ALEXANDRE CÉSAR LÉOPOLD BIZET.
Alexandre César Léopold Bizet was born in Paris, Oct. 25th, 1838. His godfather called him “Georges,” and as “Georges,” Bizet is known to the world at large.
The father of Bizet was an artisan, who, at the age of twenty-five, studied music, and became a teacher of singing. He outlived his son. The mother was a sister of the wife of Delsarte. She was a pianist of ability, a “first prize” of the Conservatory. From her Bizet learned the alphabet and musical notation. From his father he learned the use of the pianoforte, and the elements of harmony.
The boy did not wish to be a musician; he hankered after the literary life. “When I was a child,” Bizet told Gallet, “they hid my books to keep me from abandoning music for literature.”
Although he was not of the required age, Bizet passed brilliantly, in his tenth year, the entrance-examination of the Conservatory, where he studied the pianoforte under Marmontel, the organ under Benoist, counterpoint and fugue under Zimmermann; and after the death of the latter, he studied composition under Halévy. He won a prize before he was eleven years old, the first of many prizes:—
First solfeggio prize (1849); second pianoforte prize (1851), and the first pianoforte prize (1852); first “accessit d’orgue” (1853), second prize (1854), first prize (1855); second prize in fugue (1854), first prize (1855); second “grand prix de Rome” of the Institute (1856), and first “grand prix” (1857).
In 1856 Offenbach, manager of the Bouffes-Parisiens, proposed a competition in operetta. The libretto was “Doctor Miracle.” Seventy-eight composers appeared; six were found worthy, and the prizes was awarded ex aequo, to Bizet and Lecocq. The music of the latter was first heard April 8th, 1857; the music of Bizet was heard April 9th. The public was impartially cold.
Toward the end of 1857 Bizet started on his journey to Rome. He journeyed leisurely, and entered the city Jan. 28, 1858. It was in 1859 that he sent, according to rule, a composition to the “Académie des Beaux-Arts”; it was not a mass however; it was an operetta in Italian: “Don Procopio,” in two acts. The reviewer, Ambroise Thomas, praised the ease, the brilliancy, “the fresh and bold style” of the composer, and he deplored the fact that Bizet had not given his attention to a work of religious character. The score of this operetta is lost. In 1859 Bizet traveled in Italy and obtained permission to remain in Rome during the one year, that, according to tradition, should be spent in Germany. He sent to the Académie “Vasco de Gama,” a descriptive orchestral composition with choruses; three numbers of an orchestral suite; and, if Pougin is correct, an operetta in one act, “La Guzla de l’Emir”; but Pigot claims that this latter work was not begun until after the return to Paris.
He returned and found his mother on her deathbed. He was without means, without employment; and he was crushed by the death of the one for whom he was eager to work day and night. He once wrote to her from Rome, “100,000 francs, the sum is nothing! Two successes at the Opéra Comique! I wish to love you always with all my soul, and to be always as to-day the most loving of sons.”
He was a “prix de Rome,”—too often an honor that brings with it no substantial reward. He was a “prix de Rome,” as was the unfortunate described by Legouvé:
“Listen to the wretched plight
Of a melancholy man,
A young man of sixty years,
Whom they call ‘un prix de Rome.’”
Burning with desire to write for the operatic stage, he gave music lessons. Dreaming of dramatic situations and grand finales, he made pianoforte arrangements of airs from operas written by others.
The Count Walewski granted Carvalho, the manager of the Théâtre-Lyrique, a subsidy of 100,000 francs, on the condition that an important work by a “prix de Rome” should be produced each year. Bizet was the first to profit thereby. He wrote the music for “The Pearl Fishers.” The text was by Carré and Cormon, and the opera was produced with gorgeous scenic setting, Sept. 30, 1863. The opera was given eighteen times, and it was not sung again in Paris until 1889, at the Gaité, and in Italian, with Calvé and Talazac, when it was only heard six times.
It is stated in Pigot’s “Bizet et son Œuvre” that Blau and Gallet wrote a libretto, “Ivan, the Terrible,” which was set to music by Bizet in the style of Verdi. Gallet says that neither he nor Blau wrote a word of such a libretto.
In 1866 Bizet worked at the orchestral composition which three years later was played at a Concert Pasdeloup and was then called “Souvenirs de Rome”; he temporarily abandoned it on the receipt of a libretto by Saint-Georges and Adenis, founded on Sir Walter Scott’s “The Fair Maid of Perth.” While he composed the music of this opera, he supported himself by giving lessons, correcting proofs, arranging dance music for orchestra, and writing songs. He often worked fifteen or sixteen hours a day. His letters of this year end with one and the same cry: “I must make my living.” This pursuit of a living brought early death.
The score of “The Fair Maid of Perth” was finished in six months, but the opera was not produced at the Théâtre-Lyrique until the 26th of December, 1867. There were twenty-one representations. In 1890 there were eleven representations at the Eden Theatre (Théâtre-Lyrique).
It was in 1867 that Bizet wrote the first act of “Malbrough,” an opérette bouffe, which was given at the Athénée. In 1868 or 1869 he wrote the music of an opérette-vaudeville, “Sol-si-ré-pif-pan,” for the Menus-Plaisirs, and he did not sign the score.
It was also in 1867 that he appeared as a writer on musical subjects. His first and last article was published in the first number of the Revue Nationale, Aug. 3rd. His pseudonym was “Gaston de Betzi.”
And then Bizet busied himself in the completion of “Noah,” a biblical opera left unfinished by Halévy; in arranging operas for pianoforte solo; in original compositions for the pianoforte, as his “chromatic variations.” He wrote music for the text of “The Cup of the King of Thule”; he called it “wretched stuff” and destroyed it. His “Souvenir de Rome, fantaisie symphonique” was played at a Concert Populaire in 1869. In that same year, June 3rd, he was married to Geneviève Halévy, the daughter of the composer. After the invasion of France, Bizet served in the National Guard, and his letters during those bloody days reveal the depth of his patriotism and his disgust at the incompetence and corruption in high places.
In 1872 (May 22) a little work in one act was brought out at the Opéra Comique. It was called “Djamileh”; the text was by Gallet, the music was by Bizet. It was given ten or eleven times; and Saint-Saëns, infuriated at the Parisian public, wrote biting verses:
“The ruminating bourgeois, pot-bellied and ugly, sits in his narrow stall, regretting separation from his kind; he half-opens a glassy eye, munches a bon-bon, then sleeps again, thinking that the orchestra is a-tuning.”
Carvalho, manager of the Vaudeville, dreamed of reviving the melodrama. He first caught his playwright, Daudet; he secured Bizet as the musician; the result was “L’Arlésienne,” which was first produced Oct. 1, 1872. The music included twenty-four numbers, orchestral and choral. The score was designed for the particular orchestra of the Vaudeville. Bizet rearranged for full orchestra the numbers that make up the Suite No. 1, and the Suite was first played at a Concert Populaire Nov. 10, 1872. He also revised the other numbers, and the revision was used at the revivals at the Odéon in 1885 and 1887. The Suite No. 2 was arranged by Ernest Guiraud.
The overture, “Patrie,” was first played at a Concert Populaire in February, 1874. Bizet experimented with texts suggested for an opéra comique; he finally chose “Carmen,” the text of which was drawn by Meilhac and Halévy from a tale by Merimée. The opera was produced at the Opéra Comique, March 3, 1875, with the following cast: Carmen, Galli-Marié; Micaëla, Marguerite Chapuis; Don Jose, Lhérie; Escamillo, Bouhy. It was about this time that Bizet was decorated with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
“Carmen” was no more successful than its predecessors. Bizet mourned its failure. For some time he had fought bravely against melancholy. At the age of thirty-six, he exclaimed, “It is extraordinary that I should feel so old.” Attacks of angina had been periodical for some years. He would jest at his suffering: “Fancy a double-pedal, A flat, E flat, which goes through your head from ear to ear.” He had abused his strength by over-work. Suddenly, at midnight, he died in Bougival, where he was resting. It was June 3rd, three months after the first performance of “Carmen.” The widow was left with a five-year-old son.
BIZET’S TOMB IN PÈRE LACHAISE. PARIS.
From a photograph made specially for this work.
Bizet left few manuscripts. He burned many shortly before his death. The fragments of “Don Rodrigue” and “Clarisse Harlowe” were left in a curious notation that is nearly hieroglyphical, not to be deciphered.
