History of the Opera from its Origin in Italy to the present Time

I am here reminded that both the Napoleons have proved themselves good and intelligent friends to the Opera. In the year eleven of the French republic, the First Consul and his two associates, the Minister of the French republic, the three Consuls, the Ministers of the interior and police, General Junot, the Secretary of State, and a few more officials occupied among them as many as seventeen boxes at the opera, containing altogether ninety-four places. Bonaparte had a report drawn up from which it appeared that the value of these boxes to the administration, was sixty thousand four hundred francs per annum, including fifteen thousand francs for those kept at his own disposition. Thereupon he added to the report the following brief, but on the whole satisfactory remark.

"A datter du premier nivose toutes ces loges seront payées par ceux qui les occupent."

The error in orthography is not the printers', but Napoleon Bonaparte's, and the document in which it occurs, is at present in the hands of M. Regnier of the Comédie Française.

A month afterwards, Napoleon, or at least the consular trio of which he was the chief, assigned to the Opera a regular subsidy of 600,000 francs a year; he at the same time gave it a respectable name. Under the Convention it had been entitled "Théâtre de la République et des Arts;" the First Consul called it simply, "Théâtre des Arts," an appellation it had borne before.⁹⁰

Hardly had the new theatre in the Rue Lepelletier opened its doors, when a singer of the highest class, a tenor of the most perfect kind, made his appearance. This was Adolphe Nourrit, a pupil of Garcia, who, on the 10th of September, 1821, made his first appearance with the greatest success as "Pylade" in Iphigénie en Tauride. It was not, however, until Auber's Muette de Portici was produced in 1828, that Nourrit had an opportunity of distinguishing himself in a new and important part.

LA MUETTE DE PORTICI

La Muette was the first of those important works to which the French Opera owes its actual celebrity in Europe. Le Siège de Corinthe, translated and adapted from Maometto II., with additions (including the admirable blessing of the flags) written specially for the Académie, had been brought out eighteen months before, but without much success. Maometto II. was not one of Rossini's best works, the drama on which it was constructed was essentially feeble and uninteresting, and the manner in which the whole was "arranged" for the French stage, was unsatisfactory in many respects. Le Siège de Corinthe was greatly applauded the first night, but it soon ceased to have any attraction for the public. Rossini had previously written Il Viaggio a Reims for the coronation of Charles X., and this work was re-produced at the Academy three years afterwards, with several important additions (such as the duet for "Isolier" and the "Count," the chorus of women, the unaccompanied quartett, the highly effective drinking chorus, and the beautiful trio of the last act), under the title of le Comte Ory. In the meanwhile La Muette had been brought out, to be followed the year afterwards by Guillaume Tell, which was to be succeeded in its turn by Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable, Les Huguenots and Le Prophète, (works which belong specially to the Académie and with which its modern reputation is intimately associated), by Auber's Gustave III., Donizetti's la Favorite, &c.

La Muette de Portici had the great advantage of enabling the Académie to display all its resources at once. It was brought out with magnificent scenery and an excellent corps de ballet, with a première danseuse, Mademoiselle Noblet as the heroine, with the new tenor, Nourrit, in the important part of the hero, and with a well taught chorus capable of sustaining with due effect the prominent rôle assigned to it. For in the year 1828 it was quite a novelty at the French Opera to see the chorus taking part in the general action of the drama.

