MALIBRAN'S TRIUMPHS.
(1830-1836.)
And now let us take up the career of Maria Malibran, since the next six
years of Manuel Garcia's life are chiefly concerned with the triumphs of
this his first pupil. We have already seen how, shortly after her return
from America in the early autumn of 1827, she had been joined in Paris
by Manuel; how the two lived there together for some months, while he
helped his sister with her singing and coached her in her operatic work,
and how, after a brilliant _début_ at Galli's benefit in the January of
1828, the youthful contralto was engaged for the Italian Opera season in
Paris, commencing in the following April.
In 1829 Maria Malibran returned to London, where she had made her
_début_ at the King's Theatre four years previously. On this second
visit she received from Laporte sixty-six pounds a performance for a
three months' season, two appearances a-week (40,000 francs in all);
while the principal parts which she undertook were Desdemona,
Semiramide, Romeo, Tancredi, Ninetta, and Zerlina.
This was the scene of that rivalry with Mme. Sontag which wrung from her
the words, "Pourquoi chante-t-elle si bien, mon Dieu?" During the London
season they shared the success, which brought about such coldness
between them that it took all the tact and diplomacy of the Countess
Merlin to persuade them to sing the duet from "Tancredi" together in her
drawing-room.
On January 3 of the following year the two stars again appeared together
in Paris in "Il Matrimonio segreto," given at the benefit of Mme.
Damoreau-Cinti. A few days later they took part in "Tancredi." Rarely
had Sontag given so beautiful a performance as she did in this her last
appearance in the part before retiring into private life. At the close
of the evening, as if to beg her rival's forgiveness for her triumph,
she offered to Malibran, with a charming gesture, the flowers which had
been thrown at her feet on the stage.
On the 18th of the month Henriette Sontag made her last bow before the
public, and retired from the operatic world upon her marriage to Count
Rossi. Thus Maria Malibran found the field clear, and remained without a
rival among the contralti of her time. After this she appeared regularly
each season in Paris and London during that brief career in which she
took the world by storm. Like a meteor she dazzled all by a brilliancy
beside which other stars seemed dim, and like a meteor she was to pass
away as suddenly as she had arrived, within nine years of her _début_ in
Paris.
The salary which the famous contralto used to receive was for those days
almost unprecedented.
[Illustration: Maria F. Malibran
(FROM AN OLD ENGRAVING WHICH BELONGED TO MANUEL GARCIA.)]
Having received in the operatic season of 1829 sixty-six pounds a
performance, as already stated, the following year found her salary
increased to £125 a-night, nearly double what she had had, while in the
next one she was paid £2775 for twenty-four performances.
Her tours through Italy were a series of triumphs. In Rome she was
overwhelmed with praise; at Bologna the enthusiasm was such that the
public subscribed for a bust to be executed in marble and placed in the
theatre; while at Naples, her grandest triumph of all was achieved on
the night when she took leave of the audience in the character of
Ninetta. Six times after the fall of the curtain was she called forward
to receive the reiterated plaudits and adieus of a public which seemed
unable to bear the idea of separation from its new idol. The singer, for
her part, had only strength and spirits left to kiss her hand to the
assembled multitude, and indicate by expressive gestures the degree to
which she was overpowered by fatigue and emotion. Nor did the scene end
within the theatre, for a crowd rushed to the stage-door from all parts
of the house, and as soon as their favourite's sedan-chair came out they
escorted it, with loud acclamations, to the Palazzo Barbaja, and renewed
their salutations as the artist ascended the steps.
Of her first appearance in Milan Señor Garcia gave me a delightful
account. At that time Pasta was a great favourite in the city, her most
effective part being Norma. Such enormous success had she made in this
_rôle_, in fact, that the Milanese always used to allude to her as
"Norma" instead of making use of her own name.
Upon her arrival Maria Malibran was asked by the director of the Opera
House in what part she would like to make her first appearance. She at
once replied, "Norma, signor."
"But, madame, do you forget Pasta?"
"Eh, bien? I am not afraid of Pasta. I will live or die as Norma."
Bellini's opera was therefore announced.
