XIVFRANZ LISZT
Franz Liszt, in his day the king of pianists, a composer whose compositions still glow and burn with the fire he breathed into them; Liszt the diplomat, courtier, man of the world—always a conqueror! How difficult to tell, in a few pages, the story of a life so complex and absorbing!
A storm outside: but all was warmth and simple comfort in the large sitting-room of a steward's cottage belonging to the small estate of Raiding, in Hungary.
It was evening and father Liszt, after the labors of the day were over, could call these precious hours his own. He was now at the old piano, for with him music was a passion. He used all his leisure time for study and had some knowledge of most instruments. He had taught himself the piano, indeed under the circumstances had become quite proficient on it. To-night he was playing something of Haydn, for he greatly venerated that master. Adam Liszt made a striking figure as he sat there, his fine head, with its mass of light hair, thrown back, his stern features softened by the music he was making.
At a table near sat his wife, her dark head with its glossy braids bent over her sewing. Hers was a sweet, kindly face, and she endeared herself to every one by her simple, unassuming manners.
Quite near the old piano stood little Franz, not yet six. He was absolutely absorbed in the music. The fair curls fell about his childish face and his deep blue eyes were raised to his father, as though the latter were some sort of magician, creating all this beauty.
When the music paused, little Franz awoke as from a trance.
"Did you like that, Franzerl?" asked his father, looking down at him. The child bent his curly head, hardly able to speak.
"And do you want to be a musician when you grow up?" Franzerl nodded, then, pointing to a picture of Beethoven hanging on the wall, exclaimed with beaming eyes: "I want to be such a musician as he is!"
Adam Liszt had already begun to teach his baby son the elements of music, at the child's earnest and oft-repeated request. He had no real method, being self-taught himself, but in spite of this fact Franz made remarkable progress. He could read the notes and find the keys with as much ease as though he had practised for years. He had a wonderful ear, and his memory was astonishing. The father hoped his boy would become a great musician, and carry out the dream which he had failed to realize in himself.
Little Franz was born in the eventful year of 1811,—the "year of the comet." The night of October 21, the night of his birth, the tail of the meteor seemed to light up the roof of the Liszt home and was regarded as an omen of destiny. His mother used to say he was always cheerful, loving, never naughty but most obedient. The child seemed religious by nature, which feeling was fostered by his good mother. He loved to go to church on Sundays and fast days. The midnight mass on Christmas eve, when Adam Liszt, carrying a lantern, led the way to church along the country road, through the silent night, filled the child's thoughts with mystic awe.
Those early impressions have doubtless influenced the creations of Liszt, especially that part of his "Christus" entitled "Christmas Oratorio."
Before Franz was six, as we have seen, he had already begun his musical studies. If not sitting at the piano, he would scribble notes—for he had learned without instruction how to write them long before he knew the letters of the alphabet, or rudiments of writing. His small hands were a source of trouble to him, and he resorted to all kinds of comical expedients, such as sometimes playing extra notes with the tip of his nose. Indeed his ingenuity knew no bounds, when it came to mastering some musical difficulty.
Franz was an open minded, frank, truth-loving child, always ready to confess his faults, though he seemed to have but few. Strangely enough, though born an Hungarian, he was never taught to speak his native tongue, which indeed was only used by the peasants. German, the polite language of the country, was alone used in the Liszt home.
The pronounced musical talent of his boy was a source of pride to Adam Liszt, who spoke of it to all his friends, so that the little fellow began to be called "the artist." The result was that when a concert was to be given at the neighboring Oldenburg, Adam was requested to allow his wonder child to play.
When Franz, now a handsome boy of nine, heard of the concert, he was overjoyed at the prospect of playing in public. It was a happy day for him when he started out with his father for Oldenburg. He was to play a Concerto by Reis, and a Fantaisie of his own, accompanied by the orchestra. In this his first public attempt Franz proved he possessed two qualities necessary for success—talent and will. All who heard him on this occasion were so delighted, that Adam then and there made arrangements to give a second concert on his own account, which was attended with as great success as the first.
The father had now fully made up his mind Franz was to be a musician. He decided to resign his post of steward at Raiding and take the boy to Vienna for further study.
