Strakosch Italian Opera: Lucia di Lammermoor

Wrongly advertises this performance for 10/14/73.

Correctly advertises this performance for 10/15/73.

“Mme. Nilsson’s Lucia is so well remembered from her remarkable personation two seasons ago that a critical analysis of it now would be superfluous. It is not one of the best of her parts, but it is one of the most impressive and most picturesque. It lacks the even excellence and conscientious art which distinguish her Margherita, but it gives scope for at least one superb exhibition of her powers that she probably never excels. We refer, of course, to the mad scene. Toward this climax she approaches by carefully prepared steps, sparing her voice greatly in the opening scenes, but indicating by many subtle strokes and delicate hints the imminence of the coming catastrophe. In her Lucia there are little symptoms of an unstable mind from the very beginning of the drama, and the horrible ending seems only the natural development to be looked for when an excitable temperament is subjected to the strain of overwhelming misfortune. Dramatically therefore her representation is remarkably fine and consistent. Its defects in a musical sense are rather negative than positive. The first Act is slighted. The second derives its interest chiefly from the Sestette. It is only in the third that the vocalist rises fully to the demands of the work. But in this third act she is brilliant beyond all praise, and the celebrated passage with the flute obbligato is perfectly astonishing.

She was not in perfect voice last night; neither was Signor Campanini; and indeed for the greater part of the evening the young tenor fell far below his previous efforts. He redeemed himself, however, in the last scene, and sang the ‘Fra poco a me ricovero’ with all the exquisite taste, sweetness, and sentiment which place him among the first of Italian tenors. The other parts—the Henry Ashton of Sig. Del Puente, the Raymond of Sig. Scolara, the Arthur of Señor Boy—were acceptably filled, and the performance, as a whole, was smooth and careful. The ‘Chi mi frena’ was given with all the stirring effect which it so conspicuously lacked last week at the Grand Opera House, and the orchestra, except that the brass was often too heavy for the voices, played admirably. There is still, however, a great want of discipline in the chorus, and there are some defects of stage management which are rather remarkable. Nothing could have been more wonderful in its way than the scene in which Raymond tells the ladies and gentlemen of the chorus that Lucia has gone mad and murdered her husband. The venerable priest turns his back upon the guests and retainers whom he is addressing, and pours the melancholy story into the ear of Sig. Muzio, while the way in which the chorus fold their hands across their stomachs and resolutely pay no attention to him must be seen to be appreciated.”

“The very agreeable performance of ‘Lucia’ at the Academy of Music last night was listened to by a large and critical audience, who found much to enjoy and applaud. Madame Nilsson’s personation of the unhappy bride of Lammermoor ranks among the highest of her triumphs. In it she reveals some of the most exquisite qualities of her beautiful voice and some of the richest results of her careful culture. The opening aria, Regnara nel silenzio, Nilsson sings sotto voce, and with a graceful and charming delicacy which at once stamps her as a true artist. In the little phrase by which the andante and the cabaletta are linked together, as it were, there is a dash and brilliancy of execution which last night attracted special attention, while the cabaletta itself, richly adorned, in its repetition, with brilliant vocal variations, was a showy and effective bit of bravura singing at once winning the warmest applause. In the duet Verrano a te, Nilsson always sings with exquisite taste, producing some of those weirdly beautiful notes which seem to be the peculiar property of her wonderful organ.

The second act of the opera opens with a duet for soprano and baritone, in which Henry Ashton urges his love-lorn sister to become the bride of Arthur Buckland. This duet is sometimes omitted; and when performed it often passes off without special notice. Last night, however, it awakened an absolute enthusiasm, owing to the dramatic singing of Madame Nilsson and Signor Del Puente, the latter fully sustaining the efforts of the prima donna, and giving splendid effect to the melodic phrase, Se tradirmitu potrai. The septette, which is the artistic climax of this lovely opera, won all the honors of an encore, although the conductor declined to accede to the expressed wishes of the public and allow a repetition.

