Chapter IV: Part 4

The effect of his training in the reserved, scholastic and almost conventional Neapolitan methods and of the influence about him was naturally such as to render his style severe, classic and almost formal; but no such limitation could be set to the expansion of his spirit, and no sooner was he free from academic constraint and ready to choose his own way in the world, than he began to express himself more vividly and to turn toward the theatre as his true field. His first composition was, so to speak, a compromise between the lessoning of the past and his ambitions for the future, for it was a drama with a flavor of oratorio. It was called "San Guglielmo d' Aquitania," and was produced at the Fiorentini, which stood in the second rank of Neapolitan theatres, and was not then, as subsequently, confined to the representation of comedy. The opera had only a qualified success with the public, being judged to have too much science and too little melody; but it sufficed to make his talent evident to his noble patrons, who then exerted their influence to get him hearings at other theatres. Thus encouraged, he wrote "Sallustia," an opera-buffa; "Amor fa l'Uomo Cieco," an _intermezzo_, at the suggestion of the Prince of Stigliano; and "Ricimero," a grand opera. These were performed at San Bartolomeo and other secondary theatres, and were all failures.

Reproduction of a rare print from the British Museum.]

Disappointed and almost disheartened, Pergolese decided to give up the stage, and for two years he devoted himself to instrumental music, composing about thirty trios for strings, chiefly for the Prince of Stigliano and other friends. But his disposition was not to be longer controlled, and in 1731 he produced "La Serva Padrona," a light opera which made an instant success and has attained a justly high reputation all the world over. Being in the vein again, he followed this with "Il Maestro di Musica," "Il Geloso Schernito," "Lo Frate Innamorato," "Livietta e Tracolo," "Il Prigioniero Superbo" and "La Contadina Astuta." These were mostly composed upon Neapolitan texts, were full of gaiety and brightness, and had temporary success in the San Bartolomeo, the Nuovo and other theatres; but their local dialect and the fact that they belonged to the less important classes of opera, prevented their obtaining any wide currency.

In May, 1734, Pergolese was called to Rome to become the chapel-master of the church of Santa Maria di Loreto. Regarding this nomination as a promotion in his art as well as a recognition of his ability, he set himself seriously to work upon something which should at once confirm any good opinion of his powers and demonstrate his gratitude. Putting aside the trivial Neapolitan _libretti_, he turned to Metastasio and drew from his poetry the text for his "Olimpiade," a grand opera which was brought out in 1735 at the Tordinona. At this time the composer Duni--of whom little more than the name now remains--was a composer much in favor, and was about to bring out a new work of his own, "Nero." He had no small fear of what Pergolese might do and withheld his score until he could make acquaintance with that of the new comer. His opinion, written directly to Pergolese, with many expressions of admiration, included these words: "There are here too many details beyond the reach of the average public; they will pass unperceived, and you will not succeed. My opera will not have the value of yours; but, being more simple, it will be more fortunate." Duni was right; the "Olimpiade" was a failure; some parts of it were hissed,--although it was admitted that two airs and one duet were "deeply expressive,"--and one chronicler records that some irate auditor went so far as to throw an orange at the head of the composer as he sat at the harpsichord in the orchestra. The generous spirited Duni afterwards said that he was "in a fury" against the Roman public for its behavior toward his contemporary.

This defeat was a decisive one, and Pergolese turned back to his duties as a composer and director of religious music. The ensuing period was signalized by his writing, among other things, of a mass, a _Dixit_ and a _Laudate_, all upon a commission from the Duke of Maddaloni, who desired them for the annual festival at the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina, at Rome, where they were sung with great éclat.

The end of Pergolese's career was now approaching. For about four years he had had frequent hemorrhages and had shown other signs of pulmonary consumption. Beside having within it the germs of this fatal disease, his constitution had been sapped and weakened by dissipation, and what one of his biographers calls squarely his "_passion effrénée pour les femmes_." To save what strength and life he still had, it was necessary that he should leave Rome for a less trying climate, and he determined to return to the softer and more salubrious air of Naples. One writer says that he betook himself to a property belonging to the Duke of Maddaloni, at Torre del Greco, just at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, where the sunny exposure and the protection of the volcano from the winds of the north are thought to be extremely propitious to such invalids as he. But this stay can have been only temporary, because his final residence is known to have been in a villa at Pozzuoli, which is quite on the other side of Naples and is to be accounted a no less salubrious place of sojourn, having been sought for sanitary reasons by the old Romans.

Pergolese was hardly fit to do any work in these days, but he had accepted a commission from the confraternity of San Luigi di Palazzo, in Rome, and was determined to execute it. The subject was a "Salve Regina," and he was to receive for it the munificent sum of ten ducats--equivalent, perhaps, to about eight dollars of the present currency. Like Mozart, laboring over this "Requiem," Pergolese gave his last thought and his last strength to this anthem, and had hardly completed it when, on the 16th of March, 1736. he died. There were rumors at the time, which even had some currency years later, that he had been poisoned, the isolation of his retreat and the peculiarity of some of his symptoms suggesting the possibility of this. But, apart from the fact that his physical condition and his known habits explained his maladies and their inevitable termination, Pergolese was not a figure of sufficient importance to excite jealousy or animosity. His life had not been a public one in the full sense of the word, and in the lyric drama, where he desired most to shine, he had made but one real success--that of "La Serva Padrona."

