Verdi: Man and Musician

by Frederick James Crowest · English · Gutenberg #46316 · 408,165 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Verdi: Man and Musician

Author: Frederick James Crowest

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Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

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VERDI: MAN AND MUSICIAN

* * * * * *

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._

"THE STORY OF BRITISH MUSIC."

"THE GREAT TONE POETS."

"CHERUBINI" ("GREAT MUSICIANS" SERIES).

"PHASES OF MUSICAL ENGLAND."

"ADVICE TO SINGERS." (12th Thousand.)

ETC. ETC.

* * * * * *

[Illustration: A signed photograph of Giuseppe Verdi.
The inscription reads "_Genova 18 feb[braio]. 1897. G Verdi_"]

VERDI:

Man and Musician

His Biography with Especial Reference to his English Experiences

FREDERICK J. CROWEST_

_Author of "The Great Tone Poets," etc._

John Milne
12 Norfolk Street, Strand
London
MDCCCXCVII

[Illustration: Publisher's logo]

_To_

_MADAME ADELINA PATTI NICOLINI_

_EMPRESS OF SONG_

_Whose Transcendent Vocal and Histrionic Powers_

_HAVE_

_Contributed so largely to an adequate appreciation
of the genius of_

_VERDI_

_This Monograph of the Master is
by Expressed Permission_

_DEDICATED_

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I

BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND CHILD-LIFE

Verdi's birth and birth-place--Dispute as to his township--Baptismal
certificate--His parentage--The parents' circumstances--The _osteria_
kept by them--A regular market-man--A mixed business--Verdi's early
surroundings and influences--Verdi not a musical wonder or
show-child--His natural child-life--Enchanted with street
organ--Quiet manner as a child--Acolyte at Roncole Church--Enraptured
with the organ music--Is bought a spinet--Practises
incessantly--Gratuitous spinet repairs--To school at Busseto--Slender
board and curriculum--First musical instruction--An apt pupil 1

CHAPTER II

CLERK, STUDENT, AND PROFESSOR

Verdi goes into the world--Office-boy in Barezzi's
establishment--Congenial surroundings--An exceptional employer--Verdi
becomes a pupil of Provesi--A painstaking copyist--Verdi wanted for a
priest--Latin elements--Appointed organist of Roncole--A record
salary--Barezzi's encouragement of Verdi's tastes--Father Seletti and
Verdi's organ-playing--Provesi's status and friendship towards
Verdi--Milan training for Verdi--Refused at the
_Conservatoire_--Experience and training needed--Study under Vincenzo
Lavigna of La Scala--Death of Provesi, and assumption of his Busseto
duties by Verdi 16

CHAPTER III

COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, AND FIRST OPERATIC SUCCESS

Verdi is engaged to Margarita Barezzi--His marriage--Seeks a wider field
in Milan--An emergency conductor--Conductor of the Milan Philharmonic
Society--His first opera, _Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio_--Terms for
production--Its success--A triple commission--A woman's
sacrifice--Clouds--Death of his wife and children--_Un Giorno di
Regno_ produced--A failure--Verdi disgusted with music--Destroys
Merelli contract--The _Nabucco_ libretto forced on Verdi--Induced to
set the book--Production of _Nabucco_ with success--Opposition from
the critics--Mr. Lumley gives _Nabucco_ in London--Its performance
and reception 27

CHAPTER IV

SUCCESS, AND INTRODUCTION INTO ENGLAND

Verdi's position assured--Selected to compose an _opera d'obbligo_--The
terms--_I Lombardi alla Prima Crociata_--Its _dramatis personæ_ and
argument--Reception at La Scala--A new triumph for Verdi--_I
Lombardi_ in London, 1846--_Ernani_--Political effect of
_Ernani_--Official interference--Verdi first introduced into
England--Mr. Lumley's production of _Ernani_ at Her Majesty's
Theatre--The reception of the opera--Criticism on
_Ernani_--_Athenæum_ and _Ernani_ 49

CHAPTER V

FIRST PERIOD WORKS

_I Due Foscari_--Its argument--Failure of the opera in Rome, Paris, and
London--_Giovanna d'Arco_--A moderate
success--_Alzira_--_Attila_--More political enthusiasm--_Attila_
given at Her Majesty's Theatre by Mr. Lumley--Its cool
reception--_The Times_ and _Athenæum_ critics on
_Attila_--Exceptional activity of Verdi--_Macbeth_--_Jerusalem_ in
Paris--_I Masnadieri_ first given at Her Majesty's Theatre--Jenny
Lind in its cast--Plot of the opera--The work a failure
everywhere--The critics on _I Masnadieri_--Mr. Lumley offers Verdi
the conductorship at Her Majesty's Theatre--_Il Corsaro_--_La
Battaglia di Legnano_--_Luisa Miller_--Mr. Chorley on _Luisa
Miller_--Its libretto--Reception of the work in Naples, London, and
Paris 70

CHAPTER VI

_RIGOLETTO_ TO _AÏDA_--SECOND PERIOD OPERAS

Turning-point in Verdi's career--The libretto of _Rigoletto_--Production
of _Rigoletto_ in Venice, London, and Paris--Great success of the
opera--_Athenæum_ and _The Times_ on _Rigoletto_--"_La Donna è
mobile_"--A second period style--_Il Trovatore_ written for Rome--The
libretto--Its reception at the Apollo Theatre--The work produced at
the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden--Its cast, and Graziani's
singing therein--Lightning study of the _Azucena rôle_--_Athenæum_
and _The Times_ on _Il Trovatore_--_La Traviata_--The libretto and
argument--The first performance at Venice a _fiasco_--Judgment
reversed--Brilliant success of the opera in London--Piccolomini's
impersonation of Violetta--Mr. Lumley's testimony--The Press and _La
Traviata_--_Athenæum_ and _The Times_ criticism of _La
Traviata_--_Les Vêpres Siciliennes_--_Prima donna_ runs
away--Reception of the opera in Paris and London--Verdi in
Germany--_The Times_ criticism--_Simon Boccanegra_ a failure--_Un
Ballo in Maschera_--Trouble with the authorities--Production and
success of _Un Ballo in Maschera_--Its reception in London--_The
Times_ on the opera--_La Forza del Destino_ unsuccessful 104

CHAPTER VII

_REQUIEM_ MASS AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS

Verdi as a sacred music composer--Share in the "Rossini" mass--Failure
of a patch-work effort--_Missa de Requiem_ produced--Splendid
reception--Performed at the Royal Albert Hall--Structure of the
work--Von Bülow's opinion--Divided opinions on its style and
merit--Its character--Modern Italian Church style--Northern _versus_
Southern Church music--Verdi's early compositions--E minor Quartet
for strings--_L'Inno delle Nazioni_--Its performance at Her Majesty's
Theatre--Verdi's slender share in orchestral music--National
temperament involved--Thematic method inconsistent with Italian
national life 150

CHAPTER VIII

THIRD PERIOD OPERAS

A matured style--Methuselah of opera--The last link--_Aïda_--A higher
art plane--Ismail Pacha commissions _Aïda_--Its libretto--Production
at Cairo--The argument--Patti as _Aïda_--_Athenæum_ criticism of
_Aïda_--_Otello_--Scene in Milan--The initial cast--Its production
and reception in London and Paris--_Athenæum_ review of _Otello_--Its
story--Vocal and instrumental qualities--_Falstaff_--A surprise
defeated--Boito--_Falstaff_ produced at La Scala--In
France--_Falstaff_ at Covent Garden--The comedy and its
music--_Athenæum_ opinion of _Falstaff_--A crowning triumph 167

CHAPTER IX

POLITICIAN AND CITIZEN

A born politician--Attempt to draw Verdi--The revolutionary ring of
Verdi's music--Signor Basevi on this feature--National and political
honours and distinctions--An inactive senator--England's neglect--The
composer's nature and character--Bluntness of speech--A dissatisfied
auditor--Verdi's alleged parsimony--Verdi and the curate--The gossips
and his fortune--Life at St. Agata villa--An "eighty-two"
word-portrait--Verdi's old-age vigour--Love of flowers--His hobby at
the Genoa _palazzo_--Independence of character 203

CHAPTER X

GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT OF STYLE

Verdi's popularity--An important personality in music--Most successful
composer of the nineteenth century--Verdi's opportuneness--Keynote of
future struck in _Nabucco_--Its characteristics--Distinguishing
features of Verdi's music--Stereotyped pattern operas--Change of
style imminent in _Luisa Miller_--Altered second period style of
_Rigoletto_--This maintained in _Il Trovatore_--_La Traviata_
forebodings--Basevi's charge of an altered style therein--_La
Traviata_ and _débutantes_--True Verdi style in _Les Vêpres
Siciliennes_--_Simon Boccanegra_ and _Un Ballo in Maschera_--Third
period works--_Aïda_--Alleged Wagner influence--Mistaken
criticism--Orchestration of _Otello_--Its style and _technique_
compared with _Aïda_--_Falstaff_--Its position as an opera--A saviour
of Italian art--The _Illustrated London News_ defends Verdi from
early critics--Later critics silenced--Verdi vindicated 223

CHAPTER XI

EFFECT UPON AND PLACE IN OPERA

Origin of opera--Melody in music--The first opera, _Dafne_--Monteverde's
advances--Early opera orchestration--Gluck's reformed style in
_Orfeo_ and _Alceste_--A complete structure--Verdi's
starting-point--Wagner's methods--Verdi's early operas--_Don Carlos_
and an altered style--Its reception--A third or matured period
method--Its characteristics--_Aïda_, _Otello_, and
_Falstaff_--Verdi's disciples--Opera as a social need, past and
present--Its reasonable decline--Verdi's ultimate position--His
lasting works 273

CHAPTER XII

VERDI LITERATURE

Its scantiness--Restricted scope for the writer and historian--English
ideas of Italian opera--English books on Verdi--German historian's
measure--Recent English press notices--Foreign journalistic
criticism--Italian writings 293

ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAGE

Giuseppe Verdi _Frontispiece_

Antonio Barezzi 14

Margherita Barezzi 40

Giovanni Provesi 160

Giulio Ricordi 216

PREFACE

This work is an attempt to tell, in a popular key, the story of Verdi's
remarkable career. A connected chronological account of this composer's
life is needed; and a plain unvarnished narrative will best coincide
with the temperament and habit of one who, throughout a long life, has
been singularly abhorrent of pomp and vanity.

In the literature concerning Verdi, the great man's English experiences
have been studiously neglected. We learn about Verdi in Italy, also
in France; but scarcely anything is recorded respecting Verdi in
England--the land which, more than any other country, served to make
and enrich Verdi. It is to show more of the English side of the famous
_maestro's_ career that the present book is written. It may, probably
will be, long years ere Italy will have another such son to worship.
A tone-worker like Verdi is rare. Then, few great composers who have
appealed to the English public have lived to see their works received
and appreciated to the extent that Verdi has; and it is unparalleled in
the history of musical art, to find a musician, when a septuagenarian
and octogenarian, giving to the world compositions which, for
conception and freshness, far surpass the scores written by him in the
vigour of middle age.

It would be ungracious indeed were I to neglect to express the very
deep obligation which I am under to the illustrious _maestro_ for the
handsome and specially signed portrait which adorns this volume. Not
less am I indebted to the Messrs. Ricordi for all the kind assistance
and encouragement which they have afforded me during the preparation of
this work.

F.J.C.

LONDON, _June 1897_.

CHAPTER I

BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND CHILD-LIFE

Verdi was born at Roncole, an unpretentious settlement, sparsely
inhabited, hard by Busseto, which, in its turn, is at the foot of
the Appenine range, and some seventeen miles north-west of Parma, in
Italy. The red-letter day, since such it deservedly is, on which this
universal melodist first saw the light was the 10th October 1813.
Terrible events shadowed his infancy. In 1814 the village was sacked
by the invading allies. Then the frightened women took refuge in the
church--safe, as they believed, near the image of the Virgin--until the
soldiers forced the doors, and slew women and children till the floor
reeked with blood. One woman, with infant at breast, flew to the belfry
and hid there, thus saving herself and her child. The child was the
infant Verdi!

Whenever a son of man is born into the world who, in the mysterious
course of events, turns out to be what mankind calls "great,"
there is inevitably a community jealous to claim ownership of the
illustrious one, alive or dead. The subject may have lingered through
troublous long seasons, craving vainly for the stimulus of even scanty
recognition. He has only to become "great" to find hosts of persevering
friends. Verdi having risen to great eminence, more than one locality
has claimed him. He has been styled "_il cigno di Busseto_,"[1] and
"_il maestro Parmigiano_"; but he was neither the swan of Busseto
nor the master of the town of cheeses. Roncole alone is entitled to
the sonship of Verdi; and as both Parma and her smaller sister town,
Busseto, have disputed his parentage, the point of interest has been
very properly investigated. The result is that the question has been
decided once and for all. A certificate written in Latin has been
traced, which establishes beyond dispute both the time and place of
Verdi's birth. The following is the text of the original document:--

"Anno Dom. 1813 die 11 Octobris--Ego Carolus Montanari Praepositus
Runcularum baptizavi Infantem hodie vespere hora sexta natum ex Carolo
Verdi q^m Josepho et ex Aloisia Utini filia Caroli, hujus parocciae
jugalibus, cui nomina imposui--Fortuninus Joseph, Franciscus--Patrini
fuere Dominus Petrus Casali q^d Felicis et Barbara Bersani filia
Angioli, ambo hujus parocciae."

This dog Latin, translated into English, runs as follows:--"In the year
of our Lord 1813, on the 11th day of October, I, Charles Montanari,
placed in charge of Roncole, did at the sixth hour of this evening
baptize the infant son of Charles Verdi and Louisa Utini, daughter of
Charles, married in this parish, under the name of Fortuninus Joseph
Franciscus. The sponsors were Father Peter Casali q^d Felicis and
Barbara Bersani, daughter of Angiolus, both of this parish."[2]

The abode in which the infant Verdi first opened his eyes was one
of the best known and most frequented among a cluster of cottages
inhabited by labouring folk who found work and small wage in the
immediate neighbourhood of Roncole, a three miles' stretch from
Busseto. It was a tumble-down stone-and-mortar-mixture building of low
pitch.

_Padre_ Carlo Verdi and his good wife Luigia Utini were the licensed
keepers of this small _osteria_, whereat wine, spirits, and malt, with
their close relations pipes and tobacco, were matters of trade between
Boniface or _la signora_ and the frugal _contadini_ who lived in and
about Roncole. Wine and music! Another illustration of the curious
union between harmony and alcohol--a connection which harmless as it
really is, has been discouraged and taken fearfully to heart by a
sensitive sort of people, but which has never yet been satisfactorily
disproved or accounted for by all the Good Templar philosophy.
Bacchanalian aids were not the only commodities dealt in by the honest,
though illiterate Carlo Verdi and his brave wife. The inn stood also
as the local _dépôt_ for such unromantic necessaries of existence as
sugar, coffee, matches, oil, cheese, and sausage--all indispensable
items in housekeeping, even in Italy.

The business air pervading the home of Verdi's childhood seems not
to have affected his young mind, and, pecuniarily profitable as such
an establishment for the sale of the liquids and solids of life may
have been, the future musician does not appear to have shown any
disposition towards becoming a vendor of unromantic necessaries or
alcoholic unnecessaries of life. Happily, the fire of genius--the _feu
sacré_--was in Verdi.

Verdi _maggiore_ was distinctly a retail trader, running, with great
good-nature, what are vulgarly known as "ticks" with the Roncolese.
He went to market once a week, to buy in wholesale quantities
grocery of one Antonio Barezzi, storekeeper, distiller, etc., who,
as circumstances proved, was to figure prominently in the Verdi
_dénouement_.

It is a sorry reflection that several of our greatest musicians have
had poverty and untoward circumstances as a "set off," as it would
seem to be, for their bounteous musical gifts. A study of the lives
of the great tone poets will reveal the saddening but not astonishing
truth that, while the world's fairest minstrels have been shaping
melodies and harmonies to gladden hearts and brighten homes for all
ages, they themselves have frequently been enduring lives of misery,
and sometimes want. Verdi at no part of his career has ever been in
abject poverty, but his was by no means a luxurious early life, nor
was his home particularly predisposed towards music. At first, there
was not a pianoforte in it, nor can it be said that Verdi passed his
childhood amongst surroundings to favour the muse, such as the paint
pots, canvases, and stage lights upon which Weber's young imagination
fed. The social and physical conditions in and around Busseto were
ill calculated to inspire the mind with anything approaching the
sublime or the ideal, the poetic or the beautiful; and there seemed to
be insuperable difficulties in the way of the son of the chandler's
shopkeeper ever becoming a musician of any importance. But many most
surprising episodes were to unfold themselves. This unpretentious
spot of Italian soil was to prove the cradle of the revolutioniser of
Italy's national music-drama. To-day it is incontrovertible that in
Verdi's music, especially in his later writings, there is far more
than could ever have been expected of any Italian master. His melody
is the pure chastened current of the sunny South, and no one of his
countrymen has written loftier operatic music than that in _Aïda_ and
_Falstaff_. Much of the flow and beauty throughout his compositions
must, of course, be accounted for by the inability of any Italian son
of art to compose else but luscious melody, while the life and gaiety,
together with that irresistible "go" which so distinguish Verdi's tunes
and colourings, may have borrowed their genesis out of the lively times
and good humour that prevailed at that earliest home--the inn.

The unsophisticated Italian loves music much as a lark loves liberty,
and it is not in Italy, as it used to be here, regarded as degrading
to aspire to being a _virtuoso_. No other occupation is so natural to
the son of the South as music, and although Italians are keen business
people when they once taste commercial success--even if it be of
ice-cream born--yet they make better musicians. Verdi senior did not
press his son into the service of Orpheus, and no steps appear to have
been taken towards forcing the offspring into becoming a manipulator
of chords and cadences. Young Verdi enjoyed a perfectly natural
child-life, playing with children indoors and out of doors until he was
old enough to be sent to school. He was no forced exotic.

There is a feature sometimes attaching to the lives of great
musicians which, happily, in the case of Verdi does not require to
be put forward. He proved no wonder-child or prodigy who--adroitly
boomed--made the round of Europe with advantage financially and
corresponding disadvantage musically. From the outset his career
has been perfectly legitimate, and free from episodes or situations
partaking of the supernatural--no circumstances presenting themselves
to impede his quiet progress along the artistic way which he seems to
have been content to travel.

What will he become? This is the question, pregnant with blissful
uncertainty, which nearly every decent parent has to ask himself of
a young hopeful. Doubtless Verdi senior applied the interrogatory to
himself respecting Giuseppe, but it has not transpired that the subject
of the inquiry furnished much solution to the problem, beyond the
fact that he was always overcome when he heard street-organ music. No
sooner did an organ-grinder appear in Roncole, with his instrument,
than young Verdi became an attentive auditor, following the itinerant
musician from door to door until fetched away. This was the first
hint he gave of musical aptitude, and probably no one would have
predicted that he would one day furnish melodies, almost without end,
for these instruments of torture in each quarter of the globe. One
particular favourite with little Verdi was a tottering violinist known
as Bagasset, who used to play the fiddle much to the little fellow's
delight. This obscure musician urged the _osteria_-keeper to make a
musician of his son, and is said to have received many favours from
the son since he became famous. The old itinerant, very grateful, used
to exclaim, "Ah! maestro, I saw you when you were very little; but
now----!"

The Verdi who was to create such streams of sparkling melody, and need
an Act of Parliament[3] to stop them, was a quiet thoughtful little
fellow as a child, possessing none of that boisterous element common to
boys. That serious expression seen in the composer's face, the first
impression that a glance at any of his present-day portraits would
convey, was there when a child. Intelligent, reserved, and quiet,
everybody loved him.

Perhaps it was this good and melancholy temperament that attracted the
attention of the parish priest, and which led to Verdi's receiving the
appointment of acolyte at the village church of Le Roncole. He was now
seven years old, and it was in connection with his office as "server"
that we are introduced to the first episode, a really dramatic one,
in his career. One day the ecclesiastic was celebrating the Mass with
young Verdi as his assistant, but the boy, instead of following the
service attentively with the priest, which no acolyte ever does, got
so carried away by the music that flowed from the organ that he forgot
all else. "Water," whispered the priest to the acolyte, who did not
respond; and, concluding that his request was not heard, the celebrant
repeated the word "water." Still there was no response, when, turning
round, he found the server gazing in wonderment at the organ! "Water,"
demanded the priest for the third time, at the same moment accompanying
the order with such a violent and well-directed movement of the foot,
that little Verdi was pitched headlong down the altar steps. In falling
he struck his head, and had to be carried in an unconscious state to
the vestry. A somewhat forcible music lesson!

