A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Velluti, Giovanni-Battista
VELLUTI, Giovanni-Battista, born at Monterone (Ancona) in 1781, was the last of the great male soprani of Italy. At the age of fourteen he was taken up by the Abbate Calpi, who received him into his house and instructed him in music. After the traditional six years of solfeggi, he made his début, in the autumn of 1800, at Forli; and for the next two or three years continued to sing at the little theatres of the Romagna. In 1805, appearing at Rome, he earned a great success in Nicolini's 'Selvaggia'; and two years later, in the same city, he sang the 'Trajano' of the same composer, by which he established his position as the first singer of the day. With no less éclat he appeared in 1807 at the San Carlo in Naples, and at the Scala in Milan, during the Carnival of 1809, in 'Coriolano,' by Nicolini, and 'Ifigenia in Aulide,' by Federici. After singing at Turin, and again at Milan, he appeared in 1812 at Vienna, where he was crowned, medallised, and celebrated in verse. On his return to Italy, he continued to reap golden honours at Milan and other places until 1825, when he came to London. Here he was the first sopranist whom that generation of opera-goers had ever heard, the last (Roselli) having ceased to sing in 1800, at the King's Theatre; and a strong prejudice was rather naturally felt against the new singer. His first reception at concerts was far from favourable, the scurrilous abuse[1] lavished upon him before he was heard, cruel and illiberal; and such was the popular prejudice and general cry that unusual precautions[2] were deemed necessary to secure a somewhat partial audience, and prevent his being driven from the stage on his very first entry upon it. The very first note he uttered gave a shock of surprise, almost of disgust, to inexperienced ears, but his performance was listened to with attention and great applause throughout, with but few audible expressions of disapprobation, speedily suppressed. The opera he had chosen was 'Il Crociato in Egitto, by a German composer, named Mayerbeer (sic), till then totally unknown in this country.'[3]
It must be remembered that Velluti at this time was no longer young, and doubtless had lost much of the vigour and freshness of his splendid voice, which had formerly been one of large compass. When he first sang in England, the middle notes had begun to fail, and many of them were harsh and grating to the ear, though the upper register was still exquisitely sweet, and he had retained the power of holding, swelling, and diminishing his tone with delightful effect. The lower notes were full and mellow, and he showed great ingenuity in passing from one register to the other, and avoiding the defective portions of his scale. His manner was florid, but not extravagant; his embellishments, tasteful and neatly executed, and not commonplace. His usual style was suave, but rather wanting in variety; he never rose to bravura. In appearance he had been remarkably handsome, and was still good-looking. Velluti received £600 for his services during that (part) season, but was reengaged for the next at a salary of £2,300, as director of the music as well as singer. He then appeared in Morlacchi's 'Tebaldo ed Isolina,' which he considered his best opera. He was much less admired, however, in this than in the former work; and his favour sensibly declined. For his benefit, he sang in Rossini's 'Aureliano in Palmira,' but in connexion with this got into a dispute about extra pay to the chorus, and the case was decided against him in the Sheriff's Court.
In 1829 Velluti came to London once more and sang on a few occasions. On one of these he was heard by Mendelssohn,[4] with an effect only of intense loathing. His voice, indeed had completely lost its beauty, and he was not engaged. He returned to Italy, and died in the early part of February, 1861, at the age of eighty. Velluti was a man of kind and benevolent disposition, and equally gentlemanly feeling and deportment: his private habits were of the most simple and inoffensive kind. In society, his apparent melancholy gave way to a lively and almost playful exuberance of good humour, and he never failed to interest. His chief amusements were billiards and whist, of which, though no gambler, he was very fond.[5] It is strange that no fine portrait should exist of so great a singer and so handsome a man: the only ones known are an oval by Jügel, after Mouron, representing him as Trajano, and a woodcut, in which he appears as Tebaldo.