JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY

[Fleuron]JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY

[Fleuron]

JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY

Lully is justly considered the founder of opera in France, although he was not the first to compose operas in the French language. Several of his biographers assure us that he was of noble birth, supporting their statements by the letters of naturalization granted him by Louis XIV., in December, 1661, in which the composer is called the son of Laurent Lully, a man of quality, and Catherine del Sarte. It is, however, more probable that he was the offspring of an obscure country miller who dwelt near Florence, as stated by Guichard in a celebrated memoir which he drew up at the time of his lawsuit for dissolution of partnership with Lully, who had co-operated with him in the management of the Opéra.

By chance it came to pass that the Chevalier de Guise, when travelling in Italy, discovered young Baptiste Lully in Florence, his native place. The nobleman was impressed by the precocious intelligence that sparkled so brightly in the boy’s eyes. He who was destined to become the founder of lyric tragedy in France was singing popular songs, accompanying himself upon the guitar, from instinct rather than training, for he had never been taught to play that instrument, and possessed, as yet, only the most primitive ideas regarding music. He was then about twelve years of age.

At that time, people were not very musical in France, Italy being much more advanced in that respect. In the era of Le Grande Monarque, “Le Roi Soleil,” there were neither orchestras nor singers in the true sense of the words, and opera was, so to speak, quite unknown.

The first musical play ever seen in France was produced on the occasion of the marriage of Mlle. de Vaudemont, Marguerite de Lorraine, sister-in-law of King Henri III., to the Duc de Joyeuse. It was performed on the 15th of October, 1579, at the Château de Moustier, in presence of ten thousand spectators, and the Italian, Baltazarini, fulfilled the duties of impressario. He was ever afterwards known by the name of Baltazar de Beaujoyeuse, and in this way the Duc de Joyeuse may be said to have ennobled him.

This Italian had been brought to France by the Comte de Brissac, and Catherine de Médicis appointed him musical director, with the dignity of valet, to her court. He played the violin after the manner of a virtuoso—for his time. It was this same Baltazarini who composed the dance music in the opera-ballet “Cérès,” of which Claudin wrote the vocal score.

Cardinal Mazarin was fond of musical plays, and in 1644 he caused to be brought from Italy dramatic singers who, in the hall of the Petit-Bourbon and in presence of the king, Louis XIV., gave a representation of the “Festa della finta pazza,” a melodrama in five acts interspersed with comic interludes. Two years later, the Abbé Mailly organized a representation of a lyric tragedy entitled “Akebar, Roi du Mogol,” which was given in one of the halls of the episcopal palace of Carpentras.

The taste for music was gradually extending in the ranks of cultivated French society, and Mlle. de Montpensier had asked the Chevalier de Guise to bring for her from Italy—the cradle of opera—“a young musician to enliven my house.”

“Will you come with me to Paris?” asked the Chevalier, addressing the little singer and guitarist: to which the lad, without a moment’s hesitation, and as if impelled by his destiny, joyfully answered, “Yes.” Thereupon the twain set out for the French capital, and the Chevaliergavehis Italian musician to “Mademoiselle.”

The grand-daughter of Henri IV. received Baptiste as she would have received a pug dog,—an animal then very fashionable. For a few days she amused herself with her little musician, then wearily cast him aside, finally relegating him to her kitchens, where he was enrolled among the scullions. It was thus that the nobility and clergy of that day were wont to treat musicians, great and small. It must not be forgotten that the Archbishop of Salzburg, who kept the divine Mozart in his service for a certain time, made him wear livery and sent him to take his meals in the kitchen with the servants.

While washing the dishes or stirring the kitchen fire, and possibly while tasting the sauces, unknown to thechef, the little Florentine lifted up his voice in song. In his spare time he played the guitar or practised the violin, upon which instrument he is said to have become an accomplished player.

Occasionally he was given verses, which he set to music with great facility. To Lully is attributed the air which became so popular and which is still sung, more particularly in the country districts, to the words “Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot.”

One day were sent to him some couplets that were far from laudatory of the proud princess, his mistress. The verses greatly diverted Baptiste, who composed a pretty air to the words, and sang it to every one. This afforded much amusement in the kitchen of haughty “Mademoiselle,” who, hearing of the insult, caused her audacious and disrespectful scullion-composer to be expelled from her house.