LA MUETTE DE PORTICI

If we compare La Muette with the "Grand Operas" produced subsequently at the Académie, we find that it differs from them all in some important respects. In the former, instead of a prima donna we have a prima ballerina in the principal female part. Of course the concerted pieces suffer by this, or rather the number of concerted pieces is diminished, and to the same cause may, perhaps, be attributed the absence of finales in La Muette. It chiefly owed its success (which is still renewed from time to time whenever it is re-produced) to the intrinsic beauty of its melodies and to the dramatic situations provided by the ingenious librettist, M. Scribe, and admirably taken advantage of by the composer. But the part of Fenella had also great attractions for those unmusical persons who are found in almost every audience in England and France, and for whom the chief interest in every opera consists in the skeleton-drama on which it is founded. To them the graceful Fenella with her expressive pantomime is no bad substitute for a singer whose words would be unintelligible to them, and whose singing, continued throughout the Opera, would perhaps fatigue their dull ears. These ballet-operas seem to have been very popular in France about the period when La Muette was produced, the other most celebrated example of the style being Auber's Le Dieu et la Bayadère. In the present day it would be considered that a prima ballerina, introduced as a principal character in an opera, would interfere too much with the combinations of the singing personages.

I need say nothing about the charming music of La Muette, which is well known to every frequenter of the Opera, further than to mention, that the melody of the celebrated barcarole and chorus, "Amis, amis le soleil va paraitre" had already been heard in a work of Auber's, called Emma; and that the brilliant overture had previously served as an instrumental preface to Le Maçon.

La Muette de Portici was translated and played with great success in England. But shameful liberties were taken with the piece; recitatives were omitted, songs were interpolated: and it was not until Masaniello was produced at the Royal Italian Opera that the English public had an opportunity of hearing Auber's great work without suppressions or additions.

The greatest opera ever written for the Académie, and one of the three or four greatest operas ever produced, was now about to be brought out. Guillaume Tell was represented for the first time on the 3rd of August, 1829. It was not unsuccessful, or even coldly received the first night, as has often been stated; but the result of the first few representations was on the whole unsatisfactory. Musicians and connoisseurs were struck by the great beauties of the work from the very beginning; but some years passed before it was fully appreciated by the general public. The success of the music was certainly not assisted by the libretto – one of the most tedious and insipid ever put together; and it was not until Rossini's masterpiece had been cut down from five to three acts, that the Parisians, as a body, took any great interest in it.

GUILLAUME TELL

Guillaume Tell is now played everywhere in the three act form. Some years ago a German doctor, who had paid four francs to hear Der Freischütz at the French Opera, proceeded against the directors for the recovery of his money, on the plea that it had been obtained from him on false pretences, the work advertised as Der Freischütz not being precisely the Der Freischütz⁹¹ which Karl Maria von Weber composed. The doctor might amuse himself (the authorities permitting) by bringing an action against the managers of the Berlin theatre every time they produce Rossini's Guillaume Tell– which is often enough, and always in three acts.

The original cast of Guillaume Tell included Nourrit, Levasseur, Dabadie, A. Dupont, Massol, and Madame Cinti-Damoreau. The singers and musicians of the Opera were enthusiastic in their admiration of the new work, and the morning after its production assembled on the terrace of the house where Rossini lived and performed a selection from it in his honour. One distinguished artist who took no part in this ceremony had, nevertheless, contributed in no small degree to the success of the opera. This was Mademoiselle Taglioni, whose tyrolienne danced to the music of the charming unaccompanied chorus, was of course understood and applauded by every one from the very first.

After the first run of Guillaume Tell, the Opera returned to La Muette de Portici, and then for a time Auber's and Rossini's masterpieces were played alternate nights. On Wednesday, July 3rd, 1830, La Muette de Portici was performed, and with a certain political appropriateness; – for the "days of July" were now at hand, and the insurrectionary spirit had already manifested itself in the streets of Paris. The fortunes of La Muette de Portici have been affected in various ways by the revolutionary character of the plot. Even in London it was more than once made a pretext for a "demonstration" by the radicals of William the Fourth's time. At most of the Italian theatres it has been either forbidden altogether or has had to be altered considerably before the authorities would allow it to be played. Strange as it may appear, in absolute Russia it has been represented times out of number in its original shape, under the title of Fenella.

