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IT has become a trite saying that music is the youngest of the arts. The
truth of this is nevertheless indisputable, and the remark is perhaps
more applicable to music as represented in the "lyrical drama" than in
any other form. What pleases one generation is often distasteful to the
next, and a period of twenty or even ten years has sometimes been
sufficient to witness a thorough evolution in the methods and general
style of dramatic music.
The career of the composer whose name heads this chapter is, from this
point of view, interesting to study, and a cursory glance at the state
of musical affairs at the time when he emerged from the Paris
Conservatoire, having won the "Grand Prix de Rome," will not be out of
place, and may help towards forming a more accurate estimate of his
talent.
Every art has traversed a period of degeneration, when true æsthetics
have been neglected and men of undoubted talent, or even genius, have
been unable to free themselves from the shackles of a vitiated taste.
This applies, perhaps, more to music than to any other art, probably for
the reason that in this case the demand upon the intellect is
proportionately greater, and a certain degree of culture is absolutely
necessary for its due appreciation. There is a semblance of truth in the
contention advanced by Rubinstein, that music is the reflex of its time,
and even re-echoes the political events and general state of culture of
the age. The following paradoxical opinion of the eminent Russian
composer and pianist, taken from his "Conversation on Music," is well
worth quoting in extenso: "I can follow musically even the events of our
century. Our century begins either with 1789, the French Revolution (musically with Beethoven), or the year 1815 is to be looked upon as
the close of the eighteenth century, disappearance of Napoleon from the
political horizon, the Restoration, &c. (musically the
scholastic-virtuoso period: Hummel, Moscheles, and others); flourish of
modern philosophy (third period of Beethoven); the July Revolution of
1830, fall of the Legitimists, raising the son of Philippe Egalité to
the throne, the Orleans dynasty, democratic and constitutional principle
in the foreground, monarchical principle in the background, 1848 in
sight (Berlioz); the Æolian harp of the Polish rebellion of 1831
(Chopin); romanticism generally and its victory over the pseudo-classic
(Schumann); flourish of all the arts and sciences (Mendelssohn); the
triumph of the bourgeoisie, in sense of material existence, a shield
against all disturbing elements of politics and culture (Capellmeister
music); Louis Napoleon becomes Emperor (Liszt, the virtuoso, becomes the
composer of symphonies and oratorios); his reign (the operetta a branch
of art); the German-Franco war, Germany's unity, the freedom of Europe
resting on ten millions of soldiers, change in all formerly accepted
political principles (Wagner, his music-drama, his art principles,
&c.)."
We are able with a tolerable degree of certainty to determine the period
when a house was built by the style of its architecture, just as we
experience no difficulty, as a rule, in discovering the date when a
picture was painted through details that unmistakably reveal the epoch
when the artist lived, even if the subject he may have chosen to
illustrate be ever so remote. The well-known picture by Paul Veronese of
the "Marriage Feast of Cana" is a case in point.
In respect to music, a similar law would appear to govern its
manifestations, and special characteristics are associated with the
productions of different epochs. This is made evident by the non-success
that attends the composer whose genius impels him onward towards new and
unknown horizons. Woe be to the one who has the temerity to forestall
his own generation. Although immortality and a tardy homage to his
memory may be his reward, these will perhaps scarcely afford
compensation for the trials and hardships endured whilst battling for
sheer existence in this vale of tears. It is a moot consideration
whether the wisest course to adopt is that followed by Hector Berlioz,
or the one that has brought prosperity as well as celebrity to Ambroise
Thomas; for whereas the former may result in post-mortem panegyrics, the
latter procures a more immediate recompense, and may lead to the
directorship of the Paris Conservatoire.
There is something inexpressibly sad in the evanescence of music, and in
thinking of the comparatively small number of compositions destined to
survive their age. In this respect music is at a decided disadvantage in
comparison with the sister arts; the fact of the former being
essentially creative possibly accounting in some measure for this. At
any rate, whereas masterpieces of classic art, such as "The Dying
Gladiator" and the "Apollo Belvedere" remain unrivalled and do not
betray a vestige of their antiquity, much of the music composed fifty
years ago has become so hopelessly old-fashioned that it can scarcely be
listened to with patience.
