Mme. Grisi, more than any other prima donna who ever lived, was
habitually associated in her professional life with the greatest singers
of the other sex. Among those names which are inseparable from hers, are
those of Rubini, Tamburini, Lablache, and, _par excellence_, that of
Mario. Any satisfactory sketch of her life and artistic surroundings
would be incomplete without something more than a passing notice of
these shining lights of the lyric art. Giambattista Rubini, without
a shred of dramatic genius, raised himself to the very first place in
contemporary estimation by sheer genius as a singer, for his musical
skill was something more than the outcome of mere knowledge and
experience, and in this respect he bears a close analogy to Malibran.
Rubini's countenance was mean, his figure awkward, and lacking in
all dignity of carriage; he had no conception of taste, character, or
picturesque effect. As stolid as a wooden block in all that appertains
to impersonation of character, his vocal organ was so incomparable in
range and quality, his musical equipment and skill so great, that his
memory is one of the greatest traditions of the lyric art.
Rubini, born at Bergamo in the year 1795, made his _début_ in one of the
theatres of his native town, at the age of twelve, in a woman's part.
This curious prima donna afterward sat at the door of the theatre,
between two candles, holding a plate, in which the admiring public
deposited their offerings to the fair _bénéficiaire_. His next step was
playing on the violin in the orchestra between the acts of comedies, and
singing in the chorus during the operatic season. He seems to have been
unnoticed, except as one of the _hoi polloi_ of the musical rabble,
till an accident attracted attention to his talent. A drama was to be
produced in which a very difficult cavatina was introduced. The manager
was at a loss for any one to sing it till Rubini proffered his services.
The fee was a trifling one, but it paved the way for an engagement in
the minor parts of opera. The details of Rubini's early life seem to
be involved in some obscurity. He was engaged in several wandering
companies as second tenor, and in 1814, Rubini then being nineteen years
of age, we find him singing at Pavia for thirty-six shillings a month.
In the latter part of his career he was paid twenty thousand pounds
sterling a year for his services at the St. Petersburg Imperial
Opera. This singer acquired his vocal style, which his contemporaries
pronounced to be matchless, in the operas of Rossini, and was indebted
to no special technical training, except that which he received
through his own efforts, and the incessant practice of the lyric art in
provincial companies. A splendid musical intelligence, however, repaired
the lack of early teaching, though, perhaps, a voice less perfect in
itself would have fared badly through such desultory experiences. Like
so many of the great singers of the modern school, Rubini first gained
his reputation in the operas of Bellini and Donizetti, and many of the
tenor parts of these works were expressly composed for him. Rubini was
singing at the Scala, Milan, when Barbaja, the _impressario_, who had
heard Bellini's opera of "Bianca e Fernando," at Naples, commissioned
the young composer, then only twenty years old, to produce a new opera
for his theatre in the Tuscan capital. He gave him the libretto of
"Il Pirata," and Bellini, in company with Rubini (for they had become
intimate friends), retired to the country. Here the singer studied,
as they were produced, the simple, touching airs which he afterward
delivered on the stage with such admirable expression. With this
friendship began Rubini's art connection with the Italian composer,
which lasted till the latter's too early death. Rubini was such a great
singer, and possessed such admirable powers of expression, especially
in pathetic airs (for it was well said of him, "_qu'il avait des larmes
dans la voix_"), that he is to be regarded as the creator of that style
of singing which succeeded that of the Rossinian period. The florid
school of vocalization had been carried to an absurd excess, when Rubini
showed by his example what effect he could produce by singing melodies
of a simple emotional nature, without depending at all on mere
vocalization. It is remarkable that it was largely owing to Rubini's
suggestions and singing that Bellini made his first great success, and
that Donizetti's "Anna Bolena," also the work which laid the foundation
of this composer's greatness, should have been written and produced
under similar conditions.
