Societe des Jeunes Artistes, which had just been started by Pasdeloup,
and which held its concerts in the Salle Herz, in the Rue de la
Victoire. This symphony was so well received that I wrote another (No. 2
in E flat) for the same society. It too achieved a certain success.
About the same time I composed a Solemn Mass for St. Cecilia's Day,
which was successfully performed for the first time on November 22,
1855, by the Association des Artistes Musiciens, in the Church of St.
Eustache, and has often been given since. I dedicated this Mass to the
memory of my father-in-law Zimmerman, whom we had lost on October 29,
1853.
Yet another misfortune overtook our family; on August 6, 1855, death
snatched away my wife's elder sister, Juliette Dubufe, wife of Edouard
Dubufe the painter, a rare and gifted creature, full of charming
qualities, and of exceptional talent as a sculptress and a pianiste.
"Goodness, wit, talent"--these are the words inscribed upon her tomb; a
simple epitaph, but eloquent in its simplicity and well deserved, fitly
expressing as it does the honour and regret showered on the memory of an
exquisite nature, the charm of which fell irresistibly on all who
approached her.
Nearly all my time was taken up with the management of the Choral
Society. I wrote a number of things for the big concerts of this
institution. Some were very well received; among others two Masses, one
of which had been performed under my direction on June 12, 1853, at the
Church of St Germain l'Auxerrois in Paris. During one of these great
annual meetings of the Choral Society, on Sunday, June 8, 1856, my wife
presented me with a son. (Three years before, on the 13th of the same
month, we had mourned the loss of our eldest child, a girl, who was born
dead). On the morning of the day when my boy was born, my brave wife
contrived to hide her sufferings from me until I left home for the
concert; and on my return in the afternoon, I found my son had opened
his eyes upon the world.
The birth of this child, which I had deeply longed for, was a joy and a
blessing to us both. He has been mercifully spared to us, is now over
one-and-twenty, and hopes to be a painter.
Since the withdrawal of "La Nonne Sanglante" I had done no dramatic
work; but I had written a short oratorio, called "Tobie," which George
Hainl (then conductor of the orchestra at the Grand Theatre at Lyons)
had asked me to compose for one of his annual benefit concerts. This
oratorio, as it strikes me, has certain qualities both of sentiment and
of expression. Some attention was attracted by a somewhat touching air
for the youthful Tobias, and by several other passages which had a good
deal of pathos about them. In 1856 I made the acquaintance of Jules
Barbier and Michel Carre. I suggested to them to collaborate with me,
and trust me with a libretto. They agreed to do so in a very friendly
way. The first subject I put forward for collaboration was "Faust." The
idea pleased them both. We went to see Monsieur Carvalho, at that time
Director of the Theatre Lyrique, in the Boulevard du Temple. He had just
brought out Victor Masse's "Reine Topaze," in which Madame
Miolan-Carvalho had achieved a striking success. Monsieur Carvalho
approved of our notion, and my two friends set to work at once. I had
myself done about half my share of the work, when Monsieur Carvalho
suddenly informed me that the Theatre de la Porte Saint Martin was on
the point of bringing out a melodrama under the name of "Faust," and
that this fact completely upset his calculations with regard to our
work. He rightly thought we should never be ready before the Porte Saint
Martin, and even so, it would be imprudent to enter into competition
with a theatre whose well-known splendour as to _mise en scene_ would
draw half Paris just before our piece appeared.
He therefore begged us to choose some other subject, but this sudden
upset made it impossible for me to turn my thoughts into another
channel, and for more than a week I was unable to do any work at all.
At last Monsieur Carvalho asked me to write a comic opera, and to take
my subject from Moliere. This was the origin of the "Medecin malgre
lui," which was produced at the Theatre Lyrique on January 15, 1858, the
anniversary of Moliere's birth.
The announcement of a comic opera from the pen of a musician whose
former ventures had been in such a different style seemed to bode
disappointment. But these fears (some of them were hopes perhaps?) were
not justified by the event, for the "Medecin malgre lui" was, _malgre
cela_, my first really successful opera.[15]
But all my delight was shattered by the death of my poor mother. She had
been ill for some months, and completely blind for two years previously.
