THIRD PERIOD OPERAS
A matured style--Methusaleh 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.
We venture upon the Third and last, the "mature" period in Verdi's
great career. It forms a truly interesting phase of a long life,
because it has proved productive of his best music. This later work
places Verdi at the head of his profession, and among the most
remarkable men of the century. That, when verging on sixty years of
age, he should submit _Aïda_, an opera abounding in the strength,
vitality, and freedom of youth, constituted a musical event that
was greeted with enthusiasm by the whole artistic world; but it was
regarded as something more extraordinary when, fifteen years later,
the great creative faculty of the master found vent in _Otello_. This
achievement won the admiration of lovers of art and letters throughout
the globe. Yet that stroke was to be surpassed. Five years later,
when the _maestro_ was eighty years of age, to the astonishment of
everybody, _Falstaff_ was given to the world. No wonder that Verdi has
been styled the "grand old man" of music.
The genesis of _Aïda_ was on this wise. Ismail Pacha, Khedive of Egypt,
desired a novelty for the inauguration of the new Italian theatre at
Cairo, and sought a brand-new opera, on the composer's own terms.
Verdi--consulting pupil Muzio--named the sum of £4000 sterling, to
which the Khedive agreed. The feeling was towards a work with local
colour and interest; hence the _Aïda_ book--the joint production of
Mariette Bey, M.C. du Cocle, and Signor Ghislanzoni--was decided upon.
In a few months the score was completed; meanwhile the scenery and
costumes were being prepared in Paris. But there proved to be no
heed for haste. The Franco-German war broke out, and for several
months the art of painter and costumier was locked up in the besieged
city. At length the eventful day for the production of _Aïda_ came
round, however, and the work was given for the first time publicly,
at the Cairo theatre, on Sunday, 24th January 1871. The cast was as
follows:--_Aïda_, Madame Pozzoni-Anastasi; _Amnéris_, Madame Grossi;
_Radamès_, Signor Mongini; _Ramfis_, Signor Medini; _Amonasro_, Signor
Costa; _King_, Signor Steller, with Signor Bottesini as conductor,
because Verdi, having a horror of the sea and given to _mal de mer_,
could not be induced to make the journey to Cairo. The final rehearsal
lasted from seven in the evening until half-past three the next
morning, while the performance itself was one of the most gorgeous
that had graced even the Egyptian capital. Crowds were turned from the
doors, and those who had seats might have sold them, to use a common
and hardly accurate expression, for their weight in gold.
Notabilities of every country were there, sharing the evident
enthusiasm of the Khedive, who, when the representation was concluded,
sent a telegram to Verdi congratulating him heartily upon the success
and excellence of the work. The excitement was immense, and the salvoes
of applause that greeted number after number of the opera were easily
heard outside the walls of the theatre. There was only one opinion
about _Aïda_. On all sides it was adjudged a masterpiece, the finest
work that had been issued from the master's pen. From Cairo _Aïda_ was
taken to La Scala Theatre (17th February 1872), and subsequently it was
presented at the Théâtre Italien in Paris, where in three successive
seasons it had some seventy representations. In 1876 it was produced
for the first time in England at Covent Garden Theatre; and a French
version of the opera was also given at the Paris Opéra on 22nd March
1880.
The scene of the opera is laid at Memphis and at Thebes during the
rule of the Pharaohs over Egypt. Aïda, daughter of Amonasro, King of
Ethiopia, having fallen into the hands of the Egyptians, is brought
back a prisoner into Egypt, where her grace and beauty win for
her a place as slave to Amnéris, the Egyptian king's daughter. In
this association she is seen by Radamès, a captain, and eventually
commander-in-chief of the Egyptian troops. Amnéris, entertaining a
secret affection for this young soldier in her father's service,
becomes alarmed on finding that the bearing of Aïda shows her to be
similarly affected. Her jealousy is aroused, and she vows vengeance on
her rival. Amonasro then comes into prominence. A prisoner in one of
the battles between the Egyptians and the Ethiopians, he is brought
to Egypt, no one save Aïda knowing his rank, for he was fighting as
an officer merely. As a reward for his martial services, the Egyptian
king offers Radamès his daughter's hand in marriage, which, seeing
that he is deeply in love with Aïda, places him in a difficult
position. Amonasro meanwhile gets scent of the affection between Aïda
and Radamès, and discovering their trysting-place, urges his daughter
to induce Radamès to betray his country. This he does, and being
seized, is tried, found guilty, and condemned by the sacred council
to be buried alive. Amnéris, the king's daughter, secures for him her
father's pardon, on his consenting to abandon Aïda for ever. This he
refuses to do, for he prefers the slave to the mistress. On the stone
being lowered which is to immure him in a living tomb, he is seen with
Aïda by his side, she having contrived to penetrate into the dark vault
of the Temple of Phtha in order to prove her constancy and love, by
sharing his fate, and like Romeo and Juliet, dying together. Such is
briefly the story of the _Aïda_ libretto.
