Great Singers Volume I Part 5

About the year 1790 the convent of Santa Lucia at Gubbio, in the duchy of Urbino, was the subject of a queer kind of scandal. Complaint was made to the bishop that one of the novices sang with such extraordinary brilliancy and beauty of voice that throngs gathered to the chapel from miles around, and that the religious services were transformed into a sort of theatrical entertainment so entranced were all hearers by the charm of the singing, and so forgetful of the religious purport of these occasions in the fascination of the music. His Reverence ordered the lady abbess to abate the scandal; so the young Angelica Catalani was no longer permitted to sing alone, but only in concert with the other novices. Her voice at the age of twelve, when she began to sing, already possessed a volume, compa.s.s, and sweetness which made her a phenomenon.

The young girl, who had been destined for conventual life, studied so hard that she became ill, and her father, a magistrate of Sinigaglia, was obliged to take her home. Signor Catalani was a man of bigoted piety, and it was with great difficulty that he could be induced to forego the plan which he had arranged for Angelica's future. The idea of her going on the stage was repulsive to him, and only his straitened circ.u.mstances wrung from him a reluctant consent that she should abandon the thought of the convent and become a singer. From a teacher and composer of some reputation the young girl received preliminary instruction for two years, and from the hands of this master pa.s.sed into those of the celebrated Marchesi, who had succeeded Porpora as chief of the teaching _maestri_. This virtuoso had himself been a distinguished singer, and his finis.h.i.+ng lessons placed Angelica in a position to rank with the most brilliant vocalists of the age. It was somewhat unfortunate that she did not learn under Marchesi, who taught her when her voice was in the most plastic condition, to control that profuse luxuriance of vocalization which was alike the greatest glory and greatest defect in her art.

While studying, Angelica went to hear a celebrated cantatrice of the day, and wept at the vanis.h.i.+ng strains. "Alas!" she said with sorrowing _naivete_. "I shall never be able to sing like that." The kind prima donna heard the lamentation and asked her to sing; whereupon she said, "Be rea.s.sured, my child; in a few years you will surpa.s.s me, and I shall weep at your superiority." At the age of sixteen she succeeded in getting an engagement at La Fenice in Venice to sing in Mayer's opera of "Lodoiska" during the Carnival season. Carus, the director, accepted her in despair at the very last moment on account of the sudden death of his prima donna. What were his surprise and delight in finding that the _debutante_ was the loveliest who had come forward for years, and the possessor of an almost unparalleled voice. Of tall and majestic presence, a dazzling complexion, large beautiful blue eyes, and features of ideal symmetry, she was one to entrance the eye as well as the ear.

Her face was so flexible as to express each shade of feeling from grave to gay with equal facility; and indeed all the personal characteristics of this extraordinary woman were such as Nature could only have bestowed in her most lavish mood. Her voice was a soprano of the purest quality, embracing a compa.s.s of nearly three octaves, from G to F, and so powerful that no band could overwhelm its tones, which thrilled through every fiber of the hearer. Full, rich, and magnificent beyond any other voice ever heard, "it bore no resemblance," said one writer, "to any instrument, except we could imagine the tone of musical gla.s.ses to be magnified in volume to the same gradation of power." She could ascend at will--though she was ignorant of the rules of art--from the smallest perceptible sound to the loudest and most magnificent crescendo, exactly as she pleased. One of her favorite caprices of ornament was to imitate the swell and fall of a bell, making her tones sweep through the air with the most delicious undulation, and, using her voice at pleasure, she would shower her graces in an absolutely wasteful profusion. Her greatest defect was that, while the ear was bewildered with the beauty and tremendous power of her voice, the feelings were untouched: she never touched the heart. She could not, like Mara, thrill, nor, like Billington, captivate her hearers by a birdlike softness and brilliancy; she simply astonished. "She was a florid singer, and nothing but a florid singer, whether grave or airy, in the church, orchestra, or upon the stage." With a prodigious volume and richness of tone, and a marvelous rapidity of vocalization, she could execute brilliantly the most florid notation, leaving her audience in breathless amazement; but her intonation was very uncertain. However, this did not trouble her much.

In the season of 1798 she sang at Leghorn with Crivelli, Marchesi, and Mrs. Billington, and thence she made a triumphal tour through Italy.

From the first she had met with an unequaled success. Her full, powerful, clear tones, her delivery so pure and true, her instinctive execution of the most difficult music, carried all before her. Without much art or method, that superb voice, capable by nature of all the things which the most of even gifted singers are obliged to learn by hard work and long experience, was sufficient for the most daring feats.

