My Recollections Part 17

I scarcely had the book in my hands than I was eager to read it, so we went into one of those immense beer halls which are everywhere in Germany. We sat down and ordered two enormous bocks like our neighbors had. Among the various groups were students who were easily picked out by their scholars' caps and were playing cards or other games, nearly all with porcelain pipes in their mouths. On the other hand there were few women.

It is needless to tell what I endured in that thick, foul air laden with the bitter odor of beer. But I could not stop reading those burning letters full of the most intense pa.s.sion. Indeed what could be more suggestive than the following lines, remembered among so many others, where keen anguish threw Werther and Charlotte into each other's arms after the thrilling reading of Ossian's verses?

"Why awakest me, breath of the Spring? Thou caresseth me and sayeth I am laden with the dew of heaven, but the tune cometh when I must wither, the storm that must beat down my leaves is at hand. To-morrow the traveler will come; his eye will seek me everywhere, and find me no more...."

And Goethe adds:

"Unhappy Werther felt crushed by the force of these words and threw himself before Charlotte in utter despair. It seemed to Charlotte that a presentiment of the frightful project he had formed pa.s.sed through her soul. Her senses reeled; she clasped his hands and pressed them to her bosom; she leaned towards him tenderly and their burning cheeks touched."

Such delirious, ecstatic pa.s.sion brought tears to my eyes. What a moving scene, what a pa.s.sionate picture that ought to make! It was _Werther_, my third act.

I was now all life and happiness. I was wrapped up in work and in an almost feverish activity. It was a task I wanted to do but into which I had to put, if possible, the song of those moving, lively pa.s.sions.

Circ.u.mstances, however, willed that I put this project aside for the moment. Carvalho proposed _Phoebe_ to me and chance led me to write _Manon_.

Then came _Le Cid_ to fill my life. At last in the summer of 1885, without waiting for the result of that opera, Hartmann, Paul Milliet, my great, splendid collaborator in _Herodiade_, and I came to an agreement to take up the task of writing _Werther_.

In order to incite me to work more ardently (as if I had need of it) my publisher--he had improvised a scenario--engaged for me at the Reservoirs at Versailles, a vast ground floor apartment on the level of the gardens of our great Le Notre.

The room in which I was installed had a lofty ceiling with Eighteenth Century paneling and it was furnished in the same period. The table at which I wrote was the purest Louis XV. Hartmann had chosen everything at the most famous antiquarians.

Hartmann had special apt.i.tude for doing his share of the work. He spoke German very well; he understood Goethe; he loved the German mind; he stuck to it that I should undertake the work.

So, when one day it was suggested that I write an opera on Murger's _La Vie de Boheme_, he took it on himself to refuse the work without consulting me in any way.

I would have been greatly tempted to do the thing. I would have been pleased to follow Henry Murger in his life and work. He was an artist in his way. Theophile Gautier justly called him a poet, although he excelled as a writer of prose. I feel that I could have followed him through that peculiar world he created and which he has made it possible for us to cross in a thousand ways in the train of the most amusing originals we had ever seen. And such gaiety, such tears, such outbursts of frantic laughter, and such courageous poverty, as Jules Janin said, would, I think, have captivated me. Like Alfred de Musset--one of his masters--he had grace and style, ineffable tenderness, gladsome smiles, the cry of the heart, emotion. He sang songs dear to the hearts of lovers and they charm us all. His fiddle was not a Stradivarius, they said, but he had a soul like Hoffman's and he knew how to play so as to bring tears.

I knew Murger personally, in fact so well that I even saw him the night of his death. I was present at a most affecting interview while I was there, but even that did not lack a comic note. It could not have been otherwise with Murger.

I was at his bedside when they brought in M. Schaune (the Schaunardo of _La Vie de Boheme_). Murger was eating magnificent grapes he had bought with his last louis and Schaune said laughing, "How silly of you to drink your wine in pills!"

As I knew not only Murger but also Schaunard and Musette, it seemed to me that there was no one better qualified than I to be the musician of _La Vie de Boheme_. But all those heroes were my friends and I saw them every day, so that I understood why Hartmann thought the moment had not come to write that so distinctly Parisian work, to sing the romance that had been so great a part of my life.

As I speak of that period which is already in the distant past, I glory in recalling that I knew Corot at Ville-d'Avray, as well as our famous Harpignies, who despite his ninety-two years is, as I write, in all the vigor of his immense talent. Only yesterday he climbed gaily to my floor. Oh, the dear great friend, the marvellous artist I have known for fifty years!

When the work was done, I went to M. Carvalho's on the twenty-fifth of May. I had secured Mme. Rose Caron, then at the Opera, to aid me in my reading. The admirable artiste was beside me turning the pages of the ma.n.u.script and showing the deepest emotion at times. I read the four acts by myself, and when I reached the climax, I fell exhausted, annihilated.

