The Sun.
London, England, 1849-09-24 00:00:00

A very romantic incident occurred in the life of this
composer during the time he was Maestro di Capella at
Milan. Fur a time it obstructed the quiet path Zin-
garelli, who fulfilled the calm routine of duties of that
office without a shadow of care falling ever his heart,
and indeed at the time threatened to be of more serious
consequence to him in his future. career. It tends to
show, moreover, how the nobility of Nature's genius
overcomes and throws into the shade the nobility of rank,
with all its adventitious lustre. The FATE that swayed
the destinies of France—nay, of almost all Europe—at
that period wes Napoleon Buonapa.rte, who, though the
Conqueror of Natiens, was the patron and friend of
many obscure musicians. I may premise that Zingarelli,
next to Pasiello, was Napoleon's favourite composer, for
though the genius of the future celebrated musician
Cherubini was at that time both recognised and en
couraged—but not with sincerity—by the Emperor, yet
his inclination and taste, not to speak of other motives,
turned more readily to the simpler beauties of Zingarelli,
which appealed more effectually to the feelings of him
who, though not a scientific musician, might have been
one had his star shone in a different hemisphere. In the
year 1811, therefore, on account of the birth of a son to
the Emperor, a grand and solemn Te Doing was com-
manded to be performed in every church throughout
France and the Papal States. Orders to that effect were
accordingly dispatched from the Tuileries to all the
provinces, and the same command reached in its course
the " Holy City" itself. Never were there such extensive
preparations made for celebrating any event before as
there were now in the " City of the Caesars." So gor-
geous were they that it seemed as if all the riches, all the
glory of' the earth were concentrated in that one spot.
Never before did fl.Popolo exhibit such excitement. St.
Peter's was arrayed with the most costly magnificence—
cardinals, priests, every sacerdotal functionary wore their
robes of office, and it appeared almost like a solemn re-
ligious festival. In the high altar the sacred candles
were kept constantly burning, while the acolytes cease-
lessly swung their censers, from which ascended the
incense in fragrant clouds. Amid the throngs that
crowded the streets, on the morning to which I allude,
even at so early a period as the first grey eastern streak,
might be observed one, who, from nis abstracted manner
and hesitating step seemed as if borne down by some
oppressive thought; and so deeply was he engrossed by
some painful train of reflection—to judge from the
rapidly changing expresions that appeared to pass over
his strongly marked and mobile countenance--that all
wonder at his uncertain step ceased, which raised a feel-
ing of curiosity rather than of surprise. He possessed a
fine and commanding figure, and though the pressure of
Time's unsparing hand had bent his stature in some
degree (for a slight stoop was perceptible), yet his tread
was firm and elastic, and although he might have been
of some fifty years of age or more, he looked many
years younger. Anxious to avoid the crowd which was
every moment becoming greater, he at last gained an
unfrequented part of the city, where he soon became lost
to view. Every one whom he passed was hastening to
one point. No one recognizsd him—no one for a
moment imagined that the solitary form which they
beheld retreating from all that they ardently longed to
itness; that the face shrouded beneath the hood of his
gown as if to shun all observation was that of one who
knew not, cared not where his footsteps led him, so that
they bore him from the very place they wore so anxious
to reach; that the shrinking figure they saw was that of
their Composer Zingarelli—their Maestro di Capella—
was that of him tsho was to be (or ought to have been)
the leading spirit iu the rites about to be celebrated.
Little dreamed they of the dire confusion and dismay
the absence of that one individual would create. It
seemed, truth to say, as if all Rome was congregated in
one spot—and that the most magnificent temple in the
whole world—in order to impart the most stupendous
effect to this royal festival. The ceremony soon begun,
but when it arrived to the point when the very " soul" of
the performance should have proceeded all was silent—
the deep-toned organ was mute, its solemn reverberations
were unheard. The curtain of the choir was withdrawb,
but the seats were unoccupied—the choir was vacant.
And where was he beneath whose fiogers, and at whose
sign, should have burst forth the grand and startling
chords of the Te Deum? Where were they %t hose
voices should have given utterance to the hymn of praise?
--Invisible. All was consternation, and the abrupt
stoppage was hailed as the worst omen by the populace,
which seemed to vie with its forefathers in yielding to
the grossest superstition—on eager search being made
the Maestro's place was also found tenantless. Where
was he? All Rome was present, and then the recollec-
tion of the Fugitive flushed across the minds of many,
and messengers were quickly dispatched on his track,
who after some time returned with the composer. In
reply to the questions put to him by the superiors, Zin-
garelli intrepidly replied, " I do not acknowledge Napo-
leon for my king. I know of no Infant King of Rome,
and I will never join in praising or thanking heaven for
that I cannot view as a gift or a blessing." All threats,
all entreaties were equally fruitless, Zingarel.i was firm
and inflexible. " The key of the organ-loft is where
none but myself can discover it," continued our com-
poser, " the music I have removed, the choristers I have
forbidden to enter the choir, and I would sooner lose this
hand than that it should reise the baton. No! never will
I conduct such a sacrilegious ceremony—not one note of
my Te Deem shall be heard in honour of his pretended
King of Rome." The conclusion of the service was
quickly hurried over, but the organ gave forth no sound,
the choristers were not present, and great was the ex-
citement caused -in Rome at the daring of Zingarelli.
