Strakosch Italian Opera: Il trovatore

“It would be hard to point out another opera that wears as well as ‘Il Trovatore,’ or is more acceptable to the general public as well as the dilettanti. It has now become as familiar as a nursery tale, and so many eminent prime donne have undertaken the role of Leonora here that it is considered one of the most difficult tests of an artist’s ability to create any marked impression in it different from some of her predecessors. But, as Mlle. Nilsson is unlike all other artists in voice and style, and occupies a position in art that can be filled but by herself alone, her impersonation of the ill-fated heroine of Verdi’s opera is not only a great success, but also a novelty. Her histrionic genius found in it a fine field for display, and in some of the scenes, notably, the ‘Miserere’ and in the dungeon, her acting rose to the dignity of a Ristori or a Seebach. The extreme purity of her lovely voice and its boundless wealth of expression lent new charms to the Tacea la notte, D’amor sull’ ali rosee and the agitated E deggio , e posse, and the death scene was notable for the entire absence of the stereotyped ‘tearing passion to pieces’ which is so characteristic of Leonoras nowadays. The darker and stronger lines of this tragic rôle are not exactly in accordance with Nilsson’s peculiar style of acting, and some might desire to see them more vividly illustrated. But there is a charm of naturalness and childlike affection in her affection for her outlawed lover that wins the heart of all who witness Nilsson’s Leonora. The sacrifice she makes of life itself to save Manrico from his relentless enemy is prompted by the spirit of a martyr, and her death carried out this idea to the fullest extent. Her last words, ‘Addio! Io moro!’ were not sung, but seemed to burst from her heart as a passionate sob—the expiring effort of a sublime love.

Miss Cary undertook the rôle of the gypsy mother, and although she sung it fairly and made a more successful attempt at acting than she has previously done, yet after such artists as Madame Gazzaniga and Miss Adelaide Phillips her impersonation of Azucena was very tame, cold and unsatisfactory. A colorless voice, no matter what its other qualities may be, is calculated to nullify the intensely dramatic character of the revengeful gypsy, especially when the acting is cold and unimpassioned.

Brignoli was the Manrico, and as he was the first artist who introduced the rôle on the American stage and as his rendering of it is well known to all opera goers, we may content ourselves with saying that he was in the best of voice last night, and his admirable singing of ‘Ah! che la morte’ contributed much to the success of the ‘Miserere,’ which was rendered in the most enthusiastic manner.

The new baritone, Signor Bartolini, made a very successful début, despite his extreme nervousness, which interfered materially with his voice. It was a relief to hear once more a pure Italian voice in Italian opera, and his acting was impassioned and artistic. His voice seems to us to be more of a basso cantante than a pure baritone, for even with the low pitch used by the company the high notes appeared to trouble him. This may have been caused by his nervousness, and may wear off when he becomes acquainted with the Academy and the New York audience. At all events Signor Bartolini is a valuable addition to the company. There was a want of unanimity between the chorus and orchestra that betrayed a want of proper rehearsals, and in such a well known work as ‘Trovatore’ this is inexcusable. Although the dresses of a prima donna do not generally enter into the domain of musical criticism, we cannot help mentioning those worn by Mlle. Nilsson last night as the richest and most elegant ever donned by an operatic artist on any stage. In the first act she wore a magnificent robe, the pink satin underskirt embroidered with gold; the overskirt or train of pearl gray satin, with antique bodice richly ornamented with jewels and embroidery and a collier or falling fichu of jewels and a ceinture of the same. The coiffeur was plentifully bedecked with rich bijouterie forming a coronet a la comtesse. In the convent scene her toilet consisted of a long black velvet underskirt, with satin overdress to correspond, looped up on one side with jet ornaments, and trimmed around the bottom of the skirt with lace and jet embroidery; veil ornamented with jet pins and fastened to the side with an arrow. Her robe de marriage was a white satin underskirt, embroidered with silver, the overdress or train of rich brocade satin; antique bodice, with embroidery of the same, and ceinture, with long tassels formed by pearls; veil of tuile and crown of pearls.”

