Pippo, then, was the first of that interesting tribe of rich-voiced hermaphrodites for whom so many charming melodies were to be written. The humble Pippo was the precursor of the picturesque Malcolm Graeme, of the chivalrous Arsace, of the impulsive Maffeo Orsini, of the courteous Urbano; as Mademoiselle Galianis was the forerunner of Pisaroni, of Brambilla, and of Alboni. In the present day, for sound commercial reasons, no singer will remain a contralto who can possibly become a soprano; and, whether it be an effect or a cause, since “Linda di Chamouni” (1842), the class of parts represented by the above-named types has received no addition.
Contraltos for the representation of interesting adolescents were so rare when “La Gazza Ladra” was first produced, that in most companies the part of Pippo was assigned to a baritone or bass.
In bringing out “La Gazza Ladra” at Milan, Rossini was somewhat in the same position as when, four years previously, he had produced “Tancredi” at Venice. The Milanese had not considered “Il Turco in Italia,” which Rossini wrote for La Scala in 1814, quite good enough for them. This had not prevented Rossini (who must have been a better judge of his own music than the Milanese public) from prefixing the overture written for “Il Turco in Italia” to “Otello,” nor from transferring several pieces from the body of that work to “La Cenerentola.” Still the Milanese, jealous of the public of Rome, for whom “Il Barbiere” and “La Cenerentola” had been composed, and of that of Naples, where “Otello” had recently been produced, fancied themselves slighted, and seem to have gone to the first representation of “La Gazza Ladra” with the determination to stand no trifling from the composer.
Rossini attacked them at once at the very beginning of the overture with a roll of the drum—or rather of two drums, one at each end of the orchestra—which they could not say had been heard before either at Rome, at Venice, or at Naples. The audience could not but be attentive, and continuing to listen, could not but be delighted. The freshness and beauty of the melodies, the brilliancy and sonority of the instrumentation, the happy verve which animates the whole work, produced their natural effect.
It cannot be said, however, that Rossini’s overture was applauded without a single dissentient voice. One young man in the pit—a student of music, and a pupil of Rolla, the leader of the orchestra—went almost into convulsions on hearing the drums, and wished to take summary vengeance on the composer who had ventured to introduce such instruments into an operatic orchestra. The youthful conservative, with all the ardour of an Italian revolutionist, swore that he would have Rossini’s blood, and went about with a stiletto in the hope of meeting him.
The master of this vehement orchestral purist warned Rossini that he meant mischief; but Rossini was so much amused at the idea of any one wishing to assassinate him because in an overture of a military character he had introduced a couple of drums, that he got Rolla to bring him and the young man together. Then in a humble tone he set forth his reasons for introducing the instruments which had so irritated the student’s susceptible ears, and ended by promising never to offend in a similar manner again. For which, or better reasons, Rossini never afterwards began an overture with a duet for drums.
The overture of “La Gazza Ladra” is still the most popular in Italy of all Rossini’s overtures, and it formed an essential part of the programme at all the commemorative performances given throughout Italy after the composer’s death. When it was executed for the first time it caused raptures of enthusiasm. The audience rose, applauded, called out to the composer, after the queer Italian fashion, and continued to applaud for several minutes.
They had now quite forgotten their predetermination to be severe; they were only too grateful to Rossini for the pleasure he had afforded them. The reconciliation was perfect. The public was prepared to be enchanted with everything; the introduction was very much admired, and Ninetta’s cavatina, the celebrated
“Di piacer mi balza il cor”
obtained as much applause as the overture itself.