With Bizet (1838-1875), the influence of Wagner is felt in French music for the first time. 'Les Pêcheurs de Perles' (1863), his first work, follows traditional models pretty closely for the most part, and though containing music of charm and originality, does not, of course, represent Bizet's genius in its most characteristic aspects. It tells the story of the love of two Cingalese pearl-fishers for the priestess Leila. There are only three characters in the piece, and very little incident. The score owes a good deal to Félicien David's 'Le Désert,' but there is a dramatic force about several scenes which foreshadows the power and variety of 'Carmen.' 'La Jolie Fille de Perth' (1867), is to a great extent a tribute to the powerful influence of Verdi. It is a tuneful and effective work, but cannot be called an advance on 'Les Pêcheurs de Perles,' In 'Djamileh' (1872), we find the real Bizet for the first time. The story tells of the salvation of a world-wearied youth, who is won back to life by the love and devotion of his slave. It is a clever study in Oriental colour, but has little dramatic value, though it was thought very advanced at the time of its production. In 1875, the year of Bizet's death, 'Carmen' was produced. The libretto is founded upon Mérimée's famous novel. Carmen, a sensual and passionate gipsy girl, is arrested for stabbing one of her comrades in a cigarette manufactory at Seville. She exercises all her powers of fascination upon the soldier, José by name, who is told off to guard her, and succeeds in persuading him to connive at her escape. For this offence he is imprisoned for a month, but Carmen contrives to communicate with him in gaol, and at the expiration of his sentence he meets her once more in an inn at the outskirts of the town. The passionate animalism of the gipsy completely captivates him, and forgetting Micaëla, the country damsel to whom he is betrothed, he yields himself entirely to Carmen's fascinations. He quarrels with one of his officers about her, and to escape punishment flies with Carmen to join a band of smugglers in the mountains. Carmen's capricious affection for José soon dies out, and she transfers her allegiance to the bull-fighter Escamillo, who follows her to the smugglers' lair, and is nearly killed by the infuriated José. Micaëla also finds her way up to the camp, and persuades José to go home with her and tend the last moments of his dying mother. The last act takes place outside the Plaza de Toros at Seville. José has returned to plead once more with Carmen, but her love has grown cold and she rejects him disdainfully. After a scene of bitter recrimination he kills her, while the shouts of the people inside the arena acclaim the triumph of Escamillo. 'Carmen' was coldly received at first. Its passionate force was miscalled brutality, and the suspicion of German influence which Bizet's clever use of guiding themes excited, was in itself enough to alienate the sympathies of the average Frenchman in the early seventies. Since its production 'Carmen' has gradually advanced in general estimation, and is now one of the most popular operas in the modern repertory. It is unnecessary to do more than allude to its many beauties, the nervous energy of the more declamatory parts, the brilliant and expressive orchestration, the extraordinarily clever use of Spanish rhythms, and the finished musicianship displayed upon every page of the score. The catalogue of Bizet's works is completed by 'Don Procopio,' an imitation of Italian opera buffa dating from his student days in Rome. It was unearthed and produced at Monte Carlo in 1906. It is a bright and lively little work, but has no pretensions to original value. Bizet's early death deprived the French school of one of its brightest ornaments. To him is largely due the development of opéra comique which has taken place within the last twenty years, a development which has taken it almost to the confines of grand opera.
Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880), though German by birth, may fitly be mentioned here, since the greater part of his life was spent in Paris, and his music was more typically French than that of any of his Gallic rivals. His innumerable opéras bouffes scarcely come within the scope of this work, but his posthumous opéra comique, 'Les Contes d'Hoffman (1881), is decidedly more ambitious in scope, and still holds the stage by virtue of its piquant melody and clever musicianship. In Germany, where 'Les Contes d' Hoffmann' is still very popular under the name of 'Hoffmann's Erzählungen,' it is usually performed in a revised version, which differs considerably from the French original as regards plot and dialogue, though the music is practically the same. Hoffmann, the famous story-teller, is the hero of the opera, which, after a prologue in a typically German beer-cellar, follows his adventures through three scenes, each founded upon one of his famous tales. In the first we see him fascinated by the mechanical doll Olympia, in the second he is at the feet of the Venetian courtesan Giulietta, while in the third we assist at his futile endeavours to save the youthful singer Antonia from the clutches of the mysterious Dr. Miracle.
