Philip Hale

(Born at Paris, October 9, 1835; died at Algiers, December 16, 1921)

An enemy of Saint-SaËns—and Saint-SaËns made enemies by his barbed words—might have applied to him the lines of Juvenal:

Grammaticus, rhetor, geometres, pictor, aliptes,

Augur, Schoenobates, medicus, magus, omnia novit.

Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit—[42]

for Saint-SaËns was not satisfied with the making of music or the career of a virtuoso. Organist, pianist, caricaturist, dabbler in science, enamored of mathematics and astronomy, amateur comedian, feuilletonist, critic, traveler, archÆologist—he was a restless man.

He was of less than average height, thin, nervous, sick-faced; with great and exposed forehead, hair habitually short, beard frosted. His eyes were almost level with his face. His eagle-beak would have excited the admiration of Sir Charles Napier, who once exclaimed: “Give me a man with plenty of nose.” Irritable, whimsical, ironical, paradoxical, indulging in sudden changes of opinion, he was faithful to friends, appreciative of certain rivals, kindly disposed toward young composers, zealous in practical assistance as well as in verbal encouragement. A man that knew the world and sparkled in conversation; fond of society; at ease and on equal terms with leaders in art, literature, fashion. A man whose Monday receptions were long famous in Paris, eagerly anticipated by Tout Paris; yet never so happy as when acting Calchas to Bizet’s or Regnault’s Helen in Offenbach’s delightful La Belle HÉlÈne, or impersonating in an extraordinary costume Gounod’s Marguerite surprised by the casket of jewels. An indefatigable student of Bach, he parodied the Italian opera of the ’thirties, ’forties, ’fifties in Gabriella di Vergi.

Then there is his amusing Carnival des Animaux, which was written, as his Gabriella di Vergi, without intention of publication. A Parisian from crown of head to sole of foot; yet a nomad.

In 1867 Berlioz called Saint-SaËns “one of the greatest musicians of our epoch.” In 1878 BÜlow lamented in a letter to Hans von Bronsart that there was no musician in Germany like Saint-SaËns “except you and me.” Liszt’s admiration for Saint-SaËns is well known. In 1918 there were some, even in this country, who applauded him as the greatest living composer. On the other hand, there have been critics who said that he was too much of a musician to be a great composer or creator. The praise of Gounod—“Saint-SaËns will write at will a work À la Rossini, À la Verdi, À la Schumann, À la Wagner”—was counted by them a reproach; it was regarded as a courteous manner of saying, “Saint-SaËns has the unfortunate faculty of assimilation.” Hugues Imbert, discussing him, admitted that there is no graver censure than to say of an artist, “He is incapable of being himself.”

So far as an intimate knowledge of music as a science is concerned, so far as fluency and ease of expression are concerned, Saint-SaËns was beyond a doubt a remarkable musician.