Chapter V: Part 5

To Félicien David must be accorded the credit of being perhaps the first to employ distinctively Eastern characteristics. It was doubtless this that helped to ensure the prodigious success that attended "Le Désert." Without in any way laying himself open to the charge of plagiarism, Reyer may be said to have followed in his footsteps with conspicuous success. Since then many composers have treated Oriental subjects, and have endeavoured to invest their music with the peculiar "cachet" associated with the East. Amongst these may be mentioned Bizet, in his "Pêcheurs de Perles" and "Djamileh," Rubinstein in "Feramors," Goldmark in "The Queen of Sheba," Saint-Saëns in "Samson et Dalila," Massenet in "Le Roi de Lahore," Bruneau in "Kérim," and Villiers Stanford in "The Veiled Prophet."

Bizet considered "La Statue" as the most remarkable opera that had been given in France for twenty years. It is sad that this, in company with many other works of value, should never have been offered to the judgment of the British public.

The composer's next operatic venture took place on German soil. It was at Baden-Baden, at that period in the prime of its glory and the chosen playground of Europe, that "Erostrate," a two act opera, was brought out in the summer of 1862.

Nothing at that moment seemed to presage any strained relations between France and Germany. French tourists came in crowds to the gay watering-place and deposited their offerings with a light heart in the temple of chance presided over by Mons. Bénazet; that very same year a cantata, the words of which were by Méry and the music by Reyer, given at Baden-Baden, celebrated the praises of "The Rhine, symbol of peace."

_Quantum mutatus ab illis._ The French element disappeared with the war of 1870, and the suppression of the tables has long since brought Baden-Baden down to the same level of respectability as many another "Kurort."

Musical amateurs sojourning in the picturesque valley of the Grand Duchy of Baden at this epoch seem to have had a good time of it.

Berlioz was in the habit of directing every year a grand festival at which were performed extracts from his orchestral works. Reyer states that each concert given by Berlioz used to cost a matter of 20,000 francs to Mons. Bénazet the energetic head of the "Kurhaus." Certain it is that this enterprising director must have had strong musical proclivities, for it is to his initiative that the production of Berlioz's "Béatrice et Benédict" is due. This work served to inaugurate the opening of the new theatre at Baden. Two days later witnessed the first performance of Reyer's "Erostrate," which was shortly afterwards followed by another new work, "Nahel," by Henry Litolff. "Erostrate" seems to have pleased the cosmopolitan public of Baden better than it did Parisian amateurs when it was transferred to the Grand Opéra ten years later, where it was only accorded two representations. The composer was reproached at this time for having dedicated his score to the Queen of Prussia. As if it were possible for any one, in 1862, to foresee the course of events that were destined to happen in 1870. Patriotism occasionally seems to have the effect of deadening the intelligence.

It certainly appears strange that after the favourable reception accorded to "La Statue" in 1861, Reyer should have been ostracised from the Paris theatres, if we except the two performances of "Erostrate" in 1872, and the revivals of "Maître Wolfram" in 1873, and of "La Statue" in 1878, for a period of twenty-four years, when he made a triumphal reappearance at the Opéra with "Sigurd." This last opera had been performed the year before at Brussels.

The Belgian capital seems to be a sort of refuge for those French composers who experience a difficulty in obtaining a hearing in their own country.

It was at the Théâtre de la Monnaie that the following operas were first produced: Reyer's "Sigurd" and "Salammbô," Massenet's "Hérodiade," the brothers Hillemacher's "St. Mégrin," Godard's "Jocelyn," and Chabrier's "Gwendoline." It was also there that some of Wagner's later music dramas were heard for the first time in French.

"Sigurd" had been composed many years previous to its production on the stage, and fragments had frequently been introduced into the concert-room. I recollect myself hearing an important extract performed at one of the far-famed Conservatoire concerts, and the overture at one of Pasdeloup's concerts, in 1876. The subject of this opera is taken from the same source as Wagner's "Ring des Nibelungen."

