Opera Books

French Music in
the XIXth Century

By

Arthur Hervey

MÉHUL AND THE LAST OF THE CLASSICS

Music is the most progressive of the arts. Unlike painting and sculpture, it is ever on the move. If the ideal is the same, the means employed to attain it vary with every generation. Can even the greatest of musicians flatter himself with the idea that he has reached the goal beyond which there is no further progress? If so, he is only the victim of an illusion.
     However great his genius, however striking his innovations, his life work will be treated by succeeding generations as the starting-point for fresh departures, for further incursions into the limitless regions constituting the domain of sound.
     Music in its manifestations has ever been and always will be connected with the period of its conception. Its essence may be eternal, but its forms are ephemeral. It is from disregarding this fact that many men of high intelligence have fallen into the strange error of supposing that music could reach a point beyond which it was impossible to go.
     The rules of former generations, which were once considered to bear the authority of dogmas, have gradually lost their prestige, and nowadays these bughears are a terror to no one. There certainly still exist musicians whose minds are cast in a mould which renders them rebellious against any fresh departures from recognised forms, but these, like the poor, will always be with us. Let us he thankful that their number is growing smaller and their influence less powerful.
     The evolution of the art of music in France during the XIXth century offers much food for thought. Alien influences have been frequent. Sometimes these have proved beneficial and sometimes the reverse. It can however with truth be said that they have never succeeded in obliterating the unmistakable characteristics of the French race. Those foreign masters who have at different times settled in Paris and brought out their works on French soil have themselves been influenced by their surroundings. It has been a question of give and take.
     At the present moment nationalism in music is very much to the fore, and, in so far as it tends to develop the internal resources of a nation and to bring out its marked characteristics, it deserves all encouragement. At the same time it must not be exaggerated to the extent of causing one to undervalue all extraneous influence.
     It is certain that not one of the great nations has succeeded in building up its music without some aid from outside. This does not by any means imply weakness in its own powers of production. To take a recent example, the influence of Wagner may be said to be universal. It has made itself felt everywhere, in France and Italy as well as in Germany. Yet although modern French composers have all profited more or less by the wondrous innovations of the German master, they have not on that account overlooked their own national characteristics. The styles peculiar to the three nations may be said to be as markedly different now as they ever were. The same influence filtering through different channels has produced different results.
     Certain of the principles and innovations of Wagner had indeed been anticipated many years previously by two composers—a Viennese and a Belgian, both domiciled in Paris — Gluck and Grétry. Gluck, in his famous preface to Alceste, had firmly established the principles that should guide the dramatic composer. This preface is too well known to need quoting in extenso. The gist of it is contained in the following extracts : "I have sought to reduce music to its true function, that of seconding poetry in strengthening the expression of the sentiments and the interest of the situations without interrupting the action or chilling it by the introduction of useless and superfluous ornamentation.... I have taken care not to stop an actor in the midst of his discourse upon a favourable vowel either to allow him to show off the agility of his fine voice in a long roulade, or to wait for the orchestra to give him time to take breath for a point d’orgue." This is enough to show how Gluck had anticipated ideas which are now universally accepted, although it is not so very long ago that they were still discussed.
     The composer of Alceste, however, soon found that his principles did not meet with universal acquiescence and he opened his mind again in the preface to Paris et Hélène, thus bitterly expressing himself : "I had dared to flatter myself that in following the road which I have opened people would endeavour to destroy the abuses which have been introduced into Italian opera, and which dishonour it : I own with pain that I have made a mistake. The pedants, doctors in taste, a species unfortunately too numerous, which in all periods has been a thousand times more pernicious to the progress of the fine arts than that of the ignorants, virulently attacked a method which if once established would annihilate their pretensions. ... . . Oiie of those delicate amateurs who have put all their souls into their ears will have found an air too harsh, a passage too strong or badly prepared, without thinking that in the situation these were sublime in expression and formed the happiest contrast. A pedantic harmonist will have remarked an ingenious negligence or a misprint and will have hastened to denounce one and the other as unpardonable sins against the mysteries of harmony ; soon afterwards, voices will have united to condemn this music as barbarous, savage and extravagant.... Similar obstacles will exist as long as one meets in the world those men who, because they possess a pair of eyes and ears, no matter of what kind, consider they have a right to judge the fine arts."