When Louis Gallet first met Bizet, he saw a forest of blonde hair, thick and curly, which surrounded a round and almost child-like face. Bizet’s figure was robust. In later years his features were firm, and his expression was energetic, tempered by the trust, the frankness, and the goodness that characterized his nature. He was very short-sighted, and he wore eyeglasses constantly. His mouth lent itself as easily to expression of mocking wit as to kindness. His love for his parents has been already mentioned; his devotion toward his wife was such that she told Gounod there was not one minute of the six years of marriage which she would not gladly live over. He was a welcome companion, fond of jest and paradox, frank and loyal. At the house of Saint-Saëns he played gladly the part of Helen in Offenbach’s operetta. He was ever firm, even extravagant in friendship, as when at Baden-Baden in ‘62 he challenged a man who spoke lightly of Gounod’s “Queen of Sheba.” When the talk was concerning musicians whom he loved, Bach, Mozart, Rossini, Verdi, Gounod, his voice would lose its peculiar sibilance, and his hot eloquence showed honesty as well as nimble wit and power of expression. In all of the recollections of troops of friends, in his letters to acquaintances and friends there is not a suggestion of mean action, scheming purpose, low or narrow thought.
At the age of fourteen Bizet was a master of the pianoforte; his technique was above reproach; he was particularly skilful in mixing his colors: an exquisitely defined melody had its proper and characteristic background. Halévy and Liszt are of the many witnesses to his extraordinary talent for reading from score at sight. Reyer speaks of his remarkable memory. And yet Bizet never appeared in public as a pianist; although in certain salons of Paris his abilities excited lively admiration.
So too his gifts as a composer for orchestra were more than ordinary; but whenever he had an opportunity to write for the stage, he abandoned any instrumental work that had interested him.
For Bizet obeyed the instincts of the French musician and looked to the stage for enduring fame.
There is no need of close examination of “The Pearl Fishers,” and “The Fair Maid of Perth.” We know the later works of Bizet, and therefore we find hints of genius in the early operas. With the exception of the duet of Nadir and Zurga and of a few pages saturated with local color, there is little in “The Pearl Fishers” to herald the arrival of a master of the stage. There are delightful examples of instrumentation in “The Fair Maid of Perth”: the opera as a whole is conventional, and the solo passages and the ensemble are often reminiscent: there is continual homage to famous men: Gounod, Halévy, Verdi, Thomas, et al. Bizet had not yet found the use of his own voice.
Nor would “Djamileh,” the satisfaction of the longing of Camille du Locle for ideal musical revery, the sounding of the revolt against the school of Scribe, carry the name of Bizet to after years. Its perfume is subtle and penetrating; its colors delight trained eyes. It is a tour de force. It has the affected frankness of a pastel in prose. The hearer must be mastered by the spirit of the Orient to thoroughly enjoy. The three comedians should be seen as in an opium dream.
The fame of Bizet must rest eventually on two works: “L’Arlésienne” and “Carmen.”
I believe “L’Arlésienne” is the more artistic, the greater work. In “Carmen” is the greater promise of what Bizet might have done. The music of “L’Arlésienne,” is inseparably associated with success or failure of the play itself and the abilities of play-actors. If the concert-suite is played, it pleases; but apart from the representation of the dramatic scenes, the music loses its true significance. The saxophone solo in the Prelude, with its marvellous accompaniment, gratifies the ear in the concert-room; but its haunting and melancholy beauty is intensified tenfold when it is associated with the apparition of “The Innocent.” It is impossible to over-rate the beauty, the passion, the dramatic fitness of the music that accompanies the various scenes in the simple and terrible drama of Daudet. The dialogue between Mère Renaud and Balthazar when they meet after fifty years is touching; but the adagietto, that softly tells of humble heroism, love preserved without shame, the kiss given at last and without passion, longings and regrets endured in silence, rises to a height of pathos that is beyond the reach of words or pantomime. In connection with the scene and the dialogue the adagietto is irresistible in its effect; in the concert room, it is simply a beautiful piece for muted strings. This play of Daudet is so simple, so devoid of trickery that its popular and universal success is extremely doubtful. The average spectator would fain see the unworthy Woman of Arles for whom Fréderi burns in agony; the shepherd Balthazer seems to him a good, tiresome old man with a beard; The Innocent, unless the part is played with rare finesse, becomes almost ludicrous. Not until there is a return to the appreciation of simplicity will this music of Bizet be known as the supreme example of music in the domain of melodrama.
Meilhac and Halévy in the libretto of “Carmen,” feel constantly the pulse of the audience.