Sigurd and Siegfried are one and the same individual, and many of the incidents of the French composer's opera are identical with those that occur in the "Götterdammer[)u]ng." This is, of course, unfortunate, and although it has been pointed out that Reyer composed his work before the completion of the "Ring," yet he must have been aware that the German master was treating the same subject, considering that Wagner had published the poem of his four works as far back as 1853. Notwithstanding the reputation he had already achieved, endless difficulties had to be surmounted before Reyer was able to get his work performed. The nature of the subject frightened Mons. Halanzier, the then director of the Paris Opéra, who imagined that the barbarous sounding names of the leading characters might prove objectionable to the public. Who had ever heard of Sigurd, Hagen, Gunther, or Hilda? The last name seemed especially to act upon his nerves. "Why not call her Bilda?" he exclaimed. "Do I call you Balanzier?" answered Reyer. There was nothing for the luckless composer to do but wait for another opportunity, which happily occurred some years later.

It is immensely to the French composer's credit that, in spite of inevitable comparisons, he should have been able to succeed as well as he has.

"Sigurd" is full of dramatic power, and bears evidence of the constant endeavour of the composer to fit his music to the sense of the words, avoiding as much as possible any of those conventional effects so dear to the uneducated section of the public. His style has been described as proceeding from Gluck and Weber, whilst his admiration for Berlioz and Wagner reveals itself in the richness and variety of his instrumentation. This appreciation is perfectly correct, and although his operas may be criticised in some respects, they reveal a true artistic temperament both in their method and execution. It may be said with truth that Reyer's individuality is not of the most marked, that his melodies sometimes lack distinction, and that his inventive faculty is scarcely equal to his skill in making the most of his materials; but none will contest the true artistic feeling that presides over all his compositions, or deny him the possession of strongly pronounced convictions impelling him to do his utmost towards raising the standard of operatic art.

After having been the first town to offer hospitality to "Sigurd," Brussels was destined to have the _primeur_ of "Salammbô," the last opera that Reyer has composed, which was brought out in 1890 with great _éclat_, and produced later on in Paris, where it at once succeeded in establishing itself in the favour of the public. Perhaps of somewhat less sustained interest than "Sigurd," the music of "Salammbô" shows the same tendencies on the part of its composer to adhere to a strict interpretation of the drama, and contains many pages of great beauty. Those who have read Flaubert's powerful and imaginative work will probably consider it somewhat unsuited for the purposes of a "lyrical drama." It must be admitted, however, that the composer has found in it a subject well adapted to his artistic temperament, and that it has enabled him to produce a work which is an honour both to himself and to his country.

The production of "Salammbô" in London is an event much to be desired, and a revival of "Sigurd" would also be of the greatest interest. Now that the British public are more familiarised with Wagner's "Nibelungen Ring" they would be able to draw interesting comparisons between the treatment of the same legend by the German master and the French composer.

If Reyer has acquired a well deserved reputation in France as a composer, he is equally well known as a writer on music, and for many years has occupied the post of critic to the _Journal des Débats_, formerly held by Berlioz.

The opinions advanced by Reyer have always been remarkable for sound common sense. An intimate friend and ardent admirer of Berlioz, he enjoys the credit of having been one of the first in France to recognise the genius of Wagner.

The perfect honesty of his convictions is apparent to those who read his writings with care, and it may in passing be noted to his honour that when the course of time and increased acquaintance with his subject have caused him to modify any previously expressed opinions, he has never hesitated to say so. No one is infallible, but many pretend so to be.

When travelling in Germany in 1864 Reyer, who was already a strong admirer of Wagner's earlier works, had occasion to run through the score of "Tristan," then still unperformed. The first impressions produced upon him by this most complicated of scores was not a favourable one, and Reyer in stating this avowed that his admiration for the German master would stop at "Lohengrin," until the beauties of the "Nibelungen Ring" should have been revealed to him.

