closed six months. At the _Argentino_ theatre, the largest and
handsomest, _Rossini’s_ “Tancredi” was performed, at the theatre
_Valle_, a new _Opera buffa_ by Signor _Pietro Romano_, called “Il
Quiproquo.” As “Tancredi” is an old opera, the first night of which
is not more interesting than the succeeding ones, _Meyerbeer_ easily
persuaded me to go with him to the _Valle_ theatre, while my wife and
the children, with Madame _Beer_, went to the _Argentino_ theatre.
Before the opera a farce in prose was given, imitated from our German
“Proberollen.” Then came the first act of the opera, the text of
which we soon recognised as an adaptation of the “_Nouveau Seigneur
de Village_.” The subject, though spun out somewhat too much, was
neither so stupid nor so wearisome as those of most Italian operas.
But so much the more insipid and common-place is the music. Signor
_Romano_ has taken the now so much admired _Rossini_ as his model,
and so closely imitated him, or rather copied him outright, that the
pit called out every moment “_Bravo Rossini!_” With that his music is
so incorrect, that an ear accustomed to a pure harmony cannot hear it
without disgust. Nevertheless that was no injury to it here, but much
more so its want of fire and noise, the last of which the Italians are
as fond of as the French and Germans. Once only, after a duet, the pit
called out the encouraging and joyful “_Bravo Maestro!_” for which he
immediately made a most profound bow. All the rest was listened to
with coldness, and at the conclusion of the opera neither approval
nor displeasure was expressed. The singers were by no means sure of
their parts, and were continually making mistakes. Madame _Georgi_,
the _prima donna_, who in the previous carnival had been the favorite
of the public, did not please much yesterday, and had the annoyance of
seeing the _seconda donna_, who certainly did not sing badly, called
forward after her aria in the second act, an honour which had not
fallen to her lot all the evening. She shewed her displeasure at this
by singing the rest of her part with the utmost indifference and
with half-voice only, by which however she injured the last finale
very much, and was perhaps the cause of the opera’s going off so
coldly, and of the report which prevails in the town to-day, that she
had not given satisfaction. The orchestra, composed for the most part
of the professors (!) who had played at my concert, played crudely,
incorrectly and without any sort of difference between piano and forte.
This morning there was another private music party at Count
_Apponyi’s_. Nothing else scarcely was sung but things from _Rossini’s_
operas, of which a terzette, from “Elisabetha,” if I am not mistaken,
pleased me most, on account of the excellent treatment of the voices.
The more I hear of _Rossini’s_ compositions, the more I am disposed
to join _in part_ with the general opinion, which pronounces him the
most distinguished of modern Italian composers, and as a reformer of
the taste in operatic style. _Mayer_ may nevertheless with propriety
be excepted, who has, if not so much imagination as _Rossini_, yet,
certainly, more knowledge and æsthetic feeling. That the latter is
wanting in knowledge of harmony, delineation of character, sense of the
difference between the serious and comic style, and of propriety, I
observed already in Florence, after hearing the “Italiana in Algeria.”
_Rossini_, however, has devised _some quite new things_, although
they are not necessarily good because they are new: for instance his
“flowery song,” as _Meyerbeer_ very characteristically calls it, which
in reality is nothing more than that the passages hitherto sung on
one vowel are sung with a series of syllables, as in an aria in the
“Italiana”:
[Music]
or in a duet between a tenor and a bass in the same opera, where
the part for the second voice is very unsingable and more like an
orchestral bass than a singing bass:[24]
[24] As I do not know the text, I have appended dots for the syllables.
[Music]
Every time such little tricky passages occur, and are well executed by
the singers, as to-day by _Moncade_ especially, the auditory breaks out
into an ecstasy of applause which causes Italian music to degenerate
more and more into a mere tickling of the ears and both singers and
composer; become every day less capable in use of working upon the
feelings; so that I may say without exaggeration, that of all the
compositions we have yet heard in Italy, I have not experienced the
least emotion, with the exception of one or two passages in the “Testa
di bronzo”; and of all the singers we have yet heard, Madame _Häser_
alone, in a duet from the old “Passione” of _Paisiello_ moved me for a
few seconds.
