George T. Ferris - Great Singers, Second Series
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George T. Ferris >> Great Singers, Second Series
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As a singer and actor, Nourrit had one of the most creative and
originating minds of his age. He himself never visited the United
States, but his younger brother, Auguste, was a favorite tenor in New
York thirty years ago.
The part of _John of Leyden_ in "Le Prophete," whose gestation covered
many years of growth and change, was originally written for and in
consultation with Nourrit, just as that of Fides in the same opera was
remolded for and by suggestion of Pauline Viardot. Yet the opera did not
see the light until Nourrit's successor, Duprez, had vanished from the
stage, and his successor again, Roger, who, though a brilliant singer,
was far inferior to the other two in creative intellectuality, appeared
on the scene. Chorley asserts that Du-prez was the only artist he had
ever seen and heard whose peculiar qualities and excellences would
have enabled him to do entire musical and dramatic justice to the
arduous part of _John of Leyden_.... "I have never seen anything like a
complete conception of the character, so wide in its range of emotions;
and might have doubted its possibility, had I not remembered the
admirable, subtile, and riveting dramatic treatment of _Eleazar_ in 'La
Juive' (the _Shyloch_ of opera) by M. Duprez."
This artist may be also included as belonging largely to the sphere
of Pauline Viardot's art-life. Albert Duprez, the son of a French
performer, was born in 1806, and, like his predecessor Nourrit, was a
student at the Conservatoire. At first he did not succeed in operatic
singing, but, recognizing his own faults and studying the great models
of the day, among them Nourrit, whom he was destined to supplant, he
finally impressed himself on the public as the leading dramatic singer
of France. According to Fetis and Castil-Blaze, he never had a superior
in stage declamation, and the finest actors of the Comedie Francaise
might well have taken a lesson from him. His first great success, which
caused his engagement in grand opera, was the creation of _Edgardo_ in
"Lucia di Lammermoor" at Naples in 1835.
Two years later he made his _debut_ at the Academie in "Guillaume
Tell," and his novel and striking reading of his part on this occasion
contributed largely to his fame. He was a leading figure at this theatre
for twelve years, and was the first representative of many important
tenor roles, among which may be mentioned those of "Benvenuto Cellini,"
"Les Martyrs," "La Favorita," "Dom Sebastien," "Otello," and "Lucia."
Duprez was insignificant, even repellent in his appearance, but, in
spite of these defects, his tragic passion and the splendid intelligence
displayed in his vocal art gave him a deserved prominence. Duprez
composed many songs and romances, chamber-music, two masses, and eight
operas, and was the author of a highly esteemed musical method, which is
still used at the Conservatoire, where he was a professor of singing.
Another name linked with not a few of Mme. Viardot's triumphs is that
of Ronconi, a name full of pleasant recollections, too, for many of the
opera-goers of the last generation in the United States. There have been
only a few lyric actors more versatile and gifted than he, or who
have achieved their rank in the teeth of so many difficulties and
disadvantages. His voice was limited in compass, inferior in quality,
and habitually out of tune, his power of musical execution mediocre, his
physical appearance entirely without grace, picturesqueness, or dignity.
Yet Ronconi, by sheer force of a versatile dramatic genius, delighted
audiences in characters which had been made familiar to the public
through the splendid personalities of Tamburini and Lablache,
personalities which united all the attributes of success on the lyric
stage--noble physique, grand voice, the highest finish of musical
execution, and the actor's faculty. What more unique triumph can be
fancied than such a one violating all the laws of probability? Ronconi's
low stature and commonplace features could express a tragic passion
which could not be exceeded, or an exuberance of the wildest, quaintest,
most spontaneous comedy ever born of mirth's most airy and tameless
humor. Those who saw Ronconi's acting in this country saw the great
artist as a broken man, his powers partly wrecked by the habitual
dejection which came of domestic suffering and professional reverses,
but spasmodic gleams of his old energy still lent a deep interest to the
work of the artist, great even in his decadence. In giving some idea of
the impression made by Ronconi at his best, we can not do better than
quote the words of an able critic: "There have been few such examples
of terrible courtly tragedy in Italian opera as Signor Ronconi's
_Chevreuse_, the polished demeanor of his earlier scenes giving a
fearful force of contrast to the latter ones when the torrent of pent-up
passion nears the precipice. In spite of the discrepancy between all our
ideas of serious and sentimental music and the old French dresses, which
we are accustomed to associate with the _Dorantes_ and _Alcestes_ of
Moliere's dramas, the terror of the last scene when (between his teeth
almost) the great artist uttered the line--'_Suir uscio tremendo lo
sguardo figgiamo_'--clutching the while the weak and guilty woman by
the wrist, as he dragged her to the door behind which her falsity was
screened, was something fearful, a sound to chill the blood, a sight to
stop the breath." This writer, in describing his performance of the part
of the _Doge_ in Verdi's "I Due Foscari," thus characterizes the last
act when the Venetian chief refuses to pardon his own son for the crime
of treason, faithful to Venice against his agonized affections as a
father: "He looked sad, weak, weary, leaned back as if himself ready to
give up the ghost, but, when the woman after the allotted bars of noise
began again her second-time agony, it was wondrous to see how the old
sovereign turned in his chair, with the regal endurance of one who says
'I must endure to the end,' and again gathered his own misery into his
old father's heart, and shut it up close till the woman ended. Unable to
grant her petition, unable to free his son, the old man when left alone
could only rave till his heart broke. Signor Ronconi's _Doge_ is not to
be forgotten by those who do not regard art as a toy, or the singer's
art as something entirely distinct from dramatic truth."
