Since the appearance of the great German poet's masterwork, the subject, as treated by him, has been utilised in various manners by numberless musicians. It would perhaps not be uninteresting to cast a glance at some of these. The following composers had preceded Gounod in making use of "Faust" as an opera text: Lickl (1815), Strauss (1814), Spohr (1814), Seyfried (1820), Béancourt (1827), Sir Henry Bishop (1825), Lindpaintner (1831), Mdlle. Berlin (1831), Rietz (1837), and Gordigiani (1837).[16] What has become of all these works? Chi lo sa? The only one that has in any way survived is that by Spohr, extracts from which are still occasionally heard in the concert-room. Boïto's "Mefistofele" belongs of course to a subsequent period. It redounds greatly to the credit of the Italian composer that he should have succeeded in imposing a new operatic setting of Goethe's poem when this was so intimately associated in most people's minds with the music of Gounod.
Although strangely unequal, "Mefistofele" is nevertheless in many ways a highly remarkable work, particularly as marking a departure from the usual methods peculiar to Italian composers, and aiming at a higher ideal. It has born fruit. Boïto is a poet as well as a musician, and in his operatic adaptation of "Faust" he has evidently striven to depart as little as possible from Goethe's plan. This is of course commendable. Unfortunately, the result has not been altogether satisfactory, for in endeavouring to compress the two "Fausts" of Goethe into one work, the Italian composer has been compelled to make a selection from the different situations occurring in the original, and has only succeeded in presenting a succession of scenes strung together apparently without rhyme or reason. A proper sub-title for "Mefistofele" would be, "A selection of scenes from the two Fausts of Goethe, operatically treated by A. Boïto." Certainly the librettists of Gounod's opera have shown but scant regard for Goethe's intentions, but they have at any rate concocted a story with a well-regulated and dramatically logical plot. Boïto, on the other hand, in his evident desire to do justice to Goethe, has attempted too much and achieved too little. "Qui trop embrasse, mal étreint." This has been the case with Boïto. Many people have tried to discover a philosophical meaning, and the realisation of a quantity of abstract notions in Boïto's music, which only exist in their imagination. Perhaps the three composers who have best grasped the spirit of the wonderful poem have been Schumann, Liszt, and Wagner: the first in his "Scenes from Faust," the second in his "Faust Symphony," the third in his "Faust Overture." Gounod has been more successful in this respect than many people are inclined to allow. It is only necessary to point to the first bars of the Prelude and the commencement of the first act as a proof of this fact.
Of late years Berlioz's "Damnation de Faust" has acquired a well-deserved though tardily-bestowed popularity. It was considered by the composer as one of his best works, a judgment which has since then received a practically universal endorsement. At the same time, it is rather by reason of its own individuality than as a satisfactory interpretation of Goethe, that the above "dramatic legend" is entitled to the high rank it occupies in the esteem of musicians, and much of the effect produced by this extraordinary composition can in a large measure be assigned to the glamour shed over it by the wonderful orchestral colouring that Berlioz knew so well how to employ, his mastery of which will probably remain his chief glory with posterity. Berlioz states that the score of his "Faust" was composed by him with an amount of facility that he rarely experienced in connection with his other works. The famous march on a Hungarian theme was written by him in one night. "The extraordinary effect," he writes, "that it produced at Pesth decided me to introduce it into the score of 'Faust,' in taking the liberty of placing my hero in Hungary at the outset of the work, and causing him to assist at the passing of a Hungarian army across the plain where he is indulging in dreamy thoughts." Berlioz excuses this liberty by stating that in composing his "Faust" he had never intended to bind himself into following the plan adopted by Goethe in his masterpiece. This specious sort of argument is all very well in its way, and the adoption of similar methods might prove of infinite service to composers in enabling them to utilise previously-written works, and thereby save themselves trouble. Whether it is artistic or not, is another matter. If we suppose, for instance, that Berlioz had had by him a "Tarantella" and an Irish jig, he might have transported his hero alternately to Italy and to Erin, and named his work "The Travels of Faust," which at any rate would not have been open to the same objection as the original title chosen by him. Despite these casual observations and the fact that, looked at from the point of view of a satisfactory interpretation of Goethe's poem, the work falls short, Berlioz's "Faust" none the less remains one of its author's most inspired compositions; beautiful in parts, though needlessly eccentric in others; powerful, and, above all, eminently individual.
If the "Faust" of Berlioz may be ranked as one of its author's best works, the same place of honour can undoubtedly be ascribed to the "Scenes from Faust" of Schumann in the lengthy catalogue of the master of Zwickau's compositions, and it is strange that so few opportunities should be afforded to Londoners of appreciating its beauties. The second part of this work is generally considered by musicians as being the most remarkable, but Schumann's setting of the Church scene counts amongst his finest inspirations. The overture is the weakest portion, and cannot compare with Wagner's masterly tone-poem known as "Eine Faust Ouverture," one of the most striking examples of modern orchestral music. I must not omit to mention the "Faust Symphony" of Liszt, which is also too seldom performed, probably on account of its length and extreme difficulty, also possibly owing to the uncompromising hostility entertained in certain quarters against the master's music. Although consisting of three movements—labelled respectively "Faust," "Marguerite," and "Mephistophéles," the work in question might rather come under the category of a "symphonic poem." It is constructed upon entirely unconventional lines, the themes being subjected to various transformations, after the method peculiar to Liszt. The second portion is one of the most beautiful movements in the entire range of instrumental music.
The following composers have also treated the same subject more or less successfully: Prince Radziwill, Litolff, Hugo Pierson, Zöllner, and Eduard Lassen.[17] The latter's incidental music is constantly given in Germany in conjunction with the drama. As this is the age of festivals, I should like to suggest to the minds of those responsible in such matters the feasibility of attempting what might be termed a "Faust" festival. This could be made to occupy the inside of a week, and would be devoted entirely to works inspired by Goethe's poem. I venture to think that the idea is susceptible of being turned to good account. Many musical treasures, the existence of which is unsuspected, would thereby come to light.
