Chapter VIII: Part 8

Jean Philippe Rameau was born at Dijon on the 25th of September, 1683. His father and mother were amateur musicians, and they carefully taught their son the elements of the art of which he was destined to become such a celebrated master. The little Rameau made very rapid progress, and his numerous biographers are agreed that at the age of seven there was no musical score which he could not execute at sight on the harpsichord.

In spite of his extraordinary talent for music, Rameau’s parents did not wish him to become an artist. They desired that he should enter the magistracy, and placed him as a student in the care of the Jesuits. He did not make much progress, however, and did not get beyond the fourth class in Latin; for his head was full of music and he could not apply himself to study, insomuch that he became a deplorable example for his school-fellows. His copy-books were annotated with fragments of music which passed through his mind and which he took a great pleasure in putting upon paper. He was at last sent away from the Jesuit college as an intractable pupil; he had but a very slight knowledge of Latin, French, or history, and the same might be said of other subjects.

On returning to his family he gave himself up completely to the study of the harpsichord and the organ, and also learned to play upon the violin. As regards harmony, the youthful Rameau failed to get beyond the first principles of that art-science, as he could not find in Dijon any musician sufficiently well informed on the rules and practice of counterpoint to perfect his knowledge of harmony. Who knows whether it was not precisely this unfortunate blank in his studies which caused him later on to undertake the theoretical inquiries into the formation of chords that are the subject of his admirable treatises on harmony?

Before he had thoroughly learned the laws of harmony, Rameau, as yet a beardless youth, yielded to the law laid down by the little winged god whose name is Cupid. He fell madly in love with a widow who was his neighbor. Everybody knows that nothing exercises a more unfortunate or more beneficial influence over the mind of a young lover than the advice given him by the woman he loves. Happily the widow gave good advice to her adorer. She went so far one day as to reproach him with his ignorance of the French language. “You spell like a scullion!” she told him. Rameau did not die on the spot in consequence of this outrage, for he was a strong-minded youth; but his face became scarlet, and he promised to study—a promise he kept.

Rameau’s father, however, who desired to put an end to the intrigue carried on by his son—who was as precocious in passionate gallantry as he was talented on the harpsichord—broke off the liaison by sending him to travel in Italy. Rameau did not tear himself away from his fair neighbor without great emotion, his heart beating _prestissimo appassionato_; but he was bound to obey the paternal behest.

The future author of “Castor and Pollux” was not yet eighteen years of age when he arrived in Milan. The works of the Italian composers then in vogue did not at all modify his taste, which was entirely the outcome of his own peculiar character. He heard the music of Scarlatti, Lotti, Duni, Caldara, Leo, and it caused him surprise rather than satisfaction. He remained but a short time in the capital of Lombardy, and did not continue his Italian excursion further than that point. He had but one desire, and that was to return to France. Chance having brought him into contact with a theatrical manager, who had come to Milan to get together an orchestra and an operatic troupe for a tour in the south of France, Rameau accepted an engagement as violinist. It was several years later when he returned to Dijon. Whether or not he sought the widow for whom he had felt such an affection history does not say. We are rather inclined to think that he did not see her again, as he remained at Dijon but a very short time. Henceforth, he patiently awaited the moment when he should be able to go to Paris, to sit at the feet of eminent masters who would perfect him in the art of composition.

Finally he left for the French capital, and arrived there in the course of the year 1717, being then about thirty-four years of age. It was very late to commence the study of an art of which he as yet only imperfectly understood the technique. Especially was it late to dream of attaining celebrity in theatrical music, access to which was always very difficult for unknown composers.

Rameau at last believed that he had found a protector and a professor who would be disposed to complete his musical education, in the person of the organist Marchand, who was held in great esteem in Paris. But Marchand at once detected the superior genius—although it was then in a latent state—of the Dijon musician, and under the influence of fear and jealousy he sent him away. He acted indeed in a most culpable manner towards Rameau and showed unjust partiality to others, as we shall see.

The position of organist at the Church of St. Paul becoming vacant, it was submitted to public competition. Rameau, being obliged to work to keep the pot boiling, presented himself as a competitor against one Daquin, who was an indifferent organist, and still more indifferent composer. Marchand was appointed judge of the competition. According to the testimony of all who were present at this interesting trial, Rameau stood forth immensely superior to Daquin. Nevertheless Marchand decided in favor of the latter, and consequently the position was given to him. After this check, Rameau was obliged to accept a place as organist at Lille. He left Paris regretfully; but his departure was a source of great satisfaction to Marchand, who feared his presence there.

Rameau did not remain long at Lille. He had a brother at Clermont, in Auvergne, who was a musician of some talent, and organist of the cathedral of that city. Wishing to retire, he offered Jean Philippe the position which he was leaving, and the place being a remunerative one, Rameau accepted. He was, however, to his deep regret, obliged to enter into an engagement for a certain number of years, for towards Paris his eyes were ever turned.

Situated in the midst of the mountains, the town of Clermont was at that time very little visited by strangers, and Rameau concentrated himself in his own personality. He wrote motets and pieces for the harpsichord. There, too, he reflected upon the natural laws governing the formation of chords, the theory of which had not then been expounded. After deep and continuous study—like Newton when he discovered the law of gravitation—Rameau at last discovered the secret of harmony. To him belongs the glory of being the first to formulate these laws, in his first work, of which we shall speak presently.