Is it that in this special case familiarity breeds a larger dose of
contempt than usual? The fact has been proved over and over again, that
compositions that seem absolutely incomprehensible to one generation,
are accepted as comparatively simple by the next; whereas those that
have caught on with the public at once very soon lose their hold.
The great test of an art work, as such, is its truth of expression. The
moment this is wanting, its value diminishes, and it is powerless to
survive the caprice of fashion.
Thus we find that those works into which composers have poured their
innermost feelings, untrammelled by any desire to purchase an ephemeral
popularity at the cost of the sacrifice of principle, are those that
have remained. This is so much the case with stage works that it is
necessary to state it definitely before proceeding any further.
For years the operatic composer was almost entirely at the mercy of the
singer, and it has required many efforts on the part of great artists to
shake off the load, the final emancipation being effected through the
agency of one whose genius towers far above that of his contemporaries,
and whose influence upon music has been as widespread as it has been
beneficial. Need I say that I allude to Richard Wagner?
The spirit of routine, so engrained in the human mind, has also much to
account for in preventing the development of music as represented in the
opera. It is far from my desire to say anything in disparagement of a
form of art such as the "opéra comique," a genre that has been
illustrated with so conspicuous a degree of success by composers such as
Grétry, Monsigny, Dalayrac, Nicolo, Boiëldieu, Hérold, and Auber. At the
same time, it must be admitted that the ideal aimed at by modern French
musicians is altogether a higher one. The "lyrical drama" has usurped
the place of the old "opéra comique," and those composers whose
inability or disinclination have kept them from following the prevalent
movement, have perforce drifted into that mongrel species of art known
as the "opérette." From an æsthetic point of view the change is
emphatically for the better, as the "opéra comique," corresponding to
the German "Singspiel," and to our "ballad opera," and consisting of an
amalgam of speech and song, being neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, is
utterly inconsistent with logic.
That there is still, however, a place for works coming under the
denomination of a modernised form of "opéra comique," as distinct from
the "opérette," without pretensions of too lofty an order, is evidenced
by the delightful works of the late Léo Delibes, "Le Roi l'a dit," "Jean
de Nivelle," and "Lakmé"; and more recently by Mons. Chabrier's "Le Roi
Malgré Lui" and Mons. Messager's "La Basoche."
In the year 1832, when Ambroise Thomas had completed his twenty-first
birthday, the Rossini fever was at its height. Beethoven was
comparatively little known in France, and those amongst his symphonies
that had been brought to a hearing had excited more wonder than
admiration.
"Il ne faut pas faire de la musique comme celle-là," Lesueur had said to
Berlioz after having listened to the C Minor Symphony; "Soyez
tranquille, cher maître, on n'en fera pas beaucoup," had been the answer
vouchsafed by the future author of "La Damnation de Faust." In the
meanwhile Boiëldieu never lost the opportunity of playing through
Rossini's operas to his pupils, and descanting upon their merits. It is
indeed difficult to account for the extraordinary influence exercised by
Rossini over his contemporaries. That his "facile" melodies should have
proved agreeable to the general public, and his florid ornamentations
grateful to the singers, "passe encore." But that an entire generation
of composers should have been so fascinated by the sham glitter of his
brilliant though shallow compositions as to follow his methods in so
faithful a manner, is incomprehensible. It is eminently to the credit of
French taste that "Guillaume Tell," his only really great work of
serious import, should have been written for the Paris Grand Opéra.
Entirely devoid of artistic conscience or of any of those lofty
aspirations towards the ideal that stamp the true artist, be his name
Bach or Beethoven, Schubert or Schumann, Berlioz or Wagner, Rossini
deliberately squandered his genius. Success seems to have been his only
object, and this once acquired he was content to idle away the remainder
of a long existence, sublimely unconscious of the great musical upheaval
that was being accomplished by genuine workers in the cause of art.
