Chapter XIII: Part 13

These four fine works were brilliantly performed on the same evening in the Salle Pleyel by Mme. Marie Jaëll, the pianist so famous for her extraordinary, not to say marvellous, powers of execution. This was, indeed, a feat on the part of the virtuoso as well as an interesting exhibition of artistic talent, and its success was complete. The performances began at nine o’clock in the evening and ended at half-past eleven. Throughout this long and difficult test there was not the slightest momentary defect, either in the playing of the orchestra or in that of the experienced and skilful pianist. For the success of so difficult a task the most subtle artistic feeling and exceptional muscular force were necessary. Mme. Jaëll possessed these qualities in such measure that the soirée devoted to the four concertos of Saint-Saëns will never fade from the memory of those who were present. Besides these concertos we should mention a concerto-fantaisie for piano and orchestra written in 1891 for Mme. Roger-Niclos, which she played with great success at the Colonne concerts. This work has recently been published.

In his work entitled “Virtuoses Contemporains,” our dear master and friend, Marmontel, has felicitously described the style of piano playing characteristic of Saint-Saëns. “Saint-Saëns is as accomplished a pianist as he is an organist. He attacks the piece in hand with great energy, and keeps perfect time. His fiery and brilliant execution is flawless even in the most rapid passages. His powerful but admirably modulated playing is full of majesty and breadth; and the only fault that can be found with his masterly execution is, perhaps, the excess of rhythmical precision. Ever master of himself, Saint-Saëns leaves nothing to chance and does not, perhaps, always yield sufficiently to the pathetic. On the other hand, the virtuoso always acquits himself with irreproachable accuracy.”

For many years Saint-Saëns has quitted Paris in the winter, to seek the warm sunshine under the blue skies of those favored countries to which the sun remains ever faithful. In order to travel and pass his time free from all annoyance, the composer has adopted the excellent custom of departing from Paris without any flourish of trumpets, without informing anyone where he intends to sojourn, and often without knowing, himself, exactly where he will pitch his tent. On leaving Paris on the 30th of November, 1889, he charged his worthy friend and colleague, Guiraud, of the Institut, now no more, alas! in case the Académie de Musique should authorize the rehearsals of his “Ascanio,” to begin during the composer’s absence. It was put in hand, and M. Guiraud, with score before him, followed the rehearsals with the utmost care and assiduity.

CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS.

Reproduction of a photograph from life by Raschkow, Jr.—Breslau.
]

The preparations for the opera had made great progress, and everybody expected, at any moment, the composer’s return. Not only did he refrain from reappearing in Paris to assist at the last rehearsals and to give his final hints to the singers and the orchestra, but he did not even write to anyone. Nobody knew where he had concealed himself. This extraordinary and unheard-of act of a composer, who goes abroad to amuse himself by chasing butterflies or collecting plants, while at home the theatrical managers are making preparations for the first performance of a work of such importance as a grand five-act opera, excited all Paris. It even disturbed the Government, which caused inquiry to be made for the musician by its diplomatic agents throughout the world. The search was a vain one. It was generally thought that Saint-Saëns had died in some part of Ceylon, where certain French travellers believed they had seen him as he was making his way to Japan. The first performance of “Ascanio” was given at a moment when it was in doubt whether Saint-Saëns was dead or alive. Happily, he was still of this world and in very good health; but careless of his glory, was basking in the sunshine of the Canary Islands, busily engaged in finishing a volume of verse which appeared in Paris last year; for Saint-Saëns is a poet as well as a musician. It was a relief to the public when an announcement was at last made by Louis Gallet, the composer’s fellow-worker and friend, that the fugitive, at the very moment when “Ascanio” was under active rehearsal at the Opéra, was peacefully and contentedly breathing the warm and balmy air of Palma. As soon as the newspapers betrayed his sojourn in this verdant and flowery retreat, the authorities of the city and the principal inhabitants proposed to confer honors upon the master. But the composer had not gone all the way to Teneriffe for this purpose, and thanking the authorities for the homage they wished to pay him, immediately disappeared again!

Saint-Saëns is a husband and a father, but his married life has unfortunately not been a very happy one. His two children both died at an early age. One of them fell from the balcony of his father’s house, and was killed, while the other suddenly died a short time afterward. Thus it sometimes happens that a man may have, like Saint-Saëns, everything that goes to make up the sum of human happiness—talent, success, honor and fortune,—and yet yearn in vain for that complete felicity which is denied him. Concealed like the statue of Isis, whose veil no mortal has ever been permitted to draw aside, is the condition of unalloyed happiness on this earthly sphere. We know that it exists; we seek it; ofttimes we think it within our grasp, and yet it eludes us!

We cannot more fitly terminate this sketch of the great personality of Saint-Saëns than by adding that he is one of the most masterly readers of piano and organ music who has ever lived, and an improviser of the first rank.

As a child pianist and composer, Camille Saint-Saëns was what is called an infant prodigy. The child has come to man’s estate and is, at the present moment, one of the most learned and able artists in every branch of his art, that can be found in the ranks of modern musicians. Since the death of Beethoven, Schumann and Mendelssohn, he wields in Europe the sceptre of symphony; he is renowned as a composer for the church and the theatre, and as an organist; and the mastery he has shown in the concerto, the oratorio and chamber music, of which he has produced a large number of works, is of world-wide fame.

