The time had now arrived at which Bellini was to produce his

master-pieces, _La Sonnambula_ and _Norma_; the former of which was

written for _La Scala_, in 1831, the latter, for the same theatre, in

the year following. The success of _La Sonnambula_ has been great

everywhere, but nowhere so great as in England, where it has been

performed in English and in Italian, oftener than any other two or

perhaps three operas, while probably no songs, certainly no songs by a

foreign composer, were ever sold in such large numbers as _All is lost_

and _Do not mingle_. The libretto of _La Sonnambula_, by Romani, is one

of the most interesting and touching, and one of the best suited for

musical illustration in the whole _répertoire_ of _libretti_. To the

late M. Scribe, belongs the merit of having invented the charming story

on which Romani's and Bellini's opera is founded; and it is worthy of

remark that he had already presented it in two different dramatic forms

before any one was struck with its capabilities for musical treatment. A

thoroughly, essentially, dramatic story can be presented on the stage in

any and every form; with music, with dialogue, or with nothing but dumb

action. Tried by this test, the plots of a great number of merely well

written comedies would prove worthless; and so in substance they are. On

the other hand, the vaudeville of _La Somnambula_, became, as

re-arranged by M. Scribe, the ballet of _La Somnambule_, (one of the

prettiest, by the way, from a choregraphic point of view ever produced);

which, in the hands of Romani, became the libretto of an opera; which

again, vulgarly treated, has been made into a burlesque; and, loftily

treated, might be changed (I will not say elevated, for the operatic

form is poetical enough), into a tragedy.

The beauties of _La Sonnambula_, so full of pure melody and of emotional

music, of the most simple and touching kind, can be appreciated by every

one; by the most learned musician and the most untutored amateur, or

rather let us say by any play-goer, who, not having been born deaf to

the voice of music, hears an opera for the first time in his life. It

was given, however, to an English critic, to listen to this opera, as

natural and as unmistakably beautiful as a bed of wild flowers, through

a special ear-trumpet of his own; and in number 197 of the most

widely-circulated of our literary journals, the following remarks on

_La Sonnambula_ appeared. With the exception of one or two pretty

_motivi_, exquisitely given by Pasta and Rubini, the music is sometimes

scarcely on a level with that of _Il Pirata_, and often sinks below it;

there is a general thinness and want of effect in the instrumentation

not calculated to make us overlook the other defects of this

composition, which, in our humble judgment, are compensated by no

redeeming beauties. Bellini has soared too high; there is nothing of

grandeur, no touch of true pathos in the common place workings of his

mind. He cannot reach the _Opera semi-seria_; he should confine his

powers to the lowest walk of the musical drama, the one act _Opera

buffa_."

Equally ill fared _Norma_ at the hands of another musical critic to

whose "reminiscences" I have often had to refer, but who tells us that

he did not hear the work in question himself. He speaks of it simply as

a production of which the scene is laid in _Wales_, and adds that "it

was not liked."

Yet _Norma_ has been a good deal liked since its first production at

Milan, now nearly thirty years ago; and from Madame Pasta's first to

Madame Grisi's last appearance in the principal part, no great singer

with any pretension to tragic power has considered her claims fully

recognised until she has succeeded in the part of the Druid priestess.

[Sidenote: I PURITANI.]

_Beatrice di Tenda_, Bellini's next opera after _Norma_, cannot be

reckoned among his best works. It was written for Venice, in 1833, and

was performed in England for the first time, in 1836. It met with no

very great success in Italy or elsewhere.

In 1834, Bellini went to Paris, having been requested to write an opera

for the excellent Théâtre Italien of that capital. The company at the

period in question, included Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini and Lablache, all

of whom were provided with parts in the new work. _I Puritani_, was

played for the first time in London, for Grisi's benefit, in 1835, and

with precisely the same distribution of characters as in Paris. The

"_Puritani_ Season" is still remembered by old habitués, as one of the

most brilliant of these latter days. Rubini's romance in the first act

_A te o cara_, Grisi's _Polonaise_, _Son vergin vezzosa_ and the grand

duet for Tamburini and Lablache, produced the greatest enthusiasm in all

our musical circles, and the last movement of the duet was treated by

"arrangers" for the piano, in every possible form. This is the movement,

(destined, too soon, to find favour in the eyes of omnibus conductors,

and all the worst amateurs of the cornet), of which Rossini wrote from

Paris to a friend at Milan; "I need not describe the duet for the two

basses, you must have heard it where you are."

_I Puritani_ was Bellini's last opera. The season after its production

he retired to the house of a Mr. Lewis at Puteaux, and there, while

studying his art with an ardour which never deserted him, was attacked

by a fatal illness. "From his youth up," says Mr. J. W. Mould, in his

interesting "Memoir of Bellini;" "Vincenzo's eagerness in his art was

such as to keep him at the piano day and night, till he was obliged

forcibly to leave it. The ruling passion accompanied him through his

short life, and by the assiduity with which he pursued it, brought on

the dysentery, which closed his brilliant career, peopling his last

hours with the figures of those to whom his works were so largely

indebted for their success. During the moments of delirium which

preceded his death, he was constantly speaking of Lablache, Tamburini

and Grisi, and one of his last recognisable impressions was, that he was

present at a brilliant representation of his last opera, at the Salle

Favart. His earthly career closed on Wednesday, the 23rd of September,

1835."

[Sidenote: BELLINI'S DEATH.]

Thus died Bellini, in the twenty-ninth year of his age. Immediately

after his death, and on the very eve of his interment, the Théâtre

Italien re-opened with the _Puritani_. "The work," says the writer from

whom I have just quoted, "was listened to throughout with a sad

attention, betraying evidently how the general thoughts of both audience

and artists were pre-occupied with the mournful fate of him so recently

amongst them, now extended senseless, soulless, and mute, upon his

funeral bier. The solemn and mournful chords which commence the opera,

excited a sorrowful emotion in the breasts of both those who sang and

those who heard. The feeling in which the orchestra and chorus

participated, ex-tended itself to the principal artists concerned, and

the foremost amongst them displayed neither that vigour nor that

neatness of execution which Paris was so accustomed to accept at their

hands; Tamburini in particular, was so broken down by the death of the

young friend, whose presence amongst them spurred the glorious quartett

on the season before, to such unprecedented exertions, that his

magnificent organ, superb vocalisation were often considerably at fault

during the evening, and his interrupted accent, joined to the melancholy

depicted on the countenances of Grisi, Rubini, and Lablache, sent those

to their homes with an aching heart who had presented themselves to that

evening's hearing of _I Puritani_, previously disposed, moreover, to

attend the mournful ceremony of the morrow."

A committee of Bellini's friends, including Rossini, Cherubini, Paer,

and Carafa, undertook the general direction of the funeral of which the

musical department was entrusted to M. Habeneck the _chef d'orchestre_

of the Académie Royale. The expenses of the ceremony were defrayed by M.

Panseron, of the Théâtre Italien. The most remarkable piece for the

programme of the funeral music, was a lacrymosa for four voices, without

accompaniment, in which the text of the Latin hymn was united to the

beautiful melody (and of a thoroughly religious character), sung by the

tenor in the third act of the _Puritani_. This lacrymosa was executed by

Rubini, Ivanoff, Tamburini, and Lablache. The service was performed in

the church of the Invalides, and Bellini's remains were interred in the

cemetery of Père la Chaise.

Rossini had always shown the greatest affection for Bellini; and Rosario

Bellini, a few weeks after his son's death, wrote a letter to the great

composer, thanking him for the almost paternal kindness which he had

shown to young Vincenzo during his lifetime, and for the honour he had

paid to his memory when he was no more. After speaking of the grief and

despair in which the loss of his beloved son had plunged him, the old

man expressed himself as follows:--

"You always encouraged the object of my eternal regret in his labours;

you took him under your protection; you neglected nothing that could

increase his glory and his welfare. After my son's death what have you

not done to honour his memory and render it dear to posterity! I learnt

this from the newspapers; and I am penetrated with gratitude for your

excessive kindness, as well as for that of a number of distinguished

artistes, which also I shall never forget. Pray, sir, be my interpreter,

and tell these artistes that the father and family of Bellini, as well

as our compatriots of Catana, will cherish an imperishable recollection

of this generous conduct. I shall never cease to remember how much you

did for my son; I shall make known everywhere, in the midst of my tears,

what an affectionate heart belongs to the great Rossini; and how kind,

hospitable, and full of feeling are the artistes of France."

[Sidenote: BELLINI AND DONIZETTI.]

If we compare Bellini with Donizetti, we find that the latter was the

more prolific of the two, judging simply by the number of works

produced; inasmuch as Donizetti, at the age of twenty-eight, had already

produced thirteen operas; whereas the number of Bellini's dramatic

works, when he died in his twenty-ninth year, amounted only to nine. But

of the baker's dozen thrown off by Donizetti at so early an age, not one

made any impression on the public, or on musicians, such as was caused

by _I Capuletti_, or _Il Pirata_, or _La Straniera_, to say nothing of

_I Puritani_, which, in the opinion of many good judges, holds forth

greater promise of dramatic excellence than is contained in any other of

Bellini's works, including those masterpieces in two such different

styles, _La Sonnambula_ and _Norma_. When Donizetti had been composing

for a dozen years, and had produced thirty one operas (_Anna Bolena_ was

his thirty-second), he had still written nothing which could be ranked

on an equality with Bellini's second-rate works, such as _Il Pirata_ and

_I Capuletti_; and during the second half of Donizetti's operatic

career, not one work of his in three met with the success which

(_Beatrice_ alone excepted) attended all Bellini's operas, as soon as

Bellini had once passed that merely experimental period when, to fail,

is, for a composer of real ability, to learn how not to fail a second

time. I do not say that the composer of _Lucrezia_, _Lucia_, and _Elisir

d'Amore_ is so vastly inferior to the composer of _La Sonnambula_ and

_Norma_; but, simply, that Donizetti, during the first dozen years of

his artistic life, did not approach the excellence shown by the young

Bellini during the nine years which made up the whole of his brief

musical career. More than that, Donizetti never produced a musical

tragedy equal to _Norma_, nor a musical pastoral equal to _La

Sonnambula_; while, dramatic considerations apart, he cannot be compared

to Bellini as an inventor of melody. Indeed, it would be difficult in

the whole range of opera to name three works which contain so many

simple, tender, touching airs, of a refined character, yet possessing

all the elements of popularity (in short, airs whose beauty is

universally appreciable) as _Norma_, _La Sonnambula_, and _I Puritani_.

The simplicity of Bellini's melodies is one of their chief

characteristics; and this was especially remarkable, at a time when

Rossini's imitators were exaggerating the florid style of their model in

every air they produced.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: BELLINI'S SINGERS.]

Most of the great singers of the modern school,--indeed, all who have

appeared since and including Madame Pasta, have gained their reputation

chiefly in Bellini's and Donizetti's operas. They formed their style, it

is true, by singing Rossini's music; but as the public will not listen

for ever even to such operas as _Il Barbiere_ and _Semiramide_, it was

necessary to provide the new vocalists from time to time with new parts;

and thus "Amina" and "Anna Bolena" were written for Pasta; "Elvino,"

&c., for Rubini; "Edgardo," in the _Lucia_, for Duprez; a complete

quartett of parts in _I Puritani_, for Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini, and

Lablache. Since Donizetti's _Don Pasquale_, composed for Grisi, Mario

(Rubini's successor), Tamburini, and Lablache, no work of any importance

has been composed for the Italian Opera of Paris--nor of London either,

I may add, in spite of Verdi's _I Masnadieri_, and Halévy's _La

Tempesta_, both manufactured expressly for Her Majesty's Theatre.

