A Book of Operas | Page 4

the contrary, was extremely
popular, throughout Europe. True, he called it "The Barber of Seville,"
not "The Spanish Barber," but Colman's subtitle, "The Futile
Precaution," came from the original French title. Rossini also adopted it
and purposely avoided the chief title set by Beaumarchais and used by
Paisiello; but he was not long permitted to have his way. Thereby
hangs a tale of the composition and first failure of his opera which I
must now relate.
On December 26, 1815, the first day of the carnival season, Rossini
produced his opera, "Torvaldo e Dorliska," at the Teatro Argentina, in
Rome, and at the same time signed a contract with Cesarini, the
impresario of the theatre, to have the first act of a second opera ready
on the twentieth day of the following January. For this opera Rossini
was to receive 400 Roman scudi (the equivalent of about $400) after
the first three performances, which he was to conduct seated at the
pianoforte in the orchestra, as was then the custom. He seems to have
agreed to take any libretto submitted by the impresario and approved
by the public censor; but there are indications that Sterbini, who was to
write the libretto, had already suggested a remodelling of Paisiello's

"Barber." In order to expedite the work of composition it was provided
in the contract that Rossini was to take lodgings with a singer named
Zamboni, to whom the honor fell of being the original of the town
factotum in Rossini's opera. Some say that Rossini completed the score
in thirteen days; some in fifteen. Castil-Blaze says it was a month, but
the truth is that the work consumed less than half that period. Donizetti,
asked if he believed that Rossini had really written the score in thirteen
days, is reported to have replied, no doubt with a malicious twinkle in
his eyes: "It is very possible; he is so lazy." Paisiello was still alive, and
so was at least the memory of his opera, so Rossini, as a precautionary
measure, thought it wise to spike, if possible, the guns of an
apprehended opposition. So he addressed a letter to the venerable
composer, asking leave to make use of the subject. He got permission
and then wrote a preface to his libretto (or had Serbini write it for him),
in which, while flattering his predecessor, he nevertheless contrived to
indicate that he considered the opera of that venerable musician
old-fashioned, undramatic, and outdated. "Beaumarchais's comedy,
entitled 'The Barber of Seville, or the Useless Precaution,'" he wrote,
"is presented at Rome in the form of a comic drama under the title of
'Almaviva, ossia l'inutile Precauzione,' in order that the public may be
fully convinced of the sentiments of respect and veneration by which
the author of the music of this drama is animated with regard to the
celebrated Paisiello, who has already treated the subject under its
primitive title. Himself invited to undertake this difficult task, the
maestro Gioachino Rossini, in order to avoid the reproach of entering
rashly into rivalry with the immortal author who preceded him,
expressly required that 'The Barber of Seville' should be entirely
versified anew, and also that new situations should be added for the
musical pieces which, moreover, are required by the modern theatrical
taste, entirely changed since the time when the renowned Paisiello
wrote his work."
I have told the story of the fiasco made by Rossini's opera on its first
production at the Argentine Theatre on February 5, 1816, in an
extended preface to the vocal score of "Il Barbiere," published in 1900
by G. Schirmer, and a quotation from that preface will serve here quite
as well as a paraphrase; so I quote (with an avowal of gratitude for the

privilege to the publishers):--
Paisiello gave his consent to the use of the subject, believing that the
opera of his young rival would assuredly fail. At the same time he
wrote to a friend in Rome, asking him to do all in his power to compass
a fiasco for the opera. The young composer's enemies were not sluggish.
All the whistlers of Italy, says Castil-Blaze, seemed to have made a
rendezvous at the Teatro Argentina on the night set down for the first
production. Their malicious intentions were helped along by accidents
at the outset of the performance. Details of the story have been
preserved for us in an account written by Signora Giorgi-Righetti, who
sang the part of Rosina on the memorable occasion. Garcia had
persuaded Rossini to permit him to sing a Spanish song to his own
accompaniment on a guitar under Rosina's balcony in the first act. It
would provide the needed local color, he urged. When about to start his
song, Garcia found that he had forgotten to tune his guitar.