Strakosch Italian Opera: La Traviata

“There could be no greater compliment to the illustrious prima donna, and no more significant proof of her hold upon the public esteem, than was afforded last evening by the great concourse who thronged the Academy to welcome her return. This favor in which she is held extends to all classes of society, for the great spaces of the upper circles were apparently filled with admirers as ardent as those in the boxes. Nor did the financial crisis seem to have any effect. Whatever retrenchments it may cause, it is evidently without effect in keeping people from a first opera night. Confessedly there is something in Madame Nilsson’s personality that touches the general heart and makes all people akin in their regard for her. This regard was expressed on the entrance of the prima donna, which occurs in the Traviata almost immediately after the rise of the curtain, with a warmth and fervor that American audiences are usually rather backward in displaying.

 

That the singer was strongly affected by it was very manifest not only in her manner but in the faintness and emotion with which the first few bars of the music were sung. Nor, indeed, did this nervousness fully disappear until the last act. Whether from this cause or from the enervating heat of the weather, Madame Nilsson was not fully equal to her former self during the earlier acts of the opera; but in the last she was superb. The time has long passed when any criticism is called for upon Nilsson’s Traviata. As it was among her earliest triumphs, so it continues to be a work in which her varied talents as actress and singer are finely displayed. There are, musically considered, many operas in her repertory greatly superior to this one, but it has elements of popularity that make it grateful to the singer, since its dramatic plot and brilliant music find an easy way to the public ear and intelligence. To see it is to understand it. The action is an all-sufficient guide to the plot. Of its advantages Madame Nilsson makes the freest use.

 

We do not find her greatly changed during the interval of her absence. In person she is as mobile, unaffected, and spontaneous as ever. She never does any commonplace things, and all her actions are marked with her own charming individuality. In voice, if not in vocalization, there seems to have been a gain. It is rounder and fuller than ever—sweeter or purer it could not have been.

 

In the two last acts, especially in the tragic final act, Madame Nilsson renewed the memories of her previous triumphs, and again made clear the fact that in her we have upon our stage one of the greatest exponents of the lyric art. Her action was intensely emotional, and her voice never seemed so full and beautiful.

 

M. Capoul shared with Madame Nilsson in the general welcome. It is a pleasure to have so excellent an artist here again. Larger and finer voices there certainly are, but what Capoul attempts he does earnestly and well. In the last act he fully rose to the height of the situation, and almost divided the honors with the Prima Donna.

 

In Signor Del Puente, the new baritone, we have an excellent and reliable singer. His voice is not large, but it is of good and pleasant quality, and is used with method and discretion.

 

The management appears to have made good its promises in respect to an increased and efficient chorus and orchestra. Both of these important arms of the operatic service have been strengthened, and under Signor Muzio’s admirable direction they exhibited a steadiness and training to which the lyric stage in this country is far too often a stranger. It is evident that Muzio will not tolerate shiftless singing by his chorus nor careless playing in his orchestra. The marks of a stricter hand were very discernible.”

“The appearance of the Academy of Music last night did not give any indication of the recent financial troubles. The house was filled by a fashionable and well-dressed audience. Every seat in the parquette, balcony and boxes was occupied, and dense crowds hung about the doors and jostled in the corridors. When it is considered that this audience assembled to extend a welcome to a favorite prima donna it will be readily seen what a hold that artist has on our public.

 

Miss, or rather Madame, Nilsson was of course warmly greeted. Her appearance and wardrobe were charming. Perhaps owning to the great heat of the evening her singing was, in one or two points, less effective than we have known it to be, there being a clashing with the orchestra in the allegro of the first act and a slight deflection from pitch in the last. As a general thing, however, Miss Nilsson’s voice has greatly improved in richness and power, and she makes more frequent use of those low chest tones which are so effective in the intenser [sic] passages of the lyric drama. Her acting last night was excellent, and in all the points demanding the expression of sadness or tenderness she was thoroughly effective. Nothing could have been more beautifully touching in its way than her rendering of the sad despairing words,

Se pur benefico [sic] le indulge Iddio

L’uomo implacabile per le [sic] sarà.

