presence of royalty and a great throng of nobility and fashion, in the
character of _Rosetta_ in "Love in a Village." Her success was beyond
the most sanguine hopes, and her brilliant style, then an innovation
in English singing, bewildered the pit and delighted the musical
connoisseurs. The leader of the orchestra was so much absorbed in one of
her beautiful cadenzas that he forgot to give the chord at its close. So
much science, taste, birdlike sweetness, and brilliancy had never before
been united in an English singer. So Mrs. Billington assumed undisputed
sovereignty in the realm of song, for one night made her famous. The
managers, who had haggled over the terms of thirteen pounds a week for
her first brief engagement of twelve nights, were glad to give her a
thousand pounds for the rest of the season. For her second part she
chose _Polly Peachum_ in "The Beggars' Opera," to show her detractors
that she could sing simple English ballad-music with no less taste and
effect than the brilliant and ornate style with which she first took
the town by storm. Mara, the great German singer, who until then had no
rival, was distracted with rage and jealousy, which the sweet-tempered
Billington treated with a careless smile. Though her success had been
so brilliant, she relaxed no effort in self-improvement, and studied
assiduously both vocalism and the piano. Indeed, Salomon, Haydn's
impressario, said of her with enthusiasm, "Sar, she sing equally well
wid her troat and her fingers." At the close of this season, which was
the opening of a great career, Mrs. Billington visited Paris, where
she placed herself under the instruction of the composer Sacchini, who
greatly aided her by his happy suggestions. To him she confesses herself
to have been most indebted for what one of her admirers called "that
pointed expression, neatness of execution, and nameless grace by which
her performance was so happily distinguished."
Kelly, the Irish actor and singer, who made her acquaintance about this
time, said he thought her an angel of beauty and the St. Cecilia of
song. Her loveliness enchanted even more by the sweetness and amiability
of its expression than by symmetry of feature, and everywhere she
was the idol of an adoring public. Even her rivals, embittered by
professional jealousy, soon melted in the sunshine of her sweet temper.
An amusing example of professional rivalry is related by John Bernard in
his "Reminiscences," where Miss George, afterward Lady Oldmixon, managed
to cloud the favorite's success by a cunning musical trick. "Mrs.
Billington, who was engaged on very high terms for a limited number of
nights, made her first appearance on the Dublin stage in the character
of _Polly_ in 'The Beggars' Opera,' surrounded by her halo of
popularity. She was received with acclamations, and sang her songs
delightfully; particularly 'Cease your Funning,' which was tumultuously
encored. Miss George, who performed the part of _Lucy_ (an up-hill
singing part), perceiving that she had little chance of dividing
the applause with the great magnet of the night, had recourse to the
following stratagem: When the dialogue duet in the second act, 'Why, how
now, Madam Flirt?' came on, Mrs. Billing-ton having given her verse with
exquisite sweetness, Miss George, setting propriety at defiance, sang
the whole of her verse an octave higher, her tones having the effect of
the high notes of a sweet and brilliant flute. The audience, taken by
surprise, bestowed on her such loud applause as almost shook the walls
of the theatre, and a unanimous encore was the result."
Haydn gave this opinion on her in his "Diary" in 1791: "On the 10th of
December I went to see the opera of 'The Woodman' (by Shield). It was on
the day when the provoking memoir of Mrs. Billington was published. She
sang rather timidly, but yet well. She is a great genius. The tenor was
Incledon. The common people in the gallery are very troublesome in every
theatre, and take lead in uproar. The audience in the pit and boxes have
often to clap a long time before they can get a fine part repeated. It
was so this evening with the beautiful duet in the third act: nearly a
quarter of an hour was spent in contention, but at length the pit and
boxes gained the victory, and the duet was repeated. The two actors
stood anxiously on the stage all the while." The great composer paid
her one of the prettiest compliments she ever received. Reynolds was
painting her portrait in the character of St. Cecilia, and one day Haydn
called just as it was being finished. Haydn contemplated the picture
very attentively, then said suddenly, "But you have made a great
mistake." The painter started up aghast. "How! what?" "Why," said Haydn,
"you have represented Mrs. Billington listening to the angels; you
should have made the angels listening to her!" Mrs. Billington blushed
with pleasure. "Oh, you dear man!" cried she, throwing her arms round
his neck and kissing him.