The career of César Franck (1822-1890), offers a striking contrast to that of his famous contemporary Gounod. Fame came betimes to Gounod. While he was still a young man his reputation was European. He wrote his masterpiece at forty, and lived on its success for the remaining thirty years of his life. Since his death his fame has sadly shrunk, and even 'Faust' is beginning to 'date' unmistakably. The name of César Franck, on the other hand, until his death was hardly known beyond a narrow circle of pupils, but during the last fifteen years his reputation has advanced by leaps and bounds. At the present moment there is hardly a musician in Paris who would not call him the greatest French composer— he was a Belgian by birth, but what of that?—of the nineteenth century. His fame was won in the concert-room rather than in the theatre, but the day may yet come when his 'Hulda' will be a familiar work to opera-goers. It was produced in 1894 at Monte Carlo, but, in spite of the deep impression which it created, has not yet been heard in Paris. The action passes in Norway in the times of the Vikings. Hulda is carried off by a band of marauders, whose chief she is compelled to wed. She loves Eyolf, another Viking, and persuades him to murder her husband. After a time he proves faithless to her, whereupon she kills him and throws herself into the sea. This gloomy tale is illustrated by music of extraordinary power and beauty. Although Franck only avails himself of guiding themes to a limited extent, in mastery of the polyphonic style his work will compare with Wagner's most elaborate scores. In fact, the opulence of orchestral resource and the virility of inspiration displayed in 'Hulda' strikingly recall the beauties of 'Tristan und Isolde.' 'Ghiselle,' a work left unfinished by the composer and completed by several of his pupils, was produced in 1896 at Monte Carlo. Although by no means upon the same level as 'Hulda,' 'Ghiselle' also contains much fine music, and will doubtless be heard of again.
Léo Delibes (1836-1891) made no pretensions to the dignity and solidity of César Franck's style. He shone principally in ballet-music, but 'Lakmé' (1883), his best-known opera, is a work of much charm and tenderness. It tells the story of a Hindoo damsel who loves an English officer. Her father, a priest, discovering the state of her affections, tries to assassinate the Englishman, but Lakmé saves his life, and conveys him to a place of concealment in the jungle. There she find that his heart is set upon a beautiful English 'miss,' and, in despair, poisons herself with the flowers of the Datura. Delibes's music never rises to passion, but it is unfailingly tender and graceful, and is scored with consummate dexterity. He has a pretty feeling too for local colour, and the scene in Lakmé's garden is full of a dreamy sensuous charm. 'Le Roi l'a dit' (1873) is a dainty little work upon an old French subject, as graceful and fragile as a piece of Sèvres porcelain. 'Kassya,' which the composer left unfinished, was orchestrated by Massenet, and produced in 1893. In this work Delibes attempted a tragic story to which his delicate talent was ill suited, and the opera achieved little success. Delibes is a typically French musician. Slight as his works often are, the exquisite skill of the workmanship saves them from triviality. He made no pretensions to advanced views, and though he occasionally trifles with guiding themes, the interest of his works rests almost entirely upon his dainty vein of melody and the finish of his orchestration.
With Delibes may be classed Ferdinand Poise (1828-1892), a composer who made a speciality of operas founded upon the comedies of Molière and his contemporaries, and Ernest Guiraud (1837 1892), whose 'Piccolino' (1876) is one of the daintiest of modern comic operas. His 'Frédégonde,' produced in Paris in 1895, proved emphatically that his talent did not lie in the direction of grand opera. Edouard Lalo (1823-1892), a composer of no little charm and resource, owes his fame chiefly to 'Le Roi d'Ys,' which was successfully produced at the Opéra Comique in 1888, and was played in London in 1901. It is a gloomy story, founded upon a Breton legend. Margared and Rozenn, the two daughters of the King of Ys, both love the warrior Mylio, but Mylio's heart is given to Rozenn. The slighted Margared in revenge betrays her father's city to Karnac, the defeated enemy of her country, giving him the keys of the sluices which protect the town from the sea. Karnac opens the sluices and the tide rushes in. The town and its people are on the point of being overwhelmed, when Margared, stricken by remorse, throws herself into the waters. St. Corentin, the patron saint of Ys, accepts the sacrifice, and the sea retires. 'Le Roi d'Ys' is an excellent specimen of the kind of opera which French composers of the second rank used to write before the sun of Wagner dawned upon their horizon. It is redolent of Meyerbeer and Gounod, and though some of the scenes are not without vigour, it is impossible to avoid feeling that in 'Le Roi d'Ys' Lalo was forcing a graceful and delicate talent into an uncongenial groove. He is at his best in the lighter parts of the work, such as the pretty scene of Rozenn's wedding, which is perfectly charming. Emmanuel Chabrier (1842-1894), after writing a comic opera of thoroughly Gallic verve and grace, 'Le Roi malgré lui,' announced himself as a staunch adherent of Wagner in the interesting but unequal 'Gwendoline,' which was performed at Brussels in 1886. Benjamin Godard (1849-1895), one of the most prolific of modern composers, won no theatrical success until the production of 'La Vivandière' (1895), an attractive work constructed upon conventional lines, in which the banality of the material employed is often redeemed by clever treatment. Emile Paladilhe won a brilliant success in 1886 with 'Patrie,' and among other meritorious composers of what may be called the pre-Wagnerian type are Victorin Joncières (1839-1903) and Thodéore Dubois.
