PART III
ROSSINI’S FRENCH CAREER
CHAPTER I
A VISIT TO LONDON – ROSSINI AND GEORGE IV
ROSSINI until after his marriage never left Italy. But he then made up his mind to travel, and one journey leads naturally to another. The composer’s visit to Vienna procured him the invitation to Verona, and at Verona he was brought into contact with the ambassadors of all the principal Powers in Europe.
And it must not be thought that ambassadors did not occupy themselves very practically in those days with operatic matters. Mr. Ebers, in his “Seven Years of the King’s Theatre,” tells us that on one occasion the English ambassador at Paris exercised his influence to obtain the best artists from that city. The Baron de la Ferté was about the same time sent on a mission to London to reclaim some other artists, who had stayed beyond the period of leave granted to them by the Académie Royale; and a few years later it was through Prince Polignac, French ambassador at London, that Rossini’s engagement to direct the Italian Opera at Paris was effected.
It was at Bologna, immediately after his return from Verona, that Rossini received an invitation from the management of the King’s Theatre to pass the next season (from January to May, 1824) in London. A formal engagement was at the same time proposed to him, by which the services of himself as composer, and of his wife as singer, were secured.
The King’s Theatre was then in the hands of Mr. Ebers, who has left an interesting and instructive account of his operatic experience. The out-going manager, like all his predecessors from the beginning, had failed, and there was an execution in the theatre when Mr. Ebers undertook to re-open it for the season of 1821. The new director, either to give himself confidence or to inspire confidence in the subscribers and general public, prevailed upon five noblemen to form a “Committee of Superintendence;” but their duties do not seem to have been well defined, and all the responsibilities of management rested with Mr. Ebers.
Rossini must have had a good company to write for at the King’s Theatre. The singers engaged by Mr. Ebers, when he commenced his career as manager in 1821, were Madame Camporese, Madame Vestris, Madame Ronzi de Begnis; and MM. Ambrogetti, Angrisani, Begrez, and Curioni. Many if not all these artistes were doubtless re-engaged at the end of the first season, for we are told significantly enough that “it was considered successful though the manager lost money by it;” and in 1824 the company was further strengthened by the accession of Madame Pasta and Madame Catalani.
During his first “successful” season Mr. Ebers lost seven thousand pounds, when, by way of encouraging him, the proprietor, Mr. Chambers, increased his rent from three thousand one hundred and eighty pounds to ten thousand. Altogether from the beginning of 1821 to the end of 1827, Mr. Ebers dropped money regularly every year; the smallest deficit in the budget of any one season being that of the last, when the manager thought himself fortunate to escape with a loss of not quite three thousand pounds.
In England theatres do not receive “subventions” from the State; but in support of opera, if not of other forms of the drama, enterprising persons have always been found willing to lose from time to time a little fortune. As a consequence of this happy infatuation the Italian Opera in England, like England itself as a musical country, has always had an excellent name with foreign artistes; and Rossini did not err in anticipating for himself and wife a rich harvest from their united efforts during the London season of 1824.
The reputation of Rossini in England was immense with the general public and the great majority of dilettanti, though, as in Vienna and Paris, critics could be found to deny his merit. The objections to his music seem to have proceeded chiefly from persons who had become attached by inveterate habit to works of an older school. Some, too, may have complained of the constant preference given to his operas above those of all other composers, from mere professional jealousy.
Still there was no musician at our Italian Opera to play towards Rossini the part with which, as we shall afterwards see, Paer was credited in Paris; and if our English composers ever injured Rossini it was not by attacking him in print, nor by getting up intrigues against him, but by taking him under their patronage, and presenting him to the public with additions and adornments of their own.
“Tom” Cook, Mr. Rophino Lacy, Sir Henry Bishop, instead of undervaluing distinguished foreign composers in the French style, were in the habit of “adapting” and editing their works, introducing new airs into them, and furnishing them with new overtures – the old ones not being good enough.
However, at the King’s Theatre Rossini’s operas were produced in their original Italian form; and Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us that for many years after the first introduction of Rossini’s works into England, “so entirely did he engross the stage, that the operas of no other master were ever to be heard, with the exception only of those of Mozart; and of his, only ‘Don Giovanni’ and ‘Le Nozze de Figaro.’ Every other composer past and present was totally put aside, and these two alone named or thought of.”
Rossini then was at least admired in good company; but the admiration generally felt for him was not entertained by the author just mentioned. It has already been seen that Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who no doubt represented a number of old amateurs, the dilettanti of a past age, was by no means delighted with Rossini’s brilliant style, nor, above all, with his innovations in regard to form.