I have already spoken of Pasta's and Malibran's successes in Rossini's

operas. The first part written for Pasta by Bellini was that of "Amina"

in the _Sonnambula_; the second, that of "Norma." But though Pasta

"created" these characters, she was destined to be surpassed in both of

them by the former Marietta Garcia, now returned from America, and known

everywhere as Malibran. This vocalist, by all accounts the most poetic

and impassioned of all the great singers of her period, arrived in Italy

just when _I Capuletti_, _La Sonnambula_, and _Norma_, were at the

height of their popularity--thanks, in a great measure, to the admirable

manner in which the part of the heroine in each of these works was

represented by Pasta. Malibran appeared as "Amina," as "Norma," and also

as "Romeo," in _I Capuletti_. She "interpreted" the characters (to

borrow an expression, which is admissible, in this case, from the jargon

of French musical critics) in her own manner, and very ingeniously

brought into relief just those portions of the music of each which were

not rendered prominent in the Pasta versions. The new singer was

applauded enthusiastically. The public were really grateful to her for

bringing to light beauties which, but for her, would have remained in

the shade. But it was also thought that Malibran feared her illustrious

rival and predecessor too much, to attempt _her_ readings. This was just

the impression she wished to produce; and when she saw that the public

had made up its mind on the subject, she changed her tactics, followed

Pasta's interpretation, and beat her on her own ground. She excelled

wherever Pasta had excelled, and proved herself on the whole superior to

her. Finally, she played the parts of "Norma" and "Amina" in her first

and second manner combined. This rendered her triumph decisive.

Now Malibran commenced a triumphal progress through Italy. Wherever she

sang, showers of bouquets and garlands fell at her feet; the horses were

taken from her carriage on her leaving the theatre, and she was dragged

home amid the shouts of an admiring crowd. These so-called

"ovations"[100] were renewed at every operatic city in Italy; and

managers disputed, in a manner previously unexampled, the honour and

profit of engaging the all-successful vocalist.

[Sidenote: MALIBRAN.]

The director of the Trieste opera gave Malibran four thousand francs a

night, and at the end of her engagement pressed her to accept a set of

diamonds. Malibran refused, observing, that what she had already

received was amply sufficient for her services, and more than she would

ever have thought of asking for them, had not the terms been proposed by

the director himself.

"Accept my present all the same," replied the liberal _impresario_; "I

can afford to offer you this little souvenir. It will remind you that I

made an excellent thing out of your engagement, and it may, perhaps,

help to induce you to come here again."

"The actions of this fiery existence," says M. Castil Blaze, "would

appear fabulous if we had not seen Marietta amongst us, fulfilling her

engagements at the theatre, resisting all the fatigue of the rehearsals,

of the representations, after galloping morning and evening in the Bois

de Boulogne, so as to tire out two horses. She used to breakfast during

the rehearsals on the stage. I said to her, one morning, at the

theatre:--'_Marietta carissima, non morrai. Che farò, dunque? Nemica

sorte! Creperai._'

"Her travels, her excursions, her studies, her performances might have

filled the lives of two artists, and two very complete lives, moreover.

She starts for Sinigaglia, during the heat of July, in man's clothes,

takes her seat on the box of the carriage, drives the horses; scorched

by the sun of Italy, covered with dust, she arrives, jumps into the

sea, swims like a dolphin, and then goes to her hotel to dress. At

Brussels, she is applauded as a French Rosìna, delivering the prose of

Beaumarchais as Mademoiselle Mars would have delivered it. She leaves

Brussels for London, comes back to Paris, travels about in Brie, and

returns to London, not like a courier, but like a dove on the wing. We

all know what the life of a singer is in the capital of England, the

life of a dramatic singer of the highest talent. After a rehearsal at

the opera, she may have three or four matinée's to attend; and when the

curtain falls, and she can escape from the theatre, there are soirées

which last till day-break. Malibran kept all these engagements, and,

moreover, gave Sunday to her friends; this day of absolute rest to all

England, was to Marietta only another day of excitement."

[Sidenote: MALIBRAN.]

Malibran spoke Spanish, Italian, French, English, and a little German,

and acted and sang in the first four of these languages. In London, she

appeared in an English version of _La Sonnambula_ (1838), when her

representation of the character of "Amina" created a general enthusiasm

such as can scarcely have been equalled during the "Jenny Lind

mania,"--perfect vocalist as was Jenny Lind. Malibran appears, however,

to have been a more impassioned singer, and was certainly a finer

actress than the Swedish Nightingale. "Never losing sight of the

simplicity of the character," says a writer in describing her

performance in _La Sonnambula_, "she gave irresistible grace and force

to the pathetic passages with which it abounds, and excited the feeling

of the audience to as high pitch as can be perceived. Her sleep-walking

scenes, in which the slightest amount of exaggeration or want of caution

would have destroyed the whole effect, were played with exquisite

discrimination; she sang the airs with refined taste and great power;

her voice, which was remarkable, rather for its flexibility and

sweetness than for its volume, was as pure as ever, and her style

displayed that high cultivation and luxuriance which marked the school

in which she was educated, and which is almost identified with the name

she formerly bore."

Drury Lane was the last theatre at which Madame Malibran sang; but the

last notes she ever uttered were heard at Manchester, where she

performed only in oratorios and at concerts. Before leaving London,

Madame Malibran had a fall from her horse, and all the time she was

singing at Manchester, she was suffering from its effects. She had

struck her head, and the violence of the blow, together with the general

shock to her nerves, without weakening any of her faculties, seemed to

have produced that feverish excitement which gave such tragic poetry to

her last performances. At first, she would take no precautions, though

inflammation of the brain was to be feared, and, indeed, might be said

to have already declared itself. She continued to sing, and never was

her voice more pure and melodious, never was her execution more daring

and dazzling, never before had she sung with such inspiration and with a

passion which communicated itself in so electric a manner to her

audience. She was bled; not one of the doctors appears to have had

sufficient strength of mind to enforce that absolute rest which everyone

must have known was necessary for her existence, and she still went on

singing. There were no signs of any loss of physical power, while her

nervous force appeared to have increased. The last time she ever sang,

she executed the duet from _Andronico_, with Madame Caradori, who, by a

very natural sympathy, appeared herself to have received something of

that almost supernatural fire which was burning within the breast of

Malibran, and which was now fast consuming her. The public applauded

with ecstacy, and as the general excitement increased, the marvellous

vocalisation of the dying singer became almost miraculous. She

improvised a final cadence, which was the climax of her triumph and of

her life. The bravos of the audience were not at an end when she had

already sunk exhausted into the arms of Madame Alessandri, who carried

her, fainting, into the artist's room. She was removed immediately to

the hotel. It was now impossible to save her, and so convinced of this

was her husband, that almost before she had breathed her last, he was on

his way to Paris, the better to secure every farthing of her property!

* * * * *

[Sidenote: RUBINI.]

Rubini, though he first gained his immense reputation by his mode of

singing the airs of _Il Pirata_, _Anna Bolena_, and _La Sonnambula_,

formed his style in the first instance, on the operas of Rossini. This

vocalist, however, sang and acted in a great many different capacities

before he was recognised as the first of all first tenors. At the age of

twelve Rubini made his début at the theatre of Romano, his native town,

in a woman's part. This curious _prima donna_ afterwards sat down at the

door of the theatre, between two candles, and behind a plate, in which

the admiring public deposited their offerings to the fair bénéficiare.

She is said to have been perfectly satisfied with the receipts and with

the praise accorded to her for her first performance. Rubini afterwards

went to Bergamo, where he was engaged to play the violin in the

orchestra between the acts of comedies, and to sing in the choruses

during the operatic season. A drama was to be brought out in which a

certain cavatina was introduced. The manager was in great trouble to

find a singer to whom this air could be entrusted. Rubini was mentioned,

the manager offered him a few shillings to sing it, the bargain was

made, and the new vocalist was immensely applauded. This air was the

production of Lamberti. Rubini kept it, and many years afterwards, when

he was at the height of his reputation, was fond of singing it in memory

of his first composer.

In 1835, twenty-three years after Rubini's first engagement at Bergamo,

the tenor of the Théâtre Italien of Paris was asked to intercede for a

chorus-singer, who expected to be dismissed from the establishment. He

told the unhappy man to write a letter to the manager, and then gave it

the irresistible weight of his recommendation by signing it "Rubini,

_Ancien Choriste_."

After leaving Bergamo, Rubini was engaged as second tenor in an operatic

company of no great importance. He next joined a wandering troop, and

among other feats he is said to have danced in a ballet somewhere in

Piedmont, where, for his pains, he was violently hissed.

In 1814, he was engaged at Pavia as tenor, where he received about

thirty-six shillings a month. Sixteen years afterwards, Rubini and his

wife were offered an engagement of six thousand pounds, and at last the

services of Rubini alone were retained at the Italian Opera of St.

Petersburgh, at the rate of twenty thousand pounds a year.

[Sidenote: RUBINI.]

Rubini was such a great singer, and possessed such admirable powers of

expression, especially in pathetic airs (it was well said of him,

"_qu'il avait des larmes dans la voix_,") that he may be looked upon as,

in some measure, the creator of the operatic style which succeeded that

of the Rossinian period up to the production of _Semiramide_, the last

of Rossini's works, written specially for Italy. The florid mode of

vocalization had been carried to an excess when Rubini showed what

effect he could produce by singing melodies of a simple emotional

character, without depending at all on vocalization merely as such. It

has already been mentioned that Bellini wrote _Il Pirato_ with Rubini at

his side, and it is very remarkable that Donizetti never achieved any

great success, and was never thought to have exhibited any style of his

own until he produced _Anna Bolena_, in which the tenor part was

composed expressly for Rubini. Every one who is acquainted with _Anna

Bolena_, will understand how much Rossini's mode of singing the airs,

_Ogni terra ove_, &c., and _Vivi tu_, must have contributed to the

immense favour with which it was received.

Rubini will long be remembered as the tenor of the incomparable quartett

for whom the _Puritani_ was written, and who performed together in it

for seven consecutive years in Paris and in London. Rubini disappeared

from the West in 1841, and was replaced in the part of "Arturo," by

Mario. Tamburini was the next to disappear, and then Lablache. Neither

Riccardo nor Giorgio have since found thoroughly efficient

representatives, and now we have lost with Grisi the original "Elvira,"

without knowing precisely where another is to come from.

[Sidenote: RUBINI'S BROKEN CLAVICLE.]

Before taking leave of Rubini, I must mention a sort of duel he once had

with a rebellious B flat, the history of which has been related at

length by M. Castil Blaze, in the _Revue de Paris_. Pacini's _Talismano_

had just been produced with great success at _la Scala_. Rubini made his

entry in this opera with an accompanied recitative, which the public

always applauded enthusiastically. One phrase in particular, which the

singer commenced by attacking the high B flat without preparation, and,

holding it for a considerable period, excited their admiration to the

highest point. Since Farinelli's celebrated trumpet song, no one note

had ever obtained such a success as their wonderful B flat of Rubini's.

The public of Milan went in crowds to hear it, and having heard it,

never failed to encore it. _Un 'altra volta!_ resounded through the

house almost before the magic note itself had ceased to ring. The great

singer had already distributed fourteen B flats among his admiring

audiences, when, eager for the fifteenth and sixteenth, the Milanese

thronged to their magnificent theatre to be present at the eighth

performance of _Il Talismano_. The orchestra executed the brief prelude

which announced the entry of the tenor. Rubini appeared, raised his eyes

to heaven, extended his arms, planted himself firmly on his calves,

inflated his breast, opened his mouth, and sought, by the usual means,

to pronounce the wished-for B flat. But no B flat would come. _Os habet,

et non clamabit._ Rubini was dumb; the public did their best to

encourage the disconsolate singer, applauded him, cheered him, and gave

him courage to attack the unhappy B flat a second time. On this

occasion, Rubini was victorious. Determined to catch the fugitive note,

which for a moment had escaped him, the singer brought all the muscular

force of his immense lungs into play, struck the B flat, and threw it

out among the audience with a vigour which surprised and delighted them.

