Rossini--Spohr--Beethoven--Weber and Hoffmann 282
HISTORY OF THE OPERA.
CHAPTER XI.
THE OPERA IN ENGLAND AT THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH AND BEGINNING OF
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
Hitherto I have been obliged to trace the origin and progress of the
Opera in various parts of Europe. At present there is one Opera for all
the world, that is to say, the same operatic works are performed every
where, if not,
"De Paris à Pékin, de Japon jusqu'à Rome,"
at least, in a great many other equally distant cities, and which
Boileau never heard of; as, for instance, from St. Petersburgh to
Philadelphia, and from New Orleans to Melbourne. But for the French
Revolution, and the Napoleonic wars, the universality of Opera would
have been attained long since. The directors of the French Opera, after
producing the works of Gluck and Piccinni, found it impossible, as we
shall see in the next chapter, to attract the public by means of the
ancient _répertoire_, and were obliged to call in the modern Italian
composers to their aid. An Italian troop was engaged to perform at the
Académie Royale, alternately with the French company, and the best opera
buffas of Piccinni, Traetta, Paisiello, and Anfossi were represented,
first in Italian, and afterwards in French. Sacchini and Salieri were
engaged to compose operas on French texts specially for the Académie. In
1787, Salieri's _Tarare_ (libretto by Beaumarchais),[55] was brought out
with immense success; the same year, the same theatre saw the production
of Paisiello's _Il re Teodoro_, translated into French; and, also the
same year, Paisiello's _Marchese di Tulipano_ was played at Versailles,
by a detachment from the Italian company engaged at our own King's
Theatre.
[Sidenote: OPERA AT VERSAILLES.]
This is said to have been the first instance of an Italian troop
performing alternately in London and in Paris. A proposition had been
made under the Regency of Philip of Orleans, for the engagement of
Handel's celebrated company;[56] but, although the agreement was drawn
up and signed, from various causes, and principally through the jealousy
of the "Academicians," it was never carried out. The London-Italian
company of 1787 performed at Versailles, before the Court and a large
number of aristocratic subscribers, many of whom had been solicited to
support the enterprise by the queen herself. Storace, the _prima donna
assoluta_ of the King's Theatre, would not accompany the other singers
to Paris. Madame Benini, however, the _altra prima donna_ went, and
delighted the French amateurs. Lord Mount Edgcumbe, in his interesting
volume of "Musical Reminiscences," tells us that she "had a voice of
exquisite sweetness, and a finished taste and neatness in her manner of
singing; but that she had so little power, that she could not be heard
to advantage in so large a theatre: her performance in a small one was
perfect." Among the other vocalists who made the journey from London to
Paris, were Mengozzi the tenor, who was Madame Benini's husband, and
Morelli the bass. "The latter had a voice of great power, and good
quality, and he was a very good actor. Having been running footman to
Lord Cowper at Florence," continues Lord Mount Edgcumbe, "he could not
be a great musician." Benini, Mengozzi, and Morelli, again visited Paris
in 1788, but did not make their appearance there in 1789, the year of
the taking of the Bastille. The _répertoire_ of these singers included
operas by Paisiello, Cimarosa, Sarti, and Anfossi, and they were
particularly successful in Paisiello's _Gli Schiavi per Amore_. When
this opera was produced in London in 1787 (with Storace, not Benini, in
the principal female part), it was so much admired that it ran to the
end of the season without any change. Another Italian company gave
several series of performances in Paris between 1789 and 1792, and then
for nine years France was without any Italian Opera at all.
Storace was by birth and parentage, on her mother's side, English; but
she went early to Italy, "and," says the author from whom I have just
quoted, "was never heard in this country till her reputation as the
first buffa of her time was fully established." Her husband was Fisher,
a violinist (whose portrait has been painted by Reynolds); but she never
bore his name, and the marriage was rapidly followed by a separation.
Mrs. Storace settled entirely in England, and after quitting the King's
Theatre accepted an engagement at Drury Lane. Here English Opera was
raised to a pitch of excellence previously unknown, thanks to her
singing, together with that of Mrs. Crouch, Mrs. Bland, Kelly, and
Bannister. The musical director was Mrs. Storace's brother, Stephen
Storace, the arranger of the pasticcios entitled the _Haunted Tower_,
and the _Siege of Belgrade_.
[Sidenote: MADAME MARA.]
Madame Mara made her first appearance at the King's Theatre the year
before Storace's _début_. She had previously sung in London at the
Pantheon Concerts, and at the second Handel Festival (1785), in
Westminster Abbey. I have already spoken of this vocalist's
performances and adventures at the court of Frederick the Great, at
Vienna, and at Paris, where her worshippers at the Concerts Spirituels
formed themselves into the sect of "Maratistes," as opposed to that of
the "Todistes," or believers in Madame Todi.[57]
Lord Mount Edgcumbe, during a visit to Paris, heard Madame Mara at one
of the Concerts Spirituels, in the old theatre of the Tuileries. She had
just returned from the Handel Commemoration, and sang, among other
things, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," which was announced in the
bills as being "Musique de Handel, paroles de _Milton_." "The French,"
says Lord Mount Edgcumbe, "had not the taste to like it."
The first opera in which Madame Mara appeared at the King's Theatre was
_Didone_, a pasticcio, in which four songs of different characters, by
Sacchini, Piccinni, and two other composers, were introduced. She
afterwards sang with Miss Cecilia Davies (_L'Inglesina_) in Sacchini's
_Perseo_.
At this period Handel's operas were already so much out of fashion,
though esteemed as highly as ever by musicians and by the more venerable
of connoisseurs, that when _Giulio Cesare_ was revived, with Mara and
Rubinelli (both of whom sang the music incomparably well), in the
principal parts, it had no success with the general public; nor were
any of Handel's operas afterwards performed at the King's Theatre.
_Giulio Cesare_, in which many of the most favourite songs from Handel's
other operas ("Verdi prati," "Dove sei," "Rendi sereno il ciglio," and
others) were interpolated, answered the purpose for which it was
produced, and attracted George III. two or three times to the theatre.
Moreover (to quote Lord Mount Edgcumbe's words), "it filled the house,
by attracting the exclusive lovers of the old style, who held cheap all
other operatic performances."
[Sidenote: THE PANTHEON.]
In 1789 (the year in which the supposed sexagenarian, Madeleine Guimard,
"still full of grace and gentility," made her appearance) the King's
Theatre was burnt to the ground--not without a suspicion of its having
been maliciously set on fire, which was increased by the suspected
person soon after committing suicide. Arrangements were made for
carrying on the Opera at the little theatre in the Haymarket, where Mara
was engaged as the first woman in serious operas, and Storace in comic.
The company afterwards moved to the Pantheon, "which," says Lord Mount
Edgcumbe, "in its original state was the largest and most beautiful room
in London, and a very model of fine architecture. It was the
chef-d'œuvre of Wyatt, who himself contrived and executed its
transformation, taking care not to injure any part of the building, and
so concealing the columns and closing its dome, that it might be easily
restored after its temporary purpose was answered, it being then in
contemplation to erect an entirely new and magnificent opera-house
elsewhere, a project which could never be realised. Mr. Wyatt, by this
conversion, produced one of the prettiest, and by far the most genteel
and comfortable theatres I ever saw, of a moderate size and excellent
shape, and admirably adapted both for seeing and hearing. There the
regular Opera was successfully carried on, with two very good companies
and ballets. Pacchierotti, Mara, and Lazzarini, a very pleasing singer
with a sweet tenor voice, being at the head of the serious; and
Casentini, a pretty woman and genteel actress, with Lazzarini, for
tenor, Morelli and Ciprani principal buffos, composing the comic. This
was the first time that Pacchierotti[58] had met with a good _prima
donna_ since Madame Lebrun, and his duettos with Mara were the most
perfect pieces of execution I ever heard. The operas in which they
performed together were Sacchini's _Rinaldo_ and Bertoni's _Quinto
Fabio_ revived, and a charming new one by Sarti, called _Idalide_, or
_La Vergine del Sole_. The best comic were La Molinara, and La bella
Pescatrice, by Guglielmi. On the whole I never enjoyed the opera so much
as at this theatre."
The Pantheon enterprise, however, like most operatic speculations in
England, did not pay, and at the end of the first season (1791) the
manager had incurred debts to the amount of thirty thousand pounds. In
the meanwhile the King's Theatre had been rebuilt, but the proprietor,
now that the Opera was established at the Pantheon, found himself unable
to obtain a license for dramatic performances, and had to content
himself with giving concerts at which the principal singer was the
celebrated David. It was proposed that the new Opera house should take
the debts of the Pantheon, and with them its operatic license, but the
offer was not accepted, and in 1792 the Pantheon was destroyed by
fire--in this case the result, clearly, of accident.
At last the schism which had divided the musical world was put an end
to, and an arrangement was made for opening the King's Theatre in the
winter of 1793. There was not time to bring over a new company, but one
was formed out of the singers already in London, with Mara at their head
and with Kelly for the tenor.
[Sidenote: MR. MARA.]
Mara was now beginning to decline in voice and in popularity. When she
was no longer engaged at the Italian Opera, she sang at concerts and for
a short time at Covent Garden, where she appeared as "Polly" in _The
Beggars' Opera_. She afterwards sang with the Drury Lane company while
they performed at the King's Theatre during the rebuilding of their own
house, which had been pulled down to be succeeded by a much larger one.
She appeared in an English serious opera, called _Dido_, "in which,"
says Lord Mount Edgcumbe, "she retained one song of her _Didone_, the
brilliant _bravura_, _Son Regina_. It did not greatly succeed, though
the music was good and well sung. This is not surprising," he adds, "the
serious opera being ill suited to our stage, and our language to
recitative. None ever succeeded but Dr. Arne's _Artaxerxes_, which was,
at first, supported by some Italian singers, Tenducci being the original
Arbaces." It is noticeable that in the aforesaid English _Dido_ Kelly
was the tenor, while Mrs. Crouch took the part of first man, which at
this time in Italy was always given to a sopranist.
Madame Mara's husband, the ex-violinist of the Berlin orchestra, appears
never to have been a good musician, and always an idle drunkard. His
wife at last got disgusted with his habits, and probably, also, with his
performance on the violin,[59] for she went off with a flute-player
named Florio to Russia, where she lived for many years. When she was
about seventy she re-appeared in England and gave a concert at the
King's Theatre, but without any sort of success. Her wonderful powers
were said to have returned, but when she sang her voice was generally
compared to a penny trumpet. Madame Mara then returned to Moscow, where
she suffered greatly by the fire of 1812. She afterwards resided at some
town in the Baltic provinces, and died there at a very advanced age.
The next great vocalist who visited England after Mara's _début_, was
Banti. She had commenced life as a street singer; but her fine voice
having attracted the attention of De Vismes, the director of the
Académie, he told her to come to him at the Opera, where the future
_prima donna_, after hearing an air of Sacchini's three times, sang it
perfectly from beginning to end. De Vismes at once engaged her; and soon
afterwards she made her first appearance with the most brilliant
success. Although Banti was now put under the best masters, she was of
such an indolent, careless disposition, that she never could be got to
learn even the first elements of music. Nevertheless, she was so happily
endowed by nature, that it gave her no trouble to perfect herself in the
most difficult parts; and whatever she sang, she rendered with the most
charming expression imaginable. Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who does not
mention the fact of her having sung at the French Opera, says that Banti
was the most delightful singer he ever heard (though, when she appeared
at the King's Theatre in 1799, she must have been forty-two years of
age[60]); and tells us that, "in her, genius supplied the place of
science; and the most correct ear, with the most exquisite taste,
enabled her to sing with more effect, more expression, and more apparent
knowledge of her art, than many much better professors."
