My Recollections Part 25

_Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ was ready and I offered it. It was arranged that his Serene Highness should deign to come to Paris and hear the work in person. That hearing occurred, as a matter of fact, in the beautiful, artistic home of my publisher Henri Heugel. The Prince was entirely satisfied; he did me the honor to express several times his sincere pleasure. The work was put in study and the later rehearsals were in Paris under Raoul Gunsbourg's direction.

In January, 1902, my wife and I left Paris for the Palace of Monaco, where his Serene Highness had most cordially invited us to be his guests. What a contrast it was to the life we had left behind!

One evening we left Paris buried in glacial cold beneath the snow, and, behold, some hours later we found ourselves in an entirely different atmosphere. It was the South, La Belle Provence, the Azure Coast. It was ideal! For me it was the East almost at the gates of Paris!

The dream began. It is hardly necessary for me to tell of all the marvelous days which went like a dream in that Dantesque Paradise, amid that splendid scenery, in that luxurious, sumptuous palace, all balmy with the vegetation of the Tropics.

The first performance of _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ was given at the Monte Carlo Opera on Tuesday, February 18, 1902. The superb protagonists were Mm. Renaud, of the Opera, and Marechal, of the Opera-Comique.

A detail which shows the favor with which the work was received is that it was given four times in succession during the same season.

Two years later my dear director Albert Carre gave the first performance of _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ at the Opera-Comique with this ideal cast: Lucien Fugere, Marechal, the creator of the part, and Allard.

The work long ago pa.s.sed its hundredth performance at Paris, and as I write these lines _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ has had a place in the repertoire of the American houses for several years.

It is interesting to note that the Juggler was created at the Metropolitan Opera House by Mary Garden, the dazzling artist who is admired as much in Paris as in the United States.

My feelings are somewhat bewildered, I confess, at seeing the monk discard his frock after the performance and resume an elegant costume from the Rue de la Paix. However, in the face of the artist's triumph I bow and applaud.[1]

[1] The transposition of the tenor part to the soprano register seems an intolerable musical solecism, and a woman playing a serious and inevitably male character grotesquely absurd. The terms in which Ma.s.senet here expresses his objections to this indefensible procedure are gentle and but mildly ironical compared with those he used to the translator. Ma.s.senet was simply furious.

With flaming eyes--and how his wonderful eyes could flame!--and voice vehement with indignation and unutterable scorn, he said to me, "When I wrote that work I little thought the monk's habit would ever be disguised in a petticoat from the Rue de la Paix."]

As I have said, this work had to wait its turn, and as Carvalho had previously engaged me to write the music for _Griseldis_, a work by Eugene Morand and Armand Silvestre, which was much applauded at the Theatre-Francais. I wrote the score at intervals between my journeys to the South and to Cap d'Antibes. Ah, that hotel on the Cap d'Antibes!

That was an unusual stay. It was an old property built by Villemessant, who had christened it correctly and happily "Villa Soliel," and which he planned for journalists overtaken by poverty and old age.

Imagine, if you can, a large villa with white walls all purple from the fires of the bright sun of the South and surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees, myrtles and laurels. It was reached by shady paths, suffused with the most fragrant perfumes, and faced the sea--that sea which rolls its clear waters from the Azure Coast and the Riviera along the indented sh.o.r.es of Italy as far as ancient h.e.l.las, as if to carry thither on its azured waves which bathe Provence the far off salutation of the Phocean city.

How pleased I was with my sun-flooded room, where I worked in peace and quiet and in the enjoyment of perfect health!

As I have spoken of _Griseldis_, I will add that as I had two works free, that and _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_, my publisher offered Albert Carre his choice and he took _Griseldis_. That is why, as I have said, _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ was put on at Monte Carlo in 1902.

So _Griseldis_ got the first start and was given at the Opera-Comique November 20, 1901.

Mlle. Lucienne Breval made a superb creation of it. The baritone, Dufranne, made his first appearance in the role of the marquis, Griseldis's husband, and made a brilliant success from the moment he came on the stage; Fugere was extraordinary in the role of the Devil, and Marechal was a tender lover in the part of Alain.

I was very fond of this piece. Everything about it pleased me.

It brought together so many touching sentiments: the proud chivalric appearance of the great, powerful seigneur going on the Crusades, the fantastic appearance of the Green Devil who might be said to have come from a window of a medieval cathedral, the simplicity of young Alain, and the delightful little figure of the child of Griseldis! For that part we had a tiny girl of three who was the very spirit of the theater.

As in the second act the child on Griseldis's knees should give the illusion of falling asleep, the little artiste discovered all by herself the proper gesture which would be understood by the distant audience; she let her arms fall as if overcome with weariness. Delightful little mummer!

