Camille Saint Saens - Musical Memories

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As everyone knows, we have been struck by a perfect mania for reforms,
so there is no harm in proposing one for the Conservatoire. Foreign
conservatoires have been studied and they want to introduce some of
their features here. As a matter of fact, some of the foreign
conservatoires are housed in magnificent palaces and their curricula are
elaborated with a care worthy of admiration. Whether they turn out
better pupils than we do is an open question. It is beyond dispute,
however, that many young foreigners come to us for their education.

Some of the reformers are scandalized at the sight of a musician in
charge of a school where elocution is taught. They forget that a
musician may also be a man of letters--the present director combines
these qualifications--and that it is improbable that it will be
different in the future. The teachers of elocution have always been the
best that could be found. Although M. Faure is a musician, he has known
how to bring back the classes in tragedy to their original purpose. For
a time they tended towards an objectionable modernism, for they
substituted in their competitions modern prose for the classic verse.
And the study of the latter is very profitable.

Not only is there no harm in this union of elocution and music, but it
would be useful if singers and composers would take advantage of it to
familiarize themselves with the principles of diction, which, in my
opinion, are indispensable to both. Instead, they distrust melody.
Declamation is no longer wanted in operas, and the singers make the
works incomprehensible by not articulating the words. The composers tend
along the same lines, for they give no indication or direction of how
they want the words spoken. All this is regrettable and should be
reformed.

As you see, I object to the mania for reform and end by suggesting
reforms myself. Well, one must be of one's own time, and there is no
escaping the contagion.

CHAPTER III

VICTOR HUGO

Everything in my youth seemed calculated to keep me far removed from
romanticism. Those about me talked only of the great classics and I saw
them welcome Ponsard's _Lucrece_ as a sort of Minerva whose lance was to
route Victor Hugo and his foul crew, of whom they never spoke save with
detestation.

Who was it, I wonder, who had the happy idea of giving me, elegantly
bound, the first volumes of Victor Hugo's poems? I have forgotten who it
was, but I remember what joy the vibrations of his lyre gave me. Until
that time poetry had seemed to me something cold, respectable and
far-away, and it was much later that the living beauty of our classics
was revealed to me. I found myself at once stirred to the depths, and,
as my temperament is essentially musical in everything, I began to sing
them.

People have told me _ad nauseam_ (and they still tell me so) that
beautiful verse is inimical to music, or rather that music is inimical
to good verse; that music demands ordinary verse, rhymed prose, rather
than verse, which is malleable and reducible as the composer wishes.
This generalization is assuredly true, if the music is written first and
then adapted to the words, but that is not the ideal harmony between two
arts which are made to supplement each other. Do not the rhythmic and
sonorous passages of verse naturally call for song to set them off,
since singing is but a better method of declaiming them? I made some
attempts at this and some of those which have been preserved are:
_Puisque ici bas toute ame_, _Le Pas d'armes du roi Jean_, and _La
Cloche_. They were ridiculed at the time, but destined to some success
later. Afterwards I continued with _Si tu veux faisons un reve_, which
Madame Carvalho sang a good deal, _Soiree en mer_, and many others.

The older I grew the greater became my devotion to Hugo. I waited
impatiently for each new work of the poet and I devoured it as soon as
it appeared. If I heard about me the spiteful criticisms of irritating
critics, I was consoled by talking to Berlioz who honored me with his
friendship and whose admiration for Hugo equalled mine. In the meantime
my literary education was improving, and I made the acquaintance of the
classics and found immortal beauties in them. My admiration for the
classics, however, did not diminish my regard for Hugo, for I never
could see why it was unfaithfulness to him not to despise Racine. It was
fortunate for me that this was my view, for I have seen the most fiery
romanticists, like Meurice and Vacquerie, revert to Racine in their
later years, and repair the links in a golden chain which should never
have been broken.

The Empire fell and Victor Hugo came back to Paris. So I was going to
have a chance of realizing my dream of seeing him and hearing his voice!
But I dreaded meeting him almost as much as I wished to do so. Like
Rossini Victor Hugo received his friends every evening. He came forward
with both hands outstretched and told me what pleasure it was for him to
see me at his house. Everything whirled around me!