Of his purely instrumental music we may mention, in chronological order: “Tarentelle,” for flute and clarinet with orchestra; “Orient et Occident,” a military march; Ballade for piano, organ and violin; Introduction and Rondo Capricioso, for violin and piano; “Le Rouet d’Omphale,” a symphonic poem; Concerto for violoncello in A minor; Sonato for piano and violoncello; Heroic March for full orchestra; Ballade for horn or violoncello and piano, in F; Ballade for flute or violin and piano; Lullaby for piano and violin, in B flat; “Phaéton,” a symphonic poem; “Danse Macabre,” for Orchestra, arranged for piano, for one or two performers, and for one or two pianos; also for piano duet, with violin or violoncello; for military band, etc; Quartet for piano, violin, alto and violoncello; Allegro appassionata, for violoncello and piano; Ballade for violin and piano, in C; Suite for orchestra; prelude, saraband, gavotte, ballade and finale; “La Jeunesse d’Hercule,” symphonic poem; Ballade for violoncello and piano in D; Concerto for violin in C major; “Suite Algérienne,” for orchestra; Concerto for violin, in B minor; Concert piece for violin and piano; “Une Nuit à Lisbonne,” barcarolle for orchestra; “La Jota Aragonaise,” for orchestra; Septet for trumpet, two violins, alto, violoncello, contra-bass and piano; Hymn to Victor Hugo, for orchestra; Sonata for piano and violin in D minor; “Wedding-Cake,” Caprice Valse for piano and stringed instruments; Caprice on Danish and Russian airs, for flute, oboe, clarinet and piano; “Havanaise” for violin and piano; “La Fiancée du Timbalier,” for orchestra; etc., etc.

Fac-simile autograph musical manuscript contributed by the composer
for use in this work
]

We bear in mind several scores by Saint-Saëns which do not appear in the general catalogue of his works. First of all, there is a very fine composition for a military band, which the illustrious musician was good enough to write at my request, in 1868, for the celebration of Hoche’s centenary at Versailles. A short time ago I asked Saint-Saëns why he had not published this beautiful work, written as a tribute to the memory of the great French general, and which is so full of stirring patriotic sentiment. The composer replied that he did not know what had become of this music since the day on which it was solemnly performed before the statue of Hoche at Versailles. The full score and the orchestral parts have remained undiscovered up to the present time. I may also mention, as among the compositions of Saint-Saëns, which are not included in the catalogue of his works, an extremely original, bright and thoroughly artistic work written for several instruments and called “Le Carnaval des Animaux.” Only one of the animals in this merry Carnival has been honored by publication, viz.: “The Swan,” whose song is interpreted in this zoölogical symphony by the violoncello.

The works by Saint-Saëns for piano solo, duet, and for two pianos are very numerous. All of them are vigorously characteristic of the decided and learned style of the master, and are also marked by a certain individuality peculiar to this famous pianist-composer.

It is well known that the composer is one of the most renowned organists in Europe. As might be expected, he has written specially for this instrument, which, figuratively speaking, is the embodiment of all other instruments. We will only mention the Rhapsodies on the Breton canticles; also the “Bénédiction Nuptiale” and “Elévation et Communion,” which are noble works for the King of Instruments.

Saint-Saëns succeeded Lefébvre Wely as organist at the Madeleine. Among his church compositions he has composed a Grand Mass for four voices, soli and orchestra; “Tantum Ergo,” a Chorus; a “Christmas Oratorio” for chorus, soli and orchestra; Psalm XVIII.—“Cœli enarrant” for soli, chorus and orchestra; “Le Déluge,” biblical poem for soli, chorus and orchestra; and a Requiem which, with the oratorio “Le Déluge,” we include among his best works. There is also a collection of twenty separate motets for the Holy Communion, motets to the Virgin, and other miscellaneous motets.

We may further mention among the characteristic compositions which are not in the religious or the dramatic style:—Scene from Corneille’s “Les Horaces,” for soprano, baritone and orchestra; six Persian melodies, vocal and instrumental (piano); “Les Soldats de Gédéon,” double chorus without accompaniment; “Chanson du Grand-papa,” chorus for female voices; “Chanson d’un Ancêtre,” chorus for male voices with baritone solo; “La Lyre et la Harpe,” soli, chorus and orchestra; two choruses with piano accompaniment: “Calme des Nuits” and “Les Fleurs et les Arbres”; two choruses for male voices without accompaniment: “Les Marins de Kermor” and “Les Titans”; “Les Guerriers,” chorus for male voices; several other choruses, besides some fifty duets and melodies with piano accompaniment. We abridge the list in order to mention the composer’s dramatic works: “Le Timbre d’Argent”; “La Princesse Jaune,” comic opera in one act; “Proserpine,” lyric drama in four acts; “Etienne Marcel,” opera in four acts; “Samson et Dalila,” biblical opera in three acts; “Henry VIII.,” opera in four acts; and lastly, “Ascanio,” opera in five acts.