She died on January 16, 1858, the very day after the first performance,
aged seventy-seven years and a half. Fate did not permit me to brighten
her last days with the fruit of my labour, and the just recompense of
the life she had so unceasingly devoted to her children and their
future. I can only hope that before she left us she knew and foresaw
that her struggle had not been in vain, and that her self-sacrifice had
brought a great reward.
The "Medecin malgre lui" had an uninterrupted run of a hundred nights.
The work was staged with the greatest care. Monsieur Got, of the Comedie
Francaise, was good enough, at the request of the Director, to bestow
his invaluable advice as to the traditional mounting of the piece and
the declamation of the spoken dialogue. The chief part, that of
Sganarelle, was played by the baritone Meillet, whose voice was full and
round, and his play spirited. He made a great success both as a singer
and an actor. The other male parts were taken by Girardot, Wartel,
Fromant, and Lesage (the two latter afterwards replaced by Potel and
Gabriel), and all in the very best manner. The two principal ladies'
parts were held by Mesdemoiselles Faivre and Girard, both of them full
of life and animation.
This score, the first comic work I ever did, is in a light and easy
style which savours of the Italian opera-bouffe. I have endeavoured to
recall the style of Lulli in certain passages, but the work as a whole
keeps to the modern forms, and belongs to the French school. Among the
numbers which most took the public taste were the "Chanson des
Glouglous," excellently sung by Meillet, and invariably encored; the
"Trio de la Bastonnade," the "Sextuor de la Consultation," a "Fabliau,"
the "Scene de Consultation des Paysans," and a duet for Sganarelle and
the nurse.
The Porte-Saint-Martin "Faust" had just been brought out; but all its
magnificent staging did not ensure the melodrama a very long run.
Monsieur Carvalho consequently reverted to our former plan, and I at
once set to work upon the opera which I had laid aside to write the
"Medecin."
My "Faust" was first put into rehearsal in September 1858. Before I left
Paris for Switzerland, where I was to spend the holidays with my wife
and son, then two years old, I had gone through the work with Monsieur
Carvalho in the Foyer of his theatre. At that time nothing had been
settled as to the cast, and Monsieur Carvalho had asked my leave to
bring his wife, who lived opposite the theatre, to hear me play over
the work. She was so struck with the _role_ of Marguerite, that Monsieur
Carvalho begged me to let her sing it. I was naturally only too
delighted, and the result proved my decision to have been something like
an inspiration.
All the same, the rehearsals of "Faust" were not fated to pursue "the
even tenor of their way" without many checks and difficulties. The tenor
who was to have played "Faust," although gifted with a beautiful voice
and a handsome presence, turned out not to be equal to so heavy a part.
A short time before the date fixed for the first performance, it became
necessary to find some one to take his place; and the part was offered
to Monsieur Barbot, who happened to be disengaged. Within a month Barbot
had mastered it and was ready to perform. So the opera was acted for the
first time on March 19, 1859.
Though "Faust" did not strike the public very much at first, it is the
greatest theatrical success I have ever had. Do I mean that it is the
best thing I have written? That I cannot tell. I can only reiterate the
opinion I have already expressed, that success is more the result of a
certain concatenation of favourable elements and successful conditions,
than a proof and criterion of the intrinsic value of a work. Public
favour is attracted in the first instance by outward appearances; all
inward and solid qualities can do is to retain and strengthen it. It
takes some time to grasp and absorb the innumerable details which go to
make up a drama.
Dramatic art is a branch of the art of portraiture; its function is to
delineate character, as that of the painter is to present feature and
attitude. Every lineament, all those momentary and fleeting inflections
which constitute that individual physiognomy known as a "personality,"
must be grasped and reproduced. Shakespeare's immortal figures of
Hamlet, Richard III., Othello, and Lady Macbeth are so true to the type
which each expresses, that they hold a real and living place in every
mind. Well may they be called "creations."
Dramatic music is ruled by the same laws, and cannot otherwise exist.
Its object, too, is to portray feature; but where painting conveys an
impression at a glance, music has to tell its story by degrees, and thus
often fails to produce the intended effect at a first hearing.
None of my previous works could have led the world to expect anything
like "Faust" from me; it was a surprise to the public, both as to style
and interpretation.