“The construction of these newly invented pieces,” he justly remarks, “is essentially different from the old. The dialogue,” he continues – with less justice – “which used to be carried on in recitative, and which in Metastasio’s operas is often so beautiful and interesting, is now cut up (and rendered unintelligible if it were worth listening to) into pezzi concertati, or long singing conversations, which present a tedious succession of unconnected, ever-changing motivos, having nothing to do with each other. Single songs are almost exploded. Even the prima donna, who would formerly have complained at having less than three or four airs allotted to her, is now satisfied with one trifling cavatina for a whole evening.”
The beauty of Lord Mount Edgcumbe’s criticism is that his bare facts, however absurdly he may qualify them, do in themselves possess a certain amount of truth. It is only his feelings and opinions that are erroneous. It is observable, too, that though he does not like the new composer himself, he never attempts to deny Rossini’s great success with the public.
Mr. Ebers is equally explicit as to the popularity of Rossini just at the time when he was expected in London. “Of all the operas,” he says, “produced from 1821 to 1828, nearly half were Rossini’s, or in exact numbers fourteen out of thirty-four;” and it must be remembered that the majority of these were constantly repeated, whereas most of the others were brought out only for a few nights and then laid aside.
The visit, then, of Rossini to London in 1824 was looked forward to by all the musical and fashionable society of London with great interest, and it doubtless had a happy effect on the subscription list at the King’s Theatre. On leaving Bologna Rossini took route to London through Paris, where he arrived with his wife at the beginning of November. He was received with much enthusiasm, though, as we shall afterwards see, some unavailing attempts were made to persuade the public that he was, after all, a very much over-rated man.
After remaining a month in Paris, whither he was to return a few months later, Rossini started for England, and after a very bad passage, arrived in London suffering from the combined effects of exhaustion and a particularly bad cold.
He had only been a few minutes in his apartments when Count Lieven, the Russian ambassador, was announced. The Count had called, on the part of the king, to say that his Majesty wished to see Rossini before any one else. It must be explained that Rossini had met the Countess Lieven at Verona, and it is to be presumed that she had recommended him to her husband.
The composer acknowledged this signal attention in becoming terms. The state of his health did not allow him to profit forthwith by the king’s invitation, but he promised to inform his Majesty as soon as he got better, and in the meanwhile to receive no visitors. He accordingly remained in the house, and denied himself to every one.
Three days afterwards, feeling better, and his cold having disappeared, Rossini started with Count Lieven for Brighton, and was presented to George IV. at the Pavilion.
His Majesty was playing at cards with a lady. He received Rossini very cordially, and invited him to take a hand at écarté, but the composer modestly declined, saying that he would rather not have so powerful an opponent. After a few minutes’ conversation, which seems to have left a very agreeable impression upon Rossini, the king asked him if he would like to hear his band, and taking him by the arm, conducted him to the concert-room.
When they reached the concert-room, the king said to Rossini that he would now hear a piece of music which would perhaps not be to his liking; “but,” he continued, “I have only chosen the first piece. After that the band will play whatever you wish.”
The first piece must have been more or less to Rossini’s taste, for it was the overture to the “Barber of Seville.” So, at least, says Mr. Ebers. M. Azevedo says it was the overture to “La Gazza Ladra;” at all events it was an overture by Rossini.
The maestro was pleased with the king’s attention, and seems to have thought the performance really good. He had in the meanwhile found out from Mayer, the conductor of the orchestra, what were the king’s favourite pieces, and asked for them, pointing out during the execution their characteristic beauties. Finally, he said to Mayer that he had never heard “God save the King,” except on the piano, and that he should like to hear it performed by his excellent band. The king accepted this as a return compliment for the choice of the overture, and was evidently gratified.
Rossini used to say that Alexander I. of Russia, and George IV. of England, were the two most amiable crowned heads he had ever met; and he assured Ferdinand Hiller that “of the charm of George IV.’s personal appearance and demeanour it was scarcely possible to form an idea.”
During the progress of the concert in the music-hall of the Pavilion, George IV. presented Rossini to all the principal personages of the court; and the effect of this introduction from the sovereign himself was shown in the formation of a committee of lady patronesses, who organised two concerts at Almack’s for Rossini’s benefit at two guineas a ticket.
All the principal singers in London offered Rossini their services, and would not hear of remuneration. The orchestra, chorus, and copyists had alone to be paid, and the receipts were enormous. The only thing that displeased Rossini in the matter was the refusal of the highly exclusive committee to give him some tickets for the artists who had offered him their gratuitous assistance.
At the first concert Rossini produced a cantata, of which as little seems to be known in the present day as of the Opera which he had undertaken to write for the King’s Theatre. The cantata was called “Homage to Byron;” it was written for a single voice, chorus and orchestra, and Rossini himself sang the solo. At a second concert he joined the celebrated Madame Catalani in the duet “Se fiato” from “Il Matrimonio Segretto,” and both in the solo and in the duet was enthusiastically applauded.