     The above words might have been written yesterday. Their truth is eternal, for the race of Beckmessers is not likely to die out.
     With Gluck the drama was the first consideration, and he is reported to have said : "When composing I endeavour before all things to forget that I am a musician," words which must not be interpreted too literally, but which denote the trend of his thoughts.... It is curious to read the views expressed by Mozart on the subject and to note that they are diametrically opposed to those of Gluck, for he declares that "even in the most horrible situations the music must satisfy the ear that, in fact, music must always remain music.
     Also that "the poetry in an opera must always be the obedient daughter of music," that "the Italian operas, notwithstanding the mediocrity of their libretti, please because music reigns there like a sovereign and makes the rest go down." Did Mozart always adhere to this theory? Assuredly not, any more than Gluck or Wagner adhered to theirs. Theories are very good in the abstract, but they often have to be modified in practice.
     The composer of the Nozze di Figaro proved in many instances that strict interpretation of a dramatic situation was his chief preoccupation, witness inter alia the final scene of Don Giovanni. Nowadays it is universally recognised that the music in an opera must be as closely as possible in accord with the words and situations of the drama....
     Even in Italy this has at last been acknowledged, and the composer who interrupted the action in order to allow a singer to indulge in vocal acrobatics would not stand a chance of success. It is true, however, that the point d’orgue still flourishes, and of this the vocalist takes all the advantages he can.
     In a very curious article upon Gluck’s Alceste, Jean Jacques Rousseau wrote that "it is a great and fine problem to solve, to determine how far it is possible to make speech sing and music speak. The entire theory of dramatic music rests upon a good solution of this problem." In the same article he gives as his opinion that truth of expression must occasionally be sacrificed to that which pleases the ear—"for music could only touch the heart by the charm of melody, and if it was only a question of reproducing the accent of passion, the art of declamation would suffice by itself, and music, become useless, would be rather in the way than otherwise." Here we have the two opposing theories of dramatic music which have caused so many endless discussions.
     It will be seen that Rousseau’s views coincide with those of Mozart.... Let us, however, turn to his definition of the term Opera occurring in his "Dictionnaire de Musique." It reads thus : "A dramatic and lyrical spectacle, where the object is to unite all the charms of the fine arts in the representation of a passionate action, in order to excite by the aid of agreeable sensations, interest and illusions." He continues : "The constituent parts of an opera are the poem, the music, and the decorations. The poetry speaks to the mind, the music to the ear, the painting to the eyes ; and all should combine to move the heart and convey to it simultaneously the same impressions through different organs."
     Decidedly it would seem that Rousseau’s ideal of the music-drama was, after all, not so very different from that of Wagner!
     The two paths along which dramatic music was to proceed were, it will be seen, already well out-lined before the close of the XVIIIth century.... Grétry (1741-1813), one of the most prolific operatic composers of his time, seems to have had transient visions of future possibilities.... His opinions, as recorded in his memoirs, were considerably in advance of his music....
     "Woe to the artist," he declared, "who, too much controlled by rule, does not dare to follow the flight of his genius." He also predicted that "one day everything that is not strictly in accordance with the poem will be rejected by the educated public ; singers who add vocal ornamentation to their parts will be sent from the theatre to the concert-room ; roulades will seem so absurd that they will only be employed to imitate the nightingale...." It is interesting also to remember that Grétry, who certainly cannot claim to have been musically a precursor of Wagner, actually forestalled the idea of Bayreuth, and traced the plan of an ideal theatre in these words: "I should like the auditorium to be small and capable of holding at most one thousand persons ; that there should be only one sort of.... seat everywhere—no boxes. I should like the orchestra to be hidden, and that neither the musicians nor the lights on the desks on the side of the spectators should be visible.... The effect of this would be magical, and one knows that in any case the orchestra is never supposed to be there. I should like a circular auditorium, in tiers which would form a single amphitheatre, always ascending, and with nothing above save a few trophies painted in frescoes."