Then Carvalho came to me without a word, but he finally said:

"I had hoped you would bring me another _Manon_! This dismal subject lacks interest. It is d.a.m.ned from the start."

As I think this over to-day, I understand his impression perfectly, especially when I reflect on the years I had to live before the work came to be admired.

Carvalho was kind and offered me some exquisite wine, claret, I believe, like what I had tasted one joyous evening I read _Manon_.... My throat was as dry as my speech; I went out without saying a word.

The next day, _horresco referens_, yes, the next day I was again struck down, the Opera-Comique was no more. It had been totally destroyed by fire during the night. I hurried to Carvalho's. We fell into each other's arms, embraced each other in tears and wept. My poor director was ruined. Inexorable fate! The work had to wait six years in silence and oblivion.

Two years before the Opera at Vienna had put on _Manon_; the hundredth performance was reached and pa.s.sed in a short time. The Austrian capital had given me a friendly and enviable reception; so much so that it suggested to Van Dyck the idea of asking me for a work.

Now I proposed _Werther_. The lack of good will on the part of the French directors left me free to dispose of that score.

The Vienna Opera was an imperial theater. The management asked the Emperor to place an apartment at my disposal and he graciously offered me one at the famous Hotel Sacher beside the Opera.

My first call after my arrival was on Jahn, the director. That kindly, eminent master took me to the foyer where the rehearsals were to be held. It was a vast room, lighted by immense windows and provided with great chairs. A full length portrait of Emperor Francis Joseph ornamented one of the panels; there was a grand piano in the center of the room.

All the artists for _Werther_ were gathered around the piano when Jahn and I entered the foyer. As they saw us they rose in a body and bowed in salutation.

At this touching manifestation of respectful sympathy--to which our great Van Dyck added a most affectionate embrace--I responded by bowing in my turn; and then a little nervous and trembling all over I sat down at the piano.

The work was absolutely in shape. All the artists could sing their parts from memory. The hearty demonstrations they showered on me at intervals moved me so that I felt tears in my eyes.

At the orchestra rehearsal this emotion was renewed. The execution was perfection; the orchestra, now soft, now loud, followed the shading of the voice so that I could not shake off the enchantment.

The general rehearsal took place on February fifteenth from nine o'clock in the morning until midday and I saw (an ineffable, sweet surprise) in the orchestra stalls my dear publisher, Henri Heugel, Paul Milliet, my precious co-worker, and intimate friends from Paris. They had come so far to see me in the Austrian capital amid great and lively joys, for I had really been received there in the most exquisite and flattering manner.

The performances that followed confirmed the impressions of the beautiful first performance of February 16, 1892. The work was sung by the celebrated artists Marie Renard and Ernest Van Dyck.

That same year, 1892, Carvalho again became the director of the Opera-Comique, then in the Place du Chatelet. He asked me for _Werther_, and in a tone so full of feeling that I did not hesitate to let him have it.

The same week Mme. Ma.s.senet and I dined with M. and Mme. Alphonse Daudet. The other guests were Edmond de Goncourt and Charpentier, the publisher.

After dinner Daudet told me that he wanted me to hear a young artiste.

"Music herself," he said. This young girl was Marie Delna! At the first bars that she sang (the aria from the great Gounod's _La Reine de Saba_) I turned to her and took her hands.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Posthumia (_Roma_) _See page 297_]

"Be Charlotte, our Charlotte," I said, utterly carried away.

The day after the first performance at the Opera-Comique, in January, 1893, I received this note from Gounod:

"Dear Friend:

"Our most hearty congratulations on this double triumph and we regret that the French were not the first witnesses."

The following touching and picturesque lines were sent me at the time by the ill.u.s.trious architect of the Opera.

"Amico mio,

Two eyes to see you, Two ears to hear you, Two lips to kiss you, Two arms to enfold you, Two hands to applaud you.

and

"Two words to give thee all my compliments and to tell thee that thy _Werther_ is an excellent hit--do you know?--I am proud of you, and for your part do not blush that a poor architect is entirely satisfied with you.

"CARLO."

In 1903, after nine years of ostracism, M. Albert Carre revived this forgotten work. With his incomparable talent, his marvellous taste, and his art, which was that of an exquisite man of letters, he knew how to present the work to the public so as to make it a real revelation.

Many famous artistes have sung the role since that time: Mlle. Marie de l'Isle, who was the first Charlotte at the revival and who created the work with her fine, individual talents; then Mlles. Lamare, Cesbron, Wyns, Raveau, Mmes. de Nuovina, Vix, Hatto, Brohly, and ... others whose names I will give later.