It has been said with truth that Saint-Saëns is of all composers the one who differs most from himself, in his dramatic works. We mean by this that he has emancipated himself from the hard and fast lines of any particular school; that he has no system and is guided wholly by his own inspiration, tempered and strengthened by great musical learning. He could, if he so desired, write according to the theories or in the manner of this or of that composer, but he prefers to write as his genius follows its own individual vein, agreeing, no doubt, with his famous colleague and friend, Charles Gounod, that if there are many systems of composition, there are, after all, only two kinds of music: that which is good and that which is bad. His admiration for all the great masters is profound, but he strives to imitate none, this has caused certain critics to subject him to the reproach of eclecticism. He has expressed himself on this point with frank sincerity (for Saint-Saëns is a man as well as a musician) in a highly interesting volume entitled “Harmonie et Mélodie.” After declaring that he had never belonged to any religion in music, he adds: “I claim to preserve my liberty, to like what pleases me and to reject the rest; to believe good that which is good, discordant that which is discordant, absurd that which is absurd. This is precisely what the more ardent disciples of Wagner refuse to concede. They grasp you by the throat, and insist that you must admire everything Wagnerian, no heed what it may be. With them there is something beyond love of art: the spirit of sectarianism. I am afraid of sectarians, and so keep myself prudently aloof from them.”

It was of these Wagnerian critics, who carry their love for the composer of “music-dramas” to the point of fanatic intolerance, even of ferocity, that Saint-Saëns was thinking when he wrote these lines, as well as others that we shall quote presently; and these same critics accused our composer of the crime of refusing to enlist under the banner of the master of Bayreuth. They sought to crush Saint-Saëns in their criticisms of his last great opera, “Ascanio,” by saying, not only had he here perpetrated the heresy of adhering to that form of opera that prevailed before Wagner propounded his theories of the “lyric drama,” but that he had also forgotten himself so far as to write airs in the Italian style! These amiable censors showed themselves more royalist than the king himself, for as a matter of fact Wagner by no means despised Italian airs; on the contrary, he liked them very much if we may believe what he has said. The following words of the composer of “Lohengrin” are worth remembering: “After listening to an opera by Bellini, that has delighted us, we discover on reflection, that its charm is owing to the clear melody, to the simple, lofty and beautiful song of the Italian composer. To treasure in the memory these delightful melodies is certainly no grave sin. Nor is it a heavier one to pray to heaven, before retiring to rest, that it may inspire German composers with the secret of these melodies and a like manner of using them.”

The truth is that in music, as in all other arts, we do what we can rather than what we should most like to do, and he is wisest who is guided by his own genius. The genius of Camille Saint-Saëns is so rich in resources that he can safely trust himself and let the spirit work within him as it wills. There are composers who, forgetting that beauty is inseparable from high art, strive after eminence by seeking originality at any cost, and who do not disdain to make that art, harmonious before and beyond all other arts, the art of torturing our ears with music that is _per se_ inharmonious. Is not Saint-Saëns right when, in speaking of these psychological and hysterical composers, he says with peculiar felicity: “It is certain that we cannot work too hard to instil in the public a taste for pleasures of an elevated order; but to offer it what is ingeniously described as ‘painful pleasure,’ to offer a feast consisting of ‘exquisite suffering’ and ‘poetic perversion,’ merely ends in mortification. When we wish to mortify our souls we do not go to the theatre but to a convent.”

We may be asked for the opinion of the composer of “Faust,” “Roméo et Juliette” and “Mireille,” concerning the composer of “Samson et Dalila,” “Henry VIII.” and “Ascanio.” I am in a position to answer the question. Gounod has spoken of Saint-Saëns in connection with his last opera as follows: “That in the lyric drama, music should coalesce with the drama and blend in one harmonious whole is an excellent theory, but only on condition that in this indissoluble union, music shall still be true and beautiful music; otherwise the union is no more than a cruel bondage for one of the arts so joined, and that art is Music. Throughout the works of Saint-Saëns we are in communion with an artist who never for an instant forgets or sacrifices his art; everywhere and always is the great musician present, and everywhere, too, the drama appears before him as a _law_, not as a _yoke_. Passions, characters, situations, are felt by him with the same certainty of discernment, whether in song, declamation, recitative, or in the dramatic part which must be played by his orchestra; and all this in an idiom and a form which are musically irreproachable, insomuch that he has created true and lasting ‘morceaux de musique’ even where the librettist did not provide the frame-work expected of him.”

Were we not limited as to space, it would be a pleasing task to present here a technical and æsthetic analysis of the operas of the French master concerning whom we write thus briefly; but this would carry us too far. Suffice it, from what we have already written, for the reader to form a satisfactory judgment on the instrumental and vocal works of Saint-Saëns. In the “Timbre d’Argent,” which has something in common with the fable of “Faust,” we are in the midst of a musical and choreographic fantasy. This score is very attractive and well emphasizes a very pretty performance.

“La Princesse Jaune” transports us into the East, where reality seems as a dream. It is a drawing-room comedy, the scene of which is laid in a Japanese village, where Dutch tulips grow as rank as does the grass in the fields; where the sky is blue, where everything is full of color and appears smiling, joyous and lovable.

In “Etienne Marcel,” the illustrious Prévôt des Marchands, we have historical drama, in the civil war waged for the triumph of communal liberties. The rioters force a violent entrance into the Palais de la Cité, and the voices of scoffers are heard alternating with the cries of raving fanatics. It is terrible, and quite characteristic of the Parisian mind in the troublous times when the streets became one great battle-field. Love, of course, finds its place in “Etienne Marcel,” a love gentle and searching. Some of the contrasts are most happy, the choruses are superb, the volume of sound is sublime.