     Grétry, however, belongs essentially to the XVIIIth century, although he lived into the XIXth, and it cannot be said that his works were of sufficient importance to exercise any weight over the development of music. He wrote niany operas, several of which achieved popularity. Two may be said to have survived, for Richard Coeur de Lion and L’Epreuve Villageoise have not altogether disappeared from the répertoire of French theatres. His musicianship was poor, and it was remarked that a coach and four could pass between the bass and treble in certain of his airs.... Instrumentation be looked upon with contempt, and it is averred that some thirty of his works were scored by another hand. In this manner, and when we remember that his operas were constructed upon the simplest lines, his productivity need cause no surprise. At the same time, there is no denying to his themes a distinct charm, due to the fact that, whatever his shortcomings, Grétry was always sincere. He wrote as he felt and did not strive to grasp more than he could readily compass. In other words, he never went out of his depth, but avoided deep waters, where he would assuredly have been submerged.
     The above observations will show the amount of interest evinced in the aesthetics of the musical drama at the period immediately preceding that which now concerns us.
     Before going further it will be well to say a word respecting Gossec (1734-1829), a composer long since forgotten, who died at a patriarchal age in 1829, and who wrote both operas and symphonies: To him were due maiiy innovations in the composition of the orchestra. Among his works is a Requiem, the Tuba Mirum in which contains, in germ, certain instru mental combinations employed later by Cherubini and Berlioz. It is for baritone solo accompanied by two orchestras, the second consisting of clarinets, trumpets or horns and three trombones, which sound the doom of the Day of Judgment.
     Purely instrumental works had until this time occupied a meagre place in French music, and to Gossec must be accorded the honour of introducing the symphony into France. His efforts in this direction have long since vanished owing to the superiority of the symphonies of Haydn and Mozart—his contemporaries. Still, the good he achieved in furthering the progress of instrumental art, and his labours in helping to found the famous Paris Conservatoire, where for years he laboured as a professor, must not be overlooked. One of his symphonies, entitled Symphonie de la Chasse, is said to have served as a model to Méhul for his overture to Le Jeune Henri, which to this day remains an admirable piece of programme music and one of its composer’s best works.
     Among the French musicians who were to the fore at the comnmencement of the XIXth century Méhul (1763-1817) undoubtedly occupies the first place. His operas Stratonice (1792), Phrosine et Mélidor (1794), Le Jeune Henri (1797), and Ariodant (1799), had already brought him fame. During the troublous days that followed the Revolution, he had in a way been the musician of the people, had celebrated their triumphs and sung their aspirations. He had composed a quantity of music for public occasions and had popularised his name by writing the Chant du Départ, one of the most famous of French patriotic songs. He was destined to achieve yet greater things.
     During the first decade of the century he produced four operas—L’Irato (1801), in which he amusingly satirised the prevailing style of Italian opera buffa ; Uthal (1804), the setting of a subject taken from Ossian where, in order to obtain a peculiar colouring in the orchestra, he dispensed entirely with violins ; Les Aveugles de Tolède (1806) ; and finally Joseph (1807), which remains his masterpiece. Before speaking of this work it would be well to see how matters stood at the time with regard to the construction of musical stage works.
     Broadly speaking, these could be divided into two categories, the tragédie lyrique and the opéra comique, the main difference between the two being that in the former the musical numbers were connected by recitatives and in the latter by spoken dialogue. Traditions often die hard, and these distinctions of form survived well into the latter half of the XIXth century. Joseph belonged to the second category, and was therefore styled an opéra comique. It is scarcely necessary to add that there was nothing comic about it except its denomination. The disciple and follower of Gluck, Méhul endeavoured in this work to tread in his master’s footsteps. A libretto of extraordinary simplicity, founded upon the Bible narrative, which offers this peculiarity, that it does not contain a single female character, enabled him to compose one of the most remarkable operas of the time. Joseph, it may be stated, had originally been intended for the Académie de Musique, as the Grand Opéra was then termed, and had it been represented there the composer would have been obliged to connect the various numbers of his score with recitatives. Eighty-two years after the death of Méhul, at the close of the XIXth century, Joseph was revived in Paris at the Grand Opéra as well as at the Opéra Comique. At the first of these theatres, recitatives had been added by M. Bourgault-Ducoudray, while at the second the work was performed according to the intentions of the composer, who had styled it "drame en trois actes, en prose, mêlé de chant."
