The music of _Zelmira_ was greatly admired by connoisseurs, but made no

impression on the public, and though Madame Colbran-Rossini's

performance is said to have been admirable, it must be remembered that

she had already passed the zenith of her powers. Born in Madrid, in

1785, she appears to have retired from the stage, as far as Italy was

concerned, in 1823, after the production of _Semiramide_. At least, I

find no account of her having sung anywhere after the season of 1824, in

London, though her name appears in the list of the celebrated company

assembled the same year by Barbaja, at Vienna. Mademoiselle Colbran

figures among the sopranos with Mesdames Mainvielle-Fodor, Féron, Esther

Mombelli,[85] Dardanelli, Sontag, Unger, Giuditta, Grisi, and Grimbaun.

The contraltos of this unrivalled _troupe_ were Mesdames

Cesare-Cantarelli and Eckerlin; the tenors, Davide, Nozzari, Donzelli,

Rubini, and Cicimarra; the basses, Lablache, Bassi, Ambroggi,

Tamburini, and Bolticelli. Rossini had undertaken to write an opera

entitled _Ugo rè d'Italia_, for the King's Theatre. The engagement had

been made at the beginning of the season, in January, and the work was

repeatedly announced for performance, when, at the end of May, it was

said to be only half finished. He had, at this time, quarrelled with the

management, and accepted the post of director at the Italian Opera of

Paris. The end of _Ugo rè d'Italia_ is said by Mr. Ebers to have been,

that the score, as far as it was written, was deposited with Messrs.

Ransom, the bankers. Messrs. Ransom, however, have informed me, that

they never had a score of Rossini's in their possession.

* * * * *

After Rossini's departure from London, his _Semiramide_, produced at

Venice only the year before, was brought out with Madame Pasta, in the

principal character. The part of "Semiramide" had been played at the

_Fenice_ Theatre, by Madame Colbran; it was the last Rossini wrote for

his wife, and _Semiramide_ was the last opera he composed for Italy.

When we meet with Rossini again, it will be at the Académie Royale of

Paris, as the composer of _the Siege of Corinth_, _Count Ory_, and

_William Tell_.

[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S SINGERS.]

The first great representative of "Semiramide" was Pasta, who has

probably never been surpassed in that character. After performing it

with admirable success in London, she resumed in it the year afterwards,

1825, at the Italian Opera of Paris. Madame Pasta had already gained

great celebrity by her representation of "Tancredi" and of "Romeo," but

in _Semiramide_, she seems, for the first time, to have exhibited her

genius in all its fulness.[86]

The original "Arsace" was Madame Mariani, the first great "Arsace,"

Madame Pisaroni.

Since the first production of _Semiramide_, thirty years ago, all the

most distinguished sopranos and contraltos of the day have loved to

appear in that admirable work.

Among the "Semiramides," I may mention in particular Pasta, Grisi,

Viardot-Garcia, and Cruvelli. Although not usually given to singers who

particularly excel in the execution of light delicate music, the part of

"Semiramide" was also sung with success by Madame Sontag (Paris, 1829),

and Madame Bosio (St. Petersburgh, 1855).

Among the "Arsaces," may be cited Pisaroni, Brambilla, and Alboni.

Malibran, with her versatile comprehensive genius, appeared both as

"Arsace" and as "Semiramide," and was equally fortunate in each of these

very different impersonations.

I will now say a few words respecting those of the singers just named,

whose names are more especially associated with Rossini's earliest

successes in England.

Madame Pasta having appeared in Paris with success in 1816, was engaged

with her husband, Signor Pasta (an unsuccessful tenor), for the

following season at the King's Theatre. She made no great impression

that year, and was quite eclipsed by Fodor and Camporese, who were

members of the same company. The young singer, not discouraged, but

convinced that she had much to learn, returned to Italy, where she

studied unremittingly for four years. She reappeared at the Italian

Opera of Paris in 1821, as "Desdemona," in Rossini's _Otello_, then for

the first time produced in France. Her success was complete, but her

performance does not appear to have excited that enthusiasm which was

afterwards caused by her representation of "Medea," in Mayer's opera of

that name. In _Medea_, however, Pasta was everything; in _Otello_, she

had to share her triumph with Garcia, Bordogni, and Levasseur. From this

time, the new tragic vocalist gained constantly in public estimation.

_Medea_ was laid aside; but Pasta gained fresh applause in every new

part she undertook, and especially in _Tancredi_ and _Semiramide_.

[Sidenote: PASTA.]

Pasta made her second appearance at the King's Theatre in 1824, in the

character of "Desdemona." Her performance, from a histrionic as well as

from a vocal point of view, was most admirable; and the habitués could

scarcely persuade themselves that this was the singer who had come

before them four years previously, and had gone away without leaving a

regret behind. When Rossini's last Italian opera was produced, the same

season, the character of "Semiramide" was assigned to Madame Pasta, who

now sang it for the first time. She had already represented the part of

"Tancredi," and her three great Rossinian impersonations raised her

reputation to the highest point. In London, Madame Pasta did not appear

as "Medea" until 1826, when she already enjoyed the greatest celebrity.

It was found at the King's Theatre, as at the Italian Opera of Paris,

that Mayer's simple and frequently insipid music was not tolerable,

after the brilliant dramatic compositions of Rossini; but Pasta's

delineation of "Medea's" thirst for vengeance and despair, is said to

have been sublime.

A story is told of a distinguished critic persuading himself, that with

such a power of pourtraying "Medea's" emotions, Madame Pasta must

possess "Medea's" features; but for some such natural conformity he

seems to have thought it impossible that she could at once, by

intuition, enter profoundly and sympathetically into all "Medea's"

inmost feelings. Much might be said in favour of the critic's theory; it

is unnecessary to say a word in favour of a performance by which such a

theory could be suggested. We are told, that the believer in the

personal resemblance between Pasta and "Medea" was sent a journey of

seventy miles to see a visionary portrait of "Medea," recovered from the

ruins of Herculaneum. To rush off on such a journey with such an object,

may not have been very reasonable; to cause the journey to be

undertaken, was perfectly silly. Probably, it was a joke of our friend

Taylor's.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: PISARONI.]

Madame Pisaroni made her début in Italy in the year 1811, when she was

eighteen years of age. She at first came out as a soprano, but two years

afterwards, a severe illness having changed the nature of her voice, she

appeared in all the most celebrated parts, written for the musicos or

sopranists, who were now beginning to die out, and to be replaced by

ladies with contralto voices. Madame Pisaroni was not only not

beautiful, she was hideously ugly; I have seen her portrait, and am not

exaggerating. Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us, that another favourite

contralto of the day Mariani (Rossini's original Arsace) was Pisaroni's

rival "in voice, singing, and ugliness;" adding, that "in the two first

qualities, she was certainly her inferior; though in the last it was

difficult to know to which the preference should be given." But the

anti-pathetic, revolting, almost insulting features of the great

contralto, were forgotten as soon as she began to sing. As the hideous

Wilkes boasted that he was "only a quarter of an hour behind the

handsomest man in Europe," so Madame Pisaroni might have said, that she

had only to deliver one phrase of music to place herself on a level with

the most personally prepossessing vocalist of the day. This

extraordinary singer on gaining a contralto, did not lose her original

soprano voice. After her illness, she is said to have possessed three

octaves (between four C's), but her best notes were now in the contralto

register. In airs, in concerted pieces, in recitative, she was equally

admirable. To sustain a high note, and then dazzle the audience with a

rapid descending scale of two octaves, was for her an easy means of

triumph. Altogether, her execution seems never to have been surpassed.

After making her début in Paris as "Arsace," Madame Pisaroni resumed

that part in 1829, under great difficulties. The frightfully ugly

"Arsace" had to appear side by side with a charmingly pretty

"Semiramide,"--the soprano part of the opera being taken by Mademoiselle

Sontag. But in the hour of danger the poor contralto was saved by her

thoroughly beautiful singing, and Pisaroni and Sontag, who as a vocalist

also left nothing to desire, were equally applauded. In London, Pisaroni

appears to have confined herself intentionally to the representation of

male characters, appearing as "Arsace," "Malcolm," in _La Donna del

Lago_, and "Tancredi;" but in Paris she played the principal female part

in _L'Italiana in Algeri_, and what is more, played it with wonderful

success.

* * * * *

The great part of "Arsace" was also that in which Mademoiselle Brambilla

made her début in England in the year 1827. Brambilla, who was a pupil

of the conservatory of Milan, had never appeared on any stage; but

though her acting is said to have been indifferent, her lovely voice,

her already excellent style, her youth and her great beauty, ensured

her success.

"She has the finest eyes, the sweetest voice, and the best disposition

in the world," said a certain cardinal of the youthful Brambilla, "if

she is discovered to possess any other merits, the safety of the

Catholic Church will require her excommunication." After singing in

London several years, and revisiting Italy, Brambilla was engaged in

Paris, where she again chose the part of "Arsace," for her début.

Many of our readers will probably remember that "Arsace" was also the

character in which Mademoiselle Alboni made her first appearance in

England, and on this side of the Alps. Until the opening night of the

Royal Italian Opera, 1847, the English public had never heard of

Mademoiselle Alboni; but she had only to sing the first phrase of her

part, to call forth unanimous applause, and before the evening was at an

end, she had quite established herself in the position which she has

ever since held.

[Sidenote: SONTAG.]

Sontag and Malibran both made their first appearance in England as

"Rosina," in the _Barber of Seville_. Several points of similarity might

be pointed out between the romantic careers of these two wonderfully

successful and wonderfully unfortunate vocalists. Mademoiselle Garcia

first appeared on the stage at Naples, when she was eight years old.

Mademoiselle Sontag was in her sixth year when she came out at

Frankfort. Each spent her childhood and youth in singing and acting, and

each, after obtaining a full measure of success, made an apparently

brilliant marriage, and was thought to have quitted the stage. Both,

however, re-appeared, one after a very short interval, the other, after

a retirement of something like twenty years. The position of

Mademoiselle Garcia's husband, M. Malibran, was as nothing, compared to

that of Count Rossi, who married Mademoiselle Sontag; the former was a

French merchant, established (not very firmly, as it afterwards

appeared) at New York; the latter was the Sardinian Ambassador at the

court of Vienna; but on the other hand, the Countess Rossi's end was far

more tragic, or rather more miserable and horrible than that of Madame

Malibran, itself sufficiently painful and heart-rending.

Though Rosina appears to have been one of Mademoiselle Sontag's best, if

not absolutely her best part, she also appeared to great advantage

during her brief career in London and Paris, in two other Rossinian

characters, "Desdemona" and "Semiramide." In her own country she was

known as one of the most admirable representatives of "Agatha," in _Der

Freischütz_, and she sang "Agatha's" great _scena_ frequently, and

always with immense success, at concerts, in London. She also appeared

as "Donna Anna," in _Don Giovanni_, (from the pleasing, graceful

character of her talent, one would have fancied the part of "Zerlina"

better suited to her), but in Italian opera all her triumphs were gained

in the works of Rossini.

[Sidenote: MALIBRAN.]

When Marietta Garcia made her début in London, in the _Barber of

Seville_, she was, seriously, only just beginning her career, and was at

that time but seventeen years of age. She appeared the same year in

Paris, as the heroine in _Torvaldo e Dorliska_ (Rossini's

"_fiaschetto_," now quite forgotten) and was then taken by her father on

that disastrous American tour which ended with her marriage. Having

crossed the Atlantic, Garcia converted his family into a complete opera

company, of which he himself was the tenor and the excellent musical

director (if there had only been a little more to direct). The daughter

was the _prima donna_, the mother had to content herself with secondary

parts, the son officiated as baritone and bass. In America, under a good

master, but with strange subordinates, and a wretched _entourage_,

Mademoiselle Garcia accustomed herself to represent operatic characters

of every kind. One evening, when an uncultivated American orchestra was

massacring Mozart's master-piece, Garcia, the "Don Giovanni" of the

evening, became so indignant that he rushed, sword in hand, to the foot

lights, and compelled the musicians to re-commence the finale to the

first act, which they executed the second time with care, if not with

skill. This was a severe school in which poor Marietta was being formed;

but without it we should probably never have heard of her appearing one

night as "Desdemona" or as "Arsace," the next as "Otello," or as

"Semiramide;" nor of her gaining fresh laurels with equal certainty in

the _Sonnambula_

and in _Norma_. But we have at present only to do with that period of

operatic history, during which, Rossini's supremacy on the Italian stage

was unquestioned. Towards 1830, we find two new composers appearing,

who, if they, to some extent, displaced their great predecessor, at the

same time followed in his steps. For some dozen years, Rossini had been

the sole support, indeed, the very life of Italian opera. Naturally, his

works were not without their fruit, and a great part of Donizetti's and

Bellini's music may be said to belong to Rossini, inasmuch as Rossini

was clearly Donizetti's and Bellini's progenitor.

