Chapter XVIII: Donizetti and Bellini (1)

Sigismondi, the librarian of the Neapolitan Conservatory, had a horror of Rossini's music, and took care that all his printed works in the library should be placed beyond the reach of the young and innocent pupils. He was determined to preserve them, as far as possible, from the corrupt but seductive influence of this composer's brilliant, extravagant, meretricious style. But Donizetti, who at this time was studying at Naples, had heard several of the proscribed operas, and was most anxious to examine, on the music paper, the causes of the effects which had so delighted his ear at the theatre. The desired scores were on the highest shelf of the library; and the careful, conscientious librarian had removed the ladder by means of which alone it seemed possible to get to them.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

Donizetti stood watching the shelves which held the operas of Rossini like a cat before a bird cage; but the ladder was locked up, and the key in safe keeping in Sigismondi's pocket. Under a northern climate, the proper mode of action for Donizetti would have been to invite the jailor to a banquet, ply him with wine, and rob him of his keys as soon as he had reached a sufficiently advanced state of intoxication. Being in Italy, Donizetti should have made love to Sigismondi's daughter, and persuaded her to steal the keys from the old man during his mid-day _siesta_. Perhaps, however, Sigismondi was childless, or his family may have consisted only of sons; in any case, the young musician adopted neither of the schemes, by combining which the troubadour Blondel was enabled to release from captivity his adored Richard.[99] He resorted to a means which, if not wonderfully ingenious, was at least to the point, and which promised to be successful. He climbed, monkey-like, or cat-like, not to abandon our former simile, to the top shelf, and had his claws on the _Barber of Seville_, when who should enter the library but Sigismondi.

The old man was fairly shocked at this perversity on the part of Gaetan Donizetti, reputed the best behaved student of the Academy. His morals would be corrupted, his young blood poisoned!--but fortunately the librarian had arrived in time, and he might yet be saved.

Donizetti sprang to the ground with his prey--the full score of the _Barber of Seville_--in his clutches. He was about to devour it, when a hand touched him on the shoulder: he turned round, and before him stood the austere Sigismondi.

The old librarian spoke to Gaetan as to a son; appealed to his sense of propriety, his honour, his conscience; and asked him, almost with tears in his eyes, how he could so far forget himself as to come secretly into the library to read forbidden books--and Rossini's above all? He pointed out the terrible effects of the course upon which the youthful Donizetti had so nearly entered; reminded him that one brass instrument led to another; and that when once he had given himself up to violent orchestration, there was no saying where he would stop.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

Donizetti could not or would not argue with the venerable and determined Sigismondi. At least, he did not oppose him; but he inquired whether, as a lesson in cacophony, it was not worth while just to look at Rossini's notorious productions. He reminded his stern adviser, that he had already studied good models under Mayer, Pilotti, and Mattei, and that it was natural he should now wish to complete his musical education, by learning what to avoid. He quoted the well known case of the Spartans and their Helots; inquired, with some emotion, whether the frightful example of Rossini was not sufficient to deter any well meaning composer, with a little strength of character, from following in his unholy path; and finally declared, with undisguised indignation, that Rossini ought to be made the object of a serious study, so that once for all his musical iniquities might be exposed and his name rendered a bye-word among the lovers and cultivators of pure, unsophisticated art!

"Come to my arms, Gaetano," cried Sigismondi, much moved. "I can refuse nothing to a young man like you, now that I know your excellent intentions. A musician, who is imbued with the true principles of his art, may look upon the picture of Rossini's depravity not only without danger, but with positive advantage. Some it might weaken and destroy;--_you_ it can only fortify and uphold. Let us open these monstrous scores; their buffooneries may amuse us for an hour.

"_Il Barbiere di Siviglia!_ I have not much to say about that," commenced Sigismondi. "It is a trifle; besides, full justice was done to it at Rome. The notion of re-setting one of the master-pieces of the great Paisiello,--what audacity! No wonder it was hissed!"

"Under Paisiello's direction," suggested Donizetti.

"All a calumny, my young friend; pure calumny, I can assure you. There are so many Don Basilios in the musical world! Rossini's music was hissed because it was bad and because it recalled to the public Paisiello's, which was good." "But I have heard," rejoined Donizetti, "that at the second representation there was a great deal of applause, and that the enthusiasm of the audience at last reached such a point, that they honoured Rossini with a torch-light procession and conducted him home in triumph."