II.
Mrs. Billington seems to have entertained the notion in 1794 of quitting
the stage, and went abroad to free herself from the protests and
reproaches which she knew the announcement of her purpose would call
forth if she remained in England. Accompanied by her husband and
brother, she sauntered leisurely through Europe, for her professional
exertions had already brought her a comfortable fortune. A trivial
accident set her feet again in the path which she had designed to
forsake, and which she was destined to adorn with a more brilliant
distinction. The party had traveled _incognito_, but on arriving in
Naples a babbling servant revealed the identity of the great singer,
which speedily became known to Lady Hamilton, Lord Nelson's friend, then
domiciled in Naples as the favorite of the royal family. Lady Hamilton
insisted on presenting Mrs. Billington to the Queen, and she was
persuaded to sing in a private concert before their Majesties, which was
swiftly succeeded by an invitation, so urgent as to take the color of
command, to sing at the San Carlo. So the English prima donna made
her _début_ before the Neapolitans in "Inez di Castro," which had been
specially arranged for her by Francesco Bianchi. The fervid Naples
audience received her with passionate acclamations, to which she had
never been accustomed from the more impassive English. Hitherto her
reputation had been mostly identified with English opera; thenceforward
she was to be known chiefly as a brilliant exponent of the Italian
school of music.
Paesiello's "Didone," Paer's "Ero e Leandro," and Guglielmi's "Deborah e
Sisera" rapidly succeeded, each one confirming afresh the admiration of
her hearers, who were all _cognoscenti_, as Italian audiences generally
are. It became the vogue to patronize the beautiful cantatrice, and the
large English colony, who were led by some of the noblest gentlewomen
of England, such as Lady Templeton, Lady Palmerston, Lady Gertrude
Villiers, Lady Grandison, and others, made it a matter of national
pride to give the singer an enthusiastic support. English influence
was all-paramount at the court of Naples, from important political
exigencies, and this cooperated with Mrs. Billington's extraordinary
merits to raise her to a degree of consideration which had been rarely
attained by any singer in that beautiful Italian capital, prone as its
people are to indulge in exaggerated admiration of musical celebrities.
She sang for nearly two years at the San Carlo, and in 1796 we find her
at Bologna before French military audiences, whom Napoleon's Italian
victories had brought across the Alps. The conqueror confessed himself
vanquished by the lovely Billington, and made her the guest of himself
and Josephine, who admired the art no less than she dreaded the beauty
of a possible rival.
The English singer passed from city to city of Italy, everywhere
arousing the liveliest admiration. Her _début_ in Venice was to be in
"Semiramide," written expressly for her by Nasolini, a young composer of
great promise. Illness, however, confined her to her bed for six
months, in spite of which the impressario paid her salary in full. She
recovered, and showed her gratitude by singing without recompense during
the fair of the Ascension, when immense throngs flocked to Venice. The
_corps diplomatique_ presented her on the first night with a jeweled
necklace of immense value, as a testimonial of their esteem and pleasure
at her recovery.
A singular evidence of the superstition of the Neapolitans was shown on
her return to their city, which was then threatened by an eruption of
Vesuvius and a dreadful earthquake, the cause of considerable damage.
The populace believed that it was a visitation of God in punishment for
the permission granted to a heretic Englishwoman to sing at San Carlo.
Mrs. Billington's safety was for a time threatened, but her talents and
popularity at last triumphed, and she rose higher in public regard than
before. Her Neapolitan engagement was terminated very suddenly by the
death of her husband, as he was in the act one evening of cloaking her
prior to her stepping into her carriage to go to the theatre. A single
gasp and a convulsion, and Thomas Billington was dead at his wife's
feet. The consternation at this event was mixed with much scandal, and
many whispered that he had died from poison or the dagger. It was known
that the Neapolitan nobles had paid Mrs. Billington warm attention,
and hints of assassination were industriously circulated by those
gossip-mongers who are always in quest of a fresh social sensation. Mrs.