When Buonaparte (with whom the 7'e Deem of our
Master was an especial favourite, indeed he had fre-
quently commanded ifs performance) was informed of
this, he immediately dispatched a secret emissary with
an order to the Prefetto of Rome to arrest " Il Maestro
Nicolo Zingarelli," and cause him to be passed over,
from brigade to brigade, to Paris. Accordingly, the
poor maestro was summoned before the prefect and in-
formed of this command. The former, however, ve-
hemently declared that he felt no regrets—no fear, and
would never sue for pardon, and that in Paris he would,
even to the Emperor himself, refuse to perform, or afford
the slightest assistance towards the performance of his
Te Deem for celebrating such au event. The prefect,
who knew the high- souled honour, the simplicity, and
true- heartedness of Zingarelli, in order to spare him the
degradation and annoyance of being escorted by the
gensdarmerie, and guarded as a prisoner, took his word
of faith that he a ould immediately set out for his destie
nation. In due time, therefore, our composer arrived
in Paris, with the same exactitude as that with which
Regulus returned with his fetters to Carthage. On his
arrival he took up his abode in the Boulevard des Italiens
(the then popular resort of his countrymen in Paris),
No. 7, in the very house iu which Gretry afterwards
lived, and caused immediate notice of his arrival to be
signified to the Emperor. A week elapsed, and as yet
he had received no communication from the Court. On
the eighth day, however, a messenger from Cardinal
Fesch arrived, who loaded him with civilities, expressed
his hopes that the forced and rapid journey to the French
capital had not injured the health of our musician,
lauded his talents to the skies, and spoke of the intense
admiration with which his works were viewed by his
countrymen, and by the Emperor himself. All this was
calculated to soothe the irritated feelings of our composer,
and before he.could stammer forth an incoherent reply,
conceive his astonishment at being presented with a
purse containing a hundred crowns, " A gift," said the
messenger, "from his Majesty the Emperor to defray
your expenses on thus honouring him with a visit." The
poor Maestro could not utter a word. He was spell.
bound, and in this favourable moment the messenger
hastened to take his departure, rejoicing at the happy
issue of his mission. No tidings from the Tuileries
during a long two months reached the poor lonely mu-
sician. " Ha," thought he, "il tempo si riconcia." After
the lapse of this time, and when he had almost resolved
to leave Paris and journey back to Italy secretly, he
received a command to compose a grand Misaa Solennis
for the Chapelle Royale. This was signified to him on
the Ist of June, and on the 12th he was expected to have
everything in readiness, as its performance was to take
place on that day. " A mass," said the bewildered mu-
sician to himself musingly, " a mass ! well, never mind,
a mass, or even a Dominic Salvum fac, or a Grotias
Agimus tibi, but by the sword of St. Paul, by the keys
of St. Peter, or the mule of the Pope—aye! by the
Holy Virgin Mary herself, he may have a mass, but he
shall never say he beard a chord of my Te Deem for
his pretended King of tome." The mass was composed
and executed in eight days, and loudly did Fame trumpet
the success of our composer; manifold were the compli-
ments and gifts he received on this occasion, besides a
present of 5,000 francs from the Emperor himself.
After a few days had elapsed five verses of a Stabat
Mater were forwarded to Zingarelli, with an in'imation,
couched in terms the most pleasing and flattering, that
the composer was to set them to music as quickly as
possible. " Well!" said the surprised, though not un-
moved musician, "a Stabat Mater is not a Te Deum; the
triumphal rejoicing of the one has not the mournful, the
grand solemnity of the other. He may have a Stalest
Mater without any great remorse of my conscience, bat
before he should have my Te Deem, I would brave exile,
imprisonment—death itself ! I will let the Emperor see
that some of us Italians are even yet not without firmness
of character." The Stabat was accordingly performed at
the Palace d'Ely ron the 27th February, 1812, by all
the singers of note then in Paris. The air " Vidit strum
dulcem Natum," sung by Crescentini, and accompanied
by the Maestro on the organ, was repeated by a sign
from Napoleon. Not a sound was heard, there was no
outbreaking of applause, but the whole auditory
wept in
silence—a silence more affecting than loud-tongued
praise—the silence of a multitude of hearts subdued and
conquered into awe and admiration by the might of one.
Not a dry eye was to be seen. Of a truth it seemed as
if one and all felt and recognized, in the sublime and
mournful beauty of the composition, the great genius of
its author. From this time nothing indeed could have
been greater than was the success of Zingarelli ; his
name was echoed from mouth to mouth, till ill Paris
rang with it. The most inordinate desire could scarcely
wish for more, but, amid it all, he—th " admired of all
admirers"—felt AS if he were alone. In the heart of