  IT would be difficult to persuade any one today that Rossini was a reformer of opera. But his instrumentation, excessively simple as it seems to us, was regarded, by his contemporaries, as distracting too much attention from the voices. This was one of the reasons his Semiramide was coolly received at its production in Venice, 1823. But however simple, not to say primitive, the instrumentation of his Italian operas now strikes us, he made one great innovation in opera for which we readily can grant him recognition as a reformer. He dispensed with secco recitative, the so-called "dry" recitative, which I have mentioned as a drawback to the operatic scores of Mozart. For this Rossini substituted a more dramatic recital of the text leading up to the vocal numbers, and accompanied it with such instruments, or combinations of instruments even to full orchestra, as he considered necessary. We accept a well accompanied recitative in opera as a matter of course. But in its day it was a bold step forward, and Rossini should receive full credit for it. Indeed it will be found that nearly all composers, whose works survive in the repertoire, instead of tamely accepting the routine of workmanship in opera, as inherited from their predecessors, had ideas of their own, which they put into effect, sometimes at the temporary sacrifice of popularity. Gluck and Wagner, especially the latter, were extreme types of Rossini often is spoken of as the "Swan of Pesaro," where he was born. His mother sang buffa rÔles in a travelling opera troupe, in the orchestra of which his father was a horn player. After previous musical instruction in Bologna, he was turned over to Angelo Tesei, sang in church and afterwards travelled with his parents both as singer and accompanist, thus gaining at first hand valuable experience in matters operatic. In 1807 he entered the Liceo (conservatory) at Bologna, studying 'cello under Cavedagni and composition with Padre Mattei. By 1810 already he was able to bring out in Venice, and with applause, a one act comedy opera, "La Cambiale di Matrimonio." During 1812 he received commissions for no less than five light operas, scoring, in 1813, with his "Tancredi" his first success in the grand manner. There was scarcely a year now that did not see a work from his pen, sometimes two, until his "Guillaume Tell" was produced in Paris, 1829. This was an entire change of style from his earlier works, possibly, however, foreshadowed by his "Comte Ory," a revision of a previous score, and produced, as was his "Tell," at the Grand OpÉra. "Guillaume Tell" not only is written to a French libretto; it is in the French style of grand opera, in which the vocal melody is less ornate and the instrumental portion of the score more carefully considered than in the Italian. During the remaining thirty-nine years of his life not another opera did Rossini compose. He appears deliberately to have formed this resolution in 1836, after hearing "Les Huguenots" by Meyerbeer, as if he considered it useless for him to attempt to rival that composer. He resided in Bologna and Florence until 1855, then in Paris, or near there, dying at Ruelle. He presents the strange spectacle of a successful composer of opera, who lived to be seventy-six, abruptly closing his dramatic career at thirty-seven.
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| Count Almaviva | Tenor |
| Doctor Bartolo | Bass |
| Basilio, a Singing Teacher | Bass |
| Figaro, a Barber | Baritone |
| Fiorello, servant to the Count | Bass |
| Ambrosio, servant to the Doctor | Bass |
| Rosina, the Doctor's ward | Soprano |
| Berta (or Marcellina), Rosina's Governess | Soprano |
Notary, Constable, Musicians and Soldiers.
Time—Seventeenth Century.
Place—Seville, Spain.
Upon episodes in Beaumarchais's trilogy of "Figaro" comedies two composers, Mozart and Rossini, based operas that have long maintained their hold upon the repertoire. The three Beaumarchais comedies are "Le Barbier de SÉville," "Le Mariage de Figaro," and "La
There is much to say about the first performance of "Il Barbiere di Siviglia"; also about the overture, the origin of Almaviva's graceful solo, "Ecco ridente in cielo," and the music selected by prima donnas to sing in the "lesson scene" in the second act. But these details are better preceded by some information regarding the story and the music.
Act I, Scene 1. A street by Dr. Bartolo's house. Count Almaviva, a Grandee of Spain, is desperately in love with Rosina, the ward of Doctor Bartolo. Accompanied by his servant Fiorello and a band of lutists, he serenades her with the smooth, flowing measures of "Ecco ridente in cielo," (Lo, smiling in the Eastern sky).