Four years had passed away, yet Rameau was bound to remain at Clermont for several years more, in accordance with the terms of his agreement; but he still saw Paris in his dreams, Paris, the only city where he could produce his compositions and his book on theory. He was, however, held in great esteem at Clermont, and in spite of his repeated attempts to cancel the agreement he was unable to do so. He then devised a plan by which he should be sent away from his church for reasons contrary to those which were advanced by the friends and admirers who desired him to remain there. They thought that he was an inspired organist and that his harmonies were of an elevated and powerful character. Rameau suddenly began to play on his noble instrument like an ignorant musician, destitute of ideas, bringing forth such discordant and frightful sounds that the clergy were scandalized and the faithful stopped their ears. Remonstrances were made to him. He answered that he could do no better; that it was in this wise that the noble art of the organist had been suddenly revealed to him, and that he should always play in this manner. He was accordingly dismissed and received his discharge with infinite joy. At the last service which he attended, when his successor sat by his side, he ceased his practical joking and played upon the organ in such a manner as to compel the admiration of all who heard it. He was determined that they should regret his departure, and he succeeded marvellously.

Thus Rameau returned to Paris, where, in the course of a short time, he published his treatise on harmony. But the subject was so novel and the explanations given by the author so abstruse that musicians failed to understand it. This, however, did not prevent them from speaking of it malevolently, with the naive and base assurance born of ignorance and vanity. Profoundly saddened but not discouraged by this result, he turned to composition for the renown which was not accorded to him as a theorist.

Rameau wrote with rare facility cantatas with choruses, sonatas, and other pieces for the harpsichord, which caused him to be regarded with great interest by the public. Pupils came to him and he obtained the position of organist at the church of Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie. He would have been perfectly happy in this position, had he not yearned for a grander destiny, of which mention has already been made—success as a composer of grand opera.

To test his strength he made his debut in a small theatre, as the author of the scores for several pieces written by his fellow-Dijonais, the poet Piron, of happy memory, with songs and dance-tunes, which did not pass unnoticed. Then, resuming his labors on musical theory, he published his second book on the subject. This book, like the first, did not escape the malevolent criticism of ignorant persons; but this tended to spread abroad the name of the author, which came to be talked of in spite of the efforts made to keep it secret. Rameau’s instrumental music began to be sought after, and his pieces for the harpsichord were played everywhere. This result was not what he had hoped to attain: conscious of his superiority as a dramatic composer, his goal, as we know, was the Académie de Musique. He applied to the echoes of the neighborhood, that is to say, to all the lyric poets who had a reputation. These turned a deaf ear to his request, being fearful of collaborating at the debut (always an uncertain matter) of a composer in so difficult, so complex an art as lyric tragedy.

JEAN PHILIPPE RAMEAU.

From a lithograph at the Paris Opera Library, made after a drawing by
E. Nesle.
]

At last, however, Rameau found the golden key which, so the proverb says, opens every door, even the door of the Opera, in the person of the great financier, M. de la Popelinière, whose wife was one of his pupils and took lessons on the harpsichord. M. de la Popelinière arranged a meeting at his house between the most illustrious Voltaire and Rameau, the humble aspirant to musical glory. Voltaire promised to write an opera for the protégé of the great Farmer-General, and this piece appears in the complete works of Voltaire under the title of “Samson.” The literary masterpiece of the great writer pleased Rameau greatly, and he set to work upon the accompanying music with great enthusiasm. When the score was finished the musician rendered it at de la Popelinière’s house, in presence of Voltaire and a chosen few. Rameau emerged from the ordeal triumphant; but, alas! there’s many a slip ’twixt cup and lip. The director of the Académie de Musique would have nothing to do with the piece, which he considered unsuitable for the opera, because founded on a biblical subject. It is interesting to remember what Voltaire has written on this question.

“Rameau,” says he, in speaking of “Samson,” “Rameau, the greatest musician in France, set this opera to music about the year 1732. It was about to be produced, when the same cabal which at a later date succeeded in causing the representations of ‘Mahomet’ (one of Voltaire’s tragedies) to be suspended, prevented the production of ‘Samson’ at the Opéra.”

I do not know whether the cabal spoken of by the author of the “Dictionnaire Philosophique” was responsible in this matter. I should be inclined to think that the director of the Opéra simply took counsel with himself. Whatever the fact, Voltaire adds:

“And at the very time when permission was given for this piece (“Samson”) to be played at the Theatre of the Comédie Italienne, and when ‘Samson’ worked miracles conjointly with Arlequin, permission was not granted for the same subject to be represented in a noble and worthy manner at the Theatre of the Académie de Musique. Our musician has since made use of nearly all the airs in ‘Samson’ in other lyric compositions, which envy was unable to suppress.”

It is quite true that Rameau utilized, but long afterwards, a part of the music in “Samson” for his opera “Zoroastre.” This work was not his début at the opera. The composer appeared before the Académie de Musique with “Hippolyte et Aricie,” by the Abbé Pellegrin, a worldly abbé if there ever was one, and a great playwright, concerning whom these verses were written:

Le matin catholique et le soir idolâtre,
Il dîne de l’autel et soupe du théâtre.

M. de la Popelinière advanced 500 livres to the Abbé to secure him against the possible failure of the piece, and Rameau set to work again. This opera was given on the first of October, 1733. The composer attained renown in his fiftieth year: he was old in years but young in fame, as we have seen.

