than myself by fifteen years, he was a man of four-and-thirty when I, a
lad of nineteen, studied composition under Halevy at the Conservatoire.
I recollect the impression his person and his works (which he often
rehearsed in the concert-room of the Conservatoire) produced on me. The
moment Halevy had corrected my work I used to fly from the class-room,
and lie low in some corner of the concert-hall, and there remain,
intoxicated by the weird, passionate, tumultuous strains, which seemed
to open new and brilliant worlds to me. One day, I remember, I had been
listening to a rehearsal of his "Romeo and Juliet" Symphony, then
unpublished, and which was shortly to be given in public for the first
time. I was so struck by the grandeur and breadth of the great finale of
the "Reconciliation des Montaigus et des Capulets," that when I left the
hall my memory retained the whole of Friar Lawrence's splendid phrase,
"Jurez tous par l'auguste symbole." A few days afterwards I went to see
Berlioz, and sitting down to the piano, I played the whole passage over
to him. He opened his eyes very wide, and looking hard at me, he asked--
"Where the devil did you hear that?"
"At one of your rehearsals," I replied. He could hardly believe his
ears.
The sum total of Berlioz' work is very considerable. Thanks to the
initiative of two courageous orchestral leaders (M. Jules Pasdeloup and
M. Edouard Colonne), the present public has already become acquainted
with several of the great composer's vast conceptions--the "Symphonic
Fantastique," the "Romeo and Juliet" Symphony, the "Harold Symphony,"
the "Enfance du Christ," three or four great overtures, and, above all,
that magnificent work the "Damnation de Faust," which in the course of
the last two years has roused such transports of enthusiasm as would
have stirred the artist's very ashes, if the dead could stir. But what a
mine remains yet unexplored! Shall we never hear his "Te Deum," in all
its grandeur of conception? And will no director produce that charming
opera, "Beatrix et Benedict?" Such an attempt nowadays, when opinion has
so veered round to Berlioz' side, would have every chance of success.
Though no particular merit on the score of risk encountered could be
claimed, it might be wise to seize the favourable opportunity. The
following letters have a double charm. They are all unpublished
hitherto, and every one of them has been written in the spirit of
absolute sincerity, which is the eternally indispensable condition of
true friendship. Some may deplore the lack of deference they betray with
respect to men whose talents should apparently shield them from
irreverent and unjust description. People will say, and not
unreasonably, that Berlioz would have done better not to style Bellini a
"little blackguard," and that the appellation of "illustrious old
gentleman" as applied to Cherubini, with evidently ill-natured intent,
was very inappropriate to the eminent composer whom Beethoven
considered the greatest of his age, and to whom he, Beethoven, the
mighty symphonist, paid the signal honour of humbly submitting the MS.
of the "Messe Solennelle" (Op. 123), with the request that he would
freely express his opinion concerning it. Be that as it may, and in
spite of blots for which the writer's cross-grained temper is alone
responsible, the letters are most deeply interesting. Berlioz bares his
heart in them, as it were. He lets himself go; he enters into the most
intimate details of his private and artistic life. In a word, he opens
his whole heart to his friend, and that in terms of such effusive warmth
and affection as prove how worthy each was of the other's friendship,
and how complete the mutual understanding was. To understand each other!
How the word calls up that immortal fable of our heaven-sent La
Fontaine, "Les deux Amis."
To understand! to enter into that perfect communion of heart and thought
and interest to which we give the two fairest names in human
language--friendship and love. Therein lies life's whole charm, and the
most powerful attraction, too, in that _written life_, that
conversation betwixt parted friends which is so appropriately known as
"correspondence."
The musical works of Berlioz may earn him glory. The published letters
will do more. They will earn him love, and that is the most precious of
all earthly things.
CHARLES GOUNOD.
M. CAMILLE SAINT-SAENS AND HIS OPERA "HENRI VIII."
When, after years of perseverance and struggle, a highly gifted artist
gains the exalted place in public opinion to which he is justly
entitled, everybody, even his most obstinate opponent, exclaims, "Didn't
I always say people would end by coming round?"
Five and twenty years ago, or more (for he came out as an infant
prodigy), M. Saint-Saens made his first appearance in the musical world.
How many times since then have I been told: "Saint-Saens? Eh? Now
really? Oh, as a pianist or an organist, I dare say. But as a composer!