 

In the third act (as the opera is divided on our stage) Madame Nilsson also created a deep impression, especially in the scene where Violetta is insulted by Alfredo; and her ‘Addio del passato’ in the last act was rendered with exquisite delicacy. Many calls before the curtain, a profusion of bouquets and repeated and hearty plaudits were lavished on the fascinating singer who has so opportunely returned to us. Her hold upon the affections of our people is firmer, sincerer and deeper than that of any other vocalist.

 

Capoul, the tenor, has much improved, and was also heartily welcomed, and sang with unusual energy—at times, indeed, trying so hard as to impair the natural sweetness of his beautiful voice. The new singer, Del Puente, proved the possession of a melodious high baritone voice, and sang with good taste and judgment the limited amount of music which Verdi has allotted to the part of Germont. The minor characters were all well taken, with but one exception.

 

In the setting of the opera there were several departures from old traditions. The scene of the second act was a garden, and not an apartment as usual. The ball-room music of the first act was played, as it always should be, by a band behind the scenes. The separation of Violetta and Alfredo, in the second act, was followed by the performance pianissimo, by the orchestra, of the leading melodic theme of the opera, to allow the prima donna time to make an effective exit. This innovation, we presume, was made by Muzio, who is an ardent disciple of Verdi. Muzio, by the way, showed last night that his orchestra is in excellent training. The symphony before the last act was played with peculiar delicacy and finish. Mr. Strakosch has provided an excellent chorus this season, who did their work in ‘Traviata’ in excellent style.”

“The scene last night at the Academy of Music was exactly what one might have anticipated from the known popularity of Madame Nilsson in New-York. A great multitude of enthusiastic people bore patiently the heat and discomfort of the over-crowded theater, watched every scene with a predetermination to be pleased, and called out the prima donna again and again with every manifestation of cordiality. There was perhaps no very sensational display of the popular welcome; but it was evident that Madame Nilsson has not lost her place in the favor of this public by her eighteen months’ absence; she comes back as great a pet as when she went away.

 

Mr. Strakosch judged pretty well of the temper of his patrons, for he trusted almost entirely to Madame Nilsson for the prestige of his opening night. It is understood that he has a much stronger company than before, but he did not think it worth while [sic] to show its strength for the beginning. The opera was a well worn one, and the cast offered no special attractions, expect of course in one particular. ‘La Traviata’ has this recommendation, that it presents Nilsson in one of her most famous, and, all things considered, one of her best roles. Her Violetta is an intensely interesting personation, conceived in a true artistic spirit, and showing a dramatic consistency very rare on the operatic stage. In her hands the character gradually unfolds and elevates itself, as the poor woman of pleasure, touched by the purifying influence of true self[-]sacrificing love, rises out of the misery of the gay world into the light of penitence and death. It is inexpressibly touching and genuine. It has hardly a trace of the false sentimentality which disfigures so much of Madame Nilsson’s acting. Even the vocalism is simpler and purer than she sometimes allows it to be. She sang last night with unusual spirit and strength. If her voice has undergone any change since we heard her before it has probably gained something in fullness and purity. We speak with some reserve, however, on this point, for in the music of Violetta it was always heard to particular advantage. In the first part of the opera, however, her execution of the music was careless. She began the ‘Ah, fors’e lui’ badly, and the ‘Sempre libera’ ended in a sort of wrangle between her and the conductor, and a terrible confusion generally. It was not indeed until the close of the opera that she seemed to apply to the score the same fine artistic intelligence which she devoted all through to the text.

 

M. Capoul, who took the part of Alfredo, was cordially welcomed, and conducted himself with becoming energy. We should say, in fact, that with two formidable rivals in New-York, he felt himself on his mettle, and the result was one of the most passionate lovers that any young lady could desire. That of course was exactly what the people liked to see, and his Alfredo was accordingly accepted without reserve and abundantly applauded. M. Capoul’s style of singing is a very bad one; but in that style, such as it is, he certainly excels. The Germont was a new baritone, Sig. del Puente, of whom the foreign papers last season gave good accounts. He hardly justified the expectations that had been formed of him, though he will doubtless prove a useful member of the troupe. His voice is of moderate compass, and not at all sympathetic, but it is strong and pleasant, and his appearance is prepossessing. His method is crude and his delivery of the voice imperfect. Of the rest there is nothing to be said. We know by long and bitter experience how the minor parts are always filled in New York, and how wretched and weak the chorus always is, notwithstanding occasional delusive additions to its number. The stage was carelessly set, and the appointments were both inadequate and inappropriate. In the orchestra, however, led by Sig. Muzio, there was a marked improvement. Much of the playing was notably good, although the conductor has not yet established that perfect understanding with his singers which can only come by practice. The faults last night—and in one instance they almost amounted to a disaster—were the result of a want of rehearsals.”