RAMEAU.

From a copperplate engraved by J. W. Bellinger, Berlin, 1802.
]

Before examining the dramatic works of Rameau and forming an opinion as to their influence upon French art, we will add a few words concerning the composer’s personal appearance. He was tall in stature and extraordinarily thin. His face was furrowed by deep wrinkles; he had an aquiline nose, a broad and open forehead and prominent cheek-bones. The mouth was large, the look frank and bold and indicative of energy, perseverance and will power. One might have supposed him a person of delicate health, although he was never seriously ill, owing to the very sober regime which he had adopted. Given much to reflection, he was not talkative and never spoke of himself. He married a young lady named Marie Louise Mangot, who was a good musician and had a very fine voice, and she made her illustrious husband very happy in his home circle by her amiable character and her kindness of heart. He had by her three children, one son and two daughters. Rameau died at the age of about eighty-one, in the same month as that which saw his birth—the 12th of September, 1764—leaving behind him a considerable quantity of dramatic music, although he had only begun to write for the theatre, as we know, at an age when many men have finished their career.

STATUE OF RAMEAU IN PARIS OPERA HOUSE

Reproduced from a photograph made for this work by special permission.
One of four life-size statues placed in the vestibule of the Opera
House, at the foot of the grand marble staircase.
]

“Hippolyte et Aricie” met with but doubtful success, about which there was difference of opinion. Accustomed as the public was to the flowing music of Lully, that of Rameau was considered brusque and his harmonies rough and dissonant. They were indeed very bold for the time. What astonished the amateurs and put to rout the imitators of Lully, such as Colasse, Desmarets, Blamont, was the novelty of the modulation, the suddenness of the changed chords, the character and style of the instrumentation. With Rameau, the flutes, hautbois, bassoons, manifested themselves at intervals, without any interruption of the general theme of the symphony. Rameau sought to give and gave to each instrument its own particular force and value, which enhanced the interest without detracting in any degree from the unity of style of the piece.

At a later date, when he had attained the full measure of his experience, Rameau certainly produced better work than “Hippolyte et Aricie.” At the same time this first opera of the great French master is full of dramatic beauty and attractive conceptions. We may cite, as an example, the charming chorus of nymphs in the prologue, the graceful gavotte which was sung: “A l’Amour rendons les armes.” And again, the fine air sung by Aricie in the first act, the chorus, “Dieux vengeurs, lancez le tonnerre”; with a purely instrumental page to imitate the thunder, which certainly does not equal the storm of the pastoral symphony, but which at the same time is not wanting in effect, particularly the violin arpeggios. The second act, the scene of which is laid in the infernal regions, is characterized by a boldness of harmony and a striking novelty for the period. The two first movements of the first scene are simply pure Weber. The rest is of the same fantastic character.

There is no musician, however humble his attainments, who does not know and admire the trio of the Fates, “Quelle soudaine horreur.” The succession of chords on the words, “Où cours-tu, malheureux?” are striking in their expression. This would appear even at the present day as a happy and wonderfully effective discovery.

“Les Indes Galantes,” an heroic ballet, was the second work that Rameau gave to the Opéra. He was then fifty years of age. The public, who had become more accustomed to the musician’s peculiarly characteristic style, received this work in the most favorable manner. From that time forth, the master who had experienced such difficulty in obtaining access to the Opéra, was rewarded with one long series of triumphs. He reigned in the opinion of the musicians and the habitués of the Académie de Musique as an omnipotent sovereign of the art. “Les Fêtes d’Hébé,” “Dardanus,” “Zoroastre,” “Anacréon,” “Platée,” “Les Fêtes de Polymnie,” “Les Fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour,” are works which bear the impress of Rameau’s genius. His talent appeared to the most advantage, however, in “Castor et Pollux,” his dramatic masterpiece, which indeed is a fine example of theatrical music.

We mentioned above the theoretical works of Rameau, and now propose to make further reference to them. Rameau’s theory, which threw a flood of light upon what before his time was darkness and empiricism, is entirely based upon the eternal law governing the creation of chords by the resonances of the monochord. Rameau found in these resonances the _fundamental bass_ of the different chords composed of a succession of thirds. This discovery of the fundamental bass showed the true nature of the inversions of chords which before the theoretical exposition of the great Dijon master had been considered as so many peculiar kinds of chords.

Rameau had discovered the natural formation of chords, a thing wonderful in itself and sufficient to make his name immortal; but in thus establishing the principles of harmony he had not established all its laws. He left to his didactic successors the work of laying down the important rules of the attraction of notes for the determination of chords, as also the rules governing their movement in modulation. It is thus that we find in Rameau’s work certain hazardous harmonies which are more due to the non-observance of these laws than offences against good taste or fancies of the composer’s imagination. We see, indeed, in the music of this artistic genius successions of fifths, faulty relation of notes, brusque modulations offensive to the ear, which are nothing more than faults in writing. Thus he who has been truly called the “Father of Harmony,” made mistakes in harmony which, even at the present day, in spite of the great liberty taken by composers of the advanced school with their successions of modified chords, still remain faults in musical grammar.

Rameau wrote his last opera, “Les Paladins,” at the age of seventy-seven. In reading this score we find nothing to indicate any failing of the vigorous mind of this extraordinary musician, who, following Lully, was the pioneer in the great field of dramatic music that Gluck was destined to cover with incomparable power and genius.