Music
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Ecco ridente in cielo,
Just then Figaro, the barber, the general factotum and busybody of the town, dances in, singing the famous patter air, "Largo al factotum della cittÀ" (Room for the city's factotum).
Music
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Largo al factotum della cittÀ largo,
He is Dr. Bartolo's barber, and, learning from the Count of his heart's desire, immediately plots with him to bring about his introduction to Rosina. There are two clever duets between Figaro and the Count—one in which Almaviva promises money to the Barber; the other in praise of love and pleasure.
Rosina is strictly watched by her guardian, Doctor Bartolo, who himself plans to marry his ward, since she has both beauty and money. In this he is assisted by Basilio, a music-master. Rosina, however, returns the affection of the Count, and, in spite of the watchfulness of her guardian, she contrives to drop a letter from the balcony to Almaviva, who is still with Figaro below, declaring her passion, and at the same time requesting to know her lover's name.
Scene 2. Room in Dr. Bartolo's house. Rosina enters. She sings the brilliant "Una voce poco fa" (A little voice I heard just now),
Music
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Una voce poco fa qui nel cor mi risuonÒ
followed by "Io sono docile" (With mild and docile air).
Music
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Io sono docile, son rispettosa,
Figaro, who has left Almaviva and come in from the street, tells her that the Count is Signor Lindor, claims him as a cousin, and adds that the young man is deeply in love with her. Rosina is delighted. She gives him a note to convey to the supposed Signor Lindor. (Duet, Rosina and Figaro: "Dunque io son, tu non m'inganni?"—Am I his love, or dost thou mock me?)
Meanwhile Bartolo has made known to Basilio his sus
Music
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La calunnia È un venticello
To obtain an interview with Rosina, the Count disguises himself as a drunken soldier, and forces his way into Bartolo's house. The disguise of Almaviva is penetrated by the guardian, and the pretended soldier is placed under arrest, but is at once released upon secretly showing the officer his order as a Grandee of Spain. Chorus, preceded by the trio, for Rosina, Almaviva and Bartolo—"Fredda ed immobile" (Awestruck and immovable).
Act II. The Count again enters Bartolo's house. He is now disguised as a music teacher, and pretends that he has been sent by Basilio to give a lesson in music, on account of the illness of the latter. He obtains the confidence of Bartolo by producing Rosina's letter to himself, and offering to persuade Rosina that the letter has been given him by a mistress of the Count. In this manner he obtains the desired opportunity, under the guise of a music lesson—the "music lesson" scene, which is discussed below—to hold a whispered conversation with Rosina. Figaro also manages to obtain the keys of the balcony, an escape is determined on at midnight, and a private marriage arranged. Now, however, Basilio makes his appearance. The lovers are disconcerted, but manage, by persuading the music-master that he really is ill—an illness accelerated by a full purse slipped into his hand by Almaviva—to get rid of him. Duet for Rosina and Almaviva, "Buona sera, mio Signore" (Fare you well then, good Signore).
Copyright photo by Mishkin
Sammarco as Figaro in “The Barber of Seville”
Music
[Listen]
(Count) Buona sera, mio Signore
(Rosina) Buona sera, buona sera;
When the Count and Figaro have gone, Bartolo, who possesses the letter Rosina wrote to Almaviva, succeeds, by producing it, and telling her he secured it from another lady-love of the Count, in exciting the jealousy of his ward. In her anger she discloses the plan of escape and agrees to marry her guardian. At the appointed time, however, Figaro and the Count make their appearance—the lovers are reconciled, and a notary, procured by Bartolo for his own marriage to Rosina, celebrates the marriage of the loving pair. When the guardian enters, with officers of justice, into whose hands he is about to consign Figaro and the Count, he is too late, but is reconciled by a promise that he shall receive the equivalent of his ward's dower.
Besides the music that has been mentioned, there should be reference to "the big quintet" of the arrival and departure of Basilio. Just before Almaviva and Figaro enter for the elopement there is a storm. The delicate trio for Almaviva, Rosina and Figaro, "Zitti, zitti, piano" (Softly, softly and in silence), bears, probably without intention, a resemblance to a passage in Haydn's "Seasons."
