George T. Ferris - Great Singers, Second Series
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George T. Ferris >> Great Singers, Second Series
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The characters expressing placidity, softness, and feminine grace, like
_Lucia, Amina,_ and _Zerli-na_, involving the sentimental rather than
the passionate, were best fitted to Mme. Persiani's powers as artist.
She belonged to the same school as Sontag, not only in character
of voice, but in all her sympathies and affinities; yet she was not
incapable of a high order of tragic emotion, as her performance of the
mad scene of "Lucia di Lammermoor" gave ample proof, but this form of
artistic expression was not spontaneous and unforced. It was only well
accomplished under high pressure. Escudin said of her, "It is not only
the nature of her voice which limits her--it is also the expression
of her acting, we had almost said the ensemble of her physical
organization. She knows her own powers perfectly. She is not ambitious,
she knows exactly what will suit her, and is aware precisely of the
nature of her talent." Although she attained a high reputation in some
of Mozart's characters, as, for example, _Zerlina_, the Mozart music was
not well fitted to her voice and tastes. The brilliancy and flexibility
of her organ and her airy style were far more suited to the modern
Italian than to the severe German school.
A charming compliment was paid by Malibran, who knew how to do such
things with infinite taste and delicacy, to Persiani, when the latter
lady was singing at Naples in 1835: while the representative of
_Lucia_ was changing her costume between the acts, a lady entered her
dressing-room, and complimented her in warmest terms on the excellence
of her singing. The visitor then took the long golden tresses floating
over Persiani's shoulders, and asked, "Is it all your own?" On being
laughingly answered in the affirmative, Malibran, for it was she, said,
"Allow me, signora, since I have no wreath of flowers to offer you, to
twine you one with your own beautiful hair." Mme. Persiani's artistic
tour through Italy, in 1835, culminated in Florence with one of those
exhibitions of popular tyranny and exaction which so often alternate
with enthusiasm in the case of audiences naturally ardent and
impressible, and consequently capricious. When the singer arrived at the
Tuscan capital, she was in such a weak and exhausted state that she did
not deem it prudent to sing. Her manager was, however, unbending,
and insisted on the exact fulfillment of her contract. After vain
remonstrances she yielded to her taskmaster, and appeared in "I
Puritani," trusting to the forbearance and kindness of her audience.
But a few notes had escaped her pale and quivering lips when the angry
audience broke out into loud hisses, marks of disapprobation which were
kept up during the performance. Mme. Persiani could not forgive this,
and, when she completely recovered her voice and energy a few weeks
after, she treated the lavish demonstrations of the public with the most
cutting disdain and indifference. At the close of her engagement, she
publicly announced her determination never again to sing in Florence, on
account of the selfish cruelty to which she had been subjected both by
the manager and the public. Persiani's fame grew rapidly in every part
of Europe. At Vienna, she was named chamber singer to the Austrian
sovereign, and splendid gifts were lavished on her by the imperial
family, and in the leading cities of Germany, as in St. Petersburg and
Moscow, the highest recognition of her talents was shown alike by court
and people.
It was not till 1837 that Mme. Persiani ventured to make her first
appearance in Paris, a step which she took with much apprehension, for
she had an exaggerated notion of the captious-ness and coldness of the
French public. When she stepped on the stage, November 7th, the night of
her _debut_ in "Sonnambula," she was so violently shaken by her emotions
that she could scarcely stand. The other singers were Rubini, Tamburini,
and Mlle. Allessandri, and the audience was of the utmost distinction,
including the foremost people in the art, literary, and social circles
of Paris. The _debutante_ was well received, but it was not until
she appeared in Cimarosa's "Il Matrimonio Segreto" that she was fully
appreciated. Rubini and Tamburini were with her in the cast, and the
same great artists participated also with her in the performance of
"Lucia," which set the final seal of her artistic won h in the
public estimate. She also appeared in London in the following year in
"Sonnambula." "It is no small risk to any vocalist to follow Malibran
and Grisi in a part which they both played so well," was the observation
of one critic, "and it is no small compliment to Persiani to say that
she succeeded in it." She had completely established herself as a
favorite with the London public before the end of the season, and
thereafter she continued to sing alternately in London and Paris for a
succession of years, sharing the applause of audiences with such artists
as Grisi, Viardot, Lablache, Tamburini, Rubini, and Mario.
