Recreating a Legendary Voice from the Music Scores

 ... in short, it’s only here [in Paris] that one can understand what singing really is. Today it is definitely not la Pasta but la Malibran (Garcia) who is the queen of Europe — what a marvel! Valentin Radziwill worships her, and more than once we thought how much you would admire her!

Frédéric Chopin to Joseph Elsner, Paris 1831

Today, the best way to appreciate Maria Malibran’s unique voice is to look at the music that was composed for her. The scores reveal a voice with a range of nearly three octaves (from the E below middle C to high C) that seems to have been more distinctive in the extreme registers than in the middle. An abundance of virtuosic coloratura writing and significant leaps suggest that she had exceptional flexibility and perfect breath control.

 The many press reviews and contemporary accounts provide an idea of her timbre. Although her voice remained steady into the very highest register, it was generally described as velvety, dark and soft-grained. Indeed, when not listed as “prima donna”, Malibran was labelled a contralto rather than a soprano. Today she would undoubtedly be considered a mezzo.

 Despite a brief career that lasted just over ten years, Malibran’s talents enabled her to sing an exceptionally wide repertoire: from Baroque via Mozart to Rossini, but also the “contemporary” music of Donizetti and, particularly, Bellini. Numerous works were composed for and first performed by her, although hardly any are still known today.

  In this album Cecilia Bartoli returns to the Romantic era in order to explore it thoroughly for the first time. Her in-depth knowledge of Baroque and Classical music and her feel for those periods give her access to an uncommonly varied bel canto repertoire. Central to this is putting Bellini’s work in its historical context.

 Apart from the dizzying vocal and thespian qualities of the phenomenon that was Maria Malibran, what particularly fascinates Cecilia Bartoli is the idea of reconstructing the authentic sound of the singing of the time, which has since been lost. This requires not only an attempt to determine the nature of the voice and vocal production but also a study of the original musical texts, instrumentation and the concert pitch of the time of 430 Hz.

 One day I entered without his seeming to take notice of me. He turned his back to the door of his prison cell and, in a soulful voice, sang the Spanish air “Yo que soy contrabandista”. When he had finished, he suddenly turned to me and cried: “Brother, promise that, if ever you have doubts about me, you’ll dismiss all your suspicions when you hear me sing that tune.”

Victor Hugo, Bug Jargal, 1818–20

 The song “Yo que soy contrabandista” [5] is symbolic of the roots and the essence of the phenomenon that was Maria Malibran. It is one of the most famous compositions by her father, Manuel García (1775–1832), who shaped Maria’s personality, life and art more than anyone else. Both she and her sister Pauline Viardot sang it at every opportunity, either with guitar or as an insertion aria in the “music lesson” scene of Rossini’s Barbiere di Siviglia. The song is almost a musical symbol of the García family’s social ascent from the provinces of southern Spain to the Parnassus of opera singing. It also shows García’s versatile talent: he introduced the folk style of his homeland into the world of classical music with this immensely popular piece. Besides Hugo’s reference to the piece in his first novel, Bug Jargal, Liszt used it as the basis of a Rondeau fantastique and it inspired George Sand’s “histoire lyrique” Le Contrebandier. Bizet is also believed to have used its theme to create local Spanish colour in Carmen.

 The song comes from El poeta calculista (The Calculating Poet), an hour-long monodrama (“unipersonal” in the original Spanish), in which an impoverished poet reflects on career and success. By means of various examples he demonstrates what a comedy, tragedy, etc. of his own authorship might be like. In one case he even sings a typical “love duet” with himself. Another example is the caballo, a classic smuggler’s song in the style of a polo, a flamenco dance still very popular today. The fiery rhythm, pride and energy contained in this little piece probably reveal a lot about the spirited composer and the characteristics he passed on to his children.

 Signorina Garcia is a favorite of ours; and, judging by her enthusiastic reception, she is equally so with all who have witnessed her performance. With great science and execution, she is modest and unostentatious; with an elegant figure and fine face, she is delicate and unassuming.

New-York Literary Gazette, 1825

In 1825 García moved with his family from Europe to New York, where he established his prodigiously gifted seventeen-year-old daughter Maria as the star of his opera company, chiefly performing Rossini and Mozart. He also composed principal roles for her in his own stage works La figlia dell’aria and L’amante astuto, thereby creating what were probably the first operas ever to have their premieres in America. The scena and aria ”E non lo vedo ... Son regina” [9] recorded here, sung by Semiramide in La figlia dell’aria, is clearly grounded in the transition from late Classicism to early Romanticism, as can be heard in the melismas of the vocal part, for example. Yet Rossini’s influence is unmistakable in the aria’s accompaniment. The dark-hued, highly dramatic recitative, with interjections of despair from the chorus, shows a highly individual character. The aria proper begins on a proudly martial, rebellious note (“Son regina”), which quickly gives way to a pastoral theme, reminiscent of the Neapolitan school in its harmony and accompaniment of flute and clarinet (”E sopra i popoli cari”). To her wish to reign benevolently over her people, Semiramide adds a grand, dignified and fervent appeal for insurrection and freedom at the end of the scene.