Hardly had the young composer's body been buried--in the little cathedral at Pozzuoli--when a sudden and extreme admiration for his music broke out in Italy, and soon spread to other countries. Naples, in her tardy enthusiasm, justified the reproach of Dr. Burney, who wrote, "Had she known her own happiness, Naples might have boasted of possessing one of the greatest geniuses she or the world had ever produced. The first opera of Giovanni Battista Pergolese was performed at her second theatre! The young composer found not among his countrymen minds sensible of his extraordinary talents or that acknowledged the natural maxim of Horace, '_Bonus sis felixque tuis_.' His native land was the last to discover, or to confess, his superior powers."

Two years after its author's death the "Olimpiade" was reproduced in splendid fashion at Rome and received with honor. The "Serva Padrona" was translated into other languages and heard in many European cities. It reached Paris about 1750, and although performed by inferior singers, it created so deep an impression,--subsequently increased by "Il Maestro di Musica,"--that some French authorities have not hesitated to say that this music almost revolutionized theatrical art and led to the establishment of comic opera as it has been since understood in France. His sacred music was also introduced in the Concerts Spirituels and greatly applauded as among the chief sensations of the time. Pergolese is judged to have had his first adequate hearing in England in 1724. The poet Gray had brought home from Italy fine reports of the new music, and in that year the "Olimpiade" was put upon the stage of the King's Theatre, then directed by the Duke of Middlesex. It had not a distinguished success, but one air, "_Tremende oscure atroci_," became an established favorite in concerts with the principal Italian tenors for ten years after.

* * * * *

For a good many years after Pergolese's death his music, both dramatic and sacred, was in the highest esteem throughout Italy, and received the tribute of much imitation. His "Stabat Mater," which may be regarded as the best of his ecclesiastical compositions--unless some should prefer the "Salve Regina"--even held its own, and not in Italy alone, by any means, until it was superseded by the larger and more popularly written work of Rossini.

The rush of modern music and the modifications in taste have pushed the scores of Pergolese from the theatre and the concert room, and no later performances of his operas are to be noted as of consequence since the double revival of "La Serva Padrona" in Paris, in 1863, when the original version was given at the Italiens and the French translation at the Opéra Comique, Mesdames Galli-Marié and Penco carrying off the honors. The instrumental trios are never heard nowadays, and although Catholic choirs throughout the world still keep his church music in use, it is only upon rare occasions that the "Stabat Mater" is produced for Protestant auditors by some serious-minded choral society.

Pergolese was a quite industrious writer, if allowance be made for the diversions caused by his personal indulgences, and for the discouragement which was naturally produced upon a temperament like his by the lack of appreciation, sympathy and material support, individual patronage having undoubtedly contributed at least as much to his material and spiritual comfort and development as public applause and sustenance. He was not a rapid writer, however, and the record of his compositions, so far as they are known, includes besides the operas which have been already named, a large cantata entitled "Orfeo;" five minor cantatas; an oratorio having for its subject the Nativity; the thirty trios already alluded to; five masses, and a dozen or so of religious pieces. A considerable number of the vocal scores were published and twenty-four of the trios were printed in London or Amsterdam, but the minor religious works and some of the operas remained in manuscript and are practically inaccessible except to studious inquirers in Italian libraries.

It is not difficult to establish now a just estimate of the genius of Pergolese, which was undervalued during his lifetime, then suddenly exalted above its worth and then again depreciated below its true plane. It was seldom that the external form of his compositions gave an adequate idea of the spiritual qualities which dwelt within them. Wise and careful observers often remarked that they heard with surprise and delight much which they had not anticipated from an examination of the scores. Educated strictly in the severe and learned Neapolitan school, he was of course a master of counterpoint and of all the devices and figures of musical effect, which, as has been said, constituted the staple of his first pieces. But he had an intuitive sense of the dramatic element in man and in music, and he made this felt, alike in the humorous sprightliness of "La Serva Padrona," the emotional piety of the "Salve Regina," and the pathetic strophes of the "Stabat Mater."

Except in his grand operas and his ecclesiastical pieces, he asked for no large forces of singers or players. In his masses he wrote as usual for four voices, although he seems to have preferred five, and he not infrequently required in them two choirs, each in five parts. The "Stabat Mater" is for two voices only, and its accompaniment is so simple and so thin that Paisiello subsequently wrote additional instrumentation for it. The "Serva Padrona" has only two characters and the accompaniment requires only the string quartet; yet so ingenious, so bright, so gay and so apposite is all the music, that the hearer never finds it monotonous or tedious.

That Pergolese should have began his musical life as a violinist and yet should have written for the voice with perfect expressiveness and exact adaptation, has sometimes been thought strange. But his is by no means an isolated case, for many of the best writers of vocal music have begun their studies as instrumentalists and have even excelled as performers; besides which, he put aside the violin as soon as the larger scope of his gifts was discovered and further improved his feeling for the voice by association with Vinci and Hasse when he was once free of the Conservatory.

Pergolese's limitations sprang from the same source whence flowed his power--his understanding of the natural adaptation of the means of expression to the ideas and emotions to be conveyed. He could not or would not pass into the theatrical, the meretricious and the exaggerated, and hence it is that his music sometimes fell short of the effect which he had hoped for it or lacked the variety of color and manner without which a large and extended work must weary the ear, or at least fail to keep it alert and interested.