It would appear to be almost needless to attempt to give a description of the music that Gounod has wedded to Messrs. Michel Carré and Jules Barbier's operatic version of "Faust." That it is perhaps the most popular opera composed during the last fifty years is a generally recognised fact, and one that is not likely to be seriously contested, whatever restrictions may be made from different points of view concerning its merits. Since it was first produced, a new generation has sprung up, and what appeared startlingly bold thirty years ago has long ceased to be so considered. In 1859 matters were very different from what they now are. The operatic pabulum in England consisted of the works of Balfe and Wallace. In France, Auber was at the head of the Conservatoire; Ambroise Thomas had written neither "Mignon" nor "Hamlet"; Clapisson, Massé, Maillart, and composers of that calibre, enjoyed the confidence of the patrons of the Opéra Comique; whilst Berlioz and Wagner were looked upon as musical iconoclasts.
In Italy, Verdi reigned supreme, the Verdi of "Il Trovatore" and "La Traviata," and nothing tended to foreshadow the astonishing transformation of style that was eventually to lead the master to compose works such as "Aïda," the "Requiem," "Otello," and "Falstaff."
Musical education has made considerable progress since those days, and the all-absorbing individuality of Wagner has exercised a sway over musical art that is far from having spent itself.
The form in which "Faust" was composed did not tend to differ in any appreciable degree from that adopted by Meyerbeer, with the exception that certain Italianisms and concessions to the vocalist were dispensed with.
Gounod's method, from which he has not since departed, seems to have been to musically delineate each phase of the drama, treating every scene as a separate whole—that is to say, without having recourse to any connecting link or leit motiv; the recurrence of previously-heard melodies in the fifth act hardly coming under this category. He is satisfied to depict his characters in music that is intended to be more or less in accordance with their individuality. Herein consists the great difference that separates his works from those that are conceived after Wagnerian ideas.
The music allotted to Mephistophéles has an appropriate amount of Satanic colouring, and is invested with a certain grim humour. It has been remarked that Gounod has been less successful than Berlioz in his musical depiction of the philosophical side of Goethe's poem. This may or may not be true, but in comparing the two works it must be recollected that the composers cannot be judged from the same point of view, for whereas Berlioz was hampered by no theatrical trammels or operatic conventionalities, but was able to turn the legend to whatever account he chose, even to transporting Faust to the plains of Hungary and accompanying him to the infernal regions, Gounod was to a certain extent dependent upon his librettists, who saw in Goethe's poem nothing more than a story susceptible of being turned to operatic purposes. As to what really constitutes the philosophical in music, probably no two people will agree. Music is intended to convey certain impressions which in turn cause corresponding emotions to the listener, in accordance with that which it has been the composer's intention to depict. If it fails in so doing, the fault may be ascribed either to the composer's incapacity, or to a want of sympathetic feeling on the part of the listener.
It is eminently to the credit of Gounod that he should have found the means in his "Faust" of pleasing a variety of differently constituted individuals, who probably admire his work from totally different standpoints.
To the great majority the charm of "Faust" lies in melodies such as those of the "old men's" and soldiers' choruses, the Kermesse and well-known waltz; the more refined and sentimental will prefer the famous love duet and the prison trio; prime donne will incline to the jewel song, which furnishes them with the opportunity of displaying the agility of their throats; and the cultivated musician will single out parts that do not attract the same amount of attention, but are not the less noteworthy—such as the opening bars of the Prelude, the entire first act, the end of the third act, the death of Valentine, the Church scene, the commencement and end of the last act. When "Faust" was transferred from the Théâtre Lyrique to the Grand Opera in 1869, Gounod wrote additional ballet music, which, though charming enough in itself, is absolutely out of keeping with the nature of the subject, and might equally well figure in any opera of the type associated with this theatre.
"Faust" may be considered as an important landmark in French music, and from the year 1859 may be said to have sprung up an entirely new generation of composers, imbued with a high and noble ideal, and differing in many essentials from their predecessors. Previous to this the voice of Berlioz remained that of one crying in the desert, unheeded and scoffed at. The author of the "Symphonie Fantastique" had come too soon, and, moreover, was altogether too thorough in his ideas and devoid of any spirit of compromise. The pen of the critic, which he wielded with such a conspicuous amount of success, was too often dipped in gall, and the shafts of sarcasm which he unremittingly hurled at his enemies kept their rancour alive, and mayhap did something to prevent even a moderate amount of fair criticism from being meted to his musical compositions. Although not a reformer in the same sense, Gounod nevertheless contrived, in a quieter and less obtrusive manner, to impose certain innovations without offending the prejudices of the partisans of the older style of operatic music. To us nowadays it seems difficult to realise that an opera so full of melody as "Faust" should have seemed at all unduly complicated, but so it appears to have been thought, and the Parisians of thirty years ago concentrated their admiration upon the lighter portions, and looked askance at the rest. These same Parisians were destined two years later to show the measure of their musical aptitudes by the disgraceful manner in which they received Wagner's "Tannhaüser" on the occasion of the memorable performances of this work at the Opéra in 1861. At that period Gounod was professedly an admirer of the German master, although since then his opinions seem to have become sensibly modified. It is necessary to remember that Wagner was only known then as the author of "Tannhaüser" and "Lohengrin," and as holding certain heterodox views upon dramatic art.
After the fiasco of "Tannhaüser" Gounod appealed to the detractors of the master, and gave them rendezvous in ten years' time before the same work and the same man, when, he said, they would lift their hats to them both. It has required somewhat more than ten years for this, but the Parisians have gone even further now than Gounod, and possibly the popularity of Wagner in Paris may eventually equal, if it does not surpass, that of the composer of "Faust."
