accorded to "La Statue" in 1861, Reyer should have been ostracised from
the Paris theatres, if we except the two performances of "Erostrate" in
1872, and the revivals of "Maître Wolfram" in 1873, and of "La Statue"
in 1878, for a period of twenty-four years, when he made a triumphal
reappearance at the Opéra with "Sigurd." This last opera had been
performed the year before at Brussels.
The Belgian capital seems to be a sort of refuge for those French
composers who experience a difficulty in obtaining a hearing in their
own country.
It was at the Théâtre de la Monnaie that the following operas were
first produced: Reyer's "Sigurd" and "Salammbô," Massenet's "Hérodiade,"
the brothers Hillemacher's "St. Mégrin," Godard's "Jocelyn," and
Chabrier's "Gwendoline." It was also there that some of Wagner's later
music dramas were heard for the first time in French.
"Sigurd" had been composed many years previous to its production on the
stage, and fragments had frequently been introduced into the
concert-room. I recollect myself hearing an important extract performed
at one of the far-famed Conservatoire concerts, and the overture at one
of Pasdeloup's concerts, in 1876. The subject of this opera is taken
from the same source as Wagner's "Ring des Nibelungen."
Sigurd and Siegfried are one and the same individual, and many of the
incidents of the French composer's opera are identical with those that
occur in the "Götterdammer[)u]ng." This is, of course, unfortunate, and
although it has been pointed out that Reyer composed his work before the
completion of the "Ring," yet he must have been aware that the German
master was treating the same subject, considering that Wagner had
published the poem of his four works as far back as 1853.
Notwithstanding the reputation he had already achieved, endless
difficulties had to be surmounted before Reyer was able to get his work
performed. The nature of the subject frightened Mons. Halanzier, the
then director of the Paris Opéra, who imagined that the barbarous
sounding names of the leading characters might prove objectionable to
the public. Who had ever heard of Sigurd, Hagen, Gunther, or Hilda? The
last name seemed especially to act upon his nerves. "Why not call her
Bilda?" he exclaimed. "Do I call you Balanzier?" answered Reyer. There
was nothing for the luckless composer to do but wait for another
opportunity, which happily occurred some years later.
It is immensely to the French composer's credit that, in spite of
inevitable comparisons, he should have been able to succeed as well as
he has.
"Sigurd" is full of dramatic power, and bears evidence of the constant
endeavour of the composer to fit his music to the sense of the words,
avoiding as much as possible any of those conventional effects so dear
to the uneducated section of the public. His style has been described as
proceeding from Gluck and Weber, whilst his admiration for Berlioz and
Wagner reveals itself in the richness and variety of his
instrumentation. This appreciation is perfectly correct, and although
his operas may be criticised in some respects, they reveal a true
artistic temperament both in their method and execution. It may be said
with truth that Reyer's individuality is not of the most marked, that
his melodies sometimes lack distinction, and that his inventive faculty
is scarcely equal to his skill in making the most of his materials; but
none will contest the true artistic feeling that presides over all his
compositions, or deny him the possession of strongly pronounced
convictions impelling him to do his utmost towards raising the standard
of operatic art.
After having been the first town to offer hospitality to "Sigurd,"
Brussels was destined to have the _primeur_ of "Salammbô," the last
opera that Reyer has composed, which was brought out in 1890 with great
_éclat_, and produced later on in Paris, where it at once succeeded in
establishing itself in the favour of the public. Perhaps of somewhat
less sustained interest than "Sigurd," the music of "Salammbô" shows the
same tendencies on the part of its composer to adhere to a strict
interpretation of the drama, and contains many pages of great beauty.
Those who have read Flaubert's powerful and imaginative work will
probably consider it somewhat unsuited for the purposes of a "lyrical
drama." It must be admitted, however, that the composer has found in it
a subject well adapted to his artistic temperament, and that it has
enabled him to produce a work which is an honour both to himself and to
his country.
