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IN the month of November 1891, there was brought out at Covent Garden
Theatre a work that had the effect of setting the musical world of
London into a state of ferment. This was "Le Rêve," a musical rendering
of Emile Zola's well-known romance, by the composer whose name heads
this chapter. The absolute unconventionality of the music, the boldness
and the novelty of the composer's method, took the public by surprise
and led to many a discussion, at the end of which both antagonists and
supporters remained unconvinced and, as is generally the case, retained
their own opinions.
It has always appeared to me to be idle to attempt to impose one's ideas
upon the relative merits of a composition on those whose disposition is
antagonistic to its due appreciation. There are many to whom the later
works of Wagner appear as a senseless agglomeration of notes, devoid of
meaning and destitute of feeling, a mere jumble of sound. These people
are doubtless absolutely sincere in their convictions. Where is the
argument that would cause them to change their minds? If no sympathetic
current is generated between the music and the listener, it may be taken
for granted that these are not meant one for another, and all the
arguments in the world will not alter the fact. On the other hand there
can be no doubt that increased familiarity often causes the reversal of
a previously expressed opinion, one sometimes formulated in undue haste,
and this is especially the case with a work such as "Le Rêve," the
tendencies of which are so novel and the methods so uncompromising in
their thoroughness.
The composer has boldly flown in the face of recognised traditions and
flung all compromise to the four winds. He has treated "Le Rêve"
according to his own ideas, careless as to whether these should be
agreeable to the vocalist, who looks upon an opera solely as the means
of displaying his voice; to the average amateur, whose fondness for a
good square tune of doubtful originality is as great as ever; or to the
musical pedant who gauges the value of an art-work according to the
theoretical ideas of a past generation.
Art and literature have during the last few years been invaded by a
strong current of realism. The marked tendency exhibited by the present
generation of inquiring minutely into all matters and subjecting them to
a searching process of analysis, has been pregnant in its results. The
physiology of the mind appears to be the leading factor in the works of
many of the lights of contemporary literature. This is discernible in
the writings of poets like Swinburne and George Barlow, in the novels of
Emile Zola and Alphonse Daudet, and in the studies of Tolstoï, to
mention only a few. In music the same tendencies are apparent, and it
is rather the inner motives of the action than its outward details that
the serious operatic composer is tempted to depict.
Bruneau exemplifies the latest phase of that evolution that has been
taking place during recent years in the domain of dramatic music. It may
be taken for granted that the theory enunciated by Gluck in his preface
to "Alceste" more than a hundred years ago has now come to be
universally adopted. This is, that "the true aim and object of dramatic
music is to enhance the effect and situations of a poem, without
interrupting the dramatic action or marring the effect by unnecessary
ornamentation." It is this which forms the basis of Wagner's theories.
There are, however, many other points of importance raised by the German
master which practically amount to innovations. Of these none has
perhaps a greater bearing on the construction of the "lyrical drama" of
the future than the employment of leit-motiven, or representative
themes.
It has been argued that Wagner can scarcely claim to be the actual
inventor of this device.
To this it may be replied that Wagner's method differs essentially from
that followed by any of his predecessors. The bare repetition of a
phrase previously heard may be dramatically significant, but it only
represents the Wagnerian idea in its most embryonic form, and has little
in common with a system subject to which an entire opera is constructed
upon a certain number of themes susceptible of being modified and
transformed according to the sentiments expressed by the words. Whatever
objections may be adduced against such a system if pushed to its
furthest limits and adopted as rigorously as Wagner has in his later
"music dramas," it must be conceded that it opens a large field to the
composer and adds a powerful element of interest to the musical
exposition of a plot.
So far, French composers who have profited by Wagner's many innovations
have shown themselves shy in following the master in this particular
one. Some of them have, it is true, adopted it to a certain extent, and
endeavoured to effect a compromise by trying at the same time to retain
set pieces of the kind associated with the older forms of opera.
