ilop497Giuseppe Verdi
Giuseppe Verdi
Aïdawas the storm centre around which raged the first controversy touching the alleged influence of Wagner on Verdi. InAïda, apparently, we find all the identifying features of the modern music-drama as modelled by Wagner. There is the broad declamation, the dramatic realism and coherence, the solid, powerful instrumentation, the deposition of the voice from its commanding position as the all-important vehicle, the employment of the orchestra as the principal exponent of color, character, expression—putting the statue in the orchestra and leaving the pedestal on the stage, as Grétry said of Mozart. Yet, in spite of all this, in spite of much specious critical reasoning to the contrary,Aïdais altogether Verdi, and there is in it of Wagner not a jot, not a tittle! It is, of course, impossible to suppose that Verdi was unacquainted with Wagner’s works, and equally impossible to suppose that he remained unimpressed by them. But Verdi’s was emphatically not the type of mind to borrow from any other. He was an exceptionally introspective, self-centred and self-sufficient man. Besides, he was concerned with the development of the Italian lyric drama purely according to Italian taste, and in directions which he himself had followed more or less strictly from the beginning of his career. From the propaganda of Wagner he must inevitably have absorbed some pregnant suggestions as to musical dramatics, particularly as Wagner was in that respect the voice of thezeitgeist; but of specific Wagnerian influence in his music there is absolutely no trace. Anyone whofollows the development of Verdi’s genius fromNabuccocan see inAïdaits logical maturing. No elements appear in the latter opera which are not appreciable in embryo in the former—between them lies simply thirty years of study, knowledge and experiment.
During a period of enforced leisure in 1873 Verdi wrote a string quartet, the only chamber music work that ever came from his fertile pen. His friend, the noble and illustrious Manzoni, passed away in the same year, and Verdi proposed to honor his memory by composing arequiemto be performed on the first anniversary of his death. The municipality of Milan entered into the project to the extent of planning an elaborate public presentation of the work at the expense of the city. Verdi had already composed aLibera mefor a mass which, in accordance with a suggestion made by him to Tito Ricordi, was to be written in honor of Rossini by the leading composers of Italy. For some undiscovered reason or reasons this mass was never given. TheLibera mewhich Verdi wrote for it, however, served as a foundation for the new mass in memory of Manzoni. On May 22, 1874, the ManzoniRequiemwas given at the church of San Marco, Milan, in the presence of musicians anddilettantifrom all over Europe. Later it was presented to enthusiastic audiences at La Scala, at one of theMatinées Spirituellesof the Salle Favart, Paris, and at the Royal Albert Hall, London.
Hans von Bülow, with Teutonic emphasis, has characterized theRequiemas a ‘monstrosity.’ While the description is perhaps extreme, it is, from one point of view, not altogether unjustified. Certainly a German critic, having in mind the magnificent classic structures of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, could hardly look with tolerance upon this colorful expression of southern genius. The ManzoniRequiemis, in fact, a complete contradiction of itself, and as such can hardly betermed a successful artistic achievement. The odor of thecoulissesrather than that of the sanctuary hangs heavily about it. But, if one can forget that it is a mass and listen to it simply as a piece of music, then theRequiemstands revealed for what it is—a touching, noble, and profound expression of love and sorrow for a friend departed. This is Verdi’s only important essay in sacred music, though mention may be made of his colorful and dramaticStabat Mater, written in 1898.
A five-act opera entitledMontezumawhich Verdi wrote in 1878 may be passed over with the remark that it was produced in that year at La Scala, Milan. Then for nearly ten years Verdi was silent. The world was content to believe that his silence was permanent, that the marvellously productive career of the great master had come to a glorious and fitting close inAïdaand theRequiem. Nobody then could have believed thatAïda, far from making the culmination of Verdi’s achievement, was but the beginning of a new period in which his genius rose to heights that dwarfed even the loftiest eminence of his heyday. There is nothing in the history of art that can parallel the final flight of this man, at an age when the wings of creative inspiration have usually withered into impotence, or crumbled into dust. Under the circumstances one can, of course, very easily overestimate the æsthetic value of the last works of Verdi, surrounded as they are in one’s imagination with the halo which the venerable age of their creator has inevitably lent to them. As a matter of fact, the ultimate place of Verdi’s last works in musical history it is not within our power to determine. The mighty weapon of popular approval—which bestows the final accolade or delivers the last damning thrust, according to one’s point of view—has as yet missed bothOtelloandFalstaff. Critics differ, as critics will and ever did. Musically, dramatically,formally, and technicallyOtelloandFalstaffare the most finished examples of operatic composition that Italy has ever given to the world; and even outside Italy—if one excepts the masterpieces of Wagner—it is doubtful if they can be paralleled. Whether, also, they possess the divine spark which alone gives immortality is a moot point. We cannot say.
The goddess of fortune, who on the whole kept ever close to Verdi’s side, secured for him in his culminating efforts the collaboration of Arrigo Boïto, a poet and musician of exceptional gifts. Undoubtedly Boïto made very free with Shakespeare in his libretto ofOtello, but, compared with previous attempts to adapt Shakespeare for operatic purposes, his version is an absolute masterpiece. Even more remarkable, and much more faithful to the original, is his version ofFalstaff, which, taken by and large, is probably the only perfect opera libretto ever written.Otellois a story which might be expected to find perfect understanding and sympathy in the mind and temperament of an Italian, and consequently the faithful preservation of the original spirit is not so remarkable; but that an Italian should succeed in retaining through the change of language the thoroughly English flavor ofFalstaffis truly extraordinary.