He excelled in grace, simplicity and purity of style, although his music, written for singers who had been trained to depend upon themselves and not to lean upon accompaniments, may appear abstruse and difficult to present readers. He brought to his time the vitality, movement, spring and sincerity of life which it had not, and he used his means with tact and directness in appealing to sentiment, mirth, pathos and piety according as he wished to evoke them. If he cannot be accorded the honor of having created a new manner of musical composition, he must be awarded that of having beautified and enlivened the art as he found it, and of having done the world a lasting benefit, greater perhaps in the impulse given to contemporary and subsequent thought, than in the impression directly made by him upon his time and his people.

_Reproduction of a lithograph made by A. Lemoine, after a photograph from life taken by Erwin of Paris, in 1861._]

GIOACCHINO ROSSINI

Rossini is one of the last and most glorious representatives of that admirable Italian school which for three centuries cast such a brilliant radiance over the art of its country, and which seems unhappily, to have come to a close with the illustrious Verdi. A genius, fertile and luminous, gifted with an inspiration warm and generous, an imagination ardent and active, he astonished the world for twenty years by his creative power, and after having enchanted his native land by a long series of works which were distinguished, now by the grace, now by the grandeur, now by the novelty of their forms, he prematurely terminated his dramatic career at the age of thirty-seven, by a marvellous masterpiece written expressly for the French stage. This was the _William Tell_ which radiated from France over the entire world, and which to-day, after an existence of sixty years, is still young, fresh and powerful, like a colossus which nothing can harm. The history of this immortal artist, whose name should be inscribed in letters of gold in the annals of the art, is certainly one of the most interesting which the history of music can furnish us.

Gioacchino Rossini was born at Pesaro, a little town of the Romagne, Feb. 29, 1792. His father, who was a musician and played very well on the horn, was employed in this little town in the double capacity of _tubatore_ (town-trumpeter) and inspector of the slaughter houses. His mother, whose name was Anna Guidarini, was very beautiful and gifted with an exceptionally fine voice. At the time of the passage through Pesaro in 1796 of the victorious French army, Rossini's father, it is said, in a burst of enthusiasm for republican ideas, let fall some imprudent remarks which the reaction soon afterwards judged worthy of punishment. They began by dismissing him from the post of _tubatore_, after which it was not long before he was thrown into prison. Left alone with her child, his wife joined a travelling opera troupe, and when the prisoner was set at liberty he followed her in her peregrinations, playing the horn in the orchestra of the theatres at which she performed.

During this time the child learned from his father the first elements of music, and even reached the dignity of playing second horn in the orchestra. But the lad gave such unusual promise that his parents soon determined to give him a regular musical education. He was sent to Bologna and placed under the instruction of a professor named Angelo Tesei, with whom he studied singing and the piano, and as he had a very sweet soprano voice he was able to earn something by singing in the churches. Notwithstanding his tender age he rapidly became an excellent reader and clever accompanist, so that his father thought it best to take the boy with him on his tours and to obtain for him the post of _maestro al cembalo_ at the theatres. This was only for a short time, however, and early in 1807 the young Rossini returned to Bologna and entered the famous musical lyceum of that city, where he studied counterpoint with P. Stanislas Mattei, and the violoncello with Cavedagni. The following year he was charged with the composition of the annual cantata, which it was the custom to confide to the best pupil of the institution. This cantata, which was entitled _Pianto d'armonia per la Morte d'Orfeo_, was performed on Aug. 8, 1808. Rossini was sixteen years old, and already six of his compositions had been performed, one of which was an opera, _Demetrio e Polibio_.

But he was impatient of the yoke of his master Mattei, who dismayed him with numberless rules of counterpoint for which he could give no reason, and who, when questioned on these points by his pupil would simply respond that such was the tradition. Dissatisfied with such insufficient explanation, Rossini thought out a more practical and certainly excellent means of familiarizing himself with the forms of harmony and modulation; he applied himself to the study of the quartets and symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, and also to the task of scoring them. Thus, by an attentive analysis, he learned more in a few months than he had learned in several years through the empirical teaching of Mattei. Then when he felt pretty sure of himself, he left the school, determined to start out on the career of composer. He had just passed his eighteenth year.

He returned to Pesaro, his native town, and there found friends and advocates who facilitated his entrance upon that career by obtaining for him an engagement with the San Mosê theatre of Venice, to write an opera entitled _la Cambiale di matrimonio_, which was performed at that theatre in the autumn of 1810. This little work was a happy beginning for him. The following year he gave to the Corso theatre of Bologna, _l'Equivoco stravagante_, and in 1812 he brought out no less than six operas: _l'Inganno felice_ (San Mosê theatre, Venice), _Ciro in Babilonia_ (Communal theatre, Ferrare), _la Scala di seta_ (San Mosê theatre, Venice), _Demetrio e Polibio_ (Valle theatre, Rome), _la Pietra del paragone_ (Scala theatre, Milan), and _l'Occasione fa il ladro, o il Cambio della valigia_ San Mosê theatre, Venice. These works were not all equally successful, but most of them were very well received as was proved by the eagerness with which the different theatres already strove for the works of so young a composer. Moreover, one could point out in these different scores many remarkable fragments which gave some idea of the precocious genius of the artist, and of the freshness, grace and originality of his inspiration; in _l'Inganno felice_, a very beautiful trio; in _la Pietra del paragone_, a charming cavatina and the finale of the first act; in _Ciro in Babilonia_, two airs and a fine chorus, the principal motive of which became later the theme of the adorable cavatina of the _Barber of Seville_ (Ecco ridente il cielo); finally, in _Demetrio e Polibio_, an exquisite quartet which was afterwards interpolated by the singers into several of the master's works.

