She retired from the stage on March 30, 1806, on which occasion she was the first to introduce Mozart's music into England, giving the opera, "Clemenza di Tito," of which there was only one manuscript copy in England. That belonged to the Prince of Wales, who lent it for the occasion. After a separation of fifteen years, Mrs. Billington was reunited to her second husband, but he at once resumed his brutal treatment, and her[{33}] death, in 1818, was caused by a blow from his hand.
One of the most popular and charming singers at La Scala, in the Carnival of 1794, was Giuseppa Grassini, the daughter of a farmer of Varese in Lombardy, where she was born in 1775. She received decided advantages by making her début with some of the greatest artists of her time,—Marchesi, Crescentini, and Lazzarini.
Grassini was an exquisite vocalist in spite of her ignorance, and albeit fickle and capricious, a most beautiful and fascinating woman,—luxurious, prodigal, and generous, but heavy and dull in conversation. Her voice was originally a soprano, but changed to a deep contralto. It was rich, round, and full, though of limited compass, being confined within about one octave of good natural notes. Her style was rich and finished, and though she had not much execution, what she did was elegant and perfect. She never attempted[{34}] anything beyond her powers, her dramatic instincts were always true, and in the expression of the subdued and softer passions she has never been excelled. Her figure was tall and commanding, and her carriage and attitudes had a classic beauty combined with a grace peculiarly her own. Her head was noble, her features were symmetrical, her hair and eyes of the deepest black, and her entire appearance had an air of singular majesty.
Napoleon invited her to Paris, where she soon became an object of inveterate dislike to the Empress Josephine. In 1804, returning to Paris after a visit to Berlin, Napoleon made her directress of the Opera. In the same year she visited London, singing alternately with Mrs. Billington. In London she did not make a great success, and when her benefit took place she asked the good-natured Mrs. Billington to sing, fearing that she would not succeed alone. In succeeding[{35}] seasons, however, Grassini grew in public favor, and on reappearing in England, in 1812, she was rapturously received, but her powers were now on the wane, and at the end of the season she departed unregretted. For some years longer she sang in Italy, Holland, and Austria, retiring about 1823.
She married Colonel Ragani, afterwards director of the Opera in Paris, and resided for many years in that city. She died in Milan in 1850, at the mature age of eighty-five.
Charles Benjamin Incledon and John Braham were two English singers of renown who came into prominence about the same time. Incledon began as a choir boy in Exeter Cathedral, after which he went into the navy, where his voice developed into a fine tenor. Leaving the sea, he studied singing, and soon became popular. His natural voice was full and open, and was sent forth without the slightest artifice, and when he sang pianissimo[{36}] his voice retained its original quality. His style of singing was bold and manly, mixed with considerable feeling, and he excelled in ballads. In 1817 he visited America, where he was well received.
The career of John Braham is of interest to all who love the traditions of English music. In his early days he was so poor that he was obliged to sell pencils for a living, but his musical talent being discovered by Leoni, a teacher of repute, who took him under his tutelage, he appeared at the age of thirteen at Covent Garden. At the age of about twenty he was fitted for the Italian stage, and at once made his mark. Even Crescentini, who was placed in the background, acknowledged Braham's talent, and when he sang in Italy his name was freely quoted as being one of the greatest living singers. As he grew older he attained a prodigious reputation, never before equalled in England, and whether singing a simple[{37}] ballad, in oratorio, or in the grandest dramatic music, the largeness and nobility of his style were matched by a voice which in its prime was almost peerless. Braham amassed a large fortune, and then aspired to be a manager, an experiment which quickly reduced him to poverty. In 1840 he visited America, and made a grand operatic and concert tour. In private life he was much admired, and was always found in the most conservative and fastidious circles, where as a man of culture, a humorist, and a raconteur, he was the life of society.
Braham was frequently associated in opera with Madame Angelica Catalani, the last of the great singers who came before the public in the eighteenth century. She was a woman of tall and majestic presence, a dazzling complexion, large, beautiful blue eyes, and features of ideal symmetry,—a woman to entrance the eye as well as the ear. Her voice was a soprano of the purest[{38}] quality, embracing a compass of nearly three octaves, and so powerful that no band could overwhelm its tones. The greatest defect of her singing was that, while the ear was bewildered with the beauty and tremendous power of her voice, the feelings were untouched,—she never appealed to the heart. She could not thrill like Mara, nor captivate her hearers by a birdlike softness and brilliancy, like Billington. She simply astonished her audiences.
Her private life was as exemplary as her public career was dazzling. She was married, after a most romantic courtship, to a M. de Vallebregue, a French captain of Hussars, who turned out to be an ignorant, stupid man, but a driver of hard bargains for his wife's talents. His musical knowledge is illustrated by an anecdote to the effect that on one occasion, when his wife complained at a rehearsal that the piano was too high, he had the defect remedied by sending for a[{39}] carpenter and making him cut off six inches from the legs of the instrument. In spite of the reputation for avarice which her husband helped to create, Madame Catalani won golden opinions by her sweet temper, liberality, and benevolence.
Towards the end of her career Catalani drew down on her head the severest reprobation of all good judges by singing the most extravagant and bizarre show pieces, such as variations, composed for the violin, on "Rule Britannia," "God Save the King," etc. The public in general, however, listened to her wonderful execution with unbounded delight and astonishment.