Possibly it was this incident, and the child's unbounded delight at
the organ music which he heard in the street, that set the father
thinking of his son's musical possibilities, for at about this time,
1820, the innkeeper of Roncole added a spinet or pianoforte to his
worldly possessions. This indispensable item of household belongings
was purchased for the especial benefit of the boy-child, thus pointing
to some indications of budding musical aptness on his part. More
soon followed! Young Verdi went to the instrument at all hours,
early and late, playing scales and discovering chords and harmonious
combinations. Sometimes he would forget or lose one of his favourite
chords, and then there was an outburst of genuine native passion
that stood in strange contrast to his usual quiet demeanour. A story
goes that once, when he was labouring under one of these fits of
temper, he seized a hammer and commenced belabouring the keyboard. The
noise attracted the attention of his father, who stemmed his son's
impetuosity with a sound box on the ears, which stopped the craze for
pianoforte butchering. On the whole, however, every one was pleased
with the little fellow's devotion to the instrument, and one friend
went so far even as to repair it for him gratuitously, when it wanted
new jacks, leathers, and pedals, which it soon did, owing to the boy's
phenomenal wear and tear of the instrument. This spinet remained one
of Verdi's most treasured possessions. It was stored at the villa
at St. Agata, and no doubt has often recalled to the veteran's mind
moments and feelings of his childhood. Inside it is an inscription,
a testimonial creditable alike to the application of the little
musician as also to the goodness of the generous local tradesman, who,
conscious, perhaps, of a future greatness for the child, had become
one of his admirers. It runs: "I, Stephen Cavaletti, added these
hammers (or jacks) anew, supplied them with leather, and fitted the
pedals. These, together with the hammers, I give as a present for the
industry which the boy Giuseppe Verdi evinces for learning to play the
instrument; this is of itself reward enough to me for my trouble. Anno
Domini 1821."

It was when he was about eight years of age that little Verdi's
education became a subject for active consideration. His parents'
deliberations ended in the resolve to send him to a school in Busseto.
By virtue of an acquaintance with one Pugnatta, a cobbler, the future
composer of the _Trovatore_ and _Falstaff_ was boarded, lodged, and
tutored at the principal academical institution in Busseto, all at the
not extravagant charge of threepence _per diem_! How this was managed
history relateth not. Young Verdi's receptive faculties did not need to
be severely extended, therefore, to spell "quits" to _padre_ Verdi's
generosity in the matter of letters and "keep" for Giuseppe. After
events abundantly prove that the little harmonist was not slothful in
grappling the mysteries of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Whether,
added to a fair knowledge of the three Rs, he, like most boys, made an
acquaintance with another R, of pliable and impressive properties, is
not known.

Concurrently with the scholastic training, Verdi's father provided
some regular musical instruction for his son. The local organist of,
and the greatest authority upon music in, Roncole was one Baistrocchi,
and to him young Verdi was entrusted for the first training in music
that he received. The terms for the music lessons were not extravagant,
and were requited by a system of Dr. and Cr. account at the inn.
Nevertheless, the instruction imparted was sound and solid, young
Verdi proving smart at music. The measure of the musical merits of
Baistrocchi has not transpired, and the world is uninformed as to
whether he knew much, or little, musically; but whatever store of
harmonious erudition was possessed by him he poured into his young
charge. At the end of twelve months Baistrocchi felt bound to confess
that Verdi knew all that he had to teach him. Thus, either the teacher
had an unusually small store of information to impart, or the student
possessed an abnormal appetite for musical learning.

[Footnote 1: Rossini used to be styled the "Swan of Pesaro," but in his
old age he laughed at this compliment, and endorsed a Mass which he had
composed as the work of "the old Ape of Pesaro," thus parodying the
"swan" or _cigno_ sobriquet which had been given him.]

[Footnote 2: There is in existence another Certificate of this
musician's birth. This is in the Registry of the _État Civile_ of the
Commune of Busseto for the year 1813, and is written in French, Italy
being at the time under French rule.]

[Footnote 3: Mr. Michael T. Bass, M.P., "Bill for the Better Regulation
of Street Music in the Metropolitan Police District."]

[Illustration: Antonio Barezzi]

CHAPTER II

CLERK, STUDENT, AND PROFESSOR

When ten years of age, Verdi went into the world. Could the parent
have foreseen the future that lay in store for his boy, he might have
given him a little more learning, and have risked being a little the
poorer. He saw nothing, however. His child had been to school, and
could read, write, and add figures--an ample education for the son of
a poor _locandiere_! Beside which the parents at no time entertained
any greater musical ambition than that their boy might, one day, become
organist of the village church!

When the industrious parent used to trudge from Roncole to Busseto to
replenish the "general" department of his business, it was to purchase
from the wholesale grocer's store which, as we have seen, was presided
over by Antonio Barezzi. It was a flourishing concern, and its owner
was a fairly rich man. What was worth more than his money, however,
was a good disposition and kindliness which endeared him to his
traders. Verdi senior was an especially welcome visitor. With him the
storekeeper gossiped, the conversation turning betimes upon the little
fellow at home and his budding musical tendencies. Music and culture,
it should be stated, were dear to Barezzi, and had placed him at the
head of everything musical in Busseto. Thus he was President of the
local Philharmonic Society, for which he held open house for rehearsals
and meetings. Barezzi's instrumental ability was considerable, and he
could perform on the flute, clarionet, French horn, and ophicleide.

As luck would have it, young Verdi was to be thrown into the service of
this Barezzi. In the course of their gossipings, innkeeper had hinted
to merchant that the son would have to be bestirring himself; and
Barezzi, having a vacancy for an office-boy, offered to try Giuseppe.
The matter was speedily arranged, and the boy soon proved that he could
make himself useful to Barezzi--merchant in spirits, drugs, drysaltery,
and spices.

The average business man views a predilection for music, or indeed
for any art study, as fatal to duty and discipline. Not so Barezzi.
He encouraged the musical proclivities of the office-boy, and, as we
shall discover, most generously and materially assisted him towards an
inevitable artist career. In time he began to regard Verdi as one of
his family, and allowed him the use of the pianoforte.

Let us see what happened. Without neglecting his daily duties in the
office, young Verdi availed himself of every moment of spare time
to add to his musical knowledge and practice. He seldom missed an
opportunity of attending the rehearsals held in Barezzi's house,
or the public concerts given by the Philharmonic Society under the
conductorship of Giovanni Provesi, organist and bandmaster of the
_duomo_ of Busseto. In return Verdi copied the instrumental parts
for the various performers, working at "string" and "brass" parts
with a neatness and accuracy that quite won the hearts of those who
had to play therefrom. Some people would declare such copying to be
inconceivable drudgery, but young Verdi relished the excellent insight
into orchestration which such practice afforded him. Provesi, on his
part, was so pleased that he gave the lad some gratuitous instruction,
of which Verdi took such advantage that at the end of two or three
years the master frankly owned, like Baistrocchi, that the pupil knew
as much as he himself did.

No wonder that Provesi, struck with the lad's musical promise, one
day advised him to think of music as a profession. It so happened,
however, that the lad just then was dangerously near to becoming a
knight of the cowl instead of the _bâton_. The priests had got hold
of him, and one ecclesiastic, Seletti by name, had commenced to teach
him the Latin tongue, with the view, some day, of making a priest of
him! Thus Verdi might have been for ever meditating in the cloister,
instead of ministering to great demands, choreographic and otherwise,
of a modern lyric drama stage! "What do you want to study music for?"
said the priest, at the same time backing up the query with the not
very comforting nor accurately prophetic warning that he would "never
become organist of Busseto"--a position which he did subsequently fill.
"You have a gift for Latin, and must be a priest," was the confessor's
parting shot.

Now the organist of Roncole died, creating a vacancy. Officialism and
bumbledom, usually connected with organ elections, did not operate
here. All concerned were agreed that, although young, the son of
townsman Verdi was musically and morally fitted for the post, and he
was thereto appointed. The salary was not overpowering, the exact
payment being £1:12s. yearly! Thus the parents' wish was gratified, for
their little son was duly appointed in Baistrocchi's stead, and from
his eleventh to his eighteenth year Verdi performed his duties in the
dusty old organ-loft at Roncole, supplementing his salary with small
fees for such additional services as baptisms, marriages, and funerals.
Every Sunday and Feast-day he trudged on foot from Busseto to Roncole
to perform his duties. Sometimes it was scarcely daybreak, and on one
of these excursions he fell into a ditch, and would assuredly have
been drowned, or frozen to death, save for the timely aid of a peasant
woman, who had heard his groans.

How long Verdi remained in the employ of Barezzi has not transpired,
but important subsequent events prove that he retained the friendship
and esteem of the merchant long after being released of the tedium of
bills and quantities calculations. He continued to receive musical
training from Provesi until he was sixteen years of age, and it is
not improbable that his generous employer, observing the musical
inclinations of his clerk, allowed him to drift naturally into a
harmonious haven. A story told of the young musician this while is
ominous. It came to pass that Father Seletti, who would have the
born-opera-composer a monk, was officiating at mass on an occasion
when Verdi happened to be deputizing at the Busseto organ. Struck with
the unusually beautiful organ music, the priest at the close of the
service expressed a desire to see the organist. Behold his amazement
on discovering his scholar whom he had been seeking to estrange from
harmony to theology! "Whose music were you playing?" inquired Seletti.
"It was beautiful." Verdi, feeling shy, informed the priest that he had
brought no music with him, and had been improvising. "So I played as I
felt," he added. "Ah!" exclaimed Seletti, "I advised you wrongly. You
must be no priest, but a musician."

Provesi had an extensive musical practice in and around Busseto, to
which he gradually introduced Verdi. More and more frequently he
deputized for Provesi, and the sight must have been worth seeing, of
the diminutive organist, fifteen years old, on the high seat in the
great organ-loft in the dim cathedral of Busseto--all unconscious,
as every one else was, of the great future before him. When, from
advancing years, Provesi resigned the conductorship of the Philharmonic
Society of the town, Verdi was unanimously selected for the vacancy.
His chief delight was to compose pieces for the Society and to perform
them. These early compositions are preserved among the _archives_ of
Busseto.

The master musician is not an easily moulded quantity. He has first to
traverse the whole surface of musical science; even then, Nature may
have denied to him those gifts of colour and glow which are the wings
of music, and lacking which, he may remain for ever a mathematical
musical machine, too many of whom, loaded with academical degrees and
distinctions, and the consequent array of scholastic millinery, have
been given to the world.

Verdi's ambition was to become a successful opera composer, but ere
he could succeed, there were branches of study which could only be
mastered in an establishment such as the _Conservatoire_ at Milan. To
it Verdi's friends, notably Provesi (who prophesied that one day Verdi
would become a great master), urged him to go. There was one undeniable
obstacle--the money! This difficulty was, however, eventually overcome.
One of the Busseto institutions was the "Monte de Pieta," which granted
premiums to assist promising students in prosecuting their studies.
Verdi's petition was sent up, and with the wheels of benevolent
machinery turning, as usual, slowly, the decision was long delayed. At
this crisis stepped in Barezzi, grocer and gentleman, as he proved, who
agreed to advance the money, pending the decision of the institution.
This enabled Verdi to turn his face towards Milan. He did not forget
the kindness, but returned Barezzi the money, in full, from the first
savings he was able to make from his art.

It is a grim commentary upon the usual way of managing the things of
this life, to witness a man who has made melody for the whole world
for now over half a century being refused an entrance scholarship at
the training institution of his own land! It is a fact, nevertheless,
that Verdi was actually denied admittance to the _Conservatoire di
Musica_ of Milan, on the ground of his showing no special aptitude for
music! Yet the world goes on, gaping and wondering at its monotonous
mediocrity, while seven-eighths of its energy is being exhausted in
repairing the consequences of the genius of its blunderers, who somehow
are generally and everywhere in power, and rampant. Chiefly from shame,
the rejection of Verdi at the _Conservatoire_ has been industriously
excused, but the mistake shall always stand to the discredit of
Francesco Basili, the then Principal. Men like Verdi--men of metal--may
be hindered, but are rarely defeated by obstacles, or long-refused
justice. Verdi had fixed his heart and eyes on a mark which he has
never left, and in this respect, if in no other, he is a model for
every earnest struggling student.

Verdi had now to look elsewhere for that training which he had hoped to
obtain at Milan. "Think no more about the _Conservatoire_," said his
friend Rolla to him. "Choose a master in the town; I recommend Lavigna."

Vincenzo Lavigna was an excellent musician, and conductor at the
theatre of La Scala. To him, accordingly, Verdi went for practical
stage experience and familiarity with dramatic art principles. This
was in 1831, when the pupil was eighteen years old. Lavigna could not
have desired a more exemplary pupil than Verdi was, and the master lost
no time before taking his charge into the broad expanse of practical
theatre work. All the drudgery of harmony, counterpoint and composition
generally, had been learned and committed to heart long before; it was
practice and experience in the higher grades of planning and spacing
libretti, and the scoring of scenas and concerted numbers for operas,
that Verdi needed. This Lavigna could and did give him. Verdi, on
his part, showed such aptitude for dramatic composition that Lavigna
was greatly pleased. "He is a fine fellow," said Lavigna to Signor
Barezzi, who had called to inquire as to the progress of his _protégé_;
"Giuseppe is prudent, studious, and intelligent, and some day will do
honour to myself and to our country."

The death, in 1833, of Provesi, the guiding musical spirit of Busseto,
meant another episode in Verdi's career. By the conditions of the loan
from the trustees of the "Monte di Pieta" of Busseto, he was to return
home from Milan to take up Provesi's duties. Such a heritage of work,
including the post of organist at the _duomo_, the conductorship of the
Musical Society of Busseto, much private teaching, etc., kept Verdi
well employed; but it did not deter him from a regular and assiduous
prosecution of his operatic studies. He worked with an almost unbounded
will and pride in Busseto. Why? Because there was present there a
power which fired him with enthusiasm and ambition; otherwise the call
from Milan might have been a difficult step for him to take; one word,
however, will explain all--Verdi was in _love_!

CHAPTER III

COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, AND FIRST OPERATIC SUCCESS

When Verdi took the office stool in Barezzi's counting-house, there
was little reason to suppose that he would get much beyond it; but he
was to become something more than an _employé_. He was often invited
to join the family circle, and so became acquainted with the eldest
daughter, Margarita--a girl of beautiful disposition, with whom Verdi
fell violently in love. The young lady returned his affection, and
Signor Barezzi, with his usual kindly feeling towards Verdi, not
opposing the engagement--albeit Verdi was extremely poor--the young
people were married in 1836. Upon this occasion all Busseto turned out
_en fête_.

Now had Verdi every incentive to work, for his young wife bore him a
son and a daughter within two years of their marriage, and he longed
for an operatic success that would add to his slender income. The
prospect of a large family, and no means to support it with, was a
painful piece of mathematics, the solution of which depended entirely
upon himself. Alas! could he but have foreseen his almost immediate
release from such love chains!

While thus musing, the fire kindled. Verdi made up his mind to
relinquish working in Busseto and try his fortune in Milan.
Accordingly, in 1838, he, with his wife and children, set out for that
musical centre, carrying their belongings with them, and with his
stock-in-trade--a score of a musical melodrama entitled _Oberto, Conte
di S. Bonifacio_--under his arm. This composition was his first attempt
at a complete opera. Every pain had been taken with the score; and not
only was each note Verdi's own, but the full score, and all the vocal
and instrumental parts, had been copied out with his own hand. What
labour! and yet the hard (we might say thick) headed man rejoices in
the belief that musicians, big and little, are a lazy lot!

None too speedily, an opening presented itself at the Milan
Philharmonic Society. Haydn's _Creation_ was to be given, and the
conductor had failed to put in an appearance. Suddenly Verdi was
espied, whereupon Masini, a director, approached and begged him to
take the conductorship that evening. In those days conducting was
managed, not with a _bâton_ and a rostrum, but from the pianoforte
in the orchestra, and Masini considerately informed Verdi that if he
would play the bass part merely, even that would be sufficient! Verdi
acquiesced, and, amid starings and titterings, made for the conductor's
seat and score. "I shall never forget," Verdi has said, "the sort
of sarcastic approval that crossed the faces of the knowing ones.
My young, thin, and shabbily-attired person was little calculated,
perhaps, to inspire confidence." Yet Verdi astonished everybody. He
gave not only the bass line, but the whole of the pianoforte part,
bringing the performance to a successful termination. Not from that
night need he have been without an appointment as a musical conductor;
indeed, it was shortly afterwards that the conductorship of the Milan
Philharmonic Society was offered to, and accepted by Verdi.

Possessed almost by the demon of the stage, Verdi sorely wanted a
trial for his opera. To obtain a first hearing then, however, meant
the surmounting of considerable obstacles. The avenues of art were
not open as they now are--when a season is made up almost wholly of
"first nights," and when wealthy or well-backed aspirants can have,
not only their own theatres, but their own critics, and even their own
newspapers and audiences. Such is money! Eventually Verdi got what
he wanted. _Oberto, Conte di S. Bonifacio_ was to be produced at La
Scala theatre in the spring of 1839; but even this arrangement was put
off because a singer fell ill. Sick at heart, Verdi was retreating to
Busseto, when the _impresario_ of La Scala sent for him unexpectedly.
Signor Bartolomeo Merelli had heard from the singers who had been
studying _Oberto_ respecting the uncommon quality of its music, and
the opinions of the vocalists Signora Strepponi and Signor Ronconi
were not to be lightly regarded. The outcome of the interview was an
agreement by which Verdi's opera was to be put upon the stage during
the next season at Merelli's expense--Verdi in the meanwhile making
certain alterations in the score, chiefly because of a change of
artists from those for whom it was originally written. Merelli was to
divide with Verdi any sum for which the score might be sold, in the
event of the opera proving a success. He jumped at the offer, for in
those days the fashion was for _impresarii_ to demand, and to receive,
large sums from unknown composers wishing to have their operas brought
forward. _Tempora mutantur._ Nowadays the difficulty with managers is
to find the talent! _Oberto_ was duly produced on the 17th November
1839, the principal singers being Mesdames Raineri-Marini, and Alfred
Shaw, while Signori Salvi and Marini filled the tenor and bass parts
respectively. The opera saw several representations, and a further
proof of its merit is seen in the fact that music-publisher Ricordi
gave Verdi two thousand Austrian liri, or about £70 sterling, for the
copyright of the work.

Verdi's next experience was a commission. Shortly after the production
of _Oberto_, _impresario_ Merelli, who "ran" the Milan and Vienna
opera-houses, approached Verdi respecting the composition of three
operas--one every eight months, for the sum of £134 for each opera,
with an equal division of any amount arising from the sale of the
copyrights.

This contract came opportunely, for Verdi was on the verge of appealing
to his father-in-law for a £10 loan wherewith to pay rent overdue for
his modest apartment. Now, Merelli was asked to make an advance, "on
account," but he would not. Weak and dispirited after a long illness,
Verdi was greatly distressed at the thought of failing to meet his
rent. Here, however, came man's blessed balm when desperate moments
face him--in the womanly unselfishness of a brave wife. Seeing her
husband's anxiety, Signora Verdi collected her trinkets, went out and
raised money upon them, bringing it all to Verdi. "How she managed it,"
related Verdi afterwards, "I know not; but such an act of affection
went to my heart. I resolved not to rest until I had got back every
article, and restored it to the dear one."

Cloud and sunshine, these are the alternating portions of the mortal's
lot. No sooner did Verdi begin to feel easier at the prospect of
earning some four hundred pounds by these three operas than his home
was suddenly darkened. With the swiftness of a rushing avalanche all
that was brightest in his home was swept away. Ere he could realise
it, he had lost his wife, son, and daughter. Verdi tells the terrible
story as only the sufferer himself can. "My bambino (little boy) fell
ill early in April (1840), and the doctors failing to discover the
mischief, the poor little fellow got weaker and weaker, and passed away
finally in the arms of his mother. She was heart-broken. Immediately
our little daughter was seized with an illness which also terminated
fatally. This was not all. At the beginning of June my dear wife was
cast down with brain fever, until, on the 19th, a third corpse was
borne from my house. Alone! alone! In a little over two months three
coffins, all that I loved and cherished most on earth, were taken from
me. I had no longer a family!"

Here was room for grief. What a situation for one tied by an agreement
to compose a comic opera, the score of which was already overdue! It
was impossible. Yet bills were flowing in, and to meet these Verdi
must, despite all terrible anguish, fulfil his engagement. He did.
Among the libretti which Merelli had submitted was one renamed _Un
Giorno di Regno_. This Verdi set to music. It was produced at La Scala
Theatre on the 5th September following his wife's death, and was a
failure. No wonder that Verdi desponded, and begged of Merelli that
he would cancel the agreement, which he did, tearing the document
to pieces. Verdi's resolute intention was never to compose another
note! Ah! By some force of fate Verdi, many weeks afterwards, quite
by accident, stumbled across Merelli, and although the composer was
still obdurate, ere the two parted a libretto by Solera was forced into
Verdi's coat-pocket, upon the chance, as Merelli put it, of his looking
at and being tempted to set the book.

Strange to say, this "Nebuchadnezzar" libretto took hold of Verdi.
Arriving home, the composer tossed the manuscript on to the table. It
opened of itself at a truly felicitous passage, "Fly, O thought, on
golden wings," which so interested Verdi that he read on. Finally,
the whole poem was in his mind, and so disturbed his rest that he
determined to return the book next day to Merelli. The _impresario_
would not have it, and told him to take the libretto away and keep it
until he could find the will to set it.