What can we think of a composer who could employ the same overture to
precede operas so widely different in regard to their subject-matter as
"Elisabetta, Regina d'Inghilterra" and "Il Barbiere"? What of the
musician who thought that a brilliant martial strain was the right
musical interpretation of the sublime and poignant words expressive of
Mary at the foot of the Cross? "Cujus animam gementem, contristantem et
dolentem"; words of indescribable sadness and depth; a mother mourning
her Divine Son; a theme unexampled in point of pathos and emotion, set
to a melody that would be in its proper place in some pageant
descriptive of the triumphal entry of a conqueror into a city!
What, again, of the composer who could prefix a tragedy like "Othello"
with an overture fit for an "opéra bouffe?" And what would be said
nowadays of the musician who, finding himself short of an idea, pilfered
that of another composer, as Rossini did in "Il Barbiere," the trio in
the last act of which being palpably taken from Haydn's "Seasons"? The
greater a man's genius—and no one would dream of denying this attribute
to Rossini—the greater his responsibility. Noblesse oblige. In order
that I may not be accused of formulating too harsh a judgment upon the
Italian master, I will quote the following words of Blaze de Bury, his
friend and admirer: "Avec du génie et les circonstances, on fait les
Rossini; pour être Mozart ou Raphaël, Michel Ange ou Beethoven, il faut
avoir quelque chose de plus: des principes."
What has been termed the "golden epoch" of the "grand opéra" was at this
time at its apogee, and the period often years from 1828 to 1838
witnessed the production upon the same boards of Auber's "La Muette de
Portici," known here as "Masaniello," Rossini's "Guillaume Tell,"
Halévy's "La Juive," and Meyerbeer's "Robert le Diable" and "Les
Huguenots."
It has been too much the fashion in recent years to decry the works of
Meyerbeer, and to lay stress upon their shortcomings whilst giving but a
grudging half-hearted acknowledgment to the many undeniable beauties
that pervade them. Against so unjust a verdict I desire emphatically to
protest, for however much Meyerbeer may have sacrificed for the sake of
effect, there can be no doubt that he contributed in a large measure
towards raising the operatic standard, then at a very low level.
If we find the rich crop of wheat not devoid of chaff, we must at any
rate admit that the former is of excellent quality. To be the author of
"Les Huguenots," the fourth act of "Le Prophète," and the music to
"Struensee," not to speak of many another dramatic masterpiece, is in
itself a sufficient title to rank amongst the greatest musicians of the
age.
It would occupy too much space were I to enter further into a question
which I may in the course of this volume have occasion to allude to
again. I will therefore terminate these preliminary observations by
stating the position occupied by the three great emancipators of
dramatic and instrumental music—Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner—at the time
I mention, circa 1832. The first was endeavouring to obtain a
hearing for works that were condemned as incoherent and unintelligible,
the second had achieved high fame as a pianist, and the third was
qualifying for the humble position of "Capellmeister" in a German
provincial town. The charge of incoherence was destined to cling to
Berlioz even unto the end, whilst the colossal reputation of Liszt as an
executant for a long while caused his labours as a creative musician to
be underrated. As to Wagner, the number of misrepresentations that he
had to live through are too numerous and too well known to mention.
Time, however, sets all things right, and the three masters are little
by little gaining the position in public estimation to which they are
entitled.
Ambroise Thomas was born at Metz on the 5th of August 1811, the same
year as Liszt. He entered the Paris Conservatoire, of which institution
he is at the time I am writing the honoured director, in 1828, and
studied there under Zimmerman, Dourlen, and Lesueur; also receiving
instructions from Kalkbrenner, and Barbereau. The vein of
sentiment which in later years was to be so prominent a feature in his
compositions must have been noticeable even at that time, for it is said
that his master Lesueur, on being told that the future author of
"Mignon" was seventh in the class, remarked: "Thomas est vraiment ma
note sensible." (The seventh note of the scale, or what we in England
call the leading note, is known in French as "la note sensible.") Having
won the "Prix de Rome" in 1832, for a cantata entitled "Herman et
Ketty," Ambroise Thomas repaired to Italy, where he spent the following
three years according to the usual custom.
It must have been about this time that he composed the trio and
"Caprices en forme de Valses" for piano, marked respectively Opus 2 and
4, which were appreciated in the following terms by Schumann.
