Part 18 (1/2)

Little Nicolas was in a state of great trepidation, for he saw plainly that the professor was laughing at him. It was impossible to run away, or he would doubtless have made his escape. Leo advanced towards him, handed him the score, and with imperturbable gravity, requested him to take his place at the desk in front of the orchestra. Nicolas, with the courage of despair, took up his position, and gave the signal to the orchestra which the merciless professor had placed under his command.

After his first emotion had pa.s.sed away, Nicolas continued to beat time, fancying that, after all, what he had composed, though doubtless bad, was, perhaps, not ridiculous. The ma.s.s was executed from beginning to end. As he approached the finale, all the young musician's fears returned. He looked at the professor, and saw that he did not seem to be in the slightest degree impressed by the performance. What _did_ he, what _could_ he think of such a production?

”I pardon you this time,” said the terrible _maestro_, when the last chord had been struck; ”but if ever you do such a thing again I will punish you in such a manner that you will remember it as long as you live. Instead of studying the principles of your art, you give yourself up to all the wildness of your imagination, and when you have tutored your ill-regulated ideas into something like shape, you produce what you call a ma.s.s, and think, no doubt, that you have composed a masterpiece.”

Nicolas burst into tears, and then began to tell Leo how he had been annoyed by the dry and pedantic instruction of the sub-professor. Leo, who, with all his coldness of manner, had a heart, clasped the boy in his arms, told him not to be disheartened, but to persevere, for that he had real talent; and finally promised that from that moment he himself would superintend his studies.

[Sidenote: PICCINNI AND DURANTE.]

Leo died, and was succeeded by Durante, who used to say of young Piccinni, ”The others are my pupils, but this one is my son.” Twelve years after his entrance into the Conservatory the most promising of its _alumni_ left it and set about the composition of an opera. As Piccinni was introduced by Prince Vintimille, the director of the theatre then in vogue was unable to refuse him a hearing; but he represented to His Highness the certainty of the young composer's work turning out a failure. Piccinni's patron was not wanting in generosity.

”How much can you lose by his opera,” he said to the manager, ”supposing it should be a complete _fiasco_?”

The manager named a sum equivalent to three hundred and twenty pounds.

”There is the money, then,” said the prince, handing him at the same time a purse. ”If the _Donne Dispetose_ (that was the name of Piccinni's opera) should prove a failure, you may keep the money, otherwise you can return it to me.”

Logroscino was the favorite Italian composer of that day, and great was the excitement when it was heard that the next new opera to be produced was not of his writing. Evidently, his friends had only one course open to them. They decided to hiss Logroscino's rival.

But the Florentine public had reckoned without Piccinni's genius. They could not hiss a man whose music delighted them, and Piccinni's _Donne Dispetose_ threw them into ecstacies. Those who had come to hoot remained to applaud. Piccinni's reputation had commenced, and it went on increasing until at last his was the most popular name in all musical Italy.

Five years afterwards, Piccinni (who in the meanwhile had produced two other operas) gave his celebrated _Cecchina_, otherwise _La Buona Figliuola_, at Rome. The success of this work, of which the libretto is founded on the story of _Pamela_, was almost unprecedented. It was played everywhere in Italy, even at the marionette theatres; and still there was not sufficient room for the public, who were all dying to see it. This little opera filled every playhouse in the Italian peninsula, and it had taken Piccinni ten days to write! The celebrated Tonelli, who, being an Italian, had naturally heard of its success, happened to pa.s.s through Rome when it was being played there. He was not by any means persuaded that the music was good because the public applauded it; but after hearing the melodious opera from beginning to end, he turned to his friends and said, in a tone of sincere conviction, ”This Piccinni is a true inventor!”

Of course the _Cecchina_ was heard of in France. Indeed, it was the great reputation achieved by that opera which first rendered the Parisians anxious to hear Piccinni, and which inspired Madame Du Barry with the hope that in the Neapolitan composer she might find a successful rival to the great German musician patronised by Marie Antoinette.

[Sidenote: GLUCK AND PICCINNI.]

Piccinni, after accepting the invitation to dispute the prize of popularity in Paris with Gluck, resolved to commence a new opera forthwith, and had no sooner reached the French capital than he asked one of the most distinguished authors of the day to furnish him with a _libretto_. Marmontel, to whom the request was made, gave him his _Roland_, which was the Roland of Quinault cut down from five acts to three. Unfortunately, Piccinni did not understand a word of French.

Marmontel was therefore obliged to write beneath each French word its Italian equivalent, which caused it to be said that he was not only Piccinni's poet, but also his dictionary.

Gluck was in Germany when Piccinni arrived, and on hearing of the manuvres of Madame du Barry and the Marquis Caraccioli to supplant him in the favour of the Parisian public, he fell into a violent pa.s.sion, and wrote a furious letter on the subject, which was made public. Above all, he was enraged at the Academy having accepted from his adversary an opera on the subject of Roland, for he had agreed to compose an _Orlando_ for them himself.

”Do you know that the Chevalier is coming back to us with an _Armida_ and an _Orlando_ in his portfolio?” said the Abbe Arnaud, one of Gluck's most fervent admirers.

”But Piccinni is also at work at an _Orlando_?” replied one of the Piccinnists.

”So much the better,” returned the Abbe, ”for then we shall have an _Orlando_ and also an _Orlandino_.”

Marmontel heard of this _mot_, which caused him to address some unpleasant observations to the Abbe the first time he met him in society.

But the Abbe was not to be silenced. One night, when Gluck's _Alceste_ was being played, he happened to occupy the next seat to Marmontel.

_Alceste_ played by Mademoiselle Lesueur, has, at the end of the second act, to exclaim--

”_Il me dechire le cur._”

”_Ah, Mademoiselle_,” said the Academician quite aloud, ”_vous me dechirez les oreilles._”

”What a fortunate thing for you, Sir,” said the Abbe, ”if you could get new ones.”

Of course the two armies had their generals. Among those of the Piccinnists were some of the greatest literary men of the day--Marmontel, La Harpe, D'Alembert, &c. The only writers on Gluck's side were Suard, and the Abbe Arnaud, for Rousseau, much as he admired Gluck, cannot be reckoned among his partisans. Suard, who wrote under a pseudonym, generally contrived to raise the laugh against his adversaries. The Abbe Arnaud, as we have seen, used to defend his composer in society, and const.i.tuted himself his champion wherever there appeared to be the least necessity, or even opportunity, of doing so.

Volumes upon volumes were written on each side; but of course no one was converted.