GIACOMO
PUCCINI
BY WAKELING DRY
[Illustration]
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMVI
Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO., LIMITED
Tavistock Street, London
LIVING MASTERS OF MUSIC
EDITED BY ROSA NEWMARCH
GIACOMO PUCCINI
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face
page_
GIACOMO PUCCINI _Frontispiece_
_From an autographed copy of a photograph by Bertieri,
Turin, in the possession of the author_
PUCCINI'S BIRTHPLACE IN THE VIA DEL POGGIO, LUCCA 8
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
CHURCH OF ST. PIETRO, SOMALDI WHERE PUCCINI WAS ORGANIST 12
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI AND FONTANA, THE LIBRETTIST AT THE TIME 18
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI'S VILLA AT TORRE DEL LAGO 22
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI IN HIS 24-H.P. "LA BUIRE" MOTOR-CAR 24
_From a photograph by R. de Guili & Co., Lucca_
PUCCINI AFTER A "SHOOT" 28
_From a photograph by S. Ernesto Arboco_
PUCCINI IN HIS STUDY AT TORRE DEL LAGO 40
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI IN HIS MILAN HOUSE 48
_From a photograph specially taken by Adolfo Ermini, Milan_
PUCCINI MANUSCRIPT SCORE. FROM THE SECOND ACT OF "TOSCA" 50
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
MISS ALICE ESTY AS MIMI IN "LA BOHÈME" 68
_From a photograph lent by Madame Alice Esty_
PUCCINI MANUSCRIPT SCORES. FROM THE LAST ACT OF "LA BOHÈME" 72
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
*PUCCINI IN "MORNING DRESS" (NATIONAL PEASANT COSTUME) AT
TORRE DEL LAGO 82
*PUCCINI SHOOTING ON THE LAKE AT TORRE DEL LAGO 82
*PUCCINI SNOWBALLING IN SICILY 86
*PUCCINI WRESTLING AT POMPEII 86
*PUCCINI DESCENDING ETNA ON A MULE 90
*PUCCINI ON HIS FARM AT CHIATRI 90
PUCCINI AT TORRE DEL LAGO IN HIS MOTOR-BOAT "BUTTERFLY" 96
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI'S MANUSCRIPT. FIRST SKETCH FOR THE END OF THE FIRST
ACT OF "MADAMA BUTTERFLY" 102
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
PUCCINI'S MANUSCRIPT SCORES. FROM THE FIRST ACT OF "MADAMA
BUTTERFLY" 112
_From a photograph lent by Messrs. Ricordi_
* _From a series of snapshots given to the author by Signor Puccini_
(_Copyright reserved_)
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. PUCCINI, AND THE OPERA IN GENERAL 1
II. PUCCINI'S EARLY LIFE 9
III. THE PUCCINI OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 19
IV. "LE VILLI" 30
V. "EDGAR" 40
VI. "MANON" 50
VII. "LA BOHÈME" 68
VIII. "TOSCA" 83
IX. "MADAMA BUTTERFLY" 101
GIACOMO PUCCINI
I
PUCCINI, AND THE OPERA IN GENERAL
A big broad man, with a frank open countenance, dark kindly eyes of
a lazy lustrous depth, and a shy retiring manner. Such is Giacomo
Puccini, who is operatically the man of the moment.
It was behind the scenes during the autumn season of opera at Covent
Garden in 1905 that I had the privilege of first meeting and talking
with him, and about the last thing I could extract from him was
anything about his music. While his reserve comes off like a mask when
he is left to follow his own bent in conversation, one can readily
understand why he adheres, and always has done, to his rule of never
conducting his own works.
One thing struck me as peculiarly characteristic about his nature and
personality. The success of _Madama Butterfly_--for that was the work
in progress on the stage as we passed out by way of the "wings" to the
front of the house--was at the moment the talk of the town. Puccini
was full, not of the success of his opera, but of the achievements of
the artists who were interpreting it. "Isn't Madame So-and-so fine?"
"Doesn't Signor So-and-so conduct admirably?" "Isn't it beautifully put
on?" The composer was content and happy to sink into the background and
think, in the triumph, of all he owed to those who were carrying out
his ideas. He has a quiet sense of fun, too. "Let us step quietly,"
he said--as we came into the range of the scene that was being
enacted--"like butterflies."
I have called Puccini the operatic man of the moment. It is not
difficult to account for his popularity. His whole-souled devotion
to this one form of musical art, in which he has certainly achieved
much, has by some been pointed to as defining his limits. Apart from
a few early string quartets, which mean nothing more than the usual
preliminary studies of a gifted student, Puccini has written absolutely
nothing but operas since he started. In this respect his music has a
certain well-defined natural characteristic that gives him--if it be
necessary in these days to fit any particular composer into his own
special niche--a distinct place in the history of the progress and
development of the art and science of music making.
