Masters of French Music — Story, Setting & Ideas

Opera as National Battleground

Hervey repeatedly treats the Paris Opéra as a contested arena where aesthetic and national prestige converge. He notes that Saint-Saëns, despite his stature, had to seek performances in Weimar and Lyons before the Opéra commissioned Henri VIII in 1883. The author describes the Opéra as a sanctum sanctorum, and frames the commission as a response to the waning prestige of the French school after Gounod's Tribut de Zamora and Thomas's Françoise de Rimini. This language reveals a preoccupation with institutional validation and the perceived need for fresh blood to renew national operatic glory.

Hervey's critique of Henri VIII is telling: he judges the libretto disappointing yet admits it contains highly dramatic situations well treated by the musician. He also flags a practical concern—the inclusion of a Scotch ballet danced at Richmond might provoke ridicule in England. Such remarks underscore the author's awareness of opera as a transnational commodity, subject to local taste and historical plausibility.

The Tension Between Old and New

A recurring theme in Hervey's assessments is the struggle between traditional forms and modern impulses. Discussing Saint-Saëns's Etienne Marcel (1879), he identifies a want of unity arising from the composer's desire to reconcile conflicting elements of the old and new schools. Yet he praises the opera's modern colouring and the irresistible entrain of its ballet music, even as he notes the anachronism of a waltz set in the fourteenth century. Hervey's willingness to forgive such incongruities when the result is pleasing reveals a pragmatic critical stance: effectiveness trumps strict historical fidelity.

This tension extends to Hervey's broader view of French music. He celebrates the melodic treasures of Méhul, Boïeldieu, and Auber while acknowledging the transformative influence of Berlioz's orchestral innovations. The volume's living composers are measured against this dual heritage, with Hervey often noting how they navigate—or fail to navigate—the demands of progress and tradition.

Biographical Detail as Critical Lens

Hervey weaves biographical anecdotes into his critical judgments, using career milestones to illuminate artistic choices. The near-performance of Etienne Marcel at Covent Garden with Mme. Patti is recounted not as mere gossip, but as a lost opportunity that underscores the opera's merits. The diva's change of heart—opting for an opera of little musical worth—serves as a pointed contrast to the quality of Saint-Saëns's work.

Similarly, Hervey's preface establishes his modest scope: he aims to give an account of lives and tendencies, not exhaustive analysis. This self-imposed limitation shapes the book's voice, blending biographical narrative with evaluative commentary. The author's dedication to the Princess of Wales further situates the volume within a specific social and cultural milieu, hinting at the audience for whom these sketches were intended—one interested in music as a marker of refinement and national pride.

Hervey's Masters of French Music rewards readers who approach it as a period document rather than a definitive reference. Its value lies in the specific judgments and anxieties it records: the hope that Saint-Saëns might free French opera from routine, the regret over Bizet's early death, the careful weighing of anachronism against effectiveness. The book offers a contemporary's view of a musical landscape in transition, filtered through the biases and enthusiasms of its era. For those interested in the reception history of French opera, or in the construction of national musical identity in the late nineteenth century, Hervey's sketches provide a focused and revealing perspective.

There’s something touching in how Hervey watched those French composers wrestle with tradition and innovation, each trying to leave their own mark. It made me think of the older masters, too, and I found myself returning to Frederick Chopin, as a Man and Musician — Volume 2 — Reading Notes, where the same quiet struggle feels even more personal, more solitary. That old longing never quite fades.