Billington, after remaining for some time in retirement, fled from a
scene which was fraught with painful memories, though there is no reason
to believe that she deeply lamented the loss of a husband whose only
attraction to this brilliant woman was the reflected light of her youth,
which invested him with the association of her first girlish love. At
all events, the widow succeeded in becoming desperately enamored
in Milan, a short six months after, with an officer of the French
commissariat, M. Felican. He was a remarkably handsome man, and his
strong siege of the lovely Billington soon caused her to surrender at
discretion. She declared "she was in love for the first time in her
life," and her marriage took place in 1799 without delay. Her raptures,
however, came to a swift conclusion; for among M. Felican's favorite
methods of displaying marital devotion were beating her, and hurling
dishes or other convenient movables at her head when in the least
irritated. The novel character of her honeymoon soon became known to a
curious and possibly envious public, and the brutal Felican was publicly
flogged at the drum-head by order of General Serrurier, within two
months of her marriage, for whipping her so cruelly that she could not
appear in the opera of the evening.
The tenor, Braham, sang with Mrs. Billington at Milan during this
period, in the opera "Il Trionfo de Claria," by Nasolini, and an
amusing incident occurred in the rivalry of the two, each to surpass
the other in popular estimation. The applause which Braham received at
rehearsal enraged Felican, who intrigued till he persuaded the leader to
omit the grand aria for the tenor voice, in which Braham's powers were
advantageously displayed. This piece of spite and jealousy being noised
about, the public openly testified their displeasure, and the next day
it was announced by Gherardi, the manager, in the bills, that Braham's
scena should be performed; and on the second night of the opera it was
received with tumultuous applause. Braham, justly indignant, avenged
himself in an ingenious manner, but his wrath descended on an innocent
head. Mrs. Billington's embellishments were always elaborately studied,
and, when once fixed on, seldom changed. The angry tenor, knowing this,
caught her roulades, and on the first opportunity, his air coming first,
he coolly appropriated all her fioriture. Poor Mrs. Billington listened
in dismay at the wings. She could not improvise ornaments and graces;
and, when she came on, the unusual meagerness of her style astonished
the audience. She refused, in the next opera, to sing a duet with
Braham; but, as she was good-natured, she forgave him, and they always
remained excellent friends.
With that perverse devotion which characterizes the love of so many
women, Mrs. Billington clung to her brutal husband in spite of his
cruelty and callousness, and she did not separate from him till she
feared for her life. Many times he threatened to kill her, and extorted
from her by fear all the valuable jewels in her possession, as well
as the larger share of the money received from professional exertion.
Despairing at last of any change, she fled with great secrecy to
England, where she arrived in 1801, after an absence of seven years,
during which time her name had become one of the most popular in Europe.
There was instantly a battle between Harris and Sheridan, the rival
managers, as to which should secure this peerless attraction. She
finally signed a contract with her old friend Harris, for three thousand
guineas the season from October to April, and the guarantee of a free
benefit of five hundred guineas. It was likewise arranged that she
should sing for Sheridan at similar terms on alternate nights, as there
was a bitter dispute between the managers over the priority of the offer
accepted by the prima donna. Her reappearance before an English audience
was made in Dr. Arne's "Artaxerxes," which the critics of the day
praised as possessing "the beautiful melody of Hasse, the mellifluous
richness of Pergolese, the easy flow of Piccini, and the finished
cantabile of Sacchini, with his own true and native simplicity." It is
not only the criticism of to-day which has concealed the real form and
quality of works of merely temporary interest under flowery phrases,
that mean nothing.
It was speedily observed how greatly Mrs. Billington's style had
improved in her absence. Lord Mount Edgcumbe says she resembled Mara so
much that the same observations would apply to both equally well. "Both
were excellent musicians, thoroughly skilled in their profession; both
had voices of uncommon sweetness and agility, particularly suited to the
bravura style, and executed to perfection and with good taste everything
they sang. But neither was Italian, and consequently both were deficient
in recitative. Neither had much feeling, both were deficient in
theatrical talents, and they were absolutely null as actresses;
therefore they were more calculated to give pleasure in the concert-room
than on the stage." It was noticed that her pronunciation of the English
language was not quite free from impurities, arising principally from
the introduction of vowels before consonants, a habit probably acquired
from the Italian custom. "Her whole style of elocution," observes one
writer, "may be described as sweet and persuasive rather than powerful
and commanding. It naturally assumed the character of her mind and
voice." She was considered the most accomplished singer that had ever
been born in England.
