composer, were ordered to start at once for Warsaw. In the morning, the
emperor would attend to military and state affairs, and perhaps preside
at a battle, for fighting was now going on in the neighbourhood of the
Polish capital. In the evening, he had a concert at head quarters, the
programme of which generally included several pieces by Paisiello.
Napoleon was particularly fond of Paisiello's music, and Paer, who,
besides being a composer, was a singer of high merit, knew a great deal
of it by heart.
Paisiello had been Napoleon's chapel-master since 1801, the emperor
having sent for him to Naples after signing the Concordat with the Pope.
On arriving in Paris, the cunning Italian, like an experienced courtier,
was no sooner introduced to Napoleon than he addressed him as 'sire!'
"'Sire,' what do you mean?" replied the first consul; "I am a general,
and nothing more."
"Well, General," continued the composer, "I have come to place myself at
your majesty's orders."
"I must really beg you," continued Napoleon, "not to address me in this
manner."
"Forgive me, General," answered Paisiello, "but I cannot give up the
habit I have contracted in addressing sovereigns who, compared with you,
seem but pigmies. However, I will not forget your commands, sire; and if
I have been unfortunate enough to offend, I must throw myself upon your
Majesty's indulgence."
[Sidenote: EXPRESSION IN MUSIC.]
Paisiello received ten thousand francs for the mass he wrote for
Napoleon's coronation. Each of the masses for the imperial chapel
brought him one thousand francs. Not much, certainly; but then it must
be remembered that he produced as many as fourteen in two years. They
were for the most part made up of pieces of church music, which the
maestro had written for Italy, and when this fruitful source failed him,
he had recourse to his numerous serious and comic operas. Thus, an air
from the _Nittetti_ was made to do duty as a _Gloria_, another from the
_Scuffiera_ as an _Agnus Dei_. Music depends so much upon association
that, doubtless, only those persons who had already heard these melodies
on the stage, found them at all inappropriate in a church. Figaro's air
in the _Barber of Seville_ would certainly not sound well in a mass; but
there are plenty of love songs, songs expressive of despair (if not of
too violent a kind), songs, in short, of a sentimental and slightly
passionate cast, which only require to be united to religious words to
be at once and thereby endowed with a religious character. Gluck,
himself, who is supposed by many to have believed that music was capable
of conveying absolute, definite ideas, borrowed pieces from his old
Italian operas to introduce into the scores he was writing, on entirely
different subjects, for the Académie Royale of Paris. Thus, he has
employed an air from his _Telemacco_ in the introduction to the overture
of _Iphigénie en Aulide_. The chorus in the latter work, _Que d'attraits
que de majesté_, is founded on the air, _Al mio spirto_, in the same
composer's _Clemenza di Tito_. The overture to Gluck's _Telemacco_
became that of his _Armide_. Music serves admirably to heighten the
effect of a dramatic situation, or to give force and intensity to the
expression of words; but the same music may often be allied with equal
advantage to words of very different shades of meaning. Thus, the same
melody will depict equally well the rage of a baffled conspirator, the
jealousy of an injured and most respectable husband, and various other
kinds of agitation; the grief of lovers about to part, the joy of lovers
at meeting again, and other emotions of a tender nature; the despondency
of a man firmly bent on suicide, the calm devotion of a pious woman
entering a convent, and other feelings of a solemn class. The
signification we discover in music also depends much upon the
circumstances under which it is heard, and to some extent also on the
mood we are in when hearing it.
[Sidenote: TWO PASTICCIOS.]
Under the republic, consulate, and empire, music did not flourish in
France, and not even the imperial Spontini and Cherubini, in spite of
the almost European reputation they for some time enjoyed, produced any
works which will bear comparison with the masterpieces of their
successors, Rossini, Auber, and Meyerbeer. During the dark artistic
period which separates the fall of the monarchy from the restoration, a
few interesting works were produced at the Opera Comique; but until
Napoleon's advent to power, France neglected more than ever the music of
Italy, and did worse than neglect that of Germany, for, in 1793, the
directors of the Academy brought out a version of Mozart's _Marriage of
Figaro_, in five acts, without recitative and with all the prose
dialogue of Beaumarchais introduced. In 1806, too, a _pasticcio_ by
Kalkbrenner, formed out of the music of Mozart's _Don Juan_, with
improvements and additions by Kalkbrenner himself, was performed at the
same theatre. Both these medleys met with the fate which might have been
anticipated for them.
CHAPTER XIV.
OPERA IN ITALY, GERMANY AND RUSSIA, DURING AND IN CONNECTION WITH
THE REPUBLICAN AND NAPOLEONIC WARS. PAISIELLO, PAER, CIMAROSA,
MOZART. THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO. DON GIOVANNI.
Nothing shows better the effect on art of the long continental wars at
the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century than
the fact that Mozart's two greatest works, written for Vienna and Prague
immediately before the French Revolution, did not become known in
England and France until about a quarter of a century after their
production. Fortunate Austria, before the great break up of European
territories and dynasties, possessed the two first musical capitals in
Europe. Opera had already declined in Berlin, and its history, even
under the direction of the flute-playing Frederic, possesses little
interest for English readers after the departure or rather flight of
Madame Mara. Italy was still the great nursery of music, but her maestri
composed their greatest works for foreign theatres, and many of them
were attached to foreign courts. Thus, Paisiello wrote his _Barbiere di
Siviglia_ for St. Petersburgh, whither he had been invited by the
Empress Catherine, and where he was succeeded by Cimarosa. Cimarosa,
again, on his return from St. Petersburgh, wrote his masterpiece, _Il
Matrimonio Segretto_, for the Emperor Leopold II., at Vienna. Of the
Opera at Stockholm, we have heard nothing since the time of Queen
Christina. The Dresden Opera, which, in the days of Handel, was the
first in Europe, still maintained its pre-eminence at the beginning of
the second half of the eighteenth century, when Rousseau published his
"Musical Dictionary," and described at length the composition of its
admirable orchestra. But the state and the resources of the kings of
Saxony declined with the power of Poland, and the Dresden Opera, though,
thanks to the taste which presided at the court, its performances were
still excellent, had quite lost its peculiar celebrity long before
Napoleon came, and carried away its last remaining glories in the shape
of the composer, Paer, and Madame Paer and Brizzi, its two principal
singers.
[Sidenote: PAISIELLO IN RUSSIA.]
The first great musical work produced in Russia, Paisiello's _Barbiere
di Siviglia_, was performed for the first time at St. Petersburgh, in
1780. In this opera work, of which the success soon became European, the
composer entered thoroughly into the spirit of all Beaumarchais's best
scenes, so admirably adapted for musical illustration. Of the solos, the
three most admired were Almaviva's opening romance, Don Basil's _La
Calomnia_, and the air for Don Bartholo; the other favourite pieces
being a comic trio, in which La Jeunesse sneezes, and L'Eveillé yawns in
the presence of the tutor (I need scarcely remark that the personages
just named belong to Beaumarchais's comedy, and that they are not
introduced in Rossini's opera), another trio, in which Rosina gives the
letter to Figaro, a duet for the entry of the tenor in the assumed
character of Don Alonzo, and a quintett, in which Don Basil is sent to
bed, and in which the phrase _buona sera_ is treated with great
felicity.
Pergolese rendered a still greater service to Russia than did Paisiello
by writing one of his masterpieces for its capital, when he took the
young Bortnianski with him from St. Petersburgh to Italy, and there
educated the greatest religious composer that Russia, not by any means
deficient in composers, has yet known.
[Sidenote: A SINGER'S INDISPOSITION.]
We have seen that Paisiello, some years after his return to Italy, was
engaged by Napoleon as chapel-master, and that the services of Paer were
soon afterwards claimed and secured by the emperor as composer of his
chamber music. This was not the first time that Paer had been forced to
alter his own private arrangements in consequence of the very despotic
patronage accorded to music by the victorious leaders of the French
army. In 1799 he was at Udine, where his wife was engaged as _prima
donna_. Portogallo's _la Donna di genio volubile_ was about to be
represented before a large number of the officers under the command of
Bernadotte, when suddenly it appeared impossible to continue the
performance owing to the very determined indisposition of the _primo
basso_. This gentleman had gone to bed in the middle of the day
disguised as an invalid. He declared himself seriously unwell in the
afternoon, and in the evening sent a message to the theatre to excuse
himself from appearing in Portogallo's opera. Paer and his wife
understood what this meant. The performance was for Madame Paer's
benefit; and Olivieri, the perfidious basso, from private pique, had
determined, if possible, to prevent it taking place. Paer's spirit was
roused by the attitude of the _primo buffo_, which was still that of a
man confined to his bed; and he resolved to frustrate his infamous
scheme, which, though simple, appeared certain of success, inasmuch as
no other comic _basso_ was to be found anywhere near Udine. The audience
was impatient, Madame Paer in tears, the manager in despair, when Paer
desired that the performance might begin; saying, that Providence would
send them a basso who would at least know his part, and that in any case
Madame Paer must get ready for the first scene. Madame Paer obeyed the
marital injunction, but in a state of great trepidation; for she had no
confidence in the capabilities of the promised basso, and was not by any
means sure that he even existed. The curtain was about to rise, when the
singer who was to have fallen from the clouds walked quietly on to the
stage, perfectly dressed for the part he was about to undertake, and
without any sign of hesitation on his countenance. The _prima donna_
uttered a cry of surprise, burst into a fit of laughter, and then rushed
weeping into the arms of her husband,--for it was Paer himself who had
undertaken to replace the treacherous Olivieri.
"No," said Madame Paer; "this is impossible! It shall never be said that
I allowed you, a great composer, who will one day be known throughout
Europe, to act the buffoon. No! the performance must be stopped!"
At this moment the final chords of the overture were heard. Poor Madame
Paer resigned herself to her fate, and went weeping on to the stage to
begin a comic duet with her husband, who seemed in excellent spirits,
and commenced his part with so much _verve_ and humour, that the
audience rewarded his exertions with a storm of applause. Paer's gaiety
soon communicated itself to his wife. If Paer was to perform at all, it
was necessary that his performance should outshine that of all possible
rivals, and especially that of the miscreant Olivieri, who was now
laughing between his sheets at the success which he fancied must have
already attended his masterly device. The _prima donna_ had never sung
so charmingly before, but the greatest triumph of the evening was gained
by the new _basso_. Olivieri, who previously had been pronounced
unapproachable in Portogallo's opera, was now looked upon as quite an
inferior singer compared to the _buffo caricato_ who had so
unexpectedly presented himself before the Udine public. Paer, in
addition to his great, natural histrionic ability, knew every note of
_la Donna_. Olivieri had studied only his own part. Paer, in directing
the rehearsals, had made himself thoroughly acquainted with all of them,
and gave a significance to some portions of the music which had never
been expressed or apprehended by his now defeated, routed, utterly
confounded rival.
[Sidenote: A SINGER'S INDISPOSITION.]
At present comes the dark side of the picture. Olivieri, dangerously ill
the night before, was perfectly well the next morning, and quite ready
to resume his part in _la Donna di genio volubile_. Paer, on the other
hand, was quite willing to give it up to him; but both reckoned without
the military connoisseurs of Udine, and above all without Bernadotte,
who arrived the day after Paer's great success, when all the officers of
the staff were talking of nothing else. Olivieri was announced to appear
in his old character; but when the bill was shown to the General, he
declared that the original representative might go back to bed, for that
the only buffo he would listen to was the illustrious Paer. In vain the
director explained that the composer was not engaged as a singer, and
that nothing but the sudden indisposition of Olivieri would have induced
him to appear on the stage at all. Bernadotte swore he would have Paer,
and no one else; and as the unfortunate _impresario_ continued his
objections, he was ordered into arrest, and informed that he should
remain in prison until the _maestro_ Paer undertook once more the part
of "Pippo" in Portogallo's opera.
The General then sent a company of grenadiers to surround Paer's house;
but the composer had heard of what had befallen the manager, and,
foreseeing his own probable fate, if he remained openly in Udine, had
concealed himself, and spread a report that he was in the country.
Lancers and hussars were dispatched in search of him, but naturally
without effect. In the supposed absence of Paer, the army was obliged to
accept Olivieri; and when six or seven representations of the popular
opera had taken place and the military public had become accustomed to
Olivieri's performance of the part of "Pippo," Paer came forth from his
hiding place and suffered no more from the warlike dilettanti-ism of
Bernadotte.
[Sidenote: MADAME FODOR AND THE COW.]
There would be no end to my anecdotes if I were to attempt to give a
complete list of all those in which musicians and singers have been made
to figure in connection with all sorts of events during the last great
continental war. The great vocalists, and many of the great composers of
the day, continued to travel about from city to city, and from court to
court, as though Europe were still in a state of profound peace.