A tour through Belgium and the Rhenish provinces, partly operatic,
partly concertizing, which she took with Rubini in the summer and fall
of 1841, was highly successful from the artistic point of view, and
replete with pleasant incidents, among which may be mentioned their
meeting at Wiesbaden with Prince Metternich, who had come with a crowd
of princes, ministers, and diplomats from the chateau of Johannisberg
to be present at the concert. At the conclusion of the performance, the
Prince took Rubini by the arm, and walked up and down the salon with him
for some time. They had become acquainted at Vienna. "My dear
Rubini," said Metternich, "it is impossible that you can come so near
Johannisberg without paying me a visit there. I hope you and your
friends will come and dine with me to-morrow." The following day,
therefore, Rubini, Mme. Persiani, etc., went to the chateau, so
celebrated for the produce of its vineyards, where M. Metternich and his
princess did the honors with the utmost affability and cordiality. After
dinner, Rubini, unasked, sang two of his most admired airs; and
the Prince, to testify his gratification, offered him a basket of
Johannisberg, "to drink my health," he laughingly said, "when you reach
your chateau of Bergamo." Rubini accepted the friendly offering, and
begged permission to bring Mme. Rubini, before quitting the north of
Europe, to visit the fine chateau. Metternich immediately summoned his
major-domo, and said to him, "Remember that, if ever M. Rubini visits
Johannisberg during my absence, he is to be received as if he were its
master. You will place the whole of the chateau at his disposal so long
as he may please to remain." "And the cellar, also?" asked Rubini. "The
cellar, also," added the Prince, smiling: "the cellar at discretion."
III.
The characteristics of Mme. Persiani's voice and art have already been
generally described sufficiently to convey some distinct impression of
her personality as a singer, but it is worth while to enter into some
more detailed account of the peculiar qualities which for many years
gave her so great a place on the operatic stage. Her acute soprano,
mounting to E flat _altissimo_, had in it many acrid and piercing notes,
and was utterly without the caressing, honeyed sweetness which, for
example, gave such a sensuous charm to the voice of Mme. Grisi. But she
was an incomparable mistress over the difficulties of vocalization. From
her father, Tacchinardi, who knew every secret of his art, she received
a full bequest of his knowledge. Her voice was developed to its utmost
capacity, and it was said of her that every fiber in her frame seemed
to have a part in her singing; there was nothing left out, nothing kept
back, nothing careless, nothing unfinished. So sedulous was she in the
employment of her vast and varied resources that she frequently rose
to an animation which, if not sympathetic, as warmth kindling warmth,
amounted to that display of conscious power which is resistless.
The perfection with which she wrought up certain scenes, such as the
"Sonnambula" _finale_ and the mad scene in "Lucia," judged from the
standard of musical style, was not surpassed in any of the dazzling
displays of the stage. She had the finest possible sense of accent,
which enabled her to give every phrase its fullest measure.
Groups of notes were divided and expressed by her with all the precision
which the best violinists put into their bowing. The bird-like case with
which she executed the most florid, rapid, and difficult music was so
securely easy and unfailing as to excite something of the same kind of
wonder with which one would watch some matchless display of legerdemain.
Another great musical quality in which she surpassed her contemporaries
was her taste and extraordinary facility in ornament. Always refined and
true in style, she showed a variety and brilliancy in her changes and
cadenzas which made her the envy of other singers. In this form of
accomplishment she was first among Italians, who, again, are first among
the singers of the world. Every passage was finished to perfection; and,
though there were other singers not inferior to her in the use of the
shake or the trill, yet in the attack of intervals distant from each
other, in the climbing up a series of groups of notes, ascending to the
highest in the scale, there was no singer of her own time or since who
could compete with her. Mr. Chorley tells us how convincingly these rare
and remarkable merits impressed themselves on him, "when, after a few
years' absence from our stage, Mme. Persiani reappeared in London, how,
in comparison with her, her younger successors sounded like so many
immature scholars of the second class." On her gala nights the spirit
and splendor of her execution were daring, triumphant, and irresistible,
if we can trust those who heard her in her days of greatness.
Moschcles, in his diary, speaks of the incredible difficulties which
she overcame, and compares her performance with that of a violinist,
while Mendelssohn, who did not love Italian music or the Italian
vocalization, said: "Well, I do like Mme. Persiani dearly. She is such
a thorough artist, and she sings so earnestly, and there is such a
pleasant _bitter_ tone in her voice."
Donizetti met Mme. Persiani again in Vienna in 1842, and composed for
her his charming opera, "Linda di Chamouni," which, with the exception
of the "Favorita" and "Lucia," is generally admitted to be his best.
In this opera our singer made an impression nearly equal to that in
"Lucia," and it remained afterward a great favorite with her, and one in
which she was highly esteemed by the European public.