The production of "Salammbô" in London is an event much to be desired,
and a revival of "Sigurd" would also be of the greatest interest. Now
that the British public are more familiarised with Wagner's "Nibelungen
Ring" they would be able to draw interesting comparisons between the
treatment of the same legend by the German master and the French
composer.
If Reyer has acquired a well deserved reputation in France as a
composer, he is equally well known as a writer on music, and for many
years has occupied the post of critic to the _Journal des Débats_,
formerly held by Berlioz.
The opinions advanced by Reyer have always been remarkable for sound
common sense. An intimate friend and ardent admirer of Berlioz, he
enjoys the credit of having been one of the first in France to recognise
the genius of Wagner.
The perfect honesty of his convictions is apparent to those who read his
writings with care, and it may in passing be noted to his honour that
when the course of time and increased acquaintance with his subject
have caused him to modify any previously expressed opinions, he has
never hesitated to say so. No one is infallible, but many pretend so to
be.
When travelling in Germany in 1864 Reyer, who was already a strong
admirer of Wagner's earlier works, had occasion to run through the score
of "Tristan," then still unperformed. The first impressions produced
upon him by this most complicated of scores was not a favourable one,
and Reyer in stating this avowed that his admiration for the German
master would stop at "Lohengrin," until the beauties of the "Nibelungen
Ring" should have been revealed to him.
In 1884 when the first act of "Tristan" was given at one of Mons.
Lamoureux's concerts, Reyer made amends for the appreciation somewhat
hastily recorded by him twenty years previously by expressing his
intense admiration for the wondrous beauties of this sublime work. "What
a metamorphosis," he wrote, "had taken place in my musical faculties
during twenty years! But also what a difference in the execution! It
was the first time that I was hearing 'Tristan' with the orchestra."
Reyer in his criticisms has always held up the banner of high art, and
his writings will doubtless not have been without influence in
determining the nature of the musical movement in France during these
last few years. His admiration for Berlioz has not diminished, whilst
his admiration for Wagner has increased. Apropos of the "Proserpine" of
Saint-Saëns, he wrote: "We are practically all affected with Wagnerism,
perhaps at different degrees; but we have drunk and we will drink at the
same source, and the sole precaution for us to take is not to drown our
own personality."
This frank avowal may not be to the taste of all French composers, but
it is none the less true.
Ernest Reyer has almost entirely confined himself to operatic
compositions. He is not a quick worker, and his operas all bear evidence
of thought and an avoidance of claptrap effects.
He is still a bachelor and has the appearance rather of a retired
military officer than of the traditional musician. Reyer is
_bibliothécaire_ of the Opéra, and inhabits a quiet little apartment on
a fifth floor, where he is able to work undisturbed and meditate upon
the trials and uncertainties of a composer's existence.
[Illustration: Alfred Bruneau portrait, signed]
ALFRED BRUNEAU
In the month of November 1891, there was brought out at Covent Garden
Theatre a work that had the effect of setting the musical world of
London into a state of ferment. This was "Le Rêve," a musical rendering
of Emile Zola's well-known romance, by the composer whose name heads
this chapter. The absolute unconventionality of the music, the boldness
and the novelty of the composer's method, took the public by surprise
and led to many a discussion, at the end of which both antagonists and
supporters remained unconvinced and, as is generally the case, retained
their own opinions.
It has always appeared to me to be idle to attempt to impose one's ideas
upon the relative merits of a composition on those whose disposition is
antagonistic to its due appreciation. There are many to whom the later
works of Wagner appear as a senseless agglomeration of notes, devoid of
meaning and destitute of feeling, a mere jumble of sound. These people
are doubtless absolutely sincere in their convictions. Where is the
argument that would cause them to change their minds? If no sympathetic
current is generated between the music and the listener, it may be taken
for granted that these are not meant one for another, and all the
arguments in the world will not alter the fact. On the other hand there
can be no doubt that increased familiarity often causes the reversal of
a previously expressed opinion, one sometimes formulated in undue haste,
and this is especially the case with a work such as "Le Rêve," the
tendencies of which are so novel and the methods so uncompromising in
their thoroughness.
