PARIS IN 1831.--LIFE IN THE STREETS.--ROMANTICISM AND LIBERALISM.-
-ROMANTICISM IN LITERATURE.--CHIEF LITERARY PUBLICATIONS OF THE
TIME.--THE PICTORIAL ARTS.--MUSIC AND MUSICIANS.--CHOPIN'S
OPINION OF THE GALAXY OF SINGERS THEN PERFORMING AT THE VARIOUS
OPERA-HOUSES.
Chopin'S sensations on plunging, after his long stay in the
stagnant pool of Vienna, into the boiling sea of Paris might have
been easily imagined, even if he had not left us a record of
them. What newcomer from a place less populous and inhabited by a
less vivacious race could help wondering at and being entertained
by the vastness, variety, and bustle that surrounded him there?
Paris offers anything you may wish [writes Chopin]. You can
amuse yourself, mope, laugh, weep, in short, do whatever you
like; no one notices it, because thousands do the same.
Everybody goes his own way....The Parisians are a peculiar
people. When evening sets in one hears nothing but the crying
of titles of little new books, which consist of from three to
four sheets of nonsense. The boys know so well how to
recommend their wares that in the end--willing or not--one
buys one for a sou. They bear titles such as these:--"L'art
de faire, des amours, et de les conserver ensuite"; "Les
amours des pretres"; "L'Archeveque de Paris avec Madame la
duchesse de Berry"; and a thousand similar absurdities which,
however, are often very wittily written. One cannot but be
astonished at the means people here make use of to earn a few
pence.
All this and much more may be seen in Paris every day, but in
1831 Paris life was not an everyday life. It was then and there,
if at any time and anywhere, that the "roaring loom of Time"
might be heard: a new garment was being woven for an age that
longed to throw off the wornout, tattered, and ill-fitting one
inherited from its predecessors; and discontent and hopefulness
were the impulses that set the shuttle so busily flying hither
and thither. This movement, a reaction against the conventional
formalism and barren, superficial scepticism of the preceding
age, had ever since the beginning of the century been growing in
strength and breadth. It pervaded all the departments of human
knowledge and activity--politics, philosophy, religion,
literature, and the arts. The doctrinaire school in politics and
the eclectic school in philosophy were as characteristic products
of the movement as the romantic school in poetry and art. We
recognise the movement in Lamennais' attack on religious
indifference, and in the gospel of a "New Christianity" revealed
by Saint Simon and preached and developed by Bazard and Enfantin,
as well as in the teaching of Cousin, Villemain, and Guizot, and
in the works of V. Hugo, Delacroix, and others. Indeed, unless we
keep in view as far as possible all the branches into which the
broad stream divides itself, we shall not be able to understand
the movement aright either as a whole or in its parts. V. Hugo
defines the militant--i.e., negative side of romanticism as
liberalism in literature. The positive side of the liberalism of
the time might, on the other hand, not inaptly be described as
romanticism in speculation and practice. This, however, is matter
rather for a history of civilisation than for a biography of an
artist. Therefore, without further enlarging on it, I shall let
Chopin depict the political aspect of Paris in 1831 as he saw it,
and then attempt myself a slight outline sketch of the literary
and artistic aspect of the French capital, which signifies
France.
Louis Philippe had been more than a year on the throne, but the
agitation of the country was as yet far from being allayed:--
There is now in Paris great want and little money in
circulation. One meets many shabby individuals with wild
physiognomies, and sometimes one hears an excited, menacing
discussion on Louis Philippe, who, as well as his ministers,
hangs only by a single hair. The populace is disgusted with
the Government, and would like to overthrow it, in order to
make an end of the misery; but the Government is too well on
its guard, and the least concourse of people is at once
dispersed by the mounted police.
