Part 22

It was on horseback or while riding in his carriage during his daily excursions to the Bois de Boulogne that Auber found his happiest _motifs_. On returning home he set them to music and inserted them in the opera upon which he was working, and then Scribe supplied the words. In the principal scenes, however, Auber wrote to the verses of his collaborator, and he would begin to work on his return from the theatre, whither he went nearly every evening. In this way he would write on a little table by the side of his piano up to four or five o’clock in the morning. As often as not, he did not go to bed, but slept in his arm-chair. Many of his scores bear traces of the ink which dropped from his pen as he let it fall from his hand when overcome by slumber. The manual of his old square piano bears numerous inkstains on the white keys of the upper octave, which indicate the moment when Auber fell asleep at his work. The musician never needed more than from three to four hours of sleep daily, and throughout his life he took only one meal in twenty-four hours, namely, dinner. On rising, he would drink a cup of camomile, which he swallowed fasting. This was sufficient to sustain him without undue fatigue to the digestive organs up to the time of his only meal at six o’clock. He frequently invited to his table, frugal as it was, young professional lady singers, for he was extremely susceptible to the attractions of the fair sex, and remained a worshipper of beauty even unto death. Venus was his goddess, and he ever adored her most conscientiously.

Auber had eight domestics in his service, and never was man worse served than he. One evening he invited to dinner several professional ladies, as also the learned Mr. Weckerlin, librarian of the Conservatoire. The dinner was good and well served. Music and song followed the repast. One of the ladies being thirsty, the master rang for a glass of water. There was no answer. The housekeeper, the old Sophie, whose face had been familiar for half a century to all Auber’s friends, had gone to bed; the cook had followed her example; the valet-de-chambre had gone out for a walk with John, the English coachman, who remained more than thirty years in the composer’s service: in short, all the servants had disappeared. Auber did not fall into a passion: he never became angry at anything. “As we cannot get anything here,” said he to his guests, “let us go and take an ice at Tortoni’s.”

We have already referred to the numerous inkstains on the old piano, made by the pen which fell from Auber’s hand as sleep overpowered him during his long nocturnal labors, and we now propose to give some details of this interesting and historic instrument, which remains an object of curiosity to all the admirers of the master who visit the instrumental museum at the Conservatoire, and of which we have been able to take a photograph by the gracious permission of M. Pillaut, the learned Conservator of the Museum.

This piano, oblong in form, very light and built of mahogany, was bought by Auber on the 17th of February, 1812, in the showrooms of the celebrated Erard. The manufacturer’s number is 8414. It is a double-stringed instrument, and its compass is only five and a half octaves. When, in 1842, Auber succeeded Cherubini as director of the Conservatoire, he had this piano brought thither and placed it in his study. It was upon this instrument, from which the master could never be separated, and which had become his true friend and harmonious confidant, an indefatigable and never-failing source of inspiration, that Auber composed those charming and _spirituel_ comedies which, so often performed and always with success, have remained models of French comic opera in common with the works of Monsigny, Dalayrac, Grétry, Boïeldieu, Hérold, and other great masters.

Besides the old piano which stood in his private room at the Conservatoire, Auber had another at home, in his house in the Rue St. Georges. This latter was an upright piano which I have often seen. Like his oblong piano, it was stained with ink on the two upper octaves. Auber never thought, like Ambroise Thomas and Charles Gounod, of having made by the firm of Pleyel what is called a composer’s piano, which is both an excellent instrument and a secretary.

[Illustration:

AUBER’S PIANO AT THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE MUSEUM.

Reproduced from a photograph made by special permission. ]

Auber once related to me that two days before the first performance of “La Muette” (which he completed in three months!) the overture was not yet ready. He composed it with all the fervor which comes of improvisation. The evening before the first production the orchestra rehearsed it for the first time, and the musicians accorded this instrumental preface an enthusiastic reception. On the first night the public were so enchanted with it that it received a double _encore_. I have never seen this fact mentioned in any of the biographies of the illustrious composer, but I learnt it from Auber himself.

[Illustration:

AUBER’S RESIDENCE IN PARIS.

From a photograph.

In this house Auber lived for forty years, and it was here that he died in May, 1871, during the battle with the Paris Commune. ]

It has been a matter of astonishment that this French musician, who did not know Italy, who never left Paris—with the exception of a journey to London when he was a very young man—should have been able to introduce into “La Muette” so much of Italian local color, and assimilate in so wonderful a manner the musical genius of the Neapolitans. We are in imagination as thoroughly in Naples as it is possible to be without actually being there, the moment we hear that victorious march, so full of freedom, rhythm and melody, and see on the stage the crowd of triumphant lazzaroni now masters of the land. One would gladly learn in what circumstances this beautiful and marvellously characteristic air came into the mind of the Parisian composer. Jouvin will tell us, and he has made no mistake, for this curious information reached him from the lips of the composer himself: “Would you know where the composer found the _motif_ of this march, the melody of which is so free and unconventional? He found it in a shaving dish! It was when he was shaving himself, with his face covered with soap, that there came upon him the rhythm and melody of this inspiration; and he seized and secured it before it was lost. Such is the origin of the inspiration which twice in the overture and at the end of the fourth act, so powerfully appeals to the spectator in the auditorium. O Genius, behold thy handiwork! Have not sixty winners of the grand Prix de Rome passed no inconsiderable time seeking inspiration in the land of classic song and returned home without a single idea? M. Auber, who could never tear himself away from Paris, discovers the sky of Naples in the lather at the bottom of a basin!”

[Illustration:

AUBER’S TOMB IN PÈRE LACHAISE, PARIS.

From a photograph. ]

The extraordinary effort made by Auber in the composition of “La Muette,” in less time than would have been needed by a copyist to transcribe this voluminous score, completely deprived him of his mental powers for the moment, and he was obliged to take absolute rest for some time. His ideas were exhausted, and he would have found it impossible even to find a melody for a simple song. He thought that the fountain of musical invention was dried up within him, and for all time. But his faculties, thank God, were not extinguished, and there yet remained in the composer’s brain living fountains from whence were to gush forth his best, his most characteristic works, and those which are most strongly impressed with the author’s style and personality.

In many respects, Auber was not an irreproachable director of the Conservatoire, where he remained, however, a number of years. He was all his life too fashionable a man, too kind, too weak to direct with the necessary firmness a school so difficult to govern as the Ecole Nationale de Musique et de Déclamation of Paris. He attempted no improvements in the arrangement of the studies, and while all public institutions throughout France were being modified in accordance with progressive ideas, the Conservatoire alone remained stationary and, as it were, fossilized in its ancient condition. Ultimately the Administration des Beaux-Arts became alarmed at this state of things, and on the 2d of April, 1870, the following order was issued:—

“In the name of the Emperor, the Minister of Fine Arts issues the following order:

“Art. 1. A committee is hereby formed the mission of which shall be to revise the present government of the Conservatoire, and to consider and propose such modifications as may be made, especially in regard to the teaching in this institution, so that the studies pursued there may be made as profitable as possible.

“Art. 2. This committee, which shall sit under the presidency of the Minister of Fine Arts, shall be constituted as follows:

“MM. Auber, Emile Augier, Edmond About, Azévédo, Chaix d’Estange, de Charnacé, Oscar Comettant, Félicien David, Camille Doucet, Théophile Gautier, Gevaert, Charles Gounod, Guiroult, Jouvin, Ernest Legouvé, Nogent-Saint-Laurens, Emile Perrin, Prince Poniatowski, H. Prévost, Reber, Ernest Reyer, de Saint-Georges, de Saint-Valry, Albéric Second, Edouard Thierry, Ambroise Thomas, J. Weiss.”

The sittings of this committee were of a most interesting character. Auber, then eighty-eight years of age, was never absent from any of them; but he remained silent all the while. It seemed as though he were there in the presence of judges rather than before a committee in which he had full and complete liberty of discussion. Of all the propositions made by the committee only one was ever put into execution, by Ambroise Thomas, who succeeded Auber as director of the Ecole Nationale de Musique et de Déclamation of Paris. This proposition was that Sol-fa classes should be established especially for the pupils of both sexes in the singing classes.

Auber was Maître-de-chapelle to the Emperor Napoleon III. He was a Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, and he received a number of foreign decorations. He never married.

It was Auber’s misfortune to see the siege of Paris and the terrible deeds of the Commune. At that time he had two horses to which he was very much attached, named Figaro and Almaviva. When famine began to stalk through the land he was called upon to give up the first-named animal to be used as food. The other met with perhaps a still more cruel fate, for it was taken from the elegant coupé of the composer to draw a cart at St. Denis. In the midst of the successive misfortunes which befell his beloved city of Paris, Auber became deeply downcast. His strength rapidly ebbed away, and after a terrible struggle lasting several days, during which he fought desperately with death—for he still clung tenaciously to life,—he breathed his last, cared for in turn by Ambroise Thomas, Marmontel and Weckerlin, on the 12th of May, 1871. When public order had been re-established, he was accorded a solemn public funeral on the 15th of July following.

Auber’s labors were devoted to one long series of sparkling comic operas due to the happy partnership of Scribe and Auber, a partnership in which Mélesville was often associated. The first comic opera produced by the triple partnership was “Leicester,” the subject of which was taken by the authors from Sir Walter Scott’s romance, “Kenilworth.” Although, from the character of the dramatis personæ, “Leicester,” was somewhat remarkable compared with the plays usually produced at the Théâtre Feydeau, it was nevertheless well received by the public.

After this came “La Neige,” a pretty score which, however, the critics (who in those days were generally literary men not at all competent to judge of musical matters) declared bore some resemblance to the work of Rossini. But at that time what musician was there who could entirely withstand Rossini’s style, which had conquered the universe, not even excepting Germany?

“La Neige” was succeeded by “Le Maçon,” in which there occur at least two or three morceaux that are marvels of wit and grace.

[Illustration:

Fac-simile autograph musical manuscript by Daniel François Auber. ]

[Illustration:

Fac-simile autograph letters from Auber to Alfred de Beauchesne, Secretary of the Conservatoire. ]

“Le Maçon” was followed by “Le Timide,” “Fiorella,” “La Muette de Portici,” a grand opera in five acts, produced by Scribe and Casimir Delavigne, which was represented at the Académie de Musique on the 19th of February, 1828. It had considerable success the first night and the succeeding representations only strengthened the good opinion formed of it. After more than sixty years and in spite of certain features which are now looked upon as old-fashioned, as well as an orchestration which would better suit present ideas were it more powerful and contrapuntal, at least in certain parts of the score, this admirable work would still be quite presentable anywhere. The impartial public, which does not yield to the influence of schools of music and does not hide its impressions, would still warmly applaud in this rich treasury of sweet melody the chorus, “O Dieu puissant”; the barcarolle, “Amis, la matinée est belle”; the duet by the two men, “Amour Sacré de la Patrie”; the market scene; the beautiful and impressive prayer; the delicious air of “Sleep”; the air sung by the woman in the fourth act, “Arbitre d’une Vie,” which has become classical; and that other barcarolle, “Voyez du haut de ce rivage”; the tarantella, etc.

The original and singularly bold idea of making a dumb girl the heroine of a grand opera was received at the outset with censure on the part of the critics; and it must be admitted as a general principle that the critics were perfectly right. Slowly, however, the public became accustomed to this creation, and it has now for a long time been admitted that the rôle of Fenella is a mark of genius. The whole of this part played in dumb show seems to be voiced, as it were, by the orchestra, which renders in a wonderfully happy manner and with extraordinary dexterity the sentiments felt by the sister of the fisher Massaniello.