Of course the part of Marguerite was not the first in which Madame
Carvalho had found scope for that marvellous style and power of
execution which have set her in the highest place among contemporary
singers; but no previous _role_ had given her so fine an opportunity of
displaying the lyric and pathetic side of her gifts. Her Marguerite made
her reputation in this respect, and will always be one of the glories of
her brilliant career. Barbot sang the difficult part of Faust like the
great musician he is. Balanque, who created the part of Mephistopheles,
was a clever actor, whose gesture, appearance, and voice admirably
suited that weird and diabolical personage. Although he somewhat
overacted the part, he made a great success. The smaller parts of Siebel
and Valentine were very creditably performed by Mademoiselle Faivre and
Monsieur Raynal.
As to the score itself, it raised such a whirlwind of debate and
criticism, that my hopes of a real success grew faint indeed.
LETTERS
I
MONSIEUR H. LEFUEL, _Poste Restante, Genoa_.
(If Monsieur Lefuel does not call for his letters at Genoa, kindly
forward to the Academie de France at Rome.)
VIENNA, _Monday, August 21, 1842_.
MY DEAR HECTOR,--Some week or so ago I had a letter from Hebert, to whom
I had written in the first instance from Vienna. He tells me you are
somewhere near Genoa, but cannot exactly tell me where. As you have
consistently neglected me, my dear fellow, all through my travels, and
as I found no news of you at either Florence, Venice, or Vienna, I was
obliged to ask a mutual friend whether he happened to know your address
and could let me have it. From Hebert's answer I gather he has been
luckier than I. He knew your whereabouts at anyrate, and could write to
you, and get news of you. Yet you were perfectly well aware, hateful old
monster that you are, that your sorrowing relation would have rejoiced
over even the veriest line from you. But not a scratch of your pen have
I seen all through my journey. So how was I to write to you? I longed to
always, and you never gave me a chance of doing it! As likely as not,
this letter will arrive and find you flown, which accounts for the
extreme precautions you may observe in the directions on my envelope.
If I were anywhere within reach, I should have a real good row with you.
What on earth are you thinking of? Has your patriarchal tenderness waxed
so faint that you feel no temptation to write your eldest-born a few of
those inspiring sentences he so deeply values? Even supposing you had
not had time to write, I might at all events have kept you posted about
many matters which interested me then, and do so still, and which would
not have been indifferent, I think, to you.
However, now I have had my grumble, dearest and best of friends and
patriarchs, I will forget your crimes, and grant you my hearty pardon. I
know right well how you detest all letter-writing; I know, too, that you
never waste your time. That fact was made so clear to me at Rome, that I
never dreamt of putting down your silence to laziness. So I will forget
everything, except our mutual friendship.
I have wanted for some time to let you hear of a bit of good fortune I
have had here. The Mass I wrote in Rome, for the King's fete-day at San
Luigi de Francesi, is to be performed, with full orchestra, here in
Vienna, on the 6th of September. This is a piece of luck which has never
fallen in the way of any other Academy student, and has only come in
mine through my having made acquaintance with some kindly artists, who
have introduced me to others who have special influence here.
I am working very hard; I see very few people, and seldom go out. I am
up to the eyes in a Requiem with full orchestral accompaniment, which
will probably be performed in Germany on November 2. The officials of
the church where my Roman Mass is to be given have already offered to
have my Requiem done as well. But as I am not yet quite certain whether
I shall think the rendering of the Mass satisfactory, I give no decided
answer for the present. Through my acquaintance with Madame Henzel and
with Mendelssohn, I might be able to secure a far finer performance of
the work in Berlin, and this would have the advantage of raising me much
higher in the opinion of my brother artists. But my hands are still
quite free as regards the Vienna performance. If I am satisfied with the
way my Mass is given on September 8, I shall let them do the Requiem
here; if not, I shall take it to Berlin. When Madame Henzel was in Rome,
she said to me, "When you come to Germany, my brother might be of the
greatest use to you, if you have any music you wish to have performed."