Do you really and truly think?..." And all the rest of the usual
stereotyped phrases. Well, I _did_ think so, really and truly; and I was
not the only person who did. Now everybody else thinks so too.
Misgivings have all faded away, prejudices are all dispelled--M.
Saint-Saens has won. He has only to say, "J'y suis, j'y reste," and he
will be one of the glories of his time and of his art.
According to admitted opinion among certain artists, if a man speaks
well of a brother artist's work, the natural inference is that he thinks
ill of it, and _vice versa_. But why? Must you refuse to admit other
men's talent or genius in order to prove your own? Did Beethoven slay
Mozart? Will Rossini prevent Mendelssohn from living on? Do you believe
that, as Celimene says in the play, "C'est etre savant que trouver a
redire"?
Are you afraid there will not be room enough for you? Pray calm that
fear! There will always be room and to spare in the Temple of Fame. If
your place is marked there, it awaits you. The great point is that you
should come and take it.
No; the real dread is that of not being foremost Alack! this fretful,
nervous preoccupation concerning relative value is the very antithesis
of real merit. It is the same shabby old story--love of self usurping
the place and duty of love in the true sense. Let us love our art. Let
us fight, in all honesty and boldness, for any man or woman who serves
it bravely and nobly. Let us not hold truth "captive in the hand of
injustice." That which we strive to conceal to-day will surely be in
public knowledge on the morrow. The only honourable course is to prepare
that judgment of posterity, the _vox populi, vox Dei_, which ranks no
man by favour, or, what is worse, by interest, but gives sentence in
true justice, infallible and eternal.
To keep back the truth, proves that we do not love it. To grieve because
some other man serves truth better than ourselves, proves that we would
have the honour due to truth alone paid to our own persons.
Let us rather do all we can to diffuse the light of truth. We never can
have too much of it.
M. Saint-Saens is one of the most astonishingly gifted men, as regards
musical powers, I have ever met with. He is armed at all points. He
knows his business thoroughly. I need only remark that he uses his
orchestra, and plays with it, just as he plays on and with his piano.
He possesses the gift of description in the highest and rarest degree.
He has an enormous power of assimilation. He can write you a work in any
style you choose--Rossini's, Verdi's, Schumann's, Wagner's. He knows
them all thoroughly--the surest safeguard, it may be, against his
imitating any. He never suffers from that bugbear of the
chicken-hearted, the dread of not making his effect. He never
exaggerates; thus he is never far-fetched, nor violent, nor
over-emphatic. He uses every combination and every resource without
abuse, and without being enslaved by any one of them.
He is no pedant. There is no solemnity, no _transcendentalism_ about
him. He is too childish still, and has grown far too wise, for that. He
has no special system; he belongs to no party or clique. He does not set
up to be a reformer of any sort. He writes as he _feels_ and _knows_.
Mozart was no reformer either, and, as far as I am aware, that fact has
not prevented his reaching the highest pinnacle of his art.
Another virtue (and one I desire to emphasise in these days), M.
Saint-Saens writes music _that keeps time_, without perpetually dragging
out over those silly and detestable pauses which make any proper musical
construction impossible, and which are a mere maudlin affectation. He is
simply a thoroughbred musician, who draws and paints with all the
freedom of a master-hand; and if originality consists in never
imitating another, there can be no doubt about it in his case.
I do not propose in this place to go into all the details of the
libretto of "Henri VIII." The various newspaper reports of the first
performance have already performed that duty; and besides, the story (I
had almost said of that crowned hog!) of that practised Bluebeard and
conceited and contemptible theologian is known to everybody. Nothing
less than the triple crown sufficed his ambition, and the thought of the
Pope disturbed his mind as much, at all events, as any woman, or strong
drink, even.
But storm and threats availed him nothing. The Papacy has been blustered
at in every key, but it still slumbers on peacefully in its bark, which
no tempest seems able to submerge.
M. Saint-Saens has given us no overture to this opera. This is certainly
not because he lacked symphonic skill. Of that he has already given us
superabundant proof. The work opens with a prelude based on an English
theme, which will reappear as the principal one in the finale of the
third act.
This prelude introduces us to the actual drama. In the very first scene,
between Norfolk and Don Gomez, the Spanish Ambassador to Henry VIII.'s
Court, a charming air occurs, "La beaute que je sers." It has a ring of
youth about it, and the close, on the words, "Bien que je ne la nomme
pas," is quite exquisitely simple.
