A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Libretto
LIBRETTO is the diminutive form of the Italian word libro, and therefore literally means 'little book.' But this original significance it has lost, and the term is used in Italian, as well as in other languages, in the technical sense of book of an opera. Its form and essential difference from spoken comedy or tragedy will best be explained by a short historic survey of its origin and development. In the most primitive form of opera, as it arose in Florence in the 16th century, that difference was comparatively trifling, the libretto in those days consisting mainly of spoken dialogue with a few interspersed songs and choral pieces. But the rapid rise of music and the simultaneous decline of poetry in Italy soon changed matters. Certain musical forms, such as the aria and the various species of concerted music, were bodily transferred to the opera, and the poet had to adapt his plot to the exigencies of the superior art. Thus he was obliged not only to provide primo uomo and prima donna with a befitting duet in a convenient place, but other characters had also to be introduced to complete the quartet or the sestet, as the case might be, and, in addition to this, the chorus had to come in at the end of the act to do duty in the inevitable finale. However legitimate these demands may appear to the musician, it is obvious that they are fatal to dramatic consistency, and thus the poet, and unfortunately the public also, had to submit to the inevitable, the former by penning and the latter by serenely accepting the specimens of operatic poetry with which we are all but too well acquainted. The most perfect indifference to the dramatic part of the entertainment can alone explain the favour with which such profoundly inane productions as 'Ernani,' or 'Un Ballo in Maschera' as transmogrified by the Italian censorship, are received by English audiences. That this condition of things should in its turn detrimentally react on music is not a matter for surprise; for singers naturally would take little trouble to pronounce words which nobody cared to listen to, and with the proper declamation of the words intelligent musical phrasing is inseparably connected. In the Italian school, where vocalisation, was carried to the highest pitch of perfection, the libretto accordingly sank to the lowest level. In France, on the other hand, where the declamatory principle prevailed, and where dramatic instinct is part of the character of the nation, a certain regard for story and dialogue was never lost, and the libretti of Lully's and Rameau's, and after them of Gluck's operas, share the classic dignity, although not the genius, of Corneille and Racine. In the same sense the marvellous skill and savoir faire of the contemporary French stage is equally represented in the lyrical drama, in more than one instance supplied by the same hands. The same cannot be said of Germany, where few dramatists of repute have condescended to co-operate with the musician, and where, till quite lately, even the finest dramatic subjects (e.g. Beethoven's Fidelio) were defaced by the execrable doggrel believed to be particularly suitable for operatic purposes. In all these respects a deep change has been wrought by Wagner's reform. In that great poet and greater musician the two faculties are inseparably blended, and in his work therefore the reciprocity between music and poetry may be studied in its most perfect form. His own words on the subject will be of interest. 'In Rienzi,' he says, 'my only purpose was to write an opera, and thinking only of this opera, I took my subject as I found it ready made in another man's finished production.… With the Flying Dutchman, I entered upon a new course, by becoming the artistic interpreter of a subject which was given to me only in the simple, crude form of a popular tale. From this time I became, with regard to all my dramatic works, first of all a poet; and only in the ultimate completion of the poem was my faculty as a musician restored to me. But as a poet I was again from the beginning conscious of my power of expressing musically the import of my subjects. This power I had exercised to such a degree, that I was perfectly certain of my ability of applying it to the realisation of my poetical purpose, and therefore was at much greater liberty to form my dramatic schemes according to their poetical necessities, than if I had conceived them from the beginning with a view to musical treatment.'
