The years immediately following 1850 were rather barren of stars of the first magnitude in the line of sopranos, although Stockhausen, Faure, Wachtel, and Nicolini all belong to that period, besides Adelaide Phillips, the contralto.

The chief soprano of the year 1851 was Madame Nantier-Didier, a native of the Isle of Bourbon, who had a somewhat successful career in the chief cities of Europe, but who was considered “a first-rate singer of the second class.” She had a gay, handsome face, a winning mezzo-soprano voice, and neat execution.

In the following year appeared two singers of high rank, Maria Piccolomini, and Euphrosine Parepa, more generally known as Madame Parepa-Rosa.

Piccolomini owed her success chiefly to her clever acting, and her charming little figure. Her voice was weak and limited, and she was not sure in her intonation, nor did she excel in execution. She visited the United States in 1858, and was well received. Her stage career was not very long, for she retired in 1863, and married the Marchese Gaetani.

Parepa-Rosa was born in Scotland, at Edinburgh. Her father was a Wallachian boyard, and her mother (Elizabeth Seguin) a singer of some repute. Parepa’s full name was Euphrosine Parepa de Boyesku. She was a well-educated woman, speaking and writing several languages correctly, and she had a voice of great power and sweetness, with a range of two and a half octaves. She was, also, a woman of fine figure and imposing stage presence. Her reputation was gained, however, more in concert and oratorio than in opera, but her memory will remain in America as that of one who did much towards the cultivation of the public taste for opera.

In 1865 she came to America on a tour with Mr. Carl Rosa, whom she married in 1867, her first husband, Captain De Wolfe Carvell, having died in 1865. After this they remained for four years, during which time they organized the Carl Rosa Opera Company, for the performance of English and Italian opera. Madame Parepa-Rosa was the principal singer, and the company met with great success, singing not only in opera, but also in oratorio and concerts. In 1871 they went to Cairo, Egypt, on account of Carl Rosa’s health, but they returned to America before winter, bringing with them Wachtel, the German tenor, and Santley, the English baritone.

In 1873 they again returned to Europe, but Madame Rosa was soon afterwards seized with an illness which terminated in her death in January, 1874. The Carl Rosa Opera Company, which was thus established, remained in existence until recently, and has been a successful company, always employing several singers of high rank. In 1898, owing to a declining business, it was decided to wind the company up, or reorganize it, and meetings were held to decide the matter.

The star of 1856 was Madame Peschka-Leutner, who sang in 1872 at the Jubilee festival in Boston. Although she had appeared in London, she was but little known outside of her own country, where she was very popular. She died at Wiesbaden in 1890.

Before 1860 the French stage also produced two singers of high rank. In 1858 Madame Artot made her debut at the Paris Opera, though she had already been heard in concerts in Belgium, Holland, and England. She was the daughter of the horn professor at the Brussels Conservatoire, and was taught singing by Madame Viardot-Garcia. Her engagement at Paris was due to Meyerbeer, and her success was such as to draw praise even from the extremely critical Berlioz. In the following year she took to Italian opera, and for many years was well known throughout Europe.

Marguerite Josephine Desiree Montaigny Artot, for such was her name in full, was born in 1835, and in 1869 she married a well-known Spanish tenor, Padilla-y-Ramos. Together they sang in most of the great European cities until their retirement. As late as 1887 they sang in Berlin, in which city Madame Artot settled as a teacher of singing.

Madame Galli-Marie, whose celebrity as Mignon and Carmen is world-wide, was the daughter of an opera singer, Mecene Marie de l’Isle. She made her debut at Strasburg in 1859, and about the same time married a sculptor named Galli, who died in 1861. Madame Galli-Marie’s dramatic talent was great, and she has succeeded in characters of entirely opposite nature. Her voice was not remarkable; but, like many of the most renowned artists of the century, her originality and artistic temperament were sufficient to place her in the first rank.