"I cannot say the same to you," I answered. "I wish I were somewhere
else." He laughed heartily and showed that he knew how to overcome my
bashfulness. I waited to hear some of the conversation which, according
to my preconceived ideas, would be in the style of his latest romance.
However, it was entirely different; simple polished phrases, entirely
logical, came from that "mouth of mystery."

I went to Hugo's evenings as often as possible, for I never could drink
my fill of the presence of the hero of my youthful dreams. I had
occasion to note to what an extent a fiery republican, a modern Juvenal,
whose verses branded "kings" as if with a red hot iron, in his private
life was susceptible to their flattery. The Emperor of Brazil had called
on him, and the next day he could not stop talking about it constantly.
Rather ostentatiously he called him "Don Pedro d'Alcantara." In French
this would be "M. Pierre du Pont." Spanish inherently gives such florid
sounds to ordinary names. This florid style is not frequent in French,
and that is precisely what Corneille and Victor Hugo succeeded in
giving it.

A slight incident unfortunately changed my relations with the great
poet.

"As long as Mlle. Bertin was alive," he told me, "I would never permit
_La Esmeralda_ to be set to music; but if some musician should now ask
for this poem, I would be glad to let him have it."

The invitation was obvious. Yet, as is generally known, this dramatic
and lyric adaptation of the famous romance is not particularly happy. I
was much embarrassed and I pretended not to understand, but I never
dared to go to Hugo's house again.

Years passed. In 1881 a subscription was taken up to erect a statue to
the author of _La Legende des Siecles_, and they began to plan
celebrations for its dedication, particularly a big affair at the
Trocadero. My imagination took fire at the idea, and I wrote my _Hymne a
Victor Hugo_.

As is well known, the master knew nothing at all about music, and the
same was true of those around him. It is a matter of conjecture how the
master and his followers happened to mistake some absurd and formless
motif for one of Beethoven's sublime inspirations. Victor Hugo adapted
the beautiful verses of _Stella_ to this halting motif. It was published
as an appendix in the _Chatiments_, with a remark about the union of two
geniuses, the fusion of the verse of a great poet with the _admirable_
verse of a great musician. And the poet would have Mme. Drouet play this
marvellous music on the piano from time to time! _Tristia Herculis!_

As I wanted to put in my hymn something peculiar to Victor Hugo, which
could not possibly be attributed to anyone else, I tried to introduce
this motif of which he was so fond. And, by means of numerous tricks
which every musician has up his sleeve, I managed to give it the form
and character which it had lacked.

The subscription did not go fast enough to suit the master, and he had
it stopped. So I put my hymn in a drawer and waited for a better
opportunity.

About this time M. Bruneau, the father of the well-known composer,
conceived the idea of giving spring concerts at the Trocadero. Bruneau
came to see me and asked me if I had some unpublished work which I would
let him have. This was an excellent occasion for the presentation of my
_Hymne_, as it had been written with the Trocadero in mind. The
performance was decided on and Victor Hugo was invited to come and hear
it.

The performance was splendid--a large orchestra, the magnificent organ,
eight harps, and eight trumpets sounding their flourishes in the organ
loft, and a large chorus for the peroration of such splendor that it was
compared to the set pieces at the close of a display of fireworks. The
reception and ovation which the crowd gave the great poet, who rarely
appeared in public, was beyond description. The honeyed incense of the
organ, harps and trumpets was new to him and pleased his Olympian
nostrils.

"Dine with me to-night," he said to me. And from that day on, I often
dined with him informally with M. and Mme. Lockrou, Meurice, Vacquerie
and other close friends. The fare was delightful and unpretentious, and
the conversation was the same. The master sat at the head of the table,
with his grandson and granddaughter on either side, saying little but
always something apropos. Thanks to his vigor, his strong sonorous
voice, and his quiet good humor, he did not seem like an old man, but
rather like an ageless and immortal being, whom Time would never touch.
His presence was just Jove-like enough to inspire respect without
chilling his followers. These small gatherings, which I fully
appreciated, are among the most precious recollections of my life.

Time, alas, goes on, and that fine intellect, which had ever been
unclouded, began to give signs of aberration. One day he said to an
Italian delegation, "The French are Italians; the Italians are French.
French and Italians ought to go to Africa together and found the United
States of Europe."

The red rays of twilight announced the oncoming night.