The result of this freedom of workmanship is easily discoverable in Wagner's later music-dramas, such as 'Tristan' or 'The Valkyrie.' They are to all intents and purposes dramatic poems full of beauty and interest, quite apart from the aid of musical composition. For the latter, indeed, they appear at first sight unadapted, and he must be a bold man who would think of resetting the 'Niblung' Trilogy, as Rossini reset the 'Barber of Seville' after Paisiello. The ordinary characteristics of the libretto, such as the aria, or the duet, as distinguished from the dialogue, have entirely disappeared, and along with these have gone those curious reiterations by various persons of the same sentence, with a corresponding change only of the personal pronoun. In this and other respects Wagner's music-dramas must be considered by themselves, and the strict imitation of their form in ordinary libretti, written for ordinary musicians, would be simply fatal. At the same time his work has been of great influence on the structure of the dramatic poem in modern opera. Musicians have become more critical in their choice of subjects, and the librettists accordingly more careful in providing them, especially as the natural sense of the public also seems to be awakening from its long slumber. It is indeed a significant fact that the three most successful operas of recent years, Gounod's 'Faust,' Bizet's 'Carmen,' and Goetz's 'The Taming of the Shrew,' are all founded on stories of intense human interest, more or less cleverly adapted to operatic purposes. It is true that in France and Germany the dramatic interest was never at so low an ebb as in Italy or in this country. Numerous operas might be named which owe their permanent success to a bright and sparkling libretto, and others in which the genius of the musician has been weighed down by the dulness of the operatic bard; 'Martha,' 'Fra Diavolo,' and 'Le Postilion de Longjumeau,' belong to the former class; 'Così fan Tutte,' 'La Clemenza di Tito,' and 'Euryanthe,' nicknamed 'Ennuyante' by the despairing [1]composer, to the latter. It is also a significant fact that by far the finest music Rossini ever wrote occurs in the 'Barber,' and in 'William Tell,' and that 'Faust' remains Gounod's unsurpassed masterpiece, the inspiration of the composers being in each case distinctly traceable to the dramatic basis of their music. Instances of a similar kind from the works even of the most 'absolute' musicians might be multiplied ad libitum. The lesson thus taught has indeed been fully recognised by the best composers. Beethoven was unable to fix upon a second subject after Fidelio; and Mendelssohn, in spite of incessant attempts, found only one to satisfy his demands; and that, alas! too late for completion. The libretto of his unfinished opera 'Loreley,' by Emanuel Geibel the well-known poet, was afterwards set by Max Bruch, and performed with considerable success. The importance of the libretto for the artistic as well as the popular success of an opera is therefore beyond dispute, and modern composers cannot be too careful in their choice. To assist them in that choice, or to lay down the law with regard to the construction of a model libretto, the present writer does not feel qualified. A few distinctive features may however be pointed out. In addition to the human interest and the truth of passion which a libretto must share with every dramatic poem, there ought to be a strong infusion of the lyrical element, not to be mistaken for the tendency towards 'singing a song' too rampant amongst tenors and soprani. The dramatic and the lyrical motives ought on the contrary to be perfectly blended, and even in ordinary dialogue a certain elevation of sentiment sufficient to account for the sung instead of the spoken word should be maintained. This again implies certain restrictions with regard to the choice of subject. One need not share Wagner's absolute preference for mythical subject-matter to perceive that the scene of an opera ought to be as far as possible removed from the platitudes of common life, barring, of course, the comic opera, in which the contrast between the idealism of music and the realities of every-day existence may be turned to excellent account. With regard to the observance of musical form opinions of course will differ widely; but that the poet ought to some extent to conform to the musician's demands no reasonable person will deny. The case of Wagner, as we have already said, is unique in history, and in ordinary circumstances music and poetry in the opera co-exist by means of a compromise; but this compromise ought to proceed from mutual love, not from mere toleration. In other words, the poet should undoubtedly supply opportunities for musical display, both of a vocal and an orchestral kind, but no finale, or march, or wedding chorus, ought to interfere with the economy of the drama. To state such a problem is of course easier than to solve it, but even the mere statement of the difficulty may not be entirely without use.