The opera is not a sustained masterpiece. The want of action in the third act is not atoned for by a display of musical inspiration. With the exception of the trio of card-players, the music of this act is far below that of the other three. But, with the omission of this act, how frank, how intense, how characteristic, is the music that tells of a tragedy of universal and eternal interest.
For Carmen lived years before she was known by Merimée. She dies many deaths, and many are her resurrections. When the world was young, they say her name was Lilith, and the serpent for her sake hated Adam. She perished that wild night when the heavens rained fire upon the Cities of the Plain. Samson knew her when she dwelt in the valley of Sorek. The mound builders saw her and fell at her feet. She disquieted the blameless men of Ethiopia. Years after she was the friend of Theodora. In the fifteenth century she was noticed in Sabbatic revels led by the four-horned goat. She was in Paris at the end of the last century, and she wore powder and patches at the dinners given by the Marquis de Sade. In Spain she rolled cigarettes and wrecked the life of Don José.
The dramatic genius of Bizet is seen fully in his treatment of this character. She sings no idle words. Each tone stabs. There are here no agreeable or sensuous love passages; as Bellaigue remarks, there is not a touch of voluptuousness in the opera. The soldier is under the spell of a vain, coarse, reckless gipsy of maddening personality. He knows the folly, the madness of his passion; he sees “as from a tower the end of all.” These characters are sharply drawn and forcibly painted. There is free use of the palette knife; there is fine and ingenious detail. The singers sing because it is the natural expression of their emotions; they do not sing to amuse the audience or accommodate the stage carpenter. The orchestra with wealth of rhythm and color italicizes the song; prepares the action; accompanies it; or moralizes. Apart from the technical skill shown in the instrumentation, the great ability of Bizet is seen in his combining the French traditions of the past and the German spirit of the present without incongruity. Here is a departure from old models, and yet a confirmation. The quintet is sung because thereby the feeling of the scene is best expressed; five people are not introduced because the quintet is an agreeable combination of voices. The unmeaning vocal ornaments found in the earlier operas of Bizet have disappeared. He uses his own manly, intense speech. He expresses his own thoughts in his own way. He does not care whether his work is opéra comique or grand opera, or melodrama. His sole object is to tell his story as directly and as forcibly as possible.
In a world of art that is too often ruled by insincerity, a lusty, well-trained voice aroused the attention. Suddenly the voice was hushed. Only with the silence, came the hearty approval of the great audience. Bizet met with no popular success during his lifetime. Now “Carmen” holds the stage; “L’Arlésienne” excites the admiration of all musicians; the earlier operas have been revived and sung in foreign languages. In his own country he was from the start known vulgarly as “one of the most ferocious of the French Wagnerian school”: an absurd charge: for in no one of his operas is there recognition of the peculiar theories of Wagner. Bizet followed the traditional formulas: he used the air, the concerted pieces, the formal divisions and subdivisions. The orchestra assists the singer; it does not usurp his place. Without doubt he learned from Wagner in the matter of orchestral expression, as Wagner learned from Weber and Meyerbeer; as one sensible man does from his predecessors. There was nothing new in Bizet’s use of the typical motive; it was similarly employed by Grétry, Auber, Halévy.
Melody, expressive harmony, ingenious counterpoint, an unerring sense of the value of a peculiar tone of an instrument or the advantage of a combination of instruments,—these were used by the Bizet of later years simply to express truth. This was the purpose of his life; this was the motto of his existence. No one could be more refined than he in musical expression; no one could be more seemingly brutal. The glowing words that he wrote concerning Verdi in the Revue Nationale show his one prevailing thought: “Let us then be frank and true; let us not demand of a great artist qualities which he lacks, and let us profit from the qualities which he possesses. When a passionate, violent, even brutal temperament; when a Verdi presents us with a strong and living work full of gold and mud, of gall and blood, let us not go to him and say coldly, ‘But, my dear Sir, this is wanting in taste, it is not distingué.’ Distingué! Are Michael-Angelo, Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Beethoven, Cervantes, and Rabelais distingués?”
It is presumptuous, it is impossible to anticipate the verdict of Time the Avenger. It is not improbable, however, that the future historian of the opera will class Bizet with Wagner and Verdi as the men of mighty influence over the opera of the last years of this century. “Carmen” was, perhaps, a promise, a starting point, rather than a fulfillment. But if the young and fiery composers of Italy of to-day turn reverently toward Verdi and Wagner, they also read lovingly the score of “Carmen.”
CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS
Reproduction of a photograph from life, by Eug. Pirout, Paris.
