[{Page i}]

Famous Singers of To-day
and Yesterday

By
Henry C. Lahee

ILLUSTRATED

Boston
L. C. Page and Company
(Incorporated)
1898

[{ii}]

Copyright, 1898
By L. C. Page and Company
(INCORPORATED)
Colonial Press:
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A.

[{iii}]

CONTENTS.

[{iv}]

[{v}]

ILLUSTRATIONS

[{vi}]

[{vii}]

PREFACE.

It has been the desire of the author to give, in a book of modest dimensions, as complete a record as possible of the "Famous Singers" from the establishment of Italian Opera down to the present day. The majority are opera singers, but in a few cases oratorio and concert singers of exceptional celebrity have been mentioned also.

To give complete biographical sketches of all singers of renown would require a work of several large volumes, and all that can be attempted here is to give a mere "bird's-eye view" of those whose names exist as singers of international repute.

For much information concerning the[{8}] earlier celebrities the author is indebted to Clayton's "Queens of Song," "Great Singers" by Ferris, and "The Prima Donna" by Sutherland Edwards, in which interesting volumes much will be found at length which is greatly condensed in this little volume. To Maurice Strakosch's "Souvenirs d'un Impresario," and to "Mapleson's Memoirs," the writer owes something also in the way of anecdote and fact concerning many singers of the latter half of this century.

As it is impossible to give biographical sketches of more than a comparatively small number of singers who have achieved renown, the work is supplemented by a chronological table which is more comprehensive. No such table can, however, be perfect. For singers of the past the following authorities have been used: "Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians," C. Egerton Lowe's "Chronological Cyclopædia[{9}] of Musicians and Musical Events," James D. Brown's "Biographical Dictionary of Musicians," and "A Hundred Years of Music in America."

Concerning singers of later times, who have risen to fame since those works were compiled, such items have been used as could be found in the newspapers and magazines of their day, and the information is of necessity imperfect. It is nevertheless hoped that the table may be of some use as carrying the history of famous singers some years beyond anything hitherto published in book form, and it has been the desire of the author to make the book interesting alike to student and amateur.

[{10}]

[{11}]

FAMOUS SINGERS OF TO-DAY
AND YESTERDAY.

CHAPTER I.

FROM 1600 TO 1800 A. D.

The year 1600 marked the beginning of a new era in musical history, for in that year the first public performance of regular opera took place in Florence, when the "Eurydice" of Rinuccini and Peri was given in honor of the wedding of Marie de' Medici and Henry IV. of France. The growth and ever-increasing popularity of the opera, the development of civilization, the increase of wealth and the population of new countries, have led not only to the highest[{12}] cultivation of the human voice, wherein music exerts its greatest power of fascination, but have brought forward hundreds of competitors for the artistic laurels which are the reward of those who reach the highest state of musical perfection.

For nearly a century opera was confined to the continent of Europe, but in 1691 Margarita de L'Epine, a native of Tuscany, appeared in London. She was remarkable for her plainness of speech and of features, her rough manners and swarthy appearance, and she must indeed have been possessed of a fine voice to have been able to retain her hold on public favor. In 1692 she announced her last appearance, but it was so successful that she kept on giving last appearances and did not leave England for several years, thus inaugurating a custom which is observed to the present day. Margarita married the celebrated Doctor Pepusch.[{13}]

Contemporary with her was Katharine Tofts, an English woman, for an account of whom we are indebted to Colley Cibber, the great critic and playwright. She was a very beautiful woman with an exquisitely clear, sweet voice. Her career was short, for, after having achieved a tremendous success in one of her parts, she became demented, and, though eventually cured, she never returned to the stage. There was a lively rivalry between the two singers, which furnished gossip for the town.

Anastasia Robinson, mild and pleasing in manners, with great sweetness of expression and large blue eyes, was engaged to sing by George Frederick Händel, who at that time was the impresario of the London opera. Other singers he engaged in Dresden, of whom Margherita Durastanti was the soprano. Large, coarse, and masculine, she is said to have been distinguished as much for the high respectability of her character[{14}] as for her musical talent. Senesino was considered the leading tenor singer of his day. He was a man of imposing figure and majestic carriage, with a clear, powerful, equal, and fluent voice. The basso was Boschi, who was chiefly remarkable for a voice of immense volume and a very vigorous style of acting.

Anastasia Robinson was eclipsed, after a career of twelve years, by Francesca Cuzzoni, and married the Earl of Peterborough. She left a reputation for integrity and goodness seldom enjoyed by even the highest celebrities. Cuzzoni made an immediate and immense success, and Händel took great pains to compose airs adapted to display her exquisite voice. She, in return, treated him with insolence and caprice, so that he looked about for another singer. His choice fell upon Faustina Bordoni, a Venetian lady who had risen to fame in Italy. She was elegant in figure, agreeable in manners, and[{15}] had a handsome face. Cuzzoni, on the other hand, was ill made and homely, and her temper was turbulent and obstinate. A bitter rivalry at once sprang up, Händel fanning the flame by composing for Bordoni as diligently as he had previously done for Cuzzoni.

The public was soon divided, and the rivalry was carried to an absurd point. At length the singers actually came to blows, and so fierce was the conflict that the bystanders were unable to separate them until each combatant bore substantial marks of the other's esteem. Cuzzoni was then dispensed with, and went to Vienna. She was reckless and extravagant, and was at several times imprisoned for debt, finally dying in frightful indigence after subsisting by button making,—a sad termination of a brilliant career. Bordoni led a prosperous life, married Adolfo Hasse, the director of the orchestra in Dresden, sang before[{16}] Frederick the Great, and passed a comfortable old age. Both she and her husband died in 1783, she at the age of eighty-three and he at eighty-four.

Other singers of this period were Lavinia Fenton, who became the Duchess of Bolton, and who is chiefly remarkable for having been the original Polly in Gay's "Beggar's Opera;" Marthe le Rochois, who sang many of Lulli's operas,—a woman of ordinary appearance but wonderful magnetism; Madame La Maupin, one of the wildest, most adventurous and reckless women ever on the stage; and Caterina Mingotti, a faultless singer, of respectable habits. Mingotti was seized with the fatal ambition to manage opera, and soon reached the verge of bankruptcy. She contrived, however, to earn enough by singing during the succeeding five years to support her respectably in her old age.

To this period also belongs Farinelli, or[{17}] Broschi, who was the greatest tenor of his age, perhaps the greatest who ever lived, for we are told that there was no branch of his art which he did not carry to the highest pitch of perfection. His career of three years in London was a continuous triumph, and he is said to have made £5,000 each year,—a very large sum in those days. His singing also restored to health Philip V. of Spain, who was a prey to depression, and neglected all the affairs of his kingdom. At the court of Spain his influence became immense until Charles III. ascended the throne, when Farinelli quitted Spain, "at the royal suggestion," and retired to Bologna.

Of the long list of men who have distinguished themselves as singers in opera, it is curious to note that almost, if not quite, the first were a Mario and a Nicolini, names which are familiar to us as belonging to well-known tenors of this (nineteenth) century.[{18}] Of Mario but little is recorded; but Nicolini, whose full name was Nicolino Grimaldi Nicolini, and who was born in 1673, is known to have sung at Rome in 1694. He remained on the stage until 1726, but the date of his death is unknown. Nicolini sang in England in 1708, and at several subsequent times, and was well received. Addison wrote of him, concerning his acting, that "he gave new majesty to kings, resolution to heroes, and softness to lovers."

Caterina Gabrielli was the daughter of a cook of the celebrated Cardinal Gabrielli, and was born at Rome, November 12, 1730. She possessed an unusual share of beauty, a fine voice, and an accurate ear. She made her first appearance when seventeen years old at the theatre of Lucca, in Galuppi's opera, "Sofonisba." She was intelligent and witty, full of liveliness and grace, and an excellent actress. Her voice, though not powerful, was of exquisite quality and wonderful[{19}] extent, its compass being nearly two octaves and a half, and perfectly equable throughout, while her facility of vocalization was extraordinary. Her fame was immediately established, and soon she had all mankind at her feet; but she proved to be coquettish, deceitful, and extravagant. No matter with whom she came in contact, she compelled them to give way to her whims. On one occasion she refused to sing for the viceroy of Sicily, and was therefore committed to prison for twelve days, where she gave costly entertainments, paid the debts of her fellow prisoners, and distributed large sums amongst the indigent. Besides this, she sang all her best songs in her finest style every day, until the term of her imprisonment expired, when she came forth amid the shouts of the grateful poor whom she had benefited while in jail. Despite her extravagance Gabrielli had a good heart. She gave largely in charity, and never forgot her parents. Having by[{20}] degrees lost both voice and beauty, Gabrielli retired finally to Bologna in 1780, and died there in April, 1796, at the age of sixty-six.

In the room in Paris in which the unfortunate Admiral Coligny had been murdered, was born on February 14, 1744, the beautiful, witty, but dissipated Sophie Arnould. At the age of twelve her voice, which was remarkable for power and purity, attracted the attention of the Princess de Modena, through whose influence she was engaged to sing in the king's chapel. In 1757 she made her first appearance in opera, when her beauty and her acting enabled her to carry everything before her.

The opera was besieged whenever her name was announced, and all the gentlemen of Paris contested for the honor of throwing bouquets at her feet. At length she eloped with Count Lauraguais, a handsome, dashing young fellow, full of wit and daring. Her home resembled a little court, of which she[{21}] was the reigning sovereign, and her salon was always crowded by men of the highest distinction. When Benjamin Franklin arrived in Paris, he confessed that nowhere did he find such pleasure, such wit, such brilliancy, as in the salon of Mlle. Arnould. She remained faithful to her lover for four years, when he bestowed on her a life-pension of 2,000 crowns. While she never spared any one in the exercise of her wit, she was occasionally the subject of ridicule herself, as, for instance, when the Abbé Galiani was asked his opinion of her singing, and replied, "It is the finest asthma I ever heard."

Sophie Arnould appeared in several of Gluck's operas, and acquitted herself to the satisfaction of the composer. Her voice had not apparently fulfilled early expectations, but her beauty and her acting made her a success. When Voltaire one day said to her, "Ah, mademoiselle, I am eighty-four years old, and I have committed eighty-four[{22}] follies," she replied, "A mere trifle; I am not yet forty, and I have committed more than a thousand."

In 1792 she purchased the presbytère of Clignancourt, Luzarches (Seine-et-Oise). She had a fortune of 30,000 livres and innumerable friends, but in less than two years she had lost her fortune, and her friends being dispersed by exile, imprisonment, and the scaffold during the Revolution, she was reduced to the lowest stage of poverty. She went to Paris and sought an interview with Fouché, now a great man, who had been one of her most ardent admirers. He awarded her a pension of 2,400 livres, and ordered that apartments should be given her in the Hôtel d'Angevilliers. In 1803 she died in obscurity.

Among the celebrated male singers of this period were Gasparo Pacchierotti, and Giovanni Battista Rubinelli. The former of these was considered to have been the finest[{23}] singer of the latter part of the eighteenth century. Endowed with a vivid imagination, uncommon intelligence, and profound sensibility, a tall and lean figure, a voice which was often uncertain and nasal, he required much determination and strength of character to overcome the defects and take advantage of the good qualities which nature had bestowed upon him. Yet he is described by Lord Mt. Edgecumbe as "decidedly the most perfect singer it ever fell to his lot to hear."

Rubinelli, on the other hand, from his fullness of voice and simplicity of style pleased a greater number than Pacchierotti, though none perhaps so exquisitely as that singer. Rubinelli's articulation was so pure and well accented that in his recitatives no one conversant with the Italian language ever had occasion to look at a libretto while he was singing. His style was true cantabile, in which he was unexcelled.

Upon the retirement of Sophie Arnould[{24}] a new star appeared in the person of Antoinette Cecile Clavel St. Huberty, the daughter of a brave old soldier who was also a musician. Her first appearances in opera were made in Warsaw, where her father, M. Clavel, was engaged as repetitor to a French company. From Warsaw she went to Berlin, where she married a certain Chevalier de Croisy, after which she sang for three years at Strasbourg. At last she went to Paris, where she appeared in 1777 in Gluck's "Armida." Madame St. Huberty did not rush meteor-like into public favor. Her success was gained after years of patient labor, during which she endured bitter poverty, and sang only minor parts. In person she was small, thin, and fair; her features were not finely formed, and her mouth was of unusual size, but her countenance was expressive. In 1783 she reached the summit of her success, when she appeared in the title rôle of Piccini's opera, "Dodon." Louis XVI., who[{25}] did not much care for opera, had it performed twice, and was so much pleased that he granted Madame St. Huberty a pension of 1,500 livres, to which he added one of five hundred more from his privy purse. Concerning her performance of this part we are told by Grimm, "Never has there been united acting more captivating, a sensibility more perfect, singing more exquisite, happier byplay, and more noble abandon."

