pass that one may well wonder whether there is any room at all for an
Englishman, and whether the time has not arrived for a voice to be
raised on behalf of native artists and native art.
It is not as though native opera had failed to show signs of life. Our
failure to create a body of art comparable with that of Germany, Italy
and France has sometimes been attributed to inherent lack of the
dramatic instinct in music, but that view is contradicted by the
historical facts. From the time of Purcell, whose operatic genius is
beyond question, neither the impulse to write on the part of musicians
nor the capacity to appreciate on the part of the public has been
lacking. We find throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,
breaking through the stifling influence of exotic art, an irrepressible
tendency towards the creation of a purely native form of opera. Again
and again English or British composers returned to the task with
significant, if temporary, success. The list is surprisingly large and
almost continuous down to the present day. It includes many forms of
art, some of which have no pretension to a high standard, but the one
thing common to them all is the yearning towards some sort of musical
drama which they exhibit. This is seen in nothing more plainly than in
the "ballad operas" of the eighteenth century, which were inaugurated by
the immensely popular _Beggar's Opera_ in 1728, only some thirty years
after Purcell's flourishing period. A string of ballads took the public
by storm when thrown into a dramatic setting. Arne's ambitious project
of building up in the middle of the century an English operatic school
to rival the Italians in their own domain indicates an instructive
confidence in the forces of his day. It failed not so much from lack of
support as from active opposition on the part of those undying enemies
of the unaccustomed, who play the game of follow-my-leader like a flock
of sheep. They did it then. They do it now.
This failure did not deter Arne's successors from freely following their
own operatic bent, in the earlier and less ambitious style. The
agreeable and distinctive national talent of Dibdin, Arnold, Linley,
Shield, Horace, Hook, Braham and many others found expression in a host
of musically set plays, which hugely delighted the public. English
musicians received encouragement and responded to it. The 1809 English
Opera House produced a quantity of works, and at the same time Drury
Lane and Covent Garden offered a field of activity to Bishop, who was a
born operatic composer of charming and original gifts. To this period
belongs Balfe, who may be said to mark its culmination. The _Siege of
Rochelle_, his first opera, was brought out at Drury Lane in 1835, and
the _Bohemian Girl_, his most successful one, in 1843 at the same
theatre. This opera has been before the public for nearly sixty years,
and is still enjoying the undiminished favour of popular audiences.
Wallace's _Maritana_, which belongs to the same period, is also very
much alive to this day. Barnett's _Mountain Sylph_ (1834) and Loder's
_Night Dancers_ (1846) met with as much success and lasted as long as
four out of five contemporary Italian works, and they were only amongst
the most prominent of a number of native operas, called forth in this
period of sunshine and received with appreciation.
This period passed away, and has not been renewed. The promise held out
by Carl Rosa, an _impressario_ of enlightenment and enterprise, almost
amounting to genius, was baulked by his premature death, and the
patriotic effort embodied, in the theatre which is now the Palace Music
Hall ended in worse than failure. That well-meant but disastrous venture
was the heaviest blow that English opera has ever received, for it cast
the shadow of hopelessness over the whole enterprise in the eyes of the
public in general and the theatrical and musical world in particular.
Naturally perhaps, but most unjustly.
For the general disappointment and disillusion attending the failure of
_Ivanhoe_ the critics were largely to blame in holding out expectations
which could not be realised; the thing was doomed to eventual collapse
from the outset. It started, it is true, with an unparalleled
advertisement and amid universal good wishes; it commanded popular and
fashionable patronage alike, and every adventitious attraction was
provided with a lavish hand. But it lacked the essential elements of
real success, and had to fight against insuperable difficulties. In the
first place, the stage was far too small for grand opera, which moves in
a large way, requiring large spaces. The principal characters must stand
out clear, with abundant room for movement and gesture on a heroic
scale. If they are huddled or crowded up against the chorus--which also
requires ample space--the action is confused and leaves an impression of
futility. The effect is gone. This might not altogether prevent
enjoyment of a familiar work by audiences accustomed to small theatres,
but it ruins the chances of a new piece conceived on a larger scale, and
presented in London to playgoers accustomed to more adequate boards. The
stage at the ambitious New Opera House was so small, and the
foreshortening so excessive in consequence, that in the opening scene of
_Ivanhoe_ Cedric and his guests actually sat at meat in Rotherwood Hall
with their knees above the table, producing a ludicrous effect. And yet
the piece was projected on the most pompous scale, with tournament,
siege, fire, solemn trial, battle, murder and sudden death--in short,
all the details that require the most ample spaces. The reporters were
told, of course, that the stage was the largest in Europe, and they may
possibly have believed it. At any rate, they told the public so. They
ought to have known that _Ivanhoe_ had no chance so cramped and huddled
together.
The second obstacle was the counterpart of an inadequate stage--to wit,
an overloaded book. There were too many principal characters. They
cluttered up the stage, got in each other's way and distracted attention
from the main action. A skilful novelist can dispose of a great many
characters in one story; a skilful dramatist can put fewer but still a
good many into one play, because they are able to explain themselves
quickly and by-play is admissible. In grand opera it is otherwise. The
characters move on a higher emotional plane; they express themselves in
prolonged phrases and accents enlarged beyond the manner of speech,
consequently they require more time and space. It must all be simple,
large and clear. There must be no distraction of interest; to have
several persons of equal importance is fatal. No musician could have
made a successful opera of such a book as _Ivanhoe_. The talent, skill
and experience of Sullivan did not fail to produce some agreeable
numbers, but they failed most egregiously to make grand opera. A
perpetual sense of disappointment pervaded the piece; it never rose to
the height demanded by the situation, save when that was comic, and
occasionally the failure was absolutely painful. The music kept trying
to soar, but was all the time chained by the leg. The reason is obvious.
You cannot serve two masters, nor can a man who has devoted a life to
light musical composition, suddenly command the powers which can only be
won by toil, and tribulation, and faithful devotion to a high ideal. To
crown this fabric of shortcomings, the management committed the folly of
running _Ivanhoe_ every night. No masterpiece could have stood a test of
this kind. And it was thus, with this single unfortunate specimen, that
English opera was to be established. Let no one be cast down by this
failure. We may rather point to the attempt, to the widespread interest,
and to the eager if ill-founded hopes that accompanied it, as signs of
vitality. They indicate the existence of a demand, while the recurrent
efforts of recent, and of still living composers--of Goring, Thomas,
Corder, Stanford, Cowen, Mackenzie, M'Cunn and De Lara--prove that the
dramatic instinct has not departed from British composers, and that it
is not hopeless to look for a supply in answer to the demand. The seed
only needs systematic encouragement, and intelligent cultivation to bear
fruit. I firmly believe that the time is ripe for such encouragement to
come from an official sphere; in other words, I advocate State
intervention in the matter, and the establishment of a subsidised
national opera house on the lines successfully adopted in other
countries. And that we may profit by the experience of others, let us
examine how continental nations fare under the aegis of State-aided Art.
Italy, Germany and France present the most characteristic instances, and
I will take a bird's-eye view of the operatic machinery in them,
beginning with Italy.