Sometimes, as happened once to Paer, and was nearly happening to him a
second time, they were taken prisoners; or they found themselves shut up
in a besieged town; and a great _cantatrice_, Madame Fodor, who chanced
to be engaged at the Hamburg opera when Hamburg was invested, was
actually the cause of a _sortie_ being made in her favour. On one
occasion, while she was singing, the audience was disturbed by a cannon
ball coming through the roof of the theatre and taking its place in the
gallery; but the performances continued nevertheless, and the officers
and soldiers of the garrison continued to be delighted with their
favourite vocalist. Madame Fodor, however, on her side, was beginning to
get tired of her position; not that she cared much about the bombardment
which was renewed from time to time, but because the supply of milk had
failed, cows and oxen having been alike slaughtered for the sustenance
of the beleaguered garrison. Without milk, Madame Fodor was scarcely
able to sing; at least, she had so accustomed herself to drink it every
evening during the intervals of performance, that she found it
inconvenient and painful to do without it. Hearing in what a painful
situation their beloved vocalist found herself, the French army
gallantly resolved to remedy it without delay. The next evening a
_sortie_ was effected, and a cow brought back in triumph. This cow was
kept in the property and painting room in the theatre, above the stage,
and was lowered like a drop scene, to be milked whenever Madame Fodor
was thirsty. So, at least, says the operatic anecdote on the subject,
though it would perhaps have been a more convenient proceeding to have
sent some trustworthy person to perform the milking operation up stairs.
In any case, the cow was kept carefully shut up and under guard.
Otherwise the animal's life would not have been safe, so great was the
scarcity of provision in Hamburg at the time, and so great the general
hunger for beef of any kind.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: THE D'ENTRAIGUES' MURDER.]
Madame Huberti, after flying from Paris during the Reign of Terror,
married the Count d'Entraigues, and would seem to have terminated her
operatic career happily and honourably; but she was destined some years
afterwards to die a horrible death. The countess always wore the order
of St. Michael, which had been given to her by the then unacknowledged
Louis XVIII., in token of the services she had rendered to the royalist
party, by enabling her husband to escape from prison and preserving his
portfolio which contained a number of political papers of great
importance. The Count afterwards entered the service of Russia, and was
entrusted by the government with several confidential missions. Hitherto
he had been working in the interest of the Bourbons against Napoleon;
but when the French emperor and the emperor Alexander formed an
alliance, after the battles of Eylau and Friedland, he seems to have
thought that his connexion with Russia ought to terminate. However this
may have been, he found means to obtain a copy of the secret articles
contained in the treaty of Tilsit[73] and hastened to London to
communicate them to the English government. For this service he is said
to have received a pension, and he now established himself in England,
where he appears to have had continual relations with the foreign
office. The French police heard how the Count d'Entraigues was employed
in London, and Fouché sent over two agents to watch him and intercept
his letters. These emissaries employed an Italian refugee, to get
acquainted with and bribe Lorenzo, the Count's servant, who allowed his
compatriot to read and even to take copies of the despatches frequently
entrusted to him by his master to take to Mr. Canning. He, moreover,
gave him a number of the Count's letters to and from other persons. One
evening a letter was brought to M. d'Entraigues which obliged him to go
early the next morning from his residence at Barnes to London. Lorenzo
had observed the seal of the foreign office on the envelope, and saw
that his treachery would soon be discovered. Everything was ready for
the journey, when he stabbed his master, who fell to the ground mortally
wounded. The Countess was getting into the carriage. To prevent her
charging him with her husband's death, the servant also stabbed her, and
a few moments afterwards, in confusion and despair, blew his own brains
out with a pistol which he in the first instance appears to have
intended for M. d'Entraigues. This horrible affair occurred on the 22nd
of July, 1812.
Nothing fatal happened to Madame Colbran, though she was deeply mixed up
with politics, her name being at one time quite a party word among the
royalists at Naples. Those who admired the king made a point of
admiring his favourite singer. A gentleman from England asked a friend
one night at the Naples theatre how he liked the vocalist in question.
"Like her? I am a royalist," was the reply.
When the revolutionists gained the upper hand, Madame Colbran was
hissed; but the discomfiture of the popular party was always followed by
renewed triumphs for the singer.
Madame Colbran must not lead us on to her future husband, Rossini, whose
epoch has not yet arrived. The mention of Paer's wife has already taken
us far away from the composers in vogue at the end of the eighteenth
century.
[Sidenote: IL MATRIMONIO SEGRETTO.]
Two of the three best comic operas ever produced, _Le Nozze di Figaro_
and _Il Matrimonio Segretto_ (I need scarcely name Rossini's _Il
Barbiere di Siviglia_ as the third), were written for Vienna within six
years (1786-1792), and at the special request of emperors of Germany.
Cimarosa was returning from St. Petersburgh when Leopold II., Joseph the
Second's successor, detained him at Vienna, and invited him to compose
something for his theatre. The _maestro_ had not much time, but he did
his best, and the result was, _Il Matrimonio Segretto_. The Emperor was
delighted with the work, which seemed almost to have been improvised,
and gave the composer twelve thousand francs, or, as some say, twelve
thousand florins; in either case, a very liberal sum for the period when
Cimarosa, Paisiello and Gughelmi had mutually agreed, whatever more
they might receive for their operas, never to take less than two
thousand four hundred francs.
The libretto of _Il Matrimonio Segretto_, by Bertatti, is imitated from
that of a forgotten French operetta, _Sophie ou le Mariage Caché_, which
is again founded on Garrick and Coleman's _Clandestine Marriage_. The
Emperor Leopold was unable to be present at the first performance of
Cimarosa's new work, but he heard of its enormous success, and
determined not to miss a note at the second representation. He was in
his box before the commencement of the overture, and listened to the
performance throughout with the greatest attention, but without
manifesting any opinion as to the merits of the music. As the Sovereign
did not applaud, the brilliant audience who had assembled to hear _Il
Matrimonio_ a second time, were obliged, by court etiquette, to remain
silent without giving the slightest expression to the delight the music
afforded them. This icy reception was very different to the one obtained
by the opera the night before, when the marks of approbation from all
parts of the house had been of the most enthusiastic kind. However, when
the piece was at an end, the Emperor rose and said aloud--
"Bravo, Cimarosa, bravissimo! The whole opera is admirable, delightful,
enchanting. I did not applaud that I might not lose a single note of
this masterpiece. You have heard it twice, and I must have the same
pleasure before I go to bed. Singers and musicians, pass into the next
room! Cimarosa will come too, and will preside at the banquet prepared
for you. When you have had sufficient rest we will begin again. I
_encore_ the whole opera, and, in the mean while, let us applaud it as
it deserves." Leopold clapped his hands, and for some minutes the whole
theatre resounded with plaudits. After the banquet, the entire opera was
repeated.
The only other example of such an occurrence as the above is to be found
in the career of Terence, whose _Eunuchus_ on its first production, was
performed twice the same day, or, rather, once in the morning, and once
in the evening.
A similar amount of success obtained by Paer's _Laodicea_ had quite an
opposite result; for, as nearly the whole opera was encored, piece by
piece, it was found impossible to conclude it the same evening, and the
performance of the last act was postponed until the next night.
Mozart's _Nozze di Figaro_, produced six years before the _Matrimonio
Segretto_, was far less justly appreciated,--indeed, at Vienna, was not
appreciated at all. This admirable work, so full of fresh spontaneous
melody, and of rich, varied harmony was actually hissed by the Viennese!
They even hissed _Non piu andrai_, which seems equally calculated to
delight the educated and the most uneducated ear. Mozart has made
allusion to this almost incredible instance of bad taste very happily
and ingeniously in the supper scene of _Don Giovanni_.
[Sidenote: MOZART AND JOSEPH II.]
Joseph II. cared only for Italian music, and never gave his entire
approbation to anything Mozart produced, though the musicians of the
period acknowledged him to be the greatest composer in Europe.
"It is too fine for our ears," said the presumptuous Joseph, speaking to
Mozart of the _Seraglio_. "Seriously, I think there are too many notes."
"Precisely the proper number," replied the composer.
The Emperor rewarded his frankness by giving him only fifty ducats for
his opera.[74]
Nevertheless, the _Seraglio_ had caused the success of one of the
emperor's favourite enterprises. It was the first work produced at the
German Opera, established by Joseph II., at Vienna. Until that time,
Italian opera predominated everywhere; indeed, German opera, that is to
say, lyric dramas in the German language, set to music by German
composers, and sung by German singers, could not be said to exist. There
were a number of Italian musicians living at Vienna who were quite aware
of Mozart's superiority, and hated him for it; the more so, as by taking
such an important part in the establishment of the German Opera, he
threatened to diminish the reputation of the Italian school. The
_Entführung aus dem Serail_ was the first blow to the supremacy of
Italian opera. Der _Schauspieldirector_ was the second, and when, after
the production of this latter work at the new German theatre of Vienna,
Mozart proceeded to write the _Nozze di Figaro_ for the Italians, he
simply placed himself in the hands of his enemies. At the first
representation, the two first acts of the _Nozze_ were so shamefully
executed, that the composer went in despair to the emperor to denounce
the treachery of which he was being made the victim. Joseph had detected
the conspiracy and was nearly as indignant as Mozart himself. He sent a
severe message round to the stage, but the harm was now done, and the
remainder of the opera was listened to very coldly. _Le Nozze di Figaro_
failed at Vienna, and was not appreciated, did not even get a fair
hearing, until it was produced some months afterwards at Prague. The
Slavonians of Bohemia showed infinitely more good taste and intelligence
than the Germans (led away and demoralized, however, by an Italian
clique) at Vienna. At Prague, _le Nozze di Figaro_ caused the greatest
enthusiasm, and Mozart replied nobly to the sympathy and admiration of
the Bohemians. "These good people," he said, "have avenged me. They know
how to do me justice, I must write something to please them." He kept
his word, and the year afterwards gave them the immortal _Don Giovanni_.
[Sidenote: MOZART AND SALIERI.]
At the head of the clique which had sworn eternal enmity to Mozart, was
Salieri, a musician with a sort of Pontius Pilate reputation, owing his
infamous celebrity to the fact that his name is now inseparably coupled
with that of the sublime composer whom he would have destroyed. Salieri
(whom we have met with before in Paris as the would-be successor of
Gluck) was the most learned of the Italian composers at that time
residing in Vienna; and, therefore, must have felt the greatness of
Mozart's genius more profoundly than any of the others. When _Don
Giovanni_, after its success at Prague, was produced at Vienna, it was
badly put on the stage, imperfectly rehearsed, and represented
altogether in a very unsatisfactory manner. Nor, with improved execution
did the audience show any disposition to appreciate its manifold
beauties. Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ was quite eclipsed by the _Assur_ of
his envious and malignant rival.
"I will leave it to psychologists to determine," says M.
Oulibicheff,[75] "whether the day on which Salieri triumphed publicly
over Mozart, was the happiest or the most painful of his life. He
triumphed, indeed, thanks to the ignorance of the Viennese, to his own
skill as a director, (which enabled him to render the work of his rival
scarcely recognisable), and to the entire devotion of his subordinates.
He must have been pleased; but Salieri was not only envious, he was also
a great musician. He had read the score of _Don Giovanni_, and you know
that the works one reads with the greatest attention are those of one's
enemies. With what admiration and despair it must have filled the heart
of an artist who was even more ambitious of true glory than of mere
renown! What must he have felt in his inmost soul! And what serpents
must again have crawled and hissed in the wreath of laurel which was
placed on his head! In spite of the fiasco of his opera, which he seems
to have foreseen, and to which, at all events, he resigned himself with
great calmness, Mozart, doubtless, more happy than his conqueror, added
a few 'numbers,' each a masterpiece to his score. Four new pieces were
written for it, at the request of the Viennese singers."
M. Oulibicheff's compatriot Poushkin has written an admirable study on
the subject presented above in a few suggestive phrases by Mozart's
biographer. Unfortunately, it is impossible in these volumes to find a
place for the Russian poet's "Mozart and Salieri."
After the failure of _Don Giovanni_ at Vienna, a number of persons were
speaking of it in a room where Haydn and the principal connoisseurs of
the place were assembled. Every one agreed in pronouncing it a most
estimable work, but, also, every one had something to say against it. At
last, Haydn, who, hitherto, had not spoken a word, was asked to give his
opinion.
"I do not feel myself in a position to decide this dispute," he
answered. "All I know and can assure you of is that Mozart is the
greatest composer of our time."
[Sidenote: DON GIOVANNI.]
