But this pa.s.sionate lover of song was an all-round musician. She played the piano admirably, and when she was among friends she overcame the greatest difficulties. Before her Thursday audiences, however, she limited herself to chamber music, with a special preference for Henri Reber's duets for the piano and the violin. These delicate, artistic works are unknown to the amateurs of to-day. They seem to prefer to the pure juice of the grape in crystal gla.s.ses poisonous potions in cups of gold. They must have orgies, sumptuous ceilings, a deadly luxury. They do not understand the poet who sings, _"O rus, quando te aspiciam!"_ They do not appreciate the great distinction of simplicity. Reber's muse is not for them.

Madame Viardot was as learned a musician as any one could be and she was among the first subscribers to the complete edition of Sebastian Bach's works. We know what an astounding revelation that work was. Each year brought ten religious cantatas, and each year brought us new surprises in the unexpected variety and impressiveness of the work. We thought we had known Sebastian Bach, but now we learned how really to know him. We found him a writer of unusual versatility and a great poet. His _Wohltemperirte Klavier_ had given us only a hint of all this. The beauties of this famous work needed exposition for, in the absence of definite instructions, opinions differed. In the cantatas the meaning of the words serves as an indication and through the a.n.a.logy between the forms of expression, it is easy to see pretty clearly what the author intended in his _Klavier_ pieces.

One fine day the annual volume was found to contain a cantata in several parts written for a contralto solo accompanied by stringed instruments, oboes and an organ obligato. The organ was there and the organist as well. So we a.s.sembled the instruments, Stockhausen, the baritone, was made the leader of the little orchestra, and Madame Viardot sang the cantata. I suspect that the author had never heard his work sung in any such manner. I cherish the memory of that day as one of the most precious in my musical career. My mother and M. Viardot were the only listeners to this exceptional exhibition. We did not dare to repeat it before hearers who were not ready for it. What would now be a great success would have fallen flat at that time. And nothing is more irritating than to see an audience cold before a beautiful work. It is far better to keep to one's self treasures which will be unappreciated.

One thing will always stand in the way of the vogue of Sebastian Bach's vocal works--the difficulty of translation. When they are rendered into French, they lose all their charm and oftentimes become ridiculous.

One of the most amazing characteristics of Madame Viardot's talent was her astonishing facility in a.s.similating all styles of music. She was trained in the old Italian music and she revealed its beauties as no one else has ever done. As for myself, I saw only its faults. Then she sang Schumann and Gluck and even Glinka whom she sang in Russian. Nothing was foreign to her; she was at home everywhere.

She was a great friend of Chopin and she remembered his playing almost exactly and could give the most valuable directions about the way he interpreted his works. I learned from her that the great pianist's (great musician's, rather) execution was much simpler than has been generally supposed. It was as far removed from any manifestation of bad taste as it was from cold correctness. She told me the secret of the true _tempo rubato_ without which Chopin's music is disfigured. It in no way resembles the dislocations by which it is so often caricatured.

I have spoken of her great talent as a pianist. We saw this one evening at a concert given by Madame Schumann. After Madame Viardot had sung some of Schumann's _lieder_ with the great pianist playing the accompaniments, the two great artists played the ill.u.s.trious author's duet for two pianos, which fairly bristles with difficulties, _with equal virtuosity_.

When Madame Viardot's voice began to break, she was advised to devote herself to the piano. If she had, she would have found a new career and a second reputation. But she did not want to make the change, and for several years she presented the sorry spectacle of genius contending with adversity. Her voice was broken, stubborn, uneven, and intermittent. An entire generation knew her only in a guise unworthy of her.

Her immoderate love of music was the cause of the early modification of her voice. She wanted to sing everything she liked and she sang Valentine in _Les Huguenots_, Donna Anna in _Don Juan_, besides other roles she should never have undertaken if she wanted to preserve her voice. She came to realize this at the end of her life. "Don't do as I did," she once told a pupil. "I wanted to sing everything, and I ruined my voice."

Happy are the fiery natures which burn themselves out and glory in the sword that wears away the scabbard.

CHAPTER XV

ORPHeE

We know, or, rather we used to know--for we are beginning to forget that there is an admirable edition of Gluck's princ.i.p.al works. This edition was due to the interest of an unusual woman, Mlle. f.a.n.n.y Pelletan, who devoted a part of her fortune to this real monument and to fulfill a wish Berlioz expressed in one of his works. Mlle. Pelletan was an unusually intelligent woman and an accomplished musician, but she needed some one to help her in this large and formidable task. She was una.s.suming and distrusted her own powers, so that she secured as a collaborator a German musician, named Damcke, who had lived in Paris a long time and who was highly esteemed. He gave her the moral support she needed and some bad advice as well, which she felt obliged to follow.