_Nabucco_ was replete with beautiful passages, which, one by one,
were set by Verdi, until, in the autumn of 1841, the entire opera was
finished. Two stipulations Verdi now insisted upon. Signora Strepponi
and Signor Ronconi were to sing in _Nabucco_, and the work was to be
produced during the Carnival time. Merelli declared he could not manage
the scenery in the time; but Verdi would not hear of waiting for new
scenery, and consenting to risk the production with whatever chance
canvas the resources of the theatre supplied, _Nabucco_ found its way
into La Scala bills for the 1842 season.

The opera was given on 9th March, and both Signora Strepponi and Signor
Ronconi sang in it.

"With this score," subsequently related Verdi to Signor Giulio Ricordi,
"my musical career really began. With all impediments and difficulties
_Nabucco_ was undoubtedly born under a lucky star. All that might have
been against it proved in its favour. It is a wonder that Merelli did
not send me and my opera to the devil, after the furious letter which
I sent him. The second-hand costumes, made to look equal to new, were
splendid, while the old scenery, renovated by Perrani, might have been
painted for the occasion."

_Nabucco_ took everybody by surprise. It was a species of melodic vein
and choral combination that the Milanese dilettanti had never before
heard; such instrumentation, too; such novel and impressive effects
were not within the memory of the oldest _habitué_ of La Scala. The
Italians could not resist its peculiar "carrying-along" power. The work
was unanimously declared the true ideal of what a tragic musical drama
should be. Little wonder that during its rehearsals the workmen stopped
to listen to the music of the new piece. Many years afterwards, in his
success, Verdi referred to this incident in sympathetic words:----

"Ah!" said Verdi, "the people have always been my best friends, from
the very beginning. It was a handful of carpenters who gave me my first
real assurance of success."

I scented a story, and asked for details.

"It was after I had dragged on in poverty and disappointment for a
long time in Busseto, and had been laughed at by all the publishers,
and shown to the door by all the impresarios. I had lost all real
confidence and courage, but through sheer obstinacy I succeeded in
getting commonly contracted in Italy--rehearsed at the Scala in Milan.
The artistes were singing as badly as they knew how, and the orchestra
seemed bent only on drowning the noise of the workmen who were busy
making alterations in the building. Presently the chorus began to sing,
as carelessly as before, the '_Va, pensiero_,' but before they had got
through half a dozen bars the theatre was as still as a church. The
men had left off their work one by one, and there they were sitting
about on the ladders and scaffolding, listening! When the number was
finished, they broke out into the noisiest applause I have ever heard,
crying '_Bravo, bravo, viva il maestro!_' and beating on the woodwork
with their tools. Then I knew what the future had in store for me."[4]

Some idea of the novel character of the _Nabucco_ music may be gathered
from the discovery that the usual chorus of La Scala was adjudged
too small to give effect to it. Merelli, apprised of this, would not
hear of increasing the staff because of the expense. Then a friend
volunteered the extra cost. "No, no!" thundered in Verdi. "The chorus
_must_ be increased. It is indispensable. I will pay the extra singers
myself." And he did! The success of _Nabucco_ was remarkable. No such
"first night" had marked La Scala for many years, the occupants of the
stalls and pit rising to their feet out of sheer enthusiasm when they
first heard the music. "I hoped for a success," said Verdi; "but such a
success--never!"

The next day all Italy talked of Verdi. Donizetti, whose melodious
wealth had swayed the Italians, as it subsequently did the English, was
among the astonished ones. He had deferred a journey in order to hear
_Nabucco_, and was so impressed by it, that nought but the expressions;
"It's fine! Uncommonly fine!" could be heard escaping his lips. With
_Nabucco_ the impressionable Italians were agreeably warned that a
master-mind was amongst them.

Verdi sold the score of _Nabucco_ to Ricordi for 3000 Austrian liri, or
£102, of which, by the terms of the contract, Merelli the _impresario_
was to share one half. He generously returned Verdi 1000 liri.

In the year 1846 _Nabucco_ was brought to London. Mr. Benjamin Lumley
elected to open the season with it. Her Majesty's theatre had been
newly painted and embellished, and all London was on the tiptoe of
excitement at the prospect of the inauguration of the new _salle_. No
more striking novelty than _Nabucco_ could have been selected, perhaps,
since the work had already become popular on the Continent, and had
in some places created a _furore_. The English public, it should be
stated, already knew Verdi through _Ernani_, which opera, as the
reader will learn later on, had been performed in London the previous
year, and had startled the susceptibilities of our critics. The object
in presenting this _Nabucco_ by Verdi was to afford the public an
opportunity of a further judgment upon the ear-arresting composer
of _Ernani_. In obedience to a prevalent sentiment precluding the
slightest connection of a Biblical subject with stage representation,
_Nabucco_ had to be rechristened. It received the _alias_ "_Nino, Re
d'Assyria_," and was brought forward.

[Illustration: Margherita Barezzi]

"In a popular sense," writes Mr. Lumley, "the opera was a decided
success; the choral melodies especially suiting the public taste.
The libretto, although faulty in many respects, was dramatic, and
afforded scope for fine acting and artistic emotion. _Nabucco_, in
short, floated on the sea of the Anglo-Italian stage where, whilst one
current was always rushing towards novelty, another tended to wreck all
novelty whatever, in the interests of so-called 'classicism.' Much had
been done to place the opera with splendour on the stage, but though
it pleased on the whole, no decided success attended the venture of
the two new ladies. Sanchioli, wild, vehement, and somewhat coarse,
attracted and excited by her 'power, spirit, and fire,' but she failed
to charm. As a 'declaiming, passionate vocalist' she created an effect;
but the very qualities which had rendered her so popular with an
Italian audience, acted somewhat repulsively upon English opera-goers.
The lack of refinement in her style was not, in their eyes, redeemed by
the merit of energy. The electric impulse that communicated itself to
the Italians, fell comparatively powerless on the British temperament.
Sanchioli, however, was in many respects the 'right woman in the
right place' in this melodramatic opera. The other lady, Mademoiselle
Corbari, though destined in after times to please greatly as an
_altra-prima_ on the Anglo-Italian stage, and though she was considered
from the first charming, even 'fascinating' in her simplicity and
grace, was not yet acknowledged as a leading vocalist. The nervousness
and inexperience of a novice, which she showed at that stage of her
career, somewhat lessened the success due to a sweet voice and feeling
style, though the prayer allotted to her character Fenena, was encored
nightly. Fornasari pleased those who remained of his old enthusiastic
admirers, by his emphatic dramatic action and vigorous declamation, and
thus far worked towards the success of Verdi's opera."[5]

The libretto of _Nino_ or _Nabucco_ is based upon the history of the
Assyrians and Babylonians at the epoch when these two nations were
distinct. Ninus, the son of Belus, the first Assyrian monarch, is
engaged in exterminating the Babylonians. He profanes their temple,
insults their faith, and finally falls a victim to the vengeance of
Isis. He goes mad. His supposed daughter, Abigail, obtains possession
of the kingdom, to the exclusion of his lawful heiress, Fenena, who
is about to be sacrificed with the Babylonians, whose faith she has
embraced, when Ninus, repenting of his evil deeds, recovers his reason
in time to save her from death, and the drama winds up with the
submission of the proud monarch and his whole court to Isis.

"This opera," wrote a capable critic at the time, "the first by which
the young composer achieved his exalted reputation, and which has
been received abroad with enthusiasm, is a most remarkable work. It
is characterised by merits of the highest order. This is shown in
the splendid finale of the first act, commencing with the charming
_terzettino_ which has been for some time already a favourite with
English dilettanti; the canon preceding the punishment of Nino, in
the second act; the duet '_Oh! di qual onta_' between the latter and
Abigail in the third act, in which the voices are made to combine in
the most exquisite manner; the charming chorus, '_Va, pensiero_,'
flowing and plaintive; and the final prayer '_Terribil Iside_,' sung
without instrumental accompaniment. These _morceaux_ require to be
studied in detail for their beauties to be fully appreciated; but
they nevertheless produce, at first hearing, an effect which pieces
abounding, as they do, in imagination and remarkable excellence
of construction, do not always obtain. They are more highly
characteristic. The opening chorus, '_Gli arredi festivi giu cadono
infranti_,' is severe and characteristic, and altogether peculiar in
its construction. The first aria of Orotaspe is very remarkable in
point of composition. The first part of the solo of Abigail, which is
much admired, did not produce at first hearing any deep impression
on ourselves; the second part is very good, and characteristic of
the vengeful Amazon. The prayer for soprano at the end of the opera,
'_Oh, dischinso e il firmamento_,' is a charming little bit of melody.
In fine, in the music of the opera the composer has shown himself
possessed of all the legitimate sources of success. It bears the stamp
of genius and deep thought, and its effect upon the public proved that
its merits were appreciated."[6]

This favourable view, however, was far from being endorsed by all the
leading critics--inasmuch as it was with _Nino_ that Verdi experienced
more of his early and remarkable castigations in the English press.

Henry Fothergill Chorley, English musician, art critic, novelist, verse
writer, journalist, dramatist, general writer, traveller, etc., was
musical critic of the _Athenæum_ from 1833 to 1871, a period which
covers Verdi's career down to the production of _Aïda_, and it is fair
to assume, therefore, that the contributions, signed and unsigned,
which appeared in the _Athenæum_ were the views and expressions of
that gentleman--deceased. James William Davison, English composer
and writer (1813-1885), was musical critic of _The Times_ to the day
of his death, so that that gentleman, also deceased, may be credited
with the emanations respecting Verdi and his doings which appeared in
its columns. Now, when _Nabucco_, in its Anglicised form as _Nino_,
was produced here, the former critic wrote: "Our first hearing of the
_Nino_ has done nothing to change our judgment of the limited nature of
Signor Verdi's resources.... Signor Verdi is 'nothing if not noisy,'
and by perpetually putting his energies in one and the same direction,
tempts us, out of contradiction, to long for the sweetest piece of
sickliness which Paisiello put forth.... He has hitherto shown no power
as a melodist. Neither in _Ernani_ nor in _I Lombardi_, nor in the work
introduced on Tuesday (_Nino_) is there a single air of which the ear
will not lose hold.... The composer's music becomes almost intolerable
owing to his immoderate employment of brass instruments, which, to
be in any respect sufferable, calls for great compensating force
and richness in the stringed quartette.... How long Signor Verdi's
reputation will last seems to us very questionable."[7] Of these
remarks we would say that Verdi and his reputation both live to-day!

It need hardly be pointed out that the critical faculty in its
perspicacity and highest degree are wholly wanting in this criticism.
Verdi has shown himself to be a born melodist; his reputation for
his melodies has been great and world-wide, even those of such early
operas as _Ernani_ and _I Lombardi_ are still with us--to wit, that
lovely excerpt "_Come poteva un angelo_" from the latter work; while
the orchestral excessiveness charged to him, thus early, was just the
thing for which thirty years later, when _Aïda_ was produced, he was
by many musical minds declared to be indebted to Wagner, and abused
consequently.

_The Times_ criticism on _Nino_ was less despairing. "The melodies"
(we were told) "are not remarkable, but the rich instrumentation,
and the effective massing of the voices do not fail to produce their
impression, and a 'run' for some time may be confidently predicted."[8]

Mr. Lumley revived _Nino_ (_Nabucco_) towards the close of his
memorable and vicissitudinous management. It was during the 1857
season. Mademoiselle Spezia made a decided mark in the part of Abigail,
but the object of interest was Signor Corsi, who made his _début_ on
the occasion.

"This celebrated singer," Mr. Lumley informs us, "had acquired so high
a reputation in Italy as the legitimate successor to Georgio Ronconi,
in the execution of lyrical parts of dramatic power, that the liveliest
curiosity was excited by his first appearance."[9] Signor Corsi failed,
however, to establish his claim to public favour either as a singer or
actor. Curiously enough, this same season witnessed the production of
the work under the name of _Anato_ by the rival London opera company,
under Mr. Gye, at the Lyceum Theatre.

Nowadays we hear little of _Nabucco_. The world can well afford to go
on with one opera the less, even though it be a good one; but fifty
years have worked a vast change in operatic values, and, although
the revival of _Nabucco_ might not be called for now, it must not be
forgotten that, when it first appeared, it was, as an able critic has
put it, "almost the only specimen the operatic stage has of late years
furnished of a true ideal of the tragic drama."[10]

Much that _Nabucco_ contained demonstrated the fully-trained composer,
the scientific musician, and the able contrapuntist. The splendid
chorus "_Gli arredi festivi_," sung by all the voices, and taken up
by the basses alone; the charming chorus of virgins, "_Gran Nume_,"
beginning _pianissimo_ and swelling up to a glorious burst of harmony;
and the grand crescendo chorus _Deh! l'empri_, these manifested
indisputable originality and learning. Other notable numbers proved
to be the chorus "_Lo vedesti_," and the "_Il maledetto non ha
fratelli_" movement; while the _canone_ for five voices, "_Suppressau
gi'istanti_," the _scena_, "_O mia figlia_" (which Fornasari was wont
to render so feelingly), and the duet "_Oh di qual onta aggravesi_,"
are remarkable examples of characteristic musical composition, sure
indications of greater artistic triumphs by their author. Among the
many orchestral points of _Nabucco_, the harp accompaniment in the
Virgins' chorus, and the employment of the brass instruments in the
great crescendos are particularly novel and effective. Little wonder
that such a work struck the keynote to Verdi's future greatness.

[Footnote 4: Dr. Villiers Stanford in _The Daily Graphic_, 14th January
1893.]

[Footnote 5: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 145 (Lumley).]

[Footnote 6: _Illustrated London News_, 14th March 1846.]

[Footnote 7: _Athenæum_, 7th March 1846.]

[Footnote 8: _The Times_, 4th March 1846.]

[Footnote 9: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 416.]

[Footnote 10: _Musical Recollections of the last Half-Century_ (1850
Season), May 31.]

CHAPTER IV

SUCCESS AND INTRODUCTION INTO ENGLAND

Now, at the age of twenty-nine years, was Verdi's future practically
assured. His ambition had been to produce an opera that would win the
applause of his countrymen. This was attained sooner, perhaps, than
Verdi expected it. With this desire more than fulfilled, the son of the
obscure innkeeper of Roncole was being talked of in the same breath as
the _maestri_ Donizetti, Mercadante, and Pacini. Would that his beloved
wife and children could have been with him to have shared this success!

A great honour was now to be his. By the vote of the La Scala Theatre
direction, Verdi was chosen to be the composer of the _opera d'obbligo_
for the Carnival time--that new opera which an _impresario_ is
bound, by the terms of his agreement with the municipality, to find
and produce during each season. Merelli conveyed the news to Verdi,
tendering him a blank agreement form and saying, "Fill it up; all that
you require will be carried out."

Verdi consulted Signora Giuseppina Strepponi, the young and attractive
tragédienne who had performed so admirably as Abigail in _Nabucco_ (she
afterwards became Madame Verdi). Her advice to the composer was to
"look out for himself," but to be reasonable, suggesting similar terms
to those paid to Bellini for _Norma_. Verdi asked, therefore, eight
thousand Austrian liri (£272 sterling), and the bargain was struck.

Within eleven months Verdi was on La Scala boards with his fourth
opera, a work which deserves lengthy notice because of the hold it has
always had over English audiences. Signor Solera had prepared what,
from an Italian point of view, was an excellent libretto, based upon a
poem by Grossi, covering the epoch of the First Crusade. The _dramatis
personæ_ of _I Lombardi alla Prima Crociata_ ran:

Pagano, Arvino, sons of Pholio, the Prince of Rhodes; Viclinda, wife
of Arvino; Griselda, daughter of Arvino; Acciano, tyrant of Antioch;
Sofia, his wife; Oronte, his son; Prior of the city of Milan; Pirro,
armour-bearer to Arvino; monks, priors, people, armour-bearers, Persian
ambassadors, Medes, Damascenes, and Chaldeans, warriors, crusaders,
ladies of the harem, and pilgrims.

The scene of the first act is laid in Milan; the second in and near
Antioch; the third and fourth near Jerusalem.

Briefly, its story or argument is this. Pagano and Arvino are the sons
of one of the Lombard conquerors of Rhodes. Pagano, deeply enamoured
with Viclinda, and enraged at her preference for his brother, attacked,
wounded him, and then fled his country. As the curtain rises, the monks
and the people are seen assembled before the Church of Ambrose, in the
island of Rhodes, to celebrate the return of the pardoned culprit. He
arrives, and his injured brother cordially forgives and embraces him.
But in the heart of the latter the same unquenchable feelings still
rankle. He once more meditates the destruction of his brother and the
possession of his sister-in-law. At night he invades, with an armed
band, his abode; but in the dark he mistakes his victim, and kills his
own father instead of his brother. Remorse takes possession of his
heart, and he flies to a wilderness in Palestine to expiate his crime,
and under the garb of a hermit he acquires a great reputation for
sanctity. Years of repentance have elapsed; it is the moment when all
Christian knights and princes have been summoned to the First Crusade,
and Arvino and his followers have landed in Palestine, obedient to
the call of Peter the Hermit. Here he soon hies to the holy recluse
(Pagano) in his mountain retreat, seeking from the hermit counsel and
consolation in his sorrows, for the Saracen chief of Antioch, in the
conflict, has carried away his daughter. Pagano, concealed by his garb,
promises a termination to his brother's sorrows which he knows he can
effect; for Pirro, formerly his squire and confidant, now a repentant
renegade, has promised to yield Antioch, where he holds a command,
to the Christian bands. In that city Griselda is immured; she is in
the harem of Oronte, but protected by his mother, Sofia (secretly a
Christian), and passionately loved by her son, who, under the double
influence of love and conviction, determines to become a convert to
her faith. Griselda forgets her Christian friends, and listens but
too fondly to the vows of her Saracen lover; but Antioch is betrayed
to the Christians, led by Arvino and Pagano; all the Saracens are put
to death; and Griselda, by her lamentations over the fate of her true
lover, brings down on her head the wrath of her father. In the retreat
where she has taken refuge from his anger, her lover, Oronte, who has
escaped from his enemies, reappears in the disguise of a Lombard.
The lovers fly together, but being pursued by the Christians, Oronte
receives a fatal wound; Pagano comes and takes him to his cell, and
there the Saracen prince dies a Christian convert; whilst Griselda in
her despair, through divine interposition, is consoled by a vision of
Paradise. Pagano, who has become the guardian spirit of his injured
brother, accompanies him to the siege of Jerusalem, and is wounded to
death in defending him. As he dies, he removes his cowl and reveals his
name. His death forms the final catastrophe of the opera.

On the 11th February 1843, crowds were flocking to the Milan Theatre
to hear _I Lombardi_--the new opera by the composer who had driven
the remembrance of Bellini, Donizetti, and Rossini from the heads of
the Milanese. Unusual interest was aroused because the authorities,
suspecting political suggestions, had sought to stop the representation
of the opera. The people even brought their provisions with them, and
when the moment for the performance came, a frightful odour of garlic
pervaded the theatre! The patriotic subject pleased everybody, and
the rendering had not proceeded far before undoubted expressions of
approval issued from all parts of the house. The feverish audience
detected readily exact analogies to their own political circumstances.
Verdi, "saviour of his country," as some would have it, had kept up the
sentiment of the _Nabucco_ music--a sentiment which had an unmistakable
revolutionary flavour and ring, soon to be mightily emphasized--and the
issue was never in doubt. Soloists, chorus, and orchestra quickly had
their feelings echoed by the Milanese public at large.

Another triumph. Moved by the stirring music and the unstinted
exertions of the principal singers, Signora Frezzolini and Signori
Guasco and Derivis, the auditors were so overcome that they re-demanded
number after number. The clamouring for the quintet was such that the
police interfered and would not suffer it to be repeated; then the
chorus, "_O Signore dal tetto natio_," in the fourth act brought the
listeners once more to their feet; nor would they be appeased until
they had heard it three times.

If only for its fortuitous association with the awakening of
Lombardo-Venetia to a sense of national unity and independence, this
opera must always be interesting. But _I Lombardi_ abounds in vocal
treasures, and contains some of Verdi's best early work. Take, for
instance, the lovely tenor _cavatina_ "_La mia letizia infondere_," and
the _cabaletta_ "_Come poteva un angelo_," which Oronte sings in scene
2 of the second act, and which Signor Gardoni used to render with much
charm and beauty of voice. Little wonder that such melodies and music
predisposed the Italians towards the new young musician.

_I Lombardi_ was certainly an advance upon _Nabucco_. Apart from its
political associations, it contained vocal and instrumental attractions
which the public were justified in expecting from the composer of
_Nabucco_. It met with a _succés d'estime_ only on its production
in London, but this had more to do with party feeling in operatic
matters at the time than with the actual merits of the work. The new
and striking properties which distinguished _Nabucco_ were still more
marked in _I Lombardi_--so much so, indeed, that it has survived many
operas and can be listened to with pleasure to-day.

In the 1846 season--Tuesday the 12th March--Mr. Lumley gave the
subscribers of Her Majesty's Theatre _I Lombardi_, with the artists
Grisi, Mario, and Fornasari, and scenery and dresses which at the time
were considered unsurpassed. It was the first performance of Verdi's
new opera in this country.