The immense power, purity, and sweetness of his voice probably have
never been surpassed. The same praise may be awarded to his method of
producing his tones, and all that varied and complicated skill which
comes under the head of vocalization. Rubini had a chest of uncommon
bigness, and the strength of his lungs was so prodigious that on one
occasion he broke his clavicle in singing a B flat. The circumstances
were as follows: He was singing at La Scala, Milan, in Pacini's
"Talismano." In the recitative which accompanies the entrance of
the tenor in this opera, the singer has to attack B flat without
preparation, and hold it for a long time. Since Farinelli's celebrated
trumpet-song, no feat had ever attained such a success as this wonderful
note of Rubini's. It was received nightly with tremendous enthusiasm.
One night the tenor planted himself in his usual attitude, inflated his
chest, opened his mouth; but the note would not come. _Os liabet, sed
non clambit_. He made a second effort, and brought all the force of
his lungs into play. The note pealed out with tremendous power, but the
victorious tenor felt that some of the voice-making mechanism had given
way. He sang as usual through the opera, but discovered on examination
afterward that the clavicle was fractured. Rubini had so distended his
lungs that they had broken one of their natural barriers. Rubini's voice
was an organ of prodigious range by nature, to which his own skill had
added several highly effective notes. His chest range, it is asserted by
Fetis, covered two octaves from C to C, which was carried up to F in the
_voce di testa_. With such consummate skill was the transition to the
falsetto managed that the most delicate and alert ear could not detect
the change in the vocal method. The secret of this is believed to have
begun and died with Rubini. Perhaps, indeed, it was incommunicable, the
result of some peculiarity of vocal machinery.
From what has been said of Rubini's lack of dramatic talent, it may be
rightfully inferred, as was the fact, that he had but little power in
musical declamation. Rubini was always remembered by his songs, and
though the extravagance of embroidery, the roulades and cadenzas with
which he ornamented them, oftentimes raised a question as to his taste,
the exquisite pathos and simplicity with which he could sing when he
elected were incomparable. This artist was often tempted by his own
transcendant powers of execution to do things which true criticism
would condemn, but the ease with which he overcame the greatest vocal
difficulties excused for his admirers the superabundance of these
displays. In addition to the great finish of his art, his geniality
of expression was not to be resisted. He so thoroughly and intensely
enjoyed his own singing that he communicated this persuasion to his
audiences. Rubini would merely walk through a large portion of an opera
with indifference, but, when his chosen moment arrived, there were such
passion, fervor, and putting forth of consummate vocal art and emotion
that his hearers hung breathless on the notes of his voice. As the
singer of a song in opera, no one, according to his contemporaries, ever
equaled him. According to Chorley, his "songs did not so much create a
success for him as an ecstasy of delight in those that heard him. The
mixture of musical finish with excitement which they displayed has never
been equaled within such limits or on such conditions as the career
of Rubini afforded. He ruled the stage by the mere art of singing more
completely than any one--man or woman--has been able to do in my time."
Rubini died in 1852, and left behind him one of the largest fortunes
ever amassed on the stage.
Another member of the celebrated "Puritani" quartet was Signor
Tamburini. His voice was a bass in quality, with a barytone range of two
octaves, from F to F, rich, sweet, extensive, and even. His powers of
execution were great, and the flexibility with which he used his voice
could only be likened to the facility of a skillful 'cello performer. He
combined largeness of style, truth of accent, florid embellishment,
and solidity. His acting, alike in tragedy and comedy, was spirited
and judicious, though it lacked the irresistible strokes of spontaneous
genius, the flashes of passion, or rich drollery which made Lablache so
grand an actor, or, in a later time, redeemed the vocal imperfections of
Ronconi. An amusing instance of Taniburini's vocal skill and wealth of
artistic resources, displayed in his youth, was highly characteristic of
the man. He was engaged at Palermo during the Carnival season of 1822,
and on the last night the audience attended the theatre, inspired by the
most riotous spirit of carnivalesque revelry. Large numbers of them
came armed with drums, trumpets, shovels, tin pans, and other charivari
instruments. Tamburini, finding himself utterly unable to make his
ordinary _basso cantante_ tones heard amid this Saturnalian din,
determined to sing his music in the falsetto, and so he commenced in the
voice of a _soprano sfogato_. The audience were so amazed that they
laid aside their implements of musical torture, and began to listen with
amazement, which quickly changed to delight. Taniburini's falsetto was
of such purity, so flexible and precise in florid execution, that he was
soon applauded enthusiastically. The cream of the joke, though, was
yet to come. The poor prima donna was so enraged and disgusted by the
horse-play of the audience that she fled from the theatre, and the poor
manager was at his wit's end, for the humor of the people was such
that it was but a short step between rude humor and destructive rage.