“The season of Italian opera at the Academy of Music was, last evening, entered upon with every indication of success. A performance histrionically and lyrically striking in no common degree was offered; a very numerous and brilliant audience was assembled, and the results of the representation were such as to gratify both artists and public. The task of critic, under circumstances of this kind, is a light one, and, in this instance, it is rendered still less exacting by the choice of the opera and its interpreters. With his customary foresight, Mr. Strakosch, aware of the potent attractiveness exercised by the rentrée of so admired an artist as Mme. Christine Nilsson, held in reserve for future entertainments his new works and fresh performers. Hence the announcement of ‘La Traviata’ for the opening night, and the reappearance of Mme. Nilsson in a rôle she has so often filled. The event justified in all respects the anticipations of the management. And we are quite sure that after the curtain had fallen upon the first act of ‘La Traviata’ no one regretted that these anticipations had prompted the selection of the well-known opera and of the well-known singers for the introductory representation of the series.

 

Judged by its own merits, ‘La Traviata’ is by no means the most successful of Verdi’s achievements, nor is it nearly the best liked. The interest of its story is morbid; its most prominent airs have, unhappily, possessed that peculiar tunefulness which at once commend them to the musicians of the street; and the writing, though more careful and substantial than the earliest productions of the composer, is not to be mentioned with that of which he has since proven himself capable. In spite of these disadvantages, ‘La Traviata’ was the opera preferred by Mlle. Nilsson when she sang for the first time in Paris many years ago; it was given in this City during the operatic season of ’71-72; and at the two distinct stages of the songstress’ career, a conception of the character marked by exceeding intelligence and sensibility, and an impersonation touching, powerful, and consistently refined wrought an impression which, we are convinced, no prima donna here or in Europe can in the same character efface.

 

Considered in respect of its ‘points’ Mme. Nilsson’s Violetta may be pronounced less effective than some of her personifications. But regarded as a whole it will be held by many her finest performance. It is faultlessly symmetrical; full of earnestness, and exceptionally rich in detail. The progress of Violetta from her period of joyous insouciance to the harrowing scene at her death-bed, is as clear as in the most skillfully-acted play; every word of the recitative, every note of the music—and, as implied already, words and music more favorable to an artist are not rare—takes on great significance, and, where Verdi has been most happily inspired, force, or pathos, or charm. Opera-goers cannot be expected, it is true, to make a profound study of the libretto and score of even the most familiar works, and much of the artist’s labor must, on that account, pass with slight recognition. To its numberless recondite beauties, appreciable mainly to the dilettante, Mme. Nilsson’s Violetta adds, fortunately, the impressiveness of completeness and vivid coloring. Whenever an opportunity was accorded her, last evening, of fascinating or rousing her hearers into enthusiasm it was turned to good use, and by her gifts and attainments as a vocalist and actress, the changes were found to be neither few nor far between.

 

