It was not until Italian opera made its way into France that a genuine French opera was developed. The first attempt was made by Rinuccini, who took "Eurydice" to Paris in 1600. Its total failure to touch the popular taste is an excellent demonstration of the difference between it and the musical shows to which the French were accustomed; and during the entire reign of Louis XIII. (1610-1643) the ballet remained the favorite form in France. An attempt was made in the minority of Louis XIV. by Cardinal Mazarin to revive the Italian opera, but again it did not meet with favor. The earliest attempt at a genuine opera in French, so far as is known, was "Akebar, Roi de Mogol," by the Abbé Mailly, produced in 1646.
Pierre Perrin, a French poet (1616-1676) was a conspicuous figure in the establishment of opera in France. He was a sort of major domo in the employ of Gaston, Duke of Orléans, and his post enabled him to make the acquaintance of some powerful personages. Of these the Cardinal Mazarin took a liking to him and became his patron. He also met the composer Robert Cambert (1628-1677), who, after hearing a performance of "Eurydice," acceded to Perrin's proposition to set to music his "Pastorale," described as the "première comedie Française en musique." This was performed at Issy in 1659, and afterward at Vincennes before the king. It was successful and led to the production by the two men of "Ariane," "Adonis," and other works. On Nov. 10, 1668, Perrin obtained from Louis XIV. a patent for the performance of opera, and founded the Académie de Musique, now known to all the world as the Paris Grand Opéra. Perrin and Cambert carried on this enterprise for thirty-two years. Their principal work was "Pomone," produced on March 19, 1671. The success of this embryonic opera was something remarkable. It ran eight months and paid to the poet alone 30,000 francs. The score of "Pomone," as well as that of the "Ballet Comique de la Royne" and other early French works, is published by Theodore Michaelis, in a collection of the "Chefs-d'œuvre de l'opéra Français," with piano arrangement and an historical introduction by J. B. Wekerlin. The following example of Cambert's recitative, leading to a duet, is taken from this score:—
[Music: "Pomone".]
It is not difficult to see that this recitative shows an advance in flexibility and directness over that of Beaujoyeux. Undoubtedly Cambert had profited by his study of the Italian works produced under the auspices of the Cardinal Mazarin, but he did not penetrate the secret of the Italian method. The influence of the ballet style is discernible throughout the work. Probably Cambert would have hesitated at a complete adoption of the Italian method, even if he had been capable of it, for it would hardly have been approved by the public taste of France at that time.
Perrin and Cambert had associated with themselves in the Académie the Marquis de Sourdeac, with whom Perrin, for some reason not on record, had a quarrel in the course of the run of "Pomone." Perrin resigned from the partnership, which continued without him. But he was not content to be idle, and in company with Henri Sinchard, a poet, and the Sieur de Sablières, a musician, started a rival enterprise.
It was at this point that the famous composer, Giovanni Battista Lulli, usually known by his French name, Jean Baptiste Lully, entered upon the scene and became the virtual founder of French opera in the grand style. Lulli was born in 1633 near Florence, and as a boy received some musical instruction. He was taken to Paris by the Chevalier de Guise and placed in the service of Mlle. de Montpensier. He became a fine violinist and was made a member of her band. But he was stupid enough to write an indecent poem referring to his mistress, and she dismissed him. In spite of this temporary downfall he succeeded in working his way into the orchestra of Louis XIV., known as "Les Violons du Roi," and in 1652 became its director. He appears to have been an expert courtier, for he won the favor of the king and set to music some ballet-comedies by Molière.
When Perrin parted company with Cambert and Sourdeac, the opera suffered from his rivalry. Lulli, who had now acquired great influence with the king, saw in the battle of the two houses his opportunity. He proposed to purchase the interest of Sourdeac and Cambert in the opera patent and they accepted his terms. He then induced the king to remodel the patent so as to make its provisions exclusive. The new patent conferred upon Lulli the sole right to the performance of opera. It prohibited the managers of other theatres from employing more than two singers or six players of stringed instruments. This, of course, made grand operas out of the question for Lulli's rivals, and he set about producing such large works as he alone could present.
Discreditable as Lulli's conduct was in this whole matter, it must be admitted that he did all that he could for the elevation of French operatic art. In this direction he had a powerful ambition, and although it was selfish it was not altogether narrow. His most important operas were: "Alceste" (1674), "Thesée" (1675), "Persée" (1682), "Roland" (1685), "Armide" (1686), and—his last—"Acis et Galathée" (1686). The influence of his operas may be judged from the fact that they held the stage till 1774. Lulli's works were inferior to those of his Italian contemporaries in purely musical beauty. The aria as written by Lulli possesses far less distinctness and symmetry of form, and he showed no such ability as the Neapolitans did in dealing with voices in mass. Neither in duets nor in ensembles was he especially happy. His choral writing is generally thin and poorly developed, and his duets are rather dialogues. But on the other hand Lulli far excelled the contemporary Neapolitan composers in sincerity of purpose and in the dramatic fidelity of his method.
He endeavored to the limit of his ability to fit the music to the text. In this he followed the fundamental principles of Peri, and established that tradition of dramatic sincerity which has never left the French school of opera. He increased the value of the chorus by making it an integral part of the drama. The Neapolitans used the chorus merely for musical effect. Lulli gave it a dramatic reason for existence. Its music is always appropriate to the situation and fits well into the general tone-picture. His recitative is built largely after the Italian model of his time, and it is a vast advance over that of Beaujoyeux and Cambert. Here is an example from "Armide":—
["Armide".]
It must be understood that Lulli's recitative was not always dramatically co rrect. Sometimes it is merely grandiose in style, but it is much more animated, flexible, and capable of expression than that of his predecessors. Lulli was undoubtedly influenced in his solo writing by the works of Monteverde, which were performed in Paris under the direction of Cavalli. Lulli is said to have written some of the ballet music which had to be inserted in these works to please the Parisians. The love of ballet has never died out in France. It was a fight over it which killed Wagner's "Tannhäuser" in Paris in 1861. Lulli's early training naturally made him an eclectic, and when he set out to provide the Parisian public with grand operas to its taste, he chose from French ballet and Italian opera such features as he believed would be popular, and upon these as a foundation reared a new version of the Greek drama, thoroughly Gallic in its conception.