“Samson et Dalila,” as is sufficiently indicated by the title, is a biblical opera, almost an oratorio, reminding us of the “Joseph” of Méhul. I was overflowing with enthusiasm on coming out from the representation of “Samson et Dalila.” This score and the symphony in C minor are, I believe, the two finest jewels in the crown of this musical king. They are works full of the highest inspiration, of a most sublime cast, wonderfully elaborate in style, and masterpieces in the fullest sense of the word.

The gloomy subject of “Henry VIII.” opened up new fields to Saint-Saëns, and afforded him a local color that influenced his music. The moment the score opens, we feel that we know exactly where we are and whither we are going. The principal personages in the drama have been each and all instantaneously portrayed and their diverse characters are accurately represented. The king of England, the Pope’s nightmare and the terror of his queenly wives and victims, is, from a musical point of view, especially well portrayed in his wild orgies and brutal amours. Anne Boleyn fails to hide the pride that lies behind her love, although its expression is not less charming on that account. Catherine of Arragon, the noble and unfortunate forsaken one, is superb in her insulted majesty, her pathetic and sweet melancholy. The choruses are treated in a masterly manner, and there is one important “morceau d’ensemble” which is a signal triumph of expressive and dramatic counterpoint. The airs in the ballet impress us as being thoroughly English. As to the orchestra, the importance of which cannot be over-estimated, it plays in a measured and finished style and produces the effect of a powerful organ. Here we have local color again, cleverly used.

“Ascanio” is the last dramatic work of Saint-Saëns. The fanatical partisans of the Wagnerian theories, as we have already observed, were not sparing of bitter criticism. Saint-Saëns must have found ample consolation for this in the continuous applause showered upon him by the public which always cordially welcomes whatever affords it pleasure. “Ascanio” is indeed equal in all respect to “Henry VIII.,” and worthy the composer, which is saying not a little of a man who has given such treasures to all lovers of music.

JULES MASSENET

_Reproduction of a photograph from life by Nadar of Paris._
]

]

JULES EMILE FRÉDÉRIC MASSENET

Jules Emile Frédéric Massenet was born on the 12th of May, 1842, at Montaud, in the department of the Loire, and was the eleventh child of his parents. His musical talent developed at an early age. When only eleven years old he was sufficiently acquainted with the theoretical elements of the art to take his place in François Bazin’s harmony class in the Conservatoire. It is by no means uncommon for a professor to mistake the capacity of his pupils. Unfortunately Bazin failed to foresee the splendid future reserved for his young pupil Massenet: on the contrary, he believed him to be destitute of all musical talent and requested that he might be dismissed from his class. The poor little musician felt so deeply humiliated by this insult that he was almost inclined to renounce music forever. It was five years before he reappeared at the Conservatoire, but luckily, at the end of that long term, he returned to study under the learned Henri Reber in the harmony class.

One day, shortly after Massenet joined this class, Reber addressed him thus in presence of his fellow-pupils: “Monsieur, I urge you, for your own welfare, to quit my class and go into a higher one, a class where fugue and composition are taught. You understand as much of harmony, so called, as I can teach you, and you will waste your time if you remain with me. Follow my advice, for if I am a true prophet, you will make your mark.”

Thus it was that, dismissed from Bazin’s harmony class as a dunce, Massenet was advised to leave Reber’s class because he learned too rapidly. The youngster followed the advice given by the composer of “Le Père Gaillard” and “La Nuit de Noël,” and studied fugue and composition with Ambroise Thomas, the composer of “Mignon” and “Hamlet,” who had been appointed director of the school after the death of Auber.

In the composition class young Massenet so distinguished himself by his ardor and application to study, that he won, and ever after retained, the friendship of Ambroise Thomas. At each lesson he submitted to his master, in addition to fugues and exercises in counterpoint, instrumental and vocal works of various kinds, each bearing witness to his lively imagination and to his instinct to produce something new. Of course all these efforts of the future composer of “Manon” were not irreproachable, and sometimes his comrades rallied him on what they called his fits of musical intoxication. “Let him sow his wild oats,” said Ambroise Thomas, “and you will find that when he has sobered down and become more reflective he will achieve something. He is a genius.”

The time was close at hand when Massenet was to fulfil this flattering prophecy. In the very same year, 1863, he obtained the first prize in counterpoint and fugue at the Conservatoire and the Grand Prize for musical composition (Grand Prix de Rome) at the Institut de France. He was then, we believe, already married, although physically he did not look more than fifteen years of age.

As he had an annual allowance accorded him by the State, he set out for the Eternal City and made a tour in Italy, proceeding thence to Germany to seek inspiration from the masters of symphony. The winner of the Grand Prix de Rome is expected during his sojourn abroad, to send at least one work to the Institute as a proof that he has turned his time to good account and has made due progress. Whether or not young Massenet left his light-heartedness behind him when he crossed the French frontier we cannot say; but the composition he sent from Rome was a Requiem. Massenet wrote a large work for solo voices, chorus and orchestra, entitled “Pompéia,” which in form as well as in instrumentation showed the influence of Berlioz. This indicated an inquiring and meditative mind in the young composer, who was thus feeling his way through the boldest and most modern school of music.