His performance of the quack doctor _Dulcamara_, in "L'Elisir d'Amore,"
was no less amazing as a piece of humorous acting, a creation matched
by that of the haggard, starveling poet in "Matilda di Shabran" and
_Papageno_ in Mozart's "Zauberflote." Anything more ridiculous and
mirthful than these comedy _chef-d'ouvres_ could hardly be fancied. The
same critic quoted above says: "One could write a page on his _Barber_
in Rossini's master-work; a paragraph on his _Duke_ in 'Lucrezia
Borgia,' an exhibition of dangerous, suspicious, sinister malice such as
the stage has rarely shown; another on his _Podesta_ in 'La Gazza Ladra'
(in these two characters bringing him into close rivalry with Lablache,
a rivalry from which he issued unharmed); and last, and almost best of
his creations, his _Masetto_." Ronconi is, we believe, still living,
though no longer on the stage; but his memory will remain one of the
great traditions of the lyric drama, so long as consummate histrionic
ability is regarded as worthy of respect by devotees of the opera.
V.
Mme. Viardot's name is, perhaps, more closely associated with the music
of Meyerbeer than that of any other composer. Her _Alice_ in "Robert le
Diable," her _Valentine_ in "Les Huguenots," added fresh luster to her
fame. In the latter character no representative of opera, in spite of
the long bead-roll of eminent names interwoven with the record of this
musical work, is worthy to be compared with her. This part was for years
regarded as standing to her what _Medea_ was to Pasta, _Norma_ to Grisi,
_Fidelio_ to Malibran and Schroeder-Devrient, and it was only when she
herself made a loftier flight as _Fides_ in "Le Prophete" that this
special connection of the part with the _artist_ ceased. Her genius
always found a more ardent sympathy with the higher forms of music. "The
florid graces and embellishments of the modern Italian school," says a
capable judge, "though mastered by her with perfect ease, do not appear
to be consonant with her genius. So great an artist must necessarily be
a perfect mistress of all styles of singing, but her intellect evidently
inclines her to the severer and loftier school." She was admitted to be
a "woman of genius, peculiar, inasmuch as it is universal."
Her English engagement at the Royal Italian Opera, in 1848, began with
the performance of _Amina_ in "La Sonnambula," and created a great
sensation, for she was about to contest the suffrages of the public with
a group of the foremost singers of the world, among whom were Grisi,
Alboni, and Persiani. Mme. Viardot's nervousness was apparent to all.
"She proved herself equal to Malibran," says a writer in the "Musical
World," speaking of this performance; "there was the same passionate
fervor, the same absorbing depth of feeling; we heard the same tones
whose naturalness and pathos stole into our very heart of hearts; we saw
the same abstraction, the same abandonment, the same rapturous awakening
to joy, to love, and to devotion. Such novel and extraordinary passages,
such daring nights into the region of fioriture, together with chromatic
runs ascending and descending, embracing the three registers of the
soprano, mezzo-soprano, and contralto, we have not heard since the days
of Malibran." Another critic made an accurate gauge of her peculiar
greatness in saying: "Mme. Viardot's voice grows unconsciously upon you,
until at last you are blind to its imperfections. The voice penetrates
to the heart by its sympathetic tones, and you forget everything in it
but its touching and affecting quality. You care little or nothing for
the mechanism, or rather, for the weakness of the organ. You are no
longer a critic, but spellbound by the hand of genius, moved by the
sway of enthusiasm that comes from the soul, abashed in the presence of
intellect."
