George T. Ferris - Great Singers, Second Series

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The young artiste had learned her true value, and was aware of the
injury she was suffering from remaining in the service to which she had
foolishly bound herself: she was now twenty-four, and time was passing
away. Her father's repeated endeavors to obtain more reasonable terms
for his daughter from Lanari proved fruitless. He urged that his
daughter, having entered into the contract without his knowledge, and
while she was a minor, it was illegal. "Then, if you knew absolutely
nothing of the matter, and it was altogether without your cognizance,"
retorted Lanari, imperturbably, "how did it happen that her salary was
always paid to you?"

But the high-spirited Giulietta had now become too conscious of her
own value to remain hampered by a contract which in its essence was
fraudulent. She determined to break her bonds by flight to Paris,
where her sister Giuditta and her aunt Mme. Grassini-Ragani were then
domiciled. She confided her proposed escapade to her father and her old
teacher Marliani, who assisted her to procure passports for herself
and maid. Her journey was long and tedious, but, spurred by fear and
eagerness, she disdained fatigue for seven days of post-riding over
bad roads and through mountain-gorges choked with snow, till she threw
herself into the arms of her loving friends in the French capital.

II.

An engagement was procured for her without difficulty at the Opera,
which was then controlled by the triumvirate, Rossini, Robert, and
Severini. Rossini remembered the beautiful _debutante_ for whom he had
predicted a splendid future, and secured a definite engagement for
her at the Favart to replace Mme. Malibran. That this young and
comparatively inexperienced girl, with a reputation hardly known out of
Italy, should have been chosen to take the place of the great Malibran,
was alike flattering testimony to her own rising genius and
Rossini's penetration. She appeared first before a French audience in
"_Semiramide_," and at once became a favorite. During the season of
six months she succeeded in establishing her place as one of the most
brilliant singers of the age. She sang in cooperation with many of the
foremost artists whose names are among the great traditions of the art.
In "Don Giovanni," Rubini and Tamburini appeared with her; in "Anna
Bolena," Mme. Tadolini, Santini, and Rubini. Even in Pasta's own great
characters, where Mlle. Grisi was measured against the greatest lyric
tragedienne of the age, the critics, keen to probe the weak spot of new
aspirants, found points of favorable comparison in Grisi's favor. During
this year, 1832, both Giuditta and Giulia Grisi retired from the stage,
the former to marry an Italian gentleman of wealth, and the latter to
devote a period to rest and study.

When Giulia reappeared on the French stage the following year, a
wonderful improvement in the breadth and finish of her art was noticed.
She had so improved her leisure that she had eradicated certain
minor faults of vocal delivery, and stood confessed a symmetrical and
splendidly equipped artist. Her performances during the year 1833 in
Paris embraced a great variety of characters, and in different styles
of music, in all of which she was the recipient of the most cordial
admiration.

The production of Bellini's last opera, "I Puritani," in 1834, was one
of the great musical events of the age, not solely in virtue of the
beauty of the work, but on account of the very remarkable quartet
which embodied the principal characters--Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini, and
La-blache. This quartet continued in its perfection for many years,
with the after-substitution of Mario for Rubini, and was one of the
most notable and interesting facts in the history of operatic music.
Bellini's extraordinary skill in writing music for the voice was never
more noticeably shown than in this opera. In conducting the rehearsals,
he compelled the singers to execute after his style. It is recorded
that, while Rubini was rehearsing the tenor part, the composer cried out
in a rage: "You put no life into the music. Show some feeling. Don't you
know what love is?" Then, changing his voice: "Don't you know your
voice is a gold-mine that has never been explored? You are an excellent
artist, but that is not enough. You must forget yourself and try to
represent _Gualtiero_. Let's try again." Rubini, stung by the reproach,
then sang magnificently. "I Puritan!" made a great _furore_ in Paris,
and the composer received the Cross of the Legion of Honor, an honor
then less rarely bestowed than it was in after-years. He did not live
long to enjoy the fruits of his widening reputation, but died while
composing a new opera for the San Carlo, Naples. In the delirium of his
death-bed, he fancied he was at the Favart, conducting a performance of
"I Puritani." Mlle. Grisi's first appearance before the London public
occurred during the spring of the same year, and her great personal
loveliness and magnificent voice as _Ninetta_, in "La Gazza Ladra,"
instantly enslaved the English operatic world, a worship which lasted
unbroken for many years. Her _Desdemona_ in "Otello," which shortly
followed her first opera, was supported by Rubini as _Otello_, Tamburini
as _Iago_, and Ivanhoff as _Rodriguez_. It may be doubted whether any
singer ever leaped into such instant and exalted favor in London, where
the audiences are habitually cold.