Massenet sent a second envoy from Rome, which was his first orchestral suite. With this suite is associated an event of great importance in the musical career of the composer. Massenet tells the story himself.

The composer had just returned to France, after passing in Italy and Germany the regulation period accorded the laureates of the Institute. While walking in the street, he met Pasdeloup, the founder and director of the celebrated “Popular Concerts.” Pasdeloup was one of the best men in the world, but he had the habit of treating young composers in a brusque and patronizing manner. He had only seen Massenet once, and that was during the performance of the cantata for which he was awarded the Grand Prize. As has already been stated, Massenet always looked much younger than he really was, and from his twentieth to his twenty-fourth year he had the face and air of a boy of sixteen. Pasdeloup accosted him with a frown, as though he had something disagreeable to tell him, and speaking in an offensively familiar and condescending manner, said:—

“Ah, so you have returned to France. What have you been doing during your absence?”

“I have been writing music, M. Pasdeloup.”

“That is all very well; but it is not sufficient to write music; you must write good music. Is your music really good?”

“Sir, it is not for me to pass judgment upon it.”

“You have written, I believe, an orchestral suite?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, but everybody writes orchestral suites. Is yours a good one? Are you satisfied with it yourself?”

“Well, Monsieur Pasdeloup, I feel obliged to admit that it pleases me when I play it on the piano, but I have not yet heard it performed by an orchestra.”

“Of course it pleases you. But how much music is there that pleases its composer, and yet is not worth a button. Can I see your manuscript?”

“You do me too much honor, Monsieur Pasdeloup. I will send my score to you this very evening.”

“Good. I will tell you what I think of it and whether it pleases me as much as it pleases you. Let me say that I think very little of the music of young men who win the Prix de Rome. They only know how to imitate the faults of the masters they study. However, we shall see.”

And Pasdeloup quitted Massenet with an air of utter dissatisfaction.

The young composer hastened home and told his family of the interview and of the faint hope he cherished that his suite might possibly be performed at the famous Popular Concerts. He then rolled up his score, took it to Pasdeloup’s residence, and left it with the concierge. Ten days later Massenet received, by post, a gift which filled him with equal joy and surprise. It was a ticket admitting him to a rehearsal. He was invited to the Cirque d’Hiver, where the Popular Concerts were given, to hear a rehearsal of his orchestral suite.

Next day, full of excitement, he set out for the rehearsal. On arriving at the door, however, he had not sufficient courage to enter, so overcome was he by his emotions. “Perhaps,” thought he, “the orchestral effect may not be what I intended,” and he felt that he had not strength to brave the severe criticisms of Pasdeloup and the jeers of the members of the orchestra.

Massenet returned home without having dared to listen to the rehearsal of his work and wholly discontented with himself. He called himself a coward and a pretender, and as he passed along the boulevard, his eye mechanically seeking the announcement of the performances at the theatres and concerts, he was suddenly astounded to see his own name on the programme of the Pasdeloup Concert to be given on the following Sunday. They were really going to play his suite! He ran rather than walked home to announce the glorious news.

“They play—my suite—Sunday—Popular Concert!—Oh! how my heart beats!”

And the great composer, as the memory of the beginning of his musical career came back to him, bowed his head on my breast and burst into tears. I wept with him.

“Ah!” said he, “I was happier then than I am to-day. Anticipation is better than the reality.”

MASSENET IN HIS STUDY.

Reproduced from a photograph from life made by Dornac & Co., Paris,
1891.
]

The opera “Manon” has a curious history which Massenet related to me one day. Everybody knows in what singular circumstances the author of “Manon Lescaut” (Abbé Prévost) took refuge at The Hague. It was in that city that he wrote his “Mémoires d’un Homme de Qualité” to which “Manon Lescaut” seems to belong as a species of postscript or sequel. In a like manner, and in that Dutch town, Massenet, owing to certain circumstances, chanced to write the score of “Manon” the substance of which is taken from the Abbé Prévost’s romance. Wishing to remain apart from the rest of the world, in order to be quite undisturbed, he took lodgings as a boarder under an assumed name at a house in The Hague. To prevent all suspicion as to identity, he did not send for a piano, for, unlike some composers, Massenet does not need a piano to enable him to compose. He thinks out his music, which he hears inwardly, already arranged for the orchestra. Absorbed in his work, the composer labored unceasingly. He never went forth to take necessary exercise until after nightfall, that he might run no risk of being recognized. After his walk, which lasted about an hour, he returned home with coat collar turned up to conceal his face.

He was accustomed to write at a large table littered with music-paper, each sheet bearing thirty staves. When not actually engaged in composing he amused himself by reading the Abbé Prévost’s romance, written by the French author in that same foreign town, possibly even in that same house, more than a century before. And Massenet’s artistic imagination saw in this fact a happy prognostic. “Why,” thought he, “should not my score of ‘Manon’ be as successful as was Prévost’s immortal novel? Grant, O, Sovereign God of Inspiration, that I may cause the sweet and loving Manon to sing, after a lapse of a hundred years, under the same sky, far away from Paris, and in the same happy strain as that in which the most worldly of abbés made her speak!”