"We come to an extremely pleasant composition, a 'salon trio,' during
which it is possible to look around without completely losing the
musical thread; neither heavy nor light, neither deep nor superficial,
not classical, not romantic, but always euphonious and in certain parts
full of beautiful melody; for instance, in the soft leading motive of
the first movement, which, however, loses a great deal of its charm when
it reappears in the major, and even sounds commonplace," etc.
"The 'Caprices' of Thomas move in a higher circle than Wenzel's 'Adieu
de St. Petersbourg,' but, notwithstanding the evident application and
the great amount of talent evinced, are nothing more nor less than
higher-class Wenzel; 'lederne' German thoughts translated into the
French language, so pleasant that one must needs beware of them, and so
pretentious that one could well get vexed with them. Occasionally the
composer wanders into mystic harmonies, but, soon frightened at his own
temerity, returns to his natural mode of expression, to what he
possesses and is able to give. But what do I expect? The 'Caprices' are
pretty, sound well," etc.
During his sojourn in the eternal city, Thomas made himself popular with
all who came across him, and was alluded to by Ingres, the celebrated
painter, at that time head of the school whither were sent the
successful young artists and musicians who had won the "Prix de Rome,"
as "l'excellent jeune homme, le bon Thomas."
The operatic career of the composer of "Mignon" dates from the year
1837, his first venture being a one-act comic opera entitled "La Double
Échelle," produced at the Opéra Comique. This was succeeded the
following year by "Le Perruquier de la Régence," three acts, at the same
theatre; and in 1839 by "La Gipsy," a ballet at the Opéra, in
collaboration with Benoist, and "Le Panier Fleuri," at the Opéra
Comique.
The prolific nature of the composer's talent was further illustrated by
the production in quick succession of "Carline" (1840), "Le Comte de
Carmagnole" (1841), "Le Guerillero" (1842), and "Angélique et Médor"
(1843), none of which obtained any appreciable success. It was otherwise
with "Mina," a three-act comic opera, produced at the Opéra Comique in
1843, which enjoyed a certain vogue at the time, but has not survived.
The first permanent success achieved by Thomas was with "Le Caïd," a
light opera given in 1849, which rapidly became popular, and is regarded
by some as the precursor of the style of opéra bouffe which was
destined later on to achieve so great a notoriety at the hands of
Offenbach and his imitators. This is scarcely a correct view to take, as
the innate refinement of a nature such as that of Ambroise Thomas has
little in common with the vulgarities associated with the genre. "Le
Caïd," in which the composer amusingly parodies the absurdities
associated with the now happily obsolete Italian opera style of the
period, would nowadays pass muster as a high-class opérette. This
bright little score is full of that esprit of which French composers
seem to possess the secret, and is wedded to an exceedingly amusing
libretto. "Le Caïd" has remained popular in France, and occupies a
permanent place in the répertoire of the Paris Opéra Comique.
Before proceeding with the composer's operatic career, it may be well to
mention a phase in his existence during which he bravely performed his
duties as a citizen. At the time of the political troubles of 1848, when
art was forcibly relegated into the background, Ambroise Thomas donned
the uniform of a garde national. It is related that one night, when
passing under the windows of his friend and collaborator Sauvage, with
whom he was at that moment working, he shouted out to him, brandishing
his gun, "This is the instrument upon which I must compose to-day; the
music it produces requires no words."
Happily Thomas was able soon to revert to more pacific and profitable
occupations.
The composer's next work was of a different nature, and if "Le Songe
d'une Nuit d'Été" ("A Midsummer Night's Dream"), given at the Opéra
Comique in 1851, did not achieve a similar success to "Le Caïd," it
possessed merit of a higher order, and is even now still occasionally
performed.
This opera has nothing to do with Shakespeare's comedy, as its name
might imply. Curiously enough, the immortal bard is made to figure as
the hero of the piece. He is represented as a drunkard, who is rescued
by Queen Elizabeth from his evil habits through a stratagem, by which he
is made to see the veiled figure of a woman, when he is recovering from
a drunken bout, whom he mistakes for the embodiment of his own genius,
and who threatens to abandon him unless he promises to reform. It is
strange that such a farrago of nonsense should have been deemed worthy
of serving as an operatic text.
