Prince Ivan; as the price of her freedom she offers him one of her
plumes, which he accepts while she flies away into the soft blue
shadows of the night. Dawn breaks, and Ivan finds himself in front of a
magic castle, from the gates of which troop out a group of white-robed
maidens. They indicate by means of their leader, Tsarevna, with whom
Ivan at once falls in love, that he must not venture inside, but as
soon as they have left him he rashly pushes back the great gate in
front of him. There is a crash and in a moment out rushes pell-mell
a huddled mass of slaves, dancers, men in armor, and buffoons, who
surround him and drive him dizzy with their chatter. The uproar works
up to a _crescendo_ of frenzy when the monstrous figure of Kostchei,
the Immortal, the lord of the castle, stalks out to quell the din.
Kostchei has already turned others into stone, but over Ivan he has
no power; the Firebird’s plume protects him, and on his brandishing
it before the terror-stricken god the bird herself appears. At first
she makes the crowd dance; then she lulls them to sleep and shows Ivan
where the egg containing Kostchei’s soul is concealed. He brings it out
and smashes it. The old god crumbles to pieces, the stones are brought
to life, and the lovers’ hands are joined. The character of Kostchei
is an important one in Russian folk-lore; he is the subject of an
opera by Rimsky-Korsakow. Ralston, in his “Russian Folk-Tales,” thus
describes him: “Kostchei is merely one of the many incarnations of the
dark spirit.... Sometimes he is described as altogether serpent-like
in form; sometimes he seems to be of a mixed nature, partly human and
partly ophidian; but in some stories he is apparently framed after the
fashion of a man.... He is called ‘immortal’ or ‘deathless’ because
of his superiority to the ordinary laws of existence.... Sometimes
his ‘death’--that is, the object with which his life is indisputably
connected--does not exist within his body.” It may be seen that in
almost every instance Strawinsky has followed the lead of the “Five”
in choosing material closely associated with Russian folk-lore.
There came a reaction after the foundation of the Russian national
school by the “Five” (Cui, Borodine, Rimsky-Korsakow, Balakirew and
Moussorgsky), and the result of foreign influence was felt. These
composers had worked, as most of the Russian novelists have worked,
with a sense of the soil from which they had sprung; their compositions
are redolent with the mode and manner of folk-music. They chose, in
most instances, Russian subjects for their operas. Moussorgsky in
particular effected a tremendous revolution in style, developing
a manner in which ornamentation and affectation played no part; a
tense simplicity and sincerity marked all his music, which never
asked alms of conventional rules of composition. (I am willing to say
this quite in the face of Mr. Runciman, who recently stated in the
“Saturday Review” that there were only two Russian compositions of any
importance, a symphony by Borodine and Tschaikowsky’s fourth symphony.
“Any other two pieces of Russian music are as alike as two mushrooms.”)
Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky were the leaders of the opposition, whose
music is more akin to that of other nations. They actually succeeded,
for a number of years, in establishing themselves in England, France,
and America as the representative Russian composers. And naturally
their immediate success was greater, even in their own country,
where individuals were trying to free themselves from the curse of
their birthright, struggling up from the soil; culture was growing.
John Reed tells a wonderful story of a Serbian peasant who, having
assimilated some culture (in Serbia _Kultur_ is about twenty years
old), was reminded by the fields of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. So
the Russians, learning French, were a thousand times more impressed
with _salon_ music than they were with the work of their more national
composers. Moussorgsky, of course, has only recently been dragged out
of his retirement, even now in somewhat modified form. (Neither of his
operas is produced as he wrote it; he died leaving the orchestration of
_La Khovanchina_ unfinished; Rimsky-Korsakow reorchestrated _Boris_--a
needless task, perhaps a desecration; he also wrote a good deal of the
orchestration of _La Khovanchina_; the work was completed by Maurice
Ravel and Strawinsky in a more reverent spirit.) Strawinsky is the
new giant upon whom has fallen the mantle of Russian nationalism.