Her appearance as _Norma_ in December, 1834, stamped this henceforth as
her greatest performance. "In this character, Grisi," says a writer in
the "Musical World," "is not to be approached, for all those attributes
which have given her her best distinction are displayed therein in their
fullest splendor. Her singing may be rivaled, but hardly her embodiment
of ungovernable and vindictive emotion. There are certain parts in the
lyric drama of Italy this fine artiste has made her own: this is one
of the most striking, and we have a faith in its unreachable
superiority--in its completeness as a whole--that is not to be
disturbed. Her delivery of 'Casta Diva' is a transcendent effort
of vocalization. In the scene where she discovers the treachery of
_Pollio_, and discharges upon his guilty head a torrent of withering and
indignant reproof, she exhibits a power, bordering on the sublime, which
belongs exclusively to her, giving to the character of the insulted
priestess a dramatic importance which would be remarkable even if
entirely separated from the vocal preeminence with which it is allied.
But, in all its aspects, the performance is as near perfection as rare
and exalted genius can make it, and the singing of the actress and the
acting of the singer are alike conspicuous for excellence and power.
Whether in depicting the quiet repose of love, the agony of abused
confidence, the infuriate resentment of jealousy, or the influence
of feminine piety, there is always the best reason for admiration,
accompanied in the more tragic moments with that sentiment of awe which
greatness of conception and vigor of execution could alone suggest."

Mr. Chorley writes, in his "Musical Reminiscences": "Though naturally
enough in some respects inexperienced on her first appearance in
England, Giulia Grisi was not incomplete. And what a soprano voice was
hers! rich, sweet; equal throughout its compass of two octaves (from
C to C), without a break or a note which had to be managed. Her voice
subdued the audience ere 'Dipiacer' was done.... In 1834 she commanded
an exactness of execution not always kept up by her during the
after-years of her reign. Her shake was clear and rapid; her scales were
certain; every interval was taken without hesitation by her. Nor has
any woman ever more thoroughly commanded every gradation of force than
she--in those early days especially; not using the contrast of loud
and soft too violently, but capable of any required violence, of any
advisable delicacy. In the singing of certain slow movements pianissimo,
such as the girl's prayer on the road to execution, in 'La Gazza,' or
as the cantabile in the last scene of 'Anna Bolena' (which we know as
'Home, Sweet Home'), the clear, penetrating beauty of her reduced tones
(different in quality from the whispering semi-ventriloquism which was
one of Mlle. Lind's most favorite effects) was so unique as to reconcile
the ear to a certain shallowness of expression in her rendering of the
words and the situation.

"At that time the beauty of sound was more remarkable (in such passages
as I have just spoken of) than the depth of feeling. When the passion
of the actress was roused--as in 'La Gazza,' during the scene with her
deserter father--with the villainous magistrate, or in the prison with
her lover, or on her trial before sentence was passed--her glorious
notes, produced without difficulty or stint, rang through the house like
a clarion, and were truer in their vehemence to the emotion of the scene
than were those wonderfully subdued sounds, in the penetrating tenuity
of which there might be more or less artifice. From the first, the vigor
always went more closely home to the heart than the tenderness in her
singing; and her acting and her vocal delivery--though the beauty of her
face and voice, the mouth that never distorted itself, the sounds that
never wavered, might well mislead an audience--were to be resisted by
none."