Riots and attentats were still the order of the day, and no
opportunity for a demonstration was let slip by the parties
hostile to the Government. The return of General Ramorino from
Poland, where he had taken part in the insurrection, offered such
an opportunity. This adventurer, a natural son of Marshal Lannes,
who began his military career in the army of Napoleon, and, after
fighting wherever fighting was going on, ended it on the Piazza
d'Armi at Turin, being condemned by a Piedmontese court-martial
to be shot for disobedience to orders, was hardly a worthy
recipient of the honours bestowed upon him during his journey
through Germany and France. But the personal merit of such
popular heroes of a day is a consideration of little moment; they
are mere counters, counters representative of ideas and transient
whims.
The enthusiasm of the populace for our general is of course
known to you [writes Chopin to his friend Woyciechowski].
Paris would not be behind in this respect. [Footnote: The
Poles and everything Polish were at that time the rage in
Paris; thus, for instance, at one of the theatres where
dramas were generally played, they represented now the whole
history of the last Polish insurrection, and the house was
every night crammed with people who wished to see the combats
and national costumes.] The Ecole de Medecine and the jeune
France, who wear their beards and cravats according to a
certain pattern, intend to honour him with a great
demonstration. Every political party--I speak of course only
of the ultras--has its peculiar badge: the Carlists have
green waistcoats, the Republicans and Napoleonists (and these
form the jeune France) [red], [Footnote: Chopin has omitted
this word, which seems to be necessary to complete the
sentence; at least, it is neither in the Polish nor German
edition of Karasowski's book.] the Saint-Simonians who
profess a new religion, wear blue, and so forth. Nearly a
thousand of these young people marched with a tricolour
through the town in order to give Ramorino an ovation.
Although he was at home, and notwithstanding the shouting of
"Vive les Polonais!" he did not show himself, not wishing to
expose himself to any unpleasantness on the part of the
Government. His adjutant came out and said that the general
was sorry he could not receive them and begged them to return
some other day. But the next day he took other lodgings. When
some days afterwards an immense mass of people--not only young
men, but also rabble that had congregated near the
Pantheon--proceeded to the other side of the Seine to
Ramorino's house, the crowd increased like an avalanche till
it was dispersed by several charges of the mounted police who
had stationed themselves at the Pont Neuf. Although many were
wounded, new masses of people gathered on the Boulevards
under my windows in order to join those who were expected
from the other side of the Seine. The police was now
helpless, the crowd increased more and more, till at last a
body of infantry and a squadron of hussars advanced; the
commandant ordered the municipal guard and the troops to
clear the footpaths and street of the curious and riotous mob
and to arrest the ringleaders. (This is the free nation!) The
panic spread with the swiftness of lightning: the shops were
closed, the populace flocked together at all the corners of
the streets, and the orderlies who galloped through the
streets were hissed. All windows were crowded by spectators,
as on festive occasions with us at home, and the excitement
lasted from eleven o'clock in the morning till eleven o'clock
at night. I thought that the affair would have a bad end; but
towards midnight they sang "Allons enfants de la patrie!" and
went home. I am unable to describe to you the impression
which the horrid voices of this riotous, discontented mob
made upon me! Everyone was afraid that the riot would be
continued next morning, but that was not the case. Only
Grenoble has followed the example of Lyons; however, one
cannot tell what may yet come to pass in the world!
The length and nature of Chopin's account show what a lively
interest he took in the occurrences of which he was in part an
eye and ear-witness, for he lived on the fourth story of a house
(No. 27) on the Boulevard Poissonniere, opposite the Cite
Bergere, where General Ramorino lodged. But some of his remarks
show also that the interest he felt was by no means a pleasurable
one, and probably from this day dates his fear and horror of the
mob. And now we will turn from politics, a theme so distasteful
to Chopin that he did not like to hear it discussed and could not
easily be induced to take part in its discussion, to a theme more
congenial, I doubt not, to all of us.