On the way to Pressburg, the first stop, they halted to call at Eisenstadt, on Prince Esterhazy. The boy played for his delighted host, who gave him every encouragement, even to placing his castle at Pressburg at his disposal for a concert. The Princess, too, was most cordial, and gave the boy costly presents when they left.
At Pressburg Adam Liszt succeeded in arranging a concert which interested all the Hungarian aristocracy of the city. It was given in the spacious drawing-rooms of the Prince's palace, and a notable audience was present. Little Franz achieved a triumph that night, because of the fire and originality of his playing. Elegant women showered caresses upon the child and the men were unanimous that such gifts deserved to be cultivated to the utmost without delay.
When it was learned that father Liszt had not an ample purse, and there would be but little for Franz's further musical education, six Hungarian noblemen agreed to raise a subscription which would provide a yearly income for six years. With this happy prospect in view, which relieved him of further anxiety, the father wrote to Hummel, now in employ of the Court at Weimar, asking him to undertake Franz's musical education. Hummel, though a famous pianist, was of a grasping nature; he wrote back that he was willing to accept the talented boy as a pupil, but would charge a louis d'or per lesson!
As soon as the father and his boy arrived in Vienna, the best teachers were secured for Franz. Carl Czerny was considered head of the piano profession. Czerny had been a pupil of Beethoven, and was so overrun with pupils himself, that he at first declined to accept another. But when he heard Franz play, he was so impressed that he at once promised to teach him. His nature was the opposite of Hummel's, for he was most generous to struggling talent. At the end of twelve lessons, when Adam Liszt wished to pay the debt, Czerny would accept nothing, and for the whole period of instruction—a year and a half—he continued to teach Franz gratuitously.
At first the work with such a strict master of technic as Czerny, was very irksome to the boy, who had been brought up on no method at all, but was allowed free and unrestrained rein. He really had no technical foundation; but since he could read rapidly at sight and could glide over the keys with such astonishing ease, he imagined himself already a great artist. Czerny soon showed him his deficiencies; proving to him that an artist must have clear touch, smoothness of execution and variety of tone. The boy rebelled at first, but finally settled down to hard study, and the result soon astonished his teacher. For Franz began to acquire a richness of feeling and beauty of tone wonderful for such a child. Salieri became his teacher of theory. He was now made to analyze and play scores, also compose little pieces and short hymns. In all these the boy made fine progress.
He now began to realize he needed to know something besides music, and set to work by himself to read, study and write. He also had great opportunity, through his noble Hungarian patrons, to meet the aristocracy of Vienna. His talents, vivacity and grace, his attractive personality, all helped to win the notice of ladies—even in those early days of his career.
After eighteen busy months in Vienna, father Liszt decided to bring his boy out in a public concert. The Town Hall was placed at his disposal and a number of fine artists assisted. With beaming face and sparkling eyes, the boy played with more skill, fire and confidence than he had ever done before. The concert took place December 1, 1822. On January 12, 1823, Franz repeated his success in another concert, again at the Town Hall.
It was after this second concert that Franz's reputation reached the ears of Beethoven, always the object of the boy's warmest admiration. Several times Franz and his father had tried to see the great master, but without success. Schindler was appealed to and promised to do his best. He wrote in Beethoven's diary, as the master was quite deaf:
"Little Liszt has entreated me to beg you to write him a theme for to-morrow's concert. He will not break the seal till the concert begins. Czerny is his teacher—the boy is only eleven years old. Do come to his concert, it will encourage the child. Promise me you will come."
It was the thirteenth of April, 1823. A very large audience filled the Redouten Saal. When Franz stepped upon the platform, he perceived the great Beethoven seated near. A great joy filled him. Now he was to play for the great man, whom all his young life he had worshiped from afar. He put forth every effort to be worthy of such an honor. Never had he played with such fire; his whole being seemed thrilled—never had he achieved such success. In the admiration which followed, Beethoven rose, came upon the platform, clasped the boy in his arms and kissed him repeatedly, to the frantic cheers of the audience.
The boy Franz Liszt had now demonstrated that already at eleven years old, he was one of the leading virtuosi of the time; indeed his great reputation as a pianist dates from this third Vienna concert. The press praised him highly, and many compared him to the wonderful genius, Mozart. Adam Liszt wished him now to see more of the world, and make known his great talents, also to study further. He decided to take the boy to Paris, for there lived the celebrated composer, Cherubini, at that time Director of the Paris Conservatoire.