Courtier, man of the world, and self-seeker, Lulli knew how to plan an opera, with such musical materials as there were in his day, so that it should present some effect of contrast and shape. For one thing, he fairly rid himself of everything pertaining to the ecclesiastical style of composition. As I have said, he wrote arias, but their indistinctness is owing largely to the fact that the conventional form had not yet become fully established. It is, perhaps, in the general plan of his operas that Lulli shows the most important advance over his predecessors. He was certainly far ahead of Peri, Monteverde, Cavalli, Beaujoyeux, and Cambert in the manner in which he distributed his scenes so as to give variety of emotion, and in the effective way in which he arranged the succession of recitatives, arias, choruses, and ballets. The plan was, indeed, designed wholly with a view to stage effectiveness, and thereby led away from the dramatic directness of Peri; but on the other hand Lulli's music followed the development of his story with much sincerity. The breadth and force of the recitative in many places suggest that the public taste to which he catered was by no means to be despised.
Lulli was the founder of a school, but among his followers there was no man of genius, and only one of noticeable talent. This was Marin Marais (1656-1728), who showed a broader style than Lulli in arias, and who made some attempts at instrumental description in his accompaniments. But the other members of the school were mere imitators, and French opera became little more than an adherence to the traditions and conventions of Lulli. Its vitality seemed in a fair way to desert it completely, when a new master arose and put fresh life into it. This master was Jean Philippe Rameau, born at Dijon, Sept. 25, 1683, died at Paris, Sept. 12, 1764. He showed musical gifts when a child, and his parents gave him a musical education. He went to Milan in 1701 to study, but was dissatisfied with Italian music. After considerable travel he arrived in Paris in 1717, whence he was driven away by the rivalry of the organist, Marchand. He went into retirement in the provinces, and wrote his "Traité de l'Harmonie." His theoretical works gave him reputation, and at the age of fifty he succeeded in having his "Hippolyte et Aricie" produced. The conservative followers of Lulli and the new admirers of Rameau now entered into a controversy which lasted till the success of an Italian opera buffa company in 1752 united the forces, under the title of Anti-buffonists, in defence of French opera. Rameau's principal works were: "Castor et Pollux" (1737), "Zoroastre" (1749), and "Les Surprises d'Amour" (1759).
Rameau's operas show certain decided improvements upon those of Lulli. He was a more sincere artist, with a self-sacrificing devotion to high ideals of which Lulli was quite incapable. The story of Rameau's early struggles and of his late recognition by force of sheer merit is far different from that of Lulli's courtier-like machinations. But Rameau recognized the value of Lulli's art forms and did not set out to overthrow them. He took them up and improved upon them by reason of his strong grasp of dramatic truth and his larger conception of musical organism. To put the matter in the plainest possible terms, Rameau was a much more truthfully dramatic composer than Lulli, and at the same time he was a better musician. His mastery of the science of harmony enabled him to build an instrumental background for his vocal parts far richer and more expressive than anything within the reach of Lulli. His instrumentation was much broader and more highly colored than his predecessor's, and his declamation is more musical, and hence more fruitful in melodic beauty. Rameau's works are full of evidence that he sought earnestly after dramatic expression in the grand style; and that he was not wholly able to escape affectation is due largely to the taste of the period in which he lived,—the period of Racine, Voltaire, and Rousseau.
His music, however, abounds in strong and varied rhythms and in a generally richer style. Previous to his time, for instance, the French composers accompanied the voices with strings in five parts, and flutes and oboes in two parts. Rameau insisted upon giving each instrument a special part, and he introduced the now familiar custom of writing solo passages for the different wood wind instruments. He also greatly improved the character of the choral writing in French opera. But Rameau was not highly skilled in writing for the voice. He recognized that fact himself when it was too late for him to remodel his style. And he had a foolish idea that a good composer could set any kind of a libretto to music. Many of his works failed to please the Parisians simply because their books were so weak. But on the whole, Rameau left his mark on the French opera. There can be no doubt that so great a composer as Gluck learned much from him, and he must at any rate be credited with a faithful preservation of those principles of the real grand opera style which entered the French school at its inception and which have never wholly departed from it. It was the influence of such works as his that prepared Paris to receive the sincere dramatic operas of Gluck, the next composer of importance in the line of development of French opera.
His early Italian operas—His conversion and the cold reception of his new ideas in Vienna—Recognized in Paris as Rameau's successor—The conquest of Piccini—Gluck's theory of the lyric drama—How he developed it in practice—His immediate successors and imitators.
IN spite of the labors of Rameau the prevailing style of Italian opera gained a footing in Paris, where its cheap melody and direct appeal to the unthinking gave it a dangerous popularity. Its unreality, its dramatic infidelity, and above all its exaltation of the singer above the composer, went far toward leading the Parisians astray from the true opera given them by Lulli and Rameau. It required the work of a man of true genius, guided by the sincere dramatic purposes of the earlier composers, to restore opera in France to its position of artistic nobility and to fix it there. The man who achieved this was Christopher Willibald Gluck, who turned to Paris only when he found that his work failed of appreciation elsewhere.
Gluck was born July 2, 1714, at Weidenwang, near the frontier of Bavaria and Bohemia. He received his early musical instruction in a Jesuit seminary. In 1737 or 1738 he went to Italy in the service of Prince Melzi. In Italy he wrote and produced, in 1741, his first opera, "Artaserse." In five years he wrote eight operas, all of which are utterly forgotten. They were built on the conventional plan of the Italian opera seria of the time. In 1745 Gluck went to England, where two important things occurred: he produced a wretched work called "Piramo e Tisbe," which failed; and he heard Handel's oratorios. His "Piramo e Tisbe" was a pasticcio,—an opera made up of tunes selected from his earlier works. Gluck's innate genius led him to perceive that the failure of the opera was due to its lack of dramatic sincerity, its complete want of organic unity. He began to understand that the opera must be a drama expressed in musical terms. He went to Paris, heard Rameau's operas, and learned something about French recitative.
But he was not yet ready to put his half-formed theories to the test. He wrote several operas in his early style, but at length he felt that he must break with the artificial conventions. Raniero di Calzabigi became his librettist, and the result of their joint labors was "Orfeo," produced at Vienna, Oct. 5, 1762. He followed this with several minor works in his old style, but on Dec. 16, 1767, produced "Alceste," a complete and unyielding embodiment of his reformatory theories. In 1769 he produced "Paris and Helen." After this he decided that his operatic purposes would be better understood in Paris than in Germany, and he set out for the French capital. There he made an operatic version of Racine's "Iphigénie en Aulide," which was produced April 19, 1774. The work aroused the greatest enthusiasm among those who had been lamenting the decline of French opera since Rameau. "Orfeo" and "Alceste" were produced, and Gluck became the favorite of the nobility and the artistic circle.