Literary romanticism, of which Chateaubriand and Madame de Stael
were the harbingers, owed its existence to a longing for a
greater fulness of thought, a greater intenseness of feeling, a
greater appropriateness and adequateness of expression, and,
above all, a greater truth to life and nature. It was felt that
the degenerated classicists were "barren of imagination and
invention," offered in their insipid artificialities nothing but
"rhetoric, bombast, fleurs de college, and Latin-verse poetry,"
clothed "borrowed ideas in trumpery imagery," and presented
themselves with a "conventional elegance and noblesse than which
there was nothing more common." On the other hand, the works of
the master-minds of England, Germany, Spain, and Italy, which
were more and more translated and read, opened new, undreamt-of
vistas. The Bible, Homer, and Shakespeare began now to be
considered of all books the most worthy to be studied. And thus
it came to pass that in a short time a most complete revolution
was accomplished in literature, from abject slavery to unlimited
freedom.
There are neither rules nor models [says V. Hugo, the leader
of the school, in the preface to his Cromwell (1827)], or
rather there are no other rules than the general laws of
nature which encompass the whole art, and the special laws
which for every composition result from the conditions of
existence peculiar to each subject. The former are eternal,
internal, and remain; the latter variable, external, and
serve only once.
Hence theories, poetics, and systems were to be broken up, and
the old plastering which covered the fagade of art was to be
pulled down. From rules and theories the romanticists appealed to
nature and truth, without forgetting, however, that nature and
art are two different things, and that the truth of art can never
be absolute reality. The drama, for instance, must be "a
concentrating mirror which, so far from enfeebling, collects and
condenses the colouring rays and transforms a glimmer into a
light, a light into a flame." To pass from form to matter, the
attention given by the romanticists to history is particularly to
be noted. Pierre Dubois, the director of the philosophical and
literary journal "Le Globe," the organ of romanticism
(1824-1832), contrasts the poverty of invention in the works of
the classicists with the inexhaustible wealth of reality, "the
scenes of disorder, of passion, of fanaticism, of hypocrisy, and
of intrigue," recorded in history. What the dramatist has to do
is to perform the miracle "of reanimating the personages who
appear dead on the pages of a chronicle, of discovering by
analysis all the shades of the passions which caused these hearts
to beat, of recreating their language and costume." It is a
significant fact that Sainte-Beuve opened the campaign of
romanticism in "Le Globe" with a "Tableau de la poesie francaise
au seizieme siecle," the century of the "Pleiade," and of
Rabelais and Montaigne. It is a still more significant fact that
the members of the "Cenacle," the circle of kindred minds that
gathered around Victor Hugo--Alfred de Vigny, Emile Deschamps,
Sainte-Beuve, David d'Angers, and others--"studied and felt the
real Middle Ages in their architecture, in their chronicles, and
in their picturesque vivacity." Nor should we overlook in
connection with romanticism Cousin's aesthetic teaching,
according to which, God being the source of all beauty as well as
of all truth, religion, and morality, "the highest aim of art is
to awaken in its own way the feeling of the infinite." Like all
reformers the romanticists were stronger in destruction than in
construction. Their fundamental doctrines will hardly be
questioned by anyone in our day, but the works of art which they
reared on them only too often give just cause for objection and
even rejection. However, it is not surprising that, with the
physical and spiritual world, with time and eternity at their
arbitrary disposal, they made themselves sometimes guilty of
misrule. To "extract the invariable laws from the general order
of things, and the special from the subject under treatment," is
no easy matter. V. Hugo tells us that it is only for a man of
genius to undertake such a task, but he himself is an example
that even a man so gifted is fallible. In a letter written in the
French capital on January 14, 1832, Mendelssohn says of the "so-
called romantic school" that it has infected all the Parisians,
and that on the stage they think of nothing but the plague, the
gallows, the devil, childbeds, and the like. Nor were the
romances less extravagant than the dramas. The lyrical poetry,
too, had its defects and blemishes. But if it had laid itself
open to the blame of being "very unequal and very mixed," it also
called for the praise of being "rich, richer than any lyrical
poetry France had known up to that time." And if the
romanticists, as one of them, Sainte-Beuve, remarked, "abandoned
themselves without control and without restraint to all the
instincts of their nature, and also to all the pretensions of
their pride, or even to the silly tricks of their vanity," they
had, nevertheless, the supreme merit of having resuscitated what
was extinct, and even of having created what never existed in
their language. Although a discussion of romanticism without a
characterisation of its specific and individual differences is
incomplete, I must bring this part of my remarks to a close with
a few names and dates illustrative of the literary aspect of
Paris in 1831. I may, however, inform the reader that the subject
of romanticism will give rise to further discussion in subsequent
chapters.