At the opening night Pasta came to hear the newcomer, and took up her
position in the middle box of the grand tier amidst loud applause from
the populace. Maria Malibran made her first entrance without any sound
of encouragement, and the aria was received in deliberate, stony
silence. Her next number was the terzetto. After one of the passages
which she had to render the audience suddenly forgot themselves and
shouted out, "Bravo!" This was instantly followed by cries of "Hush!"
"Silence!" The trio came to an end. Not a hand! Instead were heard
sounds of dispute from all parts of the house: "She is great;" "She is
nothing of the kind;" "She is better than Pasta;" "She is not;" and
these remarks went on for the rest of the evening.
Upon the second night Pasta did not come to hear her new rival. This
time, when Malibran entered and sang her aria, her rendering was greeted
with immense applause, which continued throughout the evening in
ever-increasing enthusiasm. At the close she was called before the
curtain again and again, and when she left the Opera House to drive
home, the populace took out the horses and themselves dragged her to the
hotel. From that moment she was the pet of the Milanese public: Pasta's
reign was over. Señor Garcia added that the latter was a most finished
vocalist, but cold, whereas the singing of his sister was full of warmth
and fire.
Strange to say, Maria Malibran soon found herself mixed up with the
Italian Liberal politics. At Naples already her sympathy for the
Carbonari had excited some talk. At Milan she was _fêted_ by all the
aristocracy, who hated the Austrian rule. On the first night of
Donizetti's "Marie Stuart," while taking the title-_rôle_, she had to
reproach Elizabeth with her irregular birth, calling her "vile bastard."
The whole audience at once saw in this expression an allusion to the
usurpation of Lombardy, and broke out into loud shouts. Next day the
Austrian governor ordered the scene to be suppressed, and at the same
time threatened Maria Malibran with prison if she did not submit. The
singer, however, resisted, declaring that the composer alone could make
alterations in his work; and in consequence of this action the opera was
withdrawn from the bill. This only increased her popularity, and in all
political manifestations the cry would be raised, "Vive Malibran," as in
after years "Vive Verdi" became synonymous with "Vive Victor-Emmanuel."
Similar difficulties arose in Venice. The governor was afraid of Liberal
manifestations, and was for that reason opposed to the engagement of the
contralto at the Fenice Theatre; indeed it was the intervention of the
Emperor alone which made him waive his objection. A sumptuary law of
the sixteenth century, which had never been repealed, enacted that all
gondolas must be painted uniformly black. Maria Malibran wished to
change this. "I have introduced a novelty here," she writes, "which will
mark an epoch in my career: I have had the outside of my gondola painted
grey with decorations in gold. The gondoliers wear scarlet jackets, hats
of pale yellow, the edges bound round with black velvet, blue cloth
breeches with red ribbon down the side, in the French style, sleeves and
collar of black velvet. The awning over the boat is scarlet with blue
curtains."
When she went out in this for the first time the police at once reminded
her of the regulations, but she refused to yield, saying that, rather
than do so, she would leave Venice. The governor was afraid of a public
riot, such was her popularity, and he feared still more the observations
of the Austrian Court, so determined to shut his eyes to the matter. But
the singer had her revenge, for one day when he had gallantly conducted
her to her gondola, she obliged him to take a seat in it, and then took
him through all the canals, while they were met by the ironical cheers
of all whom they passed.
In 1831 Maria Malibran built herself a handsome villa near Brussels, and
from that time on made it a custom to retire to this home whenever she
had a few weeks' rest.
Here in the summer of the following year she received a visit from
Lablache, who was passing through the town on his way south. During
conversation he suggested that they should make a tour in Italy: the
idea pleased her, and without more ado they set off with an opera
company, with the result that they made a perfect triumphal progress
through the principal cities.
On June 2, 1832, Manuel Garcia's father passed away at the age of
fifty-seven.
We have already seen what a prominent figure the elder Garcia was in the
musical world of the early nineteenth century. No less gifted as an
actor than as a singer, his greatest performances were given in such
contrasting characters as Almaviva, Don Giovanni, and Otello. Again, as
a composer he was responsible for over forty operas in Italian, French,
and Spanish, many of which are still treasured among the municipal
archives of Madrid. Lastly, as a teacher of singing he made his mark
both in Paris and London, and a great many of the best qualities of the
modern school of vocalists depend on the joint teaching of the elder
Garcia and his son Manuel; for while the latter was the first to conduct
vocal training on correct scientific principles, the former undoubtedly
laid the foundation of the school from which sprung Grisi, Sontag, and
Alboni. Truly a remarkable man, to whose abilities Rossini bore striking
testimony when he said to Manuel, after the elder Garcia's death, "Si
ton père avait autant de savoir-faire que de savoir musical, il serait
le premier musicien de l'époque."