In 1813, after a _farsa_ entitled _il Signor Bruschino o il Figlio per azzardo_, Rossini again wrote two very important works, one in the serious _genre_, _Tancredi_, the other in the _genre bouffe, l'Italiana in Algeri_. These two works, the first of which was performed at the Fenice theatre, Venice, and the second at the San Benedetto, of the same city, was a double triumph for the author, and placed Rossini once for all in the first rank of the composers of his time. Moreover, they proved that the young master was as much at home in the dramatic _genre_, where he worked with a remarkable grandeur and power, as in light opera, in which he displayed an unequalled verve, gaiety, warmth and originality.

Rossini's artistic successes led to another kind of success, no less important. Italy was then under French rule, and Napoleon, emperor of the French people, had taken the title of king of Italy. But Napoleon, whose very life it was to fight, was a terrible devourer of men and his constant cry was for more soldiers. Rossini had reached the age when he must draw lots for the conscription. Was it possible to enroll a young artist whose genius announced itself in so brilliant a fashion, and could they force this artist, who promised to win distinction for his country, to take the chances of combat? All Italy was as one voice which demanded that Rossini be exempt from military service. Prince Eugène, who bore the title and fulfilled the functions of viceroy, took it upon himself to pronounce this exemption, and the future author of _William Tell_ was able to pursue in peace the career in which he was to find honor and glory. In 1814 Rossini gave in quick succession to the Scala theatre of Milan two great works, one of them serious, _Aureliano in Palmira_, which was not very successful, the other light, _il Turco in Italia_, which was more fortunate; then in the following year he brought out at Venice _Sigismondo_. It was from this time forth that he found a place worthy of him.

Reproduction of an excellent lithograph portrait of Rossini in middle life.]

There was at that time at the San Carlo theatre of Naples a man who had made himself famous throughout all Italy, a remarkable impresario, whose cleverness and fortune were matters of surprise even to those best acquainted with the mysteries of the green-room, and the difficulties attending all enterprises of this kind. A Milanese by birth, this man, whose name was Domenico Barbaja, was born of very poor parents, who had given him no education whatever. But he was naturally intelligent, astute, audacious, consumed with ambition, and to all this he joined a very sagacious mind and a remarkable artistic instinct, coupled with an indefatigable activity. Ascended from the lowest round in the social ladder, apt at everything he undertook, having been in turn commissioner, horse-jockey, waiter at the café, petty usurer and contractor for the public gaming tables, he had ended by becoming quite at home in public affairs, which he managed with a consummate cleverness. He had installed himself at Naples in 1808, and it was there that he had obtained the license for keeping a gambling house. The following year he took the direction of the two royal theatres, San Carlo and Fondo, to which he soon added the other two theatres, the Fiorentini and the Nuovo. Then, as if this did not suffice to satisfy his ardor, he undertook in a short time, without abandoning any of his other projects, the management of the two great stages of the Scala and the Canobbiana at Milan, and the Italian opera at Vienna. And under his inspired direction all these enterprises prospered so well that the Italians surnamed Barbaja il _Napoleone degl' impresari_. It is certain that for twenty years he succeeded in uniting at the theatres which he directed, all the most celebrated composers, poets, singers and dancers, and that his liberality, good taste and artistic sense contributed very considerably to the surprising development of dramatic art in Italy during this period.

Reproduction of a lithograph portrait of Rossini in his thirty-sixth year, drawn by H. Grévédon, Paris]

Like the rest of the world Barbaja was acquainted with Rossini's precocious success, and with his remarkable perception he quickly understood that the composer might become an important source of his prosperity. He resolved to ally himself to him, and as he was at once equitable and generous, he desired to pay a fair compensation for the services which he expected. Rossini had just given in Venice his last opera, _Sigismondo_, and had returned to Bologna. It was there that Barbaja went to find him and to offer him an engagement. Hitherto Rossini's experience with impresari had been confined almost solely to the poor unfortunate specimens who were in a chronic state of collapse. Imagine then his surprise when Barbaja, whose reputation was well known to him, came to propose an engagement of several years, assuring him, besides a fixed sum of about 11,000 francs, an annual interest of about 4,000 francs in his gambling business. It is true that in return Rossini was to agree to write two new works each year, and to arrange and adapt all the ancient works which it might please Barbaja to mount at the San Carlo and Fondo theatres. It was, in fact, besides the composition of his operas the whole musical direction of these two theatres, which Rossini was thus assuming, a charge which was simply enormous and which had dismayed all others. But what was that for an artist such as he, in exchange for the fortune which Barbaja held before his eyes, and the influence upon his future of the brilliant situation offered him on one of the first lyric stages of Italy?