Within a year after the production of this last work, a new opera by Gounod was brought out at the Théâtre Lyrique. "Philémon et Baucis," played for the first time on February 18th, 1860, is a graceful and delicate little score, that has remained popular in France and only recently has obtained a fair measure of success in London, where it was produced by Sir Augustus Harris at Covent Garden in 1891.
This pleasing work belongs entirely to the Opéra Comique genre, and consists of a number of detached pieces connected together through the means of spoken dialogue. In writing it Gounod evidently did not trouble himself about questions of operatic reform, but was content with filling in the framework provided for him, and allowing his ideas to flow naturally. There is nothing forced in this melodious little opera. Everything is pure and limpid as crystal. Putting aside all æsthetic considerations as to the somewhat old-fashioned form in which the composer's ideas are expressed, it is impossible not to feel charmed by their refinement and delicacy.
"La Colombe," a little comic opera given at Baden in 1860, and later on at the Opéra Comique, is comparatively of little importance. A charming entr'acte still occasionally finds its way into concert programmes. A work of larger dimensions was "La Reine de Saba," produced on February 28th, 1862, the third opera written by Gounod for the Grand Opéra.
The music of this work is unequal, and the libretto devoid of interest. There are, however, certain numbers that have survived the wreck of this ill-fated score, which has been somewhat too harshly condemned. Amongst these may be mentioned the air, "Plus grand dans son obscurité" (which has remained a favourite with dramatic prime donne), the graceful women's chorus at the beginning of the second act, the characteristic ballet music, and the grand march. These last two extracts have become popular, and form part of all properly constituted concert répertoires. At the period when this opera was produced, the peculiar disease known as "Wagnerophobia" was raging in Paris, and every composer with something new to say was gratified with the epithet Wagnerian, which was held to be a term of contumely, implying absence of melodic ideas and want of inspiration.
There is not much in the "Reine de Saba" that suggests the influence of the German master, except a passing reminiscence of "Tannhaüser," but at that time people did not look too closely into these matters. The score was both long and monotonous, it did not contain too plentiful a proportion of sops to the singers, and it was forthwith pronounced to be Wagnerian, an expression as condemnatory in its intention as its real meaning was little understood. Gounod himself laid great store upon his work, and being met a short time after its production by a musical critic at Baden, he told him that he was travelling on account of a family bereavement. "I have lost," he said, "a woman whom I loved deeply, the Queen of Sheba."
Only those who know the amount of labour involved in the composition of a five-act opera can measure the disappointment that must accrue to its author on finding that his work has failed to satisfy that agglomeration of entities known as the public. "La Reine de Saba" was more successful in Brussels than in Paris, and was well received in Germany, where, however, it has been dethroned in favour of the far finer work by Goldmark bearing the same name. It has also been heard in London under the title of "Irene."
The opera of "Mireille," played for the first time at the Théâtre Lyrique in 1864, and introduced to the notice of the English public at Her Majesty's Theatre during the same year, is one of Gounod's most characteristic productions in the way that it illustrates the composer's qualities and defects perhaps as much as anything he has done. The poem upon which it is founded is the "Mireio" of Frederick Mistral, the celebrated Provençal poet. It is a pastoral, and as such necessarily appealed irresistibly to a composer who is never so happy as when treating a subject of this kind.
The story is simple enough, and is thus condensed by Mons. Pagnerre, Gounod's clever biographer, to whose work I may refer those amongst my readers who seek for further information upon the composer's life: "A rich young girl, a poor young man, an ill-fated love; and death of the young girl through sunstroke."
This tragic dénouement was subsequently altered, and, according to the latest version of the opera, Mireille lives presumably to enjoy connubial bliss with her lover.
Gounod has been less happy in his treatment of the essentially dramatic portions of the story than in those in which the lyrical element predominates. The general colour of his score is quite in keeping with a subject dealing with Provençale life, although it can scarcely be said that he has proved so successful in this respect as Bizet has in his music to Alphonse Daudet's "L'Arlésienne."
Notwithstanding this, there are many charming pages in "Mireille," strongly marked with the composer's individuality, suggestive of warm sunshine and southern skies. If the opera is emphatically a disappointment when considered as a whole, if it absolutely fails to carry conviction as a musical drama, if it is full of contradictions of style and concessions to the vocalist, it may at least claim to be replete with melody of a refined nature and to contain several numbers that are always heard with pleasure. The melodious duet, "Oh Magali ma bien-aimée," has been one of the chief items in the répertoire of tenors and sopranos during the last five-and-twenty years, and has been massacred by numberless amateurs in countless drawing-rooms.
The overture is a delightfully fresh composition of a pastoral nature, and serves as a fitting prelude to the story. For some reason, best known to himself, Gounod has written two endings to this, the first of which is immeasurably superior, which is probably the reason why the second is usually played. In the first act the composer has introduced a vocal waltz of the same type as the one he was subsequently to place in the mouth of Juliet, both being evidently written for the purpose of giving Mme. Carvalho, the creatrix of these parts, the opportunity of indulging in vocal acrobatics. Such concessions to the exigencies of the singer are much to be deplored.
Amongst the most noticeable numbers in "Mireille" I would mention, in addition to those I have already singled out, the opening chorus of the first act, the "couplets" of Ourrias, so often sung in our concert rooms by Mr. Santley, the "Musette," the shepherd's song, and Mireille's air, "Heureux petit berger." This opera was originally in five acts; it was then reduced to three, and restored to five, with certain modifications, on the occasion of its revival at the Opéra Comique in 1874.
If Gounod had not succeeded since his "Faust" in producing any work that could bear comparison with this masterpiece (however creditable in their way the operas that had followed it might be), he was destined in "Romeo and Juliet" to be more fortunate, and to wed music to Shakespeare's story, that many of his admirers have not scrupled to place upon the same level as the former work. With this estimate I am by no means disposed to agree, although I should be inclined to consider "Romeo" as occupying the second place in the list of the composer's dramatic works.