In his secret heart, the great musician, that was to be, felt glad when thus disgraced. He was free; penniless, it is true, but courageous and full of hope in the future. He began to study harmony under Gigault, the organist of St. Nicolas-des-Champs, and ultimately succeeded in gaining admittance to the Grande Bande des Violons du Roi, which consisted of forty performers. Some few airs which he wrote for the violin were favorably received and rendered in the presence of the Le Grande Monarque himself. His Majesty was, indeed, so pleased with the young artist (Lully was then nineteen), that he appointed him Inspector of the violins. And this was not all, for the king organized for Lully’s satisfaction another band of musicians, called Les Petits Violons, in order to distinguish them from the “Grande Bande.”

From that moment a brilliant future awaited the composer. His agreeable manners, docile spirit, and a certain wild audacity, that did not diminish his profound deference for his benefactor, the king, won and retained the royal favor; genius did the rest.

The little band of violinists, thanks to their skilful training under the direction of Lully, achieved wonders, far outstripping the original band in regard to both time and accuracy of execution.

Being now in high favor at court, Lully was authorized to compose dance tunes for the ballets that Louis XIV. caused to be performed nearly every year, and in which his Majesty himself participated. Later he composed the entire musical portion of these entertainments, which were sometimes called “Mascarades.” He was uniformly successful, and Fortune had evidently chosen him for her own.

Enterprising and full of confidence in his talent andsavoir-faire, Lully, having formed a friendship with Molière, did not hesitate to appear as a comedian and to perform in the pieces that were represented in the great dramatist’s theatre. In 1669, he took therôleof Pourceaugnac in the piece of that name, and the Mufti in “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.”

Certain writers, contemporaries of Lully, foremost among whom must be mentioned the great Racine and the no less illustrious La Fontaine, have passed a somewhat harsh judgment on the composer’s character. It is true that he sometimes showed himself a most abject sycophant in presence of the nobility at court, and especially before the king. But what courtier was not humble in presence of the sovereign of that court? Still, in spite of his humility before the great, Lully did not completely lose his dignity. On certain occasions his retorts to influential persons at court, and even to the king himself, were characterized by remarkable boldness. Two examples may be given to show the droll and daring humor of the celebrated composer.

It happened, one day, that the Marquis de Louvois, the powerful minister of Louis XIV., taunted Lully with having secured the king’s friendship solely by his talent for buffoonery. To this the musician, drawing up his head proudly, made the fearless reply, “Zounds! you would do as much if you could!”

Again, at the first performance of “Armide” at Versailles, Félix Clément tells us, some unforeseen difficulties prevented the raising of the curtain at the appointed time. The king, becoming impatient at the delay, sent one of the officers of his guard to inform Lully of his dissatisfaction. The words, “The king is waiting,” elicited from the composer a reply as sharp as it was wanting in respect. “The king,” said he, “is master here, and nobody has the right to prevent him waiting as long as he likes!”—a quip more witty than prudent. The courtiers believed that the man who dared to make such a reply was irretrievably lost; and when “Armide” was given at the Royal Academy of Music on the 15th of February, 1686, the audience, fearful of compromising themselves if they applauded the work, received it in a depressingly frigid manner. Convinced of the merit of his score, Lully had it executed a few days later for his own satisfaction (as did the king of Bavaria, recently, with Wagner’s lyric dramas at the theatre of Bayreuth). Louis XIV. hearing of this, and feeling that a work which had been pronounced good byhismusician could not be otherwise, set the seal of his praise on the score of “Armide,” which immediately obtained a signal success and was even proclaimed the best work that Lully had written.

JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY.From an engraving by Bonnart at the British Museum.

It has also been said that the founder of French opera, though humble and abject in the presence of the powerful, was proportionately insolent and despotic with his artists and the persons employed at the Opéra. It is true that Lully often flew into a passion and accused the performers of clumsiness, and he went so far, on one occasion, as to break the violin belonging to one of the members of the orchestra upon the head of the unfortunate performer, because he had failed to render a somewhat difficult passage in a satisfactory manner. The composer made amends for his violence, however, by presenting to the insulted violinist three times the value of the broken instrument, and also by inviting him to dinner.

Apart from the acts he committed in moments of passion, Lully was a model director and far outshone any who preceded him. He found time to do everything; he composed, attended the court, saw to themise-en-scèneof his operas, and superintended the rehearsals of both the vocal and instrumental elements of the piece. He paid great attention to the scenic effects, which were very complicated in that day, and being a clever comedian and an accomplished dancer, he acted as stage manager and general director of all dramatic performances.