The existence of the mysterious foreigner who was always writing music but who never played any instrument, greatly exercised Massenet’s landlord. The inmates of the house were not less mystified than was he. The gossips agreed that this French musician was a choir-master—and a very original one. At last the composer was recognized, and the next day the newspapers informed the public that Massenet had been for some time at The Hague. People flocked to see him, and his apartments were speedily crowded with friends or with persons who came from mere curiosity. Happily, however, the score of “Manon” was completed.

Massenet is one of the most estimable of men, kind and sympathetic to a fault, and possessed of great delicacy and consideration for others. He would enjoy the friendship of all men, were he less talented and consequently less liable to inspire jealousy. Of medium stature, spare but well made and of striking appearance, he has always looked younger than he really was, a happy privilege among the many others enjoyed by this favored son of genius, who is an honor and glory of the present generation of French composers. He is now a member of the Institute of France, a professor of composition at the National Conservatory of Paris and an Officer of the Legion of Honor.

As we close this biographical sketch, the distinguished composer has just given the first performance of his latest opera, “Werther,” at the Grand Theatre of Vienna, where it met with brilliant success. Massenet has been kind enough to bestow on us a page of the work to place in this biography, with a specimen of his handwriting, and we tender him our warmest thanks. By the time these lines meet the eye of the reader, “Werther” will have been put upon the stage at the Opéra Comique, in Paris.

Massenet’s debut in theatrical work dates from the third of April, 1866, when “La Grand’tante,” a pretty little piece full of melody and freshness, was represented at the Opéra Comique. It was he who, on the Emperor’s fête, August 12 of the following year, wrote the official cantata performed at the Opéra.

After this first attempt in theatrical music, and his cantata, Massenet produced various concert works, among others, “Poèmes et Souvenirs” and “Poèmes d’Avril,” the words of which are by Armand Sylvestre; also a _bouffe_ scene entitled “L’Improvisateur.” His second Suite d’Orchestre,—a Suite Hongroise, was played at the Concerts Populaires. For the Société Classique Armingaud he composed “Introductions et Variations,” a quartet for stringed and wind instruments. In 1872 he produced his second dramatic work, “Don César de Bazan,” at the Opéra Comique; but the public did not give it a very cordial reception. It had been written under unfavorable conditions, improvised, as it were, in three weeks. The managers of the theatre proposed terms to the young composer which he was obliged to accept or decline without amendment. Massenet took his revenge for this treatment, however, in the very same year, with the delightful scenic music for the drama, “Les Errynies,” by the Comte de Lisle, which was represented at the Odéon. The next year, 1873, the composer produced one of his most exquisite scores, which shows his warm poetic talent in the most characteristic manner. This was “Marie Madeleine,” a sacred drama in three acts, which has had a world-wide success. So successful was it indeed that Massenet was encouraged to write “Eve,” a mystery in three acts. This latter, so intimately related in character to “Marie Madeleine,” has been given at the concerts of sacred harmony established by Lamoureux. In this, too, the composer’s personality is emphasized by exquisitely delicate and poetic touches. The same may be said of “La Vierge,” a sacred legend in four parts, written for the Opéra concerts and played for the first time in 1880. The “Sleep of the Virgin” in this legend is one of those inspirations which prove beyond all doubt the measure of a composer’s genius.

A year before the production of “La Vierge,” Massenet had given the French National Academy of Music his first great opera, “Le Roi de Lahore,” in five acts, the success of which was not at first evident. The public considered this beautiful music slightly cold, and instrumental rather than vocal. They said the composer had shown himself wanting in melody, and that he had sacrificed too much to his love for scientific combinations, although wild applause greeted a certain number of happily-conceived songs, among others the aria so splendidly rendered by Lassalle and which has always been honored with an encore.

It is only when great works are reproduced after a certain interval of time that we can determine whether they are really worthy a place in the musical repertory. The reproduction at the Opéra of the “Roi de Lahore” was a great success, and it has always been enthusiastically received in the principal theatres of Europe and America.

The Théâtre de la Monnaie, at Brussels, enjoyed the privilege of giving, in 1881, the first performance of Massenet’s second grand opera, “Hérodiade” in three acts and five tableaux. This time success was beyond all doubt, and from the first representation onward, the piece was received with enthusiasm. Whatever M. Massenet may hereafter give to the world, “Hérodiade” will undoubtedly remain one of the finest works that have originated in the fertile brain of this distinguished musician. Throughout the work the divine afflatus is maintained, and melody fills the auditorium. The opera is full of passion and sentiment, at once human and religious, just as in “Marie Madeleine.” It might be said that “Hérodiade” is the same sacred drama brought upon the stage, with this difference, that Madeleine becomes Salome, and Christ is transformed into John.

After “Hérodiade,” in Brussels, we had, in 1884, “Manon” at the Opéra Comique in Paris. Were I asked to make a definite choice between “Hérodiade” and “Manon” I should hesitate; but I should choose “Manon.” From the first to the last note the work is delightful. It is not less beautiful when softly sung at home to the accompaniment of the piano, than in the theatre, where our delight never for an instant moderates.

Following “Manon” in 1885, Massenet’s “Le Cid” in four acts, was performed at the Grand Opéra in Paris, and although reproduced several times, this work still maintains its place in the repertory.

In 1889, the indefatigable composer returned to the Opéra Comique with “Esclarmonde,” which drew crowds to this theatre during several months.

In the chronological order of the musician’s dramatic works, “Esclarmonde” is followed by “Le Mage,” a grand opera in four acts and six tableaux, the poem by M. Richepin, performed at the National Academy of Music in Paris. I have witnessed several renderings of this work, and have read the piano score. The more I have studied the opera the more am I impressed by its wonderful beauty. The individuality of the work, its passion and grace and delicacy, its originality as to form and harmony, are so numerous that it is unnecessary to criticise it more particularly.

All lovers of music know the extent of Massenet’s skill as a master of harmony. He is a master in the full meaning of the expression. It would be impossible for a musician to carry to a higher degree than he has done the complex art of orchestration or of counterpoint, so much honored of late years, though so often abused; or to have more happy facility as a harmonist. Were I to presume to criticise anything in the author of “Le Mage,” I should limit myself to mentioning his too clearly apparent striving after _effect_ by means of fresh combinations of instruments. Massenet has too great a wealth of truly musical ideas for him to labor so hard for _material_ effects. The true effects in music are produced by the thought, by the idea, apart from the application of the thought or idea to any special instrument. There is scarce any charm of emotion produced by music save through the musician’s imagination, that is, by the invention which results from the inward and profound emotion felt by the composer. Were it only necessary to be learned in any given art, only necessary to possess the power of cleverly combining notes and the tones of musical instruments, so as to produce fine musical works, every artist now living would write masterpieces; for, in truth, the study of technique has never been carried so far as it has been during the past twenty years. Technique is undoubtedly indispensable, but of itself it serves no purpose and is of no value, unless it be used as the exponent of the melodic conception which is the very soul of music.

M. Massenet has published seven suites for orchestra, which may be found in the repertory of every great musical society. To him we owe various scenes for chorus and orchestra: “Narcisse,” and “Biblis”; a symphonic poem entitled “Visions,” and a large number of fugitive melodies with pianoforte accompaniment. He has also completed the score of a ballet, “Le Carillon,” as yet unpublished.

Fac-simile of musical manuscript written by Massenet.
]

CHARLES GOUNOD

_Reproduction of a photograph from life by Nadar, of Paris._
]

]

CHARLES GOUNOD

Gounod, the greatest living musician of France is descended from a family of artists. His grandfather, a very distinguished enchaser, bore the title of “sword cutler to the king,” and as such occupied an apartment in the Louvre buildings, a favor which was granted to only artists of renown. His son, Jean François Gounod, who was born about 1760, was a painter of considerable talent. He was a pupil of Lépicié, and he and Carle Vernet, who occupied the same studio, competed at the Académie des Beaux-Arts for the “Prix de Rome.” Carle Vernet obtained the first prize at this concours in 1782, and Jean François Gounod carried off the second in 1783. The latter, however, devoted himself especially to engraving, in order that he might always live with his father who was getting old and needed all his care and attention.

J. F. Gounod was serious, melancholy and quite original in character, as was shown by his conduct on the death of his father, who lived to be over ninety years of age. This loss was a great grief to him, and in the hope of diverting his mind and driving off melancholy, he undertook a tramp to Versailles. He had very little money in his pocket. However, being fatigued by his journey he entered a public house and went to bed. He remained several days at Versailles, but, far from being relieved of his sad thoughts, he was so overwhelmed by them that he dreaded to return to his rooms in the Louvre, where he had witnessed his father breathe his last. He wrote to a friend to say that he should not return to Paris, but intended to start immediately for Italy; he begged him to go to his room, take from his secretary all the money he might find there, and bring it to him at Versailles, receiving at the same time his adieux. Once in possession of his money, Gounod, who disliked encumbrance of any sort, furnished himself with a light carpet bag, and with this baggage set off on a journey which was at that time very long and very difficult. He travelled all over Italy, remaining there four or five years; then he returned to Paris, and to his rooms where nothing had been disturbed, and resumed work as if he had left it only the evening before.

One of J. F. Gounod’s friends has written the following lines concerning him: “M. Gounod has made a reputation in engraving. He has produced little and his income could scarcely have been enough to suffice him. Nevertheless, he liked to work and engraving offered him the quiet and deliberation which suited his disposition. In general he spoke but little. When he was obliged to quit the Louvre, he was quite helpless in regard to the great confusion which always characterized his apartment; it was one mass of books, pasteboard, drawings and articles of all sorts scattered about, including a dismembered skeleton, whose bones were all pretty effectually separated from each other. Fortunately one of his cousins undertook to transfer for him everything that was transferable, otherwise Gounod would have abandoned all. He concluded to marry, for it was absolutely necessary that somebody should aid him in finding himself again. He was, nevertheless, a good and excellent man. His wife was charming, a very good musician, and it was she who educated her son. He was getting along in years when he married, and at his death this son was still very young.”

