Chapter 8

"When the incomparable Mme. Mara took leave of me on her return to the Continent," says Dr. Kitchener, "I could not help expressing my regret that she had not taken my advice to publish those songs of Handel (her matchless performance of which gained her that undisputed preeminence which she enjoyed), with the embellishments, etc., with which she enriched them. This inimitable singer replied, 'Indeed, my good friend, you attribute my success to a very different source than the real one. It was not what I did, but the manner in which I did it. I could sing six simple notes and produce every effect I could wish; another singer may sing those very same notes with very different effect. I am sure it was to my expression of the words that I owe everything. People have often said to me, "Madame Mara, why do you not introduce more pretty things, and passages, and graces in your singing?" I say, "These pretty things are very pretty, to be sure, but the proper expression of the words and the music is a great deal better."' This and her extraordinary industry were the secrets of her undisputed sovereignty. She told me that when she was encored in a song, which she very often was, on her return home she seldom retired to rest without first inventing a new cadence for the next performance of it. Here is an example for young singers!"

Mme. Mara continued to sing for many years in different cities of Europe, though the recollections and traditions of her marvelous prime were more attractive than the then active powers of her voice. But her consummate art never deserted her, in spite of the fact that her voice became more and more a wreck. She appeared in public occasionally till her seventy-second year, when she retired to Cassel, her birthplace, where she died in 1833, at the age of eighty.

V.

Another of Mrs. Billington's most brilliant rivals and contemporaries was the lovely Giuseppa Grassini, a wayward, indolent, fascinating beauty, who had taken France and Italy by storm before she attempted to subdue the more obdurate and phlegmatic Britons. The daughter of a small farmer in Lombardy, the charm of her voice and appearance induced General Belgioso to pay the cost of her musical training, and at the age of nineteen she sprang into popularity at a bound with her _début_ at La Scala in 1794. In spite of the fact that she was associated with two of the greatest Italian singers of the time--Crescentini, one of the last of the male sopranos, and Marchesi--she became the cynosure of public admiration. She was surrounded by homage and flattery sufficient to have turned a more sedate temperament and wiser head than her own, and her name became mixed with some of the most piquant scandals of the period.

In spite of ignorance, indolence, and a caprice which she never attempted to control, Grassini was an exquisite artist; and, though dull and shallow intellectually in all matters apart from her profession, she was a most beautiful and fascinating woman. She mastered all the graces of her art, but could never give an intelligent reason for what she did. Her voice, originally a soprano, became under training a contralto of delicious quality, as well as of great volume and power, though not remarkable for extent. She excelled in the _cantabile_ style, and rarely attempted ornament, though what she did was always in perfect taste and proportion. Her dramatic instincts were remarkable, and as an interpreter of both heroic and the softer passions she speedily acquired a European reputation. Her figure was tall and commanding, her head noble, her hair and eyes of the deepest black, and her whole appearance a singular union of grace and majesty.

After the battle of Marengo, the presence of the youthful conqueror of Italy at Milan inspired that capital with a spasm of extraordinary gayety. The finest singers in Italy gathered to do honor to the rising sun of Napoleon's greatness. The French general was fascinated by the irresistible attractions of the prima donna, and asked for an introduction. Grassini's coquetry did not let the occasion slip. Las Cases has given a sketch of the interview, in which he tells us she reminded Napoleon that she "had made her _début_ precisely during the early achievements of the General of the Army of Italy." "I was then," said she, "in the full luster of my beauty and talent. I fascinated every eye and inflamed every heart. The young general alone was insensible to my charms, and yet he alone was the object of my wishes. What caprice--what singularity! When I possessed some value, when all Italy was at my feet, and I heroically disdained its admiration for one glance from you, I was unable to obtain it; and now, how strange an alteration! You condescend to notice me now when I am not worth the trouble, and am no longer worthy of you." Las Cases has not proved himself the most veracious of chroniclers in more important matters, and we may be permitted to doubt the truth of this speech as coming from the mouth of a woman extraordinarily beautiful and not less vain. But at all events Grassini accompanied the French general to Paris, ambitious to play the _rôle_ of Cleopatra to this modern Cæsar. Josephine's jealousy and dislike proved an obstacle difficult to meet, and this, in connection with the fact that the French opera did not prove suited to her style, made her first residence in Paris a short one, in spite of the brilliant success of her concerts. One of these was the crowning feature of the grand _fête_ given at the Invalides Church in honor of the battle of Marengo; and as Grassini sang before the bronzed veterans of the Italian campaign she seemed inspired. Circumstances, however, obliged her to leave France, laden with magnificent presents from Napoleon.