In the first act the most remarkable numbers are a chorus of gentlemen
discussing Buckingham's sentence; the King's air, "Qui donc commande
quand il aime?" wonderfully truthful in expression; Anne Boleyn's
_entree_--a graceful _ritournelle_, leading up to a charming chorus for
female voices, "Salut a toi qui nous viens de la France," which is
followed by a passage quite out of the common both as regards the music
itself and the scenic effect. I refer to the funeral march, when
Buckingham is borne to his last home, in which the _De Profundis_ is
interwoven in a superlatively talented manner with the asides of the
King and of Anne Boleyn in front; while the orchestra, as well as the
monarch, whispers the caressing phrase which is to reappear in the
course of the opera, "Si tu savais comme je t'aime!" in the young
maid-of-honour's ear. This fine scene closes with a masterly ensemble,
treated with great dramatic breadth, and which fitly and nobly crowns
the first act.
The second act is laid in Richmond Park. It opens with a charming
prelude--exquisitely dainty and clear in instrumentation--introducing a
delightful theme which reappears later on in the duet between the King
and Anne Boleyn, one of the most remarkable passages in the whole score.
After a soliloquy for Don Gomez, offering some fine opportunities for
declamation, Anne Boleyn appears, with the ladies of the Court, who
offer her flowers. This scene is full of charm and refinement. Then
comes a short scene for Anne and Don Gomez, and then her great duet with
the King. This duet is a very remarkable piece of writing. It throbs
with impatient sensuality, concealed by an instrumentation full of the
suggestion of feline caresses. The last ensemble is exquisite--well-nigh
unapproachable in sonority and charm. The next air, "Reine! je serai
reine!" gives a fine impression of a woman's intoxicated pride. In the
duet between Anne Boleyn and Katherine of Aragon the expression given to
the feelings of that noble-minded, unhappy Queen, alternately proud and
tenderly forgiving, is very striking.
The third act represents the Council Chamber. It opens with a stately
march, accompanying the entrance of the Court and the Judges. Then
commences a superb full chorus, "Toi qui veilles sur l'Angleterre,"
after which Henry VIII. addresses the Synod, "Vous tous qui m'ecoutez,
gens d'Eglise et de loi!" Katherine, sorely agitated, scarcely able to
speak, advances, and beseeches the King to have pity on her. This
passage, in which the chorus occasionally joins, is most true and
touching in feeling. In the face of the King's cruel scorn of his
unhappy Queen, Don Gomez rises, and declares that as a Spaniard he
undertakes the defence of his mistress. In his rage, Henry VIII. appeals
to his subjects, "les fils de la noble Angleterre," who proclaim
themselves ready to accept the decree of Heaven, about to be delivered
by the Archbishop of Canterbury: "Nous declarons nul et contraire aux
lois, l'hymen a nous soumis."
Katherine rebels, and in a transport of indignant pride she cries,
"Peuple que de ton roi deshonore le crime--tu ne te leves pas!"
This passage is very striking and impressive. Katherine appeals to
posterity, and goes out with Don Gomez.
The Legate enters, and then comes the great scene with which the third
act closes.
In his hand the Legate holds the Papal Bull--
"Au nom de Clement VII. pontife souverain."
The King, driven to extremities, commands that the Palace gates shall be
thrown open, and the populace admitted.
"Vous plait-il recevoir des lois de l'etranger?
Non! Jamais!
Vous convient-il qu'un homme
Dont le vrai pouvoir est a Rome
Sur mon trone ose m'outrager?
Non! Jamais!
And the King proclaims himself Head of the English Church, and takes
Anne Boleyn, Marchioness of Pembroke, to wife!
This splendidly managed scene winds up with a stirring chorus, "C'en est
donc fait! il a brise sa chaine," worked out on the theme of the
national air already appearing in the prelude which takes the place of
overture to the opera.
The fourth act is also divided into two parts. The first is laid in Anne
Boleyn's chamber. The curtain rises on a graceful song and dance, during
which Norfolk and Surrey carry on an aside conversation very ingeniously
interwoven with the dance-music. The next scene, between Anne and Don
Gomez, has a charming air, sung with much expression by M. Dereims. A
dialogue between the King and Don Gomez closes this first part.