A close study of the plot shows it to be neither strictly logical
nor consistent; at the same time the book abounds with striking and
sensational situations, appreciated alike by musicians and dramatists.
That empress of song, Madame Patti, created the principal character in
_Aïda_ when it was first given in this country on the 23rd June 1876.
The other principal singers were Mdlle. Ernestina Gindale (Amnéris),
Signori Nicolini (Radamès), Graziani (Amonasro), Capponi (Ramfis),
and M. Feitlinger (King of Egypt). As every frequenter of the opera
who can recall that eventful night will remember, it was a brilliant
night. The Royal box was fully tenanted, including the Prince and
Princess of Wales, with the Princes Albert Ernest and George Frederick.
The cantatrice thrilled the audience by the purity and tenderness of
her singing, notably in her delivery of Aïda's agonised soliloquy
in the third act. In no previous part had she shown greater powers,
and the assumption of the part placed her in the front rank of lyric
_tragédiennes_. On all sides it was admitted that Verdi had achieved
a great and unexampled success. The main topic was the new order of
Verdi's music in _Aïda_, of which more in another chapter.
In 1876 something much like a change of front takes place on the part
of the _Athenæum_. It no longer gives Verdi his _congé_, but blames the
English directors for allowing four years to elapse before producing
_Aïda_:--"The reputation of Signor Verdi ought to have induced the
directors to bring out, as promptly as possible, any new opera by
him."[61] Referring to _Aïda_ the notice runs:--"The consecration
scene, in which Radamès is invested with the command of the Egyptian
army, is highly dramatic; still finer is the _finale_ of the second
act. Here are found the most telling points, for the composer revels
in the expression of extreme emotion; he has varied and conflicting
passions to set; there is the glorification of the return of a
victorious general with his army; there is the lament of the Ethiopian
prisoners; there is the exultation of Amnéris at her father, the King,
having awarded her to Radamès as the prize for his valour; there are
the suppressed tones of vengeance of Amonasro, who is not recognised
as the Ethiopian monarch and warrior in his thraldom; and there is the
deep despair of Aïda at losing Radamès, and her grief at her father
being in the hands of his enemies. The effect of the _ensemble_ is
most imposing; the parts are well and distinctly defined, and to the
individual bursts are added the choral and orchestral combinations.
This _finale_ is the grandest number in the entire score; there is
no other situation in which there is such variety and power. There
are no less than six duets in the four acts, but in no one of them
is there consistent and coherent writing; there are isolated breaks
of beauty, such as passages here and there in the duet between Aïda
and Amnéris, 'Amore! amore!' in the second act, in which the Egyptian
princess discovers that she has a rival in her Ethiopian slave, who is
a prisoner; and in the two duets in the third act, the first between
Aïda and her father Amonasro, in which she is forced to turn spy in the
subsequent _duo_ with her lover Radamès, and induce him to disclose
the secret pass by which his troops may be attacked by the enemy. The
two duets in the last act--the first in which Amnéris endeavours to
persuade Radamès to sue for pardon, and the second in the vault under
the temple between Aïda and Radamès, 'Morir! si pura e bella'--are also
excellent. There are few solos. The first is for the tenor, 'Celeste
Aïda'; the second is the _scena_ of Aïda, 'L'insana parola,' when she
learns that Radamès is to be the chief to attack her father's army; the
third is the _romanza_ of Aïda in the third act, 'O cieli azzurri,'
recalling the beauties of her own country; and the final solo is that
of Amnéris while listening to the trial and condemnation in the vault
of Radamès for his treason. The characteristics of these solos are
peculiarly those of Signor Verdi, but their finest features forcibly
recall airs which he has composed from other operas--thus the Miserere
theme of the _Trovatore_ is paraphrased more than once. The work is
very heavily scored--over-instrumented in the brass particularly, and
it would exact double the number and twice the tone of the strings
at Covent Garden to counterbalance the blatant effects. But there
are also some remarkably interesting parts in the orchestration; the
prelude or overture is short, but it conveys the notion of the Eastern
story which follows. It is dreamy and charmingly coloured; the March
is magnificent, and is sure to be played by our military bands even
if they do not possess the six long Egyptian trumpets used by Signor
Verdi.... It is true that the composer in seeking for scientific
combinations has not shown his former spontaneity, and that his themes
are at times commonplace, while his instrumentation generally is too
ponderous; but there are redeeming features in the elaborate score
sufficient to prove that he still maintains that peculiar ascendency
over the sympathies of audiences which asserts itself in striking
situations so vividly. In short, Signor Verdi has the faculty, amidst
trivialities, of never writing an opera in which there is not some
display of emotional and sensational power."[62]
Of this criticism it is but fair to the _Athenæum_ to state that, as
regards the "excessive orchestration," it is consistent with one of the
late Mr. Chorley's old charges; but in all other respects the apostate
Verdi appears now to have claims both for the fullest admiration and
attention.