The admirers of Italian opera were aroused by the success of Gluck, and selected as the champion who should overthrow him the gifted Italian composer Piccini. The musical warfare was quite as warm as the subsequent Wagner and anti-Wagnerite controversy. Men of letters bombarded each other with impolite phrases in the public prints, and ladies of fashion pelted each other with expressions unfit for publication at private dinners. The supporters of Gluck awaited eagerly a new work. On Sept. 23, 1777, he produced "Armide." It was only a success of esteem. On May 18, 1779, he brought out "Iphigénie en Aulide," and all Paris bowed its head before him. Even Piccini acknowledged his superiority. Gluck's last work was "Echo et Narcisse," Sept. 21, 1779. He became ill, and, after suffering for several years, died Nov. 15, 1787.
The simple fact that Gluck in beginning his labor of reform in opera selected for the subject of his libretto the story used by Rinuccini and Peri in "Euridice" shows that he embarked upon his undertaking with a sincere desire to get at the fundamental principles of the true drama per musica. From the miserable incongruity of his own "Piramo e Tisbe" he proceeded to the conviction that the ultimate purpose of opera music must be a correct and moving embodiment of the emotions expressed by the text. The methods which he regarded as efficient are best enumerated by himself in the preface to his "Alceste." He says:—
"I endeavored to reduce music to its proper function, that of seconding poetry by enforcing the expression of the sentiment and the interest of the situations without interrupting the action, or weakening it by superfluous ornament. My idea was that the relation of music to poetry was much the same as that of harmonious coloring and well disposed light and shade to an accurate drawing, which animates the figures without altering the outlines. I have therefore been very careful never to interrupt a singer in the heat of a dialogue in order to introduce a tedious ritornelle, nor to stop him in the middle of a piece either for the purpose of displaying the flexibility of his voice on some favorable vowel, or that the orchestra might give him time to take breath before a long-sustained note.
"Furthermore I have not thought it right to hurry through the second part of a song, if the words happened to be the most important of the whole, in order to repeat the first part regularly four times over; or to finish the air where the sense does not end in order to allow the singer to exhibit his power of varying the passage at pleasure. In fact my object was to put an end to abuses against which good taste and good sense have long protested in vain.
"My idea was that the overture ought to indicate the subject and prepare the spectators for the character of the piece they are about to see; that the instruments ought to be introduced in proportion to the degree of interest and passion in the words; and that it was necessary above all to avoid making too great a disparity between the recitative and the air of a dialogue, so as not to break the sense of a period or awkwardly interrupt the movement and animation of a scene. I also thought that my chief endeavor should be to attain a grand simplicity, and consequently I have avoided making a parade of difficulties at the cost of clearness. I have set no value on novelty as such, unless it was naturally suggested by the situation and suited to the expression. In short, there was no rule which I did not consider myself bound to sacrifice for the sake of effect."
Gluck, of course, meant for the sake of dramatic effect. His artistic creed, as set forth in this preface, is singularly clear and concentrated. Any one who examines a Gluck opera, or goes to hear his "Orfeo," which is still performed, in the expectation of finding a vast difference in the outward shape from that employed by the Italian opera composers of the time will be disappointed. The ground plan of opera had not been long enough before the world to satisfy serious thinkers that it might beneficially be subjected to a radical reform, a reform tending toward a restoration of the continued recitative of Peri. Opera had to pass through the middle stages of development, in which its forms were perfected and exhausted, before men could discover that as mere forms they were valueless for the purposes of dramatic expression, but that the materials out of which they were made could be utilized. This time has but recently arrived. Gluck was ahead of it. He was not prepared to discern the artificial restraints put upon free expression by the old formulas. And even if he had done so, he could not by any possibility have induced his public to follow him in an overthrow of all that they regarded as a necessary part of opera.
Gluck was compelled to use the aria form in his operas, because there was no other definite form in his day, and operatic art was not sufficiently comprehended by the public to admit of the introduction of a new form. The French ballet was a necessary part of his scheme. Even a century later the Parisians refused to accept opera without it. But Gluck restored to the aria its dramatic purpose. In his hands it was no longer a mere show piece for the singer, but a definite, carefully designed, and generally successful embodiment of an emotional state. The famous "Che faro senza Euridice" in his "Orfeo" is an admirable example of the Gluck aria at its best. To be sure, it sounds somewhat placid to us, accustomed as we are to the impassioned and highly colored musical diction of recent composers. But to the French of Gluck's day with their by no means incorrect conception of the purity and dignity of Greek art, which Gluck was trying to imitate, the "grand simplicity" of this style must have been highly influential. Indeed if there is one quality above all others in the music of Gluck's "Orfeo" which strikes the thoughtful listener of today, it is its classicism. It is a full and satisfying embodiment of what we believe to have been the Greek art spirit. One can think of Gluck's "Orfeo" as being performed in a Greek theatre of the age of Pericles, and the fancy does not shock the mind.
As in the case of the arias, so Gluck also endeavored to make his recitative purely expressive rather than merely conventional. In this his task was easier, because he was advancing along the path already trodden by Lulli and Rameau. He strove furthermore to make the ballet and the chorus integral parts of the action of the play. No finer example of this is to be found anywhere in his works than in the scene in Hades in "Orfeo." The dance of the demons, tentative in style as it seems to us today, is at least an honest attempt to give the dancing a pantomimic value, and the whole action of the chorus in this scene, with its expressive gestures and its vigorous shouts of "No" to the pleadings of Orpheus, is an example of dramatic organization of the highest kind. In this scene poetry, painting, music, and action are as firmly and indissolubly joined as they are in any scene in those dramas which a century later were called "the art work of the future." Even the instrumentation is as carefully designed for dramatic purposes as that of Wagner. The differences are in the state of development of the art, not in design. In Gluck's day orchestral effects had not been developed as they are now, but I am quite prepared to adopt the words of Dr. Parry: "Mozart was the first to show real natural gift and genuine feeling for beautiful disposition of tone, but Gluck anticipated modern procedure in adapting his colors exactly to the mood of the situation. A good deal had been attempted already in a sort of half-hearted and formal manner, but he was the first to seize firmly on the right principles and to carry out his objects with any mastery of resources."
Gluck's immediate influence was confined to French opera, and it is because of this that I have placed him in the history of opera in France. He seems to have had absolutely no effect on Italian opera. Less than thirty years after his death all Europe was whistling or strumming "Di tanti palpiti." On French opera, however, the influence of Gluck was permanent. He fastened upon it the sound traditions of Rameau, and he pointed out the true path of progress. That his immediate successors so frequently mistook the means for the end, and became merely prosy and prolix where he was simple and chaste, or in their endeavors to avoid this fate fell into pretentious bombast, was due to the fact that Gluck was unquestionably ahead of his time. In his attempts to put his theories into practice he himself was hampered by the incomplete development of musical material in his day. We find him constantly struggling for full dramatic expression and missing it because he had not the later composer's palette of color at his command. His imitators, less gifted than he and moved less by unyielding artistic convictions than by the desire to gain general approval, could hardly be expected to equal him. It was not till French opera had reached the period in which its composers by the study of the works of German and Italian masters had formulated an eclectic system of expression that it was able to take its place in the high seat of dramatic art. Yet one seeks in vain through the contents of French musical drama for any works which are so pure in their attempt at dramatic sincerity as those of Gluck.