The most notable literary events of the year 1831 were the
publication of Victor Hugo's "Notre Dame de Paris," "Feuilles
d'automne," and "Marion Delorme"; Dumas' "Charles VII"; Balzac's
"La peau de chagrin"; Eugene Sue's "Ata Gull"; and George Sand's
first novel, "Rose et Blanche," written conjointly with Sandeau.
Alfred de Musset and Theophile Gautier made their literary debuts
in 1830, the one with "Contes d'Espagne et d'ltalie," the other
with "Poesies." In the course of the third decade of the century
Lamartine had given to the world "Meditations poetiques,"
"Nouvelles Meditations poetiques," and "Harmonies poetiques et
religieuses"; Victor Hugo, "Odes et Ballades," "Les Orientales,"
three novels, and the dramas "Cromwell" and "Hernani"; Dumas,
"Henri III et sa Cour," and "Stockholm, Fontainebleau et Rome";
Alfred de Vigny, "Poemes antiques et modernes" and "Cinq-Mars";
Balzac, "Scenes de la vie privee" and "Physiologie du Mariage."
Besides the authors just named there were at this time in full
activity in one or the other department of literature, Nodier,
Beranger, Merimee, Delavigne, Scribe, Sainte-Beuve, Villemain,
Cousin, Michelet, Guizot, Thiers, and many other men and women of
distinction.
A glance at the Salon of 1831 will suffice to give us an idea of
the then state of the pictorial art in France. The pictures which
attracted the visitors most were: Delacroix's "Goddess of Liberty
on the barricades"; Delaroche's "Richelieu conveying Cinq-Mars
and De Thou to Lyons," "Mazarin on his death-bed," "The sons of
Edward in the Tower," and "Cromwell beside the coffin of diaries
I."; Ary Scheffer's "Faust and Margaret," "Leonore,"
"Talleyrand," "Henri IV.," and "Louis Philippe"; Robert's
"Pifferari," "Burial," and "Mowers"; Horace Vernet's "Judith,"
"Capture of the Princes Conde," "Conti, and Longueville,"
"Camille Desmoulins," and "Pius VIII" To enumerate only a few
more of the most important exhibitors I shall yet mention
Decamps, Lessore, Schnetz, Judin, and Isabey. The dry list will
no doubt conjure up in the minds of many of my readers vivid
reproductions of the masterpieces mentioned or suggested by the
names of the artists.
Romanticism had not invaded music to the same extent as the
literary and pictorial arts. Berlioz is the only French composer
who can be called in the fullest sense of the word a romanticist,
and whose genius entitles him to a position in his art similar to
those occupied by V. Hugo and Delacroix in literature and
painting. But in 1831 his works were as yet few in number and
little known. Having in the preceding year obtained the prix de
Rome, he was absent from Paris till the latter part of 1832, when
he began to draw upon himself the attention, if not the
admiration, of the public by the concerts in which he produced
his startlingly original works. Among the foreign musicians
residing in the French capital there were many who had adopted
the principles of romanticism, but none of them was so thoroughly
imbued with its spirit as Liszt--witness his subsequent
publications. But although there were few French composers who,
strictly speaking, could be designated romanticists, it would be
difficult to find among the younger men one who had not more or
less been affected by the intellectual atmosphere.