"An invention of the newspapers," replied Sigismondi; "I believe there was a certain clique present prepared to support the composer through everything, but the public had already expressed its opinion. Never mind this musical burlesque, and let us take a glance at one of Rossini's serious operas."

Donizetti wished for nothing better. This time he had no occasion to scale the shelf in his former feline style. The librarian produced the key of the mysterious closet in which the ladder was kept. The young musician ran up to the Rossini shelf like a lamp-lighter and brought down with him not one but half-a-dozen volumes.

"Too many, too many," said Sigismondi, "one would have been quite enough. Well, let us open _Otello_."

In the score which the old and young musician proposed to examine together, the three trombone parts, according to the Italian custom, were written on one and the same staff, thus 1º, 2º, 3º _tromboni_. Sigismondi began his lecture on the enormities of Rossini as displayed in _Otello_ by reading the list of the instruments employed.

"_Flutes_, two flutes; well there is not much harm in that. No one will hear them; only, with diabolical perfidy, one of these modern flutists will be sure to take a _piccolo_ and pierce all sensitive ears with his shrill whistling.

"_Hautboys_, two hautboys; also good. Here Rossini follows the old school. I say nothing against his two hautboys; indeed, I quite approve of them.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI AND ROSSINI.]

"_Clarionets!_ a barbarous invention, which the _Tedeschi_ might have kept them for themselves. They may be very good pipes for calling cows, but should be used for nothing else.

"_Bassoons_; useless instruments, or nearly so. Our good masters employed them for strengthening the bass; but now the bassoon has acquired such importance, that solos are written for it. This is also a German innovation. Mozart would have done well to have left the bassoon in its original obscurity.

"1st and 2nd _Horns_; very good. Horns and hautboys combine admirably. I say nothing against Rossini's horns.

"3rd and 4th _Horns_! How many horns does the man want? _Quattro Corni, Corpo di Bacco!_ The greatest of our composers have always been contented with two. Shades of Pergolese, of Leo, of Jomelli! How they must shudder at the bare mention of such a thing. Four horns! Are we at a hunting party? Four horns! Enough to blow us to perdition."

The indignation and rage of the old musician went on increasing as he followed the gradual development of a _crescendo_ until he arrived at the explosion of the _fortissimo_. Then Sigismondi uttered a cry of despair, struck the score violently with his fist, upset the table which the imprudent Donizetti had loaded with the nefarious productions of Rossini, raised his hands to heaven and rushed from the room, exclaiming, "a hundred and twenty-three trombones! A hundred and twenty-three trombones!"

Donizetti followed the performer and endeavoured to explain the mistake.

"Not 123 trombones, but 1st, 2nd, 3rd trombones," he gently observed. Sigismondi however, would not hear another word, and disappeared from the library crying "a hundred and twenty-three trombones," to the last.

Donizetti came back, lifted up the table, placed the scores upon it and examined them in peace. He then, in his turn, concealed them so that he might be able another time to find them whenever he pleased without clambering up walls or intriguing to get possession of ladders.

[Sidenote: ANNA BOLENA.]

The inquiring student of the Conservatory of Naples was born, in 1798, at Bergamo, and when he was seventeen years of age was put to study under Mayer, who, before the appearance of Rossini, shared with Paer the honour of being the most popular composer of the day. His first opera _Enrico di Borgogna_ was produced at Venice in 1818, and obtained so much success that the composer was entrusted with another commission for the same city in the following year. After writing an opera for Mantua in 1819 _Il Falegname di Livonia_, Donizetti visited Rome, where his _Zoraide di Granata_ procured him an exemption from the conscription and the honour of being carried in triumph and crowned at the Capitol. Hitherto he may be said to have owed his success chiefly to his skilful imitation of Rossini's style, and it was not until 1830, when _Anna Bolena_ was produced at Milan (and when, curiously enough, Rossini had just written his last opera), that he exhibited any striking signs of original talent. This work, which is generally regarded as Donizetti's master-piece, or at least was some time ago (for of late years no one has had an opportunity of hearing it), was composed for Pasta and Rubini, and was first represented for Pasta's benefit in 1831. It was in this opera that Lablache gained his first great triumph in London.

Donizetti visited Paris in 1835, and there produced his _Marino Faliero_, which contains several spirited and characteristic pieces, such as the opening chorus of workmen in the Arsenal and the gondolier chorus at the commencement of the second act. The charming _Elisir d'Amore_, the most graceful, melodious, moreover the most characteristic, and in many respects the best of all Donizetti's works, was written for Milan in 1832. In this work Signor Mario made his re-appearance at the Italian Opera of Paris in 1839; he had previously sung for some time at the Académie Royale in _Robert_ and other operas.