In November, 1801, the Italian prima donna was in Berlin, where she announced concerts which seem never to have taken place. In 1802 she returned to France, and Napoleon made her directress of the Opera in 1804. At first Josephine had permitted her to appear at her private concerts at the Tuileries, but she did not detest the beautiful singer less cordially than heretofore. It was whispered that the cantatrice did in reality seek to attract the attention of Napoleon, and that she turned her eyes fixedly toward the throne of the Dictator.

"I hear, madame, that our Grassini is a favorite with the great Napoleon," said Count Sommaglia to Josephine one morning. "Yes," answered the irate wife of the First Consul, hardly-able to disguise her spite, "the ridiculous vanity of the creature amuses us amazingly. Since she has been made directress of the Italian Opera, there is more intriguing going on among these gentry than there is with the diplomats: in the midst of a serious conversation, she will break out into a horse-laugh, throw herself on a sofa, and, fancying herself Semiramis on the throne of Nineveh, burst forth in a great style with 'Son Regina, e son amata!'" ("I am a queen, and I am beloved!") "One day," says Fouché, "Bonaparte observed that, considering my acknowledged ability, he was astonished I did not perform my functions better--that there were several things of which I was ignorant. 'Yes,' replied I, 'there certainly are things of which I was ignorant, but which I now know well enough. For instance, a little man, muffled in a gray cloak, and accompanied by a single servant, often steals out on a dark evening from a secret door of the Tuileries, enters a closed carriage, and drives off to Signora G------. This little man is yourself, and yet this fanciful songstress jilts you continually for Rode the fiddler.' The Consul answered not a word; he turned his back, rang, and immediately withdrew."

In 1804 Grassini was engaged to sing in London alternately with Mrs. Billington. At her first benefit she sang in conjunction with the English _diva_ in Winter's new opera, "Il Ratto di Proserpina," Billington as _Ceres_, and Grassini as _Proserpina_. The respective voices of the two singers were admirably fitted for the music of the _rôles_, each exquisite of its sort and inspired by the ambition of rivalry. The deep tones of the one combined with the bird-like notes of the other to produce a most thrilling effect. Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who had a prejudice for _bravura_ singing, said: "No doubt the deaf would have been charmed with Grassini, but the blind must have been delighted with Mrs. Billington": a malicious comment on the Italian singer, which this distinguished amateur, when in a less cynical mood, revoked by cordial admiration of Grassini's remarkable gifts both as vocalist and actress. Many interesting anecdotes are told of this singer while in London, one of which, related by Kelly, then stage-manager, illustrates the difficulties of operatic management. Mrs. Billington was too sick to sing on one of her own nights, and Grassini was implored to take her place. But she obstinately refused to make the change, until the cunning Irishman resorted to a trick. He called on her in the morning, and began talking carelessly on the subject. "My dear Grassini," said he, in an off-hand way, "as manager I ought to prevail upon you to perform; but as a performer myself, I enter entirely into your feelings, and think you perfectly right not to sing out of your turn. The Saturday is yours; but what I say to you I trust you will not repeat to Mr. Goold, as it might be of serious injury to me." "Depend upon it, my dear Kelly," answered Grassini, "I will not; I look upon you, by what you have just said, to be my sincere friend." As he was leaving the room, he turned, as with a sudden thought. "To be sure, it is rather unlucky you do not sing to-night, for this morning a message came from the Lord Chamberlain's office to announce the Queen's intention to come _incognita_, accompanied by the princesses, purposely to see you perform; and a large _grillée_ is actually ordered to be prepared for them, where they can perfectly see and hear without being seen by the audience; but I'll step myself to the Lord Chamberlain's office, say that you are confined to your bed, and express your mortification at disappointing the royal party." "Stop, Kelly," cried the cantatrice, all in a flutter; "what you now say alters the case. If her Majesty Queen Charlotte wishes to see 'La Vergine del Sole,' and to hear me, I am bound to obey her Majesty's commands. Go to Goold and say I _will_ sing." "When I went into her dressing-room after the first act," says Kelly, "her Majesty not having arrived, Grassini, suspicious that I had made up a trick to cajole her, taxed me with it; and when I confessed, she took it good-naturedly and laughed at her own credulity." The popularity of Grassini in London remained unabated during several seasons; and when she reengaged for the French opera, in 1808, it was to the great regret of musical London. Talma was a warm admirer of her dramatic genius, and he used to say that no other actress, not even Mars, Darval, or Duchesnois, possessed so expressive and mutable a face. The Grecian outline of her face, her beautiful forehead, rich black hair and eyebrows, superb dark eyes, "now flashing with tragedy's fiery passions, then softly languishing with love," and finally "that astonishing _ensemble_ of perfections which Nature had collected in her as if to review all her gifts in one woman--all these qualities together exercised on the spectator such a charm as none could resist. Pasta herself might have looked on and learned, when Grassini had to portray either indignation, grief, anger, or despair."

