The Life of Rossini
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“Zelmira,” composed for Vienna, was first produced at Naples. It will be remembered that the Italian theatre at Vienna, the San Carlo and Del Fondo theatre of Naples were all in the hands of the same manager. Mademoiselle Colbran, Mademoiselle Cecconi, Davide, Nozzare, and Benedetti were the singers, and the work was brought out in the middle of December, 1821.
Rossini was now on the point of leaving Naples altogether. A few days after the first representation of “Zelmira” he took a benefit, when a cantata, which he had written for the occasion, “La Riconoscenza,” was executed, Rubini and the former Mademoiselle Chaumel, now Madame Rubini, being among the vocalists.
Mademoiselle Colbran did not sing at this interesting ceremony; she had to start early the next morning for Bologna, where a ceremony still more interesting required her presence. Rossini accompanied her, and the marriage took place in the palace of Cardinal Opizzoni, Archbishop of Bologna, who performed the service. Rossini’s parents were present, together with Nozzare and Davide, the two inseparable tenors. Mademoiselle Colbran had saved a considerable sum of money, considering the difference between the earnings of an Italian prima donna fifty years ago and those of a European prima donna of the present day.
M. Azevedo assigns to Mademoiselle Colbran an income from property of four hundred a year; Stendhal, more generous, had given her eight hundred. She had at least, in the words of Zanolini, “a delicious villa and revenues in Sicily.”
From Bologna, Rossini, his wife, and the two tenors went to Vienna, where the composer was received with enthusiasm, and what was more, no doubt, to his taste, with distinguished attention from the most illustrious persons in the capital. It is said that Rossini was handled roughly in the musical press, and that the names of Haydn and Mozart were invoked to his disadvantage. This, however, did not diminish his success with the public, who, going to the theatre to be pleased, came away delighted whenever one of Rossini’s works had been performed.
Various accounts of Rossini’s interview with Beethoven have been published. Beethoven had heard the “Barber of Seville,” had been much pleased with it, and had thought still better of it on examining the score. However this may have been, Rossini knew and greatly admired Beethoven’s work,29 and he made a point of calling upon the great composer soon after his arrival in Vienna. The interview does not seem to have been a long one, nor, considering that Beethoven was in broken health and tormented by his malady of deafness, could it have been interesting on either side. It left a sad impression on Rossini, who appreciated Beethoven’s genius.
The attacks with which Rossini was saluted on his first appearance at Vienna, as afterwards at Paris, did him more good than harm. They irritated his admirers, and called forth their enthusiasm. They also drew out some able replies. Carpani, the author of “Le Rossiniane,” was at Vienna when Rossini arrived there to produce “Zelmira,” and took up the pen valiantly on behalf of his idol.
Carpani was a good musician, and should not be held answerable for all Stendhal’s remarks on music in the “Vie de Rossini,” any more than he must be credited with the acute, delicate observations on literature, society, national peculiarities, &c., in which the book abounds. Carpani had the happiness to furnish Rossini with the words of an air which he added to “Zelmira” for Mademoiselle Eckerlin, who undertook the contralto part when the opera was brought out at Vienna. He was present at a great number of representations, and ended by writing an elaborate notice of the work.
“‘Zelmira,’” he says, “is an opera in only two acts, which lasts nearly four hours, and does not appear long to any one, not even to the musicians of the orchestra, which is to say everything. In this extraordinary opera there are not two bars which can be said to be taken from any other work of Rossini. Far from working his habitual mine, the author exhibits a vein hitherto unattacked. It contains enough to furnish not one, but four operas. In this work Rossini, by the new riches which he draws from his prodigious imagination, is no longer the author of ‘Otello,’ ‘Tancredi,’ ‘Zoraide,’ and all his preceding works; he is another composer – new, agreeable, and fertile, as much as the first, but with more command of himself, more pure, more masterly, and, above all, more faithful to the interpretation of the words. The forms of style employed in this opera, according to circumstances, are so varied, that now we seem to hear Gluck, now Traetta, now Sacchini, now Mozart, now Handel; for the gravity, the learning, the naturalness, the suavity of their conceptions live and blossom again in ‘Zelmira.’ The transitions are learned, and inspired more by considerations of poetry and sense than by caprice and a mania for innovation. The vocal parts, always natural, never trivial, give expression to the words, without ceasing to be melodious. The great point is to preserve both. The instrumentation of Rossini is really incomparable by the vivacity and freedom of the manner, by the variety and justness of the colouring.”
