The Sun.
London, England, 1849-09-22 00:00:00

ZINGARELLI.

A very romantic incident occurred in the life of this
composer during the time he was Maestro di Capella at
Milan. For a time it obstructed the quiet path of Zile-
garelli, who fulfilled the calm routine of duties of that
office without a shadow of care falling over his he art,
and indeed at the time threatened to be of more aerican
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 was Napoleon Buonaparte, who, though the
Conqueror of Nations, 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 Deum 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 Cmaars." 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 11 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 expressions 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 band had bent his stature in some
degree (for a slight stoop was perceptible), yet his tread
was firm and elastic, and although ho might have beer,
of some fifty years of age or more, be looked man)
years younger. Anxious to avoid the crowd which was
every moment becoming greater, be at last gained an
unfrequented part of the city, where he soon became lust
to view. Every one whom he passed was hastening to
one point. No one recognized him—no one for a
moment imagined that the solitary form which they
beheld retreating from all that they ardently longed to
witness; 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 were so anxious
to reach; that the shrinking figure they saw was that of
their Composer Zingarelli—their Maestro di Capella—
was that of him who was to be (or ought to have beep)
the leading spirit iu the rites about to be 9014014

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 began,
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 withdrawn,
but the seats were unoccupied—the choir was vacant.
And where was he beneath whose fingers, and at whose
sign, should have burst forth the grand and startling
chords of the Te Deem? Where were they whose
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. W here
was be? 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 intrepiuly 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 fur
that I cannot view as a gift or a blessing." All threats,
all entreaties were equally fruitless, Ziugarell was firm
and inflexible. " Tile 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 raise 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 Te Deum of our
Master was an especial favourite, indeed he had fre-
quently commanded its 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 an event. The prefect,
who knew the high-souled honour, the simplicity, and
true- hesrtedness 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 would immediately set out for his desti-
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 in which Gretry afterwards
lived, and caused immediate notice of his arrival to be
signified to the Emperor. A week elapsed, and as yet
he hud 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, "it tempo Ai ricuncia." 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 Missa Solennis
for the Cho pelle 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 Saloum fa°, or a Grotias
Agimus tibi, hut 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 heard a chord of my e Deem for
his pretended King of Rome." 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 ireimation,
couched in terms tho 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 Deem; the
triumphal rejoicing of the one has not the mournful, the
grand solemnity of the other. He may have a Stalat
Muter 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 SOMC of us Italians are even yet not without firmness
of character." The Stabat was accordingly performed at
the Palace d'Elyie .) on the 27th February, 1812, 1y
the singers of note then in Paris. The air " Vidit uutn

dulcemNatuco," sung by Crescentini, and accompLnied
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.
Nut 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 all Paris

rang with it. The most inordinate desire could scarcely
wish for more, but, amid it all, he—the " admired of all
admirers"—felt as if he were alone. In the heart of
Paris, ono of the greatest cities of the world, he was an
isolated being, as it were, and he longed to return to his
own sunny clime. Many were the yearnings of his
heart to be once more in the midst of his pupils and
friends at Rome, performing his accustomed and homely
round of duties. "And oh!" thus our poor composer
exclaimed, " how gladly would I resign all the honours,
all the triumphs, that are heaped upon me in Paris for
my old scat in the organ•loft of St. Peter's, or my desk
in the Vatican!" and though he mentally determined as

firmly as ever that his 7'e 'ileum should iiot be given for
the pretended King of Rome, he nevertheless commenced
writing a Magnifica: and other works of a similar nature,
motets, &c., which he thought were likely to be required
by the Emperor. These labours, therefore, occupied him
more than a month, and during this time, having had no
requisition from the Court for more of his compositions,
he ventured to communicate to the Cardinal's secretary
that his situation of Maestro di Capella at St. Peter's
required—though the Emperor seemed hardly aware of
it—his presence in Rome, and petitioned that he might
be allowed to return there immediately. Our composer's
heart was longing more than ever for the bright skies of
his own laud ; he burned more than ever to grasp the
"old familiar hands" once more ; to tee the " well-
remembered faces" again. "To-morrow," came the re-
ply, " the day after, or even today, if M. Zingarelli
pleases; ho is quite at liberty to depart whenever it suits
him; his stay in Paris is an honour and pleasure to us all;
but the Emperor is by no means desirous that he should
neglect his other duties or forget his otherinterests."
This therefore was the result of a journey which, to say
the least of it, had been commenced under the most in-
auspicious circumstances, and which showed that in this
instance all the ambition of the conqueror, and the here
had not stifled the softer feelings of the man; for, as the
poet sings—
" The true laurel-wreath that Glory weaves
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves."

FIRE IN KENT.—At two o'clock this morning a
gentleman and his family reached town by post-chaise
from Dartford, and when passing Eltham he witnessed
a dreadful conflagration of farming-stock, and apparently
buildings. On reaching town he had ascertained that
some of the London engines and firemen had been dis-
patched to the scenes of destruction from Watling-street
and other stations. It had been ascertained that no
water could be procured for the Kent Fire•office and
other engines which had reached the fire.
Tun PORT OF LIVERPOOL.—Iiis Royal Highness
the Duke of Cambridge was entertained at dinner on
Thursday evening by his Worship the Mayor of Liver-
pool, J. Bramley Moore, Esq. In the course of the
evening his Warship very happily remarked that, in con-
nexion with his Boyal Highness's visit, there was a very
curious coincidence—his brothers the Prince of Wales
(afterwards George IV.) and the Duke of Clarence paid
a visit to Liverpool on the 18th of September, 1806.
They derived great pleasure from their short stay as Li-
verpool was then a great port ; but he trusted that his
Highness of Cambridge was still more pleased, as he was
then in the first port of the empire. His Worship, in
picturing the rapid rise of the town, stated that in 1806
the number of vessels in port was 4,676, with a tonnage
of 607,825. In 43 years, that is to the present period,
the increase had been enormous, for there were now
20,723 vessels, with a tonnage of 3,639,140, showing an
iHncisreHasigehonfesl.B6,ofesi7icivteas
tesedls ,
thaei 'ccio motif 3,131,315.
t0wn131,3
on
this enviable prosperity, and after sundry compliments
had been passed and repassed, the bake f party up,ia ter
' spending a pleasant evening.
CllATUAM.—Yesterday being the day appointed to
to bo kept for humiliation and pra.3 er, the Admiralty
directed that the Lckyerd should be closed the whole of
the day, and that morning and afternoon service should
be performed in the dockyard chapel.
A young woman from the neighbourhood of Wil-
ford called at a grocer's in this town a few days ago, and
inquired if the shopkeeper sold " tarmarline wine ?'"
"No," said the good man, "I do not sell any sort of
wine." " Where can I get it?" was the next question.
Supposing it was intended for medicine, the grecer
an-
swered " I should think at any of the drugsters."
"What I" said the inquirer, looking a little surprised,
" does the drugsters sell it? I rid not know that the
dragsters sold it." This induced the shopkeeper to ask
for what purpose it was intended? " Oh," said she, "it
is our chaps as wants it; they are thaeking, and they
want it to do automat at the stack!" " Why, you want
tarpaulin twine." " 0 dear, yes; Ido really believe that
is it." And this being actually the case, ber wituti were
immediately supplied,—Notre Guardian,