"Here was again a success!" writes Mr. Lumley; "nay, a great and noisy
success--but yet a doubtful one. After the comparative unanimity with
which _Nabucco_ had been received, it seemed necessary for the forces
of the opposition to recommence the attack against a school which
now threatened to make its way with the town. Party spirit on the
subject was again rife. Whilst, by the anti-Verdians, _I Lombardi_ was
declared to be flimsy, trashy, worthless, the Verdi party, and the
adherents of the modern Italian school, pronounced it to be full of
power, vigour, and originality. The one portion asserted that it was
utterly devoid of melody--the other, that it was replete with melody of
the most charming kind; the one again insisted that it was the worst
work of the aspirant--the other, that it was the young composer's
_chef d'œuvre_. And in the midst of this conflict--so analogous
to the old feud between the parties of Gluck and Piccini--public
opinion, as usual, seemed undecided and wavering, uttering its old
formula of, "Well, I don't know." The music, too, was weighed down by
a rambling, ill-constructed, uninteresting libretto; and it is really
difficult, under such conditions, to sunder the merit of the musical
"setting" from the merit of the text. _I Lombardi_, however, was played
frequently, and to crowded houses."[11]

_I Lombardi_ speedily travelled over Europe. As we have seen, it soon
reached England, and having been adapted for the French stage, it was
produced on the 26th November 1847 at the Grand Opéra of Paris under
the title of _Jérusalem_. In its new garb, it was a failure, despite
splendid singing and effective scenery. What a farcical proceeding,
then, to attempt to foist this version upon the Italians under the name
of _Jerusalemme_!

It is not surprising that Verdi was now sought after by _impresarii_
and managers, ever on the outlook for talent and a work that may
restore the too often distorted fortunes of a theatre. More than one
European manager was beseeching him; but eventually the management
of the Fenice theatre secured Verdi's next opera. This proved to be
_Ernani_, produced on the 9th March 1844. Verdi chose his own subject,
and entrusted Victor Hugo's drama to Piave, who subsequently became
the composer's permanent librettist. The result was a tolerably good
book, which Verdi set in happy vein. Its first night decided its
fate. _Ernani_ was received with unstinted admiration and approval.
The artists who created the parts were Signora Loewe (Elvira), who
quarrelled with Verdi about her part; Signor Guasco (Ernani); and
Signor Selva (Silva), the latter a singer whom the noble who owned
the Fenice thought unworthy to appear on his boards, despite Verdi's
recommendation, because he had been singing at a second-rate theatre!

During the nine months following the first performance of _Ernani_, it
was produced on no less than fifteen different stages.

One or two episodes--amusing, if vexatious--attended its production.
The police got wind of some exciting element in the opera, and stepped
in at the last minute, objecting to several numbers, and refusing to
allow a sham conspiracy to be enacted on the stage. Verdi had to give
way and face the additional work and trouble; yet, after all, the
Venetians got political capital out of the work, and when the spirited
chorus, "_Si ridesti il Leon di Castiglia_," burst forth, their
patriotic feelings overcame them. Another incident had to do with
artistic principle. In the last act Silva had to blow upon the horn;
but a susceptible aristocrat could not bear the idea, and remonstrated
with the composer, urging that it would desecrate the theatre!

_Ernani_, as we have remarked, was the work by which Verdi was first
introduced to the British public; and it is, therefore, of especial
interest to English readers. It involved a dispute among musical
people such as has only been equalled by the famous Gluck and Piccini
feud (1776) just referred to, or that great controversy engendered by
Wagner's music and doctrines, the wrangle that gave us the term "music
of the future," that spiteful innuendo which the enemies of the master
invented to indicate the fit location of his music, and which epithet
Wagner himself adopted as exactly describing an art and teachings which
a debilitated and distempered age was too feeble to understand.

No one was more concerned in this musical stir than the zealous and
assiduous Mr. Lumley, who had his heart and fortune in the affairs of
the opera-house, Her Majesty's Theatre:--

Industrious importer! who dost bring
Legs that can dance, and voices that can sing,
From ev'rywhere you possibly can catch 'em;
Let others try, they never yet could match 'em.

The stumbling-blocks were the bigoted lovers of the old school, who,
dissatisfied with all that had been given them, were, like that hero
in fiction, always clamouring for "more," which, when obtained, they
always pronounced unsatisfactory. "The season," states Mr. Lumley, "was
announced to open with the _Ernani_ of Verdi, a composer as yet unknown
to the mass of the musical English public. But he had been crowned
triumphantly, and had achieved the most signal successes in Italy.
_Ernani_ was generally pronounced, at that period, one of the best, if
not the best, of his many applauded operas. It would have been strange
if the announcement of the first production of one of Verdi's works
upon the Anglo-Italian stage had failed to excite the attention and
interest of the musical world. At all events, it was the duty, as well
as the policy, of the management to bring forward the greatest novelty
of the day. Novelty sure to be called for with indignant remonstrance
if _not_ laid before the subscribers, however it might be scouted
(according to custom) when it did make its appearance.

"After some unavoidable delay, the season opened on the 8th March
(1845) with the promised opera of _Ernani_. That it excited the general
enthusiasm awarded to it so lavishly in Italy cannot be asserted;
that it was a failure may be emphatically denied. The general result
of this first introduction of Verdi to the English public was a
feeling of hesitation and doubt; or, as some one drolly said at the
time, the 'Well, I don't know's' had it! The English are tardy in the
appreciation of any kind of novelty, and the reception of Verdi's opera
was only in accordance with the national habit. It is well known that a
taste for this composer's music has survived all the opposition of an
earlier period, and that he is now generally popular among the musical
amateurs in this country. Whatever their intrinsic merits, his operas
have achieved a widely-spread success, as provincial theatres and
music-halls can testify throughout the land; and there can be no doubt
that, whatever his alleged shortcomings in some respects, he has at
command passion, fire, and strong dramatic effect.

"On the first production, then, of _Ernani_, the public seemed as yet
unprepared to give a verdict of its own as to the merits of the young
composer, now first placed in England on his trial."[12]

The principal singers at this first representation in England
were--Madame Rita Borio, _prima donna_; Moriani, the tenor; Signor
Botelli, baritone; and Fornasari, as the old Castillian noble. The
audience, if not the critics, were delighted with the work. The
characters so musically individualised, the new and attractive
orchestration, the _motivi_ distinguishing the singer, the perfect
_ensemble_, the well-proportioned whole opera--all these thoroughly
Verdinian characteristics were seized upon and admired. "Encore
followed encore from the rising of the curtain.... Solos, duets, and
trios were applauded with equal fervour, but the concerted pieces
created the most surprise and admiration.... The _ensembles_ possess a
novelty and an impassioned fervour unprecedented."[13]

In a retrospect of the season's opera, a talented critic wrote of
_Ernani_ as follows:--"We were then introduced to a composer engaging
in Italy surprising popularity, one whose works have been brought out
at almost all the great continental theatres, whose productions in his
native country met with the most enthusiastic admiration--Verdi. It
cannot, therefore, be wondered at that the present able management of
Her Majesty's Theatre should have fixed upon the works of this composer
to bring before the English public. _Ernani_ did full justice to its
brilliant reputation. It presents the real type of the lyrical tragedy,
where feeling finds its appropriate expression in music. Musical judges
allotted to it the palm of sterling merit, but the leaning of public
taste was against the probabilities of its obtaining here the high
favour it has elsewhere enjoyed.

"The meritricious sentimental style of the modern school to which, of
late years, we have become so accustomed was a bad preparation for the
full appreciation of such work as this. _Ernani_, however, at first
only half understood, gradually worked its way into the public favour,
and was given a greater number of times than any opera of the season;
finally, it might be pronounced completely successful; but yet, on the
whole, the result of the production of this opera was not such as to
encourage the management to substitute another work of this composer,
_I Lombardi_, for more established favourites. We are sorry for this;
we grieve to see in the English musical public so little encouragement
for novelty in art, and an unwillingness to patronise works which
have not received the sometimes questionable fiat of approbation from
the audiences of former seasons, not a whit more infallible than the
present. English audiences will rarely judge for themselves in matters
of art. They wail that Fashion should have openly set her seal on works
which should claim a fair and unbiassed judgment.

"At present Verdi is the only composer of real and sterling merit in
that land of song (Italy); for though Rossini still lives, his pen is
idle, or only occasionally employed on short compositions of a totally
different nature from those with which he has for years delighted the
world.... Donizetti, his successor, is silent. Should _Ernani_ or any
other work of this young composer be brought forward next year (1846),
its success will probably be far more decided; for attention has become
awakened on this point, and a purer musical taste is gradually forming
in England, as elsewhere."[14]

_Ernani_ was brought forward in the following year, when one among the
few critics not antagonistic towards Verdi wrote as follows:--

"It was with much pleasure that we heard _Ernani_ again. This opera is
of that stamp which constantly gains upon the mind. The two _finales_
of the first and second acts are _chef d'œuvres_ of composition.
When the ear has become sufficiently accustomed to their sounds to
follow the varied melodies introduced to them with such wonderful
skill, the effect is indescribable. The sensations called forth by
such music as this, when listened to with unswerving attention, are
far more profound, though of a different nature, than those elicited
by the hearing of the most pleasing melody. Combinations of the human
voice and of instruments must always, if skilfully managed, produce
a powerful effect, and this is especially the case with these two
_finales_, in which every bar has a meaning, and in which consequently,
at each hearing, some fresh beauty is revealed.... The duet between
Ernani and Elvira, the trio at the end of the opera, and the aria
'_Ernani involami_' are also deserving of much admiration."[15]

_Ernani_ was conceived in much the same vein as _Nabucco_ and _I
Lombardi_. It was on the continental Italian opera lines, as seen in
the operas of his countrymen before him. The personality of Verdi was
somewhat more emphatic, but the national model had not been left either
in form or in expression. "Full of plagiarisms as was every number of
that opera," records one of the divided, distracted critics, "it took
more or less with the public because of the large amount of tune with
which it abounded, whilst the constant succession of passage after
passage in unison excited some degree of curiosity on account of its
novelty."[16]

Undoubtedly _Ernani_ was an advance upon _Nabucco_ and _I Lombardi_.
In 1848 this opera came again under the notice of the censor of the
Athenæum, but it did not tend to alter his views respecting Verdi
musically.

"It is not many years," we read, "since Signor Verdi was in this
country, among the myriad strangers who are attracted by the 'season,'
struggle vainly for a hearing, and retire unnoticed.... For new melody
we have searched in vain; nor have we even found any varieties of
form, indicating an original fancy at work as characteristically as
in one of Pacini's or Mercadante's or Donizetti's better cavatinas.
All seems worn and hackneyed and unmeaning.... '_Ernani! Ernani!
involami_,' is a song of executive pretension, written apparently for
one of those mezzo-soprano voices of extensive compass which poor
Malibran brought into fashion. There is a good deal of what may be
called pompous assurance, both in the _andantino_, and in the final
movement, and an accomplished singer could doubtless work an encore
with it. Signor Verdi's concerted music strikes us as a shade worthier
and more individual than his songs.... We cannot conclude these brief
remarks, incomplete for obvious reasons, as a judgment, without saying
that flimsy as we fancy Signor Verdi's science, and devoid as he seems
to be of that fresh and sweet melody, which we shall never cease to
relish and welcome, there is a certain aspiration in his works which
deserves recognition, and may lead him to produce compositions which
will command success."[17]

This could hardly be styled encouraging criticism on a work which had,
and has since been received with the greatest success throughout Italy,
in Paris, and in London, and which has enjoyed a legitimate and fairly
enduring popularity, remembering always how changeable a thing opera at
its best is. Adolphe Adam, writing of _Ernani_ in Paris, has said, "Of
all the operas of Verdi represented in Paris, _Ernani_ is the one which
has obtained the most success. I cannot say why, for I am quite as fond
of the others, and I do not think this success is to be attributed
especially to the excellent execution it has received."[18] The obvious
and only conclusion being that the music itself was the true operating
force.

[Footnote 11: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 148.]

[Footnote 12: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 102.]

[Footnote 13: _Illustrated London News_, 15th March 1845.]

[Footnote 14: _Illustrated London News_, 23rd August 1845.]

[Footnote 15: _Illustrated London News_, 21st March 1846.]

[Footnote 16: _Musical Recollections of the Last Half-Century_, vol.
ii. p. 162.]

[Footnote 17: _Athenæum_, 26th February 1848.]

[Footnote 18: _The Life and Works of Verdi_ (Pougin--Matthew), p. 169.]

CHAPTER V

FIRST PERIOD WORKS

_I Due Foscari_--Its argument--Failure of the opera in Rome, Paris,
and London--_Giovanna d'Arco'_--A moderate
success--_Alzira_--_Attila_--More political enthusiasm--_Attila_
given at Her Majesty's Theatre by Mr. Lumley--Its cool
reception--_The Times_ and _Athenæum_ critics on
_Attila_--Exceptional activity of Verdi--_Macbeth_--_Jérusalem_ in
Paris--_I Masnadieri_ first given at Her Majesty's Theatre--Jenny
Lind in its _caste_--Plot of the opera--The work a failure
everywhere--The critics on _I Masnadieri_--Mr. Lumley offers Verdi
the conductorship at Her Majesty's Theatre--_Il Corsaro_--_La
Battaglia di Legnano_--_Luisa Miller_--Mr. Chorley on _Luisa
Miller_--Its libretto--Reception of the work in Naples, London, and
Paris.

_I Due Foscari_ was Verdi's next opera. His _collaborateur_ Piave had a
libretto well seasoned with that sensational element characteristic of
the Italian dramatic lyric stage. Here is its story:--

In 1423 Francisco Foscari was raised to the ducal chair of Venice,
notwithstanding the opposition of Peter Lorredano. The latter
constantly opposed him in the Council, and that in such a manner,
that on one occasion Foscari, irritated, exclaimed, "He could not
believe he was really Doge so long as Peter Lorredano lived." By a
fatal coincidence, a few months afterwards, Peter and his brother Mark
died suddenly, and public report said they had been poisoned. James
Lorredano, Peter's brother, believed the tale, and sculptured the names
of the Foscari on their tomb, and inserted them in his ledger as his
debtors for two lives--waiting with the greatest _sang-froid_ for the
moment when he should be enabled to make them pay. The Doge had four
sons; three died, and Jacopo the fourth, husband to Lucretia Contarini,
being accused of receiving presents from foreign princes, was
imprisoned according to the laws of Venice, first at Naples in Romania,
and afterwards at Treviso. It happened in the meantime that Ermolaus
Donato, chief of the Council of Ten, who had condemned Jacopo, was
assassinated on the night of the 5th November 1450, on his return to
his palace, from a sitting of the Council. As Olivia, Jacopo's servant,
had been seen at Venice a few days previously, and on the very day
after the crime had been committed he had publicly mentioned it at the
Mestra boat, suspicion fell on the Foscari. The master of the boat and
Jacopo's servant were immediately carried to Venice, where they were
put to the torture, but in vain; they were then banished for life to
Candia. For five years in succession had Jacopo sought for his pardon
without obtaining it, and, unable longer to live without revisiting
his beloved country, he wrote to the Duke of Milan, Francisco Sforza,
begging of him to intercede with the Council on his behalf. The letter
fell into the hands of the Ten; and Jacopo, being taken to Venice and
tortured, confessed that he had written it with the sole desire of
revisiting his country, at the risk of being sent back to prison. He
was condemned to remain for life in Candia, to be closely confined for
the first year, and threatened with death if he wrote any more letters
of the same description. The unfortunate octogenarian Doge, who had
conducted himself with Roman fortitude at the judgment and torturing
of his son, was allowed to see him in private before his departure, to
advise him to be obedient and resigned to the will of the Republic.
In the meantime Nicolo Errizo, a Venetian nobleman, died, and on his
death-bed acknowledged himself the murderer of Donato. He wished his
confession to be published to exculpate Jacopo Foscari. Several of
the principal senators had previously felt disposed to plead for his
pardon, but unhappily, while this was taking place, he breathed his
last in his Candian prison.

The miserable father lived in solitude with a heart full of sorrow; he
was seldom seen at the Council. Jacopo Lorredano, in the year 1457,
was raised to the dignity of Decemvir, and believing that his hour of
vengeance had arrived, carried on his plots so secretly that the Doge
was forced at last to abdicate his ducal chair. Twice in the course of
the time he held the office Foscari had wished to resign it, but so
disinclined were they to yield to his wishes that they obliged him to
swear that he would die in the exercise of his power.

Notwithstanding this, he was compelled to leave the ducal palace, and
returned, as a simple individual, to his private residence, refusing a
large pension offered to him from the public purse.

The 31st October 1457, while listening to the sound of the bells
announcing the election of his successor, Pascal Malpiero, he was
so violently affected that he expired. He was buried with as great
splendour as if he had died a Doge, while Malpiero was attired merely
in the simple dress of a senator. It is said that Jacopo Lorredano,
when this took place, wrote in his ledger opposite the words we have
already mentioned the following sentence--"_The Foscari have paid me!_"

Out of this argument was evolved a serious opera in four acts, which
was produced at the Argentine Theatre at Rome on the 3rd November
1844. It proved a complete failure. Though composed immediately after
_Ernani_, it possessed little of the spontaneity and freshness of that
work; so little that the Romans were astounded, and stayed away from
the theatre.

In 1846 the work was given in Paris, when Signori Mario and Coletti,
with Madame Grisi, sought to establish the opera; but the work would
never "go."

The year following Mr. Lumley introduced it at Her Majesty's Theatre
for the opening night of the season. "The opera given for the first
time in this country, the _Due Foscari_ of Verdi, and the singer,
Madame Montenegro, a Spanish lady of good family, with a clear soprano
voice of some compass, and an attractive person, pleased, without
exciting any marked sensation. Coletti, in the character of the _Doge_,
one of his most famous parts, was, by general accord, pronounced to
be an admirable, not to say a great, artist; while Fraschini, by his
energy and power, contributed to the effect of the _ensemble_."[19]

Yet again was the work a failure. The English operatic public, however,
did not want a new opera just then. What it sorely needed was Jenny
Lind!

_Giovanna d'Arco_, produced at La Scala Theatre, Milan, on the 15th
February 1845, and in which Erminia Frezzolini appeared, "in all
the brilliancy of her radiant youth, of her patrician beauty, of
her incomparable voice, and of her marvellous talent,"[20] followed
_I Due Foscari_. It was a temporary success, owing to the admirable
exertions of the Tuscan cantatrice, whose personal and musical charms
considerably aided the exalted part of the heroine. She inspired not a
little fervour, something akin probably to that remarkable enthusiasm
prompted by the woman-soldier of France, whose imperishable doings
saved the throne of Charles VII.

The opera contained several fine numbers, but although the Milanese
received it kindly, nay, went out of their way to _fête_ its composer,
it never really "took." Some of Verdi's best writing is to be found in
_Joan of Arc_, yet it was not born under a lucky star. Its overture was
rescued, and this Verdi (Handel-like) affixed to his operas _Les Vêpres
Siciliennes_ and _Aroldo_.

_Alzira_, produced with indifferent success at the San Carlo Theatre at
Naples on the 12th August 1845, succeeded _Giovanna d'Arco_, and then
came _Attila_. This was Verdi's most successful work since _Ernani_.
The management of the Fenice had bargained with Verdi for another
opera, and _Attila_ was the result.

The scene of the opera is placed principally at Aquileja, a Roman
colony on the Adriatic, which from its grandeur was honoured by the
ancients by the appellation of "Roma Secunda." Attila, having overcome
and desolated this great city, amidst his rejoicings is surprised by
a band of Aquilejan virgins led by Odabella, daughter of the Lord
of Aquileja, who has been killed in the battle. She defies Attila,
who, struck by her beauty, asks what boon he can bestow upon her. She
claims his sword, intending to avenge her father's death--to behave, in
fact, as Judith did to Holofernes. But she falters, and returns to the
barbarian camp, the object of Attila's admiration. Her lover, Foresto,
and Ezio, the leader of the defeated Romans, reappear, and plan the
poisoning of Attila, for which purpose the services of Odabella are
sought. She, however, has consented to share Attila's throne, but
hardly are the nuptial rites celebrated than she is upbraided by
Foresto and Ezio. Then a revulsion of feeling overcomes her; she thinks
of her father, her lover, and her country, and in a fit of despairing
anger she stabs Attila to the heart.

Poet Solera supplied the libretto, and when, on 17th March 1846, an
expectant audience thronged every part of the theatre, it was to listen
to the unfolding of an excellent work. The warmth of its reception
surpassed that accorded to _Nabucco_, and again was political fire
aroused within the Venetians.

