Part 6
Strawinsky seems to meet his problems according to their nature with an inevitable sense of the fitness of things. He has set, in _Petrouchka_, a story of the Russian fair; the leading characters are puppets; the period, 1830. The music is realistic in tone, in some instances intentionally vulgar. It has been pointed out that the themes of the nurses’ dance, the dance of the _cochers_, and the Russian dance in the first scene, are founded on Russian folk-tunes. There is all through the piece an implied tone of a village carnival; the accordion and hurdy-gurdy are never very far away, in suggestion at least. The dancer, personified by Mme. Karsavina, trips her lightest measures to the fanfare of a cornet, and Petrouchka sobs out his heart to the empty sky to the screaming of a piccolo. There are tunes, real tunes, the piece abounds in them, and the whole is wrapped in an atmosphere of realism and truth which gives music the tone of originality. Incidentally, there is a triangle solo in the score.
M. Montagu-Nathan says: “The carnival music is a sheer joy, and the incidents making a demand upon music as a descriptive medium have been treated not merely with marvelous skill but with unfailing instinct for the true satiric touch. _Petrouchka_ is, in fact, the musical presentment of Russian fantastic humor in the second generation. There is none of the heavy scoring once thought necessary to reveal the humorous possibilities of some particular situation; Strawinsky lives in a world which has learned to take things for granted, and his method is elliptical. This perception of proportion in humor is one of the surest indications of refinement, and _Petrouchka_ not only testifies to the composer’s possession of this quality, but provides an assurance that he has a technical equipment which can hardly betray him.”
The fable is one of love and hate in that fanciful domain in which we become aware of the existence of a soul hitherto considered absent from such a corporeal habitation. Among the mingled crowd of merry-makers and mountebanks at the carnival is a showman, practiced in the black arts. In his booth he exposes his animated dolls: the dancer, flanked by Petrouchka, the simple fool, and the fierce Moor. The three enact a tragedy of jealousy which terminates in the “shedding of Petrouchka’s vital sawdust.”
_The Firebird_ stirred another cell in the imagination of this young Russian giant. Again he is dealing with a Russian folk-tale, but it is a fairy story this time, not a vulgar story of country life; he has manipulated his orchestra into a thousand gorgeous colors to illustrate it. The instruments revolve their tones kaleidoscopically, reflecting the myriad hues with which Golovine and Bakst have invested the scene. The rhythms are exotic; the harmonies and the melodies of the utmost brilliancy. One of the dances of the Firebird has a haunting melancholy about it which seems to have been wafted from the steppes.
The Firebird in the beginning of the action falls a prey to the young Prince Ivan; as the price of her freedom she offers him one of her plumes, which he accepts while she flies away into the soft blue shadows of the night. Dawn breaks, and Ivan finds himself in front of a magic castle, from the gates of which troop out a group of white-robed maidens. They indicate by means of their leader, Tsarevna, with whom Ivan at once falls in love, that he must not venture inside, but as soon as they have left him he rashly pushes back the great gate in front of him. There is a crash and in a moment out rushes pell-mell a huddled mass of slaves, dancers, men in armor, and buffoons, who surround him and drive him dizzy with their chatter. The uproar works up to a _crescendo_ of frenzy when the monstrous figure of Kostchei, the Immortal, the lord of the castle, stalks out to quell the din. Kostchei has already turned others into stone, but over Ivan he has no power; the Firebird’s plume protects him, and on his brandishing it before the terror-stricken god the bird herself appears. At first she makes the crowd dance; then she lulls them to sleep and shows Ivan where the egg containing Kostchei’s soul is concealed. He brings it out and smashes it. The old god crumbles to pieces, the stones are brought to life, and the lovers’ hands are joined. The character of Kostchei is an important one in Russian folk-lore; he is the subject of an opera by Rimsky-Korsakow. Ralston, in his “Russian Folk-Tales,” thus describes him: “Kostchei is merely one of the many incarnations of the dark spirit.... Sometimes he is described as altogether serpent-like in form; sometimes he seems to be of a mixed nature, partly human and partly ophidian; but in some stories he is apparently framed after the fashion of a man.... He is called ‘immortal’ or ‘deathless’ because of his superiority to the ordinary laws of existence.... Sometimes his ‘death’--that is, the object with which his life is indisputably connected--does not exist within his body.” It may be seen that in almost every instance Strawinsky has followed the lead of the “Five” in choosing material closely associated with Russian folk-lore.
