times, which were exceedingly well accompanied by Messieurs _Dauner_
and son, the young and talented violinist _Onario_, whom I have
practised in some of my things, and by the accomplished violoncellist
_Fenzi_, who lived formerly in Cassel. They afforded great pleasure,
and _Mayer_ assured me he had never enjoyed a greater musical treat. On
the second occasion we played them at the house of Lady _Douglas_, who
herself plays the piano very well and is said to have sung exceedingly
well some years ago. She and her husband are the first English in whom
I have found a real taste for music.
March 23.
On looking through this diary I observe that I have forgotten to
mention the performance of two masses given at the expense of Prince
_Esterhazy_ of Vienna. The first by old _Umlauf_ of Vienna, was
remarkable for nothing in particular; but the second by _Haydn_, in D
minor, which was performed with great solemnity and military pomp on
the emperor’s birthday, afforded much gratification. Mesdames _Chabran_
and _Canonici_, and Signori _Nozzari_ and _Benedetti_ sang the solo
parts very beautifully; the chorus and orchestra were also admirable.
Unfortunately, at the express desire of the Prince, almost all the
_tempi_ were taken too quick, and thereby much spoiled.
_Milan_, April 22.
Prevented from writing by the great press of business in the last days
of our residence in Naples, and the hurry of our return journey, which
was almost unbroken by a day of rest, I have got greatly in arrears,
and have therefore much to fetch up, even respecting Naples.
_Mayer’s_ new opera was at length brought out a fortnight before
Easter, after it had been once more re-christened, but it was a total
failure, so that it lived through two and a half representations only,
and probably is for ever at rest. On the third evening, in fact, the
first act alone was given, with one act of _Paer’s_ “Sargino.” Both the
subject and the music of _Mayer’s_ opera are equally uninteresting and
tedious. The latter especially is wanting in life and spirit; it is
so common-place and so spun out, that one can hardly hear it without
falling asleep. This actually occurred to me, to Count _Gallenberg_,
and to several others, at the grand rehearsal. _Mayer_ seems to have
exhausted himself, which is no wonder with the enormous quantity of
operas which he has written. It is certainly high time for him to
retire as a composer of operas, that he may not entirely forfeit the
repute he had acquired, and he would have done well if he had not
accepted the last invitation to Naples. The evening after the first
representation of his opera he set out on his return to Bergamo.
About this time the arrival of Madame _Catalani_ set all the lovers of
music in Naples in great commotion. She immediately took advantage of
this enthusiasm and announced a few days afterwards a concert in the
Fiorentino theatre, the prices of admission being seven-fold the usual
ones. On the day before the concert, it was with difficulty that I got
two pit tickets, and that because I had previously bespoken them, at
22 Carlini each. Never perhaps were the expectations of an audience at
a higher pitch of tension, than were those of the Neapolitan public
on that evening. My wife and I, who for years had longed to hear this
celebrated singer, could scarcely repress our impatience for the moment
of her appearance. At length she did appear, and a deathlike silence
pervaded the whole house. She came forward with a cold and pretentious
air, and saluted neither the Court nor the public, which created an
obvious unpleasant sensation. Perhaps she had expected to have been
received with a burst of applause, which however is not the custom in
Naples, and this perhaps put her out of humour. But when after her
first song she was greeted with a storm of applause, she became more
friendly, and remained so for the rest of the evening. She sang four
times, two airs by _Pucitta_, _Ombra adorata_ of _Zingarelli_ (or, as
the Neapolitans insist, of _Crescentini_, whose name also was down on
the bills) and variations on the thousand times varied “_Nel cor non
più mi sento_.” The airs by _Pucitta_ were extremely poor; the famed
_Ombra adorata_ can only be considered fine, when all thoughts of the
text are banished from the mind; the variations were common place, but
become piquante from her manner of execution. She pleased us greatly,
by the constantly pure intonation and the perfect finish with which she
executes every kind of vocal ornamentation and of passages, and by her
quite peculiar and characteristic style of singing; but she does not
come up to that ideal of a perfectly accomplished singer, which we had
expected to find her. Her voice which has the extensive range of
[Music]
to
[Music]
is both full and powerful in the low and middle notes, but the
transition to the _voce di testa_ at
[Music]
very observable, and from three to four notes in that region are much
weaker, than the deeper and highest; for which reason she gives all
passages which occur in those notes, with half-voice, only in order
to conceal the inequality. Her voice is wanting also in the youthful
freshness, which, however, in a female singer of forty years of age, is
not to be wondered at. Her shake is wonderfully beautiful; and equally
pure whether in the half or whole notes. A peculiar style of run
through the half notes, properly speaking the enharmonic scales, since
every note was produced twice, is greatly admired as something quite
her own. To me, nevertheless, it was more remarkable than beautiful;
for it sounded to me like the howling of the storm in the chimney.