When “Carmen” was produced, and Madame Galli-Marie was chosen for the title role, Bizet re-wrote the part to suit her voice, which was of limited range, having neither the low notes of a contralto nor the high ones of the soprano. She was, however, owing to her dramatic capabilities, not only the first but one of the best Carmens seen until the time of Calve.

In 1859 there arose from the opposite ends of the earth, two stars of the first magnitude, whose brilliancy was sufficient to silence the complaints of those who declared that the art of singing was a lost art. Such wails have arisen from time to time ever since opera was established, and possibly they may have existed in some form previous to that time, but up to the present date there is good evidence that the art of singing flourishes. It is human nature to declare that things of the past were superior to those of the present, and in their day Cuzzoni, Gabrielli, Catalani, Pasta, Grisi, and Jenny Lind, besides a number of others, were all such singers “as had never before been heard.”

Between Pauline Lucca and Adelina Patti there was a wide difference, and yet both singers triumphed in the same parts.

Lucca made her debut at Olmutz as Elvira in “Ernani,” Patti first appeared in New York as Lucia. Both Lucca and Patti made their debut at the age of sixteen, though some authorities state that Lucca was born in 1841; and both singers followed in matrimony the conventional course of the prima donna, and married twice.

Pauline Lucca was born in Vienna, her father being an Italian merchant in comfortable circumstances. Pauline’s high musical gifts attracted attention early, but her father objected to the idea of educating her for the stage. When she was about thirteen years old business reverses caused him to change his mind, and Pauline was placed under the best available teachers.

In due course an engagement was secured for her at Olmutz, and she at once became a favorite. For four months she sang at a salary of sixty florins a month, and then she was engaged at Prague at five hundred florins a month. Her next engagement was at Berlin at one thousand thalers a month.

Her popularity at Olmutz was so great that before she left that place she was honored by the inhabitants with a musical serenade and torchlight procession.

It happened that about this time Meyerbeer, the composer, was casting his eye over the operatic world for a singer to whom he felt that he could entrust the creation of the part of Selika in his yet unpublished “L’Africaine.” He heard of Lucca, and when she was singing at Prague he came over from Berlin on purpose to hear her. So pleased was he with her performance that after the opera he desired to be presented to her, and on being taken to her room, he rushed up to her and kissed her vehemently on both cheeks, much to the surprise and embarrassment of the young lady, who had no idea as to his identity. A modern prima donna, not long ago, experienced a similar burst of enthusiasm from an unknown elderly gentleman who also shed tears. After he had gone, and she had recovered from her surprise, she missed a very valuable piece of jewelry. It is only proper, therefore, for all composers intending to make a demonstration to send word before-hand. On the following day Meyerbeer called at her hotel and offered Mlle. Lucca an engagement at Berlin, which she accepted, and which took effect at the end of her Prague engagement, eight months later.

During these eight months Lucca received a proposal of marriage from the young Prince Lobkowitz, who had fallen desperately in love with her; but she did not listen to his appeals, and the unfortunate prince was rejected. Some time after this event, which was so mortifying as to probably affect his disposition, he sought and found death on the field of honor, becoming involved in a duel.

Lucca now went to Berlin. Meyerbeer took her under his own immediate charge, and she appeared in three of his greatest characters, Alice in “Roberto,” Bertha in “Il Prophete,” and Vielka in the “Camp of Silesia.” She was in her eighteenth year, and her beauty both of person and voice excited the greatest admiration and drove the Berlin public wild with rapture. Under Meyerbeer’s supervision she gained splendid triumphs and was appointed court singer for life.

During this time of triumph in Berlin she was visited by Adelina Patti, whose fame was also spreading over Europe; in fact, if one may judge by financial results, Patti’s star was much higher in the heavens than that of Lucca, for whereas Lucca was receiving one thousand thalers a month, Patti was being paid one thousand francs a night. Lucca was living in apartments on a fourth floor, in quite an unconventional style, and was in bed when Patti called. Nevertheless, she received her visitor, and Strakosch, her manager, with many signs of unaffected pleasure, and they became firm friends, their rivalry being confined to the stage.

