Rossini, whom Weber did not understand, and whom Beethoven did not wish to know, belongs nevertheless to the race of those grand creators, and in his veins coursed the blood of a man of genius. At the period of his birth three great musicians represented principally that beautiful Italian school so justly celebrated in the last century in spite of its characteristic defects. These three great musicians were Guglielmi, Cimarosa and Paisiello; Guglielmi, forgotten to-day even in his own country, and whom artists themselves no longer know; Cimarosa, the verve and gaiety of whose genius seemed to reserve him to a less tragic end; finally Paisiello, whom Rossini was called to down with his own weapons, in successfully making after him another il Barbiere di Siviglia, and whose glory was to be somewhat obscured by the glory of his brilliant rival. As for the others, Niccolini, Sarti, Portogallo, Gazzaniga, Nasolini, etc., they were undoubtedly artists of real talent, but devoid of originality and who confined themselves to following in the path which these great leaders traced out for them.
Some years later, and after a sort of interregnum, three more great artists were coming to fill the vacant place, and to govern in their turn the Italian musical world. Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti—three geniuses quite distinct from each other, not only from the standpoint of the nature of their personal inspiration, but also as regards the form with which they clothe their ideas, were coming to throw a new lustre, unhappily the last, over that Italian school so glorious for two centuries, and of which the author of Rigoletto and Aïda remains to-day the venerable and last representative. Rossini, a brilliant and luminous genius, Bellini, of a pensive, poetic and tender nature, Donizetti, nervous and expansive in temperament, all were called to take place in the first rank, with this distinction, that the first always preserved an evident advantage, and that he alone brought into the art a new and characteristic note.
And yet for years past Rossini has been spoken of slightingly, his genius has not been understood, his worth has been denied and these wrongs are carried on at the present hour. Certain adepts of a new school, who affect to disparage all that was done before them, are ready to drag him to the gibbet without even giving him credit for what they owe him,—directly or indirectly. They do not seem to have the least idea that it is Rossini who has emancipated musical art as applied to the theatre; that it is Rossini who has given freedom to melodic form; that it is Rossini who has substituted for the majestic and uniform solemnity of the ancient lyric declamation, a rational diction, with an expression more vivacious, more intense and more vigorous; that it is Rossini who, by the movement and variety communicated to the rhythm, has given to the musical phrase the natural sentiment and warmth of action which it too often lacked; that it is Rossini to whom we owe the richness and the splendors of the modern dramatic orchestra. Who knows if that admirable orchestra of Wagner, to which unhappily everything is sacrificed, would exist to-day had it not been for Rossini? Whatever may be his faults—and assuredly he has them—we can afford to pardon them all in consideration of the incomparable qualities of this great man.
During nearly half a century Rossini has reigned supreme on all the stages of the world. Wherever there existed an Italian theatre, there were played and sung the works of Rossini: Otello, Semiramide, Mosé, il Barbiere, la Gazza ladra, Cenerentola, l'Italiana in Algeri, la Donna del Lago, Maometto. If all his serious works are not complete and perfect, at least all of them contain superb parts. Witness Mosé, what grandeur, what power and what majesty! Witness Otello, what spirit, what vigor and what boldness! Witness Semiramide, what color, what brilliancy and what splendor! However, there are grave faults to be found with Rossini's serious operas; in the first place a lack of unity, and also certain weaknesses which by their proximity, militate against some really admirable pages; then the abuse of vocalization and of the ornate style, absolutely incompatible with the purely dramatic element; finally, the occasional lack of real emotion and the frequent absence of pathos, an absence so complete that it may justly be said of Rossini that he never knew how to sing of love. And yet, by the side of these grave faults are qualities so grand, an inspiration so rich, a style so noble, a phrase so elegant, an orchestra so vigorous and always so full of interest, that the works though imperfect in their ensemble, have been able through certain sublime portions to win very great success.
But the place where Rossini is complete and inimitable is in opera bouffe. Il Barbiere is certainly a masterpiece, and Cenerentola comes very near being one. A wonderful imagination, gaiety carried sometimes to the point of folly, an ardor and quickness of inspiration that was simply prodigious, together with an instrumentation always new, always piquant, always of an extreme elegance; such are the qualities which characterized Rossini's light music, and which make it still as young and fresh as when it first appeared, eighty years ago.
ROSSINI.
Caricature bust by Dantan in the Carnavalet Museum. Paris.
In regard to his dramatic music, I must not forget, after having pointed out its shortcomings, to make an important statement, giving him credit for the progress which is unquestionably due him. I refer to the transformation which he has brought about in the recitative, beginning with his Elisabetta. Until then he had not risen above Tancredi, a charming score, but one in which his methods scarcely differed from those employed by the musicians of his time, Mayr, Generali, Paër and others. Undoubtedly his harmony was fuller, his instrumentation richer, more varied and more brilliant than that of these artists, but the progress stopped there. With Elisabetta, his first work given at Naples, Rossini started an important reform. Up to that time the Italian composers had employed almost exclusively the recitativo secco, that is to say, a recitative accompanied solely by the clavichord, with a continuous bass by the violoncello in the orchestra. Now these thin and meagre recitatives, often much developed, weakened the scenic effect, killed all musical interest, and formed too violent a contrast with the general style of the work. It was only in exceptional cases that the composers allowed themselves some measures of recitativo strumentato, to serve as an introduction to an important piece.
Rossini, in his Elisabetta, was the first to treat all the recitative part as a grand lyric declamation, and to sustain that precise, vigorous, very rhythmic declamation with a melodic accompaniment, arranged for the full orchestra. Thanks to this means, the scenic action was considerably developed, the musical interest was sustained from beginning to end, without break or sign of weakness, the work gained a homogeneity and a general color hitherto unknown; finally, the composer experienced the advantage of being able to bind together, as strongly as need be, incidents, situations, episodes which otherwise would have been chilled by the untimely presence of those recitativi secchi, the crying evil of the serious operas. Certainly this is a trait of genius, which classes Rossini in the rank of the happiest of innovators.