Another kind of vocal ornamentation, which in itself is common enough,
she gives, however, in a manner that imparts great charm to it. It
would be expressed in notes somewhat in this manner:
[Music]
but at the same time it must be observed, that she took breath at
every sixteenth-pause, which gave to this part a very impassioned
character. Among the variations was one with syncopated notes, which
from her peculiar style of execution derives also a very characteristic
and interesting charm; and another in triplets _legato_ she gives in
perfection. But what I most missed in her singing, was _soul_. She
sings recitative without expression--I might say with carelessness, and
in _Adagio_ she remains cold. Neither were we even _once_ deeply moved,
but experienced merely that sense of pleasure one always feels when one
sees and hears mechanical difficulties overcome with ease. This, also,
was the sentiment of all those who sat in our immediate neighbourhood.
Some unpleasant and prejudicial habits, which she is not likely now to
correct, I must yet advert to. To these belong firstly, that in certain
passages, particularly those which she gives with force, every note
is delivered with a sort of see-saw movement of the lower jaw, as in
mastication, so that a dumb person, if he _saw her sing_, would have
no great difficulty in distinguishing crochets from quavers and up and
down running passages from one another. In the shake, more especially,
the movement of the lower jaw by which every note might be counted, is
very striking and disfiguring. Secondly, in impassioned passages her
whole body partakes of a southern but highly unbecoming mobility, from
which a deaf man would likewise of a certainty easily guess the subject.
A few days afterwards we heard her again in the rehearsal to her
second concert, in which she sang five times, and exhibited the same
qualifications, but also impressed no one at any time by a show of
feeling in her execution. She seemed to me much less pretentious here
and more amiable; and she was very polite to the orchestra and the
persons who had gathered to hear her, so that I can readily believe
what I was told--that her pretentious air when appearing in public,
arose more from embarrassement than pride, and was assumed by her to
conceal her fears. A young man who stood behind the side-scenes during
her concert assured me, that upon first stepping forward on the stage
she trembled in every limb, and could scarcely breathe for nervousness.
It is said that here in Milan she did not give general satisfaction;
and her last concerts were much less numerously attended than the
first. One part of the public was in favour of _Grassini_, whom we have
now heard here also, but of whom I shall speak later. The admirers of
the latter had played _Catalani_ a malicious trick by distributing for
sale at the entrance of the theatre at her first concert an Italian
translation of the unfavourable opinions respecting her that had
appeared in the Hamburg and Leipsic musical journals. _Catalani_,
herself, expecting to find in it a sonnet or something of the kind in
her praise, purchased a copy.
The day after _Catalani’s_ first concert in Naples took place,
_Rossini’s_ “Elisabetta” was given at the San Carlo theatre, in which
_Colbran_ played the first part. As every body knew that it was her
intention to compete with _Catalani_, the house was more than usually
crowded, both by partizans and antagonists of _Colbran_. The latter
on the previous evening called _Catalani’s_ concert the exequies of
_Colbran_, and people were therefore extremely curious to learn what
would be the result of the evening. Immediately upon her appearance
she was received with a concert of hisses, but simultaneously also
with vehement applause. As, however, this time she really sang and
played exceedingly well, the applauders increased in number and the
hissers grew less, so that at last she was called forward almost
unanimously by the audience. She is far behind _Catalani_ in voice and
every mechanical point of excellence, but she sings with true feeling
and plays with considerable passion. The composition of this opera
is one of _Rossini’s_ best, but with all the merits, it has also all
the weak points of the others.--In the theatre, a ridiculous trait of
pretentious magnanimity on the part of _Catalani_ furnished subject of
amusement. A few evenings before, when she first went to the theatre,
she sent her secretary behind the scenes to express to _Colbran_
and the other singers that “she was perfectly satisfied with their
performances.”
