Part 11

These are golden words, involving a precept that should be seriously taken to heart by those who are inclined to pass a hasty verdict upon works exhibiting tendencies of a novel nature. At the same time it does not follow that composers of inferior talent should be allowed a liberty which with them often degenerates into licence, and imagine that it is only necessary for them to stud their scores with consecutive fifths and octaves, and avoid any but the most out-of-the-way modulations in order at once to be ranked as men of genius. There is a vast amount of difference between the crude harmonies, obviously introduced for effect, that occur in the scores of some composers, and those employed with a due sense of dramatic fitness by a musician like Bruneau.

The composer of "Le Rêve" was born on the 1st of March 1857. He is, therefore, at the present time in the full flush of his creative ability, and his powers of production have doubtless not yet reached their full maturity of expression. There is no knowing how far a musician of his calibre may not eventually go, or what works he may be destined to produce. Up to the present he has shown a wonderful amount of independence of thought, and his very exaggerations are the evident outcome of a consistent striving to attain an elevated ideal.

Alfred Bruneau's musical studies were begun in a brilliant manner at the Paris Conservatoire, where he obtained the first prize for violoncello in 1876. He entered into the composition class, presided over by Massenet, and finally, in 1881, triumphantly carried off the "Prix de Rome." This was already a great step towards fame and fortune, although it has been proved over and over again that it leads to neither. Many an old winner of the "Prix de Rome" has, after a fruitless struggle, been compelled to give up the game and resign himself to a life of comparative obscurity. For an artist to remain true to his convictions and resist the temptations thrown in his way of obtaining an ephemeral popularity by pandering to the taste of the public, is not always so easy an achievement as it may appear. It was through the means of the concert-room that Alfred Bruneau's name first became known to the musical public of Paris. An "Ouverture Héroïque," a symphonic poem entitled "La Belle au bois dormant," and "Léda," styled a "poème antique;" these works were played at different times, and sufficed to stamp their author as a musician of undeniable capacity and distinct promise. "Penthésilée" is the name of a symphonic poem of great daring and originality for a solo voice and orchestra, which was only recently produced at one of Mons. Colonne's concerts. It is a musical interpretation of some wild and striking stanzas by the poet Catulle Mendès. Thoroughly independent in structure as it is in its workmanship, bold almost to excess, distinguished by a most unconventional harmonic treatment, this composition exhibits a masterly grip that irresistibly commands attention. The interest may be said to be mainly concentrated in the orchestra, the voice part being strictly declamatory.

It is, however, through his conception of the "lyrical drama" that Bruneau especially asserts his individuality.

"Kérim," his first stage work, brought out in 1887 at the Théâtre du Chateau d'Eau, provisionally given up to operatic performances, does not appear to have excited much attention, possibly owing to the inadequacy of the interpretation. In this work, the tendencies which are so accentuated in "Le Rêve" are already foreshadowed. There is but little in this interesting score that denotes the beginner, and "Kérim" is distinguished by qualities for which we may search in vain through the pages of many works that have acquired a greater popularity. For some reason hard to assign, operas dealing with Eastern subjects do not seem to appeal readily to the taste of the public, at any rate in England. And yet what delightful musical impressions are evoked by the recollection of works such as Goldmark's "Queen of Sheba," Cornelius' "Barber of Bagdad," Bizet's "Djamileh" and others! It may be remarked _en passant_ that the fact of the first of these works being practically unknown on this side of the channel scarcely redounds to our credit.

From the very first page of "Kérim," it becomes evident that we are in the presence of a composer who has something new to say and who intends to say it whether or not it pleases the musical faculty or those who measure the value of a work according to a preconceived standard.

In the matter of harmonic boldness Bruneau goes to very great lengths, and from this point of view alone the score of "Kérim" will prove highly interesting to musicians. The plan upon which he works is admirably logical. He commences by exposing some of his most important themes in their simplest guise, so that they may in a way impose themselves upon the attention of the listener. These are then subjected to various transformations according to the sense of the words they are intended to interpret, and are heard in different forms, either singly or jointly, being employed in combination when the composer has in view the expression of some complex sentiment. It is this system, which in a more embryonic form is apparent in "Kérim," that constitutes the constructive basis of "Le Rêve."

The first of these works, which is termed an opera, but has more of the characteristics of the lyrical drama, treats of an Eastern legend.

An emir of Beyrouth (nothing in common with Baireuth!), is in love with an unknown maiden who appears to him in his sleep and tells him that she will belong to him if he finds her some tears that are the outcome of a truly suffering heart. These will then be turned into pearls which he can offer her. The emir pursues his quest far and wide without success, and finally himself bursts into tears which are suddenly transformed into pearls. The object of his thoughts then appears and tells him that he has found what she required, and that the tears produced by genuine love have won her as his own.