Roughly speaking, the opera had its beginnings in the dance, but almost
at the same time it travelled along the road of the development of
vocal expression by music. As early as the days of Peri and Caccini,
who reverted to the old Greek drama as the basis on which to build
something anew, and by so doing brought forth the germ which was
afterwards to bear fruit through Gluck and Wagner, the feeling for
freedom of expression, the desire to snatch music away from the
tyranny of a set form--counterpoint, as it was then understood--strove
to make itself felt and understood. It must not be taken to mean that
the old contrapuntists did not endeavour to combine the adherence to
a form with some degree of definite expression; for in the works of
one of the greatest of this school, old Josquin des Près, are to be
found plenty of emotional touches by which, even in so restricted a
pattern as the madrigal form, it was plain that a closer union between
words and music--an emotional feeling, in short--was clearly the thing
striven for.
Still dealing briefly with beginnings, one may point to the dramatic
cantatas--particularly in Italy, but found in France as well--or
madrigal plays, by which, in distinction to what may be called little
comedies with music, this essential "operatic" feature in the union of
the arts of speech and song, comes out with special clearness.
In Italy then, the land which owns Puccini as one of its most
distinguished sons, the opera had its rise; and in _Dafne_, the first
child of a new art, it is curious to note, it immediately turned
aside into one of those many by-paths which led it very far away from
the goal of its promise. Curious again is the reason for its first
fall--the desire of the leading singer for vocal display, and the
introduction of long vocal flourishes, which, having nothing to do with
the case, yet pleased the public mightily. In this _Dafne_--the score
of which has been lost--it was the great singer Archilei who was the
offender. Yet again a strange thing comes down to us after these many
years. Peri, the composer, was highly delighted with the interpolations
and the vocal gymnastics.
But out of something dead, something very much alive was destined to
develop. The old Greek drama was not to be resuscitated by a sort of
transfusion of blood--music, the newest and most emotional of the arts,
being the medium to carry life into the structure. There is not space
here to do more than hint at the various fresh phases--the reforms, as
they have been called--each of which, in trying to deal with what was
already built up, really brought to an achievement the ideal which had
floated before many a worker in the same field.
In Italy, as early as Cimarosa's day--he died in 1801--the opera,
regarded purely as a musical form, attained as near perfection as
possible. It is difficult, even when dealing with a period that,
unlike our own, was very much more concerned about the manner than
the matter of things, to distinguish between the various styles of
opera; but taking the opera seria and the opera buffa as representing
two great phases of the art, Cimarosa stands out as one who combined
the essential qualities of both into products which had the stamp of
individuality. Pergolesi is another shining light who stands out in the
long line of illustrious workers whose efforts were entirely cast into
the shade by the arrival of Rossini and his followers, Donizetti and
Bellini. All this time, during which so-called Italian opera dominated
the whole of Europe, nothing was done in Italy in the way of developing
orchestral writing, which in Germany had made such marvellous strides.
At the psychological moment--for Italy--came Verdi, who, if he took
the opera very much as he found it, breathed from the very first a
new spirit into its composition. His artistic growth, as seen by his
later operas, was one of the most remarkable things in modern musical
history. And in the fulness of time we come to Puccini, to whom it is
reasonable to point as the successor of Verdi. These two, who may be
linked up with reason with Boïto and Ponchielli, present many features
of resemblance. Puccini's musical expression, at first purely vocal,
has in his later work shown that same growth in artistic development.
From the beginning he was concerned with the continuous flow of melody,
since he had not, like Verdi, to get away exactly from the old form
of the set numbers; but in Puccini's case, the growth referred to is
seen in his latest work in the further elaboration of the orchestral
portion. Although in England we have had few experiments worked out in
the way of the development of opera, it is safe to say that such new
modern works as have been taken to our hearts have owed not a little to
the orchestral part of the fabric. Tchaikovsky's _Eugen Oniegin_ and
Humperdinck's _Hänsel und Gretel_ are at least two notable cases in
point.
But in whatever way we view an opera, mere orchestral fulness will
not serve to land the work very high up in the esteem of music
lovers. Nor will the purely beautiful in music--melody worked out
with transparent clearness of form--save a poor, unconvincing or
uninteresting dramatic fabric from passing into the great storehouse
of the unacted. Puccini's music is dramatic, and by far the greater
part of it, by a sort of quick natural instinct, is purely of the
theatre. His first and most direct appeal is by the charm and vitality
of the vocal expression, while his whole plan is one of movement.
From the first--if we except for the moment his _Le Villi_, which
was first called a ballet-opera--he called his operas _Dramma per
lyrica_--lyric dramas, a term first established, and moulded into a
definite art-form, by Wagner. With his first opera, Puccini started
something of a new form in the short opera; and two remarkable works
of the kind in _Cavalleria Rusticana_ by Mascagni and _I Pagliacci_
by Leoncavallo, which came very soon after, clearly indicate that he
had founded a school as it were; and so from Italy to-day, as in times
past, this particular fashion spread to other countries. Puccini,
still exhibiting, with a strong and in many ways typical national
feeling, spontaneous vocal melody as his leading characteristic, did
not limit himself to the perfection of the short opera. His subsequent
works were of larger calibre. He left the fanciful and imaginative and
the old world legends, and turned to everyday life for his subjects.
In general form--for one must revert to this not particularly lucid
description when dealing with opera--Puccini must be placed among the
shining lights who have chosen to deal with what may be called light
opera. _Opéra comique_, as translated by our term "comic opera,"
means something so entirely different, that although "light opera"
is but a poor expression, it is one that may perhaps be most readily
"understanded of the people."
