Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 3, No. 10 (1929-07)

July, 1929 The Phonograph Monthly Review 329 a Parisian, Monsieur, and yet your gift bears with it no compliment; how can that be?” Massenet, the centre of a group of courtiers, rose to his feet, and approached Mile. Arbell where she stood with the great rose held against her cheek. “You shall surely have your compliment. Mademoiselle, but I will put it in music ... it is the language I love best.” He gazed fixedly at the beautiful woman for a moment, then upon a sheet of paper he wrote some bars of music which he gave to a ’cellist of the Opera who was sitting near by, with his in- strument. “Play this,” said Massenet seating himself before the Erard pianoforte,” and I will accompany you with the harmonies that have al- ready taken form in my mind!” The guests listened entranced to the exquisite melody which was, in fact, no less than an ardent declaration of love, expressed with true Gallic charm and fervor. “Does my compliment please you, Mademoi- selle?”, asked the great composer, as the last deli- cate harmonies died away. The young woman blushed deeply. “0 Monsieur Massenet, what can I say? It was most indiscreet; but how beautiful it is! . . . I am greatly honored.” The adorable phrases of this lyric tribute were later to be heard in the lyric tragedy, “Ariane”, which ws given at the Opera, in 1906. This “Theme des Roses” is heard in the fourth act, and was sung by Mile. Arbell in the role of Perse- phone, the Queen of the Land of Shades, as she leans, enchanted, over the sheaf of rosy blossoms which has been brought to her from the upper world of sunshine and life. It was about this time of new interests and sen- timental entanglements that Massenet wrote one of his most charming songs. The composer has ever a very fine harmonic sensibility, but it is in such a melody as this—sinuous and caressing, with languorous inflections, that he reveals to us what is most wholly characteristic of his style. “Enchantement,” sung by Mme. Ninon Vallin. (Pathe, x3379). Mme. Vallin is the Geraldine Farrar of Paris. Chairs are placed upon the stage when she sings in recital, and appreciation of her talent takes the form of a riot at the end of the performance. Platoons of chic young women become prettily hy- sterical with enthusiasm, and shower her with violets and orchids. I heard Mme. Vallin in recital at the Salle Pleyel. She has a voice of the type made familiar by French sopranos in this country—clean, sweet; often sung through the teeth, but rather pleasing in quality—one of those passionately in- tellectual, and not invariably agreeable, voices. This is one of the Pathe disks for use with a steel needle, and is one of the most attractive of recent offerings. It is decidedly worth repeated hearings. As one recalls the story of the “Themes des Roses,” it inevitably brings to mind certain other occasions where music is permitted to express— and in no uncertain fashion—things that would never be permitted to be spoken or sung. In Massenet’s opera, “Esclarmonde,” the hero- ine, a Byzantine Princess gifted with magic pow- ers, causes her lover, the knight, Roland, to be transported to an enchanted island, where each night she visits him. The lyric stage can show few such examples of passionate and voluptuous music as is heard in this scene. A superb orches- tral interlude, heard while the lovers, imparadised in a close embrace, are gradually surrounded by the murmuring leaves and boughs of the enchant- ed island, is expressive to a remarkable degree, permeated as it is with a peculiar sensuousness of utterance and an exuberance of voluptuous- ness. Though the curtain has fallen, barring the scene from our eyes, the music is still heard, tell- ing of the transports which enthrall them. In this connection it is significant and interest- ing to read the views of Mr. Samuel Chotzinoff, the witty and erudite music critic of the New York World . This gentleman says:— “If any one doubts that music can say forbid- den things more plainly than words and with in- finitely greater effect, let him examine the or- chestral introduction to that incomparable musi- cal comedy, “Rosenkavalier.” When the curtain goes up the Marshallin and her young lover, Oc- tavian, are getting ready for breakfast; so the instrumental prelude I speak of must be regard- ed as a musical picture of the events leading up to the rise of the curtain. It is impossible 'to say, of course, that music means definitely this thing or that, and any listener may claim that the pre- lude pictures anything from a spring morning to maternal affection. But there is one passage in it so realistically scored that there is no mis- taking its meaning. It is a broken E major chord for horns. At the tempo of the moment the most expert horn player would find it quite impossible to negotiate the passage clearly, already made more difficult by the high register in which it is placed; and one is at liberty to assume that the composer strove deliberately for an effect he wanted. He got it. This effect, envisaged in words, could never be written in a book or spoken on the stage. But it is done in music, and list- ened to delightedly with no front page conse- quences. I recommend an immediate course in harmony, counterpoint, fugue and musical form to judges and cops, against the time when opera will be censored into a state of virgin innocence. There is more in music than meets the ear.” Massenet was a musical prodigy, and it was said that he played the piano with spirit and ac- curacy at the age of four. “Certainly I had won the Trix de Rome’ and had also taken prizes for piano, counterpoint, fugue and so on. No doubt I was what is called a good pupil,” he says in one of his letters, “but I was not an artist in the true sense. To be an artist is to be a poet; to be touched by all the revelations of art and nature; to love, to suffer—in one word, to live!”