“To the present generation of opera-goers in New-York no lyric work is associated with as many agreeable reminiscences as the ‘Trovatore’ of Giuseppe Verdi. Since its first production here in 1855, at the old Academy of Music, it has been sung in this city times almost innumerable, by Italian, English and German troupes, while scarce a prima donna of any pretension has failed to appeal to the public through the medium of its leading character.

‘Trovatore’ is eminently a popular opera. The melodies follow each other in one unbroken wreath of tuneful succession, the recitatives being only long enough to connect the different melodic passages. Every one of the principal singers has a part of equal prominence, and so no one artist seems sacrificed to another. The music may be called hackneyed, and certainly its airs have been heard for the past dozen years on every boarding school piano-forte and on every street organ in the country; yet whenever ‘Trovatore’ is announced for production, with a cast at all attractive, the house is sure to be filled.

Such was the case last night, when the ever favorite opera was given for the first time by the Nilsson troupe, with the reigning prima donna of the day as Leonora, a part which she never assumed in Europe. She gave a gracious and elegant personation, not as exciting or as passionate as that by other prima donnas, such as Zucchi, La Grange, Steffanone of Grisi, but tender, delicate and pathetic, rising in the last act to noble heights of dramatic ideality. Indeed, in none of the parts she has yet played here has Miss Nilsson acted with such superb intensity. This was evinced, not in screaming, but in a quietly intensified force, which is even more effective than vigorous declamatory power. It was shown in the terrified whisper in which Leonora uttered to Manrico, the warning Ah! fuggi, fuggi o sei perduto, and in the splendid rendering of the death scene. To the aria Amor sul ali, Miss Nilsson gave quite a new rendering, and supplemented it with a cadenza of unusual length, and beauty which at once aroused the enthusiasm of the listeners. The Miserere scene was, as usual, encored. Indeed, the great success of the opera lay in this act; and for this the prima donna of the evening seemed to reserve herself, making but little effect, for instance, in the second act where, in the finale, Le Grange used to electrify the house by her rendering of the words:

“Last evening brought Miss Nilsson before the public in a new character, that of Leonora in Verdi’s ‘Trovatore.’ The sable garments of tragedy became her as well as the gayer robes of comedy, and by her genius she infused into the most repulsively trite and threadbare music of this opera fresh color and new beauty.

There is with Miss Nilsson a certain magnetism that gives meaning to her lightest actions, and a charm in her vocalism that makes it a constant pleasure to listen to her, even when she sings trivial music. Her conception of the rôle of Leonora does not differ essentially from that of other prima donnas. The heroine is less fiercely declamatory and more gracious than most of them have represented her; but Miss Nilsson infuses quite sufficient fervor into the part.

Miss Cary was the Azucena, and both sang and acted the rôle superbly, comparing favorably with the high standard that Miss Phillips has set for all succeeding artists in this character.