Fac-simile musical manuscript written by Rameau.

Reproduced from original in the Paris Opera Library.
]

This article would be very incomplete were we not to say a few words concerning the pieces for the harpsichord composed by Rameau, which form such an important item in the fine work by A. Mereaux, “Les Clavecinistes,” containing a selection of pieces by these musicians from 1637 to 1790, classed in their chronological order, and revised, annotated and accented with the variations and ornaments of the period and in full notation. What pianist of the present day has not delighted in playing, from amongst the numerous compositions by Rameau for the harpsichord, his “Musette,” “Tambourin,” “Poule,” “Rappel des Oiseaux,” “Fanfarinette,” “Egyptienne,” and “Entretiens des Muses,” etc. Few pianists, however, have succeeded in executing these delightful inspirations on the instrument for which they were written, and which gives them their full effect, with all the freshness of idea, color, and ingenious accompaniment. It is a feast for a musical epicure to hear music by Couperin, or Frescobaldi, or Scarlatti played by an educated musician and pianist of taste, in conjunction with music by Rameau executed upon a well-preserved or newly-manufactured harpsichord. For the celebrated piano manufactory of Pleyel, Wolff et Cie., of Paris, yielding to the desire expressed by a few artists and amateurs, has made for them a limited number of harpsichords which out-rival in a remarkable manner, both as to quality of sound and the number of pedals, the finest instrument of the celebrated Taskin.

In 1888, the Paris Society of Musical Composers gave an exclusively artistic soirée in the Salle Pleyel, the memory of which yet remains. By the side of magnificent grand pianos, the most noble instruments produced by this musical establishment, was a harpsichord, which gave promise of great things. It was not found wanting when put to the test; for, in the hands of M. Diémer and Mme. Roger-Miclos, two virtuosos whose reputation is well established, it rendered the music of the composers who wrote for the harpsichord in a wonderful manner, particularly the pieces by Rameau.

A statue has been erected to the memory of Rameau in his native town of Dijon, due to the initiative of a Dijon composer of considerable talent, M. Poisot, who opened a subscription in order to put on record the public admiration for this great and illustrious musician of Burgundy.

TRIUMPH OF RAMEAU.

From a rare engraving by Fessard.
]

ANDRÉ ERNEST MODESTE GRÉTRY

_Reproduction of a portrait by Quenedey painted in 1808._

_Grétry at the age of sixty-seven._
]

]

ANDRÉ ERNEST MODESTE GRÉTRY

André Ernest Modeste Grétry, the author of “Richard Cœur de Lion,” was born at Liège on the 11th of February, 1741. At the age of seven years he was placed by his father, a poor musician and one of the violinists of the Collegiate Church of St. Denis, as a chorister in that church.

The unfortunate little boy, who was of a delicate constitution and who suffered from hemorrhages throughout the whole of his laborious existence, was obliged to walk six times every day from his home to the church—a distance of about a mile—in order to take part in the services. Matins were sung, even in the most rigorous days of winter, between five and six o’clock in the morning. One day the child arrived somewhat late at this early service, and although he was not to blame, the choir-master obliged him to remain upon his knees for two hours in the midst of his fellow choristers. This punishment had such an effect upon little Grétry, who was naturally of a timid disposition, that he would awake several times during the night in a state of fear lest he should arrive too late. “Without considering the hour or the weather, I would often start off as early as three o’clock in the morning, through snow and ice, and would sit down at the door of the church, warming my hands at my little lantern, which I held on my knees. In this way I used to sleep more peacefully, because I was sure that they could not open the door without waking me.”

Grétry finally emancipated himself from this choir, which was a veritable scholastic place of torment, having learned scarcely anything of music. His first professor of any importance was the organist of the Church of St. Pierre at Liège, M. Renekin, who gave him lessons in counterpoint for two years, and kindly encouraged him in his early essays in instrumental music. The young musician also studied under Moreau, a talented musician and a methodical and conscientious professor.

In order to finish his musical studies and because of an ardent desire to visit other countries, Grétry conceived the idea of going to Rome to establish himself there. The idea of separation was not a pleasant one for his father. He opposed it for two reasons: his son’s delicate health, and the expense which would necessarily be incurred. However, there was no choice but to yield before the determination expressed by this young aspirant to musical glory; and Grétry, who was then eighteen years of age, started from Liège for Rome. He set forth on foot—being destitute of the means which would enable him to make this long journey by coach or on horseback—after having seen performed a mass of his own composition, in recognition of which a present was made him by the canons of St. Denis.

With a small stock of money and a pair of pistols given him by his grandfather to defend himself against the highwaymen—there were highwaymen then, and many of them on the roads of beautiful Italy—Grétry set out with a guide named Remacle, who, in spite of his sixty years, was accustomed to travel on foot from Liège to Rome, and from Rome to Liège, regularly twice a year. His ostensible profession was that of a guide, but he also followed the less respectable and more remunerative calling of smuggler. Remacle fraudulently carried into Rome quantities of fine Flanders lace, while from Rome he brought back relics and Popes’ slippers which he supplied to the convents in the Netherlands. Whether these slippers had really been worn by his Holiness and whether the relics had the origin ascribed to them by the honest Remacle, it is not necessary to inquire here: rumor said so, and by faith we attain salvation.

