Being now in high favor at court, Lully was authorized to compose dance tunes for the ballets that Louis XIV. caused to be performed nearly every year, and in which his Majesty himself participated. Later he composed the entire musical portion of these entertainments, which were sometimes called “Mascarades.” He was uniformly successful, and Fortune had evidently chosen him for her own.
Enterprising and full of confidence in his talent and savoir-faire, Lully, having formed a friendship with Molière, did not hesitate to appear as a comedian and to perform in the pieces that were represented in the great dramatist’s theatre. In 1669, he took the rôle of Pourceaugnac in the piece of that name, and the Mufti in “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.”
Certain writers, contemporaries of Lully, foremost among whom must be mentioned the great Racine and the no less illustrious La Fontaine, have passed a somewhat harsh judgment on the composer’s character. It is true that he sometimes showed himself a most abject sycophant in presence of the nobility at court, and especially before the king. But what courtier was not humble in presence of the sovereign of that court? Still, in spite of his humility before the great, Lully did not completely lose his dignity. On certain occasions his retorts to influential persons at court, and even to the king himself, were characterized by remarkable boldness. Two examples may be given to show the droll and daring humor of the celebrated composer.
It happened, one day, that the Marquis de Louvois, the powerful minister of Louis XIV., taunted Lully with having secured the king’s friendship solely by his talent for buffoonery. To this the musician, drawing up his head proudly, made the fearless reply, “Zounds! you would do as much if you could!”
Again, at the first performance of “Armide” at Versailles, Félix Clément tells us, some unforeseen difficulties prevented the raising of the curtain at the appointed time. The king, becoming impatient at the delay, sent one of the officers of his guard to inform Lully of his dissatisfaction. The words, “The king is waiting,” elicited from the composer a reply as sharp as it was wanting in respect. “The king,” said he, “is master here, and nobody has the right to prevent him waiting as long as he likes!”—a quip more witty than prudent. The courtiers believed that the man who dared to make such a reply was irretrievably lost; and when “Armide” was given at the Royal Academy of Music on the 15th of February, 1686, the audience, fearful of compromising themselves if they applauded the work, received it in a depressingly frigid manner. Convinced of the merit of his score, Lully had it executed a few days later for his own satisfaction (as did the king of Bavaria, recently, with Wagner’s lyric dramas at the theatre of Bayreuth). Louis XIV. hearing of this, and feeling that a work which had been pronounced good by his musician could not be otherwise, set the seal of his praise on the score of “Armide,” which immediately obtained a signal success and was even proclaimed the best work that Lully had written.
JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY.
From an engraving by Bonnart at the British Museum.
It has also been said that the founder of French opera, though humble and abject in the presence of the powerful, was proportionately insolent and despotic with his artists and the persons employed at the Opéra. It is true that Lully often flew into a passion and accused the performers of clumsiness, and he went so far, on one occasion, as to break the violin belonging to one of the members of the orchestra upon the head of the unfortunate performer, because he had failed to render a somewhat difficult passage in a satisfactory manner. The composer made amends for his violence, however, by presenting to the insulted violinist three times the value of the broken instrument, and also by inviting him to dinner.
Apart from the acts he committed in moments of passion, Lully was a model director and far outshone any who preceded him. He found time to do everything; he composed, attended the court, saw to the mise-en-scène of his operas, and superintended the rehearsals of both the vocal and instrumental elements of the piece. He paid great attention to the scenic effects, which were very complicated in that day, and being a clever comedian and an accomplished dancer, he acted as stage manager and general director of all dramatic performances.
Lully married the daughter of Lambert, who is mentioned by Boileau in his third satire; and their union was a happy one. In the course of time the composer became wealthy, and the owner of several houses in Paris. His death was brought about by a curious accident. Louis XIV. having been ill, on his recovery, Lully composed, as a thanks-offering, a “Te Deum” which was performed under his direction at the Feuillants in the Rue Saint-Honoré, on the 8th of February, 1687. During one of the rehearsals Lully was beating time with his cane, and, in so doing, accidentally struck his toe, inflicting a bruise. The injury, which seemed at first nothing more than a slight concussion, speedily developed into a serious sore; an abscess appeared, and of such a malignant character that the doctors considered it would be necessary to amputate the affected part. Lully hesitated to sanction this extreme step, and in a short time it became a question, not of amputating merely the toe, but the entire foot. The patient would not consent to this, however, and the disease, making rapid progress, soon affected the whole leg, and the one hope of saving his life lay in the amputation of that member. Unfortunately, at the very moment when he appeared willing to undergo the operation, a quack came on the scene and offered to cure the patient without recourse to amputation; but the efforts of this empirical pretender were in vain, and the illustrious composer passed away at Paris, on Saturday, the 22d of March, 1687, aged fifty-four years. Of him Mme. de Sévigné wrote, after listening to some of his more serious music, “If there be music in heaven, it must be the music of Lully.”