Before speaking of Meyerbeer's better known and more celebrated works, I must say a few words about Velluti, a singer of great powers, but of a peculiar kind ("_non vir sed Veluti_") who, as I have said before, played the princ.i.p.al part in _Il Crociato_. He was the last of his tribe, and living at a time when too much license was allowed to singers in the execution of the music entrusted to them, so disgusted Rossini by his extravagant style of ornamentation, that the composer resolved to write his airs in future in such elaborate detail, that to embellish them would be beyond the power of any singer. Be this how it may, Rossini did not like Velluti's singing, nor Velluti Rossini's music--which sufficiently proves that the last of the sopranists was not a musician of taste.[95] Mr. Ebers tells us that "after making the tour of the princ.i.p.al Italian and German theatres, Velluti arrived in Paris, where the musical taste was not prepared for him," and that, "Rossini being at this time engaged at Paris under his agreement to direct there, Velluti did not enter into his plans, and having made no engagement there, came over to England without any invitation, but strongly recommended by Lord Burghersh." The re-appearance of a musico in London when the race was thought to be extinct, caused a great sensation, and not altogether of an agreeable kind. However, the Opera was crowded the night of his _debut_; to the old amateurs it recalled the days of Pacchierotti, to the young ones, it was simply a strange and unexpected novelty. Some are said to have come to the theatre expressly to oppose him, while others were there for the avowed purpose of supporting him, from a feeling that public opinion had dealt harshly with the unfortunate man. Velluti had already sung at concerts, where his reception was by no means favourable. Indeed, Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe tells us "that the scurrilous abuse lavished upon him before he was heard, was cruel and illiberal," and that "it was not till after long deliberation, much persuasion, and a.s.surances of support that the manager ventured to engage him for the remainder of the season."

[Sidenote: VELLUTI.]

Velluti's demeanour on entering the stage was highly prepossessing. Mr.

Ebers says that "it was at once graceful and dignified," and that "he was in look and action the son of chivalry he represented."

He adds, that "his appearance was received with mingled applause and disapprobation; but that "the scanty symptoms of the latter were instantly overwhelmed." The effect produced on the audience by the first notes Velluti uttered was most peculiar. According to Mr. Ebers, "there was a something of a preternatural harshness about them, which jarred even more strongly on the imagination than on the ear;" though, as he proceeded, "the sweetness and flexibility of those of his tones which yet remained unimpaired by time, were fully perceived and felt." Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe informs us, that "the first note he uttered gave a shock of surprise, almost of disgust, to inexperienced ears;" though, afterwards, "his performance was listened to with great attention and applause throughout, with but few _audible_ expressions of disapprobation speedily suppressed." The general effect of his performance is summed up in the following words:--"To the old he brought back some pleasing recollections; others, to whom his voice was new, became reconciled to it, and sensible of his merits; whilst many declared, to the last, his tones gave them more pain than pleasure."

However, he drew crowded audiences, and no opera but Meyerbeer's _Crociato_ was performed until the end of the season.

Some years after the production of _Il Crociato_, Meyerbeer had written an _opera comique_, ent.i.tled _Robert le Diable_, which was to have been represented at the Ventadour Theatre, specially devoted to that kind of performance. The company, however, at the "Theatre de l'Opera Comique,"

was not found competent to execute the difficult music of _Robert_, and the interesting libretto by M. M. Scribe and Delavigne, was altered and reduced, so as to suit the Academie. The celebrated "pruning knife" was brought out, and vigorously applied. What remained of the dialogue was adapted for recitative, and the character of "Raimbaud" was cut out in the fourth and fifth acts. With all these suppressions, the opera, as newly arranged, to be recited or sung from beginning to end, was still very long, and not particularly intelligible. However, the legend on which _Robert le Diable_ is founded is well suited for musical ill.u.s.tration, and the plot, with a little attention and a careful study of the book, may be understood, in spite of the absence of "Raimbaud,"

who, in the original piece, is said to have served materially to aid and explain the progress of the drama.

[Sidenote: ROBERT LE DIABLE.]

