V.

Another of Mrs. Billington's most brilliant rivals and contemporaries

was the lovely Giuseppa Grassini, a wayward, indolent, fascinating

beauty, who had taken France and Italy by storm before she attempted to

subdue the more obdurate and phlegmatic Britons. The daughter of a

small farmer in Lombardy, the charm of her voice and appearance induced

General Belgioso to pay the cost of her musical training, and at the age

of nineteen she sprang into popularity at a bound with her _début_ at La

Scala in 1794. In spite of the fact that she was associated with two of

the greatest Italian singers of the time--Crescentini, one of the last

of the male sopranos, and Marchesi--she became the cynosure of public

admiration. She was surrounded by homage and flattery sufficient to have

turned a more sedate temperament and wiser head than her own, and her

name became mixed with some of the most piquant scandals of the period.

In spite of ignorance, indolence, and a caprice which she never

attempted to control, Grassini was an exquisite artist; and, though dull

and shallow intellectually in all matters apart from her profession, she

was a most beautiful and fascinating woman. She mastered all the graces

of her art, but could never give an intelligent reason for what she did.

Her voice, originally a soprano, became under training a contralto

of delicious quality, as well as of great volume and power, though not

remarkable for extent. She excelled in the _cantabile_ style, and rarely

attempted ornament, though what she did was always in perfect taste

and proportion. Her dramatic instincts were remarkable, and as an

interpreter of both heroic and the softer passions she speedily acquired

a European reputation. Her figure was tall and commanding, her head

noble, her hair and eyes of the deepest black, and her whole appearance

a singular union of grace and majesty.

After the battle of Marengo, the presence of the youthful conqueror

of Italy at Milan inspired that capital with a spasm of extraordinary

gayety. The finest singers in Italy gathered to do honor to the rising

sun of Napoleon's greatness. The French general was fascinated by

the irresistible attractions of the prima donna, and asked for an

introduction. Grassini's coquetry did not let the occasion slip. Las

Cases has given a sketch of the interview, in which he tells us she

reminded Napoleon that she "had made her _début_ precisely during the

early achievements of the General of the Army of Italy." "I was then,"

said she, "in the full luster of my beauty and talent. I fascinated

every eye and inflamed every heart. The young general alone was

insensible to my charms, and yet he alone was the object of my wishes.

What caprice--what singularity! When I possessed some value, when all

Italy was at my feet, and I heroically disdained its admiration for

one glance from you, I was unable to obtain it; and now, how strange

an alteration! You condescend to notice me now when I am not worth

the trouble, and am no longer worthy of you." Las Cases has not proved

himself the most veracious of chroniclers in more important matters, and

we may be permitted to doubt the truth of this speech as coming from the

mouth of a woman extraordinarily beautiful and not less vain. But at all

events Grassini accompanied the French general to Paris, ambitious to

play the _rôle_ of Cleopatra to this modern Cæsar. Josephine's

jealousy and dislike proved an obstacle difficult to meet, and this, in

connection with the fact that the French opera did not prove suited to

her style, made her first residence in Paris a short one, in spite of

the brilliant success of her concerts. One of these was the crowning

feature of the grand _fête_ given at the Invalides Church in honor of

the battle of Marengo; and as Grassini sang before the bronzed veterans

of the Italian campaign she seemed inspired. Circumstances, however,

obliged her to leave France, laden with magnificent presents from

Napoleon.

In November, 1801, the Italian prima donna was in Berlin, where she

announced concerts which seem never to have taken place. In 1802 she

returned to France, and Napoleon made her directress of the Opera in

1804. At first Josephine had permitted her to appear at her private

concerts at the Tuileries, but she did not detest the beautiful singer

less cordially than heretofore. It was whispered that the cantatrice

did in reality seek to attract the attention of Napoleon, and that she

turned her eyes fixedly toward the throne of the Dictator.

"I hear, madame, that our Grassini is a favorite with the great

Napoleon," said Count Sommaglia to Josephine one morning. "Yes,"

answered the irate wife of the First Consul, hardly-able to disguise her

spite, "the ridiculous vanity of the creature amuses us amazingly.

Since she has been made directress of the Italian Opera, there is more

intriguing going on among these gentry than there is with the diplomats:

in the midst of a serious conversation, she will break out into a

horse-laugh, throw herself on a sofa, and, fancying herself Semiramis on

the throne of Nineveh, burst forth in a great style with 'Son Regina,

e son amata!'" ("I am a queen, and I am beloved!") "One day," says

Fouché, "Bonaparte observed that, considering my acknowledged ability,

he was astonished I did not perform my functions better--that there

were several things of which I was ignorant. 'Yes,' replied I, 'there

certainly are things of which I was ignorant, but which I now know

well enough. For instance, a little man, muffled in a gray cloak, and

accompanied by a single servant, often steals out on a dark evening from

a secret door of the Tuileries, enters a closed carriage, and drives off

to Signora G------. This little man is yourself, and yet this fanciful

songstress jilts you continually for Rode the fiddler.' The Consul

answered not a word; he turned his back, rang, and immediately

withdrew."

In 1804 Grassini was engaged to sing in London alternately with Mrs.