Shakespeare's wondrous tragedy had already been set to music by several composers,[18] amongst whom it will be sufficient to mention Dalayrac, Steibelt, Zingarelli, Vaccai, Bellini, and Marchetti. An opera by the Marquis d'Ivry, entitled "Les Amants de Vérone," on the same theme, although written before the production of Gounod's work, was brought out in Paris in 1878 with Capoul as Romeo. It may be well to point out also that, by a curious coincidence, Gounod once more chose a subject that had been treated by Berlioz, whose symphony of "Romeo and Juliet" remains one of his greatest works.
In her interesting biography of Gounod, Mdlle. de Bovet makes the following apt observations: "'Faust,' as we have seen, is remarkable for its homogeneity, the happy outcome of the subordination of the fantastic to the emotional element. It is not possible to say that all the parts of 'Roméo et Juliette' are linked by so close a bond, and this could not well have been so. All Jules Barbier's cleverness could not make the plot other than a love duet, or rather a succession of love duets."
It is this fact that accounts in a measure for the tinge of monotony noticeable in this opera. When Mons. A. Jullien very truly remarks that of all musicians Gounod is the one whose ideas, method, and style vary the least, he strikes a vulnerable point in the composer's armour. Thus the duets in "Romeo" have appeared to many people as attenuated versions of the love music in "Faust." Not that the themes in themselves bear any appreciable likeness one to another, but that the general characteristics and harmonic colouring are similar. To many this will appear an additional evidence of powerful individuality, whereas others will see in it an element of weakness. Wagner has proved that it is possible to write love duets totally distinct in conception one from the other, yet bearing the impress of the same hand, in "Lohengrin," "Die Walküre," "Tristan," and "Siegfried."
Although the love music of "Romeo" cannot compare with that of "Faust," yet there is no denying the charm that pervades it. Over-sentimental and apt to cloy, it is eminently poetical and full of melody. If we miss the note of true passion, we find in its stead a fund of tenderness. The prelude, or prologue, in which the characters are seen grouped upon the stage, is altogether happily conceived and novel in point of form. There is little in the first act that calls for much notice, with the exception of the clever song for Mercutio, "La Reine Mab," and the graceful two-voiced madrigal. The vocal waltz to which I have previously alluded is out of place in a work of this kind. The second act contains the balcony scene, and is conceived in a delicate and refined vein well adapted to the situation. The music throughout is suave and charming. There is nothing particularly noticeable in the treatment of the marriage scene in the cell of Brother Lawrence.
During the next scene we witness the famous quarrels in which Mercutio and Tybalt are killed. The influence of Meyerbeer is strongly marked here, although the music lacks the dramatic force which is so prominent in the works of the composer of the "Huguenots." The finale to this, with its impassioned tenor solo, is highly effective.
Gounod is once more in his element in the fourth act, which contains the celebrated love duet, "Nuit d'Hyménée," and in the phrase "Non ce n'est pas le jour" he strikes a note of genuine inspiration.
The charming orchestral movement accompanying the sleep of Juliet and the final love duet bring us to the end of the numbers demanding special attention.
"Romeo" proved successful in France from the outset, whereas in England it failed to maintain itself in the operatic répertoire for a number of years, notwithstanding the appearance of Mme. Patti as Juliet. Recently it has acquired an undoubted popularity, owing possibly in part to Mons. Jean de Reszke's assumption of the principal character.
Alike to "Faust," "Romeo" has also been transferred to the répertoire of the Grand Opéra. It is in these two works that the essence of the master's genius would appear to be concentrated.
Gounod having been successful in his treatment of works by Molière, Goethe, and Shakespeare, now turned his attention to Corneille, whose "Polyeucte" exercised an irresistible fascination over his mind.
Several events, however, were destined to transpire before this work was to be brought to a termination.
The Franco-German war broke out, and Gounod, who was past the age to serve his country in a military capacity, took refuge in England. During his sojourn in London he composed the cantata "Gallia," inspired by the troubles that had befallen his native land. This work was written for the inauguration of the Royal Albert Hall, where it was performed for the first time on May 1st, 1871. On this occasion four composers were asked to contribute to the solemnity. Sir Arthur Sullivan represented England, Gounod France, Pinsuti Italy, and Ferdinand Hiller Germany. Gounod entitled his work a "biblical elegy." It met with success in London, and was subsequently performed in Paris. The best portion of "Gallia" is the effective finale for soprano and chorus, "Jerusalem." Gounod was at that time working at his "Polyeucte," and was also engaged upon the "Redemption." Mrs. Weldon was to take the principal part in the first of these works.
Whilst in London Gounod composed a great deal. In addition to "Gallia" he wrote several choral works and a quantity of songs. Amongst these last may be mentioned such popular favourites as "Maid of Athens," "Oh that we two were maying," "There is a green hill far away," "The Worker," "The fountain mingles with the river," and the fascinating duet entitled, "Barcarolle." The "Funeral march of a Marionette" also dates from this epoch, as does the charming "Recueil" of songs entitled "Biondina," instinct with southern spirit. It may be amusing to peruse his opinion of English musical feeling, as recorded by Mdlle. de Bovet: "When one sees Englishmen attentively follow the execution of a score, as grave and solemn as if they were fulfilling an austere duty; then suddenly, as if a spring had been touched, raise their heads and with beaming faces exclaim, 'Oh, how nice! very beautiful indeed!' and again bury themselves in their book as gravely and solemnly as before, one cannot help thinking that they are would-be rather than real musicians. They are actuated by British pride, because their artistic taste must be superior to the taste of other nations, just as their navy is more powerful and their cotton and flannel of better quality."