The spring of 1833 saw Maria Malibran at Drury Lane, receiving £3200 for
forty appearances, in addition to two benefits, which brought an
additional £2000; and on May 1, we read that she appeared in the first
performance of an English version of "Somnambula," in which part "she
drew the town in admiring crowds, tickling the ears of the groundlings
with the felicity of her roulades."
In this opera she had already appeared in the Italian version with
greater success even than Pasta, for whom Bellini had written the
_rôle_. Further, the old Italian musician found in her his ideal
interpreter for one of his most beautiful works, "Norma," with which he
had only made a moderate success at La Scala.
On the night of its production in London, as the composer advanced to
thank her, Maria Malibran rushed towards him with open arms, and sang
the words, "Ah, m'abbracia."
"Mon émotion fut indescriptible," Bellini said afterwards in speaking of
the incident. "Je me croyais en paradis. Je ne pus ajouter un mot, et je
restai comme étourdi."
After the London season of 1833 Mme. Malibran returned to Naples,
remaining there till the May of 1834, when she went to Bologna and Milan
till the end of June, while July was spent in London. The following
August saw her reception at the Court of Lucca, and of this visit a
charming description is given in a letter written by the violinist de
Bériot, to whom she had promised her hand as soon as her ill-fated
marriage with Mons. Malibran should have been dissolved,--a lengthy
process in those days.
"LUCCA, _August 31, 1834_.
"DEAR SISTER,--We arrived at the baths of Lucca yesterday, and have
been spending two delightful days. It would be impossible to find a
reigning prince with more geniality and amiability than the Duke of
Lucca. The same might be said of the queen-mother of Naples.
"The evening which I told you about in my last letter took place at
her house on Friday last, Mariette sang ten songs, among the number
being the one by Coutiau, which sent everybody into fits of
laughter,--not that fashionable affected sort of laugh such as is
considered etiquette at the Court functions in France and Belgium,
but the hearty gaiety of the people, for here you do not have to
put a restraint on yourself at the Court. When you enter the room
you make your bow to the Queen and the Duke: after that you put
your hat in a corner of the 'salon' and do whatever you like. I
should become a furious royalist if we were allowed as much freedom
as this at other courts.
"The day after the 'soirée' the Queen sent by her secretary some
splendid presents. Maria received a magnificent diamond cluster for
her forehead, while I was given a single stone of great value, set
in a ring for the little finger of my left hand; so in future I am
always sure to have a brilliant cadenza. Then there was a very nice
ornament in the shape of an eagle for Mariette's sister, Pauline.
But that was not all, for there was a purse of gold, more than
sufficient to cover all the expenses of the journey. That is what I
call behaving really handsomely.
"The rest of the evening was spent at Prince Poniatowski's. The
Duke was present. He had been very full of fun during the dinner,
over which he presided, sitting at the middle of the table. In his
hand he held a big ruler to kill the wasps, of which there are
great numbers in this country. He never missed one of them.
"After dinner he gave himself up to dancing, singing, and romping,
taking every one by the hand, as Labarre used to do when he was in
good spirits. At last the Duke sat down at the piano and sang a
_buffo_ duet from the 'Mariage Secret' in piquant fashion.
"At this moment a little incident interrupted the music, but added
considerable picturesqueness to the evening. A couple of bats flew
in at the window, attracted by the light, and amused themselves by
fluttering and sporting around our heads.
"The ladies all took to their heels and fled into the next room,
but the rest of the party, including S.A.R., armed ourselves with
sticks and whips, and after two hours' conflict succeeded in
killing the bats.
"My letter, my dear Constance, has been interrupted by an excursion
into the country, organised on the spur of the moment. We purpose
spending two more days at Lucca, at Prince Poniatowski's, with
S.A.R., who has made himself as charming as usual.
"When I was in Paris I bought a cane with a knob made of lead. It
took the fancy of the Duke, and I have given it to him. He has
given me his own in exchange, and as it has a knob of gold it has a
double value.