We need scarcely say that the welcome of which Mme. Nilsson was the object was extremely cordial. Violetta is before the footlights almost from the outset of the opera, so that there is little time accorded for the growth of expectation. In the present case there was but slender need of the usual stimulant. Mme. Nilsson was greeted with prolonged applause, and after the plaudits had become as unanimous as seemed possible, the artist was cheered for some minutes. The representation then proceeded with unbroken smoothness. It does not call, in our opinion, for a very extended notice. Mme. Nilsson’s youthful and powerful voice; her culture as a vocalist; and her sensibility and expressiveness as an actress have been dwelt upon in these columns time and again. Her tones are fresh and powerful as ever; her skill, as an executant, is as plain; her acting, yesterday, showed that she is now desirous of rather checking the strong dramatic impulses to which she yielded two years since, than of obeying them. Once or twice last evening Mme. Nilsson’s intonation deviated somewhat from absolute truthfulness, but the past record of the songstress is such that the fault will be laid to the terrible heat, which raised the pitch of the orchestra, while it lowered the voices. The evidences of the audience’s delight were bestowed at the wonted numbers. The brindisi in act the first appeared less ‘taking’ than usual, but the ‘Ah! fors’è lui,’ and ‘Sempre libera’—the first air sung by Mme. Nilsson in America—thanks to the contrast of the music and to the varied and, at the close, dashing delivery, was generously applauded. In the second act the pathetic duet in which Germont persuades Violetta to renounce Alfredo was especially potent over the spectators. The fourth, in which occur the painful ‘Addio al passato;’ the sweet and sad duet, commencing ‘Parigi, o cara,’ and whereof the words are intended to breathe, for an instant, a hope of life and happiness into the soul of moribund; and the despairing cry—‘Gran Dio, morir sì giovane’—were the conspicuous incidents. Mme. Nilsson was brought before the curtain at the termination of each act, and had showers of bouquets possessed the property of cooling the auditorium, the midsummer temperature would have fallen at once.

 

We have left ourselves a very brief space for reference to the remaining features of the entertainment. They do not, luckily, require a great deal. M. Victor Capoul, who played Alfredo, is the tenor who appeared with Mme. Nilsson during her earlier season of opera here, and he approved himself, on the occasion we write of, the same impassioned and well-trained actor, and, as a singer, the same master of rather small resources, as he was declared to be when he effected his début in the United States. M. Capoul has not been favored in the matter of voice, but he has been educated in the French school, and, having discarded the use of the falsetto which he once had recourse to, he has retained the principles taught artists in France: to do all that can be done with the material at their command. The gentleman sings all florid music assigned to him, most charmingly; and, dramatically, his performances, though now and then somewhat affected, are exceptionally fine. Both M. Capoul and Signor Del Puente were summoned to the front after the second act, and the intelligent and earnest acting of the two artists led mainly to this result. We cannot, however, rank M. Capoul with Signor Del Puente as a representative of Italian opera. Signor Del Puente, who last evening had his initial hearing in this country, possesses an excellent baritone voice, which, furthermore, is under sufficient control. He is a very young man, but is already quite at ease on the boards. Signor Del Puente at once secured the good graces of the audience. Germont’s air, recalling to his wayward child his forgotten Provence and forsaken family, only escaped repetition by the precipitancy of the orchestra; in the scenes with Violetta, Signor Del Puente, though not at the height of the prima donna, nevertheless acquitted himself exceedingly well of his task, and the honors of the second act were chiefly carried off by him. We have but to add that the chorus, throughout the representation, was strong in numbers and well disciplined, and that the orchestra, under Signor Emmanuel Muzio, was the best organized in New-York for years.”

“Mlle. Nilsson had nothing to fear in coming before the audience assembled at the Academy of Music last evening. To a very appreciable extent it was composed of personal friends—people who not only loved music and placed a proper value upon it, but who enjoyed an intimacy with the cantatrice and appreciated her not less as a friend than an artist. To expect such an audience to be critical would be to predict a contradiction. It came to enjoy Nilsson, not to vivisect Violetta; to applaud the prima donna, not to depreciate Verdi. To say that the only seats left unoccupied were those belonging to unfortunates, whom a wretched face at the last moment prevented being present, is merely to state a fact which every reader will have anticipated. To conjecture why Mme. Nilsson should have selected Violetta, when her répertoire possesses rôles fresher, wholesomer and better fitted to the display of her more shining talents, would be to explore a domain from which no pioneer has ever brought back a satisfactory response. A prima donna’s motives are labyrinthine—more easily threaded by her manager, often, than by herself.

 