On the subject of Madame Rossini-Colbran’s voice Carpani writes like a Neapolitan royalist. “She has,” he says, “a very sweet, full, sonorous quality of voice, particularly in the middle and lower notes; a finished, pure, insinuating style. She has no outbursts, but a fine portamento, perfect intonation, and an accomplished method. The Graces seem to have watered with nectar each of her syllables, her fioriture, her volate, her shakes. She sings with one breath a series of semitones, extending to nearly two octaves, in a clear, pearly manner, and excels in all the other arts of singing. Her acting is noble and dignified, as becomes her imposing and majestic beauty.”
As to the two tenors, Nozzare was “more a baritone than a tenor;” endowed with extraordinary power, and a great extent of voice.
Of Davide’s singing, Carpani has a much better opinion than was formed by M. Bertin, the French critic, who, however, regarded Davide more from a dramatic than from a musical point of view. “He is,” says the Italian writer, “the Moscheles, the Paganini of singing. Like these two despots of their instrument, he manages as he wishes a voice which is not perfect, but of great extent, and what he obtains from it is astonishing.”
At the conclusion of the Vienna season, Rossini returned to Bologna, where, soon after his arrival, he received a letter from Prince Metternich, inviting him to come to Verona during the Congress. The minister pointed out that the object of the gathering being the re-establishment of general harmony, the presence of Rossini was indispensable. The composer accepted the argument, went to Verona, and wrote for the benefit of the Congress – into whose programme festivities entered largely – three cantatas, the most important of which was called “Il Vero Omaggio.”
At Verona, Rossini was introduced to Chateaubriand, with whom he had a long and interesting conversation. Prince Metternich surrounded him with attentions, and the composer left Verona highly gratified with his visit. But for a colossal statue placed just above the orchestra, which shook with each musical vibration, and threatened to fall and crush the conductor, Rossini’s happiness at Verona would have been without alloy.
Before going to Vienna, Rossini had engaged to compose an opera for Venice. He seems to have been determined to write no more for Italy, and being much pressed by the director of the Fenice, thought to settle the matter by asking an exorbitant price; but the enterprising manager was not to be checked. The demand of a sum equivalent to about two hundred pounds did not alarm him, and Rossini consented to furnish the opera.
In composing “Semiramide,” the work destined for Venice, Rossini took his time.
“It is the only one of my Italian operas,” he afterwards said, “that I was able to do a little at my ease; my contract gave me forty days, but,” he added, “I was not forty days writing it.”
The Austrian and Russian emperors after leaving Verona went to Venice, where they arrived just when Rossini was working at “Semiramide.” Two concerts were given in honour of the illustrious visitors at the Imperial palace, under Rossini’s direction. While the second concert was going on, the two emperors, accompanied by Prince Metternich, asked the maestro to sing, when he executed with Galli the duet from “Cenerentola,” to which he added Figaro’s air from the “Barber.”
The first representation of “Semiramide” took place at the Fenice Theatre on the 3rd of February, 1823, just ten years after the production of his first great opera seria, “Tancredi,” which was played for the first time about the middle of the Carnival of 1813.
Madame Rossini-Colbran sustained the part of Semiramide, Madame Mariani that of Arsace, Galli was Assur, Mariani, Oroe, and the English tenor, Sinclair, Idreno. Of the two airs written for the tenor, one only has been preserved. The other, like the trio of the music lesson in the “Barber of Seville,” is said to have been lost through the fault of the copyist.
