Part 10

"Bene! bene!" he replied. "I will accompany you."

I was dreadfully nervous to sing before him, but when I had finished he stretched out both hands to me and said:

"Merci! C'est comme cela que ça doit être chanté. Votre voix est délicieuse, le timbre que j'aime--mezzo-soprano, avec ces notes hautes et claires."

Auber came up flushed with delight at my success, and said to Rossini, "Did I say too much about Madame Moulton's voice?"

"Not enough," replied Rossini. "She has more than voice; she has intelligence and le feu sacré--un rossignol doublé de velours; and more than all, she sings my music as I have written it. Every one likes to add a little of their own. I said to Patti the other day: 'a chère Adelina, when you sing the "Barbiere" do not make it too 'strakoschonée_' [Strakosch is Patti's brother-in-law, and makes all her cadenzas for her]. If I had wanted to make all those little things, don't you think that I could have made them myself?'"

Auber asked me, "Do you know what Rossini said about me?"

"No," I answered, "I know what he ought to have said. What did he say?"

"He said," Auber replied, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 'Auber est un grand musicien qui fait de la petite musique.'"

"That was pure envy," I said. "I should like to know what you said about Rossini."

"Well, I said," and he hesitated before continuing, "I said that Rossini est un très grand musicien et fait de la belle musique, mais une exécrable cuisine."

Rossini adores Alboni, but deplores her want of confidence in herself. She has such stage frights that she swears that she will have to leave the stage. He has written "La Messe solennelle" for her voice. The "Agnus Dei" is perfectly wonderful. She sang it after I had sung. If she had been first, I never should have had the courage to open my mouth.

Auber asked him how he had liked the representation of "Tannhäuser"? Rossini answered, with a satirical smile, "It is a music one must hear several times. I am not going again."

Rossini said that neither Weber nor Wagner understood the voice. Wagner's interminable dissonances were insupportable. That these two composers imagine that to sing is simply to dégoiser the note; but the art of singing, or technic was considered by them to be secondary and insignificant Phrasing or any sort of finesse was superfluous. The orchestra must be all powerful. "If Wagner gets the upper hand," Rossini continued, "as he is sure to do, for people will run after the New, then what will become of the art of singing? No more bel canto, no more phrasing, no more enunciation! What is the use, when all that is required of you is to beugler (bellow)? Any cornet à piston is just as good as the best tenor, and better, for it can be heard over the orchestra. But the instrumentation is magnificent. There Wagner excels. The overture of Tannhäuser is a chef-d'oeuvre; there is a swing, a sway, and a shush that carries you off your feet.... I wish I had composed it myself."

Auber is a true Parisian, adores his Paris, and never leaves it even during the summer, when Paris is insufferable. He comes very often to see me, and we play duets. He loves Bach, and we play Mendelssohn overtures and Haydn symphonies when we are through with Bach. Auber always takes the second piano, or, if a four-handed piece, he takes the base. Sometimes he says, "Je vous donne rendez-vous en bas de la page. Si vous y arrivez la première, attendez-moi, et je ferai de même." He is so clever and full of repartees.

I do not think I ever talked with a wittier person than he is. I always wish I could remember what he says; but, alas! when he goes my memory goes with him.

Though so old (he must be over eighty) he is always beautifully dressed in the latest fashion, trim and neat. He says that he has never heard his operas seated in the audience; it makes him too nervous. He has his seat every night in the parquet of all the theaters in Paris. He only has to choose where to go. He once said: "Je suis trop vieux; on ne devrait pas vieillir, mais que faire? c'est le seul moyen de devenir vieux. Un vieillard m'a toujours paru un personnage terrible et inutile, mais me voici un vieillard sans le savoir et je n'en suis pas triste." He is not deaf, nor does he wear glasses except to "déchiffrer ma propre musique"-- as he says. Another time he said: "I am glad that I never was married. My wife would now have been an old, wrinkled woman. I never would have had the courage to come home of an evening. Aussi j'aurais voulu avoir une fille (une fille comme vous), et elle m'aurait certainement donné un garçon."