Those who saw them will never forget his grandiose funeral ceremonies,
that casket under the Arc de Triomphe, covered with a veil of crape,
and that immense crowd which paid homage to the greatest lyric poet of
the century.

There was a committee to make musical preparations and I was a member.
The most extraordinary ideas were proposed. One man wanted to have the
_Marseillaise_ in a minor key. Another wanted violins, for "violins
produce an excellent effect in the open air." Naturally we got nowhere.

The great procession started in perfect order, but, as in all long
processions, gaps occurred. I was astonished to find myself in the
middle of the Champs Elysees, in a wide open space, with no one near me
but Ferdinand de Lesseps, Paul Bert, and a member of the Academie, whose
name I shall not mention as he is worthy of all possible respect.

De Lesseps was then at the height of his glory, and from time to time
applause greeted him as he passed.

Suddenly the Academician leaned over and whispered in my ear,

"Evidently they are applauding us."

CHAPTER IV

THE HISTORY OF AN OPERA-COMIQUE

Young musicians often complain, and not without reason, of the
difficulties of their careers. It may, perhaps, be useful to remind them
that their elders have not always had beds of roses, and that too often
they have had to breast both wind and sea after spending their best
years in port, unable to make a start. These obstacles frequently are
the result of the worst sort of malignity, when it is for the best
interest of everyone--both of the theatres which rebuff them, and the
public which ignores them--that they be permitted to set out under full
sail.

In 1864 one of the most brilliant of the reviews had the following
comments to make on this subject:

Our real duty--and it is a true kindness--is not to encourage them
(beginners) but to discourage them. In art a vocation is
everything, and a vocation needs no one, for God aids. What use is
it to encourage them and their efforts when the public obstinately
refuses to pay any attention to them? If an act is ordered from one
of them, it fails to go. Two or three years later the same thing is
tried again with the same result. No theatre, even if it were four
times as heavily subsidized as the Theatre-Lyrique, could continue
to exist on such resources. So the result is that they turn to
accredited talent and call on such men from outside as Gounod,
Felicien David and Victor Masse. The younger composers at once
shout treason and scandal. Then, they select masterpieces by Mozart
and Weber and there are the same outcries and recriminations. In
the final analysis where are these young composers of genius? Who
are they and what are their names? Let them go to the orchestra and
hear _Le Nozze di Figaro_, _Oberon_, _Freischutz_ and _Orphee_ ...
we are doing something for them by placing such models before them.

The young composers who were thus politely invited to be seated
included, among others, Bizet, Delibes, Massenet, and the writer of
these lines. Massenet and I would have been satisfied with writing a
ballet for the Opera. He proposed the _Rat Catcher_ from an old German
tale, while I proposed _Une nuit de Cleopatra_ on the text of Theophile
Gautier. They refused us the honor, and, when they consented to order a
ballet from Delibes, they did not dare to trust him with the whole work.
They let him do only one act and the other was given to a Hungarian
composer. As the experiment succeeded, they allowed Delibes to write,
without assistance, his marvellous _Coppelia_. But Delibes had the
legitimate ambition of writing a grand opera. He never reached so far.

[Illustration: The Paris Opera]

Bizet and I were great friends and we told each other all our troubles.
"You're less unfortunate than I am," he used to tell me. "You can do
something besides things for the stage. I can't. That's my only
resource."

When Bizet put on the delightful _Pecheurs de Perles_--he was helped by
powerful influences--there was a general outcry and an outbreak of
abuse. The Devil himself straight from Hell would not have received a
worse reception. Later on, as we know, _Carmen_ was received in the
same way.

I was, indeed, able to do something beside work for the stage, and it
was just that which closed the stage to me. I was a writer of
symphonies, an organist and a pianist, so how could I be capable of
writing an opera! The qualities which go to make a pianist were in a
particularly bad light in the greenroom. Bizet played the piano
admirably, but he never dared to play in public for fear of making his
position worse.

I suggested to Carvalho that I write a _Macbeth_ for Madame Viardot.
Naturally enough he preferred to put on Verdi's _Macbeth_. It was an
utter failure and cost him thirty thousand francs.

They tried to interest a certain princess, a patron of the arts, in my
behalf. "What," she replied, "isn't he satisfied with his position? He
plays the organ at the Madeleine and the piano at my house. Isn't that
enough for him?"