Henceforward, Mlle. Grisi alternated between London and Paris for many
years, her great fame growing with the ripening years. Of course, she,
like other beautiful singers, was the object of passionate addresses,
and the ardent letters sent to her hotel and dressing-room at the
theatre occasioned her much annoyance. Many unpleasant episodes
occurred, of which the following is an illustration, as showing the
persecution to which stage celebrities are often subjected: While she
was in her stage-box at the Paris Opera one night, in the winter of
1836, she observed an unfortunate admirer, who had pursued her for
months, lying in ambuscade near the door, as if awaiting her exit. M.
Robert, one of the managers, requested the intruder to retire, and, as
the admonition was unheeded, Colonel Ragani, Grisi's uncle, somewhat
sternly remonstrated with him. The reckless lover drew a sword from a
cane, and would have run Colonel Ragani through, had it not been for the
coolness of a gentleman passing in the lobby, who seized and disarmed
the amorous maniac, who was a young author of some repute, named
Dupuzet. Anecdotes of a similar kind might be enumerated, for Grisi's
womanly fascinations made havoc among that large class who become easily
enamored of the goddesses of the theatre.

Like all the greatest singers, Grisi was lavishly generous. She had
often been known to sing in five concerts in one day for charitable
purposes. At one of the great York festivals in England, she refused, as
a matter of professional pride, to sing for less than had been given
to Malibran, but, to show that there was nothing ignoble in her
persistence, she donated all the money received to the poor. She
rendered so many services to the Westminster Hospital that she was made
an honorary governor of that institution, and in manifold ways proved
that the goodness of her heart was no whit less than the splendor of her
artistic genius.

The marriage of Mlle. Grisi, in the spring of 1830, to M. Auguste Gerard
de Melcy, a French gentleman of fortune, did not deprive the stage
of one of its greatest ornaments, for after a short retirement at the
beautiful chateau of Vaucresson, which she had recently purchased, she
again resumed the operatic career which had so many fascinations for one
of her temperament, as well as substantial rewards. Her first appearance
in London after her marriage was with Rubini and Tamburini in the opera
of "Semiramide," speedily followed by a performance of _Donna Anna_, in
"Don Giovanni." The excitement of the public in its eager anticipation
of the latter opera was wrought to the highest pitch. A great throng
pressed against both entrances of the theatre for hours before the
opening of the doors, and many ladies were severely bruised or fainted
in the crush. It was estimated that more than four thousand persons were
present on this occasion. The cast was a magnificent one. Mme. Grisi was
supported by Mmes. Persiani and Albertazzi, and Tamburini, Lablache, and
Rubini. This was hailed as one of the great gala nights in the musical
records of London, and it is said that only a few years ago old
connoisseurs still talked of it as something incomparable, in spite of
the gifted singers who had since illustrated the lyric art. Mme. Pasta,
who occupied a stage box, led the applause whenever her beautiful young
rival appeared, and Grisi, her eyes glowing with happy tears, went to
Pasta's box to thank the queen of lyric tragedy for her cordial homage.

"Don Giovanni" was performed with the same cast in January, 1838, at the
Theatre Italiens. About an hour after the close of the performance the
building was discovered to be on fire, and it was soon reduced to a heap
of glowing ashes. Severini, one of the directors, leaped from an upper
story, and was instantly dashed to pieces, and Robert narrowly saved
himself by aid of a rope ladder. Rossini, who had an apartment in the
opera-house, was absent, but the whole of his musical library, valued at
two hundred thousand francs, was destroyed, with many rare manuscripts,
which no effort or expense could replace.

III.

