Masters of French Music — Story, Setting & Ideas

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In Category - Composers
Hervey, Arthur, 1855-1922 Project Gutenberg 2011 Not confirmed
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Words 51,130
Reading time 223 min
Text sections 6

For Masters of French Music — Story, Setting & Ideas, the stored edition analysis reports 51,130 words, 3 hr 43 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

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Arthur Hervey's 1894 biographical sketches of living French composers, examining their lives and works through the lens of operatic tradition, national style, and the tension between innovation and convention, with particular attention to Gounod, Saint-Saëns, and their contemporaries.
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studies in composition were pursued under Reicha, one of the most celebrated theorists of the time; and having completed his general education at the college of St. Louis, he entered the classes of the Conservatoire in 1836, receiving instruction in counterpoint from Halévy, and in composition from Lesueur. In 1839 he obtained the "Grand prix de Rome," and soon afterwards left for Italy. During his sojourn in Rome Gounod devoted himself largely to the study of religious music, and spent a great portion of his time in perusing the works of Palestrina and Bach.

Whilst residing at the famous Villa Médicis he made the acquaintance of Fanny Hensel, the sister of Mendelssohn, in whose correspondence may be found several interesting details concerning the future composer of "Faust."

In a letter dated April 23, 1840, she writes: "Gounod has a passion for music; it is a pleasure to have such a listener. My little Venetian air delights him; he has also a predilection for the Romance in B Minor composed here at Rome, for the duet of Felix, his 'Capriccio' in A minor, and especially for the concerto of Bach, which he has made me play more than ten times over." Later on, in another letter, she writes as follows: "On Saturday evening I played to my guests, and performed, amongst other things, the Concerto of Bach; although they know it by heart, their enthusiasm goes 'crescendo.' They pressed and kissed my hands, especially Gounod, who is extraordinarily expansive; he always finds himself short of expressions when he wishes to convey to me the influence I exercise over him, and how happy my presence makes him. Our two Frenchmen form a perfect contrast: Bousquet's nature is calm and correct, Gounod's is passionate and romantic to excess. Our German music produces upon him the effect of a bomb bursting inside a house."

In June 1840 Fanny Hensel and her husband left for Naples. The following extract from a letter is interesting, as showing to what extent, even at that early period, Gounod had become imbued with religious ideas: "Bousquet confided to us on the way his fears concerning the religious exaltation of Gounod since he had come under the ascendancy of the Père Lacordaire ... whose eloquence had already during the previous winter grouped around him a number of young men. Gounod, whose character is weak and whose nature is impressionable, was at once gained over by Lacordaire's stirring words; he has just become a member of the association entitled 'John the Evangelist,' exclusively composed of young artists who pursue the regeneration of humanity through the means of art. The association contains a large number of young men belonging to the best Roman families; several amongst these have abandoned their career in order to enter into holy orders. Bousquet's impression is that Gounod is also on the point of exchanging music for the priest's garb."

In 1843 we find Gounod in Vienna, where a "Requiem" of his composition attracted some attention. On his return to Paris he vainly endeavoured to find a publisher for some songs he had composed while at Rome. When we hear that these included "Le Vallon," "Le Soir," "Jésus de Nazareth," and "Le Printemps"--that is to say, some of the most beautiful inspirations that have emanated from his brain--it becomes difficult to account for the obtuseness of the publishers.

Discouraged in this quarter, Gounod devoted his attention once more to religious music, and accepted the post of organist to the chapel of the "Missions Etrangères." He even entertained the idea of entering into holy orders. Happily this was not to be. The name of Gounod was becoming known in musical circles, and through the influence of Mme. Viardot, the celebrated singer, sister of Malibran, the young composer was commissioned to write the music of an opera to a book by Emile Augier,[12] for the "Académie Nationale." This, his first contribution to the lyric stage, was "Sapho," which was brought out in 1851, without, however, achieving much more than a _succès d'estime_. It was revived in a curtailed form seven years later, and finally, remodelled and enlarged, was reproduced in 1884. Notwithstanding its failure to attract the public, "Sapho" commanded the approbation of many competent judges, amongst whom we find no less a musician than Berlioz, who thus expressed himself upon the composer's merits: "M. Gounod is a young musician endowed with precious qualities, whose tendencies are noble and elevated, and whom one should encourage and honour, all the more so as our musical epoch is so corrupt."

"Sapho" is by no means the worst opera Gounod has composed, though unequal as a whole. The original version remains the best.

The year after the production of "Sapho" Gounod married a daughter of Zimmermann,[13] a well-known musician and professor.

Arthur Hervey's Masters of French Music (1894) opens with a pointed disclaimer: the volume does not aim for exhaustive technical analysis, but rather to trace the lives and artistic tendencies of its subjects. Hervey positions French music as a tradition shaped by foreign influences—Gluck, Cherubini, Meyerbeer, Wagner—while asserting a native lineage of melodic grace and dramatic instinct. The book's structure, part of a series on contemporary composers, immediately signals its focus on living figures, excluding Bizet, Lalo, César Franck, and Delibes as recently deceased. This editorial choice frames the work as a snapshot of an evolving national school, caught between reverence for the past and the pull of progressive ideals.

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.

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