His immediate successor, and the one who best succeeded in maintaining his traditions, was Étienne Henri Méhul (1763-1817). His principal works were: "Stratonice" (1792), "Ariodant" (1799), and "Joseph" (1807). His music is simple and dignified in style and full of expressive force. But his operas had to give way to the more easily popular Italian works in all countries outside of France. Luigi Cherubini (1760-1842) was an Italian, but passed most of his life in Paris when he was director of the Conservatory of Music. His principal operas were: "Les deux Journées" (1800) and "Faniska" (1806). Cherubini began his career by writing old-fashioned Italian opera, but became a convert to the theories of Gluck. He was a writer of no small force and originality. Beethoven was his enthusiastic admirer, and it is certain that, although the antiquated style of his recitative and arioso makes his music unpalatable now, he was sincere in his attempt at dramatic fidelity. Another Italian who wrote for the French stage and tried to imitate the French manner was Gasparo Spontini (1774-1851). His principal operas were: "La Vestale" (1807), "Ferdinand Cortez" (1809), "Olympie" (1819), and "Agnes von Hohenstaufen" (1829). The last named opera was written for Berlin. Spontini's style seems very dry and stilted to us now, and it is quite certain that he had neither the melodic gift of Méhul nor the dramatic inspiration of Cherubini. In his attempts at scenic display, glittering stage pictures, and the employment of imposing effects, he foreshadowed Meyerbeer. Daniel François Auber (1784-1871) wrote "La Muette de Portici," generally known by its Italian title "Massaniello," and "Fra Diavolo" (1830). The former work is directly in the line of transition from Spontini to Meyerbeer. The latter belongs rather to the school of opéra comique. Jacques François Halévy (1799-1862) wrote several operas, of which only "La Juive" (1835) holds the stage. The works of Auber and Halévy show a decided tendency away from the simple directness of the earlier French composers towards a cheap and easy theatrical effectiveness. "La Juive," however, contains some passages of singular beauty and genuine power.
The grandiose style and its ground plan—External display and internal emptiness—Gounod and his dramatic power—Bizet and "Carmen"—Works and tendency of living writers of French opera.
THE gradual drift of French opera away from the pure style of Gluck led to the success of one of the most remarkable figures in the history of music, a composer whose works persist in pleasing the public, while they enrage both critics and musicians. This composer was Jacob Meyerbeer, born of wealthy Jewish parents at Berlin, Sept. 5, 1791. He studied music under Lauska, Clementi, and Vogler, and began his public career as a juvenile pianist. His first opera was "Jephthah's Vow,"—a failure, as were several other early works. His successful operas were: "Robert le Diable" (Paris, 1831), "Les Huguenots" (Paris, 1835), "The Camp in Silesia" (Vienna, 1843), and afterwards remodelled as "L'Étoile du Nord," (Paris, 1854), "Le Prophète" (1849), "Le Pardon de Ploermel", generally called "Dinorah" (Paris, 1859), and "L'Africaine" (Paris, 1865). He did not live to see the production of the last work, but died May 2, 1864. Of these works "Robert" is now performed infrequently, and "Dinorah" only to please some light, colorature soprano. "L'Étoile du Nord" is practically dead. "Les Huguenots," "Le Prophète," and "L'Africaine" are still popular. The most consistent and sustained of these three is "L'Africaine," though the greatest heights to which Meyerbeer ever ascended are to be found in "Les Huguenots." It is generally conceded that the duet between Valentine and Raoul in the fourth act is a genuinely great piece of dramatic writing. Even Schumann and Wagner, the severest critics of Meyerbeer, admitted that.
The operas of Meyerbeer are remarkable examples of a skill entirely devoted to the production of ad captandum effects. Everything imposing, grandiose, delusive in splendor, or dazzling in cheap finery is to be found in these works, which are arranged on a grand plan. Meyerbeer's distribution of arias, duets, ensembles, and finales is the result of a deliberate eclecticism. He took for his purpose all that seemed most effective in the Italian and French schools. His finales, for instance, are often ridiculously weak in melodic ideas, as in that of the second act of "Les Huguenots," but they are always worked up with a clever combination of action, stage pictures, and pretentious orchestration. His arias are deliberately designed to catch the applause of an audience. He uses ballets, processions, pageants, and glittering masses of people on the stage to hide his poverty of ideas, and, as Dr. Parry well notes, when he has absolutely no idea at all, he distracts your attention from that fact by a cadenza for the clarinet. His most successful combination of music and pageantry is in the return of Selika to her kingdom in "L'Africaine." His poorest is the wedding festivities of Valentine in "Les Huguenots." There is no heart in Meyerbeer's works. He was capable of taking infinite pains, but all for the sake of instantaneous effect. To quote Dr. Parry again: "The scenes are collections of the most elaborate artifices, carefully contrived and eminently effective from the baldest theatrical point of view. But for continuity, development, real feeling, nobility of expression, greatness of thought, anything that may be truly honored in the observance, there is but the rarest trace."
A good deal has been said about Meyerbeer's powers of characterization, and his works have been compared to historical novels. But a very little analysis will show that the characterization in "Les Huguenots," for instance, is almost purely pictorial. What impression would be left of St. Bris without his black velvet clothes and courtly bearing? And how prominent would Marcel be without his costume, and his war cry "Ein feste Burg?" Marguerite de Valois is characterized by white satin, diamonds, and arias di bravura. The truth is that Meyerbeer's characterization is altogether superficial. The best that can be said of Meyerbeer is that he was amazingly clever, and that in a few places in his works, finding theatrical effectiveness and dramatic sincerity not incapable of achieving in combination his desired result, he wrote like a master.
The most recent French composers have shown a tendency to utilize the general plan of the Meyerbeer opera, but to try to infuse into it a genuine dramatic sincerity. They have written fewer cadenzas and more sincerely expressive melody. They have in general adhered to the traditions which have belonged to French opera from its earliest days, the traditions of Lulli, Rameau, and Gluck, but they have superimposed upon the classic outlines of the works of those masters a more attractive sensuous beauty. They have made concessions to the demands of a not profound public, yet they have persistently declined to do everything for mere empty effect, as Meyerbeer did. They have striven to give adequate expression to the dramatic ideas of their librettos, and they have aimed at organic unity in their music; but they have demonstrated their belief that they would achieve their purpose with music of the kind loved by the mass of opera-goers. In this line of practice the most successful of all the French masters was Charles François Gounod, born in Paris, June 17, 1818, and died in the same city, Oct. 18, 1893.
