CHAPTER XI.

"MOSÈ IN EGITTO:" REFORMS IN OPERA SERIA.

"Mosè in Egitto" marks Rossini's third onward step and third great success in opera seria: "Tancredi," "Otello," "Mosè."

We meet again with Benedetti, Nozzari, and Mdlle. Colbran in the cast of this work, which was produced at the San Carlo Theatre in the Lent of 1818.

Barbaja had further engaged the celebrated Porto, to whom, to Benedetti, and to basses and baritones in general, Rossini rendered an important service by composing the parts of _Faraone_ and _Mosè_ for the bass voice. Porto's magnificent tones were so effective that he rendered Faraone as prominent a personage as Mosè himself. But Benedetti, who had "made up" after Michael Angelo's celebrated statue, shared Porto's success.

Nozzari, as tenor, represented a lover; Mdlle. Colbran, as prima donna, his beloved, who, according to the excellent dramatic custom, when nations or parties are in conflict, belonged to opposite sides.

The final emancipation of the serious basso (the comic basso was already eligible for leading parts) dates from the production of "Mosè," in 1818. The liberation was gradual; for, both in "Tancredi" and in "Otello," exceptional prominence had been given to what was formerly called and considered the ultima parte. In "La Gazza Ladra," too, which, however, was not an opera seria, but an opera of mezzo carattere, Galli, who was afterwards to appear as _Maometto_ and _Assur_, had played the bass or baritone part of _Fernando_.

It may be said that Rossini, having two basses at hand, composed the parts of _Mosè_ and _Faraone_ for them; as, in 1816, having two first tenors to write for, he assigned to them the characters of _Otello_ and _Iago_. But it is more reasonable to infer that he had now determined to grant the bass his natural dramatic rights, as the representative of imposing and gloomy, as well as of jovial parts.

By this innovation, moreover, Rossini gave variety to his casts, and increased his resources for concerted music. Probably he would have introduced it before could he have found the singers he wanted among the companies he had engaged to write for. But it was not the custom at the time of Rossini's youth for composers to give important parts to bass singers; and it was only the demand for leading basses created by Rossini which afterwards caused the supply. Moving constantly about from one theatre, one city, to another, and producing three operas a year, he was obliged to write his music according to his singers' voices.

Meyerbeer, when he had begun to compose for the French opera, would wait patiently, month after month, and year after year, until he could find just the voice he wanted; but he did not, like Rossini, compose thirty-four operas before he was thirty-two years of age.

* * * * *

The choral portion of "Mosè" is all important. The chorus of the plague of darkness, in the first act, was found one of the most impressive pieces when the work was first produced; and this was quite surpassed at subsequent representations by the admirable _preghiera_ of the passage of the Red Sea, where the same melody, with just one significant shade of difference, is heard, first in the minor, as a plaintive supplication, afterwards in the major, as a joyous thanksgiving. Nothing is more simple, nothing can be more perfect. The music thoroughly beautiful, the effect thoroughly dramatic.

"Among other things that can be said in praise of your hero, do not forget that he is an assassin," remarked Dr. Cottougna of Naples to the Abbé Carpani, at the time of the general enthusiasm caused by "Mosè." "I can cite to you," he continued, "more than forty attacks of nervous fever, or violent convulsions on the part of young women fond to excess of music, which have no other origin than the prayer of the Hebrews in the third act, with its superb change of key."

In England "Mosè" is scarcely known. The work being unpresentable on our stage in its original form, was brought out, a few years after its production as an oratorio, and afterwards, with a complete transformation in the libretto, as an opera under the title of "Pietra Eremita." The operatic version was given at the King's Theatre with so much success that it attracted large audiences during an entire season. No nervous fevers, no convulsions, were placed to its account; but the subscribers were in ecstacies, and one of the most distinguished supporters of the theatre assured Mr. Ebers, the manager, that he deserved well of his country, and offered as a proof of gratitude to propose him at White's.

It has been recorded that when "Moïse," the French version of "Mosè in Egitto," as remodelled by Rossini, was brought out at the French Opera, forty-five thousand francs were sunk in the Red Sea, and to no effect. In London the Red Sea became merely a river, which, however, failed quite as signally as the larger body of water, and had to be drained off before the second performance took place.

