Opera originated in Florence toward the close of the sixteenth century. A band of enthusiastic, intellectual composers aimed at reproducing the musical declamation which they believed to have been characteristic of the representation of Greek tragedy. The first attempt resulted in a cantata, “Il Conte Ugolino,” for single voice with the accompaniment of a single instrument, and composed by Vincenzo Galileo, father of the famous astronomer. Another composer, Giulio Caccini, wrote several shorter pieces in similar style.

These composers aimed at an exact oratorical rendering of the words. Consequently, their scores were neither fugal nor in any other sense polyphonic, but strictly monodic. They were not, however, melodious, but declamatory; and if Richard Wagner had wished, in the nineteenth century, to claim any historical foundation for the declamatory recitative which he introduced in his music-dramas, he might have fallen back upon these composers of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, and through them back to Greek tragedy with its bands of lyres and flutes.

These Italian composers, then, were the creators of recitative, so different from the polyphonic church 261 music of the school of Palestrina. What usually is classed as the first opera, Jacopo Peri’s “Dafne,” was privately performed at the Palazzo Corsi, Florence, in 1597. So great was its success that Peri was commissioned, in 1600, to write a similar work for the festivities incidental to the marriage of Henry IV of France with Maria de Medici, and produced “Euridice,” the first Italian opera ever performed in public.

The new art-form received great stimulus from Claudio Monteverde, the Duke of Mantua’s maestro di capella, who composed “Arianna” in honor of the marriage of Francesco Gonzaga with Margherita, Infanta of Savoy. The scene in which Ariadne bewails her desertion by her lover was so dramatically written (from the standpoint of the day, of course) that it produced a sensation, and when Monteverde brought out with even greater success his opera “Orfeo,” which showed a great advance in dramatic expression, as well as in the treatment of the instrumental score, the permanency of opera was assured.

Monteverde’s scores contained, besides recitative, suggestions of melody, but these suggestions occurred only in the instrumental ritornelles. The Venetian composer Cavalli, however, introduced melody into the vocal score in order to relieve the monotonous effect of continuous recitative, and in his airs for voice he foreshadowed the aria form which was destined to be freely developed by Alessandro Scarlatti, who is regarded as the founder of modern Italian opera in the form in which it flourished from his day to and including the earlier period of Verdi’s activity.

Melody, free and beautiful melody, soaring above a 262 comparatively simple accompaniment, was the characteristic of Italian opera from Scarlatti’s first opera, “L’Onesta nell’ Amore,” produced in Rome in 1680, to Verdi’s “Trovatore,” produced in the same city in 1853. The names, besides Verdi’s, associated with its most brilliant successes, are: Rossini (“Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” “Guillaume Tell”), Bellini (“Norma,” “La Sonnambula,” “I Puritani”), and Donizetti (“Lucia,” “L’Elisir d’Amore,” “La Fille du Regiment”). These composers possessed dramatic verve to a great degree, aimed straight for the mark, and when at their best always hit the operatic target in the bull’s-eye.

Reforms by Gluck.

The charge most frequently laid against Italian opera is that its composers have been too subservient to the singers, and have sacrificed dramatic truth and depth of expression, as well as the musicianship which is required of a well-written and well-balanced score, as between the vocal and instrumental portions, to the vanity of those upon the stage—in brief, that Italian opera consists too much of show-pieces for its interpreters. Among the first to protest practically against this abuse was Gluck, a German, who, from copying the Italian style of operatic composition early in his career, changed his entire method as late as 1762, when he was nearly fifty years old. “Orfeo et Euridice,” the oldest opera that to-day still holds a place in the operatic repertoire, and containing the favorite air, “Che faro senza Euridice” (I have lost my Eurydice), was produced by Gluck, in Vienna, in the year mentioned. 263 There Gluck followed it up with “Alceste,” then went to Paris, and scored a triumph with “Iphigenie en Aulite.” But on the arrival, in Paris, of the Italian composer, Piccini, the Italian party there seized upon him as a champion to pit against Gluck, and there then ensued in the French capital a rivalry so fierce that it became a veritable musical War of the Roses until Gluck completely triumphed over Piccini with “Iphigenie en Tauride.”