The length of this scena, which still makes extreme demands on singers today, as well as the variety of rapidly shifting emotions, the uncommonly virtuosic arpeggios and runs, and the wide range (G–A flat"), often spanned within just a few bars, are all indications that the characteristic qualities of Maria’s voice and its dramatic powers of expression were already present at the beginning of her career.

 The opera was very well performed. La Malibran stood out as Clari with her power and enchanting expression.

Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, Literatur, Theater und Mode, 1829

In 1828, upon returning from America to Paris, Maria made her triumphant Paris debut at the Théâtre-Italien at the age of barely twenty, starring primarily in Rossinian roles. Also working at the theatre at the time, as chef du chant, was Jacques Fromental Halévy (1799–1862). Remembered today only for his grand opéra La Juive (1835), the Frenchman produced two Italian operas during his career, the first of which, Clari, was written for Maria. She had apparently already become familiar with the popular subject matter when she was in England, through Sir Henry Bishop’s 1823 opera of the same name, whose most famous and still much-loved ballad “Home, Sweet Home” Maria had frequently delighted her audiences with in America. Halévy’s Clari had its premiere at the Théâtre-Italien in December 1828. Its light, Italian style is striking; far removed from the opulence of grand opéra, and Halévy’s musical treatment of the subject is original and imaginatively orchestrated. This is evident in the eponymous heroine’s entrance aria “Come dolce a me favelli” [14]. It begins with an atmospheric passage for four horns and solo violin, which serves both to instil the necessary calm following the hectic scenes that precede it and as an allusion to Clari’s rustic origins and her straightforward nature. The slow melody is clearly reminiscent of Rossini. It also shows, when it promptly soars from low B flat to high A", that the composer was well aware of the capabilities of the singer for whom he was writing.

 It has been several years since the celebrated composer gave us such an appealing work in so small a format. The theme in F, which begins after an extremely brief introduction, is full of charm and sweetness, and is ideally suited to variations due to its piquant turns of phrase.

Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, Literatur, Theater und Mode, 1830

 The Air à la tirolienne avec variations [8] by Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778–1837) is something of a curiosity. “Tyrolienne”, a term originating in England at the beginning of the nineteenth century, describes an elegant form of Ländler. The fashion for Alpine folk music was sparked by travelling groups of yodellers such as the Rainer family from the Zillertal of Tyrol, who created a sensation in Germany and England. The pianist, conductor and composer Hummel, a former pupil of Mozart, Salieri and Haydn, served for eighteen years as grand-ducal Kapellmeister in Weimar, but he also made important annual concert tours of the European musical capitals, including London. In 1830 his Air à la tirolienne avec variations appeared simultaneously in Vienna, Paris and London in a version for voice and orchestra as well as for four-hand piano. On it is noted “chanté pour la 1ère fois par Mme Malibran-Garcia à Londres, composé et dédié à elle” (sung for the first time by Madame Malibran-García in London, composed for and dedicated to her). The work, with its simple pastoral text, consists of a striking yodel and a series of variations in typical style. Included in this performance are a strongly syncopated variation, another in “Hungarian” style in which the violins imitate a cimbalom, and one in a Rossinian style in which a playful competition unfolds between the singer and the clarinet and flute.

The unique genius of Maria Malibran sustained the principal role [Irene] in a manner that astonished the composer and the audience.

Giovanni Pacini, Le mie memorie artistiche, 1875

During the 1830s, Maria regularly gave several months of guest performances in Naples in a wide variety of roles. Italy became the focal point of her activities, along with appearances in England, and a whole series of new operas were composed for her. In 1833 Giovanni Pacini (1796–1867) created the now totally forgotten Irene, o L’assedio di Messina (Irene, or the Siege of Messina) for the Teatro San Carlo. Born in Sicily, Pacini wrote eighty-nine operas and ranks with Rossini and Donizetti among the most prolific early-nineteenth-century composers for the stage.