When the day fixed for the departure of the young musician arrived, the guide went to the house of Grétry’s parents. His coming might be likened to the appearance of a spectre to this poor couple, so deeply affected were they by the departure of their child. Without a word the little fellow laid hold of his valise and strapped it on his back; then knelt down with his hands clasped before his father and mother and asked their blessing. “God bless thee, dear child!” were the simple words pronounced by the broken-hearted parents, and then the traveller disappeared with his guide.

The son was not less moved than his father and mother, whose kindly faces were bathed in tears and wore the ashy hue of death. “As soon as I was able to think calmly,” writes the musician, “I felt tears trickling down my cheeks, and I said: ‘O God, grant that thy poor creature may one day become the support and consolation of his unfortunate parents!’” How touching is this simple scene, how eloquently does it speak in favor of this patriarchal household which Grétry, by his genius, has made illustrious; and how strongly are our sympathies moved by the immortality earned for it by this most sensible of sons!

The brave youth, who was accompanied by a young surgeon, walked regularly ten leagues a day with his knapsack upon his back. Those were hard day’s marches. At Trèves the two young men began to fear that they would not be able to go any farther, but their energetic determination gave them strength, and they continued their journey, still at the rate of ten leagues a day. They passed through the Tyrol, singing the while, and braved the dangers of the avalanches, and a few days later stood in rapt admiration of the beautiful land of the Milanese. They afterward visited the artistic curiosities of Florence. Every part of Italy was in their eyes an enchanted region. At last Grétry saluted the Eternal City, which he entered by the Porta del Popolo. He had ample time to make himself thoroughly familiar with Rome and to carefully study the works of the Italian masters, then so greatly renowned; for he remained at least nine years in Italy. Here he made his early efforts in sacred and in theatrical music, but without achieving any brilliant success. He was then feeling his way, and did not as yet know for what particular style of music he was best fitted. Chance, however, brought to his notice a comic opera by Monsigny, and he at once felt that his true vocation was the music best suited to comedy. But as Paris was the only field which offered him the means of making himself known to advantage in this branch of musical art, he resolved to settle in the French capital.

In this biography of Grétry it would be unjust to omit the name of the Swedish Envoy, the Comte de Creutz, who raised the musician’s hopes and helped him to continue his struggle at times when he felt greatly depressed. M. de Creutz had divined the degree of genius exhibited in the early attempts of our musician, although they had not been publicly successful, and it is fitting that his name should be mentioned in connection with the successes of his illustrious protégé. Grétry never lost an opportunity of testifying his deep gratitude to M. de Creutz.

When, after his long sojourn in Italy, the composer was guided by his lucky star to settle in Paris, he had neither harpsichord nor pianoforte, and it appears that for some time he pursued his studies without having one of these instruments which are of the first necessity for a composer. It was upon a clavichord lent him by M. Louet that the composer wrote: “Les Mariages Samnites,” “Lucile,” “Le Huron,” “Le Tableau Parlant,” “Le Sphinx,” “Les Deux Avares,” “L’Amitié à l’Epreuve,” and “Zemire et Azor.”

In the clavichord, which was the predecessor of the spinet, brass rods are used instead of pen nibs to make the chords vibrate. Grétry’s clavichord, which may be found in the interesting collection of the Instrumental Museum at the Paris Conservatoire, possesses only four octaves and two notes, as was usually the case with the clavichords of the seventeenth century. We asked permission of M. Pillaut, the learned conservator of the Instrumental Museum, to take a photograph of this clavichord, which is not only highly interesting in itself, but because it was the faithful confidant of the master’s inspiration. M. Pillaut gave the permission asked, and we think it right to tender him our thanks.

GRETRY’S CLAVICHORD AT THE INSTRUMENTAL MUSEUM AT THE PARIS
CONSERVATOIRE.

From a photograph made by special permission.
]

Grétry passed the last years of his life at Montmorency, near Paris, in a house called the _Hermitage_, where the celebrated writer Jean Jacques Rousseau lived for some time and died. Here, retired from the world, Grétry received his faithful friends of the last days, notably D’Alayrac and Boieldieu, who lived in a cottage near the _Hermitage_. The old master loved to talk about his art to those who succeeded him in the career, and he lavished upon them the precious counsels of his experience. It was in acknowledgment of this great service that Boieldieu dedicated to Grétry his charming _Opera-Comique, “Jean de Paris.”_ During the latter part of his life Grétry composed nothing, and after the death of his wife, which occurred March 17, 1807, he very rarely visited the theatre. In 1812 Grétry partially rewrote his score of _Elisa_, which was his last bit of composition. On Sept. 12, 1813, feeling very ill, he wrote the following letter to M. Le Breton, life secretary of the department of Fine Arts at the Institute:—

“My dear colleague: It is impossible for me to be present at the Institute for the judgment of the musical prize. On arriving at the Hermitage, still convalescent, I was attacked with a hemorrhage which lasted three days, and from which I lost a pint and a half of blood, leaving me extremely weak. I now await the end of my long sufferings. I am resigned, but in leaving this life, I feel that one of my keenest regrets will be never again to meet my dear colleagues whom I love no less than I honor them. I pray you to let them see this letter. Adieu, my dear colleague; I embrace you with all my heart.

GRÉTRY.”

GRÉTRY’S TOMB AT THE HERMITAGE.
]

A few days later, Sept. 26, 1813, the author of _Richard Cœur de Lion_ passed away. The funeral ceremony took place in Paris, with great solemnity. The pall-bearers were Méhul, Berton, Marsallier and Bouilly.

