Chapter 50
Delsarte's Musical Compositions.
Delsarte paid but little attention to musical composition; still his musical works prove that he would have succeeded here as elsewhere, had he devoted himself particularly to the task.
To say nothing of six fine vocal exercises and a number of songs which had their day, his "Stanzas to Eternity" were highly popular. A mass by him was performed in several churches; but his "Last Judgment," especially, ranks him among serious composers.
This setting of the _Dies Irae_ is touching and severe; the melody is broad, sombre, threatening; the accompaniment reminds one of the dull rattling of the skeletons reassuming their original shape. One seems to hear the uneasy hum of voices roused from long sleep.
One incident showed the importance of this work. Various pieces of concerted music were being rehearsed one night at the church of St. Sulpice, for performance during the solemnity of "the work of St. Francis de Xavier." A close circle formed around the musicians; private conversation added a discordant note to the harmony; the church echoed back the footsteps of people walking to and fro.
The _Dies Irae_ came! The music at first imitates the angel trumpets which, according to Christian belief, are to be heard when _time shall end_. The summons sounded four times.
This mournful chant of reawakening generations instantly silenced every voice and every step; all were motionless; and the solemn melody alone soared to the vaulted roof.
A touching story is told of this work. At a large and miscellaneous gathering, M. Donoso-Cortes, a well-known Spanish publicist, then ambassador to Paris, begged Delsarte to sing his _Dies Irae_. A space was cleared in the music-room.
The score of the symphony for voice and piano, made by Delsarte himself, retains all his intentions and effects, to which his striking voice added greatly.
Delsarte began:
"Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla, Teste David cum sybilla."
The whole assembly were taken captive. M. Donoso-Cortes was particularly moved. His eyes filled with tears. He was not quite well that night.
A week later the newspapers invited the friends of the illustrious stranger to meet at St. Philippe-du-Roule, to witness his funeral rites. Delsarte was present; the church was so hung with black that the choristers were alarmed for the effect of their motets.
The artist recalled the request made him the previous week by the Spanish ambassador. He felt as if that same voice came from the bier and begged him for one more hymn to the dead. In spite of his emotion, he offered to sing the _Dies Irae_.
To obviate the lack of resonance, Delsarte sang--according to his theory in regard to the laws of acoustics,--without expenditure of sound, almost _mezza voce_.
No one was prepared. The listeners were all the more overcome by those tones in which the friend's regrets pervaded, with their sweet unction, the masterly diction of the singer.
When his oldest daughter grew up, Delsarte seemed to take a fancy to a different style of composition. He would not give that young soul the regular repertory of his pupils, all passion and profane love. He wrote for Marie words and music--couplets which were neither romance nor song; nor were they quite canticles, although religion always lay at the base of them.
I know none but Madame Sand who can be compared to Delsarte in variety of feeling and simplicity even unto grandeur. I have often observed a likeness and, as it were, a kinship between these great minds. And yet these two great souls, these two great spirits, never exchanged ideas. The artist never received the plaudits of the distinguished writer. Both regretted it.
Delsarte said: "I lack that sanction," and Madame Sand wrote, when he had ceased to live: "I knew Delsarte's worth; I often intended to go and hear him, and some circumstance, beyond my control, always prevented."
The world owes a debt to Delsarte for collecting under the title "Archives of Song," the lyric gems of the XVI, XVII, and XVIII centuries. And also the songs of the Middle Ages, the prose hymns and anthems of the church, arranged conformably to the harmonic type consecrated by the oldest traditions.
"All these works," he wrote in his announcement of the work, "faithfully copied, arranged for the piano and transposed for concert performance, will finally be arranged and classified in separate volumes, to suit various voices, ages, styles, schools, etc., thus affording subject matter for a complete course of vocal studies."
I do not think that death allowed Delsarte to complete this vast plan, but it was partly finished. In the collection, we find the scattered treasures of an eminently French muse: old songs picked up in the provinces, in which wit and naive sentimentality dispute for precedence. All this still exists, but who can sing as he did the song beginning: "I was but fifteen," or "Lisette, my love, shall I forever languish?" and so many others!
To explain the inexpressible charm which distinguished Delsarte from all other singers, a songstress once said: "His singing contrives to give us the _soul of the note_. The others are _artists_, but _he_ is _the artist_."