It can scarcely be said that the above story offers material of a particular interesting order. It has, however, been sufficient to furnish Bruneau with the opportunity of exercising his skill and displaying his fancy often to great advantage. Before taking leave of "Kérim" I may point out, for the benefit of those who might experience the curiosity of perusing this score, the monologue for tenor in the first act with its delightful accompaniment in canon, the effective treatment of some popular Oriental tunes, and specially the consistent working out of the representative themes. I must also mention the delicious "Adagietto," sung by the heroine in the last act, as an example of simple and pure melody.

There are certain legends that require a long time before they are dispelled, and the accusation that for a considerable while hung over the heads of Wagner and Berlioz of being deficient in melodic power, has been levelled against many other composers. Bruneau has not escaped it, but he may console himself with the thought that he is in very good company. It is I think Liszt who invented the excellent definition of a species of melody "à plusieurs étages," which it is not given to every one to grasp.

We now come to the work that has been instrumental in bringing the name of Bruneau to the front in a prominent manner. If "Le Rêve," which was first played at the Paris Opéra Comique in 1891, has given rise to much controversy, it has at any rate not been passed by in silence or damned with faint praise.

The mysticism and poetical charm of Zola's book, so different to the majority of novels by the apostle of realism, has caused it to be widely appreciated even in circles where his romances are not usually admitted. Bruneau's desire originally had been to write a "lyrical drama" upon "La Faute de l'abbé Mouret." It was only when he found that Massenet had chosen the same subject that he was forced to give up the idea and turn his attention to "Le Rêve." I am not aware whether Massenet has abandoned his intention of turning "La Faute de l'abbé Mouret" into an opera or not. Now that composers appear bent upon introducing realism into their music, it is not impossible that even "L'Assommoir" may eventually serve as the groundwork of an operatic textbook. We trust that this will not be so. However realistic musicians may strive to be, they should not associate their muse with themes that are not susceptible of being idealised.

The desire nowadays of musically photographing, if I may employ a somewhat far-fetched comparison, certain types of humanity is excellent in its way. But it is as well in so doing to choose a period remote from ours, where no sense of incongruity can be produced through the appearance of operatic characters clad in the prosaic garb of the present day. The general characteristics of humanity have always been the same, and Wagner, with his marvellous poetical insight, knew well what he was about when he drew the subjects of his "music dramas" from mythical sources.

In "Le Rêve" Bruneau has written a work remarkable in point of originality and sustained expression. His music must be either accepted in its entirety or rejected altogether. Upon those who appreciate its beauties it exercises an irresistible fascination. Bruneau is a psychologist, and he aims at musically describing the innermost feelings of the soul. He has also in "Le Rêve" proved himself to be an idealist.

I will in a few words endeavour to sketch the subject-matter of this admirable work.

Angélique is a young girl, the adopted child of a respectable old couple, embroiderers by trade. She is subject to hallucinations, and through constantly reading a book entitled "The Golden Legend," dealing with the lives of saints and martyrs, fancies she hears voices in the air, and dreams of the arrival of a prince who will come and carry her off. As the first scene closes, she imagines she sees the one she has been dreaming of, who turns out to be the son of the Bishop Jean d'Hautecoeur, still sorrowing for the wife he lost many years ago. It stands to reason that the two young people fall in love with one another, and that the course of their love, according to the usual precedent, does not run smooth. The bishop intends his son to become a priest and refuses to consent to his marriage, remaining deaf to his entreaties. Angélique thereupon pines away and is on the point of death, when her lover finally induces his father to give in, and save her by performing a miracle such as was accomplished by his ancestor, who cured the sufferers of a plague by kissing them on the forehead and using the words, "Si Dieu veut, je veux," which have since become the motto of his family. The Bishop yields and performs the miracle. The lovers are about to be united, but at the very porch of the church where they are to be married, Angélique hears voices in the air calling to her, she staggers, and dies. This last scene was omitted at Covent Garden.

As I have previously remarked, "Le Rêve" is constructed entirely upon a number of representative themes. There is a practically complete absence of set pieces, the work running its course uninterruptedly without a break. Bruneau has in fact treated his setting of Zola's book in a form that might be best described as "speech in song" accompanied by an orchestral commentary. It is doubtful though whether the word "accompany" can be used at all in connection with his music, seeing that the most important part is allotted to the orchestra. The themes employed are most impressive, thoroughly characteristic, and well adapted for polyphonic treatment. There are certain scenes in which the melodic interest lies mainly in the voice parts, although the instrumental portion is invariably pregnant with suggestion, fragments of motives being blended together and worked in with consummate skill. Angélique's appeal to the Bishop is one of these, and is marked by genuine dramatic feeling. One of the most strikingly original scenes is the one comprising the Bishop's monologue. The poignant accents are admirably fitted to describe the emotions of one whose life has been blighted through the loss of the woman he loved, and whose determination to force his son into the priesthood is shaken by the affection he bears him.