     It was in the original form that the work pleased best, which proves that it is safer not to meddle with or attempt to improve the masterpieces of past generations, even if the form in which these were conceived has become antiquated.
     In the matter of construction it cannot be said that Joseph offered any striking difference from works that had preceded it. The music achieved its aim through the simplest of means. Always clear in design, its melodies appeared to be wondrously appropriate to the words and to the situation. The music was absolutely sincere. Even nowadays the very naïveté of its strains invests them with a rare and peculiar charm.
     Like all really great artists, Méhul took infinite pains with his work, and a melody which seemed to be spontaneously conceived had possibly given him an endless amount of trouble. For instance, the well-known romance from Joseph, "A peine au sortir de l’enfance," a melodic gem of the purest water, was remodelled no fewer than four times. How little does the public imagine the inner workings of a composer’s mind, or realise the amount of thought involved in what often appears so simple!
     Whether the subject of Joseph was not stimulating enough or the music too serious, the opera did not achieve the immediate success it deserved. The composer, who was a man of simple tastes and never so happy as when cultivating flowers in his own garden, determined to leave the operatic field to his rivals and devote himself to the peaceful and doubtless gratifying pursuit of horticulture.
     After five years absence his name reappeared again on the bills, but his later compositions have not survived and he remains known to posterity as the author of Joseph.
     The only composers living in Paris who could be considered as his rivals at that time were Cherubini (1760—1842), Spontini (1774-1851), and Lesueur (1764-1887). The greatest musician of the four was undoubtedly Cherubini. A Florentine by birth, Cherubini was temperamentally the very reverse of the Southerner. In some ways he might perhaps be considered as a descendant of the older Italian contrapuntists, but he had little in common with the free and easy Italian operatic composers of the day whose works, then all the rage, have long since disappeared into oblivion. Neither, one might imagine, could his severe and rigid style have been particularly in accord with the light buoyant French nature. There was ever something of the schoolmaster abotit Cherubini, the stern disciplinarian ready to pulverise the unfortunate youngster who transgressed the sacred rules of which he was the guardian. Such a man was destined to be named director of the Conservatoire, where for several years he reigned supreme, respected, but feared, by all with whom he came into contact.
     Berlioz, in his memoirs, has given some amusing descriptions of the cantankerous old master. That Cherubini should not have been able to appreciate Berlioz need scarcely cause any surprise. To the upholder of the strictest classical forms, the music of the young Frenchman must have sounded like the divagations of a maniac, and the idea of this revolutionist aspiring to teach harmony at the Conservatoire was naturally too staggering for words.
     At the same time, Berlioz in his indignation against Cherubini has perhaps scarcely done justice to the memory of one whose reputation was so great that Beethoven deigned to submit to him the score of his Mass in D for approval.
     The only opera by Cherubini which has not altogether disappeared from ken is Les deux Journées, produced in 1800. It was given in London in the seventies under the title of The Water Carrier, and is known in Germany as Der Wasserträger. Conceived in the form of the old French opéra comique, it is musically far superior to anything of the kind that had preceded it. Compared to the operas of Grétry it stands very high. It is an attempt to raise the style above the ordinary opéra comique of the period which was really but little superior to the vaudeville in musical importance.
     Thus Cherubini may be considered as one of the pioneers of the French opera, although his stage works are with the above exception now forgotten. His sacred compositions, however, have survived and are still frequently heard in the Mass.
     Concerning these it is scarcely necessary to speak, as they did not appreciably influence the development of music in France.
     It is, however, important to note that Cherubini counted among his pupils Boïeldieu, Auber, Halévy, and Adam—that is, four of the most popular French composers of the first half of the century. Adam has described Cherubini’s character as a strange mixture of irritability and childlike simplicity. To the outer world he appeared brusque, but he was essentially kind-hearted and was adored by his pupils. Napoleon never could bear him, and lost no opportunity of letting him know his feelings. On one occasion he is said to have remarked to him that his music was too loud and that he preferred that of Paisiello which was soft and quiet. "I understand," replied the composer, "you prefer music which does not prevent you from thinking of State affairs!" The retort was witty, but Napoleon never forgave it.