CHAPTER XVII.

OPERA IN FRANCE UNDER THE CONSULATE, EMPIRE, AND RESTORATION.

The History of the Opera, under the Consulate and the Empire, is perhaps

more remarkable in connexion with political than with musical events.

Few persons at present know much of Spontini's operas, though _la

Vestale_ in its day was celebrated in Paris, London and especially in

Berlin; nor of Cherubini's, though the overtures to _Anacreon_ and _les

Abencerrages_ are still heard from time to time at "classical" concerts;

but every one remembers the plot to assassinate the First Consul which

was to have been put into execution at the Opera, and the plot to

destroy the Emperor, the Empress and all their retinue, which was to

take effect just outside its doors. Then there is the appearance of the

Emperor at the Opera, after his hasty arrival in Paris from Moscow, on

the very night before his return to meet the Russians with the allies

who had now joined them, at Bautzen and Lutzen--the same night by the

way on which _les Abencerrages_ was produced, with no great success.

Then again there is the evening of the 29th of March, 1814, when

_Iphigénie en Aulide_ was performed to an accompaniment of cannon which

the Piccinnists, if they could only have heard it, would have declared

very appropriate to Gluck's music; that of the 1st of April, when by

desire, of the Russian emperor and the Prussian king, _la Vestale_ was

represented; and finally that of the 17th of May, 1814, when _Œdipe à

Colone_ was played before Louis XVIII., who had that morning made his

triumphal entry into Paris.

[Sidenote: AN OPERATIC PLOT.]

* * * * *

On the 10th of October, 1800, a band of republicans had sworn to

assassinate the First Consul at the Opera. A new work was to be produced

that evening composed by Porta to a libretto founded on Corneille's

tragedy of _les Horaces_. The most striking scene in the piece, that in

which the Horatii swear to conquer or perish, was to be the signal for

action; all the lights were to be put out at the same moment, fireworks

and grenades were to be thrown into the boxes, the pit and on to the

stage; cries of "fire" and "murder" were to be raised from all parts of

the house, and in the midst of the general confusion the First Consul

was to be assassinated in his box. The leaders of the plot, to make

certain of their cue, had contrived to be present at the rehearsal of

the new opera, and everything was prepared for the next evening and the

post of each conspirator duly assigned to him, when one of the number,

conscience smitten and unable to sleep during the night of the 9th,

went at daybreak the next morning to the Prefect of Police and informed

him of all the details of the plot.

The conspiracy said Bonaparte, some twenty years afterwards at St.

Helena, "was revealed by a captain in the line.[87] What limit is

there," he added, "to the combinations of folly and stupidity! This

officer had a horror of me as Consul but adored me as general. He was

anxious that I should be torn from my post, but he would have been very

sorry that my life should be taken. I ought to be made prisoner, he

said, in no way injured, and sent to the army to continue to defeat the

enemies of France. The other conspirators laughed in his face, and when

he saw them distribute daggers, and that they were going beyond his

intentions, he proceeded at once to denounce the whole affair."

Bonaparte, after the informer had been brought before him, suggested to

the officers of his staff, the Prefect of Police and other functionaries

whom he had assembled, that it would be as well not to let him appear at

the Opera in the evening; but the general opinion was, that on the

contrary, he should be forced to go, and ultimately it was decided that

until the commencement of the performance everything should be allowed

to take place as if the conspiracy had not been discovered.

[Sidenote: AN OPERATIC PLOT.]

In the evening the First Consul went to the Opera, attended by a number

of superior officers, all in plain clothes. The first act passed off

quietly enough--in all probability, far too quietly to please the

composer, for some two hundred persons among the audience, including the

conspirators, the police and the officers attached to Bonaparte's

person, were thinking of anything but the music of _les Horaces_. It was

necessary, however, to pay very particular attention to the music of the

second act in which the scene of the oath occurred.

The sentinels outside the Consul's box had received orders to let no one

approach who had not the pass word, issued an hour before for the opera

only; and as a certain number of conspirators had taken up their

positions in the corridors, to extinguish the lights at the signal

agreed upon, a certain number of Bonaparte's officers were sent also

into the corridors to prevent the execution of this manœuvre. The

scene of the oath was approaching, when a body of police went to the

boxes in which the leaders of the plot were assembled, found them with

fireworks and grenades in their hands, notified to them their arrest in

the politest manner, cautioned them against creating the slightest

disturbance, and led them so dexterously and quietly into captivity,

that their disappearance from the theatre was not observed, or if so,

was doubtless attributed to the badness of Porta's music. The officers

in the corridors carried pistols, and at the proper moment seized the

appointed lamp-extinguishers. Then the old Horatius came forward and

exclaimed--

"_Jurez donc devant moi, par le ciel qui m'écoute._

_Que le dernier de vous sera mort ou vainqueur._"

The orchestra "attacked" the introduction to the quartett. The fatal

prelude must have sounded somewhat unmusical to the ear of the First

Consul; but the conspirators were now all in custody and assembled in

one of the vestibules on the ground floor.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: LES MYSTERES D'ISIS.]

On the 24th of December, 1800, the day on which the "infernal machine"

was directed against the First Consul on his way to the Opera, a French

version of Haydn's _Creation_ was to be executed. Indeed, the

performance had already commenced, when, during the gentle _adagio_ of

the introduction, the dull report of an explosion, as if of a cannon,

was heard, but without the audience being at all alarmed. Immediately

afterwards the First Consul appeared in his box with Lannes, Lauriston,

Berthier, and Duroc. Madame Bonaparte, as she was getting into her

carriage, thought of some alteration to make in her dress, and returned

to her apartments for a few minutes. But for this delay her carriage

would have passed before the infernal machine at the moment of its

explosion. Ten minutes afterwards she made her appearance at the Opera

with her daughter, Mademoiselle Hortense Beauharnais, Madame Murat, and

Colonel Rapp. The performance of the _Creation_ continued as if nothing

had happened; and the report, which had interfered so unexpectedly with

the effect of the opening _adagio_, was explained in various ways; the

account generally received in the pit being, that a grocer going into

his cellar with a candle, had set light to a barrel of gunpowder. Two

houses were said to have been blown up. This was at the beginning of the

first part of the _Creation_; at the end of the second, the number had

probably increased to half a dozen.

Under the consulate and the empire, the arts did not flourish greatly in

France; not for want of direct encouragement on the part of the ruler,

but rather because he at the same time encouraged far above everything

else the art of war. Until the appearance of Spontini with _la Vestale_,

the Académie, under Napoleon Bonaparte, whether known as Bonaparte or

Napoleon, was chiefly supported by composers who composed without

inventing, and who, with the exception of Cherubini, were either very

feeble originators or mere plagiarists and spoliators. Even Mozart did

not escape the French arrangers. His _Marriage of Figaro_ had been

brought out in 1798, with all the prose dialogue of Beaumarchais's

comedy substituted for the recitative of the original opera. _Les

Mystères d'Isis_, an adaptation, perversion, disarrangement of _Die

Zauberflötte_, with several pieces suppressed, or replaced by fragments

from the _Nozze di Figaro_, _Don Giovanni_, and Haydn's symphonies, was

produced on the 23rd of August, 1801, under the auspices of Morel the

librettist, and Lachnith the musician.

_Les_ Misères _d'Isis_ was the appropriate name given to this sad

medley by the musicians of the orchestra. Lachnith was far from being

ashamed of what he had done. On the contrary, he gloried in it, and

seemed somehow or other to have persuaded himself that the pieces which

he had stolen from Mozart and Haydn were his own compositions. One

evening, when he was present at the representation of _Les Mystères

d'Isis_, he was affected to tears, and exclaimed, "No, I will compose no

more! I could never go beyond this!"

_Don Giovanni_, in the hands of Kalkbrenner, fared no better than the

_Zauberflötte_ in those of Lachnith. It even fared worse; for

Kalkbrenner did not content himself with spoiling the general effect of

the work, by means of pieces introduced from Mozart's other operas, and

from Haydn's symphonies: he mutilated it so as completely to alter its

form, and further debased it by mixing with its pure gold the dross of

his own vile music.

[Sidenote: KALKBRENNER'S DON GIOVANNI.]

In Kalkbrenner's _Don Giovanni_, the opera opened with a recitative,

composed by Kalkbrenner himself. Next came Leporello's solo, followed by

an interpolated romance, in the form of a serenade, which was sung by

Don Juan, under Donna Anna's window. The struggle of Don Juan with Donna

Anna, the entry of the commandant, his combat with Don Juan, the trio

for the three men and all the rest of the introduction, was cut out. The

duet of Donna Anna and Ottavio was placed at the end of the act, and as

Don Juan had killed the commandant off the stage, it was of course

deprived of its marvellous recitative, which, to be duly effective, must

be declaimed by Donna Anna over the body of her father. The whole of the

opera was treated in the same style. The first act was made to end as it

had begun, with a few phrases of recitative of Kalkbrenner's own

production. The greater part of the action of Da Ponte's libretto was

related in dialogue, so that the most dramatic portion of the music lost

all its significance. The whole opera, in short, was disfigured, cut to

pieces, destroyed, and further defiled by the musical weeds which the

infamous Kalkbrenner introduced among its still majestic ruins. At this

period the supreme direction of the Opera was in the hands of a jury,

composed of certain members of the Institute of France. It seems never

to have occurred to this learned body that there was any impropriety in

the trio of masques being executed by three men, and in the two soprano

parts being given to tenors,--by which arrangement the part of Ottavio,

Mozart's tenor, instead of being the lowest in the harmony, was made the

highest. The said trio was sung by three archers, of course to entirely

new words! Let us pass on to another opera, which, if not comparable to

_Don Giovanni_, was at least a magnificent work for France in 1807, and

which had the advantage of being admirably executed under the careful

direction of its composer.

* * * * *

Spontini had already produced _La Finta Filosofa_, which, originally

brought out at Naples, was afterwards performed at the Italian Theatre

of Paris, without success; _La Petite Maison_, written for the Opéra

Comique, and violently hissed; and _Milton_ also composed for the Opéra

Comique, and favourably received. When _La Vestale_ was submitted to the

jury of the Académie, it was refused unanimously on the ground of the

extravagance of its style, and of the audacity of certain innovations in

the score. Spontini appealed to the Empress Josephine, and it was owing

to her influence, and through a direct order of the court that _La

Vestale_ was put upon the stage. The jury was inexorable, however, as

regarded certain portions of the work, and the composer was obliged to

submit it to the orchestral conductor, who injured it in several places,

but without spoiling it. Spontini wished to give the part of the tenor

to Nourrit; but Lainez protested, went to the superintendant of the

imperial theatres, represented that he had been first tenor and first

lover at the Opera for thirty years, and finally received full

permission to make love to the Vestal of the Académie.

The Emperor Napoleon had the principal pieces in _La Vestale_ executed

by his private band, nearly a year before the opera was brought out at

the Académie. He had sufficient taste to admire the music, and predicted

to Spontini the success it afterwards met with. He is said, in

particular, to have praised the finale, the first dramatic finale

written for the French Opera.

[Sidenote: SPONTINI.]

_La Vestale_ was received by the public with enthusiasm. It is said to

have been admirably executed, and we know that Spontini was difficult on

this point, for we are told by Mr. Ebers that he objected to the

performance of _La Vestale_, in London, on the ground "that the means of

representation there were inadequate to do justice to his composition."

This was twenty years after it was first brought out in Paris, when all

Rossini's finest and most elaborately constructed operas (such as

_Semiramide_, for instance), had been played in London, and in a manner

which quite satisfied Rossini. Probably, however, it was in the

spectacular department that Spontini expected the King's Theatre would

break down. However that may have been, _La Vestale_ was produced in

London, and met with very little success. The part of "La Vestale" was

given to a Madame Biagioli, who objected to it as not sufficiently good

for her. From the accounts extant of this lady's powers, it is quite

certain that Spontini, if he had heard her, would have considered her

not nearly good enough for his music. It would, of course, have been far

better for the composer, as for the manager and the public, if Spontini

had consented to superintend the production of his work himself; but

failing that, it was scandalous in defiance of his wishes to produce it

at all. Unfortunately, this is a kind of scandal from which operatic

managers in England have seldom shrunk.

Spontini's _Fernand Cortez_, produced at the Académie in 1809, met with

less success than _La Vestale_. In both these works, the spectacular

element played an important part, and in _Fernand Cortez_, it was found

necessary to introduce a number of Franconi's horses. A journalist of

the period proposed that the following inscription should be placed

above the doors of the theatre:--_Içi on joue l'opéra à pied et à

cheval_.