In 1790 Madame St. Huberty retired from the operatic stage and married Count d'Entraigues. After a political career in Spain and Russia, during which the count and his wife passed through some trying vicissitudes, they settled in England, but on the 22d of July, 1812, both the count and countess were assassinated by a servant, who had been bribed by an agent of Fouché to obtain certain papers in their possession.

Gertrude Elizabeth Mara was the daughter of Johann Schmaling, a respectable musician[{26}] of Hesse Cassel. Her mother died shortly after her birth in 1749, but her father out of his limited means gave her the best education he could. As she was considered a prodigy her father took her from town to town till they reached Holland, where, after performing for some time, they went to England. Thence, after earning some money by giving concerts, they travelled to Germany, arriving at Leipzig in 1766, where the young singer obtained an engagement at the theatre as first singer, at a salary of six hundred dollars. From this time she continued to prosper, and she quite captivated that opinionated monarch, Frederick the Great.

In 1773 she fell in love with, and married, a handsome violoncellist named Jean Mara. He was a showy, extravagant man, and fell into dissipated habits, but through all Madame Mara was devoted to him.

Her personal appearance was far from striking. She was short and insignificant,[{27}] with an agreeable, good-natured countenance. Her manner, however, was prepossessing, though she was an indifferent actress. But her voice atoned for everything. Its compass was from G to E in altissimo, which she ran with the greatest ease and force, the tones being at once powerful and sweet. Her success she owed to her untiring industry. Nothing taxed her powers, her execution was easy and neat, her shake was true, open, and liquid, and though she preferred brilliant pieces, her refined taste was well known.

In England she gathered many laurels, as well as in Germany and other countries which she visited, but she came into collision with the authorities at Oxford, on account of her ignorance of the English language and of Oxford customs.

On leaving England she sang at a farewell concert which netted seven hundred pounds, and her rival, Mrs. Billington, generously gave[{28}] her services. Madame Mara passed the last years of her life at Revel, where she died, January, 1833, at the age of eighty-five. On the celebration of her eighty-third birthday she was offered a poetical tribute by no less a person than Goethe.

Of Madame Mara's contemporary male singers Luigi Marchesi is entitled to mention, for he had, within three years of his début, the reputation of being the best singer in Italy. He visited all Europe, even penetrating to St. Petersburg, in company with Sarti and Todi. Besides his wonderful vocal powers, which enabled him to execute the most marvellous embellishments, he was noted for great beauty of person, and for the grace and propriety of his gestures.

Crescentini, too, who was considered the last great singer of his school, sang at all the chief cities of Europe, and was given by Napoleon the Iron Cross, an honor[{29}] which aroused many jealousies. "Nothing could exceed," says Fétis, "the suavity of his tones, the force of his expression, the perfect taste of his ornaments, or the large style of his phrasing." For several years after his retirement he was a professor at the Royal College of Music at Naples.

Mrs. Elizabeth Billington was considered to be the finest singer ever born in England. Her father was a member of the Italian Opera orchestra named Weichsel, and her mother, a pupil of John Christian Bach, was a leading vocalist at Vauxhall, whose voice was noted for a certain reediness of tone, caused, it is said, by her having practised with the oboe,—her husband's instrument.

Elizabeth Weichsel was born in 1770, and began to compose pieces for the pianoforte when eleven years of age. At fourteen, she appeared at a concert at Oxford. She continued her study of the piano under Thomas Billington, one of the band of Drury Lane,[{30}] to whom she was married in 1785, in opposition to the wishes of her parents. They were very poor, and went to Dublin to seek engagements, and here Mrs. Billington appeared at a theatre in Smock Alley, singing with the celebrated Tenduccini. Her early efforts were not crowned with the greatest success, but she did better at Waterford, and later on, when she returned to London, she was still more successful.

Her voice was a pure soprano, sweet rather than powerful, of extraordinary extent and quality in its upper notes, in which it had somewhat the tone color of a flute or flageolet. In her manner she was peculiarly bewitching. Her face and figure were beautiful, and her countenance full of good humor, but she had comparatively little talent as an actress. In 1786 she first appeared at Covent Garden, in the presence of the king and queen, and her success was beyond her most sanguine anticipations. She sang in a[{31}] resplendently brilliant style, and brilliancy was an innovation in English singing.

Mrs. Billington one day received a great compliment from Haydn, the composer. Reynolds, the painter, was finishing her portrait, and Haydn, on seeing it, said: "You have made a mistake. You have represented Mrs. Billington listening to the angels; you should have made the angels listening to her."

In 1796, while in Italy, Mr. Billington died in a sudden and mysterious manner. Soon afterwards his widow went to Milan, where she fell in love with a Frenchman, the son of a banker in Lyons, named Felican. He was a remarkably handsome man, but no sooner were they married (in 1799) than he commenced to treat her most brutally, and eventually she was obliged to run away from him. She returned to London under the care of her brother.

On reaching London, a lively competition[{32}] for her services began between Harris and Sheridan, the theatrical managers. She gave the preference to Harris, and received £3,000 to sing three times a week, also a free benefit was ensured at £500, and a place for her brother as leader of the band. Eventually, however, the dispute was ended by arbitration, and it was decided that she should sing alternately at each house. At the height of her popularity Mrs. Billington is said to have averaged an income of £14,000 a year.

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.

In 1831 Madame Catalani retired from the stage. Young and brilliant rivals, such as Pasta and Sontag, were rising to contest her sovereignty, and for several years the critics had been dropping pretty plain hints that it would be the most judicious and dignified course. She settled with her family on an[{40}] estate near Lake Como; but in 1848 she went to Paris to escape the cholera, which was then raging, and in a few months, notwithstanding her precaution, she fell a victim to that dread disease.[{41}]

CHAPTER II.

PASTA TO MARIO.

It is impossible in these chapters to make more than a passing sketch of many famous singers, and we must therefore be content with the mere mention of such as Fodor, Camporese, Pisaroni, and Damoreau, who all, in their day, attained high renown.

We now come to Giuditta Pasta, who must be placed in the very front rank, as an artist who could transform natural faults into the rarest beauties, who could make the world forgive the presence of many deficiencies, and who engraved deeper impressions on the memory of her hearers than any other, even in an age of great singers. Her voice at first[{42}] was limited, husky, and weak, without charm, without flexibility. Though her countenance spoke, its features were cast in a coarse mould. Her figure was ungraceful, her movements were awkward, and, at the end of her first season, she found herself a dire failure. She suddenly withdrew from the operatic world and betook herself to study, and when she reappeared she made a great impression. By sheer industry she had increased the range of her voice to two octaves and a half. Her tones had become rich and sweet, her shake was most beautiful, but her genius as a tragedienne surpassed her talent as a singer.

Poetical and enthusiastic by temperament, the crowning excellence of her art was a grand simplicity. There was a sublimity in her expression of vehement passion which was the result of measured force, energy which was never wasted, exalted pathos that never overshot the limits of art. Vigorous[{43}] without violence, graceful without artifice, she was always greatest when the greatest emergency taxed her powers.

No one could ever sing "Tancredi" like Pasta; "Desdemona" furnished the theme for the most lavish praises of the critics; "Medea" is said to have been the grandest lyric interpretation in the records of art. She had literally worked her way up to eminence, and, having attained the height, she stood on it firm and secure.

Madame Pasta was associated in many of her successes with the tenor Garcia, more celebrated as the father of Malibran and Viardot, and as one of the greatest vocal teachers of the century; with the baritone Bordogni, and the basso Levasseur.

Honors were showered upon her in all parts of Europe, and it is said that her operatic salary of £14,000 was nearly doubled by her income from other sources; but she lost nearly her entire fortune by the[{44}] failure of a banker in Vienna, and, in the endeavor to retrieve her fortunes, she remained on the stage long after her vocal powers were on the wane.

Rossini, the celebrated composer, married an opera singer, Isabella Angela Colbran. She was born at Madrid, her father being court musician to the King of Spain. Among her teachers was the celebrated Crescentini, and her style and voice being formed by him, she was, from 1806 to 1815, considered one of the best singers in Europe. After that time her voice began to depart; but, as she was a great favorite with the King of Naples, she remained at that city till 1821, and all good, loyal Neapolitans were expected to enjoy her singing, which was sometimes excruciatingly out of tune. She was born in 1785, but it was not until 1822 that she married Rossini, who was seven years her junior. In 1824 she went with her husband to London, and they made a great pecuniary[{45}] success, besides being greatly admired for artistic taste in private concerts.

Some four years after the appearance of Madame Pasta another star of the first magnitude appeared,—Henrietta Sontag, a beautiful and fascinating woman, and, as some say, the greatest German singer of the century. Nature gave her a pure soprano voice of rare and delicate quality, united with incomparable sweetness. Essentially a singer and not a declamatory artist, the sentiment of grace was carried to such a height in her art that it became equivalent to the more robust passion and force which distinguished some of her great contemporaries.

She began singing minor parts at the theatre at the early age of eight, and her regular début in opera took place when she was only fifteen. "She appeared to sing," we are told, "with the volubility of a bird, and to experience the pleasure she imparted." Her great art lay in rendering pleasing whatever[{46}] she did. The ear was never disturbed by a harsh note.

The most romantic stories circulated about the adoration lavished upon her by men of rank and wealth, and it was reported that no singer ever had so many offers of marriage from people of exalted station. But she had met in Berlin a Piedmontese nobleman, Count Rossi, to whom she became affianced, and Mlle. Sontag refused all the flattering overtures made by her admirers. One of her most ardent lovers was De Beriot, the great violinist, who, on his rejection, fell into a deep state of despondency, from which the fascinations of the beautiful Malibran at length roused him. Sontag's union with Rossi was for a long time kept secret on account of the objections of his family, but she retired from the stage and lived nearly twenty years of happy life in the various capitals of Europe, to which her husband, attached to the Sardinian legation, was accredited.[{47}] At length, in 1848, her fortune was swept away in the political revolution, and she announced her intention of returning to the stage. She was at once offered £17,000 for the season at Her Majesty's Theatre in London, and on her first appearance it was evident that time had but developed the artist. What little her voice had lost was more than compensated for by the deeper passion and feeling which permeated her efforts, and she was rapturously greeted. In 1852 she made a tour of the large cities of the United States, where she quickly established herself as one of the greatest favorites, in spite of the fact that Malibran and Jenny Lind had preceded her, and that the country had hardly recovered from the Lind mania. In New Orleans she entered into an engagement to sing in the City of Mexico; but while her agent was absent in Europe, gathering together an operatic company, she was seized with cholera and died in a few hours.[{48}]

Joseph Staudigl, who was born in 1807, at Wollersdorf, Austria, was one of the most distinguished and accomplished bassos of the first half of this century. He was a man of varied gifts and ardent temperament, frank, open, and amiable. In 1825 he entered upon his novitiate in the Benedictine monastery at Melk, but two years later he went to Vienna to study surgery. Here his funds gave out, and he was glad to sing in the chorus at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre. In due course the opportunity offered for him to take leading parts, and he soon gained a great reputation. He was also a great singer of church music and oratorio, for which branches of music he had an inborn love.

Staudigl's last appearance took place in 1856, on Palm Sunday, for a few days later he became a victim to insanity, from which he never recovered. He made repeated tours abroad, and was much admired wherever he went. As a singer of Schubert's Lieder he[{49}] was without a rival, and his performances of the "Erlkönig," the "Wanderer," and "Aufenthalt" were considered wonderful. His death occurred in 1861, and his funeral was the occasion of a great demonstration.

Manuel Garcia, the tenor, had two daughters who both achieved the highest distinction on the operatic stage. The eldest, Maria Felicien, became Madame Malibran, and she is mentioned to-day as one of the most wonderful operatic singers that the world has produced. Daring originality stamped her life as a woman and her career as an artist, and the brightness with which her star shone through a brief and stormy history had something akin in it to the dazzling but capricious passage of a meteor.

As a child she was delicate, sensitive, and self-willed, and she had a prodigious instinct for art. Nevertheless, her voice was peculiarly intractable, being thin in the upper notes, veiled in the middle tones, and her[{50}] intonation very imperfect. On leaving school she was taken in hand by her father, who was more pitiless to her than to his other pupils. He understood her disposition thoroughly, and said that she could never become great except at the price of much suffering, for her proud and stubborn spirit required an iron hand to control it.