If _Robert le Diable_ had been produced at the Opera Comique, in the form in which it was originally conceived, the many points of resemblance it presents to _Der Freischutz_ would have struck every one.

Meyerbeer seems to have determined to write a romantic semi-fantastic legendary opera, like _Der Freischutz_, and, in doing so, naturally followed in the footsteps of Weber. He certainly treats these legendary subjects with particular felicity, and I fancy there is more spontaneity in the music of _Robert le Diable_, and _Dinorah_, than in any other that he has composed; but this does not alter the fact that such subjects were first treated in music, and in a thoroughly congenial manner, by Karl Maria von Weber. Without considering how far Meyerbeer, in _Robert le Diable_, has borrowed his instrumentation and harmonic combinations from Weber, there can be no doubt about its being a work of much the same cla.s.s as _Der Freischutz_; and it would have been looked upon as quite of that cla.s.s, had it been produced, like _Der Freischutz_, with spoken dialogue, and with the popular characters more in relief.

_Robert le Diable_, converted into a grand opera, was produced at the Academie, on the 21st of November, 1831. Dr. Veron, in his "Memoires d'un Bourgeois de Paris," has given a most interesting account of all the circ.u.mstances which attended the rehearsals and first representation of this celebrated work. Dr. Veron had just undertaken the management of the Academie; and to have such an opera as _Robert le Diable_, with which to mark the commencement of his reign, was a piece of rare good fortune. The libretto, the music, the ballet, were all full of interest, and many of the airs had the advantage (in Paris) of being somewhat in the French style. The applause with which this, the best constructed of all M. Meyerbeer's works, was received, went on increasing from act to act; and, altogether, the success it obtained was immense, and, in some respects, unprecedented.

Nourrit played the part of "Robert," Madame Cinti Damoreau that of "Isabelle." Mademoiselle Dorus and Leva.s.seur were the "Alice" and the "Bertram." In the _pas de cinq_ of the second act, n.o.blet, Montessu, and Perrot appeared; and in the nuns' scene, the troop of resuscitated virgins was led by the graceful and seductive Taglioni. All the scenery was admirably painted, especially that of the moonlight _tableau_ in the third act. The costumes were rich and brilliant, the _mise en scene_, generally, was remarkable for its completeness; in short, every one connected with the "getting up" of the opera from Habeneck, the musical conductor, to the property-men, gas-fitters and carpenters, whose names history has not preserved, did their utmost to ensure its success.

In 1832, _Robert le Diable_ was brought out at the King's Theatre, with the princ.i.p.al parts sustained, as in Paris, by Nourrit, Leva.s.seur, and Madame Damoreau. The part of "Alice" appears to have been given to Mademoiselle de Meric. This opera met with no success at the King's Theatre, and was scarcely better received at Covent Garden, where an English version was performed, with such alterations in Meyerbeer's music as will easily be conceived by those who remember how the works of Rossini, and, indeed, all foreign composers, were treated at this time, on the English stage.

[Sidenote: ROBERT LE DIABLE.]

In 1832, and, indeed, many years afterwards, when _Robert_ and _Les Huguenots_ had been efficiently represented in London by German companies, Meyerbeer's music was still most severely handled by some of our best musical critics. At present there is perhaps an inclination to go to the other extreme; but, at all events, full justice has now been rendered to M. Meyerbeer's musical genius. Let us hear what Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe (whose opinion I do not regard as one of authority, but only as an interesting index to that of the connoisseurs of the old school), has to say of the first, and, on the whole, the most celebrated of Meyerbeer's operas. He entertains the greatest admiration for _Don Giovanni_, _Fidelio_, _Der Freischutz_, and _Euryanthe_; but neither the subject, nor even the music of _Robert le Diable_, pleases him in the least. "Never," he says, "did I see a more disagreeable or disgusting performance. The sight of the resurrection of a whole convent of nuns, who rise from their graves, and begin dancing, like so many bacchants, is revolting; and a sacred service in a church, accompanied by an organ on the stage, not very decorous. Neither does the music of Meyerbeer compensate for a fable, which is a tissue of nonsense and improbability.