A curious episode in connection with the publication of _Aïda_ was the
provocation it gave to one Signor Vincenzo Sassaroli, who was most
surprisingly perturbed because of the success of the opera and the
_Requiem_ mass. He could not conceive how publisher and public could
see anything in such music, and he went so far as to write to Ricordi
challenging a setting of the _Aïda_ libretto, which he would undertake
upon certain conditions. The avowed object of the challenge was to
prove to the world of art that the book could be set better than it had
been!
Passing over _Montezuma_, in five acts, which Verdi completed in 1878,
and which was given for the first time at La Scala, Milan, we come to
the master's next great Shakespearean setting--_Otello_.
_Otello_, a lyric drama in four acts, with a book by Arrigo Boito,
proved the second of the composer's matured period works. It was on
the 5th February 1887 that Milan--Otellopolis, as it had been for
the nonce christened--was all astir because that _Otello_ was to be
positively performed. Soon after daybreak the whole city was a mass of
mixed, excited humanity--faces known and unknown from every part of
the world--all bent on one eternal theme, Verdi and _Otello_. Ere 7
P.M. that evening La Scala was packed from pit to dome with perhaps the
most brilliant audience that had ever filled the famous theatre. Faccio
was to conduct, and no sooner did the distinguished leader appear than
thunders of applause burst from all parts of the house, so feverishly
expectant was every one concerning the music that was about to be
unfolded. No overture, but a few preliminary bars of tempest music,
and the curtain rose to a scene on the island of Cyprus, with Iago,
Roderigo, and Cassio in evidence.
It was an open secret that an excellent libretto had been prepared
by Boito, one to which the strictest of Shakespearean students could
hardly take exception; and as number after number of the music
proceeded, it became equally apparent that another great opera was born
to the world. True, Boito had ignored the first act of the immortal
bard's drama, and thus robbed Verdi of the chance of setting that fine
declamatory passage: "Most noble, grave, and reverend seigneurs"; but
the librettist had to curtail somewhere, and this first act was the
rejected one.
The cast on this eventful night included Signora Romilda Pantaleoni
(Desdemona), Signor Tamagno (Otello), M. Maurel (Iago), with Signori
Fornari and Paroli as Roderigo and Cassio respectively, the part of
Emilia being filled by Mdlle. Petrovich--artists who, on the whole, did
justice to the masterly music put into their mouths. At the conclusion
of the performance Verdi was called forward some twenty times amid
a scene of enthusiasm, and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs,
indescribable. The excited people yoked themselves to the _maestro's_
carriage, and drew him at a vexatiously slow pace (in order that he
might catch the applause) to his hotel; and those who retired to rest
that night did so to the accompaniment of singing and cries for Verdi,
which had not ceased when all good people should have been asleep.
There was a perfect _Otello_-Verdi mania.
Verdi admittedly had written another grand opera, and the great problem
was how, at the age of seventy-four, the composer could produce such
a masterpiece. In design and execution it was equal if not superior
to _Aïda_--far surpassing in construction any of his First or Second
period works. No dissentient voices could be raised in the general
chorus of praise, the opinion being that from first to last the music
was as extraordinary as it was magnificent. There was grandeur, as
there was learning; and when the technical skill did not attract the
attention, it was the surpassing beauty, the seemingly inspired nature
of the music that won both heart and ear.
It is not surprising that all the European capitals clamoured to hear
a work of such masterly force and skill, and it is creditable to our
country's art instincts to find that the opera was given at the Lyceum
Theatre in July 1889, or within little more than two years after
its production at Milan. The chief singers included Signora Cataneo
(Desdemona), with Signori Tamagno (Otello), Paroli (Cassio), and M.