The transformation of Covent Garden Theatre into a spacious and noble
opera-house in 1847, and the secession of the principal artists from Her
Majesty's Theatre, were the principal themes of musical gossip in the
English capital at that time. The artists who went over to the Royal
Italian Opera were Mines, Grisi and Persiani, Mlle. Alboni (then a
novelty on the English stage), and Signors Mario, Tamburini, Salvi,
Ronconi, Hovere, and Marini. M. Persiani was the director, and Signor
Costa the _chef d'orchestre_. Although the company of singers was a
magnificent combination of musical talent, and the presentation of opera
in every way admirable, the enterprise had a sickly existence for a
time, and it was not until it had passed through various vicissitudes,
and came finally into the hands of the astute Lumley, that the
enterprise was settled on a stable foundation.
From 1850 to 1858 Mme. Persiani sang with her usual brilliant success in
all the principal cities of Europe, receiving, for special performances
in which she was a great favorite, the then remarkable sum of two
hundred pounds per night. Her last appearance in England was in the
spring of 1858, when she performed in "I Puritani," "Don Pasquale,"
"Linda di Chamouni," and "Don Giovanni." In the following winter she
established her residence in Paris, with the view of training pupils for
the stage. Only once did she depart from her resolution of not singing
again in opera. This was when Signor Mario was about to take his benefit
in the spring of 1859. The director of the Theatre Italiens entreated
Persiani to sing _Zerlina_ to the _Don Giovanni_ of Mario, to which she
at last consented. "My career," she said, "began almost in lisping the
divine music of 'Don Giovanni'; it will be appropriately closed by the
interpretation of this _chef-d'ouvre_ of the master of masters, the
immortal Mozart." Mme. Persiani died in June, 1867, and her funeral
was attended by a host of operatic celebrities, who contributed to the
musical exercises of a most impressive funeral. Mme. Persiani, aside
from her having possessed a wonderful executive art in what may be
called the technique of singing, will long be remembered by students
of musical history as having, perhaps, contributed more than any other
singer to making the music of Donizetti popular throughout Europe.
MARIETTA ALBONI.
The Greatest of Contraltos.--Marietta Alboni's Early
Surroundings.--Rossini's Interest in her Career.--First Appearance on
the Operatic Stage.--Excitement produced in Germany by her Singing.--Her
Independence of Character.--Her Great Success in London.--Description
of her Voice and Person.--Concerts in Taris.--The Verdicts of the Great
French Critics.--Hector Berlioz on Alboni's Singing.--She appears in
Opera in Paris.--Strange Indifference of the Audience quickly turned to
Enthusiasm.--She competes favorably in London with Grisi, Persiani,
and Viardot.--Takes the Place of Jenny Lind as Prima Donna at Her
Majesty's.--She extends her Voice into the Soprano Register.--Performs
_Fides_ in "Le Prophete."--Visit to America.--Retires from the Stage.
I.
There was a time early in the century when the voice of Rosamunda
Pisaroni was believed to be the most perfect and delightful, not only
of all contraltos of the age, but to have reached the absolute ideal of
what this voice should be. She even for a time disputed the supremacy
of Henrietta Sontag as the idol of the Paris public, though the latter
great singer possessed the purest of soprano voices, and won no less
by her personal loveliness than by the charm of her singing. Pisaroni
excelled as much in her dramatic power as in the beauty of her voice,
and up to the advent of Marietta Alboni on the stage was unquestionably
without a rival in the estimate of critics as the artist who surpassed
all the traditions of the operatic stage in this peculiar line of
singing. But her memory was dethroned from its pedestal when the
gorgeous Alboni became known to the European public.
Thomas Noon Talfourd applied to a well-known actress of half a century
since the expression that she had "corn, wine, and oil" in her looks.
A similar characterization would well apply both to the appearance
and voice of Mlle. Alboni, when she burst on the European world in the
splendid heyday of her youth and charms--the face, with its broad, sunny
Italian beauty, incapable of frown; the figure, wrought in lines
of voluptuous symmetry, though the _embonpoint_ became finally too
pronounced; the voice, a rich, deep, genuine contralto of more than
two octaves, as sweet as honey, and "with that tremulous quality which
reminds fanciful spectators of the quiver in the air of the calm,
blazing summer's noon"; a voice luscious beyond description. To this
singer has been accorded without dissent the title of the "greatest
contralto of the nineteenth century."