_Freiburg in Breisgau_, June 20. 1817.
Previous to our leaving Naples, we devoted one whole day more to a
visit to Pompeii. We were so fortunate as to have a clear and tolerably
warm day, a real wonder throughout the whole of the month of March!
While from the middle of January to the end of February the weather was
almost without interruption the most beautiful spring weather, with the
beginning of March winter suddenly returned. A cold and stormy rain
fell in the vallies, and snow in the mountains to such a depth, that
they were no longer accessible. On Vesuvius it was said to be from
three to four feet deep. But March is generally very cold and the real
winter month of the Neapolitans.
The ruins of Pompeii, which from having lain covered for nearly 2000
years with a light crust of dry ashes, are in far better preservation
than all the remains of that period which have been exposed to the
air, made a deep and really solemn impression upon us. The ruins of
the Colosseum and other ancient buildings in Rome, impress one with an
idea of the artistic taste, the wealth, and love of grandeur of the
ancients; but here the sight of simple small private dwelling-houses,
which are as entire as on the day of the fearful catastrophe, makes
one acquainted with the habits and ways of their civic life, and, by
ocular evidence, with many customs unknown to our mode of living, and
described to us by ancient writers.
On entering one of these houses, which may have belonged to a
well-to-do individual in the middle class of society, one finds a row
of small, neat rooms all painted _al fresco_, like the paintings cut
out of the walls from Herculaneum, which are preserved at Portici.
These chambers have rarely any window, and but one door to admit
light and air, which opens upon a court yard, round which runs a
covered gallery. In the centre of the court is a fountain, near this a
circular marble table round which stand marble benches to recline upon
at meal time, furnished with a somewhat higher projection to support
the elbows; and on one side of the court is one or more tastefully
decorated baths. All these houses had but one floor or story and were
much smaller than our dwelling houses. It is greatly to be regretted
that the domestic utensils which were found there could not be left
in their place! One would then have had a perfect conception of the
habits and mode of life of the former inhabitants of this remarkable
city. The pavement of the streets is still in the same condition as it
then was, and the impression of the wheels of the vehicles as also of
the feet of the foot-passengers are still to be seen in the streets.
Over the shops one still sees expressed in Greek characters painted on
walls, the wares which were sold in each, and at the corner of a street
an advertisement of that period. In the shops where oil was sold huge
earthen-ware jars, let into the masonry of the front wall, are still
to be seen, from which that article was dipped out for sale. In many
cellars in good preservation, similar tall jars, but with very narrow
necks are to be seen, in which wine was kept. In one of these cellars
the skeleton of a woman was found, and so completely imbedded in the
ashes, that the form of her body could be distinguished as in a mould.
A part of this form in which the impress of her breast is left, is
preserved at Portici. In her hand was found a large leathern bag with
coins in it.
The street which is in the best preservation is the street of the
tombs, in which on both sides scarcely any thing is to be seen but
tombs, some of which are built in the Egyptian pyramidal-form, and
others in the Roman style. In these tombs, urns have been found in
which the ashes and bones of the burned dead were preserved. The
inscriptions upon these tombs are sometimes Greek, sometimes Latin, and
begin very frequently with the exclamation: “_Siste viator!_” “Stop
passer-by!” &c., which mode of arresting the attention of the way farer
here in a frequented and busy street was much more in place than it
is in our generally very retired churchyards, in which it has been
imitated in a somewhat inappropriate manner.