And what is to be said of the manner in which ‘La Traviata’ was rendered? Certainly nothing very new. In Mme. Nilsson’s hands the title rôle remains now what it was two years ago, a beautiful idealization of an impure and morbid theme. You cannot refine Phryne into a Penelope; but Mme. Nilsson’s graceful unfaithfulness to the idea of Dumas is compensated by that artistic chastity which cannot touch a theme without communicating to it a portion of itself. This peculiarity, which is a strong characteristic of Mme. Nilsson’s, made itself felt last night with all its old force. Still, in Mme. Nilsson’s interpretation there are several minor points which can be reconciled neither with nature nor with those refined conventionalities which have their home in the drawing room and the saloon. Among these flaws may be mentioned the farewell to Alfredo in the second act and the tossing of the bouquet in the first. These are points to which the intelligence of the artist has been repeatedly asked and which she has not deemed fit to remedy. They class themselves among those slight specks of misinterpretation—those inartistic freckles that mar an otherwise exquisite conception. The manner of the adieu is particularly objectionable, because it is a misrendering of one of the most pathetic situations in the opera. No mistress ever bade a final adieu to a lover in such terms as these. The prolongation of the farewell would have awakened suspicion in a more faithful heart, and how the Alfredo, under the circumstances, could have avoided rushing after the Violetta and demanding an explanation on the spot is more than any one who takes pains to reflect upon the situation will find it easy to answer. It was poetical, it was graceful, it was tender; but it was too lingering, too softly and sensuously prolix to be justified by the conditions under which it took place. What was required was a generous resolve put into passionate and hasty action. Mme. Nilsson, as a rule, creates a rôle so intelligently, so conscientiously, so self-sacrificingly that that she can well endure being reminded occasionally of a defect. Possibly we should cease to give the sun precedence as centre of the solar system if the spots did not obtrude themselves from time to time.

 

The reception accorded to Mme. Nilsson was exceedingly warm, and for some minutes after her entrance upon the scene the course of the opera was stayed. At the end of the first act, also, she was vehemently recalled and a certain proportion of the applauders expressed themselves in the accustomary language of flowers. An almost equally cordial greeting was bestowed upon M. Victor Capoul, who presented the same graces which were so often referred to a couple of years ago. The novelty of the evening was the début of Signor del Puente, the new baritone, in the rôle of Germont. Further reference to the qualifications of this young singer will be found elsewhere. The promises of the impressario [sic] with respect to the chorus and the orchestra were conscientiously kept, but it is impossible to say as much for the scenery and the dresses. The scenery, indeed, betrayed some attempt at an improvement upon former seasons, but the attempt was meagre when measured with what one has a right to expect. The dresses can scarcely be deemed a brilliant amelioration of the costume of former years. We should like to see a certain homogeneity of taste and expense among the fashionable flutterers who made Violetta’s saloons their resort. The disproportion between the dress of the hostess and that of her guests is too glaring to escape comment, and we shall hail the hour when the tinsel conventionalities of stage finery are swept away and something more sterling substituted.

 

It is pleasant to turn from these slight animadversions to a theme which enables us to accord hearty praise. The labors of Signor Muzio, the chef d’orchestre, have borne good fruit. A more admirably organized and more carefully trained band has never been heard within the walls of the Academy. Even the dainty little introduction, commencing with those shifting [? could be a different word] harmonies for the violins, borrowed from Weber, and the lovely theme, of true Italian sensuousness, that is first heard in the opera, with its delicate coloring of wind instruments, were given with such artistic effect that to Signor Muzio the first applause of the evening was accorded. A little more prominence or strength in the reeds in the opening orchestral theme that leads to the first chorus would be desirable. As this sparkling subject runs through the first scene of the opera, the melody should be well defined throughout. The strings in the orchestra, on which so much depends for those characteristic effects with which Verdi knows so well how to enhance the interest of a dramatic scene, were remarkable for their promptness, spirit and elan. The brindisi passed without exciting any particular attention—a significant proof of the desire of the cultured audience to await the true musical developments in which the later scenes of the opera are so abundant. The charming waltz that follows, as a general illustration of the gaiety of the life of the ‘Dame aux Camelias,’ is tempered by the broken dialogue of Violetta and her lover, in which is conveyed, with musical tact, the utter heartlessness of such a life. The peculiarly Verdian measures of the duet, which Violetta commences with ‘Ah! se cio se ver’ followed by the passionate accent of Alfred, with the elaborate cadenza that closed the duet, were delivered with rare effect. The very commonplace chorus that followed led into the celebrated scena and aria that ends the first act. Here the Diva gave the first evidence of the extension of the volume of her voice, which, united to her exquisite perfection in phrasing and her thorough acquaintance with all the musical requirements of the scene, together with that rare purity of tone that crystalizes each passionate utterance of a heart awaking for the first time to a holy love, invests this portion of the opera with absorbing interest.