There came a reaction after the foundation of the Russian national school by the “Five” (Cui, Borodine, Rimsky-Korsakow, Balakirew and Moussorgsky), and the result of foreign influence was felt. These composers had worked, as most of the Russian novelists have worked, with a sense of the soil from which they had sprung; their compositions are redolent with the mode and manner of folk-music. They chose, in most instances, Russian subjects for their operas. Moussorgsky in particular effected a tremendous revolution in style, developing a manner in which ornamentation and affectation played no part; a tense simplicity and sincerity marked all his music, which never asked alms of conventional rules of composition. (I am willing to say this quite in the face of Mr. Runciman, who recently stated in the “Saturday Review” that there were only two Russian compositions of any importance, a symphony by Borodine and Tschaikowsky’s fourth symphony. “Any other two pieces of Russian music are as alike as two mushrooms.”) Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky were the leaders of the opposition, whose music is more akin to that of other nations. They actually succeeded, for a number of years, in establishing themselves in England, France, and America as the representative Russian composers. And naturally their immediate success was greater, even in their own country, where individuals were trying to free themselves from the curse of their birthright, struggling up from the soil; culture was growing. John Reed tells a wonderful story of a Serbian peasant who, having assimilated some culture (in Serbia _Kultur_ is about twenty years old), was reminded by the fields of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. So the Russians, learning French, were a thousand times more impressed with _salon_ music than they were with the work of their more national composers. Moussorgsky, of course, has only recently been dragged out of his retirement, even now in somewhat modified form. (Neither of his operas is produced as he wrote it; he died leaving the orchestration of _La Khovanchina_ unfinished; Rimsky-Korsakow reorchestrated _Boris_--a needless task, perhaps a desecration; he also wrote a good deal of the orchestration of _La Khovanchina_; the work was completed by Maurice Ravel and Strawinsky in a more reverent spirit.) Strawinsky is the new giant upon whom has fallen the mantle of Russian nationalism. His work is based, primarily, on the work of the “Five,” all of whom are dead. That he reminds one occasionally of the modern Frenchmen only means that they, too, have learned their lessons from Borodine and Moussorgsky; Debussy’s debt to Moussorgsky has frequently been acknowledged; it is obvious if one compares _Pelléas et Mélisande_ with _Boris Godunow_. Strawinsky’s love of Oriental color is possibly an inheritance from his master, Rimsky-Korsakow.
This young Russian has appeared in an epoch in which the ambition of most composers seems to be to dream, to write their symbolic visions in terms of the mist, to harmonize the imperceptible. Strawinsky sweeps away this vague atmosphere with one gesture; his idea of movement is Dionysian; he overwhelms us with his speed. One critic has referred to him as the “whirling dervish of his art.” His gifts to future composers are his conciseness, his development of the complexities of rhythm, and his invention of chord-formation. His use of dissonance is an art in itself. Richard Strauss has employed dissonance in obvious development of Richard Wagner’s polyphonic and chromatic style. Pushed to its furthest, his system is one of inversion. With Strawinsky the use of dissonance is invention itself. He improvises new chords, while Strauss is taking recognized chords apart to make something else of them. So this new figure stands for something in advance of what has already been expressed. He is, perhaps, the most vital of the modern forces in the music world.
_August 6, 1915._
Here is the complete bibliography of Strawinsky’s works (the list has been revised and edited by the composer himself): Symphony in E flat, op. 1, 1905-1907 (Jurgenson); _Le Faune et la Bergère_, voice and orchestra, op. 2, 1907 (Belaïeff); _Scherzo Fantastique_ for orchestra, op. 3, 1907-8 (Jurgenson); _Fireworks_, for orchestra, op. 4, 1908 (Schott); _Funeral Hymn_ for the death of Rimsky-Korsakow, op. 5, 1908 (MS.); Four Études for the piano, op. 6, 1908 (Jurgenson); Two Melodies (words by Gorodetzski), voice and piano, op. 7, 1908 (Jurgenson); _The Firebird_, “Conte dansé,” 1909-10 (Jurgenson); Two Melodies (words by Verlaine), voice and piano, 1910 (Jurgenson); _Petrouchka_, burlesque scenes in four tableaux, 1910-11 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); Two Melodies (words by Balmont), for voice and piano, 1911 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _Les Roi des Étoiles_ (words by Balmont), for chorus and orchestra, 1911 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _The Sacrifice to the Spring_, tableaux of Pagan Russia, in two parts, 1911-13 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); Three Melodies (Japanese poems), for voice and small orchestra, 1912, (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _Souvenir de ma Jeunesse_, three children’s songs for voice and piano, 1913 (Russischer Musik-Verlag); _The Nightingale_, opera in three acts, 1909-14 (Russischer Musik-Verlag).