The most memorable event of this distinguished artist's life was her
performance, in 1849, of the character of _Fides_ in "Le Prophete." No
operatic creation ever made a greater sensation in Paris. Meyerbeer had
kept it in his portfolio for years, awaiting the time when Mme. Viardot
should be ready to interpret it, and many changes had been made from
time to time at the suggestion of the great singer, who united to her
executive skill an intellect of the first rank, and a musical knowledge
second to that of few composers. At the very last moment it is said that
one or more of the acts were entirely reconstructed, at the wish of the
representative of _Fides_, whose dramatic instincts were as unerring as
her musical judgment. No performance since that of Viardot, though the
most eminent singers have essayed the part, has equaled the first ideal
set by her creation from its possibilities.
In this opera the principal interest pivots on the _mother_. The
sensuous, sentimental, or malignant phases of love are replaced by
the purest maternal devotion. It was left for Mme. Viardot to add an
absolutely new type to the gallery of portraits on the lyric stage. We
are told by a competent critic, whose enthusiasm in the study of
this great impersonation did not yet quite run away with his judicial
faculty: "Her remarkable power of self-identification with the character
set before her was, in this case, aided by person and voice. The mature
burgher woman in her quaint costume; the pale, tear-worn devotee,
searching from city to city for traces of the lost one, and struck
with a pious horror at finding him a tool in the hands of hypocritical
blasphemy, was till then a being entirely beyond the pale of the
ordinary prima donna's comprehension--one to the presentation of which
there must go as much simplicity as subtile art, as much of tenderness
as of force, as much renunciation of woman's ordinary coquetries as
of skill to impress all hearts by the picture of homely love, desolate
grief, and religious enthusiasm." M. Roger sang with Mme. Viardot in
Paris, but, when the opera was shortly afterward reproduced in London,
he was replaced by Signor Mario, "whose appearance in his coronation
robes reminded one of some bishop-saint in a picture by Van Ryek or
Durer, and who could bring to bear a play of feature without grimace,
into scenes of false fascination, far beyond the reach of the clever
French artist, M. Roger." The production of "Le Prophete" saved the
fortunes of the struggling new Italian Opera House, which had been
floundering in pecuniary embarrassments.
The last season of Mme. Viardot in England was in 1858, during which she
sang to enthusiastic audiences in many of her principal characters,
and also contributed to the public pleasure in concert and the great
provincial festivals. The tour in Poland, Germany, and Russia which
followed was marked by a series of splendid ovations and the eagerness
with which her society was sought by the most patrician circles in
Europe.
Her last public appearance in Paris was in 1862, and since that time
Mme. Viardot has occupied a professional chair at the Conservatoire. In
private life this great artist has always been loved and admired for
her brilliant mental accomplishments, her amiability, the suavity of her
manners, and her high principles, no less than she has been idolized by
the public for the splendor of her powers as musician and tragedienne.
FANNY PERSIANI.
The Tenor Singer Tacchinardi.--An Exquisite Voice and Deformed
Physique.--Early Talent shown by his Daughter Fanny.--His Aversion
to her entering on the Stage Life.--Her Marriage to M. Persiani.--The
Incident which launched Fanny Persiani on the Stage.--Rapid Success as a
Singer.--Donizetti writes one of his Great Operas for her.--_Personnel_,
Voice, and Artistic Style of Mme. Persiani.--One of the Greatest
Executants who ever lived.--Anecdotes of her Italian Tours.--
First Appearance in Paris and London.--A Tour through Belgium with
Rubini.--Anecdote of Prince Metternich.--Further Studies of Persiani's
Characteristics as a Singer.--Donizetti composes Another Opera for
her.--Her Prosperous Career and Retirement from the Stage.--Last
Appearance in Paris for Mario's Benefit.
I.
Under the Napoleonic _regime_ the Odeon was the leading lyric theatre,
and the great star of that company was Nicholas Tacchinardi, a tenor in
whom nature had combined the most opposing characteristics. The
figure of a dwarf, a head sunk beneath the shoulders, hunchbacked, and
repulsive, he was hardly a man fitted by nature for a stage hero. Yet
his exquisite voice and irreproachable taste as a musician gave him a
long reign in the very front rank of his profession. He was so morbidly
conscious of his own stage defects that he would beg composers to write
for him with a view to his singing at the side scenes before entering
on the stage, that the public might form an impression of him by hearing
before his grotesque ugliness could be seen. Another expedient for
concealing some portion of his unfortunate figure was often practiced
by this musical Caliban, that of coming on the stage standing in a
triumphal car. But this only excited the further risibilities of his
hearers, and he was forced to be content with the chance of making his
vocal fascination condone the impression made by his ugliness.