An opera, "La Marquise de Brinvilliers," produced in 1831 at the
Opera-Comique, introduces to us no less than nine dramatic
composers, the libretto of Scribe and Castil-Blaze being set to
music by Cherubini, Auber, Batton, Berton, Boieldieu, Blangini,
Carafa, Herold, and Paer. [Footnote: Chopin makes a mistake,
leaving out of account Boieldieu, when he says in speaking of "La
Marquise de Brinvilliers" that the opera was composed by eight
composers.] Cherubini, who towers above all of them, was indeed
the high-priest of the art, the grand-master of the craft.
Although the Nestor of composers, none equalled him in manly
vigour and perennial youth. When seventy-six years of age (in
1836) he composed his fine Requiem in D minor for three-part male
chorus, and in the following year a string quartet and quintet.
Of his younger colleagues so favourable an account cannot be
given. The youngest of them, Batton, a grand prix, who wrote
unsuccessful operas, then took to the manufacturing of artificial
flowers, and died as inspector at the Conservatoire, need not
detain us. Berton, Paer, Blangini, Carafa (respectively born in
1767, 1771, 1781, and 1785), once composers who enjoyed the
public's favour, had lost or were losing their popularity at the
time we are speaking of; Rossini, Auber, and others having now
come into fashion. They present a saddening spectacle, these
faded reputations, these dethroned monarchs! What do we know of
Blangini, the "Musical Anacreon," and his twenty operas, one
hundred and seventy two-part "Notturni," thirty-four "Romances,"
&c.? Where are Paer's oratorios, operas, and cantatas performed
now? Attempts were made in later years to revive some of Carafa's
earlier works, but the result was on each occasion a failure. And
poor Berton? He could not bear the public's neglect patiently,
and vented his rage in two pamphlets, one of them entitled "De la
musique mecanique et de la musique philosophique," which neither
converted nor harmed anyone. Boieldieu, too, had to deplore the
failure of his last opera, "Les deux nuits" (1829), but then his
"La Dame blanche," which had appeared in 1825, and his earlier
"Jean de Paris" were still as fresh as ever. Herold had only in
this year (1831) scored his greatest success with "Zampa." As to
Auber, he was at the zenith of his fame. Among the many operas he
had already composed, there were three of his best--"Le Macon,"
"La Muette," and "Fra Diavolo"--and this inimitable master of the
genre sautillant had still a long series of charming works in
petto. To exhaust the list of prominent men in the dramatic
department we have to add only a few names. Of the younger
masters I shall mention Halevy, whose most successful work, "La
Juive," did not come out till 1835, and Adam, whose best opera,
"Le postilion de Longjumeau," saw the foot-lights in 1836. Of the
older masters we must not overlook Lesueur, the composer of "Les
Bardes," an opera which came out in 1812, and was admired by
Napoleon. Lesueur, distinguished as a composer of dramatic and
sacred music, and a writer on musical matters, had, however,
given up all professional work with the exception of teaching
composition at the Conservatoire. In fact, almost all the above-
named old gentlemen, although out of fashion as composers,
occupied important positions in the musical commonwealth as
professors at that institution. Speaking of professors I must not
forget to mention old Reicha (born in 1770), the well-known
theorist, voluminous composer of instrumental music, and esteemed
teacher of counterpoint and composition.
But the young generation did not always look up to these
venerable men with the reverence due to their age and merit.
Chopin, for instance, writes:--
Reicha I know only by sight. You can imagine how curious I am
to make his personal acquaintance. I have already seen some
of his pupils, but from them I have not obtained a favourable
opinion of their teacher. He does not love music, never
frequents the concerts of the Conservatoire, will not speak
with anyone about music, and, when he gives lessons, looks
only at his watch. Cherubini behaves in a similar manner; he
is always speaking of cholera and the revolution. These
gentlemen are mummies; one must content one's self with
respectfully lookingat them from afar, and studying their
works for instruction.
