Famous composers and their works, Vol. 3

by Unknown

FRANÇOIS ADRIEN BOIELDIEU

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

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

BUST OF BOIELDIEU BY DANTAN.
From the Carnavalet Museum, Paris.

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

Boieldieu’s prospects now changed with Aladdin-like suddenness, for his next opera, “La Famille Suisse,” was performed at the Theatre Feydeau for thirty nights in alternation with Cherubini’s “Medee,” and thus early began that connection with the great Italian maestro, at that time the best musician in France, which was to be so fruitful of good results to the new favorite. In 1798 Boieldieu turned for a while from operatic work, and composed a number of piano sonatas, piano and harp duets, and a piano concerto. Although these exercised no permanent influence on the art, they obtained for him the appointment of professor of piano at the Paris Conservatoire, two years later. In this position, however he was not very successful; he was too much wrapped up in composition to make a good teacher. The musical historian Fétis, who was his pupil, confirms this estimate; but the post at the Conservatoire led to a close acquaintance with Cherubini, by which Boieldieu began to remedy his lack of knowledge of counterpoint and fugal work. Although Fétis denies that Boieldieu was ever the pupil of Cherubini, there is every reason to believe that this was the case, even if a regular stipend was not paid for the tuition. The very fact that in 1799 the two worked in collaboration on “La Prisonnière” might tend to show that Boieldieu was anxious to attain something of Cherubini’s musical learning, and his submission of many later operas to the judgment of this master proves that he was willing to be guided by him.

About this time Boieldieu produced two operas that carried his fame beyond his native country; these were the Polish “Benjowski” and the very tuneful “Caliph of Bagdad,” both of which will receive further mention in the analytical portion of this article. A little later there appeared a more advanced work,—“Ma Tante Aurore.” The success was now so well established that all Parisian managers sought for works from the gifted pen, and opera followed opera.

TOMB OF BOIELDIEU IN PÈRE LACHAISE, PARIS.
From a lithograph.

Boieldieu now lived on contentedly in Paris until 1802, when he almost wrecked his career in the same manner that his father had done; on March 19th of that year he married a ballet-dancer named Clotilde Mafleuroy, and immediately began to taste the bitterness of conjugal misery. He suddenly left Paris on this account and sought employment in Russia. He was received in St. Petersburg with open arms, and the Czar Alexander at once appointed him capellmeister of the court. He produced little on this barren soil however, and although he stayed there eight years, and his contract called for three new operas and a number of military marches annually, scarcely anything of this period has been preserved. In 1810 the political horizon began to darken, and trouble between Russia and France became so imminent that our composer again suddenly packed up and returned to his beloved Paris, arriving at the beginning of 1811. Here however he found everything changed. The Napoleonic wars had exerted a deleterious influence on operatic patronage, and the taste, too, had changed in some degree; Cherubini and Mehul were silent, and Isouard alone ruled Opera Comique. Considerable jealousy of Boieldieu was at this time displayed, and at first he was unsuccessful in having any of the works he had written in Russia performed in Paris; therefore he set himself to producing an original work, and in 1812, “Jean de Paris,” a masterpiece of its kind, was produced at the Theatre Feydeau. Again a success was won, although not such a phenomenal one as the “Caliph of Bagdad” had attained, and for the next six years another series of operas proved that the composer had not lost his hold upon the Parisian public, and in addition to his own operas Boieldieu collaborated with Cherubini and Isouard. Two years later a great success attended the first production of “Le Chaperon Rouge,” but the composer was so exhausted by this effort that he was obliged to rest for a while from further composition. He now received the position of professor of composition at the Conservatoire, taking the place of Mehul, and for seven years he produced nothing more in opera. The crowning work was however to come later. During a stay at his brother’s farm in Cormeilles Boieldieu began composing once more. This time it was something far beyond his previous efforts, it was a chef d’œuvre in the domain of comic opera,—the ever-beautiful “La Dame Blanche.” This masterwork was performed in December, 1825, and at once awakened boundless enthusiasm. Boieldieu was not much exhilarated by the result, for he seemed to feel that he could never hope to equal this work again. Nevertheless he soon attempted another subject, as if to ascertain if his surmises were correct. Bouilly’s dull libretto, “Les Deux Nuits” was accepted, as much from friendship as from any other motive. The new opera was finished in 1829, and made a flat failure, a result which hurt Boieldieu’s feelings in an inordinate degree. He had brought back a pulmonary trouble from Russia, and his disappointment seemed to aggravate the disease. He gave up his position at the Conservatoire, feeling too weak to continue teaching. The director of the Opera Comique had given Boieldieu a pension of 1200 francs for his great services to the art, but the expulsion of Charles X. now came about, a new direction was installed, the institution was found to be bankrupt, and the income from this source ceased just when it was most needed. He had married again in 1827, and this time the union was a fortunate one, for in these final days of trial, sickness, and pecuniary difficulty, his wife sustained his drooping spirits with unswerving fidelity. She was a singer, Philis by name, and was the mother of Boieldieu’s only son, a composer of good attainments, but overshadowed by his father’s ability. Finally Louis Philippe was established on the throne of France, and his minister, M. Thiers, made speedy recognition of the value of Boieldieu’s work by granting him an annual pension of 6,000 francs. It could not give back the composer’s health, however, and, after a tour to Pisa he came back worse. He had been obliged by poverty to take back his old position at the Conservatoire, and made a brave effort to continue in it, but it was useless; in another tour in hopeless search for health, he died at Jarcy, October 8th, 1834. At the tomb his old companion and teacher, Cherubini, gave a last tribute to the modest and talented nature that had passed away so prematurely.

