public, not feeling anxious to continue after his powers are on the
wane. The reason he alleges will scarcely be accepted as a good one, for
so far there has been no falling off whatever in his execution. What is
more likely is that he finds he has no time to practise. As a matter of
fact he now rarely touches the instrument, and a paragraph that
recently appeared in a paper to the effect that he was in the habit of
practising all day long, caused him to indulge in a prolonged fit of
merriment. In his humorous way--for Saint-Saëns is a humorist, _comme il
y en a peu_--he told me that he considered that an executant should know
how to stop in time, and that he was not desirous of emulating the
example of certain artists who went on giving concerts until they had
completed their allotted span of life, and were capable, even after
their demise, of finding sufficient strength to announce a "posthumous
recital."
In the course of his eventful career Saint-Saëns has had some amusing
experiences of the stupidity of those amateurs who pretend to be
musical, and whose knowledge may be put down at zero. The Duchess de
C---- once expressed the desire to hear him perform some strictly
classical music. A party was organised, and none were invited but those
whose musical proclivities were known to be of a serious order.
Saint-Saëns seated himself at the piano, and asked the Duchess de
C----, who was by his side, what she would wish him to play. There was a
pause, the Duchess thought deeply, and suddenly turning towards him,
said she would so like to hear _the Miserere from the "Trovatore."_
On another occasion he was asked by a lady who was giving a party to
play something that would not be too difficult of comprehension. "Play a
piece suitable for a pack of donkeys," she said. As it happened,
Saint-Saëns had just got up a "fantasia" upon Bellini's "Casta diva,"
one of those drawing-room show pieces utterly devoid of any musical
value; so he expressed himself ready to provide the required article.
The evening arrived; he sat down at the piano and duly went through his
fireworks. The moment the piece was at an end, up jumped a gentleman,
who was profuse in his expressions of delight, and warmly clasping the
hostess's hand, exclaimed: "I am sure you got him to play this beautiful
piece for _my_ benefit!"
Having remarked at the beginning of this sketch that Saint-Saëns had
distinguished himself as a composer in every branch of his art, I will
endeavour to allude briefly to those amongst his works that have
contributed the most to ensure him the supremacy he now occupies amongst
the musicians of his country, a supremacy which is practically
uncontested, if only for the reason of the universality of his gifts.
Whereas other composers occupy, perhaps, an equal or even superior rank
in some particular line, there is not one who has shown himself capable
of shining in conspicuous fashion in so many varied styles. Mons.
Gauthier Villars, in a clever article upon the composer, has remarked
that there exist in Camille Saint-Saëns "three men--three temperaments
that influence one another. There is an 'absolute' musician, a dramatic
musician, and a critic, whose polemics are always erudite, frequently
witty, occasionally bitter and violent." These words will serve in a
great measure to explain certain apparent inconsistencies that are
noticeable in the composer's works. A thorough master of every technical
detail of his art, a contrapuntist of unsurpassed excellence, a
musician endowed with a prodigious facility of production, Camille
Saint-Saëns has not always been able to keep his productivity within due
bounds. His sureness of hand enables him to complete a work in so short
a time that he has not invariably given proof of that spirit of
concentration which shows itself in the compositions of some masters.
With Saint-Saëns it is the impulse of the moment that compels him to
compose in one style or another. This will account for the fact that if
in some cases his works betray a want of inspiration, yet they rarely
smell of lamp oil, or seem unduly laboured. He is essentially a
_fantaisiste_, careless of any preconceived plan, but exhibiting a
wondrous command of musical resources, and a complete grasp over his
subject. The themes he employs may sometimes lack character or
distinction, yet no one knows better than he does how best to treat
them, and by ingenious transformations to render them interesting. This
applies more especially to his chamber music, of which the piano trio in
F, op. 18, the piano quartet, op. 41, and the septet for trumpet,
piano, and strings, op. 65, are perhaps the best examples. In these
compositions the classical turn of mind, to which a happy admixture of
modern elements lends additional charm, is very noticeable. This
peculiar combination of the classical and the romantic is a special
characteristic in the works of Saint-Saëns, and is found in the majority
of his productions. Janus-like, he keeps one side of his head turned
towards Bach, Handel, and Beethoven, whilst he finds means with the
other of gazing at Liszt, Wagner, and Gounod. These masters have
exercised a very marked influence upon his style.