[Sidenote: BANTI.]
It is said of Banti, that when she was singing in Paris, though she
never made the slightest mistake in concerted pieces, she sometimes
executed her airs after a very strange fashion. For instance: in the
_allegro_ of a cavatina, after singing the principal motive, and the
intermediary phrase or "second part," she would, in a fit of absence,
re-commence the air from the very beginning; go on with it until the
turning point at the end of the second part; again re-commence and
continue this proceeding, until at last the conductor warned her that
next time she had better think of terminating the piece. In the
meanwhile the public, delighted with Banti's voice, is said to have been
quite satisfied with this novel mode of performance.
Banti made her _début_ in England in Bianchi's _Semiramide_, in which
she introduced an air from one of Guglielmi's oratorios, with a violin
_obbligato_ accompaniment, played first by Cramer, afterward by Viotti,
Salomon, and Weichsell, the brother of Mrs. Billington. This song was of
great length, and very fatiguing; but Banti was always encored in it,
and never omitted to repeat it.
At her benefit in the following year (1800) Banti performed in an opera,
founded on the _Zenobia_ of Metastasio, by Lord Mount Edgcumbe, the
author of the interesting "Reminiscences," to which, in the course of
the present chapter I shall frequently have to refer. The "first man's"
part was allotted to Roselli, a sopranist, who, however, had to transfer
it to Viganoni, a tenor. Roselli, whose voice was failing him, soon
afterwards left the country; and no other male soprano made his
appearance at the King's Theatre until the arrival of Velluti, who sang
twenty-five years afterwards in Meyerbeer's _Crociato_.
Banti's favourite operas were Gluck's _Alceste_, in which she was called
upon to repeat three of her airs every night; the _Iphigénie en
Tauride_, by the same author; Paisiello's _Elfrida_, and _Nina_ or _La
Pazza per Amore_; Nasolini's[61] _Mitridate_; and several operas by
Bianchi, composed expressly for her.
Before Banti's departure from England, she prevailed on Mrs. Billington
to perform with her on the night of her benefit, leaving to the latter
the privilege of assuming the principal character in any opera she might
select. _Merope_ was chosen. Mrs. Billington took the part of the
heroine, and Banti that of "Polifonte," though written for a tenor
voice. The curiosity to hear these two celebrated singers in the same
piece was so great, that the theatre was filled with what we so often
read of in the newspapers, but so seldom see in actual life,--"an
overflowing audience;" many ladies being obliged, for want of better
places, to find seats on the stage.
Banti died at Bologna, in 1806, bequeathing her larynx (of extraordinary
size) to the town, the municipality of which caused it to be duly
preserved in a glass bottle. Poor woman! she had by time dissipated the
whole of her fortune, and had nothing else to leave.
[Sidenote: MRS. BILLINGTON.]
Mrs. Billington, Banti's contemporary, after singing not only in
England, but at all the best theatres of Italy, left the stage in 1809.
In 1794, while she was engaged at Naples, at the San Carlo, a violent
eruption of Mount Vesuvius took place, which the Neapolitans attributed
to the presence of an English heretic on their stage. Mrs. Billington's
friends were even alarmed for her personal safety, when, fortunately,
the eruption ceased, and the audience, relieved of their superstitious
fears, applauded the admirable vocalist in all liberty and confidence.
Mrs. Billington was an excellent musician, and before coming out as a
singer had distinguished herself in early life (when Miss Weichsell) as
a pianoforte player. She appears to have been but an indifferent
actress, and, in her singing, to have owed her success less to her
expression than to her "agility," which is said to have been marvellous.
Her execution was distinguished by the utmost neatness and precision.
Her voice was sweet and flexible, but not remarkable for fulness of
tone, which formed the great beauty of Banti's singing. Mrs. Billington
appeared with particular success in Bach's _Clemenza di Scipione_, in
which the part of the heroine had been originally played in England by
Miss Davies (_L'Inglesina_); Paisiello's _Elfrida_; Winter's _Armida_,
and _Castore e Polluce_; and Mozart's _Clemenza di Tito_--the first of
that master's works ever performed in England. At this time, neither the
_Nozze di Figaro_, nor Mozart's other masterpiece, _Don Giovanni_
(produced at Prague in 1787), seem to have been at all known either in
England or in France.
After Banti's departure from England, and while Mrs. Billington was
still at the King's Theatre, Grassini was engaged to sing alternately
with the latter vocalist. She made her first appearance in _La Vergine
del Sole_ an opera by Mayer (the future preceptor of Donizetti), but in
this work she succeeded more through her acting and her beauty than by
her singing. Indeed, so equivocal was her reception, that on the
occasion of her benefit, she felt it desirable to ask Mrs. Billington to
appear with her. Mrs. Billington consented; and Winter composed an opera
called _Il Ratto di Proserpina_, specially for the rival singers, Mrs.
Billington taking the part of "Ceres," and Grassini that of
"Proserpine." Now the tide of favour suddenly turned, and we are told
that Grassini's performance gained all the applause; and that "her
graceful figure, her fine expression of face, together with the sweet
manner in which she sang several simple airs, stamped her at once the
reigning favourite." Indeed, not only was Grassini rapturously applauded
in public, but she was "taken up by the first society, _fêted_,
caressed, and introduced as a regular guest in most of the fashionable
assemblies." "Of her _private_ claims to that distinction," adds Lord
Mount Edgcumbe, "it is best to be silent; but her manners and exterior
behaviour were proper and genteel."
[Sidenote: BRAHAM.]
At this period 1804-5, the tenors at the King's Theatre were Viganoni
and Braham. Respecting the latter, who, in England, France and Italy, in
English and in Italian operas, on the stage and in concert rooms, must
have sung altogether for something like half a century, I must again
quote the author of "Musical Reminiscences," who heard him in his prime.
"All must acknowledge," he says, "that his voice is of the finest
quality, of great power and occasional sweetness. It is equally certain
that he has great knowledge of music, and _can_ sing extremely well. It
is therefore the more to be regretted that he should ever do otherwise;
that he should ever quit the natural register of his voice by raising it
to an unpleasant falsetto, or force it by too violent exertion; that he
should depart from a good style, and correct taste, which he knows and
can follow as well as any man, to adopt at times the over-florid and
frittered Italian manner; at others, to fall into the coarseness and
vulgarity of the English. The fact is, that he can be two distinct
singers, according to the audience before whom he performs, and that to
gain applause he condescends to sing as ill at the playhouse as he has
done well at the Opera. His compositions have the same variety, and he
can equally write a popular noisy song for the one, or its very
opposite, for the other. A duetto of his, introduced into the opera of
_Gli Orazj_, sung by himself and Grassini, had great beauty, and was in
excellent taste. * * * * Braham has done material injury to English
singing, by producing a host of imitators. What is in itself not good,
but may be endured from a fine performer, becomes insufferable in bad
imitation. Catalani has done less mischief, only because her powers are
_unique_, and her astonishing execution unattainable. Many men endeavour
to rival Braham, no woman can aspire to being a Catalani."
When both Grassini and Mrs. Billington retired, (1806), the place of
both was supplied by the celebrated Catalani, the vocal queen of her
time. She made her first appearance in Portogallo's _Semiramide_, (which
is said to have been a very inferior opera to Bianchi's, on the same
subject), and, among other works, had to perform in the _Clemenza di
Tito_, of Mozart, whose music she is said to have disliked on the ground
that it kept the singer too much under the control of the orchestra.
Nevertheless, she introduced the _Nozze di Figaro_ into England, and
herself played the part of "Susanna" with admirable success.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: CATALANI.]
"Her voice," says Ferrari (Jacques Godefroi, a pupil of Paisiello), "was
sonorous, powerful, and full of charm and suavity. This organ, of so
rare a beauty, might be compared for splendour to the voice of Banti;
for expression, to that of Grassini; for sweet energy, to that of Pasta;
uniting the delicious flexibility of Sontag to the three registers of
Malibran. Madame Catalani had formed her style on that of Pacchierotti,
Marchesi, Crescentini;[62] her groups, roulades, triplets, and
_mordenti_, were of admirable perfection; her well articulated
execution lost nothing of its purity in the most rapid and most
difficult passages. She animated the singers, the chorus, the orchestra,
even in the finales and concerted pieces. Her beautiful notes rose above
and dominated the _ensemble_ of the voices and instruments; nor could
Beethoven, Rossini or any other musical Lucifer, have covered this
divine voice with the tumult of the orchestra. Our _virtuosa_ was not a
profound musician; but, guided by what she did know, and by her
practised ear, she could learn in a moment the most complicated pieces."
* * * * *
"Her firm, strong, brilliant, voluminous voice was of a most agreeable
_timbre_," says Castil Blase; "it was an admirable soprano of prodigious
compass, from _la_ to the upper _sol_, marvellous in point of agility,
and producing a sensation difficult to describe. Madame Catalani's
manner of singing left something to desire in the noble, broad,
sustained style. Mesdames Grassini and Barilli surpassed her on this
point, but with regard to difficulties of execution and _brio_, Madame
Catalani could ring out one of her favourite airs and exclaim, _Son
Regina!_ She was then without a rival. I never heard anything like it.
She excelled in chromatic passages, ascending and descending, of extreme
rapidity. Her execution, marvellous in audacity, made talents of the
first order pale before it, and instrumentalists no longer dared figure
by her side. When Tulou, however, presented himself, his flute was
applauded with enthusiasm after Madame Catalani's voice. The experiment
was a dangerous one, and the victory was only the more brilliant for the
adventurous young artist. There was no end to the compliments addressed
to him on his success."
* * * * *
On her way to London, in the summer of 1806, Catalani, whose reputation
was then at its height, passed through Paris, and sang before the
Emperor at St. Cloud. Napoleon gave her 5,000 francs for this
performance, besides a pension of 1,200 francs, and the use of the
Opera, with all expences paid, for two concerts, of which the receipts
amounted to 49,000 francs. The French emperor, during his victorious
career, had acquired the habit of carrying off singers as captives, and
enrolling them, in spite of themselves, in his musical service. The same
dictatorial system, however, failed when applied to Catalani.
"Where are you going, that you wish to leave Paris?" said Napoleon.
"To London, Sire," answered the singer.
"You must remain in Paris," replied Napoleon, "you will be well paid and
your talents will be better appreciated here. You will have a hundred
thousand francs a year, and two months' leave of absence. That is
settled. Adieu, Madame."
Catalani went away without daring to say that she did not mean to break
her engagement with the manager of the King's Theatre. In order to keep
it she was obliged to embark secretly at Morlaix.
[Sidenote: CATALANI.]
I have spoken of this celebrated vocalist's first appearance in London,
and, having given an Italian and a French account of her singing, I may
as well complete the description by quoting the remarks made by an
Englishman, Lord Mount Edgcumbe, on her voice and style of execution.
"It is well known," he says, "that her voice is of a most uncommon
quality, and capable of exertions almost supernatural. Her throat seems
endued (as has been 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 that are 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 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 (indeed her chief
merit) being in songs of a bold and spirited character, where much is
left to her discretion (or indiscretion) without being confined by
accompaniment, but in which she can indulge in _ad libitum_ passages
with a luxuriance and redundancy no other singer ever possessed, or if
possessing, ever practised, and which she carries to a fantastical
excess. She is fond of singing variations on some known simple air, and
latterly has pushed this taste to the very height of absurdity, by
singing, even without words, variations composed for the fiddle."
Allusion is here doubtless made to the _air varié_ by Pierre Rode, the
violinist, which, from Catalani to Alboni and our own Louisa Pyne, has
been such a favourite show-piece with all vocalists of brilliant
executive powers, more especially in England. The vocal variations on
Rode's air, however, were written in London, specially for Catalani, by
Drouet the flute-player.
