For years the operatic composer was almost entirely at the mercy of the singer, and it has required many efforts on the part of great artists to shake off the load, the final emancipation being effected through the agency of one whose genius towers far above that of his contemporaries, and whose influence upon music has been as widespread as it has been beneficial. Need I say that I allude to Richard Wagner?
The spirit of routine, so engrained in the human mind, has also much to account for in preventing the development of music as represented in the opera. It is far from my desire to say anything in disparagement of a form of art such as the "opéra comique," a genre that has been illustrated with so conspicuous a degree of success by composers such as Grétry, Monsigny, Dalayrac, Nicolo, Boiëldieu, Hérold, and Auber. At the same time, it must be admitted that the ideal aimed at by modern French musicians is altogether a higher one. The "lyrical drama" has usurped the place of the old "opéra comique," and those composers whose inability or disinclination have kept them from following the prevalent movement, have perforce drifted into that mongrel species of art known as the "opérette." From an æsthetic point of view the change is emphatically for the better, as the "opéra comique," corresponding to the German "Singspiel," and to our "ballad opera," and consisting of an amalgam of speech and song, being neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, is utterly inconsistent with logic.
That there is still, however, a place for works coming under the denomination of a modernised form of "opéra comique," as distinct from the "opérette," without pretensions of too lofty an order, is evidenced by the delightful works of the late Léo Delibes, "Le Roi l'a dit," "Jean de Nivelle," and "Lakmé"; and more recently by Mons. Chabrier's "Le Roi Malgré Lui" and Mons. Messager's "La Basoche."
In the year 1832, when Ambroise Thomas had completed his twenty-first birthday, the Rossini fever was at its height. Beethoven was comparatively little known in France, and those amongst his symphonies that had been brought to a hearing had excited more wonder than admiration.
"Il ne faut pas faire de la musique comme celle-là," Lesueur had said to Berlioz after having listened to the C Minor Symphony; "Soyez tranquille, cher maître, on n'en fera pas beaucoup," had been the answer vouchsafed by the future author of "La Damnation de Faust." In the meanwhile Boiëldieu never lost the opportunity of playing through Rossini's operas to his pupils, and descanting upon their merits. It is indeed difficult to account for the extraordinary influence exercised by Rossini over his contemporaries. That his "facile" melodies should have proved agreeable to the general public, and his florid ornamentations grateful to the singers, "passe encore." But that an entire generation of composers should have been so fascinated by the sham glitter of his brilliant though shallow compositions as to follow his methods in so faithful a manner, is incomprehensible. It is eminently to the credit of French taste that "Guillaume Tell," his only really great work of serious import, should have been written for the Paris Grand Opéra.
Entirely devoid of artistic conscience or of any of those lofty aspirations towards the ideal that stamp the true artist, be his name Bach or Beethoven, Schubert or Schumann, Berlioz or Wagner, Rossini deliberately squandered his genius. Success seems to have been his only object, and this once acquired he was content to idle away the remainder of a long existence, sublimely unconscious of the great musical upheaval that was being accomplished by genuine workers in the cause of art.
What can we think of a composer who could employ the same overture to precede operas so widely different in regard to their subject-matter as "Elisabetta, Regina d'Inghilterra" and "Il Barbiere"? What of the musician who thought that a brilliant martial strain was the right musical interpretation of the sublime and poignant words expressive of Mary at the foot of the Cross? "Cujus animam gementem, contristantem et dolentem"; words of indescribable sadness and depth; a mother mourning her Divine Son; a theme unexampled in point of pathos and emotion, set to a melody that would be in its proper place in some pageant descriptive of the triumphal entry of a conqueror into a city!
What, again, of the composer who could prefix a tragedy like "Othello" with an overture fit for an "opéra bouffe?" And what would be said nowadays of the musician who, finding himself short of an idea, pilfered that of another composer, as Rossini did in "Il Barbiere," the trio in the last act of which being palpably taken from Haydn's "Seasons"? The greater a man's genius—and no one would dream of denying this attribute to Rossini—the greater his responsibility. Noblesse oblige. In order that I may not be accused of formulating too harsh a judgment upon the Italian master, I will quote the following words of Blaze de Bury, his friend and admirer: "Avec du génie et les circonstances, on fait les Rossini; pour être Mozart ou Raphaël, Michel Ange ou Beethoven, il faut avoir quelque chose de plus: des principes."
What has been termed the "golden epoch" of the "grand opéra" was at this time at its apogee, and the period often years from 1828 to 1838 witnessed the production upon the same boards of Auber's "La Muette de Portici," known here as "Masaniello," Rossini's "Guillaume Tell," Halévy's "La Juive," and Meyerbeer's "Robert le Diable" and "Les Huguenots."
It has been too much the fashion in recent years to decry the works of Meyerbeer, and to lay stress upon their shortcomings whilst giving but a grudging half-hearted acknowledgment to the many undeniable beauties that pervade them. Against so unjust a verdict I desire emphatically to protest, for however much Meyerbeer may have sacrificed for the sake of effect, there can be no doubt that he contributed in a large measure towards raising the operatic standard, then at a very low level.