"Raymond," a three-act opera, founded upon the story of the Man with the
Iron Mask, followed the above work in 1851. The overture is the only
number that has survived. It is a brilliant orchestral piece, somewhat
in the style of Auber.
In the course of the same year Ambroise Thomas was elected a member of
the Institute in the place of Spontini. It can scarcely be said that
this brought him much luck, for of the five operas that he wrote within
the ten succeeding years, not one has kept the stage. They need not
detain us long. Their names are "La Tonelli" (1853); "La Cour de
Célimène" (1855); "Psyché'" (1857), a revised version of which was
produced at the Opéra Comique in 1878; "Le Carnaval de Venise" (1857);
and "Le Roman d'Elvire" (1860).
After these comparative failures the composer appears to have taken a
much-needed rest and devoted some time to reflection, which was to be
productive of excellent results. It may safely be urged that had Thomas
died at this period he would have been only entitled to rank with
musicians of subordinate talent, such as Massé, Maillart, Clapisson, "e
tutti quanti."
As it happens, he had not then given the full measure of his worth, and
the two works destined to procure for him the European reputation he
enjoys belong to his full maturity.
The following is the opinion emitted by Fétis in his "Dictionnaire des
Musiciens" upon Ambroise Thomas. It must be remembered that these lines
were written before the production of either "Mignon" or "Hamlet":
"Talent fin, gracieux, élégant, toujours distingué, ayant l'instinct de
la scène, souvent mélodiste, écrivant en maître et instrumentant de
même, cet artiste n'a malheureusement pas la santé, necessaire a
l'énergie de la pensée. Il a le charme délicat et l'esprit, quelquefois
il lui manque la force. Quoi qu'il en soit, M. Ambroise Thomas n'en est
pas moins un des compositeurs les plus remarquables qu'ait produits la
France."
Six years after the "Roman d'Elvire," the bills of the Opéra Comique
announced the first performance of "Mignon," the instantaneous success
of which must have helped to console the composer for former reverses.
In constructing an opera book out of Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister," the
librettists, Michel Carré and Jules Barbier, showed an even greater
independence of spirit than they displayed when adapting the same poet's
"Faust," for they deliberately altered the original dénouement, and
instead of ending the work with Mignon's death, they prosaically allowed
her to marry the hero, with whom she is presumably supposed to live
happily for ever afterwards, possibly in order not to depart too
abruptly from the conventionalities of the Opéra Comique Theatre, which
has long been a match-making centre for the bourgeoisie.
Happily, Ambroise Thomas did not compose his "Hamlet" for the same
boards, otherwise who knows but that the Prince of Denmark would not
have been made to see the error of his ways, and wed the fair Ophelia,
who would thereby have been saved from going mad, and spared the trouble
of mastering the vocal acrobatics that are always indulged in by
operatic heroines who are bereft of reason.
The marriage festivities given in honour of Hamlet and Ophelia would
have enabled Ambroise Thomas to make use of his ballet music, and every
one would have been left happy and contented, except perhaps the Ghost,
who is sufficiently tedious not to deserve any sympathy. It is but fair
to say that the requirements of habitués at the Opéra Comique have
considerably changed. Realism has invaded the stage, and a tragic ending
is no longer the exception to the rule in works destined for this
theatre.
The poetical subject of "Mignon" was well suited to the refined nature
of the composer's talent, and the musical value of the work has amply
justified its success. What soprano vocalist is there who has not sung
the suave cantilena, "Connais-tu le pays"?
The melodious duet between Mignon and the old harpist ("Légères
Hirondelles"), the piquant little gavotte that precedes the second act,
the tenor song, "Adieu, Mignon," and the brilliant overture, are amongst
the most noteworthy and popular numbers of the opera.
The original interpretation of "Mignon" was of great excellence. Nothing
could have been more perfect than Mme. Galli Marié's assumption of
the heroine, an actual embodiment of Ary Scheffer's well-known pictures
of Mignon. I have heard many artists in this part, but none who so
completely realised the character in all its details. Mme. Cabel
personified Philine, and the cast was completed by Achard (Wilhelm
Meister), Couderc (Laertes), Bataille (Lothario), etc. Mme. Christine
Nilsson, Mme. Minnie Hauk, and Miss van Zandt must be mentioned as
successful interpreters of the title rôle. For the Italian version,
Ambroise Thomas altered the small part of Frédéric, and added a vocal
arrangement of the "Entr'acte Gavotte" for the late Mme. Trebelli.