Grétry’s heart has been the object of much discussion, and even a tedious law suit. The composer had often expressed in his lifetime the desire that his heart should be offered to his native city, Liège. M. Flamand, one of Grétry’s nephews, having obtained from the prefect of police at Paris the authorization to have the body exhumed in order to send the heart to Liège, wrote to the mayor of that city and offered him this precious token of the illustrious composer’s ardent love for his native country. The mayor responded in such terms as to cause M. Flamand to reconsider his proposition, and the heart was kept at the Hermitage.

In 1821 the city of Liège reclaimed the bequest which had been made it, but this time M. Flamand absolutely refused to deliver it up. A lawsuit followed which was decided by the court substantially as follows: that since the extraction of Grétry’s heart had been demanded by the family and granted by public authority solely for the purpose of paying homage to the city of Liege, which had prepared a monument to receive it, therefore it should be withdrawn from the garden of the Hermitage, and sent to the commissioners of the city of Liège. This decree was not carried out. The prefect of the Seine and the minister of the interior objected. The question was then carried before the council of state, and in 1828, fifteen years after Grétry’s death, the precious leaden box containing the heart of the illustrious composer was carried to Liège.

GRÉTRY’S HERMITAGE.

Formerly inhabited by Jean Jacques Rousseau.
]

GRÉTRY’S HERMITAGE.

View from the garden behind house.
]

MEMORIAL CHAPEL.

Erected by M. and Mme. Flamand Grétry in Enghien, Montmorency, to
receive the heart of the illustrious Grétry.
]

INTERIOR OF CHAPEL.
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We cannot close this biography of the most celebrated musician of Liège—one of the most musical cities in Europe—without mentioning the Musée Grétry at the conservatory in the capital of the Walloon country. This most interesting museum, where may be seen the objects which either formerly belonged to the celebrated composer or serve to remind us of him, is the personal work of the present director of the Liège Conservatoire, the learned and distinguished composer, Theodore Radoux. We have had the pleasure of visiting this museum—a veritable shrine—accompanied by M. Radoux, who described the various objects exhibited, in a most lucid and instructive manner.

Grétry left Rome for Geneva in the month of January, 1767. A short time before, Favart’s “Isabelle et Gertrude” had been represented at the Comédie Italienne in Paris. It was a success, but the music seemed to be weak. Grétry seized upon this comedy and wrote new airs for it. “Isabelle et Gertrude” was represented at Geneva, and was very well received.

In Paris Grétry was present at a representation of “Dardanus,” by Rameau, which he did not altogether understand, and which, as he admitted later, he found to be almost wearisome. He was still too full of the memories of Italian music—although it had exercised very little real influence on his genius—to be able to thoroughly appreciate at its proper value this essentially dramatic French music, which was at times somewhat crude as to harmony and melodious expression, but always suited to the action. Nevertheless, although this work of the immediate predecessor of Gluck did not appeal to him strongly, Grétry was not long in recognizing its true merit. He told himself that Music, although not merely the humble handmaid of Poesy, with which she is allied, ought to aid her to express her feelings with due effect, and that consequently theatrical music should, as far as possible, be subject to the rules of pure elocution. Following the example of Lully—for whom Grétry always expressed great admiration—he was wont to attend the Théâtre-Français to find the notes, so to speak, of spoken declamation, and unite it intimately with song and melody. Moreover, the difficulty he experienced in finding a piece to set to music gave him a good deal of leisure; indeed the first two years of Grétry’s stay in Paris were devoted to a search for a poem. At last he obtained from an unknown poet named du Rozoy, “Les Mariages Samnites,” a piece in three acts which was destined for the Comédie Italienne but was not accepted at that theatre and was afterwards rewritten for the Opera. The work was represented there, but with great difficulty and bitter mortification for the composer.

This essay, which failed to impress the public of the Académie de Musique, was followed by “Le Huron,” a comedy in two acts by Marmontel, which was represented for the first time at the Italiens on the 20th of August, 1769. The piece was unanimously and we might say even enthusiastically applauded, both by the audience and by the critics. Above all, the care taken by the composer as to good prosody and the proper feeling peculiar to the _dramatis personæ_, was greatly applauded. The songs were considered very happy, although they did not exhibit that graceful variety of form and contour then characteristic of the music which the public were accustomed to hear at the Italiens by masters like Piccinni, Pergolèse, Jomelli, Galuppi, etc.

After “Le Huron” was given “Lucile,” also a poem by Marmontel, in which a quartet on the words: “Où peut-on être mieux qu’au sein de sa famille?” was long celebrated. But in reality “Le Tableau Parlant,” the comic opera which followed “Lucile,” consisting of one act in verse by Ansaume, produced at the Italiens, was the starting point of Grétry’s fortune. While fully preserving the good humor of the subject of the piece and the words which are sung during its progress, the composer succeeded in clothing the work of the author of the words with impressive sonorousness, the telling and well-chosen passages being at the same time instinct with frank gaiety.

From that day forth, it may be said that the celebrated composer thoroughly realized his capacity, and it was easy to see that he would take his place in the first rank of comedy in music.

Fac-simile musical manuscript written by Grétry; from Cherubini’s
collection.