In the meanwhile, the tenor was by no means equally pleased with the

triumph he had just gained. He felt, that in exerting himself to the

utmost, he had injured himself in a manner which might prove very

serious. Something in the mechanism of his voice had given way. He had

felt the fracture at the time. He had, indeed, conquered the B flat, but

at what an expense; that of a broken clavicle!

However, he continued his scene. He was wounded, but triumphant, and in

his artistic elation he forgot the positive physical injury he had

sustained. On leaving the stage he sent for the surgeon of the theatre,

who, by inspecting and feeling Rubini's clavicle, convinced himself that

it was indeed fractured. The bone had been unable to resist the tension

of the singer's lungs. Rubini may have been said to have swelled his

voice until it burst one of its natural barriers.

"It seems to me," said the wounded tenor, "that a man can go on singing

with a broken clavicle."

"Certainly," replied the doctor, "you have just proved it."

"How long would it take to mend it?" he enquired.

"Two months, if you remained perfectly quiet during the whole time."

"Two months! And I have only sung seven times. I should have to give up

my engagement. Can a person live comfortably with a broken clavicle?"

"Very comfortably indeed. If you take care not to lift any weight you

will experience no disagreeable effects."

"Ah! there is my cue," exclaimed Rubini; "I shall go on singing."

"Rubini went on singing," says M. Castil Blaze, "and I do not think any

one who heard him in 1831 could tell that he was listening to a wounded

singer--wounded gloriously on the field of battle. As a musical doctor I

was allowed to touch his wound, and I remarked on the left side of the

clavicle a solution of continuity, three or four lines[101] in extent

between the two parts of the fractured bone. I related the adventure in

the _Revue de Paris_, and three hundred persons went to Rubini's house

to touch the wound, and verify my statement."

[Sidenote: TAMBURINI.]

Two other vocalists are mentioned in the history of music, who not only

injured themselves in singing, but actually died of their injuries.

Fabris had shown himself an unsuccessful rival of the celebrated

Guadagni, when his master, determined that he should gain a complete

victory, composed expressly for him an air of the greatest difficulty,

which the young singer was to execute at the San Carlo Theatre, at

Naples. Fabris protested that he could not sing, or that if so, it would

cost him his life; but he yielded to his master's iron will, attacked

the impossible air, and died on the stage of hæmorrhage of the lungs. In

the same manner, an air which the tenor Labitte was endeavouring to

execute at the Lion's theatre, in 1820, was the cause of his own

execution.

I have spoken of the versatility of talent displayed by Rubini in his

youth. Tamburini and Lablache were equally expert singers in every

style. In the year 1822 Tamburini was engaged at Palermo, where, on the

last day of the carnival, the public attend, or used to attend, the

Opera, with drums, trumpets, saucepans, shovels, and all kinds of

musical and unmusical instruments--especially noisy ones. On this

tumultuous evening, Tamburini, already a great favourite with the

Palermitans, had to sing in Mercadante's _Elisa e Claudio_. The public

received him with a salvo of their carnavalesque artillery, when

Tamburini, finding that it was impossible to make himself heard in the

ordinary way, determined to execute his part in falsetto; and, the

better to amuse the public, commenced singing with the voice of a

soprano sfogato. The astonished audience laid their instruments aside to

listen to the novel and entirely unexpected accents of their _basso

cantante_. Tamburini's falsetto was of wonderful purity, and in using it

he displayed the same agility for which he was remarkable when employing

his ordinary thoroughly masculine voice. The Palermitans were interested

by this novel display of vocal power, and were, moreover, pleased at

Tamburini's readiness and ingenuity in replying to their seemingly

unanswerable charivari. But the poor _prima donna_ was unable to enter

into the joke at all. She even imagined that the turbulent

demonstrations with which she was received whenever she made her

appearance, were intended to insult her, and long before the opera was

at an end she refused to continue her part. The manager was in great

alarm, for he knew that the public would not stand upon any ceremony

that evening; and that, if the performance were interrupted by anything

but their own noise, they would probably break everything in the

theatre. Tamburini rushed to the _prima donna's_ room. Madame Lipparini,

the lady in question, had already left the theatre, but she had also

left the costume of "Elisa" behind. The ingenious baritone threw off his

coat, contrived, by stretching and splitting, to get on "Elisa's" satin

dress, clapped her bonnet over his own wig, and thus equipped appeared

on the stage, ready to take the part of the unhappy and now fugitive

Lipparini. The audience applauded with one accord the entry of the

strangest "Elisa" ever seen. Her dress came only half way down her legs,

the sleeves did not extend anywhere near her wrists. The soprano, who at

a moment's notice had replaced Madame Lipparini, had the largest hands

and feet a _prima donna_ was ever known to possess.

[Sidenote: TAMBURINI.]

The band had played the ritornello of "Elisa's" cavatina a dozen times,

and the most turbulent among the assembly had actually got up from their

seats, and were ready to scale the orchestra, and jump on the stage,

when Tamburini rushed on in the costume above described. After

curtseying to the audience, pressing one hand to his heart, and with

the other wiping away the tears of gratitude he was supposed to shed for

the enthusiastic reception accorded to him, he commenced the cavatina,

and went through it admirably; burlesquing it a little for the sake of

the costume, but singing it, nevertheless, with marvellous expression,

and displaying executive power far superior to any that Madame Lipparini

herself could have shown. As long as there were only airs to sing,

Tamburini got on easily enough. He devoted his soprano voice to "Elisa,"

while the "Count" remained still a basso, the singer performing his

ordinary part in his ordinary voice. But a duet for "Elisa" and the

"Count" was approaching; and the excited amateurs, now oblivious of

their drums, kettles, and kettle-drums, were speculating with anxious

interest as to how Tamburini would manage to be soprano and

basso-cantante in the same piece. The vocalist found no difficulty in

executing the duet. He performed both parts--the bass replying to the

soprano, and the soprano to the bass--with the most perfect precision.

The double representative even made a point of passing from right to

left and from left to right, according as he was the father-in-law or

the daughter. This was the crowning success. The opera was now listened

to with pleasure and delight to the very end; and it was not until the

fall of the curtain that the audience re-commenced their charivari, by

way of testifying their admiration for Tamburini, who was called upwards

of a dozen times on to the stage. This was not all: they were so

grieved at the idea of losing him, that they entreated him to appear

again in the ballet. He did so, and gained fresh applause by his

performance in a _pas de quatre_ with the Taglionis and Mademoiselle

Rinaldini.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: LABLACHE.]

Lablache was scarcely seventeen years of age, and had just finished his

studies at the Conservatorio of Naples when he was engaged as

"Neapolitan buffo" at the little San Carlino theatre. Here two

performances were given every day, one in the afternoon, the other in

the evening, while the morning was devoted to rehearsals. Lablache

supported the fatigue caused by this system without his voice suffering

the slightest injury, though all the other members of the company were

obliged to throw up their engagements before the year was out, and

several of them never recovered their voices. He had been five months at

San Carlino when he married Teresa Pinotti, daughter of an actor engaged

at the theatre, and one of the greatest comedians of Italy. This union

appears to have had a great effect on Lablache's fate. His wife saw what

genius he possessed, and thought of all possible means to get him away

from San Carlino, an establishment which she justly regarded as unworthy

of him. Lablache, for his part, would have remained there all his life,

playing the part of Neapolitan buffo, without thinking of the brilliant

position within his reach. There was at that time a celebrated

Neapolitan buffo, named Mililotti, who, Madame Lablache thought, might

advantageously replace her husband. She not only procured an engagement

for Lablache's rival at the San Carlino theatre, but is even said to

have packed the house the first night of his appearance (or

re-appearance, for he was already known to the Neapolitans) so as to

ensure him a favourable reception. Her intelligent love would,

doubtless, have caused her to hiss her husband, had not Mililotti's

success been sufficiently great to convince Lablache that he might as

well seek his fortune elsewhere, and in a higher sphere. He had some

hesitation, however, about singing in the Tuscan language, accustomed as

he was to the Neapolitan jargon, but his wife determined him to make the

change, and procured an engagement for him in Sicily. Arrived at

Messina, however, he continued for some time to appear as Neapolitan

buffo, a line for which he had always had a great predilection, and in

which, spite of the forced success of Mililotti, he had no equal.

Lablache will be generally remembered as a true basso; but, before

appearing as "Bartolo" in the _Barber of Seville_, he for many years

played the part of "Figaro." I have seen it stated that Lablache has

played not only the bass and baritone, but also the tenor part in

Rossini's great comic opera; but I do not believe that he ever appeared

as "Count Almaviva." I have said that he performed bass parts (the

Neapolitan buffo was always a bass), when he first made his _début_; and

during the last five-and-twenty years of his career, his

voice--marvellously even and sound from one end to the other--had at the

same time no extraordinary compass; but from G to E all his notes were

full, clear, and sonorous, as the tones of a bronze bell. Indeed, this

bell-like quality of the great basso's voice, is said on one occasion to

have been the cause of considerable alarm to his wife, who, hearing its

deep boom in the middle of the night, imagined, as she started from her

slumbers, that the house was on fire. This was the period of the great

popularity of _I Puritani_, when Grisi, accompanied by Lablache, was in

the habit of singing the polacca three times a week at the opera, and

about twice a day at morning concerts. Lablache, after executing his

part of this charming and popular piece three times in nine hours, was

so haunted by it, that he continued to ring out his sounding _staccato_

accompaniment in his sleep. Fortunately, Madame Lablache succeeded in

stopping this somnambulistic performance before the engines arrived.

[Sidenote: LABLACHE.]

Like all complete artists, like Malibran, like Ronconi, like Garrick,

the great type of the class, Lablache was equally happy in serious and

in comic parts. Though Malibran is chiefly remembered in England by her

almost tragic rendering of the part of "Amina" in the _Sonnambula_, many

persons who have heard her in all her _répertoire_, assure me that she

exhibited the greatest talent in comic opera, or in such lively "half

character" parts as "Norina" in the _Elixir of Love_, and "Zerlina" in

_Don Giovanni_. Lord Mount Edgcumbe declares, after speaking of her

performance of "Semiramide" ("Semiramide" has also been mentioned as one

of Malibran's best parts) that "in characters of less energy she is much

better, and best of all in the comic opera. She even condescended," he

adds, "to make herself a buffa caricata, and take the third and least

important part in Cimarosa's _Matrimonio Segretto_, that of an old woman

(the Mrs. Heidelberg of the _Clandestine Marriage_), generally acted by

the lowest singer of the company. From an insignificant character she

raised it to a prominent one, and very greatly added to the effect of

that excellent opera." So of Lablache, Lord Mount Edgcumbe, after

remarking that his voice was "not only of deeper compass than almost any

ever heard, but, when he chose, absolutely stentorian," tells his

readers that "he was a most excellent actor, especially in comic operas,

in which he was (as I am told) as highly diverting as any of the most

laughable comedians." Yet the character in which Lablache himself, and

not Lablache's reputation, produced so favourable an impression on this

writer--not very favourably impressed by any singers, or any music

towards the close of his life--was "Assur" in _Semiramide!_ Who that

remembers Lablache as "Bartolo"--that remembers the prominence and the

genuine humour which he gave to that slight and colourless part--can

deny that he was one of the greatest of comic actors? And did he not

communicate the same importance to the minor character of "Oroveso" in

_Norma_, in which nothing could be more tragic and impressive than his

scene with the repentant dying priestess in the last act? What a

picture, too, was his "Henry VIII." in _Anna Bolena_! A picture which

Lablache himself composed from a careful study of the costume worn by

the original, and for which nature had certainly supplied him in the

first place with a most suitable form. Think, again, of his superb

grandeur as "Maometto," of his touching dignity as "Desdemona's" father;

then forget both these characters, and recollect how perfect, how unique

a "Leporello" was this same Lablache. One of our best critics has taken

objection to Lablache's version of this last-named part--though, of

course, without objecting to his actual performance, which he as well,

or better than any one else, knows to have been almost beyond praise.