Catalani returned to Paris in October, 1815, when there was no longer
any chance of Napoleon reproaching her for her abrupt departure nine
years before. She solicited and obtained the "privilege" of the Italian
theatre; but here the celebrated system of her husband, M. Valabrèque
(in which the best possible operatic company consisted only of _ma femme
et trois ou quatre poupées_) quite broke down. Madame Catalani gave up
the theatre, with the subvention of 160,000 francs allowed her by the
government, in 1818, M. Valabrèque having previously enunciated in a
pamphlet the reasons which led to this abandonment. Great expenses had
been incurred in fitting up the theatre, and, moreover, the management
had been forced to pay its rent. The pamphlet concluded with a paragraph
which was scarcely civil on the part of a foreigner who had been most
hospitably received, towards a nation situated as France was just then.
It is sufficiently curious to be quoted.
[Sidenote: M. VALABREQUE.]
"Consider, moreover," said the discomforted director, or rather the
discomforted husband of the directress, "that in the time when several
provinces beyond the mountains belonged to France, twenty thousand
Italians were constantly attracted to the capital and supplied numerous
audiences for the Italian theatre; that, moreover, the artists who were
chiefly remarked at the theatres of Milan, Florence, Venice and Genoa,
could be engaged for Paris by order of the government, and that in such
a case the administration was reimbursed for a portion of the extra
engagements."
Catalani had left the King's Theatre in 1813, two years before she
assumed the management of the Italian Theatre of Paris. With some brief
intervals she had been singing in London since 1806, and after quitting
England, she was for many years without appearing on any stage, if we
except the short period during which she directed the Théâtre Feydau.
Her terms were so inordinate that managers were naturally afraid of
them, and Catalani found it more to her advantage to travel about
Europe, giving concerts at which she was the sole performer of
importance, than to accept such an engagement as could be offered to her
at a theatre. She gave several concerts of this kind in England, whither
she returned twice after she had ceased to appear at the Opera. She is
said to have obtained more success in England than in any other country,
and least of all in Italy.
When she appeared at the King's Theatre in 1824, and sang in Mayer's
_Fanatico per la Musica_, the frequenters of the Opera, who remembered
her performance in the same work eighteen years before, were surprised
that so long an interval had produced so little change in the singer.
The success of the first night was prodigious; but Mr. Ebers (in his
"Seven Years of the King's Theatre"), tells us that "repetitions of this
opera, again and again, diminished the audiences most perceptibly,
though some new air was on each performance introduced, to display the
power of the Catalani. * * * In this opera the sweet and soothing voice
of Caradori was an agreeable relief to the bewildering force of the
great wonder."
In one season of four months in London, Madame Catalani, by her system
of concerts, gained upwards of ten thousand pounds, and doubled that sum
during a subsequent tour in the provinces, in Ireland and Scotland. She
sang for the last time in public at Dublin, in 1828.
[Sidenote: CATALANI'S AGREEMENT]
As to the sort of engagement she approved of, some notion may be formed
from the following draft of a contract submitted by her to Mr. Ebers in
1826:----
"_Conditions between Mr. Ebers and M. P. de Valabrèque._
"1. Every box and every admission shall be considered as belonging
to the management. The free admissions shall be given with paper
orders, and differently shaped from the paid tickets. Their number
shall be limited. The manager, as well as Madame Catalani, shall
each have a good box.
"2. Madame Catalani shall choose and direct the operas in which she
is to sing; she shall likewise have the choice of the performers in
them; she will have no orders to receive from any one; she will
find all her own dresses.
"3. Madame Catalani shall have two benefits, to be divided with the
manager; Madame Catalani's share shall be free: she will fix her
own days.
"4. Madame Catalani and her husband shall have a right to
superintend the receipts.
"5. Every six weeks Madame Catalani shall receive the payment of
her share of the receipts, and of the subscription.
"6. Madame Catalani shall sing at no other place but the King's
Theatre, during the season; in the concerts or oratorios, where she
may sing, she will be entitled to no other share but that specified
as under.
"7. During the season, Madame Catalani shall be at liberty to go to
Bath, Oxford, or Cambridge.
"8. Madame Catalani shall not sing oftener than her health will
allow her. She promises to contribute to the utmost of her power to
the good of the theatre. On his side, Mr. Ebers engages to treat
Madame Catalani with every possible care.
"9. This engagement, and these conditions, will be binding for this
season, which will begin and end and continue during all the
seasons that the theatre shall be under the management of Mr.
Ebers, unless Madame Catalani's health, or state of her voice,
should not allow her to continue.
[Sidenote: CATALANI'S AGREEMENT]
"10. Madame Catalani, in return for the conditions above mentioned,
shall receive the half part of the amount of all the receipts which
shall be made in the course of the season, including the
subscription to the boxes, the amount of those sold separately, the
monies received at the doors of the theatre, and of the
concert-room; in short, the said half part of the general receipts
of the theatre for the season.
"11. It is well understood that Madame Catalani's share shall be
free from every kind of deduction, it being granted her in lieu of
salary. It is likewise well understood, that every expense of the
theatre during the season shall be Mr. Ebers'; such as the rent of
the theatre, the performers' salaries, the tradespeople's bills; in
short, every possible expense; and Madame Catalani shall be
entirely exonerated from any one charge.
"This engagement shall be translated into English, taking care that
the conditions shall remain precisely as in the original, and shall
be so worded as to stipulate that Madame Catalani, on receiving her
share of the receipts of the theatre, shall in no ways whatever be
considered as partner of the manager of the establishment.
"12. The present engagement being made with the full approbation of
both parties, Mr. Ebers and M. Valabrèque pledge their word of
honour to fulfil it in every one of its parts."
* * * * *
I must now add that Madame Catalani, by all accounts, possessed an
excellent disposition, that her private life was irreproachable, and
that while gaining immense sums, she also gave immense sums away in
charity. Indeed, the proceeds of her concerts, for the benefit of the
poor and sick have been estimated at eighty thousand pounds, besides
which she performed numerous acts of generosity towards individuals. Nor
does she appear to have possessed that excessive and exclusive
admiration for Madame Catalani's talent which was certainly entertained
by her husband, M. Valabrèque. Otherwise there can be no truth in the
well known story of her giving, by way of homage, the shawl which had
just been presented to her by the Empress of Russia, to a Moscow
gipsey--one of those singing _tsigankie_ who execute with such
originality and true expression their own characteristic melodies.
After having delighted the world for thirty-five years, Madame Catalani
retired to a charming villa near Florence. The invasion of the cholera
made her leave this retreat and go to Paris; where, in 1849, in her
seventieth year, she fell a victim to the very scourge she had hoped to
avoid.
[Sidenote: CELEBRATED SINGERS.]
As for the husband, Valabrèque, he appears to have been mean, officious,
conceited (of his wife's talent!) and generally stupid. M. Castil Blaze
solemnly affirms, that when Madame Catalani was rehearsing at the
Italian Opera of Paris an air which she was to sing in the evening to a
pianoforte accompaniment, she found the instrument too high, and told
Valabrèque to see that it was lowered; upon which (declares M. Blase)
Valabrèque called for a carpenter and caused the unfortunate piano's
feet to be amputated!
"Still too high?" cried Madame Catalani's husband, when he was accused
in the evening of having neglected her orders. "Why, how much did you
lower it, Charles?" addressing the carpenter.
"Two inches, Sir," was the reply.
* * * * *
The historian of the above anecdote calls Tamburini, Lablache, and
Tadolini, as well as Rossini and Berryer, the celebrated advocate, to
witness that the mutilated instrument had afterward four knobs of wood
glued to its legs by the same Charles who executed in so faithful a
manner M. Valabrèque's absurd behest. It continued to wear these pattens
until its existence was terminated in the fire of 1838--in which by the
way, the composer of _William Tell_, who at that time nominally directed
the theatre, and who had apartments on the third floor, would inevitably
have perished had he not left Paris for Italy the day before!
* * * * *
Before concluding this chapter, I will refer once more to the "Musical
Reminiscences" of Lord Mount Edgcumbe, whose opinions on singers seem
to me more valuable than those he has expressed about contemporary
composers, and who had frequent and constant opportunities of hearing
the five great female vocalists engaged at the King's Theatre, between
the years 1786 and 1814.
"They may be divided," he says, "into two classes, of which Madame Mara
and Mrs. Billington form the first; and they were in most respects so
similar, that the same observations will apply equally to both. Both
were excellent musicians, thoroughly skilled in their profession; both
had voices of uncommon sweetness and agility, particularly suited to the
bravura style, and executed to perfection and with good taste, every
thing they sung. But neither was an Italian, and consequently both were
deficient in recitative: neither had much feeling or theatrical talent,
and they were absolutely null as actresses; therefore they were more
calculated to give pleasure in the concert-room than on the stage.
The other three, on the contrary, had great and distinguished dramatic
talents, and seemed born for the theatrical profession. They were all
likewise but indifferently skilled in music, supplying by genius what
they wanted in science, and thereby producing the greatest and most
striking effects on the stage: these are their points of resemblance.
Their distinctive differences, I should say, were these: Grassini was
all grace, Catalani all fire, Banti all feeling."
[Sidenote: GUGLIELMI.]
The composers, in whose music the above singers chiefly excelled, were
Gluck, Piccinni, Guglielmi, Cimarosa, and Paisiello. We have seen that
"Susanna" in the _Nozze di Figaro_, was one of Catalani's favourite
parts; but as yet Mozart's music was very little known in England, and
it was not until 1817 that his _Don Giovanni_ was produced at the King's
Theatre.
* * * * *
After Gluck and Piccinni, the most admired composers, and the natural
successors of the two great rivals in point of time, were Cimarosa and
Paisiello. Guglielmi was considerably their senior, and on returning to
Naples in 1777, after having spent fifteen years away from his country,
in Vienna, and in London, he found that his two younger competitors had
quite supplanted him in public favour. His works, composed between the
years 1755 and 1762, had become antiquated, and were no longer
performed. All this, instead of discouraging the experienced musician
(Guglielmi was then fifty years of age) only inspired him with fresh
energy. He found, however, a determined and unscrupulous adversary in
Paisiello, who filled the theatre with his partisans the night on which
Guglielmi was to produce his _Serva innamorata_, and occasioned such a
disturbance, that for some time it was impossible to attend to the
music.
The noise was especially great at the commencement of a certain
quintett, on which, it was said, the success of the work depended.
Guglielmi was celebrated for the ingenuity and beauty of his concerted
pieces, but there did not seem to be much chance, as affairs stood on
this particular evening, of his quintett being heard at all.
Fortunately, while it was being executed, the door of the royal box
opened, and the king appeared. Instantly the most profound silence
reigned throughout the theatre, the piece was recommenced, and Guglielmi
was saved. More than that, the enthusiasm of the audience was raised,
and went on increasing to such a point, that at the end of the
performance the composer was taken from his box, and carried home in
triumph to his hotel.
From this moment Paisiello, with all his jealousy, was obliged to
discontinue his intrigues against a musician, whom Naples had once more
adopted. Cimarosa had taken no part in the plot against Guglielmi; but
he was by no means delighted with Guglielmi's success. Prince San
Severo, who admired the works of all three, invited them to a
magnificent banquet where he made them embrace one another, and swear
eternal friendship.[63] Let us hope that he was not the cause of either
of them committing perjury.
[Sidenote: FINALES.]
Paisiello seems to have been an intriguer all his life, and to have been
constantly in dread of rivals; though he probably had less reason to
fear them than any other composer of the period. However, at the age of
seventy-five, when he had given up writing altogether, we find him, a
few months before his death, getting up a cabal against the youthful
Rossini, who was indeed destined to eclipse him, and to efface even the
memory of his _Barbiere di Siviglia_, by his own admirable opera on the
same subject. It is as if, painting on the same canvas, he had simply
painted out the work of his predecessor.