The opera soon went the round of the Italian stages, and two years
later (1848) _Attila_ was brought to London. Mr. Lumley at Her
Majesty's Theatre was straining every nerve to provide attractions
that would interest his critical (also let it be added, hypercritical)
subscribers, and counteract the opposition from the rival "Royal
Italian Opera" enterprise at Covent Garden Theatre. For his ante-Easter
season he paraded _Attila_--"the opera" as he says, "in which I
had first heard and been charmed with the rich voice and dramatic
qualities of Sophie Cruvelli at Padua. This was, in fact, the opera
in which she first appeared upon any stage. None, perhaps, of Verdi's
works had kindled more enthusiasm in Italy or crowned the fortunate
composer with more abundant laurels than his _Attila_. Its fame was
great in the native land of the composer. In catering for novelty,
therefore, the director of Her Majesty's Theatre must be held to have
done well in producing a work of so great repute, and in placing
before his subscribers the leading opera of the day upon the Italian
stage. To prove with what good will this was done, the opera had been
'mounted' with great scenic splendour, and with every 'appliance'
likely to produce effect. _Attila_ was produced on Tuesday the 14th
March. Cruvelli sang '_con fuoco_.' Her fine, fresh, ringing voice
'told.' Beletti displayed unusual histrionic talent, besides all that
steadiness and excellence of 'school' which helped to earn him his
reputation in this country. Gardoni was in the cast, whilst Cuzzani
accepted a second tenor part. On every side were zeal, talent, and
good-will employed successfully to execute a work which many cities
of Italy had pronounced to be Verdi's masterpiece. But although Verdi
had already commenced to make his way to English favour, and this by
means of that vigour and dramatic fire which unquestionably belonged
to him, the public displayed an unwonted unanimity of sulkiness upon
the production of _Attila_. They would have 'none of it.' Consequently
_Attila_ proved a failure. Music and libretto displeased alike."[21]

"This is one of Verdi's more recent operas," wrote a critic, "and met
in Italy with the success which works of his (almost the only composer
of eminence left to that land of music) are sure to command. The
work itself possesses the beauties and defects peculiar to Verdi--a
certain grandeur of conception and power of dramatic effect is even
more striking here than in many other of the _maestro's_ compositions.
There is a warmth, spirit, and energy in the music which carries away
the listener, which excites and inspires; at the same time there is
a want of softness and repose which is, in this opera, more than
usually perceptible. The too frequent use of the drums and the brass
instruments is the great fault we have to find in this work."[22]

The _Attila_ music was as horrible to the senses of the _Athenæum_
critic as was that of _Nino_. "As for the music," we are informed,
"were we to carry out and apply Charles Lamb's principle of being
'modest for a modest man,' the fit review thereof would be a
charivari. The force of noise can hardly further go; unless we are to
resort to the device of Sarti's cannon, fired to time his Russian 'Te
Deum' on the taking of Ocsakow, or imitate the anvil chorus which
Spontini, we have heard, introduced in one of his operas. It is
something to have touched the limits of the outrageous style; but
this, we think, we have now done, unless the more recent _Alzira_ and
_Macbeth_ of the composer contain double parts for the ophicleides or
like extra seasonings.... The melodies are old and unlovely to a
degree which is almost impertinent, and _I Masnadieri_ itself was not
more devoid of the discourse which enchants the ear than this Gothic
opera. May we never hear its like again."[23]

Again we find _The Times_ less "sweeping" respecting _Attila_, albeit
not detecting promise of that grand future which was before Verdi, and
which his great genius, his own unaided efforts--amid such remorseless
critical opposition--have enabled him to attain.

"Less excelling in melody than any Italian composer of name," we read
of Verdi, "he has always chosen to rely rather on the effect of the
ensemble than on the isolated displays of the principal singers. His
love of ensemble is, however, not attended by any great contrapuntal
knowledge. The effects that he produces rather arise from an increase
of the mass of sound than from skilful harmonious combination....
That the arias, duets, etc., should be commonplaces, mere repetitions
of Donizetti and Bellini and Verdi himself, was naturally to be
anticipated, as he is rarely strong in such _morceaux_. But there is a
want of dramatic colouring, even in his ensemble; and for the most part
we discern little apprehension of character, and little regard to the
peculiarities of situation."[24]

In the light of subsequent events such criticism is not perspicuous. If
Verdi had no "contrapuntal knowledge" and "lacked dramatic colouring"
power at the age of thirty-two, after learning his art, when and where
did he acquire all that tremendous wealth in these departments as seen
in _Aïda_, _Otello_, and _Falstaff_, and even in earlier operas? Is it
not probable that Verdi knew more about the matter than the critics,
and understood better than they what the public wanted, what it could
swallow, and composed accordingly? Was the musical taste in this
country such, for instance, fifty years ago, that opera-frequenters
would have relished even _Otello_? Verdi was probably right in giving a
sick patient a pill, not a horse-ball.

In 1847 a spell of unusual industry overtook Verdi. Opera after opera
came with remarkable rapidity. _Macbeth_ was produced at Florence in
March 1847, and immediately proved a success. It was Verdi's first
effort with a Shakesperian subject. The Florentines were unanimous
in their approval of the music, the interpretation of which was
considerably aided by an admirable Lady Macbeth--Signora Barbieri-Nini.
The score was taken to Milan, and pleased so much that the Milanese,
among other doings, represented Verdi practically as having crushed
all other Italian composers; while poor Rossini in particular was,
dragon-like, under the foot of his great rival! Subsequently, the work
was given in Venice, where it met with a reception which Verdi himself
could scarcely have expected. It was just before the Revolution of
1848, and when Palma, as Macduff, sang the air:--

"_La Patria tradita
Piangendo c'invita_";

it so excited the Venetians that they joined in to the full of their
voices and showed such other manifestations of uncontrollable feelings,
that not only the police, but the military had to be called in.

The composer was now due with an opera for Mr. Lumley; a work to be
written expressly for England, and _I Masnadieri_ was the result. That
persevering and to-be-pitied _impresario's_ version of the affair runs
thus:--

"Of the expected new operas to be produced on the stage of Her
Majesty's Theatre, that of Verdi alone remained available. For many
years I had been in correspondence with the young Italian composer,
for the purpose of obtaining from him a work destined for the London
boards. An opera on the subject of "King Lear" had already been
promised by Verdi, the principal part being intended for Signor
Lablache. But, on that occasion, the serious illness of the composer
had prevented the execution of the design. Verdi now offered his
_I Masnadieri_, composed upon the subject of Schiller's well-known
play, _Die Raüber_, and with this proposal I was obliged to close. On
Thursday, 2nd July 1847, _I Masnadieri_ (after wearying rehearsals,
conducted by the composer himself), was brought out, with a cast that
included Lablache, Gardoni, Coletti, Bouche, and, above all, Jenny
Lind, who was to appear for the second time only in her career, in a
thoroughly original part composed expressly for her. The house was
filled to overflowing on the night of the first representation. The
opera was given with every appearance of a triumphant success; the
composer and all the singers receiving the highest honours--indeed,
all the artists distinguished themselves in their several parts. Jenny
Lind acted admirably, and sang the airs allotted to her exquisitely.
But yet the _Masnadieri_ could not be considered a success. That by
its production I had adopted the right course was unquestionable. I
had induced an Italian composer, whose reputation stood on the highest
pinnacle of continental fame, to compose an opera expressly for my
theatre, as well as to superintend its production. More I could not
have done to gratify the patrons of Italian music, who desired to
hear new works. It may be stated in confirmation of the judgment of
the London audience, that _I Masnadieri_ was never successful on any
Italian stage. The libretto was even worse constructed than is usually
the case with adaptations of foreign dramas to the purpose of Italian
opera. To Her Majesty's Theatre the work was singularly ill-suited.
The interest which ought to have been centred in Mademoiselle Lind was
thrown on Gardoni; whilst Lablache, as the imprisoned father, had to do
about the only thing he could not do to perfection--having to represent
a man nearly starved to death."[25]

Poor Mr. Lumley! For the benefit of a generation who will not set
eyes on Signor Lablache, it should be stated that he was of Herculean
proportions, a giant in height, and so portly that he made a superb
Falstaff. His voice shook the walls of Her Majesty's Theatre, and he
had a heart as big as some men's bodies.

It is well to know something of this "excessive" book. Two brothers,
Carlo and Francesco, are the sons of Maximilian Moor, an old Bohemian
noble. The younger brother Francesco is envious of the fortunate
first-born, and poisons his father's heart against him. Carlo driven
from home, joins a robber band, and Francesco impatient to reap the
fruits of his wickedness seeks to accelerate the old man's death by
telling him that his first-born has met with his death. Francesco's
next scheme is to implore Amalia, the betrothed wife of Carlo, to
marry him, but she resents his odious suit. Quite by chance she meets
Carlo, to whom she tells everything, and as he, in one of his raids
in the forest, has discovered his father almost starved to death in a
cave, the desire for vengeance cannot be restrained. He summons his
co-outlaws, who swear to avenge the wrongs of the infamous Francesco.
This done, Carlo reveals himself to his father and bride, but the
horrible revelation that he is a robber does not hinder their sympathy
and tenderness towards Carlo. Amalia offers to marry him just as he is,
bound by oath to outlawry. This is impossible. Maddened by despair,
he thrusts his poniard into her bosom, and thus meets her appeals for
relief by death. Thus ends this most tragic story; the music keeping
pace with the varied emotions of horror, of melancholy, and tenderness,
which the subject alternately excites.

There were beautiful numbers in _I Masnadieri_, or "The Brigands,"
notably the grand scena "_Tu del mio Carlo al seno_," with its
_cabaletta_ "_Carlo Vive_," which Jenny Lind could sing entrancingly;
the duet between Amalia and Francesco; the air "_Lo, sguardo_,"
deliciously accompanied by the wind instruments; the quartet "_Tigre
feroce_"; the tenor air "_O mio castel paterno_," wherein Gardoni's
beautiful voice, and manner, were so noticeable; the trio in which the
superlative powers of Jenny Lind, Gardoni, and Lablache were united;
and, to name one more number, the air "_Volasti alma beati_," with its
beautiful harp accompaniment. Notwithstanding many attractions, it
was a dead failure, and only kept the boards two or three nights. "_I
Masnadieri_," an authority afterwards wrote, "turned out a miserable
failure, as it deserved to do, since it could but, at all events, as
was rightly said, increase Signor Verdi's discredit with every one who
had an ear, and was decidedly the worst opera that was ever given at
Her Majesty's Theatre, the music being in every respect inferior even
to that of _I Due Foscari_."[26]

All the critics did not decry the opera. Writing of _I Masnadieri_ the
_Illustrated London News_ said of it:--"The story is in many respects
a horrible one; it represents passions and crimes which, if they are
unhappily not untrue to human nature, are yet better excluded from
theatrical representation, and cannot be considered as within the
scope of the tragic art; with all this, however, for the groundwork
of an opera it is exceedingly effective, and admirably suited to the
character of Verdi's music, which is here dramatic in the extreme,
and somewhat excels the masterpieces of Meyerbeer and other composers
of the German "Romantic School" of music.... The opera was highly
successful. The talented _maestro_, on appearing in the orchestra to
conduct his clever work, was received with three rounds of applause.
He was called before the curtain after the first and third acts, and
at the conclusion of the opera amidst the most vehement applause.
The house was crowded to excess, and was honoured by the presence of
Her Majesty and Prince Albert, the Queen-Dowager, and the Duchess of
Cambridge."[27]

_I Masnadieri_ gave the leaders of public musical taste another
chance--a legitimate opportunity which they did not fail to embrace.
The opera was one of those decided failures which occur betimes in
every walk of art, very often giving the lie direct to the maker's
estimate of his work. Gounod, for instance, used constantly to
express, and has done so within our hearing, that _Mireille_ was his
best opera. Yet the public has set its seal upon _Faust_, a work that
has brought more money to impresarial coffers than any other opera
that could be instanced. Who has heard _Mireille_, compared with the
thousands who have listened to the beautiful and picturesque music of
_Faust_, elevating in its very loveliness? _I Masnadieri_, to quote
the _Athenæum_, "at all events, must increase Signor Verdi's discredit
with every one who has an ear. We take it to be the worst opera which
has been given in our time at Her Majesty's Theatre.... There is not
one grand concerted piece--a condition hard upon a composer whose only
originality has been shown in his concerted music.... The performance
must be recorded as the failure of a work which richly deserved to
fail, in spite of much noisy applause."[28] "Since our last," continued
the _Athenæum_ in a subsequent notice, "_I Masnadieri_ has been played
and sang twice. Surely the question of our good (or bad) taste in
rejecting _Il Maestro_ as an authority is finally settled, and the
field is left open for an Italian composer. Signor Verdi has left
England."

Our comment upon this piece of prophetic egotism is that the master is
to-day admired by the artistic universe, is unrivalled by any living
master of music, and for a while, at least, will be unsurpassed, if
ever closely approached, by a composer of his own country.

_The Times's_ notice of _I Masnadieri_ was more favourable. To find
some glimmering of good, therefore, in a Verdi score of this period
affords, certainly, relieving reading. Jenny Lind's singing is
particularly noted, and strangely enough, airs, duets, _cabalette_,
etc. (involving that melodic fancy and invention said to be so wholly
wanting in Verdi), are expressly cited as "points" of the opera, to
wit--"The duet with Gardoni in the third act was another piece of great
effect, and the pleasing _cabaletta_ '_Lassu resplendere_' earned the
singers a call."[29]

Verdi rushed from England disgusted with the critics; but to be fair
to that sagacious regiment, in this instance, their verdict was well
found; for nowhere was _I Masnadieri_ successful, not even when as
_Les Brigands_ it was produced in France in 1870. This took place at
L'Athenée Theatre, when Mademoiselle Marimon filled the part of Amalie.

The failure of _I Masnadieri_ did not lessen Mr. Lumley's unbounded
faith in Verdi; and when Signor Costa threw down the _bâton_ (this
opera being the last he conducted at Her Majesty's) to assume the post
of _chef d'orchestre_ at the rival Covent Garden house, Mr. Lumley
offered the young Italian _maestro_ the vacancy. A tempting offer of
a large salary, a three years' engagement, and the right to put a new
opera of his own composition upon the stage each year was made. What
tremendous art issues hung in the balance! A consent from Verdi, and
his later works might never have been written, for the turmoil of
a conductor's life knocks out of a man all energy for composition;
besides which, when once the _bâton_ is taken up, the creative faculty
invariably disappears. Fortunately, the _maestro_ could reply only in
the negative, since he was pledged to write two new operas for Lucca
the publisher, and a theatre engagement would prevent his fulfilling
this contract, the cancelling of which Lucca would not entertain.

The end of this business was that Verdi, on the _ne sutor ultra
crepidam_ principle, stuck to his last, and instead of turning
conductor remained composer.[30]

In a short time there appeared _Il Corsaro_ and _La Battaglia di
Legnano_, which advanced their composer's reputation but little. _Il
Corsaro_ was first given at the Grand Theatre, Trieste, on the 25th
October 1848. It had words by Piave, based upon Byron; and Lucca, the
publisher, paid Verdi £800 for the score, but it was never a success. A
somewhat better reception fell to _La Battaglia di Legnano_, produced
at Rome in 1849, because it afforded the sensitive Italians a further
political outlet. The libretto was patriotic in its drift, and Verdi,
true to himself, had imparted to the music an ardent aggressive
character, which had already won political friends.

Verdi's next opera, however, was to make amends for these scores. The
management of the San Carlo Theatre at Naples, the exchequer of which
was not in a healthy state, had arranged with Verdi for a new opera,
the price for which was to be £510. The libretto was by M. Cammerano,
and has been adjudged as one of the best of opera books. It tells of
Luisa Miller, the daughter of an old soldier, who has two lovers, the
favoured one being Rudolpho, the son of Count Walter, the lord of the
village, of whose rank, however, she and her father are ignorant until
the latter is informed of it by Wurm, the Count's Castellan, Luisa's
rejected suitor, who out of jealousy also informs the old Count Walter
of his son's attachment. The Count, on hearing the news, is enraged,
and insists upon his son marrying his cousin Federica, the widow of the
Duke of Oldstheim, to secure which he imprisons the old soldier Miller,
only releasing him upon Rudolpho's threatening to divulge a murder
which his father has committed. In the second act Wurm is met urging
Luisa to write a letter renouncing Rudolpho, the conditions upon which
the Count will release her father, which letter is to prefer the choice
of Wurm, and to be witnessed. The document is then taken to Rudolpho,
who, maddened, challenges Wurm; while the Count, to accentuate matters,
pretends that he is now willing for his son to marry Luisa, but that,
as she has betrayed him, he should show his revenge by marrying the
Duchess. All advanced tenor singers will recall the fine recitative,
"_Oh! fede negar potessi agli occhi miei!_" and aria, "_Quando le sere
al placido_," in which Rudolpho's anguish is expressed at this crisis
of the story. The third act introduces Luisa in the greatest despair,
praying for death as a relief to her grief. Here Rudolpho appears, and
learning from Luisa's own lips that she wrote the letter, puts poison
into a cup, drinks it himself, and offers it to Luisa, who takes a
draught. Knowing that her last hour is come, she reveals the plot, when
Rudolpho's cries of despair are so intense that Miller, villagers,
and Wurm rush to the scene. Suddenly Rudolpho stabs Wurm, and then
lays himself down to die by the side of Luisa. The whole is a shocking
story, but not more horrible and repulsive than the _Rigoletto_,
_Traviata_, and _Trovatore_ libretti.

Verdi finished the score, and leaving Paris, where the cholera had
broken out, he reached Naples in time to find the San Carlo house in a
state of bankruptcy. The production of, as well as the payment for, the
opera was delayed; but eventually, _Luisa Miller_ came out on the 8th
December 1849. Verdi was present at the first performance, and while
standing on the stage surrounded with friends, had a somewhat ominous
experience. A side scene suddenly fell, and would have crushed Verdi,
but for his presence of mind in throwing himself back. A superstitious
story attributes the accident, and the cold reception of the last act
of the opera, compared with the boisterous triumph of the others,
to the influence of an evil genius--_jettatore_--in the person of
one Capecelatro, who, evading vigilance, had gained admission to the
theatre and to the presence of the composer, just as he had succeeded
in doing when _Alzira_ was so coolly received.

It has to be observed that the Neapolitans are renowned for their
superstition, and that Capecelatro was credited with possessing the
evil eye.

Withal _Luisa Miller_ was a success at Naples, if not later on in
London and Paris. Madame Gazzaniga took the part, singing the music
superbly, and on all sides it was agreed that the composition was one
of Verdi's grandest efforts. Later opinions have somewhat confirmed
this, while not a few connoisseurs have regarded _Luisa Miller_ as the
most coherent and consistent of the composer's works, excepting always
his latest operas.

_Luisa Miller_ was another of the operas which Mr. Lumley produced
during his unfortunate reign at Her Majesty's Theatre. Here is the
account of its introduction:--

"On Tuesday the 8th June (1858) was given for the first time on the
Anglo-Italian boards, Verdi's opera of _Luisa Miller_, and both
Mademoiselle Piccolomini and Madame Alboni were included in the 'cast.'
Of this work some Italian critics had been accustomed to speak as the
_chef d'œuvre_ of this favourite composer. But the production of
_Luisa Miller_ did not greatly benefit the management. The 'Little
Lady' (Piccolomini) displayed all her attractive qualities as an
actress, and as an actress reaped her harvest of applause. But by
general accord, on the part of Verdi-ites, the opera was declared to be
the weakest of his many productions. It was considered to be wanting
in melody, a charge seldom brought against Signor Verdi. There were
no particular salient points to be looked forward to as the _grands
bouquets_ of Signor Verdi's musical fireworks, as is the case in most
of his other operas. The libretto, also, founded upon Schiller's
early tragedy of _Kabale und Liebe_, a subject, it might be thought,
highly favourable to lyrical working out, had lost so much of its true
dramatic metal in passing through the crucible of the Italian _poeta_,
that it had come out a mass of unattractive and unsightly ore. Passages
of interest and passion could not be altogether wanting with a subject
in which the dramatic instincts of the composer could not be utterly
silent; but the true element, both musically and dramatically speaking,
was evidently absent, at least to English minds. Signor Giuglini sang
the one pleasing _romanza_ to the delight of a crowded audience;
and Alboni poured forth her mellifluous notes in an interpolated
_cavatina_; but _Luisa Miller_ failed to win the suffrages of the
frequenters of Her Majesty's Theatre. It lingered, hoping for success
'against hope,' on the boards of Her Majesty's Theatre for a very few
nights, and then fled them to return no more."[31]

An able critic, writing of this feature of the 1858 season, says:--

"The only real novelty that Mr. Lumley ventured to mount and bring
forward was Verdi's _Luisa Miller_ ... the result of which was
unequivocal failure, for dull and mawkish as is the work itself,
Mademoiselle Piccolomini had not the slightest pretension to have been
thrust into the leading character, and Madame Alboni made nothing of
the small part of the Duchess Fredrica, although she evidently tried
to do so, by substituting a _cavatina_ for the original duet of the
opera. Giuglini alone was appreciated, the music being somewhat suited
to his style; but he began to manifest the bad taste of relying upon
long breaths, loud A's, and other meretricious devices, instead of
singing legitimately and sensibly. Beneventano, Vialetti, and Castelli,
who undertook the other parts, trenched so closely upon the grotesque,
that they produced amusement rather than pleasure. In spite of its
being said that _Luisa Miller_ had thoroughly succeeded, its immediate
withdrawal from the bills positively enough proved the contrary."[32]

_Luisa Miller_ found no favour in the eyes of the _Athenæum_ critic.