Lucca’s progress to fame was now very rapid. She appeared in London in 1863 and 1864, making a remarkable impression. In 1865 Meyerbeer’s “L’Africaine” was to be produced in Paris, and he was anxious that Lucca should sing the part of Selika, but this was impossible without the consent of the King of Prussia, and as he was opposed to her singing in Paris at that time, he would not give the necessary consent. Meyerbeer felt so strongly on the subject that he added a codicil to his will stating that, if Pauline Lucca was engaged to sing Selika at the Opera House in Berlin, the work might be sung there in German, otherwise, he forbade its production. “L’Africaine” was produced in Paris on April 28, 1865; but Meyerbeer never witnessed its performance in public, for he was seized with illness on April 23d of that year, and died on May 2d.

In London this opera was produced on July 22d, and Lucca sang the part for which Meyerbeer had selected her, as she also did at Berlin. Her performance in London is on record as one of the very highest achievements in the lyrical drama. In Berlin she created a perfect furore, singing in a company which introduced Wachtel and Betz. While the performance was in progress, the house and even the carriage of the young prima donna were decorated with the rarest and most beautiful flowers, and with such profusion that she was hardly able to recognize her home.

The Czar of Russia now wished to hear this incomparable singer, so he sent a polite message to the King of Prussia, requesting that she be allowed to sing at St. Petersburg, and offering her a salary of eighty thousand rubles for the season of four months. The King of Prussia had not the same scruples concerning Russia that he had about France, so his gracious consent was given, as it was, also, on the following season.

Lucca made an immense impression at St. Petersburg, where at the end of the season she was serenaded by the band of the Imperial Guards. The streets were illuminated from the theatre to her house at the orders of the Crown Princess Dagmar, the Empress gave her a priceless and beautiful pair of diamond earrings, the public, through the leader of the orchestra, presented her with a splendid diadem covered with precious stones, and the members of the orchestra subscribed and made her a present of a laurel wreath in gold. But the greatest demonstration in her honor occurred when she organized a concert for the benefit of indigent students, the receipts of which exceeded ten thousand rubles. Then she was called forward thirty times, and the students unharnessed her horses and dragged her carriage home. They seized her shawl and tore it into fragments for mementos, and she also had to give up her gloves and handkerchief for the same purpose.

Similar demonstrations have taken place at different times, and in other cities, in honor of other singers. It is quite an ordinary matter in Russia for a singer to be called forward ten or twenty times, and even thirty times is not by any means so extraordinary as it would be in London or New York, or, more particularly, in Boston.

Jenny Lind lost a shawl in New York through the enthusiasm of the public, and in 1881 Patti enjoyed the experience in Brooklyn of being dragged home by a crowd of enthusiasts.

Perhaps Patti had the most curious demonstration in London, just before she sailed for New York under Mapleson’s management, and Mapleson is the authority for the anecdote.

After the last performance of the season, Patti was escorted from the theatre to the train en route for Liverpool by a procession of theatrical people in costume, with a brass band. This was at one o’clock in the morning. Full accounts of it were, of course, obtained somehow by the American papers.

In 1865 Pauline Lucca had married a German military officer, Baron von Rahden, who, when the Franco-German war broke out, went to the front, and was severely wounded in the celebrated charge of Mars-La-Tour. Lucca, hearing of his misfortune, made her way to the scene of the conflict, and sought him out in the military hospital, where she tenderly nursed him until he could be taken home. Her devotion to him was admirable; but, unfortunately, a change in her feelings seems to have occurred before very long, for when in 1872 she was in New York she brought suit for divorce against the Baron, and he, being unaware of the proceedings, made no defence, so that rightly or otherwise Madame Lucca secured her divorce. Later on, when von Rahden forwarded papers which were supposed to establish his innocence of the charges made against him by his irate and jealous spouse, the case was closed, and no notice was taken of the defence. Matters seem, however, to have arranged themselves to the satisfaction of all concerned, for the Baron married the young lady who had been the cause of Lucca’s jealousy, and Lucca married Baron von Wallhofen, an intimate friend of Von Rahden, who, also, had been wounded at Mars-La-Tour, and who had followed her to America.