Spontini, as special composer for the Académie of grand operas with

hippic and panoramic effects, was the predecessor of M. M. Meyerbeer,

and Halévy; and Heine, in his "Lutèce"[88] has given us a very witty,

and perhaps, in the main, truthful account of Spontini's animosity

towards Meyerbeer, whom he is said to have always regarded as an

intriguer and interloper. I may here, however, mention as a proof of the

attractiveness of _La Vestale_ from a purely musical point of view, that

it was once represented with great success, not only without magnificent

or appropriate scenery, but with the scenery belonging to another piece!

This was on the 1st of April, 1814, the day after the entry of the

Russian and Prussian troops into Paris. _Le Triomphe de Trajan_ had been

announced; the allied sovereigns, however, wished to hear _La Vestale_,

and the performance was changed. But there was not time to prepare the

scenery for Spontini's opera, and that of the said _Triomphe_ was made

to do duty for it.

[Sidenote: A MURDER AT THE OPERA.]

_Le Triomphe de Trajan_ was a work in which Napoleon's clemency to a

treacherous or patriotic German prince was celebrated, and it has been

said that the programme of the 1st of April was changed, because the

allied sovereigns disliked the subject of the opera. But it was

perfectly natural that they should wish to hear Spontini's master-piece,

and that they should not particularly care to listen to a _pièce

d'occasion_, set to music by a French composer of no name.

I have said that Cherubini's _Abencerrages_, of which all but the

overture is now forgotten, was produced in 1813, and that the emperor

attended its first representation the night before his departure from

Paris, to rejoin his troops, and if possible, check the advance of the

victorious allies. No other work of importance was produced at the

French Académie until Rossini's _Siège de Corinthe_ was brought out in

1825. This, the first work written by the great Italian master specially

for the French Opera, was represented at the existing theatre in the Rue

Lepelletier, the opera house in the Rue Richelieu having been pulled

down in 1820.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: A MURDER AT THE OPERA.]

In the year just mentioned, on the 13th of February, being the last

Sunday of the Carnival, an unusually brilliant audience had assembled at

the Académie Royale. _Le Rossignol_, an insipid, and fortunately, very

brief production, was the opera; but the great attraction of the evening

consisted in two ballets, _La Carnaval de Venise_, and _Les Noces de

Gamache_. The Duke and Duchess de Berri were present, and when _Le

Carnaval de Venise_, _Le Rossignol_, and the first act of _Les Noces de

Gamache_, had been performed, the duchess rose to leave the theatre. Her

husband accompanied her to the carriage, and was taking leave of her,

intending to return to the theatre for the last act of the ballet, when

a man crept up to him, placed his left arm on the duke's left side,

pulled him violently towards him, and as he held him in his grasp,

thrust a dagger through his body. The dagger entered the duke's right

side, and the pressure of the assassin's arm, and the force with which

the blow was given, were so great, that the weapon went through the

lungs, and pierced the heart, a blade of six inches inflicting a wound

nine inches long. The news of the duke's assassination spread through

the streets of Paris as if by electricity; and M. Alexandre Dumas, in

his interesting Memoirs, tells us almost the same thing that Balzac says

about it in one of his novels; that it was known at the farther end of

Paris, before a man on horseback, despatched at the moment the blow was

struck, could possibly have reached the spot. On the other hand, M.

Castil Blaze shows us very plainly that the terrible occurrence was not

known within the Opera; or, at least, only to a few officials, until

after the conclusion of the performance, which went on as if nothing had

happened. The duke was carried into the director's room, where he was

attended by Blancheton, the surgeon of the Opera, and at once bled in

both arms. He, himself, drew the dagger from the wound, and observed at

the same time that he felt it was mortal. The Count d'Artois, and the

Duke and Duchess d'Angoulême arrived soon afterwards. There lay the

unhappy prince, on a bed hastily arranged, and already inundated, soaked

with blood, surrounded by his father, brother, sister, and wife, whose

poignant anguish was from time to time alleviated by some faint ray of

hope, destined, however, to be quickly dispelled.

Five of the most celebrated doctors in Paris, with Dupuytren among the

number, had been sent for; and as the patient was now nearly suffocating

from internal hæmorrhage, the orifice of the wound was widened. This

afforded some relief, and for a moment it was thought just possible that

a recovery might be effected. Another moment, and it was evident that

there was no hope. The duke asked to see his daughter, and embraced her

several times; he also expressed a desire to see the king. Now the

sacrament was administered to him, but, on the express condition exacted

by the Archbishop of Paris, that the Opera House should afterwards be

destroyed. Two other unacknowledged daughters of his youth were brought

to the dying man's bedside, and received his blessing. He had already

recommended them to the duchess's care.

"Soon you will have no father," she said to them, "and I shall have

three daughters."

In the meanwhile the Spanish ballet was being continued, amidst the

mirth and applause of the audience, who testified by their demeanour

that it was Carnival time, and that the _jours gras_ had already

commenced. The house was crowded, and the boleros and sequidillas with

which the Spaniards of the Parisian ballet astonished and dazzled Don

Quixote and his faithful knight, threw boxes, pit, and gallery, into

ecstasies of delight.

Elsewhere, in the room next his victim, stood the assassin, interrogated

by the ministers, Decazes and Pasquier, with the bloody dagger before

them on the table. The murderer simply declared that he had no

accomplices,[89] and that he took all the responsibility of the crime on

himself.

At five in the morning, Louis XVIII. was by the side of his dying

nephew. An attempt had been made, the making of which was little less

than an insult to the king, to dissuade him from being present at the

duke's last moments.

[Sidenote: A MURDER AT THE OPERA.]

"The sight of death does not terrify me," replied His Majesty, "and I

have a duty to perform." After begging that his murderer might be

forgiven, and entreating the duchess not to give way to despair, the

Duke de Berri breathed his last in the arms of the king, who closed his

eyes at half-past six in the morning.

* * * * *

Opera was now to be heard no more in the Rue Richelieu. The holy

sacrament had crossed the threshold of a profane building, and it was

necessary that this profane building should be destroyed; indeed, a

promise to that effect had been already given. All the theatres were

closed for ten days, and the Opera, now homeless, did not re-commence

its performances until upwards of two months afterwards, when it took

possession for a time of the Théâtre Favart. In the August of the same

year the erection of the theatre in the Rue Lepelletier was commenced.

The present Théâtre de l'Opéra, (the absurd title of Académie having

recently been abandoned), was intended when it was first built, to be

but a temporary affair. Strangely enough it has lasted forty years,

during which time it has seen solidly constructed opera-houses perish by

fire in all parts of Europe. May the new opera-house about to be erected

in Paris, under the auspices of Napoleon III., be equally fortunate.

I am here reminded that both the Napoleons have proved themselves good

and intelligent friends to the Opera. In the year eleven of the French

republic, the First Consul and his two associates, the Minister of the

French republic, the three Consuls, the Ministers of the interior and

police, General Junot, the Secretary of State, and a few more officials

occupied among them as many as seventeen boxes at the opera, containing

altogether ninety-four places. Bonaparte had a report drawn up from

which it appeared that the value of these boxes to the administration,

was sixty thousand four hundred francs per annum, including fifteen

thousand francs for those kept at his own disposition. Thereupon he

added to the report the following brief, but on the whole satisfactory

remark.

"_A datter du premier nivose toutes ces loges seront payées par ceux qui

les occupent._"

The error in orthography is not the printers', but Napoleon Bonaparte's,

and the document in which it occurs, is at present in the hands of M.

Regnier of the Comédie Française.

A month afterwards, Napoleon, or at least the consular trio of which he

was the chief, assigned to the Opera a regular subsidy of 600,000 francs

a year; he at the same time gave it a respectable name. Under the

Convention it had been entitled "Théâtre de la République et des Arts;"

the First Consul called it simply, "Théâtre des Arts," an appellation it

had borne before.[90]

Hardly had the new theatre in the Rue Lepelletier opened its doors,

when a singer of the highest class, a tenor of the most perfect kind,

made his appearance. This was Adolphe Nourrit, a pupil of Garcia, who,

on the 10th of September, 1821, made his first appearance with the

greatest success as "Pylade" in _Iphigénie en Tauride_. It was not,

however, until Auber's _Muette de Portici_ was produced in 1828, that

Nourrit had an opportunity of distinguishing himself in a new and

important part.

[Sidenote: LA MUETTE DE PORTICI.]

_La Muette_ was the first of those important works to which the French

Opera owes its actual celebrity in Europe. _Le Siège de Corinthe_,

translated and adapted from _Maometto II._, with additions (including

the admirable blessing of the flags) written specially for the Académie,

had been brought out eighteen months before, but without much success.

_Maometto II._ was not one of Rossini's best works, the drama on which

it was constructed was essentially feeble and uninteresting, and the

manner in which the whole was "arranged" for the French stage, was

unsatisfactory in many respects. _Le Siège de Corinthe_ was greatly

applauded the first night, but it soon ceased to have any attraction for

the public. Rossini had previously written _Il Viaggio a Reims_ for the

coronation of Charles X., and this work was re-produced at the Academy

three years afterwards, with several important additions (such as the

duet for "Isolier" and the "Count," the chorus of women, the

unaccompanied quartett, the highly effective drinking chorus, and the

beautiful trio of the last act), under the title of _le Comte Ory_. In

the meanwhile _La Muette_ had been brought out, to be followed the year

afterwards by _Guillaume Tell_, which was to be succeeded in its turn by

Meyerbeer's _Robert le Diable_, _Les Huguenots_ and _Le Prophète_,

(works which belong specially to the Académie and with which its modern

reputation is intimately associated), by Auber's _Gustave III._,

Donizetti's _la Favorite_, &c.

_La Muette de Portici_ had the great advantage of enabling the Académie

to display all its resources at once. It was brought out with

magnificent scenery and an excellent _corps de ballet_, with a _première

danseuse_, Mademoiselle Noblet as the heroine, with the new tenor,

Nourrit, in the important part of the hero, and with a well taught

chorus capable of sustaining with due effect the prominent _rôle_

assigned to it. For in the year 1828 it was quite a novelty at the

French Opera to see the chorus taking part in the general action of the

drama.

[Sidenote: LA MUETTE DE PORTICI.]

If we compare _La Muette_ with the "Grand Operas" produced subsequently

at the Académie, we find that it differs from them all in some important

respects. In the former, instead of a _prima donna_ we have a _prima

ballerina_ in the principal female part. Of course the concerted pieces

suffer by this, or rather the number of concerted pieces is diminished,

and to the same cause may, perhaps, be attributed the absence of finales

in _La Muette_. It chiefly owed its success (which is still renewed from

time to time whenever it is re-produced) to the intrinsic beauty of its

melodies and to the dramatic situations provided by the ingenious

librettist, M. Scribe, and admirably taken advantage of by the composer.

But the part of Fenella had also great attractions for those unmusical

persons who are found in almost every audience in England and France,

and for whom the chief interest in every opera consists in the

skeleton-drama on which it is founded. To them the graceful Fenella with

her expressive pantomime is no bad substitute for a singer whose words

would be unintelligible to them, and whose singing, continued throughout

the Opera, would perhaps fatigue their dull ears. These ballet-operas

seem to have been very popular in France about the period when _La

Muette_ was produced, the other most celebrated example of the style

being Auber's _Le Dieu et la Bayadère_. In the present day it would be

considered that a _prima ballerina_, introduced as a principal character

in an opera, would interfere too much with the combinations of the

singing personages.

I need say nothing about the charming music of _La Muette_, which is

well known to every frequenter of the Opera, further than to mention,

that the melody of the celebrated barcarole and chorus, "_Amis, amis le

soleil va paraitre_" had already been heard in a work of Auber's, called

_Emma_; and that the brilliant overture had previously served as an

instrumental preface to _Le Maçon_.

_La Muette de Portici_ was translated and played with great success in

England. But shameful liberties were taken with the piece; recitatives

were omitted, songs were interpolated: and it was not until _Masaniello_

was produced at the Royal Italian Opera that the English public had an

opportunity of hearing Auber's great work without suppressions or

additions.

The greatest opera ever written for the Académie, and one of the three

or four greatest operas ever produced, was now about to be brought out.

_Guillaume Tell_ was represented for the first time on the 3rd of

August, 1829. It was not unsuccessful, or even coldly received the first

night, as has often been stated; but the result of the first few

representations was on the whole unsatisfactory. Musicians and

connoisseurs were struck by the great beauties of the work from the very

beginning; but some years passed before it was fully appreciated by the

general public. The success of the music was certainly not assisted by

the libretto--one of the most tedious and insipid ever put together; and

it was not until Rossini's masterpiece had been cut down from five to

three acts, that the Parisians, as a body, took any great interest in

it.

[Sidenote: GUILLAUME TELL.]

_Guillaume Tell_ is now played everywhere in the three act form. Some

years ago a German doctor, who had paid four francs to hear _Der

Freischütz_ at the French Opera, proceeded against the directors for the

recovery of his money, on the plea that it had been obtained from him on

false pretences, the work advertised as _Der Freischütz_ not being

precisely the _Der Freischütz_[91] which Karl Maria von Weber composed.