Of living French composers Camille Saint Saëns is the unquestioned head, but he is known to fame principally by his successes in the concert-room. Many of his operas achieved only succès d'estime, though not one of them is without beauty of a high order. Over 'La Princesse Jaune' (1872) and 'Le Timbre d' Argent' (1877) there is no need to linger. 'Samson et Dalila,' his first work of importance, was produced at Weimar in 1877, but, in spite of its success there and in other German towns, did not find its way on to a Parisian stage until 1890. The libretto follows the Biblical narrative with tolerable fidelity. In the first act, Samson rouses the Israelites to arms, kills the Philistine leader and disperses their army. In the second he visits Dalila in the Vale of Sorek, tells her the secret of his strength, and is betrayed into the hands of the Philistines. The third act shows Samson, blind and in chains, grinding at a mill. The scene afterwards changes to the temple of Dagon, where a magnificent festival is in progress. Samson is summoned to make sport for the Philistine lords, and the act ends with the destruction of the temple, and the massacre of the Philistines. Saint Saëns is the Proteus of modern music, and his scores generally reveal the traces of many opposing influences. The earlier scenes of 'Samson et Dalila' are conceived in the spirit of oratorio, and the choral writing, which is unusually solid and dignified, often recalls the massive style of Handel. In the second act he exhausts the resources of modern passion and colour, and in the Philistine revels of the third act he makes brilliant and judicious use of Oriental rhythms and intervals. Guiding themes are used in the opera, but not to any important extent, and the construction of the score owes very little to Wagner. Yet though the main outlines of the work adhere somewhat closely to a type which is now no longer popular, there is little fear of 'Samson et Dalila' becoming old-fashioned. The exquisite melody with which it overflows, combined with the inimitable art of the orchestration, make it one of the most important and attractive works of the modern French school. 'Étienne Marcel' (1879) and 'Proserpine' (1887) must be classed among Saint Saëns's failures, but 'Henry VIII.' is a work of high interest, which, though produced so long ago as 1883, is still popular in Paris. The action of the piece begins at the time when Henry is first smitten with the charms of Anne Boleyn, who for his sake neglects her former admirer, Don Gomez, the Spanish Ambassador. Negotiations regarding the King's divorce with Catherine of Aragon are set on foot, and, when the Pope refuses to sanction it, Henry proclaims England independent of the Roman Church, amidst the acclamations of the people. In the last act Anne is queen. Catherine, who is at the point of death, has in her possession a compromising letter from Anne to Don Gomez. Henry is devoured by jealousy, and comes, accompanied by Don Gomez, to try to obtain possession of the incriminating document. Anne comes also for the same purpose. This is the strongest scene in the opera. Henry, in order to incite Catherine to revenge, speaks to Anne in his tenderest tones, but the divorced queen rises to the occasion. Praying for strength to resist the temptation, she throws the letter into the fire and falls down dead.
Saint Saëns has treated this scene with uncommon variety and force, and indeed the whole opera is a masterly piece of writing. He uses guiding themes with more freedom than in 'Samson et Dalila,' but the general outline of 'Henry VIII.' is certainly not Wagnerian in type. The same may be said of 'Ascanio,' a work produced in 1890, with only partial success. 'Phryné,' which was given at the Opéra Comique in 1893, is on a much less elaborate scale. It is a musicianly little work, but in form follows the traditions of the older school of opéra comique with almost exaggerated fidelity. 'Les Barbares' (1901), a story of the Teutonic invasion of Gaul, did not enhance the composer's reputation. The plot is of a well-worn kind. Marcomir, the leader of the barbarian invaders, is subjugated by the charms of the priestess Floria, who, after the requisite amount of hesitation, falls duly into his arms. Finally Marcomir is stabbed by Livia, whose husband he had killed in battle. Saint Saëns's music is admirable from the point of view of workmanship, but it is singularly devoid of anything like inspiration. 'Les Barbares' was received with all the respect due to a work from the pen of the leading musician of modern France, but it would be useless to pretend that it is likely to keep its place in the current repertory.
'Hélène' (1904) is a more favourable example of Saint Saëns's many-sided talent. The libretto, which is the work of the composer himself, deals with the flight of Helen and Paris from Sparta, and the greater part of the one act of which the opera consists is devoted to an impassioned duet between the lovers. The apparitions of Venus and Pallas, the one urging Helen upon her purposed flight, the other dissuading her from it, give variety to the action, but the work as a whole lacks dramatic intensity, though it rises to a climax of some power. Saint Saëns's music is interesting and musicianly from first to last. Like Berlioz in his 'Prise de Troie' he has plainly gone to Gluck for his inspiration, and in its sobriety and breadth of design no less than in its classic dignity of melody and orchestration, his music often recalls the style of the mighty composer of 'Alceste.'
Saint Saëns's latest opera, 'L'Ancêtre' (1906), has not added materially to his reputation. It is a gloomy and, to tell the truth, somewhat conventional story of a Corsican vendetta. The instrumental part of the work is treated in masterly fashion, but the opera as a whole met with little favour at its production at Monte Carlo, and it has not been performed elsewhere.
Saint Saëns's theory of opera has been to combine song, declamation, and symphony in equal proportions, and thus, though he has written works which cannot fail to charm, he seems often to have fallen foul of both camps in the world of music. The Wagnerians object to the set form of his works, and the reactionaries condemn the prominence which he often gives to the declamatory and symphonic portions of his score. He is by nature a thorough eclectic, and his works possess a deep interest for musicians, but it may be doubted whether, in opera at any rate, a more masterful personality is not necessary to produce work of really permanent value.