Of course, I was not tempted to hear it again in its original form, and it did credit to the taste of the English public, that it was not endured at the Opera House, and was acted only a very few nights."

Meyerbeer's second grand opera, _Les Huguenots_, was produced at the Academie Royale on the 26th of January, 1836, after twenty-eight full rehearsals, occasioning a delay which cost the composer a fine of thirty thousand francs. The expense of getting up the _Huguenots_ (in scenery, dresses, properties, &c.), amounted to one hundred and sixty thousand francs.

[Sidenote: LES HUGUENOTS.]

In London, and I believe everywhere on the continent except in Paris, the most popular of M. Meyerbeer's three grand operas is _Les Huguenots_. At the Academie, _Robert le Diable_ seems still to carry away the palm. Of late years, the admirable performance of Mario and Grisi, and of t.i.tiens and Giuglini, in the duet of the fourth act, has had an immense effect in increasing the popularity of _Les Huguenots_ with the English. This duet, the septett for male voices, the blessing of the daggers and the whole of the dramatic and animated scene of which it forms part, are certainly magnificent compositions; but the duet for "Raoul" and "Valentine" is the very soul of the work. At the theatres of Italy, the opera in question is generally "cut" with a free hand; and it is so long, that even after plentiful excisions an immense deal of music, and of fine music, still remains. But who would go to hear _Les Huguenots_, if the duet of the fourth act were omitted, or if the performance stopped at the end of act III.? On the other hand, the fourth act alone would always attract an audience; for, looked upon as a work by itself, it is by far the most dramatic, the most moving of all M. Meyerbeer's compositions. The construction of this act is most creditable to the librettist; while the composer, in filling up, and giving musical life to the librettist's design, has shown the very highest genius. It ends with a scene for two personages, but the whole act is of one piece. While the daggers are being distributed, while the plans of the chief agents in the ma.s.sacre are being developed in so striking and forcible a manner, the scene between the alarmed "Raoul"

and the terrified "Valentine" is, throughout, antic.i.p.ated; and equally necessary for the success of the duet, from a musical as well as from a dramatic point of view, is the ma.s.sive concerted piece by which this duet is preceded. To a composer, incapable or less capable than M.

Meyerbeer, of turning to advantage the admirable but difficult situation here presented, there would, of course, have been the risk of an anti-climax; there was the danger that, after a stageful of fanatical soldiers and monks, crying out at the top of their voices for blood, it would be impossible further to impress the audience by any known musical means. Meyerbeer, however, has had recourse to the expression of an entirely different kind of emotion, or rather a series of emotions, full of admirable variations and gradations; and everyone who has heard the great duet of _Les Huguenots_ knows how wonderfully he has succeeded. It has been said that the idea of this scene originated with Nourrit. In any case, it was an idea which Scribe lost no time in profiting by, and the question does not in any way affect the transcendent merit of the composer.

_Le Prophete_, M. Meyerbeer's third grand opera, was produced at the Academie on the 16th of April, 1849, with Roger, Viardot-Garcia, and Castellan, in the princ.i.p.al characters. This opera, like _Les Huguenots_, has been performed with great success in London. The part of "Jean" has given the two great tenors of the Royal Italian Opera--Mario and Tamberlik--opportunities of displaying many of their highest qualities as dramatic singers. The magnificent Covent Garden orchestra achieves a triumph quite of its own, in the grand march of the coronation scene; and the opera enables the management to display all its immense resources in the scenic department.

[Sidenote: GUSTAVE III.]

