Camille Saint Saens - Musical Memories
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Camille Saint Saens >> Musical Memories
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[Illustration: Mme. Pauline Viardot]
She wrote brilliant operettas in collaboration with Tourguenief, but
they were never published and were performed only in private. One
anecdote will show her versatility as a composer. She was a friend of
Chopin and Liszt and her tastes were strongly futuristic. M. Viardot, on
the contrary, was a reactionary in music. He even found Beethoven too
advanced. One day they had a guest who was also a reactionary. Madame
Viardot sang to them a wonderful work with recitative, aria and final
allegro, which they praised to the skies. She had written it expressly
for the occasion. I have read this work and even the cleverest would
have been deceived.
But it must not be thought from this that her compositions were mere
imitations. On the contrary they were extremely original. The only
explanation why those that were published have remained unknown and why
so many were unpublished is that this admirable artist had a horror of
publicity. She spent half her life in teaching pupils and the world knew
nothing about it.
During the Empire the Viardots used to give in their apartment on
Thursday evenings really fine musical festivals which my surviving
contemporaries still remember. From the salon in which the famous
portrait by Ary Scheffer was hung and which was devoted to ordinary
instrumental and vocal music, we went down a short staircase to a
gallery filled with valuable paintings, and finally to an exquisite
organ, one of Cavaille-Coll's masterpieces. In this temple dedicated to
music we listened to arias from the oratorios of Handel and Mendelssohn.
She had sung them in London, but could not get a hearing for them in the
concerts in Paris as they were averse to such vast compositions. I had
the honor to be her regular accompanist both at the organ and the piano.
But this passionate lover of song was an all-round musician. She played
the piano admirably, and when she was among friends she overcame the
greatest difficulties. Before her Thursday audiences, however, she
limited herself to chamber music, with a special preference for Henri
Reber's duets for the piano and the violin. These delicate, artistic
works are unknown to the amateurs of to-day. They seem to prefer to the
pure juice of the grape in crystal glasses poisonous potions in cups of
gold. They must have orgies, sumptuous ceilings, a deadly luxury. They
do not understand the poet who sings, _"O rus, quando te aspiciam!"_
They do not appreciate the great distinction of simplicity. Reber's muse
is not for them.
Madame Viardot was as learned a musician as any one could be and she was
among the first subscribers to the complete edition of Sebastian Bach's
works. We know what an astounding revelation that work was. Each year
brought ten religious cantatas, and each year brought us new surprises
in the unexpected variety and impressiveness of the work. We thought we
had known Sebastian Bach, but now we learned how really to know him. We
found him a writer of unusual versatility and a great poet. His
_Wohltemperirte Klavier_ had given us only a hint of all this. The
beauties of this famous work needed exposition for, in the absence of
definite instructions, opinions differed. In the cantatas the meaning of
the words serves as an indication and through the analogy between the
forms of expression, it is easy to see pretty clearly what the author
intended in his _Klavier_ pieces.
One fine day the annual volume was found to contain a cantata in several
parts written for a contralto solo accompanied by stringed instruments,
oboes and an organ obligato. The organ was there and the organist as
well. So we assembled the instruments, Stockhausen, the baritone, was
made the leader of the little orchestra, and Madame Viardot sang the
cantata. I suspect that the author had never heard his work sung in any
such manner. I cherish the memory of that day as one of the most
precious in my musical career. My mother and M. Viardot were the only
listeners to this exceptional exhibition. We did not dare to repeat it
before hearers who were not ready for it. What would now be a great
success would have fallen flat at that time. And nothing is more
irritating than to see an audience cold before a beautiful work. It is
far better to keep to one's self treasures which will be unappreciated.
One thing will always stand in the way of the vogue of Sebastian Bach's
vocal works--the difficulty of translation. When they are rendered into
French, they lose all their charm and oftentimes become ridiculous.
* * * * *
One of the most amazing characteristics of Madame Viardot's talent was
her astonishing facility in assimilating all styles of music. She was
trained in the old Italian music and she revealed its beauties as no one
else has ever done. As for myself, I saw only its faults. Then she sang
Schumann and Gluck and even Glinka whom she sang in Russian. Nothing was
foreign to her; she was at home everywhere.