Saint-Saëns in "Henri VIII." and "Ascanio," Massenet in "Esclarmonde,"
to name only two, have exhibited a marked tendency in this direction. It
has, however, been reserved for Alfred Bruneau to employ the Wagnerian
plan in a more complete way than any French composer has yet done. I am
not here venturing to express an opinion as to whether or not the total
absence of set form in an opera is advisable. It is evidently quite
possible to compose a "lyrical drama" on a different plan than one
entailing the strict employment of representative themes. Art should
comprise every method that is likely to add to its scope, and the use of
leit-motiven opens a vista of illimitable possibilities to the
composer of the future. It is a powerful agent of dramatic expression,
and one which requires musical ability of a very high order if it is to
be employed in any profitable manner. When I mention Alfred Bruneau as
being perhaps the first French composer who has applied the Wagnerian
system so thoroughly in his "lyrical dramas," it must not be implied
that he is in any way a servile imitator of the German master, and he
must not be confounded with composers who, having no original ideas of
their own, trade upon those of other people. As his friend and
collaborator Mons. Louis Gallet remarks in his Notes d'un Librettiste,
"Son criterium est tout personel." There is one point, for instance, in
which he diverges entirely from Wagner. This is in his choice of
subjects. Instead of searching for inspiration in the legendary lore so
dear to the composer of "Tristan," Bruneau prefers to musically
illustrate a story of modern life. His ideas upon the lyrical drama are
best expressed in his own words, and I do not scruple to reproduce the
following passage from a letter addressed to myself: "Je suis pour
l'union aussi intime que possible de la musique et des paroles, et
voudrais faire du théâtre vivant, humain et bref. J'aurais aussi
l'ambition de traiter une suite de sujets essentiellement Français et
modernes d'action comme de sentiments. C'est pourquoi, après 'Le Rêve,'
d'un mysticisme bien Français je crois, viendra 'L'Attaque du moulin,'
drame pris au cœur saignant de notre pays. Mais la suite n'est qu'un
projet que je n'aurai peut-être jamais la force de mettre à exécution."
It is the human element that predominates in Bruneau's compositions
which constitutes so powerful a fascination to those who are in sympathy
with his ideas. His music is not theatrical in the ordinary acceptation
of the term but intensely dramatic, inasmuch as it aims at depicting the
innermost details of the action, and describes in searching accents the
varied emotions of the leading characters.
He has been blamed for his disregard of the so-called rules of harmony,
and for apparently revelling in the employment of discords, strange
progressions, and harsh modulations. Let it be remembered that there is
scarcely a composer of eminence who has not been subjected to the same
reproach. To take a few of the most notable instances, it is only
necessary to mention the cases of Schumann, Wagner, Berlioz, and Bizet.
A name that may carry conviction even further is that of Beethoven. Is
it not a fact that within the memory of some who are still amongst us,
the "Choral Symphony" was stigmatised as the work of a genius whose
powers were on the wane, and this mighty work was pronounced dull and
incoherent?
The question as to how far a composer may go in his search after novel
effects, and what discords he may or may not employ, is one that cannot
easily be answered. Where is the musician who will have the presumption
to erect himself as the supreme arbiter upon so complex a question, and
venture to say to the composer, "Thus far shalt thou go and no further?"
Undoubtedly there must be rules of some kind, but these are intended for
the student and are not meant to hamper the inspiration of the master.
In order to explain my meaning I cannot do better than quote the
following extract from the preface of Mr. Ebenezer Prout's admirable
work on "Harmony," which conclusively disposes of the question:
"The principle must surely be wrong which places the rules of an early
stage of musical development above the inspirations of genius! Haydn,
when asked according to what rules he had introduced a certain harmony,
replied that 'The rules were all his very obedient humble servants;' and
when we find that in our own time Wagner, or Brahms, or Dvórak, breaks
some rule given in old text books, there is, to say the least, a very
strong presumption, not that the composer is wrong, but that the rule
needs modifying. In other words practice must precede theory. The
inspired composer goes first, and invents new effects; it is the
business of the theorist not to cavil at every novelty, but to follow
modestly behind, and make his rules conform to the practice of the
master."
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.
FACSIMILE OF AUTOGRAPH SCORE OF "LE RÊVE"
Act I.
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'Hautecœur, 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."
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'œuvres, 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. |