As Salieri's _Assur_ completely eclipsed _Don Giovanni_, so, previously,
did Martini's _Cosa Rara_, the _Nozze di Figaro_. Both these phenomena
manifested themselves at Vienna, and the reader has already been
reminded that the fate of the _Nozze di Figaro_ is alluded to in _Don
Giovanni_. All the airs played by the hero's musicians in the supper
scene are taken from the operas which were most in vogue when Mozart
produced his great work; such as _La Cosa Rara_, _Frà due Litiganti
terzo gode_, and _I Pretendenti Burlati_. Leporello calls attention to
the melodies as the orchestra on the stage plays them, and when, to
terminate the series, the clarionets strike up _Non piu andrai_, he
exclaims _Questo lo conosco pur troppo!_ "I know this one only too
well!" With the exception of _Non piu andrai_, which the Viennese could
not tolerate the first time they heard it, none of the airs introduced
in the _Don Giovanni_ supper scene would be known in the present day,
but for _Don Giovanni_.
* * * * *
_Don Giovanni_, composed by Mozart to _Da Ponte's_ libretto (which is
founded on Molière's _Festin de Pierre_, which is imitated from Tirso di
Molina's _El Burlador di Siviglia_, which seems to have had its origin
in a very ancient legend[76]), was produced at Prague, on the 4th of
November, 1787. The subject had already been treated in a ballet, in
four acts, for which Gluck wrote the music (produced at Parma in 1758;
and long before the production of Mozart's _Don Giovanni_, it had been
dramatised in some shape or other in almost every country in Europe, and
especially in Spain, Italy, and France, where several versions of the
Italian _Il Convitato di Pietra_ were being played, when Molière first
brought out his so-called _Festin de Pierre_. The original cast of _Don
Giovanni_ at Prague was as follows:--
_Donna Anna_, Teresa Saporiti.
_Elvira_, Catarina Micelli.
_Zerlina_, Madame Bondini (Catarina Saporiti).
_Don Giovanni_, Bassi (Luigi).
_Ottavio_, Baglioni (Antonio).
_Leporello_, Ponziani (Felice).
_Don Pedro_, Lolli (Guiseppe).
_Masetto_, the same.
Righini, of Bologna, had produced his opera of _Don Giovanni, ossia il
Convitato di Pietra_, at Prague, only eight years before, for which
reason the title of _Il Dissoluto Punito_ was given to Mozart's work. It
was not until some years afterwards that it received the name by which
it is now universally known.
[Sidenote: DON GIOVANNI.]
Although the part of _Don Giovanni_ was written for a baritone, tenors,
such as Tacchinardi and Garcia, have often played it, and frequently
with greater success than the majority of baritones have obtained. But
no individual success of a favourite singer can compensate for the
transpositions and changes that have to be effected in Mozart's
masterpiece, when the character of the hero is assigned to a vocalist
who cannot execute the music which of right belongs to it. It has been
said that Mozart wrote the part of _Don Giovanni_ for a baritone,
because it so happened that the baritone at the Prague theatre, Bassi,
was the best singer of the company; but it is not to be imagined that
the musical characterization of the personages in the most truly
dramatic opera ever written, was the result of anything but the
composer's well-considered design. "_Don Giovanni_ was not intended for
Vienna, but for Prague," Mozart is reported to have said. "The truth,
however, is," he added, "that I wrote it for myself, and a few friends."
Accordingly, the great composer was not thinking of Bassi at the time.
It would be easy, moreover, to show, that though the most feminine of
male voices may suit the ordinary _jeune premier_, or _premier
amoureux_, there is nothing tenor-like in the temperament of a _Don
Giovanni_; deceiving all women, defying all men, breaking all laws,
human and divine, and an unbeliever in everything--even in the power of
equestrian statues to get off their horses, and sit down to supper.
[Sidenote: DON GIOVANNI.]
But, let us not consider whether or not _Fin ch' han dal vino_ is
improved by being sung (as tenor _Don Giovannis_ sometimes sing it) a
fourth higher than it was written by Mozart; or whether it is tolerable
that the concerted pieces in which _Don Giovanni_ takes part should be,
not transposed (for that would be insufficient, or, rather, would
increase the difficulties of execution) but so altered, that in some
passages the original design of the composer is entirely perverted. Let
us simply repeat the maxim, on which it is impossible to lay too much
stress, that the work of a great master should not be touched,
re-touched, or in any manner interfered with, under any pretext. There
is, absolutely, no excuse for managers mutilating _Don Giovanni_; not
even the excuse that in its original form this inexhaustible opera does
not "draw." It has already lived, and with full, unfailing life, for
three-quarters of a century. It has survived all sorts of revolutions in
taste, and especially in musical taste. There are now no Emperors of
Germany. Prague has become a third-rate city. That German Opera, which
Mozart originated with his _Entführung aus dem Serail_, has attained a
grand development, and among its composers has numbered Beethoven,
Weber, and the latter's follower, and occasional imitator, Meyerbeer.
Rossini has appeared with his seductive melody, and his brilliant,
sonorous orchestra. But justice is still--more than ever--done to
Mozart. The verdict of Prague is maintained; and this year, as ten,
twenty, forty years ago, if the manager of the Italian Opera of London,
Paris, or St. Petersburgh, has had for some time past a series of empty
houses, he takes an opera, seventy-four years of age, and which,
according to all ordinary musical calculations, ought long since to have
had, at least, one act in the grave, dresses it badly, puts it badly on
the stage, with such scenery as would be thought unworthy of Verdi, and
hazardous for Meyerbeer, announces _Don Giovanni_, and every place in
the theatre is taken!
* * * * *
Although Mozart's genius was fully acknowledged by the greatest
musicians, among his contemporaries (the reader already knows what Haydn
said of him, and what Cimarosa replied when he was addressed as his
superior), his music found an echo in the hearts of only a very small
portion of the ordinary public. Admired at Prague, condemned at Vienna,
unknown in the rest of Europe, it may be said, with only too much truth,
that Mozart's master-pieces, speaking generally, met with no recognition
until after his death; with no fitting recognition until long
afterwards. From the slow, strong, oak-like growth of Mozart's fame, now
flourishing, and still increasing every day, we may see, not for his
name alone, but for his music, a continued celebrity and popularity,
which will probably endure as long as our modern civilization. I have
already spoken of the effects of the last general war in checking
literary and artistic communication between the nations of Europe. This
will, in part, account for Mozart's master-piece not having been
performed at the Italian Opera of Paris until 1811, nor in London until
after the peace, in 1817. In the Paris cast, the part of _Don Giovanni_
was assigned to a tenor, Tacchinardi; and when the opera was revived at
the same theatre (which was not until nine years afterwards),
Tacchinardi was replaced by Garcia.
The first "Don Giovanni" who appeared in London, was the celebrated
baritone, Ambrogetti. Among the other distinguished singers who have
appeared as "Don Giovanni," with great success, may be mentioned
Nourrit, the tenor; Lablache (in 1832), before he had identified himself
with the part of "Leporello;" Tamburini, and I suppose I must now add,
Mario; though this great artist has been seen and heard to more
advantage in other characters. The last great "Don Giovanni" known to
the present generation was Signor Tamburini. It is a remarkable fact,
well worth the consideration of managers, who are inclined to take
liberties with Mozart's master-piece, that when Garcia, the tenor,
appeared in London as "Don Giovanni," after Ambrogetti, the baritone, he
produced comparatively but little effect; though Garcia was one of the
most accomplished musicians, and, probably, the very best singer of his
day.
Without going back again to the original cast, I may notice among the
most celebrated Donna Annas, Madame Ronzi de Begnis, Mademoiselle
Sontag, Madame Grisi, Mademoiselle Sophie Cruvelli, and Mademoiselle
Titiens.
Among the Zerlinas, Madame Fodor, Madame Malibran, Madame Persiani[77],
and Madame Bosio.
[Sidenote: DON GIOVANNI.]
Among the Don Ottavios, Rubini and Mario.
Porto is said to have been particularly admirable as Masetto, and
Angrisani and Angelini as the commandant.
Certainly, no one living has heard a better Leporello than Lablache.
Mr. Ebers tells us, in his "Seven Years of the King's Theatre," that
_Don Giovanni_ was brought out by Mr. Ayrton in 1817, "in opposition to
a vexatious cabal," and "in despite of difficulties of many kinds which
would have deterred a less decided and persevering manager."
Nevertheless, "it filled the boxes and benches of the theatre for the
whole season, and restored to a flourishing condition the finances of
the concern, which were in an almost exhausted state."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: DIPLOMATISTS AND DANCERS.]
The war, so injurious to the Opera, had a still more disastrous effect
on the ballet, a fact for which we have the authority of the manager and
author from whom I have just quoted. "The procrastinated war," says Mr.
Ebers, "which, until the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, had kept England and
France in hostilities, had rendered the importation of dancers from the
latter country almost impracticable." Mr. Waters, Mr. Ebers'
predecessor, had repeatedly endeavoured to prevail on French dancers to
come to England, "either with the _congés_, if attainable, or by such
clandestine means as could be carried into effect." He failed; and we
are told that his want of success in this respect was one cause of the
disagreement between himself and the committee of the theatre, which led
soon afterwards to his abandoning the management. Mr. Ebers, however,
testifies from his own experience to the almost insuperable difficulty
of inducing the directors of the French Opera to cede any of their
principal performers even for a few weeks to the late enemies of their
country. When the dancers were willing to accept the terms offered to
them, it was impossible to obtain leave from the minister entrusted with
the supreme direction of operatic affairs; if the minister was willing,
then objections came from the ballet itself. It was necessary to secure
the aid of the highest diplomatists, and the engagement of a few first
dancers and _coryphées_ was made as important an affair as the signing
of a treaty of commerce. The special envoy, the Cobden of the affair,
was Monsieur Boisgerard, an ex-officer in the French army under the
Bourbons, and actually the second ballet-master of the King's Theatre;
but all official correspondence connected with the negotiation had to be
transmitted through the medium of the English ambassador at Paris to the
Baron de la Ferté. Boisgerard arrived in Paris furnished with letters of
introduction from the five noblemen who at that time formed a "committee
of superintendence" to aid Mr. Ebers in the management of the King's
Theatre, and directed all his attention and energy towards forming an
engagement with Bigottini and Noblet, the principal _danseuses_, and
Albert, the _premier danseur_ of the French Opera. In spite of his
excellent recommendations, of the esteem in which he was himself held by
his numerous friends in Paris, and of the interest of a dancer named
Deshayes, who appears to have readily joined in the conspiracy, and who
was afterwards rewarded for his aid with a lucrative engagement as first
ballet-master at the London Opera House--in spite of all these
advantages it was impossible, for some time, to obtain any concessions
from the Académie. To begin with, Bigottini, Noblet and Albert refused
point blank to leave Paris. M. Boisgerard, however, as a ballet-master
and a man of the world, understood that this was intended only as an
invitation for larger offers; and finally all three were engaged,
conditionally on their _congés_ being obtained from the directors of the
theatre. Now the real difficulty began; now the influence of the five
English noblemen was brought to bear; now despatches were interchanged
between the British ambassador in Paris and the Baron de la Ferté,
intendant of the royal theatres; now consultations took place between
the said intendant and the Viscount de la Rochefoucault, aide-de-camp of
the king, entrusted with the department of fine arts in the ministry of
the king's household; and between the said artistic officer of the
king's household and Duplanty, the administrator of the Royal Academy of
Music, and of the Italian Opera. The result of all this negotiation
was, that the administration first hesitated and finally refused to
allow Mademoiselle Bigottini to visit England on any terms; but, after
considerable trouble, the French agents in the service of Mr. Ebers
obtained permission for Albert and Noblet to accept engagements for two
months,--it being further arranged that, at the expiration of that
period, they should be replaced by Coulon and Fanny Bias. Albert was to
receive fifty pounds for every night of performance, and twenty-five
pounds for his travelling expenses. Noblet's terms were five hundred and
fifty pounds for the two months, with twenty-five pounds for expenses.
Coulon and Bias were each to receive the same terms as Noblet. Three
other dancers, Montessu, Lacombe, and Mademoiselle de Varennes, were at
the same time given over to Mr. Ebers for an entire season, and he was
allowed to retain all his prisoners--that is to say, those members of
the Académie, with Mademoiselle Mélanie at their head, whom previous
managers had taken from the French prior to the friendly and pacific
embassy of M. Boisgerard. An attempt was made to secure the services of
Mademoiselle Elisa, but without avail. M. and Mademoiselle Paul entered
into an agreement, but the administration refused to ratify it;
otherwise, with a little encouragement, Mr. Ebers would probably have
engaged the entire ballet of the Académie Royale.
[Sidenote: MADEMOISELLE NOBLET.]
Male dancers have, I am glad to think, never been much esteemed in
England; and Albert, though successful enough, produced nothing like the
same impression in London which he was in the habit of causing in
Paris. Mademoiselle Noblet's dancing, on the other hand, excited the
greatest enthusiasm, and the subscribers made all possible exertions to
obtain a prolongation of her _congé_ when the time for her return to the
Académie arrived. Noblet's performance in the ballet of _Nina_ (of which
the subject is identical with that of Paisiello's opera of the same
name) is said to have been particularly admirable, especially for the
great dramatic talent which she exhibited in pourtraying the heroine's
melancholy madness. _Nina_ was announced for Mademoiselle Noblet's
benefit, on a night not approved by the Lord Chamberlain--either because
it interfered with some of the court regulations, or for some other
reason not explained. The secretary to the committee of the Opera was
directed to address a letter to the Chamberlain, representing to him how
inconvenient it would be to postpone the benefit, as the _congé_ of the
_bénéficiaire_ was now on the point of expiring. Lord Hertford, with
becoming politeness, wrote the following letter, which shows with what
deep interest the graceful dancer inspired even those who knew her only
by reputation. The letter was addressed to the Marquis of Ailesbury, one
of the members of the operatic committee.
"MY DEAR LORD,--I have this moment (eleven o'clock) received your
letter, which I have sent to the Chamberlain's office to Mr. Mash;
and as Mademoiselle Noblet is a very pretty woman as I am told, I
hope she will call there to assist in the solicitation which
interests her so much. Not having been for many years at the opera,
except for the single purpose of attending his majesty, I am no
judge of the propriety of her request or the objections which may
arise to the postponement of her benefit for one day at so short a
notice. I hope the fair solicitress will be prepared with an answer
on this part of the subject, as it is always my wish to accommodate
you; and I remain most sincerely your very faithful servant,
"INGRAM HERTFORD."
"Manchester Square,
_April 29th, 1821_."
Mademoiselle Noblet's benefit having taken place, the subscribers,
horrified at the notion that they had now, perhaps, seen her for
the last time, determined, in spite of all obstacles, in spite even
of the very explicit agreement between the director of the King's
Theatre and the administration of the Académie Royale, that she
should remain in London. The _danseuse_ was willing enough to
prolong her stay, but the authorities at the French Opera
protested. The Academy of Music was not going to be deprived in
this way of one of the greatest ornaments of its ballet, and the
Count de Caraman, on behalf of the Academy, called on the committee
to direct Mr. Ebers to send over to Paris, without delay, the
performers whose _congés_ were now at an end. The members of the
committee replied that they had only power to interfere as regarded
the choice of operas and ballets, and that they had nothing to do
with agreements between the manager and the performers. They added,
"that they had certainly employed their influence with the English
ambassador at Paris at the commencement of the season, to obtain
the best artists from that city; but it appearing that the Academy
was not disposed to grant _congés_ for London, even to artists, for
whose services the Academy had no occasion, the committee had
determined not again to meddle in that branch of the management."
[Sidenote: TERPSICHOREAN TREATY.]
The French now sent over an ambassador extraordinary, the Baron de la
Ferté himself, to negotiate for the restoration of the deserters. It was
decided, however, that they should be permitted to remain until the end
of the season; and, moreover, that two first and two second dancers
should be allowed annually to come to London, but only under the precise
stipulations contained in the following treaty, which was signed between
Mr. Ebers, on the one hand, and M. Duplantys on the part of Viscount de
la Rochefoucault, on the other.
"The administration of the Theatre of the Royal Academy of Music,
wishing to facilitate to the administration of the theatre of London,
the means of making known the French artists of the ballet without this
advantage being prejudicial to the Opera of Paris;
"Consents to grant to Mr. Ebers for each season, the first commencing on
the 10th of January, and ending the 20th of April, and the second
ending the 1st of August, two first dancers, two _figurants_, and two
_figurantes_; but in making this concession, the administration of the
Royal Academy of Music reserves the right of only allowing those dancers
to leave Paris to whom it may be convenient to grant a _congé_; this
rule applies equally to the _figurants_ and _figurantes_. None of them
can leave the Paris theatre except by the formal permission of the
authorities.
"And in return for these concessions, Mr. Ebers promises to engage no
dancer until he has first obtained the necessary authorization in
accordance with his demand.
"He engages not under any pretext to keep the principal dancers a longer
time than has been agreed without a fresh permission, and above all, to
make them no offers with the view of enticing them from their permanent
engagements with the French authorities.
"The present treaty is for the space of * * *.
"In case of Mr. Ebers failing in one of the articles of the said treaty,
the whole treaty becomes null and void."
[Sidenote: BOISGERARD IN THE TEMPLE.]
[Sidenote: MARIA MERCANDOTTI.]
The prime mover in the diplomatic transactions which had the effect of
securing Mademoiselle Noblet far the London Opera was, as I have said,
the ballet master, Boisgerard, formerly an officer in the French army.
In a chapter which is intended to show to some extent the effect on
opera of the disturbed state of Europe consequent on the French
Revolution, it will, perhaps, not be out of place to relate a very
daring exploit performed by the said M. Boisgerard, which was the cause
of his adopting an operatic career. "This gentleman," says Mr. Ebers, in
the account published by him of his administration of the King's Theatre
from 1821 to 1828, "was a Frenchman of good extraction, and at the
period of the French Revolution, was attached to the royal party. When
Sir Sidney Smith was confined in the Temple, Boisgerard acted up to his
principles by attempting, and with great personal risk, effecting the
escape of that distinguished officer, whose friends were making every
effort for his liberation. Having obtained an impression of the seal of
the Directorial Government, he affixed it to an order, forged by
himself, for the delivery of Sir Sidney Smith into his care. Accompanied
by a friend, disguised like himself, in the uniform of an officer of the
revolutionary army, he did not scruple personally to present the
fictitious document to the keeper of the Temple, who, opening a small
closet, took thence some original document, with the writing and seal of
which, he carefully compared the forged order. Desiring the adventurers
to wait a few minutes, he then withdrew, and locked the door after him.
Giving themselves up for lost, the confederate determined to resist,
sword in hand, any attempt made to secure them. The period which thus
elapsed, may be imagined as one of the most horrible suspense to
Boisgerard and his companion; his own account of his feelings at the
time was extremely interesting. Left alone, and in doubt whether each
succeeding moment might not be attended by a discovery involving the
safety of his life, the acuteness of his organs of sense was heightened
to painfulness; the least noise thrilled through his brain, and the
gloomy apartment in which he sat seemed filled with strange images. They
preserved their self-possession, and, after the lapse of a few minutes,
their anxiety was determined by the re-appearance of the gaoler,
accompanied by his captive, who was delivered to Boisgerard. But here a
new and unlooked for difficulty occurred; Sir Sidney Smith, not knowing
Boisgerard, refused, for some time, to quit the prison; and considerable
address was required on the part of his deliverers to overcome his
scruples. At last, the precincts of the Temple were cleared; and, after
going a short distance in a fiacre, then walking, then entering another
carriage, and so on, adopting every means of baffling pursuit, the
fugitives got to Havre, where Sir Sidney was put on board an English
vessel. Boisgerard, on his return to Paris (for he quitted Sir Sidney at
Havre) was a thousand times in dread of detection; tarrying at an
_auberge_, he was asked whether he had heard the news of Sir Sidney's
escape; the querist adding, that four persons had been arrested on
suspicion of having been instrumental in it. However, he escaped all
these dangers, and continued at Paris until his visit to England, which
took place after the peace of Amiens. A pension had been granted to Sir
Sidney Smith for his meritorious services; and, on Boisgerard's arrival
here, a reward of a similar nature was bestowed on him through the
influence of Sir Sidney, who took every opportunity of testifying his
gratitude."
We have already seen that though the international character of the
Opera must always be seriously interfered with by international wars,
the intelligent military amateur may yet be able to turn his European
campaigning to some operatic advantage. The French officers acquired a
taste for Italian music in Italy. So an English officer serving in the
Peninsula, imbibed a passion for Spanish dancing, to which was due the
choregraphic existence of the celebrated Maria Mercandotti,--by all
accounts one of the most beautiful girls and one of the most charming
dancers that the world ever saw. This inestimable treasure was
discovered by Lord Fife--a keen-eyed connoisseur, who when Maria was but
a child, foretold the position she would one day occupy, if her mother
would but allow her to join the dancing school of the French Academy.
Madame Mercandotti brought her daughter to England when she was fifteen.
The young Spaniard danced a bolero one night at the Opera, repeated it a
few days afterwards at Brighton, before Queen Charlotte, and then set
off to Paris, where she joined the Académie. After a very short period
of study, she made her _début_ with success, such as scarcely any dancer
had obtained at the French Opera, since the time of La Camargo--herself,
by the way, a Spaniard.
Mademoiselle Mercandotti came to London, was received with the greatest
enthusiasm, was the fashionable theme of one entire operatic season, had
a number of poems, valuable presents, and offers of undying affection
addressed to her, and ended by marrying Mr. Hughes Ball.
The production of this _danseuse_ appears to have seen the last direct
result of that scattering of the amateurs of one nation among the
artists of another, which was produced by the European convulsions of
from 1789 to 1815.
CHAPTER XV.
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS AT THE LONDON OPERA, HALF A CENTURY SINCE.
[Sidenote: A MANAGER IN THE BENCH.]
A complete History of the Opera would include a history of operatic
music, a history of operatic dancing, a history of the chief operatic
theatres, and a history of operatic society. I have made no attempt to
treat the subject on such a grand scale; but though I shall have little
to say about the principal lyrical theatres of Europe, or of the habits
of opera-goers as a European class, there is one great musical dramatic
establishment, to whose fortunes I must pay some special attention, and
concerning whose audiences much may be said that will at least interest
an English reader. After several divided reigns at the Lincoln's Inn
Theatre, at Covent Garden, at the Pantheon, and at the King's Theatre,
Italian Opera found itself, in 1793, established solely and majestically
at the last of these houses, which I need hardly remind the reader was
its first home in England. The management was now exercised by Mr.
Taylor, the proprietor. This gentleman, who was originally a banker's
clerk, appears to have had no qualification for his more exalted
position, beyond the somewhat questionable one of a taste for
speculation. He is described as having had "all Sheridan's deficiency of
financial arrangement, without that extraordinary man's resources."
Nevertheless he was no bad hand at borrowing money. All the advances,
however, made to him by his friends, to enable him to undertake the
management of the Opera, are said to have been repaid. Mr. Ebers, his
not unfriendly biographer, finds it difficult to account for this, and
can only explain it by the excellent support the Opera received at the
period. Mr. Taylor was what in the last century was called "a humorist."
Not that he possessed much humour, but he was a queer, eccentric man,
and given to practical jokes, which, in the present day, would not be
thought amusing even by the friends of those injured by them. On one
occasion, Taylor having been prevailed upon to invite a number of
persons to breakfast, spread a report that he intended to set them down
to empty plates. He, moreover, recommended each of the guests, in an
anonymous letter, to turn the tables on the would-be ingenious Taylor,
by taking to the _déjeuner_ a supply of suitable provisions, so that the
inhospitable inviter might be shamed and the invited enabled to feast in
company, notwithstanding his machinations to the contrary. The manager
enjoyed such a reputation for liberality that no one doubted the
statement contained in the anonymous letter.
Each of the guests sent or took in his carriage a certain quantity of
eatables, and when all had arrived, the happy Taylor found his room
filled with all the materials for a monster picnic. Breakfast _had_ been
prepared, the guests sat down to table, some amused, others disgusted at
the hoax which had been practised upon them, and Taylor ordered the
game, preserved meats, lobsters, champagne, &c., into his own larder and
wine cellar.
Even while directing the affairs of the Opera, Taylor passed a
considerable portion of his time in the King's Bench, or within its
"rules."
"How can you conduct the management of the King's Theatre," a friend
asked him one day, "perpetually in durance as you are?"
"My dear fellow," he replied, "how could I possibly conduct it if I were
at liberty? I should be eaten up, sir--devoured. Here comes a
dancer,--'Mr. Taylor, I want such a dress;' another, 'I want such and
such ornaments.' One singer demands to sing in a part not allotted to
him; another, to have an addition to his appointments. No, let me be
shut up and they go to Masterson (Taylor's secretary); he, they are
aware, cannot go beyond his line; but if they get at _me_--pshaw! no man
at large can manage that theatre; and in faith," he added, "no man that
undertakes it ought to go at large."
Though Mr. Taylor lived within the "rules," the "rules" in no way
governed him. He would frequently go away for days together into the
country and amuse himself with fishing, of which he appears to have
been particularly fond. At one time, while living within the "rules," he
inherited a large sum of money, which he took care not to devote to the
payment of his debts. He preferred investing it in land, bought an
estate in the country (with good fishing), and lived for some months the
quiet, peaceable life of an ardent, enthusiastic angler, until at last
the sheriffs broke in upon his repose and carried him back captive to
prison.
But the most extraordinary exploit performed by Taylor during the period
of his supposed incarceration, was of a political nature. He went down
to Hull at the time of an election and actually stood for the borough.
He was not returned--or rather he was returned to prison.
[Sidenote: THE PANTHEON.]