But it has been said that Lablache (and if Lablache, then all his

predecessors in the same character) indulged in an unbecoming spirit of

burlesque during the last scene of _Don Giovanni_, in which the statue

seizes the hero with his strong hand, and takes him down a practicable

trap-door to eternal torments. "Leporello," however, is a burlesque

character, and a buffoon throughout; cowardly, superstitious, greedy,

with all possible low qualities developed to a ludicrous extent, and

thus presenting a fine dramatic contrast to his master, who possesses

all the noble qualities, except faith--this one great flaw rendering all

the use he makes of valour, generosity, and love of woman, an abuse.

"Leporello" is always thinking of the bad end which he is sure awaits

him unless he quits the service of a master whom he is afraid to leave;

always thinking, too, of maccaroni, money, and the wages which "Don

Juan" certainly will not pay him, if he is taken to the infernal regions

before his next quarter is due. "_Mes gages, mes gages_," cries the

"Sganarelle" of Molière's comedy, and "Sganarelle" and "Leporello" are

one and the same person. We may be sure that Molière and Lablache are

right, and that Herr Formes, with his new reading of a good old part is

wrong. At the same time it is natural and allowable that a singer who

cannot be comic should be serious.

In addition to his other great accomplishments, Lablache possessed that

of being able to whistle in a style that many a piccolo player would

have envied. He could whistle all Rode's variations as perfectly as

Louisa Pyne sings them. As to the vibratory force of his full voice, it

was such that to have allowed Lablache to sing in a green house might

have been a dangerous experiment. Chéron, a celebrated French bass, is

said to have been able to burst a tumbler into a thousand pieces, by

sounding, within a fragile and doubtless sympathetic glass, some

particular note. Equally interesting, in connexion with a glass, is a

performance in which I have seen the veteran,[102] but still almost

juvenile basso, Signor Badiali, indulge. The artist takes a glass of

particularly good claret, drinks it, and, while in the act of

swallowing, sings a scale. The first time his execution is not quite

perfect. He repeats the performance with a full glass, a loud voice, and

without missing a note or a drop. To convince his friends that there is

no deception, he offers to go through this refreshing species of

vocalization a third time; after which, if the supply of wine on the

table happens to be limited, and the servants gone to bed, the audience

generally declares itself satisfied.

[Sidenote: MADAME GRISI.]

Giulia Grisi, the last of the celebrated Puritani quartett, first

distinguished herself by her performance of the part of "Adalgisa," in

_Norma_, when that opera was produced at Milan, in 1832. Giulia or

Giulietta Grisi, is the younger sister of Giuditta Grisi, also a singer,

but to whom Giulietta was superior in all respects; and she is the elder

sister of Carlotta Grisi, who, from an ordinary vocalist, became, under

the tuition of Perrot, the most charming dancer of her time. When Madame

Grisi first appeared, lord Mount Edgcumbe having ceased himself to

attend the opera, tells us that she possessed "a handsome person, sweet,

yet powerful voice, considerable execution, and still more expression;"

that "she is an excellent singer, and excellent actress;" in short, is

described to be as nearly perfect as possible, and is almost a greater

favorite than even Pasta or Malibran. In his _Pencillings by the Way_,

Mr. N. P. Willis writes, after seeing Grisi, who had then first appeared

at the King's Theatre, in the year 1833; "she is young, very pretty,

and an admirable actress--three great advantages to a singer; her voice

is under absolute command, and she manages it beautifully; but it wants

the infusion of soul--the gushing uncontrollable passionate feeling of

Malibran. You merely feel that Grisi is an accomplished artist, while

Malibran melts all your criticism into love and admiration. I am easily

moved by music, but I come away without much enthusiasm for the present

passion of London." The impression conveyed by Mr. N. P. Willis is not

precisely that which I received from hearing Grisi fourteen or fifteen

years afterwards, and up to her last season. Of late years, at least,

Madame Grisi has shown herself above all "a passionate singer," though

as "accomplished artists" superior to her, if not in force at least in

delicacy of expression, she has, from the time of Madame Sontag to that

of Madame Bosio, had plenty of superiors. It seems to us, in the present

day, that the "incontrollable passionate feeling of Grisi," is just what

we admire her for in "Norma," beyond doubt her best character; but it is

none the less interesting, or perhaps the more interesting for that very

reason, to know what a man of taste in poetry and the drama, and who had

heard all the best singers of his time, thought of Madame Grisi at a

period when her most striking qualifications may have been different

from what they are now. She was at all events a great singer and actress

then, in 1833, and is a great actress and singer now, in 1861--the year

of her final retirement from the stage.

CHAPTER XIX.

ROSSINI--SPOHR--BEETHOVEN--WEBER AND HOFFMANN.

[Sidenote: ROSSINI.]

Bellini and Donizetti were contemporaries of Rossini; so were Paisiello

and Cimarosa; so are M. Verdi and M. Meyerbeer; but Rossini has outlived

most of them, and will certainly outlive them all. It is now forty-eight

years since _Tancredi_, forty-five since _Otello_, and forty-five since

_Il Barbiere di Siviglia_ were written. With the exception of Cimarosa's

_Matrimonio Segretto_, which at long intervals may still occasionally be

heard, the works of Rossini's Italian predecessors have been thrown into

utter obscurity by the light of his superior genius. Let us make all due

allowances for such change of taste as must result in music, as in all

things, from the natural changeableness of the human disposition; still

no variation has taken place in the estimation in which Rossini's works

are held. It was to be expected that a musician of equal genius, coming

after Paisiello and his compeers, young and vigorous, when they were old

and exhausted, would in time completely eclipse them, even in respect to

those works which they had written in their best days; but the

remarkable thing is, that Rossini so re-modelled Italian opera, and gave

to the world so many admirable examples of his own new style, that to

opera-goers of the last thirty years he may be said to be the most

ancient of those Italian composers who are not absolutely forgotten. At

the same time, after hearing _William Tell_, it is impossible to deny

that Rossini is also the most modern of operatic composers. That is to

say, that since _William Tell_ was produced, upwards of thirty years

ago, the art of writing dramatic music has not advanced a step. Other

composers have written admirable operas during Rossini's time; but if no

Italian _opera seria_, produced prior to _Otello_, can be compared to

_Otello_; if no opera, subsequent to _William Tell_, can be ranked on a

level with _William Tell_; if rivals have arisen, and Rossini's operas

of five-and-forty years ago still continue to be admired and applauded;

above all, if a singer,[103] the favourite heroine of a composer[104]

who is so boastfully modern that he fancies he belongs to the next age,

and who is nothing if not an innovator; if even this ultra modern

heroine appears, when she wishes really to distinguish herself in a

Rossinian opera of 1813;[105] then it follows that of our actual

operatic period, and dating from the early part of the present century,

Rossini is simply the Alpha and the Omega. Undoubtedly his works are

full of beauty, gaiety, life, and of much poetry of a positive,

passionate kind, but they are wanting in spiritualism, or rather they

do not possess spirituality, and exhibit none of the poetry of romance.

It would be difficult to say precisely in what the "romantic"

consists;--and I am here reminded that several French writers have

spoken of Rossini as a composer of the "romantic school," simply (as I

imagine) because his works attained great popularity in France at the

same time as those of Victor Hugo and his followers, and because he gave

the same extension to the opera which the cultivators and naturalisers

in France of the Shakspearian drama gave, _after_ Rossini, to their

plays.[106] I may safely say, however, that with the "romantic," as an

element of poetry, we always associate somewhat of melancholy and

vagueness, and of dreaminess, if not of actual mystery. A bright

passionate love-song of Rossini's is no more "romantic" than is a

magnificent summer's day under an Italian sky; but Schubert's well known

_Serenade_ is essentially "romantic;" and Schubert, as well as Hoffmann,

(a composer of whom I shall afterwards have a few words to say), is

decidedly of the same school as Weber, who is again of the same school,

or rather of the same class, as Schubert and Beethoven, in so far that

not one of the three ever visited Italy, or was influenced, further than

was absolutely inevitable, by Italian composers.

[Sidenote: SPOHR.]

As a romantic composer Weber may almost be said to stand alone. As a

thoroughly German composer he belongs to the same class as Beethoven and

Spohr. Spohr, greatly as his symphonies and chamber compositions are

admired, has yet never established himself in public favour as an

operatic composer--at least not in England, nor indeed anywhere out of

Germany. I may add, that in Germany itself, the land above all others of

scientific music, the works which keep possession of the stage are, for

the most part, those which the public also love to applaud in other

countries. The truth is, that the success of an opera is seldom in

proportion to its abstract musical merit, just as the success of a drama

does not depend, or depends but very little, on the manner in which it

is written. We have seen plays by Browning, Taylor (I mean the author of

Philip Von Artevelde), Leigh Hunt, and other most distinguished writers,

prove failures; while dramas and comedies put together by actors and

playwrights have met with great success. This success is not to be

undervalued; all I mean to say is, that it is not necessarily gained by

the best writers in the drama, or by the best composers in the opera;

though the best composers and the best writers ought to take care to

achieve it in every department in which they present themselves. In the

meanwhile, Spohr's dramatic works, with all their beauties, have never

taken root in this country; while even Beethoven's _Fidelio_, one of the

greatest of operas, does not occupy any clearly marked space in the

history of opera; nor is it as an operatic composer that Beethoven has

gained his immense celebrity.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN.]

All London opera-goers remember Mademoiselle Sophie Cruvelli's admirable

performance in _Fidelio_; and like Mademoiselle Cruvelli (or Cruwel),

all the great German singers who have visited England--with the single

exception of Mademoiselle Titiens--have some time or other played the

part of the heroine in Beethoven's famous dramatic work: but _Fidelio_

has never been translated into English or French,--has never been played

by any thoroughly Italian company, and admired, as it must always be by

musicians--nor has ever excited any great enthusiasm among the English

public, except when it has been executed by an entire company of

Germans,--the only people who can do justice to its magnificent

choruses. It is a work apart in more than one sense, and it has not had

that perceptible influence on the works which have succeeded it, either

in Germany or in other countries, that has been exercised by Weber's

operas in Germany, and by Rossini's everywhere. For full particulars

respecting Beethoven and his three styles, and _Fidelio_ and its three

overtures, the reader may be referred to the works published at St.

Petersburgh by M. Lenz in 1852 (_Beethoven et ses trois styles_), at

Coblentz, by Dr. Wegeler and Ferdinand Ries in 1838, and at Munster, by

Schindler (that friend of Beethoven's, who, according to the malicious

Heine, wrote "_Ami de Beethoven_" on his card), in 1845. Schindler's

book is the sourse of nearly all the biographical particulars since

published respecting Beethoven; that of M. Lenz is chiefly remarkable

for the inflated nonsense it contains in the shape of criticism. Thus

Beethoven's third style is said to be "_un jugement porté sur le cosmos

humain, et non plus une participation à ses impressions_,"--words which,

I confess, I do not know how to render into intelligible English. His

symphonies in general are "events of universal history rather than

musical productions of more or less merit." Those who have read M.