Soon after making her début she went with her father to America, for he had conceived a project for establishing opera in the United States. His company consisted of himself, Madame Garcia, a son, and his daughter. Maria's charming voice and personal fascination held the public spellbound, and raised the delight of opera-goers to a wild pitch of enthusiasm. While in New York, a French merchant, M. François Eugene Malibran, fell passionately in love with her, and she, being sick of her father's brutality, and the supposed great fortune of Malibran dazzling her imagination, married[{51}] him, though in opposition to her father's will. A few weeks after the marriage M. Malibran was a bankrupt, and imprisoned for debt, and his bride discovered that she had been cheated by a cunning scoundrel, who had calculated on saving himself from poverty by dependence on the stage earnings of his wife. Garcia and the rest of his family went to Mexico, where he succeeded in losing his fortune. Madame Malibran remained in New York with her husband; but at the end of five months she wearied of her hard fate, and, leaving him, returned to Paris. Here she soon had the world at her feet, for the novelty and richness of her style of execution set her apart from all other singers as a woman of splendid and inventive genius.

Her voice was a mezzo-soprano, naturally full of defects, and, to the very last, she was obliged to go through her exercises every day to keep it flexible; but by the tremendously[{52}] severe discipline to which her father's teaching subjected her, its range extended so that it finally reached a compass of three octaves. Her high notes had an indescribable brilliancy, and her low tones were so soft, sweet, and heart-searching that they thrilled with every varying phase of her sensibilities.

Mr. Chorley writes: "She may not have been beautiful, but she was better than beautiful, insomuch as a speaking, Spanish, human countenance is ten times more fascinating than many a faultless angel face, such as Guido could paint. There was a health of tint, with but a slight touch of the yellow rose in her complexion, a great mobility of expression in her features, an honest, direct brightness of the eye, a refinement in the form of her head, and the set of it on her shoulders."

Malibran could speak and write in five languages, and sing in any school. She had the characteristic of being able to fire all her[{53}] fellow artists with her genius, and she was a tremendous worker. She was also very fond of outdoor exercises, being a daring horse-woman and swimmer.

On the death of her husband she married De Beriot, the violinist, to whom she had been passionately attached for some time, but shortly afterwards she was thrown from her horse, while attending a hunt in England. She sustained severe internal injury which eventually proved fatal, though not until she had made heroic efforts to continue her career, and fill all her engagements. Her death produced a painful shock throughout all Europe, for she had been as much admired and beloved as a woman, as she was worshipped as an artist.

The genius of the Garcia family shone not less in Madame Malibran's younger sister, Pauline, than in herself. Pauline was thirteen years the junior of Maria, and did not become celebrated until after the death of[{54}] her sister. In the meantime, Grisi and other great singers had appeared.

Pauline was the favorite child of Garcia. "Pauline," he would say, "can be guided by a thread of silk, but Maria needs a hand of iron."

At the age of six she could speak fluently in French, Spanish, Italian, and English, and to these she afterwards added German. She also learned to play the organ and piano as if by instinct. In her early days she went with her father to Mexico, where they met with many strange adventures, notably on one occasion, when they were seized by bandits, who plundered Garcia of his savings, bound him to a tree, and made him sing for his life.

Pauline was seven years old on her return to Europe, and three years later she became one of the pupils of Franz Liszt. When she was eleven her father died, and she began to study voice with Adolph Nourrit, the tenor,[{55}] who had been one of her father's favorite pupils.

Her first public appearance was made in Brussels, at the age of sixteen, and it was the first occasion on which De Beriot appeared after the death of Madame Malibran, his wife.

Pauline Garcia's voice was like that of her sister in quality. It combined the two registers of contralto and soprano, from low F to C above the lines, but the upper part of an originally limited mezzo-soprano had been literally fabricated by an iron discipline, conducted by the girl herself with all the science of a master. Her singing was expressive, descriptive, thrilling, full, equal and just, brilliant and vibrating, especially in the medium and lower notes. Capable of every style of art, it was adapted to all the feelings of nature, but particularly to outbursts of grief, joy, or despair.

M. Viardot, the director of the Paris Opera,[{56}] went to London to hear her, and was so delighted that he offered her the position of prima donna for the next season. She was then only eighteen, and by this engagement she was fairly embarked upon a brilliant career. M. Viardot fell deeply in love with her shortly after his introduction to her, and in 1840 they were married. Returning to the stage after a short retirement, Madame Viardot visited most of the great cities, and invariably received the most enthusiastic welcome. On some occasions the audience could scarcely be induced to leave the house at the end of the performance. Once she played, on account of the illness of another singer, the two parts of "Alice" and "Isabella" in "Robert le Diable," changing her costume with each change of scene, and representing in one opera the opposite rôles of princess and peasant.

After Madame Viardot's retirement in 1862, she held for many years a professional[{57}] chair at the Paris Conservatoire. In private life she has been always loved and admired, and she is to this day recognized as one of the great vocal teachers of Paris.

Adolf Nourrit, of whom the French stage is deservedly proud, was a pupil of Garcia, and for ten years was principal tenor at the Académie, creating all the leading tenor rôles produced during that time. He was idolized by the public, and was a man of much influence in musical circles. He gave a distinct stamp and flavor to all his parts, and was as refined and pleasing in comedy as he was pathetic and commanding in tragedy. It was he who popularized the songs of Schubert, and otherwise softened the French prejudice against the German music of his time. In private life he was witty, genial, and refined, and was, therefore, a favorite guest at the most distinguished and exclusive "salons." Nourrit was subject to alternate fits of excitement and depression, and was[{58}] affected to such a degree by some articles praising his rival, Duprez, at his expense, that his friends feared for his sanity. Eventually, while filling an engagement in Italy, he threw himself out of his bedroom window and was instantly killed on the paved courtyard below.

Duprez, like Nourrit, was a student at the Paris Conservatoire, and for many years a leading figure at the Académie. At first he was not a success in opera, but, by dint of study and hard work, he achieved a high reputation. In person he was insignificant, but his tragic passion and splendid intelligence gave him a deserved prominence. He composed much music, including two masses and eight operas, and was the writer of a highly esteemed musical method. After finishing his operatic career he became a professor of singing at the Conservatoire.

Madame Grisi, who made her début in 1823, and held her place as one of the greatest[{59}] singers for many years, was the daughter of an Italian officer of engineers, and her mother's sister was the once celebrated Grassini, a contemporary of Mrs. Billington and Madame Mara.

Giulietta Grisi, as a child, was too delicate to receive any musical training; but her ambition caused her to learn the pianoforte by her own efforts, and her imitation of her sister Giuditta's vocal exercises indicated to her family the bent of her tastes.

In due course she entered the conservatoire in her native town, and was later sent to her Uncle Ragani at Bologna, where, for three years, she was under the instruction of Giacomo Guglielmi. Gradually the beautiful quality of her voice began to manifest itself. She was remarkably apt and receptive, and profited by her masters to an extraordinary degree.

For three months she studied under Filippo Celli, and in 1828 she made her début[{60}] in Rossini's "Elmira." Rossini was delighted with her, and the director of the theatre immediately engaged her for the carnival season.

The career thus auspiciously commenced, continued for more than a quarter of a century, during which time Grisi delighted audiences throughout the whole of Europe, and made a tour, with Mario, of the United States.

The production of Bellini's last opera, "I Puritani," in 1834, was one of the greatest musical events of the age, not solely on account of the work, but because of the very remarkable quartet which embodied the principal characters,—Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini, and Lablache. This quartet continued in its perfection for several years, with the substitution later of Mario for Rubini, and was one of the most notable and interesting in the history of operatic music.

Giulietta Grisi's womanly fascinations made[{61}] havoc among that large class who become easily enamored of the goddesses of the theatre, and she was the object of many passionate addresses. She married in 1836 a French gentleman of fortune, M. Auguste Gerard de Melcy, but she did not retire. This marriage was unhappy, and after her release from it by divorce she became the wife of Mario, the great tenor.

Grisi united much of the nobleness and tragic inspiration of Pasta, with something of the fire and energy of Malibran; but, in the minds of the most capable judges, she lacked the creative originality which stamped each of the former two artists. Her dramatic instincts were strong and vehement, lending something of her own personality to the copy of another's creation, and her voice as nearly reached perfection as any ever bestowed on a singer.

Madame Grisi continued before the public until 1866, although her powers were failing[{62}] rapidly. In 1869 she died of inflammation of the lungs.

From the year 1834, when she made her début at the King's Theatre, London, until 1861, when she retired from the Royal Italian Opera, Grisi missed only one season in London, that of 1842. It was a rare thing indeed that illness or any other cause prevented her from fulfilling her engagements. She seldom disappointed the public by her absence, and never by her singing. Altogether her artistic life lasted about thirty-five years. During sixteen successive years she sang, during the season, at the Théâtre des Italiens in Paris, her engagements there beginning in 1832 with her appearance as Semiramide.

Both Grisi and her husband, Mario, were much admired by the Czar Nicholas of Russia, and it is said that the Czar, meeting Grisi one day walking with her children, stopped and said facetiously, "I see, these[{63}] are the pretty Grisettes." "No," replied Grisi, "these are my Marionettes." Mario, too, is said to have been asked by the Czar to cut his beard in order to the better look one of his parts. This he declined to do, even when the Czarina, fearing that he might become a victim of the Czar's displeasure, added her request. But Mario declared that it was better to incur the displeasure of the Czar than to lose his voice, saying that if they did not like him with his beard, upon which he relied for the protection of his voice, they surely would not like him without his voice.

During the height of their prosperity, Grisi and Mario lived in princely extravagance. Their family consisted of six daughters, of whom three died quite young, and they were enthusiastically devoted to one another.

Giambattista Rubini, who was for years associated with Grisi, was a native of Bergamo,[{64}] where he made his début at the age of twelve in a woman's part, sitting afterwards at the door of the theatre between two candles, and holding a plate into which the public deposited their offerings. During his early life he belonged to several wandering companies, in which he filled the position of second tenor; but in 1814, at the age of nineteen years, he was singing in Pavia for a salary of about nine dollars a month. Before the end of his career he was paid £20,000 a year for his services at the St. Petersburg Imperial Opera.

Rubini's countenance was mean, his figure awkward, and he had no conception of taste, character, or picturesque effect; but his voice was so incomparable in range and quality, his musical equipment and skill so great, that his memory is one of the greatest traditions of lyric art. Like so many of the great singers of his time, Rubini first gained his reputation in the operas of Bellini and[{65}] Donizetti, and many of the tenor parts of these works were composed expressly for him. The immense power, purity, and sweetness of his voice have probably never been surpassed, and its compass was of two octaves, from C in the bass clef. He could also sing in falsetto as high as treble F, and with such skill that no one could detect the change into the falsetto.

Rubini died in 1852, leaving one of the largest fortunes ever amassed on the stage.

Another member of the celebrated "Puritani" quartet was Antonio Tamburini, a native of Faenze. Without any single commanding trait of genius, he seems, with the exception of Lablache, to have combined more attractive qualities than any male singer who ever appeared. He was handsome and graceful, and a master of the art of stage costume. His voice, a baritone of over two octaves in extent, was full, round, sonorous, and perfectly equal throughout.[{66}] His execution was unsurpassed and unsurpassable, of a kind which at the present day is well-nigh obsolete, and is associated in the public mind with sopranos and tenors only.

An amusing instance of Tamburini's versatility was shown at Palermo during the carnival season of 1822, when the audience attended the theatre armed with drums, trumpets, shovels, and anything that would make a noise. Tamburini, being unable to make his basso heard, sang his music in falsetto, an accomplishment which so delighted the audience that they laid aside their instruments of torture, and applauded enthusiastically. The prima donna, however, was so enraged and frightened by the rough behavior of the audience that she fled from the theatre, and the manager was at his wit's end. Tamburini donned the fugitive's satin dress, clapped her bonnet over his wig, and appeared on the stage with a mincing step.[{67}] He sang the soprano score so admirably, burlesquing the action of the prima donna, but showing far greater powers of execution than she possessed, that his hearers were captivated. He did not shirk even the duets, but sang the woman's part in falsetto, and his own in his natural voice.

He retired in 1859, and died at Nice in 1876.

Luigi Lablache, the basso of the "Puritani" quartet, is considered by many authorities to have been the greatest artist among men that ever appeared in opera. In stature he was a giant, and we are told that one of his boots would make a good portmanteau or one of his gloves would clothe an infant. His strength was enormous, and his voice magnificent; the vibration thereof was so tremendous that it was dangerous for him to sing in a greenhouse, though why this particular danger is noted must be left to conjecture, for there is no record in history to[{68}] show that it was customary or essential to sing in greenhouses.

