Opera Books
THE OPERA
EDITED BY
ALBERT HILLERY BERGH
VOLUME I.
1909
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The Close of the Classical Period.
The Followers of Gluck.
Mozart and Gluck, each
in his respective sphere, carried opera to a point which seemed scarcely
to admit of further development. But before the advent of Weber and the
romantic revolution there was a vast amount of good work done by a
lesser order of musicians, who worked on the lines laid down by their
great predecessors, and did much to familiarize the world with the new
beauties of their masters’ work. The history of art often repeats itself
in this way. First comes the genius burning with celestial fire. He
sweeps away the time-worn formulas, and founds his new art upon their
ruins. Then follows the crowd of disciples, men of talent and
imagination, though without the crowning impulse that moves the world.
They repeat and amplify their leader’s maxims, until the world, which at
first bad stood aghast at teaching so novel, in time grows accustomed to
it, and finally accepts it without question.
Next comes the final stage, when what has been caviare to one
generation is become the daily bread of the next. The innovations of the
master, caught up and reproduced by his disciples, in the third
generation
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become the conventional formulas of the art, and the world is ripe once
more for a revolution!
Deeply as Gluck’s work affected the history of music, his immediate
disciples were few. Salieri (1750-1825), an Italian by birth, was
chiefly associated with the Viennese court, but wrote his best work,
Les Danaides, for Paris. lie caught the trick of Gluck’s grand style
cleverly, but was hardly more than an imitator. Sacchini (1734-1786) had
a more original vein, though he, too, was essentially a composer of the
second class. He was not actually a pupil of Gluck, though his later
works, written for the Paris stage, show the influence of the composer
of Alceste very strongly.
The greatest of
Gluck’s immediate followers—the greatest, because he imbibed the
principles of his master’s art without slavishly reproducing his form—was
Étienne Nicolas Méhul (1763-1817), a composer who is so little known
outside of France that it is difficult to speak of him in terms which
shall not sound exaggerated to those who are not familiar with his
works. How highly he is ranked by French critics may be gathered from
the fact that when Israel in Egypt was performed for the first
time in Paris some years ago, Julien Tiersot, one of the sanest and most
clear-headed of contemporary writers on music, gave it as his opinion
that Handel’s work was less conspicuous for the qualities of dignity and
sonority than Méhul’s Joseph. We can scarcely be expected to echo
this opinion, but
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as to the intrinsic greatness of Méhul’s work there cannot be any
question. He was far more of a scientific musician than Gluck, and his
scores have nothing of his master’s jejuneness. His melody, too, is
dignified and expressive, but he is sensibly inferior to Gluck in what
may be called dramatic instinct, and this, coupled with the fact that
the libretti of his operas are almost uniformly uninteresting, whereas
Gluck’s are drawn from the immortal legends of the past, is, perhaps,
enough to explain why the one has been taken and the other left.
Of Méhul’s serious works, few have remained in the current
repertory, chiefly owing to their stupid libretti, for there is not one
of them that does not contain music of rare excellence. Stratonice,
a dignified setting of the pathetic old story of the prince who loves
his father’s betrothed, deserves to live, if only for the sake of the
noble air, “Versez tous vos chagrins,” a masterpiece of sublime
tenderness as fine as anything in Gluck. Uthal, a work upon an
Ossianic legend, has recently been revived with success in Germany. It
embodies a curious experiment in orchestration, the violins being
entirely absent from the score. The composer’s idea, no doubt, was to
represent by this means the grey coloring and misty atmosphere of the
scene in which his opera was laid, but the originality of the idea
scarcely atones for the monotony in which it resulted. Although his
genius was naturally of a serious and dignified cast, Méhul wrote many
works in a lighter vein, partly, no doubt, in emulation of Grétry, the
prince of opéra comique. Méhul’s comic operas are often deficient in
sparkle, but their musical force and
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the enchanting melodies with which they are begemmed have kept them
alive, and several of them—Une Folie, for instance, and Le
Trésor Supposé—have been performed in Germany during the last decade,
while L’Irato, a brilliant imitation of Italian opera buffa, was
recently given at Brussels with great success.