The term "light" is associated practically entirely with the music. The
subjects of Puccini's operas are all of them tragic, but the expression
of the theme, the working out along the already roughly defined paths,
is not by the heavy, the big, or the strongly moving in music. One may
point almost to Bizet, as shown in _Carmen_, as the special point from
which Puccini started. Furthermore, Puccini stands almost unrivalled
in his own particular way in giving us, by means of operatic music,
something very near akin to the comedy of manners in drama. Much might
with advantage be deduced from the success of Puccini in this country,
and the same result applied to the question of our national opera; or,
seeing that such a thing does not exist, to the crying need for some
encouragement to be given to native composers. Puccini, it may be, has
become the vogue simply because he is light and lyrical, not so much
here in the dramatic, but in the musical sense. No one, it is safe to
say, at this time of day desires to go back in any shape or form to the
old "set-number" sort of piece. Such a reversion may fittingly form
the ideal towards which a follower of Sullivan--who in his _Yeomen of
the Guard_ gave us unquestionably the best definite "light" opera of
the last generation--may strive to bring to perfection. Puccini has by
the general mould of his work made his place and found his following
on the operatic stage, and it is surely by the vocal strength and
vocal continuity of his work that this place of his has been achieved
and maintained. It is easy, of course, to point to the simplicity of
the achievement when one sees the fruit of the labour: but without
urging any one to copy an accepted model, or to merely repeat what
has been already designed, one may wonder why, with so many gifted
melodists among contemporary British musicians, no one has given us
definite light opera. It is a direction in which our composers have
never moved. If a reason for Puccini's greatness--or popularity, if
you will--is wanted, it may be found in this extremely clever use of
the light lyrical style. And lest there be any misunderstanding, let
it be said that hardly one of Puccini's songs or dramatic numbers can
be pointed to as making this or that opera an accepted favourite. "Che
gelida manina" from _La Bohème_ is trotted out by not a few budding
tenors, and it may be occasionally heard at a ballad concert, but even
this is not sung one-tenth as many times as, say, the prologue to _I
Pagliacci_, leaving out of the question the extreme popularity, as an
instrumental piece, of the Intermezzo from _Cavalleria_. Puccini's
melodies, if they do not actually fall to pieces away from their
surroundings, at least very quickly lose their full significance, and
not a little of their charm. And it is for this reason, therefore,
that Puccini stands as the most definitely operatic composer of the
moment. He has had great opportunities, it is true, but he has had
great struggles. Like Wagner, he is concerned, and ever has been, with
just one phase of art. To those that come after may be left the task of
deciding as to his exact place in the roll of fame. By the oneness of
his endeavour, by the sincerity of his expression, by the spontaneity
of his vocal melody, does Puccini stand worthily among the living
masters of music.
[Illustration: PUCCINI'S BIRTHPLACE IN THE VIA DI POGGIO, LUCCA]
II
PUCCINI'S EARLY LIFE
In Lucca in 1858, in a house in the Via Poggia, Giacomo Puccini was
born. The family originally came from Celle, a typical mountain village
on the right bank of the Serchio. From the earliest times the family
was one devoted to the art of music, and while the world knows only of
the musician who is the subject of this book, the achievements of his
musical ancestors were of no mean order.
It will be sufficient to trace back the family to one of the same name,
a Giacomo Puccini, who, born in 1712, studied with Caretti at Bologna.
During his student days he was the friend of Martini, and thus from
very early days the Puccini family have had intimate connection with
those musicians whose names will live as long as musical history. On
returning to Lucca this Puccini was appointed organist of the cathedral
and subsequently _maestro di capella_. His compositions were entirely
in the domain of ecclesiastical music, and include a motet, a Te Deum,
and some services.
His son, Antonio, also proceeded to Bologna for his musical training,
and in process of time succeeded to the post at Lucca. Antonio's chief
composition was a Requiem Mass, which was sung at Lucca on the occasion
of the funeral of Joseph II. of Tuscany.
The first of the family to turn his attention to opera was Domenico
Puccini, the son of the foregoing, who, like his father and grandfather,
after studying at Bologna, and under the famous Paisiello at Naples, also
held the post at Lucca. Of his several operas, _Quinto Fabio_, _Il
Ciarlatano_, and _La Moglie Capricciosa_ had a certain vogue in his day,
but have passed into oblivion. Dying at the age of forty-four, he left
four children, of whom Michele was the father of the Puccini with whom
we are dealing.
The grandfather Antonio helped this young Michele and sent him to study
at Bologna, where he came under the influence of Stanislaus Mattei,
the teacher of Rossini. Later on he proceeded to Naples, where he was
taught by Mercadente and Donizetti. Returning to Lucca he married
Albina Magi, and was appointed Inspector of the then newly formed
Institute of Music. Some masses and an opera, _Marco Foscarini_, stand
to his credit, but it was as a teacher that this Puccini did his best
work. Among his pupils were Carlo Angeloni and Vianesi, who afterwards
won distinction as a conductor, not only in Italy but at Paris and
Marseilles.
Michele Puccini died at the age of fifty-one in 1864, leaving his wife,
who was then thirty-three, to provide and care for his seven children.
