THE THEATERS IN ITALY
The performances of _Le Roi de Lahore_ were running on at the Opera and
they were well attended and finely done. At least that is what I heard
for I had already stopped going. Presently I left Paris where, as I have
said, I devoted myself to giving lessons, and went back to the country
to work on _La Vierge_.
In the meantime I had learned that the great Italian publisher Guilio
Ricordi had heard _Le Roi de Lahore_ at the Opera and had come to terms
with Hartmann for its production in Italy. Such a thing was really
unique, for at that time the only works translated into Italian and
given in that country were those of the great masters. And they had to
wait a long time for their turn, while it was my good fortune to see _Le
Roi de Lahore_ played on the morrow of its first performance.
The first house in Italy at which this honor fell to me was the Regio in
Turin. What an unexpected good fortune it was to see Italy again, to
know their theaters from more than the outside, and to go into their
wings! I found in all this a delight which I cannot express and in this
state of rapture I passed the first months of 1878. Hartmann and I went
to Italy on the first of February, 1878.
With the Scala at Milan, the San Carlo at Naples, the Communal Opera at
Boulogne, the old Apollo at Rome--since demolished and replaced in
popular favor by the Costanzi--with the Pergola at Florence, the Carlo
Felice at Genoa, and the Fenice at Venice, the beautiful Regio Theater,
built opposite the Madame Palace on the Piazza Castella, is one of the
most noted in all Italy. It rivaled then--as it does now--the most
famous houses of that classic land of the arts to which it was always so
hospitable and so receptive.
The manners at the Regio were entirely different from those at Paris and
were, as I discovered later, much like those in Germany. Absolute
deference and punctilious exactness are the rule, not only among the
artistes but also among the singers of the minor roles. The orchestra
obeys the slightest wish of the director.
The orchestra at the Regio at that time was conducted by the master
Pedrotti who was subsequently the director of the Rossini Conservatory
at Pesaro. He was known for his gay, vivacious melodies and a number of
operas, among them _Tutti in maschera_. His death was tragic. I can
still hear honest Pedrotti saying repeatedly to me:
"Are you satisfied? I am so much."
We had a famous tenor of the time, Signor Fanselli. He had a superb
voice, but a mannerism of spreading his arms wide open in front of him
with his fingers opened out. In spite of the fact that an excessive
fondness for this method of giving expression is almost inevitably
displeasing, many other artists I have known use it to express their
feelings, at least they think they do, when, as a matter of fact, they
feel absolutely nothing.
His open hands had won for this remarkable tenor the nickname, _Cinque e
cinque fanno dieci!_ (Five and five make ten!)
Apropos of this first performance I will mention the baritone Mendioroz
and Signorina Mecocci who took part in it.
Such goings about became very frequent, for scarcely had Hartmann and I
got back to Paris than we had to start off again for Rome where _Il Re
di Lahore_ had the honor of a first performance on March 21, 1879.
Here I had still more remarkable artists: the tenor Barbaccini, the
baritone Kashmann, both singers of great merit; then Signorina Mariani,
an admirable singer and tragedienne, and her younger sister who was
equally charming. M. Giacovacci, the director at the Apollo, was a
strange old fellow, very amusing and gay, especially when he recalled
the first performance of _The Barber of Seville_ at the Argentine
Theater in the days of his youth. He drew a most interesting picture of
the young Rossini and his vivacity and charm. To have written _The
Barber of Seville_ and _William Tell_ is indeed a most striking evidence
of wit personified and also of a keen mind.
I profited by my stay in Rome to revisit my dear Villa Medici. It amused
me to reappear there as an author ... how shall I say it? Well (and so
much the worse) let us say, an enthusiastically applauded author.
I stopped at the Hotel de Rome, opposite the San Carlo, on the Corso.
The morning after the first performance, they brought a note to my
rooms--I was hardly awake, for we had come in very late--which bore
these words:
"The next time you stay at a hotel, let me know beforehand, for I
haven't slept all night with all their serenading and toasting you!
What a row! But I am pleased for your sake.
"Your old friend,
"DU LOCLE."
Du Locle! How could it be he! But there he was--my conductor at the
birth of _Don Cesar de Bazan_. I hastened to embrace him.
The morning of March 21 brought hours of magical delight and alluring
charm. I count them as among the best that I remember.
I had obtained an audience with the newly enthroned Pope Leo XIII. The
grand salon where I was introduced was preceded by a long antechamber.
Those who had been admitted like myself were kneeling in a row on each
side of the room. The Pope blessed the faithful with his right hand and
spoke a few words to them. His chamberlain told him who I was and why I
had come to Rome, and the Sovereign Pontiff added to his benediction
words of good wishes for my art.
Leo XIII combined an unusual dignity with a simplicity which reminded me
forcibly of Pius IX.