* * * * *
Cimarosa, though he may have possessed a more dignified sense than
Paisiello of what was due to himself, had less vanity. A story is told
of a painter wishing to flatter the composer of _Il Matrimonio
Segretto_, and saying that he looked upon him as superior to Mozart.
"Superior to Mozart!" exclaimed Cimarosa. "What should you think, Sir,
of a musician, who told you that you were a greater painter than
Raphael?"
* * * * *
Among the other composers who adorned the end of the eighteenth and the
beginning of the nineteenth century, may be mentioned Sacchini, the
successor of Piccinni in Paris; Salieri, the envious rival of Mozart,
and (in Paris) the successor of Gluck; Paer, in whose _Camilla_ Rossini
played the child's part at the age of seven (1799); Mayer, the future
master of Donizetti; and Zingarelli, the future master of Bellini, one
of whose operas was founded on the same _libretto_ which afterwards
served the pupil for his _Capuletti i Montecchi_.
* * * * *
Piccinni is not connected in any direct manner with the present day; but
it is nevertheless to Piccinni that we owe the first idea of those
magnificent finales which, more than half a century afterwards,
contributed so much to the success of Rossini's operas, and of which the
first complete specimens, including several movements with changes of
key and of rhythm, occur in _La Cecchina ossia la Buona Figliuola_,
produced at Rome in 1760.
Logroscino, who sometimes passes as the inventor of these finales, and
who lived a quarter of a century earlier, wrote them only on one theme.
The composer who introduced dramatic finales into serious opera, was
Paisiello.
It may interest the reader to know, that the finale of _Don Giovanni_
lasts fifteen minutes.
That of the _Barber of Seville_ lasts twenty-one minutes and a-half.
That of _Otello_ lasts twenty-four minutes.
[Sidenote: FINALES.]
The quintett of _Gazza Ladra_ lasts twenty-seven minutes.
The finale of _Semiramide_ lasts half an hour--or perhaps a minute or
two less, if we allow for the increased velocity at which quick
movements are "taken" by the conductors of the present day.
CHAPTER XII.
OPERA IN FRANCE, AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF GLUCK.
A few months before Gluck left Paris for the last time, an insurrection
broke out at the Opera. The revolutionary spirit was abroad in Paris.
The success of the American War of Independence, the tumultuous meetings
of the French Parliament, the increasing resistance to authority which
now manifested itself everywhere in France; all these stimulants to
revolt seem to have taken effect on the singers and dancers of the
Académie. The company resolved to carry on the theatre itself, for its
own benefit, and the director, Devismes, was called upon to abdicate.
The principal insurgents held what they called "Congress," at the house
of Madeleine Guimard, and the God of Dancing, Auguste Vestris, declared
loudly that he was the Washington of the affair.
[Sidenote: MADEMOISELLE GUIMARD.]
Every day some fresh act of insubordination was committed, and the
chiefs of the plot had to be forced to appear on the stage by the
direct interference of the police.
"The minister desires me to dance," said Mademoiselle Guimard on one of
these occasions; "_eh bien qu'il y prenne garde, je pourrais bien le
faire sauter_."
The influential leader just named conducted the intrigue with great
skill and discretion.
"One thing, above all!" she said to her fellow conspirators; "no
combined resignations,--that is what ruined the Parliament."
To the minister, Amelot, the destroyer and reconstructor of the
Parliament of Dijon, Sophie Arnould observed, in reference to his
interference with the affairs of the Académie---
"You should remember, that it is easier to compose a parliament than to
compose an opera."
Auguste Vestris having spoken very insolently to Devismes, the latter
said to him---
"Do you know, sir, to whom you are speaking?"
"To whom? to the farmer of my talent," replied the dancer.
Things were brought to a crisis by the _fêtes_ given to celebrate the
birth of Marie Antoinette's first child, December, 1778. The city of
Paris proposed to spend enormous sums in festivities and illuminations;
but the king and queen benevolently suggested that, instead of being
wasted in useless display, the money should be given away in marriage
portions to a hundred deserving young girls; and their majesties gave
fifty thousand francs themselves for the same object. Losing sight of
the Opera for the moment, I must relate, in as few words as possible, a
charming little anecdote that is told of one of the applicants for a
dowry. Lise was the name of this innocent and _naïve_ young person, who,
on being asked some question respecting her lover, replied, that she had
none; and that she thought the municipality provided everything! The
municipality found the necessary admirer, and could have had no
difficulty in doing so, if we may judge from the graceful bust of Lise,
executed in marble by the celebrated sculptor, Houdon.
The Académie, which at this time belonged to the city, determined to
follow its example, and to give away at least one marriage portion.
Twelve hundred francs were subscribed and placed in the hands of
Mademoiselle Guimard, the treasurer elect. The nuptial banquet was to
take place at the winter Vauxhall (_Gallicè_ "Wauxhall"); and all Paris
was in a state of eager excitement to be present at what promised to be
a most brilliant and original entertainment. It was not allowed,
however, to take place, the authorities choosing to look upon it as a
parody of the _fête_ given by the city.
[Sidenote: AUGUSTE VESTRIS.]
The doors of the "Wauxhall" being closed to the subscribers,
Mademoiselle Guimard invited them to meet at her palace, in the Chaussée
d'Antin. The municipality again interfered; and in the middle of the
banquet Vestris and Dauberval were arrested by _lettres de cachet_ and
taken to For-l'Evèque, on the ground that they had refused to dance the
Tuesday previous in the _divertissement_ of _Armide_.
Gaetan Vestris was present at the arrest of his son, and excited the
mirth of the assembly by the pompous, though affectionate, manner in
which he bade him farewell. After embracing him tenderly, he said--
"Go, Augustus; go to prison. This is the grandest day of your life! Take
my carriage, and ask for the room of my friend, the King of Poland; and
live magnificently--charge everything to me."
On another occasion, when Gaetan was not so well pleased with his
Augustus, he said to him:
"What! the Queen of France does her duty, by requesting you to dance
before the King of Sweden, and you do not do yours? You shall no longer
bear my name. I will have no misunderstanding between the house of
Vestris and the house of Bourbon; they have hitherto always lived on
good terms."
For his refusal to dance, Augustus was this time sentenced to six
months' imprisonment; but the opera goers were so eager for his
re-appearance that he was set free long before the expiration of the
appointed term.
He made his _rentrée_ amid the groans and hisses of the audience, who
seemed determined to give him a lesson for his impertinence.
Then Gaetan, magnificently attired, appeared on the stage, and addressed
the public as follows:--
"You wish my son to go down on his knees. I do not say that he does not
deserve your displeasure; but remember, that the dancer whom you have so
often applauded has not studied the _pose_ you now require of him."
"Let him speak; let him endeavour to justify himself," cried a voice
from the pit.
"He _shall_ speak; he _shall_ justify himself," replied the father. And,
turning to his son, he added: "Dance, Auguste!"
Auguste danced; and every one in the theatre applauded.
The orchestra took no part in the operatic insurrection; and we have
seen that the musicians were not invited to contribute anything to the
dowry, offered by the Académie to virtue in love and in distress. De
Vismes proposed to reward his instrumentalists by giving up to them a
third of the receipts from some special representation of Gluck's
_Iphigénie en Tauride_. The band rejected the offer, as not sufficiently
liberal, and by refusing to play on the evening in question, made the
performance a failure.
The Academic revolt was at last put an end to, by the city of Paris
cancelling de Vismes's lease, and taking upon itself the management of
the theatre, de Vismes receiving a large sum in compensation, and the
appointment of director at a fixed salary.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: BEAUMARCHAIS AND GLUCK.]
Beaumarchais, while assisting the national revolution with the _Marriage
of Figaro_, is known to have aided in a more direct manner the
revolution which was now imminent at the opera. It is said, that he was
anxious to establish an operatic republic in the hope of being made
president of it himself. He is known to have been a good musician. I
have spoken of his having held the honourable, if not lucrative, post of
music-master to the daughters of Louis XV. (by whom he was as well paid
as was Piccinni by that monarch's successor);[64] and a better proof of
his talent is afforded, by his having composed all the music of his
_Barber of Seville_ and _Marriage of Figaro_, except the air of
_Malbrook_ in the latter comedy.
Beaumarchais had been much impressed by the genius of Gluck. He met him
one evening in the _foyer_ of the Opera, and spoke to him so clearly and
so well about music that the great composer said to him: "You must
surely be M. de Beaumarchais." They agreed to write an opera together,
and some years afterwards, when Gluck had left Paris for Vienna, the
poet sent the composer the _libretto_ of _Tarare_. Gluck wrote to say
that he was delighted with the work, but that he was now too old to
undertake the task of setting it to music, and would entrust it to his
favourite pupil, Salieri.
Gluck benefited French opera in two ways. He endowed the Académie with
several master-pieces, and moreover, destroyed, or was the main
instrument in destroying, its old _répertoire_, which after the works of
Gluck and Piccinni was found intolerable. It was now no longer the
fashion to exclude foreign composers from the first musical theatre in
France, and Gluck and Piccinni were followed by Sacchini and Salieri.
Strange to say, Sacchini, when he first made his appearance at the
Académie with his _Olympiade_, was deprived of a hearing through the
jealousy of Gluck, who, on being informed, at Vienna, that the work in
question was in rehearsal, hurried to Paris and had influence enough to
get it withdrawn. Worse than this, when the _Olympiade_ was produced at
the Comédie Italienne, with great success, Gluck and his partisans put a
stop to the representation by enforcing one of the privileges of the
Académie, which rendered it illegal for any other theatre to perform
operas with choruses or with more than seven singers on the stage.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: GLUCK.]
No work by Sacchini or Salieri was produced at the Académie until after
the theatre in the Palais Royal was burnt down, in 1781. In this fire,
which took place about eighteen months after Gluck had retired from
Paris, and five months after the production of Piccinni's _Iphigenia in
Tauris_, the old _répertoire_ would seem to have been consumed, for no
opera by Lulli was afterwards played in France, and only one by
Rameau,--_Castor and Pollux_, which, revived in 1791, was not favourably
received.
* * * * *
It was in June, 1781, after a representation of Gluck's _Orphée_, that
the Académie Royale was burnt to the ground. _Coronis_ (music by Rey,
the conductor of the orchestra) was the last piece of the evening, and
before it was finished, during the _divertissement_, one of the scenes
caught fire. Dauberval, the principal dancer, had enough presence of
mind to order the curtain down at once. The public wanted no more of
_Coronis_, and went quietly away without calling for the conclusion of
Rey's opera, and without having the least idea of what was taking place
behind the curtain. In the meanwhile the fire had spread on the stage
beyond the possibility of extinction. Singers, dancers, musicians, and
scene-shifters, rushed in terror from the theatre, and about a dozen
persons, who were unable to escape, perished in the conflagration.
Madeleine Guimard was nearly burnt to death in her dressing-room, which
was surrounded by flames. One of the carpenters, however, penetrated
into her _loge_, wrapped her up in a counterpane (she was entirely
undressed), and bore her triumphantly through the fire to a place of
safety.
"Save my child! save my child!" cried Rey, in despair; and as soon as he
saw the score of _Coronis_ out of danger he went away, giving the flames
full permission to burn everything else. All the manuscripts were saved,
thanks to the courageous exertions of Lefebrvre, the librarian, who
remained below in the music room even while the stage was burning, until
the last sheet had been removed.
"The Opera is burnt down," said a Parisian to a Parisian the next
morning.
"So much the better," was the reply. "It had been there such a time!"