On the way to Paris, concerts were given in various cities. In Munich he was acclaimed "a second Mozart." In Strassburg and Stuttgart he had great success.
Arrived in Paris, father and son visited the Conservatoire at once, for it would have been a fine thing for the boy to study there for a time, as it was the best known school for counterpoint and composition. Cherubini, however, refused to even read the letters of recommendation, saying no foreigner, however talented, could be admitted to the French National School of Music. Franz was deeply hurt by this refusal, and begged with tears to be allowed to come, but Cherubini was immovable.
However they soon made the acquaintance of Ferdinand Paër, who offered to give the child lessons in composition.
Franz made wonderful progress, both in this new line of study, and in becoming known as a piano virtuoso. Having played in a few of the great houses, he soon found himself the fashion; everybody was anxious for "le petit Litz" as he was called, to attend and play at their soirées. Franz thus met the most distinguished musicians of the day. When he played in public the press indulged in extravagant praise, calling him "the eighth wonder of the world," "another Mozart," and the like. Of course the father was overjoyed that his fondest hopes were being realized. Franz stood at the head of the virtuosi, and in composition he was making rapid strides. He even attempted an operetta, "Don Sancho," which later had several performances.
The eminent piano maker, Erard, who had a branch business in London and was about to start for that city, invited Liszt to accompany him and bring Franz. They accepted this plan, but in order to save expense, it was decided that mother Liszt, who had joined them in Paris, should return to Austria and stay with a sister till the projected tours were over.
Franz was saddened by this decision, but his entreaties were useless; his father was stern. The separation was a cruel one for the boy. For a long time thereafter the mere mention of his mother's name would bring tears.
In May, 1824, father and son, with Erard, started for England, and on June 21 Franz gave his first public concert in London. He had already played for the aristocracy in private homes, and had appeared at Court by command of King George IV. The concert won him great success, though the English were more reserved in their demonstrations, and not like the impulsive, open-hearted French people. He was happy to return to Paris, after the London season, and to resume his playing in the French salons.
The next spring, accompanied by his father, he made a tour of the French provinces, and then set out for a second trip to England. He was now fourteen; a mere boy in years, but called the greatest pianist of the day. He had developed so quickly and was so precocious that already he disliked being called "le petit Litz," for he felt himself full grown. He wished to be free to act as he wished. Adam, however, kept a strict watch on all his movements, and this became irksome to the boy, who felt he was already a man.
But father Liszt's health became somewhat precarious; constant traveling had undermined it. They remained in Paris quietly, till the year 1826, when they started on a second tour of French cities till Marseilles was reached, where the young pianist's success was overwhelming.
Returning to Paris, Franz devoted much of his time to ardent study of counterpoint, under Anton Reicha. In six months' study he had mastered the difficulties of this intricate art.
Adam Liszt and Franz spent the winter of 1826-7 in Switzerland, the boy playing in all important cities. They returned to Paris in the spring, and in May, set out again for England on a third visit. Franz gave his first concert in London on June ninth and proved how much he had gained in power and brilliancy. Moscheles, who was present, wrote: "Franz Liszt's playing surpasses in power and the overcoming of difficulties anything that has yet been heard."
The strain of constant travel and concert playing was seriously telling on the boy's sensitive, excitable nature. He lost his sunny gaiety, grew quiet, sometimes almost morose. He went much to church, and wanted to take orders, but his father prevented this step. Indeed the father became alarmed at the boy's pale face and changed condition, and took him to the French watering place of Boulogne-sur-Mer. Here both father and son were benefited by the sea baths and absolute rest. Franz recovered his genial spirits and constantly gained in health and strength.
But with Adam Liszt the gain was only temporary. He was attacked with a fever, succumbed in a few days and was buried at Boulogne. The loss of his father was a great blow to Franz. He was prostrated for days, but youth at last conquered. Aroused to his responsibilities, he began to think for the future. He at once wrote his mother, telling her what had happened, saying he would give up his concert tours and make a home for her in Paris, by giving piano lessons.