Of course, too, Madame Rossini-Colbran took part in these concerts, the attractiveness of which was further increased by the co-operation of Madame Catalani, Madame Pasta, Curioni, the tenor, Placci, the bass, and all the principal singers of the King’s Theatre.
It is satisfactory to know that Rossini preserved some agreeable recollections of his visit to London. He told Ferdinand Hiller that until he went to England, he was never able to save a farthing; and it was something, after all, to gain there in four months more than he had gained in Italy during his whole career.
“From the beginning,” he said,30 “I had an opportunity of observing how disproportionately singers were paid in comparison with composers. If the composer got fifty ducats, the singer received a thousand. Italian operatic composers might formerly write heaven knows how many operas, and yet only be able to exist miserably. Things hardly went otherwise with myself until my appointment under Barbaja.”
“‘Tancredi’ was your first opera which really made a great hit, maestro; how much did you get for it?”
“Five hundred francs,” replied Rossini; “and when I wrote my last Italian opera, ‘Semiramide,’ and stipulated for five thousand francs, I was looked upon, not by the impresario alone, but by the entire public, as a kind of pickpocket.”
“You have the consolation of knowing,” said Hiller, “that singers, managers, and publishers have been enriched by your means.”
“A fine consolation,” replied Rossini. “Except during my stay in England, I never gained sufficient by my art to be enabled to put by anything; and even in London I did not get money as a composer, but as an accompanyist.”
“But still,” observed Hiller, “that was because you were a celebrated composer.”
“That is what my friends said,” replied Rossini, “to decide me to do it. It may have been prejudice, but I had a kind of repugnance to being paid for accompanying on the piano, and I have only done so in London. However, people wanted to see the tip of my nose, and to hear my wife. I had fixed for our co-operation at musical soirées the tolerably high price of fifty pounds – we attended somewhere about sixty such soirées, and that was after all worth having. In London, too, musicians will do anything to get money, and some delicious facts came under my observation there. For instance, the first time that I undertook the task of accompanyist at a soirée of this description, I was informed that Puzzi, the celebrated horn-player, and Dragonetti, the more celebrated contrebassist, would also be present. I thought they would perform solos; not a bit of it! They were to assist me in accompanying. ‘Have you, then, your parts to accompany these pieces?’ I asked them.
“‘Not we,’ was their answer; ‘but we get well paid, and we accompany as we think fit.’
“These extemporaneous attempts at instrumentation struck me as rather dangerous, and I therefore begged Dragonetti to content himself with giving a few pizzicatos, when I winked at him and Puzzi to strengthen the final cadenzas with a few notes, which, as a good musician, as he was, he easily invented for the occasion. In this manner things went off without any disastrous results, and every one was pleased.”
“Delicious,” exclaimed Hiller. “Still it strikes me that the English have made great progress in a musical point of view. At the present time a great deal of good music is performed in London – it is well performed, and listened to attentively – that is to say, at public concerts. In private drawing-rooms music still plays a sorry part, and a great number of individuals, totally devoid of talent, give themselves airs of incredible assurance, and impart instruction on subjects of which their knowledge amounts to about nothing.”
“I knew in London a certain X., who had amassed a large fortune as a teacher in singing and the pianoforte,” said Rossini, “while all he understood was to play a little, most wretchedly, on the flute. There was another man, with an immense connection, who did not even know the notes. He employed an accompanyist, to beat into his head the pieces he afterwards taught, and to accompany him in his lessons; but he had a good voice.”
CHAPTER II
ROSSINI’S OPERA FOR THE KING’S THEATRE
DURING that season of 1824, which, at the King’s Theatre was so “successful,” that Mr. Ebers lost only seven thousand pounds, there certainly was no lack of money among the amateurs of London, for Madame Catalani, between the months of January and May, realised as much as ten thousand pounds, while Rossini and his wife are said to have gained seven thousand pounds – just what Mr. Ebers lost.
The small gains of the composer, and the large gains of the singer, have often been contrasted. But what a contrast is offered by the singer’s large gains and the manager’s large losses! A book, entitled “Operatic Martyrs,” might be written, showing how many fortunes have been lost, and who have lost them, in carrying on the struggle so gallantly maintained in England during the last century and a half in support of Italian Opera.
In Handel’s time, when opera was first set going in this country, the king, the court, certain members of the aristocracy, would subscribe to give the unfortunate manager some little chance – to give him, at least, enough “law” to prevent his being run down before the end of the season. When the English nobility became tired of offering their very modest contributions in support of art, the manager still went on failing; but rich dilettante speculators were found ready to throw their treasures into the gulf – Mr. Caldas, a wine merchant; Mr. Ebers, a librarian; Mr. Chambers, a banker; Mr. Delafield, a brewer.
Indeed, nothing is more certain than that opera as a speculation must always fail in England, – except that fresh operatic speculators will always be found ready to fail again.