He was a student at the conservatoire, where he won the second "prix de Rome" in 1837 and the "grand prix" in 1839. He studied theology for two years, and the effect of his religious pursuits, and his study of the works of Palestrina during a stay of several years in Rome is manifested in some of his compositions. He himself declared that the most powerful musical influence of his career was his first hearing of Mozart's "Don Giovanni." His first opera, "Sapho" was produced April 16, 1851. It had no lasting success. "La Nonne Sanglante" (Oct. 18, 1854) had eleven performances only. These works were produced at the Grand Opéra, but Gounod was now obliged to try his fortunes at the Théâtre Lyrique with "Le medécin malgré lui" (Jan. 15, 1858). Meanwhile he had begun in 1855 the work which was to make his fame. "Faust" was completed in 1857, and produced at the Théâtre Lyrique on March 19, 1859. The work was not remarkably successful at first, but it grew in public favor, till today its only rival on the operatic stage is Wagner's "Lohengrin." On Feb. 18, 1860, Gounod produced "Philémon et Baucis," a delicate little opera comique. This was followed by "La Columbe," comic opera, (Baden, 1860), "La Reine de Saba," grand opera (Paris, Feb. 28, 1862), and "Mireille," grand opera (1864). None of these had any large measure of success. "Romeo et Juliette" (April 27, 1867) has held the stage, largely because of M. Jean de Reszke's popularity as Romeo. "Polyeucte" (Oct. 7, 1878), "Cinq-Mars" (April 5, 1877), and "Le Tribut de Zamora" (1881) are all dead and buried.
Gounod's fame and his influence as a composer of opera will rest on "Faust" and "Romeo et Juliette." The ground plan of both these operas is distinctly Meyerbeerian. The differentiating factor is Gounod's dramatic sincerity. In every scene of "Faust" one finds evidence of the composer's earnest search after the correct and convincing musical embodiment of the emotions of his personages. There is no attempt at establishing musical connecting-links between the different scenes, except in the simple expedient of causing Marguerite, in her insanity in the last act, to recall the music of her early acquaintance with Faust. For the rest, Gounod has treated each scene as a separate entity and has aimed at giving it an adequate and finished musical setting. His forms are very free, and the recitative is almost wholly in the arioso style with full orchestral accompaniment. There is some successful characterization in "Faust." The music of Mefistofeles is thoroughly suitable to the personage as set forth by the librettists. The influence of Rameau and Gluck may be found in this work, in its definite and consistent attempt at dramatic fidelity. That of Meyerbeer may be seen in the distribution of the vocal numbers and the stage pictures, such as the Kermess scene and the return of the troops. Compare the sextet of men in "Les Huguenots" with the trio of men in the duel scene of "Faust," if you desire to hear the very echo of Meyerbeer's song. But Gounod's honesty forbade him to write claptrap, and he does not make many concessions to the singers. The artistic value of "Faust" is very high. It is one of the purest and most beautiful lyric dramas now on the stage. The scene in the cathedral and the death of Valentine are not equalled in beauty and dramatic truth by anything in the works of any other French composer, and have been excelled perhaps only by Mozart, Wagner, and Verdi. "Romeo et Juliette" shows less originality and inspiration than "Faust," but contains scenes of genuine beauty and dramatic power. The evidences of Meyerbeer's influence are quite as notable as they are in the earlier work, but in general Gounod's style of music prevents him from falling into mere empty display.
Georges Bizet, born at Paris Oct. 25, 1838, and died in the same city, June 3, 1875, wrote several operas, of which "Carmen," produced March 3, 1875, remains one of the most popular works of the time. The ground plan of this drama is formed on essentially French lines, and in the dramatic fidelity of its music and its general freedom from meretricious display it stands directly in the line of the development of the lyric drama in France. There is some employment of leading motives in the Wagnerian style, but it is discreet and moderate. The work displays great originality in its use of Spanish rhythms and in its scheme of harmonic color. It is a noble work, a true music drama, and its fame is well deserved.
Other French composers are still living, and their works have not yet had that test of time which is necessary to a correct estimate of their value. France has no one great representative master like Verdi whose works epitomize the tendencies of the time. Her living composers show in their operas the results of various influences acting upon the fundamental principles of Lulli and Rameau, and for that reason a brief mention may be accorded to the leading writers. Camille Saint-Säens, born Oct. 9, 1835, is perhaps the most gifted of living French composers, but he has not earned his highest distinction as a writer of opera. His dramatic works are: "Le Timbre d'Argent" (1877), "Samson et Dalila" (1877), "Étienne Marcel" (1877), "Henri VIII." (1883), "Proserpine" (1887), "Ascanio" (1890), and "Phryne" (1893). None of these works has made a serious impression except "Samson et Dalila," which is more effective as an oratorio than as an opera, owing to its lack of action. Saint-Säens' opera music is always scholarly, dignified, and pure in style. It belongs strictly to the French school. His more spectacular works, such as "Henri VIII.," show the influence of Meyerbeer in their plan, but they make a more earnest attempt at dramatic truth.
Jules Émile Frédéric Massenet, born at Montaud, near St. Étienne, May 12, 1842, has written several operas, of which the principal are: "Don Cæsar de Bazan" (1872), "Le Roi de Lahore" (1877), "Herodiade" (1881), "Manon" (1884), "Le Cid" (1885), "Esclarmonde" (1889), "Le Mage" (1891), and "Werther" (1892). In his more idyllic works, such as "Werther" and "Manon," he follows the lead of Gounod, while his more pretentious operas, such as "Le Roi de Lahore," "Esclarmonde," and "Le Cid," are decidedly Meyerbeerian in general plan, though usually more refined than those of Meyerbeer in general treatment. At the same time, in "Esclarmonde" at least, Massenet has sought to follow Wagner in the use of leading motives and in the gorgeous coloring of his orchestration. His best works, however, are genuine lyric dramas, distinctly French in plan and style.
The French composer who has tried most earnestly to select the best features of Gounod, Meyerbeer, and Wagner, and weld them into a genuinely French opera, is Ernest Reyer, born at Marseilles, Dec. 1, 1823. His principal works are: "Sigurd" (1884) and "Salammbô" (1890). Neither has attained wide success, but they deserve mention here as illustrating the devotion of the present French composers to the high dramatic traditions of their nation. Alfred Bruneau, born March 1, 1857, in his "Le Rêve" (1891) and "L'Attaque du Moulin" (1893), has shown himself to be greatly influenced by the works of Richard Wagner. Indeed, the spirit of Wagner broods over much of recent French dramatic music. It will readily be understood that it is easier for Frenchmen to follow Wagner than it is for composers of almost any other nation, because Wagner's dramatic theories are not different in their fundamental principles from those of Lulli, Rameau, and Gluck. The chief difficulty encountered by the modern French writers is the survival of a public fondness for the popular features of the Meyerbeer opera, and the composers in taking account of this fondness have preserved much of a ground plan which cannot be wholly reconciled with the Wagner theories. But the French writers deserve respect for their sincerity and for the infrequency with which they compose mere show pieces for singers. They write very favorably for the voice, but they try to make beautiful arias with real expressive power.