Pauline Lucca was one of the few singers gifted with original genius, and she imparted specific individuality to each of her characters, even the most colorless. Her versatility was very great, and she had a repertoire of fifty-six roles. Her voice was a full soprano of sympathetic quality, and with a range of two and a half octaves, extending to C in alt, and capable of expressing every kind of emotion. Like Patti she was of slender figure, and at one time she played Marguerite in “Faust” on alternate nights with her. Lucca was essentially a lyric actress rather than a singer pure and simple, and had the power of realizing the highest dramatic conception both of poet and composer; she was able to draw inspiration from the abstract idea, and she has been called “transcendentally human.”

After her memorable tour in the United States, in 1872, Madame Lucca continued before the public in Europe until 1884, since which time she has lived in Vienna, and devoted herself chiefly to teaching.

While Lucca was thus rising to the highest pinnacles of fame, Patti also was scoring great successes. In London she had become a permanent favorite, and from the year 1861, in which she made her European debut, for more than twenty years she was engaged every season at Covent Garden.

In spite of all rivalry, she held her position there as the most popular opera singer of modern times. She has enjoyed the same popularity on the continent, and in America also she has been immensely popular.

Adelina Patti’s voice was one of moderate power, but great range and of wonderful flexibility. Her production was faultless, and she was, and is, undoubtedly, one of the greatest mistresses of vocalization of the century. As an actress, she could not compare with many other singers, and her greatest successes were gained in such operas as made the least demand upon the histrionic capabilities of the performer. Her repertoire included about thirty operas, mostly of the Italian school, though she also sang in the operas of Meyerbeer and Gounod, and others. She was one of the many “Carmens;” but while her interpretation vocally was excellent, she was by no means equal dramatically to Mlle. Hauk, and much less so to Calve, the latest and by far the greatest interpreter of that role.

One of the most notable events of Madame Patti’s career occurred when, in 1868, at the funeral of Rossini, the composer, she sang with Madame Alboni the beautiful duet, “Quis est Homo,” from Rossini’s “Stabat Mater.” On that occasion such an assembly of noted musicians and singers was gathered together to honor the great composer as probably never before met under the same roof. To hear that beautiful music, rendered by two such artists over the grave of the composer, was to feel in the truest sense the genius of Rossini, and the part that he played in the music of the nineteenth century.

The name of Patti has always been associated with high prices, and not without cause; for, although other singers have received larger sums for isolated engagements, none have ever succeeded in maintaining such a uniformly high rate.

When she returned to America in 1881, after an absence of some twenty years, Patti held mistaken notions about the American people, and her early concerts were a bitter disappointment. High prices and hackneyed songs did not suit the public, and in order to make a success of the tour Madame Patti was obliged to throw over her French manager, and employ an American (Henry E. Abbey) who knew the public, and who immediately cut the prices down to one-half. Eventually the season was successful, both artistically and financially, her voice showing but little sign of wear, and her execution being as brilliant as ever. At Brooklyn the people took the horses out of her carriage, and dragged her home, one facetious writer remarking that he saw no reason for taking away her horses, and substituting asses. The following clever rhyme, at the expense of her manager, taken from “Puck,” voices the opinion of the public very neatly, in regard to Patti’s tour, in 1881-2:

Patti cake, Patti cake, Franchi man!
“So I do, messieurs, comme vite as I can.”
“Roulez et tournez et marquez ‘with care,’
Et posez au publique a ten dollars a chair.”

Farinelli is said to have made $30,000 per annum, a very large sum for the times in which he lived. Catalani’s profits ran almost to $100,000 a season. Malibran received $95,000 for eighty-five performances at La Scala. Jenny Lind, for ninety-five concerts, under Barnum’s management, received $208,675, all good figures. But Rubini is said to have made $11,500 at one concert, and Tamagno is the highest-priced tenor of the present day.