I wrote to her to Berlin some days ago, and as I mean to leave this on
September 12, and make a tour through Munich, Leipzig, Berlin, Dresden,
and Prague, I asked her to be good enough to tell me if she thought I
might hope to get any of my music performed in Berlin. When I get her
answer, I shall see my way clearer. If she says yes, I shall stop in
Berlin until the beginning of November, and then go straight back to
Paris; if she says no, I shall return to Vienna, to which place the
railway would get me back in four days. There is a line from Vienna to
Olmutz, which would save me about sixty leagues. If I have to stop in
Berlin for my Requiem, I shall travel by a different route; thus,
Munich, Prague, Dresden, and Leipzig to Berlin. In any case I will let
you know, as soon as I know myself.
I often regret our beautiful Rome, my dear Hector, and cordially do I
envy those who have the luck to be there still. I really think my
recollection of that lovely land is the chief charm and happiness of my
present life. If you only _knew_ what all the other countries I have
travelled through look like after Italy!
The last thing I saw, and it made a deep and lasting impression on me,
was Venice. You know all its beauties, so I will not go into long
descriptions or ecstasies of admiration. You know all my feelings on the
subject.
No doubt, dear friend, you have heard of the death of our comrade
Blanchard. Deeply as I regret him, I know your grief is greater still,
for you knew him far better even than I did. Such shadows are well-nigh
sure to fall on every meeting after prolonged separation, and,
commonplace as it may sound, there is something terribly indispensable
about that word which closes every letter one writes.
Farewell, dear friend, farewell! I greet you as friend greets friend,
nay, more, as brother greets brother. I hope _we_, at least, may meet
again! Good-bye.--Ever yours,
CHARLES GOUNOD.
II
MONSIEUR CHARLES GOUNOD, _47 Rue Pigalle, Paris_.
_November 19._
MY DEAR GOUNOD,--I have just gone through your choruses for "Ulysse"
with the greatest care. The work as a whole seems to me to have
considerable merit, and the interest of the music rises as that of the
drama intensifies. The double chorus of "the Banquet" is exceedingly
good, and will make a powerful effect if properly performed. I do not
think the Comedie Francaise can or will be at all stingy in the matter
of your orchestra. The music alone, to my mind, will suffice to draw the
public for a considerable number of nights, and it should therefore be
to the direct and pecuniary interest of the Director that a large
proportion of what is laid out on producing the play should be allocated
to the musical part of the work. I think this will turn out to be the
case. At the same time, do not give an inch on the matter. Get what you
want, or take nothing at all. Be very careful who you give your solos
to; one bad singer will utterly spoil the chances of a whole song.
Look at the page I have turned down; there is a mistake in the time,
just at the opening of a verse, which I think you would be wise to
alter. Men like you and me oughtn't to scan like that. We must leave
that sort of thing to people who don't know their work. Best and
sincerest good wishes.--Yours always,
H. BERLIOZ.
III
MONSIEUR HECTOR LEFUEL, _20 Rue du Tournon, Paris_.
MY DEAR HECTOR,--I called on you about a month ago to tell you a very
important piece of news, which you, in your well-earned quality of
friend and "father," have a right to know before anybody else. I am to
be married next month to Mademoiselle Agnes Zimmerman. We are all as
pleased as we can be, and I believe we may look forward to very solid
and lasting happiness. My future wife's family is very good and kind,
and I am lucky enough to be a general favourite there already.
I know, dear friend, you will be the first to congratulate me on this
new and happy prospect. But our joy must be tinged with sadness when we
think of the memories it must bring back to our poor Marthe[16], who
still mourns the love she prized so much and lost so soon. God grant the
sisterly affection my wife will give her may atone for the pangs the
sight of our new-found happiness may cause her! I feel quite sure I may
hope for this, for their two sweet natures are strongly drawn to each
other even now.
Good-bye, dear Hector. Always yours most affectionately. My best regards
to Madame Lefuel.
CHARLES GOUNOD.
IV
MONSIEUR PIGNY[17], _Rue d'Enghien, Paris_.
LUCERNE, _Tuesday, August 28, 1855_.
MY DEAR FRIEND PIGNY,--In my mother's letter, received to-day, she
speaks with deep and grateful emotion of your more than filial devotion
to her since my departure, and of the kindly care with which you offered
to see personally to all the details of her move from the country. It is
a considerable undertaking for an old lady like her, in spite of her
simple wants and habits.