In these remarks of Chopin the concerts of the Conservatoire are
made mention of; they were founded in 1828 by Habeneck and others
and intended for the cultivation of the symphonic works of the
great masters, more especially of Beethoven. Berlioz tells us in
his Memoires, with his usual vivacity and causticity, what
impressions the works of Beethoven made upon the old gentlemen
above-named. Lesueur considered instrumental music an inferior
genre, and although the C minor Symphony quite overwhelmed him,
he gave it as his opinion that "one ought not to write such
music." Cherubini was profoundly irritated at the success of a
master who undermined his dearest theories, but he dared not
discharge the bile that was gathering within him. That, however,
he had the courage of his opinion may be gathered from what,
according to Mendelssohn, he said of Beethoven's later works: "Ca
me fait eternuer." Berton looked down with pity on the whole
modern German school. Boieldieu, who hardly knew what to think of
the matter, manifested "a childish surprise at the simplest
harmonic combinations which departed somewhat from the three
chords which he had been using all his life." Paer, a cunning
Italian, was fond of letting people know that he had known
Beethoven, and of telling stories more or less unfavourable to
the great man, and flattering to the narrator. The critical young
men of the new generation were, however, not altogether fair in
their judgments; Cherubini, at least, and Boieldieu too, deserved
better treatment at their hands.
In 1830 Auber and Rossini (who, after his last opera "Guillaume
Tell," was resting on his laurels) were the idols of the
Parisians, and reigned supreme on the operatic stage. But in 1831
Meyerbeer established himself as a third power beside them, for
it was in that year that "Robert le Diable" was produced at the
Academic Royale de Musique. Let us hear what Chopin says of this
event. Speaking of the difficulties with which composers of
operas have often to contend he remarks:--
Even Meyerbeer, who for ten years had been favourably known
in the musical world, waited, worked, and paid in Paris for
three years in vain before he succeeded in bringing about the
performance of his opera "Robert le Diable," which now causes
such a furore. Auber had got the start of Meyerbeer with his
works, which are very pleasing to the taste of the people,
and he did not readily make room for the foreigner at the
Grand Opera.
And again:--
If there was ever a brilliant mise en scene at the Opera-
Italien, I cannot believe that it equalled that of Robert le
Diable, the new five-act opera of Meyerbeer, who has also
written "Il Crociato." "Robert" is a masterpiece of the new
school, where the devils sing through speaking-trumpets and
the dead rise from their graves, but not as in "Szarlatan"
[an opera of Kurpinski's], only from fifty to sixty persons
all at once! The stage represents the interior of a convent
ruin illuminated by the clear light of the full moon whose
rays fall on the graves of the nuns. In the last act appear
in brilliant candle-light monks with ancense, and from behind
the scene are heard the solemn tones of the organ. Meyerbeer
has made himself immortal by this work; but he had to wait
more than three years before he could get it performed.
People say that he has spent more than 20,000 francs for the
organ and other things made use of in the opera.
[Footnote: This was the current belief at the time, which
Meyerbeer, however, declares to be false in a letter
addressed to Veron, the director of the Opera:--"L'orgue a
ete paye par vous, fourni par vous, comme toutes les choses
que reclamait la mise en scene de Robert, et je dois declarer
que loin de vous tenir au strict neccessaire, vous avez
depasse de bcaucoup les obligations ordinaires d'un directeur
envers les auteurs et le public."]
The creative musicians having received sufficient attention, let
us now turn for a moment to the executive ones. Of the pianists
we shall hear enough in the next chapter, and therefore will pass
them by for the present. Chopin thought that there were in no
town more pianists than in Paris, nor anywhere more asses and
virtuosos. Of the many excellent virtuosos on stringed and wind-
instruments only a few of the most distinguished shall be
mentioned. Baillot, the veteran violinist; Franchomme, the young
violoncellist; Brod, the oboe-player; and Tulou, the flutist.
Beriot and Lafont, although not constant residents like these,
may yet be numbered among the Parisian artists. The French
capital could boast of at least three first-rate orchestras--that
of the Conservatoire, that of the Academic Royale, and that of
the Opera-Italien. Chopin, who probably had on December 14 not
yet heard the first of these, takes no notice of it, but calls
the orchestra of the theatre Feydeau (Opera-Comique) excellent.