Likewise new, and first introduced by _Rossini_, is the way in which
the speaking passages in the _Opera buffa_, hitherto usually written in
one tone, or at least at very close intervals only, and formerly always
given _legato_, are provided with syllables, as for instance in the
beginning of the above duet:
[Music]
Well known as this commencement is (it resembles the beginning of a
finale in a quartett of _Haydn_ in E flat-major):
[Music]
yet his method of giving it with the different syllables of the text
in this manner is quite new; but whether good or not, is still the
question; to me it always sounded as though travestied, as if, for
instance, a song which admits of a feeling execution were executed upon
a singing instrument and for fun’s sake so caricatured that it excited
laughter instead of emotion. At any rate no instrumentalist of taste
would play the above song _staccato_.
The following and similar _crescendo_ passages are also peculiar _to
Rossini_, they appear in almost all his musical pieces, and the Italian
public are thrown into ecstasies by them; for instance, in the overture
to the “Italiana.”
[Music]
In this manner it continues for a while, until at length at the
strongest _forte_, the public break out into a furious clapping of
hands and shouts of “Bravo!” In fact it can so little resist such a
_crescendo_, that even the luckless imitators of _Rossini_, like Signor
_Romano_ in the opera last night, understood how to draw down a storm
of applause by it. That such passages are frequently very incorrect and
offensive from the passing notes occurring in them, it is not necessary
for me to remark; even in the celebrated cavatina from “Tancredi,” so
enthusisiastically admired throughout Italy, and which was also sung
to-day, there are in the very first bars the most hideous-sounding
octaves, between the bass and the second hautboy, that I ever heard.
[Music]
The first result of my judgment of _Rossini_ is, therefore, that
he is by no means wanting in invention and genius and with those
qualifications had he been scientifically educated, and led to the
only right way by _Mozart’s_ classical masterpieces, he might readily
have become one of the most distinguished composers of vocal-music of
our day, but, as he now writes, he will not raise Italian music, but
much rather lower it. In order to be new, _Rossini_ departs more and
more from the simple and grand style of song of former days, and does
not reflect that in so doing he wholly robs the voice of its charm
and advantages, and actually debases it, when he forces it to execute
passages and fioritures, which every petty instrumentalist can produce
much purer, and especially much _more connected_, because he has no
need to express a syllable every time on the third or fourth note. With
his “flowery song,” however much it may please, he is therefore in a
fair way to make a clearance of all _real_ song which is already now
very scarce in Italy, and in which the despicable horde of Imitators,
who here as well as in Germany pursue their pitiful calling, are doing
their best to assist him.
December 29.
Last evening I went with _Meyerbeer_ to hear “Tancredi” at the
_Argentino_ theatre. I never witnessed a more wretched performance. The
singers, with the exception of _Paris_ the elder, are very _mediocre_;
the _prima donna_, the younger _Paris_, is yet quite a beginner,
the _basso_ was frightful, the orchestra worse than in the smallest
provincial town in Germany, and in a word, it is an assemblage of folks
such as had all Italy been ransacked for the purpose, it would have
been difficult to find worse. God help the composer whose work falls
into such hands! They disfigured it in such a manner that one can no
longer recognise it. The only one person who distinguished herself,
was the elder _Paris_, who, in the part of “Tancredi,” displayed a
powerful, healthy contralto voice and a cultivated execution. It
would be unjust after such a representation to pass judgment upon the
opera, and the more so, as several passages were omitted and others
substituted. The ballet which was given between the acts, was quite
of a piece with the rest: a serious ballet executed by a number of
grotesque dancers! But among these were some men, who made themselves
remarkable by the power, and agility and by springs of all kinds.
During the last week we have again seen many interesting things;
the museum of the Capitol, in which the dying gladiator and several
Egyptian statues pleased me most--the latter less remarkable for
artistic beauty than for singularity; the picture gallery in the
_Doria_ palace, which contains among many other remarkable pictures,
four beautiful landscapes by _Claude Lorrain_; another gallery in
the _Colonna_ palace, in which hangs an extremely beautiful head of
_Raphael_; the handsome and richly decorated churches of _Santa Maria
Maggiore_ and _St. Giovanni in Laterano_, &c. From the portal of the
latter one has an extensive view in the direction of Albano, which with
the ancient aqueducts, which the eye can follow for miles, and other
remains of ancient Roman architecture, possesses much romantic interest.
On Sunday evening, the weather being very clear, we ascended the
dome of St. Peter’s church. The ascent is at first by a footway of a
spiral form without steps as far as the roof of the church. Arrived
there once fancies one’sself again in the streets of a town, for the
ground is paved, and a number of houses, some of which are inhabited,
together with numerous small and large cupolas, prevent a view into the
distance. But if you walk up to the gigantic statues over the portal
of the church, you then see at how great a height you are standing.
The pavement of the square in front of the church looks like a minute
mosaic, and the people little puppets creeping about upon it. On
looking up to the dome from here, it looks like an enormous isolated
building; from the first interior gallery one has also to mount to a
considerable height before one arrives at the second, where the first
swell of the dome begins. The view from these galleries, particularly
from the second, down into the church is quite _sui generis_, and makes
one positively shudder. The hundred lamps which burn right under the
dome at the entrance of the subterranean chapel, seem to mingle as in
one flame, and the human beings below appear like moving black spots.
From the second gallery one then ascends between the inner and exterior
dome by wooden steps up to the lantern, from which one has again a view
down into the church that makes the head turn. From here a flight of
winding stone steps once more leads up into a tolerably large chamber
situated in the top of the lantern, and thence at length ascending an
iron ladder, one passes through the shaft to the ball, which is large
enough to contain from twelve to sixteen persons.
The foolhardy can ascend yet higher, by a ladder outside the ball, up
into the cross, but we were quite satisfied with having been as high
as the ball. The view from the external galleries is magnificent and
varied beyond description. Below, proud Rome with its inummerable
palaces, ruins, columns and obelisks; around it the villas.
In the distance the mountain near Tivoli and Albano, above which are
seen the peaks of snow-covered mountains, and far away on the west the
Mediterranean, which at the time of the day we ascended the dome looked
like a fiery stripe in the distant sky. After we had long enjoyed this
entrancing view, we descended and found that two hours had passed very
rapidly in the ascent of the dome.
We also went up the high column on the _Piazza Colonna_, and from its
summit, which rises high above all the houses, enjoyed one of the
finest views of Rome and its immediate environs.
December 30.
I have acquired the conviction that the Italians, even in modern
times, are not wanting in natural abilities for the study of the fine
arts, and indeed, that on the whole they surpass therein the northern
nations. Almost all their singers have a happy ear for intonation,
and the faculty of immediately seizing and repeating a melody once
heard; although but very few of them, even among the theatrical singers
possess _what we call music_, and most of them scarcely even know their
notes. At the last musical party at _Apponyi’s_ there was a Canon
of _Cherubini’s_ to be sung, in which _Moncade_ who, as I had been
told, is one of the singers who cannot read music, although formerly
a theatrical singer, was solicited to take a part. As he willingly
assented to sing something that he did not know, I immediately thought
that in his case at least what I had heard was untrue. The Countess
first sang the slow melody consisting of eight bars and _Moncade_
repeated it note for note with all the little ornaments which she had
added. But when his part began, he could get no farther: nevertheless,
he did not permit himself to be disconcerted, but sang away by ear,
which certainly sometimes did not sound much like music by _Cherubini_.
When, however, the third singer, who also had no music before him,
began, after his first simple entry in the second part, also to
compose, such confusion and discord arose that they were obliged to
leave off. Both singers declared very ingenuously that they had hoped,
they would have accomplished it; like the Englishman who, when he was
asked if he played the violin, replied: “It is possible, but I have
never yet tried.”
Among the lower uneducated classes of the people, a remarkable genius
for painting is by no means rare here, which is awakened by the early
contemplation of the public works of art. In this manner the attention
of the painters here has been attracted for the last year and more by
the extraordinary artistic talent of a lad in the streets. This boy,
without ever having had the least instruction, draws large historical
sketches in charcoal upon the white walls of the houses, and there is
scarcely a street in which some of his artistic work is not to be seen.
