Rarely has Parisian curiosity been more vividly
excited than by the following simple words inscribed
upon the placards of the "Théâtre-Lyrique."
_Tuesday, first representation of Rienzi_,
_Opera in five Acts, by Richard Wagner._
In an age when the general interest is certainly not
with works of art, Wagner has the gift of stimulating
the public, of calling forth frantic enthusiasms and
provoking violent repulsions.
The mere mention of his name assembles clouds in the
most serene heavens, clouds which soon grow into a
storm, lightning breaks out in intermittent flashes,
thunder mutters and growls above the sound of the
rain, the wind and the hail. In all this tumult no
one remains indifferent, the universe seems about to
collapse and each person hurries toward the altar of
his own menaced deity.
The rival choruses of detractors and admirers
insult each other as at the taking of Messina and
are ready to tear each other to pieces. There is an
excitement,--a tumult--a fury, which recalls the
great romantic struggles of 1830, when the young
followers of Hernani broke into the theatre with
their password, and tore away the classic masks and
headgear--proclaiming the liberty and independence of
art.
If we had never heard a note of Richard Wagner, all
this uproar would have assured us of his superiority.
He troubled all the musical world too profoundly
not to be a genius, a hero, in accordance with the
meaning of Emerson and Carlyle. From whatever point
of view one considers him, he always produces a new
sensation, it may be a little prematurely, but one is
conscious even now that he will become the sovereign
master and that nothing can prevent his future
greatness. Very soon his victorious banner will float
from the highest turret of the citadel, gilded by the
sun and caressed by the very wind which before had
twisted and torn it.
Young musicians, not yet established, regard Wagner
either as a God or as a tempting demon. It is Wagner
who preoccupies the thoughts of the older masters
already secure in their own glory, and in every
contemporaneous work it is not difficult to find some
reflections, or at least traces of the secret study
of this powerful originator.
A chance of travel led to my being present at
a production of _Tannhäuser_ in the theatre at
Wiesbaden, at a time, already long past, when the
name of Richard Wagner was hardly mentioned in
France. This music, strikingly novel to us who
knew absolutely nothing of the composer, made an
impression upon us at the same time strange and
delicious. We had heard for the first time the true
music of romance, such as poets might conceive it.
The opera reproduced, with most unaffected fidelity,
the legend of the good knight Tannhäuser and Madame
Venus, living happily together on the heights of
Venusberg--until at last the noble German, who was
a good Catholic at heart, became suspicious of some
witchcraft and said to his mythological companion:
"Venus, my beautiful Goddess,
Thou art in truth a demon."
That which most impressed us in the score of the
Teutonic Master was the extreme dearness of the
musical manner of translating the spoken phrase by
means of a continuous melody, without elaboration,
without superfluous flourish, the orchestra providing
the commentary, and, sustaining with its own fulness
the simplicity of the vocal design. We sent from
Wiesbaden either to the "Moniteur" or the "Artiste,"
we no longer remember which, an appreciative article
which ended in expressing astonishment that an opera
so original and unusual had not yet passed beyond the
limits of the Rhine. Our astonishment was also great
when, some years later, this same Tannhäuser--so
easily given at the theatre of Wiesbaden, by singers
and an orchestra which were probably not the first
in Germany--having been produced here at the Opera,
was declared impossible, foolish, absurd, outside all
the possibilities of the theatre, and was smothered
under a storm of hisses. They muffled Wagner's music
in derisive purple, under the pleasantry "Music of
the Future," but the wag who invented the phrase had
no idea that he spoke so truly. In fact its time has
come, and the music of the future is very near to
being the music of to-day. The fall of Tannhäuser
in no way unsettled our convictions. Critics are
stubborn, and even though they are not dealing with
the old romantic poets, they know very well that
hisses do not kill a work of genius.
They said of the dramatic verses of Victor Hugo
precisely what they say of the musical phrases of
Wagner. Accusing them conclusively of not being verse
at all, yet to-day it is a common argument of advance
that the author of "Ruy-Blas" and the "Légende des
Siècles" is the greatest master of metrical form of
our time.
But to return to Rienzi, the production of which at
the Théâtre-Lyrique accomplished an old-time project
of the Master's. One of Wagner's letters makes that
clear--"Written about thirty years ago, with a view
to grand opera, Rienzi presents no difficulties for
the singers to overcome, and offers to the Parisian
public none of the problems of my later works. Both
in subject and in musical form it is closely related
to the operas that have long been popular in Paris,
and I still believe that if it is brilliantly mounted
and given with spirit it has a chance of success."
For serious works, time is required in which to bring
them a full acknowledgment, but it comes at last,
and the Master's own judgment of his work was most
triumphantly confirmed the other evening. Rienzi has
not literally arrived at the Grand Opera, but at the
Théâtre-Lyrique it met with a zeal, an ardour of
conviction and a passionate devotion which ought to
banish from his mind any possible regret. Pasdeloup
has splendidly welcomed the illustrious guest that he
endeavours to introduce and to naturalize in France.
A few words upon the libretto translated from
Wagner's poem by Messrs Mutter and Guillaume. One
need not seek there for the learned complications of
our own lyric dramas. It is the history of Rienzi
very simply told just as it happened in reality.
Cola Gabrino, called "Rienzi" or "Rienzo," was the
son of an Innkeeper. He received a good education,
bound himself in friendship with Petrarch and, in
studying antiquity, became enamoured of the ideas of
liberty and a republic. The sojourn of the Popes at
Avignon delivered Rome over to the most troublesome
disorders. Rienzi harangued the people, succeeded
in making himself Tribune, drove out the Barons and
re-established the old and good government. His rule
at first was wise, but intoxicated by too great power
after having been liberator he became the oppressor
of Rome. Driven out of the city once, he returned
and was killed in a riot, by a servitor of the house
of Colonna. Beginning like Brutus, he ended like
Masaniello or Jean de Leyde.
Rienzi, Wagner's first lyric drama, shows already an
immense talent. Here is not yet revealed the Wagner
of the Flying Dutchman, but a man, nevertheless,
untrammelled by precedent. Excepting the Cavatinas
in the Italian style, inserted here and there to
please the public, the opera resembles no other,
the impression is unique. It is all a great tumult,
a rising of the people. There are in fact only two
characters, Rienzi and the populace. It is more like
a magnificent symphony with choruses than like an
opera as ordinarily heard. The orchestra has become
the great power, the science of which the composer
fully understands and controls.