The simplicity of treatment and perfect clearness in the workmanship
noticeable in his chamber music, form a distinct contrast to the
complexities indulged in by that section of the modern German school
represented by Brahms. The perfectly balanced nature of his mind, and
his predilection for works of classic proportions, prevent Saint-Saëns
from ever falling into any musical aberrations of intellect. At the
same time, he rightly considers that new forms in music do not
necessarily imply formlessness, as some people appear to imagine, and in
his larger orchestral compositions he has ever displayed a tendency to
avoid recognised models. His four symphonic poems illustrate the dual
nature of his talent as much as any of his productions. If in these we
miss the powerful grandeur of Liszt, we find in its stead a clearer and
more compact method of expression.
These four works constitute one of the most abiding titles to the
composer's fame. They also offer an opportunity of discussing a question
over which there has been much controversy--viz., the position occupied
by so-called "programme music" in contradistinction to "absolute music."
The partisans of musical reaction, who are ever doing their utmost to
stifle any attempt at emancipation from routine, and place every
obstacle in the way of true progress, have often directed their sneers
against this particular form of art. It is difficult to understand the
reason that actuates them when they try all they can to shut the doors
upon the efforts of musicians whose only desire is to serve the cause of
true art to the best of their ability. These dogmatic pedants would lead
one to believe that "programme music" is the product of our degenerate
age, invented by musicians barren of inspiration, eagerly clutching at
anything enabling them to earn even a fictitious reputation.
In reality, "programme music," in some form or other, has existed for
many generations.
Kühnau, the precursor of Bach, has left a sonata intended to describe
the fight between David and Goliath. Bach himself has not disdained the
"form" in question. His capriccio on the departure of a friend, with its
differently labelled parts, comes distinctly under the above
denomination.
It is as well though, in dealing with this subject, to draw a
distinction between purely imitative and descriptive music. Whereas the
former exemplifies a puerile, and necessarily inferior, form of art,
the latter is susceptible of serving the noblest ends.
It stands to reason that a musical imitation of physical sounds must
necessarily fall short of the reality.
A single clap of thunder will produce more effect than all the symphonic
thunderstorms that have ever been composed, with all due deference to
Beethoven and Rossini. Haydn has attempted to imitate all manner of
sounds in the "Creation," from the bounding of a deer to the falling of
snow! These things fail to do more than provoke a smile. Music should
act by suggestion rather than actual imitation. At the same time, a
composer should not be denied the use of any device calculated to aid
his inspiration, or to enable him to enlarge the domain of art by the
employment of new or little used formulas.
Beethoven and Mendelssohn have both given the sanction of their names to
"programme" music, and the example shown by the composers of the
"Pastoral" symphony and the "Hebrides" overture ought to be sufficient
to silence the objections of the partisans _quand même_ of "absolute"
music.
In an admirable article upon the "Symphonic Poems" of Liszt, Saint-Saëns
has dealt fully and conclusively with the matter, and I cannot do better
than reproduce the French master's own words, which have the advantage
also of drawing attention to the great and still imperfectly recognised
merits of Liszt as a composer. After laying stress upon the fact that
Liszt had dared to break with the traditions regulating the symphonic
form, and had by this shown a greater amount of boldness than Weber,
Mendelssohn, Schubert, or Schumann, he proceeds to discuss the principle
of "programme music" in the following terms:
"To many people, 'programme music' is a necessarily inferior _genre_. A
quantity of things have been written upon this subject that I find it
impossible to understand. Is the music in itself good or bad? Everything
lies there. Whether it be or not accompanied by a programme, it will be
neither better nor worse. It is exactly as in painting, when the subject
of a picture, which is everything for the vulgar, is nothing or is but
little for the amateur. There is yet more: the reproach made against
music of expressing nothing of itself, without the help of words,
applies equally to paintings. A picture will never represent Adam and
Eve to a spectator who does not know the Bible; it will only represent a
naked man and woman in a garden. And yet the spectator, or listener,
will lend themselves easily to this deception, which consists in adding
to the pleasure of the eyes or ears the interest or emotion of a
subject. There is no reason to refuse them this pleasure, neither is
there any compelling one to grant it. The liberty in the matter is
complete; the artists profit by it, and they are right. What is
undeniable is that the taste of the public at the present epoch tends
towards the picture with a distinct subject and towards music with a
programme, and that the taste of the public, at least in France, has
drawn artists in this direction. 'Programme music' is, for the artist,
only a pretext to explore new tracks, and new effects require new
means."