"Mignon," it may be mentioned, was the opera that was being performed on
the night of the terrible fire that destroyed the Opéra Comique in 1887.
In Germany and in Austria this opera has not proved less successful than
it has in France, and the following appreciation of Dr. Hanslick may
not prove uninteresting: "This opera is in no place powerfully striking,
and is not the work of a richly organised, original genius. Rather does
it appear to us as the work of a sensitive and refined artist showing
the practical ability of a master-hand. Occasionally somewhat meagre and
tawdry, akin to the vaudeville style, the music to 'Mignon' is
nevertheless mostly dramatic, spirited and graceful, not of deep, but of
true, and in many instances warm feeling. Its merits and defects are
particularly French, which is the reason why the first are more
noticeable upon the French and the latter upon the German boards."
Having followed the example of Gounod in going to Goethe for a subject,
Ambroise Thomas further trod in his illustrious confrère's footsteps
by seeking for inspiration in the works of Shakespeare.
The opera of "Hamlet," performed for the first time in 1868, was the
result. After having cruelly libelled the bard of Avon by presenting him
in the character of a drunkard in his "Songe d'une Nuit d'Été," the
composer of "Mignon" was but making an amende honorable in doing his
best to provide one of the immortal poet's greatest works with a worthy
musical setting. If his attempt can scarcely be said to have been
crowned with the fullest amount of success, the fault is not entirely
his own, unless he may be blamed for ignoring the fact of discretion
being the better part of valour.
In endeavouring to set Shakespeare's tragedy to music Ambroise Thomas
undertook an almost impossible task, and it is scarcely surprising that
he should not have been absolutely successful. It would require the
genius of a Wagner to give an adequate musical rendering of a work so
deep and philosophical, and the Bayreuth master took care not to attempt
it. Then again the peculiar nature of Ambroise Thomas's talent would
appear to be absolutely unsuited to the musical interpretation of a
tragedy of this description.
In judging the operatic version of "Hamlet," the fact must be borne in
mind that this was written for the Paris Opera, and subjected to the
exigencies of that institution, which were then far more stringent than
at the present time, when Wagner has at last been admitted into the
stronghold, "Lohengrin" forms part of the regular répertoire, and the
"Walküre" draws large audiences. Amongst these exigencies must be
specially mentioned the introduction of a "ballet" towards the middle
of an opera, whatever its subject. Wagner's refusal to conform to this
practice had not a little to do with the failure of "Tannhäuser" at the
Paris Opera in 1861.
The French are ever priding themselves upon their superiority to the
rest of the world in all matters theatrical. They are nevertheless
prepared to accept the most glaring inconsistencies in the matter of
operatic "libretti." What, for instance, can be more incongruous than
the introduction of a set ballet in a tragedy like "Hamlet"? This can
almost be placed on a similar level of absurdity as the mazourka
introduced by Gounod in his "Polyeucte," the action of which takes place
during the time of the early Christian martyrs, or as the Scotch ballet
supposed to be performed at Richmond in Saint-Saëns' "Henry VIII."
Curiously enough, the most successful portion of Ambroise Thomas's
"Hamlet" turns out to be precisely this ballet act, during which all the
choregraphic resources of the Paris Opera House are called into play.
In order to render justice to this work it is necessary to try and
forget Shakespeare as much as possible and look upon it in a purely
operatic light, when much will be found that can be unreservedly
admired. The melodies are refined, and a certain poetical tinge,
peculiar to the composer, pervades its pages, whilst the instrumentation
is altogether of great excellence. In this last branch Ambroise Thomas
has ever shown himself highly proficient, and I do not think that the
following remarks of Mons. Lavoix are unmerited: "Mons. Ambroise
Thomas' orchestration is clear in its general design, spirituel and
ingenious in its details, always interesting and full of poetical
touches and of pleasant surprises."