This collaboration accounts for the change of the contralto parts to counter-tenors. It also accounts for the fact that in every instance the parts for the clarinets are indicated in C, in this way attributing to the author a formal intention he never had. Gluck wrote the parts for the clarinets without bothering whether the player--to whom he left a freedom of choice and the work of transposition--would use his instrument in C, B, or A. This method was not peculiar to Gluck. Other composers used it as well, and traces of it are found even in Auber's works.

After Damcke's death Mlle. Pelletan got me to help her in this work. I wanted to change the method, but the edition would have lost its unity and she would not consent. It was time that Damcke's collaboration ended. He belonged to the tribe of German professors who have since become legion. Due to their baneful influence, in a short time, when the old editions have disappeared, the works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, even of Chopin, will be all but unrecognizable. The works of Sebastian Bach and Handel will be the only ones in existence in their pristine purity of form, thanks to the admirable editions of the _Bach und Handel Gesselschaft_. When Mlle. Pelletan brought me into the work, the two _Iphigenie_ had been published; _Alceste_ was about to be, and _Armide_ was ready. In _Armide_ Damcke had been entirely carried away by his zeal for "improvements"--a zeal that can do so much harm. It was time this was stopped. Not only had he corrected imaginary faults here and there, but he had also inserted things of his own invention. He had even gone so far as to re-orchestrate the ballet music, in the nave belief that he was bringing out the author's real meaning better than he had done himself. It took an enormous amount of time to undo this mischief, for I distrusted somewhat my own lights and Mlle. Pelletan had too high an opinion of Damcke's work and did not dare to override his judgment.

That excellent woman did not live to see the end of her work. She began the preparation of Orphee, but she died almost at once. So I was left to finish the score alone without that valuable experience and masterly insight by which she solved the most difficult problems. And there were real enigmas to be solved at every step. The old engraved scores of Gluck's works reproduced his ma.n.u.scripts faithfully enough, but they bore evidence of carelessness and amazing inaccuracy. They are mere sketches instead of complete scores. Many details are vague and vagueness is not permissible in a serious edition. It follows that the different editions of Gluck's works published in the Nineteenth Century, however sumptuous or careful they may be, are worthless. The Pelletan edition alone can be consulted with confidence, because we were the only ones to have all extant and authentic doc.u.ments in the library at the Opera to set us right. We had scores copied for actual performances on the stage and portions of orchestral parts of incalculable value. In addition, we had no aim or preoccupation in elaborating this material other than to reconst.i.tute as closely as possible the thought of the author.

Switzerland is a country where artistic productions are not unusual.

Every year we have reports of some grandiose performance in which the people take part themselves. They come from every direction to help, even from a considerable distance, thanks to the many means of communication in that delightful land. It is not surprising, therefore, to learn that a theatre has been built in the pretty town of Mezieres, near Lusanne, for the performance of the works of a young poet, named Morax. These works are dramas with choruses, and the surrounding country furnishes the singers. The work given in 1911 was Allenor--the music by Gustave Doret--and it was a great success.

Gustave Doret is a real artist and he never for a moment thought of keeping the Theatre du Jorat for his own exclusive use. He dreamt of giving Gluck's works in their original form, for they are always altered and changed according to the fancies or incompetency of the performers or directors. They formed a large and influential committee and a substantial guarantee fund was subscribed. Then they gave a brilliant banquet at which the Princess of Brancovan was present. And Paderewski, one of the most enthusiastic promotors of the enterprise, delivered an eloquent address. No one should be surprised at either his zeal or his eloquence. Paderewski is not only a pianist; he is a man of great intellect as well,--a great artist who permits himself the luxury of playing the piano marvellously.

As he knew that I had spent several years in studying Gluck's works under the microscope, so to speak, Gustave Doret did me the honor to ask my advice. His choice for the opening work was _Orphee_, which requires only three princ.i.p.als, Orpheus, Eurydice, and Love. It has become the custom to add a fourth, a Happy Spirit, but this spirit is one of Carvalho's inventions and has no reason for existence.

There are, however, two _Orphee_. The first is _Orfeo_ which was written in Italian, on Calzabigi's text, and was first presented at Venice in 1761. The role of Orpheus in this score was written for a contralto and was designed for the eunuch Quadagni. The Venetian engravers of that day were either incompetent or, perhaps, there were none, for the scores of Gluck's _Alceste_ in Italian and Haydn's _Seasons_ were printed from type. However that may be the score of _Orfeo_ was engraved in Paris.