In 1884 when the first act of "Tristan" was given at one of Mons. Lamoureux's concerts, Reyer made amends for the appreciation somewhat hastily recorded by him twenty years previously by expressing his intense admiration for the wondrous beauties of this sublime work. "What a metamorphosis," he wrote, "had taken place in my musical faculties during twenty years! But also what a difference in the execution! It was the first time that I was hearing 'Tristan' with the orchestra."

Reyer in his criticisms has always held up the banner of high art, and his writings will doubtless not have been without influence in determining the nature of the musical movement in France during these last few years. His admiration for Berlioz has not diminished, whilst his admiration for Wagner has increased. Apropos of the "Proserpine" of Saint-Saëns, he wrote: "We are practically all affected with Wagnerism, perhaps at different degrees; but we have drunk and we will drink at the same source, and the sole precaution for us to take is not to drown our own personality."

This frank avowal may not be to the taste of all French composers, but it is none the less true.

Ernest Reyer has almost entirely confined himself to operatic compositions. He is not a quick worker, and his operas all bear evidence of thought and an avoidance of claptrap effects.

He is still a bachelor and has the appearance rather of a retired military officer than of the traditional musician. Reyer is _bibliothécaire_ of the Opéra, and inhabits a quiet little apartment on a fifth floor, where he is able to work undisturbed and meditate upon the trials and uncertainties of a composer's existence.

ALFRED BRUNEAU

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 coeur 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,"[27] 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.

_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'Hautecoeur, 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._"[28]

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'oeuvres_, 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.

SOME OTHER FRENCH COMPOSERS

It may with truth be averred that France has never been so well provided with composers of talent as she is at the present time. Every year the far-famed Conservatoire turns out a number of young men whose musical knowledge is undeniable, and who are all of them filled with buoyant hopes of achieving distinction in the arena of fame. The musical progress that has been effected in France during the last thirty years is immense. This may be largely attributed to the initiative of Pasdeloup[29] the organiser and conductor of the celebrated concerts which were started at the Cirque d'Hiver in 1861, and to the zeal and talent of his successors Messrs. Lamoureux and Colonne. It is through the efforts of the above indefatigable _chefs d'orchestre_ that instrumental music of a high class has come to be generally appreciated in Paris. The famous Conservatoire concerts, it must be remembered, were, and are, only accessible to a few privileged individuals.

Pasdeloup began his work by familiarising the Parisians with the symphonic works of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. Mendelssohn and Schumann followed, and the valiant _chef d'orchestre_ from time to time introduced the names of Berlioz and Wagner. The appearance of the latter on the programme generally foreshadowed a disturbance. Nowadays, when we witness the spectacle of large crowds listening in wrapt attention to some of the most complicated works of the great master at the concerts of Messrs. Lamoureux and Colonne, it seems difficult to realise the possibility of such turbulent scenes as I remember myself witnessing only a few years since at the Pasdeloup concerts. On one occasion a performance of the Prelude to "Lohengrin" produced a veritable disturbance, one section of the audience desiring to hear it over again in spite of the manifest opposition displayed by the major portion of the spectators. Pasdeloup adopted the sensible course of making an impromptu speech, in which he said that as many people wished to hear the Prelude once more he would repeat it at the end of the concert, when those who objected to it would be at liberty to retire. By thus severing the Gordian knot the clever _chef d'orchestre_ effectually disposed of the difficulty to the manifest disappointment of the anti-Wagnerites present.

The members of the younger generation of French composers have had no cause to complain of any want of hospitality at the hands of either Pasdeloup or Messrs. Lamoureux[30] and Colonne,[31] and many a now well-known musician has won his spurs through their help.

It would almost appear as if a veil which for a long period had obscured the vision of the musical section of the public had at length been removed. The genius of Berlioz and that of Wagner are now uncontested, unless it be by a few retrograde individuals whose opinions are not entitled to any weight, and the influence of these masters upon the modern French school has been both great and far-reaching. It is highly regrettable that the spirit of free trade is not acted upon to a greater extent in the matter of musical affairs. If this were the case we should be afforded more chances of becoming acquainted with the works of those members of the young, and if I may so term it, militant French school, which are not sufficiently known on this side of the channel.