The opera "Polyeucte," which was terminated in London, was not brought out until October 7, 1878. Previous to this Gounod had set to music an operatic version of Alfred de Vigny's "Cinq Mars," given for the first time at the Paris Opéra Comique on April 5, 1877, which may be classed among his weakest productions. It bears manifest signs of haste. Apart from a suave "cantilena," "Nuit resplendissante," and some graceful ballet music, there is little in "Cinq Mars" that calls for notice.
Gounod was not much luckier with his "Polyeucte," over which he had devoted so much thought and labour. This opera, which savours rather of the oratorio, was not particularly suited to the stage of the Grand Opéra, notwithstanding the introduction of a set ballet, very charming in its way, but utterly unfit for the subject. A gorgeous mise-en-scène and an admirable interpretation did not save it from failure. Out of this elaborate and unequal score it is possible to detach certain pages that are worthy of the illustrious name by which they are signed, but the work in its ensemble is thoroughly disappointing. Gounod seems after "Romeo" to have adopted an entirely retrograde style of composition in his operas, and to have receded with each new operatic attempt.
If "Cinq Mars" and "Polyeucte" were both destined to accentuate this fact, "Le Tribut de Zamora," given at the Grand Opéra in 1881, confirmed it without further doubt. This last work is certainly one of his least interesting operas, not so much in respect of want of ideas, as from the fact of its being constructed upon old and obsolete models. Gounod has pursued an absolutely contrary course to that adopted by Wagner and Verdi, for whereas these masters have produced their greatest works at a comparatively advanced period of their lives, the composer of "Faust" has lost ground at each successive production. In saying this I allude especially to his operas. Mons. Adolphe Jullien, in an article on the "Tribut de Zamora," makes the following apt remarks: "Generally speaking, musicians as they advance in their career obtain renewed strength, and follow an upward course—at any rate, as long as they have not attained old age. It is even the case with certain musicians, such as Rossini and Verdi, that a revelation at a later stage of their career enables them to perceive a new ideal, which they endeavour to attain, with more or less success, according to the amount of genius they possess; even for the one who is unable to reach his aim, it is always a merit to have had it in view. There is nothing of this in M. Gounod. After the long period of rest that followed the production of his best works, from 'Faust' to 'Roméo,' he has re-entered the career with ideas absolutely modified as regards dramatic music; he has returned straight to the old type of opéra comique and opera, carefully cutting up each act into airs and recitatives, each romance or melody into short square periods, simplifying the orchestral accompaniment as much as possible, and subordinating it to the voices, which it often doubles. According to this retrograde system he has written his last operas, 'Cinq Mars,' 'Polyeucte,' and 'Le Tribut de Zamora,' whilst the young French musicians taking his earlier works as their starting-point, were endeavouring to add to the refinement of his orchestration, and to treat each act as a vocal and orchestral symphony. There can be no doubt that it is to this that the dramatic music of the present day tends, and it is all the more strange to see M. Gounod going against this irresistible movement that he has been one of the first to help."
Before taking leave of the master as a dramatic composer it is necessary to mention a musical version of Molière's "Georges Dandin," which has never been performed, and may possibly be still unfinished. The peculiarity of this work consists in the fact of the music being composed to Molière's actual prose. In a preface destined to precede the above opera, Gounod has exposed his ideas with a considerable amount of ingenuity regarding the superiority he considers that prose possesses over verse for operatic purposes. It is to be hoped that an opportunity may some time or other be offered to the public of judging the practical value of these theories by the production of "Georges Dandin." According to Gounod, the substitution of prose for verse opens to the musician "an entirely new horizon, which rescues him from monotony and uniformity." The question, it may be added, had already been mooted by Berlioz, who expressed himself favourable to the employment of prose in an article published in 1858.
There remain two important compositions of Gounod's to be mentioned, both of which naturally possess great interest to the British public, having been heard for the first time in England. "The Redemption," which was produced at the Birmingham Festival of 1882, has obtained a great and lasting success amongst us. It forms part of the current répertoire of the Royal Choral Society.
FACSIMILE OF AUTOGRAPH SCORE BY GOUNOD
FACSIMILE OF AUTOGRAPH SCORE BY GOUNOD
Gounod has preceded the score of what he terms a sacred "trilogy" with a few explanatory words. He describes his work as being the expression of the three great events upon which rest the existence of Christianity: (1) The Passion and death of the Saviour; (2) His glorious life on earth between His resurrection and ascension; (3) The diffusion of Christianity throughout the world by the apostolical mission. These three parts of the "trilogy" are preceded by a prologue on the Creation, the first Fall, and the promise of a Redeemer. This is, indeed, an ambitious programme, and it is scarcely to be wondered at that Gounod should not have succeeded altogether in realising it. The music rarely approaches the grandeur and depth of expression requisite for an adequate interpretation of such a theme. It is full of sensuousness and mystic charm, but although containing several numbers of undeniable beauty, the effect of the work as a whole is decidedly monotonous. Having dedicated the "Redemption" to Queen Victoria, Gounod dedicated "Mors et Vita," a sacred "trilogy" produced at the Birmingham Festival of 1885, to Pope Leo XIII. This companion work to the "Redemption" is at least equally ambitious in its scope. The first part consists of a "Requiem," the second is descriptive of the Judgment, and the last deals with Eternal Life. Hence its title, "Mors et Vita." This work has not obtained the same popularity in England as the "Redemption," to which I personally am inclined to prefer it.
Having arrived thus far in the composer's life, I will have to content myself with the bare mention of works, such as the incidental music written by him to "Les Deux Reines," "Jeanne D'Arc," and "Les Drames Sacrés." Gounod is also the author of two symphonies, composed at an early stage of his career, several masses, and other religious works. As a song-writer he has greatly distinguished himself, and his melodies have long been the delight of vocalists all the world over. Amongst these is one that deserves special mention and has probably done more to popularise his name than the majority of his larger works. I allude to the famous "Ave Maria," composed upon the first prelude of Bach. A facetious Teuton a year or two ago published a book purporting to contain biographies of great musicians. His sketch of Bach runs thus: "John Sebastian Bach owes his great reputation almost entirely to the fortunate circumstance that he received a commission to write the accompaniment to a famous melody by Gounod. With a most incomprehensible impertinence he also published his accompaniment, without Gounod's melody, as a so-called 'prelude,' together with a number of small pieces under the title of 'Wohltemperirte Clavier,' but the book had little success, on account of its silly title, among the admirers of the melody. His numerous sons are, to the annoyance of historians, also called Bach."