If “Semiramide” does not, like “Otello,” “Mosè,” and “La Donna del Lago,” present any novelty of treatment, it reproduces all the features which were new in those three works. There is a leading part for the bass voice; a secondary part, but one of great importance, for the contralto (Arsace is a lineal descendant of Pippo, the first of the family); the chorus takes an active part in the drama; the recitative is accompanied by the orchestra; there is a military band on the stage; and there is a scene in which the chorus, the military band, and the theatrical orchestra are heard in combination. These innovations are once more specified to remind the reader of the progress Rossini had made as a dramatic composer since his first Venetian opera of “Tancredi.”
“Semiramide,” too, is as superior to “Tancredi” in vigour of style, in richness of colouring, as in definable operatic forms.
This, the last of Rossini’s Italian operas, cannot have been imperfectly executed; Rossini had plenty of time for superintending the rehearsals, and his singers were all admirable. Nevertheless the opera was not much liked. It was conceived on too grand a scale, and Stendhal, apparently by reason of the importance assigned to the orchestra, came to the conclusion that it was written in the German style.
M. Castil-Blaze fancies Rossini knew beforehand that “Semiramide” would not be appreciated, and that the piccolo in the accompaniment of Assur’s air meant hisses for the Venetian public.
M. Azevedo points out that to please the Venetians, Rossini had introduced the melody of the Carnival of Venice in the duet “Ebben ferisce;” but neither instrumental hisses nor vocal compliments were of any avail. The public did not by any means condemn “Semiramide,” but they found it rather heavy, and allowed it to fall. These instances of bad taste are constantly occurring in the history of music.
Indeed, as to pure melody, who is to be the judge? Stendhal, the man of taste, considers Almaviva’s cavatina in the “Barber of Seville” rather common; and M. Fétis, who is a learned musician, does not think much of Matilde’s air in “Guillaume Tell.”
In any case, the Venetians found “Semiramide” uninteresting – “Semiramide,” which is full of beauty from beginning to end; and Rossini had now one more motive for deciding to leave Italy and try his fortune – that is to say, make his fortune – in France and England.
PART III
ROSSINI’S FRENCH CAREER
CHAPTER I
A VISIT TO LONDON – ROSSINI AND GEORGE IV
ROSSINI until after his marriage never left Italy. But he then made up his mind to travel, and one journey leads naturally to another. The composer’s visit to Vienna procured him the invitation to Verona, and at Verona he was brought into contact with the ambassadors of all the principal Powers in Europe.
And it must not be thought that ambassadors did not occupy themselves very practically in those days with operatic matters. Mr. Ebers, in his “Seven Years of the King’s Theatre,” tells us that on one occasion the English ambassador at Paris exercised his influence to obtain the best artists from that city. The Baron de la Ferté was about the same time sent on a mission to London to reclaim some other artists, who had stayed beyond the period of leave granted to them by the Académie Royale; and a few years later it was through Prince Polignac, French ambassador at London, that Rossini’s engagement to direct the Italian Opera at Paris was effected.
It was at Bologna, immediately after his return from Verona, that Rossini received an invitation from the management of the King’s Theatre to pass the next season (from January to May, 1824) in London. A formal engagement was at the same time proposed to him, by which the services of himself as composer, and of his wife as singer, were secured.
The King’s Theatre was then in the hands of Mr. Ebers, who has left an interesting and instructive account of his operatic experience. The out-going manager, like all his predecessors from the beginning, had failed, and there was an execution in the theatre when Mr. Ebers undertook to re-open it for the season of 1821. The new director, either to give himself confidence or to inspire confidence in the subscribers and general public, prevailed upon five noblemen to form a “Committee of Superintendence;” but their duties do not seem to have been well defined, and all the responsibilities of management rested with Mr. Ebers.
Rossini must have had a good company to write for at the King’s Theatre. The singers engaged by Mr. Ebers, when he commenced his career as manager in 1821, were Madame Camporese, Madame Vestris, Madame Ronzi de Begnis; and MM. Ambrogetti, Angrisani, Begrez, and Curioni. Many if not all these artistes were doubtless re-engaged at the end of the first season, for we are told significantly enough that “it was considered successful though the manager lost money by it;” and in 1824 the company was further strengthened by the accession of Madame Pasta and Madame Catalani.