The second shows us a huge apartment in the banished Queen Katherine's
lodging at Kimbolton Castle. The touch of a master-hand is evident all
through these closing scenes of M. Saint-Saens' opera. They are instinct
with incomparable power.
There is an admirable truth and sincerity in the Queen's soliloquy, full
of tender and mournful expression. She presently distributes some of her
belongings as keepsakes to her waiting-women. This little scene, almost
domestic in its familiarity, is ennobled by the deep feeling with which
the author has inspired it. Thus does truth elevate everything it
touches!
Next comes the magnificent scene between Queen Katherine and Anne
Boleyn. Mdlle. Krauss's comprehension and rendering of the Queen's
superb note of indignation marked the consummate tragedian; her acting
of the part rose to a striking level both of expression and of power.
The final numbers of this second and closing part form what is known in
theatrical parlance as the _clou_ of the drama. It is overwhelming.
Never did curtain fall on anything more thrilling. Situation, music,
singing, acting, all contribute to the powerful impression caused by
this splendid scene--which called forth thunders of applause.
Such, as far as so hasty a description can give any idea of it, is M.
Camille Saint-Saens' new work.
As for the performers--every one of them fully equal to their task--we
must first mention those who played the three principal parts: Mdlle.
Krauss (Katharine of Aragon), Mdlle. Richard (Anne Boleyn), and M.
Lassalle (Henry VIII.). Next come M. Boudouresque (the Papal Legate), M.
Dereims (Don Gomez), M. Lorrain (Norfolk), M. Sapin (Surrey), and M.
Gaspard (Archbishop of Canterbury).
Mdlle. Krauss was full of grandeur, nobility, and royal dignity. Both as
actress and as singer, she proved her wonderful power of pathos. In the
final scene especially, she sang, acted, _suffered_, with a truthfulness
and intensity of expression which literally overwhelmed the onlookers
with the sense of its reality. What a splendid artiste! What numberless
parts she has identified with herself! How gallantly she plays them all!
What a place she holds on our stage! What a void her absence would
leave!
The part of Anne Boleyn gave Mdlle. Richard the opportunity of
displaying all the charm of her full and beautiful voice, the rich tone
of which is never strained by the wisely and well written music of her
part.
M. Lassalle gave that of Henry VIII. all the interest of his clear
diction and articulation; of a play that was sometimes gloomy and
forbidding and sometimes impassioned; and of that rare voice of his,
equally gifted in every shade of strength and softness.
M. Boudouresque would seem to have been born to be a Cardinal (_pace_
the diabolic Bertram and the Huguenot Marcel, whom he represents so
skilfully)! He looks as if he had been sent into the world to play
Princes of the Church--_vide_ Brogni in "La Juive," and this Papal
Legate in "Henri VIII.," whom he invests with most imposing dignity.
M. Dereims, as Don Gomez, was remarkable for elegance and charm.
The orchestra, under M. Altes, was admirable; as was also the chorus,
carefully taught and led by M. Jules Cohen.
M. Vaucorbeil, too, deserves a place of honour. He believed in M.
Saint-Saens, and as soon as he became Director of the Opera, he
expressed a desire to see his work on our chief lyric stage. As is his
custom, the truly artistic Director devoted all his intelligent care and
attention to producing this noble and serious work; while yet another
true artist, M. Regnier, gave it the benefit of all the scenic
experience his long and brilliant theatrical career has brought him.
So, dear Saint-Saens, you now behold your name linked with a work which
has earned most signal honour for French art and for our National
Academy of Music. To those who knew you as a child (myself among the
number) your destiny was never doubtful. Musically speaking, you never
had any childhood. Watchfully cherished as you were by your wise and
noble-hearted mother, your earliest years were nourished by the great
masters of your art. They set your feet boldly and firmly on your onward
path. Your reputation has long since outstripped that order of
popularity which is apparently the special privilege of the dramatic
stage. The only thing lacking to give it weight was a brilliant
theatrical success. That is now yours.
Forward then, dear and great musician! You have won all along the line.
Posterity will be faithful to your work, because you are true to your
art! God has gifted you with the master's knowledge and the master-hand!
May they long be preserved to you, for your sake and for ours!
NATURE AND ART
_Paper read by_ M. CHARLES GOUNOD, _Member of the Academie des Beaux
Arts, at the Annual Public Meeting of the Five Academies, October_ 23,
1886.