"CH. DE BÉRIOT."
With 1835 we come to an important advance of Manuel Garcia's position as
a teacher, the first official recognition of his growing fame. When at
the close of 1830, fresh from his anatomical studies at the hospital, he
had joined his father in his work, he at once resolved to apply the
knowledge thus gained. It was, therefore, his custom to insist that
every pupil who presented himself should undergo a vocal and medical
examination, while at the same time he made him submit to a special
treatment, if the larynx appeared to him to demand it.
This scientific method of approaching singing made a great stir, and he
soon found himself surrounded by an ever-increasing _clientèle_. With
his pupils, both amateur and professional, he gained such continuous
success that at last, in 1835, he was appointed to a professorial chair
at the Paris Conservatoire, and this naturally marked a very distinct
step in his career.
It has always been stated that he was given the post by Auber, but
investigation proves this to be incorrect. Auber was not appointed to
the directorship of the Conservatoire until the year 1842. At the time
Señor Garcia joined the staff Cherubini was at the head of affairs,
having been made director in the year 1821 (after being professor of
composition there for five years), and he remained in that position
until the close of 1841, when he retired at the age of eighty-one, to be
succeeded by the younger composer.
In the year of Manuel Garcia's appointment to the Conservatoire, his
sister, Maria Malibran, was in London during May and June, having been
engaged by the management of the Royal Italian Opera at Covent Garden
for twenty-one performances at a fee of £2775.
How little did those who listened to her in London that summer foresee
that with the close of the season they were to hear her in the capital
no more, and that in little over a year her life was to be brought to a
tragic end! Yet such was to be the case.
After the close of the London season the contralto retired to Brussels
for a rest, and then in the early autumn set out for Naples.
Immediately on her arrival she received an urgent visit from Giovanni
Gallo, the director of the little theatre of "St Jean Chrysostôme." The
interview led to a delightful episode.
The unhappy impresario was on the verge of bankruptcy, and came to beg
her aid. Maria Malibran refused, but offered to sing for him at his
theatre for a fee of three thousand francs.
The company and orchestra, who had already half dispersed, were hastily
reassembled, and de Bériot himself directed the rehearsals for
"Somnambula." The announcement of the forthcoming performance created
tremendous excitement,--seats fetched incredible prices; and on the
night itself the hall was crammed to overflowing. The tenor was so
affected that he suddenly stopped short, and for some minutes could not
sing a note. The public began to murmur, and the whole success of the
evening was in jeopardy, until Malibran came to the rescue. She at once
commenced to sing the tenor music, and rendered it with such virility of
accent and gesture that the public shouted with enthusiasm. What was
more to the purpose, the tenor was able to recover himself after a few
moments and take up his _rôle_ again. At the fall of the curtain the
ovation was tremendous,--indeed it seemed as if the applause would never
come to an end.
Her generous action had been noised abroad throughout Venice, and when
she went out people fought over bits of her shawl, her gloves, even her
handkerchief, while all the gondolas formed a guard of honour as far as
the Barbarigo Palace where she was staying. Scarcely had she entered
when the Syndic of the gondoliers was announced. On being shown in, he
presented a golden cup filled with wine, and begged her to touch it with
her lips. From her balcony she saw the cup passed from hand to hand
down that long flotilla, stretching away down to the "Riva del Carbone."
Each boatman took a sip, but so small a one, fearing lest the wine
should be exhausted before it had circulated among all his comrades,
that when it came back into the hands of the Syndic it was still half
full: seeing which, he poured the rest of the wine into the Grand Canal
as a libation.
The total receipts of the performance were 10,500 francs, but nothing
less than 15,000 could save the unhappy Gallo from bankruptcy. When he
presented himself next day with the 3000 francs, as arranged, the
tender-hearted artist discovered his predicament, and not only let him
off her fee, but provided him with the further sum necessary for the
settlement of his debt. Perhaps Alfred de Musset was thinking of this
act of generosity when he wrote the lines--
"Cet or deux fois sacré qui payait ton génie
Et qu'à tes pieds souvent laissa ta charité."
In remembrance of this memorable performance, the municipality of Venice
decided that the Theatre of Saint Jean Chrysostôme should be called
henceforth the Théâtre Malibran.