This remark was ingenious but not true, for the Académie Royale de
Musique had only been standing eighteen years. It was burnt down before,
in 1768, on which occasion Voltaire, in a letter to M. d'Argental, wrote
as follows: "_on dit que ce spectacle était si mauvais qu'il fallait tôt
ou tard que la vengeance divine éclatât_." The theatre destroyed by fire
in 1763[65] was in the Palais Royal, and it was reconstructed on the
same spot. After the fire of 1781, the Porte St. Martin theatre was
built, and the Opera was carried on there ten years, after which it was
removed to the opera-house in the Rue Richelieu, which was pulled down
after the assassination of the Duc de Berri. But we are advancing beyond
the limits of the present chapter.
[Sidenote: THE NEW OPERA HOUSE.]
The new Opera House was built in eighty-six days. The members of the
company received orders not to leave Paris, and during the interval
were paid their salaries regularly as if for performing. The work began
on the 2nd of August, and was finished on the 27th of October. Lenoir,
the architect, had told Marie Antoinette that the theatre could be
completed in time for the first performance to take place on the 30th of
October.
"Say the 31st," replied the queen; "and if on that day I receive the key
of my box, I promise you the Order of St. Michael in exchange."
The key was sent to her majesty on the 26th, who not only decorated
Lenoir with the _cordon_ of St. Michael, but also conferred on him a
pension of six thousand francs; and on the 27th the theatre was opened
to the public.
* * * * *
In 1784, Sacchini's _Chimène_, adapted from _Il Gran Cid_, an opera he
had written for the King's Theatre in 1778, was produced at the Académie
with great success. The principal part in this work was sustained by
Huberti, a singer much admired by Piccinni, who wrote some airs in the
_cantabile_ style specially for her, and said that, without her, his
opera of _Dido_, in which she played the principal part, was "without
Dido." M. Castil Blaze tells us that she was the first true singer who
appeared at the Académie. Grimm declares, that she sang like Todi and
acted like Clairon. Finally, when Madame de Saint Huberti was performing
at Strasburgh, in 1787, a young officer of artillery, named Napoleon
Bonaparte, addressed the following witty and complimentary verses to
her:--
"Romains qui vous vantez d'une illustre origine
Voyez d'où dépendait votre empire naissant:
Didon n'eut pas de charme assez puissant
Pour arrêter la fuite où son amant s'obstine;
Mais si l'autre Didon, ornement de ces lieux,
Eût été reine de Carthage,
Il eût, pour la servir, abandonné ces dieux,
Et votre beau pays serait encore sauvage."
Sacchini's first opera, _Œdipe à Colosse_, was not produced at the
Académie until 1787, a few months after his death. It was now no
question, of whether he was a worthy successor of Gluck or a formidable
opponent to Piccinni. His opera was admired for itself, and the public
applauded it with genuine enthusiasm.
[Sidenote: SALIERI.]
In the meanwhile, Salieri, the direct inheritor of Gluck's mantle (as
far as that poetic garment could be transferred by the mere will of the
original possessor) had brought out his _Danaides_--announced at first
as the work of Gluck himself and composed under his auspices. Salieri
had also set _Tarare_ to music. "This is the first _libretto_ of modern
times," says M. Castil Blaze, "in which the author has ventured to join
buffoonery to tragedy--a happy alliance, which permits the musician to
vary his colours and display all the resources of genius and art." The
routine-lovers of the French Académie, the pedants, the blunderers,
were indignant with the new work; and its author entrusted Figaro with
the task of defending it.
"Either you must write nothing interesting," said Figaro, "or fools will
run you down."
The same author then notices, as a remarkable coincidence, that
"Beaumarchais and Da Ponte, at four hundred leagues distance from one
another, invented, at the same time, the class of opera since known as
"romantic." Beaumarchais's _Tarare_ had been intended for Gluck; Da
Ponte's _Don Giovanni_, as every one knows, found its true composer in
Mozart.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FRENCH OPERA BEFORE AND AFTER THE REVOLUTION.
[Sidenote: THE OPERA DURING THE CONVENTION.]
A complete history of the French Opera would include something like a
history of French society, if not of France generally. It would, at
least, show the effect of the great political changes which the country
has undergone, and would remind us here and there of her celebrated
victories, and occasionally even of her reverses. Under the despotism,
we have seen how a simple _lettre de cachet_ sufficed to condemn an
_abbé_ with a good voice, or a young girl with a pretty face, to the
Opera, just as a person obnoxious to the state or to any very
influential personage was sent to the Bastille. During the Regency, half
the audience at the Opera went there drunk; and almost until the period
of the Revolution the _abbés_, the _mousquetaires_, and the _grands
seigneurs_, quarrelled, fought, and behaved in many respects as if the
theatre were, not their own private house, but their own particular
tap-room. Music profited by the Revolution, in so far that the
privileges of the Académie were abolished, and, as a natural
consequence, a number of new musical works produced at a variety of
theatres which would otherwise never have seen the light; but the
position of singers and dancers was by no means a pleasant one under the
Convention, and the tyranny of the republican chiefs was far more
oppressive, and of a more brutal kind, than any that had been exercised
at the Académie in the days of the monarchy. The disobedient daughters,
whose admirers got them "inscribed" on the books of the Opera so as to
free them from parental control, would, under another system, have run
away from home. No one, in practice, was injured very much by the
regulation, scandalous and immoral as it undoubtedly was; for, before
the name was put down, all the harm, in most cases, was already done.
Sophie Arnould, it is true, is said to have been registered at the Opera
without the consent of her mother, and, what seems very
extraordinary--not at the suggestion of a lover; but Madame Arnould was
quite reconciled to her daughter's being upon the stage before she
eloped with the Count de Lauragais. To put the case briefly: the
_académiciens_ (and above all, the _académiciennes_) in the immoral
atmosphere of the court, were fêted, flattered, and grew rich, though,
owing to their boundless extravagance, they often died poor: whereas,
during the republic, they met with neither sympathy nor respect, and in
the worst days of the Convention lived, in a more literal sense than
would be readily imagined, almost beneath the shadow of the guillotine.
In favour of the old French society, when it was at its very worst, that
is to say, during the reign of Louis XV., it may be mentioned that the
king's mistresses did not venture to brave general opinion, so far as to
present themselves publicly at the Opera. Madame Dubarry announced more
than once that she intended to visit the Académie, and went so far as to
take boxes for herself and suite, but at the last moment her courage (if
courage and not shamelessness be the proper word) failed her, and she
stayed away. On the other hand, towards the end of this reign, the
licentiousness of the court had become so great, that brevets,
conferring the rights and privileges of married ladies on ladies
unmarried, were introduced. Any young girl who held a "_brevet de dame_"
could present herself at the Opera, which etiquette would otherwise have
rendered impossible. "The number of these brevets," says _Bachaumont_,
"increased prodigiously under Louis XVI., and very young persons have
been known to obtain them. Freed thus from the modesty, simplicity, and
retirement of the virginal state, they give themselves up with impunity
to all sorts of scandals. * * * Such disorder has opened the eyes of the
government; and this prince, the friend of decency and morality, has at
last shown himself very particular on the subject. It is now only by the
greatest favour that one of these brevets can be obtained."[66]
[Sidenote: OPERATIC AND RELIGIOUS FETES.]
No _brevets_ were required of the fishwomen and charcoal men of Paris,
who, on certain fêtes, such as the Sovereign's birth day, were always
present at the gratuitous performances given at the Opera. On these
occasions the balcony was always reserved for them, the _charbonniers_
being placed on the king's side, the _poissardes_ on the queen's. At the
close of the representation the performers invited their favoured guests
on to the stage, the orchestra played the airs from some popular ballet,
and a grand ball took place, in which the _charbonniers_ chose their
partners from among the operatic _danseuses_, while the _poissardes_
gave their hands to Vestris, Dauberval, &c.
* * * * *
During Passion week and Easter, the Opera was shut, but the great
operatic vocalists could be heard elsewhere, either at the Jesuits'
church or at the Abbaye of Longchamp, to which latter establishment it
is generally imagined that the Parisian public used to be attracted by
the singing of the nuns. What is far more extraordinary is, that the
Parisians always laboured under that delusion themselves. "The
Parisians," says M. Castil Blaze, in his "History of the Grand Opera,"
"always such fine connoisseurs in music, never penetrated the mystery of
this incognito. The railing and the green curtain, behind which the
voices were concealed, sufficed to render the singers unrecognisable to
the _dilettanti_ who heard them constantly at the opera."
Adjoining the Jesuits' church was a theatre, also belonging to the
Jesuits, for which, between the years 1659 and 1761, eighty pieces of
various kinds, including tragedies, operas and ballets, were written.
Some of these productions were in Latin, some in French, some in Latin
and French together. The _virtuosi_ of the Académie used to perform in
them and afterwards proceed to the church to sing motets. "This church
is so much the church of the Opera," says Freneuse, "that those who do
not go to one console themselves by attending vespers at the other,
where they find the same thing at less cost." He adds, that "an actor
newly engaged, would not think himself fully recognised unless asked to
sing for the Jesuits." As for the actresses, "in their honor the price
which would be given at the door of the opera is given for a chair in
the church. People look out for Urgande, Arcabonne, Armide, and applaud
them. (I have seen them applaud la Moreau and la Chérat, at the midnight
mass.) These performances replace those which are suspended at the
opera."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: BEHIND THE SCENES.]
There would be no end to this chapter (and many persons would think it
better not written) if I were to enter into details on the subject of
the relations between the singers and dancers of the Académie, and the
Grands Seigneurs of the period. I may observe, however, that the latter
appear to have been far more generous, without being more vicious, and
that they seem to have lived in better taste than their modern
imitators, who usually ruin themselves by means of race-horses, or, in
France, on the Stock Exchange. The Count de Lauragais paid an immense
sum to the directors of the Académie, to compensate them for abolishing
the seats on the stage (probably impertinent visitors used to annoy him
by staring at Sophie Arnould); the Duke de Bouillon spent nine hundred
thousand livres on Mademoiselle la Guerre (Gluck's _Iphigénie_); the
Prince de Soubise nearly as much on Mademoiselle Guimard--who at least
gave a portion of it away in charity, and who, as we have seen, was an
intelligent patroness of David, the painter.
When the Prince de Guéméné became insolvent, the Prince de Soubise, his
father-in-law, ceased to attend the Opera. There were three thousand
creditors, and the debts amounted to forty million livres. The heads of
the family felt called upon to make a sacrifice, and the Prince de
Soubise was no longer in a position to give _petits soupers_ to his
_protégées_ at the Académie. Under these circumstances, the "ladies of
the _ballet_" assembled in the dressing-room of Mademoiselle Guimard,
their chief, and prepared the following touching, and really very
becoming letter, to their embarrassed patron:--
"Monseigneur,
"Accustomed to see you amongst us at the representations at the
Lyrical Theatre, we have observed with the most bitter regret that
you not only tear yourself away from the pleasures of the
performance, but also that none of us are now invited to the little
suppers you used so frequently to give, in which we had turn by
turn the happiness of interesting you. Report has only too well
informed us of the cause of your seclusion, and of your just grief.
Hitherto we have feared to importune you, allowing sensibility to
give way to respect. We should not dare, even now, to break
silence, without the pressing motive to which our delicacy is
unable any longer to resist.
"We had flattered ourselves, Monseigneur, that the Prince de
Guéméné's bankruptcy, to employ an expression which is re-echoed in
the _foyers_, the clubs, the newspapers of France, and all Europe,
would not be so considerable, so enormous, as was announced; and,
above all, that the wise precautions taken by the King to assure
the claimants the amount of their debts, and to avoid expenses and
depredations more fatal even than the insolvency itself, would not
disappoint the general expectation. But affairs are doubtless in
such disorder, that there is now no hope. We judge of it by the
generous sacrifices to which the heads of your illustrious house,
following your example, have resigned themselves. We should think
ourselves guilty of ingratitude, Monseigneur, if we were not to
imitate you in seconding your humanity, and if we were not to
return you the pensions which your munificence has lavished upon
us. Apply these revenues, Monseigneur, to the consolation of so
many retired officers, so many poor men of letters, so many
unfortunate servants whom M. le Prince de Guéméné drags into ruin
with him.
