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.]