Catalani had already signed a contract with Goold and Taylor, the
managers of the King's Theatre, Haymarket, at a salary of two thousand
pounds a month and her expenses, besides various other emoluments. At
the time of her arrival there was no competitor for the public favor,
Grassini and Mrs. Billington having both retired from the stage a short
time previously. Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us: "The great and far-famed
Catalani supplied the place of both, and for many years reigned alone;
for she would bear no rival, nor any singer sufficiently good to divide
the applause. It is well known," he says, "that her voice is of a most
uncommon quality; and capable of bearing exertions almost superhuman.
Her throat seems endowed (as is remarked by medical men) with a power of
expansion and muscular motion by no means usual; and when she throws
out all her voice to the utmost, it has a volume and strength quite
surprising; while its agility in divisions running up and down the scale
in semi-tones, and its compass in jumping over two octaves at once, are
equally astonishing. It were to be wished that she was less lavish in
the display of these wonderful powers, and sought to please more than
to surprise; but her taste is vicious, her excessive love of ornament
spoiling every simple air, and her greatest delight being in songs of
a bold and spirited character, where much is left to her discretion or
indiscretion, without being confined by the accompaniment, but in
which she can indulge in _ad libitum_ passages with a luxuriance
and redundance no other singer ever possessed, or if possessing ever
practiced, and which she carries to a fantastical excess."
Her London _début_ was on the 15th of December, 1806, in Portogallo's
opera of "La Semi-ramide," composed for the occasion. The music of
this work was of the most ephemeral nature, but Catalani's magnificent
singing and acting gave it a heroic dignity. She lavished all the
resources of her art on it. In one passage she dropped a double octave,
and finally sealed her reputation "by running up and down the chromatic
scale for the first time in the recollection of opera-goers.... It was
then new, although it has since been repeated to satiety, and even
noted down as an _obbligato_ division by Rossini, Meyerbeer, and others.
Rounds of applause rewarded this daring exhibition of bad taste." She
had one peculiar effect, which it is said has never been equaled. This
was an undulating tone like that of a musical glass, the vibrating note
being higher than the highest note on the pianoforte. "She appeared
to make a sort of preparation previous to its utterance, and never
approached it by the regular scale. It began with an inconceivably fine
tone, which gradually swelled both in volume and power, till it made the
ears vibrate and the heart thrill. It particularly resembled the highest
note of the nightingale, that is reiterated each time more intensely,
and which with a sort of ventriloquism seems scarcely to proceed from
the same bird that a moment before poured his delicate warblings at an
interval so disjointed."
There are many racy anecdotes related of Catalani's London career,
to which the stupid, avaricious, but good-natured character of M.
Vallebrègue lent much of their flavor. Speaking of Mrs. Salmon's
singing, he said with vehemence, "Mrs. Salmon, sare, she is as that,"
extending the little finger of his left hand and placing his thumb at
the root of it; "but ma femme! Voilà! she is that"--stretching out his
whole arm at full length and touching the shoulder-joint with the other.
His stupidity extended to an utter ignorance of music, which he only
prized as the means of gaining the large sums which his extravagance
craved. His wife once complained of the piano, saying, "I can not
possibly sing to that piano; I shall crack my voice: the piano is
absurdly high." "Do not fret, my dear," interposed the husband,
soothingly; "it shall be lowered before evening: I will attend to
it myself." Evening came, and the house was crowded; but, to the
consternation of the cantatrice, the pianoforte was as high as ever. She
sang, but the strain was excessive and painful; and she went behind the
scenes in a very bad humor. "Really, my dear," said her lord, "I can not
conceive of the piano being too high; I had the carpenter in with his
saw, and made him take six inches off each leg in my presence!"
When she made her engagement for the second season, M. Vallebrogue
demanded such exorbitant terms that the manager tore his hair with
vexation, saying that such a salary to one singer would actually disable
him from employing any other artists of talent. "Talent!" repeated the
husband; "have you not Mme. Cata-lani? What would you have? If you
want an opera company, my wife with four or five puppets is quite
sufficient." So, during the season of 1808, Catalani actually was
the whole company, the other performers being literally puppets. She
appeared chiefly in operas composed expressly for her, in which the part
for the prima donna was carefully adapted to the display of her
various powers. In "Semiramide" particularly she made an extraordinary
impression, as it afforded room for the finest tragic action; and
the music, trivial as it was, gave full scope for the extraordinary
perfection of her voice. She also appeared in comic operas, and in
Paesiello's "La Frascatana" particularly delighted the public by the
graceful lightness and gayety of her comedy. But in them as in tragedies
she stood alone and furnished the sole attraction. Her astonishing
dexterity seemed rather the result of the natural aptitude of genius
than of study and labor, and her most brilliant ornaments more the
fanciful improvisations of the moment than the roulades of the composer.