"As for us, we have other resources: and we shall have lost
nothing, Monseigneur, if we preserve your esteem. We shall even
have gained, if, by refusing your gifts now, we force our
detractors to agree that we were not unworthy of them. "We are,
with profound respect,
"Monseigneur,
"Your most Serene Highness's very humble and
"devoted Servants,
"GUIMARD, HEINEL," &c.
With twenty other names.
[Sidenote: GENEROSITY OF THE BALLET.]
Auguste Vestris spent and owed a great deal of money; the father
honoured the engagements of the young dancer, but threatened him with
imprisonment if he did not alter his conduct, and concluded by
saying:--"Understand, Sir, that I will have no Guéméné in _my_ family."
Although ballet dancers were important persons in those days, they were
as nothing compared to the institution to which they belonged. Figaro,
in his celebrated soliloquy, observes, with reference to the great
liberty of the press accorded by the government, that provided he does
not speak of a great many very different things, among which the Opera
is included, he is at liberty to publish whatever he likes "under the
inspection of three or four censors." Beaumarchais was more serious
than would be generally supposed, in including the Opera among the
subjects which a writer dared not touch upon, or, if so, only with the
greatest respect. Rousseau tells us in more than one place, that it was
considered dangerous to say anything against the Opera; and Mademoiselle
Théodore (the interesting _danseuse_ before-mentioned, who consulted the
fantastic moralist on the conduct she ought to pursue as a member of the
ballet), was actually imprisoned, and exiled from Paris for eighteen
days, because she had ventured to ridicule the management of the
Académie, in some letters addressed to a private friend. The author of
the _Nouvelle Héloise_ should have warned her to be more careful.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: OPERA AND REVOLUTION.]
On the 12th July, 1789, the bills were torn down from the doors of the
Opera. The Parisians were about to take the Bastille. Having taken it,
they allowed the Académie to continue its performance, and it re-opened
on the 21st of the same month. In Warsaw, during the "demonstrations" of
last March, the Opera was closed. It remains closed now[67] (end of
November), and will re-open--neither Russians nor Poles can say when! No
one tears the bills down, because no one thinks of putting them up; it
being perfectly understood by the administration, (which is a department
of the Government), that the Warsaw public are not disposed at present
for amusement of any kind.
* * * * *
In 1789, the revolutionary spirit manifested itself among the company
engaged at the French Opera. An anonymous letter--or rather a letter in
the name of all the company, printed, but not signed--was addressed to
the administration of the theatre. It pointed out a number of abuses,
and bore this epigraph, strongly redolent of the period: "_Tu dors
Brutus, et Rome est dans les fers!_"
In 1790 the city of Paris assumed once more the management of the
Académie, the artistic direction being entrusted to a committee composed
of the chiefs of the various departments, and of the principal singers
and dancers. One of the novelties produced was a "melodrama founded on
passages from the Scriptures," called "The Taking of the Bastille,"
written specially for Notre Dame, where it was performed for the first
time, and where it was followed by a grand _Te Deum_. In this _Te Deum_
few of the lovers of the Opera could have joined, for one of the first
effects of the revolution was naturally to drive the best singers and
dancers away from Paris. Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us that Mademoiselle
Guimard was dancing in London in 1789. Madame Huberti, who was, by all
accounts, the best singer the French had ever heard at the Académie,
left Paris early in 1790.
We know how injurious a distant war, a dissolution of parliament, a
death in the royal family are to the fortunes of an operatic season in
London. Fancy what must have been the effect of the French revolution on
the Académie after 1789! The subscription list for boxes showed, in a
few years, a diminution of from 475,000 _livres_ to 000,000! Some of the
subscribers had gone into exile, more or less voluntary, some had been
banished, others had been guillotined. M. Castil Blaze, from whose
interesting works I have obtained a great number of particulars
concerning the French Opera at the time of the revolution, tells us that
the Queen used to pay 7,000 livres for her box. The Duke d'Orléans paid
7,000 for his own private box, and joined the Duke de Choiseul and
Necker in a subscription of 3,200 francs for another. The Princess de
Lamballe and Madame de Genlis gave 3,600 francs for a "post chaise;"
(there were other boxes, called "spittoons"--the _baignoires_ of the
present day--"cymbals," &c.; names which they evidently owed to their
position and form). On the other hand, there were 288 free admissions,
of which, thirty-two were given to authors, and eight to newspapers--_La
Gazette de France_, _Le Journal de Paris_, and _Le Mercure_. The
remaining 248 were reserved for the Hôtel de Ville, the King's
Household, the actors of the Comédie Française, and the singers and
dancers of the Opera itself.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: OPERA AND REVOLUTION.]
The howling of the _ça ira_ put an end for ever to the Concert
Spirituel, where the Parisians for nearly eighty years had been in the
habit of hearing excellent instrumental soloists, and some of the best
of the Italian singers, when there was as yet no Italian Opera in Paris.
The last _concert spirituel_ took place at the theatre of the Tuileries
in 1791.
Louis XVI. and his family fled from Paris on the 28th June, 1791. The
next day, and before the king was brought back to the Tuileries, the
title of the chief lyric theatre was changed, and from the "Académie
_Royale_" became simply the "Opera." At the same time the custom was
introduced of announcing the performers' names, which was evidently an
advantage for the public, and which was also not without its benefit,
for the inferior singers and dancers who, when they unexpectedly made
their appearance to replace their betters, used often to get hissed in a
manner which their own simple want of merit scarcely justified. "_Est ce
que je savais qu'on làcherait le Ponthieu?_" exclaimed an unhappy
ticket-seller one evening, when an indignant amateur rushed out of the
theatre and began to cane the recipient of his ill-spent money. We may
fancy how Ponthieu himself must have been received inside the house.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: MARIE ANTOINETTE.]
By an order of the Committee of Public Safety, dated the 16th of the
September following, the title of the Opera was again changed to
_Académie Royale de Musique_. This was intended as a compliment to the
king, who had signed the Constitution on the 14th, and who was to go to
the Opera six days afterwards. On the 20th the royal visit took place.
"_Castor and Pollux_ was played," says M. Castil Blaze, "and not
_Iphigénie en Aulide_, as is asserted by some ill-informed historians,
who even go so far as to pretend that the chorus _Chantons, célébrons
notre reine_ was, as on another occasion, hailed with transports of
enthusiasm, and that the public called for it a second time. The house
was well filled, but not crammed[68] (_comble_), as is proved by the
amount of the receipts--6,686 livres, 15 sous. The same opera of
Rameau's, vamped by Candeille, had produced 6,857 livres on the 14th of
the preceding June. The representation of _Castor and Pollux_ in
presence of the royal family took place on Tuesday the 20th September,
and not on the 21st, the Wednesday, at that time, not being an opera
night. On the 19th, Monday, the people had assisted at a _special
performance_ of the same work given, gratuitously, in honour of the
Constitution. The Royalists were present in great numbers at the
representation of the 20th September, and some lines which could be
applied to the Queen were loudly applauded. Marie-Antoinette was
delighted, and said to the ladies who accompanied her, "You see that the
people is really good, and wishes only to love us." Encouraged by so
flattering a reception, she determined to go the next night to the
Opéra Comique, but the king refused to accompany her. The piece
performed was _Les Evénements imprévus_. In the duet of the second act,
before singing the words "_Ah comme j'aime ma maitresse_" Madame Dugazon
looked towards the Queen, when a number of voices cried out from the
pit, _Plus de maitresse! Plus de maitre! Vive la liberté!_ This cry was
answered from the boxes with _Vive la reine! Vive le roi!_ Sabres and
sword-sticks were drawn, and a battle began.
[Sidenote: FACTS AND COINCIDENCES.]
The Queen escaped from the theatre in the midst of the tumult. Cries of
_à bas la reine!_ followed her to her carriage, which went off at a
gallop, with mud and stones thrown after it. Marie Antoinette returned
to the Tuileries in despair. On the first of October, fourteen days
afterwards, the title of _Opéra National_ was substituted for that of
_Académie Royale de Musique_. The Constitution being signed, there was
no longer any reason for being civil to Louis XVI. This was the third
change of title in less than four months. The majority of the buffoons,
(M. Castil Blaze still speaks), "who now write histories more or less
Girondist, or romantic of the French Revolution, do not take the trouble
to verify their facts and dates. I have told you simply that the
dauphiness Marie Antoinette made her first appearance at the Opera on
the 16th June, 1773, in company with her husband. Others, more ingenious
no doubt, substitute the 21st January for the 16th June, in order to
establish a sort of fatality by connecting days, months and years. To
prophecy after the event is only too easy, above all, if you take the
liberty of advancing by five months, the day which it is desired to
render fatal. These same buffoons, (says M. Castil Blaze), who now go to
the Opera on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, sometimes on Sunday, think
people have done the same for the last two centuries. As they have not
the slightest suspicion that the evenings of performance at the Académie
Royale were changed in 1817, we find them maundering, paddling,
splashing about, and finally altering figures and days, in order to make
the events of the last century accord with the dates of our own epoch.
That is why we are told that the Royal Family went for the last time to
this theatre on Wednesday, the 21st September, 1791, instead of Tuesday,
the 20th. Indeed how is it possible to go to the Opera on a Tuesday?
That is why it is stated with the most laughable aplomb, that on the
21st October, 1793, _Roland_ was performed, and on the 16th of October
following, the _Siege of Thionville_, the _Offering to Liberty_, and the
ballet of _Telemachus_. Each of these history-writing novelists fills or
empties the house according to his political opinions; applauds the
French people or deplores its blindness; but all the liberalism or
sentiment manufactured by them is thrown away. Monday, the 21st of
January, Wednesday the 16th of October, 1793, not being opera nights at
that time, the Opera did not on those evenings throw open its doors to
the public. On Tuesday, the 22nd of January, the day after the death of
Louie XVI., _Roland_ was represented; the amount of the receipts, 492
livres, 8 sous, proves that the house was empty. No free admissions were
given then. On Tuesday, October the 15th, 1793, the eve of the execution
of Marie Antoinette, the _Siege of Thionville_, the _Offering to
Liberty_, _Telemachus_, in which "_la Citoyenne Perignon_" was to
appear--a forced performance--only produced 3,251 livres. On Friday, the
18th of October, the next day but one after this horrible catastrophe,
_Armide_ and the _Offering to Liberty_--a forced performance and
something more--produced 2,641 livres, which would have filled about a
third of the house."[69]
The 10th August, 1792, was the last day of the French monarchy. On the
Sunday previous, during the Vespers said at the Chapel of the Tuileries
in presence of the king, the singers with one accord tripled the sound
of their voices when they came to the following verse in the
_Magnificat_: _Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles_.
Indignant at their audacity, the royalists thundered forth the _Domine
salvum fac regem_, adding these words with increased energy and
enthusiasm, _et reginam_! The greatest excitement and agitation
prevailed in the Chapel during the rest of the service.
To conclude the list of musical performances which have derived a gloomy
celebrity from their connexion with the last days of Louis XVI., I may
reproduce the programme issued by the directors of the Opéra National,
on the first anniversary of his execution, 21st January, 1794.