The third act of this too short work begins with a superb duet for tenor and baritone, which last night was omitted, though Campanini and Del Puente could have done splendid justice to it. Indeed it is the custom to omit this morceau, which has not been sung here for many years. In the days of Salvi, Bettini and Badiali it was considered one of the great ‘points’ of the performance, and was always anticipated with pleasure and received with enthusiasm, but of late it has been quietly passed over. In the same way it is the custom of managers to cut from the part of Raymond the spirited aria which the composer has alloted [sic] him in the second act, and to turn over the mutilated character to inferior singers, when really it is as good a part as that of Silva in ‘Ernani’ and quite as worthy of the attention of leading bassos.

However, as many of the audience did not know what they missed they were entirely content, and devoted their attention to the mad scene, in which the crazed Lucia prettily revels in long hair, white muslin and fanciful cadenzas. In these well-known passages Nilsson always holds her audience enthralled; and especially in the interpolated cadenza with flute (in which is so happily introduced the theme of the love duet of the opening scenes) she last night justified her claim to be considered one of the few perfect Lucias that have appeared upon the stage. After the tender grace of that exquisite melody, Alfin son tua, and the brilliancy of the double cadenza, the less striking strains of the final air which Lucia sings seem almost like an anti-climax; but so admirably were they rendered that they secured for Nilsson the compliment of a prompt recall.

It is difficult to say, in this most touching opera, whether the fascination of the vocalism or of the acting be the greater; or whether it be owing to the marvellous [sic] skill with which this incomparable artist blends the two together. It has sometimes seemed to us as if the charm of the singing rendered the hearer insensible to the dramatic power of the actor; but no one can witness the performance without being struck by the rare subtlety and indescribable art with which Nilsson gradually works up the character to the climax.

Campanini gave a manly and excellent rendering of the part of Edgar, his voice always answering to the requirements made upon it, never degenerating into roughness and never deflecting from the proper pitch. In the Fra poco he evinced a sympathetic tenderness that won the hearts of his listeners, and his singing throughout the evening was thoroughly artistic. Del Puente was also admirable, and Signor Boy, who took the small part of Arturo, sang his one aria in the wedding scene with neatness and taste. Altogether, with the well-trained chorus and orchestra, last night’s performance of ‘Lucia’ was worthy of any opera house in any metropolis of the world.”

“‘Lucia di Lammermoor’ was the opera at the Academy of Music last night. Donizetti’s rather monochromatic work was done a few evenings ago, and its performance by Signori Campanini and Del Puente, and Signora Ostava Torrinai was referred to at the time. Yesterday’s representation, however, benefited by the co-operation of Mme. Christine Nilsson, whom indisposition prevented, on the earlier occasion, from portraying Scott’s ill-fated heroine, and hence the necessity not to dismiss it with a simple mention of its occurrence. At the present writing Mme. Nilsson’s Lucia, in our judgment is the finest on the operatic stage. Some of the artist’s contemporaries, in their endowment of the character with a dramatic strength easily to be imparted, slight the delicate music; while others, falling into the opposite extreme, degrade the rôle by using it merely as a medium for brilliant vocalization. Mme. Nilsson, as Lucia, adheres to a happy medium, and a personation of rare charm, interest, and impressiveness is the result. Last night, as during her previous sojourn at the Academy, Mme. Nilsson gave to the character its utmost lyric and histrionic significance, and she had, we are glad to say, her habitual reward. The opening cavatina, expressive of the longing for the absent Edgardo, at once showed that the lady was in excellent voice, while her chaste and earnest delivery proved her to be thoroughly well disposed for the more exacting tasks to come. The duet following was capitally recited, and it secured a recall for both the performers; in the second act, Mme. Nilsson’s splendid acting, combined with the beauty and power of her tones in the sestet—which was, as ever, tumultuously redemanded—brought about a suitable climax. But Mme. Nilsson’s triumph as reserved for the last part of the entertainment, when the grand scene commencing ‘Il dolce suon,’ and calling forth, by its exquisite recitative, and by the melodious air, ‘Spargi d’amaro pianto,’ the highest qualities of a prima donna, was interpreted. A more poetical and touching Lucia than the demented being presented by Mme. Nilsson can scarcely be imagined, nor could more eloquent and correct declamation, or more delicious singing be asked than was listened to at this stage of the entertainment. The proceedings were once interrupted by an outburst of applause, and, subsequent to the florid close of the cavatina—rendered, in spite of its difficulty, with so much ease that the runs and staccato and trills appeared the natural utterances of the crazed maiden—Mme. Nilsson was twice summoned before the footlights. The remaining features of the rehearsal of ‘Lucia’ do not exact review. Signor Campanini was somewhat fatigued, but he displayed, nevertheless, his wonted fluency of execution, and was much applauded after his air in the third act, at the termination of which, too, he was recalled. Signor Del Puente’s agreeable voice was heard to advantage in Enrico, and Signor Scolara was an efficient representative of Raimondo. The chorus and orchestra, we have only to add, continue to do their duty with precision and spirit.”