_Lucia di Lammermoor_, Donizetti's most popular opera, containing some of the most beautiful melodies in the sentimental style that he has composed, and altogether his best finale, was produced at Naples in 1835. The part of "Edgardo" was composed specially for Duprez, that of "Lucia" for Persiani.

The pretty little opera or operetta entitled _Il Campanello di Notte_ was written under very interesting circumstances to save a little Neapolitan theatre from ruin. Donizetti heard that the establishment was in a failing condition, and that the performers were without money and in great distress. He sought them out, supplied their immediate wants, and one of the singers happening to say that if Donizetti would give them a new opera, their fortunes would be made: "As to that," replied the Maestro, "you shall have one within a week." To begin with, a libretto was necessary, but none was to be had. The composer, however, possessed considerable literary talent, and recollecting a vaudeville which he had seen some years before in Paris, called _La Sonnette de Nuit_, he took that for his subject, re-arranged it in an operatic form, and in nine days the libretto was written, the music composed, the parts learnt, the opera performed, and the theatre saved. It would have been difficult to have given a greater proof of generosity, and of fertility and versatility of talent. I may here mention that Donizetti designed, and wrote the words, as well as the music of the last act of the _Lucia_; that the last act of _La Favorite_ was also an afterthought of his; and that he himself translated into Italian the libretti of Betly and _La Fille du Regiment_.

[Sidenote: VICTOR HUGO AT THE OPERA.]

When _Lucrezia Borgia_ (written for Milan in 1834) was produced in Paris, in 1840, Victor Hugo, the author of the admirable tragedy on which it is founded, contested the right of the Italian librettists, to borrow their plots from French dramas; maintaining that the representation of such libretti in France constituted an infringement of the French dramatists' "_droits d'auteur_." He gained his action, and _Lucrezia Borgia_ became, at the Italian Opera of Paris, _La Rinegata_, the Italians at the court of Pope Alexander the Sixth being metamorphosed into Turks. A French version of _Lucrezia Borgia_ was prepared for the provinces, and entitled _Nizza di Grenada_.

[Sidenote: AUTHORS' RIGHTS.]

A year or two afterwards, Verdi's _Hernani_ experienced the same fate at the Théâtre Italien as _Lucrezia Borgia_. Then the original authors of _La Pie Voleuse_, _La Grace de Dieu_, &c., followed Victor Hugo's example, and objected to the performance of _La Gazza Ladra_ and _Linda di Chamouni_, &c. Finally, an arrangement was made, and at present exists, by which Italian operas founded on French dramas may be performed in Paris on condition of an indemnity being paid to the French dramatists. Marsolier, the author of the Opéra Comique, entitled _Nina, ou la Folle par Amour_, set to music by Dalayrac, had applied for an injunction twenty-three years before, to prevent the representation of Paisiello's _Nina_, in Paris; but the Italian disappeared before the question was tried. The principle, however, of an author's right of property in a work, or any portion of a work, had been established nearly two centuries before. In a "privilege" granted to St. Amant in 1653, for the publication of his _Moise Sauvé_, it is expressly forbidden to extract from that "epic poem" subjects for novels and plays. These cautions proved unnecessary, as the work so strictly protected contained no available materials for plays, novels, or any other species of literary composition, including even "epic poems;" but _Moise Sauvé_ has nevertheless been the salvation of several French authors whose property might otherwise have been trespassed upon to a considerable extent. Nevertheless, the principle of an author's sole, inalienable interest in the incidents he may have invented or combined, without reference to the new form in which they may be presented, cannot, as a matter of course, be entertained anywhere; but the system of "author's rights" so energetically fought for and conquered by Beaumarchais has a very wide application in France, and only the other day it was decided that the translators and arrangers of _Le Nozze di Figaro_, for the Théâtre Lyrique must share their receipts with the descendants and heirs of the author of _Le Mariage de Figaro_. It will appear monstrous to many persons in England who cannot conceive of property otherwise than of a material, palpable kind, that Beaumarchais's representatives should enjoy any interest in a work produced three-quarters of a century ago; but as his literary productions possess an actual, easily attainable value, it would be difficult to say who ought to profit by it, if not those who, under any system of laws, would benefit by whatever other possessions he might have left. It may be a slight advantage to society, in an almost inappreciable degree, that "author's rights" should cease after a certain period; but, if so, the same principle ought to be applied to other forms of created value. The case was well put by M. de Vigny, in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," in advocating the claims of a grand-daughter, or great grand-daughter of Sedaine. He pointed out, that if the dramatist in question, who was originally an architect, had built a palace, and it had lasted until the present day, no one would have denied that it descended naturally to his heirs; and that as, instead of building in stone, he devoted himself to the construction of operas and plays, the results of his talent and industry ought equally to be regarded as the inalienable property of his descendants.