The composer has boldly flown in the face of recognised traditions and
flung all compromise to the four winds. He has treated "Le Rêve"
according to his own ideas, careless as to whether these should be
agreeable to the vocalist, who looks upon an opera solely as the means
of displaying his voice; to the average amateur, whose fondness for a
good square tune of doubtful originality is as great as ever; or to the
musical pedant who gauges the value of an art-work according to the
theoretical ideas of a past generation.
Art and literature have during the last few years been invaded by a
strong current of realism. The marked tendency exhibited by the present
generation of inquiring minutely into all matters and subjecting them to
a searching process of analysis, has been pregnant in its results. The
physiology of the mind appears to be the leading factor in the works of
many of the lights of contemporary literature. This is discernible in
the writings of poets like Swinburne and George Barlow, in the novels of
Emile Zola and Alphonse Daudet, and in the studies of Tolstoï, to
mention only a few. In music the same tendencies are apparent, and it
is rather the inner motives of the action than its outward details that
the serious operatic composer is tempted to depict.
Bruneau exemplifies the latest phase of that evolution that has been
taking place during recent years in the domain of dramatic music. It may
be taken for granted that the theory enunciated by Gluck in his preface
to "Alceste" more than a hundred years ago has now come to be
universally adopted. This is, that "the true aim and object of dramatic
music is to enhance the effect and situations of a poem, without
interrupting the dramatic action or marring the effect by unnecessary
ornamentation." It is this which forms the basis of Wagner's theories.
There are, however, many other points of importance raised by the German
master which practically amount to innovations. Of these none has
perhaps a greater bearing on the construction of the "lyrical drama" of
the future than the employment of _leit-motiven_, or representative
themes.
It has been argued that Wagner can scarcely claim to be the actual
inventor of this device.
To this it may be replied that Wagner's method differs essentially from
that followed by any of his predecessors. The bare repetition of a
phrase previously heard may be dramatically significant, but it only
represents the Wagnerian idea in its most embryonic form, and has little
in common with a system subject to which an entire opera is constructed
upon a certain number of themes susceptible of being modified and
transformed according to the sentiments expressed by the words. Whatever
objections may be adduced against such a system if pushed to its
furthest limits and adopted as rigorously as Wagner has in his later
"music dramas," it must be conceded that it opens a large field to the
composer and adds a powerful element of interest to the musical
exposition of a plot.
So far, French composers who have profited by Wagner's many innovations
have shown themselves shy in following the master in this particular
one. Some of them have, it is true, adopted it to a certain extent, and
endeavoured to effect a compromise by trying at the same time to retain
set pieces of the kind associated with the older forms of opera.
Saint-Saëns in "Henri VIII." and "Ascanio," Massenet in "Esclarmonde,"
to name only two, have exhibited a marked tendency in this direction. It
has, however, been reserved for Alfred Bruneau to employ the Wagnerian
plan in a more complete way than any French composer has yet done. I am
not here venturing to express an opinion as to whether or not the total
absence of set form in an opera is advisable. It is evidently quite
possible to compose a "lyrical drama" on a different plan than one
entailing the strict employment of representative themes. Art should
comprise every method that is likely to add to its scope, and the use of
_leit-motiven_ opens a vista of illimitable possibilities to the
composer of the future. It is a powerful agent of dramatic expression,
and one which requires musical ability of a very high order if it is to
be employed in any profitable manner. When I mention Alfred Bruneau as
being perhaps the first French composer who has applied the Wagnerian
system so thoroughly in his "lyrical dramas," it must not be implied
that he is in any way a servile imitator of the German master, and he
must not be confounded with composers who, having no original ideas of
their own, trade upon those of other people. As his friend and
collaborator Mons. Louis Gallet remarks in his _Notes d'un Librettiste_,
"Son criterium est tout personel." There is one point, for instance, in
which he diverges entirely from Wagner. This is in his choice of
subjects. Instead of searching for inspiration in the legendary lore so
dear to the composer of "Tristan," Bruneau prefers to musically
illustrate a story of modern life. His ideas upon the lyrical drama are
best expressed in his own words, and I do not scruple to reproduce the
following passage from a letter addressed to myself: "Je suis pour
l'union aussi intime que possible de la musique et des paroles, et
voudrais faire du théâtre vivant, humain et bref. J'aurais aussi
l'ambition de traiter une suite de sujets essentiellement Français et
modernes d'action comme de sentiments. C'est pourquoi, après 'Le Rêve,'
d'un mysticisme bien Français je crois, viendra 'L'Attaque du moulin,'
drame pris au coeur saignant de notre pays. Mais la suite n'est qu'un
projet que je n'aurai peut-être jamais la force de mettre à exécution."