FRENCH NATIONAL SONGS

We have seen that Masaniello was represented in Paris four days before the commencement of the outbreak which ended in the elder branch of the Bourbons being driven from the throne. On the 26th of July, Guillaume Tell was to have been represented, but the city was in such a state of agitation, in consequence of the issue of the ordonnances, signed at St. Cloud the day before, that the Opera was closed. On the 27th the fighting began and lasted until the 29th, when the Opera was re-opened. On the 4th of August, La Muette de Portici was performed, and created the greatest enthusiasm, – the public finding in almost every scene some reminder, and now and then a tolerably exact representation, of what had just taken place within a stone's throw of the theatre. La Muette, apart from its music, became now the great piece of the day; and the representations at the Opera were rendered still more popular by Nourrit singing "La Parisienne" every evening. The melody of this temporary national song, like that of its predecessor (so infinitely superior to it), "La Marseillaise" (according to Castil Blaze), was borrowed from Germany. France, never wanting in national spirit, has yet no national air. It has four party songs, not one of which can be considered truly patriotic, and of which the only one that possesses any musical merit, disfigured as it has been by its French adapters, is of German origin.

Nourrit is said to have delivered "La Parisienne" with wonderful vigour and animation, and to this and to Casimir Delavigne's verses (or rather to Delavigne's name, for the verses in themselves are not very remarkable) may be attributed the reputation which the French national song, No. 4,⁹² for some time enjoyed.

Guillaume Tell is Rossini's last opera. To surpass that admirable work would have been difficult for its own composer, impossible for any one else; and Rossini appears to have resolved to terminate his artistic career when it had reached its climax. In carrying out this resolution, he has displayed a strength of character, of which it is almost impossible to find another instance. Many other reasons have been given for Rossini's abstaining from composition during so many years, such as the coldness with which Guillaume Tell was received (when, as we have seen, its immediate reception by those whose opinion Rossini would chiefly have valued, was marked by the greatest enthusiasm), and the success of Meyerbeer's operas, though who would think of placing the most successful of Meyerbeer's works on a level with Guillaume Tell?

"Je reviendrai quand les juifs auront fini leur sabbat," is a speech (somewhat uncharacteristic of the speaker, as it seems to me), attributed to Rossini by M. Castil Blaze; who, however, also mentions, that when Robert le Diable was produced, every journal in Paris said that it was the finest opera, except Guillaume Tell, that had been produced at the Académie for years. It appears certain, now, that Rossini simply made up his mind to abdicate at the height of his power. There were plenty of composers who could write works inferior to Guillaume Tell, and to them he left the kingdom of opera, to be divided as they might arrange it among themselves. He was succeeded by Meyerbeer at the Académie; by Donizetti and Bellini at the Italian opera-houses of all Europe.

Rossini had already found a follower, and, so to speak, an original imitator, in Auber, whose eminently Rossinian overture to La Muette, was heard at the Académie the year before Guillaume Tell.

ROSSINI'S FOLLOWERS

I need scarcely remind the intelligent reader, that the composer of three master-pieces in such very different styles as Il Barbiere, Semiramide, and Guillaume Tell, might have a dozen followers, whose works, while all resembling in certain points those of their predecessor and master, should yet bear no great general resemblance to one another. All the composers who came immediately after Rossini, accepted, as a matter of course, those important changes which he had introduced in the treatment of the operatic drama, and to which he had now so accustomed the public, that a return to the style of the old Italian masters, would have been not merely injudicious, but intolerable. Thus, all the post-Rossinian composers adopted Rossini's manner of accompanying recitative with the full band; his substitution of dialogued pieces, written in measured music, with a prominent connecting part assigned to the orchestra, for the interminable dialogues in simple recitative, employed by the earlier Italian composers; his mode of constructing finales; and his new distribution of characters, by which basses and baritones become as eligible for first parts as tenors, while great importance is given to the chorus, which, in certain operas, according to the nature of the plot, becomes an important dramatic agent. I may repeat, by way of memorandum, what has before been observed, that nearly all these forms originated with Mozart, though it was reserved for Rossini to introduce and establish them on the Italian stage. In short, with the exception of the very greatest masters of Germany, all the composers of the last thirty or forty years, have been to some, and often to a very great extent, influenced by Rossini. The general truth of this remark is not lessened by the fact, that Hérold and Auber, and even Donizetti and Bellini (the last, especially, in the simplicity of his melodies), afterwards found distinctive styles; and that Meyerbeer, after Il Crociato, took Weber, rather than Rossini, for his model – the composer of Robert at the same time exhibiting a strongly marked individuality, which none of his adverse critics think of denying, and which is partly, no doubt, the cause of their adverse criticism.