Very young indeed, for the future author of “Faust,” “Roméo et Juliette” and “Mireille,” Charles Gounod, was scarcely five years old when he lost his father, whom he had not learned to know. Like Hérold, like Adam, like Halévy, Charles Gounod was born at Paris, where he first saw the light June 17, 1818. His mother, a woman of fine character and high intelligence, neglected nothing that could contribute to his literary and artistic education. She was his first music teacher. He began very young to feel an intense love for this art, which he was to make illustrious. A pupil of the Saint Louis lyceum, he was already an excellent pianist while still pursuing his classical studies at this establishment, and before completing these studies he took up a course of harmony with the famous theoretician, Reicha. He took the degree of bachelor when he was little more than sixteen years old, and was admitted to the Conservatoire in the class of counterpoint and fugue directed by Halévy, and soon after in the composition class of Lesueur, one of the greatest masters that ever glorified the French school. In the following year Gounod took part in the concours of the Institute for the “Prix de Rome,” and carried off without opposition a second grand prize. He was thus exempted from the military service, since the rules of the “Concours de Rome” established at that time this exemption for any pupil having obtained a prize before the age of twenty. This was in 1837, and Gounod was only nineteen.

At the close of this same year Lesueur died, and Gounod passed under the instruction of Paër, with whom he finished his studies. In 1838 he presented himself again at the Institute, this time without success, but in 1839 he carried off a brilliant first prize with a cantata entitled “Fernand,” the words of which were written by the marquis de Pastoret. This first prize was almost unanimously awarded to him, twenty-five votes out of twenty-seven being in his favor. He left at once for Rome and there devoted himself almost exclusively for three or four years, to the study and composition of religious music, being especially charmed and influenced by the works of the great Palestrina. In 1841 he had performed in the Saint-Louis-des Français church, on the occasion of the fête of king Louis-Philippe, a grand orchestra mass, with contralto and tenor solos. Towards the end of the following year he made a trip through Germany, pausing for a time in Vienna, where he gave in the Saint Charles church a Requiem mass which produced upon its hearers a most profound impression. Some idea of the effect produced may be had from an account addressed to one of the Paris papers of the day, and which seemed invested with a spirit of prophecy: “On All Soul’s Day” said this writer, “there was performed at the Saint Charles church a Requiem, a quite recent work by M. Charles Gounod. One recognizes in this composition not only a very marked musical talent which has already obtained by its assiduity and experience a high degree of independence, but one sees in it also a great and wholly individual comprehension, which breaks away from the beaten tracks in order to create new forms. In the melodic phrases there are things which deeply touch and impress the hearer, things which disclose a grandeur of conception become very rare in our day, and which engrave themselves ineffaceably upon the soul, things which would do honor to any musician, and which seem to point to a great future. The solos were sung perfectly, and the choruses as well as the orchestra likewise deserve praise. M. Gounod directed in person the performance of his work.”

It is plain that the pace of the young musician was not that of an ordinary artist, and that his first steps were directed toward glory, for rarely does one hear such praise accorded a composer of twenty-five years.

Meanwhile Gounod, already haunted by an idea which was long to pursue him, had dreamed of bidding farewell, not to his art, but to the world, and had seriously considered taking ecclesiastic orders. His mind possessed by this fancy, he had, during the latter part of his stay at Rome, left the villa Médécis, where at that time the French school was established, and had retired to the seminary. As soon as he returned to Paris, he entered as precentor the Missions Etrangères, where he wore the long robe and costume of the conventual house, and his resolution seemed thenceforth so certain that it was accepted as an accomplished fact. Indeed a special sheet, the _Revue et Gazette Musicale_, published the following under date of Feb. 15, 1846: “M. Gounod, composer and former winner of the grand Institute prize, has just taken orders.” From this moment, Gounod was called “l’Abbé Gounod,” just as, sixty years before, his master Lesueur was called “l’Abbé Lesueur,” when he became precentor of the Metropolitan church. There was this difference, however, that Lesueur had never desired to become a priest, but according to the usage then in vogue at the Notre Dame church, Paris, he was obliged, in order to fulfill the functions of precentor, to don the priestly garb. Gounod, on the other hand, seemed to have made up his mind to a religious life, since in 1846 a publisher brought out a series of religious choruses entitled “Offices of Holy Week, by the Abbé Charles Gounod.”

In his retreat Gounod continued to occupy himself with religious music, and in 1849 he had performed at the Saint Eustache church a grand solemn mass which was very well received. At this moment he seemed absolutely lost to profane art, and as he was brought very little before the public, people began to forget about him, when there appeared in the London Athenæum early in 1851, an article which was immediately republished in the _Revue et Gazette Musicale_ of Paris, and which contained an enthusiastic eulogium on several of Gounod’s compositions recently performed at a concert at St. Martin’s Hall. “This music,” said the writer, “brings before us no other composer ancient or modern, either by the form, the melody or the harmony. It is not new in the sense of being bizarre or whimsical; it is not old, if old means dry and stiff, the bare scaffolding, with no fine construction rising behind it; it is the work of an accomplished artist, it is the poetry of a new poet. * * * * * That the impression produced upon the audience was great and real there can be no doubt, but it is the music itself, not its reception, which to our minds presages for M. Gounod an uncommon career; for if there be not in his works a genius at once true and new, then must we go back to school and relearn the alphabet of the art and of criticism.”

This article fell like a thunderclap on Paris, where people were scarcely giving Gounod a thought. A very distinguished French musical critic, Louis Viardot, was then in London with his wife, the worthy and noble sister of Malibran. This Athenæum article was attributed to him, not without reason, I think, and it was soon known that Mme. Viardot, whose experience, taste and musical knowledge everyone knows, was struck by the music of the young master, and that she was far from concealing her admiration for a talent so pure, so elegant and so exquisite.