Her performance in "Romeo e Giulietta" was so fine that Napoleon sprang to his feet, forgetting his marble coldness, and shouted like a school-boy, while Talma's eyes streamed with tears; for, as the latter afterward confessed, he had never before been so deeply touched. Napoleon sent her a check for twenty thousand francs as a testimonial of his admiration, and to Crescentini he sent the order of the Iron Cross. Many years after, in St. Helena, the dethroned Cæsar alluded to this as an illustration of his policy. "In conformity with my system," observed he, "of amalgamating all kinds of merit, and of rendering one and the same reward universal, I had an idea of presenting the Cross of the Legion of Honor to Talma; but I refrained from doing this, in consideration of our capricious manners and absurd prejudices. I wished to make a first experiment in an affair that was out of date and unimportant, and I accordingly gave the Iron Crown to Crescentini. The decoration was foreign, and so was the individual on whom it was conferred. This circumstance was less likely to attract public notice or to render my conduct the subject of discussion; at worst, it could only give rise to a few malicious jokes. Such," continued the Emperor, "is the influence of public opinion. I distributed scepters at will, and thousands readily bowed beneath their sway; and yet I could not give away a ribbon without the chance of incurring disapprobation, for I believe my experiment with regard to Crescentini proved unsuccessful." "It did, sire," observed some one present. "The circumstance occasioned a great outcry in Paris; it drew forth a general anathema in all the drawing-rooms of the metropolis, and afforded full scope for the expression of malignant feeling. However, at one of the evening parties of the Faubourg St. Germain, a _bon mot_ had the effect of completely stemming the current of indignation. A pompous orator was holding forth in an eloquent strain on the subject of the honor that had been conferred on Crescentini. He declared it to be a disgrace, a horror, a perfect profanation, and inquired by what right Crescentini was entitled to such a distinction. Mme. Grassini, who was present, rose majestically from her chair, with a theatrical tone and gesture exclaiming, 'Et sa blessure, monsieur?' This produced a general burst of laughter, amid which Grassini sat down, embarrassed by her own success."

Mme. Grassini remained on the stage till about 1823 when, having lost the beauty of her voice, she retired to private life with a comfortable fortune, spending her last years in Paris. She died in 1850, in her eighty-fifth year, preserving her beauty and freshness in a marvelous degree. The effect of Grassini's singing on people of refined taste was even greater than the impression made on regular musicians. Thomas De Quincey speaks of her in his "Autobiographical Sketches" as having a voice delightful beyond all that he had ever heard. Sir Charles Bell thought it was "only Grassini who conveyed the idea of the united power of music and action. She did not act only without being ridiculous, but with an effect equal to Mrs. Siddons. The 'O Dio' of Mrs. Billington was a bar of music, but in the strange, almost unnatural voice of Grassini, it went to the soul." Elsewhere he speaks of "her dignity, truth, and affecting simplicity."