One way and another Mr. Taylor seems to have made a great deal of money
out of the Opera; and at one time he hit upon a plan which looked at
first as if it had only to be pursued with boldness to increase his
income to an indefinite amount. This simple expedient consisted in
raising the price of the subscribers' boxes. For the one hundred and
eighty pound boxes he charged three hundred pounds, and so in proportion
with all the others. A meeting of subscribers having been held, at
which, although the expensive Catalani was engaged, it was decided that
the proposed augmentation was not justified by the rate of the receipts
and disbursements, and this decision having been communicated to Taylor,
he replied, that if the subscribers resisted his just demands he would
shut up their boxes. In consequence of this defiant conduct on the part
of the manager, many of the subscribers withdrew from the theatre and
prevailed upon Caldas, a Portuguese wine merchant, to re-open the
Pantheon for the performance of concerts and all such music as could be
executed without infringing the licence of the King's Theatre. The
Pantheon speculation prospered at first, but the seceders from the
King's Theatre missed their operas, and doubtless also their ballets. A
sort of compromise was effected between them and Taylor, who persisted,
however, in keeping up the price of his boxes; and the unfortunate
Caldas, utterly deserted by those who had dragged him from his
wine-cellars to expose him to the perils of musical speculation, became
a bankrupt.
Taylor was now in his turn brought to account. Waters, his partner in
the proprietorship of the King's Theatre, had been proceeding against
him in Chancery, and it was ordered that the partnership should be
dissolved and the house sold. To the great annoyance of the public, the
first step taken in the affair was to close the theatre,--the
chancellor, who is said to have had no ear for music, having refused to
appoint a manager.
It was proposed by private friends that Taylor should cede his interest
in the theatre to Waters; but it was difficult to bring them to any
understanding on the subject, or even to arrange an interview between
them. Waters prided himself on the decorum of his conduct, while Taylor
appears to have aimed at quite a contrary reputation. All business
transactions, prior to Taylor's arrest, had been rendered nearly
impossible between them; because one would attend to no affairs on
Sunday, while the other, with a just fear of writs before him, objected
to show himself in London on any other day. The sight of Waters,
moreover, is said to have rendered Taylor "passionate and scurrilous;"
and while the negociations were being carried on, through
intermediaries, between himself and his partner, he entered into a
treaty with the lessee of the Pantheon, with the view of opening it in
opposition to the King's Theatre.
Ultimately, the management of the theatre was confided, under certain
restrictions, to Mr. Waters; but even now possession was not given up to
him without a struggle.
[Sidenote: WITHIN THE "RULES."]
When Mr. Waters' people were refused admittance by Mr. Taylor's people,
words led to blows. The adherents of the former partners, and actual
enemies and rivals, fought valiantly on both sides, but luck had now
turned against Taylor, and his party were defeated and ejected. That
night, however, when the Watersites fancied themselves secure in their
stronghold, the Taylorites attacked them; effected a breach in the stage
door, stormed the passage, gained admittance to the stage, and finally
drove their enemies out into the Haymarket. The unmusical chancellor,
whose opinion of the Opera could scarcely have been improved by the
lawless proceeding of those connected with it, was again appealed to;
and Waters established himself in the theatre by virtue of an order from
the court.
The series of battles at the King's Theatre terminated with the European
war. Napoleon was at Elba, Mr. Taylor still in the Bench, when Mr.
Waters opened the Opera, and, during the great season which followed the
peace of 1814, gained seven thousand pounds.
Taylor appears to have ended his days in prison; profiting freely by the
"rules," and when at head quarters enjoying the society of Sir John and
Lady Ladd. The trio seem, on the whole, to have led a very agreeable
prison life (and, though strictly forbidden to wander from the jail
beyond their appointed tether, appear in many respects to have been
remarkably free.) Taylor's great natural animal spirits increased with
the wine he consumed; and occasionally his behaviour was such as would
certainly have shocked Waters. On one occasion, his elation is said to
have carried him so beyond bounds, that Lady Ladd found it expedient to
empty the tea-kettle over him.
[Sidenote: MR. EBERS' MANAGEMENT.]
In 1816 the Opera, by direction of the Chancellor, (it was a fortunate
thing that this time he did not order it to be pulled down,) was again
put up for sale, and purchased out and out by Waters for seven thousand
one hundred and fifty pounds. As the now sole proprietor was unable to
pay into court even the first instalment of the purchase money,[78] he
mortgaged the theatre, with a number of houses belonging to him, to
Chambers the banker. Taylor, who had no longer any sort of connection
with the Opera, at present amused himself by writing anonymous letters
to Mr. Chambers, prophesying the ruin of Waters, and giving dismal but
grotesque pictures of the manager's penniless and bailiff-persecuted
position. Mr. Ebers, who was a great deal mixed up with operatic affairs
before assuming the absolute direction of the Opera, also came in for
his share of these epistles, which every one seems to have instantly
recognised as the production of Taylor. "If Waters is with you at
Brompton," he once wrote to Mr. Ebers, "for God's sake send him away
instantly, for the bailiffs (alias bloodhounds) are out after him in all
directions; and tell Chambers not to let him stay at Enfield, because
that is a suspected place; and so is Lee's in York Street, Westminster,
and Di Giovanni, in Smith Street, and Reed's in Flask Lane--both in
Chelsea. It was reported he was seen in the lane near your house an
evening or two ago, with his eye blacked, and in the great coat and hat
of a Chelsea pensioner." At another time, Mr. Chambers was informed that
Michael Kelly, the singer, was at an hotel at Brighton, on the point of
death, and desirous while he yet lived to communicate something very
important respecting Waters. The holder of Waters' mortgage took a post
chaise and four and hurried in great alarm to Brighton, where he found
Michael Kelly sitting in his balcony, with a pine apple and a bottle of
claret before him.
Taylor's prophecies concerning Waters, after all, came true. His
embarrassments increased year by year, and in 1820 an execution was put
into the theatre at the suit of Chambers. Ten performances were yet due
to the subscribers, when, on the evening of the 15th of August, bills
were posted on the walls of the theatre, announcing that the Opera was
closed. Mr. Waters did not join his former partner in the Bench, but
retired to Calais.
Mr. Ebers's management commenced in 1821. He formed an excellent
company, of which several singers, still under engagement to Mr. Waters,
formed part, and which included among the singers, Madame Camporese,
Madame Vestris, Madame Ronzi de Begnis; and M. M. Ambrogetti, Angrisani,
Begrez, and Curioni. The chief dancers (as already mentioned in the
previous chapter), were Noblet, Fanny Bias, and Albert. The season was a
short one, it was considered successful, though the manager but lost
money by it. The selection of operas was admirable, and consisted of
Paer's _Agnese_, Rossini's _Gazza Ladra_, _Tancredi_ and _Turco_ in
_Italia_, with Mozart's _Clemenza di Tito_, _Don Giovanni_, and _Nozze
di Figaro_. The manager's losses were already seven thousand pounds. By
way of encouraging him, Mr. Chambers increased his rent the following
year from three thousand one hundred and eighty pounds to ten thousand.
It is right to add, that in the meanwhile Mr. Chambers had bought up
Waters's entire interest in the Opera for eighty thousand pounds.
Altogether, by buying and selling the theatre, Waters had cleared no
less than seventy-three thousand pounds. Not contented with this, he no
sooner heard of the excellent terms on which Mr. Chambers had let the
house, than he made an application (a fruitless one), to the
ever-to-be-tormented Chancellor, to have the deed of sale declared
invalid.
During Mr. Ebers's management, from the beginning of 1821 to the end of
1827, he lost money regularly every year; the smallest deficit in the
budget of any one season being that of the last, when the manager
thought himself fortunate to be minus only three thousand pounds (within
a few sovereigns).
After Mr. Ebers's retirement, the management of the Opera was undertaken
by Messrs. Laporte and Laurent. Mr. Laporte was succeeded by Mr. Lumley,
the history of whose management belongs to a much later period than that
treated of in the present chapter.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]
During the early part of the last century, the character of the London
Opera House, as a fashionable place of entertainment, and in some other
respects, appears to have considerably changed. Before the fire in
1789, the subscription to a box for fifty representations was at the
rate of twenty guineas a seat. The charge for pit tickets was at this
time ten shillings and sixpence; so that a subscriber who meant to be a
true habitué, and visited the Opera every night, saved five guineas by
becoming a subscriber. At this time, too, the theatre was differently
constructed, and there were only thirty-six private boxes, eighteen
arranged in three rows on each side of the house. "The boxes," says Lord
Mount Edgcumbe, in his "Musical Reminiscences," "were then much larger
and more commodious than they are now, and could contain with ease more
than their allotted subscribers; far different from the miserable
pigeon-holes of the present theatre, into which six persons can scarcely
be squeezed, whom, in most situations, two-thirds can never see the
stage. The front," continues Lord Mount Edgcumbe, "was then occupied by
open public boxes, or _amphitheatre_ (as it is called in French
theatres), communicating with the pit. Both of these were filled,
exclusively, with the highest classes of society; all, without
exception, in full dress, then universally worn. The audiences thus
assembled were considered as indisputably presenting a finer spectacle
than any other theatre in Europe, and absolutely astonished the foreign
performers, to whom such a sight was entirely new. At the end of the
performance, the company of the pit and boxes repaired to the
coffee-room, which was then the best assembly in London; private ones
being rarely given on opera nights; and all the first society was
regularly to be seen there. Over the front box was the five shilling
gallery; then resorted to by respectable persons not in full dress: and
above that an upper gallery, to which the admission was three shillings.
Subsequently the house was encircled with private boxes; yet still the
prices remained the same, and the pit preserved its respectability, and
even grandeur, till the old house was burnt down in 1789."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]
When the Opera was rebuilt, the number of representations for the
season, was increased to sixty, and the subscription was at the same
time raised to thirty guineas, so that the admission to a box still did
not exceed the price of a pit ticket. During the second year of
Catalani's engagement, however, when she obtained a larger salary than
had ever been paid to a singer before, the subscription for a whole box
with accommodation for six persons, was raised from one hundred and
eighty to three hundred guineas. This, it will, perhaps, be remembered,
was to some extent a cunning device of Taylor's; at least, it was
considered so at the time by the subscribers, though the expenses of the
theatre had much increased, and the terms on which Catalani was engaged,
were really enormous.[79] Dr. Veron, in his interesting memoirs (to
which, by the way, I may refer all those who desire full particulars
respecting the management of the French Opera during the commencement of
the Meyerbeer period) tells us that, at the end of the continental war,
the price of the _demi-tasse_ in the cafés of Paris was raised from six
to eight _sous_, and that it has never been lowered. So it is in
taxation. An impost once established, unless the people absolutely
refuse to pay it, is never taken off; and so it has been with the boxes
at the London Opera House. The price of the best boxes once raised from
one hundred and eighty to three hundred guineas, was never, to any
considerable extent, diminished, and hence the custom arose of halving
and sub-dividing the subscriptions, so that very few persons have now
the sole ownership of a box. Hence, too, that of letting them for the
night, and selling the tickets when the proprietor does not want them.
This latter practice must have had the effect of lessening considerably
the profits directly resulting from the high sums charged for the boxes.
The price of admission to the pit being ten shillings and six-pence, the
subscribers, through the librarians, and the librarians, who had
themselves speculated in boxes, found it necessary in order to get rid
of the box-tickets singly, to sell them at a reduced price. This
explains why, for many years past, the ordinary price of pit tickets at
the libraries and at shops of all kinds in the vicinity of the Opera,
has been only eight shillings and six-pence. No one but a foreigner or a
countryman, inexperienced in the ways of London, would think of paying
ten shillings and six-pence at the theatre for admission to the pit;
indeed, it is a species of deception to continue that charge at all,
though it certainly does happen once or twice in a great many years that
the public profit by the establishment of a fixed official price for pit
tickets. Thus, during the great popularity of Jenny Lind, the box
tickets giving the right of entry to the pit, were sold for a guinea,
and even thirty shillings, and thousands of persons were imbecile enough
to purchase them, whereas, at the theatre itself, anyone could, as
usual, go into the pit by paying ten shillings and six-pence.
[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]
"Formerly," to go back to Lord Mount Edgcumbe's interesting remarks on
this subject, "every lady possessing an opera box, considered it as much
her home as her house, and was as sure to be found there, few missing
any of the performances. If prevented from going, the _loan_ of her box
and the gratuitous use of the tickets was a favour always cheerfully
offered and thankfully received, as a matter of course, without any idea
of payment. Then, too, it was a favour to ask gentlemen to belong to a
box, when subscribing to one was actually advantageous. Now, no lady can
propose to them to give her more than double the price of the admission
at the door, so that having paid so exorbitantly, every one is glad to
be re-imbursed a part, at least, of the great expense which she must
often support alone. Boxes and tickets, therefore, are no longer given;
they are let for what can be got; for which traffic the circulating
libraries afford an easy accommodation. Many, too, which are not taken
for the season, are disposed of in the same manner, and are almost put
up to auction. Their price varying from three to eight, or even ten
guineas, according to the performance of the evening, and other
accidental circumstances." From these causes the whole style of the
opera house, as regards the audience, has become changed. "The pit has
long ceased to be the resort of ladies of fashion, and, latterly, by the
innovations introduced, is no longer agreeable to the former male
frequenters of it." This state of things, however, has been altered, if
not remedied, from the opera-goers' point of view, by the introduction
of stalls where the manager compensates himself for the slightly reduced
price of pit tickets, by charging exactly double what was paid for
admission to the pit under the old system.