Mme. Grisi, more than any other prima donna who ever lived, was
habitually associated in her professional life with the greatest singers
of the other sex. Among those names which are inseparable from hers, are
those of Rubini, Tamburini, Lablache, and, _par excellence_, that of
Mario. Any satisfactory sketch of her life and artistic surroundings
would be incomplete without something more than a passing notice of
these shining lights of the lyric art. Giambattista Rubini, without
a shred of dramatic genius, raised himself to the very first place in
contemporary estimation by sheer genius as a singer, for his musical
skill was something more than the outcome of mere knowledge and
experience, and in this respect he bears a close analogy to Malibran.
Rubini's countenance was mean, his figure awkward, and lacking in
all dignity of carriage; he had no conception of taste, character, or
picturesque effect. As stolid as a wooden block in all that appertains
to impersonation of character, his vocal organ was so incomparable in
range and quality, his musical equipment and skill so great, that his
memory is one of the greatest traditions of the lyric art.

Rubini, born at Bergamo in the year 1795, made his _debut_ in one of the
theatres of his native town, at the age of twelve, in a woman's part.
This curious prima donna afterward sat at the door of the theatre,
between two candles, holding a plate, in which the admiring public
deposited their offerings to the fair _beneficiaire_. His next step was
playing on the violin in the orchestra between the acts of comedies, and
singing in the chorus during the operatic season. He seems to have been
unnoticed, except as one of the _hoi polloi_ of the musical rabble,
till an accident attracted attention to his talent. A drama was to be
produced in which a very difficult cavatina was introduced. The manager
was at a loss for any one to sing it till Rubini proffered his services.
The fee was a trifling one, but it paved the way for an engagement in
the minor parts of opera. The details of Rubini's early life seem to
be involved in some obscurity. He was engaged in several wandering
companies as second tenor, and in 1814, Rubini then being nineteen years
of age, we find him singing at Pavia for thirty-six shillings a month.
In the latter part of his career he was paid twenty thousand pounds
sterling a year for his services at the St. Petersburg Imperial
Opera. This singer acquired his vocal style, which his contemporaries
pronounced to be matchless, in the operas of Rossini, and was indebted
to no special technical training, except that which he received
through his own efforts, and the incessant practice of the lyric art in
provincial companies. A splendid musical intelligence, however, repaired
the lack of early teaching, though, perhaps, a voice less perfect in
itself would have fared badly through such desultory experiences. Like
so many of the great singers of the modern school, Rubini first gained
his reputation in the operas of Bellini and Donizetti, and many of the
tenor parts of these works were expressly composed for him. Rubini was
singing at the Scala, Milan, when Barbaja, the _impressario_, who had
heard Bellini's opera of "Bianca e Fernando," at Naples, commissioned
the young composer, then only twenty years old, to produce a new opera
for his theatre in the Tuscan capital. He gave him the libretto of
"Il Pirata," and Bellini, in company with Rubini (for they had become
intimate friends), retired to the country. Here the singer studied,
as they were produced, the simple, touching airs which he afterward
delivered on the stage with such admirable expression. With this
friendship began Rubini's art connection with the Italian composer,
which lasted till the latter's too early death. Rubini was such a great
singer, and possessed such admirable powers of expression, especially
in pathetic airs (for it was well said of him, "_qu'il avait des larmes
dans la voix_"), that he is to be regarded as the creator of that style
of singing which succeeded that of the Rossinian period. The florid
school of vocalization had been carried to an absurd excess, when Rubini
showed by his example what effect he could produce by singing melodies
of a simple emotional nature, without depending at all on mere
vocalization. It is remarkable that it was largely owing to Rubini's
suggestions and singing that Bellini made his first great success, and
that Donizetti's "Anna Bolena," also the work which laid the foundation
of this composer's greatness, should have been written and produced
under similar conditions.