During his first “successful” season Mr. Ebers lost seven thousand pounds, when, by way of encouraging him, the proprietor, Mr. Chambers, increased his rent from three thousand one hundred and eighty pounds to ten thousand. Altogether from the beginning of 1821 to the end of 1827, Mr. Ebers dropped money regularly every year; the smallest deficit in the budget of any one season being that of the last, when the manager thought himself fortunate to escape with a loss of not quite three thousand pounds.
In England theatres do not receive “subventions” from the State; but in support of opera, if not of other forms of the drama, enterprising persons have always been found willing to lose from time to time a little fortune. As a consequence of this happy infatuation the Italian Opera in England, like England itself as a musical country, has always had an excellent name with foreign artistes; and Rossini did not err in anticipating for himself and wife a rich harvest from their united efforts during the London season of 1824.
The reputation of Rossini in England was immense with the general public and the great majority of dilettanti, though, as in Vienna and Paris, critics could be found to deny his merit. The objections to his music seem to have proceeded chiefly from persons who had become attached by inveterate habit to works of an older school. Some, too, may have complained of the constant preference given to his operas above those of all other composers, from mere professional jealousy.
Still there was no musician at our Italian Opera to play towards Rossini the part with which, as we shall afterwards see, Paer was credited in Paris; and if our English composers ever injured Rossini it was not by attacking him in print, nor by getting up intrigues against him, but by taking him under their patronage, and presenting him to the public with additions and adornments of their own.
“Tom” Cook, Mr. Rophino Lacy, Sir Henry Bishop, instead of undervaluing distinguished foreign composers in the French style, were in the habit of “adapting” and editing their works, introducing new airs into them, and furnishing them with new overtures – the old ones not being good enough.
However, at the King’s Theatre Rossini’s operas were produced in their original Italian form; and Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us that for many years after the first introduction of Rossini’s works into England, “so entirely did he engross the stage, that the operas of no other master were ever to be heard, with the exception only of those of Mozart; and of his, only ‘Don Giovanni’ and ‘Le Nozze de Figaro.’ Every other composer past and present was totally put aside, and these two alone named or thought of.”
Rossini then was at least admired in good company; but the admiration generally felt for him was not entertained by the author just mentioned. It has already been seen that Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who no doubt represented a number of old amateurs, the dilettanti of a past age, was by no means delighted with Rossini’s brilliant style, nor, above all, with his innovations in regard to form.
“The construction of these newly invented pieces,” he justly remarks, “is essentially different from the old. The dialogue,” he continues – with less justice – “which used to be carried on in recitative, and which in Metastasio’s operas is often so beautiful and interesting, is now cut up (and rendered unintelligible if it were worth listening to) into pezzi concertati, or long singing conversations, which present a tedious succession of unconnected, ever-changing motivos, having nothing to do with each other. Single songs are almost exploded. Even the prima donna, who would formerly have complained at having less than three or four airs allotted to her, is now satisfied with one trifling cavatina for a whole evening.”
The beauty of Lord Mount Edgcumbe’s criticism is that his bare facts, however absurdly he may qualify them, do in themselves possess a certain amount of truth. It is only his feelings and opinions that are erroneous. It is observable, too, that though he does not like the new composer himself, he never attempts to deny Rossini’s great success with the public.
Mr. Ebers is equally explicit as to the popularity of Rossini just at the time when he was expected in London. “Of all the operas,” he says, “produced from 1821 to 1828, nearly half were Rossini’s, or in exact numbers fourteen out of thirty-four;” and it must be remembered that the majority of these were constantly repeated, whereas most of the others were brought out only for a few nights and then laid aside.
The visit, then, of Rossini to London in 1824 was looked forward to by all the musical and fashionable society of London with great interest, and it doubtless had a happy effect on the subscription list at the King’s Theatre. On leaving Bologna Rossini took route to London through Paris, where he arrived with his wife at the beginning of November. He was received with much enthusiasm, though, as we shall afterwards see, some unavailing attempts were made to persuade the public that he was, after all, a very much over-rated man.