It is the human element that predominates in Bruneau's compositions
which constitutes so powerful a fascination to those who are in sympathy
with his ideas. His music is not theatrical in the ordinary acceptation
of the term but intensely dramatic, inasmuch as it aims at depicting the
innermost details of the action, and describes in searching accents the
varied emotions of the leading characters.
He has been blamed for his disregard of the so-called rules of harmony,
and for apparently revelling in the employment of discords, strange
progressions, and harsh modulations. Let it be remembered that there is
scarcely a composer of eminence who has not been subjected to the same
reproach. To take a few of the most notable instances, it is only
necessary to mention the cases of Schumann, Wagner, Berlioz, and Bizet.
A name that may carry conviction even further is that of Beethoven. Is
it not a fact that within the memory of some who are still amongst us,
the "Choral Symphony" was stigmatised as the work of a genius whose
powers were on the wane, and this mighty work was pronounced dull and
incoherent?
The question as to how far a composer may go in his search after novel
effects, and what discords he may or may not employ, is one that cannot
easily be answered. Where is the musician who will have the presumption
to erect himself as the supreme arbiter upon so complex a question, and
venture to say to the composer, "Thus far shalt thou go and no further?"
Undoubtedly there must be rules of some kind, but these are intended for
the student and are not meant to hamper the inspiration of the master.
In order to explain my meaning I cannot do better than quote the
following extract from the preface of Mr. Ebenezer Prout's admirable
work on "Harmony,"[27] which conclusively disposes of the question:
"The principle must surely be wrong which places the rules of an early
stage of musical development above the inspirations of genius! Haydn,
when asked according to what rules he had introduced a certain harmony,
replied that 'The rules were all his very obedient humble servants;' and
when we find that in our own time Wagner, or Brahms, or Dvórak, breaks
some rule given in old text books, there is, to say the least, a very
strong presumption, not that the composer is wrong, but that the rule
needs modifying. In other words practice must precede theory. The
inspired composer goes first, and invents new effects; it is the
business of the theorist not to cavil at every novelty, but to follow
modestly behind, and make his rules conform to the practice of the
master."
These are golden words, involving a precept that should be seriously
taken to heart by those who are inclined to pass a hasty verdict upon
works exhibiting tendencies of a novel nature. At the same time it does
not follow that composers of inferior talent should be allowed a liberty
which with them often degenerates into licence, and imagine that it is
only necessary for them to stud their scores with consecutive fifths and
octaves, and avoid any but the most out-of-the-way modulations in order
at once to be ranked as men of genius. There is a vast amount of
difference between the crude harmonies, obviously introduced for effect,
that occur in the scores of some composers, and those employed with a
due sense of dramatic fitness by a musician like Bruneau.
The composer of "Le Rêve" was born on the 1st of March 1857. He is,
therefore, at the present time in the full flush of his creative
ability, and his powers of production have doubtless not yet reached
their full maturity of expression. There is no knowing how far a
musician of his calibre may not eventually go, or what works he may be
destined to produce. Up to the present he has shown a wonderful amount
of independence of thought, and his very exaggerations are the evident
outcome of a consistent striving to attain an elevated ideal.