The name in upper left-hand corner was written by Cherubini.
]

Grétry did not and could not succeed in grand opera music. Nature had not endowed him with the lofty sentiment of lyric tragedy; he would have needed a courage bordering upon temerity or a high-strung imagination to dare to measure himself with the formidable Gluck, surnamed the Æschylus of music. But if lyric tragedy was a closed book to him, he nevertheless succeeded at the theatre of the Grand Opera in lyric comedy, which he was the first to bring to the notice of the Academy. Grétry himself takes care to tell us this fact in the following passage of his book: “When I introduced lyric comedy on the stage of the opera, I was looked upon as a culpable innovator, and yet I saw that the public was weary of tragedy, which was always on the boards. I heard many lovers of dancing murmur because their favorite art was only allowed to play a subsidiary and frequently a useless rôle in tragedy. I saw the managers who were desirous of adopting the best possible productions, and were feeling their way, unsuccessfully revive fragments or pastorals of former times, and I said as often as I had the opportunity that two styles of music placed in opposition lent each other mutual charms; that the French comedians alternately produced tragedy and comedy, and that if they were obliged to give up these two styles they would not know what to do.” It would appear that the public of the Grand Opera shared Grétry’s opinion, as the composer gave several comedies to that theatre which were brilliantly successful, in particular “La Caravane du Caire,” which had a long and fashionable run. This piece was represented for the first time before the Court at Fontainebleau in October, 1783, and a little later at the Opera. At court, as before the general public, the piece and its music gave the greatest delight to the spectators. The short but brilliant and extremely graceful overture of this work speedily became popular, not only in France but all over Europe. The morceaux of song are gay but elevated and are all agreeable, although the public would have liked them better had they been more strongly tinged with oriental color than they are. If Grétry did not possess the dramatic afflatus in lyric tragedy, he exhibited in all his operas of a semi-character an elevated style which, combined with his exceptional wealth of melody, places him in the first rank of the French masters of the last century. He gave to pathetic scenes a wonderful sublimity, an admirable instance of which may be found in the beautiful prison scene in “Richard Cœur de Lion.” In this work, the fruit of such a rich imagination, Grétry has exhibited the full measure of his genius and all the talent of which he was possessed as a harmonist. It is interesting to remark in regard to this opera that Grétry made of certain portions of the celebrated ballad, “Une Fievre brûlante,” a sort of _leit motiv_ after the manner of Wagner. Indeed, this fragmentary theme returns again and again under different aspects at least nine times in the course of the score. But we shall see later that Grétry was Wagner’s predecessor not only for the _leit motiv_, but that he was also the first to suggest an invisible orchestra such as that of the theatre of Bayreuth. As to the characteristic theme of “Richard Cœur de Lion” (the fragmentary ballad considered in its transformations as playing the part of the modern _leit motiv_), it is curious to notice that Grétry used it in this comic opera with exactly the same idea as Wagner in his lyric dramas. Whenever allusion is made to the royal prisoner, described in the ballad sung by Blondel, a fragment of this air appears. And when Blondel sings to this same air, but in common measure, the following words:

Sa voix a pénétré mon âme,
Je la connais, Madame,

“is it not,” writes Grétry, “as though he said: ‘His voice has gone to my heart while he sang the air which he made for you.’”

GRÉTRY

From an engraving after a painting by Mme. Vigée-Lebrun, in 1785, the
year of the first representation of “Richard Cœur de Lion.”
]

“Richard Cœur de Lion”—the denouement of which was changed by the author of the piece, Sedaine, at least three times—marks the culminating point of the master’s career. The piece had a great and lasting success, and it remains still in the répertoire of the Opéra Comique. The instrumentation has been reconstructed in a very careful and happy manner by Adolphe Adam.

After this work Grétry produced several others, which did not, however, meet with the same good fortune. Nevertheless, Grétry occupies a place of honor in the history of theatrical music, and his style is remembered as original. If he never acquired the dexterity of the adepts at counterpoint then in renown, and if his harmonies are at times awkward and even faulty, they still have a peculiar attraction which makes them not only acceptable but original and charming.

One day when I went to see Auber in his little house in the Rue St. Georges I found the author of “La Muette de Portici” and the “Domino Noir” at the piano with one of Grétry’s scores in front of him. “Just look at this passage,” said Auber, “it is very curious, considered as to the succession of chords. This harmony is certainly not correct, and would never have entered the mind of what is called a musical savant. And yet if you try to change it you may make it more accurate, but it will be wanting in relief and expression.” That is because the awkwardness of Grétry is the awkwardness of an artistic genius, and awkwardness of that kind is a thousand times better than the accuracy of the cold and unimaginative musician.

I said above that Grétry had the first intuition of the _leit motiv_ in “Richard Cœur de Lion,” as a device for recalling to the spectator either an event, a scene, an essential object or a personage, with their distinctive peculiarities, at the same time preserving unity of style in the general construction of his work;—I said that he also imagined an invisible orchestra such as that which exists in the Wagner Theatre at Bayreuth. Grétry speaks as follows in his work, “Mémoires et Essais sur la Musique,” in the chapter entitled: “Plan for a new Theatre”:

“I should like the auditorium of my theatre to be small, holding at the most a thousand persons, and consisting of a sort of open space without boxes, small or great, because these nooks only encourage scandal or worse. I should like the orchestra to be concealed so that neither the musicians nor the lights on their music-stands would be visible to the spectators. The effect would be magical, the more so as it is always understood that the orchestra is not supposed to be there. A solid stone wall ought, in my opinion, to separate the orchestra from the theatre, so that the sound may reverberate in the auditorium.”