Otellowas produced on February 5, 1887, at La Scala, Milan. That it was a brilliant success is not artistically very significant. Verdi to the Milanese was something less than a god and more than a composer. Its first performance at the Lyceum Theatre, London, in July, 1889, and at the Paris Opéra on October 12, 1894, were both gala occasions, and the enthusiasm which greeted it may safely be interpreted in part as a personal tribute to the venerable composer. Outside of such special occasions, and in the absence of the leather-lunged Tamagno,Otellohas always been received with curiosity, with interest, with respect, withadmiration, but without enthusiasm and, generally speaking, without appreciation. A certain few there are whose appreciative love of the work is fervent and sincere; but the attitude of the public at large towardOtellois not sympathetic.
Much the same may be said of the public attitude towardFalstaff—though the public, for some reason difficult to fathom, is provided with comparatively few opportunities of becoming familiar with this greatest of all Verdi’s creations. ExceptingDie MeistersingerandLe Nozze di Figarothere is nothing in the literature of comic opera that can compare withFalstaff, and in its dazzling, dancing exuberance of youth and wit and gaiety it stands quite alone. ‘Falstaff,’ says Richard Strauss, ‘is the greatest masterpiece of modern Italian music. It is a work in which Verdi attained real artistic perfection.’ ‘The action inFalstaff,’ James Huneker writes, ‘is almost as rapid as if the text were spoken; and the orchestra—the wittiest and most sparklingriantorchestra I ever heard—comments upon the monologue and dialogue of the book. When the speech becomes rhetorical so does the orchestra. It is heightened speech and instead of melody of the antique, formal pattern we hear the endless melody which Wagner employs. But Verdi’s speech is his own and does not savor of Wagner. If the ideas are not developed and do not assume vaster proportions it is because of their character. They could not be so treated without doing violence to the sense of proportion. Classic purity in expression, Latin exuberance, joyfulness, and an inexpressibly delightful atmosphere of irresponsible youthfulness and gaiety are all in this charming score....’ Nowhere inFalstaffdo we find the slightest suggestion of Wagner. Its spirit is much more that of Mozart. Naturally it invites comparison both withDie Meistersingerand withFigaro, but thecomparison in either case is futile. In form and contentFalstaffis absolutelysui generis.
La Scala, which witnessed the first Verdi triumph, also witnessed his last.Falstaffhad itspremièrethere on February 9, 1893, in the presence of ‘the best elements in music, art, politics and society,’ to quote a contemporary correspondent of the LondonDaily Graphic. The audience, so we are informed, grew wildly riotous in its enthusiasm. Even the ‘best elements’ so far forgot themselves as to wax demonstrative; while that part of the population of Milan which was not included in the audience held a demonstration of its own after the performance in front of Verdi’s hotel, forcing the aged composer to spend most of the night walking back and forth between his apartment and the balcony that he might listen to reiterated appreciations of an opera which the majority of the demonstrators had not heard. Paris heardFalstaffat the Opéra Comique in April, 1894, and London at Covent Garden in the following month.Falstaffwas the crowning effort of a distinguished genius, of a composer who had shed great lustre on the fame of Italian music, of a man venerable in age and character and achievement. It was Verdi’s swan-song. He died in Milan on January 27, 1901.[129]
Verdi’s extended career brings practically every nineteenth-century Italian composer of note within the category of his chronological contemporaries; but of contemporaries in the philosophical sense he had practically none worthy of mention. Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, Mercadante, Frederico and Luigi Ricci all outlived the beginning of Verdi’s artistic career.I Puritanifirst appeared in 1834,Don Pasqualein 1843, theCrispino e la Comareof the Ricci brothers in 1850.
Rossini died only three years and Mercadante only one year beforeAïdawas produced, though both had long ceased to compose. But all of these men belong artistically to a period prior to Verdi. Many of the younger Italians, including Mascagni, Leoncavallo, and Puccini, had already attracted attention whenFalstaffappeared; but they again belong to a later period. Boïto[130]is hard to classify. He is the Berlioz of Italian music, on a smaller scale—a polygonal figure which does not seem to fit into any well-defined niche. HisMefistofelewas produced as early as 1868, yet he seems to belong musically and dramatically to the post-Wagnerian epoch. Apart from those who were just beginning or just ending their artistic careers Italy was almost barren of meritorious composers during most of Verdi’s life. It would appear as if that one gigantic tree absorbed all the nourishment from the musical soil of Italy, leaving not enough to give strength to lesser growths. Of the leading Italian composers chosen to collaborate on the mass in honor of Rossini, not one, except Frederico Ricci and Verdi himself, is now remembered.[131]There remains Amilcare Ponchielli (1834-86) who is important as the founder of the Italian realistic school which has given to the worldI Pagliacci,Cavalleria Rusticana,Le Gioje della Madonna, and other essays in blood-letting brutality. His operas includeI Promessi Sposi(1856),La Savojarda(1861),Roderica(1864),La Stella del Monte(1867),Le Due Generale(1873),La Gioconda(1876),Il Figliuol Prodigio(1880), andMarion Delorme(1885). Of these onlyLa Gioconda, which still enjoys an equivocal popularity, has succeeded in establishing itself. Ponchielliwrote an amount of other music, sacred and secular, but none of it calls for special notice, except theGaribaldi Hymn(1882), which is likely to live after all his more pretentious efforts have been forgotten.
There is nothing more to be said of Verdi’s contemporaries. The history of his career is practically the history of Italian music during the same time. He reigned alone in unquestionable supremacy, and, whatever the future may have in store for Italy, it has not yet disclosed a worthy successor to his vacant throne.
W. D. D.