Tamburini solved the problem ingeniously, for he donned the fugitive's
satin dress, clapped her bonnet over his wig, and appeared on the stage
with a mincing step, just as the rioters, impatient at the delay, were
about to carry the orchestral barricade by storm. Never was seen so
unique a soprano, such enormous hands and feet. He courtesied, one hand
on his heart, and pretended to wipe away tears of gratitude with the
other at the clamorous reception he got. He sang the soprano score
admirably, burlesquing it, of course, but with marvelous expression and
far greater powers of execution than the prima donna herself could have
shown. The difficult problem to solve, however, was the duet singing.
But this Tamburini, too, accomplished, singing the part of _Elisa_
in falsetto, and that of the _Count_ in his own natural tones. This
wonderful exhibition of artistic resources carried the opera to a
triumphant close, amid the wild cheers of the audience, and probably
saved the manager the loss of no little property.
But, greatest of all, perhaps the most wonderful artist among men that
ever appeared in opera, was Lablache. Position and training did much for
him, but an all-bounteous Nature had done more, for never in her most
lavish moods did she more richly endow an artistic organization. Luigi
Lablache was born at Naples, December 6, 1794, of mixed Irish and
French parentage, and probably this strain of Hibernian blood was partly
responsible for the rich drollery of his comic humor. Young Lablache was
placed betimes in the Conservatorio della San Sebastiano, and studied
the elements of music thoroughly, as his instruction covered not merely
singing, but the piano, the violin, and violoncello. It is believed
that, had his vocal endowments not been so great, he could have become
a leading _virtuoso_ on any instrument he might have selected. Having
at length completed his musical education, he was engaged at the age of
eighteen as _buffo_ at the San Carlino theatre at Naples. Shortly after
his _début_, Lablache married Teresa Pinotti, the daughter of an
eminent actor, and found in this auspicious union the most wholesome
and powerful influence of his life. The young wife recognized the great
genius of her husband, and speedily persuaded him to retire from such a
narrow sphere. Lablache devoted a year to the serious study of singing,
and to emancipating himself from the Neapolitan patois which up to
this time had clung to him, after which he became primo basso at the
Palermitan opera. He was now twenty, and his voice had become developed
into that suave and richly toned organ, such as was never bestowed on
another man, ranging two octaves from E flat below to E flat above the
bass stave. An offer from the manager of La Scala, Milan, gratified
his ambition, and he made his _début_ in 1817 as Dandini in "La
Cenerentola." His splendid singing and acting made him brilliantly
successful; but Lablache was not content with this. His industry
and attempts at improvement were incessant. In fact this singer was
remarkable through life, not merely for his professional ambition, but
the zeal with which he sought to enlarge his general stores of knowledge
and culture. M. Scudo, in his agreeable recollections of Italian
singers, informs us that at Naples Lablache had enjoyed the friendship
and teaching of Mme. Mericoffre (a rich banker's wife), known in Italy
as La Cottellini, one of the finest artists of the golden age of
Italian singing. Mme. Lablache, too, was a woman of genius in her way,
and her husband owed much to her intelligent and watchful criticism.
The fume of Lablache speedily spread through Europe. He sang in all the
leading Italian cities with equal success, and at Vienna, whither he
went in 1824, his admirers presented him with a magnificent gold medal
with a most flattering inscription.