As to the overture, it has earned public approval in every part of the world where an orchestra can be found capable of executing it. It is brilliant, dramatic, pathetic, and the _motif_ of the triumphal march which constitutes the _allegro_ is superb and truly irresistible in its power to move the audience.

Space would fail us were we to stop, even for a moment, to speak of each one of his works, and we cannot do more than name them. Yet their names alone will sing in the reader’s memory those varied songs, so _spirituel_, so well suited to the works which they designate that they have nearly all continued to hold the musical stage of Europe ever since they were first produced. They are as follows: “La Fiancée,” “Fra Diavolo,” “Le Dieu et la Bayadère,” “Gustave III.,” “Lestocq,” “Le Cheval de Bronze,” “Actéon,” “Les Chaperons Blancs,” “L’Ambassadrice,” “Le Domino Noir,” “Le Lac des Fées,” “Zanetta,” “Les Diamants de la Couronne,” “Le Duc d’Aloune,” “La Part du Diable,” “La Sirène,” “La Barcarolle,” “Haydée,” “L’Enfant Prodigue,” “Zerline, ou la Corbeille d’Oranges,” “Marco Spada,” “Jenny Bell,” “Manon Lescaut,” “La Circassienne,” “La Fiancée du Roi de Garbes,” “Le Premier Jour de Bonheur,” “Rêve d’Amour.” This last-named comic opera was the last of the long series of the dramatic works of our author. It was represented on the 20th of December, 1869, and truth compels us to state that it was received with some reserve. Quite the reverse was the fate of “Le Premier Jour de Bonheur,” which obtained a full measure of success. In this opera occurs an exquisite melody that speedily became popular, “Les Djinns.”

Rossini has described Auber’s talent in a remarkably pithy manner. “Auber,” said he, “may have produced light music, but he produced it like a great musician.” So much meaning could not be condensed into fewer words. Even so, Auber, in spite of the slight appearance of his work, was one of the most learned musicians of his time. But he took as much pains to conceal his knowledge as others do to exhibit theirs. His great desire was, evidently in obedience to the nature of the man, to be always clear, melodious, lovable, _spirituel_, attractive in every way; never wearisome. In this he was perhaps wrong. Possessing as he did the science of counterpoint and a wonderful dexterity in instrumentation, he would have done well to make himself, from time to time at least, more obscure, mystical, symbolical and enigmatical, for in so doing he would have risen in the esteem of the pedants who affect to like only that kind of music which is wearisome and to understand only that which is incomprehensible. Such obscurity on his part would have thrown into still higher relief the inspirations born of his truly creative faculties, I mean his songs and his _motifs_. Whenever he desired to do so, Auber well knew how to rise to the lofty and pathetic, and he could produce what is called grand high class music. Let such as doubt this read the fourth act of “Manon Lescaut,” and they will be convinced that there was in the mind and heart of Auber something more than dance music. We have there grand and beautiful music, and I find it difficult to mention any orchestration richer or more impressive and more beautifully conceived than that which occurs in “La Circassienne.” We have only to read the many _solfeggios_ that he wrote during the long years when he was director of the Conservatoire for competition among the pupils learning the sol-fa system, and we shall find in these minor masterpieces the sure hand of an eminent and profound harmonist.

[Illustration: Oscar Comettant]

[Illustration:

MEDALLION OF AUBER

by David.

From Paris Opera Archives. ]

[Illustration:

J. F. E. HALÉVY

_Reproduction of a portrait by Weger, engraved after a photograph._ ]

[Illustration: [Fleuron]]

JACQUES FRANÇOIS FROMENTAL ELIAS HALÉVY.