Saint-Saëns has put his theory into practice with considerable success
in the four symphonic poems entitled "Le Rouet d'Omphale," "Danse
Macabre," "Phaëton," and "La Jeunesse d'Hercule." Fundamentally
different the one from the other, each of these compositions comes under
the category of descriptive music, and is intended to illustrate a
special subject. In the "Rouet d'Omphale," the composer has employed the
well-known classic tale of Hercules at the feet of Omphale as a pretext
for illustrating the triumph of weakness over strength.
No words can express the art with which the composer has developed his
themes, or give an idea of the delicacy of an instrumentation which,
gossamer-like, seems to float in an atmosphere of melody.
Perhaps the most characteristic of the four symphonic poems is the
well-known "Danse Macabre." This work is suggested by a poem of Henri
Cazalis, the first verse of which runs thus:
"_Zig et zig et zag, la mort en cadence
Frappant une tombe avec son talon
La mort à minuit joue un air de danse
Zig et zig et zag, sur son violon._"
The hour of midnight is heard to strike, and Death is supposed to
perform a weird and ghastly dance, which grows wilder and wilder, until
the cock having crowed, the excitement gradually subsides, and quiet
reigns once more.
The way in which Saint-Saëns has succeeded in musically depicting the
above story is intensely original and masterly. The general plan of the
piece is perfectly clear and logically worked out. The two themes upon
which it is constructed are admirably adapted for the purpose, and
susceptible of being employed together with striking effect. There is a
certain passage which produces the uncanny impression of the wailing of
an unhealthy night wind through the trees of a churchyard. In order to
give an imitation of the rattling of bones, Saint-Saëns has made use of
the xylophone. A curious detail to be noted is the introduction, in a
species of burlesque manner, of the "Dies Iræ," transposed into the
major and converted into a waltz, to which the skeletons are supposed to
dance. Strikingly original and ingenious is the effect of the "solo"
violin, with its string tuned to E-b-, producing a
diminished fifth on the open strings A and E-b-, which,
being reiterated several times, conveys a peculiar sensation of
weirdness. The "Dance Macabre" has contributed largely to spread its
author's reputation all over Europe. It is undoubtedly one of his most
popular works. "Phaëton," op. 39, and "La Jeunesse d'Hercule," op. 50,
although less well known, are not the less remarkable. The first of
these deals with the well-known story of Phaëton, who has obtained
permission to drive the chariot of his father, the Sun, through the
skies. His unskilled hands are powerless to retain the steeds. The
entire universe is about to perish through the too close proximity of
the flaming chariot, when Jupiter strikes the imprudent Phaeton with
his thunderbolts. Upon this legend Saint-Saëns has constructed a
symphonic piece of great descriptive power. The music may indeed be said
to tell its own story. A prelude of a few bars describes Phaeton
gathering up his reins. He starts, and, presumably, after a preliminary
canter, induces the horses to proceed quietly. Suddenly, however, they
break away. Vainly does he use all his endeavours to stop them in their
frantic course. The catastrophe is nearing, when a formidable crash puts
an end to Phaeton and his misplaced ambition.
The instrumentation of "Phaëton" is in itself worth a detailed notice,
and is a perfect marvel of ingenuity.
"La Jeunesse d'Hercule" is the most elaborate of the four symphonic
poems, and is, perhaps, the least well-known. It attempts to describe
the legend of Hercules, who at the outset of life saw two roads open to
him, that of pleasure and that of duty. The hero does not allow himself
to be swayed by the seductions of nymphs or bacchantæ, but resolutely
follows the path of struggles and of combats, at the end of which he is
to receive the recompense of immortality.