[Sidenote: LA FAVORITE.]

But to return to _Lucrezia Borgia_, which, with _Lucia_ and _La Favorite_, may be ranked amongst the most successful of Donizetti's productions. The favour with which _Lucrezia_ is received by audiences of all kinds may be explained, in addition to the merit of much of the music, by the manner in which the principal parts are distributed, so that the cast, to be efficient, must always include four leading singers, each of whom has been well-provided for by the composer. It contains less recitative than any of Rossini's operas--a great advantage, from a popular point of view, it having been shown by experience that the public of the present day do not care for recitative (especially when they do not understand a word of it), but like to pass as quickly as possible from one musical piece to another. From an artistic point of view the shortness of Donizetti's recitatives is not at all to be regretted, for the simple reason that he has never written any at all comparable to those of Rossini, whose dramatic genius he was far from possessing. The most striking situation in the drama, a thoroughly musical situation of which a great composer, or even an energetic, passionate, melo-dramatic composer, like Verdi, would have made a great deal, is quite lost in the hands of Donizetti. The _Brindisi_ is undeniably pretty, and was never considered vulgar until it had been vulgarised. But Donizetti has shown no dramatic power in the general arrangement of the principal scene, and the manner in which the drinking song is interrupted by the funeral chorus, has rather a disagreeable, than a terrible or a solemn effect. The finale to the first act, or "prologue," is finely treated, but "Gennaro's" dying scene and song, is the most dramatic portion of the work, which it ought to terminate, but unfortunately does not. I think it might be shown that _Lucrezia_ marks the distance about half way between the style of Rossini and that of Verdi. Not that it is so much inferior to the works of the former, or so much superior to those of the latter; but that among Donizetti's later operas, portions of _Maria di Rohan_ (Vienna, 1843), might almost have been written by the composer of _Rigoletto_; whereas, the resemblance for good or for bad, between these two musicians, of the decadence, is not nearly so remarkable, if we compare _Lucrezia Borgia_ with one of Verdi's works. Still, in _Lucrezia_ we already notice that but little space is accorded to recitative, which in the _Trovatore_ finds next to none; we meet with choruses written in the manner afterwards adopted by Verdi, and persisted in by him to the exclusion of all other modes; while as regards melody, we should certainly rather class the tenor's air in _I Lombardi_ with that in _Lucrezia Borgia_, than the latter with any air ever composed by Rossini.

When Donizetti revisited Paris in 1840, he produced in succession _I Martiri_ (the work written for Nourrit and objected to by the Neapolitan censorship), _La Fille du Regiment_, written for the Opéra Comique, and _La Favorite_, composed in the first instance for the Théâtre de la Renaissance, but re-arranged for the Académie, when the brief existence of the Théâtre de la Renaissance had come to an end. As long as it lasted, this establishment, opened for the representation of foreign operas in the French language, owed its passing prosperity entirely to a French version of the _Lucia_.

Jenny Lind, Sontag, Alboni, have all appeared in _La Figlia del Reggimento_ with great success; but when this work was first produced in Paris, with Madame Thillon in the principal part, it was not received with any remarkable favour. It is full of smooth, melodious, and highly animated music, but is, perhaps, wanting in that piquancy of which the French are such great admirers, and which rendered the duet for the vivandières, in Meyerbeer's _Etoile du Nord_, so much to their taste. _L'Ange de Nigida_, converted into _La Favorite_ (and founded in the first instance on a French drama, _Le Comte de Commingues_) was brought out at the Académie, without any expense in scenery and "getting up," and achieved a decided success. This was owing partly to the pretty choral airs at the commencement, partly to the baritone's cavatina (admirably sung by Barroilhet, who made his _début_ in the part of "Alphonse"); but, above all, to the fourth act, with its beautiful melody for the tenor, and its highly dramatic scene for the tenor and soprano, including a final duet, which, if not essentially dramatic in itself, occurs at least in a most dramatic situation.