Anecdotes of Lablache's generosity and noble character are plentiful, and there are some also which show that he was a lover of good jokes. Of these, perhaps the following is the most amusing. Once when the "Puritani" quartet was in Paris, Lablache was quartered at the same hotel as General Tom Thumb, who was delighting audiences at a vaudeville. An English tourist, who was making strenuous efforts to meet Tom Thumb, burst into the great basso's apartment, but seeing such a giant, hesitated, and apologized, saying that he was looking for Tom Thumb. "I am he," said Lablache, in his deepest tones. The Englishman, taken flat aback, exclaimed: "But you were much smaller when I saw you on the stage yesterday." "Yes," replied Lablache; "that is how I have to appear, but when I get home to my own rooms I let myself out and[{69}] enjoy myself," and he proceeded to entertain his visitor.

In his student days Lablache was so dominated by the desire to appear on the stage that he ran away from the conservatorium no less than five times, each time being caught and brought back in disgrace. On one occasion he engaged himself to sing at Salerno for fifteen ducats a month, and received a month's pay in advance. He lingered two days in Naples and spent his money, apparently also disposing of most of his clothes. As he could not well appear at Salerno without luggage, he filled his portmanteau with sand, and set forth. A couple of days later he was captured by the vice-president of the conservatorium, and taken back to Naples. The impresario hastened to make good his loss by seizing the portmanteau, which, however, proved to be very disappointing.

After Lablache made his first appearance[{70}] in opera his fame grew rapidly, and in a few years had reached colossal proportions. Among the honors which fell to his lot was that of being music teacher to Queen Victoria. His death, which occurred in 1858, drew forth expressions of regret from all parts of Europe, for it was felt that in Lablache the world of song had lost one of its brightest lights.

Mario, who followed Rubini as tenor in the celebrated "Puritani" quartet, was more closely connected with the career of Madame Grisi than any other singer, for he became her husband. His proper title was Mario, Cavaliere di Candia; but, in order to soothe the family pride, he was known on the stage by his Christian name only. When he first went to Paris, in 1836, he held a commission in a Piedmontese regiment. The fascinating young Italian officer was welcomed in the highest circles, for his splendid physical beauty, and his art-talents as an amateur[{71}] in music, painting, and sculpture, separated him from all others, even in a throng of brilliant and accomplished men. In Paris he fell into debt, and, having a beautiful voice, he accepted the proposition of Duponchel, the manager of the opera, and entered upon stage life. Though his singing was very imperfect and amateurish, his princely beauty and delicious, fresh voice took the musical public by storm.

Mario will live in the world's memory as the best opera-lover ever seen. In such scenes as the fourth act of "Les Huguenots," and the last act of "Favorita," Mario's singing and acting were never to be forgotten by those that witnessed them. Intense passion and highly finished vocal delicacy combined to make these pictures of melodious suffering indelible. As a singer of romances he has never been equalled; in those songs where music tells the story of passion, in broad, intelligible,[{72}] ardent phrases, and presents itself primarily as the vehicle of violent emotion, Mario stood ahead of all others of his age. For a quarter of a century he remained before the public of Paris, London, and St. Petersburg, but he did not finally retire until 1867.

The story of Mario's life reads like a romance. At times he was steeped in the depths of poverty; at others, he enjoyed great wealth and lived in princely style. Shortly after his first arrival in Paris, he found himself deeply in debt, and so poor that he was obliged to sleep in a very cheap lodging-house where several people occupied one room. One night he awoke and found a man kneeling over him, to rob him. "What do you want?" asked Mario. "Your money," was the reply. "Take all you can find, my friend," answered Mario, "but please let me continue my dreams and my sleep."

Mario was as careless in regard to time as to money. It is related that once upon a[{73}] time he arrived half an hour early, to keep an appointment. Nobody was more surprised than Mario himself, and, after investigation, he discovered that he had mistaken eleven o'clock for five minutes to twelve, and would have been the customary half hour late if his calculations had been correct.

Mario had a particular aversion to writing letters, and when he received an invitation from some person of high degree he would frequently say, "Oh, I will write to-morrow," and Mario's to-morrow was the proverbial one which never came. He was nevertheless kind and thoughtful for every one, and to his personal graces and charms he owes his reputation as much as to his art, for he was always more or less of an amateur. His wonderful gifts were not developed by study, like the equally wonderful voice of Rubini, who surpassed in this respect every tenor before or after.[{74}]

As an instance of the admiration in which Mario was held by the fair sex, we are told that a certain lady followed him wherever he sang. She never spoke to him, never tried to press herself upon him, but never missed a performance in any part of the world in which he sang, except on three occasions when she was prevented by sickness. This continued for a period of forty years.

Like all men of similar disposition, Mario was subject to fits of wild, unreasoning jealousy, and his domestic life with Grisi was not always of the smoothest nature, though there was absolutely no cause for jealousy on either side. On one occasion, Mario is said to have worked himself up into such a state of excitement that he smashed everything in the room. Grisi, too, once reached so great a depth of despair that she rushed out to drown herself. A fleet-footed friend followed her, and reached her just as[{75}] she was preparing to make the final plunge. All kinds of arguments were used to turn her from her purpose, but in vain, until her rescuer pictured to her how dirty and muddy she would look when taken out of the river. This argument prevailed, and the prima donna deferred her demise.

In spite of the large amount of money earned by Mario, he retired from the stage a poor man. His improvidence was magnificent. Twice the public subscribed for his needs, and once, the old unthriftiness about him still, he flung away his capital and was royally penniless again.

At Rome, in which city he spent his last days, he was given the post of curator of the Museum; but the glory of his past still adhered to him, and he was surrounded by a host of admirers, who enjoyed hearing the old man talk about his adventures. He died, in 1883, in the arms of Signor Augusto Rotoli. His life had been triumphant beyond[{76}] the lot of all but the most fortunate, and the memory he left was singularly kind and beautiful.

A memorandum, published at the time of Mario's retirement, states that during his career he gave, in London alone, 935 performances, of which 225 were in operas of Donizetti, 170 Meyerbeer, 143 Rossini, 112 Verdi, 82 Bellini, 70 Gounod, and 68 Mozart, the remaining 65 performances being operas of seven other composers.[{77}]

CHAPTER III.

MARIO TO TIETIENS.

Contemporary with Sontag, Malibran, and Grisi, was Madame Schröder-Devrient, who was one of the earliest and greatest interpreters of German opera. Though others have surpassed her in vocal resources, she stands high in the list of operatic tragediennes, and for a long time reigned supreme in her art. Her deep sensibilities and dramatic instincts, her noble elocution and stately beauty, fitted her admirably for tragedy, in which she was unrivalled except by Pasta. Her voice was a mellow soprano, which, though not specially flexible, united softness with volume and compass. Her stage career began at the age of six, but she[{78}] was seventeen when she made her début in opera. Her highest triumph was achieved as Leonora in the "Fidelio."

Her marriage with M. Devrient, a tenor singer whom she met in Dresden, did not turn out happily. Madame Devrient retired in 1849, having amassed a considerable fortune by her professional efforts. Her retirement occasioned much regret throughout Germany, and the Emperor Francis I. paid her the unusual compliment of having her portrait painted in all her principal characters, and placed in the Imperial Museum. She died in 1860 at Cologne, and the following year a marble bust was placed in the opera house at Berlin.

Madame Devrient must be classed with that group of dramatic singers who were the interpreters of the school of music which arose in Germany after the death of Mozart, and which found its characteristic type in Carl Maria Von Weber, for Beethoven, who[{79}] on one side belongs to this school, rather belongs to the world, than to a single nationality.

Fanny Persiani, who was contemporary with Grisi and Viardot, was the daughter of Tacchinardi, a tenor singer of no small reputation. Tacchinardi was a dwarf, hunchbacked and repulsive in appearance, yet he had one of the purest tenor voices ever given by nature and refined by art, which, together with extraordinary intelligence and admirable method of singing, and great facility of execution, elicited for him the admiration of the public.

His daughter Fanny showed a passion for music almost as an infant, and was carefully trained by her father. At eleven years of age she took part in an opera as prima donna at a little theatre which Tacchinardi had built near his country-place just out of Florence. She had a voice of immense compass, to which sweetness and flexibility were added by study[{80}] and practice. She married Joseph Persiani, an operatic composer, at the age of twelve, for her father did not wish her to go on the stage, and thought that an early marriage would change her tastes. For several years she lived in seclusion at her husband's house; but at last an opportunity offered to sing in opera, and she was unable to resist it. Madame Persiani belonged to the same style as Sontag, not only in character of voice but in all her sympathies and affinities. Moscheles, in his diary, speaks of the incredible technical difficulties which she overcame, and compares her performance with that of a violinist, for she could execute the most florid, rapid, and difficult music with such ease as to excite the wonder of her hearers. Aside from her wonderful executive art in singing, Madame Persiani will be remembered as having contributed, perhaps, more than any other singer to making the music of Donizetti popular. Her death occurred in 1867.[{81}]

The name of Jenny Lind will be remembered when Malibran, Grisi, and many of the greatest singers have sunk into oblivion, because of her good works. Besides being one of the few perfect singers of the century, her life was characterized by deep religious principles and innumerable charitable works, of which not the least was the use of the fortune of over $100,000, which she made during her American tour, in founding art scholarships and other charities in Sweden, her native land.

Jenny Lind was born in 1820 at Stockholm, and was the daughter of poor but educated parents, her father being a teacher of languages and her mother a schoolmistress.

From her cradle she showed the greatest delight in music, and at the age of three she could sing with accuracy any song that she had heard. Her musical education began at the age of nine; but, notwithstanding the brilliant career predicted for her by her[{82}] friends, her life for many years was a history of patient hard work and crushing disappointments.

When she was presented by her singing teacher to Count Pücke, the director of the court theatre at Stockholm, with a view to getting her admitted to the school of music connected with it, she made no impression on him, and it was only by great persuasion that he could be induced to accept her.

In this theatre she appeared in child's parts while scarcely in her teens, but when she was about thirteen years old her voice suddenly failed. She continued patiently with her other musical studies, and in four or five years her voice returned as suddenly as it had left her.

Shortly after this, she sang at a concert the part of Alice, in the fourth act of "Roberto," and made such a favorable impression that she was immediately given the part of Agatha, in "Der Freischütz," and made her[{83}] first appearance in opera. She soon became a great favorite in Stockholm, where she remained for nearly two years.

Filled with ambition, she now went to Paris and sought the celebrated teacher, Manuel Garcia, whose first advice to her was not to sing a note for three months. Garcia never expected great things of her, although he was pleased with her diligence and her musical intelligence. Meyerbeer, on the contrary, who heard her about a year later, at once recognized in her voice "one of the finest pearls in the world's chaplet of song," and through his influence she obtained a hearing in the salon of the Grand Opera. This did not result in an engagement, and Jenny Lind was so mortified that years afterwards, when her reputation was established, and she was offered an engagement in Paris, she declined it without giving any reason.

She now returned to Stockholm, where she was received with the greatest enthusiasm;[{84}] but soon afterwards she appeared at Copenhagen, and then, through Meyerbeer again, she procured an engagement at Berlin, where, in the part of Alice in "Roberto," she made a profound impression. She next sang in Vienna, where she made a veritable triumph. On the last night of her engagement her carriage was escorted home by thousands. Thirty times she was obliged to appear at the window of her hotel, and the crowd scrambled for the flowers which she threw them in acknowledgment of their applause, and carried them home as treasures.

She became the talk of musical circles throughout Europe, and prices rose enormously whenever she was to sing.

She sang in London for the first time in 1847, and, through judicious advertising, the public were worked up to a great state of expectation. Tickets were held at fabulous prices, and since the days of Mrs. Siddons's seventh farewell, nothing like the excitement[{85}] had been known. Many ladies sat on the stairs of the opera house, unable to penetrate to the auditorium.

Her operatic career in London was short as it was brilliant, for she sang for the last time on the operatic stage in the season of 1849, after which she appeared only in concerts and oratorio. Concerning the charm of her singing, one may judge from a sentence written by Chorley, the well-known critic, who least of all men was likely to be carried away by emotion. "It was a curious experience," he says, "to sit and wait for what should come next, and to wonder whether it was really the case that music had never been heard till the year 1847." On the other hand, Mr. Chorley wrote later on to the effect that she invariably sang somewhat sharp, and that he could not consider any prima donna to be a great artist who was only positively successful in four operas,—"Roberto," "La Sonnambula,"[{86}] "La Figlia del Reggimento," and "Le Nozze di Figaro." In Norma she was a failure.

But again Chorley may well be quoted: "Of all the singers whom I have ever heard, Mlle. Lind was perhaps the most assiduous. Her resolution to offer the very best of her best to the public seemed part and parcel of her nature, and of her conscience. Not a note was neglected by her, not a phrase slurred over. Her execution was great, and, as is always the case with voices originally reluctant, seemed greater than it really was. Her shake was true and brilliant, her taste in ornament was altogether original. She used her pianissimo tones so as to make them resemble an effect of ventriloquism."

