The triumph of Beatrice continued. The daily papers were filled with
accounts of the new singer. She had come suddenly before them, and had
at one bound reached the highest eminence. She had eclipsed all the
popular favorites. Her sublime strains, her glorious enthusiasm, her
marvelous voice, her perfect beauty, all kindled the popular heart. The
people forgave her for not having an Italian name, since she had one
which was so aristocratic. Her whole appearance showed that she
was something very different from the common order of artistes, as
different, in fact, as the “Prometheus” was from the common order of
operas. For here in the “Prometheus” there were no endless iterations
of the one theme of love, no perpetual repetitions of the same rhyme of
_amore_ and _cuore_, or _amor’_ and _cuor’_; but rather the effort of
the soul after sublimer mysteries. The “Prometheus” sought to solve the
problem of life and of human suffering. Its divine sentiments brought
hope and consolation. The great singer rose to the altitude of a sibyl;
she uttered inspirations; she herself was inspired.
As she stood with her grand Grecian beauty, her pure classic features,
she looked as beautiful as a statue, and as ideal and passionless. In
one sense she could never be a popular favorite. She had no archness
or coquetry like some, no voluptuousness like others, no arts to win
applause like others. Still she stood up and sang as one who believed
that this was the highest mission of humanity, to utter divine truth to
human ears. She sang loftily, thrillingly, as an angel might sing, and
those who saw her revered her while they listened.
And thus it was that the fame of this new singer went quickly
through England, and foreign journals spoke of it half-wonderingly,
half-cynically, as usual; for Continentals never have any faith in
English art, or in the power which any Englishman may have to interpret
art. The leading French journals conjectured that the “Prometheus” was
of a religious character, and therefore Puritanical; and consequently
for that reason was popular. They amused themselves with the idea of
a Puritanical opera, declared that the English wished to Protestantize
music, and suggested “Calvin” or “The Sabbath” as good subjects for this
new and entirely English class of operas.
But soon the correspondents of some of the Continental papers began to
write glowing accounts of the piece, and to put Langhetti in the same
class with Handel. He was an Italian, they said, but in this case
he united Italian grace and versatility with German solemnity and
melancholy. They declared that he was the greatest of living composers,
and promised for him a great reputation.