Lully married the daughter of Lambert, who is mentioned by Boileau in his third satire; and their union was a happy one. In the course of time the composer became wealthy, and the owner of several houses in Paris. His death was brought about by a curious accident. Louis XIV. having been ill, on his recovery, Lully composed, as a thanks-offering, a “Te Deum” which was performed under his direction at the Feuillants in the Rue Saint-Honoré, on the 8th of February, 1687. During one of the rehearsals Lully was beating time with his cane, and, in so doing, accidentally struck his toe, inflicting a bruise. The injury, which seemed at first nothing more than a slight concussion, speedily developed into a serious sore; an abscess appeared, and of such a malignant character that the doctors considered it would be necessary to amputate the affected part. Lully hesitated to sanction this extreme step, and in a short time it became a question, not of amputating merely the toe, but the entire foot. The patient would not consent to this, however, and the disease, making rapid progress, soon affected the whole leg, and the one hope of saving his life lay in the amputation of that member. Unfortunately, at the very moment when he appeared willing to undergo the operation, a quack came on the scene and offered to cure the patient without recourse to amputation; but the efforts of this empirical pretender were in vain, and the illustrious composer passed away at Paris, on Saturday, the 22d of March, 1687, aged fifty-four years. Of him Mme. de Sévigné wrote, after listening to some of his more serious music, “If there be music in heaven, it must be the music of Lully.”

The distinguishing qualities of Lully’s dramatic music are nobility of style, correct declamation, and truth of sentiment, dramatic and scenic. Most of the ornate effects in vocal music which were then fashionable in Italy were excluded from French opera by Lully.

In “Alceste,” a lyric tragedy in five acts, with prologue, the words by Quinault, Lully’s third work, performed in the month of January, 1674, we find the celebrated air sung by Charon. It is a veritable masterpiece of lyric declamation, and is still frequently sung and has not become old-fashioned, for it embodies that supreme quality that knows no date, human sentiment voiced in a truthful manner.

“Cadmus et Hermione” was the first great work produced by Lully. The master had just taken possession of the Palais-Royal hall, as director of the Opéra, by royal favor, and it was with this piece that he inaugurated his control. So far, the composer had written only interludes, interspersed with songs and dance music, among which the most important were those written for pieces by Molière, “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,” “La Princesse d’Elide,” “Le Mariage Forcé,” “L’Amour Médecin,” “Monsieur de Pourceaugnac,” and “Psyché.” He had also written, prior to his brilliantdébutas a dramatic composer, the music for the ballets “La Raillerie,” “Le Ballet des Muses,” “Cariselli,” “Les Amours Déguisés,” and several others.

Before his first tragic work, Lully had produced the pasticcio, composed of airs borrowed from his ownrépertoire, “Les Fêtes de l’Amour et de Bacchus,” a pastoral in three acts for which Molière, Benserade, and Quinault wrote the words. The composer, ever fortunate, had the pleasure of seeing, at a performance at which the king was present, the Duke of Monmouth, the Duc de Villeroy, and the Marquis de Rassen dance in this pastoral; for, with a view to acquire graceful deportment, they were content to mix with professional dancers. This fact is significant of the manners of society during that period in the history of France, and the applause bestowed by Louis XIV. upon the noble dancers, also redounded to the credit of Lully and contributed to his promotion.

“Atys” was a particularly fortunate piece, for it gave especial pleasure to Le Grande Monarque, who might have said, without undue exaggeration, “La France, c’est moi!” This work, on which Quinault collaborated, was produced for the first time at the Château of St. Germain, in the month of January, 1678, in the presence of Louis XIV., and was not brought to the notice of the Parisians before the month of August of the following year. “Atys” was therefore called the “Opéra du Roy.”

LULLY.From an engraving in Clément’s Musiciens Célèbres. Probably suggested by the Mignard portrait, although the face is reversed.

The first performance of this lyric tragedy at St. Germain was made especially attractive because the dances were executed by lords and ladies of the court, in conjunction with the ordinary dancers of the Royal Academy of Music. Many of the morceaux in “Atys” are worthy of mention. The critics of the time have greatly eulogized the air “Le Sommeil” in the third act, on account of the persistence of the rhythm in the bass (four quarter notes).

Just as “Atys” was called the “King’s Opera,” so “Isis” received the name of the “Musicians’ Opera.” A music critic of the times writes as follows concerning the work: “This opera is the most erudite ever written by Lully, who spent an infinite time upon it. At the court performance, the great number of instruments, played by the most accomplished masters, contributed not a little to emphasize the beauties of the music.”