Schütz and his version of "Dafne"—Hamburg and its opera—Works of Reinhard Keiser—The "Singspiel"—Mozart and his dramatic works—"Don Giovanni," Italian in form and German in tendency.
THE story of the introduction of opera into German is sufficiently amusing to form part of an operetta plot. There was no opera of native origin, but the fame of the Italian product having reached the ears of the Elector John George I., of Saxony, he determined to have one of these new lyric dramas performed as the festival play at the marriage of his daughter. Heinrich Schütz, whom we have already met as the composer of the "Seven Last Words of Christ," was the elector's court-director of music, and he was accordingly commissioned to procure from Florence a copy of "Daphne," the pastoral of Peri and Rinuccini. The copy having been obtained, Martin Opitz, a poet, was ordered to translate it into German. He did his work with poetic feeling, but without musical knowledge, and when his text was completed it could not be sung to the music of Peri. Consequently Schütz was directed to write new music, and thus the first German opera came into existence. It was performed on April 13, 1627. The work has been lost and there is no account of its reception. It is quite probable that its music imitated the Italian monodic style, with which Schütz had previously become acquainted while visiting Italy. After his second journey to Italy Schütz wrote an opera called "Orpheus," which was produced in Dresden, Nov. 20, 1638. This work is also lost, but it was probably an imitation of Monteverde's "Orfeo."
Meanwhile all attempts at establishing a national German opera were overthrown by the outbreak of the Thirty Years' War. When that had ended, Schütz, who had seemed likely to do something for the lyric drama in his country, devoted himself, except in the case of the work already mentioned, to sacred composition. Italian opera had made its way into Germany, where it became the fashionable amusement of the aristocracy of Berlin, Vienna, Dresden, and Munich. It had no connection with the art life of the German people, but maintained its purely exotic condition. Only in Hamburg was there anything that seemed to proceed from native impulse. It was a free city; it had grown enormously wealthy by its commerce; and it was far away from the centre of activity in the war.
Hamburg was a musical centre, and was especially famous for its organists and composers of sacred music. The latter were strong advocates of that kind of individuality of expression in sacred music which paved the way for the Passions of Bach. They did not feel that the intense intimacy of Protestant faith could be embodied in music of the Palestrina school. They introduced a semi-dramatic recitative into their works, and their church cantatas had a decidedly dramatic color. A public taste formed on such church music was ripe for the enjoyment of opera, and the first attempt by a native German composer, though it was hardly anything more than an oratorio given with scenery and action, aroused great interest. This work was "Adam and Eve," composed by Johann Theile (1646-1724). It was produced on Jan. 2, 1678.
It was not until 1693, however,—when Johann Sigismund Kusser (1657-1727) went to Hamburg and introduced his own works modelled after those of Steffani, and also the Italian method of singing,—that decided progress was made. In 1694 Reinhard Keiser (1673-1739) went from Leipsic to Hamburg, where he produced one hundred and sixteen operas, and was all his life the pet of the public. His works were full of facile melody and they had a sincere charm in that they strove to express character in their music. From 1703 to 1706 Handel wrote for the Hamburg opera, but as his works were strictly Italian in style he did not exert such an influence as might have been expected from a man of his genius. Gradually attempts at sustaining German opera became weaker and weaker, and in 1738 it was discontinued in Hamburg, which now, like other German cities gave itself up to the Italians.
Leipsic and Vienna made earnest attempts to support the German "singspiel" (song-play). It is hard to define singspiel, because it is exclusively German. It is a musical drama in which there is spoken dialogue and light music in the song style. Yet at times the Germans themselves have seemed to lose the distinction between singspiel and opera. In the latter we meet with music designed to develop the dramatic design of the work, while in the former no such attempt is made. Works of the singspiel class were produced in Leipsic and Vienna, and they had considerable influence upon the development of German opera. Their construction gave composers experience in writing for voices. Furthermore, the composers gradually adopted the forms and methods of opera and so gained facility in the use of operatic material. This process continued till the advent of the first German genius in the field of opera and his earliest works, though called song-plays, have been accepted outside of Germany as operas.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) wrote many works for the stage, of which these were the principal: "Bastien et Bastienne," operetta, one act (1768), "La Finta semplice," opera buffa (1766), "Mitridate, Re di Ponto," opera (1770), "Lucio Silla," opera (1772), "Idomeneo," opera seria (1781), "Die Entführung aus dem Serail," comic opera (1782), "Le Nozze di Figaro," opera buffa (1786), "Don Giovanni," opera buffa (1787), and "Die Zauberflöte," opera seria (1791). Mozart's earliest works and, indeed, some of his later works, which I have not mentioned, were in the strictest Italian style. "Don Giovanni," too, is essentially Italian, and is seldom well performed by Germans. But in all Mozart's dramatic works there is a German spirit, manifested not so much in the style of the music, perhaps, as in the entire sincerity of its character. Mozart made no revolution in operatic forms, and because of that it is by no means easy to define the improvements which he made in the art of the German lyric stage. Yet it is indisputable that before Mozart there was no distinctive school of German opera, and that since his day there has always been one.
"Die Entführung aus dem Serail," often called by its Italian title "Il Seraglio," was Mozart's first attempt at a German work, but the general plan and style follow the Italian opera of the time. What Mozart achieved was the introduction of a more definite and sincere expressiveness in the arias. In "Le Nozze di Figaro" Mozart's music is marvellous in its adaptation to the comic action of the play, and in its suitability to the characters of the various persons. There is absolutely nothing new in the forms or the general plan. The outline is all Italian; the coloring is all Mozart's. And it has that peculiar German solidity which comes from the tendency of the people to get to the bottom of things. Superficiality is opposed to the German nature. It was the fatal weakness of Italian opera. Mozart went below the surface in his "Figaro." A musical feature of this work and of "Don Giovanni," noted by Dr. Parry, is the way in which the composer "often knits together a number of movements into a continuous series, especially at the end of the act. This was the way in which complete assimilation of the musical factors into a composite whole was gradually approached." In "Die Zauberflöte" Mozart again followed Italian forms, but there is a profundity of thought in some parts of the work wholly foreign to all Italian conceptions of beauty. I am unable, however, to find ground for preferring this work to "Don Giovanni," as many writers do. To my mind "Don Giovanni," is not only the greatest of Mozart's works, but of all works in the old form. It was written in the prime of the classical period, before Weber had revolutionized with "Der Freischütz" the German conception of opera, and before Beethoven had become at once the culmination of the classic and the prophet of the romantic school. It has lived through all the changes of a century, and today stands forth in its clear, calm beauty, a thing of joy forever, beside the pulsating creations of the romantic school, even in the presence of Wagner's mighty creations.
