History of the Opera from its Origin in Italy to the present Time

BORROWED THEMES

Karl Maria von Weber has had a very different influence on the opera from that exercised by Beethoven and Spohr; and so much of his method of operatic composition as could easily be imitated has found abundance of imitators. Thus Weber's plan of taking the principal melodies for his overtures from the operas which they are to precede, has been very generally followed; so also has his system of introducing national airs, more or less modified, when his great object is to give to his work a national colour.108 This process, which produces admirable results in the hands of a composer of intelligence and taste, becomes, when adopted by inferior musicians, simply a convenient mode of plagiarism. Without for one moment ranking Rossini, Bellini, or Donizetti in the latter class, I may nevertheless observe, that the cavatina of La Gazza Ladra is founded on an air sung by the peasants of Sicily; that the melody of the trio in the Barber of Seville (Zitti, Zitti), is Simon's air in the Seasons, note for note; that Di tanti palpiti was originally a Roman Catholic hymn; that the music of La Sonnambula is full of reminiscences of the popular music of Sicily; and that Donizetti has also had recourse to national airs for the tunes of his choruses in La Favorite. In the above instances, which might easily be multiplied the composers seem to me rather to have suited their own personal convenience, than to have aimed at giving any particular "colour" to their works. However that may be, I feel obliged to them for my part for having brought to light beautiful melodies, which but for them might have remained in obscurity, as I also do to Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn, for the admirable use they also have occasionally made of popular themes. It appears to me, however, (to speak now of operatic composers alone) that there is a great difference between borrowing an air from an oratorio, a collection of national music, or any other source, simply because it happens to be beautiful, and doing so because it is appropriate to a particular personage or scene. We may not blame, but we cannot praise Rossini for taking a melody of Haydn's for his Zitti, Zitti, instead of inventing one for himself; nor was there any particular merit, except that of civility, in giving "Berta," in the same opera, a Russian air to sing, which Rossini had heard at the house of a Russian lady residing at Rome, for whom he had a certain admiration. But the Ranz des Vaches, introduced with such admirable effect into Guillaume Tell, where it is marvellously embellished, and yet loses nothing of its original character; this Ranz des Vaches at once transports us amongst the Swiss mountains. So Luther's hymn is in its proper place in the Huguenots;109 so is the Persian air, made the subject of a chorus of Persian beauties by the Russian composer Glinka, in his Rouslan e Loudmila; so also is the Arabian march (first published by Niebuhr in his "Travels in Arabia"), played behind the scenes by the guards of the seraglio in Oberon, and the old Spanish romance employed as the foundation to the overture of Preciosa.

WEBER

Weber had a fondness not only for certain instrumental combinations and harmonic effects, but also for particular instruments, such as the clarionet and the horn, and particular chords (which caused Beethoven to say that Weber's Euryanthe was a collection of diminished sevenths). There are certain rhythms too, which, if Weber did not absolutely invent, he has employed so happily, and has shown such a marked liking for them (not only in his operas, but also in his pianoforte compositions, and other instrumental works), that they may almost be said to belong to him. With regard to the orchestral portion of his operas generally, I may remark that Weber, though too high-souled a poet to fall into the error of direct imitation of external noises, has yet been able to suggest most charmingly and poetically, such vague natural sounds as the rustling of the leaves of the forest, and the murmuring of the waves of the sea. Finally, to speak of what defies analysis, but to assert what every one who has listened to Weber's music will I think admit, his music is full of that ideality and spirituality which in literature is regarded in the present day, if not as the absolute essence of poetry, at least, as one of its most essential elements. Read Weber's life, study his letters, listen again and again to his music, and you will find that he was a conscientious, dutiful, religious man, with a thoroughly musical organization, great imaginative powers, inexhaustible tenderness, and a deep, intuitive appreciation of all that is most beautiful in popular legends. He was an artist of the highest order, and with him art was truly a religion. He believed in its ennobling effect, and that it was to be used only for ennobling purposes. Thus, to have departed from the poetic exigencies of a subject to gratify the caprice of a singer, or to attain the momentary applause of the public would, to Weber, with the faith he held, have been a heresy and a crime.