The whole of the fourth act of _La Favorite_, except the cavatina, _Ange si pur_, which originally belonged to the Duc d'Albe, and the _andante_ of the duet, which was added at the rehearsals, was written in three hours. Donizetti had been dining at the house of a friend, who was engaged in the evening to go to a party. On leaving the house, the host, after many apologies for absenting himself, intreated Donizetti to remain, and finish his coffee, which Donizetti, being inordinately fond of that stimulant, took care to do. He asked at the same time for some music paper, began his fourth act, and finding himself in the vein for composition, went on writing until he had completed it. He had just put the final stroke to the celebrated "_Viens dans une autre patrie_," when his friend returned, at one in the morning, and congratulated him on the excellent manner in which he had employed his time.

[Sidenote: L'ELISIR D'AMORE.]

After visiting Rome, Milan, and Vienna, for which last city he wrote _Linda di Chamouni_, Donizetti returned to Paris, and in 1843 composed _Don Pasquale_ for the Théâtre Italien, and _Don Sebastien_ for the Académie. The lugubrious drama to which the music of _Don Sebastien_ is wedded, proved fatal to its success. On the other hand, the brilliant gaiety of _Don Pasquale_, rendered doubly attractive by the admirable execution of Grisi, Mario, Tamburini, and Lablache, delighted all who heard it. The pure musical beauty of the serenade, and of the quartett, one of the finest pieces of concerted music Donizetti ever wrote, were even more admired than the lively animated dialogue-scenes, which are in Donizetti's very best style; and the two pieces just specified, as well as the baritone's cavatina, _Bella siccome un angelo_, aided the general success of the work, not only by their own intrinsic merit, but also by the contrast they present to the comic conversational music, and the buffo airs of the bass. The music of _Don Pasquale_ is probably the cleverest Donizetti ever wrote; but it wants the _charm_ which belongs to that of his _Elisir d'Amore_, around which a certain sentiment, a certain atmosphere of rustic poetry seems to hang, especially when we are listening to the music of "Nemorino" or "Norina." Even the comic portions in the _Elisir_ are full of grace, as for instance, the admirable duet between "Norina" and "Dulcamara;" and the whole work possesses what is called "colour," that is to say, each character is well painted by the music, which, moreover, is always appropriate to the general scene. To look for "colour," or for any kind of poetry in a modern drawing-room piece of intrigue, like _Don Pasquale_, with the notaries of real life, and with lovers in black coats, would be absurd. I may mention that the libretto of _Don Pasquale_ is a re-arrangement of Pavesi's _Ser Marcantonio_ (was "_Ser_" _Marcantonio_ an Englishman?) produced in 1813.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S REPERTOIRE.]

In the same year that Donizetti brought out _Don Pasquale_ in Paris, he produced _Maria di Rohan_ at Vienna. The latter work contains an admirable part for the baritone, which has given Ronconi the opportunity of showing that he is not only an excellent buffo, but is also one of the finest tragic actors on the stage. The music of _Maria di Rohan_ is highly dramatic: that is to say, very appropriate to the various personages, and to the great "situations" of the piece. In pourtraying the rage of the jealous husband, the composer exhibits all that earnestness and vigour for which Verdi has since been praised--somewhat sparingly, it is true, but praised nevertheless by his admirers. The contralto part, on the other hand, is treated with remarkable elegance, and contains more graceful melodies than Verdi is in the habit of composing. I do not say that Donizetti is in all respects superior to Verdi; indeed, it seems to me that he has not produced any one opera so thoroughly dramatic as _Rigoletto_; but as Donizetti and Verdi are sometimes contrasted, and as it was the fashion during Donizetti's lifetime, to speak of his music as light and frivolous, I wish to remark that in one of his latest operas he wrote several scenes, which, if written by Verdi, would be said to be in that composer's best style.

Donizetti's last opera, _Catarina Comaro_, was produced in Naples in the year 1844. This was his sixty-third dramatic work, counting those only which have been represented. There are still two operas of Donizetti's in existence, which the public have not heard. One, a piece in one act, composed for the Opéra Comique, and which is said every now and then to be on the point of being performed; the other, _Le Duc d'Albe_, which, as before-mentioned, was written for the Académie Royale, on one of the two libretti returned by Rossini to Scribe, after the composer of _William Tell_ came to his mysterious resolution of retiring from operatic life.