So the contract was quickly signed, and Rossini went immediately to Naples to assume his new functions. No sooner did he arrive at that city, in the beginning of the year 1815, than Barbaja gave him the libretto of _Elisabetta, regina d'Inghilterra_, to set to music. It was with this work that he was to make his debut at the San Carlo, having for principal interpreter an artist of Spanish origin, Isabella Colbran, then in the zenith of her talent and her beauty, and who was one of the most esteemed cantatrices of that period in all Italy. (Isabella Colbran, then the mistress of Barbaja, soon became that of Rossini, who afterwards married her, only to be separated at the end of a few years). The composer and the cantatrice obtained a wonderful success and the _Elisabetta_ won a veritable triumph at Naples.

Rossini's first wife. From an original contemporary drawing in chalks and pencil.]

Rossini profited by this success to leave Naples for a time. His engagement with Barbaja was not exclusive, and a certain liberty of action was reserved to him. He took himself to Rome, whither he was called to write two operas for two different theatres; one, _Torvaldo e Dorliska_, for the Valle theatre, the others _il Barbiere di Siviglia_ for the Argentina.

We know that Paisiello had already treated the subject of the Barber of Seville, and that the opera conceived by him on Beaumarchais's comedy had been performed in 1789 at St. Petersburg, where he was imperial capellmeister; from there the work of the Neapolitan master had spread over all Europe, and had met, particularly in Italy, with a very flattering reception. Therefore it happened that Rossini was charged with presumption for daring to put _il Barbiere_ to music, and that he was accused of trying to eclipse the glory of Paisiello, who was the first to use this idea. The reproach was all the more singular since such things were of very frequent occurrence in Italy, where, for nearly a century, composers had been setting to music, one after another, all the lyric poems of Apostolo, Zeno and Metastasio, such as _Nerone_, _Alessandro nell'Indie_, _Artaserse_, _l'Olimpiade_, etc., etc. Why then should Rossini, who in this case had only done what so many others had done before him, become thus an object of criticism and anger? It is difficult to say. Possibly it was Paisiello himself, whose jealousy and faults of character are sufficiently well known, who from Naples, where he had retired, started the hostile sentiments against his rival, and secretly planned the fall of the new work. At least, so it has been said, and the idea does not seem wholly unlikely.

Rossini, however, out of respect for the old master, had courteously written to him on the subject, declaring that it was not his intention to enter into competition with him, but simply to treat a subject which pleased him. Furthermore, and in order to avoid even the appearance of a desire for competition on his part, he had taken the precaution to have a new libretto made on the subject, and even to change the title of the work to _Almaviva, ossia l'inutile precauzione_ (it was not until later that the title of _il Barbiere di Siviglia_ was definitely adopted). Finally, in order that the wishes and intentions of the poet and composer might not be misunderstood, and that the public might not be mistaken in the matter, the following preface was placed at the head of the libretto.

"Notice to the public. The comedy by Beaumarchais entitled _le Barbier de Séville_ or _la Prècaution inutile_, is presented to Rome under the form of a comic drama, with the title of _Almaviva, ossia l'inutile precauzione_, with the object of fully convincing the public of the sentiments of respect and veneration which the author of the music of the present drama entertains toward the celebrated Paisiello, who has already treated this subject under its original title.

"Impelled to undertake this same difficult task the master, Gioacchino Rossini, that he might not incur the reproach of a daring vanity with the immortal author who has preceded him, has expressly required that the _Barber of Seville_ be entirely versified anew, and that there shall be added several new situations, demanded, moreover, by the modern theatrical taste which has changed so much since the renowned Paisiello wrote his music.

"Some other differences between the contexture of the present drama and that of the French comedy above mentioned, have been required by the necessity of introducing choruses, partly to conform to modern customs, partly because they are indispensable in a theatre of such vast proportions. The courteous public is informed of this fact in order that it may excuse the author of the present drama, who, except for the concurrence of circumstances so imperative, would not have dared to introduce the slightest change in the French work consecrated by the applause of all Europe."

All these precautions and the artistic uprightness which Rossini exhibited in this delicate matter, could not avail to still the storm which hurled itself about him. No matter what he might have done to appease them, the Romans were exasperated in advance against his work and against himself, and the first performance of _il Barbiere_, outrageously hissed, was the most complete scandal of which the annals of the theatre can offer example. An account of it has been given by one of the Italian biographers of the master, Zanolini, from whom I borrow the following details: "The Romans went to the theatre, persuaded that they were going to hear detestable music, and disposed to punish an ignorant upstart. The overture was executed in the midst of a confused hub-bub, the precursor of the tempest. Garcia attempted to accompany with his guitar the first air of the count Almaviva; all the strings broke at once, and then commenced the laughs, jeers and hisses. A little while after, Don Basilio, an old singer of the Sistine chapel, stumbled, on entering the stage, and fell and bumped his nose. This was enough; laughs and hisses burst from all sides, and people would not and could not listen any longer. One person applauded, one only, and that was the composer; and the more he clapped, the louder grew the hisses, until, when the fury of the crowd had reached its climax, he mounted upon his chair, so that he might be seen by all, and with head, hands and voice testified to the actors his approbation. He remained intrepid until the orchestra had all left, waiting to receive the very last insult. He was to be present at the second performance, but he found some pretext for being excused, and the directors were delighted, because they feared him at the same time that they had confidence in his music. During the second evening, Rossini was conversing at his home with some friends, when cries were heard in the street in front of the house and the lights of many torches were seen through the window. When they distinguished among the cries the name of Rossini, his guests were alarmed but afterwards, the voices of friends having been recognized, the doors were all opened wide to the messengers sent by the spectators assembled at the Argentina, and who, carried away by their enthusiasm were clamoring for the maestro to show himself. Rossini was carried thither in triumph, and was covered with applause." So we see that this happy _Barbiere_ which for eighty years has been the delight of the whole world, was badly enough received on its entrance into that world.