Looking closer into his finances, of which he had no care before, Franz found the expenses of his father's illness and death had exhausted their little savings, and he was really in debt. He decided to sell his grand piano, so that he should be in debt to no one. This was done, every one was paid off and on his arrival in Paris his old friend Erard invited him to his own home till the mother came.
It was a sweet and happy meeting of mother and son, after such a long separation. The two soon found a modest apartment in the Rue Montholon.
As soon as his intention to give lessons became known, many aristocratic pupils came and found him a remarkable teacher. Among his new pupils was Caroline Saint Cricq, youngest daughter of Count Saint Cricq, then Minister of the Interior, and Madame his wife.
Caroline, scarcely seventeen, the same age as her young teacher, was a beautiful girl, as pure and refined as she was talented. Under the eyes of the Countess, the lessons went on from month to month, and the mother did not fail to see the growing attachment between the young people. But love's young dream was of short duration. The Countess fell ill and the lessons had to be discontinued. Caroline did not see her devoted teacher till all was over.
There was now another bond between them, the sympathy over the loss of their dear ones. The Count had requested that the lessons should be resumed. But when the young teacher remained too long in converse with his pupil after the lessons, he was dismissed by the Count, and all their sweet intercourse came to an abrupt end.
Mme. Liszt did all she could to soothe the grief and despair of her son. For days and weeks he remained at home, neglecting his piano and his work. He again thought of the church with renewed ardor and told his mother he now had decided to become a monk. His spirits sank very low; he became ill, unable to leave the house and it was reported everywhere he had passed away.
Again he rallied and his strong constitution conquered. As strength slowly returned, so also did his activity and love of life.
During his long convalescence he was seized with a great desire for knowledge, and read everything he could lay hands on. He would often sit at the piano, busying his fingers with technic while reading a book on the desk before him. He had formerly given all his time to music and languages; now he must know literature, politics, history and exact sciences. A word casually dropped in conversation, would start him on a new line of reading. Then came the revolution of 1830. Everybody talked politics, and Franz, with his excitable spirits, would have rushed into the conflict if his mother had not restrained him.
With all this awakening he sought to broaden his art, to make his instrument speak of higher things. Indeed the spirit must speak through the form. This he realized the more as he listened to the thrilling performances of that wizard of the violin, Paganini, who appeared in Paris in 1831. This style of playing made a deep impression on Liszt. He now tried to do on the piano what Paganini accomplished on the violin, in the matter of tone quality and intensity. He procured the newly published Caprices for violin and tried to learn their tonal secrets, also transcribing the pieces for piano.
Liszt became fast friends with the young composer, Hector Berlioz, and much influenced by his compositions, which were along new harmonic lines. Chopin, the young Polish artist, now appeared in Paris, playing his E minor Concerto, his Mazurkas and Nocturnes, revealing new phases of art. Chopin's calm composure tranquilized Liszt's excitable nature. From Chopin, Liszt learned to "express in music the poetry of the aristocratic salon." Liszt ever remained a true and admiring friend of the Pole, and wrote the poetic study sketch of him in 1849.
Liszt was now twenty-three. Broadened and chastened by all he had passed through, he resumed his playing in aristocratic homes. He also appeared in public and was found to be quite a different artist from what the Parisians had previously known. His bold new harmonies in his own compositions, the rich effects, showed a deep knowledge of his art. He had transcribed a number of Berlioz's most striking compositions to the piano and performed them with great effect.
The handsome and gifted young artist was everywhere the object of admiration. He also met George Sand, and was soon numbered among that wonderful and dangerous woman's best friends. Later he met the young and beautiful Countess Laprunarède, and a mutual attraction ensued. The elderly Count, her husband, pleased with the dashing young musician, invited him to spend the winter at his chateau, in Switzerland, where the witty Countess virtually kept him prisoner.
The following winter, 1833-34, when the salons opened again, Liszt frequented them as before. He was in the bloom of youth and fame, when he met the woman who was to be linked with his destiny for the next ten years.
We have sketched the childhood and youth of this wonderful artist up to this point. We will pass lightly over this decade of his career, merely stating briefly that the lady—the beautiful Countess d'Agoult, captivated by the brilliant talents of the Hungarian virtuoso, left her husband and child, and became for ten years the faithful companion of his travels and tours over Europe. Many writers agree that Liszt endeavored to dissuade her from this attraction, and behaved as honorably as he could under the circumstances. A part of the time they lived in Switzerland, and it was there that many of Liszt's compositions were written.