An Italian version of the French version of the original Italian version of "Mosè" was produced at the Royal Italian Opera some twenty years ago under the title of "Zora." It had no permanent success, and was not even played a second season. The piece was found too long, too heavy--it was living music united to a dramatic corpse.

The beautiful prayer, however, survives, and will doubtless long continue to survive the rest of the work. Played on a single instrument, as by Sivori on the violin, at the service performed in memory of Rossini at Florence, or sung by thousands of vocalists to the accompaniment of some hundreds of musicians, as at various musical gatherings in London and Paris, the melody is always touching, the mass of harmony always impressive.

It is remarkable that this hymn with two aspects, first mournful, then jubilant, was an after thought, and was, moreover, improvised like more than one of Rossini's finest pieces. Indeed, what melody, unless it be a reminiscence, is _not_ an improvisation? The idea comes or it does not come.

The story of the theatrical Red Sea and the comic effect produced by its waves, and of the sublime effect produced by the chorus sung on its banks, has often been told, but in a "Life of Rossini" it must of necessity be repeated.

The production of the drama presented many scenic difficulties, from the plague of darkness with which the piece commences, to the passage of the Red Sea, which concludes it.

The representation of darkness was easily managed by lowering the stage lights, but the passage of the Red Sea was a far more formidable affair; and instead of producing the effect anticipated it was received every night with laughter. The two first acts were always applauded, but the Red Sea, instead of aiding, completely marred the dénouement of the third.

The work, in spite of the Red Sea, lived through one season. When it was about to be revived, the season, or two seasons afterwards, the librettist, Tottola, rushed into Rossini's room, found him holding his usual levee in bed surrounded by friends, and rushing towards him with a sheet of manuscript in his hand, he exclaimed that he had saved the third act.

Rossini thought the third act, or rather its dénouement, past redemption. Tottola suggested that a prayer for the Israelites before and after the miraculous passage might prove very effective, and Rossini saw at once what could be made of the notion.

"There are the verses," exclaimed the librettist; "I wrote them in an hour."

"I will get up and write the music," replied Rossini. "You shall have it in a quarter of an hour."

He in fact jumped out of bed, began to write in his shirt, and had finished the piece in eight or ten minutes.

* * * * *

A story like this is worth verifying, or at least tracing to its source. Stendhal first told it in France; Stendhal translated it from the Abbé Carpani; and Carpani attributes it to a friend who was present in Rossini's room when the incident took place.

"The day afterwards," says Stendhal, "the audience were delighted as usual with the first act, and all went well until the third, when the passage of the Red Sea being at hand the audience as usual prepared to be amused. The laughter was just beginning in the pit, when it was observed that _Moses_ was about to sing. He commenced his solo.

"Dal tuo stellato."

"It was the first verse of a prayer which all the people repeat in chorus after _Moses_. Surprised at this novelty, the pit listened, and the laughter entirely ceased. The chorus, exceedingly fine, was in the minor. _Aaron_ continues, followed by the people. Finally _Elcia_ addresses to Heaven the same supplication, and the people respond. Then all fall on their knees and repeat the prayer with enthusiasm: the miracle is performed, the sea has opened to leave a path to the people protected by the Lord. This last part is in the major. It is impossible to imagine the thunders of applause that resounded throughout the house; one would have thought it was coming down. The spectators in the boxes standing up and leaning over to applaud, called out at the top of their voice "Bello, bello! O che bello!" I never saw so much enthusiasm, nor such a complete success, which was so much the greater inasmuch as people were quite prepared to laugh.... After that deny that music has a direct physical effect upon the nerves! I am almost in tears when I think of this prayer."

* * * * *

After the miracle in "Mosè," it is not astonishing that Rossini should have become a firm believer in the efficacy of operatic prayer. He now introduced it at every opportunity; and it is noticeable that in each of the four operas which Rossini produced at the Academy a choral _preghiera_ occurs. Auber turned this new dramatic means to admirable account in "La Muette de Portici," and Meyerbeer, after making liberal use of it in other works, seems to have employed it in "L'Africaine" almost to excess. Here we find prayers all through the opera; from the members of the Inquisition in one act; from the sailors on board the celebrated ship in another; from the priests of Madagascar in a third.