Jenny Lind's tour in America was eventful. It began with a serenade by a band of one hundred and thirty musicians, preceded by seven hundred of the firemen of New York. The demonstration occurred at one[{87}] o'clock in the morning, and was witnessed by a crowd of thirty thousand people. The tickets for the concerts were sold by auction, and the highest price paid was $225,—by an enterprising business man. During her stay in America, Jenny Lind was followed by crowds eager to see her; receptions were arranged, and everything was done to keep up the excitement. She was under the management of Mr. P. T. Barnum, from whom she later obtained her release on payment of a forfeit of $30,000.

In 1851 Mlle. Lind put herself under the management of Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, a pianist of considerable ability, whom she married in Boston. In 1852 she returned to Europe with her husband and settled in Dresden, but eight years later they came to England and resided in London, whence they moved after several years to Malvern Wells. In 1887 Madame Lind Goldschmidt died. She is remembered as one of the[{88}] sweetest singers and most charming women of her time.

A singer who replaced Fanny Persiani and surpassed her in popularity, who sang in the same rôles and in the same theatres as Grisi, and who, according to Chorley, was the most ladylike person he had seen on the stage of the Italian opera, except Madame Sontag, was Angiolina Bosio. Born at Turin in 1830, and belonging to a family of artists, both musical and dramatic, she made her first appearance at the age of sixteen, and scored a decided triumph. In 1848 she sang at Paris, but without her customary success, and she immediately made a tour of the West, visiting Havana, New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, in all of which places she was greatly admired. In 1851 she returned to Europe, and married a Greek gentleman named Xindavelonis.

She returned to the stage, but was not favorably received until, at the end of the[{89}] season of 1852, she sang in "I Puritani," in the place of Grisi. This was the turning-point in her fortune, and her popularity increased rapidly, until she died suddenly in St. Petersburg, where the rigorous climate was too severe for her delicate constitution. At St. Petersburg she was nominated première cantatrice, an honor never previously bestowed.

Madame Bosio was possessed of much taste in the matter of dress, together with a graceful condescension of manner. Her features were irregular, and yet she was extremely pleasing, so much so, in fact, that the critics wrote of "her gay, handsome face." Her most remarkable performance was in "La Traviata," in which she sang with the tenor Gardoni and the bass Ronconi, both singers of great renown.

The greatest contralto of the middle of the century was undoubtedly Marietta Alboni, the daughter of a custom-house officer of Casena,[{90}] Romagna. She was born in 1822, and, like most of the great singers, showed her talent early. She was placed under good teachers, and attracted the attention of Rossini by her beautiful voice. He took so much interest in her that he gave her instruction in some of her parts. Thus she had the honor of being Rossini's only pupil.

In 1842 she made her first appearance in opera, and was soon after engaged at La Scala, Milan, where she remained for four years. After this she appeared at Vienna, and then she travelled through Europe, creating a general furore.

Alboni was not an actress,—she was a singer simply and absolutely, and her singing was such as to carry everything before it. The tones of her voice were rich, full, mellow, and liquid,—sumptuous, they have been called,—and of a pure and sympathetic quality. It was not even, for the upper register was thin. Her articulation was[{91}] perfectly clear and fluent, even in the most difficult passages, and her style and method were considered models. Her figure, though large, was graceful and commanding, and her disposition was amiable. She was both independent and dignified. While in Germany, and comparatively unknown, she declined to seek the favor of the press, preferring to trust to the judgment of the public.

Once upon a time, when Madame Alboni was at Trieste, she was informed of the existence of a plot to hiss her off the stage. Having ascertained the names of her detractors and where they were to be found, she donned male attire, in which her short hair and robust figure helped to complete her disguise, and went to the café at which the conspirators met. Here she found them in full consultation, and, taking a seat at a table, she listened to their conversation for a time. After awhile she addressed the leader, saying: "I hear that you intend to play a trick[{92}] upon some one. I am very fond of a little practical joke myself, and should be glad if you would allow me to join you on this occasion."

"With pleasure," was the reply; "we intend to hiss an opera singer off the stage this evening."

"Indeed, and of what is she guilty?"

"Oh, nothing except that, being an Italian, she has sung in Munich and Vienna to German audiences, and we think she ought to receive some castigation for her unpatriotic conduct."

"I agree with you,—and now please tell me what I am to do."

"Take this whistle," said the leader. "At a signal to be given at the conclusion of the air sung by Rosina, the noise will begin, and you will have to join in."

"I shall be very glad to do so," replied the singer, and put the whistle in her pocket.

In the evening the house was packed,[{93}] every seat was occupied, and the audience warmly applauded the opening numbers of the opera. In due course Madame Alboni appeared, and at the point at which she was about to address her tutor, a few of the conspirators began to make a disturbance, not waiting for the signal.

Without showing any concern, Madame Alboni walked down to the footlights, and holding up the whistle, which was hung to her neck by a ribbon, she exclaimed: "Gentlemen, are you not a little before your time? I thought we were not to commence whistling until after I had sung the air."

For a moment a deathlike stillness prevailed. Then, suddenly, the house broke into thunders of applause, which was led by the conspirators themselves.

Alboni visited the United States in 1852, just after the visit of Jenny Lind, and received what was considered a cordial welcome. Nevertheless she is said to have[{94}] expressed some disappointment. In 1853 she married the Count of Pepoli, and soon after retired. She did not again sing in public, except in 1871, when she sang the contralto part in Rossini's Mass, a part which the composer had desired, before his death, that she would take when it was produced.

In social life the Countess of Pepoli was as much the idol of her friends as she had previously been of the public. In 1877 she married a second time, taking Major Zieger for her husband. Her death took place at the Ville d'Avray, Paris, in 1894.

For several years the favorite tenor on the French stage was Gustave Hyppolite Roger, a man of amiable and benevolent disposition, who was educated for the legal profession. He was born in 1815, at La Chapelle St. Denis, Paris, and entered the Conservatoire in 1836, carrying off, the following year, the first prizes for singing and comic opera. His[{95}] début was made in February, 1838, and he remained at the Opera Comique for ten years, after which he went to the Académie, and created a great sensation with Madame Viardot, in "Le Prophète." His acting was good both in tragic and comic parts, and he created many new rôles.

In 1859 he met with an unfortunate accident, and lost his right arm by the bursting of a gun, and this put an end to his operatic career in Paris. He continued, however, to sing in provincial towns and in Germany, until 1861, when he reappeared at the Opera Comique. But it was evident that the time for his retirement had come, and he took pupils, becoming a professor of singing at the Conservatoire in 1868, and holding the position until his death in 1879.

The mantle of Braham, the greatest English tenor of his day, descended to John Sims Reeves, the son of a musician, who was born at Shooter's Hill, Kent, in 1822.[{96}] Reeves, we are told, received the traditions of Braham, and refined them.

He obtained his early musical instruction from his father, and at fourteen held the position of organist at North Gray Church. Upon gaining his mature voice he determined to be a singer, and at first sang baritone and second tenor parts, making his début in opera, at Newcastle-on-Tyne, as Count Rudolpho in "La Sonnambula." Before long his voice developed into a tenor of an exceptionally beautiful quality, and, in 1847, when he appeared at Drury Lane, he at once took a position as a singer of the first rank. His acting, too, was natural and easy, manly, and to the purpose, exhibiting both passion and power without exaggeration.

His greatest triumph, however, was achieved in oratorio, and his performance of "The Enemy Said," in "Israel in Egypt," at the Crystal Palace, in 1857, was of such a nature as to electrify his hearers.[{97}]

In England the name of Sims Reeves was for many years sufficient to draw an audience large enough to fill any auditorium to overflowing, although he frequently disappointed the public by non-appearance. It was known that he considered it wiser to disappoint the public than to risk losing his voice, and, as a result, people soon realized that to hear him once was sufficient to atone for several disappointments. To the general public Sims Reeves endeared himself chiefly by his exquisite ballad singing; and, just as Patti is associated with "Home, Sweet Home," his name is coupled with "Come into the Garden, Maud."

Up to the age of seventy, Sims Reeves appeared occasionally in concerts, and even at the present day he can secure an audience, although his powers have long since passed away.

Enrico Tamberlik, who flourished during the middle of the century, was a tenor of[{98}] high rank. He belonged to the class of "tenore di forza," and used to make a tremendous effect with his high C, which he produced with immense power. His voice was one of great richness of tone and volume, but his singing was marred by the persistent use of the vibrato, a fault all too common.

Tamberlik, like Sims Reeves and Jean de Reszke, sang originally as a baritone, and developed later into a tenor. His delivery was grand and noble, his phrasing perfect, and he sang with a great depth of expression. His elocution was so fine that every word was delivered with full effect, and his dramatic power was unusually great. He was seen to best advantage in heroic parts, in which his fine figure and majestic bearing, together with the power and resonance of his voice, were displayed.

Tamberlik was born at Rome in 1820, made his début at Naples in 1841, and soon[{99}] built up a great reputation. In 1850 he appeared in London, and became so great a favorite that he was engaged there every season until 1864. In 1874 he made a tour of the United States, and he is said to have been the first tenor of importance who visited South America, singing at Rio Janeiro, Buenos Ayres, and Montevideo.

One of his most notable performances was in 1871, when he took the part of Otello, in Rossini's opera of that name, with Faure as Iago, and Nilsson as Desdemona.

Tamberlik was a shrewd man of business, but an excellent companion. His conversational powers were immense, and as he had come in contact with, and known intimately, many men and women famous in the world of fashion, art, and literature, he had an endless fund of interesting anecdotes. In 1877 he retired from the stage, having the good sense to seek private life before his powers had faded. He settled in Madrid, and[{100}] became a manufacturer of arms. While in retirement he had the rare experience of reading his own obituary notices, for, in 1882, a rumor of his death went forth into Italy and France. Though it was entirely without foundation, the press at once teemed with eulogistic biographies of the great tenor, which were copied throughout Europe. As they were highly complimentary, the subject was much pleased, and made a collection of them which he pasted into an album and enjoyed for seven years. He died in 1889.

During the same period there flourished Karl Formes, one of the most remarkable bassos of his time, who was popular in spite of the fact that he frequently offended by false intonation.

Formes was the son of a sexton of Muhlheim on the Rhine, and was born in 1810. He gained the greater part of his musical education by singing in the choir of the church. He grew up with a strong love for[{101}] the drama, as well as for music, and at the age of sixteen his enthusiasm was such that when Essler, the actor, visited Cologne, young Formes, not having sufficient money to pay both for the ferry and his ticket, tied his clothes around his neck, and swam the Rhine, rather than miss the performance. When Staudigl, the bass singer, visited the same city, Formes listened to his singing with awe, and the next season he begged to be allowed to sing the part of Bertram at the opera. This was one of Staudigl's favorite rôles. Staudigl, who heard the performance, was so pleased that he introduced Formes as his successor.

Formes, however, first came into notice by singing at some concerts given for the benefit of the Cathedral fund, at Cologne, in 1841. In the following year he made his operatic début, his success leading to an engagement for three years. He then sang in Vienna, and in 1849 appeared in London with[{102}] a German company, taking the part of Zarastro in the "Zauberflöte," at Drury Lane Theatre. The next year he was engaged for Italian opera, at Covent Garden, and sang there every season for some fifteen years.

He had a voice which, for volume, compass, and quality, was one of the most magnificent ever heard, a stage presence handsome and attractive, and exceptional dramatic ability.

Formes was a man of unsettled, roving disposition, and spent much of his time in Russia and in Spain, but in 1857 he visited the United States, and eventually began a wandering life in this country, going wherever fancy took him, and singing in almost all the larger cities.

In 1882 he, being then seventy-two years of age, married a Miss Pauline Greenwood, who had been one of his pupils in Philadelphia. Shortly afterwards the happy couple settled in San Francisco, where he frequently[{103}] sang in concerts, and where he had a number of pupils. His voice was wonderfully well preserved, and he was strong and active, giving some fifteen lessons daily, until his death in 1889.

Niemann is authority for a story about Formes. Once when he was in Germany, Formes was very anxious to sing at court, and Niemann succeeded in securing for him the opportunity. According to Niemann's ideas of art, Formes sang atrociously, bellowing and shouting in stentorian tones. Niemann was in an agony throughout the performance, thinking of his responsibility; but, to his surprise, when the song was over, the old Emperor William I. applauded loudly, and seemed highly delighted, and demanded an encore. He probably thought what a fine dragoon officer Formes would have made, shouting commands with his great voice.