ROSSINI'S RETIREMENT

What will make it appear to some persons still more astonishing, that Rossini should have retired after producing Guillaume Tell is, that he had signed an agreement with the Académie, by which he engaged to write three grand operas for it in six years. In addition to his "author's rights," he was to receive ten thousand francs annually until the expiration of the sixth year, and the completion of the third opera. No. 1 was Guillaume Tell. The librettos of Nos. 2 and 3 were Gustave and Le Duc d'Albe, both of which were returned by Rossini to M. Scribe, perhaps, with an explanation, but with none that has ever been made public. Rossini was at this time thirty-seven years of age, strong and vigorous enough to have outlived, not only his earliest, but his latest compositions, had they not been the most remarkable dramatic works of this century. If Rossini had been a composer who produced with difficulty, his retirement would have been more easy to explain; but the difficulty with him must have been to avoid producing. The story is probably known to many readers of his writing a duet one morning, in bed, letting the music paper fall, and, rather than leave his warm sheets to pick it up, writing another duet, which was quite different from the first. A hundred similar anecdotes are told of the facility with which Rossini composed. Who knows but that he wished his career to be measured against those of so many other composers whose days were cut short, at about the age he had reached when he produced Guillaume Tell? A very improbable supposition, certainly, when we consider how little mysticism there is in the character of Rossini. However this may be, he ceased to write operas at about the age when many of his immediate predecessors and followers ceased to live.⁹³

And even Rossini had a narrow escape. About the critical period, when the composer of Guillaume Tell was a little more than half way between thirty and forty, the Italian Theatre of Paris was burnt to the ground. This, at first sight, appears to have nothing to do with the question; but Rossini lived in the theatre, and his apartments were near the roof. He had started for Italy two days previously; had he remained in Paris, he certainly would have shared the fate of the other inmates who perished in the flames.

Meyerbeer is a composer who defies classification, or who, at least, may be classified in three different ways. As the author of the Crociato, he belongs to Italy, and the school of Rossini; Robert le Diable exhibits him as a composer chiefly of the German school, with a tendency to follow in the steps of Weber; but Robert, les Huguenots, le Prophète, l'Etoile du Nord, and, above all Dinorah, are also characteristic of the composer himself. The committee of the London International Exhibition has justly decided that Meyerbeer is a German composer, and there is no doubt about his having been born in Germany, and educated for some time under the same professor as Karl Maria Von Weber; but it is equally certain that he wrote those works to which he owes his great celebrity for the Académie Royale of Paris, and as we are just now dealing with the history of the French Opera, this, I think, is the proper place in which to introduce the most illustrious of living and working composers.