The immense power, purity, and sweetness of his voice probably have
never been surpassed. The same praise may be awarded to his method of
producing his tones, and all that varied and complicated skill which
comes under the head of vocalization. Rubini had a chest of uncommon
bigness, and the strength of his lungs was so prodigious that on one
occasion he broke his clavicle in singing a B flat. The circumstances
were as follows: He was singing at La Scala, Milan, in Pacini's
"Talismano." In the recitative which accompanies the entrance of
the tenor in this opera, the singer has to attack B flat without
preparation, and hold it for a long time. Since Farinelli's celebrated
trumpet-song, no feat had ever attained such a success as this wonderful
note of Rubini's. It was received nightly with tremendous enthusiasm.
One night the tenor planted himself in his usual attitude, inflated his
chest, opened his mouth; but the note would not come. _Os liabet, sed
non clambit_. He made a second effort, and brought all the force of
his lungs into play. The note pealed out with tremendous power, but the
victorious tenor felt that some of the voice-making mechanism had given
way. He sang as usual through the opera, but discovered on examination
afterward that the clavicle was fractured. Rubini had so distended his
lungs that they had broken one of their natural barriers. Rubini's voice
was an organ of prodigious range by nature, to which his own skill had
added several highly effective notes. His chest range, it is asserted by
Fetis, covered two octaves from C to C, which was carried up to F in the
_voce di testa_. With such consummate skill was the transition to the
falsetto managed that the most delicate and alert ear could not detect
the change in the vocal method. The secret of this is believed to have
begun and died with Rubini. Perhaps, indeed, it was incommunicable, the
result of some peculiarity of vocal machinery.

From what has been said of Rubini's lack of dramatic talent, it may be
rightfully inferred, as was the fact, that he had but little power in
musical declamation. Rubini was always remembered by his songs, and
though the extravagance of embroidery, the roulades and cadenzas with
which he ornamented them, oftentimes raised a question as to his taste,
the exquisite pathos and simplicity with which he could sing when he
elected were incomparable. This artist was often tempted by his own
transcendant powers of execution to do things which true criticism
would condemn, but the ease with which he overcame the greatest vocal
difficulties excused for his admirers the superabundance of these
displays. In addition to the great finish of his art, his geniality
of expression was not to be resisted. He so thoroughly and intensely
enjoyed his own singing that he communicated this persuasion to his
audiences. Rubini would merely walk through a large portion of an opera
with indifference, but, when his chosen moment arrived, there were such
passion, fervor, and putting forth of consummate vocal art and emotion
that his hearers hung breathless on the notes of his voice. As the
singer of a song in opera, no one, according to his contemporaries, ever
equaled him. According to Chorley, his "songs did not so much create a
success for him as an ecstasy of delight in those that heard him. The
mixture of musical finish with excitement which they displayed has never
been equaled within such limits or on such conditions as the career
of Rubini afforded. He ruled the stage by the mere art of singing more
completely than any one--man or woman--has been able to do in my time."
Rubini died in 1852, and left behind him one of the largest fortunes
ever amassed on the stage.