She was a great friend of Chopin and she remembered his playing almost
exactly and could give the most valuable directions about the way he
interpreted his works. I learned from her that the great pianist's
(great musician's, rather) execution was much simpler than has been
generally supposed. It was as far removed from any manifestation of bad
taste as it was from cold correctness. She told me the secret of the
true _tempo rubato_ without which Chopin's music is disfigured. It in no
way resembles the dislocations by which it is so often caricatured.
I have spoken of her great talent as a pianist. We saw this one evening
at a concert given by Madame Schumann. After Madame Viardot had sung
some of Schumann's _lieder_ with the great pianist playing the
accompaniments, the two great artists played the illustrious author's
duet for two pianos, which fairly bristles with difficulties, _with
equal virtuosity_.
When Madame Viardot's voice began to break, she was advised to devote
herself to the piano. If she had, she would have found a new career and
a second reputation. But she did not want to make the change, and for
several years she presented the sorry spectacle of genius contending
with adversity. Her voice was broken, stubborn, uneven, and
intermittent. An entire generation knew her only in a guise unworthy of
her.
Her immoderate love of music was the cause of the early modification of
her voice. She wanted to sing everything she liked and she sang
Valentine in _Les Huguenots_, Donna Anna in _Don Juan_, besides other
roles she should never have undertaken if she wanted to preserve her
voice. She came to realize this at the end of her life. "Don't do as I
did," she once told a pupil. "I wanted to sing everything, and I ruined
my voice."
Happy are the fiery natures which burn themselves out and glory in the
sword that wears away the scabbard.
CHAPTER XV
ORPHEE
We know, or, rather we used to know--for we are beginning to forget that
there is an admirable edition of Gluck's principal works. This edition
was due to the interest of an unusual woman, Mlle. Fanny Pelletan, who
devoted a part of her fortune to this real monument and to fulfill a
wish Berlioz expressed in one of his works. Mlle. Pelletan was an
unusually intelligent woman and an accomplished musician, but she needed
some one to help her in this large and formidable task. She was
unassuming and distrusted her own powers, so that she secured as a
collaborator a German musician, named Damcke, who had lived in Paris a
long time and who was highly esteemed. He gave her the moral support she
needed and some bad advice as well, which she felt obliged to follow.
This collaboration accounts for the change of the contralto parts to
counter-tenors. It also accounts for the fact that in every instance the
parts for the clarinets are indicated in C, in this way attributing to
the author a formal intention he never had. Gluck wrote the parts for
the clarinets without bothering whether the player--to whom he left a
freedom of choice and the work of transposition--would use his
instrument in C, B, or A. This method was not peculiar to Gluck. Other
composers used it as well, and traces of it are found even in Auber's
works.
After Damcke's death Mlle. Pelletan got me to help her in this work. I
wanted to change the method, but the edition would have lost its unity
and she would not consent. It was time that Damcke's collaboration
ended. He belonged to the tribe of German professors who have since
become legion. Due to their baneful influence, in a short time, when the
old editions have disappeared, the works of Haydn, Mozart, and
Beethoven, even of Chopin, will be all but unrecognizable. The works of
Sebastian Bach and Handel will be the only ones in existence in their
pristine purity of form, thanks to the admirable editions of the _Bach
und Haendel Gesselschaft_. When Mlle. Pelletan brought me into the work,
the two _Iphigenie_ had been published; _Alceste_ was about to be, and
_Armide_ was ready. In _Armide_ Damcke had been entirely carried away by
his zeal for "improvements"--a zeal that can do so much harm. It was
time this was stopped. Not only had he corrected imaginary faults here
and there, but he had also inserted things of his own invention. He had
even gone so far as to re-orchestrate the ballet music, in the naive
belief that he was bringing out the author's real meaning better than he
had done himself. It took an enormous amount of time to undo this
mischief, for I distrusted somewhat my own lights and Mlle. Pelletan had
too high an opinion of Damcke's work and did not dare to override his
judgment.