[Sidenote: OPERA COSTUME IN 1861.]
On the whole, the Opera has become less aristocratic, less respectable,
and far more expensive than of old. Those who, under the ancient system,
paid ten shillings and six-pence to go to the pit, must now, to obtain
the same amount of comfort, give a guinea for a stall, while "most
improper company is sometimes to be seen even in the principal tiers;
and tickets bearing the names of ladies of the highest class have been
presented by those of the lowest, such as used to be admitted only to
the hindmost rows of the gallery." The last remark belongs to Lord Mount
Edgcumbe, but it is, at least, as true now as it was thirty years ago.
Numbers of objectionable persons go to the Opera as to all other public
places, and I do not think it would be fair to the respectable lovers of
music who cannot afford to pay more than a few shillings for their
evening's entertainment, that they should be all collected in the
gallery. It would, moreover, be placing too much power in the hands of
the operatic officials, who already show themselves sufficiently severe
censors in the article of dress. I do not know whether it is chiefly a
disgrace to the English public or to the English system of operatic
management; but it certainly is disgraceful, that a check-taker at a
theatre should be allowed to exercise any supervision, or make the
slightest remark concerning the costume of a gentleman choosing to
attend that theatre, and conforming generally in his conduct and by his
appearance to the usages of decent society. It is not found necessary to
enforce any regulation as to dress at other opera houses, not even in
St. Petersburgh and Moscow, where, as the theatres are directed by the
Imperial Government, one might expect to find a more despotic code of
laws in force than in a country like England. When an Englishman goes to
a morning or evening concert, he does not present himself in the attire
of a scavenger, and there is no reason for supposing that he would
appear in any unbecoming garb, if liberty of dress were permitted to him
at the Opera. The absurdity of the present system is that, whereas, a
gentleman who has come to London only for a day or two, and does not
happen to have a dress-coat in his portmanteau; who happens even to be
dressed in exact accordance with the notions of the operatic
check-takers, except as to his cravat, which we will suppose through the
eccentricity of the wearer, to be black, with the smallest sprig, or
spray, or spot of some colour on it; while such a one would be regarded
as unworthy to enter the pit of the Opera, a waiter from an oyster-shop,
in his inevitable black and white, reeking with the drippings of
shell-fish, and the fumes of bad tobacco, or a drunken undertaker, fresh
from a funeral, coming with the required number of shillings in his
dirty hands, could not be refused admission. If the check-takers are
empowered to inspect and decide as to the propriety of the cut and
colour of clothes, why should they not also be allowed to examine the
texture? On the same principle, too, the cleanliness of opera goers
ought to be enquired into. No one, whose hair is not properly brushed,
should be permitted to enter the stalls, and visitors to the pit should
be compelled to show their nails.
I will conclude this chapter with an extract from an epistle from a
gentleman, who, during Mr. Ebers's management of the King's Theatre, was
a victim to the despotic (and, in the main, unnecessary) regulations of
which I have been speaking. I cannot say I feel any sympathy for this
particular sufferer; but his letter is amusing. "I was dressed," he
says, in his protest forwarded to the manager the next morning, "in a
_superfine blue coat_, with _gold buttons_, a white waistcoat,
fashionable tight drab pantaloons, white silk stockings, and dress
shoes; _all worn but once a few days before at a dress concert at the
Crown and Anchor Tavern_!" The italics, and mark of admiration, are the
property of the gentleman in the superfine blue coat, who next proceeds
to express his natural indignation at the idea of the manager presuming
to "enact sumptuary laws without the intervention of the legislature,"
and threatens him with legal proceedings, and an appeal to British jury.
"I have mixed," he continues, "too much in genteel society, not to know
that black breeches, or pantaloons, with black silk stockings, is a very
prevailing full dress; and why is it so? Because it is convenient and
economical, _for you can wear a pair of white silk stockings but once
without washing, and a pair of black is frequently worn for weeks
without ablution_. P. S. I have no objection to submit an inspection of
my dress of the evening in question to you, or any competent person you
may appoint."
[Sidenote: OPERA COSTUME IN 1861.]
If this gentleman, instead of being excluded, had been admitted into the
theatre, the silent ridicule to which his costume would have exposed
him, would have effectually prevented him from making his appearance
there in any such guise again. It might also have acted as a terrible
warning to others inclined to sin in a similar manner.
CHAPTER XVI
ROSSINI AND HIS PERIOD.
[Sidenote: ROSSINI.]
Innovators in art, whether corrupters or improvers, are always sure to
meet with opposition from a certain number of persons who have formed
their tastes in some particular style which has long been a source of
delight to them, and to interfere with which is to shock all their
artistic sympathies. How often have we seen poets of one generation not
ignored, but condemned and vilified by the critics and even by the poets
themselves of the generation preceding it. Musicians seem to suffer even
more than poets from this injustice of those who having contracted a
special and narrow admiration for the works of their own particular
epoch, will see no merit in the productions of any newer school that may
arrive. Byron, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson have one and all been attacked,
and their poetic merit denied by those who in several instances had
given excellent proofs of their ability to appreciate poetry. Almost
every distinguished composer of the last fifty years has met with the
same fate, not always at the hands of the ignorant public, for it is
this ignorant public with its naïve, uncritical admiration, which has
sometimes been the first to do justice to the critic-reviled poets and
composers, but at those of musicians and of educated amateurs.
Ignorance, prejudice, malice, are the causes too often assigned for the
non-appreciation of the artist of to-day by the art-lover, partly of
to-day, but above all of yesterday. It should be remembered however,
that there is a conservatism in taste as in politics, and that both have
their advantages, though the lovers of noise and of revolution may be
unable to see them; that the extension of the suffrage, the excessive
use of imagery, the special cultivation of brilliant orchestral effects,
may, in the eyes of many, really seem injurious to the true interests of
government, poetry and music; finally that as in old age we find men
still keeping more or less to the costumes of their prime, and as the
man who during the best days of his life has habituated himself to drink
port, does not suddenly acquire a taste for claret, or _vice versâ_,--so
those who had accustomed their musical stomachs to the soft strains of
Paisiello and Cimarosa, _could not_ enjoy the sparkling, stimulating
music of Rossini. So afterwards to the Rossinians, Donizetti poured
forth nothing but what was insipid and frivolous; Bellini was languid
and lackadaisical; Meyerbeer with his restlessness and violence, his new
instruments, his drum songs, trumpet songs, fencing and pistol songs,
tinder-box music, skating scenes and panoramic effects, was a noisy
_charlatan_; Verdi, with his abruptness, his occasional vulgarity and
his general melodramatic style, a mere musical Fitzball.
It most not be supposed, however, that I believe in the constant
progress of art; that I look upon Meyerbeer as equal to Weber, or Weber
as superior to Mozart. It is quite certain that Rossini has not been
approached in facility, in richness of invention, in gaiety, in
brilliancy, in constructiveness, or in true dramatic power by any of the
Italian, French, or German theatrical composers who have succeeded him,
though nearly all have imitated him one way or another: I will exclude
Weber alone, an original genius, belonging entirely to Germany[80] and
to himself. It is, at least, quite certain that Rossini is by far the
greatest of the series of Italian composers, which begins with himself
and seems to have ended with Verdi; and yet, while neither Verdi nor
Bellini, nor Donizetti, were at all justly appreciated in this country
when they first made their appearance, Rossini was--not merely sneered
at and pooh-poohed; he was for a long time condemned and abused every
where, and on the production of some of his finest works was hissed and
hooted in the theatres of his native land. But the human heart is not so
black as it is sometimes painted, and the Italian audiences who whistled
and screeched at the _Barber of Seville_ did so chiefly because they did
not like it. It was not the sort of music which had hitherto given them
pleasure, and therefore they were not pleased.
[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S BIOGRAPHERS.]
Rossini had already composed several operas for various Italian theatres
(among which may be particularly mentioned _L'Italiana in Algeri_,
written for Venice in 1813, the composer having then just attained his
majority) when the _Barbiere di Siviglia_ was produced at Rome for the
Carnival of 1816. The singers were Vitarelli, Boticelli, Zamboni, Garcia
and Mesdames Giorgi-Righetti, and Rossi. A number of different versions
of the circumstances which attended, preceded, and followed the
representation of this opera, have been published, but the account
furnished by Madame Giorgi-Righetti, who introduced the music of Rossini
to the world, is the one most to be relied upon and which I shall adopt.
I may first of all remind the reader that a very interesting life of
Rossini, written with great _verve_ and spirit, full of acute
observations, but also full of misstatements and errors of all
kinds,[81] has been published by Stendhal, who was more than its
translator, but not its author. Stendhal's "Vie de Rossini" is founded
on a work by the Abbé Carpani. To what extent the ingenious author of
the treatise _De l'Amour_, and of the admirable novel _La Charteuse de
Parme_, is indebted to the Abbé, I cannot say; but if he borrowed from
him his supposed facts, and his opinions as a musician, he owes him all
the worst portion of his book. The brothers Escudier have also published
a "Vie de Rossini," which is chiefly valuable for the list of his
works, and the dates of their production.
[Sidenote: THE BARBER OF SEVILLE.]
To return to the _Barber of Seville_, of which the subject was
librsuggested to Rossini by the author of the _libretto_, Sterbini.
Sterbini proposed to arrange it for music in a new form; Rossini
acquiesced, and the librettists went to work. The report was soon spread
that Rossini was about to reset Paisiello's libretto. For this some
accused Rossini of presumption, while others said that in taking
Paisiello's subject he was behaving meanly and unjustly. This was
absurd, for all Metastasio's lyrical dramas have been set to music by
numbers of composers; but this fact was not likely to be taken into
consideration by Rossini's enemies. Paisiello himself took part in the
intrigues against the young composer, and wrote a letter from Naples,
begging one of his friends at Rome to leave nothing undone that could
contribute to the failure of the second _Barber_. When the night of
representation, at the Argentina Theatre, arrived, Rossini's enemies
were all at their posts, declaring openly what they hoped and intended
should be the fate of the new opera. His friends, on the other hand,
were not nearly so decided, remembering, as they did, the
uncomplimentary manner in which Rossini's _Torvaldo_ had been received
only a short time before. The composer, says Madame Giorgi-Righetti "was
weak enough to allow Garcia to sing beneath Rosina's balcony a Spanish
melody of his own arrangement. Garcia maintained, that as the scene was
in Spain the Spanish melody would give the drama an appropriate local
colour; but, unfortunately, the artist who reasoned so well, and who was
such an excellent singer, forgot to tune his guitar before appearing on
the stage as "Almaviva." He began the operation in the presence of the
public. A string broke. The vocalist proceeded to replace it; but before
he could do so, laughter and hisses were heard from all parts of the
house. The Spanish air, when Garcia was at last ready to sing it, did
not please the Italian audience, and the pit listened to it just enough
to be able to give an ironical imitation of it afterwards.
The introduction to Figaro's air seemed to be liked; but when Zamboni
entered, with another guitar in his hand, a loud laugh was set up, and
not a phrase of _Largo al factotum_ was heard. When Rosina made her
appearance in the balcony, the public were quite prepared to applaud
Madame Giorgi-Righetti in an air which they thought they had a right to
expect from her; but only hearing her utter a phrase which led to
nothing, the expressions of disapprobation recommenced. The duet between
"Almaviva" and "Figaro" was accompanied throughout with hissing and
shouting. The fate of the work seemed now decided.
At length Rosina came on, and sang the _cavatina_ which had so long been
looked for. Madame Giorgi-Righetti was young, had a fresh beautiful
voice, and was a great favourite with the Roman public. Three long
rounds of applause followed the conclusion of her air, and gave some
hope that the opera might yet be saved. Rossini, who was at the
orchestral piano, bowed to the public, then turned towards the singer,
and whispered "_oh natura_!"
This happy moment did not last, and the hisses recommenced with the duet
between Figaro and Rosina. The noise increased, and it was impossible to
hear a note of the finale. When the curtain fell Rossini turned towards
the public, shrugged his shoulders and clapped his hands. The audience
were deeply offended by this openly-expressed contempt for their
opinion, but they made no reply at the time.
The vengeance was reserved for the second act, of which not a note
passed the orchestra. The hubbub was so great, that nothing like it was
ever heard at any theatre. Rossini in the meanwhile remained perfectly
calm, and afterwards went home as composed as if the work, received in
so insulting a manner, had been the production of some other musician.