Before concluding this notice, it is desirable to mention the names of a few of the more celebrated librettists. The most famous amongst them is Metastasio (1698–1782), the author of 'La Semiramide reconnosciuta,' 'Il Re Pastore,' and 'Il Trionfo di Clelia,' amongst whose musical collaborators were the most celebrated masters of the 18th century. [Metastasio.] Calzabigi deserves mention as the author of 'Orfeo,' and other works of Gluck's Viennese period, the French collaborator of the master being Le Bailli du Rollet. Amongst more modern Italian librettists it must suffice to name Felice Romano, the friend and artistic companion of Bellini. The father of French librettists was the Abbé Perrin, who broke the supreme rule of the hexameter by writing what he terms 'paroles de musique ou des vers à chanter,' and who in conjunction with Cambert produced the first French opera properly so called ('La Pastorale,' first performed in 1659). Quinault was the poetic assistant of Lully. In modern France the name of Scribe towers above his rivals; Barbier, Meilhac and Halévy supply the contemporary market. Sardou also has tried his hand at lyrical drama, but without much success. The failure of the English version of 'Piccolino' at Her Majesty's Theatre in 1879 was due at least as much to Sardou's libretto as to Guiraud's music. In Germany, Goethe and Wieland appear amongst aspirants to lyrical honours, but without success. Of the professional librettists in that country none deserves mention. In connection with so-called 'English opera' the names of Gay, the author of the 'Beggar's Opera,' and, in modern times, of Alfred Bunn and of Edward Fitzball, both fertile librettists, ought to be mentioned. To the latter belongs the merit of having by one of his pieces supplied Heine, and through him Wagner, with the idea of a dramatised 'Flying Dutchman.' Mr. Planché, the author of Weber's 'Oberon,' also must not be forgotten. Mr. W. S. Gilbert's witty comediettas, which Mr. Sullivan has fitted to such charming and graceful tunes, can be called libretti only in a modified sense.
A few words should be added with regard to the libretto of the Oratorio and the Cantata. Æsthetic philosophers have called the oratorio a musical epic, and, in spite of its dramatic form, there is a good deal of truth in this definition; for, not only does the narration take the place of the action on the stage, but the descriptive parts, generally assigned to the chorus, allow of greater breadth and variety of treatment than is possible in the opera. A reference to the choruses in 'Israel in Egypt' and other works by Handel will be sufficient to illustrate the point. In accordance with this principle, what has been urged above with regard to the operatic libretto will have to be somewhat modified. But here also terse diction and a rapid development of events should in all cases be insisted upon. The matter is considerably simplified where the words have been selected from Scripture, for here sublimity of subject and of diction is at once secured. Handel's 'Messiah' and 'Israel'—which also contain his finest music—Mendelssohn's 'St. Paul,' 'Elijah,' and 'Hymn of Praise,' owe their libretti to this source. Haydn's 'Creation' is based on the Bible and Milton, though the source is difficult to recognise under the double translation which it has undergone. Gay's 'Acis and Galatea,' Milton's 'Allegro' and 'Penseroso,' Dryden's 'Alexander's Feast,' and Pope's 'St. Cecilia's Ode' have a literary value of their own; but in other cases Handel has been less happy; and some terrible couplets might be quoted from the works of his collaborators Morell and Humphreys. The transition from the oratorio proper to the cantata, or 'Worldly Oratorio' as the Germans quaintly call it, is made by Liszt's 'St. Elizabeth.' The libretto by Otto Roquette, although not without good points, is upon the whole tedious, and cannot be recommended as a model. Better is Schumann's 'Paradise and the Peri,' which may stand as a specimen of the cantata proper. Its libretto is essentially founded on Moore's tale, the ensemble of Peris mocking the heavenly aspirations of their sister was inserted by the composer himself. The story has been skilfully arranged, but there is the drawback that the dramatic battle-scene occurs in the first part, while the quieter, though psychologically more elevated motives, are assigned to the later portions. The impression of an anti-climax is thus inevitable.- ↑ Weber's Life, by his son, ii. 519.