The father of Marietta Alboni was an officer of the customs, who lived
at Casena in the Romagna, and possessed enough income to bestow an
excellent education on all his family. Marietta, born March 10, 1822,
evinced an early passion for music, and a great facility in learning
languages. She was accordingly placed with Signor Bagioli, a local
music-teacher, under whom she so prospered that at eleven she could read
music at sight, and vocalize with considerable fluency. Having studied
her solfeggi with Bagioli, she was transferred to the tuition of Mme.
Bertoletti, at Bologna. Here she had the good fortune to make the
acquaintance of Rossini, in whom she excited interest. Rossini gave
her some lessons, and expressed a high opinion of her prospects. "At
present," he said to some one inquiring about the young girl's talents,
"her voice is like that of an itinerant ballad singer, but the town
will be at her feet before she is a year older." It was chiefly through
Rossini's cordial admiration of her voice that Morelli, one of the
great _entrepreneurs_ of Italy, engaged her for the Teatro Communale
of Bologna. Here she made her first appearance as _Maffeo Orsini_, in
"Lucrezia Borgia," in 1842, Marietta then having reached the age of
twenty. She was then transferred to the La Scala, at Milan, where she
performed with marked success in "La Favorita." Rossini himself signed
her contract, saying, "I am the subscribing witness to your union with
renown. May success and happiness attend the union!" Her engagement was
renewed at the La Scala for four successive seasons. A tempting offer
from Vienna carried her to that musical capital, and during the three
years she remained there she won brilliant laurels and a fame which had
swiftly coursed through Europe; for musical connoisseurs visiting Vienna
carried away with them the most glowing accounts of the new contralto.
Her triumphs were renewed in Russia, Belgium, Holland, and Prussia,
where her glorious voice created a genuine _furore_, not less flattering
to her pride than the excitement produced at an earlier date by Pasta,
Sontag, and Malibran. An interesting proof of her independence and
dignity of character occurred on her first arrival in Berlin, before she
had made her _debut_ in that city.
She was asked by an officious friend "if she had waited on M------."
"No! who is this M------," was the reply. "Oh!" answered her inquisitor,
"he is the most influential journalist in Prussia." "Well, how does
this concern me?" "Why," rejoined the other, "if you do not contrive
to insure his favorable report, you are ruined." The young Italian drew
herself up disdainfully. "Indeed!" she said, coldly; "well, let it be as
Heaven directs; but I wish it to be understood that in _my_ breast the
woman is superior to the artist, and, though failure were the result,
I would never degrade myself by purchasing success at so humiliating a
price." The anecdote was repeated in the fashionable saloons of
Berlin, and, so far from injuring her, the noble sentiment of the young
_debutante_ was appreciated. The king invited her to sing at his court,
where she received the well-merited applause of an admiring audience;
and afterward his Majesty bestowed more tangible evidences of his
approbation.
It was not till 1847 that Marietta Alboni appeared in England. Mr.
Beale, the manager of the Royal Italian Opera, the new enterprise which
had just been organized in the revolutionized Covent Garden Theatre,
heard her at Milan and was charmed with her voice. Rumors had reached
England, of course, concerning the beauty of the new singer's voice, but
there was little interest felt when her engagement was announced. The
"Jenny Lind" mania was at its height, and in the company in which
Alboni herself was to sing there were two brilliant stars of the first
luster, Grisi and Persiani. So, when she made her bow to the London
public as _Arsace_, in "Semiramide," the audience gazed at her with a
sort of languid and unexpectant curiosity. But Alboni found herself the
next morning a famous woman. People were astounded by this wonderful
voice, combining luscious sweetness with great volume and capacity. It
was no timid _debutante_, but a finished singer whose voice rolled out
in a swelling flood of melody such as no English opera-house had heard
since the palmiest days of Pisaroni. Musical London was electrified,
and Grisi, who sang in "Semiramide," sulked, because in the great
duet, "Giorno d'orrore," the thunders of applause evidently concerned
themselves with her young rival rather than with herself. Another
convincing proof of her power was that she dared to restore the
beautiful aria "In si barbara," which had been hitherto suppressed for
lack of a contralto of sufficient greatness to give it full effect. In
one night she had established herself as a trump card in the manager's
hand against the rival house, an accession which he so appreciated that,
unsolicited, he raised her salary from five hundred to two thousand
pounds.