Alfred Bruneau's musical studies were begun in a brilliant manner at the
Paris Conservatoire, where he obtained the first prize for violoncello
in 1876. He entered into the composition class, presided over by
Massenet, and finally, in 1881, triumphantly carried off the "Prix de
Rome." This was already a great step towards fame and fortune, although
it has been proved over and over again that it leads to neither. Many an
old winner of the "Prix de Rome" has, after a fruitless struggle, been
compelled to give up the game and resign himself to a life of
comparative obscurity. For an artist to remain true to his convictions
and resist the temptations thrown in his way of obtaining an ephemeral
popularity by pandering to the taste of the public, is not always so
easy an achievement as it may appear. It was through the means of the
concert-room that Alfred Bruneau's name first became known to the
musical public of Paris. An "Ouverture Héroïque," a symphonic poem
entitled "La Belle au bois dormant," and "Léda," styled a "poème
antique;" these works were played at different times, and sufficed to
stamp their author as a musician of undeniable capacity and distinct
promise. "Penthésilée" is the name of a symphonic poem of great daring
and originality for a solo voice and orchestra, which was only recently
produced at one of Mons. Colonne's concerts. It is a musical
interpretation of some wild and striking stanzas by the poet Catulle
Mendès. Thoroughly independent in structure as it is in its workmanship,
bold almost to excess, distinguished by a most unconventional harmonic
treatment, this composition exhibits a masterly grip that irresistibly
commands attention. The interest may be said to be mainly concentrated
in the orchestra, the voice part being strictly declamatory.
It is, however, through his conception of the "lyrical drama" that
Bruneau especially asserts his individuality.
"Kérim," his first stage work, brought out in 1887 at the Théâtre du
Chateau d'Eau, provisionally given up to operatic performances, does not
appear to have excited much attention, possibly owing to the inadequacy
of the interpretation. In this work, the tendencies which are so
accentuated in "Le Rêve" are already foreshadowed. There is but little
in this interesting score that denotes the beginner, and "Kérim" is
distinguished by qualities for which we may search in vain through the
pages of many works that have acquired a greater popularity. For some
reason hard to assign, operas dealing with Eastern subjects do not seem
to appeal readily to the taste of the public, at any rate in England.
And yet what delightful musical impressions are evoked by the
recollection of works such as Goldmark's "Queen of Sheba," Cornelius'
"Barber of Bagdad," Bizet's "Djamileh" and others! It may be remarked
_en passant_ that the fact of the first of these works being practically
unknown on this side of the channel scarcely redounds to our credit.
From the very first page of "Kérim," it becomes evident that we are in
the presence of a composer who has something new to say and who intends
to say it whether or not it pleases the musical faculty or those who
measure the value of a work according to a preconceived standard.
In the matter of harmonic boldness Bruneau goes to very great lengths,
and from this point of view alone the score of "Kérim" will prove highly
interesting to musicians. The plan upon which he works is admirably
logical. He commences by exposing some of his most important themes in
their simplest guise, so that they may in a way impose themselves upon
the attention of the listener. These are then subjected to various
transformations according to the sense of the words they are intended to
interpret, and are heard in different forms, either singly or jointly,
being employed in combination when the composer has in view the
expression of some complex sentiment. It is this system, which in a more
embryonic form is apparent in "Kérim," that constitutes the constructive
basis of "Le Rêve."
The first of these works, which is termed an opera, but has more of the
characteristics of the lyrical drama, treats of an Eastern legend.
An emir of Beyrouth (nothing in common with Baireuth!), is in love with
an unknown maiden who appears to him in his sleep and tells him that she
will belong to him if he finds her some tears that are the outcome of a
truly suffering heart. These will then be turned into pearls which he
can offer her. The emir pursues his quest far and wide without success,
and finally himself bursts into tears which are suddenly transformed
into pearls. The object of his thoughts then appears and tells him that
he has found what she required, and that the tears produced by genuine
love have won her as his own.