 

The tenor solo, which begins the second act, ‘De Miei Bollenti Spiriti,’ was sung for thefirst time in this country by M. Capoul. He substituted for it during his previous season here, the romance from ‘L’Eclari’ which, lovely though it may be, was entirely out of place in Verdi’s opera. But Muzio was inexorable in demanding that the autonomy of the work of his teacher should be observed, and M. Capoul created a far more favorable impression by his artistic rendering of Verdi’s passionate music than anything he could have done with Halevy. Del Puente, the new barytone [sic], made a lasting impression, and sprang at once into popularity in this act by his rendition of the two arias, so full of pleading expression—one addressed to the Dame aux Camelias, the portraiture of his daughter, ‘Para Siccome un Angelo,’ and the other an appeal to his heartbroken son, ‘Di Provenza il Mar.’ The best choruses seem to be all crowded into the scene in which Alfred Germont insults Violetta in the presence of the crowd of pleasure-seekers. Here the chorus and orchestra were deserving of special commendation. On them depended the chief success of the scene, and nobly they carried out the ideas of the composer and their leader. Capoul was evidently laboring under the influence of hoarseness last evening, for, in the second finale of this scene, his voice fell occasionally a half tone below the pitch. But his long schooling in the best of all systems of music for training an artist—the Conservatoire of Paris—brought him triumphantly through his arduous rôle. The last act is replete with orchestral mourceaux of vivid suggestions of the gradual breaking of a heart which staked its existence in love. Here the voice of the Swedish nightingale was heard to its utmost advantage. Never has that throbbing duet of the heart, ‘Parigi o cara,’ been delivered with more tenderness, and never have the last broken accents of Violetta, as she sinks back in the arms of all she loves, been invested with more touching significance than last evening. Verdi has many faults, the worst of which is his proneness to sensation, produced by startling and unnatural transitions. But no one can deny him the power of [illeg.]-ning with the same lurid power that characterizes Dore [sic] the storm of human passions and grouping musical tableaux with the skill of a great artist. ‘La Traviata’ is by no means his best opera; but in it are delicious episodes in music that never fail to captivate the ear of the musician, as well as that of the profanum vulgus. In his ‘Aïda,’ which Mr. Strakosch will shortly produce, we will find the result of his matured powers. But while there can be found such a representative of ‘La Traviata’ as Christine Nilsson there is no fear but that the popularity of the opera will remain undiminished.”

“Our own musical season [in Boston] having scarcely begun (for not even two or three swallows make a summer), we place our New York correspondence in the foreground; there they have two operatic courses in full progress, if nothing else as yet of higher interest.

 

NEW YORK, OCT. 11.—The fall season of Italian Opera at the Academy of Music began on Tuesday evening, Sept. 30. The opera selected by Mr. Strakosch for the opening night was one in which his great prima donna, NILSSON, has always appeared to particular advantage, namely La Traviata of Verdi. The audience was a large one, but, it seemed not as brilliant as in the seasons past; a fact readily accounted for by the stringency in the money-market. If the house wore a sombre [sic] look there was, at least, no lack of enthusiasm in the reception which was given Mme. Nilsson, and she must have felt that America is no longer a foreign land to her since she abides in the hearts of so many here.

 

It was indeed a privilege to hear again that wonderful voice, so perfectly clear and pure in every note—those tones with such a depth of feeling and purpose in them, that no words are needed to translate them.

 

There are singers who equal, perhaps those who excel her in feats of vocalization; but in the quality of her voice, in her artistic training, in the attractive simplicity and grace of her appearance, and the excellence of her acting, she stands alone, above all others.

The part of Alfredo was taken by M. CAPOUL, whose singing was very much the same as ever. He rendered the music which feel to his part with more care, or less pre-occupation than usual, and received his share of the applause. His acting was in some respects very bad, but that was inseparable from his style of singing.

 

I am glad to say that the orchestra, this season, under Sig. MUZIO, is far better than it formerly was; and, although the musicians and the singers did not always agree, it was usually the latter who were at fault. Such imperfections, however, as almost unavoidable in a first representation.

 

The chorus was of course ----- ----- (please select any number of adjectives to express general demoralization, confusion and wretchedness). Of the scenery I can speak only with that respect which I always pay to age.”