The doctor might amuse himself (the authorities permitting) by bringing

an action against the managers of the Berlin theatre every time they

produce Rossini's _Guillaume Tell_--which is often enough, and always in

three acts.

The original cast of _Guillaume Tell_ included Nourrit, Levasseur,

Dabadie, A. Dupont, Massol, and Madame Cinti-Damoreau. The singers and

musicians of the Opera were enthusiastic in their admiration of the new

work, and the morning after its production assembled on the terrace of

the house where Rossini lived and performed a selection from it in his

honour. One distinguished artist who took no part in this ceremony had,

nevertheless, contributed in no small degree to the success of the

opera. This was Mademoiselle Taglioni, whose _tyrolienne_ danced to the

music of the charming unaccompanied chorus, was of course understood and

applauded by every one from the very first.

After the first run of _Guillaume Tell_, the Opera returned to _La

Muette de Portici_, and then for a time Auber's and Rossini's

masterpieces were played alternate nights. On Wednesday, July 3rd, 1830,

_La Muette de Portici_ was performed, and with a certain political

appropriateness;--for the "days of July" were now at hand, and the

insurrectionary spirit had already manifested itself in the streets of

Paris. The fortunes of _La Muette de Portici_ have been affected in

various ways by the revolutionary character of the plot. Even in London

it was more than once made a pretext for a "demonstration" by the

radicals of William the Fourth's time. At most of the Italian theatres

it has been either forbidden altogether or has had to be altered

considerably before the authorities would allow it to be played. Strange

as it may appear, in absolute Russia it has been represented times out

of number in its original shape, under the title of _Fenella_.

[Sidenote: FRENCH NATIONAL SONGS.]

We have seen that _Masaniello_ was represented in Paris four days before

the commencement of the outbreak which ended in the elder branch of the

Bourbons being driven from the throne. On the 26th of July, _Guillaume

Tell_ was to have been represented, but the city was in such a state of

agitation, in consequence of the issue of the _ordonnances_, signed at

St. Cloud the day before, that the Opera was closed. On the 27th the

fighting began and lasted until the 29th, when the Opera was re-opened.

On the 4th of August, _La Muette de Portici_ was performed, and created

the greatest enthusiasm,--the public finding in almost every scene some

reminder, and now and then a tolerably exact representation, of what had

just taken place within a stone's throw of the theatre. _La Muette_,

apart from its music, became now the great piece of the day; and the

representations at the Opera were rendered still more popular by

Nourrit singing "_La Parisienne_" every evening. The melody of this

temporary national song, like that of its predecessor (so infinitely

superior to it), "_La Marseillaise_" (according to Castil Blaze), was

borrowed from Germany. France, never wanting in national spirit, has yet

no national air. It has four party songs, not one of which can be

considered truly patriotic, and of which the only one that possesses any

musical merit, disfigured as it has been by its French adapters, is of

German origin.

Nourrit is said to have delivered "_La Parisienne_" with wonderful

vigour and animation, and to this and to Casimir Delavigne's verses (or

rather to Delavigne's name, for the verses in themselves are not very

remarkable) may be attributed the reputation which the French national

song, No. 4,[92] for some time enjoyed.

* * * * *

_Guillaume Tell_ is Rossini's last opera. To surpass that admirable work

would have been difficult for its own composer, impossible for any one

else; and Rossini appears to have resolved to terminate his artistic

career when it had reached its climax. In carrying out this resolution,

he has displayed a strength of character, of which it is almost

impossible to find another instance. Many other reasons have been given

for Rossini's abstaining from composition during so many years, such as

the coldness with which _Guillaume Tell_ was received (when, as we have

seen, its _immediate_ reception by those whose opinion Rossini would

chiefly have valued, was marked by the greatest enthusiasm), and the

success of Meyerbeer's operas, though who would think of placing the

most successful of Meyerbeer's works on a level with _Guillaume Tell_?

"_Je reviendrai quand les juifs auront fini leur sabbat_," is a speech

(somewhat uncharacteristic of the speaker, as it seems to me),

attributed to Rossini by M. Castil Blaze; who, however, also mentions,

that when _Robert le Diable_ was produced, every journal in Paris said

that it was the finest opera, _except Guillaume Tell_, that had been

produced at the Académie for years. It appears certain, now, that

Rossini simply made up his mind to abdicate at the height of his power.

There were plenty of composers who could write works inferior to

_Guillaume Tell_, and to them he left the kingdom of opera, to be

divided as they might arrange it among themselves. He was succeeded by

Meyerbeer at the Académie; by Donizetti and Bellini at the Italian

opera-houses of all Europe.

* * * * *

Rossini had already found a follower, and, so to speak, an original

imitator, in Auber, whose eminently Rossinian overture to _La Muette_,

was heard at the Académie the year before _Guillaume Tell_.

[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S FOLLOWERS.]

I need scarcely remind the intelligent reader, that the composer of

three master-pieces in such very different styles as _Il Barbiere_,

_Semiramide_, and _Guillaume Tell_, might have a dozen followers, whose

works, while all resembling in certain points those of their predecessor

and master, should yet bear no great general resemblance to one another.

All the composers who came immediately after Rossini, accepted, as a

matter of course, those important changes which he had introduced in the

treatment of the operatic drama, and to which he had now so accustomed

the public, that a return to the style of the old Italian masters, would

have been not merely injudicious, but intolerable. Thus, all the

post-Rossinian composers adopted Rossini's manner of accompanying

recitative with the full band; his substitution of dialogued pieces,

written in measured music, with a prominent connecting part assigned to

the orchestra, for the interminable dialogues in simple recitative,

employed by the earlier Italian composers; his mode of constructing

finales; and his new distribution of characters, by which basses and

baritones become as eligible for first parts as tenors, while great

importance is given to the chorus, which, in certain operas, according

to the nature of the plot, becomes an important dramatic agent. I may

repeat, by way of memorandum, what has before been observed, that nearly

all these forms originated with Mozart, though it was reserved for

Rossini to introduce and establish them on the Italian stage. In short,

with the exception of the very greatest masters of Germany, all the

composers of the last thirty or forty years, have been to some, and

often to a very great extent, influenced by Rossini. The general truth

of this remark is not lessened by the fact, that Hérold and Auber, and

even Donizetti and Bellini (the last, especially, in the simplicity of

his melodies), afterwards found distinctive styles; and that Meyerbeer,

after _Il Crociato_, took Weber, rather than Rossini, for his model--the

composer of _Robert_ at the same time exhibiting a strongly marked

individuality, which none of his adverse critics think of denying, and

which is partly, no doubt, the cause of their adverse criticism.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: ROSSINI'S RETIREMENT.]

What will make it appear to some persons still more astonishing, that

Rossini should have retired after producing _Guillaume Tell_ is, that he

had signed an agreement with the Académie, by which he engaged to write

three grand operas for it in six years. In addition to his "author's

rights," he was to receive ten thousand francs annually until the

expiration of the sixth year, and the completion of the third opera. No.

1 was _Guillaume Tell_. The librettos of Nos. 2 and 3 were _Gustave_ and

_Le Duc d'Albe_, both of which were returned by Rossini to M. Scribe,

perhaps, with an explanation, but with none that has ever been made

public. Rossini was at this time thirty-seven years of age, strong and

vigorous enough to have outlived, not only his earliest, but his latest

compositions, had they not been the most remarkable dramatic works of

this century. If Rossini had been a composer who produced with

difficulty, his retirement would have been more easy to explain; but the

difficulty with him must have been to avoid producing. The story is

probably known to many readers of his writing a duet one morning, in

bed, letting the music paper fall, and, rather than leave his warm

sheets to pick it up, writing another duet, which was quite different

from the first. A hundred similar anecdotes are told of the facility

with which Rossini composed. Who knows but that he wished his career to

be measured against those of so many other composers whose days were cut

short, at about the age he had reached when he produced _Guillaume

Tell_? A very improbable supposition, certainly, when we consider how

little mysticism there is in the character of Rossini. However this may

be, he ceased to write operas at about the age when many of his

immediate predecessors and followers ceased to live.[93]

And even Rossini had a narrow escape. About the critical period, when

the composer of _Guillaume Tell_ was a little more than half way between

thirty and forty, the Italian Theatre of Paris was burnt to the ground.

This, at first sight, appears to have nothing to do with the question;

but Rossini lived in the theatre, and his apartments were near the

roof. He had started for Italy two days previously; had he remained in

Paris, he certainly would have shared the fate of the other inmates who

perished in the flames.

* * * * *

Meyerbeer is a composer who defies classification, or who, at least, may

be classified in three different ways. As the author of the _Crociato_,

he belongs to Italy, and the school of Rossini; _Robert le Diable_

exhibits him as a composer chiefly of the German school, with a tendency

to follow in the steps of Weber; but _Robert_, _les Huguenots_, _le

Prophète_, _l'Etoile du Nord_, and, above all _Dinorah_, are also

characteristic of the composer himself. The committee of the London

International Exhibition has justly decided that Meyerbeer is a German

composer, and there is no doubt about his having been born in Germany,

and educated for some time under the same professor as Karl Maria Von

Weber; but it is equally certain that he wrote those works to which he

owes his great celebrity for the Académie Royale of Paris, and as we are

just now dealing with the history of the French Opera, this, I think, is

the proper place in which to introduce the most illustrious of living

and working composers.

[Sidenote: REHEARSALS.]

"The composer of _Il Crociato in Egitto_, an amateur, is a native of

Berlin, where his father, a Jew, who is since dead, was a banker of

great riches. The father's name was Beer, Meyer being merely a Jewish

prefix, which the son thought fit to incorporate with his surname. He

was a companion of Weber, in his musical studies. He had produced other

operas which had been well received, but none of them was followed by or

merited the success that attended _Il Crociato_." So far Mr. Ebers, who,

in a few words, tells us a great deal of Meyerbeer's early career. The

said _Crociato_, written for Venice, in 1824, was afterwards produced at

the Italian Opera of Paris in 1825, six years before _Robert le Diable_

was brought out at the Académie. In the summer of 1825, a few months

before its production in Paris, it was modified in London, and Mr. Ebers

informs us that the getting up of the opera, to which nine months were

devoted at the Théâtre Italien, occupied at the King's Theatre only one.

Such rapid feats are familiar enough to our operatic managers and

musical conductors. But it must be remembered that a first performance

in England is very often less perfect than a dress rehearsal in France;

and, moreover, that between bringing out an original work (or an old

work, in an original style), in Paris, and bringing out the same work

afterwards, more or less conformably to the Parisian[94] model, in

London, there is the same difference as between composing a picture and

merely copying one. No singers and musicians read better than those of

the French Académie, and it is a terrible mistake to suppose that so

much time is required at that theatre for the production of a grand

opera on account of any difficulty in making the _artistes_ acquainted

with their parts. _Guillaume Tell_ was many months in rehearsal, but

the orchestra played the overture at first sight in a manner which

astonished and delighted Rossini. The great, and I may add, the

inevitable fault of our system of management in England is that it is

impossible to procure for a new opera a sufficient number of rehearsals

before it is publicly produced. It is surprising how few "repetitions"

suffice, but they would _not_ suffice if the same perfection was thought

necessary on the first night which is obtained at the Paris and Berlin

Operas, and which, in London, in the case of very difficult, elaborate

works, is not reached until after several representations.

However, _Il Crociato_ was brought out in London after a month's

rehearsal. The manager left the musical direction almost entirely in the

hands of Velluti, who had already superintended its production at

Venice, and Florence, and who was engaged, as a matter of course, for

the principal part written specially for him. The opera (of which the

cast included, besides Velluti, Mademoiselle Garcia, Madame Caradori and

Crivelli the tenor) was very successful, and was performed ten nights

without intermission when the "run" was brought to a termination by the

closing of the theatre. The following account of the music by Lord Mount

Edgcumbe, shows the sort of impression it made upon the old amateurs of

the period.

[Sidenote: MEYERBEER'S CROCIATO.]

It was "quite of the new school, but not copied from its founder,

Rossini; original, odd, flighty, and it might even be termed

_fantastic_, but at times beautiful; here and there most delightful

melodies and harmonies occurred, but it was unequal, solos were as rare

as in all the modern operas, but the numerous concerted pieces much

shorter and far less noisy than Rossini's, consisting chiefly of duets

and terzettos, with but few choruses and no overwhelming accompaniments.

Indeed, Meyerbeer has rather gone into the contrary extreme, the

instrumental parts being frequently so slight as to be almost meagre,

while he has sought to produce new and striking effects from the voices

alone."

