Part 29
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.
[Illustration:
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.
[Illustration: Oscar Comettant]
[Illustration:
JULES MASSENET
_Reproduction of a photograph from life by Nadar of Paris._ ]
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]
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.