In like manner, our native composers might be given the opportunity of proving to the Parisians the fallacy of the notion, seemingly entertained abroad, that England is destitute of creative musical talent. Art has not, or ought not to have, any boundaries. That which is good deserves to be known and to survive; as for the rest, it matters not.

In music, time seems to march with disconcerting rapidity. Composers who but a few years since were considered as hopelessly advanced in their ideas are now in danger of being left behind by their juniors.

One of the most ardent champions of the new school of thought some years ago was Victorin Joncières, who enjoys a well-established reputation in Paris as composer and critic.

Born in 1839, this artist is the author of several operas denoting aptitudes of no mean order, although devoid of any distinctive originality. Passing by such early works as "Sardanapale" (1867), and "Le dernier jour de Pompei" (1869), we come to "Dimitri," which contains several good numbers, "La Reine Berthe" (1878), and "Le Chevalier Jean" (1885). This last work has been played in Germany with success under the title of "Johann von Löthringen." "Dimitri" and "Le Chevalier Jean" may be looked upon as the composer's best operas.

The influence of Wagner's earlier style is very apparent in these works. Mons. Joncières is also the author of an interesting "Symphonie Romantique." As a critic he has done much to aid the cause of Wagner in France, although not going to the length of some of the master's thick and thin admirers.

A musician of a different type is Théodore Dubois, born in 1837. This composer, like his friend Camille Saint-Saëns, whom he succeeded as organist at the Madeleine, has written a great deal and attempted a variety of _genres_. Amongst his works it will be sufficient to mention the opera "Aben Hamet," the ballet "La Farandole," the concert overture "Frithjoff," "Paradise Lost," an oratorio which gained the prize offered by the city of Paris in 1878, and his setting of the "Seven Words of the Cross" (1867).

Besides these, Théodore Dubois, who won the "Prix de Rome" in 1861, is the author of a number of orchestral works, piano music, and religious compositions which denote talent of an uncommon order and exhibit qualities that entitle him to occupy an important place amongst contemporary musicians.

Another composer whose name is better known in England, and who has also achieved distinction as an organist, is Charles Marie Widor, born in 1845, several of whose compositions have been heard at the Philharmonic and Crystal Palace Concerts. This composer has given proof of a considerable amount of versatility in his different contributions to orchestral and chamber music, also in his charming ballet "La Korrigane." His opera "Maître Ambros" did not meet with success. He has also written a quantity of excellent piano music and many songs. There is imagination and skill displayed in Widor's compositions, and much may yet be expected from him.

If the name of Widor is known in England, the same may be said of Benjamin Godard, born in 1849, in whom we have one of the most prolific of the younger generation of French composers. Godard exhibits a decided individuality of his own. He is endowed with an extraordinary facility of production, and is, in fact, apt to err on the side of over-productivity, and to spread his talents over too large an area. His dramatic poem "Le Tasse," which won the prize offered by the city of Paris in 1879, is a work of considerable importance, revealing an undoubted personality.

With his operas "Pedro de Zalamea," "Jocelyn," "Dante," Godard has been less successful. It is in works such as the "Concerto Romantique" for violin, the "Symphonie Légendaire," the piano trio, amongst others, that his talent finds its true expression. The composer of these works is in the full force of his powers, and it is not too much to state the belief that he has yet much to say. Godard is perhaps greater in small things than he is in large. There is an exquisite charm in some of his songs such as "Ninon," and "Te souviens tu," whilst many of his piano pieces have a savour all their own.

Emile Paladhile, born in 1844, is the composer of the famous "Mandolinata," which has been warbled by every vocalist all the world over. This single melody has probably done more to render his name popular than all his other works put together. His opera "Patrie" has met with success in Paris. Amongst his other dramatic works may be mentioned "Le Passant," "L'Amour Africain," and "Suzanne."