Lenz's extravagant production, will remember that he attacks here and

there M. Oulibicheff, author of the "Life of Mozart," published at

Moscow in 1844. M. Oulibicheff replied in a work devoted specially to

Beethoven (and to M. Lenz), published at St. Petersburgh in 1854;[107]

in which he is said by our best critics not to have done full justice to

Beethoven, though he well maintains his assertion; an assertion which

appears to me quite unassailable, that the composer of _Don Juan_

combined all the merits of all the schools which had preceded him. I

have already endeavoured, in more than one place, to impress this truth

upon such of my readers as might not be sufficiently sensible of it, and

moreover, that all the important operatic reforms attributed to the

successors of Mozart, and especially to Rossini, belong to Mozart

himself, who from his eminence dominates equally over the present and

the past.

[Sidenote: BORROWED THEMES.]

Karl Maria von Weber has had a very different influence on the opera

from that exercised by Beethoven and Spohr; and so much of his method of

operatic composition as could easily be imitated has found abundance of

imitators. Thus Weber's plan of taking the principal melodies for his

overtures from the operas which they are to precede, has been very

generally followed; so also has his system of introducing national airs,

more or less modified, when his great object is to give to his work a

national colour.[108] This process, which produces admirable results in

the hands of a composer of intelligence and taste, becomes, when adopted

by inferior musicians, simply a convenient mode of plagiarism. Without

for one moment ranking Rossini, Bellini, or Donizetti in the latter

class, I may nevertheless observe, that the cavatina of _La Gazza Ladra_

is founded on an air sung by the peasants of Sicily; that the melody of

the trio in the _Barber of Seville_ (_Zitti, Zitti_), is Simon's air in

the _Seasons_, note for note; that _Di tanti palpiti_ was originally a

Roman Catholic hymn; that the music of _La Sonnambula_ is full of

reminiscences of the popular music of Sicily; and that Donizetti has

also had recourse to national airs for the tunes of his choruses in _La

Favorite_. In the above instances, which might easily be multiplied the

composers seem to me rather to have suited their own personal

convenience, than to have aimed at giving any particular "colour" to

their works. However that may be, I feel obliged to them for my part for

having brought to light beautiful melodies, which but for them might

have remained in obscurity, as I also do to Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,

and Mendelssohn, for the admirable use they also have occasionally made

of popular themes. It appears to me, however, (to speak now of operatic

composers alone) that there is a great difference between borrowing an

air from an oratorio, a collection of national music, or any other

source, simply because it happens to be beautiful, and doing so because

it is appropriate to a particular personage or scene. We may not blame,

but we cannot praise Rossini for taking a melody of Haydn's for his

_Zitti, Zitti_, instead of inventing one for himself; nor was there any

particular merit, except that of civility, in giving "Berta," in the

same opera, a Russian air to sing, which Rossini had heard at the house

of a Russian lady residing at Rome, for whom he had a certain

admiration. But the _Ranz des Vaches_, introduced with such admirable

effect into _Guillaume Tell_, where it is marvellously embellished, and

yet loses nothing of its original character; this _Ranz des Vaches_ at

once transports us amongst the Swiss mountains. So Luther's hymn is in

its proper place in the _Huguenots_;[109] so is the Persian air, made

the subject of a chorus of Persian beauties by the Russian composer

Glinka, in his _Rouslan e Loudmila_; so also is the Arabian march (first

published by Niebuhr in his "Travels in Arabia"), played behind the

scenes by the guards of the seraglio in _Oberon_, and the old Spanish

romance employed as the foundation to the overture of _Preciosa_.

[Sidenote: WEBER.]

Weber had a fondness not only for certain instrumental combinations and

harmonic effects, but also for particular instruments, such as the

clarionet and the horn, and particular chords (which caused Beethoven to

say that Weber's _Euryanthe_ was a collection of diminished sevenths).

There are certain rhythms too, which, if Weber did not absolutely

invent, he has employed so happily, and has shown such a marked liking

for them (not only in his operas, but also in his pianoforte

compositions, and other instrumental works), that they may almost be

said to belong to him. With regard to the orchestral portion of his

operas generally, I may remark that Weber, though too high-souled a poet

to fall into the error of direct imitation of external noises, has yet

been able to suggest most charmingly and poetically, such vague natural

sounds as the rustling of the leaves of the forest, and the murmuring of

the waves of the sea. Finally, to speak of what defies analysis, but to

assert what every one who has listened to Weber's music will I think

admit, his music is full of that ideality and spirituality which in

literature is regarded in the present day, if not as the absolute

essence of poetry, at least, as one of its most essential elements. Read

Weber's life, study his letters, listen again and again to his music,

and you will find that he was a conscientious, dutiful, religious man,

with a thoroughly musical organization, great imaginative powers,

inexhaustible tenderness, and a deep, intuitive appreciation of all that

is most beautiful in popular legends. He was an artist of the highest

order, and with him art was truly a religion. He believed in its

ennobling effect, and that it was to be used only for ennobling

purposes. Thus, to have departed from the poetic exigencies of a subject

to gratify the caprice of a singer, or to attain the momentary applause

of the public would, to Weber, with the faith he held, have been a

heresy and a crime.

Weber has not precisely founded a school, but his influence is

perceptible in some of the works of Mendelssohn, (as, for instance, in

the overture to a _Midsummer Night's Dream_) and in many portions of

Meyerbeer's operas, especially in the fantastic music of _Robert le

Diable_, and in certain passages of _Dinorah_--a legend which Weber

himself would have loved to treat. Meyerbeer is said to have borrowed

many of his instrumental combinations from Weber; but in speaking of the

points of resemblance between the two composers, I was thinking not of

details of style, but of the general influence of Weber's thought and

manner. If Auber is indebted to Weber it is simply for the idea of

making the overture out of the airs of an opera, and of colouring the

melodic portion by the introduction of national airs. Only while Weber

gives to his operas a becoming national or poetic colour throughout, the

musical tints in M. Auber's dramatic works are often by no means in

harmony. The Italian airs in _La Muette_ are appropriate enough, and the

whole of that work is in good keeping; but in the _Domino Noir_,

charming opera as it is, no one can help noticing that Spanish songs,

and songs essentially French, follow one another in the most abrupt

manner. As nothing can be more Spanish than the second movement of

"Angèle's" scene (in the third act) so nothing can be more French, more

Parisian, more vaudevillistic than the first.

[Sidenote: DER FREISCHÜTZ.]

But to return to Weber and his operas. _Der Freischütz_, decidedly the

most important of all Weber's works, and which expresses in a more

remarkable manner than any other of his dramatic productions the natural

bent of his genius, was performed for the first time at Berlin in 1821.

_Euryanthe_ was produced at Vienna in 1823, and _Oberon_ at London in

1826. _Der Freischütz_ is certainly the most perfect German opera that

exists; not that it is a superior work to _Don Giovanni_, but that _Don

Giovanni_ is less a German than a universal opera; whereas _Der

Freischütz_ is essentially of Germany, by its subject, by the

physiognomy of the personages introduced, and by the general character

of the music. There is this resemblance, however, between _Don Giovanni_

and _Der Freischütz_: that in each the composer had met with a libretto

peculiarly suited to his genius--the librettist having first conceived

the plan of the opera, and having long carried its germ in his mind.

Lorenzo da Ponte, in his memoirs (of which an interesting account was

published some years ago by M. Scudo, the accomplished critic of the

_Revue des Deux Mondes_) states, that he had long thought of Don Juan as

an admirable subject for an opera, of which he felt the poetic

truthfulness only too well, from reflecting on his own career; and that

he suggested it to Mozart, not only because he appreciated that

composer's high dramatic genius, but also because he had studied his

mental and moral nature; and saw, from his simplicity, his loftiness of

character, and his reverential, religious disposition, that he would do

full justice to the marvellous legend. Frederic Kind has also published

a little volume ("Der Freischütz-Buch"), in which he explains how the

circumstances of his life led him to meditate from an early age on such

legends as that which Weber has treated in his master-piece. When Weber

was introduced to Kind, he was known as the director of the Opera at

Prague, and also, and above all, as the composer of numerous popular and

patriotic choruses, which were sung by all Germany during the national

war of 1813. He had not at this time produced any opera; nor had Kind,

a poet of some reputation, ever written the libretto of one. Kind was

unwilling at first to attempt a style in which he did not feel at all

sure of success. One day, however, taking up a book, he said to Weber:

"There ought to be some thing here that would suit us, and especially

you, who have already treated popular subjects." He at the same time

handed to the musician a collection of legends, directing his attention

in particular to Apel's Freischütz. Weber, who already knew the story,

was delighted with the suggestion. "Divine! divine!" he exclaimed with

enthusiasm; and the poet at once commenced his libretto.

[Sidenote: DER FREISCHÜTZ.]

No great work ever obtained a more complete and immediate triumph than

_Der Freischütz_; and within a few years of its production at Berlin it

was translated and re-produced in all the principal capitals of Europe.

It was played at London in English, at Paris in French, and at both

cities in German. In London it became so popular, that at the height of

its first success a gentleman, in advertising for a servant, is said to

have found it necessary to stipulate that he should _not_ be able to

whistle the airs from _Der Freischütz_. In Paris, its fate was curious,

and in some respects almost inexplicable. It was brought out in 1824 at

the Odéon, in its original form, and was hissed. Whether the intelligent

French audience objected to the undeniable improbability of the chief

incidents in the drama, or whether the originality of the music offended

their unprepared ears, or whatever may have been the cause, Weber's

master-piece was damned. Its translator, M. Castil Blaze, withdrew it,

but determined to offer it to the critical public of the Odéon in

another form. He did not hesitate to remodel _Der Freischütz_, changing

the order of the pieces, cutting out such beauties as the French thought

laughable, interpolating here and there such compositions of his own as

he thought would please them, and finally presenting them this

remarkable medley (which, however, still consisted mainly of airs and

choruses by Weber) nine days after the failure of _Der Freischütz_,

under the title of _Robin des Bois_. The opera, as decomposed and

recomposed by M. Castil Blaze, was so successful, that it was

represented three hundred and fifty-seven times at the Odéon. Moreover,

it had already been played sixty times at the Opéra Comique, when the

French Dramatic Authors' Society interfered to prevent its further

representation at that theatre, on the ground that it had not been

specially written for it. M. Castil Blaze, in the version he has himself

published of this curious affair, tells us, that his first version of

_Der Freischütz_, in which his "respect for the work and the author had

prevented him from making the least change" was "_sifflé_, _meurtri_,

_bafoué_, _navré_, _moqué_, _conspué_, _turlupiné_, _hué_, _vilipendié_,

_terrassé_, _déchiré_, _lacéré_, _cruellement enfoncé_, _jusqu'au

troisiéme dessous_." This, and the after success of his modified

version, justified him, he thinks, in depriving Weber's work of all its

poetry, and reducing it to the level of the comprehension of a French

musical audience in the year 1824.