That excellent woman did not live to see the end of her work. She began
the preparation of Orphee, but she died almost at once. So I was left to
finish the score alone without that valuable experience and masterly
insight by which she solved the most difficult problems. And there were
real enigmas to be solved at every step. The old engraved scores of
Gluck's works reproduced his manuscripts faithfully enough, but they
bore evidence of carelessness and amazing inaccuracy. They are mere
sketches instead of complete scores. Many details are vague and
vagueness is not permissible in a serious edition. It follows that the
different editions of Gluck's works published in the Nineteenth Century,
however sumptuous or careful they may be, are worthless. The Pelletan
edition alone can be consulted with confidence, because we were the only
ones to have all extant and authentic documents in the library at the
Opera to set us right. We had scores copied for actual performances on
the stage and portions of orchestral parts of incalculable value. In
addition, we had no aim or preoccupation in elaborating this material
other than to reconstitute as closely as possible the thought of the
author.
* * * * *
Switzerland is a country where artistic productions are not unusual.
Every year we have reports of some grandiose performance in which the
people take part themselves. They come from every direction to help,
even from a considerable distance, thanks to the many means of
communication in that delightful land. It is not surprising, therefore,
to learn that a theatre has been built in the pretty town of Mezieres,
near Lusanne, for the performance of the works of a young poet, named
Morax. These works are dramas with choruses, and the surrounding country
furnishes the singers. The work given in 1911 was Allenor--the music by
Gustave Doret--and it was a great success.
Gustave Doret is a real artist and he never for a moment thought of
keeping the Theatre du Jorat for his own exclusive use. He dreamt of
giving Gluck's works in their original form, for they are always altered
and changed according to the fancies or incompetency of the performers
or directors. They formed a large and influential committee and a
substantial guarantee fund was subscribed. Then they gave a brilliant
banquet at which the Princess of Brancovan was present. And Paderewski,
one of the most enthusiastic promotors of the enterprise, delivered an
eloquent address. No one should be surprised at either his zeal or his
eloquence. Paderewski is not only a pianist; he is a man of great
intellect as well,--a great artist who permits himself the luxury of
playing the piano marvellously.
As he knew that I had spent several years in studying Gluck's works
under the microscope, so to speak, Gustave Doret did me the honor to ask
my advice. His choice for the opening work was _Orphee_, which requires
only three principals, Orpheus, Eurydice, and Love. It has become the
custom to add a fourth, a Happy Spirit, but this spirit is one of
Carvalho's inventions and has no reason for existence.
There are, however, two _Orphee_. The first is _Orfeo_ which was written
in Italian, on Calzabigi's text, and was first presented at Venice in
1761. The role of Orpheus in this score was written for a contralto and
was designed for the eunuch Quadagni. The Venetian engravers of that day
were either incompetent or, perhaps, there were none, for the scores of
Gluck's _Alceste_ in Italian and Haydn's _Seasons_ were printed from
type. However that may be the score of _Orfeo_ was engraved in Paris.
The composer Philidor corrected the proofs. He little thought that
_Orfeo_ would ever get so far as Paris, so he appropriated the romanza
in the first act and introduced it with but slight modifications into
his opera-comique _Le Sorcier_. Later on Marie Antoinette called Gluck
to Paris and thus afforded him the opportunity for the complete
development of his genius. After he had written _Iphigenie en Aulide_,
performed in 1774, especially for the Opera, he had the idea of adapting
_Orfeo_ for the French stage. To tell the truth he must have thought of
it before, for _Orphee_ appeared at the Opera only three months after
_Iphigenie_ and it had been entirely rewritten in collaboration with
Moline. The contralto part had been changed to tenor and so the
principal role was given to Legros.
While it may be true that the author improved this work in the French
version, it is not true in every case. There is some question whether
the overture existed in the Italian score. It is generally believed that
it did, but there are old copies of this version in existence and they
begin the opera with the funeral chorus and show no overture at all.
This overture, although the _Mercure de France_ treats it as a
"beautiful symphonic piece which serves as a good introduction to the
work," in reality does not resemble the style of the rest at all. It in
no way prepares for that admirable chorus at the beginning--unequaled of
its kind--which Orpheus's broken hearted cry of "Eurydice! Eurydice!"
makes so pathetic.
The first act of _Orfeo_ ends in a tumultuous effect of the stringed
instruments which was evidently intended to indicate a change of scene
and the appearance of the stage settings of the infernal regions. This
passage does not appear in the French _Orphee_ and it is lacking in the
engraved score, where it is replaced by a bravura aria of doubtful
taste, accompanied by a single quartet. Whether the stage managers
wanted an entr'acte or the tenor, Legros, demanded an effective aria, or
for both these reasons, a reading of the manuscript indicates how
absolutely the author's meaning was changed. There is no doubt that
except for some such reason he would have changed this aria and put it
in harmony with the rest of the work.