After leaving the Vatican I went at eleven o'clock to the Quirinal
Palace. The Marchese di Villamarina was to present me to Queen
Margherita. We passed through a suite of five or six rooms and in the
one where we waited was a crape-covered glass case in which were
souvenirs of Victor Emanuel who had died only recently. There was an
upright piano between the windows. The following detail was almost
theatrical in its impression. I had noticed that an usher was stationed
at the door of each of the salons through which I had come, and I heard
a distant voice, evidently in the first room, announce loudly, La
Regina, then nearer, La Regina, then nearer still, La Regina, and again
and louder, La Regina, and finally in the next salon, in ringing tones,
La Regina. And the Queen appeared in the salon where we were.
The Marchese di Villamarina presented me, bowed to the Queen, and went
out.
Her Majesty, in a charming voice, asked me to excuse her for not going
to the opera the evening before to hear _Il Capolavoro_ of the French
master, and, pointing to the glass case, said, "We are in mourning."
Then she added, "As I was deprived of the evening, will you not let me
hear some of the motifs of the opera?"
As there was no chair beside the piano, I began to play standing. Then I
saw the Queen looking about for a chair and I sprang towards one, placed
it in front of the piano and continued playing as she had asked so
adorably.
I was much moved when I left her Majesty and I was deeply gratified by
her gracious reception. I passed through the numerous salons and found
the Marchese di Villamarina whom I thanked heartily for his great
courtesy.
A quarter of an hour later I was in the Via delle Carozze, visiting
Menotti Garibaldi to whom I had a letter of introduction from a friend
in Paris.
That was no ordinary morning. Indeed it was unusual in view of the
personages I had the honor to see: His Holiness the Pope, her Majesty
the Queen, and the son of Garibaldi.
I was presented during the day to Prince Massimo of the oldest Roman
nobility. When I asked, perhaps indiscreetly but with genuine curiosity
nevertheless, whether he were descended from Emperor Maximus, he
replied, simply and modestly, "I do not know certainly, but they have
been sure of it in my family for eighteen hundred years."
After the theater that evening (a superb success), I went to supper at
the house of our ambassador, the Duke de Montebello. At the request of
the duchess I began to play the same motifs I had given in the morning
before her Majesty the Queen. The duchess smoked, and I remember that I
smoked many cigarettes while I played. That gave me the opportunity, as
the smoke rose to the ceiling, to contemplate the marvellous paintings
of the immortal Carrache, the creator of the famous Farnese Gallery.
Again, what never to be forgotten hours!
I returned to my hotel about three in the morning where the serenade
with which they entertained me kept my friend du Locle awake.
Spring passed rapidly on account of my memories of my brilliant winter
in Italy. I set to work at Fontainebleau and finished _La Vierge_. Then
my dear wife and I set out for Milan and the Villa d'Este.
[Illustration: _By permission of Ad. Braun and Cie., Paris_
Titta Ruffo, Caruso and Chaliapine, three artists who sang in Massenet's
works]
That was a year of enthusiasms, of pure, radiant joy, and its hours of
unutterable good fortune left a mark on my career, which was never to
be erased.
Giulio Ricordi had invited Mme. Massenet and me, together with our dear
daughter, still quite a child, to spend the month of August at the Villa
d'Este in that marvellously picturesque country about Lake Como. We
found there Mme. Giuditta Ricordi, the wife of our amiable and gracious
host, their daughter Ginette, a delightful playmate for my little girl;
and their sons Tito and Manuel, small boys then but tall gentlemen
since. We also met there a lovely young girl, a rose that had as yet
scarcely blossomed, who during our stay worked at singing with a
renowned Italian professor.
Arrigo Boito, the famous author of _Mefistole_, who was also a guest at
the Villa d'Este, was as impressed as I was with the unusual quality of
her voice. That prodigious voice, already so wonderfully flexible, was
that of the future artiste who was never to be forgotten in her creation
of _Lakme_ by the glorious and regretted Leo Delibes. I have named Marie
Van Zandt.
One evening as I entered the Hotel Bella Venezia, on the Piazza San
Fedele at Milan (where even to-day I should be glad to alight) Giulio
Ricordi came to see me and introduced me to a man of great distinction,
an inspired poet, who read me a scenario in four acts on the story of
Herodias, which was tremendously interesting. That remarkable man of
letters was Zanardini, a descendant of one of the greatest families of
Venice.
It is easy to see how suggestive and inspiring the story of the Tetrach
of Galilee, of Salome, of John, and of Herodias would become under a pen
so rich in colors as that of the man who had painted it.
On the fifteenth of August during our stay in Italy, _Le Roi de Lahore_
was put on at the Vienza Theater, and on the third of October came the
first performance at the Communal Theater at Bologna. That was the
reason for our prolonged stay in Italy.
Our return to Fontainebleau followed immediately and I had to take up my
normal life again and my unfinished work.
To my surprise I received a visit from M. Emile Rety the day after my
return! He came from Ambroise Thomas to offer me the place of professor
of counterpoint, fugue and composition at the Conservatoire to replace
Francois Bazin who had died some months before. He advised me at the
same time to become a candidate for the Academie des Beaux Arts as the
election of a successor to Bazin was at hand.
What a contrast to the months of agreeable nonsense and applause in
Italy! I thought that I was forgotten in France, whereas the truth was
the direct opposite.