His work is based, primarily, on the work of the “Five,” all of whom
are dead. That he reminds one occasionally of the modern Frenchmen
only means that they, too, have learned their lessons from Borodine
and Moussorgsky; Debussy’s debt to Moussorgsky has frequently been
acknowledged; it is obvious if one compares _Pelléas et Mélisande_ with
_Boris Godunow_. Strawinsky’s love of Oriental color is possibly an
inheritance from his master, Rimsky-Korsakow.
This young Russian has appeared in an epoch in which the ambition of
most composers seems to be to dream, to write their symbolic visions in
terms of the mist, to harmonize the imperceptible. Strawinsky sweeps
away this vague atmosphere with one gesture; his idea of movement is
Dionysian; he overwhelms us with his speed. One critic has referred to
him as the “whirling dervish of his art.” His gifts to future composers
are his conciseness, his development of the complexities of rhythm, and
his invention of chord-formation. His use of dissonance is an art in
itself. Richard Strauss has employed dissonance in obvious development
of Richard Wagner’s polyphonic and chromatic style. Pushed to its
furthest, his system is one of inversion. With Strawinsky the use of
dissonance is invention itself. He improvises new chords, while Strauss
is taking recognized chords apart to make something else of them. So
this new figure stands for something in advance of what has already
been expressed. He is, perhaps, the most vital of the modern forces in
the music world.
_August 6, 1915._
Here is the complete bibliography of Strawinsky’s works (the list
has been revised and edited by the composer himself): Symphony in
E flat, op. 1, 1905-1907 (Jurgenson); _Le Faune et la Bergère_,
voice and orchestra, op. 2, 1907 (Belaïeff); _Scherzo Fantastique_
for orchestra, op. 3, 1907-8 (Jurgenson); _Fireworks_, for
orchestra, op. 4, 1908 (Schott); _Funeral Hymn_ for the death of
Rimsky-Korsakow, op. 5, 1908 (MS.); Four Études for the piano, op.
6, 1908 (Jurgenson); Two Melodies (words by Gorodetzski), voice
and piano, op. 7, 1908 (Jurgenson); _The Firebird_, “Conte dansé,”
1909-10 (Jurgenson); Two Melodies (words by Verlaine), voice and
piano, 1910 (Jurgenson); _Petrouchka_, burlesque scenes in four
tableaux, 1910-11 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); Two Melodies (words by
Balmont), for voice and piano, 1911 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _Les
Roi des Étoiles_ (words by Balmont), for chorus and orchestra, 1911
(Russischer Musik-Verlag); _The Sacrifice to the Spring_, tableaux
of Pagan Russia, in two parts, 1911-13 (Russischer Musik-Verlag);
Three Melodies (Japanese poems), for voice and small orchestra,
1912, (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _Souvenir de ma Jeunesse_, three
children’s songs for voice and piano, 1913 (Russischer Musik-Verlag);
_The Nightingale_, opera in three acts, 1909-14 (Russischer
Musik-Verlag).
Recent works include three pieces for string quartet (MSS.), played
by the Flonzaley Quartet in New York, November 30, 1915; and a new
ballet in two parts, for the Russian Ballet, entitled _Les Noces
villageoises_.
Strawinsky has also orchestrated a melody of Beethoven, some of the
works of Grieg and Chopin, and the song of the Boyard Chaklovity from
_La Khovanchina_ of Moussorgsky. With the aid of notes left by the
composer he wrote the final chorus of _La Khovanchina_.
Massenet and Women
Massenet and Women
The name of Jules Massenet, spoken before his tomb, should evoke
many memories besides the souvenirs of the delicate melodies he
wrote--memories of beautiful and frail women, a long, exotic list,
women whom he melodically created in his operas and women whom he
selected to sing his heroines.
Xavier Leroux in his preface to the “Souvenirs,” in which Massenet
carefully describes his life, calls him the _musicien de la femme_. His
music is peculiarly feminine--“melodically, sentimentally, sensuously
feminine,” says Philip Hale. “The Eve of Massenet is a Parisian
_cocotte_. His Mary Magdalen is a _grande amoureuse_ even after her
conversion; a true sister of Thaïs.”