Patti at one time made a contract for a series of performances at $4,400 a night, and later on her fee was $5,000 a night, paid in advance, but when she came to Boston in 1882, and sang in three performances given in a week, her share of the receipts was $20,895. The attendance at the Saturday matinee was 9,142 people, and her share of the receipts for that performance alone was $8,395.

Madame Patti always had the advantage of excellent management. Until her marriage with the Marquis de Caux she was under the management of her brother-in-law, Maurice Strakosch, and so assiduous was he in his protection of his young star from unnecessary wear and tear that he became the subject of many jokes. It is said that he occasionally took her place at rehearsals, that when visitors called on her they saw him instead, and some people, with vivid imagination, declared that Strakosch sat for Patti’s photograph, and that he once offered to receive a declaration of love for her.

One is apt to doubt the necessity of all this management, for Patti seems to have been admirably adapted for self-defence, and even for aggression in financial matters. An amusing anecdote is told of her by Max Maretzek, who, one day, when she was a small child, in a moment of generosity promised her a doll, or, as some accounts have it, some bon-bons as a reward for singing in a concert. It was to be her very first appearance. Patti did not forget the promise, and when it was nearly time for her to sing she asked for her doll. Maretzek had forgotten it, and promised that she should have it after the concert, or the next day. But no, she must have it first, or she would not go on and sing. The poor man was in despair. It was late and stores were all closed, but by some means he succeeded in getting the bribe, whether dolls or bon-bons, and, rushing back in breathless haste, he handed it to her. Then she became cheerful at once, and giving it to her mother to be taken care of, she went on and performed her part in the concert.

One of the most amusing of these anecdotes was told by Colonel Mapleson, the well-known impresario, who says that no one ever approached Madame Patti in the art of obtaining from a manager the greatest possible sum that he could contrive by any possibility to pay. In 1882, owing to the competition of Henry Abbey, the American impresario, Mapleson was obliged to raise Patti’s salary from $1,000 per night to $4,000, and, finally, to $5,000 per night, a sum previously unheard-of in the annals of opera. The price, moreover, was to be paid at two o’clock of the day on which Patti was to sing.

On the second night of the engagement at Boston, Madame Patti was billed to sing in “Traviata.” Expenses had been heavy and the funds were low, so that when Signor Franchi, Patti’s agent, called at the theatre promptly at two o’clock, only $4,000 could be scraped together. Signor Franchi was indignant, and declared that the contract was broken, and that Madame Patti would not sing. He refused to take the $4,000, and went off to report the matter to the prima donna. At four o’clock, Signor Franchi returned to the theatre, and congratulated Colonel Mapleson on his facility for managing Madame Patti, saying that she would do for the colonel that which she would do for no other impresario. In short, Patti would take the $4,000 and dress for her part, all except her shoes. She would arrive at the theatre at the regular time, and when the remaining paltry $1,000 was forthcoming she would put on her shoes and be ready to go on the stage.

Everything happened as Patti had promised. She arrived at the theatre costumed as Violetta, but minus her shoes. Franchi called at the box-office, but only $800 was on hand. The genial Signor took the money and returned to Patti’s room. He soon appeared again to say that Madame Patti was all ready except one shoe, which she could not put on until the remaining $200 was paid. It was already time for the performance to begin, but people were still coming in, and after some slight delay Signor Franchi was able to go in triumph to Madame Patti with the balance of the amount. Patti put on her other shoe and proceeded to the stage. She made her entrance at the proper time, her face radiant with smiles, and no one in the audience had any idea of the stirring events which had just taken place.

