The truth of the matter is, that every composer nowadays is actuated by the same desire, namely, to make his music fit the subject he is illustrating as closely as possible. If the method adopted differs in any way, this must be ascribed to a variety of causes, the composer's temperament, his education, his nationality, and others. As to the interpolation of ballets and sundry hors d'œuvre introduced often apparently without rhyme or reason, that still find their way into operas, it must in justice to the composer be remembered that he has a number of conventionalities to fight against and prejudices to overcome. Every one has not got the prestige of a Wagner, and even he had to fight a fearfully uphill battle, and only reaped the full fruits of his labours at the end of his career.
The taste of the public is little by little coming round to the "lyrical drama" as distinct from the opera, and composers are but following the tendency of the age. The transformation of style that has led Verdi to rise from "Trovatore" to "Otello" is there to attest it.
The next opera—or shall we say "lyrical drama"?—composed by Saint-Saëns was "Proserpine," brought out at the ill-fated Opéra Comique in 1887, the same year during which the theatre was destined to be burned to the ground. Despite its title, this work has nothing in common with mythology. It is taken from an early work by the poet Vacquerie, published some fifty years ago.
The action takes place in Italy during the sixteenth century. Proserpine, a courtesan, is in love with Sabatino, a young nobleman, who is engaged to be married to Angiola, the sister of his friend. After endeavouring vainly to entrap Angiola and her brother, assisted by Squarocca, a bandit, she seeks Sabatino, who is awaiting his bride. When Angiola enters, Proserpine hides behind some drapery. Maddened by jealousy at hearing the lovers interchange protestations of affection, she rushes forward and strikes Angiola with her stiletto. Sabatino then snatches the weapon from her hands and plunges it into her heart.
This story was considered somewhat melodramatic in Paris, and the dénouement has since been somewhat modified. A few alterations have been made in the score, and in its new form "Proserpine" will surely be performed sooner or later. There are some delightful numbers in this opera, which throughout bears the impress of the master's hand. I will especially draw attention to the closing scene of the second act, which is a perfect gem of delicate fancy and exquisite workmanship. The scene represents the interior of a convent, and a number of mendicants enter to receive alms. Their voices are accompanied by a melodic figure which is repeated in various guises until the fall of the curtain, without ever sounding monotonous in any degree, through the consummate art and skilful manipulation with which it is handled.
With his next opera Saint-Saëns returned to the Grand Opéra, where "Ascanio" was produced in 1890. Benvenuto Cellini is the leading character in this work, but the composer discarded the great sculptor's name as his title, probably out of deference to the memory of Berlioz, whose first dramatic attempt bore that name. These scruples did not trouble Mons. Diaz, who curiously enough brought out an opera bearing that title during the same year at the Opéra Comique, where it met with no success. There has always been something of the mystifier in Saint-Saëns. He likes to go his own way, regardless of what may be expected of him or whether he satisfies the partisans of any particular style of music. Mons. Camille Bellaigue remarks that he was not much astonished that this work should have produced a feeling of surprise and even of disappointment. "L'œuvre," he says, "que peut-être on attendait puissante et grandiose, n'est que touchante parfois, toujours intime et presque familière."
This definition gives so good an idea of the general character of the opera that I do not hesitate to reproduce it here. The plot of "Ascanio" is rather complicated for a "lyrical drama," the numberless episodes that occur detracting from the continuity of the work. Saint-Saëns appears to have composed the music in a remarkably short space of time, less than a year. Those who take the trouble to study this interesting score, which has been aptly termed a musical mosaic, will appreciate the prodigious amount of labour involved. The composer has again employed representative themes, very much after the system he had previously adopted in his "Henri VIII." The score of "Ascanio" is a veritable monument of ingenuity, and if it does not produce an altogether satisfactory impression, the fault may be ascribed rather to the book than to the music.
A curious incident in connection with the first performance of this opera was that the composer, doubtless anxious to seek perfect rest after his prolonged labours, and desirous of avoiding the fatigues consequent upon attending its production, took himself away and carefully omitted to leave his address behind. Weeks elapsed, and no news of him was forthcoming. Fanciful stories were concocted of how he had met with foul play. Telegrams were dispatched all the world over, with the result that he was authoritatively declared to have been seen in at least a dozen different places several hundred miles away one from the other. Finally, he was discovered, quite by chance, under an assumed name in the Canary Islands. A visitor staying in the same hotel, hearing some one playing the piano in a manner the reverse of amateurish, and having that morning read about the mysterious disappearance in the French papers, had the curiosity to go down and verify the suspicions that had occurred to him. He had no difficulty in identifying the composer, and in a very short time the news had spread all over the place. Saint-Saëns then had to pay the penalty of being a celebrity. He wrote thus to Mons. Louis Gallet, his friend and collaborator: "For the last three days, since I have been recognised, I lead an insupportable life. I do not have a moment to myself. I am scribbling you these lines whilst talking. If there is no common sense in what I say, do not be surprised."
The last dramatic work produced by Saint-Saëns is "Phryné," a two-act comic opera, given at the Opéra Comique in the month of May of the present year (1893).
It might have been hoped that a composer such as Saint-Saëns would have thought fit to devote his great gifts to the elaboration of a "musical comedy" that might have ranked side by side with Wagner's "Meistersinger" and Verdi's' "Falstaff." Not one of his countrymen is better qualified than he is for such a task. Perhaps he may undertake it later on. At any rate, he has not attempted anything of the kind in "Phryné," which is modelled upon an old pattern, includes spoken dialogue, and consists of a number of detached pieces, following the conventional practice associated with the Opéra Comique.