Marie-Magdeleine, Eve, Salome, Manon, the fragrant, who suggested a
flower girl in the _Boulevard des Capucines_; Chimène, inspired by
the classic Corneille; Esclarmonde, in which the astonishing Sybil
Sanderson rose to her fame; Charlotte, who, according to Thackeray,
having seen Werther’s body “borne before her on a shutter, like a
well-conducted person went on cutting bread and butter”; the eternal
Thaïs, who at first failed to interest the jaded boulevards; the
sanguinary Anita, the girl from Navarre; Sapho, who never, in the
opera at least, was carried upstairs until Mary Garden portrayed her;
Cinderella, the faithful Grisélidis, many times tempted; the Spanish
dancer, l’Ensoleillad and Nina in the opera _Chérubin_; Ariane and her
companions, Phèdre and Perséphone; Thérèse, Dulcinée, and the Queen
Amahelly, all written for that “_grande tragédienne lyrique_,” Lucy
Arbell: it would seem that every country and every period of history
had been searched for a complete survey of feminism. And among the
unproduced works which the composer left in a completed form is a
_Cléopâtre_!
And what a list of women has sung these parts! Women whom Massenet
wholly or partly adored; women for whom he dropped precious dots of
ink on paper, instead of buying them pearls in the Rue de la Paix;
women for whom, in some instances, he preserved his scores for years.
For Massenet was never hasty. He never gave a score to an unworthy
interpreter. In this connection it is only necessary to remember that
_Amadis_, completed in 1890, and _Panurge_, completed in 1910, are not
yet produced (1912).
Women reciprocated his love. Louis Schneider, in his biography of
the composer, puts it thus: “A woman is like a child; she gives
instinctively to the person who loves her. This explains why his
incessant glorification of woman made all women like him.”
And so, linked indissolubly with the name of Massenet, we may recall
the names of those who helped him to build his fame as the feminist
composer, those who “created” in the theatre the atmosphere he had
devised for his characters. Five names stand out in prominent relief:
the charming Marie Heilbronn, the ill-fated Sybil Sanderson, Emma
Calvé, Mary Garden, and Lucy Arbell. But there are countless others:
Marie Renard, who “created” Charlotte and first sang Manon in Vienna;
Marie Delna, who brought _Werther_ to Paris; Lina Cavalieri, the first
Ensoleillad in _Chérubin_, who afterwards introduced Thaïs and Manon
to Italy, and later brought back Thaïs to the répertoire of the Paris
Opéra; Lucienne Bréval, who was the first Ariane and Grisélidis;
Marguerite Carré, the first Nina in _Chérubin_ and who assisted in the
revival of _Sapho_ at the Opéra-Comique; Mlle. Kousnezoff, the Fausta
in _Roma_; Mme. Duvivier, Salome at Brussels; Mme. Fidès-Devriès,
Salome at Paris; Pauline Viardot, the sister of the great Malibran, who
sang Marie-Magdeleine as an oratorio at the Odéon, April 11, 1873; Lina
Pacary, who sang one season at New Orleans, who was the first to sing
the Magdeleine in operatic form; Julia Guiraudon, the first Cendrillon;
Aino Ackté, the first Vierge; Joséphine de Reszke, sister of two
famous singers, who “created” the leading feminine rôle in _Le Roi de
Lahore_; and Mme. Galli-Marié, the first Carmen, who honored the first
performance of _Don César de Bazan_. But the list is interminable. What
names does it not include? What beautiful woman with a voice of the
past three decades does not receive a few words of gratitude in the
“Souvenirs”?
Of all the women, however, who have sung the Massenet rôles the one
most particularly identified with the composer was Sybil Sanderson,
the beautiful California girl, whose career was as short as it was
brilliant. Massenet met her at a dinner given by an American friend.
She came with her mother, described by the composer as being almost
as beautiful as her daughter. After dinner Miss Sanderson asked the
composer if he would hear her sing. He consented affably, as was his
custom--never was there a more gentle man!--and seated himself at the
piano.
“You will excuse me,” she added, “if I do not sing your music. That
would be too audacious.”