Of their three children, the boy died very young. Of the girls, Blandine became the wife of Émile Ollivier, a French literary man and statesman. Her sister, Cosima, married first Hans von Bülow and later Richard Wagner.
In 1843 Liszt intended to take Madame with him to Russia, but instead, left her and her children in Paris, with his mother, as the Countess was in failing health. His first concert, in St. Petersburg, realized the enormous sum of fifty thousand francs—ten thousand dollars. Instead of giving one concert in Moscow, he gave six. Later he played in Bavaria, Saxony and other parts of Germany. He then settled in Weimar for a time, being made Grand Ducal Capellmeister. Then, in 1844-45, longing for more success, he toured Spain and Portugal.
A generous act was his labor in behalf of the Beethoven monument, to be erected in the master's birthplace, Bonn. The monument was to be given by subscriptions from the various Princes of Germany. Liszt helped make up the deficit and came to Bonn to organize a Festival in honor of the event. He also composed a Cantata for the opening day of the Festival, and in his enthusiasm nearly ruined himself by paying the heavy expenses of the Festival out of his own pocket.
The political events of 1848 brought him back to Weimar, and he resumed his post of Court Music Director. He now directed his energies toward making Weimar the first musical city of Germany. Greatly admiring Wagner's genius, he undertook to perform his works in Weimar, and to spread his name and fame. Indeed it is not too much to say that without Liszt's devoted efforts, Wagner would never have attained his vogue and fame. Wagner himself testified to this.
While living in Weimar, Liszt made frequent journeys to Rome and to Paris. In 1861 there was a rumor that the object of his visits to Rome was to gain Papal consent to his marriage with the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein. During a visit to Rome in 1864, the musician was unable to resist longer the mysticism of the church. He decided to take orders and was made an Abbé.
Since that time, Abbé Franz Liszt did much composing. He also continued to teach the piano to great numbers of pupils, who flocked to him from all parts of the world. Many of the greatest artists now before the public were numbered among his students, and owe much of their success to his artistic guidance.
In 1871, the Hungarian Cabinet created him a noble, with a yearly pension of three thousand dollars. In 1875, he was made Director of the Academy at Budapest. In addition, Liszt was a member of nearly all the European Orders of Chivalry.
Franz Liszt passed away August 1, 1886, in the house of his friend, Herr Frohlich, near Wagner's Villa Wahnfried, Bayreuth, at the age of seventy-five. As was his custom every summer, Liszt was in Bayreuth, assisting in the production of Wagner's masterpieces, when he succumbed to pneumonia. Thus passed a great composer, a world famous piano virtuoso, and a noble and kindly spirit.
For the piano, his chosen instrument, Liszt wrote much that was beautiful and inspiring. He created a new epoch for the virtuoso. His fifteen Hungarian Rhapsodies, B minor Sonata, Concert Études and many transcriptions, appear on all modern programs, and there are many pieces yet to be made known. He is the originator of the Symphonic Poem, for orchestra; while his sacred music, such as the Oratorio "Christus," and the beautiful "Saint Elizabeth," a sacred opera, are monuments to his great genius.
XVGIUSEPPE VERDI
In the little hamlet of Le Roncole, at the foot of the Apeninnes, a place that can hardly be found on the map, because it is just a cluster of workmen's houses, Giuseppe Verdi, one of the greatest operatic composers, was born, October 9, 1813.
There were great wars going on in Europe during that time. When Giuseppe was a year old, the Russian and Austrian soldiers marched through Italy, killing and destroying everywhere. Some of them came to Le Roncole for a few hours. All the women and children ran to the church and locked themselves in for safety. But these savage men had no respect for the house of God. They took the hinges off the doors and rushing in murdered and wounded the helpless ones. Luigia Verdi, with the baby Giuseppe in her arms, escaped, ran up a narrow staircase to the belfry, and hid herself and child among some old lumber. Here she stayed in her hiding place, until the drunken troops were far away from the little village.