Jacques François Fromental Elias Halévy was born in Paris, May 27, 1799, of Jewish parents, whose family name was Lévi. The same considerations of expediency that induced Meyerbeer to change his name from Beer to that which he afterwards made famous, proved similarly potent with Halévy. His father was by birth a Bavarian, his mother was born in Lorraine. The former was greatly honored among French Israelites for his upright character and as a Hebrew scholar profoundly versed in the Talmud. While yet very young, Halévy developed such remarkable musical precocity that he was sent to the Conservatory when only ten years of age. He was at once placed in the class of Berton, then in the full flush of his triumph as the composer of “Montano et Stéphanie,” his masterpiece. Berton outlived his fame, and his music is now forgotten. It may be mentioned in passing, that Berton was greatly piqued by the success of Rossini, and published two acrimonious pamphlets attacking the Italian composer. One of these was entitled, “De la Musique Mécanique et de la Musique Philosophique,” and the other, “Epître à un célèbre compositeur Français précédée de quelques observations sur la Musique Mécanique et la Musique Philosophique.” Of course, “la musique mécanique” was the music of Rossini, and “la musique philosophique” was that of Berton. The “célèbre compositeur” was Boieldieu, who was greatly mortified by a dedication that identified him with sentiments wholly in conflict with those he entertained toward Rossini.

Halévy prosecuted his studies so industriously under the guidance of Berton, who was an admirable musician, and progressed so rapidly, that one year after he entered the Conservatory, he won a prize in solfeggio, and the year following, the second prize in harmony was bestowed on him. From Berton’s instruction he passed to that of Cherubini, who subjected him to a rigid course of counterpoint, fugue and composition. Here again, he advanced with such speed that at the end of seven years, and while yet a boy of seventeen, he competed for the Grand Prix de Rome, obtaining the second prize for his cantata, “Les dernières moments de Tasse.” The next year the second prize again fell to his lot, and the year following, 1819, he reached the height of his ambition, carrying off the Grand Prix itself for his “Herminie.”

This much-coveted distinction is awarded at the annual competitive examinations of the Académie des Beaux-Arts. The successful candidates become government pensioners for four years, and as such are sent to Rome, where they reside in the Villa Medici, in the Académie de France. The prize composition was, at first, a cantata for one voice and orchestra, and after, for one male and one female voice and orchestra. The prize was established in 1803, and since then, a winner has been sent, at the cost of the government, to Rome, every year, except in those years when no composition was considered worthy the prize. It is somewhat curious that of the sixty and odd students whose achievements and future promise won for them this honor, so few attained to permanent fame. The only prize-winners whose names have made the tour of the world are Hérold, Halévy, Berlioz, A. Thomas, Gounod, Bizet, and Massenet.

Before his departure for Rome, he composed a Funeral March and a “De Profondis” on the death of the Duc de Berri (1820), for three voices and orchestra. He dedicated it to Cherubini, and it was performed in the synagogue in Rue St. Avoye. In Italy he devoted himself with his accustomed energy to serious and unflagging study; wrote an opera, which was not performed, and some works for the church, which remain unpublished. At the end of his prescribed term abroad, he returned home, eager to prove to his fellow countrymen that he had not studied in vain. He turned his eyes in the direction of the opera stage, but experienced the usual disappointments, in his early attempts to obtain a hearing, and was almost in despair at the discouraging difficulties that stood in his way. He composed “Les Bohémiennes” and offered it to the Grand Opera, but it was not accepted. He was more successful with “Pygmalion,” which was received and placed in rehearsal, but it was suddenly withdrawn and never performed. An opera comique, “Les deux Pavillons,” met the same depressing fate. Halévy began to lose hope, when in 1827, and when he was twenty-eight years of age, the Théâtre Feydeau accepted his “L’Artisan,” which was produced in the same year without making any very marked impression. It is an unambitious work of no special interest, except for some piquant couplets, and a well-written chorus. The following year he collaborated with Rifaut in the score of “Le Roi et le Batelier,” written for the fête of Charles X. In the same year “Clari” was given at the Théâtre Italien. This was a three-act opera, and up to that time, his most important work. Malibran sung the principal part, and for the first time the young composer experienced the intoxication of success. There is, however, nothing in the score to indicate the Halévy of “La Juive” and of “L’Eclair.”