The Prince Regent of Portugal, attracted by her fame, engaged her, with Crescentini and Mme. Gafforini, for the Italian opera at Lisbon, where she arrived in the year 1804.

The romance of Catalani's life connects itself, not with those escapades which furnish the most piquant tidbits for the gossip-monger, but with her marriage, which occurred at Lisbon. Throughout her long career no breath of scandal touched the character of this extraordinary artist.

Her private and domestic life was as exemplary as her public career was dazzling. One night, as Angelica was singing on the stage, her eyes met those of a handsome man in full French uniform, and especially distinguished by the diamond aigrette in his cap, who sat in full sight in one of the boxes. When she went off the stage she found the military stranger in the greenroom, waiting for an introduction. This was M. de Vallebregue, captain in the Eighth Hussars and _attache_ of the French emba.s.sy, who in after years received his highest recognition of distinction as the husband of the chief of living singers. They were both in the full flush of youth and beauty, and they fell pa.s.sionately in love with each other at first sight. When the lover asked Signor Catalani's consent, the latter frowned on the scheme, for the golden harvest was too rich to be yielded up lightly for the asking. He coldly refused, and bade the suitor think of his love as hopeless, though he found no objection to M. Vallebregue personally. Poor Angelica was thoroughly wretched, and day after day pined for her young soldier-lover, who had been forbidden the house by the father. For several days she was in such dejection that she could not sing, and the romance became the talk of Lisbon. One day an anonymous letter was received by Papa Catalani charging M. Vallebregue with being a proscribed man, who had committed some mysterious crime vaguely hinted at. Armed with this, her father sought to reason Angelica out of her pa.s.sion; but she clung to her lover with more eagerness, and was rewarded, to her great joy, by learning that the crime was only having fought a duel with and severely wounded his superior officer--an offense against discipline, which had been punished by temporary relief from military duty and a pleasant exile to Lisbon. The young beauty wept, sighed, pouted, and could be persuaded to sing only with much difficulty. All day long she said with deep mournfulness, "_Ma che bel uffiziale_" and pined with genuine heart-sickness. At last Vallebregue smuggled a letter to his discouraged mistress, in which he said in ardent words that no one had a right to separate them, and urged her to lend all her energies to her professional work, so that, being a favorite at court, she might induce the Prince to intercede in the matter. Angelica tried in vain to get an interview with the Prince, and found that he was at his country villa twenty miles away. Her accustomed energy was equal to the difficult. Calling a coach, she drove out to the royal villa. Trembling with emotion and fatigue, she threw herself at the feet of the good-natured Prince, whom she found in the garden, and told her story as soon as her timidity could find words. He could hardly resist the temptation to badinage which the lively Angelica had hitherto been so ready to meet with brilliant repartee, but the anxious girl could only weep and plead. It was such a genuine love romance that the Prince's heart was touched, and, after some argument and advice to return to her father, he yielded and gave his sanction to the match. He accompanied the now radiant Angelica back to Lisbon, and in an hour's time a ceremony in the court chapel made her Madame de Vallebregue, in presence of General Lannes, the French envoy, and himself. Signor Catalani was enraged at the turn which things had taken, but he could only acquiesce in the inevitable, especially as his daughter and her husband settled on him a country estate in Italy and a comfortable annuity for life.

Mme. Catalani returned to Italy with a reputation which made her name the first in everybody's mouth. Yet at this time her appearance on the dramatic stage always occasioned a feeling of pain, her excessive timidity and nervousness made her action spasmodic, and deprived her of that easy dignity which must be united with pa.s.sion and sentiment to produce a good artistic personation. It was in concert that her grand voice at this period shone at its best. Her intimate friends were wont to say that it was as disagreeable and agitating for her to sing in opera, as it was delightful in the concert-room; for here she poured forth her notes with such a genuine ecstasy in her own performance as that which seems to thrill the skylark or the nightingale. Though the circ.u.mstances of her marriage were of such a romantic kind, and she seems to have been deeply attached to her husband through life, M.

Valle-bregue appears to have been a stupid, ignorant soldier, and, as is common with those who make similar matrimonial speculations, to have had no eyes beyond helping his talented wife to make all the money possible and spend it with the utmost freedom afterward. Mme. Catalani made a brief visit to Paris in the spring of 1806, sang twice at St. Cloud, and gave three public concerts, each of which produced twenty-four thousand francs, the price being doubled for these occasions.

