I have to confess to a flagrant but entirely innocent joke that I played at a dinner of Sonzogno's, the publisher. Everyone knew of the strained relations between him and Ricordi. I slipped into the dining room before any of the guests had gone in and placed under Sonzogno's napkin an Orsini bomb, which I had bought and which was really awe inspiring--be rea.s.sured, it was only of cardboard and from the confectioner's. Beside this inoffensive explosive I placed Ricordi's card. The joke was a great success. The diners laughed so much that during the whole meal nothing else was talked about and little attention was paid to the menu, in spite of the fact that we knew that it must inevitably be appetizing, like all those to which we had to do honor in that opulent house.

I always had the glorious good fortune to have as my interpreter of _Sapho_ in Italy La Bellincioni, the Duse of opera. In 1911 she continued her triumphal career at the Opera in Paris.

I have mentioned that Cavalieri was to create _Thas_ in Milan. Sonzogno insisted strongly that I should let her see the part before I left. I remember the considerable success she had in the work--_al teatro lirico_ of Milan. Her beauty, her admirable plasticity, the warmth and color of her voice, her pa.s.sionate outbursts simply gripped the public which praised her to the skies.

She invited me to a farewell dinner at the Hotel de Milan. The table was covered with flowers and it was laid in a large room adjoining the bedroom where Verdi had died two years before. The room was still furnished just as it had been when the ill.u.s.trious composer lived there.

The great master's grand piano was still there, and on the table where he had worked were the inkstand, the pen and the blotting paper which still bore the marks of the notes he had traced. The dress shirt--the last one he wore--hung on the wall and one could still see the lines of the body it had covered.... A detail which hurt my feelings and which only the greedy curiosity of strangers can account for, was that bits of the linen had been boldly cut off and carried away as relics.

Verdi! The name signifies the whole of victorious Italy from Victor Emanuel II down to our own times. Bellini, on the other hand, is the image of unhappy Italy under the yoke of the past.

A little while after the death of Bellini in 1835--that never to be forgotten author of _La Somnanbula_ and _La Norma_--Verdi, the immortal creator of so many masterpieces, came on the scene and with rare fertility never ceased to produce his marvellous works which are in the repertoire of all the theaters in the world.

About two weeks before Verdi's death I found at my hotel the great man's card with his regards and best wishes.

In a remarkable study of Verdi Camille Bellaigue uses the following words about the great master. They are as just as they are beautiful.

"He died on January 27, 1901, in his eighty-eighth year. In him music lost some of its strength, light and joy. Henceforth a great, necessary voice will be missing from the balance of the European 'concert.' A splendid bower has fallen from the chaplet of Latin genius. I cannot think of Verdi without recalling that famous phrase of Nietzsche, who had come back from Wagnerism and had already turned against the composer: 'Music must be Mediterraneanized.' Certainly not all music.

But to-day as the old master has departed, that glorious host of the Doria palace, from which each winter his deep gaze soared over the azure of the Ligurian sea, one may well ask who is to preserve the rights and influence of the Mediterranean in music?"

To add another of my memories of _Thas_ I recall two letters which must have touched me deeply.

August 1, 1892

...I brought a little doll Thas to the Inst.i.tute for you, and as I was going to the country after the session and you were not there, I left it with Bonvalot and begged him to handle her carefully....

I return in a day or so, for on Sat.u.r.day we receive Fremiet who wishes me to thank you for voting for him.

GEROME.

I wanted this colored statuette by my ill.u.s.trious colleague to place on my table as I wrote _Thas_. I have always liked to have before my eyes an image or a symbol of the work on which I am engaged.

The second letter I received the day after the first performance of _Thas_ at the Opera.

_Dear Master_:

You have lifted my poor _Thas_ to the first rank of operatic heroines. You are my sweetest glory. I am delighted. "a.s.sieds-toi pres de nous," the aria to Love, the final duet, is charmingly beautiful.

I am happy and proud at having furnished you with the theme on which you have developed the most inspiring phrases. I grasp your hand with joy.

ANATOLE FRANCE.>

I had already been to Covent Garden twice. First, for _Le Roi de Lah.o.r.e_, and then for _Manon_ which was sung by Sanderson and Van Dyck.

I went back again for the rehearsals of _La Navarraise_. Our princ.i.p.al artists were Emma Calve, Alvarez and Plancon.

The rehearsals with Emma Calve were a great honor for me and a great joy as well, which I was to renew later in the rehearsals for _Sapho_ in Paris.

The Prince of Wales, later Edward VII, attended the first performance of _La Navarraise_.