Opera in three acts by
Méhul. Libretto by Alexandre Duval.
Characters: Jacob; Joseph, under the name of Cleophas; Simeon,
Benjamin, Reuben, Napthali, Levi, Judah, Dan, Gad, Asser, Issachar,
Sebuton, Jacob’s sons; Utobal, Joseph’s counsellor.
Place, Memphis and vicinity. First produced at Paris in 1807.
Méhul’s last and greatest work, Jose ph in Egypt, is still
performed in France and Germany, and it is seldom heard elsewhere,
except in a mutilated concert version. The opera follows the Biblical
story closely, and Méhul has reproduced the large simplicity of the Old
Testament with rare felicity. From the magnificent opening air, “Champs
Paternels,” to the sonorous final chorus, the work is rich in beauty of
a very high order.
Joseph, the son of Jacob, who was sold by his brothers, has by his
wisdom saved Egypt from threatening famine, lie resides as governor in
Memphis under the name of Cleophas. But though much honored by the King
and all the people, he never ceases to long for his venerable father,
whose favorite child he was.
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Driven from Palestine by the famine, Jacob’s sons are sent to Egypt
to ask for food and hospitality. They are tormented by pangs of
conscience, which Simeon is hardly able to conceal, when they are
received by the governor, who at once recognizes them. Seeing their
sorrow and repentance, he pities them, and promises to receive them all
hospitably. Without revealing himself, he goes to meet his youngest
brother, Benjamin, and his blind father, whose mourning for his lost son
has not been diminished by the intervening years.
Joseph induces his father and brother to share in the honors which
the people render to him. The whole family is received in the governor’s
palace, where Simeon, consumed by grief and conscience-stricken, at last
confesses to his father the selling of Joseph. Full of horror, Jacob
curses and disowns his ten sons. But Joseph intervenes. Making himself
known, he grants full pardon, and entreats his father to do the same.
Finally Jacob yields to Joseph’s entreaties.
Jean François Lesneur (1763-1837) may fitly be mentioned by the side of Méhul. his opera, Les Bardes, though now forgotten, has qualities of undeniable excellence. Its faults, as well as its beauties, are those of the period which produced it. It is declamatory rather than lyrical, and decorative rather than dramatic, but in the midst of its conventions and formality there is much that is true as well as picturesque.
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During the dosing
years of the eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth century,
the activity of the French school of opera is in remarkable contrast
with the stagnation which prevailed in Italy and Germany. Italy, a slave
to the facile graces of the Neapolitan school, still awaited the
composer who should strike off her chains and renew the youth of her
national air; while Germany among the crowds of imitators who clung to
the skirts of Mozart’s mantle, could not produce one worthy to follow in
his steps. Yet though French opera embodied the finest thought and
aspiration of the day, it is only just to observe that the impetus which
impelled her composers upon new paths of progress came largely from
external sources. It is curious to note how large a share foreigners
have had in building up the fabric of French opera. Lulli, Gluck and
Cherubini, in turn, devoted their genius to its service. They were
followed by Gasparo Luigi Pacfico Spontini (1774-1851), who in spite of
chauvinistic prejudice, became, on the production of La Vestale
in 1807, the most popular composer of the day. Spontini’s training was
Neapolitan, but his first visit to Paris showed him that there was no
place upon the French stage for the trivialities which still delighted
Italian audiences. He devoted himself to careful study, and his one-act
opera, Milton, the first-fruits of his musicianship, showed a
remarkable advance upon his youthful efforts.