Reproduction of a lithograph by A. de Bayalos, made from a portrait by Dupré. Rossini in middle life. Portraits in spandrel are,

Grisi.
Rubini.
Tamburini.

Pasta.
Curioni.

Garcia Viardot.
Mario.
Lablache.
]

Meanwhile, when the bad humor of the Romans was fairly over, and the _Barber_ established in public favor, Rossini prepared to go to Naples in response to a call from Barbaja. Immediately on his return he set to work, giving first to the Fiorentini theatre a little work entitled _la Gazzetta_, then writing for the San Carlo his _Otello_, which achieved a considerable success and was played by the great artists Nozzari, David, Garcia, Benedetti and Colbran. He afterwards returned to Rome where he gave that gem of comic verve, _la Cenerentola_, then went to Milan where he wrote for the Scala, _la Gazza ladra_, a work little remembered to-day. He then went back to Naples to give _Armida_, and again returned to Rome where he brought out _Adelaide di Borgogna_, which met with very meagre success. But he soon made up for this failure by giving at Naples _Moses in Egypt_, one of his best works, which was followed by _Ricciardo e Zoraide_ and _Hermione_, the libretto of which was taken from Racine's _Andromaque_. At the same time he sent to Lisbon the score of a little comic work which was requested of him by the royal theatre of that city; _Adina, o il Califfo di Bagdad_, on the subject of a French comic opera by Boieldieu, bearing the same title. After having given at Venice _Edoardo e Cristina_ he again won great success at Naples with _la Donna del Lago_, a work full of poetry and originality.

It was at this point that Rossini had reached the fulness of his glory. Scarcely twenty-seven years of age, he had already written twenty-nine operas, several of which had achieved a brilliant success, and his name, popular throughout Italy, was famous in all Europe, which applauded his works with frenzy. And yet, the success of _la Donna del Lago_ could not sustain a mediocre work like _Bianca e Falerio_, which was coldly received at the Scala, Milan. But the master regained public favor with his _Maometto II._ which was received with enthusiasm at Naples. He went to Rome shortly after to give _Matilde di Shabran_, one of the feeblest of his works, and then rose to the top again with _Zelmira_, which was very successful, not only at Naples, but at Vienna where Rossini was invited to direct the performance of the opera, accompanied by Colbran, then his wife, who sung the leading part. Finally, he wrote and brought out at Venice, _Semiramide_, one of the most remarkable of his works, in spite of its faults. Rossini counted much, and with reason, on this score which the Venetians received with a cold reserve. Neither the richness of the inspiration, nor the variety of the forms, nor the grandeur of the style which distinguished this noble and superb work, could overcome the indifference of the public. After a reception so unjust, a result so contrary to his legitimate hopes, Rossini, who at that moment was solicited on all sides, did not hesitate to leave Italy. An engagement was offered him in England; he accepted it immediately and went to London, passing through Paris where he formed relations which were soon to bring him back to that city.

Rossini was to write for the Italian theatre at London an opera entitled _la Figlia dell'aria_; he had composed the first act, when the direction of the theatre failed, and the project was abandoned. However, his trip to England was far from being unfruitful of results. Sought after by the highest society, encouraged in every way, received at court, Rossini, during his five months stay at London where he excited the liveliest enthusiasm, was able to realize from the concerts and lessons which he gave with his wife, about 200,000 francs, which was the basis of his future fortune. At the same time, through the intervention of the French ambassador in England, he signed an engagement with the minister of the royal house, by which he accepted the direction of the Théâtre-Italien of Paris at a salary of 20,000 francs per year, without prejudice to the author's rights in the works which he might wish to write for that theatre or for the Opéra.

Rossini found in France the same enthusiastic welcome which had been given him in England. He composed first a little Italian opera called _il Viaggio a Reims_, which was performed on the occasion of the fêtes given in that city for the coronation of King Charles X. He next occupied himself with transforming for the French stage two of his best Italian works, _Maometto II._ which became at the Opéra _le Siège de Corinthe_, and _Mosé in Egitto_, which was performed at that theatre under the title of _Moïse_. In passing from one tongue to the other, these two works were subject to much remodelling from the hand of the composer. He changed parts of them, added to them, strove to render the declamation more clear and precise, finally forced himself to adapt his inspiration to the necessities of the French stage and of the musical genius of that country. Success crowned his efforts, and in the face of that success, Rossini dreamed of writing a great new work expressly for the Opéra. But first he brought out at that theatre a pretty little opera in two acts, _le Comte Ory_, which was received with great applause, and in which he had embodied some fragments of the _Viaggio a Reims_.

Reproduction of Gustave Doré's celebrated picture, from photograph at the Paris Opera.]