General and brief. “The Three Prime Donne—Nilsson, sweet and captivating; Murska, brilliant and thrilling; Lucca, grand and soul-stirring.”

“The Swedish nightingale made her first appearance last night in the rôle of Lucia at the Academy of Music, her assistants being the same artists who appeared in Donizetti’s opera when Mlle. Torriani made her début. Having already discussed the other characters in the opera as represented by Campanini, and Del Puente, it only remains for us to speak of the ‘Bride of Lammermoor,’ as Mme. Nilsson impersonates the heroine of Scott’s popular novel and Donizetti’s favorite opera. The charm that the prima donna threw around this rôle two years ago, when Nilsson’s Lucia was in everybody’s mouth, as was Malibran’s Desdemona, or Grisi’s Norma in days of yore, has lost none of its attractive qualities. The first act closed with as hearty an expression of approbation on the part of the public as when Mme. Nilsson made her operatic début. The opening aria in which Lucia awaits with mingled ardor and anxiety the coming of the Master of Ravenswood to the well-known trysting place, and the grand duet with the tenor that closes the first act, gave a favorable idea of the later successes of the impersonation. In the wedding scene Mme. Nilsson rose to an altitude of grandeur in her singing and dramatic expression of the agony of the ill-fated Lucia that seemed to intensify the interest which naturally attaches itself to these sad nuptials. Through the glorious music of the sestet her crystal-like voice, quivering with emotion, rose on the air as if a breaking heart had become a lyre and its pulsations were instinct with melody. Paralyzed at first by the awful realization of her position and the bitter denunciation of her lover, she broke away from her attendants, tore the hateful bridal veil from her face and clung with desperate tenacity to the object of her affection, whom she had unwittingly betrayed.

The mad scene is the crowning success of Nilsson’s Lucia. Its great merit is the absence of conventionalism. When she enters, her mind filled with the ecstacy [sic] of the premier jour de bonheur, the memory of the first dawn of love in her innocent breast, every feature glows as in a rapturous dream. The pantomime of a supposed union with Edgar and the horror at the recollection of his stern denunciation of her, the appeal for mercy, which becomes more thrilling as it is uttered by a wandering mind, and the last sad scene of all, in which light from beyond the dark river falls on her distracted soul, and the ecstatic spirit that dispels the gloom surrounding the unhappy marriage of Lucia, were in the hands of Nilsson a circlet of jewels, fit to adorn the brow of the most regal representative of the lyric drama. In the florid music of the mad scene the flute obligato of Herr Sielder was very effective and contributed much toward the success of the prima donna, as in this peculiar music the slightest mistake of the flute might mar the best efforts of the Lucia. To Signor Muzio’s chorus and orchestra hearty praise is due.”