At his first appearance on the boards of the Odeon, he was saluted with
the most insulting outbursts of laughter and smothered ejaculations
of "Why, he's a hunchback!" Being accustomed to this kind of greeting,
Tacchinardi tranquilly walked to the footlights and bowed. "Gentlemen,"
he said, addressing the pit, "I am not here to exhibit my person, but
to sing. Have the goodness to hear me." They did hear him, and when he
ceased the theatre rang with plaudits: there was no more laughter. His
personal disadvantages were redeemed by one of the finest and
purest tenor voices ever given by nature and refined by art, by his
extraordinary intelligence, by an admirable method of singing, an
exquisite taste in fioriture, and facility of execution.
Fanny Tacchinardi was the second daughter of the deformed tenor, born at
Rome, October 4, 1818, three years after Tacchinardi had returned again
to his native land. Fanny's passion for music betrayed itself in her
earliest lisps, and it was not ignored by Tacchinardi, who gave her
lessons on the piano and in singing. At nine she could play with
considerable intelligence and precision, and sing with grace her
father's ariettas and _duettini_ with her sister Elisa, who was not only
an excellent pianist, but a good general musician and composer. The girl
grew apace in her art feeling and capacity, for at eleven she took part
in an opera as prima donna at a little theatre which her father had
built near his country place, just out of Florence. Tacchinardi was,
however, very averse to a professional career for his daughter, in spite
of the powerful bent of her tastes and the girl's pleadings. He had been
_chanteur de chambre_ since 1822 for the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and
in the many concerts and other public performances over which he was
director his daughter frequently appeared, to the great delight of
amateurs. Fanny even at this early age had a voice of immense compass,
though somewhat lacking in sweetness and flexibility, defects which she
subsequently overcame by study and practice. As the best antidote to
the sweet stage poison which already began to run riot in her veins,
her father brought about an early marriage for the immature girl, and
in 1830 she was united to Joseph Persiani, an operatic composer of some
merit, though not of much note. She resided with her husband in her
father's house for several years, carefully secluded as far as possible
from musical influences, but the hereditary passion and gifts could
not be altogether suppressed, and the youthful wife quietly pursued her
studies with unbroken perseverance.
The incident which irretrievably committed her energies and fortunes to
the stage was a singular one, yet it is not unreasonable to assume that,
had not this occurred, her ardent predilections would have found some
other outlet to the result to which she aspired. M. Fournier, a rich
French merchant, settled at Leghorn, was an excellent musician, and
carried this recreation of his leisure hours so far as to compose an
opera, "Francesca di Rimini," the subject drawn from the romance of
"Silvio Pellico." The wealthy merchant could find no manager who would
venture to produce the work of an amateur. But he was willing and able
to become his own _impressario_, and accordingly he set about forming an
operatic troupe and preparing the scenery for a public representation
of his dearly beloved musical labor. The first vocalists of Italy, Mmes.
Pisaroni and Rasallima Caradori, contralto and soprano, were engaged at
lavish salaries, and on the appointed day of the first rehearsal they
all appeared except Caradori, whose Florentine manager positively
forbade her singing as a violation of his contract. M. Fournier was in
despair, but at last some one remembered Mme. Persiani, who was known
as a charming dilettante. Her residence was not many miles away from
Leghorn, and it was determined to have recourse to this last resort,
for it was otherwise almost impossible to secure a vocalist of talent
at short notice. A deputation of M. Fournier's friends, among whom were
those well acquainted with the Tacchinardi family, formed an embassy to
represent the urgent need of the composer and implore the aid of Mme.
Persiani. With some difficulty the consent of husband and father was
obtained, and the young singer made her _debut_ in the opera of the
merchant-musician. Mme. Persiani said in after-years that, had her
attempt been a successful one, it was very doubtful if she ever would
have pursued the profession of the stage. But her performance came
very near to being a failure. Her pride was so stung and her vanity
humiliated that she would not listen to the commands of husband and
father. She would become a great lyric artist, or else satisfy herself
that she _could_ not become one. The turning-point of her life had come.