“’Il Trovatore’ was sung at the Academy of Music yesterday evening. The audience was one of the largest of the season, and its tendency to express gratification at the recital of Verdi’s most familiar work was as apparent as could be desired. Had the performance become familiar by repetition its excellence would have been deserving of no slight praise. The peculiar circumstances under which it was given rendered its smoothness and effectiveness especially commendable. These circumstances were Miss Nilsson’s first personation of Leonora, Miss Cary’s earliest rendering of Azucena in the United States, and the debut of Signor Bartolini, the new baritone. No frequenter of operatic entertainments need be told that a representation of this kind, though promising in the point of novelty, can not always be looked to as likely to satisfy. Last night’s affair, however, was exceptional, and applause was bestowed with the double intent to reward the general interpretation, and also the individual efforts of the principal artists. The honors of the rehearsal were divided with unusual discrimination. Miss Nilsson may not make the picture of Leonora so full of color and contrast as that of Mignon, or that of Marguerite, but in the impressive passages of the score, her impassioned and forceful acting combines with her true and ringing voice to endow the tunes of Verdi with their greatest potency. Every habitual reader will understand at which stages of the recital Miss Nilsson awakened most enthusiasm. The boldness and brilliancy of her execution of the allegro ‘Di tale amor,’ and the predominance of her tones and the breadth of her phrasing in the concerted pieces, and particularly in the finales, elicited, until the last act, cordial tokens of approval. In act the fourth, however, Miss Nilsson’s efforts caused almost unprecedented excitement. Her delivery of ‘D’Amor sull’ ali rosee’ may be bettered in respect of finish, but will never be surpassed in intensity of appreciation and eloquence. The whole scene was repeated. No less unmistakable evidence of favor than were lavished upon the heroine of the season were bestowed upon Signor Bartolini, the fresh member of Mr. Strakosch’s company. Signor Bartolini is a singer of unquestionable skill, and an actor whose talent and experience place him far in advance of any baritone whose services have been devoted to this country in many years. From his utterances on entering—made tremulous, by the way, by a stage-fright rather singular in so tried a performer—the gentleman’s gifts and culture were clear to everybody. Signor Bartolini’s voice is of admirable timbre, thoroughly tuneable, and managed with consummate art. He sang ‘Il balen’ with infinite sentiment and elegance, and his share of the terzett in the first act, of the subsequent finales, and of the duo in the tower scene, with rare surety and warmth. During the whole night Signor Bartolini’s acting was on a plane with Miss Nilsson’s. The character of the vindictive lover has, in our recollection, never been informed with equal significance. If we dismiss from consideration an unfortunate descending scale, with which Miss Cary surprised her hearers in the progress of the duet in the second act, we have nothing but praise for her labors. She portrayed the gypsy with an animation and a sustained strength hardly awaited, and her portion of the duet ‘Si, la stanchezza,’ must be cited as charmingly sung. We have left Signor Brignoli’s embodiment of Manrico for final notice, not because of its slight merit, but simply on account of the acquaintance of the public with its qualities. It is no news to say that the gentleman’s delicious voice renders ‘Deserto sulla terra’ and ‘Ah! che la morte’ unacceptable from other lips, and that the love-music of the ‘Troubadour’ has ample justice at his hands. The chorus was exceedingly good; for the nonce it did not mar the beauty of the closing tableaux. The testimony as to the successful interpretation of ‘Il Trovatore,’ is, therefore, complete.”

“An excellent performance of ‘Trovatore’ was attended last night by an excellent and unusually demonstrative audience. Miss Nilsson’s Leonora is not a strongly individualized character, but that is the fault of the part, rather than the actress, for Verdi’s heroine is dramatically rather a commonplace character, whose passion is all hackneyed and whose situations are all conventional. Yet the representation was from first to last highly effective, and the musical declamation was in the artist’s noblest vein. Her aria in the first act, ‘D’amor sull’ali rosee,’ and the ‘Miserere,’ were among the best things she has yet done in New-York. The new baritone, Sig. Bartolini, made his debut in the role of Di Luna. He has a fine sonorous voice, of good compass and agreeable quality, and though his accomplishments as a vocalist are not great, his intonations being throaty and his singing deficient in smoothness and flexibility, he is a valuable addition to the company in a department which sadly needed strengthening. In certain robust parts, like this, he will be found vigorous and impressive. The Manrico, last night, was the same favorite tenor who sang the part when it was first given in America, nearly 17 years ago, and with whom our most delightful recollections of the troubadour are inseparably associated. One can hardly think of Mr. Brignoli now-a-days save as the Tracy Tupman of the lyric stage; but he did sing well last night; his ‘Non ti scordar di me’ was almost as passionate and sweet as of old, and his helmut, as of old, rested on the tip of his nose. Miss Cary had a better opportunity as Azucena to display her abilities than she has hitherto been afforded. Her performance was [illegible] and truly artistic, and it was evidently appreciated.”