In pa.s.sing from _Masaniello_ to Rossini's _Guillaume Tell_, and from Rossini to Meyerbeer, we have lost sight too soon of the greatest composer France ever produced, and one who is ranked in all countries among the first composers of the century. I mean, of course, M. Auber, of whose works I should have more to say, if I had not determined, in this brief "History of the Opera" to pay but little attention to the French "Opera Comique," which, with the exception of a very few examples (all by M. Auber)[96] is not a _genre_ that has been accepted anywhere out of France. In sketching, however, the history of the Grand Opera, it would be impossible to omit _Gustave III._ _Gustave ou le Bal Masque_, composed on one of the two librettos returned to M. Scribe by Rossini,[97] was performed for the first time on the 27th of February, 1833. This admirable work is not nearly so well known in England, or even in France, as it deserves to be. The government of Louis Philippe seems to have thought it imprudent to familiarize the Parisians with regicide, by exhibiting it to them three or four times a week on the stage, as the main incident of a very interesting drama; and after a certain number of representations, _Gustave_, which, taken altogether, is certainly Auber's masterpiece, was cut down to the ball-scene. In England, no one objected to the theatrical a.s.sa.s.sination of _Gustavus_; but unfortunately, also, no scruple was made about mutilating and murdering Auber's music. In short, the _Gustavus_ of Auber was far more cruelly ill-treated in London than the Gustavus of Sweden at his own masqued ball. Mr. Gye ought to produce _Gustavus_ at the Royal Italian Opera, where, for the first time in England, it would be worthily represented. The frequenters of this theatre have long been expecting it, though I am not aware that it has ever been officially promised.

The original caste of _Gustave_ included Nourrit, Leva.s.seur, Ma.s.sol, Dabadie, Dupont, Mademoiselle Falcon, Mademoiselle Dorus, and Madame Dabadie. Nourrit, the original "Guillaume Tell," the original "Robert,"

the original "Raoul," the original "Gustave," was then at the height of his fame; but he was destined to be challenged four years afterwards by a very formidable rival. He was the first, and the only first tenor at the Academie Royale de Musique, where he had been singing with a zeal and ardour equal to his genius for the last sixteen years, when the management engaged Duprez, to divide the princ.i.p.al parts with the vocalist already in office. After his long series of triumphs, Nourrit had no idea of sharing his laurels in this manner; nor was he at all sure that he was not about to be deprived of them altogether. "One of the two must succeed at the expense of the other," he declared; and knowing the attraction of novelty for the public, he was not at all sure that the unfortunate one would not be himself.

"Duprez knows me," he said, "and comes to sing where I am. I do not know him, and naturally fear his approach." After thinking over the matter for a few days he resolved to leave the theatre. He chose for his last appearance the second act of _Armide_, in which "Renaud," the character a.s.signed to the tenor, has to exclaim to the warrior, "Artemidore"--

"Allez, allez remplir ma place, Aux lieux d'ou mon malheur me cha.s.se," &c.

To which "Artemidore" replies--

"Sans vous que peut on entreprendre?

Celui qui vous bannit ne pourra se defendre De souhaiter votre retour."

[Sidenote: NOURRIT.]

The scene was very appropriate to the position of the singer who was about to be succeeded by Duprez. The public felt this equally with Nourrit himself, and testified their sympathy for the departing Renaud, by the most enthusiastic applause.

Nourrit took his farewell of the French public on the 1st of April, 1837, and on the 17th of the same month Duprez made his _debut_ at the Academie, as "Arnold," in _William Tell_. The latter singer had already appeared at the Comedie Francaise, where, at the age of fifteen, he was entrusted with the soprano solos in the choruses of _Athalie_, and afterwards at the Odeon, where he played the parts of "Almaviva," in the _Barber of Seville_, and Ottavio," in _Don Juan_. He then visited Italy for a short time, returned to Paris, and was engaged at the Opera Comique. Here his style was much admired, but his singing, on the whole, produced no great impression on the public. He once more crossed the Alps, studied a.s.siduously, performed at various theatres in a great number of operas, and by incessant practice, and thanks also to the wonderful effect of the climate on his voice, attained the highest position on the Italian stage, and was the favourite tenor of Italy at a time when Rubini was singing every summer in London, and every winter in Paris. Before visiting Italy the second time, Duprez was a "light tenor," and was particularly remarkable for the "agility" of his execution. A long residence in a southern climate appears to have quite changed the nature of his voice; a transformation, however, which must have been considerably aided by the nature of his studies. He returned to France a _tenore robusto_, an impressive, energetic singer, excelling in the declamatory style, and in many respects the greatest dramatic vocalist the French had ever heard. As an actor, however, he was not equal to Nourrit, whose demeanour as an operatic hero is said to have been perfection. _Guillaume Tell_, with Duprez, in the part of "Arnold,"

commenced a new career, and Rossini's great work now obtained from the general public that applause which, on its first production, it had, for the most part, received only from connoisseurs.