Music
[Listen]
Zitti, zitti, piano, piano,
The first performance of "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," an opera that has held its own for over a century, was a scandalous failure, which, however, was not without its amusing incidents. Castil-Blaze, Giuseppe Carpani in his
December 26, 1815, Duke Cesarini, manager of the Argentine Theatre, Rome, for whom Rossini had contracted to write two operas, brought out the first of these, "Torvaldo e Dorliska," which was poorly received. Thereupon Cesarini handed to the composer the libretto of "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," which Paisiello, who was still living, had set to music more than half a century before. A pleasant memory of the old master's work still lingered with the Roman public. The honorarium was 400 Roman crowns (about $400) and Rossini also was called upon to preside over the orchestra at the pianoforte at the first three performances. It is said that Rossini composed his score in a fortnight. Even if not strictly true, from December 26th to the February 5th following is but little more than a month. The young composer had too much sense not to honour Paisiello; or, at least, to appear to. He hastened to write to the old composer. The latter, although reported to have been intensely jealous of the young maestro (Rossini was only twenty-five) since the sensational success of the latter's "Elisabetta, Regina d'Inghilterra" (Elizabeth, Queen of England), Naples, 1815, replied that he had no objection to another musician dealing with the subject of his opera. In reality, it is said, he counted on Rossini's making a glaring failure of the attempt. The libretto was rearranged by Sterbini, and Rossini wrote a preface, modest in tone, yet not without a hint that he considered the older score out of date. But he took the precaution to show Paisiello's letter to all the music lovers of Rome, and insisted on changing the title of the opera to "Almaviva, ossia l'Inutile Precauzione" (Almaviva, or the Useless Precaution).
Nevertheless, as soon as the rumour spread that Rossini was making over Paisiello's work, the young composer's enemies hastened to talk in the cafÉs about what they called his "underhand action." Paisiello himself, it is believed, was not foreign to these intrigues. A letter in his handwriting was shown to Rossini. In this he is said to have written from Naples to one of his friends in Rome urging him to neglect nothing that would make certain the failure of Rossini's opera.
Mme. Giorgi-Righetti reports that "hot-headed enemies" assembled at their posts as soon as the theatre opened, while Rossini's friends, disappointed by the recent ill luck of "Torvaldo e Dorliska" were timid in their support of the new work. Furthermore, according to Mme. Giorgi-Righetti, Rossini weakly yielded to a suggestion from Garcia, and permitted that artist, the Almaviva of the premiÈre, to substitute for the air which is sung under Rosina's balcony, a Spanish melody with guitar accompaniment. The scene being laid in Spain, this would aid in giving local colour to the work—such was the idea. But it went wrong. By an unfortunate oversight no one had tuned the guitar with which Almaviva was to accompany himself, and Garcia was obliged to do this on the stage. A string broke. The singer had to replace it, to an accompaniment of laughter and whistling. This was followed by Figaro's entrance air. The audience had settled down for this. But when they saw Zamboni, as Figaro, come on the stage with another guitar, another fit of laughing and whistling seized them, and the racket rendered the solo completely inaudible. Rosina appeared on the balcony. The public greatly admired Mme. Giorgi-Righetti and was disposed to applaud her. But, as if to cap the climax of absurdity, she sang: "Segui, o caro, deh segui cosÌ" (Continue my dear, do always so). Naturally the audience immediately thought of the two guitars, and went on laughing,
"Give her thanks," replied the artiste, "since without her you would not have had occasion to rise from your seat."
What seemed a favourable turn of affairs did not, however, last long. The whistling was resumed louder than ever at the duet between Figaro and Rosina. "All the whistlers of Italy," says Castil-Blaze, "seemed to have given themselves a rendezvous for this performance." Finally, a stentorian voice shouted: "This is the funeral of Don Pollione," words which doubtless had much spice for Roman ears, since the cries, the hisses, the stamping, continued with increased vehemence. When the curtain fell on the first act Rossini turned toward the audience, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and clapped his hands. The audience, though greatly offended by this show of contemptuous disregard for its opinion, reserved its revenge for the second act, not a note of which it allowed to be heard.
At the conclusion of the outrage, for such it was, Rossini left the theatre with as much nonchalance as if the row had concerned the work of another. After they had gotten into their street clothes the singers hurried to his lodgings to condole with him. He was sound asleep!