The babe Giuseppe was born among very poor, ignorant working people, though his father's house was one of the best known and most frequented among the cluster of cottages. His parents Carlo Verdi and Luigia his wife, kept a small inn at Le Roncole and also a little shop, where they sold sugar, coffee, matches, spirits, tobacco and clay pipes. Once a week the good Carlo would walk up to Busseto, three miles away, with two empty baskets and would return with them filled with articles for his store, carrying them slung across his strong shoulders.
Giuseppe Verdi who was to produce such streams of beautiful, sparkling music,—needing an Act of Parliament to stop them, as once happened,—was a very quiet, thoughtful little fellow, always good and obedient; sometimes almost sad, and seldom joined in the boisterous games of other children. That serious expression found in all of Verdi's portraits as a man was even noticeable in the child. The only time he would rouse up, was when a hand organ would come through the village street; then he would follow it as far as his little legs would carry him, and nothing could keep him in the house, when he heard this music. Intelligent, reserved and quiet, every one loved him.
In 1820, when Giuseppe was seven years old, Carlo Verdi committed a great extravagance for an innkeeper; he bought a spinet for his son, something very unheard of for so poor a man to do.
Little Giuseppe practised very diligently on his spinet. At first he could only play the first five notes of the scale. Next he tried very hard to find out chords, and one day was made perfectly happy at having sounded the major third and fifth of C. But the next day he could not find the chord again, and began to fret and fume and got into such a temper, that he took a hammer and tried to break the spinet in pieces. This made such a commotion that it brought his father into the room. When he saw what the child was doing, he gave a blow on Giuseppe's ear that brought the little fellow to his senses at once. He saw he could not punish the good spinet because he did not know enough to strike a common chord.
His love of music early showed itself in many ways. One day he was assisting the parish priest at mass in the little church of Le Roncole. At the moment of the elevation of the Host, such sweet harmonies were sounding from the organ, that the child stood perfectly motionless, listening to the beautiful music, all unconscious of everything else about him.
"Water," said the priest to the altar boy. Giuseppe, not hearing him, the priest repeated the call. Still the child, who was listening to the music, did not hear. "Water," said the priest a third time and gave Giuseppe such a sharp kick that he fell down the steps of the altar, hitting his head on the stone floor, and was taken unconscious into the sacristy.
After this Giuseppe was allowed to have music lessons with Baistrocchi, the organist of the village church. At the end of a year Baistrocchi said there was nothing more he could teach his young pupil, so the lessons came to an end.
Two years later, when old Baistrocchi died, Giuseppe, who was then only ten, was made organist in his place. This pleased his parents very much, but his father felt the boy should be sent to school, where he could learn to read and write and know something of arithmetic. This would have been quite impossible had not Carlo Verdi had a good friend living at Busseto, a shoemaker, named Pugnatta.
Pugnatta agreed to give Giuseppe board and lodging and send him to the best school in the town, all for a small sum of three pence a day. Giuseppe went to Pugnatta's; and while he was always in his place in school and studied diligently, he still kept his situation as organist of Le Roncole, walking there every Sunday morning and back again to Busseto after the evening service.
His pay as organist was very small, but he also made a little money playing for weddings, christenings and funerals. He also gained a few lire from a collection which it was the habit of artists to make at harvest time, for which he had to trudge from door to door, with a sack upon his back. The poor boy's life had few comforts, and this custom of collections brought him into much danger. One night while he was walking toward Le Roncole, very tired and hungry, he did not notice he had taken a wrong path, when suddenly, missing his footing, he fell into a deep canal. It was very dark and very cold and his limbs were so stiff he could not use them. Had it not been for an old woman who was passing by the place and heard his cries, the exhausted and chilled boy would have been carried away by the current.
After two years' schooling, Giuseppe's father persuaded his friend, Antonio Barezzi of Busseto, from whom he was in the habit of buying wines and supplies for his inn and shop,—to take the lad into his warehouse. That was a happy day for Giuseppe when he went to live with Barezzi, who was an enthusiastic amateur of music. The Philharmonic Society, of which Barezzi was the president, met, rehearsed and gave all its concerts at his house.
Giuseppe, though working hard in the warehouse, also found time to attend all the rehearsals of the Philharmonics, and began the task of copying out separate parts from the score. His earnestness in this work attracted the notice of the conductor, