Part 6 (2/2)

In spite of these great advantages, however, the works of several of the old cla.s.sic composers suffer somewhat, by certain authentic traditions and conventions being either unknown or ignored. To cite only one instance out of many: At the Sorbonne, the opening bars of the second movement of the Recit. in _The Messiah_, ”Comfort ye my people,” etc., are performed as printed:

[Music: The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness]

This music is written in the Italian ”manner,” consequently its performance should be in conformity with the usages and conventions which obtained when the work was composed. One of these, as I have pointed out, was the subst.i.tution of one note for another in certain places; another, that in declamatory recitative, or _recitativo parlante_, the chord in the orchestra should come _after_ the voice (”_dopo la parola_”). These words appear in many scores of the Italian operas, even of the present day. But when they do not, the musical director is supposed to be familiar with the custom. The following, therefore, is the authentic mode of performing the pa.s.sage in question:

[Music: The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness]

Apart from these defects in the rendering of the ancient cla.s.sics, it would be unjust not to acknowledge the great artistic merit and value of the performances, given--as Oratorio should be--in the church. To hear _l'Enfance du Christ_ (Berlioz) as performed at the Sorbonne, with its particular facilities for obtaining the _ppp_ effects of the distant or receding angelic chorus, is to be impressed to a degree impossible of attainment in the concert-room.

Let those purists who resent any ”tampering”--as they term it--with the composers' music listen to the following phrase, sung as it is printed in the ordinary editions:

[Music: the first-fruits _of_ them that sleep.]

Then let them hear it given according to the authentic and accepted tradition, and say which of the two versions most faithfully interprets the composer's meaning.

[Music: the first-fruits of _them_ that sleep.]

Let us now consider alterations which do not appear in the printed editions, and yet may have been made or sanctioned by the composer.

In comparison with painting and sculpture, music and the literature of the theatre are not self-sufficing arts. They require an interpreter.

Before a dramatic work can exist completely, scenery, and actors to give it voice and gesture, are necessary; before music can be anything more than hieroglyphics, the signs must be trans.m.u.ted into sound by singers or instrumentalists. Wagner embodied this truth in his pathetic reference to _Lohengrin_: ”When ill, miserable and despairing, I sat brooding over my fate, my eye fell on the score of my _Lohengrin_, which I had totally forgotten. Suddenly I felt something like compa.s.sion lest the music might never sound from off the death-pale paper.” In other words, _Lohengrin_, though finished in every detail, was merely potential music. To make it anything more, the aid of singers and orchestra are essential.

Composers and dramatic authors, in fact, _create_ their art-works; but it is their interpreters--actors, singers, instrumentalists--who _animate_ them, who breathe life into them. One of the inevitable consequences is, that the composer's ideal can never be fully attained.

But changes in performance from the printed text of a composition are frequently the work of the composer himself. If really an artist, he is rarely perfectly satisfied with his completed work. The difference between his ideal and his materialization of it, is a source of anguish for him. The journey made by a vision of art from the brain that conceives it to the hand that imprisons it in marble, or depicts it in colour, or pens it in words or music, is a long one. And much grace or power, beauty or grandeur, is inevitably lost on the way.

This is the explanation of the disappointment of all true artists with their creations. This is the origin of their endless strivings to perfect their works; the first embodiment is not a perfect interpretation of the artist's inspiration, and further reflection has revealed to him an improvement. The process is endless.

_A man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what is Heaven for?_

If one wishes to surprise genius labouring to give birth to perfection, one should consult the later editions of Victor Hugo's works and note the countless emendations he made after their first publication--here a more fitting word subst.i.tuted, there a line recast, elsewhere an entire verse added, or excised, or remodelled.

This work of incessant revision is not restricted to poets. Composers of genius are also inveterate strivers after perfection, are continually occupied in polis.h.i.+ng and revising their music. And not all the modifications they make, or sanction, are recorded in the printed versions. For many are the outcome of after-thoughts, of ideas suggested during the process of what I have called trans.m.u.ting musical hieroglyphics into sound. Such modifications, usually decided upon in the course of a rehearsal--I am now considering particularly operatic works--are frequently jotted down, a mere scanty memorandum, on the singer's part or the conductor's score. But they are the work of the composer, or have received his approval, and, although not noted in the printed editions of his compositions, are transmitted orally from conductor to conductor, singer to singer, master to pupil. And thus a tradition is perpetuated.

But the question of changes goes even further.

Prior to the advent of Wagner, the singer was allowed great license in operatic works. This license was princ.i.p.ally manifested in a two-fold form. The first is called _pointage_ (French), _puntatura_ (Italian), and means the changing of the notes or contour of a musical phrase; the second is termed _changements_ or _variantes_ (Fr.), _abbellimenti_ or _fioriture_ (It.), and refers to the interpolation and addition of ornaments, _i.e._, embellishments and cadenzas.

POINTAGE

This, as I have said, is the technical term given to the modification or rearrangement of the notes of a phrase, so as to bring it within the natural capabilities of the artist singing the role. A few ill.u.s.trations will make the nature of _pointage_ clear.

In Rossini's _Guillaume Tell_, although it is written in a different style from his former works, whence less necessity for interpolations and modifications, occurs the following terrible pa.s.sage for the princ.i.p.al baritone:

[Music: Mais je connais le poids des fers, mais je connais le poids des fers.]

Every vocalist knows the difficulty experienced in singing very high tones to different syllables, each requiring a different conformation of the buccal cavity. The pa.s.sage quoted--expressing Tell's bitterness at the recollection of his past sufferings in prison, ”Well I know the weight of galling chain”--has to be declaimed with great energy. So far as the relative value of the notes is concerned, it is entirely _ad libitum_, the rhythmical figure in the orchestra having ceased one half-bar before. It is said that Dabadie, a _ba.s.so cantante_ rather than baritone, to whom was entrusted the role of Tell on the first production of the work at the Opera, Paris, on August 3, 1829, finding it impossible to sing the phrase as written, had recourse to a professor. He advised the _pointage_ given later. This change became traditional, and has since been followed, except, it is said, in the case of Ma.s.sol, who succeeded Dabadie. He, being possessed of a very sonorous voice of exceptional compa.s.s, was able to give the phrase as written. This change, or _pointage_, must have been heard by Rossini, and so must have been tacitly approved by him. This is the change made by Dabadie:

[Music: Mais je connais le poids des fers, mais je connais le poids des fers.]

<script>