Photo copyright, 1916, by Victor Georg
Galli-Curci as Rosina in “The Barber of Seville”
Copyright photo by Dupont
Sembrich as Rosina in “The Barber of Seville”
There have been three historic failures of opera. One was the "TannhÄuser" fiasco, Paris, 1861; another, the failure of "Carmen," Paris, 1875. The earliest I have just described.
For the second performance of "Il Barbiere" Rossini replaced the unlucky air introduced by Garcia with the "Ecco ridente in cielo," as it now stands. This cavatina he borrowed from an earlier opera of his own, "Aureliano in Palmira" (Aurelian in Palmyra). It also had figured in a cantata (not an opera) by Rossini, "Ciro in Babilonia" (Cyrus in Babylon)—so that measures first sung by a Persian king in the ancient capital of Nebuchadnezzar, and then by a Roman emperor and his followers in the city which flourished in an oasis in the Syrian desert, were found suitable to be intoned by a lovesick Spanish count of the seventeenth century as a serenade to his lady of Seville. It surely is amusing to discover in tracing this air to its original source, that "Ecco ridente in cielo" (Lo, smiles the morning in the sky) figured in "Aureliano in Palmira" as an address to Isis—"Sposa del grande Osiride" (Spouse of the great Osiris).
Equally amusing is the relation of the overture to the opera. The original is said to have been lost. The present one has nothing to do with the ever-ready Figaro, the coquettish Rosina, or the sentimental Almaviva, although there have been writers who have dilated upon it as reflecting the spirit of the opera and its characters. It came from the same source as "Lo, smiles the morning in the sky"—from "Aureliano," and in between had figured as the overture to "Elisabetta, Regina d'Inghilterra." It is thus found to express in "Elisabetta" the conflict of love and pride in one of the most haughty souls of whom history records the memory, and in "Il Barbiere" the frolics of Figaro. But the Italians, prior to Verdi's later period, showed little concern over such unfitness of things, for it
"Ecco ridente in cielo," it is gravely pointed out by early writers on Rossini, is the "first example of modulation into the minor key later so frequently used by this master and his crowd of imitators." Also that "this ingenious way of avoiding the beaten path was not really a discovery of Rossini's, but belongs to Majo (an Italian who composed thirteen operas) and was used by several musicians before Rossini." What a delightful pother over a modulation that the veriest tyro would now consider hackneyed! However, "Ecco ridente," adapted in such haste to "Il Barbiere" after the failure of Garcia's Spanish ditty, was sung by that artist the evening of the second performance, and loudly applauded. Moreover, Rossini had eliminated from his score everything that seemed to him to have been reasonably disapproved of. Then, pretending to be indisposed, he went to bed in order to avoid appearing at the pianoforte. The public, while not over-enthusiastic, received the work well on this second evening; and before long Rossini was accompanied to his rooms in triumph several evenings in succession, by the light of a thousand torches in the hands of the same Romans who had hissed his opera but a little while before. The work was first given under the title Rossini had insisted on, but soon changed back to that of the original libretto, "Il Barbiere di Siviglia."