She ended by doing something very much more audacious: she sang the
second air of the Queen of the Night from _The Magic Flute_.
The composer’s feelings may be adjudged from his remarks in his
_Souvenirs_: “What a prodigious voice! Three octaves, either _forte_ or
_pianissimo_!”
He did not waste any time. His publisher was urging him to set a
poem on a Byzantine subject, _Esclarmonde_, to music, and, with
Sybil Sanderson in mind, he went to work directly on the score.
_Esclarmonde_, in which Massenet pays his tribute to Wagner--the
subject suggests _Parsifal_ and _Tristan und Isolde_, to say nothing of
_Armide_--was produced at the Opéra-Comique during the Paris Exposition
of 1889. It was given 101 times before Miss Sanderson went to Brussels.
Before her début Sybil Sanderson was scarcely known in Paris. It was
rumored among artists that Massenet had written an opera for a fair
Californian (she was the daughter of Judge S. W. Sanderson, of the
Supreme Court) who was being trained by the master to play the title
part, and some few had seen Massenet dining at a restaurant in the
Rue Daunou with an American girl, accompanied by a lady who, judging
from the likeness of the two, was probably her mother. Then came her
début, and all Paris was talking about La Belle Sanderson, and the
extraordinary range of her voice.
_Thaïs_, the famous opera of the monk and the Alexandrian courtesan,
was also written for Miss Sanderson. While Massenet was composing it
the singer was appearing three times a week at the Opéra-Comique in
_Manon_. It was therefore for that theatre that _Thaïs_ was destined.
However, Miss Sanderson, like many another artist before and since,
moved by a sudden caprice, signed a contract with Gailhard to sing at
the Opéra, without taking the trouble to inform Carvalho, then manager
of the Opéra-Comique. Massenet did not hesitate. He wrote to Gailhard:
“You have the artist; the work must follow her!”
_Thaïs_ was produced March 16, 1894--and failed! At that time the book
was considered a trifle indelicate! Even Sybil Sanderson’s popularity
could not save it. In 1898 the work was revived with Mme. Berthet in
the title part. For this _reprise_ Massenet wrote a new scene in the
oasis and the scene of the ballet, which have always been omitted in
American representations, except in Boston. Lina Cavalieri sang the
work in Paris in 1907. Since then it has never been long from the
_affiches_ of the Opéra, while in America it has become one of the most
popular of modern operas, thanks to Mary Garden, who made her American
début in the title rôle, and subsequently prevented Lina Cavalieri from
singing it in New York. While he was writing _Thaïs_ Massenet always
kept a tiny figurine on his writing table. This had been made for him
by Gérome, and served him as his present inspiration.
Here is the tribute that Massenet pays to Sybil Sanderson in his
“Souvenirs”: “Sybil Sanderson!... It is only with poignant emotion
that I recall this singer struck by pitiless Death, in her full
beauty, in the glory of her talent. Ideal Manon at the Opéra-Comique;
unforgettable Thaïs at the Opéra; these rôles identified themselves
with her temperament, one of the most magnificently gifted that I have
ever known. An invincible vocation called her to the theatre, there
to become the ardent interpreter of many of my works; but also, for
us, what joy to write operas and rôles for the artists who realize our
dreams!...
“The silent crowd which pressed on the way of the cortège which led
Sybil Sanderson to her last home was considerable. Over it a veil of
sadness seemed to hang. Albert Carré and I followed the coffin. We
walked directly behind what remained of her beauty, grace, and talent,
and Carré, interpreting the feelings of the people about us, said:
“‘She was loved.’”
It is to the “Souvenirs” also that we must turn for a description of
the selection of the first Manon. Mme. Carvalho sighed when she heard
the music, and breathed the wish that she was twenty years younger,
so that she might sing it. Characteristically, Massenet dedicated
the score to her. He wanted Mme. Vaillant-Couturier, then singing an
operetta of Lecocq’s at the Nouveautés, for the opera.