It is interesting to record that the famous Pacini, the composer of
_Saffo_, which is still regarded as perhaps the chief classic of the
purely Italian school, conducted the Requiem sung at his funeral.
Puccini's mother and her noble work in bringing up her large
family--for she was left with no great share of this world's
goods--deserves infinitely more than this bare mention of her
excellence. In the present instance, it is her patient care in making
her fifth child, our Giacomo Puccini, a musician, that we have to
recognise. But for this patience, the way of the man who was destined
to achieve his own place in the annals of fame must have been still
more rough. All praise then to the patient mother whose memory is still
so lovingly cherished by her distinguished son.
Giacomo Puccini was only six when his father died, and as a child was
remarkable for a restless nature and a keen desire to travel. He was
sent to school at the seminary of S. Michele, and afterwards to San
Martino. Arithmetic appears to have been his chief stumbling-block,
but in everything, his curious irresponsible nature, his strong
dislike to anything like guidance and restraint, made the acquisition
of knowledge a hard task. Failing to acquire any sort of distinction
in any branch of scholarship, an uncle of his, on his mother's side,
tried to make him a singer; but the future musician, whose triumph was
gained, curiously enough, in the display of the very art he despised,
added, in this particular subject, one more to his many failures. The
mother, in spite, doubtless, of a good deal of well-meant advice as
to wasting time and money on a singularly unpromising youth, stuck
to her conviction that Giacomo was destined by his gifts to carry
on the long line of family musicians; and with many real sacrifices
in the way of pinching and scraping, sent him to Lucca, where, at
the Institute of Music, founded by Pacini, he came first under the
influence of Angeloni, who, it will be remembered, was a pupil of
his father. Infinite patience seems to have been the chief quality
possessed by Angeloni, and by dint of great tact and sympathy, he
infused an interest and something of a passion for music into his
wayward young pupil. Giacomo became a fair player, and was sent off to
take charge of the music at the church of Muligliano, a little village
three miles from Lucca, and in a short time he had the church of S.
Pietro at Somaldi added to his responsibilities. It was during the
exercise of his church duties that the spirit of composition seems to
have descended upon him, and certainly, if not in actually a novel way,
a rather disconcerting one. During the offertory, and at other places
in the Mass, it was the custom of the organist to improvise a more or
less extended _pièce d'occasion_, a custom which still obtains. The
officiating priests were more than occasionally startled by hearing,
mixed up with these spirited improvisations of their young organist,
certain plainly recognisable themes from operas, old and new.
[Illustration: CHURCH OF S. PIETRO, SOMALDI, WHERE PUCCINI WAS ORGANIST]
There is no definite record of any specific continuation of studies
while Puccini was contributing in a questionable way to the dignity of
the church's service; but in 1877 there was an exhibition at Lucca, and
a musical competition was announced, a setting of a cantata _Juno_,
and young Puccini entered. As happened with Berlioz, so too the
young composer's work was rejected, as not conforming in any way with
the accepted canons of the art of music. Puccini at this point gave
an early indication of that doggedness of purpose, a quiet pursuance
of his own aims and working out his own ideas, which marked his later
career, and which must have come as rather a surprise to his family,
who regarded him in all probability as a lazy wayward youth. He did
not take the refusal of the Lucca authorities to accept his work the
least to heart, but arranged for a performance of it, and the public
found it very much to their taste. About this time another early
composition, a motet for the feast of San Paolina, was performed. With
these successes, Lucca and its restricted area, with the evidently
uncongenial work of a church organist, soon became entirely distasteful
to him, and after hearing Verdi's _Aïda_ at the theatre, his mind was
made up. To Milan, the Mecca of the young Italian musician, he must go.
His mother still was his best friend; and although the cost of living
and studying in Milan was sufficient to daunt the courage of any one
far less hampered with domestic difficulties than she was, she bravely
set about making the necessary sacrifices. Through a friend at Court,
the Marchioness Viola-Marina, she enlisted the kindly sympathy of Queen
Margherita, who generously agreed to be responsible for the expense of
one of the necessary three years, while an uncle of hers came to her
assistance by defraying the cost of the other two.
The Conservatory of Music at Milan is best known perhaps from the fact
that the great teacher of singing, Lamperti, whose pupils number
Albani and Sembrich, was a professor there up to the date of his
retirement, in 1875. With the Royal College at Naples it represents at
the present day the only survival of the most ancient teaching schools
which began to be founded in Italy at the end of the fifteenth century,
the name Conservatorio being given to the union of music schools
for the preservation of the art and science of music. The oldest of
them were the four schools at Naples, all of which were attached to
monastical foundations, and which had their rise in the schools founded
by the Fleming, Tinctor. There were four other schools, similar as to
their foundation, at Venice, the origin of which was due to another
great Fleming, Willaert.
On reaching Milan, Puccini's first thought was to bring himself
earnestly to study, and to pass the necessary examination for entrance
into this "Reale Conservatorio de Musica." Apart from his steady
determination to mend his haphazard ways, it is good to note that his
good resolutions were put to the test, for he does not appear to have
succeeded at the first trial. But he had grit in him, and he stuck to
his work bravely; and in 1880, towards the end of October, he passed
his entrance examination with flying colours, coming out with top marks
over all the competitors. His actual work as a student did not begin
till December 16 of that year, and we get from an interesting letter
to his mother a vivid picture of his doings at this time. Bazzini,
the master with whom he was put to study, will be remembered as the
composer of that favourite violin piece with virtuosi, the _Witches'
Dance_.