Before speaking of Meyerbeer's better known and more celebrated works, I

must say a few words about Velluti, a singer of great powers, but of a

peculiar kind ("_non vir sed Veluti_") who, as I have said before,

played the principal part in _Il Crociato_. He was the last of his

tribe, and living at a time when too much license was allowed to singers

in the execution of the music entrusted to them, so disgusted Rossini by

his extravagant style of ornamentation, that the composer resolved to

write his airs in future in such elaborate detail, that to embellish

them would be beyond the power of any singer. Be this how it may,

Rossini did not like Velluti's singing, nor Velluti Rossini's

music--which sufficiently proves that the last of the sopranists was not

a musician of taste.[95] Mr. Ebers tells us that "after making the tour

of the principal Italian and German theatres, Velluti arrived in Paris,

where the musical taste was not prepared for him," and that, "Rossini

being at this time engaged at Paris under his agreement to direct there,

Velluti did not enter into his plans, and having made no engagement

there, came over to England without any invitation, but strongly

recommended by Lord Burghersh." The re-appearance of a musico in London

when the race was thought to be extinct, caused a great sensation, and

not altogether of an agreeable kind. However, the Opera was crowded the

night of his _début_; to the old amateurs it recalled the days of

Pacchierotti, to the young ones, it was simply a strange and unexpected

novelty. Some are said to have come to the theatre expressly to oppose

him, while others were there for the avowed purpose of supporting him,

from a feeling that public opinion had dealt harshly with the

unfortunate man. Velluti had already sung at concerts, where his

reception was by no means favourable. Indeed, Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells

us "that the scurrilous abuse lavished upon him before he was heard, was

cruel and illiberal," and that "it was not till after long deliberation,

much persuasion, and assurances of support that the manager ventured to

engage him for the remainder of the season."

[Sidenote: VELLUTI.]

Velluti's demeanour on entering the stage was highly prepossessing. Mr.

Ebers says that "it was at once graceful and dignified," and that "he

was in look and action the son of chivalry he represented."

He adds, that "his appearance was received with mingled applause and

disapprobation; but that "the scanty symptoms of the latter were

instantly overwhelmed." The effect produced on the audience by the first

notes Velluti uttered was most peculiar. According to Mr. Ebers, "there

was a something of a preternatural harshness about them, which jarred

even more strongly on the imagination than on the ear;" though, as he

proceeded, "the sweetness and flexibility of those of his tones which

yet remained unimpaired by time, were fully perceived and felt." Lord

Mount Edgcumbe informs us, that "the first note he uttered gave a shock

of surprise, almost of disgust, to inexperienced ears;" though,

afterwards, "his performance was listened to with great attention and

applause throughout, with but few _audible_ expressions of

disapprobation speedily suppressed." The general effect of his

performance is summed up in the following words:--"To the old he brought

back some pleasing recollections; others, to whom his voice was new,

became reconciled to it, and sensible of his merits; whilst many

declared, to the last, his tones gave them more pain than pleasure."

However, he drew crowded audiences, and no opera but Meyerbeer's

_Crociato_ was performed until the end of the season.

* * * * *

Some years after the production of _Il Crociato_, Meyerbeer had written

an _opéra comique_, entitled _Robert le Diable_, which was to have been

represented at the Ventadour Theatre, specially devoted to that kind of

performance. The company, however, at the "Théâtre de l'Opera Comique,"

was not found competent to execute the difficult music of _Robert_, and

the interesting libretto by M. M. Scribe and Delavigne, was altered and

reduced, so as to suit the Académie. The celebrated "pruning knife" was

brought out, and vigorously applied. What remained of the dialogue was

adapted for recitative, and the character of "Raimbaud" was cut out in

the fourth and fifth acts. With all these suppressions, the opera, as

newly arranged, to be recited or sung from beginning to end, was still

very long, and not particularly intelligible. However, the legend on

which _Robert le Diable_ is founded is well suited for musical

illustration, and the plot, with a little attention and a careful study

of the book, may be understood, in spite of the absence of "Raimbaud,"

who, in the original piece, is said to have served materially to aid and

explain the progress of the drama.

[Sidenote: ROBERT LE DIABLE.]

If _Robert le Diable_ had been produced at the Opéra Comique, in the

form in which it was originally conceived, the many points of

resemblance it presents to _Der Freischütz_ would have struck every one.

Meyerbeer seems to have determined to write a romantic semi-fantastic

legendary opera, like _Der Freischütz_, and, in doing so, naturally

followed in the footsteps of Weber. He certainly treats these legendary

subjects with particular felicity, and I fancy there is more spontaneity

in the music of _Robert le Diable_, and _Dinorah_, than in any other

that he has composed; but this does not alter the fact that such

subjects were first treated in music, and in a thoroughly congenial

manner, by Karl Maria von Weber. Without considering how far Meyerbeer,

in _Robert le Diable_, has borrowed his instrumentation and harmonic

combinations from Weber, there can be no doubt about its being a work of

much the same class as _Der Freischütz_; and it would have been looked

upon as quite of that class, had it been produced, like _Der

Freischütz_, with spoken dialogue, and with the popular characters more

in relief.

_Robert le Diable_, converted into a grand opera, was produced at the

Académie, on the 21st of November, 1831. Dr. Véron, in his "Mémoires

d'un Bourgeois de Paris," has given a most interesting account of all

the circumstances which attended the rehearsals and first representation

of this celebrated work. Dr. Véron had just undertaken the management of

the Académie; and to have such an opera as _Robert le Diable_, with

which to mark the commencement of his reign, was a piece of rare good

fortune. The libretto, the music, the ballet, were all full of interest,

and many of the airs had the advantage (in Paris) of being somewhat in

the French style. The applause with which this, the best constructed of

all M. Meyerbeer's works, was received, went on increasing from act to

act; and, altogether, the success it obtained was immense, and, in some

respects, unprecedented.

Nourrit played the part of "Robert," Madame Cinti Damoreau that of

"Isabelle." Mademoiselle Dorus and Levasseur were the "Alice" and the

"Bertram." In the _pas de cinq_ of the second act, Noblet, Montessu, and

Perrot appeared; and in the nuns' scene, the troop of resuscitated

virgins was led by the graceful and seductive Taglioni. All the scenery

was admirably painted, especially that of the moonlight _tableau_ in the

third act. The costumes were rich and brilliant, the _mise en scène_,

generally, was remarkable for its completeness; in short, every one

connected with the "getting up" of the opera from Habeneck, the musical

conductor, to the property-men, gas-fitters and carpenters, whose names

history has not preserved, did their utmost to ensure its success.

In 1832, _Robert le Diable_ was brought out at the King's Theatre, with

the principal parts sustained, as in Paris, by Nourrit, Levasseur, and

Madame Damoreau. The part of "Alice" appears to have been given to

Mademoiselle de Méric. This opera met with no success at the King's

Theatre, and was scarcely better received at Covent Garden, where an

English version was performed, with such alterations in Meyerbeer's

music as will easily be conceived by those who remember how the works of

Rossini, and, indeed, all foreign composers, were treated at this time,

on the English stage.

[Sidenote: ROBERT LE DIABLE.]

In 1832, and, indeed, many years afterwards, when _Robert_ and _Les

Huguenots_ had been efficiently represented in London by German

companies, Meyerbeer's music was still most severely handled by some of

our best musical critics. At present there is perhaps an inclination to

go to the other extreme; but, at all events, full justice has now been

rendered to M. Meyerbeer's musical genius. Let us hear what Lord Mount

Edgcumbe (whose opinion I do not regard as one of authority, but only as

an interesting index to that of the connoisseurs of the old school), has

to say of the first, and, on the whole, the most celebrated of

Meyerbeer's operas. He entertains the greatest admiration for _Don

Giovanni_, _Fidelio_, _Der Freischütz_, and _Euryanthe_; but neither the

subject, nor even the music of _Robert le Diable_, pleases him in the

least. "Never," he says, "did I see a more disagreeable or disgusting

performance. The sight of the resurrection of a whole convent of nuns,

who rise from their graves, and begin dancing, like so many bacchants,

is revolting; and a sacred service in a church, accompanied by an organ

on the stage, not very decorous. Neither does the music of Meyerbeer

compensate for a fable, which is a tissue of nonsense and improbability.

Of course, I was not tempted to hear it again in its original form, and

it did credit to the taste of the English public, that it was not

endured at the Opera House, and was acted only a very few nights."

Meyerbeer's second grand opera, _Les Huguenots_, was produced at the

Académie Royale on the 26th of January, 1836, after twenty-eight full

rehearsals, occasioning a delay which cost the composer a fine of thirty

thousand francs. The expense of getting up the _Huguenots_ (in scenery,

dresses, properties, &c.), amounted to one hundred and sixty thousand

francs.

[Sidenote: LES HUGUENOTS.]

In London, and I believe everywhere on the continent except in Paris,

the most popular of M. Meyerbeer's three grand operas is _Les

Huguenots_. At the Académie, _Robert le Diable_ seems still to carry

away the palm. Of late years, the admirable performance of Mario and

Grisi, and of Titiens and Giuglini, in the duet of the fourth act, has

had an immense effect in increasing the popularity of _Les Huguenots_

with the English. This duet, the septett for male voices, the blessing

of the daggers and the whole of the dramatic and animated scene of which

it forms part, are certainly magnificent compositions; but the duet for

"Raoul" and "Valentine" is the very soul of the work. At the theatres of

Italy, the opera in question is generally "cut" with a free hand; and it

is so long, that even after plentiful excisions an immense deal of

music, and of fine music, still remains. But who would go to hear _Les

Huguenots_, if the duet of the fourth act were omitted, or if the

performance stopped at the end of act III.? On the other hand, the

fourth act alone would always attract an audience; for, looked upon as a

work by itself, it is by far the most dramatic, the most moving of all

M. Meyerbeer's compositions. The construction of this act is most

creditable to the librettist; while the composer, in filling up, and

giving musical life to the librettist's design, has shown the very

highest genius. It ends with a scene for two personages, but the whole

act is of one piece. While the daggers are being distributed, while the

plans of the chief agents in the massacre are being developed in so

striking and forcible a manner, the scene between the alarmed "Raoul"

and the terrified "Valentine" is, throughout, anticipated; and equally

necessary for the success of the duet, from a musical as well as from a

dramatic point of view, is the massive concerted piece by which this

duet is preceded. To a composer, incapable or less capable than M.

Meyerbeer, of turning to advantage the admirable but difficult situation

here presented, there would, of course, have been the risk of an

anti-climax; there was the danger that, after a stageful of fanatical

soldiers and monks, crying out at the top of their voices for blood, it

would be impossible further to impress the audience by any known musical

means. Meyerbeer, however, has had recourse to the expression of an

entirely different kind of emotion, or rather a series of emotions, full

of admirable variations and gradations; and everyone who has heard the

great duet of _Les Huguenots_ knows how wonderfully he has succeeded. It

has been said that the idea of this scene originated with Nourrit. In

any case, it was an idea which Scribe lost no time in profiting by, and

the question does not in any way affect the transcendent merit of the

composer.

* * * * *

_Le Prophète_, M. Meyerbeer's third grand opera, was produced at the

Académie on the 16th of April, 1849, with Roger, Viardot-Garcia, and

Castellan, in the principal characters. This opera, like _Les

Huguenots_, has been performed with great success in London. The part of

"Jean" has given the two great tenors of the Royal Italian Opera--Mario

and Tamberlik--opportunities of displaying many of their highest

qualities as dramatic singers. The magnificent Covent Garden orchestra

achieves a triumph quite of its own, in the grand march of the

coronation scene; and the opera enables the management to display all

its immense resources in the scenic department.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: GUSTAVE III.]

In passing from _Masaniello_ to Rossini's _Guillaume Tell_, and from

Rossini to Meyerbeer, we have lost sight too soon of the greatest

composer France ever produced, and one who is ranked in all countries

among the first composers of the century. I mean, of course, M. Auber,

of whose works I should have more to say, if I had not determined, in

this brief "History of the Opera" to pay but little attention to the

French "Opéra Comique," which, with the exception of a very few examples

(all by M. Auber)[96] is not a _genre_ that has been accepted anywhere

out of France. In sketching, however, the history of the Grand Opera,

it would be impossible to omit _Gustave III._ _Gustave ou le Bal

Masqué_, composed on one of the two librettos returned to M. Scribe by

Rossini,[97] was performed for the first time on the 27th of February,

1833. This admirable work is not nearly so well known in England, or

even in France, as it deserves to be. The government of Louis Philippe

seems to have thought it imprudent to familiarize the Parisians with

regicide, by exhibiting it to them three or four times a week on the

stage, as the main incident of a very interesting drama; and after a

certain number of representations, _Gustave_, which, taken altogether,

is certainly Auber's masterpiece, was cut down to the ball-scene. In

England, no one objected to the theatrical assassination of _Gustavus_;

but unfortunately, also, no scruple was made about mutilating and

murdering Auber's music. In short, the _Gustavus_ of Auber was far more

cruelly ill-treated in London than the Gustavus of Sweden at his own

masqued ball. Mr. Gye ought to produce _Gustavus_ at the Royal Italian

Opera, where, for the first time in England, it would be worthily

represented. The frequenters of this theatre have long been expecting

it, though I am not aware that it has ever been officially promised.