She found an engagement at the La Scala, Milan, and she speedily laid a
good foundation for her future renown. She sang at Florence with
Duprez, and Donizetti, who was then in the city, composed his "Rosmonda
d'Inghilterra" for these artists. For two years there was nothing of
specially important note in Mme. Persiani's life except a swift and
steady progress. An engagement at Vienna made her the pet of that city,
which is fanatical in its musical enthusiasm, and we next find her back
again in Italy, singing greatly to the satisfaction of the public in
such operas as "Romeo e Giulietta," "Il Pirata," "La Gazza Ladra,"
and "L'Elisir d'Amore." Mme. Pasta was singing in Venice when Persiani
visited that city, and the latter did not hesitate to enter into
competition with her illustrious rival. Indeed, the complimentary
Venetians called her "la petite Pasta," though the character of her
talent was entirely alien to that of the great tragedienne of music.
Milan and Rome reechoed the voice of other cities, and during her stay
in Rome she appeared in two new operas, "Misantropia e Pentimento" and
"I Promessi Sposi." Among the artists associated with her during the
Roman engagement was Ronconi, who was then just beginning to establish
his great reputation. One of the most important events of her early
career was her association, in 1834, at the San Carlo, Naples, with
Duprez, Caselli, and La-blache. The composer Donizetti had always been
charmed with her voice as suiting the peculiar style of music in
which he excelled, and he determined to compose an opera for her. His
marvelous facility of composition was happily illustrated in this case.
The novel of "The Bride of Lammermoor" was turned into a libretto for
him by a Neapolitan poet, Donizetti himself, it is said, having written
the last act in his eagerness to save time and get it completed that
he might enter on the musical composition. The opera of "Lucia di
Lammermoor," one of the most beautiful of the composer's works, was
finished in little more than five weeks. The music of _Edgardo_ was
designed for the voice of M. Duprez, that of _Lucia_ for Mme. Persiani,
and the result was brilliantly successful, not only as suiting the
styles of those singers, but in making a powerful impression on the
public mind. Mme. Persiani never entered into any rivalry with those
singers who were celebrated for their dramatic power, for this talent
did not peculiarly stamp her art-work. But her impersonation of _Lucia_
in Donizetti's opera was sentimental, impassioned, and pathetic to a
degree which saved her from the reproach which was sometimes directed
against her other performances--lack of unction and abandon.
II.
The _personnel_ of Mme. Persiani could not be considered highly
attractive. She was small, thin, with a long, colorless face, and looked
older than her years. Her eyes were, however, soft and dreamy, her smile
piquant, her hair like gold-colored silk, and exquisitely long. Her
manner and carriage both on and off the stage were so refined and
charming, that of all the singers of the day she best expressed that
thorough-bred look which is independent of all beauty and physical
grace. "Never was there woman less vulgar, in physiognomy or in manner,
than she," says Mr. Chorley, describing Mme. Persiani; "but never was
there one whose appearance on the stage was less distinguished. She was
not precisely insignificant to see, so much as pale, plain, and anxious.
She gave the impression of one who had left sorrow or sickness at
home, and who therefore (unlike those wonderful deluders, the French
actresses, who, because they will not be ugly, rarely _look_ so) had
resigned every question of personal attraction as a hopeless one. She
was singularly tasteless in her dress. Her one good point was her hair,
which was splendidly profuse, and of an agreeable color."
As a vocalist, it was agreed that her singing had the volubility,
ease, and musical sweetness of a bird: her execution was remarkable
for velocity. Her voice was rather thin, but its tones were clear as a
silver bell, brilliant and sparkling as a diamond; it embraced a range
of two octaves and a half (or about eighteen notes, from B to F in alt),
the highest and lowest notes of which she touched with equal ease and
sweetness. She had thus an organ of the most extensive compass known in
the register of the true soprano. Her facility was extraordinary;
her voice was implicitly under her command, and capable not only of
executing the greatest difficulties, but also of obeying the most daring
caprices--scales, shakes, trills, divisions, fioriture the most dazzling
and inconceivable. She only acquired this command by indefatigable
labor. Study had enabled her to execute with fluency and correctness
the chromatic scales, ascending and descending, and it was by sheer hard
practice that she learned to swell and diminish her accents; to emit
tones full, large, and free from nasal or guttural sounds, to manage
her respiration skillfully, and to seize the delicate shades of
vocalization. In fioriture and vocal effects her taste was faultless,
and she had an agreeable manner of uniting her tones by the happiest
transitions, and diminishing with insensible gradations. She excelled
in the effects of vocal embroidery, and her passion for ornamentation
tempted her to disregard the dramatic situation in order to give way
to a torrent of splendid fioriture, which dazzled the audience without
always satisfying them.
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