Weber has not precisely founded a school, but his influence is perceptible in some of the works of Mendelssohn, (as, for instance, in the overture to a Midsummer Night's Dream) and in many portions of Meyerbeer's operas, especially in the fantastic music of Robert le Diable, and in certain passages of Dinorah– a legend which Weber himself would have loved to treat. Meyerbeer is said to have borrowed many of his instrumental combinations from Weber; but in speaking of the points of resemblance between the two composers, I was thinking not of details of style, but of the general influence of Weber's thought and manner. If Auber is indebted to Weber it is simply for the idea of making the overture out of the airs of an opera, and of colouring the melodic portion by the introduction of national airs. Only while Weber gives to his operas a becoming national or poetic colour throughout, the musical tints in M. Auber's dramatic works are often by no means in harmony. The Italian airs in La Muette are appropriate enough, and the whole of that work is in good keeping; but in the Domino Noir, charming opera as it is, no one can help noticing that Spanish songs, and songs essentially French, follow one another in the most abrupt manner. As nothing can be more Spanish than the second movement of "Angèle's" scene (in the third act) so nothing can be more French, more Parisian, more vaudevillistic than the first.

DER FREISCHÜTZ

But to return to Weber and his operas. Der Freischütz, decidedly the most important of all Weber's works, and which expresses in a more remarkable manner than any other of his dramatic productions the natural bent of his genius, was performed for the first time at Berlin in 1821. Euryanthe was produced at Vienna in 1823, and Oberon at London in 1826. Der Freischütz is certainly the most perfect German opera that exists; not that it is a superior work to Don Giovanni, but that Don Giovanni is less a German than a universal opera; whereas Der Freischütz is essentially of Germany, by its subject, by the physiognomy of the personages introduced, and by the general character of the music. There is this resemblance, however, between Don Giovanni and Der Freischütz: that in each the composer had met with a libretto peculiarly suited to his genius – the librettist having first conceived the plan of the opera, and having long carried its germ in his mind. Lorenzo da Ponte, in his memoirs (of which an interesting account was published some years ago by M. Scudo, the accomplished critic of the Revue des Deux Mondes) states, that he had long thought of Don Juan as an admirable subject for an opera, of which he felt the poetic truthfulness only too well, from reflecting on his own career; and that he suggested it to Mozart, not only because he appreciated that composer's high dramatic genius, but also because he had studied his mental and moral nature; and saw, from his simplicity, his loftiness of character, and his reverential, religious disposition, that he would do full justice to the marvellous legend. Frederic Kind has also published a little volume ("Der Freischütz-Buch"), in which he explains how the circumstances of his life led him to meditate from an early age on such legends as that which Weber has treated in his master-piece. When Weber was introduced to Kind, he was known as the director of the Opera at Prague, and also, and above all, as the composer of numerous popular and patriotic choruses, which were sung by all Germany during the national war of 1813. He had not at this time produced any opera; nor had Kind, a poet of some reputation, ever written the libretto of one. Kind was unwilling at first to attempt a style in which he did not feel at all sure of success. One day, however, taking up a book, he said to Weber: "There ought to be some thing here that would suit us, and especially you, who have already treated popular subjects." He at the same time handed to the musician a collection of legends, directing his attention in particular to Apel's Freischütz. Weber, who already knew the story, was delighted with the suggestion. "Divine! divine!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm; and the poet at once commenced his libretto.

DER FREISCHÜTZ

No great work ever obtained a more complete and immediate triumph than Der Freischütz; and within a few years of its production at Berlin it was translated and re-produced in all the principal capitals of Europe. It was played at London in English, at Paris in French, and at both cities in German. In London it became so popular, that at the height of its first success a gentleman, in advertising for a servant, is said to have found it necessary to stipulate that he should not be able to whistle the airs from Der Freischütz. In Paris, its fate was curious, and in some respects almost inexplicable. It was brought out in 1824 at the Odéon, in its original form, and was hissed. Whether the intelligent French audience objected to the undeniable improbability of the chief incidents in the drama, or whether the originality of the music offended their unprepared ears, or whatever may have been the cause, Weber's master-piece was damned. Its translator, M. Castil Blaze, withdrew it, but determined to offer it to the critical public of the Odéon in another form. He did not hesitate to remodel Der Freischütz, changing the order of the pieces, cutting out such beauties as the French thought laughable, interpolating here and there such compositions of his own as he thought would please them, and finally presenting them this remarkable medley (which, however, still consisted mainly of airs and choruses by Weber) nine days after the failure of Der Freischütz, under the title of Robin des Bois. The opera, as decomposed and recomposed by M. Castil Blaze, was so successful, that it was represented three hundred and fifty-seven times at the Odéon. Moreover, it had already been played sixty times at the Opéra Comique, when the French Dramatic Authors' Society interfered to prevent its further representation at that theatre, on the ground that it had not been specially written for it. M. Castil Blaze, in the version he has himself published of this curious affair, tells us, that his first version of Der Freischütz, in which his "respect for the work and the author had prevented him from making the least change" was "sifflé, meurtri, bafoué, navré, moqué, conspué, turlupiné, hué, vilipendié, terrassé, déchiré, lacéré, cruellement enfoncé, jusqu'au troisiéme dessous." This, and the after success of his modified version, justified him, he thinks, in depriving Weber's work of all its poetry, and reducing it to the level of the comprehension of a French musical audience in the year 1824.