It is a singular fact that the reception of "Il Barbiere" in Paris was much the same as in Rome. The first performance in the Salle Louvois was coldly received. Newspapers compared Rossini's "Barber" unfavourably with that of Paisiello. Fortunately the opposition demanded a revival of Paisiello's work. PaËr, musical director at the ThÉÂtre Italien, not unwilling to spike Rossini's guns, pretended to yield to a public demand, and brought out the
Rossini had the reputation of being indolent in the extreme—when he had nothing to do. We have seen that when the overture to "Il Barbiere di Siviglia" was lost (if he really ever composed one), he did not take the trouble to compose another, but replaced it with an earlier one. In the music lesson scene in the second act the original score is said to have contained a trio, presumably for Rosina, Almaviva, and Bartolo. This is said to have been lost with the overture. As with the overture, Rossini did not attempt to recompose this number either. He simply let his prima donna sing anything she wanted to. "Rosina sings an air, ad libitum, for the occasion," reads the direction in the libretto. Perhaps it was Giorgi-Righetti who first selected "La Biondina in gondoletta," which was frequently sung in the lesson scene by Italian prima donnas. Later there was substituted the air "Di tanti palpiti" from the opera "Tancredi," which is known as the "aria dei rizzi," or "rice aria," because Rossini, who was a great gourmet, composed it while cooking his rice. Pauline Viardot-Garcia (Garcia's daughter), like her father in the unhappy premiÈre of the opera, sang a Spanish song. This may have been "La Calesera," which Adelina Patti also sang in Paris about 1867. Patti's other selections at this time included the laughing song, the so-called "L'Éclat de Rire" (Burst of Laughter) from Auber's "Manon Lescaut," as highly esteemed in Paris in years gone by as Massenet's "Manon" now is. In New York I have heard Patti sing, in this scene, the Arditi waltz, "Il Bacio" (The Kiss); the bolero of HÉlÈne, from "Les VÊpres Siciliennes" (The Sicilian
Among prima donnas much earlier than Patti there were at least two, Grisi and Alboni (after whom boxes were named at the Academy of Music) who adapted a brilliant violin piece, Rode's "Air and Variations," to their powers of vocalization and sang it in the lesson scene. I mention this because the habit of singing an air with variations persisted until Mme. Sembrich's time. She sang those by Proch, a teacher of many prima donnas, among them Tietjens and Peschka-Leutner, who sang at the Peace Jubilee in Boston (1872) and was the first to make famous her teacher's coloratura variations, with "flauto concertante." Besides these variations, Mme. Sembrich sang Strauss's "Voce di Primavera" waltz, "Ah! non giunge," from "La Sonnambula," the bolero from "The Sicilian Vespers" and "O luce di quest'anima," from "Linda di Chamounix." The scene was charmingly brought to an end by her seating herself at the pianoforte and singing, to her own accompaniment, Chopin's "Maiden's Wish." Mme. Melba sang Arditi's waltz, "Se Saran Rose," Massenet's "Sevillana," and the mad scene from "Lucia," ending, like Mme. Sembrich, with a song to which she played her own accompaniment, her choice being Tosti's "Mattinata." Mme. Galli-Curci is apt to begin with the brilliant vengeance air from "The Magic Flute," her encores being "L'Éclat de Rire" by Auber and "Charmante Oiseau" (Pretty Bird) from David's "La Perle du BrÉsil" (The Pearl of Brazil). "Home, Sweet Home" and "The Last Rose of Summer," both sung by her to her own accompaniment, conclude this interesting "lesson," in which every Rosina, although supposedly a pupil receiving
The artifices of opera are remarkable. The most incongruous things happen. Yet because they do not occur in a drawing-room in real life, but on a stage separated from us by footlights, we lose all sense of their incongruity. The lesson scene occurs, for example, in an opera composed by Rossini in 1816. But the compositions now introduced into that scene not only are not by Rossini but, for the most, are modern waltz songs and compositions entirely different from the class that a voice pupil, at the time the opera was composed, could possibly have sung. But so convincing is the fiction of the stage, so delightfully lawless its artifices, that these things do not trouble us at all. Mme. Galli-Curci, however, by her choice of the "Magic Flute" aria shows that it is entirely possible to select a work that already was a classic at the time "Il Barbiere" was composed, yet satisfies the demand of a modern audience for brilliant vocalization in this scene.
There is evidence that in the early history of "Il Barbiere," Rossini's "Di tanti palpiti" (Ah! these heartbeats) from his opera "Tancredi" (Tancred), not only was invariably sung by prima donnas in the lesson scene, but that it almost became a tradition to use it in this scene. In September, 1821, but little more than five years after the work had its premiÈre, it was brought out in France (Grand ThÉÂtre, Lyons) with French text by Castil-Blaze, who also superintended the publication of the score.
"I give this score," he says, "as Rossini wrote it. But as several pieces have been transposed to favour certain Italian opera singers, I do not consider it useless to point out these transpositions here.... Air No. 10, written in G, is sung in A." Air No. 10, published by Castil-Blaze as an integral part of the score of "Il Barbiere," occurs in the lesson scene. It is "Di tanti palpiti" from "Tancredi."