Maurel (Iago). Then an excellent exposition of the work resulted.
On this occasion the _Athenæum_ stated:--"Verdi in _Aïda_ cut himself
adrift from the conventionalities of Italian opera, and produced a
work almost perfectly beautiful, glowing with Oriental colour, and
dependent to a very slight extent upon the special devices of Wagnerian
music drama. In _Otello_ we miss the special characteristics which lend
such a charm to _Aïda_, and are disposed to judge it with severity
on account of the composer's rashness in selecting a Shakespearean
subject.... The first point that strikes the hearer with regard to the
music is its essentially modern character combined with its freedom
from direct Wagnerian influences. Verdi in his latest score has
adopted even less of Wagner's peculiar methods than he did in _Aïda_.
Much has been made of the so-called 'kiss' motive, and we may note
a harsh progression in consecutive fifths and octaves which appears
two or three times, and is apparently intended to suggest the torture
of jealousy, but of _Leitmotiv_ in the accepted sense there is not
one.... From hence to the close the music is fragmentary, but intensely
dramatic, and as impressive as any operatic music ever penned. An
exquisitely touching effect is produced by the use made of the love
theme from the first act, and, speaking generally, this final scene is
a worthy crown to a work which, if not the finest Verdi has written, is
at any rate a splendid example of modern Italian art."[63]
Yet, if such criticism were insufficient to prove that there was, as
there had been all along, something of merit in Verdi and his music,
we find it accentuated two years later when _Otello_ was given at the
Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden. On this occasion we are told:--"If
the score is less equal in inspiration and less remarkable for glowing
picturesqueness than that of _Aïda_, it is worthy to rank with that
beautiful work, and moreover affords ample proof that a composer of
genius can satisfy the requirements of modern opera; that is to say,
give full play to the dramatic flow of the story without slavishly
following the special devices of Wagnerian music drama. In this sense
_Otello_ may be regarded as a model for composers of _opera seria_
apart from its own intrinsic value, which is very great."[64]
On the 12th October 1894 a French version of _Otello_ was given at the
Paris Opéra, when Verdi himself attended, superintended the rehearsals,
and conducted. All Paris was strongly represented on this gala
occasion, and no pains or expense were spared upon the performance.
The presence of the veteran composer in the conductor's seat naturally
gave zest to this performance, and it is doubtful whether a more
enthusiastic reception was ever experienced by Verdi. Applause followed
applause, until it was abundantly clear that Verdi had secured another
triumph, and that Paris, as well as London and Milan, had approved of
the composer's masterly achievements in _Otello_.
Wherever performed, the especially beautiful numbers of the work have
speedily been detected. In the first act, which sounds somewhat on
Verdi's conventional lines, the storm prayer, the festal music, and
a love duet are particularly fine. The second act includes a great
scene for Iago, a duet between Cassio and Iago, and a quartet, the
whole finishing with a stirring duet between Otello and Iago. This
act is full of declamation, which though helped on by the _cantilena_
passages, and beginning with the garden _fête_ to the sound of
_mandolini_, seems a little monotonous. The quartet, however, between
Desdemona, Otello, Iago, and Emilia, is extremely interesting, and
supplies as fine a piece of choral writing as Verdi has ever penned.
In the third act is an abundance of picturesque theatrical music, such
as Verdi could well write, for it is one of his great gifts to know
exactly what the public prefer. An interpolation in the original text
now provides the "handkerchief" trio for Cassio, Otello, and Iago,
which in music and poetry is one of the best pieces in the opera. This
is followed by a pathetic duet between Desdemona and her jealous lord,
and after much fine dramatic writing, suggested in the main by the
masterly additions which Boito has made to the original text in this
act, we reach the conclusion where Iago, with his foot on the Moor's
heart, answers the chorus with malignant triumph. "The lion is here!"
This is a highly dramatic, superb situation in the opera, and never
fails to elicit the loudest applause. Desdemona's "Willow" song, with
its horn and bassoon accompaniment, has rarely been equalled by Verdi;
while the "_Ave Maria_," partly in monotone, and partly in _cantilena_
phrases accompanied by the strings, is of most exquisite heavenly
nature. In the fourth and concluding Act, Otello kills his wife, spares
Iago, and stabs himself, and this is generally acknowledged as the
finest part of the work. It abounds with beautiful, luxuriant music,
in Verdi's choicest vein, while its intense dramatic character is
unsurpassed by anything in the range of opera music. In it, Verdi and
all his vast dramatic-musical powers rise to their fullest height.
Considered as a whole, _Otello_ must be accounted a very fine opera, a
model of _opera seria_ amid all the influence, fashion, and revolution
in modern music. Its various beautiful _soli_ pieces, its bold and
vigorous choruses, the grand finales, the highly finished duets and
quartets, and lastly, but not least, its declamatory music, with
the striking and effective recitatives--all this renders the vocal
portion well-nigh beyond criticism. The orchestration is particularly
remarkable. Here Verdi has surpassed himself, and given us page
after page of dramatic tone-painting of the highest order. Rarely
has any opera composer shown us anything so dramatic as the finale
representing the reception of the delegates from Venice, and the Moor's
insulting treatment of his wife. In the first act, the tempest music is
wonderfully effective and well conceived, and the second act is full
of masterly instrumental device and combination. The grand workings of
the orchestra in the "_Credo_" in this Act could not be surpassed. This
same high standard is, on the whole, maintained throughout the third
act; while the composer's vocal and instrumental work in the fourth
and concluding act is admitted by all judges to be one of the grandest
instances of modern orchestral manipulation.
Great as Verdi had been before the production of _Otello_, and greater
still as he became through _Otello_, there remained yet a further
measure of greatness for the justly-famed Italian art king. Those who
appreciated and wondered at, to say nothing of listening with delight
and amazement to, the superlative musical beauties of _Aïda_ and
_Otello_, had yet greater things in store for them. When the composer
was busy upon the _Otello_ music, the villagers and others in and
around Busseto knew that the master was employed upon serious music. He
wore a troubled look, and the expression of his face was one of tragic
austerity. Brusque, wrapped up, impatient, he was far from pleasant to
deal with, so different from his usual courteous manner and bearing
towards the residents. Later, there was a change. A smile played about
the composer's lips, he was jovial, open mannered, happy. The peasants
and others about the hamlet declared that the composer was in a merry
mood; they surmised, and rightly enough, that he was engaged upon some
comedy music. This was _Falstaff_.
The idea of a lyrical comedy taken from Shakespeare haunted Verdi some
time before he wrote _Falstaff_. He spoke to M. Maurel about it, and
the latter, in 1890, sent him the version of _The Taming of the Shrew_
arranged by Paul Delair for Coquelin the elder. Verdi returned the
manuscript, and wrote from Genoa, saying it was superb, and that he
envied the musician whose lot it would be to compose to it; but, as
far as he was concerned it was too late. Nearly two years afterwards
he told Maurel why it was too late: "Boito and I had planned a lyrical
comedy, now nearly finished. It is to be called _Falstaff_."
Verdi composed the music between 1890 and 1892, and the opera was
produced for the first time at La Scala, Milan, on 9th February
1893. It was hailed, and justly so, with enthusiasm, as one of the
most remarkable works that ever met the ear inside the walls of that
historic opera-house. Musicians from all parts of the world sped to
Milan to hear the score concerning which gossip had long been busy--so
busy, as to be annoying to Verdi, who wished this, his first comic
opera, to burst as a surprise upon the musical world in its complete
and final form, instead of being made the subject of anticipation and
discussion for at least two years beforehand.
Boito's libretto is, perhaps, the best written and planned book ever
presented to a composer. The subject is one of Shakespeare's best, and
the librettist has throughout kept Shakespeare to the front, respecting
the great dramatist in the most laudable manner. There is little new
and little missing in the story, and our old Windsor friends, as jovial
and merry as ever, are with us, even in their quaint, fanciful Italian
language. There is the jovial, noisy, conceited, amorous Sir John; the
villainous, time-serving Bardolph and Pistol; the upright, but jealous
Ford; the fussy Dr. Caius; the sentimental Fenton; the truly sweet Anne
Page; and last, but not least, the gay, joke-loving, "merry wives,"
Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.
In all there are three acts, opening with the interior of the Garter
Inn, and closing with the midnight revelry at Herne's Oak, the
belabouring of Falstaff, etc. Did we state that the music is fully
worthy of Shakespeare's comedy, that would express the matter in a few
words, yet something more needs to be told of a work that may be cited
as a companion opera to Wagner's _Die Meistersinger_. _Falstaff_ is an
astounding _tour de force_, reflecting alike the artistic versatility
of the librettist, and the consummate, matured powers of the composer.
On this point the critics--and it might be added, the musicians--of all
nations are agreed. The Shakespearean spirit has been caught by the
composer in wonderful fashion, and the English flavour is found and
preserved throughout the opera to an unmistakable degree.
