really entertains for Count Asdrubal. After his apparent ruin, however, the advances are all from her side; and she finds herself obliged to resort to all kinds of devices in order to compel him to a formal declaration. She even feels called upon to appear – though whether for logical or merely for picturesque reasons can scarcely at this distant date be decided – in a Hussar uniform; and in this striking garb Madame Marcolini sang the celebrated final rondo, saluting the public with her sabre in acknowledgment of their applause, and repeating the salutes again and again as the applause was renewed.
La Pietra del Paragone is quite unknown to the opera-goers of the present day. It belongs to the year 1812, and probably no one now living ever heard it. Many, however, have heard portions of it; for La Pietra del Paragone not having proved thoroughly successful as a whole, the composer extracted the best pieces from it and introduced them into La Cenerentola, which, five years later, was represented for the first time at Rome. The air "Miei rampolli," the duet "Un soave no so chè," the drinking chorus, and the baron's burlesque proclamation, were all borrowed or rather taken once and for ever from the score of La Pietra del Paragone. Some other pieces, too, from the same work were nearly fifty years later heard at least once in an opera attributed to Rossini brought out at Paris in the year 1859. It has been said that among Rossini's operas of the year 1812 were two written for the San Mosè of Venice. The second of these, L'Occasione fa il Ladro, made its appearance substantially at Naples in conjunction with the pieces just spoken of, extracted from La Pietra del Paragone. An Italian poetaster, Signor Berettoni, gave to his new arrangement of L'Occasione fa il Ladro (which, by the way, he had enriched with selections not only from La Pietra del Paragone, but also from Aureliano in Palmira) the title of Un Curioso Accidente.
Rossini, however, though he did not mind borrowing from himself, did not choose to be borrowed from without permission, as without dexterity, by other persons; and finding that a pasticcio made up of pieces taken more or less at random from the works of his youth was to be brought out as a new and original work, he addressed to the manager of the Théâtre des Italiens, M. Calzado, the following letter on the subject: —
"SIR, – I am told that the bills of your theatre announce a new opera by me under this title Un Curioso Accidente.
"I do not know whether I have the right to prevent the representation of a production in two acts (more or less) made up of old pieces of mine; I have never occupied myself with questions of this kind in regard to my works (not one of which, by the way, is named Un Curioso Accidente). In any case I have not objected to, and I do not object to, the representation of Un Curioso Accidente. But I cannot allow the public invited to your theatre, and your subscribers to think either that it is a new opera by me or that I took any part in arranging it.
"I must beg of you then to remove from your bills the word new, together with my name as author, and to substitute instead the following: – 'Opera, consisting of pieces by M. Rossini, arranged by M. Berettoni.'
"I request that this alteration may appear in the bills of to-morrow, in default of which I shall be obliged to ask from justice what I now ask from your good faith.
On receiving this letter the manager withdrew the well-named Curioso Accidente, in connection with which no accident was more curious than that of its production. It had already been played once; and at this single representation much success had been obtained by a trio in the buffo style for men's voices borrowed from La Pietra del Paragone, and a duet for soprano and contralto from Aureliano in Palmira.
It is not so easy as it may at first appear to decide which deserves to be considered the first of Rossini's operas. The opera or operetta of La Cambiale di Matrimonio (1810), was the first produced on the stage; and L'Inganno Felice (1812), was the first which made a marked impression, and which, played throughout Italy, at Paris, and at Vienna, gained for its author something like a European reputation. But the first opera that Rossini ever composed was Demetrio e Polibio, which, written in the spring of 1809 when he was just seventeen years old, was produced at Rome – though not until it had undergone a process of retouching – in 1812.
An Italian officer, whom Stendhal met at Como one night when Demetrio e Polibio was to be represented – or perhaps it was the Abbé Carpani who met him; in any case the story is to be found in Stendhal's Life of Rossini – gave this curious account of the Mombelli family, all of whom were connected in one way or another with the performance of Rossini's earliest opera.
"The Mombellis Company," he said, "consists of a single family. Of the two daughters, one, who is always dressed as a man, takes the part of the musico (or sopranist); that is Marianna. The other one, Esther, who has a voice of greater extent though less even, less perfectly sweet, is the prima donna. In Demetrio e Polibio the old Mombelli, who was once a celebrated tenor takes the part of the King. That of the chief of the conspirators will be filled by a person called Olivieri, who has long been attached to Madame Mombelli, the mother, and who, to be useful to the family, takes utility parts on the stage and acts in the house as cook and major domo. Without being pretty, the Mombellis have pleasing faces. But they are ferociously virtuous, and it is supposed that the father, who is an ambitious man, wishes to get them married."
Madame Mombelli, moreover, had written the libretto, while the old Mombelli – once a "celebrated tenor" and still "so ambitious" as to wish to see his daughters legitimately married – had from among his plentiful reminiscences given Rossini ideas for melodies. Not only did the company, in the words of Stendhal's officer, consist of a single family; this family included, moreover, among its members, the composer himself, who was somehow related to the Mombellis.
From 1812 to 1813 was for Rossini a great step in advance; for during this latter year were produced Tancredi and L'Italiana in Algeri, works destined within a very short time to find their way all over Europe. But before producing Tancredi, Rossini began the year by bringing out a little operetta entitled Il Figlio per Azzardo.
Rossini caused in his time a great deal of trouble to managers; and if those with whom he had to deal were for the most part bald, that, he said, was to be accounted for by his having driven them repeatedly to tear their hair. Some of the directors suffered from his apparent laziness, which at most could be called dilatoriness; for that Rossini was a composer of extraordinary activity is shown by the fact that by the time he was thirty-seven he had written thirty-seven operas; while, during the period of his greatest fertility, he frequently produced as many as four operas in one year. More than once, too, he completed an opera within a fortnight; but this fortnight was usually the last and never the first of the space of time assigned to him for the composition of a given work. Sometimes, however, he was annoyed and worried by managers without sufficient cause; and in these cases he knew how to retaliate. The manager of the San Mosè theatre, that Marquis Cavalli who also directed the theatre of Sinigaglia, and who, as already mentioned, had given Rossini his first commission, thought that having begun by writing for the San Mosè, the young composer ought not to work for any other theatre at Venice. He had engaged, however, to write an opera for the Fenice, where Tancredi was destined to be brought out; and the Marquis was so annoyed at this that he treated Rossini on more than one occasion with absolute incivility. He had supplied him, moreover, with a libretto so monstrously absurd that it was impossible to treat it seriously, or even in the spirit of mere comedy. Rossini, however, had to choose between setting this nonsense to music or paying a fine; and he preferred the former alternative. The task he now set himself was to compose to his ridiculous libretto music more ridiculous even than the words. Tenor music was given to the bass, who, to execute it, had to shout at the top of his voice. The soprano, on the other hand, had been furnished with a contralto part, which made demands only upon the lowest notes of her voice. A singer of notorious-incompetence was provided with a most difficult air, accompanied pianissimo, so that his faults might