Strangely enough, when Berlioz's version of Der Freischütz was produced at the Académie in 1841, it met with scarcely more success than had been obtained by Der Freischütz in its original musical form at the Odéon. The recitatives added by M. Berlioz, if not objectionable in themselves, are at least to be condemned in so far that they are not Weber's, that they prolong the music beyond Weber's intentions, and, above all, that they change the entire character of the work. I cannot think, after Meyerbeer's Dinorah, that recitative is an inappropriate language in the mouths of peasants. Recitative of an heroic character, would be so, no doubt; but not such as a composer of genius, or even of taste or talent, would write for them. Nevertheless, Weber conceived his master-piece as a species of melodrama, in which the personages were now to sing, now to speak, "through the music," (to adopt an expressive theatrical phrase), now to speak without any musical accompaniment at all. If, at a theatre devoted exclusively to the performance of grand opera, it is absolutely necessary to replace the spoken dialogue by recitative, then this dialogue should, at least, be so compressed as to reduce the amount of added recitative to a minimum quantity. Der Freischütz, however, will always be heard to the greatest advantage in the form in which it was originally produced. The pauses between the pieces of music have, it must be remembered, been all premeditated, and their effect taken into account by the composer.

DER FREISCHÜTZ

But the transformations of Der Freischütz are not yet at an end. Six years ago M. Castil Blaze re-arranged his Robin des Bois once more, restored what he had previously cut out, cut out what he had himself added to Weber's music, and produced his version, No. 3 (which must have differed very little, if at all, from his unfortunate version, No. 1), at the Théâtre Lyrique.

Every season, too, it is rumoured that Der Freischütz is to be produced at one of the Italian theatres of London, with Mademoiselle Titiens or Madame Csillag in the principal part. When managers are tired of tiring the public with perpetual variations between Verdi and Meyerbeer, (to whose monstrously long operas my sole but sufficient objection is, that there is too much of them, and – with the exception of the charming Dinorah– that they are stuffed full of ballets, processions, and other pretexts for unnecessary scenic display), then we shall assuredly have an opportunity of hearing once more in England the masterpiece of the chief of all the composers of the romantic and legendary school. In such a case, who will supply the necessary recitatives? Those of M. Berlioz have been tried, and found wanting. Mr. Costa's were not a whit more satisfactory. M. Alary, the mutilator of Don Giovanni, would surely not be encouraged to try his hand on Weber's masterpiece? Meyerbeer, between whose genius and that of Weber, considerable affinity exists, is, perhaps, the only composer of the present day whom it would be worth while to ask to write recitatives for Der Freischütz. The additions would have to be made with great discretion, so as not to encumber the opera; but who would venture to give a word of advice, if the work were undertaken by M. Meyerbeer?

Weber's Preciosa was produced at Berlin in 1820, a year before Der Freischütz, which latter opera appears to have occupied its composer four years – undoubtedly the four years best spent of all his artistic life. The libretto of Preciosa is founded on Cervantes' Gipsy of Madrid, (of which M. Louis Viardot has published an excellent French translation); and here Weber, faithful to his system has given abundant "colour" to his work, in which the Spanish romance introduced into the overture, and the Gipsies' march are, with the waltz (which may be said to be in Weber's personal style), the most striking and characteristic pieces.

EURYANTHE

Euryanthe was written for Vienna, where it was represented for the first time in 1823, the part of "Euryanthe" being filled by Mademoiselle Sontag, that of "Adolar," by Heitzinger. The libretto of this opera, composed by a lady, Madame Wilhelmine de Chézy is by no means interesting, and the dulness of the poem, though certainly not communicated to the music, has caused the latter to suffer from the mere fact of being attached to it. Euryanthe was received coldly by the public of Vienna, and was called by its wits – professors of the "calembourg d'à-peu-près" —Ennuyante. If such facetiousness as this was thought enlivening, it is easy to understand how Weber's music was considered the reverse. I have already mentioned Beethoven's remark about Euryanthe being "a collection of diminished sevenths." Weber was naturally not enchanted with this observation; indeed it is said to have pained him exceedingly, and some days after the first production of Euryanthe he paid a visit to Beethoven, in order to submit the score to his judgment. Beethoven received him kindly, but said to him, with a certain roughness which was habitual to him: "You should have come to me before the representation, not afterwards…" Nevertheless," he added, "I advise you to treat Euryanthe as I did Fidelio; that is to say, cut out a third."

Euryanthe, however, soon met with the success it deserved, not only at Berlin, Dresden, and Leipzig, but at Vienna itself, where the part created by Mademoiselle Sontag was performed in 1825 by Madame Schrœder-Devrient, in a manner which excited general enthusiasm. The passionate duet between "Adolar" and "Euryanthe," in the second act, as sung by Heitzinger and Madame Schrœder, would alone have sufficed to attract the public of Vienna to Weber's opera, now that it was revived.

Oberon, Weber's last opera, was composed for Covent Garden Theatre, in 1826. Some ingenious depreciators of English taste have discovered that Weber died from grief, caused by the coldness with which this work was received by the London public. With regard to this subject, I cannot do better than quote the excellent remarks of M. Scudo. After mentioning that Oberon was received with enthusiasm on its first production at Covent Garden – that it was "appreciated by those who were worthy of comprehending it" – and that an English musical journal, the Harmonicon, "published a remarkable article, in which all the beauties of the score were brought out with great taste," he observes that "it is impossible to quote an instance of a great man in literature, or in the arts, whose merit was entirely overlooked by his contemporaries;" while, "as for the death of Weber, it may be explained by fatigue, by grief, without doubt, but, above all, by an organic disease, from which he had suffered for years." At the same time "the enthusiasm exhibited by the public, at the first representation of Oberon, did not keep at the same height at the following representations. The master-piece of the German composer experienced much the same fate as William Tell in Paris."

OBERON

Weber himself, in a letter written to his wife, on the very night of the first performance, says: – "My dear Lina; thanks to God and to his all powerful will, I obtained this evening the greatest success in my life. The emotion produced in my breast by such a triumph, is more than I can describe. To God alone belongs the glory. When I entered the orchestra, the house, crammed to the roof, burst into a frenzy of applause. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved in the air. The overture had to be executed twice, as had also several of the pieces in the opera itself. The air which Braham sings in the first act was encored; so was Fatima's romance, and a quartett in the second act. The public even wished to hear the finale over again. In the third act, Fatima's ballad was re-demanded. At the end of the representation I was called on to the stage by the enthusiastic acclamations of the public, an honour which no composer had ever before obtained in England. All went excellently, and every one around me was happy."

In spite of the enthusiasm inspired by Weber's works in England, when they were first produced, and for some years afterwards, we have now but rarely an opportunity of hearing one of them. Oberon, it is true, was brought out at Her Majesty's Theatre at the end of last season, when, not being able to achieve miracles, it did not save the manager from bankruptcy; but the existence of Weber's other works seems to be forgotten by our directors, English as well as Italian, though from time to time a rumour goes about, which proves to be a rumour and nothing more, that Der Freischütz is to be performed by one of our Italian companies. In the meanwhile Weber has found an abundance of appreciation in France, where, at the ably and artistically-conducted Théâtre Lyrique, Der Freischütz, Oberon, Euryanthe and Preciosa have all been brought out, and performed with remarkable success during the last few years.