Gounod has lately attempted to improve (?) another of Bach's preludes, but with indifferent results. Such things are not to be repeated. Amongst his other songs it is only necessary to mention at random such exquisite gems as the "Serénade," "Medjé," "Le Vallon," "Le Printemps," "Au Printemps," "Prière," "Ce que je suis sans toi," &c., in order to revive the most delightful recollections. Occasionally the composer of "Faust" has been tempted to express his views upon art and artists. Of late years he has exhibited an exuberant admiration for Mozart, upon whose "Don Juan" he has written a pamphlet abounding in expressions of the most dithyrambic description. In a preface to the "Lettres Intimes" of Berlioz, he expresses his great admiration for that master. He has also written two interesting and eulogistic notices of Saint-Saëns's "Henry VIII." and "Ascanio."
Composers are proverbially bad judges of each other's works. This is probably due to the fact that every composer looks upon his art from a special point of view, and is often unable to appreciate works that are constructed upon different lines to his own. Every one knows the manner in which Weber and Spohr criticised Beethoven, and how Schubert was unable to perceive the beauties of Weber's "Euryanthe." Meyerbeer fared badly at the hands of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Wagner. The last-named has been freely condemned by many of his contemporaries. Nevertheless, there is a decided attraction in hearing the opinion of one creative artist about another, and Gounod's ideas concerning some of the great musicians are worth recording. We are already aware of his boundless enthusiasm for Mozart, whom he terms "the first, the only one." Bach and Beethoven have also exercised their sway upon him, and both these masters run the composer of "Don Giovanni" hard in Gounod's estimation. He is reported to have one day expressed himself in the following terms concerning Bach: "If the greatest masters, Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, were to be annihilated by an unforeseen cataclysm, in the same manner in which the painters might be through a fire, it would be easy to reconstitute the whole of music with Bach. Dans le ciel de l'art, Bach est une nébuleuse qui ne s'est pas encore condensée."
According to Mdlle. de Bovet, "Rossini is in Gounod's estimation the most limpid, broad, and lofty of lyric authors"—after Mozart be it said. This certainly would seem to upset my theory that a composer is not able to appreciate works conceived after different methods to his own, for what operas could possibly be more opposed in style than say "Semiramide" or "La Gazza Ladra" and "Faust?" Certainly, if we read the following passage in Mdlle. de Bovet's book we find that Gounod considers that Rossini's work "is summed up in two masterpieces of strangely opposite character, 'Il Barbiere di Seviglia' and 'Guillaume Tell,'" which possibly qualifies the force of the preceding passage. His appreciation of Berlioz is curious. According to Gounod, the composer of the "Romeo and Juliet" symphony is "fantastical and emotional; he suffers, he weeps, he grows desperate, or loses his head. The personal side of things seizes hold of him: he has been called the Jupiter of music. Granted; but a Jupiter who stumbles, a god who is a slave to his passions and his transports; but withal possessing masterly qualities: a marvellous colourist, he handles orchestration—which is the musician's palette—with a sure and powerful grasp. And then we come suddenly amongst remarkable passages, upon mistakes, awkward bits, betraying a tardy and faulty education—in short, an incomplete genius." As regards Wagner, the composer of "Faust" prefers to keep his opinion to himself, or at any rate only to deliver it in words the ambiguity of which fit them for an illustration of the saying that La parole a été donnée à l'homme pour cacher sa pensée.
Gounod inhabits a handsome house in Paris. Mdlle. de Bovet has given the following interesting description of his study, which I will take the liberty of reproducing: "It is an immense apartment, rising the height of two floors, lit by a broad window with light-stained glass; it is panelled with oak and vaulted like a church. And is it not the sanctuary of art? At the further extremity, on a platform reached by several low steps, stands a large organ by Cavaillé Coll; the bellows are worked by a hydraulic machine in the basement. A medallion representing a head of Christ is placed in the centre of the instrument. The writing-table, under the stained-glass window, is one of those composite ones used by musicians, a movable keyboard sliding backwards and forwards under the desk at will. The Renaissance mantelpiece in wood, richly carved in high relief representing scenes of the Passion, is decorated with a bronze medallion of Joan of Arc and massive iron ornaments. In the centre of the room is a large grand piano by Pleyel. One side is filled with bookcases—works on Theology and Philosophy occupying a conspicuous place—and with musical scores; amongst these, the collection of ancient ones inherited by Gounod from his father-in-law is extremely valuable." "In this immense room," writes Mons. Pagnerre, "the author of 'Faust' can often be seen, clad in black velvet, with a loose cravat round his neck, and his feet imprisoned in small slippers fit for a woman. There is ever something feminine about Gounod. His conversation is charming and persuasive. The musician is a witty and eloquent conversationalist. His physiognomy is mobile, his voice is soft, and when he speaks it is like music."
The individuality of a great composer is ever attractive to his admirers, and when in addition to his gifts as a creator he possesses that peculiar qualification known as "personal magnetism," their enthusiasm occasionally causes them to outstep the bounds of common-sense. It is especially members of the fair sex who are prone to indulge in exaggerated expressions of hero-worship. The emotional nature of music causes it to appeal to their minds with such intensity that they make a fetish of their idol, and fall down and worship not only him but everything he touches and looks upon. There are plenty of most amusing incidents on record which might be cited in support of this. Amongst these I will mention the following, concerning which it may be said, Se non è vero, è ben trovato:
A story is told of a lady admirer of his who once paid him a visit. Noticing a cherry-stone on the mantelpiece, she annexed it, took it home and had it set by a jeweller as a brooch, surrounded by diamonds and pearls. Paying a visit to Gounod some weeks later the lady drew attention to her act of reverence, when Gounod said: "But, madam, I never eat cherries; the stone you found on the mantelpiece was from a cherry eaten by my servant Jean!" Tableau!