Strangely enough, when Berlioz's version of _Der Freischütz_ was

produced at the Académie in 1841, it met with scarcely more success than

had been obtained by _Der Freischütz_ in its original musical form at

the Odéon. The recitatives added by M. Berlioz, if not objectionable in

themselves, are at least to be condemned in so far that they are not

Weber's, that they prolong the music beyond Weber's intentions, and,

above all, that they change the entire character of the work. I cannot

think, after Meyerbeer's _Dinorah_, that recitative is an inappropriate

language in the mouths of peasants. Recitative of an heroic character,

would be so, no doubt; but not such as a composer of genius, or even of

taste or talent, would write for them. Nevertheless, Weber conceived his

master-piece as a species of melodrama, in which the personages were now

to sing, now to speak, "through the music," (to adopt an expressive

theatrical phrase), now to speak without any musical accompaniment at

all. If, at a theatre devoted exclusively to the performance of grand

opera, it is absolutely necessary to replace the spoken dialogue by

recitative, then this dialogue should, at least, be so compressed as to

reduce the amount of added recitative to a minimum quantity. _Der

Freischütz_, however, will always be heard to the greatest advantage in

the form in which it was originally produced. The pauses between the

pieces of music have, it must be remembered, been all premeditated, and

their effect taken into account by the composer.

[Sidenote: DER FREISCHÜTZ.]

But the transformations of _Der Freischütz_ are not yet at an end. Six

years ago M. Castil Blaze re-arranged his _Robin des Bois_ once more,

restored what he had previously cut out, cut out what he had himself

added to Weber's music, and produced his version, No. 3 (which must have

differed very little, if at all, from his unfortunate version, No. 1),

at the Théâtre Lyrique.

Every season, too, it is rumoured that _Der Freischütz_ is to be

produced at one of the Italian theatres of London, with Mademoiselle

Titiens or Madame Csillag in the principal part. When managers are tired

of tiring the public with perpetual variations between Verdi and

Meyerbeer, (to whose monstrously long operas my sole but sufficient

objection is, that there is too much of them, and--with the exception of

the charming _Dinorah_--that they are stuffed full of ballets,

processions, and other pretexts for unnecessary scenic display), then we

shall assuredly have an opportunity of hearing once more in England the

masterpiece of the chief of all the composers of the romantic and

legendary school. In such a case, who will supply the necessary

recitatives? Those of M. Berlioz have been tried, and found wanting. Mr.

Costa's were not a whit more satisfactory. M. Alary, the mutilator of

_Don Giovanni_, would surely not be encouraged to try his hand on

Weber's masterpiece? Meyerbeer, between whose genius and that of Weber,

considerable affinity exists, is, perhaps, the only composer of the

present day whom it would be worth while to ask to write recitatives for

_Der Freischütz_. The additions would have to be made with great

discretion, so as not to encumber the opera; but who would venture to

give a word of advice, if the work were undertaken by M. Meyerbeer?

Weber's _Preciosa_ was produced at Berlin in 1820, a year before _Der

Freischütz_, which latter opera appears to have occupied its composer

four years--undoubtedly the four years best spent of all his artistic

life. The libretto of _Preciosa_ is founded on Cervantes' _Gipsy of

Madrid_, (of which M. Louis Viardot has published an excellent French

translation); and here Weber, faithful to his system has given abundant

"colour" to his work, in which the Spanish romance introduced into the

overture, and the Gipsies' march are, with the waltz (which may be said

to be in Weber's personal style), the most striking and characteristic

pieces.

[Sidenote: EURYANTHE.]

_Euryanthe_ was written for Vienna, where it was represented for the

first time in 1823, the part of "Euryanthe" being filled by Mademoiselle

Sontag, that of "Adolar," by Heitzinger. The libretto of this opera,

composed by a lady, Madame Wilhelmine de Chézy is by no means

interesting, and the dulness of the poem, though certainly not

communicated to the music, has caused the latter to suffer from the mere

fact of being attached to it. _Euryanthe_ was received coldly by the

public of Vienna, and was called by its wits--professors of the

"_calembourg d'à-peu-près_"--_Ennuyante_. If such facetiousness as this

was thought enlivening, it is easy to understand how Weber's music was

considered the reverse. I have already mentioned Beethoven's remark

about _Euryanthe_ being "a collection of diminished sevenths." Weber was

naturally not enchanted with this observation; indeed it is said to

have pained him exceedingly, and some days after the first production of

_Euryanthe_ he paid a visit to Beethoven, in order to submit the score

to his judgment. Beethoven received him kindly, but said to him, with a

certain roughness which was habitual to him: "You should have come to me

before the representation, not afterwards...." Nevertheless," he added,

"I advise you to treat _Euryanthe_ as I did _Fidelio_; that is to say,

cut out a third."

_Euryanthe_, however, soon met with the success it deserved, not only at

Berlin, Dresden, and Leipzig, but at Vienna itself, where the part

created by Mademoiselle Sontag was performed in 1825 by Madame

Schrœder-Devrient, in a manner which excited general enthusiasm. The

passionate duet between "Adolar" and "Euryanthe," in the second act, as

sung by Heitzinger and Madame Schrœder, would alone have sufficed to

attract the public of Vienna to Weber's opera, now that it was revived.

_Oberon_, Weber's last opera, was composed for Covent Garden Theatre, in

1826. Some ingenious depreciators of English taste have discovered that

Weber died from grief, caused by the coldness with which this work was

received by the London public. With regard to this subject, I cannot do

better than quote the excellent remarks of M. Scudo. After mentioning

that _Oberon_ was received with enthusiasm on its first production at

Covent Garden--that it was "appreciated by those who were worthy of

comprehending it"--and that an English musical journal, the

_Harmonicon_, "published a remarkable article, in which all the beauties

of the score were brought out with great taste," he observes that "it is

impossible to quote an instance of a great man in literature, or in the

arts, whose merit was entirely overlooked by his contemporaries;" while,

"as for the death of Weber, it may be explained by fatigue, by grief,

without doubt, but, above all, by an organic disease, from which he had

suffered for years." At the same time "the enthusiasm exhibited by the

public, at the first representation of _Oberon_, did not keep at the

same height at the following representations. The master-piece of the

German composer experienced much the same fate as _William Tell_ in

Paris."

[Sidenote: OBERON.]

Weber himself, in a letter written to his wife, on the very night of the

first performance, says:--"My dear Lina; thanks to God and to his all

powerful will, I obtained this evening the greatest success in my life.

The emotion produced in my breast by such a triumph, is more than I can

describe. To God alone belongs the glory. When I entered the orchestra,

the house, crammed to the roof, burst into a frenzy of applause. Hats

and handkerchiefs were waved in the air. The overture had to be executed

twice, as had also several of the pieces in the opera itself. The air

which Braham sings in the first act was encored; so was Fatima's

romance, and a quartett in the second act. The public even wished to

hear the finale over again. In the third act, Fatima's ballad was

re-demanded. At the end of the representation I was called on to the

stage by the enthusiastic acclamations of the public, an honour which

no composer had ever before obtained in England. All went excellently,

and every one around me was happy."

In spite of the enthusiasm inspired by Weber's works in England, when

they were first produced, and for some years afterwards, we have now but

rarely an opportunity of hearing one of them. _Oberon_, it is true, was

brought out at Her Majesty's Theatre at the end of last season, when,

not being able to achieve miracles, it did not save the manager from

bankruptcy; but the existence of Weber's other works seems to be

forgotten by our directors, English as well as Italian, though from time

to time a rumour goes about, which proves to be a rumour and nothing

more, that _Der Freischütz_ is to be performed by one of our Italian

companies. In the meanwhile Weber has found an abundance of appreciation

in France, where, at the ably and artistically-conducted Théâtre

Lyrique, _Der Freischütz_, _Oberon_, _Euryanthe_ and _Preciosa_ have all

been brought out, and performed with remarkable success during the last

few years.

A composer, whose works present many points of analogy with those of

Weber, and which therefore belong essentially to the German romantic

school, is Hoffmann--far better known by his tales than by his

_Miserere_, his _Requiem_, his airs and choruses for Werner's _Crusade

of the Baltic_, or his operas of _Love and Jealousy_, the _Canon of

Milan_, or _Undine_. This last production has always been regarded as

his master-piece. Indeed, with _Undine_, Hoffmann obtained his one great

musical success; and it is easy to account for the marked favour with

which that work was received in Germany. In the first place the

fantastic nature of the subject was eminently suited to the peculiar

genius of the composer. Then he possessed the advantage of having an

excellent _libretto_, written by Lamotte-Fouqué, the author of the

original tale; and, finally, the opera was admirably executed at the

Royal Theatre of Berlin. Probably not one of my readers has heard

Hoffmann's _Undine_, which was brought out in 1817, and I believe was

never revived, though much of the music, for a time, enjoyed

considerable popularity, and the composition, as a whole, was warmly and

publicly praised by no less a personage than Karl Maria von Weber

himself. On the other hand, _Undine_, and Hoffmann's music generally,

have been condemned by Sir Walter Scott, who is reported not to have

been able to distinguish one melody from another, though he had, of

course, a profound admiration for Scotch ballads of all kinds. M. Fétis,

too, after informing us that Hoffmann "gave music lessons, painted

enormous pictures, and wrote _licentious novels_ (where are Hoffmann's

licentious novels?) without succeeding in making himself remarked in any

style," goes on to assure us, without ever having heard _Undine_, that

although there were "certain parts" in which genius was evinced, yet

"want of connexion, of conformity, of conception, and of plan, might be

observed throughout;" and that "the judgment of the best critics was,

that such a work could not be classed among those compositions which

mark an epoch in art."

[Sidenote: HOFFMANN'S UNDINE.]

Weber had studied criticism less perhaps than M. Fétis; but he knew

more about creativeness, and in an article on the opera of _Undine_, so

far from complaining of any "want of connexion, of conformity, of

conception, and of plan," the author of _Der Freischütz_ says: "This

work seems really to have been composed at one inspiration, and I do not

remember, after hearing it several times, that any passage ever recalled

me for a single minute from the circle of magic images that the artist

evoked in my soul. Yes, from the beginning to the end, the author

sustains the interest so powerfully, by the musical development of his

theme, that after but a single hearing one really seizes the _ensemble_

of the work; and detail disappears in the _naïveté_ and modesty of his

art. With rare renunciation, such as can be appreciated only by him who

knows what it costs to sacrifice the triumph of a momentary success, M.

Hoffmann has disdained to enrich some pieces at the expense of others,

which it is so easy to do by giving them an importance, which does not

belong to them as members of the entire work. The composer always

advances, visibly guided by this one aspiration--to be always truthful,

and keep up the dramatic action without ceasing, instead of checking or

fettering it in its rapid progress. Diverse and strongly marked as are

the characters of the different personages, there is, nevertheless,

something which surrounds them all; it is that fabulous life, full of

phantoms, and those soft whisperings of terror, which belong so

peculiarly to the fantastic. Kühleborn is the character most strikingly

put in relief, both by the choice of the melodies, and by the

instrumentation which, never leaving him, always announces his sinister

approach.[110] This is quite right, Kühleborn appearing, if not as

destiny itself, at least as its appointed instrument. After him comes

_Undine_, the charming daughter of the waves, which, made sonorous, now

murmur and break in harmonious roulades, now powerful and commanding,

announce her power. The 'arietta' of the second act, treated with rare

and subtle grace, seems to me a thorough success, and to render the

character perfectly. 'Hildebrand,' so passionate, yet full of

hesitation, and allowing himself to be carried away by each amorous

desire, and the pious and simple priest, with his grave choral melody,

are the next in importance. In the back-ground are Bertalda, the

fisherman, and his wife, and the duke and duchess. The strains sung by

the suite of the latter breathe a joyous, animated life, and are

developed with admirable gaiety; thus forming a contrast with the sombre

choruses of the spirits of the earth and water, which are full of harsh,

strange progressions. The end of the opera, in which the composer

displays, as if to crown his work, all his abundance of harmony in the

double chorus in eight parts, appears to me grandly conceived and

perfectly rendered. He has expressed the words--'good night to all the

cares and to all the magnificence of the earth'--with true loftiness,

and with a soft melancholy, which, in spite of the tragic conclusion of

the piece, leaves behind a delicious impression of calm and

consolation. The overture and the final chorus which enclose the work

here give one another the hand. The former, which evokes and opens the

world of wonders, commences softly, goes on increasing, then bursts

forth with passion; the latter is introduced without brusqueness, but

mixes up with the action, and calms and satisfies it completely. The

entire work is one of the most _spiritual_ that these latter times have

given us. It is the result of the most perfect and intimate

comprehension of the subject, completed by a series of ideas profoundly

reflected upon, and by the intelligent use of all the material resources

of art; the whole rendered into a magnificent work by beautiful and

admirably developed melodies."

