"LA DONNA DEL LAGO."
In proportion as Rossini elevated and enlarged his style, in proportion
as he aimed at rendering his works truly dramatic, so did his success
diminish. The grand combinations in "La Donna del Lago" were not
appreciated at Naples; "Semiramide" was coldly received at Venice;
"Guillaume Tell" did not please the public when it was first produced at
Paris.
If Rossini could have produced anything finer than "Guillaume Tell," who
knows but that it would have been hissed?
"La Donna del Lago" and "Guillaume Tell" possess many points in common,
the Italian work being in some sort the forerunner of the greater work
composed for the French stage. Both dramas are conceived on a large
scale, and deal with large masses; both are full of new picturesque
effects, and one may almost say "local colour," though Rossini did not
commit the puerility of introducing national tunes to remind his
audiences that the scene of "La Donna del Lago" was in Scotland, that of
"Guillaume Tell" in Switzerland.
* * * * *
Among the very numerous reforms introduced by Rossini into opera
seria--reforms which now pass without notice because no works by Italian
composers anterior to Rossini are ever played[25]--the choice of subject
has not yet been mentioned.
As French dramatists and painters, until the beginning of what is called
the romantic movement, dealt only with classical subjects, so Italian
composers were confined, either by general prejudice or by a mere habit
of routine, to the legendary and mythological subjects of antiquity.
Rossini had, it is true, come down to the Crusades in "Tancredi," but
the libretto of that work all the same was based on one of the most
conventional specimens of the French classical drama. Without being a
professed theorist, Rossini studied the resources of his art much more
profoundly than is supposed by those who judge him by the habitual tone
of his conversation, and by the haste and apparent carelessness which he
often exhibited in composing even his best works; and Rossini,
consciously or unconsciously, but as it seems to me deliberately, and
not merely from instinct, broke through the rigid old rule which limited
the composer to one range of subjects, and those of the most familiar
and interesting kind.
For they were very familiar, though entirely removed from the possible
sympathies of a modern audience. What, indeed, were Artemisia and
Artaxerxes to them, or they to Artemisia and Artaxerxes? Verdi, going
perhaps to the other extreme, sets the latest French novel to music. The
composers of the eighteenth century went to work over and over again on
the same well-worn libretti by Apostolo Zeno, Calsabigi and Metastasio.
Hasse composed two operas on the libretto of "Artemisia," two on
"Artaserse," and three on "Arminio." Jomelli set "Didone" twice, and
"Demofonte" twice; Piccini and Sacchini each composed music twice to
the "Olimpiade." Mozart, after "Don Giovanni," had gone back to
Metastasio, in "La Clemenza di Tito;" and Rossini began by writing in
the true old style "A Lament on the Death of Orpheus"--an event which
must have deeply affected him.
There was a time when Metastasio was himself an innovator. Before being
classical, opera was altogether mythological. "At the birth of the
opera," says Rousseau, in the "Musical Dictionary," "its inventors, to
elude that which seemed unnatural as an imitation of humour in the union
of music with speech, transferred their scenes from earth into heaven
and hell. Not knowing how to make men speak, they made gods and devils,
instead of heroes and shepherds, sing. Thus magic and marvels became
speedily the stock-in-trade of the lyrical theatre; yet, in spite of
every effort to fascinate the eyes whilst multitudes of instruments and
voices bewildered the air, the action of every piece remained cold, and
all its scenes were totally devoid of interest. As there was no plot
which, however intricate, could not easily be unravelled by the
intervention of some god, the spectator quietly abandoned to the poet
the task of delivering his hero from his greatest dangers."
Gradually gods were driven from the stage on which men were represented.
"Gods and devils," says Arteaga ("Revoluzioni del Teatro Italiano"),
"were banished from the stage as soon as poets discovered the art of
making men speak with dignity. This reform was followed by another which
Rousseau describes as the work of Apostolo Zeno and Metastasio, his
pupil. I will quote one more passage from the "Musical Dictionary" to
show what the operatic ideal was in 1730, and how much it differed from
that of 1830, as entertained by Rossini, Auber, and Meyerbeer:--
"The opera, it was felt, should represent nothing cold or intellectual,"
says Rousseau--"nothing that the spectator could witness with sufficient
tranquillity to reflect on what he saw. And it is in this especially
that the essential difference between the lyric drama and pure tragedy
consists. All political deliberations, all plots, conspiracies,
explanations, recitals, sententious maxims--in a word, all which speaks
to the reason, was banished from the theatre of the heart, together with
all _jeux d'esprit_, madrigals, and other pleasant conceits which
suppose some activity of thought. On the contrary, to depict all the
energies of sentiment, all the violence of the passions, was made the
principal object of this drama; for the illusion which makes its charm
is destroyed as soon as the author and actor leave the spectator a
moment to himself. It is on this principle that the modern[26] opera is
established. Apostolo Zeno, the Corneille of Italy, and his tender
pupil, who is its Racine [Metastasio], have opened and carried to its
perfection this new career of the dramatic art. They have brought the
heroes of history on a theatre which seemed only adapted to exhibit the
phantoms of fable."