Some composers are doomed to wait a long while before an opportunity is offered them of obtaining a hearing. Such has not been the case with Gervais Bernard Salvayre, born in 1847, who has had several operas performed, without, however, so far scoring any great success.

His first opera, "Le Bravo" played in 1877, was favourably received, but none of his later works, "Egmont," "Richard III.," or "La Dame de Monsoreaux," have succeeded in maintaining themselves in the _répertoire_. The second of these, unless I am mistaken, was first produced in St. Petersburg, and the last at the Paris Opéra, where it was a complete _fiasco_. This composer is also the author of a ballet entitled "La Fandango," a "Stabat Mater," and several other works, including a graceful "Air varié" for stringed instruments.

As the dimensions of this volume are restricted, I am unable to do more than draw attention to some composers whose works would merit more than a cursory mention. Amongst these I may name the erudite Bourgault-Ducoudray, Lenepveu, whose opera "Velléda" was brought out in London some years ago with Mme. Patti in the principal part, Henri Maréchal, the brothers Hillemacher, joint composers of a remarkable opera founded on Dumas' "Henri III.," Wormser, author of "L'Enfant Prodigue," Diaz, Pierné, Pessard, Pfeiffer, Mdlle. Chaminade, Lefebvre, Véronge de la Nux, Cahen, and Messager. This last composer's name is well known in London, where his delightful opera "La Basoche" was successfully performed at the English Opera House, now given up to that form of art, the variety entertainment, so dear to the British public.

The music he has lately composed to Loti's "Madame Chrysanthème" will surely add much to his reputation. It is full of refinement and charm.

We now come to an interesting group of composers who are understood to represent musical ideas of a more "advanced" kind. Some of these are pupils of the late César Franck, and have been humorously designated as forming part of "La République Franckaise."

It may here be said that the almost absolute ignorance existing in England as regards the compositions of so eminent a musician as César Franck does not redound to our credit. Surely it would be worth the while of our choral societies to produce a work so remarkable in every way as "Les Béatitudes," and a place might occasionally be found in our concert programmes for some example of his chamber music. His fine violin sonata was recently played at the St. James's Hall by Mme. Frickenhaus and Mons. Ortmans, and great credit is thereby due to both these artists, who have shown an example that might with advantage be followed.

There exists a certain "Prélude, Choral et Fugue," for the piano, published by Messrs. Enoch, that I can confidently recommend to the notice of musicians, who will find therein the expression of a strong, deep, and noble talent.

Vincent d'Indy, one of César Franck's best pupils, is equally little known in England, except by name. Born in 1852, this composer has produced a number of works, the value of which has caused him to be regarded as one of the most earnest and promising amongst the younger French musicians, as well as one of those who consider their art as sacred, and do not seek the suffrages of the masses, but are content with gaining the approval of a select few.

The entire modern French school is strongly tinged with Wagnerism, but the essentially Teutonic nature of Brahms would seem to render his style absolutely uncongenial to a French mind. According to Mons. Hugues Imbert, the impression caused upon Vincent d'Indy by the perusal of Brahms' "Requiem," in 1873, was such that he forthwith started for Germany in order to become acquainted with the master. He first sought him in Vienna, then at Munich, and finally came across him at the Starnberger See, in Bavaria. The result of the long-desired interview does not seem to have been so satisfactory as it might have been, the German composer receiving the young enthusiast with a certain amount of reserve.

The first work by Vincent d'Indy which was given in Paris was the overture to the "Piccolomini," which forms the second part of Schiller's trilogy of "Wallenstein." This took place in 1875. It was not until five years later that he terminated his symphony bearing the title of "Wallenstein," a composition conceived upon a large scale, displaying a marked capacity in the handling of the orchestra, and revealing symphonic aptitudes of a high order.