“She interested me greatly and, as I thought, bore an astonishing
resemblance to a young florist of the Boulevard des Capucines. Without
ever having spoken [it must be remembered that this book was written
for Massenet’s grandchildren] to this delicious young girl, I was
obsessed by the vision, and the thought of her was ever with me. This
was indeed the Manon whom I had seen, whom I saw always before me as I
worked.”
The manager of the Nouveautés would not let Mme. Vaillant-Couturier go,
but while they were talking Massenet observed that Brasseur had his
eyes on a pretty gray hat with roses, which was going up and down the
foyer. The hat moved toward the composer.
“A débutant then no longer recognizes a débutante?”
It should be explained that Marie Heilbronn had appeared in Massenet’s
first opera, _La Grand’ Tante_.
“Heilbronn!” I exclaimed.
“Herself.”
She reminded him of his first opera and the part she took in it, and
in answer to his questions continued: “No, I am rich, and yet, shall
I confess it? I wish to go back on the stage; I am haunted by the
theatre. If I could only find a good rôle.” Massenet told her of
_Manon_, and that night, at her insistence, he played the music through
for her at her apartment in the Champs-Elysées. It was 4.30 in the
morning when he was done. She had been moved to tears, and from time to
time she would exclaim, “That is my life; it’s my life!”
In speaking of Heilbronn’s death after the eightieth odd performance
of _Manon_ the composer says: “Ah, who will tell artists how faithful
we are to their memories; how attached to them we are; the great
grief which the day of separation brings us? I should prefer to stop
performances rather than have the part sung by another.”
This in itself is beautiful, but read what he has to say of her
successors:
“Some time afterward the Opéra-Comique disappeared in flames and
_Manon_ was not performed for ten years. It was the dear and unique
Sybil Sanderson that revived the work at the Opéra-Comique. She played
at the two hundredth. A glory was reserved for me at the five hundredth
when the part was taken by Mme. Marguerite Carré. Some months ago
this captivating and exquisite artist was applauded the night of the
seven hundred and fortieth performance. Let me be permitted to salute
in passing the fine artists who have also taken the part: Mlles. Mary
Garden, Geraldine Farar (so reads the book), Lina Cavalieri, Mme.
Bréjean-Silver, Mlles. Courtney, Geneviève Vix, Mmes. Edwina and
Nicot-Vauchelet--and how many other dear artists besides! They will
pardon me if their names do not come at this moment to my grateful pen.”
Massenet wrote two operas for Emma Calvé, and she appeared in four
other of his works. _La Navarraise_, London, June 20, 1894, and
_Sapho_, Opéra-Comique, November 27, 1897, were written for her. She
also sang Salome in _Hérodiade_, Chimène in _Le Cid_, and the leading
feminine rôles in _Le Roi de Lahore_ and _Le Mage_.
Adolphe Jullien, the French critic, says somewhere: “Hors de Calvé pas
de _Sapho_ possible, aux yeux du compositeur.” Yet when Marguerite
Carré sang this work, founded on Daudet’s famous novel, at its
_reprise_ at the Opéra-Comique in 1909, he wrote an entire new scene
for her. Mary Garden was the American Sapho, and was adversely
criticised for her forceful acting in the early parts of the play. Yet
Jullien writes of Calvé:
“Mlle. Emma Calvé, c’est le cri général, joue et chante avec une
ardeur presque excessive le personnage de Sapho, très-difficile à
faire accepter à l’Opéra-Comique, en passant de la langueur la plus
lascive à la violence la plus grossière, par example quand elle injurie
ses anciens amants qui viennent de dévoiler son passé au malheureux
Gaussin.”
Another Sapho was Georgette Leblanc, who also created some excitement
with an exceedingly immodest conception of Thaïs.
Anita in _La Navarraise_ shares, along with Carmen and Santuzza, the
honor of being one of the three rôles of her varied répertoire which
Calvé was permitted to sing frequently in this country. It was not long
ago that she appeared as Anita at the Manhattan Opera House, where she
was succeeded in it by Mme. Gerville-Réache. The work is still in the
répertoire of the Opéra-Comique (or was, before the war began).