IN BEHALF OF AND FOR THE PEOPLE,
GRATIS,
In joyful commemoration of the Death of the Tyrant,
THE NATIONAL OPERA
WILL GIVE TO DAY, 6 PLUVIOSE, YEAR II., OF THE REPUBLIC,
MILTIADES AT MARATHON,
THE SIEGE OF THIONVILLE,
THE OFFERING TO LIBERTY.
[Sidenote: REPUBLICAN CELEBRITIES.]
The Opera under the Republic was directed, until 1792, by four
distinguished _sans culottes_--Henriot, Chaumette, Le Rouxand Hébert,
the last named of whom had once been check-taker at the Académie! The
others know nothing whatever of operatic affairs. The management of the
theatre was afterwards transferred to Francœur, one of the former
directors, associated with Cellérier, an architect; but the dethroned
_impresarii_, accompanied by Danton and other republican amateurs,
constantly made their appearance behind the scenes, and very frequently
did the chief members of the company the honour of supping with them. In
these cases the invitations, as under the ancient régime, proceeded, not
from the artists, but from the artists' patrons; with this difference,
however, that under the republic, the latter never paid the bill. There
was no Duke de Bouillon now testifying his admiration of the vocal art
to the tune of 900,000 francs;[70] there was no Prince de Soubise, to
receive from the united ballet letters of condolence, thanks, and
proposed pecuniary assistance; and if there _had_ been such an
impossible phenomenon as a Count de Lauragais, what, I wonder, would he
not have given to have been able to clear the _coulisses_ of such
abominable intruders as the before named republican chiefs? "The chiefs
of the republic, one and indivisible," says M. Castil Blaze, "were very
fond of moistening their throats. Henriot, Danton, Hébert, Le Roux,
Chaumette, had hardly taken a turn in the _coulisses_ or in the _foyer_,
before they said to such an actor or actress: We are going to your room,
see that we are received properly." A superb collation was brought in.
When the repast was finished and the bottles were empty, the national
convention, the commune of Paris beat a retreat without troubling
itself about the expense. You think, perhaps, that the dancer or the
singer paid for the representatives of the people? Not at all; honest
Mangin, who kept the refreshment room of the theatre, knew perfectly
well that the actors of the Opera were not paid, that they had no sort
of money, not even a rag of an assignat; he made a sacrifice; from
delicacy he did not ask from the artists what he would not have dared to
claim from the sans culottes for fear of the guillotine."
* * * * *
Sometimes the executioner, who, as a public official, had a right to his
entrées, made his appearance behind the scenes, and it is said that in a
facetious mood, he would sometimes express his opinion about the
"execution" of the music. So, I am told, the London hangman went one
night to the pit of Her Majesty's Theatre to hear Jenny Lind, and on
seeing the Swedish nightingale, exclaimed, breathless with admiration
and excitement, "What a throat to scrag!"
* * * * *
[Sidenote: AGREEABLE CRITICS.]
Operatic kings and queens were suppressed by the republic. Not only were
they forbidden to appear on the stage, but even their names were not to
be pronounced behind the scenes, and the expressions _côté du roi_,
_côté de la reine_, were changed into _côté jardin_, _côté cour_, which
at the theatre of the Tuileries indicated respectively the left and
right of the stage, from the stage point of view. At first all pieces in
which kings and queens appeared, were prohibited, but the dramas of
_sans culottes_ origin were so stupid and disgusting, that the republic
was absolutely obliged to return to the old monarchical _répertoire_.
The kings, however, were turned into chiefs; princes and dukes became
representatives of the people; seigneurs subsided into mayors; and
substitutes more or less synonymous, were found for such offensive words
as crown, throne, sceptre, &c. In a new republican version of a lyrical
work represented at the Opera Comique, _le roi_ in one well known line
was replaced by _la loi_, and the vocalist had to declaim _La loi
passait, et le tambour battait aux champs._ A certain voluble executant,
however, is said to have preferred the following emendation: _Le pouvoir
exécutif passait, et le tambour battait aux champs._
The scenes of most of the new operas were laid in Italy, Prussia,
Portugal,--anywhere but in France, where it would have been
indispensable, from a political, and impossible from a poetical, point
of view to make the lovers address one another as _citoyen_,
_citoyenne_.
* * * * *
On the 19th of June, 1793, the directors of the Opera having objected to
give a gratuitous performance of _The Siege of Thionville_, the commune
of Paris issued the following edict:
"Considering that for a long time past the aristocracy has taken refuge
in the administration of various theatres;
"Considering that these gentlemen corrupt the public mind by the pieces
they represent;
"Considering that they exercise a fatal influence on the revolution;
It is decreed that the _Siege of Thionville_ shall be represented gratis
and solely for the amusement of the _sans culottes_, who, to this moment
have been the true defenders of liberty and supporters of democracy."
Soon afterwards it was proposed to shut up the Opera, but Hébert, the
ferocious Hébert, better known as _le père Duchèsne_, undertook its
defence on the ground that it procured subsistence for a number of
families, and "caused the agreeable arts to flourish."
It was thereupon resolved "that the Opera should be encouraged and
defended against its enemies." At the same time the managers Cellérier
and Francœur were arrested as _suspects_. Neither of them was
executed.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: THE "MARATISTES" AGAIN.]
The Opera was now once more placed under the direction of a committee
chosen from among the singers and dancers, who were selected this time,
not by reason of their artistic merit, but solely with reference to
their political principles. Lays, one of the chief managers, was a
furious democrat, and on one occasion insisted on Mademoiselle Maillard
(Gluck's "Armida!") appearing in a procession as the Goddess of Reason.
Mademoiselle Maillard having refused, Chaumette was appealed to. The
arguments he employed were simple but convincing. "Well, _citoyenne_,"
he said, "since you refuse to be a divinity, you must not be astonished
if we treat you _as a mortal_." Fortunately for the poor prima donna,
Mormoro, a member of the Commune of Paris, and a raging "Maratiste"
(which has not quite the same meaning now as in the days of the
"Todistes") claimed the obnoxious part for his unhappy wife. The
beautiful Madame Mormoro was forced to appear in the streets of Paris in
the light and airy costume of an antique Goddess, with the thermometer
at twenty degrees below freezing point! "Reason" not unreasonably wept
with annoyance throughout the ceremony.
* * * * *
Léonard Bourdon, called by those who knew him _Léopard_ Bourdon, used
all his influence, as a distinguished member of the Mountain, to get a
work he had prepared for the Opera produced. His piece was called the
_Tomb of the Impostors_, or _the Inauguration of the Temple of Truth_.
It was printed at the expense of the Republic, but never brought out. In
the first scene the stage represents a church, built with human skulls.
In the sanctuary there is to be a fountain of blood. A woman enters to
confess, the priest behaves atrociously in the confessional, &c., &c.
The scenes and incidents throughout the drama are all in the same style,
and the whole is dedicated in an uncomplimentary epistle to the Pope.
Léopard tormented the directors actors, and actresses, night and day, to
produce his master-piece, and threatened, that if they were not quick
about it, he would have a guillotine erected on the stage.
This threat was not quite so vain as it might seem. A list of twenty-two
persons engaged at the Opera (twenty-two--the fatal number during the
Reign of Terror), had been already drawn up by Hébert, as a sort of
executioner's memorandum. When he was in a good humour he would show it
to the singers and dancers, and say to them with easy familiarity; "I
shall have to send you all to the guillotine some day. Two reasons have
prevented me hitherto; in the first place you are not worth the trouble,
in the second I want you for my amusement." These reasons were not
considered quite satisfactory by the proscribed artists, and Beaupré, a
comic dancer of great talent, contrived by various humorous stratagems
(one of which, and doubtless the most readily forgiven, consisted in
intoxicating Hébert), to gain possession of the fatal list; but the day
afterwards the republican _dilettante_ was always sufficiently recovered
from the effects of his excessive potations to draw up another one
exactly like it.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: DANGEROUS MELODIES.]
At the head of the catalogue of suspected ones figured the name of
Lainez, whom the republicans could not pardon for the energy and
expression with which he had sung the air _Chantez, célébrez votre
reine_, at the last performances of _Iphigénie en Aulide_; and that of
Mademoiselle Maillard, whose crime has been already mentioned. At this
period it was dangerous not only to sing the words, but even to hum or
whistle the music of such airs as the aforesaid _Chantez, célébrez votre
reine_, _O Richard o mon roi!_ _Charmante Gabrielle_, and many others,
among which may be mentioned _Pauvre Jacques_--an adaptation of Dibdin's
_Poor Jack_, in which allusions had been discovered to the fate of Louis
XVI. Indeed, to perform any kind of music might be fatal to the
executant, and thus Mesdemoiselles de Saint Léger, two young ladies
living in Arras, were executed for having played the piano the day that
Valenciennes fell into the hands of the enemy.
* * * * *
Mademoiselle Maillard, much as she detested the republicans, was forced,
on one occasion, to sing a republican hymn. When Lainez complimented her
on the warmth of her expression, the vigour of her execution, she
replied, "I was burning with rage at having to sing to such monsters."
* * * * *
Vestris, the Prince de Guéméné of the Vestris family, he who had been
accused by his father of wishing to produce a misunderstanding between
the Vestrises and the Bourbons, had to dance in a _pas de trois_ as a
_sans culottes_, between two nuns!
Sophie Arnould, accused (and not quite unreasonably), of aristocratic
sympathies, pointed indignantly to a bust of Gluck in her room, and
asked the intelligent agents of the Republic, if it was likely she would
keep the bust of Marat were she not a true republican?
* * * * *
The vocalists of a revolutionary turn of mind would have succeeded
better if they had possessed more talent; but the Parisian public, even
in 1793, was not prepared to accept correctness in politics as an excuse
for inaccuracy in singing. Lefèvre, a sixth tenor, but a bloodthirsty
republican, insisted on being promoted to first characters, and
threatened those whom he wished to replace with denunciations and the
guillotine, if they kept him in a subordinate position any longer.
Lefèvre had his wish gratified in part, but not altogether. He appeared
as _primo tenore_, but was violently hissed by his friends, the _sans
culottes_. He then came out as first bass, and was hissed again. In his
rage he attributed his _fiasco_ to the machinations of the
counter-revolution, and wanted the soldiers to come into the theatre,
and fire upon the infamous accomplices of "Pitt and Coburg."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: AN ATROCIOUS TENOR.]
This bad singer, and worse man, was one of the twelve chiefs of the
National Guard of Paris, and on certain days had the command of the
city. As his military rule was most oppressive, the Parisians used to
punish him for his tyranny as a soldier, by ridiculing his monstrous
defects as a vocalist.
* * * * *
Though the Reign of Terror was a fearful time for artists and art, the
number of playhouses in Paris increased enormously. There were
sixty-three theatres open, and in spite of war, famine, and the
guillotine, they were always full.
* * * * *
In 1794, the opera was transferred to the Rue de la Loi (afterwards Rue
de Richelieu), immediately opposite the National Library. With regard to
this change of locality, let us hear what M. Castil Blaze has to say, in
his own words.
* * * * *
"How was it that the opera was moved to a building exactly opposite the
National Library, so precious and so combustible a repository of human
knowledge? The two establishments were only separated by a street, very
much too narrow: if the theatre caught fire, was it not sure to burn the
library? That is what a great many persons still ask; this question has
been re-produced a hundred times in our journals. Go back to the time
when the house was built by Mademoiselle Montansier; read the _Moniteur
Universel_, and you will see that it was precisely in order to expose
this same library to the happy chances of a fire, that the great lyrical
entertainment was transferred to its neighbourhood. The opera hung over
it, and threatened it constantly. At this time enlightenment abounded
to such a point, that the judicious Henriot, convinced in his innermost
conscience that all reading was henceforth useless, had made a motion to
burn the library. To move the opera to the Rue Richelieu--the opera,
which twice in eighteen years had been a prey to the flames--to place it
exactly opposite our literary treasures, was to multiply to infinity the
chances of their being burnt.'