The public buildings, theatres, temples, &c., which attract attention
in Pompeii, are certainly neither so vast nor so grand and beautiful as
those of Rome, Puzzuoli and other places; but they nevertheless exceed
in importance everything that a modern provincial town can offer to the
visitor. Where, for instance, would one find in any of these, a vast
circus for public games, and two large theatres! Of the latter, one
was roofed over, and served probably for the performance of comedies;
the other, with a stage, an orchestra, and a circular, very lofty
amphitheatre gives us an idea of the sort of place in which the Roman
actors, provided with a mask to increase the volume of sound, performed
their tragedies before an audience of from 10,000 to 15,000 spectators.
But the temples also, the finest of which is now being dug out of the
ashes, afford ocular demonstration of the love of grandeur and of the
good taste of the ancients in architecture.
The vineyards and cultivated land which lie above the yet unexcavated
part of the city, have been already long purchased by the former king
of Naples; hence if the work had been carried on with energy, which,
however, is not to be expected from the present government, which
prosecutes all such things very indolently, the whole of this highly
interesting city would be laid bare in a few years, and from the
high ground which surrounds it might all be surveyed at one glance.
At present the different parts which have been excavated are still
separated from each other by long strips of land under cultivation,
which one is obliged to ascend like so many hills; and one is greatly
surprised after having traversed one of this sort of fields to see
beneath one another part of the city, which contrasts so strangely with
the vines, trees, fields and peasant’s huts upon the high ground.
The day before our departure from Naples we once more paid a visit to
the Studii, and inspected the large collection of Etrurian vases of
every imaginable form. We were greatly pleased also, with the fine
collection of paintings, among which the pictures by _Raphael_ recently
brought back from Sicily were special objects of our admiration.
On the 29th March we set out on our return journey to Rome. The morning
of our leaving was very stormy and unpleasant for me; for in the first
place I had a dispute with the vetturino, who wanted to thrust a fifth
person into the interior of the vehicle, in the shape of a dirty
and ill-smelling Capucin friar, till at length after much desultory
disputation we consented to his being accommodated in the cabriolet,
and as a further incident of annoyance, my family was at first not
permitted to pass out of the gate, because they had not been mentioned
in the new Neapolitan passports which it is requisite to take upon
leaving the country. It was in vain that I shewed my old passport, in
which my wife and children were mentioned; and it was not until I had
pledged my word to go back and procure another passport that I was
allowed to move from the spot. I therefore went back to the minister,
while my wife and children proceeded without further hindrance on
their way. Arrived at the minister’s, I there found all still buried
in sleep; but with fair words and that which with Italians is far more
effectual, money, I at length succeeded in procuring a new passport.
Furnished with this I jumped into a hired carriage, and drove with
all speed to overtake my family, which I did about half-way to Capua
and thus relieved them of a great anxiety respecting me. Among the
annoyances with which travellers in Italy are almost worried to death,
is the excessive strictness in regard to passports, which is frequently
carried to a ridiculous extreme. We subsequently saw an instance in
which a traveller who had already got beyond Parma on the Lombard
frontier was sent all the way back to Leghorn because his passport had
not been signed by the Austrian consul at that place.
In a second vehicle which accompanied us travelled an Englishman,
who was possessed of an extraordinary skill in taking the fine views
in a few minutes. For this purpose he made use of a machine which
transmitted the landscape on a reduced scale to the paper. Between
Velletri and Albano, where we went part of the way on foot in order
better to enjoy the magnificent landscape and the mild air, we saw the
whole method of his proceeding, which afforded infinite pleasure to the
children. He shewed us afterwards his collection of views, of which he
had upwards of two hundred of Naples and its neighbourhood alone. He
gave me his address: Major _Cockburn_, Woolwich, nine miles from London.
Our re-entry into Rome filled us anew with wonder and admiration of
the remains of the old Roman architecture, which we had not seen for
three months. We were much amused also with the simple remarks of the
Capucin friar, whose first visit this was to the mainland, and who
was totally inexperienced in every thing. Apart from his dirt, he was
really a good-tempered, simple sort of man, and quite endurable. He
was full of restless impatience to see the pope officiate. How various
are the wishes and inclinations of men! He perhaps felt as we did the
day before the concert given by the celebrated _Catalani_! I wish with
all my heart that he may return to his convent, better satisfied then
we returned home from that concert.