 The last scene of this work, with the recitative and Irene’s prayer “Se un mio desir ... Cedi al duol” [1] and her concluding stretta “Ira del ciel” [2], shows that Pacini had the theatrical skill to use a delaying tactic to heighten the drama. He also knew how to combine this with the soloist’s vocal and dramatic strengths, according his demanding star the necessary virtuoso fireworks for a perfect finale while incorporating her display seamlessly into the opera.

 Typical of Pacini’s dramatic style are the abrupt harmonic shifts, the conspicuous leaps in the melodic line and the agitated pulsating of the orchestra, but also the elegiac lulls — especially with striking horn and harp solos. This combination brings out the dark melancholy of Irene’s despairing plea and is further heightened by the sound of original instruments. The long scales, characteristic of Pacini’s cabalettas, the ascending chains of trills and prolonged high notes are all convincingly embedded in this dramatic number, which leads inexorably to the unusually composed tragic conclusion (Irene’s suicide and the burning of the church of Messina).

 A few days ago, in Maestro Rossi’s Amelia, la Malibran was seeking further admiration as a ballerina but — unable to dance the way she sings, just as she would be unable to sing the way she dances — was forced to suffer the public’s advice that henceforth she should rely on her voice, not her feet.

Omnibus letterario, Naples, 1835

  Amelia ovvero Otto anni di costanza by Lauro Rossi (1812–85) was another opera composed for Maria in Naples. As the subtitle “melodramma comico” suggests, the piece’s doleful plot is leavened with numerous light-hearted and genre scenes, notably the highly virtuosic rondò con variazioni “Scorrete, o lagrime” [15] which concludes the work. In one remarkable variation, the voice and clarinet intertwine in a manner recalling the obbligato accompaniments of great arias by Mozart. Here the warm timbre of the period instrument serves to heighten the music’s sensuous quality.

 Amelia was not a success, however, and a contributing factor to its failure may have been Maria’s insistence on dancing a pas de deux, even though terpsichorean talent was apparently not one of her strong points.

 Scarcely remembered today, the versatile Lauro Rossi was an influential figure in nineteenth-century Italian music history and he represents a bridge between Classicism and the modern era. His teachers included Zingarelli in Naples, and several of his operas were mounted by major Italian houses. Disappointment over the fiasco of Amelia was one of the reasons he went to the USA, Mexico and Cuba for eight years as an impresario and conductor. He later served for two decades as director of the Milan Conservatory, whose students included such progressive figures as Franco Faccio and Arrigo Boito, and he was one of the founders of Milan’s Società del Quartetto (1864) which still exists today. In 1870 he succeeded Mercadante as director of the Naples Conservatory.

 In the course of the performance Malibran had us seeing and hearing wonderful things; one rejoiced, loved and trembled for her, and who would have thought that making one cry could be deserving of praise?

Omnibus letterario, Naples, 1835

Another Naples opera conceived for Maria was Ines de Castro by Giuseppe Persiani (1799–1869), commissioned in 1835 by the Teatro San Carlo. In its tragic gloom it resembles Donizetti’s Gothic musical tales of horror, of which Lucia di Lammermoor is practically the only example left in today’s repertoire from a once incredibly popular genre. Persiani’s Ines and Donizetti’s Lucia both have a libretto by Salvatore Cammarano, who would go on to provide equally tortuous texts for Verdi’s Luisa Miller (1849) and Il trovatore (1853). With its simple harp accompaniment and heartfelt melody, “Cari giorni”, the romanza for Ines recorded here [3], is one of the sublime high points of this opera. The dreary atmosphere of the prison from which the wistful vocal part emerges is painted in poignant colours by the magical sound of a harp dating from the period. As one of the few moments of calm, this romanza stands in the starkest possible contrast to the dreadful events that culminate, in Act Three, in the great recitativo accompagnato of Ines’s mad scene and the opera’s final scene, in which she succumbs to a painful death by poisoning.

 Ines de Castro was the most successful of the operas composed for Malibran and the only one that continued to be staged regularly in Europe until mid-century. Maria herself sang the work one more time, in Lucca in August 1835.

 ... she was thunderously applauded and, in spite of her lingering indisposition, sang the “Palpiti” like an angel ... Malibran then followed Rossini’s score with an additional aria by Pacini.