The reason of these constant collapses may be explained by simple arithmetic. The English managers, without a subvention and with heavy rent to pay, have to make their remuneration to artistes at least equal to that of foreign managers who have no rent to pay, and are in the receipt of a heavy subvention.
For instance, in Mr. Ebers’s time, the manager of the Italian Opera of Paris was in a better position than the manager of the Italian Opera in London by fifteen thousand pounds a season, or three thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds a month.
Mr. Ebers paid ten thousand pounds a year for the King’s Theatre – practically, ten thousand pounds for a term or season of four months.
The manager of the Italian Opera in Paris paid no rent, and received a subvention of one hundred and twenty thousand francs, or four thousand eight hundred pounds.
The expenses, then, of the English manager were greater than those of the French manager by nearly fifteen thousand pounds, and he had to spend at least as much as his competitor (in fact, rather more,) in salaries to singers and musicians.
The prices of admission were, it is true, considerably higher in London than in Paris, as they are now; but to induce the public to pay these prices, it has always been found necessary to engage an unusually large number of first-rate artistes for London. In fine, the English manager has to spend more money in salaries than the French manager; he has a heavy rent to pay, and he receives no assistance from the government. If Mr. Ebers, in the year 1824, had been in the same position as the manager of the Italian Opera in Paris, instead of losing seven thousand pounds, he would have gained about eight thousand.
The position of the English manager relatively to that of foreign managers (not only in Paris, but in St. Petersburgh, Berlin, Vienna, &c.) remains in principle the same. He is weighted in the race, and always ends by ruining himself, or his backers, or both. —Bankrupturus vos salutat is the fitting motto of the British impresario on entering the managerial arena.
However, it is not true, as M. Azevedo imagines, that the manager of the King’s Theatre was so unsuccessful the year of Rossini’s visit, that he could not get through the season. On the contrary, we have seen that Mr. Ebers got through triumphantly – with the loss of only seven thousand pounds. He did not, according to the announcement made to the public, bring out Rossini’s opera; but it is not at all certain that in this matter Rossini himself was not to blame.
Indeed, the history of the opera Rossini was to compose for London, and of which he certainly finished one act, is very imperfect: and we have an English and a French version of the matter, which are, in some points, quite contradictory.
M. Azevedo says, that the libretto was entitled “La Figlia dell’Aria;” that Rossini was to receive six thousand francs for the opera, in three instalments; that he completed and delivered the first act; that he was unable to get paid for it; and that the manuscript was still at the King’s Theatre when he quitted London, after empowering a friend to take proceedings for its recovery – in spite of which, it seems never afterwards to have been heard of.
But Mr. Ebers being manager of the King’s Theatre at the time, must have known something about the matter, and according to his version the opera was entitled “Ugo re d’Italia,” and the only defaulter was Rossini, who did not supply it according to his agreement.
Mr. Ebers says that Rossini had promised at the beginning of the season in January, to compose the work; but that after it had been repeatedly announced for performance, it appeared at the end of May that it was “only half finished.”
That is to say, the first act was finished, on the delivery of which, Rossini should have received his second instalment.
But Rossini had at this time, says Mr. Ebers, quarrelled with the management [cause not given], and accepted the post of director at the Italian Opera of Paris; and he adds, that the score of the opera, or rather of the first act, was deposited with Messrs. Ransom, the bankers. To finish the story, Messrs. Ransom, asked by the present writer for information on the subject, declare that they never had a score of Rossini’s in their possession.
It would appear, then, that an entire act by Rossini got somehow lost in London, and it will have been observed, that there is a discrepancy between the English and French versions of the affair as to the title of the missing work. M. Azevedo, M. Félix Clement, and the French biographers of Rossini, generally call it “La Figlia dell’Aria.” Mr. Ebers, who says it was actually announced for representation, calls it “Ugo re d’Italia.”
To make the matter still more confused, not “Ugo,” but “Ottone re d’Italia” appears in Zanolini’s catalogue as the title of one of Rossini’s complete operas, and this “Ottone re d’Italia” is said by M. Azevedo to be nothing more than “Adelaida di Borgogna” under another name.
The general result, then, of Rossini’s visit to London may be thus summed up. As a composer he did worse than nothing; for he wrote an entire act, which was lost, or which at least he was never able to recover. He also produced “Zelmira,” with his wife in the principal part; but the music, though greatly admired by connoisseurs, made no impression on the public.
The other feature in the result was the seven thousand pounds; but though this sum may have given Rossini a high idea of English liberality, the general inability to appreciate “Zelmira,” and the bungling or bad faith manifested in connection with his opera, “Ugone re d’Italia,” or “La Figlia dell’Aria,” – whichever it was, – must have made him think but poorly of England as an artistic country.