A composer, whose works present many points of analogy with those of Weber, and which therefore belong essentially to the German romantic school, is Hoffmann – far better known by his tales than by his Miserere, his Requiem, his airs and choruses for Werner's Crusade of the Baltic, or his operas of Love and Jealousy, the Canon of Milan, or Undine. This last production has always been regarded as his master-piece. Indeed, with Undine, Hoffmann obtained his one great musical success; and it is easy to account for the marked favour with which that work was received in Germany. In the first place the fantastic nature of the subject was eminently suited to the peculiar genius of the composer. Then he possessed the advantage of having an excellent libretto, written by Lamotte-Fouqué, the author of the original tale; and, finally, the opera was admirably executed at the Royal Theatre of Berlin. Probably not one of my readers has heard Hoffmann's Undine, which was brought out in 1817, and I believe was never revived, though much of the music, for a time, enjoyed considerable popularity, and the composition, as a whole, was warmly and publicly praised by no less a personage than Karl Maria von Weber himself. On the other hand, Undine, and Hoffmann's music generally, have been condemned by Sir Walter Scott, who is reported not to have been able to distinguish one melody from another, though he had, of course, a profound admiration for Scotch ballads of all kinds. M. Fétis, too, after informing us that Hoffmann "gave music lessons, painted enormous pictures, and wrote licentious novels (where are Hoffmann's licentious novels?) without succeeding in making himself remarked in any style," goes on to assure us, without ever having heard Undine, that although there were "certain parts" in which genius was evinced, yet "want of connexion, of conformity, of conception, and of plan, might be observed throughout;" and that "the judgment of the best critics was, that such a work could not be classed among those compositions which mark an epoch in art."

HOFFMANN'S UNDINE

Weber had studied criticism less perhaps than M. Fétis; but he knew more about creativeness, and in an article on the opera of Undine, so far from complaining of any "want of connexion, of conformity, of conception, and of plan," the author of Der Freischütz says: "This work seems really to have been composed at one inspiration, and I do not remember, after hearing it several times, that any passage ever recalled me for a single minute from the circle of magic images that the artist evoked in my soul. Yes, from the beginning to the end, the author sustains the interest so powerfully, by the musical development of his theme, that after but a single hearing one really seizes the ensemble of the work; and detail disappears in the naïveté and modesty of his art. With rare renunciation, such as can be appreciated only by him who knows what it costs to sacrifice the triumph of a momentary success, M. Hoffmann has disdained to enrich some pieces at the expense of others, which it is so easy to do by giving them an importance, which does not belong to them as members of the entire work. The composer always advances, visibly guided by this one aspiration – to be always truthful, and keep up the dramatic action without ceasing, instead of checking or fettering it in its rapid progress. Diverse and strongly marked as are the characters of the different personages, there is, nevertheless, something which surrounds them all; it is that fabulous life, full of phantoms, and those soft whisperings of terror, which belong so peculiarly to the fantastic. Kühleborn is the character most strikingly put in relief, both by the choice of the melodies, and by the instrumentation which, never leaving him, always announces his sinister approach.110 This is quite right, Kühleborn appearing, if not as destiny itself, at least as its appointed instrument. After him comes Undine, the charming daughter of the waves, which, made sonorous, now murmur and break in harmonious roulades, now powerful and commanding, announce her power. The 'arietta' of the second act, treated with rare and subtle grace, seems to me a thorough success, and to render the character perfectly. 'Hildebrand,' so passionate, yet full of hesitation, and allowing himself to be carried away by each amorous desire, and the pious and simple priest, with his grave choral melody, are the next in importance. In the back-ground are Bertalda, the fisherman, and his wife, and the duke and duchess. The strains sung by the suite of the latter breathe a joyous, animated life, and are developed with admirable gaiety; thus forming a contrast with the sombre choruses of the spirits of the earth and water, which are full of harsh, strange progressions. The end of the opera, in which the composer displays, as if to crown his work, all his abundance of harmony in the double chorus in eight parts, appears to me grandly conceived and perfectly rendered. He has expressed the words – 'good night to all the cares and to all the magnificence of the earth' – with true loftiness, and with a soft melancholy, which, in spite of the tragic conclusion of the piece, leaves behind a delicious impression of calm and consolation. The overture and the final chorus which enclose the work here give one another the hand. The former, which evokes and opens the world of wonders, commences softly, goes on increasing, then bursts forth with passion; the latter is introduced without brusqueness, but mixes up with the action, and calms and satisfies it completely. The entire work is one of the most spiritual that these latter times have given us. It is the result of the most perfect and intimate comprehension of the subject, completed by a series of ideas profoundly reflected upon, and by the intelligent use of all the material resources of art; the whole rendered into a magnificent work by beautiful and admirably developed melodies."