OPERA IN ROSSINI'S IN ITALY

Opera theatres and audiences in early nineteenth-century 'Italy' were very different than they are today. The manager of the theatre in a small city was usually a wealthy citizen who thought being an impresario, working on a shoestring, would enhance his social standing. He would assemble a group of singers (a prima donna, a tenor, and a few basses), hire a librettist to write the words, and then engage the composer. The composer would go to the city, get to know the singers and what they could and would do and, only then, actually write the music. Rossini told Wagner: "… I never had much choice among librettos, which were imposed upon me by the impresarios. I can't tell you how many times it happened that, at first, I received only part of the scenarios [synopses], an act at a time, for which I had to compose the music without knowing what followed or the [end of the story]". (Big city opera houses such as La Scala in Milan and San Carlo in Naples, which used the most famous composers, did consult with them beforehand, and they were able to choose their own librettists.

Changes were made continuously throughout the rehearsal period — and even during the later performances — always amidst much intrigue. As casts changed, the music had to be rewritten to meet the capabilities of the singers. Composers had to be versatile, adaptable and, above all, speedy. Rossini was to say, "Give me a laundry list and I will set it to music".

Singers had only about a week to learn their part and then sing many times a week. A new opera might be repeated on thirty consecutive nights! Each city had about one new opera in a season of old favorites. The composer conducted the first three performances. There were no royalties and no copyrights. Little attempt was made at historical accuracy in costumes and scenery. Singers usually wore clothes of their own period. If a singer was indisposed, the opera would still go on; often his part was simply omitted!

The author Stendhal claims that Mozart was not at first appreciated in Italy because the Italians did not know how to play his music. He described how when Don Giovanni was brought to Italy, the orchestra members were distressed because they were expected to play in time! The first attempts were disastrous. Finally six musicians were hired, sworn to secrecy, and made to practice for six months. Then singers were hired, and they practiced for two more months. When the performance finally arrived, the Italians realized that Mozart, properly played, was worth listening to after all. (There is a scene in Peter Shaffer's play Amadeus in which Mozart is conducting a rehearsal and repeatedly asks singers and players to keep to the indicated time.)

Before Rossini, singers were often given basic musical themes and expected to improvise the coloratura ornamentation on them. Things got so out of hand that Rossini started to write out the parts in full. Stendhal criticized this. "The revolution inaugurated by Rossini has killed the gift of originality in the singer. … It is wrong for the composer to provide all ornamentation, since he doesn't know what voices will be capable of. Singers also like to ornament differently, according to the mood they are in!" Pity the other singers and the orchestra who had to guess when the improvisation would end, and their turn would come.

Stendahl also reported:

Audience members were allowed to sit on the stage, especially if they were relatives or admirers. If singers had favorite arias, whether they belonged to the opera being performed or not, they would insist on being allowed to open their performances with them. These were called 'suitcase arias' because the singers traveled around with them.

Those who could afford to attended every night and paid little attention to the actual opera. They arrived late, visited, talked, and generally ignored what was happening on stage. They came to be seen, not to see (with no electricity the light could not be dimmed during a performance). Even later, at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, audiences in the late nineteenth century protested against productions which had darkened theatres; their jewels would not glitter in the dark! Society people rented a box in every theatre in their city (four in Rome, seven in Venice). They would be fairly silent during the first scenes but, after that, no one listened unless something extremely interesting was happening on stage. In addition to visiting, some played chess or cards, while others ate meals. In Venice the boxes could even be shut off from the theatre, and who knows what went on then.

One visitor estimated that, during the season, a typical Milanese spent a quarter of his life at the opera. The better boxes were furnished like living rooms with sofas, mirrors and chandeliers. The Archduke's box in Milan had a private sitting room and bedroom attached to it. Not even the rulers were well behaved. Stories are told of one of the Kings of Naples who would bring a dish of macaroni, oil and cheese to the theatre and amuse himself by throwing handfuls to the audience below which, in order to curry favor, would struggle to catch and eat. In Florence, meals were served in the theatre during the performance.

The 'pit', what is now called the orchestra section of audience seating, was the domain of the more disreputable characters, who behaved even worse than the upper classes. (The respectable middle class patrons were relegated to the upper balcony!)

An ubiquitous feature of opera all over the world was the claque, which lasted almost until the present. The great Russian bass, Chaliapin, describes it thus:

At this time, in theatres all over Europe, the claque was an institution. The claque leader would buy tickets in various parts of a theatre, and install his agents in them. If the leader was paid enough, his agents would applaud enthusiastically, and give the performance the appearance of a popular success. However, if he [the claque leader] was dissatisfied or ignored, there would be disturbances — whistling, jeering, and the shouting of insults. The custom was so firmly established that even the biggest stars paid the claques, not only for their unnecessary applause, but also to avoid trouble and disturbance at a critical performance. [All] theatres … were subject to the blackmail of these gangsters; the people were helpless.

Even in 1919 the claque had standard fees: For applause on entrance, if a gentleman 25 lire, if a lady 15 lire each, ordinary applause 10 lire; insistent applause, 15 lire; et cetera. For "wild enthusiasm" a special sum to be arranged. Applause for men cost more because women were more popular and did not need as much ego bolstering. The "wild enthusiasm" was specially Italian. Vienna and New York would have frowned on such a display.

Chaliapin himself was once visited by the leader of the Milan claque who demanded payment in advance to ensure a good reception for his performance. The response? A few moments later the claque leader found himself rolling down the stairs.

Things were quite different at the private court theatres. Encores could be performed only if requested by the sovereign, and even applause was discouraged. The audience was not even allowed to laugh at comic operas. Attending Court opera was very dull indeed!