After changing their clothes, Madame Giorgi-Righetti, Garcia, Zamboni,
and Botticelli, went to his house to console him in his misfortune. They
found him fast asleep.
[Sidenote: THE BARBER OF SEVILLE.]
The next day he wrote the delightful _cavatina, Ecco ridente il cielo_,
to replace Garcia's unfortunate Spanish air. The melody of the new solo
was borrowed from the opening chorus of _Aureliano in Palmira_, written
by Rossini in 1814, for Milan, and produced without success; the said
chorus having itself figured before in the same composer's _Ciro_ in
_Babilonia_, also unfavourably received. Garcia read his _cavatina_ as
it was written, and sang it the same evening. Rossini, having now made
the only alteration he thought necessary, went back to bed, and
pretended to be ill, that he might not have to take his place in the
evening at the piano.
At the second performance, the Romans seemed disposed to listen to the
work of which they had really heard nothing the night before. This was
all that was needed to ensure the opera's triumphant success. Many of
the pieces were applauded; but still no enthusiasm was exhibited. The
music, however, pleased more and more with each succeeding
representation, until at last the climax was reached, and _Il Barbiere_
produced those transports of admiration among the Romans with which it
was afterwards received in every town in Italy, and in due time
throughout Europe. It must be added, that a great many connoisseurs at
Rome were struck from the first moment with the innumerable beauties of
Rossini's score, and went to his house to congratulate him on its
excellence. As for Rossini, he was not at all surprised at the change
which took place in public opinion. He was as certain of the success of
his work the first night, when it was being hooted, as he was a week
afterwards, when every one applauded it to the skies.
[Sidenote: THE BARBER OF SEVILLE.]
In Paris, more than three years afterwards, with Garcia still playing
the part of "Almaviva," and with Madame Ronzi de Begnis as "Rosina,"
_Il Barbiere_ was not much better received than on its first production
at Rome. It was less astonishing that it should fail before an audience
of Parisians (at that time quite unacquainted with Rossini's style) than
before a highly musical public like that of Rome. In each case, the work
of Paisiello was made the excuse for condemning that of Rossini; but
Rossini's _Barber_ was not treated with indignity at the Italian Theatre
of Paris. It was simply listened to very coldly. Every one was saying,
that after Paisiello's opera it was nothing, that the two were not to be
compared, &c., when, fortunately, some one proposed that Paisiello's
_Barber_ should be revived. Paer, the director of the music, and who is
said to have been rendered very uneasy by Rossini's Italian successes,
thought that to crush Rossini by means of his predecessor, was no bad
idea. The St. Petersburgh _Barber_ of 1788 was brought out; but it was
found that he had grown old and feeble; or, rather, the simplicity of
the style was no longer admired, and the artists who had already lost
the traditions of the school, were unable to sing the music with any
effect. Rossini's _Barber_ has now been before the world for nearly half
a century, and we all know whether it is old-fashioned; whether the airs
are tedious; whether the form of the concerted pieces, and of the grand
finale, leaves anything to be desired; whether the instrumentation is
poor; whether, in short, on any one point, any subsequent work of the
same kind even by Rossini himself, has surpassed, equalled, or even
approached it. But the thirty years of Paisiello's Barber bore heavily
upon the poor old man, and he was found sadly wanting in that gaiety and
brilliancy which have given such celebrity to Rossini's hero, and after
which Beaumarchais's sparkling epigrammatic dialogue appears almost
dull.[82] Paisiello's opera was a complete failure. And when Rossini's
_Barbiere_ was brought out again, every one was struck by the contrast.
It profited by the very artifice which was to have destroyed it, and
Rossini's enemies took care for the future not to establish comparisons
between Rossini and Paisiello. Madame Ronzi de Begnis, too, had been
replaced very advantageously by Madame Fodor. With two such admirable
singers as Fodor and Garcia in the parts of "Rosina" and "Almaviva,"
with Pellegrini as "Figaro," and Begnis as "Basil," the success of the
opera increased with each representation: and though certain musical
_quid-nuncs_ continued to shake their heads when Rossini's name was
mentioned in a drawing-room, his reputation with the great body of the
theatrical public was now fully established.
The _tirana_ composed by Garcia _Se il mio nome saper voi bramate_,
which he appears to have abandoned after the unfavourable manner in
which it was received at Rome, was afterwards re-introduced into the
_Barber_ by Rubini.
The whole of the _Barber of Seville_ was composed from beginning to end
in a month. _Ecco ridente il cielo_ (the air adapted from _Aureliano in
Palmira_) was, as already mentioned, added after the first
representation. The overture, moreover, had been previously written for
_Aureliano in Palmira_, and (after the failure of that work) had been
prefixed to _Elizabetta regina d'Inghilterra_ which met with some
success, thanks to the admirable singing of Mademoiselle Colbran, in the
principal character.
* * * * *
Rossini took his failures very easily, and with the calm confidence of a
man who knew he could do better things and that the public would
appreciate them. When his _Sigismondo_ was violently hissed at Venice he
sent a letter to his mother with a picture of a large _fiasco_,
(bottle). His _Torvaldo e Dorliska_, which was brought out soon
afterwards, was also hissed, but not so much.
[Sidenote: THE BARBER OF SEVILLE.]
This time Rossini sent his mother a picture of a _fiaschetto_ (little
bottle).
* * * * *
The motive of the _allegro_ in the trio of the last act of (to return
for a moment to) the _Barber of Seville_, is, as most of my readers are
probably aware, simply an arrangement of the bass air sung by "Simon,"
in _Haydn's Seasons_. The comic air, sung by "Berta," the duenna, is a
Russian dance tune, which was very fashionable in Rome, in 1816. Rossini
is said to have introduced it into the _Barber of Seville_, out of
compliment to some Russian lady.
* * * * *
Rossini's first opera _la Pietra del Paragone_, was written when he was
seventeen years of age, for the Scala at Milan, where it was produced in
the autumn of 1812. He introduced the best pieces out of this work into
the _Cenerentola_, which was brought out five years afterwards at Rome.
Besides _la Pietra del Paragone_, he laid _il Turco in Italia_, and _la
Gazzetta_ under contribution to enrich the score of _Cinderella_. The
air _Miei rampolli_, the duet _un Soave non so chè_, the drinking chorus
and the burlesque proclamation of the baron belonged originally to _la
Pietra del Paragone_; the _sestett_, the _stretta_ of the finale, the
duet _zitto, zitto_, to the _Turco in Italia_, (produced at Milan in
1814), _Miei rampolli_ had also been inserted in _la Gazzetta_.
The principal female part in the _Cenerentola_, though written for a
contralto, has generally, (like those of Rosina and Isabella, and also
written for contraltos), been sung by sopranos, such as Madame Fodor,
Madame Cinti, Madame Sontag, &c. When sung by Mademoiselle Alboni, these
parts are executed in every respect in conformity with the composer's
intentions.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S INNOVATIONS.]
Rossini's first serious opera, or at least the first of those by which
his name became known throughout Europe, was _Tancredi_, written for
Venice in 1813, the year after _la Pietra del Paragone_. In this opera,
we find indicated, if not fully carried out, all those admirable changes
in the composition of the lyric drama which were imputed to him by his
adversaries as so many artistic crimes. Lord Mount Edgcumbe, in his
objections to Rossini's music, strange and almost inexplicable as they
appear, yet only says in somewhat different language what is advanced by
Rossini's admirers, in proof of his great merit. The connoisseur of a
past epoch describes the changes introduced by Rossini into dramatic
music, for an enemy, fairly enough; only he regards as detestable
innovations what others have accepted as admirable reforms. It appeared
to Rossini that the number of airs written for the so-called lyric
dramas of his youth, delayed the action to a most wearisome extent. In
_Tancredi_, concerted pieces in which the dramatic action is kept up,
are introduced in situations where formerly there would have been only
monologues. In _Tancredi_ the bass has little to do, but more than in
the operas of the old-school, where he was kept quite in the back
ground, the _ultima parte_ being seldom heard except in _ensembles_. By
degrees the bass was brought forward, until at last he became an
indispensable and frequently the principal character in all tragic
operas. In the old opera the number of characters was limited and
choruses were seldom introduced. Think, then, how an amateur of the
simple, quiet old school must have been shocked by a thoroughly
Rossinian opera, such as _Semiramide_, with its brilliant, sonorous
instrumentation, its prominent part for the bass or baritone, its long
elaborate finale, and above all its military band on the stage! Mozart
had already anticipated every resource that has since been adopted by
Rossini, but to Rossini belongs, nevertheless, the merit of having
brought the lyric drama to perfection on the Italian stage, and forty
and even thirty years ago it was to Rossini that its supposed
degradation was attributed.
"So great a change," says Lord Mount Edgcumbe, "has taken place in the
character of the (operatic) dramas, in the style of the music and its
performance, that I cannot help enlarging on that subject before I
proceed further. One of the most material alterations is, that the grand
distinction between serious and comic operas is nearly at an end, the
separation of the singers for their performance, entirely so.[83] Not
only do the same sing in both, but a new species of drama has arisen, a
kind of mongrel between them called _semi seria_, which bears the same
analogy to the other two that that nondescript melodrama does to the
legitimate tragedy and comedy of the English stage."
And of which style specimens may be found in Shakespeare's plays and in
Mozart's _Don Giovanni_! The union of the serious and the comic in the
same lyric work was an innovation of Mozart's, like almost all the
innovations attributed by Lord Mount Edgcumbe to Rossini. Indeed, nearly
all the operatic reforms of the last three-quarters of a century that
have endured, have had Mozart for their originator.
[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S INNOVATIONS.]
"The construction of these newly invented pieces," continues Lord Mount
Edgcumbe, "is essentially different from the old. The dialogue which
used to be carried on in recitative, and which in Metastasio's operas,
is often so beautiful and interesting, is now cut up (and rendered
unintelligible, if it were worth listening to), into _pezzi concertati_,
or long singing conversations, which present a tedious succession of
unconnected, ever-changing motivos, having nothing to do with each
other: and if a satisfactory air is for a moment introduced, which the
ear would like to dwell upon, to hear modulated, varied and again
returned to, it is broken off before it is well understood, by a sudden
transition into a totally different melody, time and key, and recurs no
more; so that no impression can be made or recollection of it preserved.
Single songs are almost exploded ... even the _prima donna_ who would
formerly have complained at having less than three or four airs allotted
to her, is now satisfied with one trifling _cavatina_ for a whole
opera."
* * * * *
Lord Mount Edgcumbe has hitherto given a tolerably true account of the
reforms introduced by Rossini into the operatic music of Italy; only,
instead of calling Rossini's concerted pieces and finales, "a tedious
succession of unconnected, ever-changing motivos," he ought to describe
them as highly interesting, well connected and eminently dramatic. He
goes on to condemn Rossini for his new distribution of characters, and
especially for his employment of bass voices in chief parts "to the
manifest injury of melody and total subversion of harmony, in which the
lowest part is their peculiar province." Here, however, it occurs to
Lord Mount Edgcumbe, and he thereupon expresses his surprise, "that the
principal characters in two of Mozart's operas should have been written
for basses."
* * * * *
When the above curious, and in its way valuable, strictures on Rossini's
music were penned, not only _Tancredi_, but also _Il Barbiere_,
_Otello_, _La Cenerentola_, _Mosè in Egitto_, _La Gazza Ladra_, and
other of his works had been produced. _Il Barbiere_ succeeded at once
in England, and Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us that for many years after
the first introduction of Rossini's works into England "so entirely did
he engross the stage, that the operas of no other master were ever to be
heard, with the exception of those of Mozart; and of his only _Don
Giovanni_ and _le Nozze di Figaro_ were often repeated.... Every other
composer, past and present, was totally put aside, and these two alone
named or thought of." Rossini, then, if wrongly applauded, was at least
applauded in good company. It appears from Mr. Ebers's "Seven years of
the King's Theatre," that of all the operas produced from 1821 to 1828,
nearly half were Rossini's, or in exact numbers fourteen out of
thirty-four, but it must be remembered that the majority of these were
constantly repeated, whereas most of the others were brought out only
for a few nights and then laid aside. During the period in question the
composer whose works, next to Rossini, were most often represented, was
Mozart with _Don Giovanni_, _Le Nozze_, _La Clemenza di Tito_, and _Cosi
fan Tutti_. The other operas included in the repertoire were by Paer,
Mayer, Zingarelli, Spontini, (_la Vestale_), Mercadante, Meyerbeer, (_Il
Crociato in Egitto_) &c.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: TANCREDI.]
Our consideration of the causes of Rossini's success, and want of
success, has led us far away from the first representation of _Tancredi_
at the theatre of La Fenice. Its success was so great, that each of its
melodies became for the Venetians a second "Carnival of Venice;" and
even in the law courts, the judges are said to have been obliged to
direct the ushers to stop the singing of _Di tanti palpiti_, and _Mi
rivedrai te rivedrò_.