"DEAR MAMMA,--On Thursday, at eleven o'clock, I had my second lesson
from Bazzini, and I am getting on very well. To-morrow I start my
theory lessons. My daily life is very simple. I get up at 8.30, and
when I do not go to the school I stay indoors and play the pianoforte.
For this I am trying now a new technical method by Angeloni, which is
very simple.
"At 10.30 I have my lunch, and a short walk afterwards. At one I return
home and study Bazzini's lesson for a couple of hours; after that from
three to five I go to the piano again and play some classic. I have
been playing through Boïto's _Mefistofele_, a kind friend having given
me the vocal score. On! how I wish I had money enough to buy all the
music I want to get!
"Five is dinner time, and it is a very frugal meal--soup, cheese, and
half a litre of wine. As soon as it is over I go out for a walk and
stroll up and down the Galleria. Now comes the end of the chapter--bed!"
All through the three years of his sojourn at Milan, Puccini, from the
evidence of his letters which he sent home, seems to have preserved
the simplicity of his nature, and to have kept in a remarkable way to
his good resolutions. For composition he was put, shortly after his
entrance, with Ponchielli, the composer of _La Gioconda_. For both
his teachers Puccini had the liveliest admiration, and the following
extract from another of his characteristic letters to his mother
towards the end of his student days, showed how lively an interest
Ponchielli took in his future:--
"To-morrow I have to go to Ponchielli. I have already seen him this
morning, but we have had little opportunity of talking about what I am
to do in the future, as his wife was with him. However, he promised to
mention me to Ricordi, and he assures me that in my examinations I have
made a favourable impression. I am now working hard at my exercise,
towards the completion of which I have made good progress."
This exercise Puccini speaks of was the equivalent to the composition
demanded by our Universities before a student passes to the degree of
Bachelor of Music. With this _Capriccio Sinfonica_ Puccini made his
first mark as a rising composer. It was not apparently an entirely
spontaneous outpouring, for he wrote it on all sorts of odd scraps of
paper, just as the mood took him. It is curious to note that although
in his general character he had made a radical change from waywardness
to a steady determination and purposeful endeavour towards one definite
goal, his methods of work and his music writing remained, to this
day in fact, as very typical of the carelessness of the artistic
temperament. His scores were, and still are, exceedingly difficult
to decipher. Both Bazzini and Ponchielli were much attached to the
promising young musician, but his handwriting--more particularly his
way of setting down notes on paper--was more than once a great trial
to their patience. Bazzini on one occasion inquired about this final
exercise, and Ponchielli replied: "I really cannot tell you anything
yet about it. Puccini brings me every lesson such a vile scrawl, that I
confess, up to the present, I do no more than stare at it in despair."
When Ponchielli came to sit down and study the score of this Capriccio,
the black-beetle-like splotches on the untidy manuscript did not
prevent the worth of the music from coming through and making its
appeal to the kindly teacher's mind. Both Bazzini and he were struck
by its freedom, its freshness, its general grip of the orchestra. It
was performed at one of the Conservatory concerts, and Puccini's fame,
heralded by the critic Filippi, who wrote in a special article in the
_Perseveranza_ about the first performance, travelled round Milan. It
is interesting to read what Filippi said about the first serious work
by the future hope, operatically speaking, of young Italy:
"Puccini has decidedly a musical temperament, especially as a
symphonist, having unity of style and personality of character. There
are more of such qualities in this Capriccio than are found in most
composers of to-day, thorough grasp of style, a quick sense of colour,
an inventive genius. The ideas are bright, strong, effective. He is not
concerned with uncertainties, but fills up his scheme with harmonic
boldness, and knits the whole together logically and with perfect
order."
This discerning writer goes on to speak of the skilful way in which the
melodic material is worked up, and the general feeling for movement,
states that it called forth the warmest enthusiasm, and dubs it by far
the most promising work of that year.
Faccio, a well-known conductor, made arrangements to have it played at
an orchestral concert, and Puccini wrote with joy and alacrity to his
mother to arrange to have the parts copied, asking to have sent to him,
without a moment's delay, twelve first violin parts, ten seconds, nine
violas, eight cellos, and seven basses.
[Illustration: PUCCINI AND FONTANA, THE LIBRETTIST, AT THE TIME OF THE
PRODUCTION' OF "LE VILLI," 1884]
Flushed with his first real success Puccini was ready to act upon
any suggestion that would enable him to keep the ball, once started,
rolling along merrily. Ponchielli was struck with the essentially
dramatic quality of Puccini's mind and bent, and promised to find him
a suitable libretto so that he might start on an opera. He invited
Puccini to spend a few days at his country villa at Caprino, and there
Puccini met Fontana, who, like himself, was at the beginning of his
career. After much cogitation, it was decided to collaborate in a short
work, so that it might be ready for the Sozogno competition, the limit
of time for that event having nearly expired. Thus it was that Fate,
or Chance, settled the form in which, as it subsequently transpired,
Puccini was from the very beginning to appear as a setter of fashion in
opera. But, as we shall see, the path to fame did not immediately open
to Puccini. The Sozogno prize was not won, but _Le Villi_, his first
opera, was born, and, like Wagner, the ardent and now well-equipped
young composer began to experience those pains and penalties, and
bravely ploughed his way through thorns and over the rough places, and
finally conquered by the sheer force of perseverance, endurance, and
singleness of aim.