Napoleon was always anxious to make Paris the center of European art, and to a.s.semble within its borders all the attractions of the civilized world. He spared no temptation to induce the Italian cantatrice to remain. When she attended his commands at the Tuileries she trembled like a leaf before the stern tyrant, under whose gracious demeanor she detected the workings of an unbending purpose. "Ou allez vous, madame?"

said he, smilingly. "To London, sire," was the reply. "Remain in Paris.

I will pay you well, and your talents will be appreciated. You shall receive a hundred thousand francs per annum, and two months for _conge_.

So that is settled. Adieu, madame." Such was the brusque and imperious interview, which seemed to fix the fate of the artist. But Mme.

Catalani, anxious to get to London, to which she looked as a rich harvest-field, and regarding the grim Napoleon as the foe of the legitimate King, was determined not to stay. "When at Paris I was denied a pa.s.sport," she afterward said; "however, I got introduced to Talleyrand, and, by the aid of a handful of gold, I was put into a government boat, and ordered to lie down to avoid being shot; and wonderful to relate, I got over in safety, with my little boy seven months old."

II.

Catalani had already signed a contract with Goold and Taylor, the managers of the King's Theatre, Haymarket, at a salary of two thousand pounds a month and her expenses, besides various other emoluments. At the time of her arrival there was no compet.i.tor for the public favor, Gra.s.sini and Mrs. Billington having both retired from the stage a short time previously. Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe tells us: "The great and far-famed Catalani supplied the place of both, and for many years reigned alone; for she would bear no rival, nor any singer sufficiently good to divide the applause. It is well known," he says, "that her voice is of a most uncommon quality; and capable of bearing exertions almost superhuman.

Her throat seems endowed (as is remarked by medical men) with a power of expansion and muscular motion by no means usual; and when she throws out all her voice to the utmost, it has a volume and strength quite surprising; while its agility in divisions running up and down the scale in semi-tones, and its compa.s.s in jumping over two octaves at once, are equally astonis.h.i.+ng. It were to be wished that she was less lavish in the display of these wonderful powers, and sought to please more than to surprise; but her taste is vicious, her excessive love of ornament spoiling every simple air, and her greatest delight being in songs of a bold and spirited character, where much is left to her discretion or indiscretion, without being confined by the accompaniment, but in which she can indulge in _ad libitum_ pa.s.sages with a luxuriance and redundance no other singer ever possessed, or if possessing ever practiced, and which she carries to a fantastical excess."

Her London _debut_ was on the 15th of December, 1806, in Portogallo's opera of "La Semi-ramide," composed for the occasion. The music of this work was of the most ephemeral nature, but Catalani's magnificent singing and acting gave it a heroic dignity. She lavished all the resources of her art on it. In one pa.s.sage she dropped a double octave, and finally sealed her reputation "by running up and down the chromatic scale for the first time in the recollection of opera-goers.... It was then new, although it has since been repeated to satiety, and even noted down as an _obbligato_ division by Rossini, Meyerbeer, and others.

Rounds of applause rewarded this daring exhibition of bad taste." She had one peculiar effect, which it is said has never been equaled. This was an undulating tone like that of a musical gla.s.s, the vibrating note being higher than the highest note on the pianoforte. "She appeared to make a sort of preparation previous to its utterance, and never approached it by the regular scale. It began with an inconceivably fine tone, which gradually swelled both in volume and power, till it made the ears vibrate and the heart thrill. It particularly resembled the highest note of the nightingale, that is reiterated each time more intensely, and which with a sort of ventriloquism seems scarcely to proceed from the same bird that a moment before poured his delicate warblings at an interval so disjointed."

There are many racy anecdotes related of Catalani's London career, to which the stupid, avaricious, but good-natured character of M.

Vallebregue lent much of their flavor. Speaking of Mrs. Salmon's singing, he said with vehemence, "Mrs. Salmon, sare, she is as that,"

extending the little finger of his left hand and placing his thumb at the root of it; "but ma femme! Voila! she is that"--stretching out his whole arm at full length and touching the shoulder-joint with the other.

His stupidity extended to an utter ignorance of music, which he only prized as the means of gaining the large sums which his extravagance craved. His wife once complained of the piano, saying, "I can not possibly sing to that piano; I shall crack my voice: the piano is absurdly high." "Do not fret, my dear," interposed the husband, soothingly; "it shall be lowered before evening: I will attend to it myself." Evening came, and the house was crowded; but, to the consternation of the cantatrice, the pianoforte was as high as ever. She sang, but the strain was excessive and painful; and she went behind the scenes in a very bad humor. "Really, my dear," said her lord, "I can not conceive of the piano being too high; I had the carpenter in with his saw, and made him take six inches off each leg in my presence!"

When she made her engagement for the second season, M. Vallebrogue demanded such exorbitant terms that the manager tore his hair with vexation, saying that such a salary to one singer would actually disable him from employing any other artists of talent. "Talent!" repeated the husband; "have you not Mme. Cata-lani? What would you have? If you want an opera company, my wife with four or five puppets is quite sufficient." So, during the season of 1808, Catalani actually was the whole company, the other performers being literally puppets. She appeared chiefly in operas composed expressly for her, in which the part for the prima donna was carefully adapted to the display of her various powers. In "Semiramide" particularly she made an extraordinary impression, as it afforded room for the finest tragic action; and the music, trivial as it was, gave full scope for the extraordinary perfection of her voice. She also appeared in comic operas, and in Paesiello's "La Frascatana" particularly delighted the public by the graceful lightness and gayety of her comedy. But in them as in tragedies she stood alone and furnished the sole attraction. Her astonis.h.i.+ng dexterity seemed rather the result of the natural apt.i.tude of genius than of study and labor, and her most brilliant ornaments more the fanciful improvisations of the moment than the roulades of the composer.

Of her elocution in singing it is said: "She was articulate, forcible, and powerful; occasionally light, pleasing, and playful, but never awfully grand or tenderly touching to the degree that the art may be carried." Her marvelous strains seemed to distant auditors poured forth with the fluent ease of a bird; but those who were near saw that her efforts were so great as to "call into full and violent action the muscular powers of the head, throat, and chest." In the execution of rapid pa.s.sages the under jaw was in a continual state of agitation, "in a manner, too, generally thought incompatible with the production of pure tone from the chest, and inconsistent with a legitimate execution.

This extreme motion was also visible during the shake, which Catalani used sparingly, however, and with little effect."

In spite of the reputation for rapacity which the avarice and arrogance of her husband helped to create, Catalani won golden opinions by her sweet temper, liberality, and benevolence. Her purse-strings were always opened to relieve want or encourage struggling merit. Her gayety and light-heartedness were proverbial. It is recorded that at Bangor once she heard for the first time the strains of a Welsh harp, the player being a poor blind itinerant. The music sounding in the kitchen of the inn filled the world-renowned singer with an almost infantile glee, and, rus.h.i.+ng in among the pots and pans, she danced as madly as if she had been bitten by the tarantula, till, all panting and breathless, she threw the harper two guineas, and said she had never heard anything which gave her more delight. The claims on her purse kept pace with the enormous gains which seemed to increase from year to year. To her large charities and her extravagant habits of living, her husband added the heavy losses to which his pa.s.sion for the gaming table led him. It was said in after years that Mme. Catalani should have been worth not less than half a million sterling, so immense had been her gains. Mr. Waters, in a pamphlet published in 1807, says that her receipts from all sources for that year had been nearly seventeen thousand pounds. She frequently was paid two hundred pounds for singing "Rule Britannia," a song in which she became celebrated; and one thousand pounds was the usual _honorarium_ given for her services at a festival.

Mme. Catalani, in addition to her operatic performances, frequently sang at the Ancient Concerts and in oratorio; but she lacked the devotional pathos and tenderness which had given Mara and Mrs. Billington their power in sacred music. Yet she possessed strong religious sentiments, and always prayed before entering a theatre. Her somewhat ostentatious piety provoked the following scandalous anecdote: She was observed reading a prayer from her missal prior to going before the audience one night, and some one, taking the book from the attendant, found it to be a copy of Metastasio. This story is probably apocryphal, however, like many of the most amusing incidents related of artists and authors.

Certain it is that Catalani never shone in oratorio, or even in the rendering of dramatic pathos; but in bold and brilliant music the world has probably never seen her peer. To some the immense volume of her voice was not pleasant. Queen Charlotte criticised it by wis.h.i.+ng for a little cotton to put in her ears. Some wit, being asked if he would go to York to hear her, replied he could hear better where he was.