Mlle. Alboni's voice covered nearly three octaves, from E flat to C
sharp, with tones uniformly rich, full, mellow, and liquid. The quality
of the voice was perfectly pure and sympathetic, the articulation so
clear and fluent, even in the most difficult and rapid passages, that
it was like a performance on a well-played instrument. The rapidity
and certainty of her execution could only be compared to the dazzling
character of Mme. Persiani's vocalization. Her style and method were
considered models. Although her facility and taste in ornamentation were
of the highest order, Alboni had so much reverence for the intentions of
the composer, that she would rarely add anything to the music which she
interpreted, and even in the operas of Rossini, where most singers
take such extraordinary liberties with the score, it was Alboni's pride
neither to add nor omit a note. Perhaps her audiences most wondered at
her singular ease. An enchanting smile lit up her face as she ran the
most difficult scales, and the extreme feats of musical execution gave
the idea of being spontaneous, not the fruit of art or labor. Her
whole appearance, when she was singing, as was said by one enthusiastic
amateur, conveyed the impression of exquisite music even when the sense
of hearing was stopped.
Alboni's figure, although large, was perfect in symmetry, graceful and
commanding, and her features regularly beautiful, though better fitted
for the expression of comedy than of tragedy. The expression of her
countenance was singularly genial, vivacious, and kindly, and her
eyes, when animated in conversation or in singing, flashed with great
brilliancy. Her smile was bewitching, and her laugh so infectious that
no one could resist its influence.
Fresh triumphs marked Mlle. Alboni's London season to its close. In
"La Donna del Lago," "Lucrezia Borgia," "Maria de Rohan," and "La
Gazza Ladra" she was pronounced inimitable by the London critics. Mme.
Persiani's part in "Il Barbiere" was assumed without rehearsal and at
a moment's notice, and given in a way which satisfied the most exacting
judges. It sparkled from the first to the last note with enchanting
gayety and humor.
II.
M. Duponchel, the manager of the Opera in Paris, hastened to London to
hear Alboni sing, and immediately offered her an engagement. In October,
1847, she made her Parisian _debut_. Her first appearance in concert was
with Alizard and Barroilhet. "Many persons, artists and amateurs," said
Fiorentino, "absolutely asked on the morning of her _debut_, Who is
this Alboni? Whence does she come? What can she do?" And their
interrogatories were answered by some fragments of those trifling and
illusory biographies which always accompany young vocalists. There was,
however, intense curiosity to hear and see this redoubtable singer who
had held the citadel of the Royal Italian Opera against the attraction
of Jenny Lind, and the theatre was crowded to suffocation by rank,
fashion, beauty, and notabilities on the night of her first concert,
October 9th. When she stepped quietly on the stage, dressed in black
velvet, a brooch of brilliants on her bosom, and her hair cut _a la
Titus_, with a music-paper in her hand, there was just one thunder-clap
of applause, followed by a silence of some seconds. She had not one
acknowledged advocate in the house; but, when Arsace's cavatina, "Ah!
quel giorno," gushed from her lips in a rich stream of melodious sound,
the entire audience was at her feet, and the critics could not command
language sufficiently glowing to express their admiration.
"What exquisite quality of sound, what purity of intonation, what
precision in the scales!" wrote the critic of the "Revue et Gazette
Musicale." "What _finesse_ in the manner of the breaks of the voice!
What amplitude and mastery of voice she exhibits in the 'Brindisi'; what
incomparable clearness and accuracy in the air from 'L'ltaliana' and the
duo from 'Il Barbiere!' There is no instrument capable of rendering with
more certain and more faultless intonation the groups of rapid notes
which Rossini wrote, and which Alboni sings with the same facility and
same celerity. The only fault the critic has in his power to charge
the wondrous artist with is, that, when she repeats a morceau, we hear
exactly the same traits, the same turns, the same fioriture, which was
never the case with Malibran or Cinti-Damoreau."
"This vocal scale," says Scudo, speaking of her voice, "is divided into
three parts or registers, which follow in complete order. The first
register commences at F in the base, and reaches F in the _medium_. This
is the true body of the voice, whose admirable timbre characterizes and
colors all the rest. The second extends from G in the _medium_ to F on
the fifth line; and the upper part, which forms the third register, is
no more than an elegant superfluity of Nature. It is necessary next
to understand with what incredible skill the artist manages this
instrument; it is the pearly, light, and florid vocalization of
Persiani joined to the resonance, pomp, and amplitude of Pisaroni. No
words can convey an idea of the exquisite purity of this voice, always
mellow, always equable, which vibrates without effort, and each note of
which expands itself like the bud of a rose--sheds a balm on the ear,
as some exquisite fruit perfumes the palate. No scream, no affected
dramatic contortion of sound, attacks the sense of hearing, under the
pretense of softening the feelings."
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