Of her elocution in singing it is said: "She was articulate, forcible,
and powerful; occasionally light, pleasing, and playful, but never
awfully grand or tenderly touching to the degree that the art may be
carried." Her marvelous strains seemed to distant auditors poured forth
with the fluent ease of a bird; but those who were near saw that her
efforts were so great as to "call into full and violent action the
muscular powers of the head, throat, and chest." In the execution of
rapid passages the under jaw was in a continual state of agitation,
"in a manner, too, generally thought incompatible with the production of
pure tone from the chest, and inconsistent with a legitimate execution.
This extreme motion was also visible during the shake, which Catalani
used sparingly, however, and with little effect."
In spite of the reputation for rapacity which the avarice and arrogance
of her husband helped to create, Catalani won golden opinions by her
sweet temper, liberality, and benevolence. Her purse-strings were always
opened to relieve want or encourage struggling merit. Her gayety and
light-heartedness were proverbial. It is recorded that at Bangor once
she heard for the first time the strains of a Welsh harp, the player
being a poor blind itinerant. The music sounding in the kitchen of the
inn filled the world-renowned singer with an almost infantile glee, and,
rushing in among the pots and pans, she danced as madly as if she had
been bitten by the tarantula, till, all panting and breathless, she
threw the harper two guineas, and said she had never heard anything
which gave her more delight. The claims on her purse kept pace with the
enormous gains which seemed to increase from year to year. To her large
charities and her extravagant habits of living, her husband added the
heavy losses to which his passion for the gaming table led him. It was
said in after years that Mme. Catalani should have been worth not less
than half a million sterling, so immense had been her gains. Mr. Waters,
in a pamphlet published in 1807, says that her receipts from all sources
for that year had been nearly seventeen thousand pounds. She frequently
was paid two hundred pounds for singing "Rule Britannia," a song in
which she became celebrated; and one thousand pounds was the usual
_honorarium_ given for her services at a festival.
Mme. Catalani, in addition to her operatic performances, frequently sang
at the Ancient Concerts and in oratorio; but she lacked the devotional
pathos and tenderness which had given Mara and Mrs. Billington their
power in sacred music. Yet she possessed strong religious sentiments,
and always prayed before entering a theatre. Her somewhat ostentatious
piety provoked the following scandalous anecdote: She was observed
reading a prayer from her missal prior to going before the audience one
night, and some one, taking the book from the attendant, found it to be
a copy of Metastasio. This story is probably apocryphal, however, like
many of the most amusing incidents related of artists and authors.
Certain it is that Catalani never shone in oratorio, or even in the
rendering of dramatic pathos; but in bold and brilliant music the world
has probably never seen her peer. To some the immense volume of her
voice was not pleasant. Queen Charlotte criticised it by wishing for a
little cotton to put in her ears. Some wit, being asked if he would
go to York to hear her, replied he could hear better where he was.
"Whenever I hear such an outrageous display of execution," said Lord
Mount Edgcumbe, in his "Musical Reminiscences," "I never fail to
recollect and cordially join in the opinion of a late noble statesman,
more famous for his wit than for his love of music, who, hearing a
remark on the extreme difficulty of some performance, observed that he
wished it was impossible." It was this same nobleman, Lord North, who
perpetrated the following _mot_: Being asked why he did not subscribe
to the Ancient Concerts, and reminded that his brother, the Bishop of
Winchester, had done so, he said, "Oh, if I was as deaf as the good
Bishop, I would subscribe too."
During the period of her operatic career in England, Catalani
illustrated the works of a wide variety of composers, both serious and
comic; for her dramatic talents were equal to both, and there was no
music which she did not master as if by inspiration, though she was such
a bad reader that to learn a part perfectly she was obliged to hear it
played on the piano. It was with great unwillingness that she essayed
the music of Mozart, however, who had just become a great favorite in
England. The strict time, the severe form, and the importance of the
accompaniments were not suited to her splendid and luxuriant style,
which disdained all trammels and rules. Yet she was the first singer who
introduced "Le Nozze di Figaro" to the English stage. Besides _Susanna_
in "Le Nozze," she appeared as _Vitellia_ in "La Clemenza di Tito," a
serious _rôle_; and both in acting and singing these interpretations
were praised by the most intelligent connoisseurs--who had previously
attacked the vicious redundancy of her style severely--as nearly
matchless. Arch and piquant as the waiting-woman, lofty, impassioned,
and haughty as the patrician dame of old Rome, she rendered each as
if her sole talent were in the one direction. Tremmazani, a delightful
tenor, who had just arrived in England, and possessed a voice of that
rich, touching Cremona tone so rare even in Italy, it may be remarked
in passing, refused the part of Count Almaviva as lacking sufficient
importance, and because he regarded it as beneath his dignity to appear
in comic opera.