III
THE PUCCINI OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY
Puccini, after the death of his beloved mother, sought consolation in
hard work, and _Edgar_ was written in Milan during a period, which was
in like manner experienced by Wagner, of additional anxiety, brought
about by the want of the actual means to live. But it is undoubtedly
that out of such trials and troubles the best work of the brain is
forged and brought to an achievement.
Puccini was living at this time in a poor quarter of Milan with his
brother and another student. With the £80 he received for _Le Villi_ he
paid away nearly half of it to the restaurant keeper who had allowed
him credit.
Milan, the chief operatic centre of opera-loving Italy, is full of
music schools, agencies, restaurants and cafés, whose reason for
existence, practically, is found in the fact that half the population
is in one way or another connected with the operatic stage. Milan is
even more Bohemian than Paris in this respect, and it is not difficult
to understand why the subject of unconventionality, as treated by
Puccini in _La Bohème_, should have come to him with such force. He
had, in fact, gone through the whole thing completely, so far as living
on nothing and making all sorts of shifts for existence were concerned.
Milan's social atmosphere is almost completely that of theatrical
Bohemianism, and all the students come very intimately into contact
with its essence and spirit.
There are many little stories of Puccini in his early days, which,
after all, only represent the common lot of many a struggling genius
the wide world over. He and his companions at the time _Edgar_ was in
the process of making rented one little top room in the Via Solferino,
for which, according to Puccini's friend Eugenio Checchi, who has
recorded the history of these early days, they paid twenty-four
shillings a month. Puccini kept a diary, which he called "Bohemian
Life," in 1881. It was little more than a register of expenses. Coffee,
bread, tobacco and milk appear to be the chief entries, and there is
an entire absence of anything more substantial in the way of food. In
one place there was a herring put down; and on this being brought to
Puccini's recollection, he laughingly said: "Oh, yes, I remember. That
was a supper for four people."
As will be seen in the chapter on _La Bohème_, this incident was made
use of by the librettists in the third act of that opera.
From the Congregation of Charity at Rome, Puccini was in receipt at
this time of £4 per month. The sum used to come in a registered letter
on a certain day, and he and his companions usually had to suffer
the landlord to open it and deduct, first, his share for the rent.
Many were the scenes they had with this worthy possessor of real
estate. He had forbidden them to cook in the room, and even with the
marvellously cheap restaurants, where at least the one national dish
of spaghetti could be indulged in for the merest trifle, our group of
young strugglers found it even cheaper to do their cooking at home. As
the hour of a meal drew near, the landlord used to go into the next
room, or prowl about the landing, to listen and to smell. The usual
stratagem was to place the spirit lamp on the table and over it a dish
in which to cook eggs. When the frizzling began, the others would call
out to Puccini to play "like the very devil," and going over to the
piano he would start on some wild strains which stopped when the modest
omelette--two eggs between three--was ready to turn out.
The material for firing was another source of expense. Their modest
order did not warrant the coal-merchant sending up five flights of
stairs to deliver it in whatever receptacle took the place of the usual
cellar: so Michael Puccini, the brother, used to dress up in his best
clothes, including a valuable relic in the shape of a "pot-hat," and
take with him a black-bag. The others said, "Good-bye, bon voyage,"
with some effusion on the door-step to let the neighbours imagine he
was going away for a visit; and off Michael would go, to return in the
dusk with the bag full of coal.
There is something infinitely pathetic in recording that Puccini, when
fortune smiled upon him, wrote to this brother in great glee to tell
him of the success of _Manon_, and to say that he was able to buy the
house in Lucca where they were born. But Michael, who had departed to
South America to mend his own fortunes, was then lying dead of yellow
fever, to which he had succumbed after three days' illness.
_Edgar_ being completed, the work brought him in about six times the
amount he had obtained for _Le Villi_, while with _Manon_, which
followed, his position became practically assured for the future.
Always of a shy, retiring disposition, he had often longed to get
away from the cramped conditions of town life, and Torre del Lago,
on a secluded lake not far from Lucca, lying in beautiful country,
surrounded by woods, and connected by canals with the sea--into which
it flows just by the spot where Shelley's body was washed ashore and
afterwards burned--was an ideal spot to which his thoughts had often
turned. He went there to reside first in 1891, about the time he was
writing _La Bohème_; but some time before that he had found a partner
of his joys in Elvira Bonturi, who, like himself, came from Lucca, and
whom he married. Their only son, Antonio, was born in the December of
1886. It was not until 1900 that Puccini built the delightful villa at
Torre del Lago to which he is so devotedly attached, and to which he
always refers as a Paradise.