Sometimes he chooses for his subject a Madonna, or some legend, at
others a Roman triumph. But in no one instance has he ever copied
from any existing subject, or even repeated himself; his fancy
constantly creates something new. Some of these sketches excite the
greatest astonishment by the richness of the composition, comprising
frequently more than thirty or forty figures, and by the correctness
of the drawing. The most remarkable to me is the certainty with which
he throws off and depicts his ideas. You see no double stroke in the
contours--nothing wiped out--everything stands there at once clear and
prominent. When he draws he is always surrounded by a crowd of people,
who look on with gratification at the skill he displays; but he is so
deeply engrossed with his work, that he heeds neither the surrounding
spectators nor their remarks. I have been told that _Canova_ took this
lad, with the view of developing his talent; but that regular kind of
life did not all please him, and he soon ran away.
January 1. 1817.
The new year has begun very unpleasantly for us. This morning _Emily_
was taken suddenly ill. The doctor thinks she will have the scarlet
fever; should that be the case, we shall be obliged to postpone our
departure for Naples, which we had fixed for the 7th, for at least a
fortnight. Added to the annoyance of remaining here yet longer without
any object and in anxiety, is that of being compelled to see our
fellow-countrymen with whom we had contemplated making the journey
together depart alone, and that also of missing the opening of the St.
Carlo theatre at Naples, which is to take place on the 12th. To console
ourselves for the latter we shall meanwhile hear the new opera of
_Rossini_, which he is writing for the _Valle_ theatre, and the début
of Madame _Schönberger_ at the _Argentino_.
January 3.
Not only _Emily_, but _Ida_ also has caught the scarlet fever, and now
for a certainty we shall not be able to leave before the 20th. Both
children were very ill for some days, and my good _Dorette_ has been
extremely alarmed and anxious. I have kept up my spirits and amused
myself in inventing some puzzle-canons and have now began to write a
new solo-quartett.
I should so much have liked to make _Rossini’s_ acquaintance; but
before he has finished his opera this is quite out of the question. The
impressario, in whose house he lives, neither permits him to go out
nor to receive visits, so that he may not neglect his work. Should his
opera not be brought out before our departure, I shall probably not be
able to see him.
January 18.
The children have recovered sooner than we had anticipated, and we have
fixed to leave for Naples the day after to-morrow.
Last Thursday I went again to _Sirletti’s_, and yesterday to the
morning concert at Count _Apponyi’s_; at neither place, however, was
any thing played worth particular notice, with the exception of a fine
quartett by _Mayer_ and a duet from a comic opera of _Fioravanti_.
_Mayer_ is remarkable for scrupulously correct harmony, regularity of
rhythm and a good treatment of the voices in part compositions, and
surpasses therein all modern Italians. The duet out of _Fioravanti_
more particularly interested me from the circumstance that it is also
adorned with the modern so-called “flowery song,” from which I find
that _Rossini_ is neither the first nor only one who makes use of it.
I begin moreover to judge him more favourably, as long as he does not
venture beyond the limits of _comic_ opera, and when his music is as
gracefully executed as by the Countess _Apponyi_ and _Moncade_.
* * * * *
On the 20th January we left Rome. The _Campagna di Roma_ is as little
cultivated on this side as on the other; the road as far as Albano
derives nevertheless much interest from the many antiquities seen on
the way. The numerous remains of three or four old Roman acqueducts
give a particularly romantic aspect to the country round. One of the
acqueducts, which was less injured, has been repared in later times,
and still serves to supply Rome with water upon this side.
While our _vetturino_ was baiting his horses at Albano, I ascended the
mountain upon which the lake of Albano is situated. The view across it
towards Rome is exceedingly beautiful. Below at one’s feet is seen the
lake with its high precipitous banks thickly covered with trees and
underwood; upon the right a long building, the use of which I do not
know; to the left, upon the high steep bank, Castel Gandolfo, and in
the extreme distance the mass of houses of Rome. The form of the lake
and of its high precipitous banks indicates plainly that it has been
formed by the falling in of a burnt-out crater.