The composer Philidor corrected the proofs. He little thought that _Orfeo_ would ever get so far as Paris, so he appropriated the romanza in the first act and introduced it with but slight modifications into his opera-comique _Le Sorcier_. Later on Marie Antoinette called Gluck to Paris and thus afforded him the opportunity for the complete development of his genius. After he had written _Iphigenie en Aulide_, performed in 1774, especially for the Opera, he had the idea of adapting _Orfeo_ for the French stage. To tell the truth he must have thought of it before, for _Orphee_ appeared at the Opera only three months after _Iphigenie_ and it had been entirely rewritten in collaboration with Moline. The contralto part had been changed to tenor and so the princ.i.p.al role was given to Legros.

While it may be true that the author improved this work in the French version, it is not true in every case. There is some question whether the overture existed in the Italian score. It is generally believed that it did, but there are old copies of this version in existence and they begin the opera with the funeral chorus and show no overture at all.

This overture, although the _Mercure de France_ treats it as a "beautiful symphonic piece which serves as a good introduction to the work," in reality does not resemble the style of the rest at all. It in no way prepares for that admirable chorus at the beginning--unequaled of its kind--which Orpheus's broken hearted cry of "Eurydice! Eurydice!"

makes so pathetic.

The first act of _Orfeo_ ends in a tumultuous effect of the stringed instruments which was evidently intended to indicate a change of scene and the appearance of the stage settings of the infernal regions. This pa.s.sage does not appear in the French _Orphee_ and it is lacking in the engraved score, where it is replaced by a bravura aria of doubtful taste, accompanied by a single quartet. Whether the stage managers wanted an entr'acte or the tenor, Legros, demanded an effective aria, or for both these reasons, a reading of the ma.n.u.script indicates how absolutely the author's meaning was changed. There is no doubt that except for some such reason he would have changed this aria and put it in harmony with the rest of the work.

For a long time this aria was attributed to Bertoni, the composer, and Gluck was accused of plagiarizing it. As a matter of fact, and to the contrary, this aria came from an older Italian opera of Gluck's. Bertoni not only imitated it in one of his scores, but he had the hardihood to write an _Orfeo_ on the text already followed by Gluck in which he plagiarized the work of his ill.u.s.trious predecessor in a scandalous fashion.

This same aria, changed with real genius and performed with prodigious eclat by Madame Viardot, and re-orchestrated by myself, was one of the strongest reasons for the success of the famous performances at the Theatre-Lyrique. But it is well understood that it could not properly find a place in an edition where the sole end was artistic sincerity and purity of the text.

From this point of view it would seem that the best manner of giving _Orphee_ would be to conform to the author's definitive version. A tenor would have to take the part of Orpheus, since we no longer have male contraltos, and to keep to this kind of a voice in _Orphee_ we would have to have recourse to what is called, in theatrical terms, a _travesti_. There are obstacles to this, however. The pitch has changed since the Eighteenth Century; it has gone up and it is now impossible, or nearly so, to sing the role written for Legros. The contraltos of the Italian chorus have become the counter-tenors, who, for the same reason, find themselves struggling with too sharp notes.

In the Seventeenth Century the French pitch was even more flat, and it is a great pity, for it is almost impossible to perform our old music, on account of the insuperable obstacles. This is not the case in Germany, however, or in Italy, and that is the reason why the works of Sebastian Bach and Mozart can be sung. The same is true of Gluck's Italian works.

This was the reason that Doret gave the part of Orpheus to a contralto, just as is done at the Opera-Comique. The poetic character of the part of Orpheus lends itself excellently to such a feminine interpretation.

But in resuming the key of the Italian score, it is necessary to go back, at least to a considerable degree, to the instrumentation. By a curious anomaly the beautiful recitative, accompanied by the murmur of brooks and the songs of the birds, is in C major in both scores. The author could not have changed them. On the contrary he modified his instrumentation greatly, simplified and perfected it.

We know that the authors, in utter defiance of mythology, wanted a happy ending and so brought Eurydice back to life a second time. Love accomplished this miracle and the work ended with the song "Love Triumphs," which is exceedingly joyful and in harmony with the situation. They did not want this ending, which was in _Orfeo_ and which Gluck retained in _Orphee_, at the old Theatre-Lyrique and the Opera-Comique, and they replaced it with a chorus by Echo and Narcissus.

This chorus is charming, but that does not excuse it. Joy was what the author wanted and this does not give joy at all. Gluck's finale is regarded as not sufficiently distinguished, but this is wrong. The real finale was sung at Mezieres and it was found that it was not at all common, but that its frank gaiety was in the best of taste.