In summing up the qualifications of a great composer—and as such there can be no doubt that Gounod must be reckoned—it is evidently better to dwell upon that which he has actually achieved than upon what he may have left undone.
The composer of "Faust" has imprinted his mark in an unmistakable manner upon his epoch. He has struck a note that had not previously been heard, and if he has perhaps reiterated this note somewhat too frequently, thereby attenuating its effect, the credit of having been the first to employ it must not be refused to him.
Mons. Adolphe Jullien judges him severely when he says that the more he has had occasion to hear and study his works, the more convinced he has become that Gounod possesses the genius of assimilation. According to him, the greatness of Gounod's talent is derived through the study of the works of all the masters, and especially of those of Bach, Handel, Schumann, and Berlioz. This I consider open to doubt. That Gounod has studied the works of his predecessors and profited thereby is evident, but this has been the case with all musicians. Something more is required to compose a work such as "Faust"; that something which is the appanage of but few composers, and which is known as "individuality."
Mons. Arthur Pougin, in his Supplement to Fétis's "Dictionnaire des Musiciens," thus describes the genius of Gounod: "Musically and as regards the theatre, M. Gounod is more spiritualistic than materialistic, more of a poet than a painter, more elegiac and more nervous than truly pathetic. It is perhaps this that has caused people to say that he lacked dramatic feeling; those who have expressed themselves thus have been mistaken, for it is not the dramatic feeling—that is to say, la perception passionée—which Gounod occasionally wants, but rather the temperament. At the same time, the author of 'Faust,' 'Roméo,' 'Le Médecin Malgré Lui,' remains a true poet, an inspired creator, an artist of the first rank and of high order."
The essence of the master's genius is contained in "Faust." Although since then he has composed many works of great merit, yet he has never been inspired to a similar degree. He may have abused certain formulas, and employed the same devices ad nauseam, but at any rate he can claim them as his own. It is not his fault if his imitators have reproduced his mannerisms to so great an extent.
Ernest Reyer once remarked that every one nowadays wrote music in the style of Gounod. "So far," added the witty Academician, "it is still that of Gounod himself that I prefer." This opinion, I venture to think, will probably be endorsed by my readers.
I cannot better terminate this notice on the composer of "Faust" than by reproducing the following sonnet addressed to him by Camille Saint-Saëns:
"Son art a la douceur, le ton des vieux pastels
Toujours il adora vos voluptés bénies,
Cloches saintes, concert des orgues, purs autels;
De son œil clair, il voit les beautés infinies.
Sur sa lyre d'ivoire, avec les Polymnies,
Il dit l'hymne paiën, cher aux Dieux immortels.
'Faust,' qui met dans sa main le sceptre des génies
Egale les Juan, les Raoul et les Tell.
De Shakespeare et de Goethe il dore l'auréole;
Sa voix a rehaussé l'éclat de leur parole,
Leur œvre de sa flamme a gardé le reflet.
Echos du Mont Olympe, échos du Paraclet
Sont redis par sa Muse aux langueurs de créole;
Telle vibre à tous les vents une harpe d'Eole."
CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS portrait signed
signature
THERE probably does not exist a living composer who is gifted with a musical organisation so complete as that of Camille Saint-Saëns. A perfect master of his craft, the French composer has contributed his quota to every branch of his art, and may truly be said to have distinguished himself in each. An eclectic in the highest sense of the word, Saint-Saëns has attempted every style and form, disseminating his works right and left with seemingly reckless prodigality. Never at a loss for an idea, invariably correct and often imaginative, going from a piano concerto to an opera, and from a cantata to a symphonic poem with disconcerting ease, composing rapidly, yet never exhibiting any trace of slovenly workmanship, finding time in the meanwhile to distinguish himself as organist and pianist, and to wield the pen of the critic, the astonishing capabilities of this wonderfully gifted musician may be put down as absolutely unique. His eclecticism may indeed be said to have been with him both a source of strength and weakness, for reasons which I shall propose to examine later on. Before endeavouring to formulate an opinion upon his multifarious works, a few biographical notes will not be out of place.
Camille Saint-Saëns was born on October 9, 1835. He lost his father when a child, and was brought up by his mother and his great-aunt, thanks to whose combined care he was able to battle against the natural delicacy of his constitution. Many anecdotes are related concerning the precocity of his musical development, and the ease with which he mastered those first principles of his art which usually appear so trying to the youthful mind.
One day, when he was at play, a visitor having been ushered into the adjoining room, the child, in listening to his footsteps, gravely observed, to the amusement of those present: "That gentleman in walking marks a crotchet and a quaver." The visitor in question walked with a limp.
It was from his great-aunt that he learnt the elements of music. Later on, he studied the piano under Stamaty,[19] and composition under Maleden, subsequently entering the Conservatoire in the class presided over by Halévy.
In 1852 he competed without success for the "Prix de Rome," and that same year witnessed the production of his first symphony by the Société de Sainte-Cécile under Seghers.
Twelve years later, he once more entered the lists, but again failed, and the prize was awarded to Victor Sieg.[20]
Saint-Saëns was luckier in 1867, when his cantata "Les Noces de Prométhée" was allotted the first place in a competition organised for a work to be performed on the occasion of the opening of the International Exhibition.