The original caste of _Gustave_ included Nourrit, Levasseur, Massol,

Dabadie, Dupont, Mademoiselle Falcon, Mademoiselle Dorus, and Madame

Dabadie. Nourrit, the original "Guillaume Tell," the original "Robert,"

the original "Raoul," the original "Gustave," was then at the height of

his fame; but he was destined to be challenged four years afterwards by

a very formidable rival. He was the first, and the only first tenor at

the Académie Royale de Musique, where he had been singing with a zeal

and ardour equal to his genius for the last sixteen years, when the

management engaged Duprez, to divide the principal parts with the

vocalist already in office. After his long series of triumphs, Nourrit

had no idea of sharing his laurels in this manner; nor was he at all

sure that he was not about to be deprived of them altogether. "One of

the two must succeed at the expense of the other," he declared; and

knowing the attraction of novelty for the public, he was not at all sure

that the unfortunate one would not be himself.

"Duprez knows me," he said, "and comes to sing where I am. I do not know

him, and naturally fear his approach." After thinking over the matter

for a few days he resolved to leave the theatre. He chose for his last

appearance the second act of _Armide_, in which "Renaud," the character

assigned to the tenor, has to exclaim to the warrior, "Artemidore"--

"Allez, allez remplir ma place,

Aux lieux d'où mon malheur me chasse," &c.

To which "Artemidore" replies--

"Sans vous que peut on entreprendre?

Celui qui vous bannit ne pourra se défendre

De souhaiter votre retour."

[Sidenote: NOURRIT.]

The scene was very appropriate to the position of the singer who was

about to be succeeded by Duprez. The public felt this equally with

Nourrit himself, and testified their sympathy for the departing Renaud,

by the most enthusiastic applause.

Nourrit took his farewell of the French public on the 1st of April,

1837, and on the 17th of the same month Duprez made his _début_ at the

Académie, as "Arnold," in _William Tell_. The latter singer had already

appeared at the Comédie Française, where, at the age of fifteen, he was

entrusted with the soprano solos in the choruses of _Athalie_, and

afterwards at the Odéon, where he played the parts of "Almaviva," in the

_Barber of Seville_, and Ottavio," in _Don Juan_. He then visited Italy

for a short time, returned to Paris, and was engaged at the Opéra

Comique. Here his style was much admired, but his singing, on the whole,

produced no great impression on the public. He once more crossed the

Alps, studied assiduously, performed at various theatres in a great

number of operas, and by incessant practice, and thanks also to the

wonderful effect of the climate on his voice, attained the highest

position on the Italian stage, and was the favourite tenor of Italy at a

time when Rubini was singing every summer in London, and every winter in

Paris. Before visiting Italy the second time, Duprez was a "light

tenor," and was particularly remarkable for the "agility" of his

execution. A long residence in a southern climate appears to have quite

changed the nature of his voice; a transformation, however, which must

have been considerably aided by the nature of his studies. He returned

to France a _tenore robusto_, an impressive, energetic singer, excelling

in the declamatory style, and in many respects the greatest dramatic

vocalist the French had ever heard. As an actor, however, he was not

equal to Nourrit, whose demeanour as an operatic hero is said to have

been perfection. _Guillaume Tell_, with Duprez, in the part of "Arnold,"

commenced a new career, and Rossini's great work now obtained from the

general public that applause which, on its first production, it had, for

the most part, received only from connoisseurs.

[Sidenote: NOURRIT.]

In the meanwhile, Nourrit, after performing with great success at

Marseilles, Toulouse, Lyons, and elsewhere, went to Italy, and was

engaged first at Milan, and afterwards at Florence and Naples. At each

city fresh triumphs awaited him, but an incident occurred at Naples

which sorely troubled the equanimity of the failing singer, whose mind,

as we have seen, had already been disturbed by painful presentiments.

Nourrit, to be sure, was only "failing" in this sense, that he was

losing confidence in his own powers, which, however, by all accounts,

remained undiminished to the last. He was a well-educated and a highly

accomplished man, and besides being an excellent musician, possessed

considerable literary talent, and a thorough knowledge of dramatic

effect.[98] He had prepared two librettos, in which the part adapted

for the tenor would serve to exhibit his double talent as an actor and

as a singer. One of these musical dramas was founded on Corneille's

_Polyeucte_, and, in the hands of Donizetti, became _I Martiri_; but

just when it was about to be produced, the Neapolitan censorship forbade

its production on the ground of the unfitness of religious subjects for

stage representation. Nourrit was much dejected at being thus prevented

from appearing in a part composed specially for him at his own

suggestion, and in which he felt sure he would be seen and heard to the

greatest advantage. A deep melancholy, such as he had already suffered

from at Marseilles, to an extent which alarmed all his friends, now

settled upon him. He appeared, and was greatly applauded, in

Mercadante's _Il Giuramento_, and in Bellini's _Norma_, but soon

afterwards his despondency was increased, and assumed an irritated form,

from a notion that the applause the Neapolitans bestowed upon him was

ironical.

Nothing could alter his conviction on this point, which at last had the

effect of completely unsettling his mind--unless it be more correct to

say that mental derangement was itself the cause of the unhappy

delusion. Finally, after a performance given for the benefit of another

singer, in which Nourrit took part, his malady increased to such an

extent that on his return home he became delirious, threw himself out of

a window, at five in the morning, and was picked up in the street quite

dead. This deplorable event occurred on the 8th of March, 1889.

* * * * *

The late "Académie Royale de Musique," the Théatre Italien of Paris, and

all the chief opera houses of Italy are connected inseparably with the

history of Opera in England. All the great works written by Rossini and

Meyerbeer for the Académie have since been represented in London; the

same singers for nearly half a century past have for the most part sung

alternately at the Italian operas of Paris and of London; finally, from

Italy we have drawn the great majority of the works represented at our

best musical theatres, and nearly all our finest singers.

[Sidenote: GERMAN OPERA.]

German opera, in the meanwhile, stands in a certain way apart. Germany,

compared with Italy, has sent us very few great singers. We have never

looked to Germany for a constant supply of operas, and, indeed, Germany

has not produced altogether half a dozen thoroughly German operas (that

is to say, founded on German libretti, and written for German singers

and German audiences), which have ever become naturalized in this

country, or, indeed, anywhere out of their native land. Moreover, the

most celebrated of the said _thoroughly_ German operas, such as

_Fidelio_ and _Der Freischütz_, exercised no such influence on

contemporary dramatic music as to give their composers a well-marked

place in the operatic history of the present century, such as clearly

belongs to Rossini. Beethoven, with his one great masterpiece, stands

quite alone, and in the same way, Weber, with his strongly marked

individuality has nothing in common with his contemporaries; and, living

at the same time as Rossini, neither affected, nor was affected, by the

style of a composer whose influence all the composers of the Italian

school experienced. Accordingly, and that I may not entangle too much

the threads of my narrative, I will now, having followed Rossini to

Paris, and given some account of his successors at the French Opera,

proceed to speak of Donizetti and Bellini, who were followers of Rossini

in every sense. Of Weber and Beethoven, who are not in any way

associated with the Rossini school, and only through the accident of

birth with the Rossini period, I must speak in a later chapter.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DONIZETTI AND BELLINI.

Sigismondi, the librarian of the Neapolitan Conservatory, had a horror

of Rossini's music, and took care that all his printed works in the

library should be placed beyond the reach of the young and innocent

pupils. He was determined to preserve them, as far as possible, from the

corrupt but seductive influence of this composer's brilliant,

extravagant, meretricious style. But Donizetti, who at this time was

studying at Naples, had heard several of the proscribed operas, and was

most anxious to examine, on the music paper, the causes of the effects

which had so delighted his ear at the theatre. The desired scores were

on the highest shelf of the library; and the careful, conscientious

librarian had removed the ladder by means of which alone it seemed

possible to get to them.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

Donizetti stood watching the shelves which held the operas of Rossini

like a cat before a bird cage; but the ladder was locked up, and the key

in safe keeping in Sigismondi's pocket. Under a northern climate, the

proper mode of action for Donizetti would have been to invite the jailor

to a banquet, ply him with wine, and rob him of his keys as soon as he

had reached a sufficiently advanced state of intoxication. Being in

Italy, Donizetti should have made love to Sigismondi's daughter, and

persuaded her to steal the keys from the old man during his mid-day

_siesta_. Perhaps, however, Sigismondi was childless, or his family may

have consisted only of sons; in any case, the young musician adopted

neither of the schemes, by combining which the troubadour Blondel was

enabled to release from captivity his adored Richard.[99] He resorted to

a means which, if not wonderfully ingenious, was at least to the point,

and which promised to be successful. He climbed, monkey-like, or

cat-like, not to abandon our former simile, to the top shelf, and had

his claws on the _Barber of Seville_, when who should enter the library

but Sigismondi.

The old man was fairly shocked at this perversity on the part of Gaetan

Donizetti, reputed the best behaved student of the Academy. His morals

would be corrupted, his young blood poisoned!--but fortunately the

librarian had arrived in time, and he might yet be saved.

Donizetti sprang to the ground with his prey--the full score of the

_Barber of Seville_--in his clutches. He was about to devour it, when a

hand touched him on the shoulder: he turned round, and before him stood

the austere Sigismondi.

The old librarian spoke to Gaetan as to a son; appealed to his sense of

propriety, his honour, his conscience; and asked him, almost with tears

in his eyes, how he could so far forget himself as to come secretly into

the library to read forbidden books--and Rossini's above all? He pointed

out the terrible effects of the course upon which the youthful Donizetti

had so nearly entered; reminded him that one brass instrument led to

another; and that when once he had given himself up to violent

orchestration, there was no saying where he would stop.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

Donizetti could not or would not argue with the venerable and determined

Sigismondi. At least, he did not oppose him; but he inquired whether, as

a lesson in cacophony, it was not worth while just to look at Rossini's

notorious productions. He reminded his stern adviser, that he had

already studied good models under Mayer, Pilotti, and Mattei, and that

it was natural he should now wish to complete his musical education, by

learning what to avoid. He quoted the well known case of the Spartans

and their Helots; inquired, with some emotion, whether the frightful

example of Rossini was not sufficient to deter any well meaning

composer, with a little strength of character, from following in his

unholy path; and finally declared, with undisguised indignation, that

Rossini ought to be made the object of a serious study, so that once for

all his musical iniquities might be exposed and his name rendered a

bye-word among the lovers and cultivators of pure, unsophisticated art!

"Come to my arms, Gaetano," cried Sigismondi, much moved. "I can refuse

nothing to a young man like you, now that I know your excellent

intentions. A musician, who is imbued with the true principles of his

art, may look upon the picture of Rossini's depravity not only without

danger, but with positive advantage. Some it might weaken and

destroy;--_you_ it can only fortify and uphold. Let us open these

monstrous scores; their buffooneries may amuse us for an hour.

"_Il Barbiere di Siviglia!_ I have not much to say about that,"

commenced Sigismondi. "It is a trifle; besides, full justice was done to

it at Rome. The notion of re-setting one of the master-pieces of the

great Paisiello,--what audacity! No wonder it was hissed!"

"Under Paisiello's direction," suggested Donizetti.

"All a calumny, my young friend; pure calumny, I can assure you. There

are so many Don Basilios in the musical world! Rossini's music was

hissed because it was bad and because it recalled to the public

Paisiello's, which was good." "But I have heard," rejoined Donizetti,

"that at the second representation there was a great deal of applause,

and that the enthusiasm of the audience at last reached such a point,

that they honoured Rossini with a torch-light procession and conducted

him home in triumph."

"An invention of the newspapers," replied Sigismondi; "I believe there

was a certain clique present prepared to support the composer through

everything, but the public had already expressed its opinion. Never mind

this musical burlesque, and let us take a glance at one of Rossini's

serious operas."

Donizetti wished for nothing better. This time he had no occasion to

scale the shelf in his former feline style. The librarian produced the

key of the mysterious closet in which the ladder was kept. The young

musician ran up to the Rossini shelf like a lamp-lighter and brought

down with him not one but half-a-dozen volumes.

"Too many, too many," said Sigismondi, "one would have been quite

enough. Well, let us open _Otello_."

In the score which the old and young musician proposed to examine

together, the three trombone parts, according to the Italian custom,

were written on one and the same staff, thus 1º, 2º, 3º _tromboni_.

Sigismondi began his lecture on the enormities of Rossini as displayed

in _Otello_ by reading the list of the instruments employed.

"_Flutes_, two flutes; well there is not much harm in that. No one will

hear them; only, with diabolical perfidy, one of these modern flutists

will be sure to take a _piccolo_ and pierce all sensitive ears with his

shrill whistling.