Mrs. Billington displayed her talents in a variety of operatic
characters, which taxed her versatility, but did not prove beyond her
powers. Both English and Italian operas, serious and comic _rôles_,
seemed entirely within her scope; and those who admired her as _Mandane_
were not less fascinated by her _Rosetta_, when Ineledon shared the
honors of the evening with herself. In spite of Lord Mount Edgcumbe's
somewhat severe judgment as given above, she appears to have pleased by
her acting as well as singing, if we can judge from the wide diversity
of characters in which she appeared so successfully. We are justified in
this, especially from the character of the English opera, of which Mrs.
Billington was so brilliant an exponent; for this was rather musical
drama than opera, and made strong demands on histrionic faculty.
As _Rosetta_, in "Love in a Village," a performance in which Mrs.
Billington was peculiarly charming, she drew such throngs that the price
of admission was raised for the nights on which it was offered. The
witticism of Jekyl, the great barrister, made the town laugh on one of
these occasions. Being present with a country friend in the pit, the
latter asked him, as Mrs. Billington appeared in the garden-scene, "Is
that Rosetta?" The singer's portly form, which had increased largely in
bulk during her Italian absence, made the answer peculiarly appropriate:
"No, sir, it is not Rosetta, it is Grand Cairo."
Life was running smoothly for Mrs. Billington; never had her popularity
reached so high a pitch; never had Fortune favored her with such lavish
returns for her professional abilities. One night she was horrified with
fear and disgust on returning home to see her brutal husband, Felican,
lolling on the sofa. He had been heart-broken at separation from his
beloved wife, and could endure it no longer. It was only left for her
to bribe him to depart with a large sum of money, which she fortunately
could afford. "I never," says Kelly, "saw a woman so much in awe of a
man as poor Mrs. Billington was of him whom she had married for love."
On the 3d of July, 1802, she sang with Mme. Mara at the farewell benefit
of that distinguished singer. Both rose to the utmost pitch of their
skill, and, in their attempts to surpass each other, the theatre rang
with thunders of applause. In our sketches of some of Mrs. Billington's
rivals and contemporaries, Mme. Mara demands precedence.
III.
Frederick the Great loved war and music with equal fervor, and possessed
talents for the one little inferior to his genius for the other. He
played with remarkable skill on the flute, of which instrument he
possessed a large collection, and composed original music with both
science and facility. This royal connoisseur carried his despotism into
his love of art, and ruled with an iron hand over those who catered
for the amusement of himself and the good people of Berlin. Though the
creator of that policy which, in the hands of Bismarck and the modern
German nationalists, has wrought such wonderful results, and which has
extended itself even to matters of aesthetic culture as a gospel of
patriotic bigotry, the great Fritz thoroughly despised everything German
except in matters of state, and was completely wedded to the literature
of France and the art of Italy. When the talents of a young German
vocalist, Mlle. Schmäling, were recommended to him, it was enough for
him to hear the report, "She sings like a German," to make him sniff
with disdain. "A German singer!" he said; "I should as soon expect to
get pleasure from the neighing of my horse." Curiosity, however, at last
so far overcame prejudice as to make him send for Mlle. Schmäling, who
was enthusiastically praised by many of those whose opinions the King
could not ignore, to come to Potsdam and sing for him. Her pride, which
was high, had been wounded by the royal criticism, and she carried
herself with as much _hauteur_ as could go with respect. The King
regarded her with a cool stare, without any gesture of salutation, and
Mile. Schmäling amused herself with looking at the pictures. "So you
are going to sing me something?" at last said royalty with military
abruptness.
The figure of the Prussian King as he sat by the piano was anything but
prepossessing. A little, crabbed, spare old man, attired with Spartan
simplicity, in a faded blue coat, whose red facings were smudged brown
with the Spanish snuff he so liberally took; thin lips, prominent jaws,
receding forehead, and eyes of supernatural keenness glaring from under
shaggy brows; a battered cocked hat, and a thick cane, which he used as
a whip to belabor his horse, his courtiers, or his soldiers as occasion
needed, on the table before him - all these made a grim picture.