"There is little from first to last in the music to reconcile us to the
composer.... As regards the solo music, _Luisa Miller_ contains nothing
so good.... The heroine might be Gilda, Violetta, or Abigaille for any
touch that marks her life or her country.... The want of local colour,
however, might be overlooked (in consideration of the master's school
and country), were there any compensating beauty of melody. Everything
that is not trite in the score is unpleasant.... The songs are in the
known Verdi patterns, full of fever, empty of feeling.... The music
of _I Due Foscari_ was meagre and dismal enough, but the music of
_Luisa Miller_, so far as idea is concerned, seems yet more meagre and
dismal."[33]

In these and similar terms did Mr. Chorley dismiss _Luisa Miller_.
Nor was _The Times_ criticism more hopeful, since that summed up the
opera "as an uninterrupted series of commonplaces, pale, monotonous,
and dreary, which may fairly be symbolised as the sweepings of our
composer's study or the rinsings of his wine-bottles.... The music of
_Luisa Miller_ is not worth the consideration to which an ambitious
failure might be entitled."[34]

If Verdi studied his press notices at all attentively--Press Cutting
Agencies were not institutions of those days--he could have been under
no apprehension as to what two at least of the English journals thought
of his endeavours. Yet, here was the opera containing among other
beautiful music that really fine piece of declamatory song-writing,
the recitative and romanza "_Quando le sere al placido_." Any one
fortunate enough to have heard the late Gardoni sing this beautiful
song--neighbours in Duke Street, Portland Place, where Gardoni several
years back lodged in the same house with Pinsuti, often heard it--would
assuredly apply to it some better epithet than "wine-bottle rinsings"
or "sweepings." Thousands of pounds in royalties are to-day being paid
on maudlin, semi-religious, and other songs which, for sterling musical
worth and merit, are no more to be compared with this one song by Verdi
than a rush-light is to be likened to the illumining power of the
glorious mid-day orb.

Not even in his _Recollections_ was Mr. Chorley able to forget his
_bête noir_. Speaking of the 1858 season, he says: "Also there was
presented a third work, new to our Italian stage, Signor Verdi's _Luisa
Miller_.... It has seemed to me that, as one among Signor Verdi's
operas, _Luisa Miller_, taken on its own terms, of fire, faggot, and
rack, is the weakest of the weak. There are _staccato_ screams in it
enough to content any lover of shocking excitement; but the entire
texture of the music implies (I can but fancy) either a feeble mistake,
or else a want of power on the part of an artificer who, obviously (as
Signor Verdi does) demanding situation and passion and agony to kindle
the fire under his cauldron, has, also, only one alphabet, one grammar,
one dictionary, whatsoever the scene, whatsoever the country--one
_cantabile_, one spasmodic _bravura_, one feverish _crescendo_, as the
average tools, by pressure of which the stress on the public is to be
strained out."[35]

Feeble criticism, indeed, so far as the genius of penetration is
concerned, but powerful enough in all conscience in its egotism and
exuberance of etymology.

It was given on the 7th December 1852 at the Théâtre Italien in Paris,
when Mademoiselle Sophie Cruvelli (La Baronne Vigier) took the title
_rôle_, but neither Cruvelli, nor, a few weeks later, the admirable
Bosio, could give wings to the work. As recently as 1874 Madame Adelina
Patti achieved a genuine success with the part, albeit she was badly
supported by her colleagues in the cast. During the London Italian
Opera season of that year, Madame Patti, much to her credit, added this
work to her already extensive _répertoire_.

Two operas--one _Stiffelio_, produced unsuccessfully at Trieste on the
16th November 1850, the other, _Il Finto Stanislas_, belonging to the
same year--require mentioning only, before we pass to the period of
those successful operas which brought Verdi universal fame.

[Footnote 19: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 180.]

[Footnote 20: _The Life and Works of Verdi_ (Pougin--Matthew), p. 92.]

[Footnote 21: _Reminiscences of the Opera_ (Lumley), p. 214.]

[Footnote 22: _Illustrated London News_, 18th March 1848.]

[Footnote 23: _Athenæum_, 18th March 1848.]

[Footnote 24: _The Times_, 15th March 1848.]

[Footnote 25: _Reminiscences of the Opera_, p. 192.]

[Footnote 26: _Musical Recollections of the Last Half-Century_, vol.
ii. p. 195.]

[Footnote 27: _Illustrated London News_, 24th July 1847.]

[Footnote 28: _Athenæum_, 24th July 1847.]

[Footnote 29: _The Times_, 23rd July 1847.]

[Footnote 30: It will be remembered that Michael William Balfe
eventually took Signor Costa's place at Her Majesty's Theatre.]

[Footnote 31: _Reminiscences of the Opera_ (Lumley), p. 442.]

[Footnote 32: _Musical Recollections of the Last Half-Century_, vol.
ii. p. 320.]

[Footnote 33: _Athenæum_, 12th June 1858.]

[Footnote 34: _The Times_, 14th June 1858.]

[Footnote 35: Chorley's _Musical Recollections_, vol. ii. p. 297.]

CHAPTER VI

_RIGOLETTO_ TO _AÏDA_--SECOND PERIOD OPERAS

Turning-point in Verdi's career--The libretto of
_Rigoletto_--Production of _Rigoletto_ in Venice, London, and
Paris--Great success of the opera--_Athenæum_ and _The Times_ on
_Rigoletto_--"_La Donna è mobile_"--A Second period style--_Il
Trovatore_ written for Rome--The libretto--Its reception at the
Apollo Theatre--The work produced at the Royal Italian Opera,
Covent Garden--Its cast and Graziani's singing therein--Lightning
study of the _Azucena rôle_--_Athenæum_ and _The Times_ on _Il
Trovatore_--_La Traviata_--The libretto and argument--The first
performance at Venice a _fiasco_--Judgment reversed--Brilliant
success of the opera in London--Piccolomini's impersonation of
Violetta--Mr. Lumley's testimony--The Press and _La
Traviata_--_Athenæum_ and _The Times_ criticism of _La
Traviata_--_Les Vêpres Siciliennes_--_Prima donna_ runs
away--Reception of the opera in Paris and London--Verdi in
Germany--_The Times_ criticism--_Simon Boccanegra_ a failure--_Un
Ballo in Maschera_--Trouble with the authorities--Production and
success of _Un Ballo in Maschera_--Its reception in London--_The
Times_ on the opera--_La Forza del Destino_ unsuccessful.

We here reach a period in the composer's career where unmistakable
signs of a change in Verdi's musical manner present themselves. Verdi
was a born musician. So too, were Bellini and Donizetti, but Verdi, by
industry and study, has done immeasurably more for Italy's art than
these or any other of her sons. A musical progressivist, he has ever
been on the art march. Not content with writing opera after opera of
the normal Bellini stamp, we find him at this stage improving upon
his model, and engaging in the construction of a series of opera
compositions which, analysts declare, constitute a Second period in
Verdi's artistic development. The first of these works was _Rigoletto_.

Verdi had entered into an agreement with _impresario_ Lasina to write
another opera for the Fenice Theatre, and Piave had prepared a libretto
based upon Victor Hugo's drama, _Le Roi s'amuse_. Everybody knows the
tragedy, and that it was suppressed lest the cap should fit, because
the principal part of _François Premier_ showed a depraved libertine,
whose capers were not unreflected in Royalty. The libretto provoked the
Austrian supervision, and brought in the police. The original title of
the book was _La Maledizione_, but this was dropped. It closely follows
the French play, the locality and the personages only being changed.
There is the deformed jester or fool of the Court, who is prostrated
by a malediction from a father whom he has mocked, and who is punished
for his witticism by Gilda, his daughter, being made the victim of his
Sovereign. This unfortunate girl is then seen giving up her own life to
save that of her betrayer, the Duke having been entrapped into a lone
house to be assassinated by the jester's orders.

Eventually, all points being arranged, Verdi set to work upon
_Rigoletto, Buffone di Corte_, which was produced with signal success
on the 11th March 1851. That world-famed melody "_La Donna è mobile_"
made an instantaneous hit, and has been hummed and sung to death
in every quarter of the globe ever since. To make quite sure that
the public should not get wind of this tune before the night of the
performance, Verdi did not put it upon paper until within a few hours
of the time when Mirate, the tenor, had to sing it.

As soon as it could be arranged, the opera was introduced at London and
Paris, being brought forward at the Italian Opera, Covent Garden, for
the 1853 season, and at the Théâtre Italien in the French capital on
the 19th January 1857. _Rigoletto_ was a brilliant success in London;
indeed, of three operatic novelties which Mr. Gye produced in that
season, it was the only one that proved attractive or profitable.
On this occasion the cast was:--_Gilda_, Madame Bosio; _Duke of
Mantua_, Signor Mario; _Rigoletto_, Signor Ronconi; _Sparafucile_,
Signor Tagliafico; while subordinate characters were represented by
Mlle. Didiée (Magdalen), Madame Temple, Signor Polonini, and others.
Mario's singing was splendid, and the acting of Ronconi was greatly
admired. "Great as was the histrionic genius of Ronconi admitted to
be, his Rigoletto has combined displays of comedy and tragedy that
can only recall the well-known picture of Garrick between Thalia and
Melpomene. Let us instance the scene in the Ducal palace in the second
act" (wrote an eye-witness) "in which Rigoletto strives to smile with
the courtiers, whilst his heart is breaking at the abduction of his
child--an abduction in which he himself has been made, innocently, to
assist. The expression of Ronconi's face in this scene, one-half of the
face a court jester, the other half that of the bereaved father, can
never be forgotten."[36]

In Paris a French translation of _Rigoletto_ was equally well received.

The musical characteristics of _Rigoletto_ were immediately discerned
and discussed. The general drift of the criticism was that in
_Rigoletto_ melody was wanting, that there were no fine concerted
pieces, and that the opera possessed everything save living properties.
The truth was, Verdi was expressing himself in something of a new
language that had yet to be learned.

Here is what an impartial critic thought of _Rigoletto_ at the time of
its production:--

"We have never been the champions nor the detractors of Verdi, and
we recognise in _Rigoletto_ a higher order of beauty than struck us
even in _Ernani_ and the _Due Foscari_, and an abandonment, at the
same time, of his most palpable defects. _Rigoletto_ cannot be ranked,
however, as a masterpiece; it is full of plagiarisms and faults, and
yet abounds with the most captivating music."[37]

The following is what the _Athenæum_ had to say of _Rigoletto_, a work
which, by the bye, was performed at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent
Garden, as recently as last season, when it was received with well-nigh
unbounded applause and real pleasure:--"Such effect as _Rigoletto_
produces is produced not by its dramatic propriety of sound to sense.
There is hardly one phrase in the part of the Buffoon which might not
belong to Signor Verdi's Doge in _I Due Foscari_ or to his _Nabucco_.
The music of combination and dramatic action, again, is puerile and
queer--odd modulations being perpetually wrenched out with the vain
hope of disguising the intrinsic meagreness of the ideas, and flutes
being used for violins, or _vice versâ_, apparently not to charm
the listener but to make him stare. Thus, the opening ball scene,
accompanied throughout by orchestras on the stage, the abduction
_finale_, the scene between Rigoletto and the courtiers, and the storm
in the last act, are alike miserable in their meagre patchiness and
want of meaning.... Signor Verdi is less violent in his instrumentation
in _Rigoletto_ than he was in his earlier operas; but he has not here
arrived at the music of intellect and expression, which is French or
German, as distinguished from the music of melody, which is Italian....
The air of display for Gilda in the garden scene, called in the
published copies of the music a _Polacca_, though in common tempo, is
as ineffective a mixture of commonplace and eccentricity as it ever
fell to the lot of a _prima donna_ to deliver."[38]

_The Times_ spoke thus of _Rigoletto_:--"The imitations and plagiarisms
from other composers are frequent, while there is not a single
elaborate and well-conducted _finale_, or even _morceau l'ensemble_. In
aiming at simplicity, Signor Verdi has hit frivolity. In other operas
he has often, with a certain degree of success hidden poverty of idea
under a pompous display of instruments; but in the present, abandoning
that artifice, and relying upon the strength of his melodic invention,
he has triumphantly demonstrated that he has very few ideas that can
be pronounced original. In short, with one exception (_Luisa Miller_),
_Rigoletto_ is the most feeble opera of Signor Verdi with which we have
the advantage to be acquainted, the most uninspired, the barest, and
the most destitute of ingenious contrivance. To enter into an analysis
would be a loss of time and space."[39]

And yet, after forty years or more of musical progress, a crowded
fashionable house, to say nothing of the wisdom of the management,
will assemble to give its time, attention, and money to listen to an
opera which, if we are to believe these two sapient leading critics of
a past age, was scarcely worth the paper upon which it was written!
Both old and new journalism to-day appears to have everything to say
in favour of _Rigoletto_! Instead of the opera dying, it has proved,
we repeat, one of the most admired of Verdi's early works, and we who
are living the years of this closing nineteenth century can see what
a fitting connecting link _Rigoletto_ forms between Verdi's First and
Third period works. The composer bridges us quietly over from impulsive
musical youth to a ripe artistic fulness which, natural as it all
seems to us who can look back upon Verdi's gradual development towards
perfection of style, must have bewildered his closely scrutinising
contemporaries. No previous work of his had shown similar masterly
force and originality. Apart from the evergreen "_La Donna è mobile_"
air, such attractive numbers as the soprano romance, and the soprano,
tenor, and bass duos in the second act, are beauties of the opera that
will always tend to keep it on the stage; while no praise would be too
much to bestow upon the quartuor in the last act, a piece of concerted
music which competent judges are agreed would of itself be sufficient
to stamp Verdi as a composer of rare fancy and imagination.

Since its style and merit were maintained in several works that
followed it, this opera well lends itself as the starting-point of a
Second era in Verdi's career as a leading composer for the Italian
lyric stage.

_Rigoletto_ was the first of a series of fine examples of dramatic art,
which brought world-wide fame and ample profit to Verdi, lifting him,
at the same time, into the first rank of operatic composers. In the
face of its alleged defects--absence of melody and concerted pieces,
together with a subdued, restricted orchestration--the audiences
accepted it, the general feeling being that it stood unsurpassed by any
Italian opera. Every _habitué_ of the opera-house to-day is familiar
with the sparkling beauties of _Rigoletto_, and fittingly enough, the
opera finds a place in almost every season's programme. The strongest
proof of its merits, however, is the fact that performances of the
work, extending over a period of forty years, have neither diminished
its attractiveness nor prejudiced a new and rising generation against
either the book or the music. Several of Verdi's early operas have
weathered the test of time and fashion bravely, especially if we
remember the evanescent nature of opera generally; but not one, not the
_Trovatore_ among his early works, is more highly regarded by musical
people to-day than is _Rigoletto, the Court Jester_.

With the composer's next opera we meet Verdi the melodic universalist.

It was at the Apollo Theatre in Rome that the _Trovatore_ first saw
the light on the 19th January 1853. Cammarano the Italian poet found
subject in _El Trovador_, a brilliant drama by Guttierez, a talented
Spanish author of only nineteen summers. The story, a revoltingly
horrible one, is well known. A gipsy woman put to death by a nobleman
on a charge of witchcraft, has a daughter to whom she bequeaths the
task of avenging her death. The daughter steals the Count's younger
child, and brings him up as her own, instilling into his mind a
hatred of his own brother, whom he knows not to be such. The brothers
become rivals in love; the reputed son of the gipsy (who has risen
to distinction) being preferred by the object of their passion. The
quarrel becomes deadly; the younger brother falls into the hands of
the elder, who orders his execution. The gipsy witnesses the death of
her supposed son; and when the axe has fallen, turns exultingly to the
Count exclaiming, "My mother is avenged; you have murdered your own
brother!" The lady who is beloved by the rival brothers, unable to save
her lover's life, swallows poison. The epoch is the fifteenth century.

Undaunted by frailties of his _collaborateur_, the _maestro_ went to
work, and in a short time _Il Trovatore_ was clothed in musical garb.
What that harmonious garment proved the world well knows--too well, say
some who, like the late Mr. Babbage, mathematician and calculator, have
been almost driven to death by organ-grinders. Whatever was confused
and improbable in the book was amply atoned for by the music, for Verdi
set it to some of his most passionate-human melody and harmony.

The first representation was awaited with feverish excitement, akin to
the musical sensibilities of the Italian people. The day proved wet and
cold, but not sufficiently so to damp the ardour of the enthusiastic
Romans. At early morn the theatre doors were besieged, and as the
hour of the performance drew near the pitch of fervour was intense.
Eventually the crowd got into the theatre, packing it from floor to
ceiling with marvellous rapidity and dangerous discomfort. Then amid
alternate periods of strained attention and agitation, the opera was
performed. Each scene and situation brought down thunders of applause
until the very walls echoed with the shoutings. Outside, the people
took up the cry, and there arose such shouts of "Long live Verdi!"
"Verdi and Italy!" "Italy's greatest composer!" "Viva Verdi!" as could
be heard again inside the theatre.

The artists at this memorable performance were Signore Penco (Leonora)
and Goggi; and Signori Grossi (Manrico), Baucarde, Guicciardi, and
Balderi.

The spread of the _Trovatore_ music was electrical. Theatre after
theatre produced the work, so eagerly did subscribers and patrons
clamour. At Naples three houses were giving the opera at about the same
time.

It was at this time that Verdi was meeting with a determined opposition
from a brother craftsman from whom better treatment might reasonably
have been expected. "In Naples," states an eye-witness, "Mercadante
reigned supreme. He would not listen to the sound of Verdi's name.
He declared even _Rigoletto_ was bosh,--you know I was then singing
_Gilda_ at the Teatro Nuovo;--he had the Court and the highest society
for his patrons, and managed to set everybody against poor Verdi.
Things went so far that he organised a cabal against him at Court,
and when _Trovatore_--which by the way, after Rome, the people would
have--was brought out at San Carlo, Mercadante had so ingratiated
himself with the censor Lord Chamberlain, and I don't know who else,
that they only allowed two acts of _Trovatore_ to be sung, and there
was a perfect revolution in the town until the third and fourth acts
were accorded by the management. I was the first one to sing the full
score at little Teatro Nuovo. The subscribers who were three nights at
San Carlo were the other three nights at my theatre; and to my dying
day I shall never forget the success it had! Happily Teatro Nuovo was
the first in the field with the complete opera.... It is impossible to
conceive the tricks and cabals against Verdi put up by old Mercadante.
One would have thought that as he was old and nearing his grave, and
as his last opera at San Carlo had been a failure, he would have had
some consideration for the young and struggling artist; but, on the
contrary, he kept Verdi out of Naples as long as he could. The people
finally wouldn't stand it any longer; they weren't going to put up even
with Mercadante at his best when there was a fresh new composer taking
Italy by storm--when every Italian capital was singing his operas, and
Naples, according to all, the very seat of fine arts, the only city
deprived of hearing Verdi and acclaiming his works."[40]

Not only in Italy did the _Trovatore_ "take." It went the round of the
European capitals in an unprecedentedly short time, and nowhere was
it admired more than in that stronghold of contrapuntal prejudice,
Germany, where its alluring melodies proved simply irresistible.

In 1854 it was given at the Paris Théâtre Italien, and the following
year saw its production in London. The management of the Royal Italian
Opera, Covent Garden, brought it forward on Thursday, 11th May,
when it was received with warm applause, which increased with every
representation. On this occasion the principal parts were filled by
Madame Viardot[41] (Azucena), Mdlle. Jenny Ney (Leonora), Signor
Tamberlik (Manrico) and Signor Graziani (Conte di Luna), who did full
justice to Verdi's captivating music.