The road from Albano to the little dirty town of Velletri, where we
took up our first night-quarters, presents a great variety of scenery.
On the second day we crossed the Pontine marshes, which extend from
Velletri to Terracina, a distance of four and twenty Italian miles.
We did not find them so desolate and barren as we expected, for one
has always a sight of the mountains on the left, and here and there
of even a few patches of cultivated land. The numerous herds of oxen,
buffaloes, swine, and in the dry parts, of sheep also, give some life
to the uniformity of the level. But houses are of rare occurrence,
and the inhabitants have always a pale unhealthy appearance. In the
heat of summer the exhalations from the marshes are very dangerous,
even to travellers who do but cross them, particularly if they abandon
themselves to sleep, to which one is greatly induced by the uniformity
of the road. Only last summer a young lady who could not resist the
disposition to sleep inhaled death here, and was carried off by a
malignant fever three days after her arrival in Naples. Such cases are
not unfrequent in summer.
At _Torre a tri ponti_, a solitary hostelry, all the inmates of which
looked as if they had just risen from their graves, we dined, and had
very excellent meat, and roast ducks and geese, of which there are
swarms in the uncultivated parts of the marshes.
Terracina, where we arrived at night-fall is most charmingly situated.
The town stands upon a wild rocky eminence, but we stopped below at a
very excellent inn close to the sea. From our windows we had a view of
the sea, and on the following morning enjoyed the magnificent sight
of the rising sun. Close below our windows, the waves broke with
considerable noise, although during the previous day the wind had not
been high. The air was as mild as after a warm summer’s day in Germany,
and in the evening late we saw the fishermen launch their barks through
the surf by moonlight, to cast their nets.
On the next morning we had to pass through the most dangerous part of
the whole journey, from being the most infested with banditti. This
part is between Terracina and Fondi, where the road lies through a
thinly inhabited country and almost always between masses of low bushes
in which the scoundrels easily conceal themselves, and can shoot down
travellers and their escort from an ambuscade without being perceived.
It is here where the most robberies are perpetrated, and but recently
only some travellers were again attacked. But the government has at
length taken earnest measures to suppress this. We found several
hundred peasants employed in cutting down all the bushes on both sides
of the road and burning them; and we met several strong detachments of
soldiers, sent out to hunt up the banditti in their fastnesses. From
twenty to thirty have already been brought in and hung up with little
ceremony. On this side of the Neapolitan frontiers we met a picquet of
soldiers at intervals of every quarter of an hour, which bivouacked on
the side of the road and sent out patrols during the night.
At Fondi, a poor dirty looking hole, where we were almost torn to
pieces by beggars, we saw the first gardens of lemons, pomegranates and
oranges. We took a walk through the town and were delighted with the
sight of the splendid trees, which were loaded with the finest fruit.
In the gardens and in the market we saw fine fresh vegetables, such as
cauliflowers, savoy-cabbages, carrots, &c. But at noon the heat was so
great, that we were obliged to seek the shade.
We passed the night at Molo di Gaëta, also a small town situate close
to the sea. From the windows of our inn in the evening we saw the
fishermen put out to sea by torchlight to fish. Between Molo and Santa
Agata we saw a great number of evergreen shrubs and plants, which do
not grow even in the north of Italy, and upon the rocks several kinds
of aloes, such as we grow in greenhouses. Several other shrubs which
are also indigenous with us were already in their first leaf. On the
road-side the air was perfumed by the violets, and the fields with the
blossoms of the beans.
Capua, where we passed the last night of our journey, is a handsome
town with fine buildings. We supped in the evening with two Austrian
officers, who told us among other things, that they did not bury people
in Capua, but threw them down a hole about a mile from the town, which
was unfathomly deep, but was believed to have a communication with the
sea, as after some lapse of time one could hear the bodies of those who
were thrown down fall into the water.
The road from Capua to Naples is the most uninteresting of the whole
journey. Nothing else is to be seen on either side of the road but
high mulberry trees and pendant vines, both now without leaves. At two
o’clock in the afternoon we at length arrived at the long-wished for
Naples, and found a lodging which had been already engaged and prepared
for us by one of our fellow-countrymen.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
_Naples_, January 1.