You who worship two mothers, so they tell me--self-sacrifice and
renunciation (I use these names advisedly; I can find no other epithets
to express my meaning)--will understand me when I tell you that what you
do for her is the very tenderest and best thing you can do for me, for
you help and complete a work I can never accomplish to my fullest
satisfaction--I mean the endeavour to repay a tithe of the care, the
sacrifices, the anxiety, the devotion she has lavished on me through
many years of noble, patient, faithful toil. We have filled all her
life, in fact, and she, alas! can only fill a part of ours.
I assure you, dear Pigny, I am most deeply touched by this proof that
you already treat me as your friend. Apart from the universal affection
in which all here hold you, nothing could give you greater claim and
title to mine than the delicate deference and kindness you have so
gracefully shown my honoured and beloved mother.
CHARLES GOUNOD.
LATER LETTERS OF
CHARLES GOUNOD
1870-1871[18]
I
VARANGEVILLE, _Sunday, September 4_.
MY DEARS,--As you may well imagine, our dear grandmother is very
uncertain as to what she should do. You know kind Louisa Brown has
written pressingly and repeatedly to offer grandmamma a home at
Blackheath until she can settle down, and the invitation is specifically
extended to _you_ as well as to _ourselves_.
My own responsibility weighs heavy on me at this juncture. Persuasion or
dissuasion strike me as being equally serious in their results. I should
like to know dear Pigny's mind on the subject. As to my own ideas, here
they are.
If cruel fortune gives Prussia the victory (no easy matter, as it seems
to me), and if France is to be humiliated under a foreign conqueror, I
should never have courage, I confess, to go on living under the enemy's
yoke.
Well, granting the Emperor's captivity, MacMahon's defeat, and our loss
of eighty thousand men to be undoubted and accomplished facts, my first
duty, as it strikes me, is to convey our mother, my wife, and my two
children to London, as a _provisional arrangement_. Speak, then, good
Pigny! I hearken with all my ears!
II
8 MORDEN ROAD, BLACKHEATH, LONDON.
Yes, my dear fellow, you are perfectly right! The peace proposals
Prussia dreams of are a crying shame. But the shame, thank God, lies
wholly with the proposing party. They bring glory to those who reject
them.
Like you I feel, I will not say humiliated, but cut to the very heart by
the horrible misfortunes which have befallen our poor unhappy France. So
much so, that I keep wondering, every hour of the day, whether the duty
of those who are called to the honour and happiness of defending our
country is not less heavy than that you and I have to perform, and which
no man would choose if he felt he must blush for the performance of it.
Alas! dear friend, this once, at all events, in history, Frenchmen in
general have spilt their noble blood so gallantly, that the shame of
those who only think of their own personal safety clings to themselves
alone. But the glory of victory nowadays (for the first time, perhaps,
in this world's history) is won by machinery rather than by men, and
disasters will be weighed in the same balance. The Prussians have not
been braver than we. We have been less fortunate than they.
You know already, and I say it again, if you decide to re-enter any gate
of Paris, I will not let you go alone. Family life means something more
than mere family dinner!
Well, here we are at last, dear friend, in our new dwelling, after
eighteen days spent in the enjoyment of the simplest and sincerest
hospitality. Some Englishmen there are who will not let us Frenchmen
feel we are in England. The manner in which our good and kind friend
Brown has shared our trouble proves it.
But the external peace we have found here gives us no inward calm. The
longer this horrible bloody war of pride and extermination lasts, the
more do I feel my very heart-strings wrung with grief for my unhappy
country; and anything that seems to rouse me from my sad contemplation
of our beloved France, far from comforting me, as with kindness, stings
like an insult.
Oh, most unhappy earth! wretched home of the human race! where barbarism
not only still exists, but is taken for glory, and permitted to obscure
the pure and beneficent rays of the only true glory in existence, the
glory of love, of science, and of genius! Humanity yet lingers, it would
seem, under the grim shadows of chaos, amidst the monstrosities of the
iron age; and instead of driving their weapons into the earth to benefit
their fellow-creatures, men plunge them into each other's hearts to
decide the ownership of the actual soil. Barbarians! savages!
Ah, dear fellow, let me make an end, or I shall go on for ever, for very
sorrow!
The dear ones near me, who are dear to you too, are well. Would we could
have hidden them a little less far off--in Paris!
III
8 MORDEN ROAD, BLACKHEATH PARK, LONDON,
_Wednesday, October 12, 1870_.