Omnibus letterario, Naples, 1834

We have strong evidence for the date of Pacini’s “Dopo tante e tante pene” [11]: on 19 November 1834 Malibran made her first appearance in Naples as Rossini’s Tancredi, though without great success. On the 21st she returned to the stage in the same role, but on this occasion, at the end of the opera, she sang a newly composed rondò. The warm reception that greeted her this time surely owed something to her indisposition, by now nearly past, but also to the new final aria. Pacini seems to have produced this rondò in great haste: the words do not refer to any specific situation, and parts of the melody have been taken from Carlo di Borgogna, the opera he was composing at the same time (1834–35). Pacini, of course, knew Maria very well — a year earlier he had composed his opera Irene for her, and both had lodged for a time in the palazzo of Naples’s legendary opera impresario Barbaja. One can almost imagine how these two might have concocted this effective number while dining together. Here, as in the scena from Irene, one can hear the runs, leaps and trills typical of this “master of the cabaletta” and, tailoring his writing to Malibran’s artistry, he makes the most of her vocal compass (A flat up to a sustained C").

 ... I was the first to scream at the top of my lungs: ”Viva! Viva! Brava! brava!” and to clap as hard as I could.

Vincenzo Bellini to his friend Francesco Florimo, London, 1833

 In 1833 Maria added a new role to her repertoire in Naples, one which would have a decisive impact on her future career, so ideally was it suited to her delicacy of figure, her intensity on stage, and the sophistication of her vocalism: Amina in Bellini’s La sonnambula. A few months later, in London, the work was first given in English, and it was in this production that Bellini first saw Maria. She made a profound impression on him, in spite of his reservations about the rest of the performance. From then on Maria had practically no guest engagements at which she did not sing Sonnambula. Her last opera appearance of all, and the only one she ever gave in Germany, was a performance of Sonnambula in Aachen in August 1836, in honour of the Prussian king.

Amina’s final aria, “Ah! non credea mirarti” [6], is one of the most famous and most beautiful examples of Bellini’s “endless” melodies. Here again one is struck by the unusually intimate atmosphere that only historic instruments, with their mellow, rounded timbre, can create. The piece’s great sadness is underscored by the violins but also by the gentle touches of the oboe and cellos, which at times coalesce like teardrops or the stabs of a painful memory.

 In this aria it is also made abundantly clear that Amina’s tessitura, the vocal range in which the role predominantly lies, is ideally suited to mezzo-sopranos but, for the most part, is uncomfortably low for sopranos. Accordingly, and contrary to common belief, there is no “mezzo-version” of this opera, even though Cecilia Bartoli integrated some of Maria Malibran’s embellishments into the piece. The reason for this becomes clear when one remembers that Bellini composed his opera for Giuditta Pasta, whose repertoire largely coincided with Malibran’s. The work’s popularity and its focus on the main character quickly made it a favourite vehicle of prime donne. The opera’s appropriation by virtuoso star sopranos of the twentieth century is therefore also understandable, even though their sound is quite unlike that which Bellini intended.

 She appeared, and a roar of applause greeted this musical celebrity, the object of so many ovations and so many sighs: she mounted the Druid rock and a thousand glances and a thousand pairs of opera glasses were fixed on her; a thousand ears strained to hear this voice of voices. The silence was profound, and woe to the unfortunate soul who might dare break it with a single sneeze!

From the journal Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Milan, 1834

Dramatic sopranos of our time have similarly begun to reclaim the role of Norma, although Bellini, after the success of his Sonnambula, had also conceived this role for Pasta. What astonishes us today was perfectly natural at the time: as a major theatrical artist, Malibran was required to take on this part as well, and contemporaries accepted her interpretation even though it differed so starkly from Pasta’s. “[La Malibran] is Norma, and can serve as the norm for all other Normas,” declared a Naples newspaper in February 1834, a few days after her debut in the role.

 Even at her Scala debut a few months later, Maria’s approach to this most difficult role was praised: ”Madame Pasta on stage seems to us to be the most perfect embodiment of Classicism whereas Madame Malibran seems to us to be that of Romanticism”. What was particularly remarkable in her triumph is the fact that she chose to make her first appearance at this demanding house not with one of her tried-and-tested Rossini roles but with Bellini’s Norma. Daring to undertake it at the venue of its premiere, where Giuditta Pasta — revered by Maria herself as well as by the Milanese public — had set a virtually unattainable standard, could easily have been interpreted as an act of provocation.

There are various stories surrounding the creation of Norma’s prayer “Casta Diva” [17], one of the most famous arias in the entire opera literature. In fact it was transposed from G major (in the manuscript) down to F major for the premiere, the key in which it has traditionally been performed ever since. The significant difference in the approach to Norma’s cavatina in this recording, however, derives from the period flute’s unusually soft and gentle sound; it establishes the quasi-sacred and incredibly intimate atmosphere of rapt contemplation in which the singer is expected to perform this meditative prayer — Bellini requires this from her by marking it pianissimo.