For a long time this aria was attributed to Bertoni, the composer, and
Gluck was accused of plagiarizing it. As a matter of fact, and to the
contrary, this aria came from an older Italian opera of Gluck's. Bertoni
not only imitated it in one of his scores, but he had the hardihood to
write an _Orfeo_ on the text already followed by Gluck in which he
plagiarized the work of his illustrious predecessor in a scandalous
fashion.
This same aria, changed with real genius and performed with prodigious
eclat by Madame Viardot, and re-orchestrated by myself, was one of the
strongest reasons for the success of the famous performances at the
Theatre-Lyrique. But it is well understood that it could not properly
find a place in an edition where the sole end was artistic sincerity and
purity of the text.
From this point of view it would seem that the best manner of giving
_Orphee_ would be to conform to the author's definitive version. A tenor
would have to take the part of Orpheus, since we no longer have male
contraltos, and to keep to this kind of a voice in _Orphee_ we would
have to have recourse to what is called, in theatrical terms, a
_travesti_. There are obstacles to this, however. The pitch has changed
since the Eighteenth Century; it has gone up and it is now impossible,
or nearly so, to sing the role written for Legros. The contraltos of the
Italian chorus have become the counter-tenors, who, for the same reason,
find themselves struggling with too sharp notes.
In the Seventeenth Century the French pitch was even more flat, and it
is a great pity, for it is almost impossible to perform our old music,
on account of the insuperable obstacles. This is not the case in
Germany, however, or in Italy, and that is the reason why the works of
Sebastian Bach and Mozart can be sung. The same is true of Gluck's
Italian works.
This was the reason that Doret gave the part of Orpheus to a contralto,
just as is done at the Opera-Comique. The poetic character of the part
of Orpheus lends itself excellently to such a feminine interpretation.
But in resuming the key of the Italian score, it is necessary to go
back, at least to a considerable degree, to the instrumentation. By a
curious anomaly the beautiful recitative, accompanied by the murmur of
brooks and the songs of the birds, is in C major in both scores. The
author could not have changed them. On the contrary he modified his
instrumentation greatly, simplified and perfected it.
We know that the authors, in utter defiance of mythology, wanted a happy
ending and so brought Eurydice back to life a second time. Love
accomplished this miracle and the work ended with the song "Love
Triumphs," which is exceedingly joyful and in harmony with the
situation. They did not want this ending, which was in _Orfeo_ and which
Gluck retained in _Orphee_, at the old Theatre-Lyrique and the
Opera-Comique, and they replaced it with a chorus by Echo and Narcissus.
This chorus is charming, but that does not excuse it. Joy was what the
author wanted and this does not give joy at all. Gluck's finale is
regarded as not sufficiently distinguished, but this is wrong. The real
finale was sung at Mezieres and it was found that it was not at all
common, but that its frank gaiety was in the best of taste.
Gluck had no scruples about grinding several grists from the same sack
and drawing from his old works to help out his new ones. So the
parasitical aria attributed to Bertoni was written by Gluck in the first
place in 1764 for a soprano. He wove this into his opera _Aristo_ in
1769. This is also true of the trio, _Tendre Amour_, which precedes the
finale in the last act. A serious-minded analyst might be tempted to
admire the profound psychology of the author in mingling doleful accents
with expressions of joy, but he would have his labor for his pains. The
trio was taken from the opera _Elena e Paride_, where Gluck expressed
strongly wrought up emotions. Doret did not keep these two passages and
one can't blame him. On the other hand, he retained, by making it an
entr'acte, the _Ballet des Furies_. This was taken from a ballet, _Don
Giovanni o il convitato de pietra_, which was performed at Vienna in
1761. This passage was used as the accompaniment to Don Juan's descent
into Hell, surrounded by his band of demons.
Many of Gluck's compatriots came to Mezieres to see _Orphee_ and they
were loyal enough to recognize the superiority of the performance. Some
even had the courage to say, "We murder Gluck in Germany."
I discovered that fact a long time ago. In my youth I was indignant when
I saw Paris, where Gluck wrote his finest works, quite neglecting them,
whereas Germany continued to promote them. In those days I was
frequently called to the other side of the Rhine to play in concerts,
and I watched for a chance to see one of these masterpieces which had
been forgotten in France. So it was with the liveliest joy that one day
I entered one of the leading German theaters where they were giving
_Armide_. What a hollow mockery it was!