[Sidenote: NOURRIT.]

In the meanwhile, Nourrit, after performing with great success at Ma.r.s.eilles, Toulouse, Lyons, and elsewhere, went to Italy, and was engaged first at Milan, and afterwards at Florence and Naples. At each city fresh triumphs awaited him, but an incident occurred at Naples which sorely troubled the equanimity of the failing singer, whose mind, as we have seen, had already been disturbed by painful presentiments.

Nourrit, to be sure, was only "failing" in this sense, that he was losing confidence in his own powers, which, however, by all accounts, remained undiminished to the last. He was a well-educated and a highly accomplished man, and besides being an excellent musician, possessed considerable literary talent, and a thorough knowledge of dramatic effect.[98] He had prepared two librettos, in which the part adapted for the tenor would serve to exhibit his double talent as an actor and as a singer. One of these musical dramas was founded on Corneille's _Polyeucte_, and, in the hands of Donizetti, became _I Martiri_; but just when it was about to be produced, the Neapolitan censorship forbade its production on the ground of the unfitness of religious subjects for stage representation. Nourrit was much dejected at being thus prevented from appearing in a part composed specially for him at his own suggestion, and in which he felt sure he would be seen and heard to the greatest advantage. A deep melancholy, such as he had already suffered from at Ma.r.s.eilles, to an extent which alarmed all his friends, now settled upon him. He appeared, and was greatly applauded, in Mercadante's _Il Giuramento_, and in Bellini's _Norma_, but soon afterwards his despondency was increased, and a.s.sumed an irritated form, from a notion that the applause the Neapolitans bestowed upon him was ironical.

Nothing could alter his conviction on this point, which at last had the effect of completely unsettling his mind--unless it be more correct to say that mental derangement was itself the cause of the unhappy delusion. Finally, after a performance given for the benefit of another singer, in which Nourrit took part, his malady increased to such an extent that on his return home he became delirious, threw himself out of a window, at five in the morning, and was picked up in the street quite dead. This deplorable event occurred on the 8th of March, 1889.

The late "Academie Royale de Musique," the Theatre Italien of Paris, and all the chief opera houses of Italy are connected inseparably with the history of Opera in England. All the great works written by Rossini and Meyerbeer for the Academie have since been represented in London; the same singers for nearly half a century past have for the most part sung alternately at the Italian operas of Paris and of London; finally, from Italy we have drawn the great majority of the works represented at our best musical theatres, and nearly all our finest singers.

[Sidenote: GERMAN OPERA.]

German opera, in the meanwhile, stands in a certain way apart. Germany, compared with Italy, has sent us very few great singers. We have never looked to Germany for a constant supply of operas, and, indeed, Germany has not produced altogether half a dozen thoroughly German operas (that is to say, founded on German libretti, and written for German singers and German audiences), which have ever become naturalized in this country, or, indeed, anywhere out of their native land. Moreover, the most celebrated of the said _thoroughly_ German operas, such as _Fidelio_ and _Der Freischutz_, exercised no such influence on contemporary dramatic music as to give their composers a well-marked place in the operatic history of the present century, such as clearly belongs to Rossini. Beethoven, with his one great masterpiece, stands quite alone, and in the same way, Weber, with his strongly marked individuality has nothing in common with his contemporaries; and, living at the same time as Rossini, neither affected, nor was affected, by the style of a composer whose influence all the composers of the Italian school experienced. Accordingly, and that I may not entangle too much the threads of my narrative, I will now, having followed Rossini to Paris, and given some account of his successors at the French Opera, proceed to speak of Donizetti and Bellini, who were followers of Rossini in every sense. Of Weber and Beethoven, who are not in any way a.s.sociated with the Rossini school, and only through the accident of birth with the Rossini period, I must speak in a later chapter.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DONIZETTI AND BELLINI.

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.