Recent works include three pieces for string quartet (MSS.), played by the Flonzaley Quartet in New York, November 30, 1915; and a new ballet in two parts, for the Russian Ballet, entitled _Les Noces villageoises_.
Strawinsky has also orchestrated a melody of Beethoven, some of the works of Grieg and Chopin, and the song of the Boyard Chaklovity from _La Khovanchina_ of Moussorgsky. With the aid of notes left by the composer he wrote the final chorus of _La Khovanchina_.
Massenet and Women
Massenet and Women
The name of Jules Massenet, spoken before his tomb, should evoke many memories besides the souvenirs of the delicate melodies he wrote--memories of beautiful and frail women, a long, exotic list, women whom he melodically created in his operas and women whom he selected to sing his heroines.
Xavier Leroux in his preface to the “Souvenirs,” in which Massenet carefully describes his life, calls him the _musicien de la femme_. His music is peculiarly feminine--“melodically, sentimentally, sensuously feminine,” says Philip Hale. “The Eve of Massenet is a Parisian _cocotte_. His Mary Magdalen is a _grande amoureuse_ even after her conversion; a true sister of Thaïs.”
Marie-Magdeleine, Eve, Salome, Manon, the fragrant, who suggested a flower girl in the _Boulevard des Capucines_; Chimène, inspired by the classic Corneille; Esclarmonde, in which the astonishing Sybil Sanderson rose to her fame; Charlotte, who, according to Thackeray, having seen Werther’s body “borne before her on a shutter, like a well-conducted person went on cutting bread and butter”; the eternal Thaïs, who at first failed to interest the jaded boulevards; the sanguinary Anita, the girl from Navarre; Sapho, who never, in the opera at least, was carried upstairs until Mary Garden portrayed her; Cinderella, the faithful Grisélidis, many times tempted; the Spanish dancer, l’Ensoleillad and Nina in the opera _Chérubin_; Ariane and her companions, Phèdre and Perséphone; Thérèse, Dulcinée, and the Queen Amahelly, all written for that “_grande tragédienne lyrique_,” Lucy Arbell: it would seem that every country and every period of history had been searched for a complete survey of feminism. And among the unproduced works which the composer left in a completed form is a _Cléopâtre_!
And what a list of women has sung these parts! Women whom Massenet wholly or partly adored; women for whom he dropped precious dots of ink on paper, instead of buying them pearls in the Rue de la Paix; women for whom, in some instances, he preserved his scores for years. For Massenet was never hasty. He never gave a score to an unworthy interpreter. In this connection it is only necessary to remember that _Amadis_, completed in 1890, and _Panurge_, completed in 1910, are not yet produced (1912).
Women reciprocated his love. Louis Schneider, in his biography of the composer, puts it thus: “A woman is like a child; she gives instinctively to the person who loves her. This explains why his incessant glorification of woman made all women like him.”
And so, linked indissolubly with the name of Massenet, we may recall the names of those who helped him to build his fame as the feminist composer, those who “created” in the theatre the atmosphere he had devised for his characters. Five names stand out in prominent relief: the charming Marie Heilbronn, the ill-fated Sybil Sanderson, Emma Calvé, Mary Garden, and Lucy Arbell. But there are countless others: Marie Renard, who “created” Charlotte and first sang Manon in Vienna; Marie Delna, who brought _Werther_ to Paris; Lina Cavalieri, the first Ensoleillad in _Chérubin_, who afterwards introduced Thaïs and Manon to Italy, and later brought back Thaïs to the répertoire of the Paris Opéra; Lucienne Bréval, who was the first Ariane and Grisélidis; Marguerite Carré, the first Nina in _Chérubin_ and who assisted in the revival of _Sapho_ at the Opéra-Comique; Mlle. Kousnezoff, the Fausta in _Roma_; Mme. Duvivier, Salome at Brussels; Mme. Fidès-Devriès, Salome at Paris; Pauline Viardot, the sister of the great Malibran, who sang Marie-Magdeleine as an oratorio at the Odéon, April 11, 1873; Lina Pacary, who sang one season at New Orleans, who was the first to sing the Magdeleine in operatic form; Julia Guiraudon, the first Cendrillon; Aino Ackté, the first Vierge; Joséphine de Reszke, sister of two famous singers, who “created” the leading feminine rôle in _Le Roi de Lahore_; and Mme. Galli-Marié, the first Carmen, who honored the first performance of _Don César de Bazan_. But the list is interminable. What names does it not include? What beautiful woman with a voice of the past three decades does not receive a few words of gratitude in the “Souvenirs”?