"Whenever I hear such an outrageous display of execution," said Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe, in his "Musical Reminiscences," "I never fail to recollect and cordially join in the opinion of a late n.o.ble statesman, more famous for his wit than for his love of music, who, hearing a remark on the extreme difficulty of some performance, observed that he wished it was impossible." It was this same n.o.bleman, Lord North, who perpetrated the following _mot_: Being asked why he did not subscribe to the Ancient Concerts, and reminded that his brother, the Bishop of Winchester, had done so, he said, "Oh, if I was as deaf as the good Bishop, I would subscribe too."

During the period of her operatic career in England, Catalani ill.u.s.trated the works of a wide variety of composers, both serious and comic; for her dramatic talents were equal to both, and there was no music which she did not master as if by inspiration, though she was such a bad reader that to learn a part perfectly she was obliged to hear it played on the piano. It was with great unwillingness that she essayed the music of Mozart, however, who had just become a great favorite in England. The strict time, the severe form, and the importance of the accompaniments were not suited to her splendid and luxuriant style, which disdained all trammels and rules. Yet she was the first singer who introduced "Le Nozze di Figaro" to the English stage. Besides _Susanna_ in "Le Nozze," she appeared as _Vitellia_ in "La Clemenza di t.i.to," a serious _role_; and both in acting and singing these interpretations were praised by the most intelligent connoisseurs--who had previously attacked the vicious redundancy of her style severely--as nearly matchless. Arch and piquant as the waiting-woman, lofty, impa.s.sioned, and haughty as the patrician dame of old Rome, she rendered each as if her sole talent were in the one direction. Tremmazani, a delightful tenor, who had just arrived in England, and possessed a voice of that rich, touching Cremona tone so rare even in Italy, it may be remarked in pa.s.sing, refused the part of Count Almaviva as lacking sufficient importance, and because he regarded it as beneath his dignity to appear in comic opera.

III.

The year 1813 was the last season of Catalani's regular engagement on the operatic stage. She continued to sing in "t.i.to" and "Figaro,"

but her princ.i.p.al pleasure was in the most extravagant and bizarre show-pieces, such, for example, as variations composed for the violin on popular airs like "G.o.d save the King," "Rule Britannia," "Cease your Funning." She carried her departure from the true limits of art to such an outrageous degree as to draw on her head the severest reprobation of all good judges, though the public listened to her wonderful execution with unbounded delight and astonishment. Toward the latter part of the season an extraordinary riot took place in consequence of Catalani's failure to appear two successive evenings. The managers were in arrears, and the _diva_ by the advice of her husband adopted this plan to force payment. There were mutterings of the thunder on the first non-appearance; but when on the following night Catalani was still absent, the storm broke. The opera which had been subst.i.tuted was half finished when the clamor drowned all the artistic noise behind the footlights. A military guard who had been called in to protect the stage from invasion were overpowered by a throng of gentlemen who leaped on from the auditorium, many of them men of high rank, and the guns and bayonets wrested from the soldiers' hands. Bloodshed seemed imminent; and had it not been for the moderation of the soldiers, who permitted themselves to be disarmed rather than fire, the result would have been very serious. The chandeliers and mirrors were all broken into a thousand pieces, and the musical instruments hurled around in the wildest confusion. Fiddles, flutes, horns, drums, swords, bayonets, muskets, operatic costumes, and stage properties generally were hurled in a heap on the stage. The gentlemen Mohocks, who signalized themselves on this occasion, did damage to the amount of nearly one thousand pounds, though it is said they made it up to the manager afterward by subscription. The theatre was closed for a week; and when it reopened, so great was the magnificent Italian's power over the audience that, though they came prepared to condemn, they received her with the loudest demonstration of applause. But still such conduct toward audiences, if followed up, could not but beget dissatisfaction and wrangling, and the growing impatience of her managers as well as the more judicious public could not be mistaken.

In spite of the fact that several brilliant singers were in England, and of the desire of the public that the splendid talents of Catalani should be appropriately supported, her jealousy and her exorbitant claims prevented such a desirable combination. She offered to buy the theatre and thus become sole proprietor, sole manager, and sole performer; but, of course, the proposition was refused, luckily for the enraged cantatrice, who would certainly have paid dearly for her experiment.

Catalani on closing her English engagement proceeded to Paris. She had been known as an ardent friend of the Bourbon exiles, and so, during the occupation of Paris by the Allies in 1814, she found herself in great favor. After the Hundred Days had pa.s.sed and the royal house seemed to be firmly seated, she received a government subvention of one hundred and sixty thousand francs and the privilege of the Opera. Catalani's pa.s.sion for absorbing everything within the radius of her own vanity and her jealousy of rivals operated against her success in Paris, as they had injured her in London; and she was obliged to yield up her privilege in the course of three years, with the additional loss of five hundred thousand francs of her own private fortune, and the loss of good will on the part of the Paris public.

Her grand concert tour through Europe, undertaken with the purpose of repairing her losses, was one of the most interesting portions of her life. Everywhere she was received with abounding enthusiasm, and the concerts were so thronged that there was rarely ever standing-room. She sang in nearly every important city on the Continent, was the object of the most flattering attention everywhere, and was loaded down with the costliest presents, jewels, medals, and testimonials, everywhere.

Sovereigns vied with each other in showing their admiration by gorgeous offerings, and her arrival in a city was looked on as a gala-day. In the midst, however, of these the most trying circ.u.mstances in which a beautiful and captivating woman could be placed, surrounded by temptation and flattery, her course was marked by undeviating propriety, and not the faintest breath tarnished her fair fame. Such an idol of popular admiration would be sure to exhibit an overweening vanity. When in Hamburg in 1819, M. Schevenke, a great musician, criticised her vocal feats with severity. Mme. Catalani shrugged her beautiful shoulders and called him "an impious man." "For," said she, "when G.o.d has given to a mortal so extraordinary a talent as I possess, people ought to applaud and honor it as a miracle; it is profane to depreciate the gifts of Heaven."

It was during this tour that she met the poet Goethe at the court of Weimar, where she was made an honored guest, as she had been treated everywhere in royal and princely circles. At a court dinner-party where she was present, the great German poet was as usual the cynosure of the company. His imperial and splendid presence and world-wide fame marked him out from all others. Catalani was struck by the appearance of this modern Olympian G.o.d, and asked who he was. To a mind innocent of all culture except such as touched her art merely, the name "Goethe"

conveyed but little significance. "Pray, on what instrument does he play?" "He is no performer, madame--he is the renowned author of 'Werter.'" "Oh yes, yes, I remember," she said; then turning to the venerable poet, she addressed him in her vivacious manner. "Ah! sir, what an admirer I am of 'Werter!'" Flattered by her evident sincerity and ardor, the poet bowed profoundly. "I never," continued she, in the same lively strain, "I never read anything half so laughable in all my life. What a capital farce it is, sir!" The poet, astounded, could scarcely believe the evidence of his ears. "'The Sorrows of Werter' a farce!" he murmured faintly. "Oh yes, never was anything so exquisitely ridiculous," rejoined Catalani, with a ringing burst of laughter. It turned out that she had been talking all the while of a ridiculous parody of "Werter" which had been performed at one of the vaudeville theatres of Paris, in which the sentimentality of Goethe's tale had been most savagely ridiculed. We can fancy what Goethe's mortification was, and how the fair _diva's_ credit was impaired at the court of Weimar by her ignorance of the ill.u.s.trious poet and of the novel whose fame had rung through all Europe.

Mme. Catalani returned to England in 1821, and found herself the subject of an enthusiasm little less than that which had greeted her in her earlier prime. Her concert tour extended through all the cities of the British kingdom. In this tour she was supported by the great tenor Braham, as remarkable a singer in some respects as Catalani herself, and probably the most finished artist of English birth who ever ornamented the lyric stage. Braham had been brilliantly a.s.sociated with the lyric triumphs of Mara, Billington, and Gra.s.sini, and had been welcomed in Italy itself as one of the finest singers in the world. When Catalani's dramatic career in England commenced Braham had supported her, though her jealousy soon rid her of so brilliant a compet.i.tor for the public plaudits. Braham's part in Catalani's English concert tour was a very important one, and some cynical wags professed to believe that as many went to hear the great tenor as to listen to Catalani.

The electrical effect of her singing was very well shown at one of these concerts. She introduced a song, "Delia Superba Roma," declamatory in its nature, written for her by Marquis Sampieri. The younger Linley, brother-in-law of Sheridan, who was playing in the orchestra, was so moved that he forgot his own part, and on receiving a severe whispered rebuke from the singer fainted away in his place. Mme. Catalani returned again on finis.h.i.+ng her English engagement to Russia, where she realized fifteen thousand guineas in four months. Concert-rooms were too small to hold her audiences, and she was obliged to use the great hall of the Public Exchange, which would hold more than four thousand people. At her last concert the Emperor and Empress loaded her with costly gifts, among them being a girdle of magnificent diamonds.

IV.