But that wasn't enough for me, and to overcome the obstacles, I caused a
scandal. At the age of twenty-eight I competed for the _Prix de Rome_!
They did not give it to me on the ground that I didn't need it, but the
day after the award, Auber, who was very fond of me, asked Carvalho for
a libretto for me. Carvalho gave me _Le Timbre d'Argent_, which he
didn't know what to do with as several musicians had refused to touch
it. There were good reasons for this, for, despite an excellent
foundation for the music, the libretto had serious faults. I demanded
that Barbier and Carre, the authors, should make important changes,
which they did at once. Then, I retired to the heights of Louveciennes
and in two months wrote the score of the five acts which the work had at
first.

I had to wait two years before Carvalho would consent to hear the music.
Finally, worn out by my importunities, they decided to get rid of me, so
Carvalho invited me to dine with him and to bring my score. After dinner
I went to the piano. Carvalho was on one side and Madame Carvalho on the
other. Both were very pleasant and charming, but the real meaning of
this friendliness did not escape me.

They had no doubts about what awaited them. Both really loved music and
little by little they fell under the spell. Serious attention succeeded
the false friendliness. At the end they were enthusiastic. Carvalho
declared that he would have the study of the work begun as soon as
possible; it was a masterpiece; it would have a great success, but to
assure this success, Madame Carvalho must sing the principal part.

Now the principal part in _Le Timbre d'Argent_ is that of a dancer and
the singer's part is greatly subordinate. To remedy this they decided to
develop the part. Barbier invented a pretty situation to bring in the
passage _Bonheur est chose legere_, but that wasn't enough. Barbier and
Carre racked their brains without finding any solution of the
difficulty, for on the stage as elsewhere there are problems that can't
be solved.

Between times they tried to find a dancer of the first rank. Finally,
they found one who had recently left the Opera, although still at the
height of her beauty and talent. And they continued to seek a way to
make the part of Helene worthy of Madame Carvalho.

The famous director had one mania. He wanted to collaborate in every
work he staged. Even a work hallowed by time and success had to bear
his mark; much greater were his reasons for interpolating in a new work.
He would announce brusquely that the period or the country in which the
action of the work took place must be changed. He tormented us for a
long time to make the dancer into a singer on his wife's account. Later,
he wanted to introduce a second dancer. With the exception of the
prologue and epilogue the action of the piece takes place in a dream,
and he took upon himself the invention of the most bizarre combinations.
He even proposed to me one day to introduce wild animals. Another time
he wanted to cut out all the music with the exception of the choruses
and the dancer's part, and have the rest played by a dramatic company.
Later, as they were rehearsing Hamlet at the Opera and it was rumored
that Mlle. Nilsson was going to play a water scene, he wanted Madame
Carvalho to go to the bottom of a pool to find the fatal bell.

Foolishness of this kind took up two years.

Finally, we gave up the idea of Mme. Carvalho's cooeperation. The part of
Helene was given to beautiful Mlle. Schroeder and the rehearsals began.
They were interrupted by the failure of the Theatre-Lyrique.

Shortly afterwards Perrin asked for _Le Timbre d'Argent_ for the Opera.
The adaptation of the work for the large stage at the Opera necessitated
important modifications. The whole of the dialogue had to be set to
music and the authors went to work on it. Perrin gave us Madame Carvalho
for Helene and Faure for Spiridion, but he wanted to burlesque the part
for the tenor and give it to Mlle. Wertheimber. He wanted to engage her
and had no other part for her. This was impossible. After several
discussions Perrin yielded to the obstinate refusals of the authors, but
I saw clearly from his attitude that he would never play our work.

About that time du Locle took over the management of the Opera-Comique.
He saw that Perrin, who was his uncle, had decided not to stage _Le
Timbre d'Argent_ and asked me for it.

This meant another metamorphosis for the work and new and considerable
work for the musician. And this work was by no means easy. Until this
time Barbier and Carre had been as close friends as Orestes and Pylades,
but now they had a falling out. What one proposed, the other
systematically refused. One lived in Paris; the other in the country. I
went from Paris to the country and from the country to Paris trying to
get these warring brothers to agree. This going to and fro lasted all
summer, and then the temporary enemies came to an understanding and
became as friendly as ever.