Gluck’s reform of opera lay in his abandoning all effort at claptrap effect—effect merely for its own sake—and in making his choruses as well as his soloists participants, musically and actively, in the unfolding of the dramatic story. But while he avoided senseless vocal embellishments and ceased to make a display of singers’ talents the end and purpose of opera, he never hesitated to introduce beautiful melody for the voice when the action justified it. In fact, what he aimed at was dramatic truth in his music, and with this end in view he also gave greater importance to the instrumental portion of his score.

Comparative Popularity of Certain Operas.

These characteristics remained for many years to come the distinguishing marks of German opera. They will be discovered in Mozart’s “Nozze di Figaro,” “Don Giovanni” and “ZauberflÖte,” which differ from Gluck’s operas in not being based on heroic or classical subjects, and in exhibiting the general advance made in freer musical expression, as well as Mozart’s greater spontaneity of melodic invention, his keen sense of the 264 dramatic element and his superior skill in orchestration. They also will be discovered in Beethoven’s “Fidelio,” which again differs from Mozart’s operas in the same degree in which the individuality of one great composer differs from that of another. With Weber’s “FreischÜtz,” “Euryanthe” and “Oberon,” German opera enters upon the romantic period, from which it is but a step to the “Flying Dutchman,” “TannhÄuser,” “Lohengrin” and the music-dramas of Richard Wagner.

Meanwhile, the French had developed a style of opera of their own, which is represented by Meyerbeer’s “Les Huguenots,” Gounod’s “Faust,” apparently destined to live as long as any opera that now graces the stage, and by Bizet’s absolutely unique “Carmen.” In French opera the instrumental support of the voices is far richer and more delicately discriminating than in Italian opera, and the whole form is more serious. It is better thought out, shows greater intellectual effort and not such a complete abandon to absolute musical inspiration. It is true, there is much claptrap in Meyerbeer, but “Les Huguenots” still lives—and vitality is, after all, the final test of an art-work.

Unquestionably, Italian operas like “Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” “La Sonnambula,” “Lucia,” and “Trovatore” are more popular in this country than Mozart’s or Weber’s operatic works. In assigning reasons for this it seems generally to be forgotten that these Italian operas are far more modern. “Don Giovanni” was produced in 1787, whereas “Il Barbiere” was brought out in 1816, “La Sonnambula” in 1831, “Lucia” in 1835, “Trovatore” in 1853 and Verdi’s last work in 265 operatic style, “Aida,” in 1871. “Don Giovanni” still employs the dry recitative (recitatives accompanied by simple chords on the violoncello), which is exceedingly tedious and makes the work drag at many points. In “Il Barbiere,” although the recitatives are musically as uninteresting, they are humorous, and, with Italian buffos, trip lightly and vivaciously from the tongue. As regards “Fidelio” and “Der FreischÜtz,” the amount of spoken dialogue in them is enough to keep these works off the American stage, or at least to prevent them from becoming popular here.

Wagner has had far-reaching effect upon music in general, and even Italian opera, which, of all art-forms, was least like his music-dramas, has felt his influence. Boito’s “Mefistofele,” Ponchielli’s “La Gioconda,” Verdi’s “Otello” and “Falstaff,” are examples of the far-reaching results of Wagner’s theories. Even in “Aida,” Verdi’s more discriminating treatment of the orchestral score and his successful effort to give genuine Oriental color to at least some portions of it, show that even then he was beginning to weary of the cheaper successes he had won with operas like “Il Trovatore,” “La Traviata” and “Rigoletto,” and, while by no means inclined to menace his own originality by copying Wagner or by adopting his system, was willing to profit by the more serious attitude of Wagner toward his art. Puccini, in “La Tosca,” has written a first-act finale which is palpably constructed on Wagnerian lines. In his “La BohÊme,” in Leoncavallo’s “I Pagliacci” and in Mascagni’s “Cavalleria Rusticana,” the distinct efforts made to have the score reflect the characteristics of the text show Wagner’s influence potent 266 in the most modern phases of Italian opera. Humperdinck’s “HÄnsel und Gretel” and Richard Strauss’s “Feuersnot” and “Salome” represent the further working out of Wagner’s art-form in Germany.

Wagner’s Music-Dramas.

I doubt whether Wagner had either the Greek drama or the declamatory recitative of the early Italian opera composers in mind when he originated the music-drama. My opinion is that he thought it out free from any extraneous suggestion, but afterward, anticipating the attacks which in the then state of music in Germany would be made upon his theories, sought for prototypes and found them in ancient Greece and renascent Italy.