At about the same time there flourished[{104}] another tenor of high rank, whose career was confined almost entirely to Germany, Joseph Alois Tichatschek. He was born in 1807, at Ober Weckelsdorf, in Bohemia, and became a chorus singer in 1830, rising in his profession until, in 1837, he made his début as a soloist at Dresden. In 1841 he sang for a few nights in London, at Drury Lane, during a season of German opera; also at Liverpool and Manchester, and was described as "young, prepossessing, and a good actor; his voice is excellent, and his style, though not wanting in cultivation, is more indebted to nature than to art." He was also said to have proved himself "the hit of the season." Tichatschek died in 1886.

A singer who was much more widely known, and who belonged to the time of Grisi, Mario, Lablache, and the great operatic representations of those days, was Georgio Ronconi, the baritone. He had a[{105}] reputation extending throughout Europe and into America, and he owes his celebrity rather to histrionic powers than to his voice, for we are told by Chorley that "there are few instances of a voice so limited in compass (hardly exceeding an octave), so inferior in quality, so weak, so habitually out of tune. The low stature, the features unmarked and commonplace, when silent, promising nothing to an audience, yet which could express a dignity of bearing, a tragic passion not to be exceeded, or an exuberance of the wildest, quaintest, most whimsical, most spontaneous comedy. These things we have seen, and have forgotten personal insignificance, vocal power beyond mediocrity, every disqualification, in the spell of strong, real sensibility." It was one of the many cases in which dramatic talent has made up for lack of voice.

Ronconi sang for many years in London, in all the great comic operas. He retired in[{106}] 1874, and became a teacher of singing. He died in 1890.

In 1849 two stars of importance appeared on the operatic horizon,—Madame Marie Caroline Félix Miolan Carvalho, and Mlle. Theresa Carolin Johanna Tietiens.

Madame Carvalho became the foremost lyric artist on the French stage, and was engaged for many years at the Opera Comique and at the Grand Opera in Paris, but she also sang frequently in London, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and other cities of Europe. Her first public appearance was made at a performance for the benefit of Duprez, her teacher, and she sang in the first act of "Lucia," and in the trio in the second act of "La Juive." Her last appearance, which took place in 1887, two years after her retirement from the stage, was also at a benefit,—a concert in aid of the sufferers by the fire at the Opera Comique. On this occasion she sang with Faure.[{107}]

Madame Carvalho was the daughter of an oboe player named Félix Miolan, who educated her musically until she entered the Paris Conservatoire, and studied with Duprez, gaining, in 1847, the first prize for singing. Her voice was high and thin, but was used with consummate skill and delicacy, and her interpretation of the rôle of Marguerite, in "Faust," was considered a most complete and delightful personation.

She was a native of Marseilles, born in 1827. In 1853 she married Leon Carvaillé, more generally known as Carvalho, who became director of the Opera Comique. He held this position at the time of the fire; and, as the accident was judged to have been due to the carelessness of the management, Carvalho was fined and imprisoned. Madame Carvalho died in 1895, at Puys, near Dieppe.

Tietiens has been called the last of the great race of dramatic singers made splendid by such as Pasta, Malibran, Grisi, and Viardot[{108}]-Garcia. Never was so mighty a voice so sweet and luscious in its tone. It had none of the soprano shrillness, but was more of a mezzo-soprano quality throughout, and softer than velvet. Her style of singing was noble and pure, her acting was earnest, animated, and forcible, her stage presence was imposing. Such parts as Norma and Lucretia Borgia are said to have died with her, so grand was her interpretation of them, and she sang the part of Ortrud in "Lohengrin" so finely that, in all probability, she would have become noted as a Wagnerian singer had not death snatched her away in her prime. No singer ever became more popular in England, where she lived for many years, and where her death was considered as a national loss. Mlle. Tietiens was born in Hamburg, in 1831, of Hungarian parents, and first appeared in opera in that city at the age of eighteen. She sang in London every season from 1859 till 1877, the year[{109}] of her death, and was as great an oratorio singer as she was operatic artist. Mlle. Tietiens was tall, massive, and dignified, and dominated the stage with her presence. In 1876 she visited the United States, and made a concert tour, but none could have a full conception of her power who did not see her in one of her great parts. Like other singers who have for years maintained their popularity in England, her private life was most admirable, and her kind and charitable nature endeared her to the nation.[{110}]

CHAPTER IV.

PRIMA DONNAS OF THE FIFTIES.

The years immediately following 1850 were rather barren of stars of the first magnitude in the line of sopranos, although Stockhausen, Faure, Wachtel, and Nicolini all belong to that period, besides Adelaide Phillips, the contralto.

The chief soprano of the year 1851 was Madame Nantier-Didier, a native of the Isle of Bourbon, who had a somewhat successful career in the chief cities of Europe, but who was considered "a first-rate singer of the second class." She had a gay, handsome face, a winning mezzo-soprano voice, and neat execution.

In the following year appeared two singers[{111}] of high rank, Maria Piccolomini, and Euphrosine Parepa, more generally known as Madame Parepa-Rosa.

Piccolomini owed her success chiefly to her clever acting, and her charming little figure. Her voice was weak and limited, and she was not sure in her intonation, nor did she excel in execution. She visited the United States in 1858, and was well received. Her stage career was not very long, for she retired in 1863, and married the Marchese Gaetani.

Parepa-Rosa was born in Scotland, at Edinburgh. Her father was a Wallachian boyard, and her mother (Elizabeth Seguin) a singer of some repute. Parepa's full name was Euphrosine Parepa de Boyesku. She was a well-educated woman, speaking and writing several languages correctly, and she had a voice of great power and sweetness, with a range of two and a half octaves. She was, also, a woman of fine figure and[{112}] imposing stage presence. Her reputation was gained, however, more in concert and oratorio than in opera, but her memory will remain in America as that of one who did much towards the cultivation of the public taste for opera.

In 1865 she came to America on a tour with Mr. Carl Rosa, whom she married in 1867, her first husband, Captain De Wolfe Carvell, having died in 1865. After this they remained for four years, during which time they organized the Carl Rosa Opera Company, for the performance of English and Italian opera. Madame Parepa-Rosa was the principal singer, and the company met with great success, singing not only in opera, but also in oratorio and concerts. In 1871 they went to Cairo, Egypt, on account of Carl Rosa's health, but they returned to America before winter, bringing with them Wachtel, the German tenor, and Santley, the English baritone.[{113}]

In 1873 they again returned to Europe, but Madame Rosa was soon afterwards seized with an illness which terminated in her death in January, 1874. The Carl Rosa Opera Company, which was thus established, remained in existence until recently, and has been a successful company, always employing several singers of high rank. In 1898, owing to a declining business, it was decided to wind the company up, or reorganize it, and meetings were held to decide the matter.

The star of 1856 was Madame Peschka-Leutner, who sang in 1872 at the Jubilee festival in Boston. Although she had appeared in London, she was but little known outside of her own country, where she was very popular. She died at Wiesbaden in 1890.

Before 1860 the French stage also produced two singers of high rank. In 1858 Madame Artôt made her début at the Paris[{114}] Opera, though she had already been heard in concerts in Belgium, Holland, and England. She was the daughter of the horn professor at the Brussels Conservatoire, and was taught singing by Madame Viardot-Garcia. Her engagement at Paris was due to Meyerbeer, and her success was such as to draw praise even from the extremely critical Berlioz. In the following year she took to Italian opera, and for many years was well known throughout Europe.

Marguérite Josephine Désirée Montaigny Artôt, for such was her name in full, was born in 1835, and in 1869 she married a well-known Spanish tenor, Padilla-y-Ramos. Together they sang in most of the great European cities until their retirement. As late as 1887 they sang in Berlin, in which city Madame Artôt settled as a teacher of singing.

Madame Galli-Marié, whose celebrity as Mignon and Carmen is world-wide, was the daughter of an opera singer, Mécène Marié[{115}] de l'Isle. She made her début at Strasburg in 1859, and about the same time married a sculptor named Galli, who died in 1861. Madame Galli-Marié's dramatic talent was great, and she has succeeded in characters of entirely opposite nature. Her voice was not remarkable; but, like many of the most renowned artists of the century, her originality and artistic temperament were sufficient to place her in the first rank.

When "Carmen" was produced, and Madame Galli-Marié was chosen for the title rôle, Bizet re-wrote the part to suit her voice, which was of limited range, having neither the low notes of a contralto nor the high ones of the soprano. She was, however, owing to her dramatic capabilities, not only the first but one of the best Carmens seen until the time of Calvé.

In 1859 there arose from the opposite ends of the earth, two stars of the first magnitude, whose brilliancy was sufficient to silence the[{116}] complaints of those who declared that the art of singing was a lost art. Such wails have arisen from time to time ever since opera was established, and possibly they may have existed in some form previous to that time, but up to the present date there is good evidence that the art of singing flourishes. It is human nature to declare that things of the past were superior to those of the present, and in their day Cuzzoni, Gabrielli, Catalani, Pasta, Grisi, and Jenny Lind, besides a number of others, were all such singers "as had never before been heard."

Between Pauline Lucca and Adelina Patti there was a wide difference, and yet both singers triumphed in the same parts.

Lucca made her début at Olmutz as Elvira in "Ernani," Patti first appeared in New York as Lucia. Both Lucca and Patti made their début at the age of sixteen, though some authorities state that Lucca was born in 1841; and both singers followed in matrimony[{117}] the conventional course of the prima donna, and married twice.

Pauline Lucca was born in Vienna, her father being an Italian merchant in comfortable circumstances. Pauline's high musical gifts attracted attention early, but her father objected to the idea of educating her for the stage. When she was about thirteen years old business reverses caused him to change his mind, and Pauline was placed under the best available teachers.

In due course an engagement was secured for her at Olmutz, and she at once became a favorite. For four months she sang at a salary of sixty florins a month, and then she was engaged at Prague at five hundred florins a month. Her next engagement was at Berlin at one thousand thalers a month.

Her popularity at Olmutz was so great that before she left that place she was honored by the inhabitants with a musical serenade and torchlight procession.[{118}]

It happened that about this time Meyerbeer, the composer, was casting his eye over the operatic world for a singer to whom he felt that he could entrust the creation of the part of Selika in his yet unpublished "L'Africaine." He heard of Lucca, and when she was singing at Prague he came over from Berlin on purpose to hear her. So pleased was he with her performance that after the opera he desired to be presented to her, and on being taken to her room, he rushed up to her and kissed her vehemently on both cheeks, much to the surprise and embarrassment of the young lady, who had no idea as to his identity. A modern prima donna, not long ago, experienced a similar burst of enthusiasm from an unknown elderly gentleman who also shed tears. After he had gone, and she had recovered from her surprise, she missed a very valuable piece of jewelry. It is only proper, therefore, for all composers intending to make a demonstration to send word before-hand.[{119}] On the following day Meyerbeer called at her hotel and offered Mlle. Lucca an engagement at Berlin, which she accepted, and which took effect at the end of her Prague engagement, eight months later.

During these eight months Lucca received a proposal of marriage from the young Prince Lobkowitz, who had fallen desperately in love with her; but she did not listen to his appeals, and the unfortunate prince was rejected. Some time after this event, which was so mortifying as to probably affect his disposition, he sought and found death on the field of honor, becoming involved in a duel.

Lucca now went to Berlin. Meyerbeer took her under his own immediate charge, and she appeared in three of his greatest characters, Alice in "Roberto," Bertha in "Il Prophete," and Vielka in the "Camp of Silesia." She was in her eighteenth year, and her beauty both of person and voice[{120}] excited the greatest admiration and drove the Berlin public wild with rapture. Under Meyerbeer's supervision she gained splendid triumphs and was appointed court singer for life.

During this time of triumph in Berlin she was visited by Adelina Patti, whose fame was also spreading over Europe; in fact, if one may judge by financial results, Patti's star was much higher in the heavens than that of Lucca, for whereas Lucca was receiving one thousand thalers a month, Patti was being paid one thousand francs a night. Lucca was living in apartments on a fourth floor, in quite an unconventional style, and was in bed when Patti called. Nevertheless, she received her visitor, and Strakosch, her manager, with many signs of unaffected pleasure, and they became firm friends, their rivalry being confined to the stage.

Lucca's progress to fame was now very rapid. She appeared in London in 1863 and[{121}] 1864, making a remarkable impression. In 1865 Meyerbeer's "L'Africaine" was to be produced in Paris, and he was anxious that Lucca should sing the part of Selika, but this was impossible without the consent of the King of Prussia, and as he was opposed to her singing in Paris at that time, he would not give the necessary consent. Meyerbeer felt so strongly on the subject that he added a codicil to his will stating that, if Pauline Lucca was engaged to sing Selika at the Opera House in Berlin, the work might be sung there in German,—otherwise, he forbade its production. "L'Africaine" was produced in Paris on April 28, 1865; but Meyerbeer never witnessed its performance in public, for he was seized with illness on April 23d of that year, and died on May 2d.