The ensuing winter the prima donna spent at Milan, where the Duke of
Visconti, director of La Scala, had offered her a contract for 185
performances, spread over two and a half years, for which she was to
receive 450,000 francs. This visit to Milan marked the zenith of her
fame, and is still referred to as "the glorious year." Here she pursued
still further the studies, which she had already commenced, with regard
to the reform of costume and scenery. Towards the realisation of her
dreams she was supported by the Duke of Visconti, who, besides his
connection with the opera house, was superintendent of the Academy of
Art and Science. Reviving the ideas of Talma, she wished to introduce in
the theatre artistic and archæological truth, and, with this aim in
view, she had copies made of a quantity of costumes from the archives of
Venice, and from the miniatures in some old manuscripts. From these
designs dresses were made for many of the operas, notably "Otello." So
great an interest did she take in the carrying out of this reform, that
she always used to refer to it as "la grande affaire."
There are still extant not only a great number of the designs, which
were copied by her orders, but several albums of sketches for which she
was herself responsible, and these exhibit considerable dexterity,
besides giving proof of the deep interest which she took in the scheme.
In the midst of all this work, and of numberless receptions at which she
was ever the principal attraction, she made frequent appearances at the
Scala in "Otello," "I Capuletti," "Norma," "Somnambula," and "Giovanna
Grey." The enthusiasm of the public had never reached such a pitch
before, and it is from this year that those stamps dated which bore her
head, and were used to close letters: specimens of these are still to be
seen, but they are extremely rare.
On the day of her departure her comrades at the theatre presented her
with a finely executed medal of gold, in which she was depicted in the
costume of "Norma"; while the governor expressed the hope of seeing her
quickly back again. But it was never to be consummated.
On March 26, 1836, the contralto's marriage with Monsieur Malibran was
finally annulled by the courts of Paris. This unworthy husband, soon
after her return to Europe, had heard of her success in the French
capital and followed her thither, demanding a share of her professional
emoluments. With this claim she very properly refused to comply. He had
obtained her hand by means of deception, and she had acquitted herself
of any claim he might have had as her husband, by resigning in favour of
his creditors the property which had been settled on her.
Three days after the marriage had been annulled, she was wedded to
Charles de Bériot, the violinist, and we read that "the Queen of France
presented the bride with a costly agraffe, embellished with pearls."
Next day de Bériot and his wife arrived at Brussels, and shortly
afterwards were heard there for the first time together at a concert
given for the benefit of the Polonais, and in another performance at the
Theatre Royal.
Then came that fatal day in April when the singer had a terrible fall
from her horse, being dragged some distance along the road and receiving
injuries to her head from which she never recovered, though her
wonderful energy enabled her to disregard the results for a time. She
retired to Brussels, and went thence to Aix-la-Chapelle, where she gave
two concerts with de Bériot.
In September they made a rapid journey from France, arriving at
Manchester on Sunday the 11th, where she had been engaged as the
principal attraction for the Festival. The same evening she sang no less
than fourteen pieces in her room at the hotel to please some Italian
friends. On the Monday she took part in the opening performance. Next
day she was weak and ill, but nevertheless sang afternoon and evening.
On the Wednesday her condition became still more critical, but she
managed to render "Sing ye to the Lord" with thrilling effect; and this
was the last sacred piece she ever sang, for that same evening brought
her grand career to its tragic close.
The scene was one which none forgot who were present on that fatal
night.
Before Maria Malibran had even reached the hall she had already fainted
several times. Yet with an indomitable courage she nerved herself to go
through the coming ordeal. With tears in their eyes, her friends begged
her to return without attempting the strain for which she was so
ill-prepared. But no; Maria Malibran refused to break faith with the
public whom she had served so long, so gloriously. Even though her heart
was chilled with presage of impending doom, she forced herself to enter
on her self-appointed task, and carried it through with such success
that when her final duet had been sung, "Vanno se alberghi in petto,"
none who had listened to that rich contralto voice guessed that they
had been present at the closing scenes of their favourite's career.
Her task was over, she had fought in an unequal combat and prevailed.
But still an enraptured audience clamoured to hear her yet again, and
the noisy demand grew ever more insistent, until Maria Malibran came
forward to repeat the closing movement.
As she sang, an agonised expression came over her face, her limbs
trembled, her efforts became more and more painful. It was the struggle
of a brave woman against sinking nature, the vivid glare of an expiring
lamp. Higher and higher rose the voice, paler and paler grew the singer.
Then came a last wild note of despair: the swan song was ended, and
Maria Malibran staggered from the platform, to sink exhausted into the
arms of loving comrades.
A grateful public vied each with the other in doing honour to their
heroine, but, alas! those thunders of applause fell on ears that heard
them not. Maria Malibran lay hovering 'twixt life and death.
But the end was not yet. She rallied, and was borne across to her room
at the hotel, and here she lingered for nine days in a fever before the
end came. On her deathbed her poor brain was in song-land, and almost
with her last breath she sang snatches of her favourite airs.
On October 1, 1836, her burial took place at the south aisle of the
Collegiate Church, Manchester, but the remains were afterwards removed
to Brussels, where they were reinterred in a mausoleum erected by her
husband. Here for many years, on each succeeding anniversary of her
death, the musicians of Brussels were wont to deposit their
visiting-cards at the grille of the now deserted mausoleum, the cupola
of which still towers above the surrounding tombs. It was not long after
the singer's death that "Tom Ingoldsby"--a stripling of seventeen in the
year of Manuel Garcia's birth--put into the mouth of his Lord Tom Noddy
the oft-quoted lines--
"Malibran's dead, Duvernay's fled,
Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead."
Of Maria Malibran's powers as an artist her brother could never speak
too highly. She was richly endowed with the artistic genius of the
family, and was possessed of a contralto of marvellous purity and
richness, being at the same time gifted with great histrionic powers.
Her singing, as has been already stated, was always full of fire and
warmth, while, besides her passion, there was gentle pathos, which had
great effect on the listener. As a girl she was _petite_ and slight,
with burning cheeks and flaming eyes. Though not a beautiful woman, she
was extremely attractive. Her head was well shaped, her mouth rather
large, but her smile very sweet, and she had the most perfect set of
teeth, while her pretty figure was full of graceful curves.
Her versatility was shown not only in her extraordinary vocal and
histrionic achievements and skill in vocal improvisation, but in her
powers as a linguist, while as an artist her sketches were good, and
sometimes amusing. Moreover, her vivacious temperament and ready wit
found an outlet in a love of fun and mimicry. An instance of this is
related by John Parry, the composer and singer of refined comic songs.
The incident took place at an evening party in Naples.
"Such a merry-making, frolicsome sort of party I never witnessed," he
says. "We had much _good_ singing, as you may suppose; but Mazzinghi's
comic duet of "When a little farm we keep"--which I had the honour of
singing with Malibran--carried all before it, in consequence of the
exquisite manner in which she sang the _do re mi_ part of it; and when
she repeated it she executed the florid divisions so delightfully, and
so brilliantly, yet quite differently from the first time, that the
company was enraptured.... The prima donna requested Lablache to sustain
the low F, me to sing B flat, and others the harmonic intervals above,
then to place the finger on the side of the nose, so as to form a drone,
while she imitated the squeaking tones of the bagpipes in such a manner
as to cause the loudest laughter, especially when we sank our voices
very slowly together, as if the wind in the bellows was nearly
exhausted."
Maria Malibran was, moreover, a veritable tomboy when she was in the
company of children, being up to all sorts of tricks, and rested by
painting beautiful pictures; would dress as a man, and drive the coach
from place to place, and when she arrived, brown with the sun and dust
of Italy, would sometimes jump into the sea. Then she would go straight
to the opera and, having sung "Amina," "Norma," or "The Maid of Artois,"
as we shall perhaps never hear them sung again, return home to write or
sing comic songs. At cock-crow she was out galloping her horse off its
legs before a rehearsal in the morning, a concert in the afternoon, and
the opera at night.
Such was Maria Malibran, untiring in energy, scarcely resting a moment.
Little wonder that she did not live to the same age as the rest of her
family, for she died at twenty-eight, whereas her mother lived to be
eighty-three, and her sister Pauline is still living, approaching her
ninetieth birthday, while Manuel entered on his 102nd year before the
Reaper summoned him.
Well did Lablache say of Maria Malibran, "Son esprit est trop fort pour
son petit corps."
[Illustration: Pauline Viardot]