[1] The transposition of the tenor part to the soprano register seems an intolerable musical solecism, and a woman playing a serious and inevitably male character grotesquely absurd. The terms in which Massenet here expresses his objections to this indefensible procedure are gentle and but mildly ironical compared with those he used to the translator. Massenet was simply furious. With flaming eyes—and how his wonderful eyes could flame!—and voice vehement with indignation and unutterable scorn, he said to me, "When I wrote that work I little thought the monk's habit would ever be disguised in a petticoat from the Rue de la Paix."
As I have said, this work had to wait its turn, and as Carvalho had previously engaged me to write the music for Griseldis, a work by Eugene Morand and Armand Silvestre, which was much applauded at the Théâtre-Français. I wrote the score at intervals between my journeys to the South and to Cap d'Antibes. Ah, that hotel on the Cap d'Antibes! That was an unusual stay. It was an old property built by Villemessant, who had christened it correctly and happily "Villa Soliel," and which he planned for journalists overtaken by poverty and old age.
Imagine, if you can, a large villa with white walls all purple from the fires of the bright sun of the South and surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees, myrtles and laurels. It was reached by shady paths, suffused with the most fragrant perfumes, and faced the sea—that sea which rolls its clear waters from the Azure Coast and the Riviera along the indented shores of Italy as far as ancient Hellas, as if to carry thither on its azured waves which bathe Provence the far off salutation of the Phocean city.
How pleased I was with my sun-flooded room, where I worked in peace and quiet and in the enjoyment of perfect health!
As I have spoken of Griseldis, I will add that as I had two works free, that and Le Jongleur de Notre Dame, my publisher offered Albert Carré his choice and he took Griseldis. That is why, as I have said, Le Jongleur de Notre Dame was put on at Monte Carlo in 1902.
So Griseldis got the first start and was given at the Opéra-Comique November 20, 1901.
Mlle. Lucienne Bréval made a superb creation of it. The baritone, Dufranne, made his first appearance in the rôle of the marquis, Griseldis's husband, and made a brilliant success from the moment he came on the stage; Fugère was extraordinary in the rôle of the Devil, and Maréchal was a tender lover in the part of Alain.
I was very fond of this piece. Everything about it pleased me.
It brought together so many touching sentiments: the proud chivalric appearance of the great, powerful seigneur going on the Crusades, the fantastic appearance of the Green Devil who might be said to have come from a window of a medieval cathedral, the simplicity of young Alain, and the delightful little figure of the child of Griseldis! For that part we had a tiny girl of three who was the very spirit of the theater. As in the second act the child on Griseldis's knees should give the illusion of falling asleep, the little artiste discovered all by herself the proper gesture which would be understood by the distant audience; she let her arms fall as if overcome with weariness. Delightful little mummer!
Albert Carré had found an archaic and historic oratory which was artistically perfect, and when the curtain rose on Griseldis's garden, it was a delight. What a contrast between the lilies blooming in the foreground and the dismal castle on the horizon!