"Don Juan" possesses the universality of a work of true genius. Its characters are recognizable as types, and its human nature belongs to no period, but to all time. It is uncommon in ideas and unconventional in treatment. Even Lorenzo da Ponte (born at Ceneda, Italy, March 10, 1749, died at New York, August 17, 1838) did something original when he wrote the book, for he gave us an opera without a hero. Don Juan is anything but a hero, and one hardly feels inclined to accept the imposing ghost of the Commendator as one. Don Octavio is a very estimable person, and is ever ready with his good advice, but it is not of such stuff as he that heroes are made; and as for Leporello, he is the prince of cowards. Indeed, so strong is the comedy element in "Don Juan," so fine and faithful the character painting, so significant the exposition of human weakness and folly, that despite the fatal ending of the work, it would require no great ingenuity of argument to establish it as one of the purest and loftiest specimens of true comic opera.
The nobility of its music does not make this classification absurd, for let us remember that in the greatest of all comic music dramas, "Die Meistersinger," the music is second to none in loftiness of character, beauty of melody, dignity of color, and splendor of instrumental treatment. Mozart's biographer, Jahn, recognizes the presence of the true comedy spirit in Da Ponte's book when he says: "He has endowed his characters with the easy, pleasure-loving spirit of the time; and the sensual frivolity of life at Venice or Vienna is mirrored in every page of his 'Don Giovanni.'" He says further that the librettist furnished the composer with "a number of musically effective situations, in which the elements of tragedy and comedy, of horror and merriment, meet and mingle together. This curious intermixture of ground tones, which seldom allows expression to any one pure and unalloyed mood, is the special characteristic of the opera. Mozart grasped the unity of these contrasts lying deep in human nature and expressed them so harmoniously as to open a new province to his art, for the development of which its mightiest forces were henceforward to be concentrated."
Tempting, however, as the comic aspect of Mozart's opera is, we must not lose sight of the fact that the work has a serious purpose. Don Juan, bold and unscrupulous as he is, fails in every attempt, and finally meets with utter discomfiture and destruction. There is something here of the spirit of the old Greek tragedy, which always voiced a deep moral truth. After all, there is a term which fits "Don Juan" and roundly describes it. One of the names given to the lyric drama of Italy, when it was brought forth by Jacopo Peri and his associates, was Tragicomedia. Where is there today a nobler specimen of Tragicomedia than the "Don Juan" of Mozart?
As for the music of the opera, nothing better has ever been said about it than what Schink wrote in the Dramaturgische Monate in 1790. He says: "How can this music, so full of force, majesty, and grandeur, be expected to please the lovers of ordinary opera, who bring their ears to the theatre with them, but leave their hearts at home?... His music has been profoundly felt and thought out in its relation to the characters, situations, and sentiments of his personages. It is a study in language, treated musically.
"He never decks out his songs with unnecessary and meaningless passages. That is the way in which expression is banished from music; expression consisting not in particular words, but in the skilful and natural combination of sounds as a medium of real emotion. Of this method of expression Mozart is a consummate master. Each sound which he produces has its origin in emotion and overflows with it."
This last sentence of Schink's is charged with import. One who studies the music of "Don Juan" carefully must be convinced of the truth of the critic's view. If it is true, however, it proclaims the presence of the essential elements of musical romanticism in this truly classic opera. To some extent what we call romanticism has always been present in art music, while it was and is the vital principle of folk tunes. It was when Weber united to the science and culture of musical art the folk lore and folk melody in which were voiced the poetic imaginations of a people that romanticism threw aside the shackles of tradition and became the ruling element in the tone art.
Mozart was not an iconoclast. He made no new forms; he destroyed no old ones. But proceeding on the principle subsequently enunciated by Schumann, that "mastery of form leads talent to ever increasing freedom," he absorbed all extant forms. There is a saying that if you wish to become an astronomer you must make mathematics your slave. Mozart seemed to feel that if he wished to become a composer he must make form his slave. As a mere child he made himself a consummate contrapuntal scholar. In a word, he became literally a master of form.
When, therefore, he came to the composition of his wonderful operas, he saw no necessity for the creation of new forms, because he did not feel the shackles of the old ones. To him they were chains of roses, and the impulse had not come which set all composers thundering against the restrictive barriers of mere formalism. With Mozart there was no such thing as mere formalism; and if there is any lesson which every repetition of "Don Juan" forces home upon us with vital force, it is that fashion is no restraint on genius. Mozart accepted the material of Italian opera as he found it. But he filled the old forms with a new spirit. In the process of the years the spirit waxed too mighty for the old body and took its flight into the infinite regions of free, untrammelled expression. Mozart stood upon the boundary of the promised land; Beethoven and Weber strode boldly across the border; Wagner feasted upon the milk and the honey.
Weber the artistic forerunner of Wagner—Characteristics of "Der Freischütz"—Weber's theory of the lyric drama—Beethoven and his "Fidelio"—Advancement of the overture—Marschner, Conelius, and Goldmark.
MOZART, in "Die Zauberflöte," had touched upon an element which always appeals to the peculiar naïveté of the German character. That element is the supernatural. The Germans love a good fairy tale, and the "Nibelungen Lied," their national epic, is a version of the most imposing fairy tale the world knows. It was Mozart's misfortune, however, that he clung to old traditions and served up his German food in Italian dressing. So it was reserved for Weber to join hands with Beethoven and Schubert in starting the romantic movement. What Beethoven did for absolute music and Schubert for the song, Weber did for German opera. The influence which acted as an incentive to the romantic movement in music was the romantic movement in German literature. The writings of Goethe, Schiller, Heine, Ruckert, and others were intensely romantic in feeling and distinctively German in character; and they seem to have suggested to Weber the importance of national stories as material for opera librettos. At any rate he took up such material with a full knowledge of the awakened German taste for native legend and story. Unfortunately he was easily turned aside from this path, and induced afterward to waste his powers upon librettos of no value whatever.
Carl Maria von Weber (Dec. 18, 1786—June 5, 1826) wrote in his early days several operas of no great importance. The first, written when he was twelve years old, was called "The Power of Love and Wine." He must have known a great deal about it at that age. He wrote also "The Forest Maiden" and "Peter Schmoll." In 1811 was produced his "Abou Hassan," a comic opera of considerable merit. His masterpiece "Der Freischütz" was produced in Berlin, June 18, 1821. His other important stage works are: "Euryanthe," Vienna, Oct. 25, 1823, and "Oberon," London, April 12, 1826.