Madame Malten was Armide, and she was everything that could be wished in
voice, talent, style, beauty and charm. She spoke French without an
accent and was as remarkable as an actress as a singer, so she would
without doubt have had great success at the Opera in Paris. She was
Armide herself, an irresistible enchantress.
But the rest! Renaud was a raw boy, and his shaven chin brought out in
sharp relief enormous black moustaches with long waxed ends. He had a
voice, to be sure, but no style, and no understanding of the work he was
trying to interpret.
Hidradot is an old sorcerer tempered in the fires of Hell. He enters,
saying:
"I see hard by Death that threatens me,
And already old age, that has chilled my blood,
Is on me, bowing me beneath a crushing burden."
Imagine my surprise at seeing come on the stage a magnificent specimen
of manhood, with a curled black beard, in all the glory of his youth and
vigor superbly arrayed in a red cloak trimmed with gold!
The stage setting was also extraordinary. In the second act Renaud went
to sleep at the back of the stage, forcing Armide to speak the whole of
the beautiful scene which follows, one of the most important in the
part, at a distance from the footlights and with her back to the
audience.
As for the orchestra, sometimes it followed Gluck's text and sometimes
it borrowed bits of orchestration which Meyerbeer had written for the
Opera at Berlin. This orchestration is interesting, and I know it well
for I have had it in hand. It is only fair to say that Gluck, from some
inexplicable caprice, did not give the same care to the instrumentation
of _Armide_ that he did to _Orphee_, _Alcesti_, and the _Iphigenies_.
The trombones do not appear at all and the drums and flutes only at rare
intervals. Re-orchestration is not absolutely necessary and Meyerbeer's
is no more reprehensible than those with which Mozart enriched Handel's
_Messe_ and _La Fete d'Alexandre_. What was inadmissible was not
deciding frankly for one version or the other. It was like a badly
patched coat which shows the old cloth in one place and the new in
another.
Afterwards I saw _Armide_ treated in another way.
Did you ever happen to cherish the memory of a delightful and
picturesque city, where everything made a harmonious whole, where the
beautiful walks were arched over by old trees--and later come back to it
to find it embellished, the trees cut down, the walks replaced by
enormous buildings which dwarfed into insignificance the ancient marvels
which gave the city its charm?
This was the case with me when I saw _Armide_ again in a city which I
shall not name. The opera had been judged superannuated and had been
"improved." A young composer had written a new score in which he
inserted here and there such bits of Gluck as he thought worthy of being
preserved. A costly and magnificently imbecile luxuriousness set off the
whole piece. I may be pardoned the cruel adjective when I say that in
the scene of Hate, so deeply inspired, and which takes place in a sort
of cave, they relegated the chorus to the wings to make a place for
dragons, fantastic birds beating their wings, and other deviltries.
This, of course, deprived the chorus of all its power and distinction.
But the best was at the end of the second act. The forest with its
trees, grass and rocks entirely disappeared in the flies taking Renaud
and Armide with it and the spectator was left, for some unknown reason,
looking at a background surrounded by mountains. Then, by a marvel of
mechanism, there appeared to the sound of ultramodern music, Renaud
sleeping on a bed of state, with Armide standing at the foot and
stretching forth her hand with a gesture of authority, declaiming in a
solemn tone,
"Rinaldo, I love you!"
and the curtain fell to the applause of the audience.
* * * * *
We owe much to Germany in music, for it has produced many great
musicians. It can set off against our trinity of Corneille, Racine, and
Moliere, the no less glorious Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. But Germany
seems to have lost all respect for the meaning of its own music and for
its own glories. Instead of watching over the purity of the text of its
masterpieces, it alters them at its pleasure and makes them all but
unrecognizable. We abuse nuances but they were rare in earlier days. An
orchestra conductor who performs symphonies by Haydn and Mozart, even by
Beethoven, has the right to make additions. But it is intolerable that
the scores should be printed with these nuances and bowings which are in
no way due to the author and which are imposed by the editor.
Nevertheless, that is what happens, and it is impossible to tell where
the authentic text ends and the interpolation begins. In addition, the
interpolation may be the exact contrary of what the author intended.
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