With great difficulty we procured a miserable apartment in a private
house, for which nevertheless we were obliged to pay half a piaster per
diem. Strangers from every part of Italy had poured into Rome to be
present during the Holy Week, in addition to whom also, pilgrims, and
the devout gathered together from all parts of the world, were now here
to receive remission of their sins. The streets were thronged to that
degree that we were frequently obliged to pull up as we drove through.
Our apartments had a look-out upon the Tiber from a wooden balcony;
from here we could follow the course of the Tiber from the Porta Romana
to the bridge in front of the castle of St. Angelo. The stillness of
the quarter of the city beyond the Tiber, lit up by the ruddy evening
sky and the moonlight, contrasted in a remarkable manner with the dense
throng which poured to and fro across the bridge and then disappeared
in the streets leading from the castle of St. Angelo to the church of
St. Peter. High above all the houses and palaces which lay between us
and the church of St. Peter, rose the latter, proudly and majestically,
filling us with wonder and admiration of its gigantic proportions.
Tired as we were, it was long before we could tear ourselves away from
this magnificent sight, and we remained till a late hour in the mild
evening air upon our balcony. When we at length lay down to rest, we
called to each other once more: “To-morrow, to-morrow, then we shall
hear the famous Miserere!”
_Aix la Chapelle_, Aug. 10. 1817.
Here at length, I find once more a few moments leisure to continue my
narrative of our return journey from Italy.
On the 3rd April we at last heard the-long-wished-for Miserere in the
Sixtine chapel. We had been told that females were admitted by tickets,
and that men were required to appear in shoes. But a ticket for
_Dorette_ was now not to be had, and I was therefore obliged to make up
my mind to go alone. But when I recognised among the Swiss guard at the
entrance of the church one whom I knew and whose good will I had won
upon a former occasion by a present for accompanying us up to the dome
of St. Peter’s church; I enquired of him whether he could not assist to
procure me an admission into the chapel for my wife without a ticket;
and upon his assurance that he would do his best, I hastened home to
fetch her. After some discussion with the other Swiss guards we were so
fortunate as to be admitted, although several English ladies of rank
who came unprovided with tickets were refused admittance and turned
back. The Swiss cannot bear the English nor the French, and favour the
Germans upon such occasions much more, particularly if one can talk to
them in a few words of “_Schwizerdütsch_.”
We yet arrived in good time, and only regretted that we were not
allowed to remain together, so as to interchange at the moment the
impression which the music would make upon us.
Before the commencement of the singing, nineteen psalms were chaunted
alternately by high and low voices, in the same manner _unisono_,
and in the form of prayer, as we had already found so tedious at
Christmas; and we had to bear with the last eight or nine of these:
after every one, which lasted for five long minutes, one of the tapers
is extinguished that burns upon a gigantic pyramidal-shaped candelabra
in front of the high altar. How one wishes that the last of them also
was extinguished! At length the wished-for moment comes, and by degrees
a silence ensues which not a little increases the expectation of that
which now follows. To this sentiment of expectation, the solemn
twilight which now prevails in the church faintly illumined with the
last gleam of the rosy tints of evening, and the repose felt at length
by the ear after the hoarse bellowing of the psalms may be ascribed the
delicious impression that I experienced from the first long-drawn chord
of _C flat_, and which seemed to me like music from another world.
But one was too soon reminded that it was an earthly music that fell
upon the ear, and one indeed sung by Italians; for immediately after
the second bar, the ear was rent by a horrid succession of quints! The
theme was doubtless after this manner:
[Music]
but was given by the singers in the following barbarous manner:
[Music]
I could not have believed even my own ears, much more those of others,
that they sing _in such wise_ in the Sixtine chapel, had I not heard
it subsequently repeated. Is this perhaps the mysterious method of
executing these old compositions, of which it is related that it is
known alone to this choir, and has been handed down traditionally?
Impossible! _Modern_ Italians only can sing in so barbarous a style,
who may perhaps possess a feeling for melody, but who in all that is
called harmony are grossly ignorant.