In “Guido et Ginevra,” he tries to repeat the success of “La Juive,” but despite several fine flights of genius he failed, not only owing to the morbidly sad and dull nature of the play, but to the heaviness of the music. He was more successful with “La Reine de Chypre,” an essentially spectacular opera, which, by the way, was analyzed by Wagner in one of his Paris letters (1841). The score is often brilliant and melodious, and it contains some movingly pathetic melodies, but it is uneven in excellence, and has pages on pages of music so obscure in meaning and so dull in effect that its interest is often impaired. Almost the same criticism may be made on his next grand opera, “Charles VI.” Moreover, by this time, Meyerbeer’s “Les Huguenots” had been produced, and Halévy, carried away by the enthusiasm with which that work filled him, consciously or otherwise, deserted his own marked individuality and became, to all intents and purposes, a follower of Meyerbeer, at least in grand opera. In his “Le Val d’Andorre” he became himself again, for the time being, and produced a lyric drama that fell little short of perfection in the complete sympathy with which the composer identified himself with the poet. There Halévy sounded the very depths of passionate grief, in the music he has given to Rosa after her lover has been drawn as conscript. In “Les Mousquetaires de la Reine” he produced a delightful score, sparkling, chivalrous in spirit and full of beauties. For the rest there is little to be said that would not be in the way of repetition. His “La Tempesta,” written for Her Majesty’s Theatre, London, was received there with enthusiastic favor, but although there are some genuine beauties in the work, especially in the finely characteristic music given to Caliban, it has nothing in it that entitles it to live. Halévy was greatly piqued that the one melody most praised by the artists, and that was hummed by everybody, was Dr. Arne’s “Where the bee sucks,” which he had retained for Ariel. With all his fecundity in melody Halévy rarely wrote one that achieved general popularity. The most noted exception is “Quand de la nuit l’épais nuage” from “L’Eclair,” a charming air, simple, chaste, and delicious in its tender grace. He seldom, however, vouchsafed so unaffected a tune, the harmonies of which are for the most part confined to the tonic and dominant. The romance “Pendant la fête une inconnue,” from “Guido et Genevra,” is another morceau, scarcely less naïve and delicate, that long survived the opera in which it appeared, but it did not make the tour of the world as did the other. His comic operas abound in fascinating music which is buried, and must remain so, in the uninteresting librettos that he so thoughtlessly accepted. In that dreary book, “Le Drapier,” there is a glorious duet, “Ah! devenez mon père.” But there is not an opera of his in which some perfect gem is not to be found. His fecundity in melody is impressively exemplified in the fairy opera “La Fée aux Roses,” of which the score is affluent in charming music, sensuously oriental in style, beautiful in local color, and of striking originality in orchestral treatment. He made an attempt to revive the enharmonic scale of the Greeks in his “Prométhée Enchainé,” the translation of which had been made by his brother. It was a bold adventure, but it failed. It must be confessed that it is monotonous because of lack of variety in the orchestration, owing to the almost continuous use of wind instruments to the neglect of the strings. The recitatives are noble, and the chorus of the Océanides is one of his most classical and beautiful compositions.
CARICATURE OF HALÉVY BY CARJAT.
From the Paris illustrated paper “Le Gaulois.”
Halévy, despite all his industry and the fame he enjoyed through his greatest successes, made no lasting impression on the music of his day. Even “La Juive,” notwithstanding its power and its brilliancy, found no imitators, and “L’Eclair” still stands alone, the only example in its genre. It is sad that an artist should have labored so long and so well, should have been a thorough master of his art, and yet have fallen almost into obscurity thirty years after his death. A careful examination of some of his more ambitious operas shows that he was, in some respects, slightly in advance of his time, especially in his tendency to avoid purely rhythmical airs in favor of what is now called “Endless Melody,” but there is no likelihood that the future will revive his works. It was his misfortune that Meyerbeer’s star rose so early after the appearance of “La Juive,” and that Halévy was drawn into the vortex that the rage for the composer of “Les Huguenots” made. If he had followed the example of the latter, had written music to none but good librettos, economized his talents instead of wasting them in a reckless ambition to produce music; if he had also adhered firmly to his own individual originality instead of permitting himself to be unreasonably influenced by the success of another, his operas might have had a stronger claim than they have on the favorable consideration of posterity. When Halévy wrote “La Juive,” the time was ripe for a great revolution in French grand opera, and he just escaped becoming an epoch-maker at his art. Meyerbeer appeared at that moment, and to him fell the honor that was just within Halévy’s grasp. Whether the latter would have seized it if his rival’s career had been delayed, it is hard to say, for his lack of discrimination in the choice of opera books was already deep-seated. Saint Beuve says of him: “‘La Juive,’ ‘Guido,’ ‘La Reine de Chypre,’ ‘Charles VI,’ are true lyric tragedies on which are the seal of beauties that time cannot obliterate. Some works, that appeal more readily to the tastes of the masses, have been dowered with greater popularity, but the decision of those who know is the only one that appeals to a conscientious artist, and of this, Halévy received an ample share. We think we are not mistaken in saying that as musical education becomes more widespread, the popularity of Halévy will grow.” This, however, is doubtful, and it is more than probable that Halévy himself felt that he had not wholly accomplished his mission, for Saint Beuve, who knew him well, also says, “It is strange that this estimable man, always full of work, should sometimes have nursed a secret sorrow. What it was, not even his most cherished and trusted friends ever knew. He never complained.” Who shall say that this secret sorrow, so silently guarded, was not born of a sense of failure, or at least, of self-disappointment! It is not improbable that toward the close of his busy art-life he saw, with prophetic eye, the fate that was to attend the greater part of what he had composed; that he had written for his own time and not for the future. Already he has become little more than a name to nearly all, except students of musical history. The works on which his fame chiefly rests are seldom performed, and the others, admirable as many of them are, have gone into oblivion, and in all probability, never to see the light again. That he was a master in his art, is unquestionable, but it would seem also that he was lacking in that highest quality of genius that confers immortality on its possessor.
HECTOR BERLIOZ
Reproduction of a portrait engraved by A. Gilbert after a painting by G. Courbet.