"_Hautboys_, two hautboys; also good. Here Rossini follows the old

school. I say nothing against his two hautboys; indeed, I quite approve

of them.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

"_Clarionets!_ a barbarous invention, which the _Tedeschi_ might have

kept them for themselves. They may be very good pipes for calling cows,

but should be used for nothing else.

"_Bassoons_; useless instruments, or nearly so. Our good masters

employed them for strengthening the bass; but now the bassoon has

acquired such importance, that solos are written for it. This is also a

German innovation. Mozart would have done well to have left the bassoon

in its original obscurity.

"1st and 2nd _Horns_; very good. Horns and hautboys combine admirably. I

say nothing against Rossini's horns.

"3rd and 4th _Horns_! How many horns does the man want? _Quattro Corni,

Corpo di Bacco!_ The greatest of our composers have always been

contented with two. Shades of Pergolese, of Leo, of Jomelli! How they

must shudder at the bare mention of such a thing. Four horns! Are we at

a hunting party? Four horns! Enough to blow us to perdition."

The indignation and rage of the old musician went on increasing as he

followed the gradual development of a _crescendo_ until he arrived at

the explosion of the _fortissimo_. Then Sigismondi uttered a cry of

despair, struck the score violently with his fist, upset the table which

the imprudent Donizetti had loaded with the nefarious productions of

Rossini, raised his hands to heaven and rushed from the room,

exclaiming, "a hundred and twenty-three trombones! A hundred and

twenty-three trombones!"

Donizetti followed the performer and endeavoured to explain the mistake.

"Not 123 trombones, but 1st, 2nd, 3rd trombones," he gently observed.

Sigismondi however, would not hear another word, and disappeared from

the library crying "a hundred and twenty-three trombones," to the last.

Donizetti came back, lifted up the table, placed the scores upon it and

examined them in peace. He then, in his turn, concealed them so that he

might be able another time to find them whenever he pleased without

clambering up walls or intriguing to get possession of ladders.

[Sidenote: ANNA BOLENA.]

The inquiring student of the Conservatory of Naples was born, in 1798,

at Bergamo, and when he was seventeen years of age was put to study

under Mayer, who, before the appearance of Rossini, shared with Paer the

honour of being the most popular composer of the day. His first opera

_Enrico di Borgogna_ was produced at Venice in 1818, and obtained so

much success that the composer was entrusted with another commission for

the same city in the following year. After writing an opera for Mantua

in 1819 _Il Falegname di Livonia_, Donizetti visited Rome, where his

_Zoraide di Granata_ procured him an exemption from the conscription and

the honour of being carried in triumph and crowned at the Capitol.

Hitherto he may be said to have owed his success chiefly to his skilful

imitation of Rossini's style, and it was not until 1830, when _Anna

Bolena_ was produced at Milan (and when, curiously enough, Rossini had

just written his last opera), that he exhibited any striking signs of

original talent. This work, which is generally regarded as Donizetti's

master-piece, or at least was some time ago (for of late years no one

has had an opportunity of hearing it), was composed for Pasta and

Rubini, and was first represented for Pasta's benefit in 1831. It was in

this opera that Lablache gained his first great triumph in London.

Donizetti visited Paris in 1835, and there produced his _Marino

Faliero_, which contains several spirited and characteristic pieces,

such as the opening chorus of workmen in the Arsenal and the gondolier

chorus at the commencement of the second act. The charming _Elisir

d'Amore_, the most graceful, melodious, moreover the most

characteristic, and in many respects the best of all Donizetti's works,

was written for Milan in 1832. In this work Signor Mario made his

re-appearance at the Italian Opera of Paris in 1839; he had previously

sung for some time at the Académie Royale in _Robert_ and other operas.

_Lucia di Lammermoor_, Donizetti's most popular opera, containing some

of the most beautiful melodies in the sentimental style that he has

composed, and altogether his best finale, was produced at Naples in

1835. The part of "Edgardo" was composed specially for Duprez, that of

"Lucia" for Persiani.

The pretty little opera or operetta entitled _Il Campanello di Notte_

was written under very interesting circumstances to save a little

Neapolitan theatre from ruin. Donizetti heard that the establishment was

in a failing condition, and that the performers were without money and

in great distress. He sought them out, supplied their immediate wants,

and one of the singers happening to say that if Donizetti would give

them a new opera, their fortunes would be made: "As to that," replied

the Maestro, "you shall have one within a week." To begin with, a

libretto was necessary, but none was to be had. The composer, however,

possessed considerable literary talent, and recollecting a vaudeville

which he had seen some years before in Paris, called _La Sonnette de

Nuit_, he took that for his subject, re-arranged it in an operatic form,

and in nine days the libretto was written, the music composed, the parts

learnt, the opera performed, and the theatre saved. It would have been

difficult to have given a greater proof of generosity, and of fertility

and versatility of talent. I may here mention that Donizetti designed,

and wrote the words, as well as the music of the last act of the

_Lucia_; that the last act of _La Favorite_ was also an afterthought of

his; and that he himself translated into Italian the libretti of Betly

and _La Fille du Regiment_.

[Sidenote: VICTOR HUGO AT THE OPERA.]

When _Lucrezia Borgia_ (written for Milan in 1834) was produced in

Paris, in 1840, Victor Hugo, the author of the admirable tragedy on

which it is founded, contested the right of the Italian librettists, to

borrow their plots from French dramas; maintaining that the

representation of such libretti in France constituted an infringement of

the French dramatists' "_droits d'auteur_." He gained his action, and

_Lucrezia Borgia_ became, at the Italian Opera of Paris, _La Rinegata_,

the Italians at the court of Pope Alexander the Sixth being

metamorphosed into Turks. A French version of _Lucrezia Borgia_ was

prepared for the provinces, and entitled _Nizza di Grenada_.

[Sidenote: AUTHORS' RIGHTS.]

A year or two afterwards, Verdi's _Hernani_ experienced the same fate at

the Théâtre Italien as _Lucrezia Borgia_. Then the original authors of

_La Pie Voleuse_, _La Grace de Dieu_, &c., followed Victor Hugo's

example, and objected to the performance of _La Gazza Ladra_ and _Linda

di Chamouni_, &c. Finally, an arrangement was made, and at present

exists, by which Italian operas founded on French dramas may be

performed in Paris on condition of an indemnity being paid to the French

dramatists. Marsolier, the author of the Opéra Comique, entitled _Nina,

ou la Folle par Amour_, set to music by Dalayrac, had applied for an

injunction twenty-three years before, to prevent the representation of

Paisiello's _Nina_, in Paris; but the Italian disappeared before the

question was tried. The principle, however, of an author's right of

property in a work, or any portion of a work, had been established

nearly two centuries before. In a "privilege" granted to St. Amant in

1653, for the publication of his _Moise Sauvé_, it is expressly

forbidden to extract from that "epic poem" subjects for novels and

plays. These cautions proved unnecessary, as the work so strictly

protected contained no available materials for plays, novels, or any

other species of literary composition, including even "epic poems;" but

_Moise Sauvé_ has nevertheless been the salvation of several French

authors whose property might otherwise have been trespassed upon to a

considerable extent. Nevertheless, the principle of an author's sole,

inalienable interest in the incidents he may have invented or combined,

without reference to the new form in which they may be presented,

cannot, as a matter of course, be entertained anywhere; but the system

of "author's rights" so energetically fought for and conquered by

Beaumarchais has a very wide application in France, and only the other

day it was decided that the translators and arrangers of _Le Nozze di

Figaro_, for the Théâtre Lyrique must share their receipts with the

descendants and heirs of the author of _Le Mariage de Figaro_. It will

appear monstrous to many persons in England who cannot conceive of

property otherwise than of a material, palpable kind, that

Beaumarchais's representatives should enjoy any interest in a work

produced three-quarters of a century ago; but as his literary

productions possess an actual, easily attainable value, it would be

difficult to say who ought to profit by it, if not those who, under any

system of laws, would benefit by whatever other possessions he might

have left. It may be a slight advantage to society, in an almost

inappreciable degree, that "author's rights" should cease after a

certain period; but, if so, the same principle ought to be applied to

other forms of created value. The case was well put by M. de Vigny, in

the "Revue des Deux Mondes," in advocating the claims of a

grand-daughter, or great grand-daughter of Sedaine. He pointed out, that

if the dramatist in question, who was originally an architect, had built

a palace, and it had lasted until the present day, no one would have

denied that it descended naturally to his heirs; and that as, instead of

building in stone, he devoted himself to the construction of operas and

plays, the results of his talent and industry ought equally to be

regarded as the inalienable property of his descendants.

[Sidenote: LA FAVORITE.]

But to return to _Lucrezia Borgia_, which, with _Lucia_ and _La

Favorite_, may be ranked amongst the most successful of Donizetti's

productions. The favour with which _Lucrezia_ is received by audiences

of all kinds may be explained, in addition to the merit of much of the

music, by the manner in which the principal parts are distributed, so

that the cast, to be efficient, must always include four leading

singers, each of whom has been well-provided for by the composer. It

contains less recitative than any of Rossini's operas--a great

advantage, from a popular point of view, it having been shown by

experience that the public of the present day do not care for recitative

(especially when they do not understand a word of it), but like to pass

as quickly as possible from one musical piece to another. From an

artistic point of view the shortness of Donizetti's recitatives is not

at all to be regretted, for the simple reason that he has never written

any at all comparable to those of Rossini, whose dramatic genius he was

far from possessing. The most striking situation in the drama, a

thoroughly musical situation of which a great composer, or even an

energetic, passionate, melo-dramatic composer, like Verdi, would have

made a great deal, is quite lost in the hands of Donizetti. The

_Brindisi_ is undeniably pretty, and was never considered vulgar until

it had been vulgarised. But Donizetti has shown no dramatic power in the

general arrangement of the principal scene, and the manner in which the

drinking song is interrupted by the funeral chorus, has rather a

disagreeable, than a terrible or a solemn effect. The finale to the

first act, or "prologue," is finely treated, but "Gennaro's" dying scene

and song, is the most dramatic portion of the work, which it ought to

terminate, but unfortunately does not. I think it might be shown that

_Lucrezia_ marks the distance about half way between the style of

Rossini and that of Verdi. Not that it is so much inferior to the works

of the former, or so much superior to those of the latter; but that

among Donizetti's later operas, portions of _Maria di Rohan_ (Vienna,

1843), might almost have been written by the composer of _Rigoletto_;

whereas, the resemblance for good or for bad, between these two

musicians, of the decadence, is not nearly so remarkable, if we compare

_Lucrezia Borgia_ with one of Verdi's works. Still, in _Lucrezia_ we

already notice that but little space is accorded to recitative, which

in the _Trovatore_ finds next to none; we meet with choruses written in

the manner afterwards adopted by Verdi, and persisted in by him to the

exclusion of all other modes; while as regards melody, we should

certainly rather class the tenor's air in _I Lombardi_ with that in

_Lucrezia Borgia_, than the latter with any air ever composed by

Rossini.

When Donizetti revisited Paris in 1840, he produced in succession _I

Martiri_ (the work written for Nourrit and objected to by the Neapolitan

censorship), _La Fille du Regiment_, written for the Opéra Comique, and

_La Favorite_, composed in the first instance for the Théâtre de la

Renaissance, but re-arranged for the Académie, when the brief existence

of the Théâtre de la Renaissance had come to an end. As long as it

lasted, this establishment, opened for the representation of foreign

operas in the French language, owed its passing prosperity entirely to a

French version of the _Lucia_.

Jenny Lind, Sontag, Alboni, have all appeared in _La Figlia del

Reggimento_ with great success; but when this work was first produced in

Paris, with Madame Thillon in the principal part, it was not received

with any remarkable favour. It is full of smooth, melodious, and highly

animated music, but is, perhaps, wanting in that piquancy of which the

French are such great admirers, and which rendered the duet for the

vivandières, in Meyerbeer's _Etoile du Nord_, so much to their taste.

_L'Ange de Nigida_, converted into _La Favorite_ (and founded in the

first instance on a French drama, _Le Comte de Commingues_) was brought

out at the Académie, without any expense in scenery and "getting up,"

and achieved a decided success. This was owing partly to the pretty

choral airs at the commencement, partly to the baritone's cavatina

(admirably sung by Barroilhet, who made his _début_ in the part of

"Alphonse"); but, above all, to the fourth act, with its beautiful

melody for the tenor, and its highly dramatic scene for the tenor and

soprano, including a final duet, which, if not essentially dramatic in

itself, occurs at least in a most dramatic situation.

The whole of the fourth act of _La Favorite_, except the cavatina, _Ange

si pur_, which originally belonged to the Duc d'Albe, and the _andante_

of the duet, which was added at the rehearsals, was written in three

hours. Donizetti had been dining at the house of a friend, who was

engaged in the evening to go to a party. On leaving the house, the host,

after many apologies for absenting himself, intreated Donizetti to

remain, and finish his coffee, which Donizetti, being inordinately fond

of that stimulant, took care to do. He asked at the same time for some

music paper, began his fourth act, and finding himself in the vein for

composition, went on writing until he had completed it. He had just put

the final stroke to the celebrated "_Viens dans une autre patrie_," when

his friend returned, at one in the morning, and congratulated him on the

excellent manner in which he had employed his time.