Boieldieu may be summed up in a single phrase as a Parisian Mozart. He had Mozart’s gift of melody and grace, and in his later years something of Mozart’s skill in harmonic and contrapuntal combination, but, unlike Mozart, his work can be divided into three epochs, the third only being comparable in ensemble to the works of the German master. Boieldieu has been ranked as the best composer of opera comique that France ever produced, and it is not too much to say that only Bizet has approached him in characteristic touches and poetic inspiration. Three works are at present the chief representatives of Boieldieu’s fame, “The Caliph of Bagdad,” which shows his earliest method, “Jean de Paris,” which is a good example of his second period, and “La Dame Blanche,” which is the finest of all his operas, the best outcome of the French opera comique school, and shows the composer in his third and best period of growth.

Boieldieu was never misled by the popular applause which was showered upon him before it was fairly deserved. It has been well said that “there is no heavier burden than a great name acquired too soon,” and it is to the credit of Boieldieu that, although he acquired this burden with “The Caliph of Bagdad,” which has had over a thousand performances in France, he did not continue in the rather frivolous vein which had so captivated his earliest audiences. His modest desire to advance may be proven by the fact that when this opera was achieving its greatest success, Cherubini reproached him with “Malheureux! are you not ashamed of such an undeserved success?” when Boieldieu mildly begged for further instruction, that he might do better in the future. He even courted the opinions of his pupils in the Conservatoire as to portions of his work, a rather dangerous meekness. Pretty tunes and marked rhythms are the characteristics of this period. “Zoraime et Zulnare,” although at present almost unknown, always remained a favorite of the composer, but it is only another example of musicians not being the best judges of their own works.

Fac-simile musical manuscript written by Boieldieu.

“Benjowski” is a transition towards his second period. It has a Polish plot written by Kotzebue, and its music has much local color. It was composed in 1800, but was retouched by Boieldieu a quarter of a century later, when he wittily said, “It smells of Russia leather!” The opening quartette in this work is very dramatic.

“Ma Tante Aurore” may be said to begin the second period. It preserves the brightness of the first period, but is much finer in its scoring, and it is no exaggeration to say that in this matter Boieldieu surpassed all of his contemporaries in France, with the sole exception of Cherubini. The versatility displayed in this period speaks of growth.

The eight years spent in Russia may be passed over with but slight comment, for of all that he wrote there, he cared to preserve but three operas, “Rien de Trop,” “La Jeune Femme,” and “Les Voitures Versées.” One cause of the weakness of the works of this period was the fact that no good librettos were obtainable, and the composer was even obliged to use many that had been set by other musicians.

Some commentators class “Jean de Paris” in the third period of Boieldieu’s work. It is a beautiful and characteristic opera; the song of the Princess, full of charming grace, the bold and dashing measures of the page, and the stiff, ceremonious style of the music of the Seneschal, are a few of the striking touches that go to make up a very brilliant work which has not yet disappeared from the repertoire, but when compared with “La Dame Blanche” the ensemble-writing is seen to be inferior. In this latter opera, the climax of his works, Boieldieu did not depart from the melodious character of his first and second periods, but rather added to it. All through his career he clung to the folk-song, and exactly as “Der Freischütz” was evolved by Weber from the German Volkslied, so “La Dame Blanche” had its root in the French Chanson. The libretto was evolved by Scribe from Scott’s works by amalgamating the “Monastery” and “Guy Mannering,” but spite of the introduction of “The Bush aboon Traquier” and “Robin Adair” (the latter not a true Scotch song) the flavor is by no means Scotch either in libretto or music. The harmonization of the finales of this opera is beyond anything that has been attained in French opera comique, and shows Boieldieu as a master in a school of which we find no traces in “The Caliph of Bagdad.” Yet through all the three periods one finds the thread of the Chanson running melodiously. Music that is sincerely national can never die, and the secret of the success of Boieldieu’s operas, and their perennial freshness may be found in the fact that the composer builded upon the music of his country, and there is no firmer foundation possible.

ETIENNE NICOLAS MÉHUL
Reproduced from an aquatint portrait by Quenedey.