In treating this subject Saint-Saëns has given full rein to his
imagination, and has shown a complete independence of spirit in the
matter of construction. The score of this poetical and original
composition will fully repay any amount of study that may be devoted to
it. It is, of course, impossible to attempt an analysis of this
interesting work in these pages. I would, however, draw the attention of
musicians to the wonderfully ingenious manner in which the climax is
reached, producing an accumulative effect of concentrated force bursting
through its bonds, evidently descriptive of the final triumph of
Hercules.
A symbolic meaning is attached to all these symphonic poems, with the
possible exception of the "Danse Macabre," and although they are each
professedly intended to describe an actual story, this is only used as a
means of suggesting the abstract idea that underlies it.
Saint-Saëns has published four pianoforte concertos, the second and
fourth of which are the best known. Some years since he told me that he
contemplated writing a fifth, but for some reason best known to himself
he did not put his project into execution. The second and fourth
concertos are two of the most striking examples of the kind that have
proceeded from the pen of a modern composer. Why the third should be so
persistently neglected is more than I profess to understand, except for
the reason that pianists are like the traditional _moutons de Panurge_,
and are, as a race singularly destitute of initiative, preferring to
follow on the beaten track sooner than give themselves more trouble than
necessary.
The form adopted by Saint-Saëns in his second concerto, op. 25, is
sufficiently novel. Its first movement is labelled "Andante sostenuto,"
and commences with a long introduction for the piano, somewhat in the
style of Bach. The passionate melody which succeeds to this, and may be
considered as the principal theme of the movement, is, however, quite
modern in character. The delightful "Scherzo" and inspiriting "Finale,"
are slightly suggestive of both Weber and Mendelssohn, whilst bearing
the distinctive mark of their composer's personality. In his fourth
concerto in C minor, op. 44, Saint-Saëns has departed still further from
the usual model. This work is divided into two sections, which include
five changes in the "tempo." A noticeable feature in the concerto is the
reintroduction in the last movement of themes previously heard in the
first, thus producing a sense of homogeneity.
The fourth concerto is the most ambitious work of the kind that
Saint-Saëns has written. It is also the best. A few years since, the
composer attempted the experiment of performing all four works in
succession at a concert given at the St. James's Hall.
Saint-Saëns did not make his _début_ as an operatic composer until he
had reached the age of thirty-seven, and then only with a one-act
opéra-comique, entitled "La Princesse Jeaune," produced at the Opéra
Comique Theatre in 1872. This curious little work, the scene of which
is laid in China, was not well received and speedily disappeared from
the bills. The overture is delightfully quaint, and is occasionally
heard at concerts. Now that one-act works are coming into vogue, this
delicate little score might well be reproduced.
The reputation acquired by Saint-Saëns as a symphonist, and what is
known in France as "un musicien savant," had been sufficient to cause
any pretension on his part to aspire to the fame of a dramatic composer
to be looked upon with suspicion. Added to this, he had the reputation
of harbouring feelings of admiration for Wagner, which at that time was
quite enough to prevent a manager from producing his works.
An opera entitled "Le Timbre d'Argent," not to be confounded with
Vasseur's operetta "La Timbale d'Argent," was written before the war of
1870, and was destined for the Opéra Comique Theatre. It was, however,
not brought out until 1877, when it was played at the Théâtre Lyrique
under the direction of Mons. A. Vizentini.
The influence of Gounod is very apparent in this work, and Bizet even
found therein certain affinities with Auber which I confess myself
unable to discover. One thing certain is, that this opera has but little
in common with Wagner. "Le Timbre d'Argent" reveals the hand of the
practised musician, but is very unequal as a whole, and does not occupy
an important place in the composer's dramatic outfit. A point to note in
this opera is the superiority of the orchestral treatment and general
workmanship over the melodies, many of which border upon the
commonplace.
The same year that "Le Timbre d'Argent" was produced in Paris, the Grand
Ducal Theatre of Weimar announced the first performance of a new opera
by Saint-Saëns, entitled "Samson et Dalila."