His theory of dramatic music is that it should express with undeviating fidelity the words which underly it; not words in their mere outward aspect, but their deeper significance in their relation to the persons, controlling ideas, impulses and passions out of which grow the scenes, situations, climaxes and crises of the written play, the libretto, if so you choose to call it—so long as you don’t say “book of the opera.” For even from this brief characterization, it must be patent that a music-drama is not an opera, but what opera should be or would be had it not, through the Italian love of clearly defined melody and the Italian admiration for beautiful singing, become a string of solos, duets and other “numbers” written in set form to the detriment of the action.

Opera is the glorification of the voice and the deification 267 of the singer.—Do we not call the prima donna a diva? Music-drama, on the other hand, is the glorification of music in its broadest sense, instrumental and vocal combined, and the deification of dramatic truth on the musical stage. Opera, as handled by the Italian and the French, undoubtedly is a very attractive art-form, but music-drama is a higher art-form, because more serious and more searching and more elevated in its expression of emotion.

Wagner was German to the core—as national as Luther, says Mr. Krehbiel most aptly, in his “Studies in the Wagnerian Drama,” which, like everything this critic writes, is the work of a thinker. For the dramas which Wagner created as the bases for his scores, he went back to legends which, if not always Teutonic in their origin, had become steeped in Germanism. The profound impression made by Wagner’s art works may be indicated by saying that the whole folk-lore movement dates from his activity, and that so far as Germany itself is concerned, his argument for a national art work as well as his practical illustration of what he meant through his own music-dramas, gave immense impetus to the development of united Germany as manifested in the German empire. He as well as the men of blood and iron had a share in Sedan.

Wagner’s first successful work, “Rienzi,” was an out-and-out opera in Meyerbeerian style. The “Flying Dutchman” already is legendary and more serious, while “TannhÄuser” and “Lohengrin” show immense technical progress, besides giving a clue to his system of leading motives, which is fully developed in the scores of the “Ring of the Nibelung,” “Tristan und 268 Isolde,” “Die Meistersinger,” and “Parsifal.” That his theories met with a storm of opposition and that for many years the battle between Wagnerism and anti-Wagnerism raged with unabated vigor in the musical world, are matters of history. Whoever wishes to explore this phase of Wagner’s career will find it set forth in the most interesting Wagner biography in any language, Mr. Finck’s “Wagner and His Works.”

Wagner a Melodist.

It sometimes is contended that Wagner adopted his system of leading motives because he was not a melodist. This is refuted by the melodies that abound in his earlier works; and, even as I write, I can hear the pupils in a nearby public school singing the melody of the “Pilgrim’s Chorus” from “TannhÄuser.” Moreover, his leading motives themselves are descriptively or soulfully melodious as the requirement may be. They are brief phrases, it is true, but none the less they are melodies. And, in certain episodes in his music-dramas, when he deemed it permissible, he introduced beautiful melodies that are complete in themselves: Siegmund’s “Love Song” and Wotan’s “Farewell,” in “Die WalkÜre,” the Love Duet at the end of “Siegfried,” the love scene in “Tristan und Isolde,” the Prize Song in “Die Meistersinger.” The eloquence of the brief melodious phrases which we call leading motives, considered by themselves alone and without any reference to the dramatic situation, must be clear to any one who has heard the Funeral March in “GÖtterdÄmmerung,” which consists entirely of a series of leading motives 269 that have occurred earlier in the Cycle, yet give this passage an overpowering pathos without equal in absolute music and just as effective whether you know the story of the music-drama and the significance of the motives, or not. If you do know the story and the significance of these musical phrases, you will find that in this Funeral March the whole “Ring of the Nibelung” is being summed up for you, and coming as it does near the end of “GÖtterdÄmmerung,” but one scene intervening between it and the final curtain, it gives a wonderful sense of unity to the whole work.

Unity is, in fact, a distinguishing trait of music-drama; and the very term “unity” suggests that certain recurring salient points in the drama, whether they be personages, ideas or situations, should be treated musically with a certain similarity, and have certain recognizable characteristics. In fact, the adaptation of music to a drama would seem to suggest association of ideas through musical unity, and to presuppose the employment of something like leading motives. They had indeed been used tentatively by Berlioz in orchestral music, and by Weber in opera (“Euryanthe”), but it remained for Wagner to work up the suggestion into a complete and consistent system.

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