Of Donizetti's sixty-three operas, about two-thirds are quite unknown to England, and of the nine or ten which may still be said to keep the stage, the earliest produced, _Anna Bolena_, is the composer's thirty-second work. _Anna Bolena_, _L'Elisir d'Amore_, _Lucrezia Borgia_, _Lucia di Lammermoor_, and _Roberto Devereux_, are included between the numbers 31 and 52, while between the numbers 53 and 62, _La Fille du Regiment_, _La Favorite_, _Linda di Chamouni_, _Don Pasquale_, and _Maria di Rohan_, are found. The first five of Donizetti's most popular operas, were produced between the years 1830 and 1840; the last five between the years 1840 and 1844. Donizetti appears, then, to have produced his best serious operas during the middle period of his career--unless it be considered that _La Favorite_, _Linda di Chamouni_, and _Maria di Rohan_, are superior to _Anna Bolena_, _Lucrezia Borgia_, and _Lucia di Lammermoor_; and to the same epoch belongs _L'Elisir d'Amore_, which in my opinion is the freshest, most graceful, and most melodious of his comic operas, though some may prefer _La Fille du Regiment_ or _Don Pasquale_, both full of spirit and animation.

It is also tolerably clear, from an examination of Donizetti's works in the order in which they were produced, that during the last four or five years of his artistic life he produced more than his average number of operas, possessing such merit that they have taken their place in the repertoires of the principal opera houses of Europe. Donizetti had lost nothing either in fertility or in power, while he appeared in some respects to be modifying and improving his style. Thus, in the Swiss opera of _Linda di Chamouni_ (Vienna, 1842), we find, especially in the music of the contralto part, a considerable amount of local colour--an important dramatic element which Donizetti had previously overlooked, or, at least, had not turned to any account; while _Maria di Rohan_ contains the best dramatic music of a passionate kind that Donizetti has ever written.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S DEATH.]

In composing, Donizetti made no use of the pianoforte, and wrote, as may be imagined, with great rapidity, never stopping to make a correction, though he is celebrated among the modern Italian composers for the accuracy of his style. Curiously enough, he never went to work without having a small ivory scraper by his side; and any one who has studied intellectual peculiarities will understand, that once wanting this instrument, he might have felt it necessary to scratch out notes and passages every minute. Mr. J. Wrey Mould, in his interesting "memoir," tells us that this ivory scraper was given to Donizetti by his father when he consented, after a long and strenuous opposition, to his becoming a musician. An unfilial son might have looked upon the present as not conveying the highest possible compliment that could be paid him. The old gentleman, however, was quite right in impressing upon the bearer of his name, that having once resolved to be a composer, he had better make up his mind to produce as little rubbish as possible.

The first signs of the dreadful malady to which Donizetti ultimately succumbed, manifested themselves during his last visit to Paris, in 1845. Fits of absence of mind, followed by hallucinations and all the symptoms of mental derangement followed one another rapidly, and with increasing intensity. In January, 1846, it was found necessary to place the unfortunate composer in an asylum at Ivry, and in the autumn of 1847, his medical advisers recommended as a final experiment, that he should be removed to Bergamo, in the hope that the air and scenes of his birth-place would have a favourable influence in dispelling, or, at least, diminishing the profound melancholy to which he was now subject. During his journey, however, he was attacked by paralysis, and his illness assumed a desperate and incurable character.

Donizetti was received at Bergamo by the Maestro Dolci, one of his dearest friends. Here paralysis again attacked him, and a few days afterwards, on the 8th of April, 1848, he expired, in his fifty-second year, having, during the twenty-seven years of his life, as a composer, written sixty-four operas; several masses and vesper services; and innumerable pieces of chamber music, including, besides arias, cavatinas, and vocal concerted pieces, a dozen quartetts for stringed instruments, a series of songs and duets, entitled _Les soirées du Pausilippe_, a cantata entitled _la Morte d'Ugolino_, &c., &c.

Antoine, Donizetti's attendant at Ivry, became much attached to him, and followed him to Bergamo, whence he forwarded to M. Adolphe Adam, a letter describing his illustrious patient's last moments, and the public honours paid to his memory at the funeral.

[Sidenote: DONIZETTI'S DEATH.]