The story of "Der Freischütz" has existed in German literature as far back as the 17th century, and its incidents are of the kind that appeal most forcibly to the mass of the German people. It presents the conflict of the powers of good and evil in a concrete form, the evil being represented by Samiel, a German Mephistopheles, and the good by the pious Agatha. The superstitious yet religious minds of the average Germans were deeply affected by the manner in which Weber set this struggle to music. His melodies are notable in that they are quite within the grasp of popular comprehension, yet embody both religious sentiment and individual character. One of the salient peculiarities of "Der Freischütz" is its employment of the simple song form, so dear to the Germans in their folk-tunes. Weber's use of this form went far toward assisting the general public to an appreciation of his work. The old German singspiel form is preserved in the original score of "Der Freischütz," which contains spoken dialogue. The recitatives usually employed now were written by Hector Berlioz for the Parisian production of the work.
The significance of Weber's position in German opera must be found in the fact that in his theory of the musical drama he anticipated Wagner and paved the way for him. He defined opera as "an art work complete in itself, in which all the parts and contributions of the related and utilized arts meet and disappear in each other, and, in a manner, form a new world by their own destruction." He believed that a libretto should not be constructed with a view to its offering pegs upon which to hang strings of pretty music, but that there should be an organic union of the various arts employed in dramatic representation. His theory as to the purpose of lyric music was fully set forth in these words: "It is the first and most sacred duty of song to be truthful with the utmost fidelity possible in declamation." He furthermore had no sympathy with the rigid and restrictive formalism of the old-fashioned Italian opera, but was a thorough believer in the fundamental principle of romantic music, that the content must govern and prescribe the form: "All striving for the beautiful and the new good is praiseworthy, but the creation of a new form must be generated by the poem which is sitting." Mr. H. E. Krehbiel says in "Famous Composers and their Works," "Here we find stated in the plainest and most succinct terms the foundation principles of the modern lyric drama." These principles rest on the essential laws laid down originally by Peri, followed by Lulli and Rameau, and regenerated by Gluck. It was in following these principles and at the same time recognizing the characteristics of the German people and embodying them in his music that Weber formulated a style which has been a model and an inspiration to all the sincere composers of opera since his day. Wagner's debt to him was freely acknowledged, while Berlioz never wearied in expressing his admiration for the genius of Weber. To quote Mr. Krehbiel's masterly article once more: "To the band he gave a share in the representation such as only Beethoven, Mozart, and Gluck before him had dreamed of. The most striking feature of his treatment of the orchestra is his emancipation of the wood wind choir. His numerous discoveries in the domain of effects consequent on his profound study of instrumental timbre placed colors upon the palettes of every one of his successors. The supernatural voices of his Wolf's Glen are echoed in Verdi as well as in Meyerbeer and Marschner. The fairy footsteps of Oberon's dainty folk are heard not only in Mendelssohn but in all the compositions since his time in which the amiable creatures of super-naturalism are sought to be delineated."
Beethoven's one opera, "Fidelio" (produced Nov. 20, 1805), belongs to the German romantic school, but it cannot be said to have exerted any marked influence upon the general advancement of that school except in the treatment of the overture and in the employment of the characteristic expression of the various orchestral instruments in the development of the story. In both of these movements Beethoven joined hands with Weber, whose overtures were the first written by any German, except Beethoven, with a deliberate purpose to embody in an instrumental prelude the principal emotions and incidents of the drama. Beethoven wrote four overtures to "Fidelio," but their numbers do not correspond to their order. That known as "Leonora No. 1" was written for Prague in 1807 (a performance which did not take place). That called "Leonora No. 2" was played at the original production of the opera. The famous "Leonora No. 3" is a reconstruction of No. 2, and was prepared for the revival of "Fidelio" in 1806. The fourth, known as the "Fidelio" overture, was written in 1814. The "Leonora No. 3" is the finest possible preface to an opera. In writing a dramatic work Beethoven felt hampered by the conventionalities of the stage. As Richard Wagner admirably said: "While in the oratorio and especially in the symphony a noble, perfect form lay before the German master, the opera offered him an incoherent medley of small undeveloped forms, to which was attached a conventionalism incomprehensible to him and restrictive of all freedom of development. If we compare the broadly and richly developed forms of a Beethoven symphony with the different pieces in his 'Fidelio,' we at once perceive how the master here felt himself restrained and hindered, and could hardly ever attain to the proper unfolding of his power. For this reason, as if to launch forth at least for once in his entire fulness, he threw himself as it were with all the weight of desperation into the overture, projecting in it a composition of previously unknown breadth and significance." It must be added that, while Beethoven retained spoken dialogue in his opera after the "singspiel" fashion, he infused into his principal numbers a deeper and more powerful dramatic expression than any previous composer. In all opera there is nothing more eloquent than the scene in the prison, in which the attempted murder of Florestan by Pizzaro is first checked by Leonora, and afterward by the arrival of the minister.
Heinrich Marschner (1796-1861) in his "Hans Heiling" showed that he was strongly influenced by Weber. The music is notable for its flow of melody and its highly wrought orchestration. The work is founded on a story containing elements of the supernatural similar to those in "Der Freischütz." Marschner wrote also "Templar and Jewess," founded on "Ivanhoe," and "The Vampire," a work of the gloomiest character.
More recent German opera has been in a state of confusion, owing to the enormous influence of Richard Wagner. The immense success of this master's embodiment of his own theories of the lyric drama has led to a general abolition of the set forms of the Italian school and equally to an abandonment of such attempts as those of Weber to employ the song form. That German opera has gained in richness and dramatic power by the disuse of formality and the employment of all the resources of the modern declamatory arioso and orchestration cannot be denied. But only one or two composers have shown sufficient individuality to prevent them from being buried under their own imitations of the Wagnerian style. Peter Cornelius (1824-1874), an earnest advocate of the Wagner ideas, wrote "The Barber of Bagdad," "The Cid," and "Gunlod." Of these the first is one of the most successful works of the school known as the new romanticists. The score is full of the most characteristic and fluent melody, admirably written and distributed among the various voices and instruments. The themes are rich in meaning and charged with individuality. The musical characterization is faithful and the musical humor simply delicious. Carl Goldmark (1830- ), in his "Queen of Sheba" and "Merlin," made an attempt to superimpose the modern German style upon a ground plan somewhat Meyerbeerian. The music is full of sensuous richness and at times rises to heights of genuine passion, while every opportunity to introduce spectacular features, such as processions and ballets, is seized.