In this man we see that a Jew may be gifted with the most refined and great talent, that he may have received a most careful and extensive education, that he may possess the greatest and noblest ambition, and yet, with the aid of all these advantages, be unable, even once, to impress on our mind and heart that profound sensation we look for in music, and which we have so many times experienced as soon as a hero of our art intones one single chord for us. Those who specially occupy themselves with musical criticism, and who share our opinion, will, on analyzing the works of Mendelssohn, be able to prove the truthfulness of this statement, which, indeed, can hardly be contested.
COLD WORDS FOR MEYERBEER.
In order to explain the general impression which the music of this composer makes upon us, it will be sufficient to state that it interests us only when our imagination, always more or less eager for distraction, is excited in following in its many shapes, a series of forms most refined, and most carefully and artistically worked. These several forms only interest us, in the same manner as the combinations of colour in a kaleidoscope. But when these forms ought to express the profoundest and most forcible emotions of the human heart, they entirely fail to satisfy us.
No one, judging dispassionately, will contend that Wagner has exceeded the legitimate limits of criticism. It is not dogmatism, since he appealed to the reasoning faculty and adduced proof in favour of his deduction. The context of the article naturally imparts additional force to his statements. Mendelssohn is credited with the highest gifts, natural and acquired, and yet falls short in the production of a masterpiece that appeals direct to the heart, because by ancestry and surroundings he has stood without the pale of our European civilization, and consequently has not assimilated the feelings of the masses.
In his observations upon Meyerbeer he says:—
A musical artist of this race, whose fame in our time has spread everywhere, writes his works to suit that portion of the public whose musical taste has been so vitiated by those only desiring to make capital out of the art. The opera-going public has for a long time omitted to demand from the dramatic art that which one has a right to look for from it.
This celebrated composer of operas to whom we are making allusion, has taken upon himself to supply the public with this deception, this sham art. It would be superfluous to enter upon a profound examination of the artistic means which this artist employs with profusion to achieve his aim; it will be sufficient to say that he understands perfectly how to deceive the public. His successes are the proof of it. He succeeds particularly in making the bored audience accept that jargon which we have characterized as a modern, piquant expression of all the trivialities already served up to them so many times in their primitive absurdity. One will not be astonished that this composer equally takes care to introduce into his works those grand catastrophes of the soul which so profoundly stir an audience, for one knows how much those people who are the victims of boredom seek such emotions. Whoever reflects upon the reasons which insure success under such circumstances, will not be surprised to see that this artist succeeds so completely.
The faculty of deceiving is so great with this artist, that he deceives himself. Perhaps, indeed, he wishes it as much for himself as for the public. We verily believe that he would like to create works of art, but that he knows he is not able of doing so. In order to escape from this painful conflict between his wish and his ability, he composes operas for Paris, and has them produced in other countries, which in these days is the surest means of acquiring the reputation of an artist without being one. When we see him thus overwhelmed by the trouble he gives himself in practising self-deception, he almost assumes, in our eyes, a tragical figure, were there not in him too much personal interest and self at work, the amalgamation of which reduces it to the comic. Besides the Judaism which reigns generally in art, and which this composer represents in music, he is distinguished by an impotence to touch us, and further by the ridiculous which is inherent in him.
OFFENDING THE CRITICS.
This criticism upon Meyerbeer is caustic and unsparing. Yet even now public opinion has testified to its veracity. It is not making too bold a statement to say that no musician of taste, no musician—it matters not of what nationality or school—of to-day will accord Meyerbeer that exalted position he occupied when Wagner had the temerity to show the sham and unreal art in the man. At that time, now nearly forty years ago, Richard Wagner suffered severely for his fearless and outspoken criticism. Personal jealousy was freely hurled at him as the paltry incentive of his article. I frankly admit, with an intimate acquaintance of Wagner’s feelings regarding Meyerbeer, that he despised the “mountebank,” hating cordially the thousand commercial incidents Meyerbeer associated with the production of his works. Schlesinger told me indeed of well-authenticated instances where Meyerbeer had gone so far as to conciliate the mistresses of critics to secure a favourable verdict. It can easily be understood that Wagner could not help feeling contempt for such a man, for when he himself came to London in 1855, he absolutely refused to call on any single critic, notwithstanding I impressed upon him how necessary and habitual such custom was. The result we know. He offended them all.