REHEARSALS

"The composer of Il Crociato in Egitto, an amateur, is a native of Berlin, where his father, a Jew, who is since dead, was a banker of great riches. The father's name was Beer, Meyer being merely a Jewish prefix, which the son thought fit to incorporate with his surname. He was a companion of Weber, in his musical studies. He had produced other operas which had been well received, but none of them was followed by or merited the success that attended Il Crociato." So far Mr. Ebers, who, in a few words, tells us a great deal of Meyerbeer's early career. The said Crociato, written for Venice, in 1824, was afterwards produced at the Italian Opera of Paris in 1825, six years before Robert le Diable was brought out at the Académie. In the summer of 1825, a few months before its production in Paris, it was modified in London, and Mr. Ebers informs us that the getting up of the opera, to which nine months were devoted at the Théâtre Italien, occupied at the King's Theatre only one. Such rapid feats are familiar enough to our operatic managers and musical conductors. But it must be remembered that a first performance in England is very often less perfect than a dress rehearsal in France; and, moreover, that between bringing out an original work (or an old work, in an original style), in Paris, and bringing out the same work afterwards, more or less conformably to the Parisian⁹⁴ model, in London, there is the same difference as between composing a picture and merely copying one. No singers and musicians read better than those of the French Académie, and it is a terrible mistake to suppose that so much time is required at that theatre for the production of a grand opera on account of any difficulty in making the artistes acquainted with their parts. Guillaume Tell was many months in rehearsal, but the orchestra played the overture at first sight in a manner which astonished and delighted Rossini. The great, and I may add, the inevitable fault of our system of management in England is that it is impossible to procure for a new opera a sufficient number of rehearsals before it is publicly produced. It is surprising how few "repetitions" suffice, but they would not suffice if the same perfection was thought necessary on the first night which is obtained at the Paris and Berlin Operas, and which, in London, in the case of very difficult, elaborate works, is not reached until after several representations.

However, Il Crociato was brought out in London after a month's rehearsal. The manager left the musical direction almost entirely in the hands of Velluti, who had already superintended its production at Venice, and Florence, and who was engaged, as a matter of course, for the principal part written specially for him. The opera (of which the cast included, besides Velluti, Mademoiselle Garcia, Madame Caradori and Crivelli the tenor) was very successful, and was performed ten nights without intermission when the "run" was brought to a termination by the closing of the theatre. The following account of the music by Lord Mount Edgcumbe, shows the sort of impression it made upon the old amateurs of the period.

MEYERBEER'S CROCIATO

It was "quite of the new school, but not copied from its founder, Rossini; original, odd, flighty, and it might even be termed fantastic, but at times beautiful; here and there most delightful melodies and harmonies occurred, but it was unequal, solos were as rare as in all the modern operas, but the numerous concerted pieces much shorter and far less noisy than Rossini's, consisting chiefly of duets and terzettos, with but few choruses and no overwhelming accompaniments. Indeed, Meyerbeer has rather gone into the contrary extreme, the instrumental parts being frequently so slight as to be almost meagre, while he has sought to produce new and striking effects from the voices alone."

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 principal 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 principal 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 début; 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 Edgcumbe 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 assurances of support that the manager ventured to engage him for the remainder of the season."

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 Edgcumbe 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 opéra comique, entitled 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 "Théâtre 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 Académie. 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 illustration, 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.

ROBERT LE DIABLE

If Robert le Diable had been produced at the Opéra Comique, in the form in which it was originally conceived, the many points of resemblance it presents to Der Freischütz would have struck every one. Meyerbeer seems to have determined to write a romantic semi-fantastic legendary opera, like Der Freischütz, 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 class as Der Freischütz; and it would have been looked upon as quite of that class, had it been produced, like Der Freischütz, with spoken dialogue, and with the popular characters more in relief.

Robert le Diable, converted into a grand opera, was produced at the Académie, on the 21st of November, 1831. Dr. Véron, in his "Mémoires d'un Bourgeois de Paris," has given a most interesting account of all the circumstances which attended the rehearsals and first representation of this celebrated work. Dr. Véron had just undertaken the management of the Académie; 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 Levasseur were the "Alice" and the "Bertram." In the pas de cinq of the second act, Noblet, 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 scène, 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 principal parts sustained, as in Paris, by Nourrit, Levasseur, and Madame Damoreau. The part of "Alice" appears to have been given to Mademoiselle de Méric. 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.