We seemed to be nearly at the end of our troubles. Du Locle had found a
wonderful dancer in Italy on whom we depended, but the dancer turned out
not to be one at all. She was a _mime_, and did not dance.

As there was no time to look for another dancer that season du Locle, to
keep me patient, had me write with Louis Gallet _La Princesse Jaune_,
with which I made my debut on the stage. I was thirty-five! This
harmless little work was received with the fiercest hostility. "It is
impossible to tell," wrote Jouvin, a much feared critic of the time, "in
what key or in what time the overture is written." And to show me how
utterly wrong I was, he told me that the public was "a compound of
angles and shadows." His prose was certainly more obscure than my music.

Finally, a real dancer was engaged in Italy. It seemed as though nothing
more could prevent the appearance of the unfortunate _Timbre_. "I can't
believe it," I said. "Some catastrophe will put us off again."

War came!

When that frightful crisis was at an end, the dancer was re-engaged. The
parts were read to the artists, and the next day Amede Achard threw up
his role, declaring that it belonged to grand opera and was beyond the
powers of an opera-comique tenor. It is well known that he ended his
career at the Opera.

Another tenor had to be found, but tenors are rare birds and we were
unable to get one. To use the dancer he had engaged du Locle had Gallet
and Guiraud improvise a short act, _Le Kobold_, which met with great
success. The dancer was exquisite. Then du Locle lost interest in _Le
Timbre d'Argent_ and then came the failure of the Opera-Comique.

During all these tribulations I was preparing _Samson_, although I
could find no one who even wanted to hear me speak of it. They all
thought that I must be mad to attempt a Biblical subject. I gave a
hearing of the second act at my house, but no one understood it at all.
Without the aid of Liszt, who did not know a note of it, but who engaged
me to finish it and put it on at Weimar, _Samson_. would never have seen
the light. Afterwards it was refused in succession by Halanzier,
Vaucorbeil, and Ritt and Gailhard, who decided to take it only after
they had heard it sung by that admirable singer Rosine Bloch.

But to return to _Le Timbre d'Argent_. I was again on the street with my
score under my arm. About that time Vizentini revived the
Theatre-Lyrique. His first play was _Paul et Virginie_, a wonderful
success, and he was preparing for the close of the season another work
which he liked. They were kindly disposed to me at the Ministry of Fine
Arts and they interested themselves in my misfortunes. So they gave the
Theatre-Lyrique a small subsidy on condition that they play my work. I
came to the theatre as one who has meddled and I quickly recognized the
discomforts of my position. First, there was a search for a singer;
then, for a tenor, and they tried several without success. I found a
tenor who, according to all reports, was of the first rank, but, after
several days of negotiation, the matter was dropped. I learned later
from the artist that the manager intended to engage him for only four
performances, evidently planning that the work should be played only
four times.

The choice finally fell on Blum. He had a fine voice, and was a perfect
singer but no actor. Indeed he said he didn't want to be an actor; his
ideal was to appear in white gloves. Each day brought new bickerings.
They made cuts despite my wishes; they left me at the mercy of the
insubordination and rudeness of the stage manager and the ballet master,
who would not listen to my most modest suggestions. I had to pay the
cost of extra musicians in the wings myself. Some stage settings which I
wanted for the prologue were declared impossible--I have seen them since
in the _Tales of Hoffman_.

Furthermore, the orchestra was very ordinary. There had to be numerous
rehearsals which they did not refuse me, but they took advantage of them
to spread the report that my music was unplayable. A young journalist
who is still alive (I will not name him) wrote two advance notices which
were intended to pave the way for the failure of my work.

At the last moment the director saw that he had been on the wrong tack
and that he might have a success. As they had played fairyland in the
theatre in the Square des-Arts-et-Metiers, he had at hand all the needed
material to give me a luxurious stage-setting without great expense.
Mlle. Caroline Salla was given the part of Helene. With her beauty and
magnificent voice she was certainly remarkable. But the passages which
had been written for the light high soprano of Madame Carvalho were
poorly adapted for a dramatic soprano. They concluded, therefore, that I
didn't know how to write vocal music.

In spite of everything the work was markedly successful, the natural
result of a splendid performance in which two stars--Melchissedech and
Mlle. Adeline Theodore, at present teacher of dancing at the
Opera--shone.

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