One who was present on the eventful night of its first performance
wrote:--
"Even setting aside the Milanese themselves, it would be impossible
to conceive an audience more representative of the best elements in
music, art, politics, and society. Critics were there from all parts
of Europe--indeed, one might almost say from all parts of the world.
The Italian Royal family were represented by the Duke of Aosta and
Princess Letitia; the Government by Signor Martini, Minister of Public
Instruction; the 'new school' in Italy by Signor Mascagni, to whom,
as it was with Verdi himself, honour has come early; and society in
general by MM. Leon Cavallo, Bazzini, Marchetti, Puccini, and a host
of other notabilities. The ladies had done honour to the occasion,
in characteristic fashion, by donning their most elaborate dresses,
and thereby adding immeasurably to the bright and cheerful aspect of
the house. The performance began amid absolute stillness, the more
desirable as, like _Otello_, the new opera has neither overture nor
prelude."
"This is the last work of my life," he said angrily, striding, a tall,
gaunt figure, up and down his large drawing-room, and pushing back the
long gray hair from his wrinkled forehead with an impatient gesture.
"I am writing it for my own amusement; the public would have known
nothing at all about it, had it not been for that _Mefistofole_ of
a Boito." This little joke of his own, more perfect in Italian than
in English, put him into a good humour again, and on my asking him
what his complaint was against his clever librettist, he told me the
whole story. They had been dining at the Hotel Milan with Ricordi, the
music publisher, his wife, and one or two more. When dessert was on
the table Ricordi, turning to Boito, inquired when his "_Nerone_," an
opera for which the Italian public has been waiting for the last five
years, would be ready. Boito replied that it had been laid aside in
view of a work of much greater importance, and then rising, with his
glass in his hand, looked towards Verdi and said, laughing, "Here's
to your fat-paunched hero." Inquiries, of course, followed, and in
this way the subject of the new opera became known. "I should not
have forgiven Boito his indiscretion," Verdi continued, "had he not
written me a first-rate libretto. The music that I have put to it is in
some passages so droll, that it has often made me laugh while writing
it."[65]
The artists entrusted with the first rendering of this _chef
d'œuvre_ were Signora Pasqua (Mrs. Quickly), Signorine Emma Zilli
(Mrs. Ford), Virginia Guerrini (Mrs. Page), and Adelina Stehle
("Sweet Anne"); with Signori Garbin (Fenton), Pini-Corsi (Ford),
Pellegalli-Rosetti (Bardolph), Arimondi (Pistol), Armandi (Caius),
and M. Maurel (Falstaff). Signor Mascheroni conducted, and one after
another the successive beauties of the work were poured forth amid a
scene of excitement such as can only be witnessed in La Scala, and
which was unprecedented even there. The interest of the audience was
arrested from the first scene; but, as climax after climax was reached,
the enthusiasm of the brilliant assemblage began to lose bounds, until,
at the close of the opera, there was such a tumultuous applause, such
calls for Verdi, as to be deafening. No fewer than thirty times was
Verdi called on during the performance.
There was but one admission to make--Verdi, _doyen_ of composers,
past-grandmaster of music, had crowned his artistic career with the
finest, the most scholarly work that ever issued from his pen. Little
wonder that the people almost carried him back to his hotel, that they
cried for him from the crowded streets, that they called him, time
after time, to the balcony of his apartment in order that he might
receive their acclamations.
King Humbert sent the eminent composer the following telegram:--"The
Queen and myself, being unable to attend the first performance of
_Falstaff_, anticipate the applause about to greet this fresh proof
of an inexhaustible genius, by sending you our best wishes and the
expression of our great admiration. May you be preserved for many years
to come, to the honour of art, to our affections, and to enjoy the
recognition of Italy, which, even in her saddest days, found patriotic
comfort in your triumphs."
From that day to this, interest in _Falstaff_ has never ceased, the
point most dwelt upon being the remarkable freshness, the youth and
gaiety, the fun and frolic, on every page of the music. Could it be
old-age work? or, was it that with his decline in physical powers
Verdi's mental capacity was reaching greater perfection, suggesting
perhaps the splendid spectacle of an after condition when, it is to be
hoped for all of us, the mental portion of these sorry frames of ours
will be doing its perfect work undeterred, unhampered.
