RANIER VON CALZABIGI.
The door of the drawing-room bad scarcely opened before Calzabigi
hastened forward to meet Gluck. But, seeing his wife, he stopped, and
made a profound inclination.
"Speak out, friend," cried Gluck merrily. "She knows every thing, and
think what a treasure of a wife she is! She has known it all along,
without betraying herself by a word."
"And does that surprise you?" answered Calzabigi, "It does not me, for
well I know that the signora is an angel of prudence as well as of
goodness. The signora will allow me to speak before her? Well, then,
maestro, the die is cast. I am just from the house of Count Durazzo, to
whom, at your request, I took the opera yesterday. The count sat up all
night to examine it; and this morning, when I was ushered into his room,
I found him still in his evening-dress, the score on the table before
him."
"Hear, Marianne," exclaimed Gluck, triumphantly, "it is not only the
composer who forgets to sleep for the sake of this opera. And what said
the theatrical director, Raniero?"
"He said that no intrigue and no opposition should prevent him from
representing this magnificent opera. He says that he feels proud of the
privilege of introducing such a chef-d'oeuvre to the world. He has
already sent for the transcribers; he has chosen the performers, and
begs of the author to distribute the parts. But every thing must be done
at once, for the opera comes out in October to celebrate the birthday of
the young Archduchess Isabella."
"That is impossible," cried Gluck. "We are in July, and such an opera
cannot be learned in three months."
"With good-will, it can be done, Christopher," said Marianne,
imploringly. "Do not leave your enemies time to cabal against you;
snatch the victory from them before they have time for strategy."
"You do not know what you require at my hands," returned he,
passionately. "You do not know how an ill-timed pause or a slighted rest
would mar the fair face of my godlike music, and travesty its beauty."
"Hear how he defames himself!" laughed Marianne, "as if it were so easy
to desecrate Gluck's masterpiece."
"It is precisely because it is my masterpiece that it is easy to
travesty," returned Gluck, earnestly. "The lines which distinguish the
hand of a Raphael from that of a lesser genius are so delicate as to be
almost imperceptible. Slight deviations of the pencil have no effect
upon a caricature; but you well know how completely a beautiful face
maybe disfigured by a few unskilful touches. I will cite as an example
the aria of 'Orpheus,' 'Che faro senza Euridice' Change its expression
by the smallest discrepancy of time or modulation, and you transform it
into a tune for a puppet-show. In music of this description a misplaced
piano or forte, an ill-judged fioriture, an error of movement, either
one, will alter the effect of the whole scene. The opera must,
therefore, be rehearsed under my own direction, for the composer is the
soul of his opera, and his presence is as necessary to its success as is
that of the sun to the creation." [Footnote: These are Gluck's own
words. Anton Schmid, "Life of Gluck," page 152.]
"Well, I am sure, you can manage the whole troupe with that stentor
voice of yours," replied Marianne.
"If you do not consent, Gluck," interposed Calzabigi, "they will have to
rehearse for the birthday fete an opera of Hasse and Metastasio."
"What!" shrieked Gluck, "lay aside my 'Orpheus' for one of Hasse's puny
operas? Never! My opera is almost complete. It needs but one last aria
to stand out before the world in all its fulness of perfection, and
shall I suffer it to be laid aside to give place to one of his tooting,
jingling performances? No, no. My 'Orpheus' shall not retire before
Hasse's pitiful jeremiades. It shall be forthcoming on the birthday, and
I must train the singers by day and by night."
"Right!" exclaimed Marianne, "and we shall crown you with new laurels,
Christopher, on that eventful night."
"I am not so sure of that, Marianne. It is easier to criticise than to
appreciate, and every thing original or new provokes the opposition of
the multitude. In our case, they have double provocation, for
Calzabigi's poem is as original as my music. We have both striven for
simplicity, nature, and truth; we have both discarded clap-trap of every
sort. Oh, Calzabigi, my friend, how happy for me that I have found such
a poet! If, through his 'Orpheus,' Gluck is to attain fame, he well
knows how much of it is due to the inspiration of your noble poem."
"And never," exclaimed Calzabigi, grasping the extended hand of the
composer, "never would the name of poor Calzabigi have been known, had
Gluck not borne it along upon the pinions of his own fame. If the world
calls me poet, it is because my poem has borrowed beauty from Gluck's
celestial music."
"Yes," said Gluck, laughing, "and if your poem fails, you will be
equally indebted to Gluck's music. Those half-learned critics, so
numerous in the world, who are far more injurious to art than the
ignorant, will rave against our opera. Another class of musical pedants
will be for discovering carelessness, and, for aught we know, the
majority of the world may follow in their wake, and condemn our opera as
barbarous, discordant, and overstrained."
"We must try to forestall all these prejudices, and win the critics to
the side of truth and real art," said Marianne.
"The signora is right," said Calzabigi. "It is not so much for our own
sake, as for the sake of art, that we should strive to have a fair
hearing before the world. We have the powerful party of Metastasio and
Hasse to gain. But I will deal with them myself. You, maestro, speak a
word of encouragement to Hasse, and he will be so overjoyed, that he
will laud your opera to the skies. And pray, be a man among men, and do
as other composers have done before: pay a visit to the singers, and ask
them to bring all their skill to the representation of your great work;
ask them to--"
Here, Gluck, boiling over with indignation, broke in upon Calzabigi, so
as actually to make the poet start back.
"What!" cried he, in a voice of thunder, "shall I visit the ladies'
maids also, and make them declarations of love? Shall I present each
singer with a golden snuff-box, while I entertain the troupe at a
supper, where champagne shall flow like water, and Indian birds-nests
shall be served up with diamonds? Shall I present myself in full
court-dress at the anteroom of the tenor, and, slipping a ducat in the
hand of his valet, solicit the honor of an interview? Shall I then bribe
the maid of the prima donna to let me lay upon her mistress's
toilet-table a poem, a dedication, and a set of jewels? Shame upon you,
cravens, that would have genius beg for suffrages from mediocrity!
Rather would I throw my 'Orpheus' behind the fire, and let every opera I
have ever written follow it to destruction. I would bite out my tongue,
and spit it in Hasse's face, sooner than go before him with a mouth full
of flattering lies, to befool him with praise of that patchwork he has
made, and calls AN OPERA! When I was obscure and unknown, I scorned
these tricks of trade; and think you that to-day I would stoop to such
baseness? Eight years ago, in Rome, a cabal was formed to cause the
failure of my 'Trionfo de Camillo,' Cardinal Albini came to assure me
that his influence should put down the plots of my enemies. I thanked
him, but refused all protection for my opera: and I told his eminence
that my works must depend upon their own worth for success. [Footnote:
This is true. Anton Schmid, page 88.] And you dare, at this time, to
come with such proposals to me? You are not worthy of my friendship. I
will have nothing further to say to either of you, you cringing
puppets!"
So saying, with his dark-blue dressing-gown flying out like an angry
cloud behind him, Gluck strode across the room, and sailed off to his
private study.
Marianne, smiling, reached out her hand to the astounded poet. "Forgive
his stormy temper," said she, gently; "he can no more bear contradiction
than a spoiled child. His wrath looks formidable; but though there is
much thunder, there is no lightning about him. Wait a quarter of an
hour, kind friend, and he will be back, suing for pardon and imploring
us to take his hand, just like a naughty child that he is. Then he will
smile, and look so ashamed that you will never have the heart to feel
resentful."
"I have none already," replied Calzabigi; "his thunder has rolled
grandly over our heads, and right noble are its sounds; but the
lightning has spared us. We are safe, and--unconvinced. For, indeed,
signora," continued Raniero, with earnestness, "we are right. No
reliance is ever to be placed upon the justice or good taste of the
world, and since the maestro refuses to propitiate his judges; I will
undertake the task myself. I shall go at once to Metastasio, and after
that I shall invite the performers to a supper."