Although Mary Garden has done more to establish Massenet’s reputation
in this country than any other singer, and has sung many of his operas
successfully in Europe, especially _Manon_ and _Thaïs_, Massenet
wrote only one part especially for her, the title rôle of _Chérubin_.
_Chérubin_ was produced at Monte Carlo, February 14, 1905. He is the
same youngster immortalized by Beaumarchais and Mozart. He is but
seventeen in the Frenchman’s opera, but his good looks and audacity
make him a veritable Don Juan.
Schneider wrote of Mary Garden in the title part: “She is Chérubin
himself, in flesh and bones; she was the joy and delight of the
evening. By reason of her slenderness and agility, her easy and
graceful manner, with her innocent airs of conquest and her naïve mien
of vexation, she is truly the irresistible youth in whose presence
all hearts surrender. And to think that M. de Croisset, only the day
before, insisted that his Chérubin should not be played by a woman!
His, perhaps, but not that of M. Massenet.”
It was Oscar Hammerstein’s idea that Mary Garden should perform another
man’s part. Tired, it is said, of the continuous assertions to the
effect that all his operas were written about women for women, Massenet
wrote _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_, in which the single female figure,
that of the Virgin, does not sing a note. It is interesting to observe
that this opera is dedicated to Mme. Massenet. It was produced February
18, 1902, at Monte Carlo. Paris heard it two years later. When Mr.
Hammerstein decided to produce it in New York he asked Miss Garden if
she would sing the part of the Juggler, hitherto in every instance sung
by a man. She assented, and appeared in the rôle at the Manhattan,
November 27, 1908. Her success in the rôle was immediate and continued.
Massenet, in the “Souvenirs,” speaks of the affair: “I was a little
frightened, I admit, at the idea of the monk taking off his robes after
the play to put on a smart gown from the Rue de la Paix. But before the
triumph of the artist I bow and applaud.”
_Thaïs_ introduced Mary Garden to America, and it is in this rôle that
she has achieved the greatest popular success of her career. She has
sung it everywhere, from Paris to Brooklyn. She sang _Sapho_ three
times in New York and _Grisélidis_ a few times.
“I sang the patient Griselda first at Aix-les-Bains,” she once told a
reporter. “The King of Greece heard me, and said he didn’t think the
part a suitable one for me. I wonder what he meant!”
Miss Garden has also sung Manon, and Prince Charmant in _Cendrillon_.
Massenet’s last inspiration was a contralto, Lucy Arbell, who fired his
brain to many creations. She sang the rôle of Perséphone in _Ariane_.
This goddess of the nether world appeared only in one act of this long
opera, but into that act Massenet put the most popular air of the
score, the air of the roses, “_Emmène ta sœur_.” After Ariane had been
performed sixty times at the Paris Opéra, Massenet asked her how many
times she had sung the part, thinking she would have forgotten.
“Sixty,” she answered.
“Wrong,” he replied, “for you have repeated the air of the roses every
night. You have sung the part 120 times!”
The part of Dulcinée in _Don Quichotte_ was written for Lucy Arbell.
She sang it both in Paris and Monte Carlo. It is said that before
the first performance she spent considerable time learning to play
the guitar, so that she could accompany her air in the fourth act
herself. _Thérèse_, _Bacchus_ and _Roma_ all contain parts written
with Lucy Arbell in mind. One cannot do better than close with the
picture evoked by Massenet in describing the effect which the music of
_Thérèse_ had on his interpreter when he first played it to her.
“At the first playing of the score to our _créatrice_, Lucy Arbell,
artist that she was, stopped me as I was playing the final scene,
where Thérèse, with a cry of fear, sees the terrible cart bearing her
husband, André Thorel, to the scaffold, and screams, ‘_Vive le roi!_’
with all her force, so that she may be sure of joining her husband
in his death. It was at this instant that our interpreter, greatly
moved, stopped me and said, ‘I could never _sing_ that scene up to
the end, because when I recognized my husband, who gave me his name,
who saved Armand de Clerval, I should lose my voice. I ask you to let
me _declaim_ the end of the piece.’ Great artists alone,” concludes
Massenet, “have the gift of divining these instinctive movements.”
_October, 1912._