[Illustration: PUCCINI'S VILLA AT TORRE DEL LAGO]
Before finally deciding on a site at Torre del Lago--the Tower of the
Lake--Puccini stayed for a time at Castellaccio, near Pescia, where
a good deal of _La Bohème_ was put to paper. _Tosca_ was begun at
Torre del Lago, and finished during a visit at the country house,
Monsagrati, not far from Lucca, of his friend the Marquis Mansi. At
the time of _Madama Butterfly_ he was back at Torre del Lago, to which
he was taken after his motor accident, but he was at this time the
possessor of another country villa at Abetone, in the Tuscan Appenines,
and in this latter place a good deal of his latest opera was set down.
He has more recently built yet another country villa on the opposite
side of the lake to Torre del Lago, on the Chiatri Hill. It is a
charming example of the Florentine style of architecture, in which
brick and marble are most skilfully blended. But Puccini told me, when
last I saw him, that so far he had only spent a week-end in it.
Puccini, who was always addicted to sport and an open-air life, went in
for motoring in the year 1901. His accident, by which he broke his leg
and suffered a great deal of pain and anxiety owing to the difficulty
of the uniting of the bone, took place in the February of 1903. He had
left his beloved Torre del Lago and gone into Lucca for a change of air
and place, owing to a bad cold and sore throat from which he could not
get free. One of Puccini's characteristics is a certain obstinacy which
very often leads him to do things in direct opposition to anything like
a command. The fact that his doctor had told him not to go out in his
car at night was sufficient, of course, for "Mr. James"--Puccini is
invariably addressed by those round him as "Sor Giacomo"--to decide on
a little evening trip; and he and his wife and son with the chauffeur
started off in the country.
About five miles from Lucca there is a little place called Vignola,
where is a sharp turn in the road by a bridge. Going at full speed,
this was not noticed in the dark, and as the car turned, it went over
an embankment and fell nearly thirty feet into a field. Mdme. Puccini
and Antonio were unhurt, but the chauffeur had a fractured thigh and
Puccini a fractured leg. Unfortunately, Puccini was pinned under
the car, stunned and bruised by the fall; and, moreover, suffered
considerably from the fumes of the petrol. A doctor, luckily, was
staying at a cottage near by, and he was able to render first aid.
Afterwards another doctor was sent for from Lucca, and it was decided
to make a litter and carry Puccini to Torre del Lago by boat, as
owing to the inflammation the leg was not able to be set immediately.
Puccini's great friend, Marquis Ginori, went with him on the boat; and,
although in great pain, the invalid found himself regretting that on
the journey so many wild duck flew within range, just at the time, as
he laughingly remarked, he could not shoot them. Three days after his
arrival home, Colzi, a famous specialist from Florence, came and set
the leg. The actual uniting of the bone was a long and tedious process,
which spread over eight months, and Puccini was not really able to
walk again properly until he had been to Paris--where his _Tosca_ was
produced at the Opera Comique--and undergone a special treatment at the
hands of a French specialist. His first visit to Paris had been in 1898
for the rehearsals of _La Bohème_.
[Illustration: PUCCINI IN HIS 24-H.P. "LA BUIRE"
_Photo. by R. de Guili & Co., Lucca_]
Puccini visited London for the first time when he came over for the
production of _Manon_ at Covent Garden in 1894. He came again in 1897
for the production in English of _La Bohème_ at Manchester by the Carl
Rosa Company. This was not, by all accounts, one of his most pleasant
visits to a country of which he is very fond. Apart from the nervous
worry of a first performance of a brand new work in a strange language,
there were difficulties which made it a peculiarly trying time for the
composer. Robert Cuningham, the Rodolfo, was unfortunately seized with
a fearful cold which made him practically speechless on the night of
the performance, and he could do no more than whisper his part. All
things considered, it is not to be wondered at that Puccini, after
spending nearly three weeks in rehearsal, decided to keep away from
the theatre on the eventful night. He has himself written down his
impressions of Manchester, as well as those of London and Paris.
"Manchester, land of the smoke, cold, fog, rain and--cotton!
"London has six million inhabitants, a movement which it is as
impossible to describe as the language is to acquire. A city of
splendid women, beautiful amusements, and altogether fascinating.
"In Paris, the gay city, there is less traffic than in London, but life
there flies. My chief friends were Zola, Sardou and Daudet."
It was when Puccini was in Paris for the production of _La Bohème_
that he first met Sardou and arranged about the setting of _La Tosca_.
Sardou invited him to dinner, and after the coffee and cigars asked him
to play a little of the music he thought of putting in the new opera.
Sardou's knowledge of music, by the way, has, to say the least of it,
its limitations, and Puccini is very loth to play anything he may have
in his mind in the way of a composition. Puccini sat down at the piano,
however, and played a good deal, which Sardou liked immensely. But
Sardou did not know that the composer was merely stringing together all
sorts of odd airs out of his previous operas.
Puccini's days at his beloved Torre del Lago are divided between sport
and work. The beginning of his house, by the way, was a keeper's
lodge, a mere hut, on the edge of the wood. It is so white that in
the distance it looks like marble, but as a building it is quite
unpretentious. There is a little garden leading down to the lake, while
at the back stretches the fine open country. He is usually up and away
early in the morning, accompanied by his two favourite dogs, "Lea"
and "Scarpia." He goes to and fro from his shoots in his motor-boat
"Butterfly." The place abounds with wild duck, wild swans and all sorts
of water-fowl, the principal quarry from the sportsman's point of view
being coots, hares, and wild boar. Puccini has been frequently snowed
up while away shooting as late as April.