"More than four thousand persons," he relates, "were present at the ceremony. The procession was composed of the numerous clergy of Bergamo; the most illustrious members of the community and its environs, and of the civic guard of the town and suburbs. The discharges of musketry, mingled with the light of three or four hundred large torches, presented a fine effect--the whole was enhanced by the presence of three military bands, and the most propitious weather it was possible to behold. The service commenced at ten o'clock in the morning, and did not conclude until half-past two. The young gentlemen of Bergamo insisted on bearing the remains of their illustrious fellow-citizen, although the cemetery in which they finally rested lay at a distance of a league-and-a-half from the town. The road there was crowded along its whole length by people who came from the surrounding country to witness the procession--and, to give due praise to the inhabitants of Bergamo, never, hitherto, had such great honours been bestowed upon any member of that city."

* * * * *

Bellini, who was Donizetti's contemporary, but who was born nine years after him, and died thirteen years before, was a native of Sicily. His father was an organist at Catania, and under him the future composer of _Norma_ and _La Sonnambula_, took his first lessons in music. A Sicilian nobleman, struck by the signs of genius which young Bellini evinced at an early age, persuaded his father to send him to Naples, supporting his arguments with an offer to pay his expenses at the celebrated Conservatorio. Here one of Bellini's fellow pupils was Mercadante, the future composer of _Il Giuramento_, an opera which, in spite of the frequent attempts of the Italian singers to familiarize the English public with its numerous beauties, has never been much liked in this country. I do not say that it has not been justly appreciated on the whole, but that the grace of some of the melodies, the acknowledged merit of the orchestration and the elegance and distinction which seem to me to characterize the composer's style generally, have not been accepted as compensating for his want of passion and of that spontaneity without which the expression of strong emotion of any kind is naturally impossible. Mercadante could never have written _Rigoletto_, but, probably, a composer of inferior natural gifts to Verdi might, with a taste for study and a determination to bring his talent to perfection, have produced a work of equal artistic merit to _Il Giuramento_. And here we must take leave of Mercadante, whose place in the history of the opera is not a considerable one, and who, to the majority of English amateurs, is known only by his _Bella adorata_, a melody of which Verdi has shown his estimation by borrowing it, diluting it, and re-arranging it with a new accompaniment for the tenor's song in _Luisa Miller_.

[Sidenote: RUBINI.]

I should think Mercadante must have written better exercises, and passed better examinations at the Conservatorio than his young friend Bellini, though the latter must have begun at an earlier age to compose operas. Bellini's first dramatic work was written and performed while he was still a student. Encouraged by its success, he next composed music to a libretto already "set" by Generali, and entitled _Adelson e Salvino_. _Adelson_ was represented before the illustrious Barbaja, who was at that time manager of the two most celebrated theatres in Italy, the St. Carlo at Naples, and La Scala at Milan,--as well as of the Italian opera at Vienna, to say nothing of some smaller operatic establishments also under his rule. The great impresario, struck by Bellini's promise, commissioned him to write an opera for Naples, and, in 1826, his _Bianca e Fernando_ was produced at the St. Carlo. This work was so far successful, that it obtained a considerable amount of applause from the public, while it inspired Barbaja with so much confidence that he entrusted the young composer, now twenty years of age, with the libretto of _il Pirata_, to be composed for La Scala. The tenor part was written specially for Rubini, who retired into the country with Bellini, and studied, as they were produced, the simple, touching airs which he afterwards delivered on the stage with such admirable expression.

_Il Pirata_ was received with enthusiasm by the audiences of La Scala, and the composer was requested to write another work for the same theatre. _La Straniera_ was brought out at Milan in 1828, the principal parts being entrusted to Donzelli, Tamburini, and Madame Tosi. This, Bellini's third work, appears, on the whole, to have maintained, but scarcely to have advanced, his reputation. Nevertheless, when it was represented in London soon after its original production, it was by no means so favourably received as _Il Pirato_ had been.

Bellini's _Zaira_, executed at Parma, in 1829, was a failure--soon, however, to be redeemed by his fifth work, _Il Capuletti ed i Montecchi_, which was written for Venice, and was received with all possible expressions of approbation. In London, the new operatic version of _Romeo and Juliet_ was not particularly admired, and owed what success it obtained entirely to the acting and singing of Madame Pasta in the principal part. It may be mentioned that the libretto of Bellini's _I Montecchi_ had already served his master, Zingarelli, for his opera of _Romeo e Julietta_.

[Sidenote: LA SONNAMBULA.]

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._'