In later years, when Madame Patti invested some of her fortune in the beautiful castle at Craig-y-Nos, in Wales, the people employed to put the place into repair, knowing of her reputed wealth and extravagance, sent in enormous bills. But Madame Patti was not to be imposed upon, and the result was that the amounts melted down considerably under the gentle influence of the law. The unkindest cut of all was, however, when a Belgian gentleman, who had amused himself at Craig-y-Nos, who had fished, shot, and been entertained, but who always managed to be present during discussions on business, sent in a bill of L3,000 for his services as agent.

Under the management of Colonel Mapleson, Patti travelled in most luxurious style. She had a special car which is said to have cost $65,000, and a whole retinue of servants. At Cheyenne, the legislature and assembly adjourned and chartered a special car to meet the operatic train. A military band was at the station, and nearly the whole population turned out to witness the arrival. Tickets to the opera were ten dollars each, and there was an audience of 3,000 people.

California seems to have been considered doubtful territory, for Patti left the question undecided as to whether she would go so far. When she did arrive it was merely as a visitor, but her delight with the “heavenly place” was so great that she declared she must sing there. The necessary delay incurred by sending to Chicago for numerous trunks containing her wardrobe, gave sufficient time for the excitement in San Francisco to work up to fever heat. Tickets sold at unheard-of prices, and more or less damage to property was done in the scramble.

Adelina Patti made her first matrimonial venture in 1868, when she was united to the Marquis de Caux, an event which did not interfere with her operatic career, for she filled an engagement of six weeks at Paris, and then went on to St. Petersburg, where the town opened a subscription which amounted to 100,000 rubles, and presented her with a diamond necklace.

In 1885 Madame Patti obtained a divorce from the Marquis de Caux, from whom she had separated in 1877, and the following year married Ernest Nicolini, the tenor singer. Nicolini was a man of fine stage presence, and, for a time, after the retirement of Mario, was considered the best tenor on the stage. His voice was of moderate power and of pleasing quality, but his tremolo was, to say the least, extensive. For some years Madame Patti declined every engagement in which Nicolini was not included, until the public indignation found vent in many protests. Signor Nicolini seems to have been a devoted and admiring husband, and to have entered heartily into the pleasures of the luxurious life of Craig-y-Nos. He died in January, 1898.

After some years of retirement from the operatic stage, during which she sang only in concerts, Patti made a reappearance at Covent Garden in 1895, and showed that her voice, notwithstanding nearly forty years of use, was wonderfully well preserved. Nevertheless it was a disappointment to those who had heard her in her prime. As a reason for its preservation she says that she never sings when she is tired, and never strains for high notes. Sir Morell Mackenzie, the great throat specialist, said that she had the most wonderful throat he ever saw. It was the only one in which the vocal cords were in absolutely perfect condition after many years of use. They were not strained, warped, or roughened in the slightest degree, but absolutely perfect, and there was no reason why they should not remain so for ten or even twenty years longer. It was by her voice alone that she charmed and delighted her audiences, and she will doubtless be recorded as the possessor of the most perfect voice of the nineteenth century. She witnessed the rise of many rivals, but none ever equalled her in popularity, though many excelled her in dramatic powers. Lucca, Sembrich, Nilsson, were all greater as actresses, but of all the rivals of her prime only Sembrich and Albani remain, and several years must elapse before their careers will equal the length of Patti’s.

Probably no other singer has succeeded in amassing so great a fortune as Madame Patti. Her earnings enabled her to purchase, in 1878, the beautiful estate in Wales, which she remodelled to suit her own ideas. Here she has lived in regal style and entertained lavishly many of the most noted people of the civilized world.

Her wealth is by no means confined to real estate, for she has a rare collection of jewels, said to be the largest and most brilliant owned by any of the modern actresses and opera singers. One of her gowns, worn in the third act of “La Traviata,” was covered with precious stones to the value of $500,000.

Madame Patti’s most popular roles were Juliet and Aida, and though she created no new parts of importance, she has amply fulfilled the traditional role of prima donna in matters of caprice and exaction, and has even created some new precedents. In 1898 she was still before the public, singing in concerts in London and elsewhere.