Music
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Di tanti palpiti e tante pene
Readers familiar with the history of opera, therefore aware that Alboni was a contralto, will wonder at her having appeared as Rosina, when that rÔle is associated with prima donnas whose voices are extremely high and flexible. But the rÔle was written for low voice. Giorgi-Righetti, the first Rosina, was a contralto. As it now is sung by high sopranos, the music of the rÔle is transposed from the original to higher keys in order to give full scope for brilliant vocalization on high notes.
Many liberties have been taken by prima donnas in the way of vocal flourishes and a general decking out of the score of "Il Barbiere" with embellishments. The story goes that Patti once sang "Una voce poco fa," with her own frills added, to Rossini, in Paris.
"A very pretty song! Whose is it?" is said to have been the composer's cutting comment.
There is another anecdote about "Il Barbiere" which brings in Donizetti, who was asked if he believed that Rossini really had composed the opera in thirteen days.
"Why not? He's so lazy," is the reported reply.
If the story is true, Donizetti was a very forward young man. He was only nineteen when "Il Barbiere" was produced, and had not yet brought out his first opera.
That Phillips should have sung Figaro, a baritone rÔle in "Le Nozze di Figaro," and Almaviva, a tenor part, in "Il Barbiere," may seem odd. But in the Mozart opera he appeared in Bishop's adaptation, in which the Figaro rÔle is neither too high for a baritone, nor too low for a tenor. In fact the liberties Bishop took with Mozart's score are so great (and so outrageous) that Phillips need have hesitated at nothing.
On Tuesday, November 22, 1825, Manuel Garcia, the elder, issued the preliminary announcement of his season of Italian opera at the Park Theatre, New York. The printers appear to have had a struggle with the Italian titles of operas and names of Italian composers. For The Evening Post announces that "The Opera of 'H. Barbiora di Seviglia,' by Rosina, is now in rehearsal and will be given as soon as possible." That "soon as possible" was the evening of November 29th, and is regarded as the date of the first performance in this country of opera in Italian.
Opera in two acts by Rossini, words by Gaetana Rossi, founded on Voltaire's tragedy, "SÉmiramis." Produced, February 3, 1823, Fenice Theatre, Venice; London, King's Theatre, July 15, 1824; Paris, July 9, 1860, as SÉmiramis; New York, April 25, 1826; 1855 (with Grisi and Vestivalli); 1890 (with Patti and Scalchi).
Characters
| Semiramide, Queen of Babylon | Soprano | |||
| Arsaces, Commander of the Assyrian Army | Contralto | |||
| Ghost of Ninus | Bass | |||
| Oroe, Chief of the Magi | Bass | |||
| Assur, a Prince | Baritone | |||
| Azema, a Princess | Soprano | |||
| Idrenus | } | of the royal house household | { | Tenor |
| Mitranus | } | { | Baritone | |
Magi, Guards, Satraps, Slaves.
Time—Antiquity.
Place—Babylon.
"Semiramide" seems to have had its day. Yet, were a soprano and a contralto, capable of doing justice to the rÔles of Semiramide and Arsaces, to appear in conjunction in the operatic firmament the opera might be successfully revived, as it was for Patti and Scalchi. The latter, in her prime when she first appeared here, was one of the greatest of contraltos. I think that all, who, like myself, had the good fortune to hear that revival of "Semiramide," still consider the singing by Patti and Scalchi of the duet, "Giorno d'orrore" (Day of horror) the finest example of bel canto it has been their privilege to listen to. For beauty and purity of tone, smoothness of phrasing, elegance, and synchronization of embellishment it has not been equalled here since.
In the first act of the opera is a brilliant aria for Semiramide, "Bel raggio lusinghier" (Bright ray of hope),—the one piece that has kept the opera in the phonograph repertoire.
Music
[Listen]
Bel raggio lusinghier
A priests' march and chorus, which leads up to the finale of the first act, is accompanied not only by orchestra, but also by full military band on the stage, the first instance of
Music
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For many years the overture to "Semiramide" was a favourite at popular concerts. It was admired for the broad, hymnlike air in the introduction, which in the opera becomes an effective chorus,
Music
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and for the graceful, lively melody, which is first announced on the clarinet. I call it "graceful" and "lively," and so it would be considered today.