He returned again to Naples after an absence of twelve years, and
created a grand sensation at the San Carlo by his singing of _Assur_,
in "Semiramide." The Neapolitans loaded him with honors, and sought to
retain him in his native city, but this "pent-up Utica" could not hold
a man to whom the most splendid rewards of his profession were offering
themselves. Lablache made his first appearance in London, in 1830, in
"Il Matrimonio Segreto," and almost from his first note and first step
he took an irresistible hold on the English public, which lasted for
nearly a quarter of a century. It perplexed his admirers whether he was
greater as a singer or as an actor. We are told that he "was gifted with
personal beauty to a rare degree. A grander head was never more grandly
set on human shoulders; and in his case time and the extraordinary and
unwieldy corpulence which came with time seemed only to improve the
Jupiter features, and to enhance their expression of majesty, or
sweetness, or sorrow, or humor as the scene demanded." His very tall
figure prevented his bulk from appearing too great. One of his boots
would have made a small portmanteau, and one could have clad a child
in one of his gloves. So great was his strength that as _Leporello_
he sometimes carried off under one arm a singer of large stature
representing _Masetto_, and in rehearsal would often for exercise
hold a double bass out at arm's length. The force of his voice was
so prodigious that he could make himself heard above any orchestral
thunders or chorus, however gigantic. This power was rarely put
forth, but at the right time and place it was made to peal out with a
resistless volume, and his portentous notes rang through the house
like the boom of a great bell. It was said that his wife was sometimes
aroused at night by what appeared to be the fire tocsin, only to
discover that it was her recumbent husband producing these bell-like
sounds in his sleep. The vibratory power of his full voice was so great
that it was dangerous for him to sing in a greenhouse.
Like so many of the foremost artists, Lablachc shone alike in comic and
tragic parts. Though he sang successfully in all styles of music
and covered a great dramatic versatility, the parts in which he was
peculiarly great were _Leporello_ in "Don Giovanni"; the _Podesta_ in
"La Gazza Ladra"; _Geronimo_ in "Il Matrimonio Segreto"; _Caliban_ in
Halévy's "Tempest"; _Gritzonko_ in "L'Etoile du Nord"; _Henry VIII_ in
"Anna Bolena"; the _Doge_ in "Marino Faliero"; _Oroveso_ in "Norma";
and _Assur_ in "Semiramide." In thus selecting certain characters as
those in which Lablache was unapproachably great, it must be understood
that he "touched nothing which he did not adorn." It has been frankly
conceded even among the members of his own profession, where envy,
calumny, and invidious sneers so often belittle the judgment, that
Lablache never performed a character which he did not make more
difficult for those that came after him, by elevating its ideal and
grasping new possibilities in its conception.
Lablache sang in London and Paris for many years successively, and his
fame grew to colonial proportions. In 1828 his terms were forty thousand
francs and a benefit, for four months. A few years later, Laporte, of
London, paid Robert, of Paris, as much money for the mere cession of his
services for a short season. In 1852 when Lablachc had reached an age
when most singers grow dull and mechanical, he created two new types,
_Caliban_, in Halévy's opera of "The Tempest," and _Gritzonko_, in
"L'Etoile du Nord," with a vivacity, a stage knowledge, and a brilliancy
of conception as rare as they were strongly marked. He was one of the
thirty-two torch-bearers who followed Beethoven's body to its interment,
and he sung the solo part in "Mozart's Requiem" at the funeral, as he
had when a child sung the contralto part in the same mass at Hadyn's
obsequies. He was the recipient of orders and medals from nearly every
sovereign in Europe. When he was thus honored by the Emperor of Russia
in 1856, he used the prophetic words, "These will do to ornament my
coffin." Two years afterward he died at Naples, January 23, 1858,
whither he had gone to try the effects of the balmy climate of his
native city on his failing health. His only daughter married Thalberg,
the pianist. He was the singing master of Queen Victoria, and he is
frequently mentioned in her published diaries and letters in terms of
the strongest esteem and admiration. His death drew out expressions
of profound sorrow from all parts of Europe, for it was felt that, in
Lablache, the world of song had lost one of the greatest lights which
had starred its brilliant record.