Gentlemen,--The successive transformations of which this earth has been
the scene, and which form its history--I had almost said its
education--since it dropped from its place amongst the solar nebulae to
take up a more distinct position in space, are so many chapters, as it
were, in that great law of progress, that perpetual _tending_, which
seems to draw all creation towards some mysterious goal, and whose
various phases have been summed up in three general orders which have
been designated _ages_, and which denote the three hitherto most evident
phases of existence on our globe. But the book was not closed here, and
earth's history was not to end with these three earliest forms of life.
A fourth, the Human Age (for thus science permits me to call it), was to
reign in this unconscious kingdom. The huge travail of evolution, the
tremendous effort of parturition in which the plan of the Creator is
unfolded, was to be taken up by man at the point to which his
forerunners had carried it, and to be brought, by the exercise of nobler
functions, to a yet higher destiny. The law of life, of which earth's
creatures had so far been the more or less passive but utterly
irresponsible depositaries, was to be _confided_ to man's care, he being
raised to the supreme honour of voluntarily accomplishing its known
behest--an honour constituting the essential idea of liberty, and which
instantly transforms instinctive activity into rational or conscious
action. In a word, Morality (or the definition of what is good), Science
(or the definition of what is true), Art (or the definition of what is
beautiful), were all lacking until the advent of Man. And Man, in his
quality of high priest of a temple, thenceforward dedicated to Goodness,
Beauty, and Truth, was destined to dower and glorify the world by their
bestowal.
What, then, is an artist? What is his function with regard to this
conception of Nature, and, as I may almost say, this investment of her
capital?
Man's sublime function is literally and positively that of a _new
earthly Creator_. His duty is to _make_ all things what they ought to
_become_. Not merely in the matter of the cultivation of the soil of our
earth, but also as regards intellectual and moral culture--justice,
love, science, arts, trade and manufactures--no consummation nor true
conclusion is possible save through Man, to whom creation was confided
that he might _till it_--"ut operatur terram," as the old text of the
Book of Genesis runs. An artist, then, is not simply a sort of
mechanical apparatus which receives or reflects the image of exterior
and visible objects; he is a sensitive and living instrument, which
wakes to consciousness and vibrates at the touch of Nature. And this
vibration it is which at once indicates the artistic vocation, and is
the primary cause of any work of art.
Necessarily called into existence, in the first place, by the fostering
rays of a personal sentiment, a true work of art must reach its perfect
form in the full and impersonal light of reason. Art is concrete and
visible reality, glorified by that other abstract and intelligible
reality which the artist bears within himself, and which is his ideal;
that is to say, the inner revelation, the supreme tribunal, the
ever-growing vision of ultimate possibility after which the whole
fervour of his being strives.
If it were possible for the artist to lay hands on his ideal--to gaze on
it face to face, in all its complete reality--its reproduction would be
reduced to a mere matter of copying. This would amount to downright
realism, superlative of its kind no doubt, but positive; and thus the
two factors of the artist's work--the personal function, which
constitutes its _originality_, and the aesthetic one, which constitutes
its _rationality_--are at once eliminated. This is not the true relation
between the work of art and the artist's ideal conception. The ideal can
never be adequately reproduced. It is the loadstar, the motive force.
The artist feels it, he is ruled by it, it is his undefined "excelsior,"
the imperious _desideratum_ imposed on him by the law of Beauty, and the
very persistence of its inner prompting proves its truth and the
impossibility of its attainment.
To draw from an imperfect and lower reality the elements which shall
measure and determine the extent to which the said reality agrees or
disagrees with Nature's reasonable law, herein lies the artist's highest
function. And this verification of Nature as it is, by Nature's own
laws, is what is known as "AEsthetics." "AEsthetics" are the argument of
_Beauty_.
In art, as elsewhere, reason must counter-balance passion, and thence it
follows that all artistic work of the very highest class leaves an
impress of calm--that sign of real power, which "rules its art even to
the checking point."
As we have already observed, it is the _personal_ emotion, in the
artist's collaboration with Nature, which gives the stamp of
_originality_ to his work. Originality is often confounded with
peculiarity or oddity. Yet they are absolutely distinct qualities.
Oddity is something abnormal, even unhealthy. It is a mitigated form of
mental alienation, and belongs to the region of pathology. As the
synonymous word eccentricity so well denotes, it is a deviation, a
running off at a tangent.