GRÉTRY CROSSING THE STYX.

“Grétry in crossing the Styx plays upon his lyre to beguile the time.
‘Why do you not row?’ he asks Charon.... ‘Because I am listening!’”

Drawn by Joly and engraved by Duplessi-Berlaus.
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FRANÇOIS ADRIEN BOIELDIEU

_Reproduction of a lithograph portrait by Grevedon, 1826, after a
painting by Riesener._
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FRANÇOIS ADRIEN BOIELDIEU

On December 15, 1775, there was born in Rouen a composer who was to leave an indelible imprint of his abilities upon the operatic music of France. At the beginning of his career there was nothing in his circumstances that could have presaged his future greatness. He was the son of the secretary of Archbishop Larochefoucauld, and his mother kept a small millinery store in the old-fashioned city. His parents did not enjoy perfect conjugal felicity, and finally their quarrels led to a divorce, soon after which the father married again. The young Boieldieu was designed for a musical career, and his father soon sent him to the cathedral as a choir-boy. In those days music was frequently made a matter of apprenticeship, and was studied almost as if it had been a handicraft; it is therefore not surprising to find the lad indentured to the cathedral organist Broche, who led him a sorry life. Those who are familiar with the early life of Haydn will recall how that composer was forced for a time to be merely the lackey of Porpora; Boieldieu was in still worse case, for his master was both a drunkard and a martinet, and many a corporal punishment was inflicted on the apprentice merely because of errors in musical exercises. It seems strange that the rough induction into the art did not cause the lad to hate music and finally desert it, but, as was the case with Beethoven, the tears of childhood only seem to have cemented the foundation of his education. Broche made the curriculum hard and dry enough, and the companions of the lad (“le petit Boiel” they called him then) added to his discomforts by laughing at his shyness and awkward ways.

Naturally enough Boieldieu stood in mortal terror of his brutal taskmaster, and the culmination of his fright came one day when he accidentally upset an ink bottle on one of Broche’s books; expecting nothing less than capital punishment for such a heinous crime, the boy took to his heels, and, at the age of twelve, ran away to Paris. How he managed to get there without money or assistance is not clearly known, but he eventually arrived and sought out some relatives who dwelt in the French metropolis. These gave him shelter, but at the same time notified his parents, who soon took him back to his musical and menial drudgery. Nevertheless his condition seems to have been bettered by his escapade, for Broche was warned to use milder measures with him, and he remained at his studies with the organist until he was sixteen. During these four years his taste for operatic music began to awaken, and he was a constant attendant at the performances in the provincial theatre. As he had no money he was obliged to resort to all kinds of expedients to obtain admission, and there are many anecdotes extant of his ingenious efforts to hear this or that opera without going through the slight preliminary of paying for his admission. At times he would slip into the theatre early in the morning, carrying a bundle of music, as if he had been sent as messenger to some of the orchestra, and then, by hiding through the day, often without food, he managed to stand through the performance in the evening, after which he would hurry home well contented with his good fortune. The operas which he heard at this period of his career were chiefly those of Grétry or of Mehul, as both composers were much in vogue at that time, and he was much influenced by their light and melodious style. It was not long before his ambition was awakened to an attempt to imitate them and to compose an opera himself. He was eighteen years old when he accomplished this task. He had sought in vain for a libretto, and finally had recourse to his father, who gave him the text for an opera which enjoyed an evanescent success. “La Fille Coupable” was the name of this Opus 1, which was completed in 1793 and has now disappeared. One can imagine that the audiences were neither over-refined or hypercritical in those days of the Reign of Terror, but a more cultivated era soon followed, and the second opera, which came two years later, and was entitled “Rosalie et Myrza,” was less favorably received. Boieldieu was not yet ripe for operatic composition, but at least these works furthered his career in that they obtained him the privilege of free entrance to other operatic performances, and thus his experience and taste were gradually expanded.

BUST OF BOIELDIEU BY DANTAN.

From the Carnavalet Museum, Paris.
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The partial success fired his heart sufficiently for him to leave Rouen and seek Paris for the second time. This time he carried with him thirty francs, an operatic score, and an abundance of self-confidence. He was now nineteen years old. His reception was the chilling one usually accorded to young composers in Paris, and very soon he began to feel the nippings of hunger, which put the thoughts of public success out of his head for the nonce, and drove him to teaching piano. He however had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of the celebrated tenor Garat, and this gentleman became interested in him, and finally sang some of his _chansons_ in public and in fashionable drawing-rooms. These little songs soon found favor, and Boieldieu became gradually known through them. M. Cochet, the publisher, paid him twelve francs each for these productions, a figure which seems ridiculous until one remembers that Schubert sometimes accepted a franc or two for some of his immortal _lieder_. Some of these early works of Boieldieu are still in the musical repertoire, and are occasionally heard in concerts, as for example, “O toi que j’aime,” and “Menestrel,” and they served at the time to spread the social success of the composer. Finally Boieldieu made the acquaintance of Fiévée, the novelist, who wrote for him a short libretto in one act, “La Dot de Suzette,” and this opera, after many intrigues and jealousies, achieved performance and success, thanks to a bright libretto, sparkling melodies, and the excellent performance of Madame St. Aubin.