After an absence of three years Mme. Pasta returned to England, and
her opening performance of Medea was aided by the talents of Rubini,
Lablache, and Fanny Ayton. Rubini performed the character of _Egeus_,
and the duets between the king of tenors and Pasta were so remarkable
in a musical sense as to rival the dramatic impression made by her great
acting. She was no exception to the rule that very great tragic actors
are rarely devoid of a strong comic individuality. In Erreco's "Prova
d'un Opera Seria," an opera caricaturing the rehearsals of a serious
opera at the house of the prima donna and at the theatre, her
performance was so arch, whimsical, playful, and capricious, that its
drollery kept the audience in a roar of laughter, while Lablache, as
"the composer," seconded her humor by that talent for comedy which
Ronconi alone has ever approached. Lablache also appeared with Pasta in
"Anna Bolena," and the great basso, mighty in bulk, mighty in voice,
and mighty in genius, fairly startled the public by his extraordinary
resemblance to Holbein's portrait of Henry VIII.
After singing a farewell engagement in Paris, Mme. Pasta went to Milan
to enjoy the last great triumph of her life in 1832 at La Scala.
She was supported by an admirable company, among whom were Donizetti
the tenor and Giulia Grisi, then youthful and inexperienced, but giving
promise of what she became in her splendid prime of beauty and genius.
Bellini had written for these artists the opera of "Norma," and the
first performance was directed by the composer himself. Pasta's singing
and acting alone made the work successful, for at the outset it was not
warmly liked by the public. Several years afterward in London she also
saved the work from becoming a _fiasco_, the singular fact being that
"Norma," now one of the great standard works of the lyric stage, took
a number of years to establish itself firmly in critical and popular
estimation.
We have now reached a period of Pasta's life where its chronicle becomes
painful. It is never pleasant to watch the details of the decadence
which comes to almost all art-careers. Her warmest admirers could not
deny that Pasta was losing her voice. Her consummate art shone undimmed,
but her vocal powers, especially in respect of intonation, displayed the
signs of wear. For several years, indeed, she sang in Paris, Italy, and
London with great _eclat_, but the indescribable luster of her singing
had lost its bloom and freshness. She continued to receive Continental
honors, and in 1840, after a splendid season in St. Petersburg, she was
dismissed by the Czar with magnificent presents. In Berlin, about this
time, she was received with the deepest interest and commiseration, for
she lost nearly all her entire fortune by the failure of Engmuller,
a banker of Vienna. She filled a long engagement in Berlin, which was
generously patronized by the public, not merely out of admiration of
the talents of the artist, but with the wish of repairing in some small
measure her great losses. After 1841 Pasta retired from the stage,
spending her winters at Milan, her summers at Lake Como, and devoting
herself to training pupils in the higher walks of the lyric art.
We can not better close this sketch than by giving an account of one of
the very last public appearances of her life, when she allowed herself
to be seduced into giving a concert in London for the benefit of the
Italian cause. Mme. Pasta had long since dismissed all the belongings
of the stage, and her voice, which at its best had required ceaseless
watching and study, had been given up by her. Even her person had
lost all that stately dignity and queenlfness which had made her stage
appearance so remarkable. It was altogether a painful and disastrous
occasion. There were artists present who then for the first time were
to get their impression of a great singer, prepared of course to believe
that that reputation had been exaggerated. Among these was Rachel, who
sat enjoying the humiliation of decayed grandeur with a cynical and
bitter sneer on her face, drawing the attention of the theatre by her
exhibition of satirical malevolence.
Malibran's great sister, Mme. Pauline Viardot, was also present,
watching with the quick, sympathetic response of a noble heart every
turn of the singer's voice and action. Hoarse, broken, and destroyed as
was the voice, her grand style spoke to the sensibilities of the great
artist. The opera was "Anna Bolena," and from time to time the old
spirit and fire burned in her tones and gestures. In the final mad scene
Pasta rallied into something like her former grandeur of acting; and in
the last song with its roulades and its scales of shakes ascending by a
semitone, this consummate vocalist and tragedienne, able to combine form
with meaning--dramatic grasp and insight with such musical display as
enter into the lyric art--was indicated at least to the apprehension
of the younger artist. "You are right!" was Mme. Viardot's quick and
heartfelt response to a friend by her side, while her eyes streamed with
tears--"you are right. It is like the 'Cenacolo' of Leonardo da Vinci at
Milan, a wreck of a picture, but the picture is the greatest picture in
the world."