Rossini did for the heroes of history what his predecessors had done for
the phantoms of fable; he substituted for them the personages of modern
romance. The composer had already placed himself above the librettist,
whose by no means unimportant duty it is to prepare (in the admirable
words of Victor Hugo,[27] "un canevas d'opéra plus ou moins bien
disposé pour que l'oeuvre musicale s'y superpose heureusement;" and
again, "une trame qui ne demande pas mieux que de se dérober sous cette
riche et éblouissante broderie qui s'appelle la musique.")
* * * * *
"La Donna del Lago," the fourth of those "serious" operas by Rossini,
each of which made a distinct impression, marks another step forward in
the composer's progress from "Tancredi" to "Guillaume Tell." The varied
cast includes parts for a soprano (Mdlle. Colbran), a contralto (Mdlle.
Pisaroni), two tenors (Davide and Nozzare), and a bass (Benedetti).
Great prominence is given to the chorus; and for the first time Rossini
introduces a military band on the stage, which is heard first by itself,
afterwards in conjunction with the chorus.
This innovation, of which, however (once more!), an example was already
to be found in "Don Giovanni," does not seem to have been admired when
"La Donna del Lago" was first performed; and hence it may be inferred
that if Rossini had brought out, say half a dozen years before, an
opera, presenting at once all the reforms which, as it was, he
introduced gradually, then such an opera would have been too much in
advance of the public taste to have had any chance of success.
A bass singer in the foreground, a chorus taking an active part in the
drama, recitatives accompanied by the orchestra, the orchestra itself
strengthened by additional brass instruments, a military band on the
stage--this certainly would have been too much for the Italian audiences
of 1813. As it was, when the military band on the stage, a chorus of
Highland bards, with harp accompaniments, and the instruments of the
ordinary theatrical orchestra, were all heard together, the audience of
the San Carlo Theatre in the year 1819 were not at all agreeably
impressed by the novel combination. It is always somewhat dangerous to
try new effects on the stage, and the magnificent finale of "La Donna
del Lago," the finest musical scene the composer had produced,
imperilled the success of the whole work.
Rossini was much distressed by the reception his opera encountered, and
instead of going quietly to bed, as after the first tempestuous
representation of "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," started the same night for
Milan. He does not seem, however, to have lost his spirits. At least, he
regained them, and by way of a jocular revenge on the Neapolitan public
spread the report, wherever he stopped, that they were delighted with
his new opera, and that its success had been unbounded.
Rossini persisted in this humorous misrepresentation, but he had
scarcely arrived at Milan when what he fancied was still false had
become the simple truth. On "La Donna del Lago" being performed a second
time, it struck the Neapolitans that they had behaved unfairly in not
listening to the work the night before--when, startled by the trumpets
of the military band, they seemed to have lost the faculty of reasonable
attention. After applauding Mdlle. Colbran and Davide's duet, the chorus
of women, Mdlle. Pisaroni's air, and even the finale to the first act,
in which a concession had been made to popular prejudice by a reduction
in the number of trumpets, they had virtually reversed their verdict on
the opera. In the second act, the trio, and Mdlle. Pisaroni's second
air, called forth fresh expressions of approbation. Mdlle. Pisaroni, in
particular, was honoured with what in the present day would be called
an "ovation." Her success, however, amounted to more than an "ovation;"
it was a genuine triumph.
"La Donna del Lago" is one of Rossini's most notable works; but operas,
more even than books, have "their fates;" and the fate of an opera
depends not only on the music, but also on the "book" to which that
music is attached.
If an opera could live by the music alone, "La Donna del Lago" would not
have fallen so entirely out of the recollection of managers, as it seems
to have done. But it must be remembered that there is one particular
point which tells both for and against this work. It contains one of the
finest parts ever written for the contralto voice. An Alboni in the
character of _Malcolm Graeme_ insures in a great degree its success. In
the absence of a contralto of the highest merit, it is scarcely worth
while to produce it at all.
* * * * *
In the year 1846 a French edition of "La Donna del Lago," enlarged, but
not improved, called, "Robert Bruce," was produced at the Académie of
Paris. The new libretto was by Messrs. Waez and Royer, the librettists
of "La Favorita," to which M. Niedermeyer, the composer of "Marie
Stuart," adapted pieces by Rossini, taken not only from "La Donna del
Lago," but also from "Armida" and "Zelmira," an opera of the year 1822.
M. Niedermeyer went to Bologna to consult Rossini on the subject of this
pasticcio, but does not seem to have received from him any important
advice.
Rossini probably entertained the same views in regard to "Robert Bruce,"
which he expressed in writing with reference to "Un Curioso
Accidente."[28] He would not acknowledge the work as belonging to him,
but did not object to its being presented to the public, provided the
arrangement were attributed to the proper person. Rossini's credit was
saved by M. Niedermeyer's name appearing in the bill. Nevertheless, most
of Rossini's friends thought it a pity he should have given any sort of
countenance to the production of this very unsatisfactory adaptation. As
it was, Rossini contented himself with ridiculing it in a letter which
was circulated at the time.
The evening on which "Robert Bruce" was to be performed for the first
time, Rossini at Bologna went out with Lablache for a drive.
"What a breeze there is to-night," Lablache said, as he closed the
window of the carriage.
"The hissing at the first representation of 'Robert Bruce,'" replied
Rossini; "it will not do us any harm."