Paris had the work at the Opéra Comique in April 1894, when the
performance was rendered more interesting by the presence of the
composer himself, who received a tribute of enthusiastic applause
from a crowded house containing two thousand of the most notable
representatives of the Parisian world. The scene was a very striking
one when Verdi, in his eighty-first year, yet carrying his age
exceedingly well, was led forward between Victor Maurel and Mlle.
Delna, the two principal interpreters of this version of the _Merry
Wives of Windsor_.
In May 1894, _Falstaff_ was given for the first time in London, at
Covent Garden, with the Scala _troupe_ of artists, the occasion
furnishing the musical event of the season. The performance was
witnessed by a brilliant audience, royalty being represented by the
Prince of Wales, and the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and her daughter, while
the general gathering included nearly all the personages of "light
and leading" in the London musical world. The comic masterpiece was a
complete and unqualified success.
Signor Mancinelli conducted, and the principal _rôles_ were filled by
Signorine Kitzu (Meg), Giulia Ravogli (Dame Quickly), Olga Olghina
(Nanetta), and Zilli (Alice); Signor Pessina represented an excellent
fat knight (the part created by M. Maurel in Milan), and Signori
Pellegalli-Rosetti, Arimondi, Armandi, and Pini-Corsi, were capital as
Bardolph, Pistol, and Dr. Caius, and Ford, respectively. The reception
of the opera, from beginning to end, was most enthusiastic, and time
after time the curtain descended amid tumultuous applause, and the
calling forward of the singers.
Where a work is replete with splendid points and brilliant
episodes--uniform in its excellence from opening to close--it is
unnecessary to particularise one number more than another. Yet it is
well to record the most "taking" pieces, even in a composition so
consistently beautiful, both in libretto and in music, as _Falstaff_
admittedly is. The first act opens in the interior of the Garter Inn,
and amid the animated scene which follows, there is some excellent
music to the doings of Bardolph, Pistol, and Dr. Caius. The canonic
"Amen" is amusing, and Sir John's soliloquy upon "honour," gives the
baritone a capital chance of displaying his powers. Another attractive
number, where all is so attractive, is the chattering quartet of women,
at the end of the first act. With the second act, we still are in the
Garter hostelry--and the fun thickens. Mrs. Quickly and Ford, in turn,
"interview" Falstaff, and here, as in the scene in Ford's house, and
the search for the missing knight, the music is of the liveliest,
happiest character. The fat knight's solo, "When I was page to the Duke
of Norfolk, slender of figure," the love duet, and Anne Page's song in
the forest scene are further superlatively beautiful instances among
many in this richly-gemmed work. The opera has been given in Milan,
Berlin, Vienna, Paris, and London--here several times, as recently
as the last season--and whenever performed, the sparkling numbers
enumerated are always encored, and re-demanded.
Critically regarded, the music is unquestionably the best that Verdi
has written. Its leading features are its freshness, spontaneity,
irresistible humour, and youthfulness; yet, its finished character, the
carefully conceived and highly wrought detail, involving much technical
skill and learning, bespeak unmistakably the ripened master-mind. What
a reply, too, it is to all the early critical opposition which made
out that there was nothing in Verdi beyond the power of adapting his
countrymen's melodic commonplaces, and stringing them together suitably
for a speedy oblivion!
"The age of miracles is supposed to be past, but those who declare it
so would do well to consider the miracle of Verdi's persistent artistic
vitality.... When count is taken of the quality as well as of the
quantity of Verdi's achievements, these must be confessed well-nigh
miraculous. The list of his operas is an epitome, one might say, of the
development of operatic music. Trace the steady march of his genius
from the period of _I Lombardi_ to _Otello_, remember the successive
stages typified by _Trovatore_, _Ernani_, _Rigoletto_, _Aïda_,--each a
masterpiece after its kind,--and you find yourself in the presence of
a man who has never swerved from the search after the highest ideal.
Between _I Lombardi_ and _Otello_ there is a gap which it might seem
no one man could span. And yet, however different the methods of
expression which Verdi has chosen in each stage of his development,
the form has always been inevitable, and the man's personality is as
apparent and as potent in one as in the other. _Aïda_ seemed likely to
be his last work; but with _Otello_ came a new apocalypse. He had not
been afraid to modify his method, that it might fit his subject more
completely, and there was not wanting those who (wrongly) saw in it a
confession of conversion to the Wagnerian gospel. No one believed that
the octogenarian composer would find anything fresh to say or any fresh
way of saying it. The miracle has been repeated, for in _Falstaff_,
produced at Milan on the 9th inst., we have a work which proclaims
itself the expression of a phase of Verdi's nature quite unguessed
at. The antiquaries of music, who care less to enjoy a work than to
classify it, will not find the task in the case of _Falstaff_ easy,
for _Falstaff_ does not fall readily into any of the required classes.