The career of John Braham must always be of interest to those who love the traditions of English music. The a.s.sociate and contemporary of a host of distinguished singers, and himself not least, his connection with the musical life of Cata-lani would seem to make some brief sketch of the greatest of English tenor-singers singularly fitting in this place. He was born in London in 1773, of Jewish parentage, his real name being Abrams, and was so wretchedly poor that he sold pencils on the street to get a scanty living. Leoni, an Italian teacher of repute, discovered by accident that he had a fine voice, and took the friendless lad under his tutelage. He appeared at the age of thirteen at the Covent Garden Theatre, the song "The Soldier tired of War's Alarms" being the first he sang in public. One of the papers spoke of him as a youthful prodigy, saying, "He promises fair to attain every perfection, possessing every requisite necessary to form a good singer." Braham at one time lost his voice utterly, and his prospect seemed a gloomy one, as his master Leoni also died about the same time. He now found a generous patron in Abraham Goldsmith, however, and became a professor of the piano, for which instrument he developed remarkable talent.

An Italian master named Rauzzini seems to have been of great service to Braham when he was about twenty years of age, and under him he fitted himself for the Italian stage, and secured an opening under Storace, father of the brilliant Nancy Storace, at Drury Lane. His success was so marked that the following season found him reengaged and his professional life well opened to him. Braham's ambition, however, would not permit him to rest on his laurels, or rest contented with the artistic fitness already acquired. He determined to find in Italy that finis.h.i.+ng culture which then as now made that country the Mecca of artists anxious to perfect their education. He visited Florence, Genoa, Milan, Naples, and Rome, studying under the most famous masters. Not content with his training in executive music, Braham studied composition and counterpoint under Isola, and laid the foundation for the knowledge which afterward gave him a place among notable English composers as well as singers.

While in England Braham had shown proof s of a transcendent talent. His singing both in oratorio and opera was of such a stamp as to place him in the van with the most accomplished Italian singers. With the added finish of method which he gained by his Italian studies, he made a most favorable impression in the various cities when he sang in Italy, and his name was freely quoted as being one of the very greatest living singers. The elder Davide, whose reputation at that time had no equal, even Crescentini being placed second to him, said on hearing him sing, "There are only two singers in the world, I and the Englishman." Braham had one great advantage over his rivals in this, that his knowledge of the science of music in all its most abstruse difficulties was thorough.

Skillful adept as he was in all the refinements of executive technique, his profound musical grasp and insight made all difficulties of interpretation perfect child's-play. Our readers will recall an ill.u.s.tration of Braham's readiness and quickness of resource in the anecdote of him told in connection with Mrs. Billington's life.

Refusing the most flattering offers from Italian impressarii, who were eager to retain him for a while in Italy, Braham returned to England in 1801, and for the most part during a number of years devoted himself to English opera. Though he had approved himself a brilliant master in the Italian school, his taste and talents also peculiarly fitted him--like Sims Reeves, who seems to have taken Braham for a model--for the simple and affecting ballad-music with which English opera is so characteristically marked. His only appearances in Italian opera in England after his return were in the seasons of 1804, 1805,1800, and 1816. These seasons were marked by the performance of the fine operas of Winter, of some of the masterpieces of Cimarosa, and by the first introduction into England of the music of Mozart, the "Clemenza di t.i.to," in which Mrs. Billington and Braham appeared, having been the earliest acquaintance of the English public with the greatest of the German operatic composers. The production of this opera was at the suggestion of George IV., then Prince of Wales, who had a ma.n.u.script score of the work, with instrumental parts, sent to him as a gift by the great Haydn several years before, as a memorial of the kindness shown by the Prince to the composer of the "Creation," when in London conducting the celebrated Salaman symphonic concerts. The characters of _Vittellia_ and _Cesto_ were splendidly performed by the two singers; but the Italian part of the company did not perform the difficult and exacting music _con amore_, neither were the audiences of that day trained up to the appreciation of the glorious music of Mozart which has obtained since that time.

Braham's career as a singer of English opera is that with which his glory in art is chiefly a.s.sociated. His first appearance was in a somewhat feeble work called the "Chains of the Heart," and this was succeeded by the "Cabinet," a production in which Braham composed all the music of his own part, both solo and the concerted portions in which he had to appear--a custom which he continued for a number of years.

Seldom has music been more popular than that in which Braham appeared, for he knew how to suit all the subtile qualities of his own voice.