M. de Lajarte, formerly the librarian of the Opéra library, and one of the principal collaborators of the publisher, Michaelis, of Paris, has recently realized the happy idea of reconstituting and condensing, with piano accompaniment, the masterpieces of the French opera of the seventeenth century, and he makes the following interesting remark respecting this “great number” of instruments: “The extraordinary number spoken of by Fresneuse dwindles down to trumpets in the prologue, and flutes at the end of the third act. But, by a happy coincidence, these two symphonic members of the work which so astonished our forefathers are also a subject of astonishment for us modern critics, at least in the matter of the trumpets. The degree of skill and certainty in tonguing displayed by the trumpet players in Lully’s orchestra was nothing short of marvellous.” The trumpet parts in the works of Bach and Handel are not less difficult of execution, and at this day it would seem that they could not possibly be played.

Now that the music known as imitative has made such notable progress, frequently exceeding the limits of good taste, now that Meyerbeer, Berlioz, and, above all, Wagner have carried to such perfection the complicated art of orchestration, it is very interesting to read in the score of “Isis” the air imitative of the noises in nature and called the “air de Pan.” It enables us to realize the extraordinary progress made in instrumentation since Lully’s time. This air was exceedingly popular at that day. In addition to the sounds heard in nature, which are not made very prominent, however, this page of music is rich in declamation, and is not without charm. But sweeter to the ear, in our opinion, is the duet of nymphs in the second act. It is simple, clear, and remarkably graceful.

It will be readily understood that the limits of this biography will not admit of an exhaustive criticism of Lully’s works. We can only point out, in a somewhat cursory manner, the finest passages of his better-known operas, “Psyché,” “Bellerophon,” “Proserpine,” “Armide,” etc. In “Bellerophon” one is fain to quote the entire prologue, in order to show theideas, thesubjects, or, to put it in another way, the mere melody. This grand spectacular lyric tragedy was performed with great success during ten consecutive months, and it was afterward reproduced several times.

“Phaéton”—for some inexplicable cause—has been called the “people’s opera,” just as “Armide” has been styled the “women’s opera.”

Lully’s “Armide,” although much inferior to the “Armide” of Gluck, must nevertheless be included among his works best adapted for the stage, and the most concentrated in style. Only eight years before the appearance of Gluck’s immortal “Armide,” that is to say, in 1764, the Academy of Music performed the opera of the same name by Lully for the last time, and with brilliant success.

“Persée” is, without doubt, one of Lully’s finest works. The score abounds with charming morceaux, the product of a skilled and fertile pen. This opera held its place for long in therépertoire, and each time it was revived the public accorded it a favorable reception. The libretto, by Quinault, the faithful collaborator of the musician, is written in a superior style, offering excellent situations for the musician. Nor should we forget to mention “Proserpine,” Lully’s tenth opera in order of representation.

We have already observed that the distinguishing trait of the dramatic music of Lully, as compared with his contemporaries, is pre-eminently the grandeur of his style, with a declamation so exact that it may be described as perfect. His music is the embodiment of the art of moderation in the recitative, and the accessories of song so lavishly employed by nearly all the Italian composers of the seventeenth century are not permitted by him to overwhelm the essential note of the melody. Lully shows less variety, less flexibility in the ensemble of his productions, than do Carissimi, Léo, Pergolèse, and Marcello, but he comes nearer dramatic truth than any of these masters. His music, for the most part, has the killing frost of age upon it; but that he was a man of genius is scarcely in need of demonstration. He was an innovator, as surely as was Gluck, and, moreover, was an epoch-maker in operatic music. As a musician he was not without learning, as an examination of his overtures will clearly evidence. Some charming pieces for the clavecin show him as a pleasing and skilful writer for that instrument. The student can still find much in Lully’s scores that will repay thoughtful attention.

The name of Lully is inseparable from that of his faithful collaborator, Quinault, the versatile and imaginative poet who aided the composer by providing him subjects which were not only suited to the taste of the time, but contained situations adapted for the purposes of the musician. Before all and beyond all, Quinault, who in no wise deserved the bitter satires that Boileau showered upon him, thoroughly understood the genius of Lully, and knew how to adapt that genius to the tragedies which he was thereby inspired to write.

It will be understood why we do not give a facsimile reproduction of Lully’s musical manuscript, when we say that neither in the musical library of the Opéra, nor in that of the Conservatoire, nor at the National Library of Paris, nor anywhere else, can a single note of music from the pen of the founder of French opera be discovered. The same is true of his handwriting, not a line of which has come down to us. All that remains of it are three signatures. The composer of the music of “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme” has this in common with its author, Molière, of whose writing only two or three signatures are extant.

Oscar Comettant

JEAN PHILIPPE RAMEAUReproduction of an excellent lithograph portrait of Rameau.

Back to Index Next