Mlle. Schmäling answered his curt words with "As your Majesty pleases,"
and instantly sat down at the piano. As she sang, Frederick's face
relaxed, and taking a huge pinch of snuff, he said, "Ha! can you sing
at sight?" (then an extraordinary accomplishment). Picking out the
most difficult bravura in his collection, he bade her try it, with the
remark, "This, to be sure, is but poor stuff, but when well executed
sounds pretty enough." The result of the royal examination convinced the
King that Mlle. Schmäling had not only a magnificent voice, but was a
thorough artist. So the daughter of the poor musician of Cassel, after
many years of hard struggle and ill success (for she had sung in almost
every German capital), was made Frederick's chief court singer at the
age of twenty-two, and the road to fortune was fairly open to her. At
the age of four years she had showed such aptitude for music that she
quickly learned the violin, though her baby fingers could hardly span
the strings. She always retained her predilection for this instrument,
and maintained that it was the best guide in learning to sing. "For,"
said she, "how can you best convey a just notion of slight vibrations in
the pitch of a note? By a fixed instrument? No! By the voice? No! But,
by sliding the finger on the string, you instantly make the most minute
variation visibly as well as audibly perceptible." She owed her success
entirely to the charm of her art.
Elizabeth Schmäling's personal appearance was far from striking. She
was by no means handsome, being short and insignificant, with a rather
agreeable, good-natured countenance, the leading feature of which
was - terrible defect in a singer - a set of irregular teeth, which
projected, in defiance of order, out of their proper places. 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. Both her _portamento di voce_ and
her volubility were declared to be unrivaled. It was remarked that she
seemed to take difficult music from choice, and she could sing fluently
at sight - rather a rare accomplishment among vocalists of that day.
Nothing taxed her powers. Her execution was easy and neat; her shake was
true, open, and liquid; and though she preferred brilliant, effective
pieces, her refined taste was well known. "Her voice, clear, sweet,
and distinct, was sufficiently powerful," remarked Lord Mount Edgcumbe
afterward, "though rather thin, and its agility and flexibility rendered
her a most excellent bravura singer, in which style she was unrivaled."
"Mara's divisions," observes another critic, "always seemed to convey
a meaning; they were vocal, not instrumental; they had light and shade,
and variety of tone."
Frederick was highly pleased with his musical acquisition, but a
more potent monarch than himself soon appeared to disturb his royal
complacency. Mlle. Schmäling, placed in a new position of ease and
luxury, found time to indulge her natural bent as a woman, and fell in
love with a handsome violoncellist, Jean Mara, who was in the service of
the King's brother. Mara was a showy, shallow, selfish man, and pushed
his suit with vigor, for success meant fortune and a life of luxurious
ease. The King forbade the match, so the enamored couple eloped, and,
being arrested by the King's guards, they were punished by Fritz with
solitary confinement for disobedience. At last the King relented, and
sanctioned the marriage which he suspected opposition would only delay,
probably fully aware that the lady would soon repent her infatuation.
Jean Mara did all in his power to effect this result, for the honeymoon
had hardly ended before he began to beat his bride at small provocation
with all the energy of a sturdy arm. Poor Mme. Mara had a hard life of
it thenceforward, but she never ceased to love Mara to the last;
and many years afterward, when a friend was severely reprobating his
brutality, she said, with a sigh of loving regret, "Ah! but you must
confess he was the handsomest man you ever saw."
The King frequently interposed to punish Mara for his harshness. On one
occasion he gave him a public caning and on another he sent him to a
field regiment, noted for the rigid severity of its discipline, to be
enrolled as a drummer for three months, accompanying the order with the
_mot_, "His propensity for beating shall have the fullest exercise
on the drum." A ludicrous sentence of the royal despot was that which
consigned him to the tender mercies of the body-guard, with strict
orders for his correction. No particular mode of punishment was
prescribed, so each soldier inflicted such chastisement as he considered