I quote the following from a Paris newspaper:

Parmi les dames qu'on admire le plus, il convient de citer Mme Moulton.-- C'est la première fois que nous revoyons Mme Moulton au théâtre depuis son retour d'Amérique.--Serait-elle revenue exprès pour la pièce d'Auber.--On dit, en effet, que dans tous ses opéras, Auber offre le principal rôle à Mme Moulton, qui possède une voix ravissante.

The Emperor once said to Auber: "Dites-moi, quel âge avez-vous? On dit que vous avez quatre-vingt ans." "Sire," answered Auber, "je n'ai pas quatre- vingt ans, mais quatre fois vingt ans." Is he not clever? Some one was talking about the Marquise B---- and her friendship (sic) for Monsieur de M----, and said, "On dit que ce n'est que l'amitié." "Oh," said Auber, "je connais ces amitiés-là; on dit que l'amour et l'amitié sont frère et soeur. Cela se peut, mais ils ne sont pas du même lit."

And another time (I am remembering all his witty sayings while I can), Prince Metternich, who smokes one cigarette after the other, said to Auber, "Vous me permettez?" wanting to put his ashes in Auber's tea- saucer. Auber said, "Certainement, mais j'aime mieux monter que descendre." In other words, J'aime mieux mon thé que des cendres. How can people be so quick-witted?

Auber has given me all his operas, and I have gone through them all with him for his music. I sing the laughing song in "Manon Lescaut" and the bolero in "Diamants de la Couronne." These two are my favorite songs and are very difficult. In the laughing song I either laugh too much or too little. To start laughing in cold blood is as difficult as to stop laughing when once started. The bolero is only a continuous display of musical fireworks.

NEW YORK, May, 1864.

When we arrived in New York (we went to visit my sister and my mother) we were overwhelmed with invitations of all kinds.

I made a most (to me) interesting acquaintance at this soirée, a Mrs. Henry Fields, who I found out was the famous and much-talked-about "Lucie," the governess in the trial of the Duc de Praslin. Every one was convinced of her innocence (she pleaded her own case, refusing the aid of a lawyer). Nevertheless, she was the cause of the death of the Duchess, as the Duke killed his wife because she refused to give "Lucie" a letter of recommendation, and he became so enraged at her refusal that he first tried to strangle her, and then shot her. I had heard so much about this murder (it was along ago), and knew all the details, and, what was more, I knew all the children of the unhappy woman whose only crime was to love her husband too much, and to resent "Lucie's" taking away the love of her children from her! Warning to young women: Don't love your husbands too much, or don't engage a too attractive governess.

PHILADELPHIA, July, 1864.

DEAR AUNTY,--We came from New York a few days ago, and are staying with mama's friend, Mrs. M----, who is a very (what shall I say?) fascinating but a very peculiar person. She is a curious mixture of a poetess and a society woman, very susceptible, and of such a sensitive nature that she seems always to be in the hottest of hot water, and at war with all her neighbors; but she routs all her enemies and manages everything with a high hand.

Her daughter is just engaged to a Swedish naval officer. To celebrate the engagement they gave a big dinner, and, as the Sanitary Fair is going on just now, President Lincoln is here, and Mrs. M---- had the courage to invite him, and he had the courage to accept. It is the first time that I have ever seen an American President, and I was most anxious to see him, particularly as he has, for the last years, been such a hero in my eyes. He might take the prize for ugliness anywhere; his face looked as if it was cut out of wood, and roughly cut at that, with deep furrows in his cheeks and a huge mouth; but he seemed so good and kind, and his eyes sparkled with so much humor and fun, that he became quite fascinating, especially when he smiled. I confess I lost my heart to him.... The dinner, I mean the food part of it, was a failure. It came from Baltimore, and everything was cold; the pâté de foie gras never appeared at all! When Mrs. M---- mentioned the fact to Mr. Lincoln, pointing to the menu, he said "the pâté" (he pronounced it patty) has probably walked off by itself. Every one laughed, because he said it in such a comical, slow way.

After the gentlemen had smoked (I thought they were a long time at it) we were requested to go into the gallery, where all the gas-lights were turned up to the fullest and chairs placed in rows, and Professor Winter began to read a lecture on the brain--of all subjects! Who but Mrs. M---- would ever have arranged such an entertainment?