Cherubini seems to have thought differently, for on being asked
why he did not allow his operas to be performed at that
institution, he answered:--"Je ne fais pas donner des operas sans
choeur, sans orchestre, sans chanteurs, et sans decorations." The
Opera-Comique had indeed been suffering from bankruptcy; still,
whatever its shortcomings were, it was not altogether without
good singers, in proof of which assertion may be named the tenor
Chollet, Madame Casimir, and Mdlle. Prevost. But it was at the
Italian Opera that a constellation of vocal talent was to be
found such as has perhaps at no time been equalled: Malibran-
Garcia, Pasta, Schroder-Devrient, Rubini, Lablache, and Santini.
Nor had the Academic, with Nourrit, Levasseur, Derivis, Madame
Damoreau-Cinti, and Madame Dorus, to shrink from a comparison.
Imagine the treat it must have been to be present at the concert
which took place at the Italian Opera on December 25, 1831, and
the performers at which comprised artists such as Malibran,
Rubini, Lablache, Santini, Madame Raimbaux, Madame Schroder-
Devrient, Madame Casadory, Herz, and De Beriot!
Chopin was so full of admiration for what he had heard at the
three operatic establishments that he wrote to his master
Elsner:--
It is only here that one can learn what singing is. I believe
that not Pasta, but Malibran-Garcia is now the greatest
singer in Europe. Prince Valentin Radziwill is quite
enraptured by her, and we often wish you were here, for you
would be charmed with her singing.
The following extracts from a letter to his friend Woyciechowski
contain some more of Chopin's criticism:--
As regards the opera, I must tell you that I never heard so
fine a performance as I did last week, when the "Barber of
Seville" was given at the Italian Opera, with Lablache,
Rubini, and Malibran-Garcia in the principal parts. Of
"Othello" there is likewise an excellent rendering in
prospect, further also of "L'Italiana in Algeri." Paris has
in this respect never offered so much as now. You can have no
idea of Lablache. People say that Pasta's voice has somewhat
failed, but I never heard in all my life such heavenly
singing as hers. Malibran embraces with her wonderful voice a
compass of three octaves; her singing is quite unique in its
way, enchanting! Rubini, an excellent tenor, makes endless
roulades, often too many colorature, vibrates and trills
continually, for which he is rewarded with the greatest
applause. His mezza voce is incomparable. A Schroder-Devrient
is now making her appearance, but she does not produce such a
furore here as in Germany. Signora Malibran personated
Othello, Schroder-Devrient Desdemona. Malibran is little, the
German lady taller. One thought sometimes that Desdemona was
going to strangle Othello. It was a very expensive
performance; I paid twenty-four francs for my seat, and did
so because I wished to see Malibran play the part of the
Moor, which she did not do particularly well. The orchestra
was excellent, but the mise en scene in the Italian Opera is
nothing compared with that of the French Academie
Royale...Madame Damoreau-Cinti sings also very beautifully; I
prefer her singing to that of Malibran. The latter astonishes
one, but Cinti charms. She sings the chromatic scales and
colorature almost more perfectly than the famous flute-player
Tulou plays them. It is hardly possible to find a more
finished execution. In Nourrit, the first tenor of the Grand
Opera, [Footnote: It may perhaps not be superfluous to point
out that Academie Royale (Imperial, or Nationale, as the case
may be) de Musique, or simply Academie de Musique, and Grand
Opera, or simply Opera, are different names for one and the
same thing--namely, the principal opera-house in France, the
institution whose specialties are grand opera and ballet.]
one admires the warmth of feeling which speaks out of his
singing. Chollet, the first tenor of the Opera-Comique, the
best performer of Fra Diavolo, and excellent in the operas
"Zampa" and "Fiancee," has a manner of his own in conceiving
the parts. He captivates all with his beautiful voice, and is
the favourite of the public.