In London this opera was produced on July 22d, and Lucca sang the part for which Meyerbeer had selected her, as she also did at Berlin. Her performance in London is[{122}] on record as one of the very highest achievements in the lyrical drama. In Berlin she created a perfect furore, singing in a company which introduced Wachtel and Betz. While the performance was in progress, the house and even the carriage of the young prima donna were decorated with the rarest and most beautiful flowers, and with such profusion that she was hardly able to recognize her home.

The Czar of Russia now wished to hear this incomparable singer, so he sent a polite message to the King of Prussia, requesting that she be allowed to sing at St. Petersburg, and offering her a salary of eighty thousand rubles for the season of four months. The King of Prussia had not the same scruples concerning Russia that he had about France, so his gracious consent was given, as it was, also, on the following season.

Lucca made an immense impression at St. Petersburg, where at the end of the season[{123}] she was serenaded by the band of the Imperial Guards. The streets were illuminated from the theatre to her house at the orders of the Crown Princess Dagmar, the Empress gave her a priceless and beautiful pair of diamond earrings, the public, through the leader of the orchestra, presented her with a splendid diadem covered with precious stones, and the members of the orchestra subscribed and made her a present of a laurel wreath in gold. But the greatest demonstration in her honor occurred when she organized a concert for the benefit of indigent students, the receipts of which exceeded ten thousand rubles. Then she was called forward thirty times, and the students unharnessed her horses and dragged her carriage home. They seized her shawl and tore it into fragments for mementos, and she also had to give up her gloves and handkerchief for the same purpose.

Similar demonstrations have taken place[{124}] at different times, and in other cities, in honor of other singers. It is quite an ordinary matter in Russia for a singer to be called forward ten or twenty times, and even thirty times is not by any means so extraordinary as it would be in London or New York, or, more particularly, in Boston.

Jenny Lind lost a shawl in New York through the enthusiasm of the public, and in 1881 Patti enjoyed the experience in Brooklyn of being dragged home by a crowd of enthusiasts.

Perhaps Patti had the most curious demonstration in London, just before she sailed for New York under Mapleson's management, and Mapleson is the authority for the anecdote.

After the last performance of the season, Patti was escorted from the theatre to the train en route for Liverpool by a procession of theatrical people in costume, with a brass band. This was at one o'clock in the morning.[{125}] Full accounts of it were, of course, obtained somehow by the American papers.

In 1865 Pauline Lucca had married a German military officer, Baron von Rahden, who, when the Franco-German war broke out, went to the front, and was severely wounded in the celebrated charge of Mars-La-Tour. Lucca, hearing of his misfortune, made her way to the scene of the conflict, and sought him out in the military hospital, where she tenderly nursed him until he could be taken home. Her devotion to him was admirable; but, unfortunately, a change in her feelings seems to have occurred before very long, for when in 1872 she was in New York she brought suit for divorce against the Baron, and he, being unaware of the proceedings, made no defence, so that rightly or otherwise Madame Lucca secured her divorce. Later on, when von Rahden forwarded papers which were supposed to establish his innocence of the charges made[{126}] against him by his irate and jealous spouse, the case was closed, and no notice was taken of the defence. Matters seem, however, to have arranged themselves to the satisfaction of all concerned, for the Baron married the young lady who had been the cause of Lucca's jealousy, and Lucca married Baron von Wallhofen, an intimate friend of Von Rahden, who, also, had been wounded at Mars-La-Tour, and who had followed her to America.

Pauline Lucca was one of the few singers gifted with original genius, and she imparted specific individuality to each of her characters, even the most colorless. Her versatility was very great, and she had a repertoire of fifty-six rôles. Her voice was a full soprano of sympathetic quality, and with a range of two and a half octaves, extending to C in alt, and capable of expressing every kind of emotion. Like Patti she was of slender figure, and at one time she played[{127}] Marguerite in "Faust" on alternate nights with her. Lucca was essentially a lyric actress rather than a singer pure and simple, and had the power of realizing the highest dramatic conception both of poet and composer; she was able to draw inspiration from the abstract idea, and she has been called "transcendentally human."

After her memorable tour in the United States, in 1872, Madame Lucca continued before the public in Europe until 1884, since which time she has lived in Vienna, and devoted herself chiefly to teaching.

While Lucca was thus rising to the highest pinnacles of fame, Patti also was scoring great successes. In London she had become a permanent favorite, and from the year 1861, in which she made her European début, for more than twenty years she was engaged every season at Covent Garden.

In spite of all rivalry, she held her position there as the most popular opera singer[{128}] of modern times. She has enjoyed the same popularity on the continent, and in America also she has been immensely popular.

Adelina Patti's voice was one of moderate power, but great range and of wonderful flexibility. Her production was faultless, and she was, and is, undoubtedly, one of the greatest mistresses of vocalization of the century. As an actress, she could not compare with many other singers, and her greatest successes were gained in such operas as made the least demand upon the histrionic capabilities of the performer. Her repertoire included about thirty operas, mostly of the Italian school, though she also sang in the operas of Meyerbeer and Gounod, and others. She was one of the many "Carmens;" but while her interpretation vocally was excellent, she was by no means equal dramatically to Mlle. Hauk, and much less so to Calvé, the latest and by far the greatest interpreter of that rôle.[{129}]

One of the most notable events of Madame Patti's career occurred when, in 1868, at the funeral of Rossini, the composer, she sang with Madame Alboni the beautiful duet, "Quis est Homo," from Rossini's "Stabat Mater." On that occasion such an assembly of noted musicians and singers was gathered together to honor the great composer as probably never before met under the same roof. To hear that beautiful music, rendered by two such artists over the grave of the composer, was to feel in the truest sense the genius of Rossini, and the part that he played in the music of the nineteenth century.

The name of Patti has always been associated with high prices, and not without cause; for, although other singers have received larger sums for isolated engagements, none have ever succeeded in maintaining such a uniformly high rate.

When she returned to America in 1881,[{130}] after an absence of some twenty years, Patti held mistaken notions about the American people, and her early concerts were a bitter disappointment. High prices and hackneyed songs did not suit the public, and in order to make a success of the tour Madame Patti was obliged to throw over her French manager, and employ an American (Henry E. Abbey) who knew the public, and who immediately cut the prices down to one-half. Eventually the season was successful, both artistically and financially, her voice showing but little sign of wear, and her execution being as brilliant as ever. At Brooklyn the people took the horses out of her carriage, and dragged her home,—one facetious writer remarking that he saw no reason for taking away her horses, and substituting asses. The following clever rhyme, at the expense of her manager, taken from "Puck," voices the opinion of the public very neatly, in regard to Patti's tour, in 1881-2:[{131}]

Farinelli is said to have made $30,000 per annum, a very large sum for the times in which he lived. Catalani's profits ran almost to $100,000 a season. Malibran received $95,000 for eighty-five performances at La Scala. Jenny Lind, for ninety-five concerts, under Barnum's management, received $208,675, all good figures. But Rubini is said to have made $11,500 at one concert, and Tamagno is the highest-priced tenor of the present day.

Patti at one time made a contract for a series of performances at $4,400 a night, and later on her fee was $5,000 a night, paid in advance, but when she came to Boston in 1882, and sang in three performances given in a week, her share of the receipts was $20,895. The attendance at the Saturday[{132}] matinée was 9,142 people, and her share of the receipts for that performance alone was $8,395.

Madame Patti always had the advantage of excellent management. Until her marriage with the Marquis de Caux she was under the management of her brother-in-law, Maurice Strakosch, and so assiduous was he in his protection of his young star from unnecessary wear and tear that he became the subject of many jokes. It is said that he occasionally took her place at rehearsals, that when visitors called on her they saw him instead, and some people, with vivid imagination, declared that Strakosch sat for Patti's photograph, and that he once offered to receive a declaration of love for her.

One is apt to doubt the necessity of all this management, for Patti seems to have been admirably adapted for self-defence, and even for aggression in financial matters. An amusing anecdote is told of her by Max[{133}] Maretzek, who, one day, when she was a small child, in a moment of generosity promised her a doll, or, as some accounts have it, some bon-bons as a reward for singing in a concert. It was to be her very first appearance. Patti did not forget the promise, and when it was nearly time for her to sing she asked for her doll. Maretzek had forgotten it, and promised that she should have it after the concert, or the next day. But no, she must have it first, or she would not go on and sing. The poor man was in despair. It was late and stores were all closed, but by some means he succeeded in getting the bribe, whether dolls or bon-bons, and, rushing back in breathless haste, he handed it to her. Then she became cheerful at once, and giving it to her mother to be taken care of, she went on and performed her part in the concert.

One of the most amusing of these anecdotes was told by Colonel Mapleson, the[{134}] well-known impresario, who says that no one ever approached Madame Patti in the art of obtaining from a manager the greatest possible sum that he could contrive by any possibility to pay. In 1882, owing to the competition of Henry Abbey, the American impresario, Mapleson was obliged to raise Patti's salary from $1,000 per night to $4,000, and, finally, to $5,000 per night, a sum previously unheard-of in the annals of opera. The price, moreover, was to be paid at two o'clock of the day on which Patti was to sing.

On the second night of the engagement at Boston, Madame Patti was billed to sing in "Traviata." Expenses had been heavy and the funds were low, so that when Signor Franchi, Patti's agent, called at the theatre promptly at two o'clock, only $4,000 could be scraped together. Signor Franchi was indignant, and declared that the contract was broken, and that Madame Patti would[{135}] not sing. He refused to take the $4,000, and went off to report the matter to the prima donna. At four o'clock, Signor Franchi returned to the theatre, and congratulated Colonel Mapleson on his facility for managing Madame Patti, saying that she would do for the colonel that which she would do for no other impresario. In short, Patti would take the $4,000 and dress for her part, all except her shoes. She would arrive at the theatre at the regular time, and when the remaining paltry $1,000 was forthcoming she would put on her shoes and be ready to go on the stage.

Everything happened as Patti had promised. She arrived at the theatre costumed as Violetta, but minus her shoes. Franchi called at the box-office, but only $800 was on hand. The genial Signor took the money and returned to Patti's room. He soon appeared again to say that Madame Patti was[{136}] all ready except one shoe, which she could not put on until the remaining $200 was paid. It was already time for the performance to begin, but people were still coming in, and after some slight delay Signor Franchi was able to go in triumph to Madame Patti with the balance of the amount. Patti put on her other shoe and proceeded to the stage. She made her entrance at the proper time, her face radiant with smiles, and no one in the audience had any idea of the stirring events which had just taken place.

In later years, when Madame Patti invested some of her fortune in the beautiful castle at Craig-y-Nos, in Wales, the people employed to put the place into repair, knowing of her reputed wealth and extravagance, sent in enormous bills. But Madame Patti was not to be imposed upon, and the result was that the amounts melted down considerably under the gentle influence of the law.[{137}] The unkindest cut of all was, however, when a Belgian gentleman, who had amused himself at Craig-y-Nos, who had fished, shot, and been entertained, but who always managed to be present during discussions on business, sent in a bill of £3,000 for his services as agent.

Under the management of Colonel Mapleson, Patti travelled in most luxurious style. She had a special car which is said to have cost $65,000, and a whole retinue of servants. At Cheyenne, the legislature and assembly adjourned and chartered a special car to meet the operatic train. A military band was at the station, and nearly the whole population turned out to witness the arrival. Tickets to the opera were ten dollars each, and there was an audience of 3,000 people.

California seems to have been considered doubtful territory, for Patti left the question undecided as to whether she would go so far.[{138}] When she did arrive it was merely as a visitor, but her delight with the "heavenly place" was so great that she declared she must sing there. The necessary delay incurred by sending to Chicago for numerous trunks containing her wardrobe, gave sufficient time for the excitement in San Francisco to work up to fever heat. Tickets sold at unheard-of prices, and more or less damage to property was done in the scramble.

Adelina Patti made her first matrimonial venture in 1868, when she was united to the Marquis de Caux, an event which did not interfere with her operatic career, for she filled an engagement of six weeks at Paris, and then went on to St. Petersburg, where the town opened a subscription which amounted to 100,000 rubles, and presented her with a diamond necklace.

In 1885 Madame Patti obtained a divorce from the Marquis de Caux, from whom she had separated in 1877, and the following[{139}] year married Ernest Nicolini, the tenor singer. Nicolini was a man of fine stage presence, and, for a time, after the retirement of Mario, was considered the best tenor on the stage. His voice was of moderate power and of pleasing quality, but his tremolo was, to say the least, extensive. For some years Madame Patti declined every engagement in which Nicolini was not included, until the public indignation found vent in many protests. Signor Nicolini seems to have been a devoted and admiring husband, and to have entered heartily into the pleasures of the luxurious life of Craig-y-Nos. He died in January, 1898.