Another member of the celebrated "Puritani" quartet was Signor
Tamburini. His voice was a bass in quality, with a barytone range of two
octaves, from F to F, rich, sweet, extensive, and even. His powers of
execution were great, and the flexibility with which he used his voice
could only be likened to the facility of a skillful 'cello performer. He
combined largeness of style, truth of accent, florid embellishment,
and solidity. His acting, alike in tragedy and comedy, was spirited
and judicious, though it lacked the irresistible strokes of spontaneous
genius, the flashes of passion, or rich drollery which made Lablache so
grand an actor, or, in a later time, redeemed the vocal imperfections of
Ronconi. An amusing instance of Taniburini's vocal skill and wealth of
artistic resources, displayed in his youth, was highly characteristic of
the man. He was engaged at Palermo during the Carnival season of 1822,
and on the last night the audience attended the theatre, inspired by the
most riotous spirit of carnivalesque revelry. Large numbers of them
came armed with drums, trumpets, shovels, tin pans, and other charivari
instruments. Tamburini, finding himself utterly unable to make his
ordinary _basso cantante_ tones heard amid this Saturnalian din,
determined to sing his music in the falsetto, and so he commenced in the
voice of a _soprano sfogato_. The audience were so amazed that they
laid aside their implements of musical torture, and began to listen with
amazement, which quickly changed to delight. Taniburini's falsetto was
of such purity, so flexible and precise in florid execution, that he was
soon applauded enthusiastically. The cream of the joke, though, was
yet to come. The poor prima donna was so enraged and disgusted by the
horse-play of the audience that she fled from the theatre, and the poor
manager was at his wit's end, for the humor of the people was such
that it was but a short step between rude humor and destructive rage.
Tamburini solved the problem ingeniously, for he donned the fugitive's
satin dress, clapped her bonnet over his wig, and appeared on the stage
with a mincing step, just as the rioters, impatient at the delay, were
about to carry the orchestral barricade by storm. Never was seen so
unique a soprano, such enormous hands and feet. He courtesied, one hand
on his heart, and pretended to wipe away tears of gratitude with the
other at the clamorous reception he got. He sang the soprano score
admirably, burlesquing it, of course, but with marvelous expression and
far greater powers of execution than the prima donna herself could have
shown. The difficult problem to solve, however, was the duet singing.
But this Tamburini, too, accomplished, singing the part of _Elisa_
in falsetto, and that of the _Count_ in his own natural tones. This
wonderful exhibition of artistic resources carried the opera to a
triumphant close, amid the wild cheers of the audience, and probably
saved the manager the loss of no little property.

But, greatest of all, perhaps the most wonderful artist among men that
ever appeared in opera, was Lablache. Position and training did much for
him, but an all-bounteous Nature had done more, for never in her most
lavish moods did she more richly endow an artistic organization. Luigi
Lablache was born at Naples, December 6, 1794, of mixed Irish and
French parentage, and probably this strain of Hibernian blood was partly
responsible for the rich drollery of his comic humor. Young Lablache was
placed betimes in the Conservatorio della San Sebastiano, and studied
the elements of music thoroughly, as his instruction covered not merely
singing, but the piano, the violin, and violoncello. It is believed
that, had his vocal endowments not been so great, he could have become
a leading _virtuoso_ on any instrument he might have selected. Having
at length completed his musical education, he was engaged at the age of
eighteen as _buffo_ at the San Carlino theatre at Naples. Shortly after
his _debut_, Lablache married Teresa Pinotti, the daughter of an
eminent actor, and found in this auspicious union the most wholesome
and powerful influence of his life. The young wife recognized the great
genius of her husband, and speedily persuaded him to retire from such a
narrow sphere. Lablache devoted a year to the serious study of singing,
and to emancipating himself from the Neapolitan patois which up to
this time had clung to him, after which he became primo basso at the
Palermitan opera. He was now twenty, and his voice had become developed
into that suave and richly toned organ, such as was never bestowed on
another man, ranging two octaves from E flat below to E flat above the
bass stave. An offer from the manager of La Scala, Milan, gratified
his ambition, and he made his _debut_ in 1817 as Dandini in "La
Cenerentola." His splendid singing and acting made him brilliantly
successful; but Lablache was not content with this. His industry
and attempts at improvement were incessant. In fact this singer was
remarkable through life, not merely for his professional ambition, but
the zeal with which he sought to enlarge his general stores of knowledge
and culture. M. Scudo, in his agreeable recollections of Italian
singers, informs us that at Naples Lablache had enjoyed the friendship
and teaching of Mme. Mericoffre (a rich banker's wife), known in Italy
as La Cottellini, one of the finest artists of the golden age of
Italian singing. Mme. Lablache, too, was a woman of genius in her way,
and her husband owed much to her intelligent and watchful criticism.
The fume of Lablache speedily spread through Europe. He sang in all the
leading Italian cities with equal success, and at Vienna, whither he
went in 1824, his admirers presented him with a magnificent gold medal
with a most flattering inscription.

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