 Henceforth I want to write to you from time to time, I want you to reply, and I want our friendship to be fraternal, full of concern and love for one another, so that this friendship, founded as it is on the most sincere esteem, shall become most precious. From now on, therefore, whatever la Malibran demands, Bellini will grant.

Bellini to Malibran, Paris, 1835

During preparations for the Parisian premiere of his last opera, I puritani, Bellini had the idea of adapting the work for his adored Maria, and he received a commission from the Teatro San Carlo for this revision. Thus two versions of the opera were created almost in parallel.

 In the excerpts from Elvira’s mad scene on this recording, “O rendetemi la speme” [12] and the cabaletta “Vien, diletto” [13], two of the substantial changes made for Naples can be clearly heard. Firstly, the Elvira passages were transposed downward for Maria; secondly, in conjunction with these transpositions, Bellini rewrote for tenor the role of Riccardo, which was sung in Paris by a baritone (Antonio Tamburini). For the habitually painstaking Bellini, this revision turned into a race against time: the San Carlo had stipulated in October 1834 that the first act must arrive in Naples by 12 January 1835 and the second act eight days later. However a higher power ultimately intervened to prevent the contract’s fulfilment; there was an outbreak of cholera in the south of France, and ships from Marseille to Naples were detained in Nice. The opera, which had already been despatched, was late in reaching Naples, where the theatre management, despite Maria’s pleas, rescinded the contract. Thus it was that Malibran never sang the only opera composed for her by Bellini. The “Malibran version” of Puritani was not seen on stage until 1986, when it was produced at Bari.

 Maria had a great facility in composition, and we are acquainted with a number of airs and romances of her authorship which attest to that. As a rule, these pieces are original in character, at once tender and brilliant. She never sold any of them, intending them instead as presents for her friends or for charity.

Countess de Merlin, Madame Malibran, Brussels, 1838

 One example of the fifty-odd songs composed by Maria is the “Rataplan” [10], published in her Album lyrique. The title is an onomatopoeic word in French and Italian that suggests the sound of a military drum roll. Much of this song’s charm derives from the energy of its refrain and the prominent repeated drum roll “rrrr”. The undulating motion in the verses presents a challenge for the singer.

“Rataplan” was one of Maria’s most famous works. The orchestral version recorded here comes from Dresden, where it was found in the opera archives, part of a vaudeville comprising an overture and thirteen numbers, which several obscure writers apparently had had performed sometime in the 1840s under the title Testament eines Schauspielers (An Actor’s Testament). This use of the piece, along with its inclusion as “Tramtaram” in a contemporary song collection, Das singende Deutschland, shows how popular Maria’s composition was in the nineteenth century. Other songs, too, by the “Madame de Sévigné of the Romance”, as a writer called Maria in 1832, were praised by such discerning colleagues as Berlioz, Schumann and, later, Debussy.

 Insofar as it may be satisfying to the palate and suitable for the stomach, even an elixir will become worse than distasteful if we are condemned to drink it a hundred or more times ... and it would have induced nausea had Madam Malibran not understood how to spice it up with a new and delicious flavour.

Il Corriere delle Dame, Milan, 1835

 A further composition of Maria’s [16] sheds light on one of her other roles, one which we no longer associate with a mezzo-soprano: Adina in Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore. In her Milan appearances in 1835, however, some parts of the opera did not satisfy the now-established prima donna’s requirements. Although she was certainly not the only star who demanded the right to show off again at the end of the work with an effective display aria, it was highly unusual for the singer to compose the substitution aria herself.

 Malibran’s choice of form was the “rondo” that usually concluded an opera, with a slow first and a fast second section, in which the repeats are virtuosically varied. Maria did not, however, insert it at the very end of the act, but rather used it to replace Adina’s existing aria, which Donizetti essentially incorporates directly into her duet with Nemorino. In the first part of the new aria, Malibran takes over the text and solemn atmosphere of Donizetti’s original, but then follows it with a fanciful Allegro moderato, in which the soloist can exhibit bravura leaps, arpeggios, runs and chains of trills and, finally, enjoy a drop to low E, which represents one of the deepest in this recording.

 Malibran’s aria was published under different names. Of the two printed editions of the piano reduction, one attributes the work to Maria herself, the other to her husband Charles de Bériot. (This is surely a misreading of “M. de Bériot” as “Monsieur” instead of “Maria” de Bériot.) Strongly supporting Maria’s authorship is the aria’s performance as “Grosse Arie von Malibran” by her sister Pauline Viardot at a charitable function in Berlin in 1848.