Music
But in the opera it accompanies the cautious entrance of priests into a darkened temple where a deep mystery is impending, and, at the time the opera was produced, this music, which now we would describe as above, was supposed to be "shivery" and gruesome. In fact the scene was objected to by audiences of that now seemingly remote period, on the ground that the orchestra was too prominent and that, in the treatment of the instrumental score to his operas, Rossini was leaning too heavily toward German models! But this, remember, was in 1824.
The story of "Semiramide" can be briefly told. Semiramide, Queen of Babylon, has murdered her husband, Ninus, the King. In this deed she was assisted by Prince Assur, who expects to win her hand and the succession to the throne.
Semiramide, however, is enamoured of a comely youth, Arsaces, victorious commander of her army, and supposedly a Scythian, but in reality her own son, of which relationship only Oroe, the chief priest of the temple, is aware. Arsaces himself is in love with the royal Princess Azema.
At a gathering in the temple, the gates of the tomb of Ninus are opened as if by invisible hands. The shade of Ninus announces that Arsaces shall be his successor; and summons him to come to the tomb at midnight there to learn the secret of his assassination.
Enraged at the prophecy of the succession of Arsaces and knowing of his coming visit to the tomb of Ninus, Assur contrives to enter it; while Semiramide, who now knows that the young warrior is her son, comes to the tomb to warn him against Assur. The three principal personages in the drama are thus brought together at its climax. Assur makes what would be a fatal thrust at Arsaces. Semiramide interposes herself between the two men and receives the death wound. Arsaces then fights and kills Assur, ascends the throne and weds Azema.
According to legend, Semiramis, when a babe, was fed by doves; and, after reigning for forty-two years, disappeared or was changed into a dove and flew away. For the first New York performance Garcia announced the work as "La Figlia dell'Aria, or Semiramide" (The Daughter of the Air, etc.).
WILLIAM TELL
Opera by Rossini, originally in five acts, cut down to three by omitting the third act and condensing the fourth and fifth into one, then re
Characters
| William Tell | Baritone |
| Hedwiga, Tell's wife | Soprano |
| Jemmy, Tell's son | Soprano |
| Arnold, suitor of Matilda | Tenor |
| Melcthal, Arnold's father | Bass |
| Gessler, governor of Schwitz and Uri | Bass |
| Matilda, Gessler's daughter | Soprano |
| Rudolph, captain in Gessler's guard | Tenor |
| Walter Furst | Bass |
| Leuthold, a shepherd | Bass |
| Ruedi, a fisherman | Tenor |
Peasants, Knights, Pages, Ladies, Hunters, Soldiers, Guards, and three Bridal Couples.
Time—Thirteenth Century.
Place—Switzerland.
Arnold, a Swiss patriot and son of the venerable Swiss leader, Melcthal, has saved from drowning Matilda, daughter of the Austrian tyrant Gessler, whom the Swiss abhor. Arnold and Matilda have fallen in love with each other.
Act I. A beautiful May morning has dawned over the Lake of Lucerne, on which Tell's house is situated. It is the day of the Shepherd Festival. According to ancient custom the grey-haired Melcthal blesses the loving couples among them. But his own son, Arnold, does not ask a blessing of the old man. Yet, although he loves Matilda, his heart also belongs to his native land. The festival is interrupted by the sound of horns. It is the train of Gessler, the hated tyrant. Leuthold rushes in, breathless. In order to protect
Act II. In a valley by a lake Arnold and Matilda meet and again pledge their love. Arnold learns from Tell and Walter that his father has been slain by Gessler's order. His thoughts turn to vengeance. The three men bind themselves by oath to free Switzerland. The cantons gather and swear to throw off the Austrian yoke.
Act III. The market-place in Altdorf. It is the hundredth anniversary of Austrian rule in Switzerland. Fittingly to celebrate the day Gessler has ordered his hat to be placed on top of a pole. The Swiss are commanded to make obeisance to the hat. Tell comes along holding his son Jemmy by the hand. He refuses to pay homage to the hat. As in him is also recognized the man who saved Leuthold, he must be punished. Gessler cynically orders him to shoot an apple from Jemmy's head. The shot succeeds. Fearless, as before, Tell informs Gessler that the second arrow was intended for him, had the first missed its mark. Tell's arrest is ordered, but the armed Swiss, who have risen against Austria, approach. Gessler falls by Tell's shot; the fight ends with the complete victory for the Swiss. Matilda who still loves Arnold finds refuge in his arms.