"I thought after hearing my opera, that the Venetians would think me
mad," said Rossini. "Not at all; I found they were much madder than I
was." _Tancredi_ was followed by _Aureliano_, produced at Milan in 1814,
and, as has already been mentioned, without success. The introduction,
however, containing the chorus from which Almaviva's _cavatina_ was
adapted, is said to have been one of Rossini's finest pieces. _Otello_,
the second of Rossini's important serious operas, was produced in 1816
at Naples (Del Fondo Theatre). The principal female part, as in the
now-forgotten _Elizabetta_, and as in a great number of subsequent
works, was written for Mademoiselle Colbran. The other parts were
sustained by Benedetti, Nozzari, and the celebrated Davide.
* * * * *
In _Otello_, Rossini continued the reforms which he had commenced in
_Tancredi_. He made each dramatic scene one continued piece of music,
used recitative but sparingly, and when he employed it, accompanied it
for the first time in Italy, with the full band. The piano was now
banished from the orchestra, forty-two years after it had been banished
by Gluck from the orchestras of France.
Davide, in the part of Otello," created the greatest enthusiasm. The
following account of his performance is given by a French critic, M.
Edouard Bertin, in a letter from Venice, dated 1823:--
[Sidenote: OTELLO.]
"Davide excites among the _dilettanti_ of this town an enthusiasm and
delight which could scarcely be conceived without having been witnessed.
He is a singer of the new school, full of mannerism, affectation, and
display, abusing, like Martin, his magnificent voice with its prodigious
compass (three octaves comprised between four B flats). He crushes the
principal motive of an air beneath the luxuriance of his ornamentation,
and which has no other merit than that of difficulty conquered. But he
is also a singer full of warmth, _verve_, expression, energy, and
musical sentiment; alone he can fill up and give life to a scene; it is
impossible for another singer to carry away an audience as he does, and
when he will only be simple, he is admirable; he is the Rossini of song.
He is a great singer; the greatest I ever heard. Doubtless, the manner
in which Garcia plays and sings the part of "Otello" is preferable,
taking it altogether, to that of Davide. It is purer, more severe, more
constantly dramatic; but with all his faults Davide produces more
effect, a great deal more effect. There is something in him, I cannot
say what, which, even when he is ridiculous, commands, enhances
attention. He never leaves you cold; and when he does not move you, he
astonishes you; in a word, before hearing him, I did not know what the
power of singing really was. The enthusiasm he excites is without
limits. In fact, his faults are not faults for Italians, who in their
_opera seria_ do not employ what the French call the tragic style, and
who scarcely understand us, when we tell them that a waltz or quadrille
movement is out of place in the mouth of a Cæsar, an Assur, or an
Otello. With them the essential thing is to please: they are only
difficult on this point, and their indifference as to all the rest is
really inconceivable: here is an example of it. Davide, considering
apparently that the final duet of _Otello_ did not sufficiently show off
his voice, determined to substitute for it a duet from _Armida_ (Amor
possente nome), which is very pretty, but anything rather than severe.
As it was impossible to kill Desdemona to such a tune, the Moor, after
giving way to the most violent jealousy, sheathes his dagger, and begins
in the most tender and graceful manner his duet with Desdemona, at the
conclusion of which he takes her politely by the hand, and retires,
amidst the applause and bravos of the public, who seem to think it quite
natural that the piece should finish in this manner, or, rather, that it
should not finish at all: for after this beautiful _dénouement_, the
action is about as far advanced as it was in the first scene. We do not
in France carry our love of music so far as to tolerate such absurdities
as these, and perhaps we are right."
Lord Byron saw _Otello_ at Venice, soon after its first production. He
speaks of it in one of his letters, dated 1818, in which he condemns
the libretto, but expresses his admiration of the music.
_La Gazza Ladra_ was written for Milan, and brought out at the theatre
of "La Scala," in 1817. Four years afterwards it was produced in London
in the spring, and Paris in the autumn. The part of "Ninetta,"
afterwards so favourite a character with Sontag, Malibran, and Grisi,
was sung in 1821 by Madame Camporese in London, by Madame Fodor in
Paris. Camporese's performance was of the greatest merit, and highly
successful. Fodor's is said to have been perfection. The part of
"Pippo," originally written for a contralto, used at one time to be sung
at the English and French theatres by a baritone or bass. It was not
until some years after _La Gazza Ladra_ was produced, that a contralto
(except for first parts), was considered an indispensable member of an
opera company.
Madame Fodor was not an Italian, but a Russian. She was married to a
Frenchman, M. Mainvielle, and, before visiting Italy, and, until her
_début_, had studied chiefly in Paris. Her Italian tour is said to have
greatly improved her style, which, when she first appeared in London, in
1816, left much to be desired. Camporese was of good birth, and was
married to a member of the Guistiniani family. She cultivated singing in
the first instance only as an accomplishment; but was obliged by
circumstances to make it her profession. In Italy she sang only at
concerts, and it was not until her arrival in England that she appeared
on the stage. She seems to have possessed very varied powers; appearing
at one time as "Zerlina" to Ronzi's "Donna Anna;" at another, as "Donna
Anna," to Fodor's "Zerlina."
[Sidenote: LA GAZZA LADRA.]
_La Gazza Ladra_ is known to be founded on a French melo-drama, _La Pie
Voleuse_, of which the capabilities for operatic "setting," were first
discovered by Paer. Paer had seen Mademoiselle Jenny Vertpré in _La Pie
Voleuse_. He bought the play, and sent it to his librettist in ordinary
at Milan, with marginal notes, showing how it ought to be divided for
musical purposes. The opera book intended by Paer for himself was
offered to Rossini, and by him was made the groundwork of one of his
most brilliant productions.
_La Gazza Ladra_ marks another step in Rossini's progress as a composer,
and accordingly we find Lord Mount Edgcumbe saying, soon after its
production in England:--"Of all the operas of Rossini that have been
performed here, that of _la Gazza Ladra_ is most peculiarly liable to
all the objections I have made to the new style of drama, of which it is
the most striking example." The only opera of Rossini's which Lord Mount
Edgcumbe seems really to have liked was _Aureliano in Palmira_, written
in the composer's earliest style, and which failed.
"Its finales," (Lord Mount Edgcumbe is speaking of _La Gazza Ladra_)
"and many of its very numerous _pezzi concertati_, are uncommonly loud,
and the lavish use made of the noisy instruments, appears, to my
judgment, singularly inappropriate to the subject; which, though it
might have been rendered touching, is far from calling for such warlike
accompaniments. Nothing can be more absurd than the manner in which this
simple story is represented in the Italian piece, or than to be a young
peasant servant girl, led to trial and execution, under a guard of
soldiers, with military music." The quintett of _La Gazza Ladra_, is,
indeed, open to a few objections from a dramatic point of view.
"Ninetta" is afraid of compromising her father; but "Fernando" has
already given himself up to the authorities, in order to save his
daughter--in whose defence he does not say a word. An explanation seems
necessary, but then the drama would be at an end. There would be no
quintett, and we should lose one of Rossini's finest pieces. Would it be
worth while to destroy this quintett, in order to make the opera end
like the French melo-drama, and as the French operatic version of _La
Gazza Ladra_ also terminates?
I have already spoken of _La Cenerentola_, produced in 1817 at Rome.
This admirable work has of late years been much neglected. The last time
it was heard in England at Her Majesty's Theatre, Madame Alboni played
the principal part, and excited the greatest enthusiasm by her execution
of the final air, _Non piu mesta_ (the model of so many solos for the
_prima donna_, introduced with or without reason, at the end of
subsequent operas); but the cast was a very imperfect one, and the
performance on the whole (as usual, of late years, at this theatre)
very unsatisfactory.
[Sidenote: MOSE IN EGITTO.]
_Mosè in Egitto_ was produced at the San Carlo[84] Theatre, at Naples,
in 1818; the principal female part being written again for Mademoiselle
Colbran. In this work, two leading parts, those of "Faraoni" and "Mosè,"
were assigned to basses. The once proscribed, or, at least contemned
basso, was, for the first time brought forward, and honoured with full
recognition in an Italian _opera seria_. The story of the Red Sea, and
of the chorus sung on its banks, has often been told; but I will repeat
it in a few words, for the benefit of those readers who may not have met
with it before. The Passage of the Red Sea was intended to be
particularly grand; but, instead of producing the effect anticipated, it
was received every night with laughter. The two first acts were always
applauded; but the Red Sea was a decided obstacle to the success of the
third. Tottola, the librettist, came to Rossini one morning, with a
prayer for the Israelites, which he fancied, if the composer would set
it to music, might save the conclusion of the opera. Rossini, who was in
bed at the time, saw at once the importance of the suggestion, wrote on
the spur of the moment, and in a few minutes, the magnificent _Del tuo
stellato soglio_. It was performed the same evening, and excited
transports of admiration. The scene of the Red Sea, instead of being
looked forward to as a source of hilarity, became now the chief
"attraction" of the opera. The performance of the prayer produced a sort
of frenzy among the audience, and a certain Neapolitan doctor, whose
name has not transpired, told either Stendhal or the Abbé Carpani (on
whose _Letters_, as before mentioned, Beyle's "Vie de Rossini par
Stendhal" is founded), that the number of nervous indispositions among
the ladies of Naples was increased in a remarkable manner by the change
of key, from the minor to the major, in the last verse.
_Mosè_ was brought out in London, as an oratorio, in the beginning of
1822. Probably, dramatic action was absolutely necessary for its
success; at all events, it failed as an oratorio. The same year it was
produced as an opera at the King's Theatre; but with a complete
transformation in the libretto, and under the title of _Pietro
l'Eremita_. The opera attracted throughout the season, and no work of
Rossini's was ever more successful on its first production in this
country. The subscribers to the King's Theatre were in ecstacies with
it, and one of the most distinguished supporters of the theatre, after
assuring the manager that he deserved well of this country, offered to
testify his gratitude by proposing him at White's!
[Sidenote: MOSE IN EGITTO.]
In the autumn of the same year _Mosè_ was produced at the Italian Opera
of Paris, and in 1827, a French version of it was brought out at the
Académie. The Red Sea appears to have been a source of trouble
everywhere. At the Académie, forty-five thousand francs were sunk in it,
and to so little effect, or rather with such bad effect, that the
machinists' and decorators' waves had to be suppressed after the first
evening. In London the Red Sea became merely a river. The river,
however, failed quite as egregiously as the larger body of water, and
had to be drained off before the second performance took place.
_Mosè_ is quite long enough and sufficiently complete in its original
form. Several pieces, however, out of other operas, by Rossini, were
added to it in the London version of the work. In Paris, in accordance
with the absurd custom (if it be not even a law) at the Académie, _Mosè_
could not be represented without the introduction of a ballet. The
necessary dance music was taken from _Ciro in Babilonia_ and _Armida_,
and the opera was further strengthened as it was thought (weakened as it
turned out), by the introduction of a new air for Mademoiselle Cinti,
and several new choruses.
The _Mosè_ of the Académie, with its four acts of music (one more than
the original opera) was found far too long. It was admired, and for a
little while applauded; but when it had once wearied the public, it was
in vain that the directors reduced its dimensions. It became smaller and
smaller, until it at last disappeared.
_Zelmira_, written originally for Vienna, and which is said to have
contained Madame Colbran Rossini's best part, was produced at Naples in
1822. The composer and his favourite _prima donna_ were married in the
spring of the same year at Castelnaso, near Bologna.
"The recitatives of _Zelmira_" says Carpani, in his _Le Rossinane ossia
lettere musico-teatrali_, "are the best and most dramatic that the
Italian school has produced; their eloquence is equal to that of the
most beautiful airs, and the spectator, equally charmed and surprised,
listens to them from one end to the other. These recitatives are
sustained by the orchestra; _Otello_, _Mosè in Egitto_, are written
after the same system, but I will not attribute to Rossini the honour of
a discovery which belongs to our neighbours. Although the French Opera
is still barbarous from a vocal point of view, there are some points
about it which may be advantageously borrowed. The introduction of
accompanied recitative is of the greatest importance for our _opera
seria_, which, in the hands of the Mayers, Paers, the Rossinis, has at
last become dramatic."
_Zelmira_ was brought out in London in 1824, under the direction of
Rossini himself, and with Madame Colbran Rossini in the principal part.
The reception of the composer, when he made his appearance in the
orchestra, was most enthusiastic, and at the end of the opera, he was
called on to the stage, which, in England, was, then, quite a novel
compliment.
[Sidenote: ROSSINI AND GEORGE IV.]
At the same time, all possible attention was paid to Rossini, in
private, by the most distinguished persons in the country. He was
invited by George IV. to the Pavilion at Brighton, and the King gave
orders that when his guest entered the music room, his private band
should play the overture to the _Barber of Seville_. The overture being
concluded, his Majesty asked Rossini what piece he would like to hear
next. The composer named _God save the King_.