No less than one hundred and two musicians competed for the prize. Berlioz wrote as follows to his friend Ferrand concerning the success achieved by Saint-Saëns: "On avait entendu les jours précédents cent quatre cantates, et j'ai eu le plaisir de voir couronner (à l'unanimité) celle de mon jeune ami Camille Saint-Saëns, l'un des plus grands musiciens de notre époque.... Je suis tout ému de notre séance du jury! Comme Saint-Saëns va être heureux! j'ai couru chez lui, lui annoncer la chose, il était sorti avec sa mère. C'est un maître pianiste foudroyant. Enfin! voilà donc une chose de bon sens faite dans notre monde musical. Cela m'a donné de la force; je ne vous aurais pas écrit si longuement sans cette joie."[21]
A curious incident is related as having occurred on the occasion of this competition. The works sent in naturally did not bear the names of their authors, and many of the judges seemed to imagine that Saint-Saëns' cantata, which was far ahead of the others in point of merit, was by a foreigner. This caused the veteran Auber to make the following remark: "Je voudrais être certain que l'auteur de ces 'Noces' soit un Français. C'est un symphoniste si sur de ses moyens, si franc du collier, d'allure si libre, que je ne vois pas chez nous son pareil."
The fact of Saint-Saëns having sent his score from London led some of his judges to imagine that they were voting for Sir Julius (then Mr.) Benedict.
Saint-Saëns had been named organist at the church of Saint Merry when only seventeen years of age, and in 1858 was appointed to a similar post at the Madeleine, in succession to Lefébure Wély.[22] He relinquished this position in 1877, finding that he had not sufficient time to devote to his duties, and was succeeded by Théodore Dubois.[23] In the meanwhile, the reputation of Saint-Saëns as a pianist had been spreading, and during frequent journeys over Europe he invariably met with great success wherever he went.
The opinion of one artist concerning another is ever interesting, and the following words of Hans von Bülow, written in 1859, will give an idea of the esteem in which the great German pianist held his French colleague: "There does not exist a monument of art of whatsoever country, school, or epoch, that Saint-Saëns has not thoroughly studied. When we came to talk about the symphonies of Schumann, I was most astonished to hear him reproduce them on the piano with such an amount of facility and exactitude that I remained dumbfounded in comparing this prodigious memory with my own, which is thought so much of. In talking with him I saw that nothing was unknown to him, and what made him appear still greater in my eyes was the sincerity of his enthusiasm and his great modesty." It must be recollected that at that time Schumann was comparatively little known in France. Testimony of this kind coming from a musician like Hans von Bülow is indeed precious. We have already seen what Auber and Berlioz thought of Saint-Saëns, it remains to record the opinions emitted by Wagner and Gounod.
The composer of "Tristan," in a réunion consisting of several French artists who had journeyed to Switzerland to see him, drank to the health of Saint-Saëns, whom he qualified as the "greatest living French composer."
Gounod has never lost an opportunity of expressing his admiration for his friend's wonderful gifts, and has recorded his appreciation of the surprising versatility so often exhibited by Saint-Saëns in the following words: "He could write at will a work in the style of Rossini, of Verdi, of Schumann, or of Wagner."
Mons. Edouard Schuré has endeavoured to trace the musical physiognomy of Saint-Saëns in the following lines, occurring in the preface written by him to the interesting "Profils de Musiciens" of Mons. Hugues Imbert: "Personne ne possède plus à fond la science technique de la musique, personne ne connait mieux les maîtres, de Bach jusqu'à Liszt, à Brahms, et Rubinstein, personne ne manie plus habilement toutes les formes vocales et instrumentales. Mons. Saint-Saëns peut dire: 'Rien de musical ne m'est étranger.' Il a abordé tour à tour tous les genres et presque avec un égal bonheur. On remarque chez lui une imagination souple et vive, une constante aspiration à la force, à la noblesse, à la majesté. De ses quatuors, de ses symphonies se détachent des échappées grandioses, des fusées trop vite évanouies. Mais il serait impossible de définir l'individualité qui se détache de l'ensemble de son œuvre. On n'y sent pas le tourment d'une âme, la poursuite d'un idéal. C'est le Protée multiforme et polyphone de la musique. Essayez de le saisir; le voilà qui se change en sirène. Vous êtes sous le charme? Il se métamorphose en oiseau moqueur. Vous croyez le tenir enfin? mais il monte dans les nuages en hypogriffe. Sa nature propre perce le mieux en certaines fantaisies spirituelles d'un caractère sceptique et mordant comme la 'Danse Macabre' et le 'Rouet d'Omphale.'"
Saint-Saëns is no stranger to us. His visits to London have been frequent, and his cantata, "The Lyre and the Harp," was composed expressly for the Birmingham Festival of 1879. This very year, 1893, the University of Cambridge has paid homage to the greatness of the musician by conferring upon him the honorary degree of Doctor of Music. His first appearance in London was at the Musical Union in 1871. He played at Philharmonic Concerts in 1874 and 1879, choosing Beethoven's concerto in G on the first occasion, and his own concerto in G minor on the second. He has also been heard at the Crystal Palace, and this year (1893) he again appeared at a Philharmonic Concert, playing the same concerto in G minor of his own composition, and conducting his symphonic poem, "Le Rouet d'Omphale." During one of his visits to London, some ten or twelve years ago, he met with an accident that might have had fatal results. He fell through an open trap-door, and received serious injuries to his back, from which he did not recover for a long while. Having promised to take part in an arrangement for eight hands of his "Marche Heroïque," at a concert given by Sir Julius Benedict, he somehow contrived to get on to the platform and perform his task, but when it came to acknowledge the applause of the audience he was unable to bend forward or bow, and had to slide off as best he could. As a pianist, Saint-Saëns may be classed in the very first rank. His execution is prodigious, and his lightness of touch quite unique. He is, perhaps, heard at his best when interpreting Bach, with whose works he is as intimately acquainted as any living musician.
Unfortunately, he now seriously contemplates giving up performing in 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♭, producing a diminished fifth on the open strings A and E♭, 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.