At last came the great work which the public were awaiting with impatience, _William Tell_, which was performed Aug. 3, 1829, with Nourrit, Dabadie, Levasseur, Prévost, Mmes. Cinti-Damoreau, Mori and Dabadie for the principal interpreters. In writing the score of _William Tell_, Rossini had applied his genius to the exigencies of the French stage, as Gluck had done fifty years before. He had given to his declamation a breadth hitherto unknown, to his instrumentation a superb color and _éclat_, while the dramatic action had acquired with him a marvellous power, and the wealth and freshness of his inspiration surpassed all that could be desired. It cannot be denied that the appearance of _William Tell_ is a luminous date in the history of music in France, that the success of this masterpiece has never diminished, and that after more than sixty years it is still as touching, as pathetic, as grand, as much respected as in the first days of its existence.

How comes it then that after so complete, so brilliant, so incontestable a triumph, Rossini should have renounced the theatre forever, that he should never have wished to repeat so happy an attempt? That is a mystery which as yet it has been impossible to solve, and it is certainly a great misfortune for the art, which has thereby been deprived of untold masterpieces. But the fact remains that from the 3rd of August, 1829, date of the first performance of _William Tell_ until the 13th of November, 1868, date of the master's death, Rossini wrote nothing more for the stage. This does not mean that he stopped composing; far from it. His compositions on the contrary are numerous, and some of them very important, but none are for the theatre. First should be mentioned his religious music: a _Stabat Mater_, a _Petite Messe solennelle_, and a _Tantum ergo_; then three choruses for female voices, _la Foi_, _l'Espèrance_, _la Charitè_; _le Chant des Titans_ for four bass voices; _Soirées musicales_, comprising eight ariettes and four duets; and finally a great number of songs and piano pieces. Earlier, and in the course of his Italian career, Rossini had written, for different occasions, a number of cantatas and lyric scenes, the titles of which are: _il Pianto d'Armonia per la morte d'Orfeo_; _Didone abbandonata_; _Egle ed Irene_; _Teti e Peleo_; _Igea_; _Ad onore di S. M. il re de Napoli_; _Ad onore di S. M. l'emperatore d'Austria_; _la Riconoscenza_; _il Vero Omaggio_; _i Pastori_; etc.

Now in the library of the Paris Conservatory. Sketched by special permission.]

Rossini, whom Weber did not understand, and whom Beethoven did not wish to know, belongs nevertheless to the race of those grand creators, and in his veins coursed the blood of a man of genius. At the period of his birth three great musicians represented principally that beautiful Italian school so justly celebrated in the last century in spite of its characteristic defects. These three great musicians were Guglielmi, Cimarosa and Paisiello; Guglielmi, forgotten to-day even in his own country, and whom artists themselves no longer know; Cimarosa, the verve and gaiety of whose genius seemed to reserve him to a less tragic end; finally Paisiello, whom Rossini was called to down with his own weapons, in successfully making after him another _il Barbiere di Siviglia_, and whose glory was to be somewhat obscured by the glory of his brilliant rival. As for the others, Niccolini, Sarti, Portogallo, Gazzaniga, Nasolini, etc., they were undoubtedly artists of real talent, but devoid of originality and who confined themselves to following in the path which these great leaders traced out for them.

Some years later, and after a sort of interregnum, three more great artists were coming to fill the vacant place, and to govern in their turn the Italian musical world. Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti--three geniuses quite distinct from each other, not only from the standpoint of the nature of their personal inspiration, but also as regards the form with which they clothe their ideas, were coming to throw a new lustre, unhappily the last, over that Italian school so glorious for two centuries, and of which the author of _Rigoletto_ and _Aïda_ remains to-day the venerable and last representative. Rossini, a brilliant and luminous genius, Bellini, of a pensive, poetic and tender nature, Donizetti, nervous and expansive in temperament, all were called to take place in the first rank, with this distinction, that the first always preserved an evident advantage, and that he alone brought into the art a new and characteristic note.

And yet for years past Rossini has been spoken of slightingly, his genius has not been understood, his worth has been denied and these wrongs are carried on at the present hour. Certain adepts of a new school, who affect to disparage all that was done before them, are ready to drag him to the gibbet without even giving him credit for what they owe him,--directly or indirectly. They do not seem to have the least idea that it is Rossini who has emancipated musical art as applied to the theatre; that it is Rossini who has given freedom to melodic form; that it is Rossini who has substituted for the majestic and uniform solemnity of the ancient lyric declamation, a rational diction, with an expression more vivacious, more intense and more vigorous; that it is Rossini who, by the movement and variety communicated to the rhythm, has given to the musical phrase the natural sentiment and warmth of action which it too often lacked; that it is Rossini to whom we owe the richness and the splendors of the modern dramatic orchestra. Who knows if that admirable orchestra of Wagner, to which unhappily everything is sacrificed, would exist to-day had it not been for Rossini? Whatever may be his faults--and assuredly he has them--we can afford to pardon them all in consideration of the incomparable qualities of this great man.

During nearly half a century Rossini has reigned supreme on all the stages of the world. Wherever there existed an Italian theatre, there were played and sung the works of Rossini: _Otello_, _Semiramide_, _Mosé_, _il Barbiere_, _la Gazza ladra_, _Cenerentola_, _l'Italiana in Algeri_, _la Donna del Lago_, _Maometto_. If all his serious works are not complete and perfect, at least all of them contain superb parts. Witness _Mosé_, what grandeur, what power and what majesty! Witness _Otello_, what spirit, what vigor and what boldness! Witness _Semiramide_, what color, what brilliancy and what splendor! However, there are grave faults to be found with Rossini's serious operas; in the first place a lack of unity, and also certain weaknesses which by their proximity, militate against some really admirable pages; then the abuse of vocalization and of the ornate style, absolutely incompatible with the purely dramatic element; finally, the occasional lack of real emotion and the frequent absence of pathos, an absence so complete that it may justly be said of Rossini that he never knew how to sing of love. And yet, by the side of these grave faults are qualities so grand, an inspiration so rich, a style so noble, a phrase so elegant, an orchestra so vigorous and always so full of interest, that the works though imperfect in their _ensemble_, have been able through certain sublime portions to win very great success.

But the place where Rossini is complete and inimitable is in opera bouffe. _Il Barbiere_ is certainly a masterpiece, and _Cenerentola_ comes very near being one. A wonderful imagination, gaiety carried sometimes to the point of folly, an ardor and quickness of inspiration that was simply prodigious, together with an instrumentation always new, always piquant, always of an extreme elegance; such are the qualities which characterized Rossini's light music, and which make it still as young and fresh as when it first appeared, eighty years ago.

Caricature bust by Dantan in the Carnavalet Museum. Paris.]

In regard to his dramatic music, I must not forget, after having pointed out its shortcomings, to make an important statement, giving him credit for the progress which is unquestionably due him. I refer to the transformation which he has brought about in the recitative, beginning with his _Elisabetta_. Until then he had not risen above _Tancredi_, a charming score, but one in which his methods scarcely differed from those employed by the musicians of his time, Mayr, Generali, Paër and others. Undoubtedly his harmony was fuller, his instrumentation richer, more varied and more brilliant than that of these artists, but the progress stopped there. With _Elisabetta_, his first work given at Naples, Rossini started an important reform. Up to that time the Italian composers had employed almost exclusively the _recitativo secco_, that is to say, a recitative accompanied solely by the clavichord, with a continuous bass by the violoncello in the orchestra. Now these thin and meagre recitatives, often much developed, weakened the scenic effect, killed all musical interest, and formed too violent a contrast with the general style of the work. It was only in exceptional cases that the composers allowed themselves some measures of _recitativo strumentato_, to serve as an introduction to an important piece.

Rossini, in his _Elisabetta_, was the first to treat all the recitative part as a grand lyric declamation, and to sustain that precise, vigorous, very rhythmic declamation with a melodic accompaniment, arranged for the full orchestra. Thanks to this means, the scenic action was considerably developed, the musical interest was sustained from beginning to end, without break or sign of weakness, the work gained a homogeneity and a general color hitherto unknown; finally, the composer experienced the advantage of being able to bind together, as strongly as need be, incidents, situations, episodes which otherwise would have been chilled by the untimely presence of those _recitativi secchi_, the crying evil of the serious operas. Certainly this is a trait of genius, which classes Rossini in the rank of the happiest of innovators.

When, fifteen years after having given his _Elisabetta_ at Naples, he wrote _William Tell_ for the Paris Opéra, people were able to judge of the incomparable grandeur of his dramatic genius. Here were no concessions to a perverted taste, no ill-timed vocal effects, no weakness of style, no negligence in the form; but a grand inspiration, a bold and noble accent, heroic outbursts, a color marvellously appropriate to the subject, and above all the sincerity of an artist of genius desiring to create a masterpiece.

A study of Rossini would be incomplete, which did not consider the influence which that great man exercised over the artists of his time. It is with some reflections on this subject that I am going to close the present work.

Caricature from Paris "Panthéon Charivarique" designed to express popular disapproval at his retirement from the Opera to live upon his means.]

An abundance of melody, precision of rhythm, richness of instrumentation, untiring verve, movement, color and life, such are the distinctive signs of Rossini's musical personality. Moreover, this personality was so powerful, so exuberant, so magnetic, that it not only effaced that of his contemporaries, who were unable to struggle against this colossus, but it soon absorbed that of all the young composers who were coming after him, and who, gifted by nature with less generosity, were appropriating his methods, as far as possible, and making themselves his servile imitators. With the exception of Bellini and Donizetti, whose natural temperament and personal gifts were safeguards against this rage of imitation, one may say that for half a century all the Italian composers applied themselves to writing music _a la Rossini_, and seemed preoccupied solely with reproducing effects and combinations originated by the young master. Pacini, for example, wrote eighty operas in the Rossinian style, not one of which was worthy to pass down to posterity; and the Ricci brothers, though more gifted than Pacini as regards a freshness of inspiration, also imitated Rossini too closely, and allowed some little of their own personality to appear only in the pleasant, merry score of _Crispino e la Comare_, their one work which has gained recognition outside of Italy. Furthermore, these Italian imitators of Rossini, not knowing how to separate the tares from the wheat, followed exactly in his footsteps, and reproduced his faults as conscientiously as his virtues, mistaking noise for sonority, sadly abusing the flowery style, even in the most pathetic moments, to the great detriment of dramatic truth (Mercadante himself has not escaped this fault), and unhappily not having, like their model, that wonderful gift of melody for which certain of his faults could be pardoned, and which constituted a good part of his power.