Gluck had no scruples about grinding several grists from the same sack and drawing from his old works to help out his new ones. So the parasitical aria attributed to Bertoni was written by Gluck in the first place in 1764 for a soprano. He wove this into his opera _Aristo_ in 1769. This is also true of the trio, _Tendre Amour_, which precedes the finale in the last act. A serious-minded a.n.a.lyst might be tempted to admire the profound psychology of the author in mingling doleful accents with expressions of joy, but he would have his labor for his pains. The trio was taken from the opera _Elena e Paride_, where Gluck expressed strongly wrought up emotions. Doret did not keep these two pa.s.sages and one can't blame him. On the other hand, he retained, by making it an entr'acte, the _Ballet des Furies_. This was taken from a ballet, _Don Giovanni o il convitato de pietra_, which was performed at Vienna in 1761. This pa.s.sage was used as the accompaniment to Don Juan's descent into h.e.l.l, surrounded by his band of demons.

Many of Gluck's compatriots came to Mezieres to see _Orphee_ and they were loyal enough to recognize the superiority of the performance. Some even had the courage to say, "We murder Gluck in Germany."

I discovered that fact a long time ago. In my youth I was indignant when I saw Paris, where Gluck wrote his finest works, quite neglecting them, whereas Germany continued to promote them. In those days I was frequently called to the other side of the Rhine to play in concerts, and I watched for a chance to see one of these masterpieces which had been forgotten in France. So it was with the liveliest joy that one day I entered one of the leading German theaters where they were giving _Armide_. What a hollow mockery it was!

Madame Malten was Armide, and she was everything that could be wished in voice, talent, style, beauty and charm. She spoke French without an accent and was as remarkable as an actress as a singer, so she would without doubt have had great success at the Opera in Paris. She was Armide herself, an irresistible enchantress.

But the rest! Renaud was a raw boy, and his shaven chin brought out in sharp relief enormous black moustaches with long waxed ends. He had a voice, to be sure, but no style, and no understanding of the work he was trying to interpret.

Hidradot is an old sorcerer tempered in the fires of h.e.l.l. He enters, saying:

"I see hard by Death that threatens me, And already old age, that has chilled my blood, Is on me, bowing me beneath a crushing burden."

Imagine my surprise at seeing come on the stage a magnificent specimen of manhood, with a curled black beard, in all the glory of his youth and vigor superbly arrayed in a red cloak trimmed with gold!

The stage setting was also extraordinary. In the second act Renaud went to sleep at the back of the stage, forcing Armide to speak the whole of the beautiful scene which follows, one of the most important in the part, at a distance from the footlights and with her back to the audience.

As for the orchestra, sometimes it followed Gluck's text and sometimes it borrowed bits of orchestration which Meyerbeer had written for the Opera at Berlin. This orchestration is interesting, and I know it well for I have had it in hand. It is only fair to say that Gluck, from some inexplicable caprice, did not give the same care to the instrumentation of _Armide_ that he did to _Orphee_, _Alcesti_, and the _Iphigenies_.

The trombones do not appear at all and the drums and flutes only at rare intervals. Re-orchestration is not absolutely necessary and Meyerbeer's is no more reprehensible than those with which Mozart enriched Handel's _Messe_ and _La Fete d'Alexandre_. What was inadmissible was not deciding frankly for one version or the other. It was like a badly patched coat which shows the old cloth in one place and the new in another.

Afterwards I saw _Armide_ treated in another way.

Did you ever happen to cherish the memory of a delightful and picturesque city, where everything made a harmonious whole, where the beautiful walks were arched over by old trees--and later come back to it to find it embellished, the trees cut down, the walks replaced by enormous buildings which dwarfed into insignificance the ancient marvels which gave the city its charm?

This was the case with me when I saw _Armide_ again in a city which I shall not name. The opera had been judged superannuated and had been "improved." A young composer had written a new score in which he inserted here and there such bits of Gluck as he thought worthy of being preserved. A costly and magnificently imbecile luxuriousness set off the whole piece. I may be pardoned the cruel adjective when I say that in the scene of Hate, so deeply inspired, and which takes place in a sort of cave, they relegated the chorus to the wings to make a place for dragons, fantastic birds beating their wings, and other deviltries.

This, of course, deprived the chorus of all its power and distinction.

But the best was at the end of the second act. The forest with its trees, gra.s.s and rocks entirely disappeared in the flies taking Renaud and Armide with it and the spectator was left, for some unknown reason, looking at a background surrounded by mountains. Then, by a marvel of mechanism, there appeared to the sound of ultramodern music, Renaud sleeping on a bed of state, with Armide standing at the foot and stretching forth her hand with a gesture of authority, declaiming in a solemn tone,

"Rinaldo, I love you!"