M. Berlioz has said of Hoffmann's music, adding, however, that he had

not heard a note of it, that it was "_de la musique de littérateur_." M.

Fétis, having heard about as much of it, has said a great deal more;

but, after what has been written concerning Hoffmann's principal opera

by such a master and judge as Karl Maria von Weber, neither the opinion

of M. Fétis, nor of M. Berlioz, can be of any value on the subject. The

merit of Hoffmann's music has probably been denied, because the world is

not inclined to believe that the same man can be a great writer and also

a great musician. Perhaps it is this perversity of human nature that

makes us disposed to hold M. Berlioz in so little esteem as an author;

and I have no doubt that there are many who would be equally unwilling

to allow M. Fétis any tolerable rank as a composer.

INDEX,

HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL.

A.

Abbaye of Longchamp, the great operatic vocalists engaged at the, ii. 49.

Academiciens, of the Paris opera, ii. 47.

Académie Royale de Musique, of Paris, numerous works produced

at the, i. 13, 14;

its institution, 15;

its system of conscription, 77;

privileges of its members, 77;

its state of morality, 81, 82;

its absurd privileges, 86, 87;

its chief singers, 223;

operatic disturbances at the, ii. 36-38;

destroyed by fire, 41;

management and proceedings of the, 55;

prices for private boxes, 56;

effect of the French Revolution on the, 56 _et seq_;

its changes of name, 57, 194 note;

Opera National substituted, 59. (See OPERA).

Academy of Music (See ROYAL ACADEMY OF MUSIC).

"Actor's Remonstrance," a tract, i. 81.

Actresses, their prodigality under the French regency, i. 82, 83.

Addison, Joseph, on the Italian Opera in England, i. 53-58;

the justness of his views on operatic representations, 62;

his satirical remarks on the French Opera, 66;

on the Italian Opera, 113;

his critique on Nicolini and the lion, 118-122;

his humorous critique on "Rinaldo" and the operatic sparrows, 123-126;

his unfavourable opinion of Opera, 127;

his critique on Milton, 128.

Aguiari, Lucrezia, the vocalist, i. 188.

Albert, the French dancer, ii. 111, 112.

Alboni, Madame, the Italian vocalist, ii. 162.

Algarotti's work on the Opera, i. 2.

_Almahide_, opera of, i. 117.

_Ambleto_, opera of, i. 127, 128.

Ambrogetti, the celebrated baritone, ii. 108;

the first performer of _Giovanni_ in London, 108.

_Anna Bolena_, of Donizetti, ii. 232;

the author's master-piece, 233.

_Antiochus_, opera of, i. 127.

Antoine de Baif, privileged to establish an Academy of Music, i. 15.

Antony à Wood, on the operatic drama, i. 37.

Arbuthnot, Dr., on the failure of Italian operas, i. 148.

Archilei, the celebrated singer, i. 8.

Arnauld, Abbé, his passionate exclamation, i. 64.

Arnaud, Abbe, an admirer of Gluck, i. 287, 288.

Arnould, Sophie, the celebrated singer, i. 223;

biographical notices of, 226 _et seq._;

her talents, wit, and beauty, 226-230;

her death, 231;

anecdote of, ii. 35;

accused of aristocratic sympathies, 70;

pensioned by Fouché, 79.

_Arsinoe_, opera of, played by Mrs. Tofts, i. 107;

critique on the play, 108, 109.

Atto, the Italian tenor, i. 183, 184.

Auber, his opera of _Masaniello_, i. 14;

the follower of Rossini, ii. 202;

his _Gustave III._, 219.

Authors, regulations for their admission to the opera of Paris, i. 79, 80.

B.

B flat, of Rubini, ii. 267, 268.

Badiali, Signor, his curious performance with a drinking glass, ii. 278, 279.

Balfe's libretti, founded on French pieces, i. 214.

Ball, Hughes, marries Mercandotti, ii. 120.

Ballet, introduction and progress of the, i. 70 _et seq._;

Lulli's great attention to the, 72;

propriety of its following the Opera, 251;

great attention paid to it by the Italians, 251.

Ballet d'Action, invented by the Duchess du Maine, i. 77;

soon afterwards imported into England, 77;

never naturalised in this country, 77.

Ballet-dancers, important persons in France previous to the Revolution, ii. 53.

Ballets, origin of, i. 18;

the most brilliant part of the Open at Paris, 258.

Balon, the ballet-dancer, i. 78.

Banti Mdlle., the celebrated vocalist, ii. 10;

biographical notices of, 10-12.

_Barber of Seville_, by Rossini, ii. 144 _et seq._

_Bardi_, G., Count of Vernio, musical assemblies of, i. 5.

Baroni, the celebrated singer, i. 8.

Barwick, Ann, her arrest for creating a disturbance, i. 105.

Bassi, the baritone singer, ii. 105.

Bastille, taking of the, ii. 54.

_Beatrice di Tenda_, of Bellini, ii. 252.

Beaujoyeux's _Ballet Comique de la Royne_, i. 71.

Beaumarchais, the musical composer, his bon-mot on operatic music, i. 53;

refuses letters of nobility, 221;

the court music-master, 291;

music-master to the daughters of Louis XV., ii. 39;

anecdote of, 39.

Beaupré, the comic dancer, ii. 68.

Beethoven, the German composer, i. 221, ii. 285, 286;

accepts fifty ducats in preference to the cross of some order, i. 221;

his _Fidelio_, ii. 286;

his three styles, 286;

critiques on his works, 286, 287;

his advice to Weber, 299.

_Beggar's Opera_, the touchstone of English taste, i. 148.

Belissent, M. de, anecdote of, i. 262.

Bellini, the musical composer, i. 212;

his _Sonnambula_ grounded upon _Le Philtre_ and _La Somnambule_, 212;

biographical notices of, ii. 247 _et seq._;

his various productions, 249-253;

_I Puritani_ his last opera, 253;

his death, 254;

sorrow caused thereby, 255;

letter from his father on his lamented death, 256;

compared with Donizetti, 257;

his singers, 259.

Beneditti, Signor, performer at the Opera in 1720, i. 159;

his capricious temper, 160.

Benini, Madame, _the altra prima donna_, goes to Paris, ii. 3;

her exquisite voice, 3.

Beranger, on the decline of the drama, i. 65.

Bergamo, theatre at, ii. 265.

Berlioz's version of _Der Freischütz_, ii. 296;

his opinion of Hoffmann's music, 306.

Bernacchi, Signor, the Italian singer, i. 163.

Bernadotte, at Udine, ii. 91.

Bernard, S., the court banker of Paris, i. 92;

his munificence to actresses, 92.

Bernardi. (See SENESINO.)

Bernier, the musical composer, anecdote of, i. 85.

Bernino, the scenic painter and decorator, i. 179.

Berri, duke de, assassinated, ii. 190.

Bertatti's _Matrimonio Segretto_, ii. 97.

Bertin, E., the French critic, ii. 158.

Bertoldi, Signora, the Italian singer and actress, i. 163.

Berton, manager of the Paris Opera, i. 291.

_Bianca e Fernando_ of Bellini, ii. 249.

Bias, the French dancer, ii. 112.

Bigottini, the French dancer, ii. 111, 112.

Bilboquet, humorous anecdote of, i. 188, 190.

Billington, Mrs., the operatic singer, ii. 12;

her performance, 13;

among the first class of singers, 28.

Blaze, M. Castil, historian of the French Opera, i. 301;

on the removal of the Opera near the National Library, ii. 71;

his published description of Mddle. Sallé's performances, 93-96, 99;

his adaptation of Weber's _Der Freischütz_, 297.

_Bohemian Girl_, not original, i. 213;

sources whence taken, 213.

Boisgerard, M., ballet-master and negociator of the King's

Theatre, ii. 110, 111;

his daring exploit in liberating Sir Sidney Smith from the Temple, 117, 118.

Bolton, Duke of, marries Miss Lavinia Fenton, i. 138.

Bonaparte, Napoleon, introduced to Mddle. Montansier, ii. 74;

grants her an indemnity, 75;

natural effect of his campaigns in Italy to create a taste

for Italian music, 79;

his prompt engagement and liberal offers to Madame Paer

and M. Brizzi, 80, 81;

rewards Paisiello, 82;

plots for assassinating, 179, 182;

a good friend to the Opera, 193.

Bontempi's account of Masocci's school of singing, i. 184.

Borrowed Themes, ii. 289.

Bouillon, Duke de, his great expenditure, ii. 51.

Bourdon, Leonard, the republican dramatist, ii. 67.

Braham, the distinguished operatic singer, ii. 14.

Brambilla, Mdlle., biographical notices of, ii. 173.

Brevets, granted by the French court for admission to the Opera, ii. 48;

evils resulting therefrom, 48;

not required of the fishwomen and charcoal-men of Paris,

who were always present at the Opera on certain fetes, 49.

Brizzi, M., the vocalist, ii. 80;

engaged by Bonaparte, 80, 81.

Broschi, Carlo. (See FARINELLI.)

Brydone's anecdote of Gabrielli, the vocalist, i. 195, 197.

Bull, Dr. J., the national anthem attributed to, i. 165, 166.

Buononcini, the musical composer, i. 109;

his first opera produced in 1720, 145;

his _Griselda_ in 1722, 146;

his last opera of _Astyanax_, 146;

his piracy and disgrace, 146;

his continental career and death, 147.

Buret, Mddle., execution of, ii. 76.

Burlington, Countess, patroness of the vocalist Faustina, i. 153.

Burney, Dr., at Vienna, i. 198;

at Berlin, 199.

C.

Caccini, the Italian musician, i. 5;

composer of the music to _Dafne_, 7.

Caccini, Francesca, daughter of the composer Caccini, i. 8.

Caffarelli, the singer, biographical notices of, i. 191;

his quarrel with Metastasio, 192.

Caldus, his unfortunate speculation in the Pantheon, ii. 125.

Calsabigi, the librettist, i. 212.

Camargo, Mdlle., the celebrated French danseuse, i. 89;

her exquisite skill, 90.

Cambert, his French opera, i. 15;

driven to London, 16;

his arrival in London, 28;

his favourable reception, 28;

English version of his _Ariadne_, 28;

his death and character, 28.

Cambronne, General, anecdote of, i. 17, _note_.

_Camilla_, music of, i. 109;

critique on the opera of, 109, 110.

_Campanello di Notte_, of Donizetti, ii. 233.

Campion, Miss, the vocalist, i. 139;

the Duke of Devonshire's inscription to her memory, i. 139.

Campistron, one of Lulli's librettists, i. 22.

Camporese, Madame, the Italian vocalist, ii. 160.

Campra, J., orchestral conductor of the Marseilles opera, i. 87;

anecdote of, 88.

_Capuletti ed i Montecchi_, of Bellini, ii. 250, 257.

Caradori, the vocalist, ii. 264.

Carestini, the Italian singer, i. 164.

Carey, H., the national anthem attributed to, i. 166.

Carpentras school of music, i. 6.