After some years of retirement from the operatic stage, during which she sang only in concerts, Patti made a reappearance at Covent Garden in 1895, and showed that her voice, notwithstanding nearly forty years of use, was wonderfully well preserved. Nevertheless it was a disappointment to those[{140}] who had heard her in her prime. As a reason for its preservation she says that she never sings when she is tired, and never strains for high notes. Sir Morell Mackenzie, the great throat specialist, said that she had the most wonderful throat he ever saw. It was the only one in which the vocal cords were in absolutely perfect condition after many years of use. They were not strained, warped, or roughened in the slightest degree, but absolutely perfect, and there was no reason why they should not remain so for ten or even twenty years longer. It was by her voice alone that she charmed and delighted her audiences, and she will doubtless be recorded as the possessor of the most perfect voice of the nineteenth century. She witnessed the rise of many rivals, but none ever equalled her in popularity, though many excelled her in dramatic powers. Lucca, Sembrich, Nilsson, were all greater as actresses, but of all the rivals of her prime[{141}] only Sembrich and Albani remain, and several years must elapse before their careers will equal the length of Patti's.

Probably no other singer has succeeded in amassing so great a fortune as Madame Patti. Her earnings enabled her to purchase, in 1878, the beautiful estate in Wales, which she remodelled to suit her own ideas. Here she has lived in regal style and entertained lavishly many of the most noted people of the civilized world.

Her wealth is by no means confined to real estate, for she has a rare collection of jewels, said to be the largest and most brilliant owned by any of the modern actresses and opera singers. One of her gowns, worn in the third act of "La Traviata," was covered with precious stones to the value of $500,000.

Madame Patti's most popular rôles were Juliet and Aida, and though she created no new parts of importance, she has amply fulfilled[{142}] the traditional rôle of prima donna in matters of caprice and exaction, and has even created some new precedents. In 1898 she was still before the public, singing in concerts in London and elsewhere.[{143}]

CHAPTER V.

PRIMA DONNAS OF THE SIXTIES.

At the middle of the century critics began to cry out about the decadence of the vocal art, much as they have done at intervals during the past two centuries, and with as little real cause. The great singers of recent years had departed, and apparently none had arisen to take their place, and yet the latter half of the century has been adorned by stars who, as far as we are able to judge, are not inferior to those who have gone before. It is probable that other stars also will arise who will delight as large audiences and create as great excitement as Grisi, Lind, and Malibran.

While it is undoubtedly true that declamation[{144}] holds a more important place in modern opera than it did in the operas of bygone days, and some declare that the art of vocalization is extinct, yet singers who can charm by pure vocalization are still as welcome as ever, though more is expected of them in the dramatic branch of their art.

It is doubtful whether a greater trio of singers has been before the public at any time than Patti, Lucca, and Nilsson, and yet they appeared at a time when it was claimed that vocal art was dead.

During the first half of the century we have seen that some of the great singers visited the United States. Garcia brought his daughter to America, where she created a great sensation and found her first husband. Sontag crossed the ocean, Grisi, Alboni, and Jenny Lind had found appreciative audiences in America. Among the men, Incledon was the first singer of importance to cross the water.[{145}]

We now arrive at a period when not only many great singers, and some of less repute, crossed the wild Atlantic for American dollars, but America began to supply singers to the European market. When Colonel Mapleson was interviewed in San Francisco during Patti's tour, he declared that there were more than 2,000 American vocal students in Europe, and he mentioned fifteen who had appeared under his management up to 1883. This number included Patti, who could hardly be claimed as American, for she was born in Madrid, of Italian parents. But between 1860 and 1870, Clara Louise Kellogg, Minnie Hauk, and Annie Louise Gary were genuine Americans, as was also Adelaide Phillips, who made her début in 1854. In later years the number increased till, at the present day, at least two of the greatest artists among the prima donnas are of American origin, while a large number have reached a high position[{146}] and may be destined for the greatest honors.

The star of the year 1860 was born in Vienna, made her début there, and remained there for some years. Marie Gabrielle Krauss was one of those singers, who, with a voice far from perfect, was able by her style, her phrasing, and her musical delivery, to which must be added the incontestable power of dramatic accent, to be classed among the greatest singers of her time. In 1867 she was engaged in Paris and sung there for many years, except during the Franco-Prussian war.

In 1861, Carlotta Patti made her début, but she was obliged to abandon the operatic stage on account of lameness. She was an elder sister of Adelina Patti, and for many years was very popular on the concert stage, sharing with her sister wonderful facility of execution and beautiful quality of voice. Probably no singer of her time travelled so[{147}] extensively as Carlotta Patti, who is said to have visited every part of the world in which a concert could be successfully given. In 1879 she married Mr. Ernst de Munck, of Weimar, a violoncellist, but ten years later she died.

Clara Louise Kellogg was one of the early American singers, who, though her great musical gifts enabled her to win triumphs in opera in the great musical centres of the world, devoted the prime of her life to giving English opera in her native land.

Miss Kellogg was born in Sumterville, S. C., in 1842, but in 1856 she went, with her mother, who had considerable musical ability, to New York, in order to continue the musical education which her mother had begun. In 1861, before she had completed her nineteenth year, she made her début at the Academy of Music, in "Rigoletto" as Gilda, and sang during the season about a dozen times.[{148}]

In 1867 she appeared at Her Majesty's Theatre in London as Margherita, and was reëngaged for the following year. She then returned to the United States and made a concert tour which lasted for four years. In 1872 she was back again in London at Her Majesty's.

In 1874 she organized an English Opera company in America, translating the words, training the chorus, and doing most of the hard work of the enterprise herself. Such was her ardor and enthusiasm that she sang in the winter of 1874-5 no less than one hundred and twenty-five times. From that time until 1882, she was constantly before the public in opera or concert, and in addition to her musical talents she was remarkable for business ability. Her voice was of large compass and great purity, and when she retired she left a memory of a good, exemplary life, full of benevolent actions.

It is said that in her youth she was engaged[{149}] to be married to a schoolmate, but the marriage was necessarily to wait until they had sufficient means. She went on the stage, was successful, and wrote to him saying that she had sufficient money and was ready. He, however, felt it incumbent upon him to provide at least a capital equal to hers, and desired a further postponement. This annoyed her, and her enthusiasm cooled off. Money-making was a slow process with him, and before he had satisfied his conscience she had announced her engagement to another man. Miss Kellogg retired in 1882, and married Mr. Strakosch, a son of the celebrated impresario.

During Miss Kellogg's travels in the United States she visited with her company a great many towns which have since become music-loving cities, and she met with many highly amusing experiences, besides some which were less amusing than instructive. She has exerted an educational influence[{150}] throughout the country which it would be difficult to over-estimate; indeed, it can be claimed that the ambition of many young Americans to study music owes its origin to the efforts of those who, like Miss Kellogg, visited the smaller towns, and made it possible for a large number of people to enjoy music of a high order.

The year 1862 produced a singer of great ability, Ilma di Murska, a native of Croatia, one of the most brilliant sopranos, and one of the most eccentric women of her time. There seems to be considerable uncertainty about her early life, both as to birth and marriage. By some authorities it is stated that she was born in 1843, the year in which Patti, Nilsson, and (some say) Lucca were born. On the other hand, the date of her birth is placed both in 1836 and 1837, and there are many reasons for supposing that one of these earlier dates is the right one.[{151}]

Concerning her first marriage, one authority states that her first husband was Count Nugent, a descendant of a renowned Irish officer of that name, by whom she had a son and a daughter, and that the son committed suicide in 1876. Another account is that in early life she married General Eider, from whom she separated on account of her eccentricities, which made it impossible for him to live happily with her. This account speaks of her daughter, and it is tolerably well established that she did have a daughter, for that young lady played an important and not particularly creditable part in the history of the talented singer. It is not impossible that she may have married both Count Nugent and General Eider, for she certainly married frequently, and in that respect holds a unique place, even in the list of much-married prima donnas.

Madame di Murska was tall and slender in figure, of striking appearance, and with features[{152}] not specially attractive, but her vigor and originality were remarkable. Her impersonations were full of life, and, while she occasionally exaggerated in gesture or expression, she invariably held the attention of her audience. She sang the most difficult passages, and gave the most florid ornamentation, with ease and certainty.

As Lucia, Astrofiammante, and Dinorah, she made a great sensation, even at a time when Adelina Patti was considered to be perfection in those parts. The writer remembers her in "Roberto" at Drury Lane, when her impassioned acting resulted in a very funny incident. While she sang the beautiful aria, "Robert, toi que j'aime," the object of her adoration reposed in oblivion on a red plush sofa. In her abandon she let her face rest for a moment on the head of the sofa, where, when she arose, there remained a large, white patch, which aroused the audience to laughter, in spite[{153}] of themselves. Truly, the step from the sublime to the ridiculous is very small.

Ilma di Murska made her début at Florence, after which she sang at Pesth, Vienna, Berlin, Hamburg, and London. Her memory is said to have been remarkable, and her facility in learning equally so, for she could learn her part by merely reading it, sometimes in bed, from the score. In 1873 she made a tour in the United States, an account of which was once given by Mr. de Vivo,[1] who was her manager. During this tour her eccentricities caused her manager much anxiety, for at times when he needed money, and, having paid large sums to her, felt confident that she was able to furnish funds, she had always sent her earnings to her daughter, who seems to have kept her in a chronic state of poverty. The company[{154}] travelled across this continent, and went to Australia and New Zealand. During the Australian tour Madame di Murska became very much interested in Alfred Anderson, a young musician belonging to the company. He fell into bad health, and, when confined to his room by sickness, the eccentric singer insisted upon nursing him. Soon afterwards they were quietly married. They were then in Sidney, and the marriage took place in December, 1875. Mr. Anderson continued so ill that he was obliged to return to Melbourne, his native city, where he went to his father's house. It seems that the family were opposed to the marriage, for Madame di Murska was refused admission, and was obliged to stay at a hotel. There seem also to have been some peculiar financial transactions, for, according to accounts, when Mr. Anderson died, which was some three or four months after the marriage, Madame di Murska lost a large sum of money. This[{155}] experience, however, did not by any means crush her, for in May, 1876, five months after her marriage to Anderson, she fearlessly embarked on another matrimonial venture, this time taking as her partner for life Mr. John T. Hill. This union does not seem to have been permanent, for nothing more is heard of Mr. Hill in connection with Madame di Murska.

[1] Mr. Diego de Vivo died in New York, on August 11, 1898, at the age of seventy-six. He was instrumental in introducing to the American public many artists who have become well-known.

In Australia, di Murska never attained the same popularity that attended her efforts in Europe, her peculiarities were so marked. She is said to have always refused to be interviewed, or to see any one at her hotel, and she used to spend her time in training a lot of parrots, magpies, cockatoos, monkeys, and other creatures, to sing. She had a wagon-load of pets, which were taken from town to town, wherever she sang, and were an unmitigated nuisance. She also had a big Newfoundland dog, named Pluto, for whom a cover was always laid at the dinner table.[{156}] Pluto dined on capon and other dainties, and was a model in regard to table manners. Her parrots cost her a great deal of money, for they had a decided antipathy to silk or damask upholstery, particularly to flowered patterns, but Madame di Murska always seemed pleased when the bills for the depredations of her pets were presented to her.

Once while the company was at Glasgow, one of the members fed a parrot with parsley till it died. Di Murska called in two learned Scotch professors to hold a post-mortem examination, and they decided that the bird had died of wall-paper, and charged three guineas for their opinion.

Some few years later Madame di Murska was induced to return to the United States, where a position was secured for her in New York as a vocal teacher, but although possessed of undoubted talent, she completely failed to impart it to her pupils, nor was[{157}] she any longer successful in concerts. Her money, which had been sent to her daughter as fast as she earned it, had all been squandered, and she fell into the direst poverty. The musicians of New York interested themselves in her behalf, and sufficient money was raised to send her home. She survived but a short time, and, in 1889, on January 4, her troubled life ended. It was an extremely sad termination to a brilliant career, and its sadness was emphasized by the fact that her daughter, whose happiness had seemed her greatest solicitude, committed suicide over her grave. It is said that General Eider, hearing of the tragic event, caused a stone to be erected at the graves of his eccentric wife and daughter.

One of the most important and brilliant rivals of Adelina Patti was Christine Nilsson, a Swede.

Miss Nilsson was the only daughter of a poor farmer at Sjöabal, near Wexio. She[{158}] was born in 1843, the same year in which Patti was born, and was seven years younger than her youngest brother, who was the third son of his parents, and who, being of a musical nature, had studied the violin in the best way that he could without a teacher. He turned his talent to account by playing at balls in the neighboring villages.