Albert Carre had found an archaic and historic oratory which was artistically perfect, and when the curtain rose on Griseldis's garden, it was a delight. What a contrast between the lilies blooming in the foreground and the dismal castle on the horizon!

And the scene of the prologue with its living background was a fortunate discovery.

What joys I promised myself in being able to work at the theater with my old friend Armand Silvestre. A year before he had written me, "Are you going to let me die without seeing _Griseldis_ at the Opera-Comique?"

Alas, that was the case, and my dear collaborator, Eugene Morland, helped with his poetical and artistic advice.

As I was working on _Griseldis_, a scholar who was entirely wrapped up in the literature of the Middle Ages and was interested in a subject on that period, entrusted me with a work which he had written on that time, a very labored work of which I was not able to make much use.

I had shown it to Gerome, whose mind was curious about everything, and as Gerome, the author and I were together, our great painter whose remarks were always so apropos, ready and amusing said to the author who was waiting for his opinion, "How pleasantly I fell asleep reading your book yesterday."

And the author bowed entirely satisfied.

CHAPTER XXIV

FROM CHeRUBIN TO THeReSE

I happened to see played at the Theatre-Francais three entirely novel acts which interested me very much. It was _Le Cherubin_ by Francis de Croisset. Two days later I was at the author's house and asked him for the work. His talent, which was so marked then, has never ceased highly to confirm itself.

I remember that it was a rainy day, as we were coming back by the Champs elysees from the glorious ceremony at the unveiling of the statue of Alphonse Daudet, that we settled the terms of our agreement.

t.i.tle, subject, action, everything in that delightful _Cherubin_ charmed me. I wrote the music at egreville.

His Serene Highness the Prince of Monaco heard that _Le Cherubin_ was set to music, and he remembered _Le Jongleur de Notre Dame_ which he had welcomed so splendidly and which I had respectfully dedicated to him. He had M. Raoul Gunsbourg propose to me that the first performance be given at Monte Carlo. It is not difficult to imagine with what enthusiasm I accepted this offer. Mme. Ma.s.senet and I went again to that ideal country in that fairy-like palace of which we have retained such imperishable memories.

_Le Cherubin_ was created by Mary Garden, the tender Nina by Marguerite Carre, the bewitching Ensoleillad by Cavalieri, and the part of the philosopher was filled by Maurice Renaud.

It was a really delightful interpretation. The evening was much drawn out by the applause and the constant encores which the audience demanded of the artists. It literally held them in an atmosphere of the wildest enthusiasm.

Our stay at the palace was one continual series of inexpressible delights which we were to experience again as the guests of that high-souled prince of science.

Henri Cain, who had been my collaborator with Francis de Croisset in _Le Cherubin_, amused me between times by making me write the music for a pretty, picturesque ballet in one act, _Cigale_. The Opera-Comique gave it February 4, 1904. The bewitching, talented Mlle. Chasle was our Cigale, and Messmaecker, of the Opera-Comique, clowned the role of Mme.

Fourmi, Rentiere, in a mirth provoking manner!

I was by far the most entertained of those who attended the rehearsals of _Cigale_. At the end was a scene which was very touching and exquisitely poetical, where an angel with a divine voice appears and sings in the distance. The angel's voice was Mlle. Guiraudon who became Mme. Henri Cain.

A year later, as I have said, on February 14, 1905, _Le Cherubin_ was sung at Monte Carlo and on the twenty-third of the following May the Opera-Comique in Paris closed its season with the same piece. The only changes at the latter were that Lucien Fugere took the role of the philosopher and added a new success to the many that artist had already achieved and that the role of Ensoleillad was given to the charming Mlle. Vallandri.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Persephone in _Ariane_]

You will perhaps observe that I have said nothing about _Ariane_. The reason for this is that I never talk about a work until it is finished and engraved. I have said nothing about _Ariane_ or about _Roma_, the first scenes of which I wrote in 1902, enraptured by the sublime tragedy, _Rome_ _Vaincue_ by Alexandre Parodi. As I write these words the five acts of _Roma_ are in rehearsal at Monte Carlo and the Opera, but I have already said too much.

So I resume the current of my life.

_Ariane! Ariane!_ The work which made me live in such lofty spheres! How could it have been otherwise with the superb, inspired collaboration of Catulle Mendes, the poet of ethereal hopes and dreams!

It was a memorable day in my life when my friend Heugel told me that Catulle Mendes was ready to read the text of _Ariane_ to me.

For a long time I had wanted to weep the tears of Ariane. I was thrilled with all the strength of mind and heart before I even knew the first word of the first scene.

We engaged to meet for this reading at Catulle Mendes's house, in the artistic lodging of that great scholar and his exquisite wife who was also a most talented and real poet.