Among the more celebrated operas in which he appeared, now unknown except by tradition, may be mentioned "Family Quarrels," "Thirty Thousand," "English Fleet," "Out of Place," "False Alarms," "Kars, or Love in a Desert," and "Devil's Bridge." As Braham grew older he attained a prodigious reputation, never before equaled in England. In theatre, concert-room, and church he had scarcely a rival; and whether in singing a simple ballad, in oratorio, or in the grandest dramatic music, the largeness and n.o.bility of his style were matched by a voice which in its prime was almost peerless. His compa.s.s extended over nineteen notes, and his falsetto from D to A was so perfect that it was difficult to tell where the natural voice ended. When Weber composed his opera "Oberon" for the English stage in 1826, Braham was the original _Sir Huon_.

Braham had made a large fortune by his genius and industry, the copyright on the many beautiful ballads and songs which he contributed to the musical treasures of the language amounting alone to a handsome competence. But, following the example of so many great artists, he aspired to be manager also. In conjunction with Yates, in 1831 he purchased the Colosseum in Regent's Park for forty thousand pounds, and five years afterward he spent twenty-six thousand pounds in building the St. James's theatre. These speculations were unfortunate, and Braham found himself compelled to renew his professional exertions at a period when musical artists generally think of retiring from the stage. He made a concert and operatic tour in America in 1840, and it was while playing with him in "Guy Manner-ing" that Charlotte Cushman, who then performed singing parts, conceived the remarkable _role_ of _Meg Merrlies_, which she made one of the most picturesque and vivid memories of the stage.

Francis Wemyss, in his "Theatrical Biography," refers to Braham's appearance at the National Theatre, Philadelphia: "Who that heard 'Jephthall's Rash Vow' could ever forget the volume of voice which issued from that diminutive frame, or the ecstasy with which 'Waft her, angels, through the skies' thrilled every nerve of the attentive listener? He ought to have visited the United States twenty years sooner, or not have risked his reputation by coming at all. Like Incledon, he was only heard by Americans when his powers of voice were so impaired as to leave them to conjecture what he had been, and mourn the wreck that all had once admired." Such an impression as this seems to have been common with the American public--an experience afterward in recent years repeated in the last visit of the once great Mario.

In private life Braham was much admired, and was always received in the most conservative and fastidious circles. As a man of culture, a humorist, and a raconteur, he was the life of society; and he will be remembered as the composer who has left more popular songs, duets, etc., than almost any other English musician. He died in 1856, after living to see his daughter Lady Walde-grave, and one of the most brilliant leaders of London high life.

The Davides, father and son, also belonged to the Catalani period, the elder having sung with her in Italy, and the younger in after years both in opera and concert. Giacomo Davide, the elder, whose prime was between 1770 and 1800, was p.r.o.nounced by Lord Mount Edgec.u.mbe the first tenor of his time, possessing a powerful and well-toned voice, great execution as well as knowledge of music, and an excellent style of singing. His son Giovanni, who became better known than himself, was his pupil. Though singing with a faulty method, Giovanni Davide had a voice of such magnificent compa.s.s and quality as to produce with it the most electrical effects. M. Edouard Bertin gives an interesting account of him in a letter from Venice dated 1823: "Davide excites among the dilletanti of this town an enthusiasm and delight which can hardly be conceived without having been witnessed. He is a singer of the new school, full of mannerism, affectation, and display, abusing like Martin his magnificent voice with its prodigious compa.s.s (three octaves comprised between four B flats). He crushes the princ.i.p.al motive of an air beneath the luxuriance of his ornamentation, which has no other merit than that of a difficulty conquered. But he is also a singer full of warmth, _verve_, expression, energy, and musical sentiment. Alone he can fill up and give life to a scene: it is impossible for another singer to carry away an audience as he does, and when he will only be simple he is admirable. He is the Rossini of song. He is the greatest singer I ever heard. Doubtless the way in which Garcia* plays and sings the part of _Otello_ is preferable, taking it all together, to that of Davide; it is pure, more severe, more constantly dramatic; but with all his faults Davide produces more effect, a great deal more effect.

There is something in him, I can not say what, which, even when he is ridiculous, entrances attention. He never leaves you cold, and when he does not move he astonishes you. In a word, before hearing him, I did not know what the power of singing really was. The enthusiasm he excites is without limit."

* The father of Mlle. Mulibran and Viardot-Garcia.

This remarkable singer died in St. Petersburg in 1851, being then manager of an Imperial Opera in that city of enthusiastic music-lovers.

V.