The original interpretation of "Hamlet" had much to do with the success
that attended it, and the parts of Ophelia and Hamlet found unrivalled
exponents in Mme. Christine Nilsson and Mons. Faure. During the
rehearsals, in order to be free from interruption, Ambroise Thomas
transferred his abode to the Opera House itself, where he was allotted a
room and kept a strict prisoner by the manager, with his piano and a
goodly assortment of cigars to keep him company, for the composer of
"Hamlet" has always been an inveterate smoker. On the night following
the first representation he was re-accorded his liberty, and being asked
to make a few alterations in his score, plaintively remarked that he
thought "his two months were over."
At this period Ambroise Thomas was one of the lions of the day, and a
favourite at the Court of Napoleon III. His presence at the sumptuous
entertainments given by the Emperor at the palace of Compiègne will be
remembered by many who profited by the Imperial hospitality. Every
autumn the beautiful château was used to entertain series of visitors,
and all the notabilities of Paris were bidden thither as the Emperor's
guests. How some of these requited his hospitality later on, when
trouble had gathered about his head, is unhappily a matter of history.
Ambroise Thomas had now reached the apogee of his fame, and this was to
receive its final consecration when he was called upon to succeed the
veteran Auber, whose last days were embitterred, and possibly shortened,
by the misfortunes that had befallen his country and disturbed his
essentially pacific habits, as director of the Paris Conservatoire. This
office he has continued to hold until the present day.
Since then his dramatic compositions have been few and far between, and
if we except "Gille et Gillotin," a one-act trifle written many years
previously, and played at the Opéra Comique in 1874, have consisted of
"Françoise de Rimini," a grand opera in five acts produced at the Opéra
in 1882, and "La Tempête," a ballet given at the same theatre in 1889.
These works have maintained their composer's reputation, without,
however, in any material way adding to it.
In examining the compositions of Ambroise Thomas it is impossible to
avoid being struck by the eclecticism that pervades them all.
The composer of "Mignon" is not one of those great leaders of musical
thought whose individuality becomes stamped in an indelible fashion upon
the art products of their period. He has been content to follow at a
respectful distance the evolution that has gradually been effected in
the "lyrical drama," taking care to avoid compromising himself through a
too marked disregard of recognised traditions. Hence the presence of
much needless ornamentation and countless florid passages, introduced
obviously in order to show off the singer's voice, that cause many of
his works to appear old-fashioned.
Mons. Adolphe Jullien, the well-known critic, somewhat severely sums up
the measure of the composer's talent in the following words; "The
principal talent of Mons. Thomas consists in having been able to bend
himself to the taste of the public by serving up in turn the style of
music that suited it best. Very clever in his art, but without any
originality or conviction of any sort, he began by writing opéra
comiques imitated from Auber, and pasticcios of Italian opéra buffa
imitated from Rossini (such as "Carline" and "Le Caïd"); he then
attempted the dramatic opéra comique, after the manner of Halévy, in
the "Songe d'une Nuit d'Été," and "Raymond." Later on he did not disdain
to compete with Clapisson in writing "Le Carnaval de Venise" and
"Psyché"; then, after a long period of inaction provoked through several
repeated failures, during which the star of M. Gounod had risen on the
horizon, he has attempted a new style, imitated from that of his young
rival, with "Mignon" and "Hamlet." In one word, he is a musician of
science and worth absolutely devoid of artistic initiative, and who
turns to all the four quarters of the winds when these blow in the
direction of success."
These words contain undoubted elements of truth, inasmuch as they
accentuate the fact that Ambroise Thomas' talent partakes largely of an
assimilative nature. Notwithstanding this, there is a certain degree of
personality evident in much of his music, discernible through an
indefinable touch of melancholy that imparts a measure of distinction to
many of his works, which can be sought for in vain amongst the
compositions of his more immediate contemporaries.
Ambroise Thomas is one of the last offshoots of a brilliant period,
showing in his later works indications of a desire to follow the new
movement, without possessing sufficient strength to do more than make a
feeble attempt at breaking through the bonds of operatic "routine," and
ridding himself of the tyranny of the vocalist.
His work is unequal as a whole, but there is sufficient good in "Mignon"
and "Hamlet" to atone for many weaknesses, and it is through these
operas that his name will be handed down to posterity.
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