"Guillaume Tell" is the only opera by an Italian of which it can be said that the overture has gained world-wide fame, and justly so, while the opera itself is so rarely heard that it may almost be said to have passed out of the repertoire. Occasionally it is revived for the benefit of a high tenor like Tamagno. In point of fact, however, it is too good a work
"A whimsical goddess," he writes, "and a capricious, her strong sense of joy tolerates no dullness, and, live we never so spotlessly, still may she turn her back upon us.
"As, from time immemorial, has she done upon the Swiss in their mountains.
"What more worthy people! Whose every Alpine gap yawns with tradition, and is stocked with noble story; yet, the perverse and scornful one will none of it, and the sons of patriots are left with the clock that turns the mill, and the sudden cuckoo, with difficulty restrained in its box!"
Because we associate Switzerland with tourists, personally conducted and otherwise, with hotels, guides, and a personnel trained to welcome, entertain, and speed the departing guest, is it difficult for us to grasp the heroic strain in "Guillaume Tell"? Surely it is a picturesque opera; and Switzerland has a heroic past. Probably the real reasons for the lack of public interest in the opera are the clumsy libretto and the fact that Rossini, an Italian, was not wholly in his element in composing a grand opera in the French style, which "Guillaume Tell" is. It would be difficult to point out just how and where the style hampered the composer, but there constantly is an undefined feeling that it did—that the score is not as spontaneous as, for example, "The Barber of Seville"; and that, although "Guillaume Tell" is heroic, the "sudden cuckoo, with difficulty restrained in its box," may at any time pop out and join in the proceedings.
The care which Rossini bestowed on this work is seen in the layout and composition of the overture, which as an instrumental number is as fine a tour de force as his "Una voce poco fa," "Bel raggio," or "Giorno d'orrore" are for voice. The slow introduction denotes Alpine calm. There is a beautiful passage for violoncellos, which has been quoted in books on instrumentation. In it Rossini may well have harked back to his student years, when he was a pupil in violoncello playing at the conservatory in Bologna. The calm is followed by a storm and this, in turn, by a "Ranz des Vaches." The final section consists of a trumpet call, followed by a fast movement, which can be played so as to leave the hearer quite breathless. It is supposed to represent the call to arms and the uprising of the Swiss against their Austrian oppressors, whose yoke they threw off.
The most striking musical number in the first act of the opera, is Arnold's "Ah, Matilda."
Music
[Listen]
Ah! Matilda, io t'amo, t'adoro
A tenor with powerful high tones in his voice always can render this with great effect. In fact it is so effective that its coming so early in the work is a fault of construction which in my opinion has been a factor in the non-success of the opera as a whole. Even a tenor like Mierzwinski, "a natural singer of short-lived celebrity," with remarkable high notes, in this number could rouse to a high pitch of enthusiasm an audience that remained comparatively calm the rest of the evening.
The climax of the second act is the trio between Arnold, Tell, and Walter, followed by the assembly of the cantons and the taking of the oath to conquer or die ("La gloria
Its most effective passage begins as follows:
Music
[Listen]
Another striking musical number is Arnold's solo in the last act, at sight of his ruined home, "O muto asil" (O, silent abode).
The opera ends with a hymn to liberty, "I boschi, i monti" (Through forests wild, o'er mountain peaks).
At the initial performance of "Guillaume Tell" in Paris, there was no indication that the opera was not destined to remain for many years in the repertoire. It was given fifty-six times. Then, because of the great length of the opera, only the second act was performed in connection with some other work, until the sensational success of Duprez, in 1837, led to a revival.
"Guillaume Tell," given in full, would last nearly five hours. The poor quality of the original libretto by "Jouy" led to the revision by Bis, but even after that there had to be cuts.
"Ah, Maestro," exclaimed an enthusiastic admirer of Rossini to that master, "I heard your 'William Tell' at the Opera last night!"
"What?" asked Rossini. "The whole of it?"
Clever; but by his question Rossini unconsciously put his finger on the weak spot of the opera he intended to be his masterpiece. Be it never so well given, it is long-winded.