     A composer whose fame shone with radiant brilliancy during the first decade of the century and whose works have survived even less than those of Cherubini or Méhul, yet who was well worthy of occupying a place by their side, was Spontini.
     There are certain points of similarity between Cherubini and Spontini. Both were Italians who found in France a soil appropriate to the growth of their genius. Both were influenced by Gluck and expressed themselves in a language different from that employed by their compatriots. Both met with appreciation in Germany, and it may be added that each master, while animated by absolute sincerity of purpose, was also not devoid of a certain rigidity of style which indeed seemed to -accord with the Napoleonic period of pseudoclassicism.
     Spontini’s works contain many innovations which have proved profitable to his successors. His method of treating the orchestra was novel. Abandoning the old plan of dividing the instruments into separate groups, he obtained new effects of tone colour by blending the strings and the wind instruments. He also gave greater importance to the finales, and in this direction prepared the way for Rossini, Meyerbeer, and Halévy. The finale to the second act of La Vestale is a masterpiece of its kind which has often been performed at the famous concerts of the Conservatoire, where I have been privileged to hear it. Spontini lived well into the XIXth century, and survived the popularity of his works by many a long year. In his own estimation, however, he had said the last word in music. Wagner, who took great trouble in mounting La Vestale, has recorded the following words spoken to him by the old master : "In La Vestale I treated a Romaii subject, in Fernand Cortez a Spanish-Mexican subject, in Olympie a Greek-Macedonian subject, and in Agnes von Hohenstaufen a German subject—all the rest is worth nothing !" and he added, "How do you imagine that any one can invent anything new, when I, Spontini, declare myself unable to surpass my own works?"
     Among those whom I have named the last of the classics, one must still be mentioned who, although long since completely forgotten, may be said to have exerted a certain influence over the development of French music—Lesueur, an artist who has, at any rate, a claim to be remembered, inasmuch as he was the teacher of Berlioz and of Gounod.
     It is possible still to hear works by Méhul and cherubini, and even by Spontini, but Lesueur has entirely disappeared, not only from the theatre, but also almost from the concert-room, where very occasionally one meets with extracts from obsolete works.
     And yet at the commencement of the century Lesueur occupied a very high place in the opinion of Parisian connoisseurs.
     His opera Les Bardes vied in popularity with Spontini’s La Vestale. The success of its first performance in 1804 was immense. Napoleon was present, and at the end of the third act sent for the composer, and after congratulating him, insisted upon giving him his own seat in the box. The enthusiasm was universal, and every token of admiration was bestowed upon the fortunate composer, the celebrated painter, David, writing: "When my brush and my soul begin to freeze, I will go and warm them both at the burning and passionate accents of your lyre." Not only in France, but in Germany, was Lesueur held in high esteem, notably by such masters as Beethoven and Weber.
     Does not the complete disappearance of a composer of such universally recognised worth seem strange? Reactionary movements, nevertheless, often take place, and if Lesueur’s operas have had their day and are never likely to he revived, his sacred works, which are remarkable for a noble sim-plicity of style, may some time or other possibly be restored to favour. Like Gluck and Grétry, Lesueur was a theorist. He held that music should be imitative and descriptive, and that the composer’s intentions should be previously explained to the audience. Clearly, therefore, he may be considered as one of the precursors of Berlioz and of modern programme music. In his desire to innovate he imagined that music might be enriched by the employment of old Greek modes.
     What is more curious is to note the peculiar ideas he entertained with regard to description in music. In his capacity of mai^tre de chapelle it was his duty to compose masses destined to be performed on the four great feast days of the year. He insisted that the music should be imitative and peculiar to the occasion. That is, that the music should be in accord with the event commemorated on any special day. Each mass thus became a species of sacred drama.
     On Christmas day, for instance, his Gloria in Excelsis commenced in march form, to suggest the idea of the shepherds advancing towards the manger, and in order to accentuate his intention he introduced into the accompaniment an old popular Christmas tune. "If a composer," he wrote, "in a mass destined to be performed at Easter were to compose to the ‘Kyrie’ music which would be appropriate (as is often the ease) to people groaning under the weight of their woes, would he be fulfilling the proper conditions? Would this painting be suitable to describe Easter Sunday, the day when the Redeemer has risen ? "
     It will be seen that Lesueur’s ideas were considerably in advance of his time. Whenever a work of his was produced he insisted on publishing a long explanatory programme of his intentions.
     Theoretically he may in a measure be regarded as the spiritual father of the modern French school. His music, however, as far as it is possible to judge it nowadays, scarcely seems to explain the enthusiasm it aroused at the time of its production.
     Ossian, ou Les Bardes strikes me in reading the pianoforte score as formally constructed, cold and lifeless. Doubtless its effectiveness must have been largely due to the scoring and the excellence of the performance.
     The partiality shown by Lesueur for subjects of the remotest antiquity was further exemplified in his next opera—La Mort d’Adam.
     Oddly enough, a work entitled La Mort d’Abel by Rudolph Kreutzer, a composer whose music has long been forgotten but whose name has been immortalised by Beethoven, had been accepted for production at the Opéra.
     Eventually Lesueur’s work gained the precedence, and its first performance was humorously announced to the press in the following terms: Vous êtes priés d’assister au service & enterrement du sieur Adam, ancien propriétaire, qui se feront demain Mardi, 21 Mars, 1809, en l’Académie impéri ale de musique, sa paroisse ou` il decédera. De profundis!
     A curious point may be noticed in the fact that whereas the composers of the early part of the century sought for inspiration in subjects taken from biblical, legendary, or classical lore, their successors of to-day have in many instances gone to the opposite extreme by musically illustrating stories of modern life. The ancient Greeks and Romans have been handed over to the mercy of purveyors of opéra bouffe, while Joseph and his brethren have had to make way for Louise and her companions in the atelier de couture. What has been said concerning the masters who flourished during the early days of the century will suffice to show that whatever their shortcomings, they were all animated by the noblest intentions and imbued with high artistic ideals. If the results of their labours fell somewhat short of their desires, the fault cannot altogether be ascribed to them, but may in part be attributed to the epoch.
     Not one of the operas produced in Paris during the Napoleonic period can be said to have survived. The occasional resuscitation of Joseph, La Vestale, or Les Deux Journées means nothing. These and other works by the same composers have practically vanished from the operatic répertoire.
     A German author once fixed the average longevity of a popular opera at forty years. This may be a rather short estimate, but experience has proved that of all forms of musical art the dramatic is the most evanescent. The concert room happily preserves for us that which is most worthy, and certain famous dramatic composers of the past live in the present through the overtures to their operas.
     Unfortunately the overture seems nowadays to be falling into neglect, and it may pertinently be wondered what will remain in the future of certain modern operas, or rather "lyric dramas," when these have vanished from the stage!
     What killed the operas of the Napoleonic period was the arrival of Rossini and the substitution of the florid style of vocalisation for the declamation of the Gluck epoch, of which Spontini and Lesueur were the last representatives. Already in 1801 an Italian opera company had settled in Paris, and had obtained an enormous popular success. The light florid vapid music of the Italian composers was in strong contrast to the serious and sober strains of the followers of Gluck. It was in order to prove a Frenchman’s capability of writing in this style that Méhul had composed L’Irato, which was applauded in the belief that the author was an Italian.
     Under the nefarious influence of the decadent Italianism which flourished at that time, French music gradually lost much that was essentially characteristic and typical of the soil, gaining an artificial brilliancy at the expense of sincerity and simplicity. The composer who hastened the downward descent was Rossini, concerning whom a French writer [Lavoix fils.] has said : "In imitating Rossini our artists learned to give more suppleness and a more elegant form to their thoughts ; but they also learned the art of false brilliancy, of false grace, of melodic jingle, in fact of musical chatter."

Last updated October 21, 2006