, by Claude Debussy: "Chapter XXIII. Berlioz"
Translated by B. N. Langdon Davies, The Viking Press, London 1928.
Claude Debussy wrote:Berlioz never had any luck. He suffered from the inadequacy of the orchestras and the intellects of his time. To-day, however, the inventive genius of Mr. Gunsbourg, [1] supported by the Société des Grandes Auditions Musicales de France, has undertaken to revive and to augment Berlioz's posthumous glory by adapting The Damnation of Faust to the stage.
Without condemning the policy of such an adaptation we may at least urge the undeniable fact that, since Berlioz died without leaving any precise views on its suitability, it is aesthetically debatable. Besides this, to step into a dead man's shoes without a specific invitation seems to me a deliberate flouting of the respect which we usually show to the dead. But here again Mr. Gunsbourg's unwavering confidence in his own genius gives him a natural right to treat Berlioz as a brother, and to carry out instructions which have probably come to him from beyond the grave.
In doing this Mr. Gunsbourg carries on the unfortunate tradition which requires masterpieces to breed a teeming horde of commentators, adapters and manipulators, whose representatives spring into existence without any further definite function than that of befogging with pompous words and epithets the said unhappy masterpieces.
Berlioz, alas, is not the only victim! There is the smile of the famous Gioconda [Mona Lisa], which a strange perversity has labelled for all time mysterious. There is Beethoven's Choral Symphony which has been subjected to such transcendental interpretations, that even such a powerful and straightforward work as this has become a universal nightmare. There is the whole work of Wagner, which needed all its solidity to withstand the industrious enthusiasm of its editors.
Such practices result in a kind of special literature and even in a recognised profession in which success is certain provided the beaten track is never left, since its members being engaged in criticising others are bound to be immune from the danger of mutual criticism. In some respects it is a laudable profession; in others it seems to have a certain futility, though a greater or less degree of cleverness may win fame for its members.
So far, Berlioz had escaped any such intrusion; only Jullien, [2] in an admirably documented book, had piously recorded the calvary of his fame and Fantin-Latour had interpreted his music in lithographic dreams. Incidentally, the work of Berlioz, through his pre-occupation with colour and incident, became at once a subject for artists; one might even say without irony that Berlioz has always been the favourite musician of those who do not know much about music. Other musicians are alarmed at the liberties he takes with harmony — they even call them blunders — and his "Go-to-the-devil!" style. Are these the reasons which make his influence on modern music negligible and leave his own, in a way, unique? In France, with the exception of Gustave Charpentier, [2] I can hardly find a trace of his influence, and even there only in a superficial sense, since Charpentier's art is undoubtedly individual as far as concerns anything that is fundamental in his music.
This brings me to the fact that Berlioz was never, properly speaking, a stage-musician. Despite the real beauties of Les Troyens, a lyrical tragedy in two parts, faulty proportions make its performance difficult and produce an almost monotonous, not to say wearisome, effect. For the rest, Berlioz has nothing new to offer in this work. He echoes Gluck, whom he passionately admired, and Meyerbeer, whom he religiously hated. We must not seek Berlioz here. We must seek him in his pure symphonic music or in his Enfance du Christ, which is perhaps his masterpiece; nor must we forget the Symphonic Fantastique and the music of his Romeo and Juliet.
But Mr. Gunsbourg was on the watch and said: "My dear Berlioz, you know nothing about it! If you have never succeeded on the stage, it is because, unfortunately, I was not at hand to help you with my experience. Now you are dead, and we can put everything to rights. Listen! You composed a dramatic legend, The Damnation of Faust. It is not bad, but it is not alive! And what interest can you expect people to take in your Marche Hongroise if they do not see soldiers exercising at the back of the stage? As for your Ballet des Sylphes, it is most charming music. But you will never make me believe that a mere symphony orchestra can ever take the place of an attractive ballet dancer! Your Course à l'Ábîme is terrifying, my dear fellow! But you wait and see; I will make it poignant and ghastly. I will turn aside the course of rivers in order to make natural waterfalls; I will make a rain of real blood supplied by the slaughter-houses; the horses of Faust and Mephistopheles shall trample upon real corpses. Fortunately, too, you won't be able to interfere! You were so eccentric when you were alive that your presence could only spoil the whole thing."
So saying, Mr. Gunsbourg set to work and adapted frantically. As he made his way through Faust he was even more convinced that this "confounded Berlioz" knew nothing whatever about it. "Too much music," he grumbled, and "what facility!" but "it is disconnected, I must have recitatives. It is a pity that he is really dead, but it can't be helped! We must get along without him." And Mr. Gunsbourg got along without him; he added recitatives and altered the order of the scenes. Everything, or nearly everything, gave him an excuse for ballets and supers, resulting in a performance in which the tricks of the pantomime were combined with the attractions of the Folies-Bergère.
At Monte Carlo it might have succeeded. People do not go there just to listen to beautiful music, which has about as much importance for them as a fine afternoon. The delightful adventurers who adorn that resort are not very particular, and the charming cosmopolitan young ladies only regard music as an unobtrusive and useful accompaniment to their smiles.
Something better was essential for Paris; so the Société des Grandes Auditions, for whose well-known eclecticism no sacrifice is too great, intervened. In this case, it seems to me, they sacrificed everything, even the most elementary good taste. Their desire to give France lessons in the best music has, I fear, carried them beyond all bounds; but the fashionable set, owing to a lack of interest, may be more easily deceived than others. Besides that, there were admirable singers such as Mr. Renaud, perhaps the only artist who, by his tact and good taste, could make the Mephistopheles, conceived by the fancy of Mr. Gunsbourg, tolerable. Mr. Alvarez and Mme. Calvé are too celebrated not to be perfect, even in Faust. But, good Heavens! what marionettes they had to be!
Finally, there are two beings who would have been amazed at the performance. In the first place Faust, though he did meet his old friend Mr. Colonne, would have been astonished at finding himself filling the passages in which he had been accustomed to keep still with a pantomime which he would be at a loss to understand. In the second place the Spirit of Music would have recoiled from the consciousness of often being de trop or even utterly unnecessary. She is so little at home on the stage, poor thing, that she blushes at the sound of her own voice and at the awkward figure she cuts in the staging imposed on her by Mr. Gunsbourg.
For the future, M, Gunsbourg may sleep in peace. His bust will face that of Berlioz in the gardens at Monte Carlo; he will be much more at home there, and Berlioz will certainly have no reason to complain of his proximity.
Footnotes:
[1] Raoul Gunsbourg, born at Bukarest, 1859; is a literary man, a composer and Director of the Opéra at Monte Carlo. He organised a series of performances of La Damnation de Faust adapted for the stage. He was also the moving spirit of the Société des Grandes Auditions Musicales de la France, which was founded about 1890 by the Countess Greffulhe. Its activities were erratic and ceased to all intents and purposes about 1911.
[2] Adolphe Jullien, the author of Hector Berlioz, sa vie et ses oeuvres, illustrated with fourteen original lithogravures by Fantin-Latour, Paris, 1888.
[3] Gustave Charpentier, born Dieuze, 1860 [died 1956]; best known as the composer of the opera Louise. In 1900 he founded the Conservatoire populaire de Mimi Pinson to give free courses in popular music and classical dancing.
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