Billington. At her first benefit she sang in conjunction with the

English _diva_ in Winter's new opera, "Il Ratto di Proserpina,"

Billington as _Ceres_, and Grassini as _Proserpina_. The respective

voices of the two singers were admirably fitted for the music of the

_rôles_, each exquisite of its sort and inspired by the ambition of

rivalry. The deep tones of the one combined with the bird-like notes of

the other to produce a most thrilling effect. Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who

had a prejudice for _bravura_ singing, said: "No doubt the deaf would

have been charmed with Grassini, but the blind must have been delighted

with Mrs. Billington": a malicious comment on the Italian singer, which

this distinguished amateur, when in a less cynical mood, revoked by

cordial admiration of Grassini's remarkable gifts both as vocalist and

actress. Many interesting anecdotes are told of this singer while in

London, one of which, related by Kelly, then stage-manager, illustrates

the difficulties of operatic management. Mrs. Billington was too sick

to sing on one of her own nights, and Grassini was implored to take her

place. But she obstinately refused to make the change, until the cunning

Irishman resorted to a trick. He called on her in the morning, and began

talking carelessly on the subject. "My dear Grassini," said he, in an

off-hand way, "as manager I ought to prevail upon you to perform; but as

a performer myself, I enter entirely into your feelings, and think you

perfectly right not to sing out of your turn. The Saturday is yours; but

what I say to you I trust you will not repeat to Mr. Goold, as it might

be of serious injury to me." "Depend upon it, my dear Kelly," answered

Grassini, "I will not; I look upon you, by what you have just said, to

be my sincere friend." As he was leaving the room, he turned, as with

a sudden thought. "To be sure, it is rather unlucky you do not sing

to-night, for this morning a message came from the Lord Chamberlain's

office to announce the Queen's intention to come _incognita_,

accompanied by the princesses, purposely to see you perform; and a large

_grillée_ is actually ordered to be prepared for them, where they can

perfectly see and hear without being seen by the audience; but I'll step

myself to the Lord Chamberlain's office, say that you are confined to

your bed, and express your mortification at disappointing the royal

party." "Stop, Kelly," cried the cantatrice, all in a flutter; "what you

now say alters the case. If her Majesty Queen Charlotte wishes to see

'La Vergine del Sole,' and to hear me, I am bound to obey her Majesty's

commands. Go to Goold and say I _will_ sing." "When I went into her

dressing-room after the first act," says Kelly, "her Majesty not having

arrived, Grassini, suspicious that I had made up a trick to cajole her,

taxed me with it; and when I confessed, she took it good-naturedly and

laughed at her own credulity." The popularity of Grassini in London

remained unabated during several seasons; and when she reengaged for

the French opera, in 1808, it was to the great regret of musical London.

Talma was a warm admirer of her dramatic genius, and he used to say that

no other actress, not even Mars, Darval, or Duchesnois, possessed so

expressive and mutable a face. The Grecian outline of her face, her

beautiful forehead, rich black hair and eyebrows, superb dark eyes, "now

flashing with tragedy's fiery passions, then softly languishing with

love," and finally "that astonishing _ensemble_ of perfections which

Nature had collected in her as if to review all her gifts in one

woman--all these qualities together exercised on the spectator such

a charm as none could resist. Pasta herself might have looked on and

learned, when Grassini had to portray either indignation, grief, anger,

or despair."

Her performance in "Romeo e Giulietta" was so fine that Napoleon

sprang to his feet, forgetting his marble coldness, and shouted like a

school-boy, while Talma's eyes streamed with tears; for, as the latter

afterward confessed, he had never before been so deeply touched.

Napoleon sent her a check for twenty thousand francs as a testimonial of

his admiration, and to Crescentini he sent the order of the Iron Cross.

Many years after, in St. Helena, the dethroned Cæsar alluded to this as

an illustration of his policy. "In conformity with my system," observed

he, "of amalgamating all kinds of merit, and of rendering one and the

same reward universal, I had an idea of presenting the Cross of

the Legion of Honor to Talma; but I refrained from doing this, in

consideration of our capricious manners and absurd prejudices. I

wished to make a first experiment in an affair that was out of date and

unimportant, and I accordingly gave the Iron Crown to Crescentini.

The decoration was foreign, and so was the individual on whom it was

conferred. This circumstance was less likely to attract public notice or

to render my conduct the subject of discussion; at worst, it could only

give rise to a few malicious jokes. Such," continued the Emperor, "is

the influence of public opinion. I distributed scepters at will, and

thousands readily bowed beneath their sway; and yet I could not give

away a ribbon without the chance of incurring disapprobation, for I

believe my experiment with regard to Crescentini proved unsuccessful."

"It did, sire," observed some one present. "The circumstance occasioned

a great outcry in Paris; it drew forth a general anathema in all

the drawing-rooms of the metropolis, and afforded full scope for the

expression of malignant feeling. However, at one of the evening parties

of the Faubourg St. Germain, a _bon mot_ had the effect of completely

stemming the current of indignation. A pompous orator was holding

forth in an eloquent strain on the subject of the honor that had been

conferred on Crescentini. He declared it to be a disgrace, a horror, a

perfect profanation, and inquired by what right Crescentini was entitled

to such a distinction. Mme. Grassini, who was present, rose majestically

from her chair, with a theatrical tone and gesture exclaiming, 'Et sa

blessure, monsieur?' This produced a general burst of laughter, amid

which Grassini sat down, embarrassed by her own success."

Mme. Grassini remained on the stage till about 1823 when, having lost

the beauty of her voice, she retired to private life with a comfortable

fortune, spending her last years in Paris. She died in 1850, in her

eighty-fifth year, preserving her beauty and freshness in a marvelous

degree. The effect of Grassini's singing on people of refined taste was

even greater than the impression made on regular musicians. Thomas De

Quincey speaks of her in his "Autobiographical Sketches" as having a

voice delightful beyond all that he had ever heard. Sir Charles Bell

thought it was "only Grassini who conveyed the idea of the united power

of music and action. She did not act only without being ridiculous, but

with an effect equal to Mrs. Siddons. The 'O Dio' of Mrs. Billington was

a bar of music, but in the strange, almost unnatural voice of Grassini,

it went to the soul." Elsewhere he speaks of "her dignity, truth, and

affecting simplicity."