The serenade in Don Pasquale is graceful and coquettish. If Donizetti
intended this declaration of love to be taken merely as a jest, he has perfectly succeeded.
M. Gounod has written several serenades, without including his “Aubades.” To speak of the former only, the serenade of Mephistopheles “Vous qui faites l’endormie,”[162] in Faust, is not wanting in charm, though something more incisive would be better suited to an infernal singer. The famous serenade, “Quand tu dors,”[163] has less originality than the foregoing, although agreeably written for the voice. It is an excellent vocalization, which, more than once, Bordogni must have regarded with a jealous eye. It is not until the andante amoroso that it expresses anything like passion. As to the serenade of the page in Romeo and Juliet, it is inferior again to its two elders.
To find a serenade comparable to those of Schubert, we must address ourselves to Mozart. Who that has heard Don Juan does not remember the marvellous contrast, long since remarked by critics, between the melodious phrase, full of character and tenderness, and the light accompaniment which falsifies every word uttered by Don Juan? Love is on his lips, while mocking indifference is in his heart.
In the expression of suffering, desolation, and despair we shall find that Schubert is greater still; and mention as examples “Rosemonde,” “Marguérite,” and “Les Plaintes de la Jeune Fille.” The artist, following his inspiration, renders the same thought under very different forms; he finds in his soul deep and varying shades which escape the vulgar and are the marks of true genius. In all
these three works Schubert has to express the grief of a forsaken maiden, but with what consummate art, and yet what truth, he has known how to vary his accents! In reading these melodies in the order already named the emotion goes on increasing up to the end.
In “Rosemonde” we hear the complaint of a soul which knows the sufferings of abandonment, but not the pangs of despair. After an introduction in F major full of sweetness and tenderness, the opening of the melody in F minor impresses us painfully; but about the middle of each of these strophes the young girl, recovering, with the A natural, the original key, lets us plainly see that she still has hope.
Marguérite hopes no more. From the very opening we feel troubled by the agitated movement of the accompaniment: it is like the sorrowful murmur of the soul preceding sobs of anguish, and is prolonged still for a moment after the unhappy girl has said for the last time, “C’en est fait; il m’oublie—l’ingrat que j’aimais!”[164] What accents of abandonment have we here! On the words, Mes jours sont flétris,[165] grief swells almost to madness. But Marguérite, presently recovering herself, retraces the past, and seems to see again her lover. Again she cries:
“Pour moi tout va finir.
Un seul moment reviens encore,