* * * * *
Mercier, in reference to the literary views of the Committee of Public
Safety, writes in the _Nouveau Paris_, as follows:--
* * * * *
"The language of Omar about the Koran was not more terrible than those
uttered by the members of the committee of public safety when they
expressed their intentions formally, as follows:--'Yes, we will burn all
the libraries, for nothing will be needed but the history of the
Revolution and its laws.'" If the motion of Henriot had been carried,
David, the great Conventional painter was ready to propose that the same
service should be rendered to the masterpieces in the Louvre, as to the
literary wealth of the National Library. Republican subjects, according
to David, were alone worthy of being represented.
[Sidenote: THE OPERA AND THE NATIONAL LIBRARY.]
At one of the sittings of the very council in which Henriot had already
brought forward his motion for burning the Library, Mademoiselle
Montansier was accused of having built the theatre in the Rue Richelieu
with that very design. On the 14th of November, 1793, Chaumette at the
sitting of the Commune of Paris, said--
"I denounce the _Citoyenne_ Montansier. The money of the Englishman[71]
has been largely employed in raising this edifice, and the former queen
gave fifty thousand crowns towards it. I demand that this theatre be
closed on account of the dangers which would result from its catching
fire." Adopted.
Hébert. "I denounce _la demoiselle_ Montansier, personally; I have
information against her. She offered me a box at her new theatre to
procure my silence. I demand that la Montansier be arrested as a
suspicious person." Adopted.
Chaumette. "I demand, moreover, that the actors, actresses and directors
of the Parisian theatres be subjected to the censorship of the council."
Adopted.
After deciding that the theatre in the Rue de la Loi could not be kept
open without imperilling the existence of the National Library, and
after imprisoning Mademoiselle Montansier for having built it, the
Commune of Paris deliberately opened it as an opera house! Mademoiselle
Montansier was, nevertheless, still kept in prison, and remained there
ten months, until after the death of Robespierre.
Mademoiselle Montansier's nocturnal assemblies in the Palais Royal were
equally renowned before and after her arrest. Actors and actresses,
gamblers, poets, representatives of the people, republican generals,
retired aristocrats, conspicuous _sans culottes_, and celebrities of all
kinds congregated there. Art, pleasure, politics, the new opera, the
last execution were alike discussed by Dugazon and Barras, le père
Duchesne and the Duke de Lauzun, Robespierre and Mademoiselle Maillard,
the Chevalier de Saint Georges and Danton, Martainville and the Marquis
de Chanvelin, Lays and Marat, Volange and the Duke of Orleans. From the
names just mentioned, it will be understood that some members of this
interesting society were from time to time found wanting. Their absence
was not much remarked, and fresh notorieties constantly came forward to
fill the places of those claimed by the guillotine.
After Mademoiselle Montansier's liberation from prison, Napoleon
Bonaparte was introduced to her by Dugazon and Barras. His ambition had
not yet been excited, and Barras--who may, nevertheless, have looked
upon him as a possible rival, and one to be dreaded--wished to get up a
marriage between him and the fashionable but now somewhat antiquated
syren of the Palais Royal. Everything went on well for some time. Then a
magnificent dinner was given with the view of bringing the affair to a
conclusion; but Bonaparte was very reserved, and Barras now saw that his
project was not likely to succeed. At a banquet given by Mademoiselle
Montansier, to celebrate the success of the thirteenth Vendémiaire,
Bonaparte proposed a toast in honour of his venerable "intended," and
soon afterwards she married Neuville.
[Sidenote: MADEMOISELLE MONTANSIER.]
Mademoiselle Montansier who had been shamefully cheated, indeed robbed,
by the Convention, hoped to have her claims recognised by the Directory.
Barras offered her one million, six hundred thousand francs. She refused
it, the indemnity she demanded for the losses which she had sustained by
the seizure of her theatre at the hands of the Convention amounting to
seven millions. Napoleon, when first consul, caused the theatre to be
estimated, when its value was fixed at one million three hundred
thousand francs. After various delays, Mademoiselle Montansier received
a partial recognition of her claim, accompanied by an order for payment,
signed by the Emperor at Moscow.
* * * * *
Some readers have, probably, been unable to reconcile two facts
mentioned above with respect to the Opera under the Convention:--1. That
the performers were not paid; and 2. That the public attended the
representations in immense numbers. The explanation is very simple. The
money was stolen by the Commune of Paris. Gardel, the ballet-master,
required fifty thousand francs for the production of a work composed by
himself, on the subject of _William Tell_. Twice was the sum amassed
from the receipts and professedly set apart for the unfortunate _William
Tell_, and twice the money disappeared. It had been devoted to the
requirements of patriots in real life.
* * * * *
Danton, Hébert, Chaumette, Henriot, Robespierre, all administrators of
the Opera; Dubuisson, Fabre d'Eglantine, librettists writing for the
Opera, and both republicans had been executed during the Reign of
Terror. Chamfort, a republican, killed himself to avoid the same fate.
Coquéau, architect, musician, and writer, the author of a number of
musical articles produced during the Gluck and Piccinni contests, was
guillotined in the year II. of the republic.
The musician, Edelman, after bringing a number of persons to the
scaffold, including his patron and benefactor, the Baron de Diétrich,
arrived there himself in 1794, accompanied by his brother.
In the same year Despréaux, leader of the first violins at the opera in
1782, and member of the Revolutionary Tribunal in 1793, killed himself
from remorse.
Altogether, sixteen persons belonging to the opera in various ways
killed themselves, or were executed in 1792, '93, and '94.
After the fall of Robespierre, the royalists for a time ruled the
theatres, and avenged themselves on all actors who had made themselves
conspicuous as revolutionists. Trial, a comic tenor, who had made a very
serious accusation against Mademoiselle Buret, of the Comédie Italienne,
which led to her execution, was forced to sing the _Réveil du Peuple_ on
his knees, amid the execrations of the audience. He sang it, but was
thrown into such a state of agitation that he died from the effects.
Lays, whose favourite part was that of "Oreste," in _Iphigénie en
Tauride_, had, in the course of the opera, to declaim these verses:--
"J'ai trahi l'amitié,
J'ai trahi la nature;
Des plus noirs attentats
J'ai comblé la mesure."
The audience of the Bordeaux theatre considered this confession so
becoming in the mouth of the singer who had to utter it, that Lays took
care not to give them an opportunity a second time of manifesting their
views on the subject. Lays made his next appearance in _Œdipe à
Colone_. As in this opera he had to represent the virtuous Theseus, he
felt sure that the public would not be able to confound him in any
manner with the character he was supporting; but he had to submit to all
sorts of insults during the performance, and at the fall of the curtain
was compelled to begin the _Réveil du Peuple_. After the third verse, he
was told he was unworthy to sing such a song, and was driven from the
stage.
[Sidenote: MADELEINE GUIMARD AGAIN.]
On the 23rd of January, 1796, Mademoiselle Guimard re-appeared at a
performance given for the benefit of aged and retired artists. A number
of veteran connoisseurs came forward on this occasion to see how the
once charming Madeleine looked at the age of fifty-nine. After the
ballet an old _habitué_ of Louis the Fifteenth's time called for a
coach, drove to his lodging, and on getting out, proceeded naturally to
pay the driver the amount of his fare.
"You are joking, my dear Count," said the coachman. "Whoever heard of
Lauragais paying the Chevalier de Ferrière for taking him home in his
carriage?"
"What! is it you?" said the Count de Lauragais.
"Myself!" replied the Chevalier.
The two friends embraced, and the Chevalier de Ferrière then explained
that, when all the royalists were concealing themselves or emigrating,
he had determined to do both. He had assumed the great coat of his
coachman, painted a number over the arms on his carriage, and emigrated
as far as the Boulevard, where he found plenty of customers, and passed
uninjured and unsuspected through the Reign of Terror.
"Where do you live?" said the Count.
"Rue des Tuileries," replied the Chevalier, "and my horses with me. The
poor beasts have shared all my misfortunes."
"Give me the whip and reins, and get inside," cried de Lauragais.
"What for?" inquired the Chevalier.
"To drive you home. It is an act which, as a gentleman, I insist on
performing; a duty I owe to my old companion and friend. Your day's work
is over. To-morrow morning we will go to Sophie's, who expects me to
breakfast."
"Where?"
"At the Hotel d'Angivillier, a caravansary of painters and musicians,
where Fouché has granted her, on the part of the Republic, an apartment
and a pension of two thousand four hundred francs--we should have said a
hundred _louis_ formerly. This is called a national reward for the
eminent services rendered by the _citoyenne_ Arnould to the country, and
to the sovereign people at the Opera. The poor girl was greatly in need
of it."
[Sidenote: SOPHIE ARNOULD AGAIN.]
Fouché had once been desperately in love with Sophie Arnould, and now
pitied her in her distress. Thanks to her influence with the minister,
the Chevalier Ferrière obtained an order, authorizing him to return to
France, though he had never left Paris, except occasionally to drive a
fare to one of the suburbs.
* * * * *
The natural effect of Napoleon's campaigns in Italy was to create among
the French army a taste for Italian music. The First Consul and many of
his generals were passionately fond of it; and a hint from the Tuileries
in 1801 was sufficient to induce Mademoiselle Montansier to engage an
Italian company, which performed for the first time in Paris on the 1st
of May in the same year. The enterprise, however, was not successful;
and in 1803 the directress, who had been arrested before because money
was owing to her, was put in prison for owing money.
If, by taking his troops to Italy, Napoleon was the means of introducing
a taste for Italian music among the French, he provided his country with
Italian singers in a far more direct manner. At Dresden, in 1806, he
was delighted with the performance of Brizzi and Madame Paer in the
opera of _Achille_, composed by the prima donna's husband.
"You sing divinely, Madame Paer," said the emperor. What do they give
you at this theatre?"
"Fifteen thousand francs, Sire."
"You shall receive thirty. M. Brizzi, you shall follow me on the same
terms."
"But we are engaged."
"With me. You see the affair is quite settled. The Prince of Benevento
will attend to the diplomatic part of it."
[Sidenote: NAPOLEON AND PAER.]
Napoleon took away _Achille_, and everything belonging to it; music,
composer, and the two principal singers. The engagement by which the
emperor engaged Paer as composer of his chamber music, was drawn up by
Talleyrand, and bore his signature, approved by Napoleon, and attested
by Maret, the secretary of state. Paer, who had been four years at
Dresden, and who, independently of his contract, was personally much
attached to the king of Saxony, did all in his power to avoid entering
into Napoleon's service. Perhaps, too, he was not pleased at the
prospect of having to follow the emperor about from one battle-field to
another, though by a special article in the engagement offered to him,
he was guaranteed ten francs a post, and thirty-four francs a day for
his travelling expenses. As Paer, in spite of the compliments, and the
liberal terms[72] offered to him by Napoleon, continued to object,
General Clarke told the emperor that he had an excellent plan for
getting over all difficulties, and saving the maestro from any
reproaches of ingratitude which the king of Saxony might otherwise
address to him. This plan consisted in placing Paer in the hands of
_gens d'armes_, and having him conducted from camp to camp wherever the
emperor went. No violence, however, was done to the composer. The king
of Saxony liberated him from his engagement at the Dresden opera, and,
moreover, signified to him that he must either follow Napoleon, or quit
Saxony immediately. It is said that Paer was ceded by a secret treaty
between the two sovereigns, like a fortress, or rather like a province,
as provinces were transferred before the idea of nationality was
invented; that is to say, without the wishes of the inhabitants being in
any way taken into account. The king of Saxony was only too glad that
Napoleon took nothing from him but his singers and musicians.