Referring to this remarkable performance, an experienced writer says:--

"The favourable impression Graziani had made in the _Ernani_ induced
the management to put him forward in another of Verdi's operas, _Il
Trovatore_, a work which has brought more money into theatrical
treasuries than any other production of modern times. If Graziani
had sung nothing else in this opera than the air '_Il balen del suo
sorriso_,' as the Conte di Luna, he would have permanently established
himself; yet whoever witnessed the clumsy manner in which he 'loafed'
down to the footlights as the symphony of this air was being played--as
he still does--could by no means have anticipated anything else than
a manifestation of the most positive vulgarity, instead of hearing
the beautiful voice and suave _cantabile_ with which he invested that
somewhat commonplace, yet not the less popular, invention. Mdlle. Ney
was the Leonora on this occasion, and was singing and acting with care,
according to the habit of German stage usage, but nothing more. The
event of the evening, however, was Madame Viardot's Azucena, the part
she had 'created' in Paris, and one of the most remarkable performances
of its time. The savage, credulous, restless Spanish gipsy, strong in
her instincts, but whose reason amounts to little beyond a few broken
ideas of revenge, was manifested in every word, look, and gesture.
Since Pasta and Rubini left the stage, nothing of nicer vocal finish,
and nothing in dramatic utterance more true and beautiful than her
delivery of the _andantino_, '_Si la stanchezza_,' had ever been
listened to. The Royal Italian Opera had never, indeed, heard such
singing as hers in such music, which lay thoroughly within her compass,
the middle portion of which had gained both body and sweetness.
Tamberlik undertook the part of the Trovatore, and gained ground with
his audience as the opera proceeded; but his magnificent voice gave
unwelcome evidence of wear and tear in its diminished resonance, when
he desired to use it to advantage in the most exacting passages."[42]

It will be allowed, we suspect, that no dramatic-lyric work is so
well known, or has enjoyed a more amazing popularity than has Verdi's
opera of _The Troubadour_. Whatever may be its merits and demerits,
it is unquestionably a work which has delighted a generation fast
passing away; while it bids fair to afford equal pleasure to a new
and rising one, judging by the hearty reception given to the opera
at recent performances. For long and long have ominous words been
uttered predicting the decline and death of _Il Trovatore_, with all
Italian opera of its kin. But behold it is alive and well! Thanks to
the efforts of "apostles" of music like Hullah and others, musical
education has gone on apace since _Il Trovatore_ first appeared here;
but with all this, and all the classicism which it has been fashionable
to ape in music, there yet remains something in Verdi's opera that
still attracts, not merely the "mob," but educated people. This
suggests merit of some kind. What said critics forty years ago:--

"By the choice of his subjects," says the _Athenæum_, "we sometimes can
gauge a composer, as well as by his melodies. Bellini may have known
even less of the scientific processes of composition than Signor Verdi
(whom report declares to be a thoughtful, cultivated gentleman, as
anxious according to his measure of light for dramatic reality in opera
as Herr Wagner himself), nevertheless Bellini contrived to appropriate
two of the best Italian books ever written, those of _Norma_ and _La
Sonnambula_.... But in _Il Trovatore_, as throughout every opera by
the master with which we are acquainted, these gleams of purpose and
intelligence are relieved and contrasted against a general ground of
commonplace, than which little more monotonous in its mannerism can
be conceived. The dash which may be found in the _cabaletta_ '_Ditale
amor_' with its _staccati_ and its sighs and sobbings, and its snatch
at high notes by way of brilliancy, is as old as _Ernani_. The
_cantabile_ for the tenor, in 3/4 time, and with a plurality of flats
for key, has been written for tenor and baritone one hundred times, if
once, by Donizetti. The movement of the _stretto_ to '_Cruda Sorte_'
in Signor Rossini's _Ricciardo e Zoraide_, the employment of principal
voices in unison, whether it be placed or misplaced, are anew resorted
to here, with a coolness nothing short of curious, in one who believes
that he has a mission and professes to write a 'system.'"[43]

_The Times_ notice of _Il Trovatore_ was more appreciative than
usual. There was a desire to find something good in the musician, and
although the criticism hardly conveys the idea that the work referred
to would ever attain the extraordinary popularity which it has done, a
popularity extending to this hour, yet it must, in justice, be noted
that certain favourable points in the work did appeal to, and were duly
chronicled by the critic. Not that we can admit that the notice was
one to induce the composer to feel at ease. A spirit of antagonism to
Italian art still reigns, and throughout it seems to ring out the old
familiar theme, that no good thing could come out of Italy. Nor could
it have greatly served Verdi's art-progress.

"_Il Trovatore_," to quote a few of its strains, "though it exhibits
Signor Verdi in his best holiday attire, is hardly destined to raise
him in the estimation of real judges.... The kind, and degree of merit,
the direct influence of his music, and its chance of outliving an
ephemeral reputation are questions apart.... He is neither a Rossini,
nor an Auber, nor a Meyerbeer; far from it; but he is not, as some
would insist, a nonentity, almost as far indeed from that as from the
other.... The weaker part of the first act" (we are told) "is the
trio, where the Count (Signor Graziani) surprises the troubadour in
the presence of Leonora, which is rambling and incoherent, and after
all but an apology for a trio, since the tenor and soprano are in
unison almost throughout. The last movement is vulgar and commonplace,
ill-written for the voices, and extremely noisy."[44]

This is what the _Illustrated London News_ thought of _Il Trovatore_:--

"The production of _Il Trovatore_ at the Royal Italian Opera has
been attended with complete success.... On its first performance (on
Thursday) it was received with warm applause, and on the Saturday and
Tuesday following its reception was more and more enthusiastic. It
is evident that the _Trovatore_ will be a permanent addition to the
_répertoire_ of the theatre. We expected this. Verdi's latest opera
had not only been received with acclamations in his own country; it
had achieved triumphs in the principal theatres of Germany; and, last
of all, in Paris; and it was not likely that London would reverse
the judgment pronounced by the most authoritative tribunals of the
Continent. Verdi has long been popular as a dramatic composer; and
his popularity has been literal--gained by the voice of the multitude
in opposition to that of criticism. While writers learned in musical
lore have been labouring to prove that Verdi is a shallow pretender,
his operas have been giving delight to thousands in every part of
Europe."[45]

Wherever performed, in Italy, France, Germany, Russia, or England, the
tale has always been the same respecting the _Trovatore_. It has been
truly enjoyed by the public who have flocked to hear it; and those
pieces which are favourites now were favourites from the first. It did
not pretend to be a classic, but times and oft it has done the trick
for managers in filling their coffers; and after all, any legitimate
work which accomplishes this for many years together must not be
lightly regarded. Even to-day, forty years and more after its first
production, _Il Trovatore_ when well presented never fails to make a
deep impression upon audiences. In the 1895 season it was given (May
18) at the Covent Garden Opera with Signor Tamagno in the title-role,
when the entire opera was listened to with breathless attention. The
enthusiasm was unbounded, and the favourite old work roused as much
excitement as if it had been a brand new opera.

_La Traviata_, a name familiar almost as the _Trovatore_, was the title
of the composer's next opera. The _maestro_ had witnessed younger
Dumas' _La Dame aux Camelias_, that none too delicate play, which, in
its day, startled even the Parisians, and he suggested the work to
Piave the librettist as an opera book. _The Traviata_ was to satisfy
an engagement with the direction of the Fenice Theatre, and by working
double tides, _i.e._ during the while he was composing _Il Trovatore_,
Verdi had the score ready for production on the 6th March 1855, some
ten weeks after the _Trovatore_ "first night."

Opera-goers are familiar with the pathetic story and the sorrows of
the erring, interesting heroine. La Traviata, _i.e._ the outcast or
lost one, is a youthful beauty and reigning favourite, who gives a
splendid entertainment at her house. Among the gay company is a young
gentleman, Alfredo by name, who really loves her, and who inspires her
with a similar attachment. Actuated by a pure and mutual passion, they
retire to the country, where they live together in happy seclusion. One
day, in Alfredo's absence, Violetta receives a visit from a venerable
old gentleman, who announces himself as the father of her lover.
He represents to her the ruinous consequences of his son's present
course of life, and urges her to save him, by consenting to leave him.
Resolving to sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of his welfare,
she departs on the instant for Paris, leaving him in the belief that
she is faithless, and has forsaken him for another. She returns to her
former life, and afterwards meets her lost lover at a party given by
one of her friends. Alfredo is furious at the sight of her, insults her
grossly, challenges the man whom he considers his successful rival, and
the poor girl is carried fainting from the apartment. Her heart is now
broken, and nothing remains for her but to die. In the last scene, she
is in her bedchamber, extremely weak, but sustained by hope, for her
lover's father moved by her sufferings has written to say that he will
bring his son to her. They arrive. The lover flies to her and for a
moment there is rapture; but the shock is fatal. The dying flame goes
out, and she dies of joy in his arms.

The success of _Il Trovatore_ had brought Verdi immense popularity
throughout Europe. Great things therefore were expected at this
performance of _La Traviata_. Signora Donatelli was the Violetta,
Signori Graziani and Varesi filling the parts of the lover and the
father respectively. The work was a failure!

"_La Traviata_ last night was a _fiasco_. Am I to blame, or the
singers? Time will prove," wrote Verdi to friend Muzio. The _fiasco_
might have been avoided had all the contributing circumstances been as
evident as the astonishing disparity that existed between the imaginary
Violetta and the lady filling that _rôle_, who to a commanding stature
added a splendid physique with _embonpoint_, weighing some twelve
stone, which made it madness to imagine that the ravages of a galloping
consumption had left her but a few short hours to live! Of course, the
house burst into a roar, and went off into an uncontrollable fit of
laughter that drove everybody off the stage.

Verdi was distracted, but felt confident that this judgment could be
reversed. He made alterations, substituted Louis XIII. costumes for
"swallow-tail and white choker" dress, and with a new cast, including
a Violetta that could be encompassed, the work was given at the San
Beneditto Theatre. The _éclat_ was immense, _La Traviata_ that had
been hissed and hooted was acclaimed to the skies. Speedily it spread
over Italy, and in the following year was brought to London. The
irresistibly affecting story--one which the sternest moralist could
barely listen to unmoved--was chosen by Mlle. Piccolomini for her
London _début_ in the 1856 season. To quote Mr. Lumley's own words:--

"Mlle. Piccolomini, a young Italian lady of high lineage, made her
curtsey on the boards of Her Majesty's Theatre on Saturday the 24th
May in Verdi's opera _La Traviata_, since become so famous and (it
may be said at once, in spite of all that may be stated hereafter) so
great a favourite, but produced for the first time on that occasion on
the Anglo-Italian boards. The enthusiasm she created was immense. It
spread like wildfire. Once more frantic crowds struggled in the lobbies
of the theatre, once more dresses were torn and hats crushed in the
conflict, once more a mania possessed the public. Marietta Piccolomini
became the 'rage.' From the moment of her _début_ the fortunes of the
theatre were secured for the season."[46] "Opera and singer both were
new," continues Mr. Lumley. "Curiosity and interest were excited both
for the one and the other. There was an overflowing house. As through
the coming season, so through her first night was the charming young
lady's success unquestionable. After a warm reception, such as English
audiences are wont to give by way of welcome to a meritorious stranger,
Mlle. Piccolomini was to be heard and judged, and (what, as it turned
out, was more to the purpose), she was to be seen. Applause followed
her opening efforts. The charm of manner had begun to work. The second
act produced at its conclusion a burst of genuine enthusiasm. At the
end of the opera it was a frenzy. The whole house rose to congratulate
the singer when recalled. The charm was complete. The vivacity of
acting (especially in the death-scene of the _finale_) had worked
their spell. Marietta Piccolomini was adopted at once as the pet (and
afterwards how much petted!) child of Her Majesty's Theatre.

"Verdi's music now shared the same fate as its fortunate exponent.
It pleased, it was run after, it became one of the most popular
compositions of the time. It is true that musical 'purists' cavilled
and criticised severely; that anti-Verdists denounced it with all
the epithets of their stereotyped vocabulary as 'trashy, flimsy, and
meretricious'; but, in spite of opposition and of bigotry, it not
only attracted (perhaps even more than any other of Verdi's operas)
countless crowds when the favourite 'charming little Piccolomini'
was its exponent, but achieved a marked and lasting popularity at
other theatres, as well as in every music hall throughout the land.
Notwithstanding the accusation that the '_Traviata_ was weak and
commonplace,' the 'catching' melody and, above all, the dramatic force
and expression of a composer whose principal merit consisted in the
peculiarity that he really was dramatic, gained upon the masses. It
attained considerable popularity, moreover, in spite of a dangerous and
equivocal subject; one which was denounced from the pulpit, denounced
by mighty authority in the press, denounced even at one time by popular
sentiment itself."[47]

Quite a contrast to the state of things when the work was howled at by
the merry Venetians!

On the night of its first performance in this country, the _caste_
included, besides Mlle. Piccolomini, Signori Calzolari and Beneventano,
who filled the parts of the lover and father respectively.

A critic, one by no means usually ill-disposed towards Verdi, wrote of
the performance as follows:--

"A new production from the prolific pen of _Maestro_ Verdi is a thing
to which we are pretty well accustomed, and it happens that the new
production in question, _La Traviata_, is the weakest, as it is the
last, of his numerous progeny. It has pretty tunes, for every Italian
has more or less the gift of melody; but even the tunes are trite and
common, bespeaking an exhausted invention, while there are no vestiges
of the constructed skill, none of the masterly pieces of concerted
music, which we find in the _Trovatore_ or in _Rigoletto_."[48]

A section of the English press made a dead set against the opera, but
the test of time has given the lie to detractors. Despite the heroine's
damaged reputation, the music has proved sufficiently good, lasting,
and attractive to keep the opera on the English boards, not to mention
Continental theatres, for full forty years. The "highly immoral" story
did not prove destructive to England's youth and age. The British
character survived it!

When _La Traviata_ was ready to be played before the British public,
there was a great outburst of moral indignation. Mr. Lumley gives
his version of the affair: "Permission was in vain demanded of the
Lord Chamberlain to allow adaptations of the drama to appear upon the
English stage. That this prohibition should have been enforced on a
stage where _George Barnwell_, and more especially _Jane Shore_ (the
heroine of which old tragedy is also a sympathetic Traviata, who dies
a miserable death), are upheld as 'fine old legitimate' plays, and
were once produced on the chief assemblage of the youth of the age at
Christmastide, did not appear very consistent or even logical; and
the _Traviata_ appeared. And a considerable surprise (in spite of all
previous minor 'grumblings') fell upon the public when it found its
favourite opera morally crushed to the earth by the mighty thunder of
the press. The 'foul and hideous horrors' of the _Traviata_ were held
up as proper objects for 'deep and unmitigated censure' in the leading
journal. One clap of thunder followed on the other. In a long letter
I published an elaborate defence of my opera against the accusation
of its blatant 'immorality.' This letter appeared duly in the columns
of _The Times_, as an appendix to a still more crushing denunciation.
Minor journals flashed their own smaller lightnings in sympathetic
response to this storm from the 'Thunderer.' But the public was not
to be lectured out of its treat. It would not consider its morality
endangered. It still flocked to Verdi's opera, and the fascinating
Piccolomini."[49]

_The Times_ easily disposed of Verdi's share in the work. "The book,"
the criticism runs, "is of far more consequence than the music,
which, except so far as it affords a vehicle for the utterance of
the dialogue, is of no value whatever, and, moreover, because it is
essentially as a dramatic vocalist that the brilliant success of Mlle.
Piccolomini was achieved.... For the present, it will be sufficient to
treat _La Traviata_ as a play set to music. To Dumas fils, who invented
the situations, and Mlle. Piccolomini, who delineated the emotions of
the principal character, belong the honours of a triumph with which the
composer has as little to do as possible."[50]

The _Athenæum_ lost no time in "going for" Verdi over _La Traviata_.
The first process was an examination of the "arranged score of Signor
Verdi's setting of the _Dame aux Camelias_," whereupon the critic was
in a position to say: "It seems written in the composer's later manner,
grouping with his _Rigoletto_ and _Trovatore_, without being equal to
the latter opera; to demand from its heroine a less extensive soprano
voice than Signor Verdi usually demands; to contain in the _finale_ to
its second act a good specimen of those pompous slow movements in which
the newer Italian _maestro_ has wrought out a pattern indicated by
Donizetti; also throughout an unusual proportion of music in triple, or
waltz _tempo_.... The masquerade music is _fade_ and trivial.... There
is some of Signor Verdi's effective instrumentation in the opening of
the final _terzetto_. All these good points summed up, the new opera,
as a whole, is poor and pale--consumptive music, which can only be
relished in the absence of some healthier novelty."[51]

Subsequently, when the Lord Chamberlain of the period came down upon
_La Traviata_ on account of its questionable story, we read: "Neither
Signor Verdi's music (which is Signor Verdi's poorest) nor Mlle.
Piccolomini's singing (which every one concedes is on a very small
scale) have made the fame and the _furore_ of the opera, and the
lady.... The music of _La Traviata_ is trashy; the young Italian lady
cannot do justice to the music, such as it is. Hence it follows that
the opera and the lady can only establish themselves in proportion as
Londoners rejoice in a prurient story prettily acted ... granted that
_La Traviata_ at her Majesty's Theatre has been the poorest music,
poorly sung, which has been allowed to pass for the sake of its 'dear
improper story,'" etc.[52]

Whatever the story, whatever the music of _La Traviata_ it still lives
as an opera, and is among the best of its class. This is due again,
we believe, to the quality of the music, not to the nature of the
story, for surely Londoners did not, forty years back,--nor would they
now--betake themselves with their wives and daughters to the theatre
to enjoy a lustful, itching story. The _Traviata_ contains much of
that warm, emotional, melodic profuseness which the public likes, and
which it demands, when it throws off its working garb to take a little
pleasure, sadly as, we are told, it takes this. The popular nature of
the music, its freedom from technical and theatrical perplexity, which
the public at large is glad to be without, its ever-changing colour,
variety and expression--all this contributes to the vitality of _La
Traviata_. Has it been, too, the sensuous nature of the story which has
led so many nervous _débutantes_, highly attuned in temperament, to
select the _rôle_ to win an artistic fame in, perhaps, the highest, as
it is the most difficult of all art pursuits? We believe not.

Poor _Traviata_! Troubles did not end with Mr. Chorley, for three years
after that gentleman's decease we read:--

"How many Traviatas of how many countries have died on the lyric stage
since the lugubrious and equivocal three-act opera was produced at
Venice in March 1853?... It would be a curious calculation to count the
number of _prime donne_ who have taken to this disagreeable part....
A nice discussion as to the degree of sauciness or of bashfulness
with which the vocalists who enact the Traviata should invest the
consumptive lady, who coughs _pianissimo_ and sings _fortissimo_ in her
death-scene."[53]

_Les Vêpres Siciliennes_ was produced at the Grand Opéra, Paris, on
the 13th June 1855; so that this composition, with the _Trovatore_ and
_La Traviata_, must have been occupying Verdi's mind at one and the
same period. This was Verdi's first work written expressly for the
French stage, and it was the more strange, therefore, to find him, an
Italian composer, choosing as a subject the massacre of the French by
the Sicilians; yet Verdi could scarcely refuse Scribe's story of the
wholesale slaughter of 1282.

An amusing incident delayed the production of the work, for Mlle.
Sophie Cruvelli, for some unexplained reason, ran away and could not be
found. When at last she was traced, it was to the Strasburg theatre,
where the runaway was captured and quietly escorted to Paris. A _warm_
reception awaited her; but it so happened that her first words on her
_rentrée_ were those of Valentine in _Les Huguenots_: "Tell me the
result of your daring journey,"--an _à propos_ which fairly defeated
those who were going to hiss and hoot! They laughed heartily and
cheered instead, reflecting over some fresh announcement of _Les Vêpres
Siciliennes_. At length this came. Month after month had been spent in
rehearsals, but at last all was ready. The reception given to the opera
was of the most enthusiastic description, Mlle. Cruvelli receiving a
perfect storm of applause for her efforts in the representation. Other
artists in the cast were Mlle. Saunier and Messieurs Gueymard, Boulo,
Bonnehée, Obin, and Coulon.

_I Vespri Siciliani_--to give the opera its Italian title--pleased the
French immensely; but the Italians cared not greatly for its music,
even when adapted to a new poem entitled _Giovanna di Guzman_.

In the year 1859 it was brought to London, and presented at Drury Lane
Theatre (27th July), being mounted with great care and creditable
splendour. The principal artists, who performed with great effect,
were Madame Titiens and Signori Mongini and Fagotti, and at the time
the opera was adjudged by the _dilettanti_ one of the happiest efforts
of its composer; although, as events have proved, the later English
judgment has not set a particularly high value upon this work.

Writing for the Parisian stage, Verdi appears to have deemed it
necessary to copy the grandiose style of the Grand Opéra, to which
he sacrificed that vein of sweet, natural, Italian melody which had
won him his success. "Several _morceaux_," wrote a critic of this
London introduction, "were much applauded, but the performance went
off heavily as a whole; and we hardly think that those who sat it out
will feel much tempted to do so again. Five acts of a ponderous French
_tragédie lyrique_ are generally too much for English patience, unless
sweeping measures of curtailment are resorted to; and this might be
very advantageously done in the case of the _Vêpres Siciliennes_."[54]

One who was present thus writes of the circumstances: "But one novelty
was given--_Les Vêpres Siciliennes_--which I had heard four years
previously at the Grand Opéra, Paris, with Mlle. Cruvelli as the
heroine. It failed here, as elsewhere, to maintain the reputation
which Verdi had won by his _Trovatore_, _Traviata_, and one or two
other works of minor importance. In the absence of Mlle. Cruvelli, who
had retired from the stage, Mlle. Titiens undertook the part of the
heroine; but although she laboured conscientiously to make something of
it, it completely beat her, and she has been wise enough never again to
waste her powers upon crudities that betray nothing else than leanness
and want of resource by reason of their noise and eccentricity."[55]

_The Times_ was good enough to allow next day that the work was
produced "with incontestable success." In criticising the music
subsequently, _The Times'_ critic said: "Though the piece of itself, in
spite of its melodramatic and spectacular character, appears somewhat
heavy and spun out, it is enriched with many of Signor Verdi's happiest
thoughts.... In short, it may reasonably be concluded that the _Vespri
Siciliani_ will maintain its place amongst the best operas of its
composer."[56]

Verdi, perhaps, made obeisance for such appreciation from _The Times'_
critic, who from the first, it should in fairness be remarked, had
spoken less disparagingly of Verdi's prospects as a musician than
had the _Athenæum_ critic. The prediction, however, that _I Vespri
Siciliani_ would maintain its place among the best operas of its
composer, was singularly unfortunate as a piece of critical forecast,
inasmuch as it has been sadly falsified. The reasons for this need not
be discussed; suffice it to say that thousands who know and delight in
the _Trovatore_, _La Traviata_, and _Rigoletto_ music, have not heard
the _Sicilian Vespers_. Thousands more could not even distinguish the
opera by its name.