Of all the women, however, who have sung the Massenet rôles the one most particularly identified with the composer was Sybil Sanderson, the beautiful California girl, whose career was as short as it was brilliant. Massenet met her at a dinner given by an American friend. She came with her mother, described by the composer as being almost as beautiful as her daughter. After dinner Miss Sanderson asked the composer if he would hear her sing. He consented affably, as was his custom--never was there a more gentle man!--and seated himself at the piano.
“You will excuse me,” she added, “if I do not sing your music. That would be too audacious.”
She ended by doing something very much more audacious: she sang the second air of the Queen of the Night from _The Magic Flute_.
The composer’s feelings may be adjudged from his remarks in his _Souvenirs_: “What a prodigious voice! Three octaves, either _forte_ or _pianissimo_!”
He did not waste any time. His publisher was urging him to set a poem on a Byzantine subject, _Esclarmonde_, to music, and, with Sybil Sanderson in mind, he went to work directly on the score. _Esclarmonde_, in which Massenet pays his tribute to Wagner--the subject suggests _Parsifal_ and _Tristan und Isolde_, to say nothing of _Armide_--was produced at the Opéra-Comique during the Paris Exposition of 1889. It was given 101 times before Miss Sanderson went to Brussels.
Before her début Sybil Sanderson was scarcely known in Paris. It was rumored among artists that Massenet had written an opera for a fair Californian (she was the daughter of Judge S. W. Sanderson, of the Supreme Court) who was being trained by the master to play the title part, and some few had seen Massenet dining at a restaurant in the Rue Daunou with an American girl, accompanied by a lady who, judging from the likeness of the two, was probably her mother. Then came her début, and all Paris was talking about La Belle Sanderson, and the extraordinary range of her voice.
_Thaïs_, the famous opera of the monk and the Alexandrian courtesan, was also written for Miss Sanderson. While Massenet was composing it the singer was appearing three times a week at the Opéra-Comique in _Manon_. It was therefore for that theatre that _Thaïs_ was destined. However, Miss Sanderson, like many another artist before and since, moved by a sudden caprice, signed a contract with Gailhard to sing at the Opéra, without taking the trouble to inform Carvalho, then manager of the Opéra-Comique. Massenet did not hesitate. He wrote to Gailhard: “You have the artist; the work must follow her!”
_Thaïs_ was produced March 16, 1894--and failed! At that time the book was considered a trifle indelicate! Even Sybil Sanderson’s popularity could not save it. In 1898 the work was revived with Mme. Berthet in the title part. For this _reprise_ Massenet wrote a new scene in the oasis and the scene of the ballet, which have always been omitted in American representations, except in Boston. Lina Cavalieri sang the work in Paris in 1907. Since then it has never been long from the _affiches_ of the Opéra, while in America it has become one of the most popular of modern operas, thanks to Mary Garden, who made her American début in the title rôle, and subsequently prevented Lina Cavalieri from singing it in New York. While he was writing _Thaïs_ Massenet always kept a tiny figurine on his writing table. This had been made for him by Gérome, and served him as his present inspiration.
Here is the tribute that Massenet pays to Sybil Sanderson in his “Souvenirs”: “Sybil Sanderson!... It is only with poignant emotion that I recall this singer struck by pitiless Death, in her full beauty, in the glory of her talent. Ideal Manon at the Opéra-Comique; unforgettable Thaïs at the Opéra; these rôles identified themselves with her temperament, one of the most magnificently gifted that I have ever known. An invincible vocation called her to the theatre, there to become the ardent interpreter of many of my works; but also, for us, what joy to write operas and rôles for the artists who realize our dreams!...