Catalani, the vocal queen of the age, ii. 16;

her extraordinary powers, 17, 19;

biographical notices of, 18-20;

Napoleon's munificent offer to, 18;

draft of a contract between her and Mr. Ebers of the King's Theatre, 23-25;

her retirement and death, 26;

enormous sums paid to, 132.

_Caterina Comaro_ of Donizetti, ii. 243.

Catherine the Great of Russia, her interview with the vocalist

Gabrielli, i. 198;

introduces the Italian Opera into St. Petersburgh, 199.

Cavaliere, Emilio del, a musician of Rome, i. 5.

Chambers, the banker, mortgagee of the King's Theatre, ii. 128, 130.

Chamfort, the republican, commits suicide, ii. 76.

Chantilly, Mdlle. (See FAVART).

Chapel-Masters, their strange readings, i. 44.

Chappell, W., on the origin of the national anthem, i. 166.

Charbonniers of Paris, present at the Opera on certain fetes, ii. 49.

Charles II., his patronage of operatic music, i. 33.

Charles VI. of Germany, his musical taste, i. 182.

Charles VII. of Germany, a musician, and the great patron

of the opera at Vienna, i. 181.

Charles Edward, the young Pretender, arrested at the Académie

Musique, and expelled from France, i. 234.

Chasse, the, baritone singer, i. 223;

biographical notices of, 223-5.

Chaumette, the sanguinary republican, ii. 73.

Cheron, the celebrated French bass, ii. 279;

the vibratory force of his voice, 279.

Cherubini's "Abencerrages," ii. 189.

Chorus of opera, i. 47;

French invention imported into England, 77;

introduction of the, 180.

Cimarosa, the operatic composer, ii. 29-31;

invited to St. Petersburgh, 87;

his _Nozze di Figaro_, 96;

his _Matrimonio Segretto_ produced at the request of Leopold II., 96.

Clayton, the musical composer, and author of _Arsinoe_, i. 108;

his spleen against Handel, 129, 132, 133.

Clement IX., the author of seven _libretti_, i. 3.

Colasse, Lafontaine's composer, i. 22.

Colbran, Mdlle., the singer, ii. 95, 96;

married to Rossini, 166;

biographical notices of, 167.

Coleman, Mrs., the actress, i. 30, 31.

Comic opera of France, i. 236, 237.

Consulate, state of the French opera under the, ii. 178 _et seq._;

operatic plots under the, 179, 180;

the arts did not flourish under the, 183.

Convention, state of the opera under the, ii. 75;

its receipts confiscated by the, 75;

its sanguinary proceedings, 75, 76.

"Conversion of St. Paul," played in music at Rome, i. 3.

Copyright, Victor Hugo's claims to against the Italian

librettists, ii. 234, 235;

principles of, 235;

rights of authors, 237.

Coqueau, musician and writer, guillotined, ii. 76.

Corbetta, F., the musical teacher of Louis XIV., i. 75.

Corsi, Giascomi, i. 5.

Costume, ludicrous dispute respecting, i. 161, 162;

of visitors to the London Opera, ii. 136, 137;

letter respecting, 138.

Coulon, the French dancer, ii. 112.

Country dances introduced into England, i. 78;

fondness for, 78.

Covent Garden Theatre, performances at, i. 101.

"Credo," strange readings of the by two chapel masters, i. 44.

Crescentini, the singer, his capricious temper, i. 161, 162.

_Crociato in Egitto_, of Meyerbeer, ii. 206, 207;

Lord Edgcumbe's description of the music, 208;

the principal part played by Velluti, 209.

Croix, Abbé de la, i. 86.

Cromwell, his patronage of music, i. 32;

anecdotes of, 32, 33.

Cruvelli, Mdlle., her admirable performance in _Fidelio_, ii. 286.

Curiosity, wonderful instance of, i. 39.

Cuzzoni, the vocalist, her exquisite qualifications, i. 151, 152;

memoir of, 152;

her partizans, 153;

leaves England, 154;

returns to London, 155;

her melancholy end, 155.

D.

_Dafne_, the first complete opera, i. 5, 7;

new music composed to the libretto of, 6, 7.

_Dame aux Camélias_, its representation prohibited, i. 37.

Dancer and the musician, i. 88.

Dancers of the French opera, i. 77, 296;

their position previous to the Revolution, ii. 53;

diplomatic negociations for engaging, 110, 111;

engagements of in London, 112;

further negociations about their return, 115, 116;

treaty respecting their future engagements, 115.

Dancing, at the French court, i. 72;

language of, 250;

the fourth part of the fine arts at the Paris Opera, 259.

(See BALLET).

D'Antin, Duc, appointed manager of the French opera, i. 79.

Dauberval, the dancer, i. 300.

Davenant, Sir Wm., opens a theatre, i. 30, 36;

actors engaged by him, 30, 31.

David, the Conventional painter, ii. 72.

Davide, the operatic actor of Venice, ii. 158;

enthusiasm excited by, 159.

Decorations of the stage, i. 63.

De Lauragais, anecdote of, i. 277, 278.

Delany, Lady, her account of Anastasia Robinson afterwards Lady

Peterborough, i. 134-138.

Delawar, Countess, patroness of the vocalist Faustina, i. 153.

D'Entraigues, Count, married to Madame Huberti, ii. 94;

murder of, 95.

_Der Freischütz_, of Weber, represented at the French Opera, ii. 198;

compared with _Robert le Diable_, 213;

remarks on, 291 _et seq._;

compared with _Don Giovanni_, 293;

its complete success, 294;

remodelled by M. Blaze, and entitled _Robin des Bois_, 295.

Deschamps, Mdlle., the French figurante, i. 83;

her prodigality, 83.

Desmatins, Mdlle., the actress, i. 24, 25.

Despreaux, the violinist, commits suicide, ii. 76.

_Devin du Village_, of Rousseau, i. 261;

music presumed to be the production of Granet, i. 262, 263;

anecdotes of the, 262.

De Vismes, of the Paris Opera, i. 291;

ii. 38.

Devonshire, Wm., duke of, his inscription to the memory

of Miss Campion, i. 139.

D'Hennin, Prince, his rupture with Gluck, i. 275, 276;

a favourite butt for witticism, 276.

Divertissements, propriety of their accompanying operatic performances, i. 25.

"Di tanti Palpiti," originally a Roman Catholic hymn, ii. 289.

_Dinorah_, of Meyerbeer, ii. 296, 297.

_Don Giovanni_, of Mozart, ii. 100-109;

its original cast at Prague, 104;

the performers of the character in London, 108;

general cast of characters in the opera, 108, 109;

compared with _Der Freischütz_, 293.

_Don Pasquale_, of Donizetti, ii. 241;

libretto of, 242.

_Don Sebastien_, of Donizetti, ii. 241.

Donizetti, the musical composer, i. 112;

his _Elizir d'Amore_, grounded upon _Le Philtre_ and _La Somnambule_, 112;

his _Lucrezia_, founded on _Lucrece Borgia_, 213;

anecdotes of, ii. 226 _et seq._;

his early admiration of Rossini's works, 230;

biographical notices of, 232;

his various works, 232 _et seq._, 239 _et seq._;

his rapidity of composition, 240;

his last opera, _Catarina Comaro_, 243;

the author of sixty-three operas, 243;

critique on his works, 243, 244;

his illness and death, 245, 246;

his numerous compositions, 246;

compared with Bellini, 257.

Drama, Beranger on the decline of the, i. 65.

Dramatic ballet. (See BALLET).

Dresden, theatre of, the first opera in Europe, and the best

vocalists engaged from them, i. 172, 173;

ii. 80, 81, 87.

Dryden, his political opera of _Albion and Albanius_, i. 29;

his character of Grabut, 29.

Du Barry, Madame, her opposition to Gluck, and support of

Piccinni, i. 279, 280;

mistress of Louis XV., ii. 48.

Dubuisson, the librettist, guillotined, ii. 75.

_Duc d'Albe_, of Donizetti, ii. 243.

Duelling, i. 107;

among women, 225, _et note_.

Dumenil, the tenor, i. 24.

Duparc, Eliz., the soprano singer, nicknamed "La Francesina," i. 187.

Dupre, the violinist, exchanges the violin for the ballet, i. 88, 89, 91.

Durastanti, Madame, the celebrated vocalist, i. 158, 159.

E.

Ebers, Mr., of the King's Theatre, ii. 22;

draft of a contract between him and Madame Catalani, 23-25;

is opinions on the state of the opera, 109;

his negociation respecting the Paris dancers, 115;

takes the management of the King's Theatre, 129;

his selection of operas and singers, 129;

his losses, 129, 130;

his retirement, 130.

Eclecticism, the present age of, i. 286.

Edelman, the musician, executed, ii. 76.

Edgar, Sir John, his attack on a company of French actors, i. 159, 160.

Eglantine, Fabre d', the librettist, guillotined, ii. 76.

_Elisir d'Amore_, of Donizetti, ii. 233.

Empire, state of the French opera under the, ii. 178 _et seq._;

the arts did not flourish under the, 183.

England, Italian opera introduced into, i. 9, 104 _et seq._;

state of the opera at the end of the eighteenth and beginning

of the nineteenth century, ii. 1 _et seq._;

the chief opera houses of Paris and Italy inseparably connected

with the history of opera in, 224.

English, the Italians have a genius for music superior to, i. 56;

have a genius for other performances of a much higher nature, 56.

English opera, account of, i. 9;

its failures, 10;

services rendered by Handel to, 215;

has no history, 215.

"Enraged Musicians," letters from, i. 129, 133.

_Enrico di Borgogna_, of Donizetti, ii. 232.

_Euridice_, opera of, i. 5, 6.

_Euryanthe_ of Weber, ii. 292, 298;

its great success, 299.

F.

Fabri, Signor, the Italian singer, i. 163.

Fabris, death of, from overstrained singing, ii. 270.

Farinelli, Carlo Boschi, the Italian singer, i. 159;

the magic and commanding powers of his voice, 164, 189;

biographical notices of, 185, 186, 188-191;

his single note, 189.

Farnesino, theatre at Paris, i. 177.

Faustina, the vocalist, i. 150:

her exquisite qualifications, 151, 152;

memoir of, 152;

her artizans, 153;

returns to Italy, 155;

married to Hasse, the musical composer, 155, 156;

her successful career at the Dresden Opera, 156;

her death, 158.

Faustina and Cuzzoni, disputes respecting, i. 149 _et seq._;

their respective merits, 150, 151.

Favart, his satirical description of the French Opera, i. 65.

Favart, Madame, of the Opera Comique, i. 231;

her love for Marshal Saxe, 232, 233.

_Favorite_, by Donizetti, ii. 239.

Fel, Mdlle, a singer of the Academie, i. 223.

Female singers, the most celebrated, i. 8.

Fénélon, Chev. de, accidentally killed, i. 81.

Fenton, Lavinia, married to the Duke of Bolton, i. 138;

her accomplishments, 138.

Ferri, Balthazar, the most distinguished singer of his day, i. 174.

Ferriere, Chev. de, anecdotes of, ii. 77, 78.

Feuds, among musicians and actors, i. 149 _et seq._

Fiddles, of the seventeenth century, i. 23.

_Fidelio_, of Beethoven, 286.

_Fille du Regiment_, by Donizetti, ii. 239.

Finales, Piccinni the originator, ii. 32;

time usually occupied by them, 32, 33.

First Consul of France, plots for assassinating, ii. 179, 182.

Fodor, Madame, the celebrated cantatrice, ii, 92;

anecdote of 93;

biographical notices of, 160.

Fontenelle, author of "Thetis and

Pelee," revisits the Academie, i. 235.

Forst, the singer, refuses letters of nobility, i. 221.