As many consider this the composer's finest dramatic work, and as it is
only comparatively recently that its beauties have come to be generally
recognised, and that it has been incorporated into the _répertoire_ of
the Paris Opera, a short account of the genesis of this remarkable
composition may not be out of place, the more so as if will accentuate
the difficulties that appear to beset composers and stand in the way of
works of the highest merit.
"Samson et Dalila" was begun by Saint-Saëns before the year of the
Franco-German war.
The second act was tried over in private, when the part of Samson was
sung by the ill-fated painter, Henri Regnault, who was destined to be
killed a year later, during the war. The "Marche Heroïque," composed by
Saint-Saëns, is dedicated to the memory of the unfortunate artist.
The score of "Samson et Dalila" was terminated towards 1872, and a
performance of the second act was given by Madame Viardot at her
country-house at Croissy two years later. On this occasion the gifted
hostess undertook the part of Dalila, and all who can remember her
incomparable method of singing will agree that she must have been an
admirable interpretress of the passionate accents allotted by
Saint-Saëns to the heroine of his opera.
The influence of this admirable artist upon French music has been very
great. In a volume of verses recently published Saint-Saëns thus
apostrophises her:
"_Gloire de la Musique et de la Tragédie;
Muse qu'un laurier d'or couronna tant de fois,
Oserai-je parler de vous, lorsque ma voix
Au langage des vers follement s'étudie?_
_Les poëtes par Apollon vainqueur
Ont seuls assez de fleurs pour en faire une gerbe
Digne de ce génie éclatant et superbe
Qui pour l'éternité vous a faite leur soeur._
_Du culte du beau chant prêtresse vénérée,
Ne laissez pas crouler son autel précieux,
Vous qui l'avez reçu comme un dépôt des cieux,
Vous qui du souvenir êtes la préférée!_
_Ah! comment oublier l'implacable Fidés
De l'amour maternel endurant le supplice,
Orphée en pleurs qui pour revoir son Eurydice
Enhardi par Éros pénétre dans l'Hades!_
_Grande comme la Lyre et vibrante comme elle,
Vous avez eu dans l'Art un éclat nonpareil.
Vision trop rapide, hélas! que nul soleil
Dans l'avenir jamais ne nous rendra plus belle!_"
In 1875 the first act of "Samson et Dalila" was given in its entirety in
Paris at one of Mons. Colonne's concerts.
It was, however, not until the second of December 1877 that "Samson et
Dalila" was brought out upon the stage. Liszt, ever anxious to further
the progress of art, had been struck by the merits of the work, and
undertook to have it mounted at Weimar, where some twenty-five years
earlier he had been instrumental in producing "Lohengrin" for the first
time on any stage.
Musicians of the calibre of Liszt are indeed rare, and it is right to
tender a passing tribute to the absolute disinterestedness of this great
man, who never lost an opportunity of helping a brother artist. Having
been brought out on German soil for the first time, a fact which the
composer should remember when indulging in those patriotic ebullitions
that of late years have so frequently appeared from his pen, "Samson et
Dalila" was played at Hamburg in 1883 with Frau Sucher in the principal
part.
It was not until 1890 that the opera was given in France, Rouen being
the first town in which it was played. During that year it was produced
in Paris at the Eden Theatre under the same manager. On this occasion
the principal parts were interpreted by Mme. Rosine Bloch and Mons.
Talazac, both of whom have recently died.
Lyons, Marseilles, and Aix-les-Bains followed in 1891, and the next year
"Samson et Dalila" was given at Toulouse, Bordeaux, Montpellier, Nantes,
Nice, Florence, Monte Carlo, Geneva, and Dijon, receiving its final
consecration by being produced on a grand scale at the Paris Opera
House, having thus occupied a period of twenty years in reaching its
goal. It has since then been played in other continental towns. London
still remains, and upon this I should like to say a word. The fact of
"Samson et Dalila" being taken from a Biblical source has been accepted
as a reason for its non-production in our metropolis. That a work of the
most serious import should thus be excluded from our stage when
productions of the most futile description are passed without demur, is
another example of the contradictions that exist in our pharisaical
country.