Under the Napoleonic _régime_ the Odéon was the leading lyric theatre,
and the great star of that company was Nicholas Tacchinardi, a tenor in
whom nature had combined the most opposing characteristics. The
figure of a dwarf, a head sunk beneath the shoulders, hunchbacked, and
repulsive, he was hardly a man fitted by nature for a stage hero. Yet
his exquisite voice and irreproachable taste as a musician gave him a
long reign in the very front rank of his profession. He was so morbidly
conscious of his own stage defects that he would beg composers to write
for him with a view to his singing at the side scenes before entering
on the stage, that the public might form an impression of him by hearing
before his grotesque ugliness could be seen. Another expedient for
concealing some portion of his unfortunate figure was often practiced
by this musical Caliban, that of coming on the stage standing in a
triumphal car. But this only excited the further risibilities of his
hearers, and he was forced to be content with the chance of making his
vocal fascination condone the impression made by his ugliness.
At his first appearance on the boards of the Odéon, he was saluted with
the most insulting outbursts of laughter and smothered ejaculations
of "Why, he's a hunchback!" Being accustomed to this kind of greeting,
Tacchinardi tranquilly walked to the footlights and bowed. "Gentlemen,"
he said, addressing the pit, "I am not here to exhibit my person, but
to sing. Have the goodness to hear me." They did hear him, and when he
ceased the theatre rang with plaudits: there was no more laughter. His
personal disadvantages were redeemed by one of the finest and
purest tenor voices ever given by nature and refined by art, by his
extraordinary intelligence, by an admirable method of singing, an
exquisite taste in fioriture, and facility of execution.
Fanny Tacchinardi was the second daughter of the deformed tenor, born at
Rome, October 4, 1818, three years after Tacchinardi had returned again
to his native land. Fanny's passion for music betrayed itself in her
earliest lisps, and it was not ignored by Tacchinardi, who gave her
lessons on the piano and in singing. At nine she could play with
considerable intelligence and precision, and sing with grace her
father's ariettas and _duettini_ with her sister Elisa, who was not only
an excellent pianist, but a good general musician and composer. The girl
grew apace in her art feeling and capacity, for at eleven she took part
in an opera as prima donna at a little theatre which her father had
built near his country place, just out of Florence. Tacchinardi was,
however, very averse to a professional career for his daughter, in spite
of the powerful bent of her tastes and the girl's pleadings. He had been
_chanteur de chambre_ since 1822 for the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and
in the many concerts and other public performances over which he was
director his daughter frequently appeared, to the great delight of
amateurs. Fanny even at this early age had a voice of immense compass,
though somewhat lacking in sweetness and flexibility, defects which she
subsequently overcame by study and practice. As the best antidote to
the sweet stage poison which already began to run riot in her veins,
her father brought about an early marriage for the immature girl, and
in 1830 she was united to Joseph Persiani, an operatic composer of some
merit, though not of much note. She resided with her husband in her
father's house for several years, carefully secluded as far as possible
from musical influences, but the hereditary passion and gifts could
not be altogether suppressed, and the youthful wife quietly pursued her
studies with unbroken perseverance.
The incident which irretrievably committed her energies and fortunes to
the stage was a singular one, yet it is not unreasonable to assume that,
had not this occurred, her ardent predilections would have found some
other outlet to the result to which she aspired. M. Fournier, a rich
French merchant, settled at Leghorn, was an excellent musician, and
carried this recreation of his leisure hours so far as to compose an
opera, "Francesca di Rimini," the subject drawn from the romance of
"Silvio Pellico." The wealthy merchant could find no manager who would
venture to produce the work of an amateur. But he was willing and able
to become his own _impressario_, and accordingly he set about forming an
operatic troupe and preparing the scenery for a public representation
of his dearly beloved musical labor. The first vocalists of Italy, Mmes.
Pisaroni and Rasallima Caradori, contralto and soprano, were engaged at
lavish salaries, and on the appointed day of the first rehearsal they
all appeared except Caradori, whose Florentine manager positively
forbade her singing as a violation of his contract. M. Fournier was in
despair, but at last some one remembered Mme. Persiani, who was known
as a charming dilettante. Her residence was not many miles away from
Leghorn, and it was determined to have recourse to this last resort,
for it was otherwise almost impossible to secure a vocalist of talent
at short notice. A deputation of M. Fournier's friends, among whom were
those well acquainted with the Tacchinardi family, formed an embassy to
represent the urgent need of the composer and implore the aid of Mme.
Persiani. With some difficulty the consent of husband and father was
obtained, and the young singer made her _début_ in the opera of the
merchant-musician. Mme. Persiani said in after-years that, had her
attempt been a successful one, it was very doubtful if she ever would
have pursued the profession of the stage. But her performance came
very near to being a failure. Her pride was so stung and her vanity
humiliated that she would not listen to the commands of husband and
father. She would become a great lyric artist, or else satisfy herself
that she _could_ not become one. The turning-point of her life had come.
She found an engagement at the La Scala, Milan, and she speedily laid a
good foundation for her future renown. She sang at Florence with
Duprez, and Donizetti, who was then in the city, composed his "Rosmonda
d'Inghilterra" for these artists. For two years there was nothing of
specially important note in Mme. Persiani's life except a swift and
steady progress. An engagement at Vienna made her the pet of that city,
which is fanatical in its musical enthusiasm, and we next find her back
again in Italy, singing greatly to the satisfaction of the public in
such operas as "Romeo e Giulietta," "Il Pirata," "La Gazza Ladra,"
and "L'Elisir d'Amore." Mme. Pasta was singing in Venice when Persiani
visited that city, and the latter did not hesitate to enter into
competition with her illustrious rival. Indeed, the complimentary
Venetians called her "la petite Pasta," though the character of her
talent was entirely alien to that of the great tragedienne of music.
Milan and Rome reechoed the voice of other cities, and during her stay
in Rome she appeared in two new operas, "Misantropia e Pentimento" and
"I Promessi Sposi." Among the artists associated with her during the
Roman engagement was Ronconi, who was then just beginning to establish
his great reputation. One of the most important events of her early
career was her association, in 1834, at the San Carlo, Naples, with
Duprez, Caselli, and La-blache. The composer Donizetti had always been
charmed with her voice as suiting the peculiar style of music in
which he excelled, and he determined to compose an opera for her. His
marvelous facility of composition was happily illustrated in this case.
The novel of "The Bride of Lammermoor" was turned into a libretto for
him by a Neapolitan poet, Donizetti himself, it is said, having written
the last act in his eagerness to save time and get it completed that
he might enter on the musical composition. The opera of "Lucia di
Lammermoor," one of the most beautiful of the composer's works, was
finished in little more than five weeks. The music of _Edgardo_ was
designed for the voice of M. Duprez, that of _Lucia_ for Mme. Persiani,
and the result was brilliantly successful, not only as suiting the
styles of those singers, but in making a powerful impression on the
public mind. Mme. Persiani never entered into any rivalry with those
singers who were celebrated for their dramatic power, for this talent
did not peculiarly stamp her art-work. But her impersonation of _Lucia_
in Donizetti's opera was sentimental, impassioned, and pathetic to a
degree which saved her from the reproach which was sometimes directed
against her other performances--lack of unction and abandon.