It belongs to no school, not even to that of Verdi himself, for there
was little in any of his other operas to show that he possessed the
supreme gift of humour, though indeed we might have remembered that so
exquisite a sense of proportion as his never goes unaccompanied with
humour, and is dependent on it for perfection."[66]
Following this fulsome preamble is a highly flattering detailed account
of Verdi's music to _Falstaff_--which stands in strange contrast to
much that we have read of the _maestro_ in the pages of the _Athenæum_.
Such phrases as the following, to be found in the notice, must indeed
have proved balm to Verdi after his years of castigation at the hands
of this journal:--
"Petulant contempt" (referring to the part where Falstaff harangues
his servants on the point of honour) "is no easy thing to express in
music, but here the difficulty is overcome without effort, and we are
launched, so to say, on that sparkling sea of humour which has yet had
but few successful navigators. The scene ends as Falstaff chases his
chivalrous servants from the room.... Of the music it is enough to
say that the _ensemble_ of the nine voices is treated with consummate
skill, and that the chattering quartet in E major for the women's
voices, unaccompanied, is one of the most delightful passages in the
whole score.... The great scene in which Falstaff is obliged to take
refuge in the buck-basket is handled with immense skill by librettist
and composer alike. Putting aside Wagner's treatment of the street
scene in _Die Meistersinger_, there is nothing in comic music to be
set beside the _ensemble_ of this (second) act, in which Verdi has
brought together with magnificent skill such incongruous elements as
the lovers behind the screen, etc.... In the music to this" (the last
act) "the highest level is reached: poetry, grace, and humour are
balanced and combined with marvellous delicacy. The whole scene is a
triumph; in the matter of sheer beauty of form Mozart himself could
not have surpassed it.... The charm that comes of absolute simplicity
is the chief; and the presence of humour, now broadly laughing and now
quaintly fantastic, need not be further insisted on. The manner is not
less simple than the matter. There is nothing approaching the use of
representative themes; and though no resource of the modern orchestra
is left untried, the outlines of the music are as clear, its colouring
as pure, as is a picture by Perugino."[67]
The score of Falstaff is something of an _alpha_ and _omega_ of a
musical life--there is the young and the old, the youth and the
philosopher present and apparent, in rare harmonious weaving. The
symmetry of the whole is striking indeed; while the clever construction
throughout shows not merely the educated, but also the painstaking
composer. All the music is not of such superlative grace as that
delicious scene where the animated quartet of merry wives are reading
Falstaff's love-letters; or the duet for Falstaff and Ford--the
orchestration of which is so perfect, that even the merry jingling that
accompanies Ford's rattling of the gold bag has not been missed. Such
a standard of artistic excellence could not be maintained throughout
any opera by any master; nevertheless, not a weak or unworthy number
can be pointed to throughout the score. Even the penultimate _tableau_
preceding the _fugue finale_ of the opera--justly declared to be
somewhat poor--suffers more than would otherwise be the case by
comparison with the uniformly high order of the other music in the
opera.
It is one of the most difficult tasks which even a master-musician can
have set him to write comic music that shall be at once original and
humorous. Yet, here Verdi succeeded at his first attempt. True, he has
left _Falstaff_, and the style thereof, until the eve of his artistic
career; yet, what a crowning work it stands! Lyric tragedy occupied the
master's mind for nearly the whole of his long life, until it appeared
almost that he could write nothing else but lyric tragedy. Then to
show that this was otherwise, he went to comedy--he composed one comic
opera. What an example it is! Its proportions are colossal: its comedy
is equal to Mozart; its _technique_, ingenuity, and construction rival
Wagner. No grander piece of work could crown the master's career.
Through Verdi, national opera as made in Italy stands to-day on as
high ground as the lyric drama--the grand opera of France and Germany.
England, unfortunately, cannot yet be considered in the matter.
[Footnote 61: _Athenæum_, 1st July 1876.]
[Footnote 62: _Athenæum_, 1st July 1876.]
[Footnote 63: _Athenæum_, 13th July 1889.]
[Footnote 64: _Athenæum_, 18th July 1891.]
[Footnote 65: _The Daily Graphic_, 14th January 1893.]
[Footnote 66: _Athenæum_, 18th February 1893.]
[Footnote 67: _Athenæum_, 18th February 1893.]