[Sidenote: L'ELISIR D'AMORE.]

After visiting Rome, Milan, and Vienna, for which last city he wrote

_Linda di Chamouni_, Donizetti returned to Paris, and in 1843 composed

_Don Pasquale_ for the Théâtre Italien, and _Don Sebastien_ for the

Académie. The lugubrious drama to which the music of _Don Sebastien_ is

wedded, proved fatal to its success. On the other hand, the brilliant

gaiety of _Don Pasquale_, rendered doubly attractive by the admirable

execution of Grisi, Mario, Tamburini, and Lablache, delighted all who

heard it. The pure musical beauty of the serenade, and of the quartett,

one of the finest pieces of concerted music Donizetti ever wrote, were

even more admired than the lively animated dialogue-scenes, which are in

Donizetti's very best style; and the two pieces just specified, as well

as the baritone's cavatina, _Bella siccome un angelo_, aided the general

success of the work, not only by their own intrinsic merit, but also by

the contrast they present to the comic conversational music, and the

buffo airs of the bass. The music of _Don Pasquale_ is probably the

cleverest Donizetti ever wrote; but it wants the _charm_ which belongs

to that of his _Elisir d'Amore_, around which a certain sentiment, a

certain atmosphere of rustic poetry seems to hang, especially when we

are listening to the music of "Nemorino" or "Norina." Even the comic

portions in the _Elisir_ are full of grace, as for instance, the

admirable duet between "Norina" and "Dulcamara;" and the whole work

possesses what is called "colour," that is to say, each character is

well painted by the music, which, moreover, is always appropriate to

the general scene. To look for "colour," or for any kind of poetry in a

modern drawing-room piece of intrigue, like _Don Pasquale_, with the

notaries of real life, and with lovers in black coats, would be absurd.

I may mention that the libretto of _Don Pasquale_ is a re-arrangement of

Pavesi's _Ser Marcantonio_ (was "_Ser_" _Marcantonio_ an Englishman?)

produced in 1813.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S REPERTOIRE.]

In the same year that Donizetti brought out _Don Pasquale_ in Paris, he

produced _Maria di Rohan_ at Vienna. The latter work contains an

admirable part for the baritone, which has given Ronconi the opportunity

of showing that he is not only an excellent buffo, but is also one of

the finest tragic actors on the stage. The music of _Maria di Rohan_ is

highly dramatic: that is to say, very appropriate to the various

personages, and to the great "situations" of the piece. In pourtraying

the rage of the jealous husband, the composer exhibits all that

earnestness and vigour for which Verdi has since been praised--somewhat

sparingly, it is true, but praised nevertheless by his admirers. The

contralto part, on the other hand, is treated with remarkable elegance,

and contains more graceful melodies than Verdi is in the habit of

composing. I do not say that Donizetti is in all respects superior to

Verdi; indeed, it seems to me that he has not produced any one opera so

thoroughly dramatic as _Rigoletto_; but as Donizetti and Verdi are

sometimes contrasted, and as it was the fashion during Donizetti's

lifetime, to speak of his music as light and frivolous, I wish to

remark that in one of his latest operas he wrote several scenes, which,

if written by Verdi, would be said to be in that composer's best style.

Donizetti's last opera, _Catarina Comaro_, was produced in Naples in the

year 1844. This was his sixty-third dramatic work, counting those only

which have been represented. There are still two operas of Donizetti's

in existence, which the public have not heard. One, a piece in one act,

composed for the Opéra Comique, and which is said every now and then to

be on the point of being performed; the other, _Le Duc d'Albe_, which,

as before-mentioned, was written for the Académie Royale, on one of the

two libretti returned by Rossini to Scribe, after the composer of

_William Tell_ came to his mysterious resolution of retiring from

operatic life.

Of Donizetti's sixty-three operas, about two-thirds are quite unknown to

England, and of the nine or ten which may still be said to keep the

stage, the earliest produced, _Anna Bolena_, is the composer's

thirty-second work. _Anna Bolena_, _L'Elisir d'Amore_, _Lucrezia

Borgia_, _Lucia di Lammermoor_, and _Roberto Devereux_, are included

between the numbers 31 and 52, while between the numbers 53 and 62, _La

Fille du Regiment_, _La Favorite_, _Linda di Chamouni_, _Don Pasquale_,

and _Maria di Rohan_, are found. The first five of Donizetti's most

popular operas, were produced between the years 1830 and 1840; the last

five between the years 1840 and 1844. Donizetti appears, then, to have

produced his best serious operas during the middle period of his

career--unless it be considered that _La Favorite_, _Linda di Chamouni_,

and _Maria di Rohan_, are superior to _Anna Bolena_, _Lucrezia Borgia_,

and _Lucia di Lammermoor_; and to the same epoch belongs _L'Elisir

d'Amore_, which in my opinion is the freshest, most graceful, and most

melodious of his comic operas, though some may prefer _La Fille du

Regiment_ or _Don Pasquale_, both full of spirit and animation.

It is also tolerably clear, from an examination of Donizetti's works in

the order in which they were produced, that during the last four or five

years of his artistic life he produced more than his average number of

operas, possessing such merit that they have taken their place in the

repertoires of the principal opera houses of Europe. Donizetti had lost

nothing either in fertility or in power, while he appeared in some

respects to be modifying and improving his style. Thus, in the Swiss

opera of _Linda di Chamouni_ (Vienna, 1842), we find, especially in the

music of the contralto part, a considerable amount of local colour--an

important dramatic element which Donizetti had previously overlooked,

or, at least, had not turned to any account; while _Maria di Rohan_

contains the best dramatic music of a passionate kind that Donizetti has

ever written.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S DEATH.]

In composing, Donizetti made no use of the pianoforte, and wrote, as may

be imagined, with great rapidity, never stopping to make a correction,

though he is celebrated among the modern Italian composers for the

accuracy of his style. Curiously enough, he never went to work without

having a small ivory scraper by his side; and any one who has studied

intellectual peculiarities will understand, that once wanting this

instrument, he might have felt it necessary to scratch out notes and

passages every minute. Mr. J. Wrey Mould, in his interesting "memoir,"

tells us that this ivory scraper was given to Donizetti by his father

when he consented, after a long and strenuous opposition, to his

becoming a musician. An unfilial son might have looked upon the present

as not conveying the highest possible compliment that could be paid him.

The old gentleman, however, was quite right in impressing upon the

bearer of his name, that having once resolved to be a composer, he had

better make up his mind to produce as little rubbish as possible.

The first signs of the dreadful malady to which Donizetti ultimately

succumbed, manifested themselves during his last visit to Paris, in

1845. Fits of absence of mind, followed by hallucinations and all the

symptoms of mental derangement followed one another rapidly, and with

increasing intensity. In January, 1846, it was found necessary to place

the unfortunate composer in an asylum at Ivry, and in the autumn of

1847, his medical advisers recommended as a final experiment, that he

should be removed to Bergamo, in the hope that the air and scenes of his

birth-place would have a favourable influence in dispelling, or, at

least, diminishing the profound melancholy to which he was now subject.

During his journey, however, he was attacked by paralysis, and his

illness assumed a desperate and incurable character.

Donizetti was received at Bergamo by the Maestro Dolci, one of his

dearest friends. Here paralysis again attacked him, and a few days

afterwards, on the 8th of April, 1848, he expired, in his fifty-second

year, having, during the twenty-seven years of his life, as a composer,

written sixty-four operas; several masses and vesper services; and

innumerable pieces of chamber music, including, besides arias,

cavatinas, and vocal concerted pieces, a dozen quartetts for stringed

instruments, a series of songs and duets, entitled _Les soirées du

Pausilippe_, a cantata entitled _la Morte d'Ugolino_, &c., &c.

Antoine, Donizetti's attendant at Ivry, became much attached to him, and

followed him to Bergamo, whence he forwarded to M. Adolphe Adam, a

letter describing his illustrious patient's last moments, and the public

honours paid to his memory at the funeral.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S DEATH.]

"More than four thousand persons," he relates, "were present at the

ceremony. The procession was composed of the numerous clergy of Bergamo;

the most illustrious members of the community and its environs, and of

the civic guard of the town and suburbs. The discharges of musketry,

mingled with the light of three or four hundred large torches,

presented a fine effect--the whole was enhanced by the presence of

three military bands, and the most propitious weather it was possible to

behold. The service commenced at ten o'clock in the morning, and did not

conclude until half-past two. The young gentlemen of Bergamo insisted on

bearing the remains of their illustrious fellow-citizen, although the

cemetery in which they finally rested lay at a distance of a

league-and-a-half from the town. The road there was crowded along its

whole length by people who came from the surrounding country to witness

the procession--and, to give due praise to the inhabitants of Bergamo,

never, hitherto, had such great honours been bestowed upon any member of

that city."

* * * * *

Bellini, who was Donizetti's contemporary, but who was born nine years

after him, and died thirteen years before, was a native of Sicily. His

father was an organist at Catania, and under him the future composer of

_Norma_ and _La Sonnambula_, took his first lessons in music. A Sicilian

nobleman, struck by the signs of genius which young Bellini evinced at

an early age, persuaded his father to send him to Naples, supporting his

arguments with an offer to pay his expenses at the celebrated

Conservatorio. Here one of Bellini's fellow pupils was Mercadante, the

future composer of _Il Giuramento_, an opera which, in spite of the

frequent attempts of the Italian singers to familiarize the English

public with its numerous beauties, has never been much liked in this

country. I do not say that it has not been justly appreciated on the

whole, but that the grace of some of the melodies, the acknowledged

merit of the orchestration and the elegance and distinction which seem

to me to characterize the composer's style generally, have not been

accepted as compensating for his want of passion and of that spontaneity

without which the expression of strong emotion of any kind is naturally

impossible. Mercadante could never have written _Rigoletto_, but,

probably, a composer of inferior natural gifts to Verdi might, with a

taste for study and a determination to bring his talent to perfection,

have produced a work of equal artistic merit to _Il Giuramento_. And

here we must take leave of Mercadante, whose place in the history of the

opera is not a considerable one, and who, to the majority of English

amateurs, is known only by his _Bella adorata_, a melody of which Verdi

has shown his estimation by borrowing it, diluting it, and re-arranging

it with a new accompaniment for the tenor's song in _Luisa Miller_.

[Sidenote: RUBINI.]

I should think Mercadante must have written better exercises, and passed

better examinations at the Conservatorio than his young friend Bellini,

though the latter must have begun at an earlier age to compose operas.

Bellini's first dramatic work was written and performed while he was

still a student. Encouraged by its success, he next composed music to a

libretto already "set" by Generali, and entitled _Adelson e Salvino_.

_Adelson_ was represented before the illustrious Barbaja, who was at

that time manager of the two most celebrated theatres in Italy, the St.

Carlo at Naples, and La Scala at Milan,--as well as of the Italian opera

at Vienna, to say nothing of some smaller operatic establishments also

under his rule. The great impresario, struck by Bellini's promise,

commissioned him to write an opera for Naples, and, in 1826, his _Bianca

e Fernando_ was produced at the St. Carlo. This work was so far

successful, that it obtained a considerable amount of applause from the

public, while it inspired Barbaja with so much confidence that he

entrusted the young composer, now twenty years of age, with the libretto

of _il Pirata_, to be composed for La Scala. The tenor part was written

specially for Rubini, who retired into the country with Bellini, and

studied, as they were produced, the simple, touching airs which he

afterwards delivered on the stage with such admirable expression.

_Il Pirata_ was received with enthusiasm by the audiences of La Scala,

and the composer was requested to write another work for the same

theatre. _La Straniera_ was brought out at Milan in 1828, the principal

parts being entrusted to Donzelli, Tamburini, and Madame Tosi. This,

Bellini's third work, appears, on the whole, to have maintained, but

scarcely to have advanced, his reputation. Nevertheless, when it was

represented in London soon after its original production, it was by no

means so favourably received as _Il Pirato_ had been.

Bellini's _Zaira_, executed at Parma, in 1829, was a failure--soon,

however, to be redeemed by his fifth work, _Il Capuletti ed i

Montecchi_, which was written for Venice, and was received with all

possible expressions of approbation. In London, the new operatic version

of _Romeo and Juliet_ was not particularly admired, and owed what

success it obtained entirely to the acting and singing of Madame Pasta

in the principal part. It may be mentioned that the libretto of

Bellini's _I Montecchi_ had already served his master, Zingarelli, for

his opera of _Romeo e Julietta_.

[Sidenote: LA SONNAMBULA.]