Pages such as these are sufficient in themselves to stamp their author as an artist of the first rank and a musician of genius.

The chorus occupies but a small place in "Le Rêve," and the choristers are never seen upon the stage. A few bars for the sopranos, supposed to represent the voices in the air heard by Angélique, an "Ave verum," sung in the cathedral, and an old French hymn heard in the distance sung as a procession is passing underneath the windows, represent the choral numbers.

At the commencement of the second scene we have a lively dance to an old French tune. In this place I think the effect would have been greatly enhanced by the adjunction of voices to the orchestra. This would have been æsthetically correct, as there is a certain incongruity in the fact of a number of young girls dancing and apparently enjoying themselves in silence.

I would draw attention to the admirable delineation of the dear old embroiderers, as kindly a couple as could well be imagined, a creation that Dickens might well envy, whose characteristics have been musically transcribed by Bruneau in accents so suave and so touching.

The composer of "Le Rêve" possesses the sense of contrast to a very high degree. Witness the manner in which he has set the following words when the Bishop describes how his motto, "Si Dieu veut, je veux!" came to be adopted by his family:

"_Pendant une peste cruelle, Il pria tant que Dieu le fit vainqueur Du terrible fléau.--Pour ramener la vie Aux corps déjà glacés par l'agonie, Il se penchait vers eux, Les baisait sur la bouche et n'avait rien qu'à dire Aux mourants: 'Si Dieu veut, je veux!' On voyait les mourants sourire; Car, dès qu'il les touchait des lèvres seulement, Les malades étaient guéris soudainement._"[28]

The part dealing with the description of the plague is accompanied by a strange and gruesome succession of chords, which gradually leads to a lovely melody typical of the miracle that is supposed to have been worked. Nothing can be more appropriate than the strains that accompany the above words to which they appear intimately allied.

When "Le Rêve" was given at Covent Garden it was accorded a well-nigh perfect rendering. Mdlle. Simonnet realised the character of Angélique to the life, and imparted an infinity of charm to the music. The part of the Bishop furnished Mons. Bouvet with the opportunity of presenting an admirable character study. The remaining parts were exceptionally well performed by Mdme. Deschamps-Jéhin, and Messrs. Engel and Lorrain. A better _ensemble_ it would be difficult to imagine. The orchestra was conducted by Mons. Jéhin.

Like so many other composers, Alfred Bruneau is also a musical critic, and has succeeded the late Victor Wilder in that capacity upon the _Gil Blas_.

Victor Wilder was ever one of the strongest advocates of Wagner on the Parisian press, and it is to him that are due the excellent translations into French of the master's later music dramas.

It may be interesting to my readers to peruse a specimen of Bruneau's writing, and I will therefore cite an extract from an article he lately wrote concerning the first performance of the "Walküre" in Paris, in which he lucidly defines the difference existing between the old-fashioned opera and the "lyrical drama." I must apologise if my translation fails to do justice to the original.

"It is not only the independence of music (_l'indépendence des sons_) that we owe to Richard Wagner. Owing to his prodigious genius, the musical drama has entered into a new era, an era of true reason, of rigorous good sense and of perfect logic. No one nowadays is unaware of the profound dissimilarity existing between the 'lyrical drama' and the opera. In the one, the music unites itself intimately to the poetry in order to impart life, movement, passionate interest to a human action, the course of which must run uninterruptedly from the rising of the curtain to the last scene.

"In the other, the music is divided into a number of pieces which are occasionally nothing but cumbersome _hors d'oeuvres_, the traditional form of which hampers the action of actors and choristers contrary to the most elementary scenic necessities.

"In the one, the symphony comments upon the inward thoughts of the different characters, makes known the reasons that cause them to act, and whilst depicting their natures, magically evokes before our eyes the subtle and fabulous scenes dreamed of by our fancy.

"In the other, with a singular docility, the orchestra submits itself to the slavery of the voice. Its function, which is absolutely secondary, consists in accompanying the voices, in playing _ritournelles_, in striking a few chords during which the recitatives are being declaimed, and in more or less harmoniously accompanying the entries and exits.

"Alone the overture is reserved; and even this often serves but as a pretext for the composition of a piece of instrumental display rather than as a description of sentiments and facts.

"In the one, the melody is infinite, as Richard Wagner has rightly expressed it; it goes and comes, moves from the voices to the orchestra, ever renewing itself in the freedom of its flight.

"In the other, it appears only in certain places: if the vocal portion is melodious, the accompaniment is rudimentary and the traditional recitative endlessly intervening in the middle of the music in order to divide it into set forms, arbitrarily condemns melody to submit to wretched formulas and snatches away its wings."