“The silent crowd which pressed on the way of the cortège which led Sybil Sanderson to her last home was considerable. Over it a veil of sadness seemed to hang. Albert Carré and I followed the coffin. We walked directly behind what remained of her beauty, grace, and talent, and Carré, interpreting the feelings of the people about us, said:
“‘She was loved.’”
It is to the “Souvenirs” also that we must turn for a description of the selection of the first Manon. Mme. Carvalho sighed when she heard the music, and breathed the wish that she was twenty years younger, so that she might sing it. Characteristically, Massenet dedicated the score to her. He wanted Mme. Vaillant-Couturier, then singing an operetta of Lecocq’s at the Nouveautés, for the opera.
“She interested me greatly and, as I thought, bore an astonishing resemblance to a young florist of the Boulevard des Capucines. Without ever having spoken [it must be remembered that this book was written for Massenet’s grandchildren] to this delicious young girl, I was obsessed by the vision, and the thought of her was ever with me. This was indeed the Manon whom I had seen, whom I saw always before me as I worked.”
The manager of the Nouveautés would not let Mme. Vaillant-Couturier go, but while they were talking Massenet observed that Brasseur had his eyes on a pretty gray hat with roses, which was going up and down the foyer. The hat moved toward the composer.
“A débutant then no longer recognizes a débutante?”
It should be explained that Marie Heilbronn had appeared in Massenet’s first opera, _La Grand’ Tante_.
“Heilbronn!” I exclaimed.
“Herself.”
She reminded him of his first opera and the part she took in it, and in answer to his questions continued: “No, I am rich, and yet, shall I confess it? I wish to go back on the stage; I am haunted by the theatre. If I could only find a good rôle.” Massenet told her of _Manon_, and that night, at her insistence, he played the music through for her at her apartment in the Champs-Elysées. It was 4.30 in the morning when he was done. She had been moved to tears, and from time to time she would exclaim, “That is my life; it’s my life!”
In speaking of Heilbronn’s death after the eightieth odd performance of _Manon_ the composer says: “Ah, who will tell artists how faithful we are to their memories; how attached to them we are; the great grief which the day of separation brings us? I should prefer to stop performances rather than have the part sung by another.”
This in itself is beautiful, but read what he has to say of her successors:
“Some time afterward the Opéra-Comique disappeared in flames and _Manon_ was not performed for ten years. It was the dear and unique Sybil Sanderson that revived the work at the Opéra-Comique. She played at the two hundredth. A glory was reserved for me at the five hundredth when the part was taken by Mme. Marguerite Carré. Some months ago this captivating and exquisite artist was applauded the night of the seven hundred and fortieth performance. Let me be permitted to salute in passing the fine artists who have also taken the part: Mlles. Mary Garden, Geraldine Farar (so reads the book), Lina Cavalieri, Mme. Bréjean-Silver, Mlles. Courtney, Geneviève Vix, Mmes. Edwina and Nicot-Vauchelet--and how many other dear artists besides! They will pardon me if their names do not come at this moment to my grateful pen.”
Massenet wrote two operas for Emma Calvé, and she appeared in four other of his works. _La Navarraise_, London, June 20, 1894, and _Sapho_, Opéra-Comique, November 27, 1897, were written for her. She also sang Salome in _Hérodiade_, Chimène in _Le Cid_, and the leading feminine rôles in _Le Roi de Lahore_ and _Le Mage_.
Adolphe Jullien, the French critic, says somewhere: “Hors de Calvé pas de _Sapho_ possible, aux yeux du compositeur.” Yet when Marguerite Carré sang this work, founded on Daudet’s famous novel, at its _reprise_ at the Opéra-Comique in 1909, he wrote an entire new scene for her. Mary Garden was the American Sapho, and was adversely criticised for her forceful acting in the early parts of the play. Yet Jullien writes of Calvé:
“Mlle. Emma Calvé, c’est le cri général, joue et chante avec une ardeur presque excessive le personnage de Sapho, très-difficile à faire accepter à l’Opéra-Comique, en passant de la langueur la plus lascive à la violence la plus grossière, par example quand elle injurie ses anciens amants qui viennent de dévoiler son passé au malheureux Gaussin.”
Another Sapho was Georgette Leblanc, who also created some excitement with an exceedingly immodest conception of Thaïs.