Spontini professed an adoration for Mozart which bordered upon
idolatry, but his music shows rather the
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influence of Gluck. lie is the last of what may be called the classical
school of operatic composers, and he shows little trace of the
romanticism which was beginning to lay its hand upon music. He was
accused during his lifetime of overloading his operas with
orchestration, and of writing music which it was impossible to sing—accusations
which sound strangely familiar to those who recall the reception of
Wagner’s operas, when they were first brought out. Spontini’s scores
would not sound very elaborate nowadays, nor do his melodies appear
unusually tortuous or exacting, but he insisted upon violent contrasts
from his singers as well as from his orchestra, and the great length of
his operas, a point in which he anticipated Meyerbeer and Wagner,
probably reduced to exhaustion the artists who were trained on Gluck and
Mozart. La Vestale was followed in 1809 by Fernand Cortez,
and in 1819 by Olympie, both of which were extremely successful,
the latter in a revised form, which was produced at Berlin in 1821.
Spontini’s operas are now no longer performed, but the influence which
his music exercised upon men so different as Wagner and Meyerbeer makes
his name important in the history of opera.
Opera in three acts by
Spontini. Libretto by Jouy.
Characters: Licinius, Roman general; Cinna, commander of a legion;
the high priest; Julia, a vestal; first priestess; astrologer; priests;
vestals; soldiers; people; votaries of Venus.
Place, Rome. First produced in Paris in 1807.
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In the first act of The Vestal, Licinius, conqueror
of
the Gauls, is about to be awarded the honors for his
victory. Julia, his {fiancée} has during his absence entered the
convent of the vestals. Licinius makes an agreement with Julia to meet
her at the temple during the night.
In the second act the high-priestess hands Julia the golden wand
which is used to stir up the consecrated altar-fire. Left alone, Julia
opens the doors of the temple to admit Licinius. At the moment of their
meeting the fire at the altar suddenly becomes extinguished. Both the
lovers are fully aware of the horrors of their situation. Cinna hastens
to the temple in order to save his friend, Licinius, from the fury of
the rabble. The high priest pronounces the death sentence of Julia by
covering the young girl with a black veil.
In the third act the spectators can see the open trench in which
Julia is to be buried alive as a punishment for having violated her
solemn oath. Julia is preparing to sacrifice her life, and delivers a
farewell prayer to the gods, when Licinius, at the head of his soldiers,
makes his appearance, and declares that he is responsible for the
sacrilege ‘for which his {fiancée} is about to be punished. The
priests then clamor for his death. Suddenly a stroke of lightning lights
the fire at the altar anew. Licinius and Cinna carry Julia, who has
again fainted, from the ditch. The high priest has to submit to the
divine decree, and the last tableau shows the united lovers in the
Circus of Flora, presiding over the festivities in honor of Venus.
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Imitations of Mozart.
Mozart’s success had raised up a crop of imitators, of whom the most meritorious were Siissmayer, his own pupil; Winter, who had the audacity to write a sequel to Die Zauberflöte; Weigi, the composer of the popular Sckweizerfamilie; the Abbé Vogler, who, though now known chiefly by his organ music, was a prolific writer for the stage; and Dittersdorf, a writer of genuine humor, whose spirited Singspiel, Doktor und Apotheker, carried on the traditions of Hiller successfully. But though the lighter school of opera in Germany produced nothing of importance, upon the more congenial soil of France opera comique, in the hands of a school of earnest and gifted composers, was acquiring a musical distinction which it was far from possessing in the days of Grétry and Monsigny. Strictly speaking, the operas of Méhul and Cherubini should be ranked as opéras comiques, by reason of the spoken dialogue which takes the place of the recitative; but the high seriousness which continually animates the music of these masters makes it impossible to class their works with operas so different in aim and execution as those of Grétry. Of the many writers of opéra comique at the beginning of this century, it will be enough to mention two of the most prominent, Isouard and Boieldieu.
Nicola Isouard (1777-1818) shone less by musical science or dramatic instinct than by a delicate and {94} pathetic grace which endeared his music to the hearts of his contemporaries. He had little originality, and his facility often descends to commonplace, but much of the music in Joconde and. Cendrillon. lives by grace of its inimitable tenderness and charm. Isouard has been called the Greuze of music.
Last updated January 17, 2007