After remaining a month in Paris, whither he was to return a few months later, Rossini started for England, and after a very bad passage, arrived in London suffering from the combined effects of exhaustion and a particularly bad cold.
He had only been a few minutes in his apartments when Count Lieven, the Russian ambassador, was announced. The Count had called, on the part of the king, to say that his Majesty wished to see Rossini before any one else. It must be explained that Rossini had met the Countess Lieven at Verona, and it is to be presumed that she had recommended him to her husband.
The composer acknowledged this signal attention in becoming terms. The state of his health did not allow him to profit forthwith by the king’s invitation, but he promised to inform his Majesty as soon as he got better, and in the meanwhile to receive no visitors. He accordingly remained in the house, and denied himself to every one.
Three days afterwards, feeling better, and his cold having disappeared, Rossini started with Count Lieven for Brighton, and was presented to George IV. at the Pavilion.
His Majesty was playing at cards with a lady. He received Rossini very cordially, and invited him to take a hand at écarté, but the composer modestly declined, saying that he would rather not have so powerful an opponent. After a few minutes’ conversation, which seems to have left a very agreeable impression upon Rossini, the king asked him if he would like to hear his band, and taking him by the arm, conducted him to the concert-room.
When they reached the concert-room, the king said to Rossini that he would now hear a piece of music which would perhaps not be to his liking; “but,” he continued, “I have only chosen the first piece. After that the band will play whatever you wish.”
The first piece must have been more or less to Rossini’s taste, for it was the overture to the “Barber of Seville.” So, at least, says Mr. Ebers. M. Azevedo says it was the overture to “La Gazza Ladra;” at all events it was an overture by Rossini.
The maestro was pleased with the king’s attention, and seems to have thought the performance really good. He had in the meanwhile found out from Mayer, the conductor of the orchestra, what were the king’s favourite pieces, and asked for them, pointing out during the execution their characteristic beauties. Finally, he said to Mayer that he had never heard “God save the King,” except on the piano, and that he should like to hear it performed by his excellent band. The king accepted this as a return compliment for the choice of the overture, and was evidently gratified.
Rossini used to say that Alexander I. of Russia, and George IV. of England, were the two most amiable crowned heads he had ever met; and he assured Ferdinand Hiller that “of the charm of George IV.’s personal appearance and demeanour it was scarcely possible to form an idea.”
During the progress of the concert in the music-hall of the Pavilion, George IV. presented Rossini to all the principal personages of the court; and the effect of this introduction from the sovereign himself was shown in the formation of a committee of lady patronesses, who organised two concerts at Almack’s for Rossini’s benefit at two guineas a ticket.
All the principal singers in London offered Rossini their services, and would not hear of remuneration. The orchestra, chorus, and copyists had alone to be paid, and the receipts were enormous. The only thing that displeased Rossini in the matter was the refusal of the highly exclusive committee to give him some tickets for the artists who had offered him their gratuitous assistance.
At the first concert Rossini produced a cantata, of which as little seems to be known in the present day as of the Opera which he had undertaken to write for the King’s Theatre. The cantata was called “Homage to Byron;” it was written for a single voice, chorus and orchestra, and Rossini himself sang the solo. At a second concert he joined the celebrated Madame Catalani in the duet “Se fiato” from “Il Matrimonio Segretto,” and both in the solo and in the duet was enthusiastically applauded.
Of course, too, Madame Rossini-Colbran took part in these concerts, the attractiveness of which was further increased by the co-operation of Madame Catalani, Madame Pasta, Curioni, the tenor, Placci, the bass, and all the principal singers of the King’s Theatre.
It is satisfactory to know that Rossini preserved some agreeable recollections of his visit to London. He told Ferdinand Hiller that until he went to England, he was never able to save a farthing; and it was something, after all, to gain there in four months more than he had gained in Italy during his whole career.
“From the beginning,” he said,30 “I had an opportunity of observing how disproportionately singers were paid in comparison with composers. If the composer got fifty ducats, the singer received a thousand. Italian operatic composers might formerly write heaven knows how many operas, and yet only be able to exist miserably. Things hardly went otherwise with myself until my appointment under Barbaja.”