The score that followed _Les Vêpres Siciliennes_ was _Simon
Boccanegra_. The management of the Fenice theatre sought another work
from the first Italian master of the day, and _Simon Boccanegra_ was
the consequence. Once more the libretto was by Piave. This opera,
produced on the 12th March 1857, proved a failure, a result that was
attributed partly to the unsuitability of the leading singers, and
partly to the feeble book. Later on, an attempt was made by Boito and
Verdi to recast it; but neither Milan nor Paris would lend ears to the
opera. Yet the following year it was given at Naples with enthusiasm.
"Its first performance took place," wrote a critic, "on the 28th
November 1858, and was crowned with the most complete success. The
audience was densely crowded, and so brimful of enthusiasm that the
_maestro_ was called for seventeen times in course of the evening."[57]
One of its best vocal numbers is the scena, "_Sento avvampar
nell'anima_," with the aria, "_Cielo pietoso, rendila_," a thoroughly
characteristic Verdinian song, and one which might well be found in
every tenor vocalist's _répertoire_.

Let it not be thought that Verdi was waning. Only a few months elapsed,
and the _maestro_ was ready with a work, _Un Ballo in Maschera_, which
was to prove another triumph.

The original title was _Gustave III._, but the police, watchful of
Verdi, and freshened by the Orsini attempt upon Napoleon III.'s life,
positively refused to permit an assassination scene to be played.
Verdi was furious, and declined to adapt his music to other words,
whereupon the management of the San Carlo Theatre at Naples (who had
originally contracted for this work) sued Verdi for 200,000 francs
damages. Soon the public learned the news. Then was there something
resembling a revolution; thousands of excited Neapolitans followed the
musician wherever he went, shouting "_Viva Verdi!_" So heated did the
feeling grow, steeped as it was with virulent political animosity, that
the situation became dangerous, and eventually the authorities were
glad to allow Verdi to depart "out of their coasts" with his opera
under his arm. It next turned up at Rome. Jacovacci, the _impresario_
of the Teatro Apollo, wanted a novelty, and hearing of the squabble
at Naples, sought Verdi and offered to take the opera. The official
element insisted upon _some_ alteration, but finally the opera was
produced on 17th February 1859, and met with a splendid reception, once
more sending Verdi's name and tunes over all Europe. The artists were,
Mesdames Julienne Dejeau, Scotti, and Sbriscia, with Signori Fraschini
and Giraldoni, but Verdi was not satisfied with their interpretation of
his score.

On the 15th June 1861, _Un Ballo in Maschera_ was produced at the Royal
Opera, Lyceum, and met with an enthusiastic reception. The subject
is the same as that of Auber's celebrated opera _Gustavus III._--the
assassination of the King of Sweden at a masked ball. Undoubtedly it
is one of the best of Verdi's Second period operas. The audience were
delighted with the music, and all good judges perceived that the work
was in every sense a grand opera.

_Un Ballo in Maschera_, when produced for the first time in England,
brought _The Times_ again to the fore. "It presents enough," the review
ran, "to show his (Verdi's) talent still ripening, and his inventive
faculty in its prime; but it cannot be regarded as 'his _Guillaume
Tell_,' _Rigoletto_ being out of all comparison a better work, while
_Il Trovatore_ and _La Traviata_ (to say nothing of those earlier
compositions _Nabucco_ and _Ernani_) contain isolated passages of
marked superiority.... Unquestionable as are the merits of his score,
piece after piece demonstrates his musical inferiority to Auber.... To
describe the opera scene after scene would be a work of supererogation.
Its pretensions as a whole are not of a sort to call for technical
analysis, or even to bear a very close scrutiny; while the beauties by
which it is enriched (and they are frequent) _se déroulent_, as the
French say, so easily, reveal themselves with such complacency, start
out from the canvas, in short, in such bold relief and endowed with
so marked an individuality, that they render themselves familiar at a
glance, and put that into shade which, after all, is scarcely worth
bringing to light--we mean the general framework in which they are
set. Those pieces which are not the most likely to become popular, but
which in the majority of instances are also, from a musical point of
view, decidedly the best, may be summed up in a 'catalogue' not over
_raisonnée_."[58]

This criticism, unmarked though it be by any evident sympathy with
Verdi's muse, might pass as a somewhat favourable estimate of an effort
of Verdi's. But it is illogical. Upon reference to what appeared in
_The Times_ eight years before, respecting _Rigoletto_, we fail to
trace a good word. "A very few (words) will suffice to recall its
beauties. Its faults we have not space to describe. The continental
critics have informed us that _Rigoletto_ presented a transformation in
Signor Verdi's style as complete as that of Beethoven when the Second
Symphony was succeeded by the _Eroica_. A very attentive hearing,
however, left us convinced that Signor Verdi's style in _Rigoletto_
was much the same as in his other operas. There is certainly no
difference.... Verdi is as essentially Verdi as in _Nabucco_ and
_Ernani_, with the proviso that in _Nabucco_ and _Ernani_ there are
stirring tunes and flowing melodies which are nowhere to be met with in
_Rigoletto_."[59]

Such language, and that which appears on page 110 is plain,
unmistakable, emphatic. How, then, shall we read the line of
comparative comment upon _Un Ballo in Maschera_--"_Rigoletto_ being out
of all comparison a better work"?

One more opera, and we must close this chapter. This was _La Forza del
Destino_, the libretto of which by Piave was borrowed from a Spanish
drama entitled _Don Alvar_. The work was a commission from the Imperial
Theatre of St. Petersburg, and was produced there on the 10th November
1862. It was only a _succés d'estime_, the Court of Russia and the
Muscovite populace not being greatly moved by it. Yet it was well
rendered by Mesdames Barbot and Nautier-Didiée, with Signori Tamberlik,
Graziani, Debassini, and Angelini. Precisely the same fate that
attended the work in the Russian capital befel it at La Scala, Milan,
in 1869, as well as at the Paris Théâtre Italien seven years later.

There was not a little that was restless and novel in _La Forza del
Destino_, which probably accounts for its cool reception from those
who were ready enough to welcome another of the old and approved Verdi
operas. That change of style which was, later on, to show itself so
unmistakably in _Aïda_, _Otello_, and _Falstaff_ was beginning to
possess the composer's mind. Sufficient of the new manner oozed out
in _La Forza del Destino_ for critics and analysts now to point to
that opera as the work in which Verdi's Third style first begins to
be traceable, and it can scarcely be surprising that an unprepared
public failed to be impressed with the first hintings at a new style
which had yet to be placed before the musical world in a matured and
comprehendable state.

With this work, Verdi appeared to bid farewell for ever to the operatic
stage; but, as all the world knows, a long artistic silence meant
merely a retirement for the gathering up of resources that were to
burst forth and bring Verdi into a perfect blaze of popularity.

[Footnote 36: _Illustrated London News_, 21st May 1853.]

[Footnote 37: _Illustrated London News_, 21st May 1853.]

[Footnote 38: _Athenæum_, 21st May 1853.]

[Footnote 39: _The Times_, 16th May 1853.]

[Footnote 40: _Verdi: Milan and "Othello"_ (Roosevelt), p. 49.]

[Footnote 41: _Apropos_ of this distinguished cantatrice, sister
to the immortal Malibran, an interesting narrative is related in
connection with the first production of _Il Trovatore_ in Paris, where,
by the way, it soon had no less than one hundred representations.
Verdi himself has told the tale. "The morning arriving for the first
performance, Madame Alboni announced that she was ill, and the opera
could not be given that night. What was to be done? Every one was
waiting; every seat was sold. I was in despair. Happily, I thought of
Madame Viardot. I said to myself, 'She is the only woman in the world
who, at a moment's notice, can take the part, if she will only consent
to do it.'

"I tore off to her house. It was early in the morning. 'Mon cher,' she
said, 'what on earth has brought you at this hour?'

"I hastily told her the cause. 'Alboni is ill.'

"'But what can I do?' she said.

"'You must sing it,' I cried.

"She interrupted, 'I have been so busy, I haven't even seen the music;
I haven't looked at it.'

"'There it is,' I said, producing a roll. 'It is very easy; it will
be nothing to you.' So, laughing and chatting, and protesting that
she couldn't, I sat down to the piano. We ran the music of Azucena
over from beginning to end two or three times. In the afternoon we had
another rehearsal, and that evening she sang the part with overwhelming
success.

"'That is what we call a quick study,' said Verdi, laughing, 'to
learn such a _rôle_ in the space of eight hours, dress it, and go on
the stage and sing it; but then, you must remember there is only one
Pauline Viardot in all this world'" (_Verdi: Milan and "Othello"_
(Roosevelt), p. 49).]

[Footnote 42: _Musical Recollections of the Last Half-Century_, vol.
ii. p. 280.]

[Footnote 43: _Athenæum_, 12th May 1855.]

[Footnote 44: _The Times_, 14th May 1855.]

[Footnote 45: 19th May 1855.]

[Footnote 46: _Reminiscences of the Opera_ (Lumley), p. 375.]

[Footnote 47: _Reminiscences of the Opera_ (Lumley), p. 377.]

[Footnote 48: _Illustrated London News_, 31st May 1856.]

[Footnote 49: _Reminiscences of the Opera_ (Lumley), p. 379.]

[Footnote 50: _The Times_, 26th May 1856.]

[Footnote 51: _Athenæum_, 3rd May 1856.]

[Footnote 52: _Athenæum_, 16th August 1856.]

[Footnote 53: _Athenæum_, 9th May 1874.]

[Footnote 54: _Illustrated London News_, 30th July 1859.]

[Footnote 55: _Musical Recollections of the Last Half-Century_, vol.
ii. p. 325.]

[Footnote 56: _The Times_, 1st August 1859.]

[Footnote 57: _Illustrated London News_, 11th December 1858.]

[Footnote 58: _The Times_, 17th June 1861.]

[Footnote 59: _Ibid._, 16th May 1853.]

CHAPTER VII

_REQUIEM_ MASS AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS

Verdi as a sacred music composer--Share in the "Rossini" Mass--Failure
of a patchwork effort--_Missa da Requiem_ produced--Splendid
reception--Performed at the Royal Albert Hall--Structure of the
work--Von Bülow's opinion--Divided opinions on its style and
merit--Its character--Modern Italian Church style--Northern
_versus_ Southern Church music--Verdi's early compositions--E minor
Quartet for Strings--_L'Inno delle Nazioni_--Its performance at
Her Majesty's Theatre--Verdi's slender share in orchestral
music--National temperament involved--Thematic method inconsistent
with Italian national life.

Verdi must not be overlooked as a writer of sacred music. Hundreds
of composers have contributed more freely than he has to the store
of ecclesiastical music, and although strict Church musicians might
contend that, from many points of view, any consideration of Verdi as
a sacred composer would be unnecessary, yet, withal, there is ample
reason for considering and comparing the religious, as distinct from
the secular, musician in Verdi.

Like his great compatriot Rossini, who, towards the close of his
career, composed a _Stabat Mater_ that has provoked, perhaps, more
criticism than any other piece of Church music, Verdi has signalled his
later years with a sacred composition which has also been the subject
of much discussion.

In order to do honour to Rossini, whose death was being deplored, some
of Italy's sons conceived the notion of a grand Mass to be performed
once every hundred years, on the centenary of Rossini's death, and
nowhere else save at the Cathedral of Bologna. There was, at least,
the charm of novelty in such an idea, and considering the period of
time that was to elapse between the performances, the prospect of the
music ever becoming hackneyed was certainly remote. But the greatest
difficulty, the serious patchwork venture of such a mixed composition,
does not appear to have entered the heads of the promoters. Thirteen
numbers for a Mass were given out to the leading Italian composers,
who entered into the spirit of the plan with an unanimity worthy of a
better cause, and such numbers were duly completed; but when it came
to the tacking together of these pieces, the result was a thorough
Joseph's coat, as vari-coloured as that famous garment, and so
unsatisfactory that the committee decided that it would never do, even
for a once-a-century performance.

Then came the question of a way out of the difficulty. Who should be
entrusted with the commission for a complete work? Now the thirteenth
number--a lucky quantity on this occasion--was the _Libera me_ in C
minor, by Verdi, which so attracted the attention of Signor Mazzucato
of Milan, that he begged Verdi to take upon himself the responsibility
of composing a complete _Requiem_ Mass. This suggestion seems to have
clung to him, for, as all the world knows, he eventually gave us that
_magnum opus_ with which most amateurs in this country are already
familiar. Strangely enough, Rossini's name dropped out of association
with the new mass, which, when it was produced, was to honour the
memory of Manzoni, Italian poet-patriot, who, full of years, joined the
ever-increasing majority on 22nd May 1873.

The first performance of this _Missa da Requiem_ took place in the
church of San Marco at Milan on the 22nd May 1874, to mark the
anniversary of the death of Manzoni, the composer's old friend,
whom--to quote Verdi's own words--"I regarded so much as a writer, and
venerated as a man--one who was a model of virtue and patriotism."
Musicians and _dilettanti_ from all parts of the world attended
this notable performance, which Verdi conducted in person. There
was an orchestra of one hundred executants, and a chorus of some
hundred and twenty singers, while the _soli_ parts were entrusted to
Mesdames Stolz and Waldmann, with Signori Capponi and Maini; and since
these musicians were leading performers, gathered from all parts of
Italy, the effect of such a combined artist-effort was striking and
enthusiastic indeed. The fine mass was splendidly performed, and as
number after number was unfolded before the rapt congregation, its
impressiveness and grandeur held every listener spellbound. The solemn
beauty of the "_Offertorium_," "_Sanctus_" and "_Dies Iræ_" proved
specially noticeable, and must have seriously suggested to the late
Dr. von Bülow, who was present criticising the work, that beautiful
part-writing was an art not altogether unknown to the Italian musician.

The pent-up interest in the score was, however, soon to give vent. In
order to afford many others an opportunity of hearing the mass, and
of expressing their feelings spontaneously, Verdi permitted it to be
performed three times at La Scala Theatre, undertaking, good-naturedly,
to conduct the first performance. Then on Monday, the 25th May, the
theatre was crammed with an audience which--no longer restrained by
sacred surroundings--shouted applause from beginning to end of the
work. Several of the numbers were encored, and more than once the vast
crowd of people rose _en masse_ crying, "_Viva Verdi!_"

In 1874 (4th June) the work was given in Paris, at one of the Salle
Favart "Matinées Spirituelles," when the same solo singers as at Milan
rendered the mass superbly. Later on it was brought to England, and a
memorable performance of it took place at the Royal Albert Hall, when
Verdi himself wielded the _bâton_. This was on Saturday afternoon, 15th
May 1875. The soloists were Madame Stolz (soprano), Madame Waldmann
(contralto), Signor Masini (tenor), and Signor Medini (bass), who
were supported by the powerful choral and instrumental resources for
which this great music hall is famous. The exact complement of the
band was 150, while the chorus numbered some 500 to 600 singers. Upon
making his appearance Verdi, as may be imagined, received a tremendous
ovation, for he had not been in London since 1847, when he attended
the production of his opera _I Masnadieri_ at the Royal Italian Opera.
The master proved a good conductor, his style and method as a _chef
d'orchestre_ being as firm and assuring for his forces as it was
attractive and instructive to the audience that watched his beat.
The performance was in every sense a success, and marked with all
that enthusiasm which the presence of a great artist always provokes,
albeit the effects realised in Milan and Paris were, it was generally
admitted, not attained in so vast a hall. The numbers that seemed to
please most were the "_Lachrymosa dies illa_," the "_Agnus Dei_" duet,
and the double chorus "_Sanctus_."

From this and subsequent renderings of the _Requiem_, the general
English public have formed whatever judgment it may now entertain of
the work. These opinions are not necessarily correct, since they are
based, as unscientific opinions about music generally are, upon the
attractiveness rather than on the intrinsic worth of the music as
Church or ecclesiastical art-work.

The Mass is comprised in the following seven numbers:--

1. "_Requiem_" and "_Kyrie_" for quartet and chorus.

2. "_Dies Iræ_"--in four parts, solo and chorus, with trio for
soprano, contralto, and tenor.

3. "_Offertorium._"

4. "_Sanctus_"--fugue, with double chorus.

5. "_Agnus Dei_"--duet and chorus, soprano and contralto.

6. "_Lux Æterna_"--trio for soprano, tenor, and bass.

7. "_Libera me_"--soprano solo, chorus, and fugue finale.

These combine to make up a fairly perfect example of the modern Italian
grand mass.

The late Dr. Hans von Bülow declared this work to be a monstrosity,
and when it was performed at the Paris Opéra Comique, although the
enthusiasm quite equalled that evoked at Milan, the opinion in the
_foyer_ was divided as to whether the mass was a sacred or a secular
work! Here was a serious blot for a great man's composition which
aimed at being sacred, both in intent and tone. Fearlessly the purists
persisted in their charge that the work was purely secular and
operatic in style. Other alleged defects of the mass were subsequently
discovered. For instance, one writer declared that "there are more than
a hundred mistakes in the progression of the parts." Was all this true?

When, at the age of sixty-one, Verdi surprised the musical world
(which, up to that time, had known him only as an opera composer) with
a composition for the Church, anxiety was great to catch the ravishing
melodist as a creator of ecclesiastical music. This done, it was
possible to admit that the style of the great _Requiem_ was elevated,
even pathetic, in its religious expression, replete with youthful fire.
_Soli_, _ensembles_, and choruses were, by their masterly polyphony,
adjudged worthy of Mendelssohn himself. Some ground for such praise
really existed, for here and there Verdi, in the _Requiem_, even
approaches Mozart in depth of feeling, while his manner of expression
is allied to the modern classical school.

Indisputably, however, Verdi's _Requiem_ is an Italian mass, both in
character and colour. Its prevailing features are identical with those
of the _Stabat Mater_ and the _Messe Solennelle_ of Rossini. There is
local colour, the atmosphere of which can never be dispelled; besides,
too, comes a flood of luxuriant, entrancing melody, characteristic
of the Italian operatic school. All southern nations, the Italians
especially, love sound for the sensuous effect it produces. They
love not laboured theoretical art. Is this admissible in Church
music? Rapturous, unctuous music is not permanently strengthening and
soul-raising. Emotionally, it carries to a great height, only to lead
to a reaction, and to some lower estimate of music that captivates
but does not elevate. In the _Requiem_, there is abundant theoretical
workmanship--more such evidence than is usually met with in modern
Italian Church music; yet, although this was the studied purpose of the
musician, it has not enabled Verdi to rid himself of characteristics
which stamp southern musical art as plainly as they do the architecture
and the person. Sensuous and exciting music is acceptable enough in
its way, but it does not constitute good Church music. It is this
character, inseparable from the Italian nature, that forbids an
unqualified acceptation of the _Missa da Requiem_ as a contribution to
the store of best Church music. None but the wildest partisans could
deny, however, that in this mass Verdi has given to the world some of
the finest music he ever wrote; he has, moreover, furnished abundant
proof of his scholarship as a theorist, showing that he really was
able to do more than string tempting melodies together to please the
capacities of the _polloi_.

While approved musical taste remains what it is, and does not
degenerate, modern Italian Church music will not be highly regarded
for use in the sanctuary. Northern and southern Europe are much wider
apart in Church musical style than they are geographically; and all
sound musicians know where to look for that style and expression which
most nearly approach the ecclesiastical ideal. The _stila fugata_
is nobler and sterner than the straightforward melody sumptuously
accompanied, so that the Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven mass, and the
_oratorii_ of Bach, Handel, Mendelssohn, and Spohr, furnish a far more
appropriate, and adequate, sacred musical manner than does anything
that is Italian. With the Teuton style come mysticism and reverence;
with the Italian passion and secularism, the latter ill-suited indeed
to profound doctrines propounded at Church altars. A melody may be as
ample a medium for religious expression as an eight-voice fugue; hence,
it is not imperative that Italian musicians should practise writing
oratorios on a wholesale scale before essaying Church music. It is
not the medium, however, that we are contending against. Some of the
greatest, grandest prayers have been expressed in simplest song. It is
the colouring element, the atmosphere, pervading southern Church music
which, being operatic, renders such music inadmissible by the side of
German and English religious art. This objectionable feature stamps
Verdi's _Requiem_ from beginning to end. The score is impregnated with
the world, and not with the cloister. The Italian worshipper must have
movement and action, rather than reflection, even in his devotional
music. As we think, the contemplative mood rather than the persuasive
is the one to inspire, as well as to promote, a due appreciation of
lofty things, and a religious service. This, Teuton music supplies,
but the modern Ita

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