The recalls of the artists were so numerous and enthusiastic that finally they called for me. As I did not appear, for the good reason that I was not there, and could not be presented to the Prince of Wales who wanted to congratulate me, the manager could find only this way to excuse me both to the prince and to the public. He came on the stage and said, "M. Ma.s.senet is outside smoking a cigarette and won't come."

Doubtless this was true, but "the whole truth should not always be spoken."

I returned on board the boat with my wife, Heugel, my dear publisher, and Adrien Bernheim, the Governmental Commissary General of the subsidized theaters, who had honored the performance with his presence.

Ever since he has been one of my most charming and dearest friends.

I learned that her Majesty Queen Victoria summoned Emma Calve to Windsor to sing _La Navarraise_, and I was told that they improvised a stage setting in the queen's own drawing room, which was most picturesque but primitive. The Barricade was represented by a pile of pillows and down quilts.

Have I said that in the month of May preceding _La Navarraise_ in London (June 20, 1894), the Opera-Comique gave _Le Portrait de Manon_, an exquisite act by Georges Boyer, which was delightfully interpreted by Fugere, Grivot and Mlle. Laine?

Many of the phrases of _Manon_ reappeared in the work. The subject prompted me to this, for it is concerned with Des Grieux at forty, a poetical souvenir of Manon long since dead.

Between whiles I again visited Bayreuth. I went to applaud the _Meistersingers of Nuremburg_.

Richard Wagner had not been there for many a long year, but his t.i.tanic soul ruled over all the performances. As I strolled in the gardens about the theater at Bayreuth, I recalled that I had known him in 1861. I had lived for ten days in a small room near him in the Chateau de Plessis-Trevise, which belonged to the celebrated tenor Gustave Roger.

Roger knew German and offered to do the French translation of _Tannhauser_. So Richard Wagner came to live with him properly to set the French words to music.

I still remember his vigorous interpretation when he played on the piano fragments of that masterpiece, then so clumsily misunderstood and now so much admired by the whole world of art and music.

CHAPTER XXI

A VISIT TO VERDI FAREWELL TO AMBROISE THOMAS

Henri Cain had accompanied us to London and came to see me at the Cavendish Hotel, Jermyn Street, where I was staying.

We remained in conference for several hours reviewing different subjects which were suitable for works to occupy me in the future. Finally we agreed on the fairy story of Cinderella: _Cendrillon_.

I returned to Pont de l'Arche--a new home for my wife and me--to work during the summer.

Our home was most interesting and even had a historical value. A ma.s.sive door hung on enormous hinges gave access on the street side to an old mansion. It was bordered by a terrace which looked down on the valley of the Seine and the Andelle. La Belle Normandie indeed offered us the delightful spectacle of her smiling, magnificent plains and her rich pastures stretching to the horizon and beyond.

The d.u.c.h.ess of Longueville, the famous heroine of La Fronde, had lived in this house--it was the place of her loves. The seductive d.u.c.h.ess with her pleasant address and gestures, together with the expression of her face and the tone of her voice, made a marvellous harmony. So much so that a Jansenist writer of the period said, "She was the most perfect actress in the world." This splendid woman here sheltered her charms and rare beauty. One must believe that they have not exaggerated about her for Victor Cousin became her posthumous lover (along with the Duc de Coligny, Marcillac, the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, and the great Turenne; he might have been in less brilliant company); but as we said, the ill.u.s.trious eclectic philosopher dedicated to her a work which was no doubt admirable in style but which is still considered one of the most complete examples of modern learning.

She was born a Bourbon Conde, the daughter of the Prince of Orleans, and the fleurs de lys which were hers by right were still visible on the keystones of the window arches of our little chateau.

There was a large white salon with delicately carved woodwork, which was lighted by three windows overlooking the terrace. It was a perfectly preserved masterpiece of the Seventeenth Century.

The room where I worked was also lighted by three windows and here one could admire a mantel, a real marvel of art in Louis XIV style. I found a large table of the same period at Rouen. I was at ease at it because I could arrange the leaves of my orchestral score on it.

It was at Pont de l'Arche that I learned one morning of Mme. Carvalho's death. This was bound to plunge the art of singing and the stage in deep mourning for she had been with her masterly talent the incarnation of both for long years. Here too I received the visit of my director, Leon Carvalho, who was terribly stricken by her death. He was overcome by this irreparable loss.

Carvalho came to ask me to finish the music of _La Vivandiere_, a work on which Benjamin G.o.dard was working, but which the state of his health led them to fear he would never finish.