Massenet and Women
Massenet and Women
THE name of Jules Massenet, spoken before his tomb, should evoke many memories besides the souvenirs of the delicate melodies he wrote—memories of beautiful and frail women, a long, exotic list, women whom he melodically created in his operas and women whom he selected to sing his heroines.
Xavier Leroux in his preface to the “Souvenirs,” in which Massenet carefully describes his life, calls him the musicien de la femme. His music is peculiarly feminine—“melodically, sentimentally, sensuously feminine,” says Philip Hale. “The Eve of Massenet is a Parisian cocotte. His Mary Magdalen is a grande amoureuse even after her conversion; a true sister of Thaïs.”
Marie-Magdeleine, Eve, Salome, Manon, the fragrant, who suggested a flower girl in the Boulevard des Capucines; Chimène, inspired by the classic Corneille; Esclarmonde, in which the astonishing Sybil Sanderson rose to her fame; Charlotte, who, according to Thackeray, having seen Werther’s body “borne before her on a shutter, like a well-conducted person went on cutting bread and butter”; the eternal Thaïs, who at first failed to interest the jaded boulevards; the sanguinary Anita, the girl from Navarre; Sapho, who never, in the opera at least, was carried upstairs until Mary Garden portrayed her; Cinderella, the faithful Grisélidis, many times tempted; the Spanish dancer, l’Ensoleillad and Nina in the opera Chérubin; Ariane and her companions, Phèdre and Perséphone; Thérèse, Dulcinée, and the Queen Amahelly, all written for that “grande tragédienne lyrique,” Lucy Arbell: it would seem that every country and every period of history had been searched for a complete survey of feminism. And among the unproduced works which the composer left in a completed form is a Cléopâtre!
And what a list of women has sung these parts! Women whom Massenet wholly or partly adored; women for whom he dropped precious dots of ink on paper, instead of buying them pearls in the Rue de la Paix; women for whom, in some instances, he preserved his scores for years. For Massenet was never hasty. He never gave a score to an unworthy interpreter. In this connection it is only necessary to remember that Amadis, completed in 1890, and Panurge, completed in 1910, are not yet produced (1912).
Women reciprocated his love. Louis Schneider, in his biography of the composer, puts it thus: “A woman is like a child; she gives instinctively to the person who loves her. This explains why his incessant glorification of woman made all women like him.”
And so, linked indissolubly with the name of Massenet, we may recall the names of those who helped him to build his fame as the feminist composer, those who “created” in the theatre the atmosphere he had devised for his characters. Five names stand out in prominent relief: the charming Marie Heilbronn, the ill-fated Sybil Sanderson, Emma Calvé, Mary Garden, and Lucy Arbell. But there are countless others: Marie Renard, who “created” Charlotte and first sang Manon in Vienna; Marie Delna, who brought Werther to Paris; Lina Cavalieri, the first Ensoleillad in Chérubin, who afterwards introduced Thaïs and Manon to Italy, and later brought back Thaïs to the répertoire of the Paris Opéra; Lucienne Bréval, who was the first Ariane and Grisélidis; Marguerite Carré, the first Nina in Chérubin and who assisted in the revival of Sapho at the Opéra-Comique; Mlle. Kousnezoff, the Fausta in Roma; Mme. Duvivier, Salome at Brussels; Mme. Fidès-Devriès, Salome at Paris; Pauline Viardot, the sister of the great Malibran, who sang Marie-Magdeleine as an oratorio at the Odéon, April 11, 1873; Lina Pacary, who sang one season at New Orleans, who was the first to sing the Magdeleine in operatic form; Julia Guiraudon, the first Cendrillon; Aino Ackté, the first Vierge; Joséphine de Reszke, sister of two famous singers, who “created” the leading feminine rôle in Le Roi de Lahore; and Mme. Galli-Marié, the first Carmen, who honored the first performance of Don César de Bazan. But the list is interminable. What names does it not include? What beautiful woman with a voice of the past three decades does not receive a few words of gratitude in the “Souvenirs”?
Of all the women, however, who have sung the Massenet rôles the one most particularly identified with the composer was Sybil Sanderson, the beautiful California girl, whose career was as short as it was brilliant. Massenet met her at a dinner given by an American friend. She came with her mother, described by the composer as being almost as beautiful as her daughter. After dinner Miss Sanderson asked the composer if he would hear her sing. He consented affably, as was his custom—never was there a more gentle man!—and seated himself at the piano.
“You will excuse me,” she added, “if I do not sing your music. That would be too audacious.”