To the south of the lake, in the plain, are some remains of a bath
attributed to Nero, with undoubted traces of a Roman road and a fosse.
One can hardly move a yard in Italy without coming across villas of
Lucullus, roads of Hannibal, or fields of Cataline, but this particular
place, not only from the traces of buildings which remain, but from
the result of excavation, by which many Roman remains were brought to
light, is of great antiquity.
Coming in from a "shoot" Puccini often allows the best part of the
day to pass in more or less what seems like idleness, preferring to
put down his music at night--the one relic, one may say, of his old
wayward restless ways. He works chiefly on the ground floor of his
house at Torre del Lago, in a spacious apartment which is a sort of
dining-room, study and music-room all in one. The ceiling is crossed
with large wooden beams, and he calls the Venetian blinds, which are
outside the many and large windows, "mutes" for the sun, using the
word, of course, in its sense of a device for softening the tone of
a musical instrument. The walls of the room are decorated with some
quick impulsive designs, dashed on by his friend the artist Nomellini,
representing the flight of the hours from dawn to night. For the rest,
the room is full of photographs of all sorts of distinguished people,
from Verdi downwards, and stuffed birds.
When the desire for work is upon Puccini, "it catches him," as
an Italian would say, "by the scalp," and he works at a thing
continuously. During the recovery from his motor accident he was
wheeled to the piano each day and planned out _Madama Butterfly_,
although the actual writing down of the melodies and the general work
of construction was done, of course, away from the instrument. He makes
a rough sketch of the whole score as a rule, which he subjects to all
sorts of weird alterations only intelligible to himself, and from this
makes a clean copy embodying all the process of polishing and finishing
to which the original idea was subjected.
[Illustration: PUCCINI AFTER A "SHOOT"
_Photo. by S. Ernesto Arboco_]
It is difficult to get from Puccini any particulars of his ideas and
aims. He much prefers to do things rather than to talk about them. He
has on one or two occasions, however, given a hint of his views which
may be worth putting down again. One is on the interesting question as
to dramatic instinct in music. Puccini maintains that it is a question
not of instinct but experience. He says himself that his early works
were lacking in dramatic quality, but he does not agree that if it is
not inborn it cannot be developed. He maintains that the choice of
librettos has more to do with it than anything else, and from the first
he has worked a good deal in this way by more than the usual amount
of consultation and exchange of ideas that goes on between a composer
and the writer of the book. Marie Antoinette, at the time when I had
the pleasure of talking with him, was the subject for an opera which
was, at least, uppermost in his mind. "But I have thought of many
subjects and stories," he said. "La Faute de l'Abbé Mouret and the
Tartarin of Daudet are two well-known ones. The latter is pure fun,
but I have always thought, when coming to the point, that I should be
accused, if I set it, of copying Verdi's _Falstaff_. The former, I
believe, Zola promised to Massenet. I have also thought of Trilby; and
several excellent themes for plots could be gathered from the stories
of the later Roman Emperors." One statement at least was very
characteristic of Puccini. "My next plot must be one of sentiment to
allow me to work in my own way. I am determined not to go beyond the
place in art where I find myself at home."
Puccini is very fond of the theatre, and when last in London enjoyed
the production of _Oliver Twist_--he is specially fond, in our
literature, of Dickens--and _The Tempest_.
IV
"LE VILLI"
The Dal Verme Theatre, where Puccini's first opera was produced, has
been the scene of many experiments in the art of opera. More than one
composer has been able to get a hearing there, if no more, and among
the list of trials and experiments--the value of which taken as a whole
will doubtless some day be accounted at their proper worth, and which
still come out like shades of the night to remind us how little we
appreciate native endeavour--are to be found the names of more than one
English composer. Among the notable successes which have been first
launched at this theatre is Leoncavallo's _I Pagliacci_.
The cast and general production of _Le Villi_, as has been mentioned,
was apparently more or less in the nature of a friendly "helping hand"
held out to the unknown composer. The first performance was on May 31,
1884, and the cast as follows:
_Anna_ CAPONETTI.
_Roberto_ D'ANDRADE.
_Guglielmo Wulf_ PELZ.
When one thinks of modern extravagance, supposedly so necessary for
the production of a new play or musical piece, it is little short of
amazing to learn that the first performance of _Le Villi_ cost a little
over £20. Of course the main expenses were the costumes and the copying
of the orchestral parts. Puccini's fellow-students, with that generous
enthusiasm which is ever part of the artistic temperament, cheerfully
swelled the ranks of the theatre orchestra, and Messrs. Ricordi printed
the libretto for nothing.
_Le Villi_ met with a favourable verdict, and Puccini's mother received
the following telegram on the night of its production: "Theatre packed,
immense success; anticipations exceeded; eighteen calls; finale of
first act encored thrice."
The outcome of it all was that Messrs. Ricordi not only bought the
opera, but commissioned Puccini to write another, thus beginning an
association which has not only been marked by commercial success but by
a very real and close friendship.