In the course of the same article, Bruneau expresses himself thus:

"These are, however, terms imagined rather for the purpose of defending certain ideas than for designating certain works, as there exist in the classical form of opera masterpieces worthy of eternal and fervent admiration. One does not necessarily run down works such as 'Don Juan,' 'Fidelio,' 'Iphigénie,' and so many others in desiring the rejuvenescence of an art that owes to these masterpieces its imperishable glory.

"After Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, fresh innovators will come, who, respectful of the traditions of the past and eager for the conquests of the future, will still further enlarge the field of action of the musical drama."

The above words may be taken in a measure as furnishing Bruneau's profession of faith as regards matters operatic. He has finished the score of a new "lyrical drama" entitled "L'Attaque du Moulin," founded upon a tale of Zola, which at the time I am writing has not yet been performed. It is to be produced shortly at the Paris Opéra Comique Theatre.

I must not fail to allude to Bruneau's characteristic settings of Catulle Mendès' "Lieds de France," which are distinguished by an evidently studied simplicity of expression.

Unless I am mistaken, it was the late Victor Wilder, his predecessor on the _Gil Blas_ who once alluded to the composer of "Le Rêve" as "the standard-bearer of the young French school," a qualification to which he is, in my humble estimation, well entitled.

NOTE.--Since this volume has gone to press, "L'Attaque du Moulin" has been produced at the Paris Opéra Comique, with great success.

SOME OTHER FRENCH COMPOSERS

It may with truth be averred that France has never been so well provided with composers of talent as she is at the present time. Every year the far-famed Conservatoire turns out a number of young men whose musical knowledge is undeniable, and who are all of them filled with buoyant hopes of achieving distinction in the arena of fame. The musical progress that has been effected in France during the last thirty years is immense. This may be largely attributed to the initiative of Pasdeloup[29] the organiser and conductor of the celebrated concerts which were started at the Cirque d'Hiver in 1861, and to the zeal and talent of his successors Messrs. Lamoureux and Colonne. It is through the efforts of the above indefatigable _chefs d'orchestre_ that instrumental music of a high class has come to be generally appreciated in Paris. The famous Conservatoire concerts, it must be remembered, were, and are, only accessible to a few privileged individuals.

Pasdeloup began his work by familiarising the Parisians with the symphonic works of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. Mendelssohn and Schumann followed, and the valiant _chef d'orchestre_ from time to time introduced the names of Berlioz and Wagner. The appearance of the latter on the programme generally foreshadowed a disturbance. Nowadays, when we witness the spectacle of large crowds listening in wrapt attention to some of the most complicated works of the great master at the concerts of Messrs. Lamoureux and Colonne, it seems difficult to realise the possibility of such turbulent scenes as I remember myself witnessing only a few years since at the Pasdeloup concerts. On one occasion a performance of the Prelude to "Lohengrin" produced a veritable disturbance, one section of the audience desiring to hear it over again in spite of the manifest opposition displayed by the major portion of the spectators. Pasdeloup adopted the sensible course of making an impromptu speech, in which he said that as many people wished to hear the Prelude once more he would repeat it at the end of the concert, when those who objected to it would be at liberty to retire. By thus severing the Gordian knot the clever _chef d'orchestre_ effectually disposed of the difficulty to the manifest disappointment of the anti-Wagnerites present.

The members of the younger generation of French composers have had no cause to complain of any want of hospitality at the hands of either Pasdeloup or Messrs. Lamoureux[30] and Colonne,[31] and many a now well-known musician has won his spurs through their help.

It would almost appear as if a veil which for a long period had obscured the vision of the musical section of the public had at length been removed. The genius of Berlioz and that of Wagner are now uncontested, unless it be by a few retrograde individuals whose opinions are not entitled to any weight, and the influence of these masters upon the modern French school has been both great and far-reaching. It is highly regrettable that the spirit of free trade is not acted upon to a greater extent in the matter of musical affairs. If this were the case we should be afforded more chances of becoming acquainted with the works of those members of the young, and if I may so term it, militant French school, which are not sufficiently known on this side of the channel.

In like manner, our native composers might be given the opportunity of proving to the Parisians the fallacy of the notion, seemingly entertained abroad, that England is destitute of creative musical talent. Art has not, or ought not to have, any boundaries. That which is good deserves to be known and to survive; as for the rest, it matters not.

In music, time seems to march with disconcerting rapidity. Composers who but a few years since were considered as hopelessly advanced in their ideas are now in danger of being left behind by their juniors.

One of the most ardent champions of the new school of thought some years ago was Victorin Joncières, who enjoys a well-established reputation in Paris as composer and critic.