VI.

About the time of Mara's departure from England Mrs. Billington was wonderfully popular. No fashionable concert was complete without her, and the constant demand for her services enabled her to fix her own price. Her income averaged fifteen thousand pounds a year, and at one time she was reckoned as worth nearly one hundred thousand pounds. She spent her large means with a judicious liberality, and the greatest people in the land were glad to be her guests. She settled a liberal annuity on her father. Having no children, she adopted two, one the daughter of an old friend named Madocks, who afterward became her principal legatee. Her hospitality crowded her house with the most brilliant men in art, literature, and politics; and it was said that the stranger who would see all the great people of the London world brought together should get a card to one of Billington's receptions. Her affability and kindness sometimes got her into scrapes. An eminent barrister who was at her house one night gave her some advice on a legal matter, and sent in a bill for services amounting to three hundred pounds. Mrs. Billington paid it promptly, but the lawyer ceased to be her guest. As a hostess she was said to have been irresistibly charming, alike from her personal beauty and the witchery of her manners.

Her kindness and good nature in dealing with her sister artists Avere proverbial. When Grassini, who at first was unpopular in England, was in despair as to how she should make an impression, Mrs. Billington proposed to sing with her in Winter's opera of "Il Ratto di Proserpina," from which time dated the success of the Italian singer. Toward Mara she had exerted similar good will, ignoring all professional jealousies. Miss Parke, a concert-singer, was once angry because Billington's name was in bigger type. The latter ordered her name to be printed in the smallest letters used; "and much Miss Parke gained by her corpulent type," says the narrator. Lord Mount Edgcumbe tells us that the operas in which she specially excelled were "La Clemenza di Scipione," composed for her by John Christian Bach; Paesiello's "Elfrida"; "Armida," "Castore e Polluce," and others by Winter; and Mozart's "Clemenza di Tito." For her farewell benefit, when she quitted the stage, March 30, 1806, she selected the last-named opera, which had never been given in England, and existed only in manuscript form. The Prince of Wales had the only copy, and she played through the whole score on the pianoforte at rehearsal, to give the orchestra an idea of the music. The final performance was immensely successful, and the departing _diva_ sang so splendidly as to prove that it was not on account of failing powers that she withdrew from professional life. It is true that Mrs. Billington continued to appear frequently in concert for three years longer, but her dramatic career was ended. A curious instance of woman's infatuation was Mrs. Billington's longing to be reunited to her brutal husband; and so in 1817 she invited him to join her in England. Felican was too glad to gain fresh control over the victim of his conjugal tyranny, and persuaded her to leave England for a permanent residence in Italy. Mrs. Billington realized all her property, and with her jewels and plate, of which she possessed a great quantity, departed for the land of song, taking with her Miss Madocks. She paid a bitter penalty for her revived tenderness toward Felican, for the ruffian subjected her to such treatment that she died from the effects of it, August 25, 1818. In such an ignoble fashion one of the most brilliant and beautiful women in the history of song departed from this life.

ANGELICA CATALANI.

The Girlhood of Catalani.--She makes her _Début_ in Florence.--Description of her Marvelous Vocalism.--The Romance of Love and Marriage.--Her Preference for the Concert Stage.--She meets Napoleon in Paris.--Her Escape from France and Appearance in London.--Opinions of Lord Mount Edgcumbe and other Critics.--Anecdotes of herself and Husband.--The Great Prima Donna's Character.--Her Gradual Divergence from Good Taste in singing.--_Bon Mots_ of the Wits of the Day.--The Opera-house Riot.--Her Husband's Avarice.--Grand Concert Tour through Europe.--She meets Goethe.--Her Return to England and Brilliant Reception.--She sings with the Tenor Braham.--John Braham' s Artistic Career.--The Davides.--Catalani's Last English Appearance, and the Opinions of Critics.--Her Retirement and Death.

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, compass, 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 circumstances 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 passed 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 finishing 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.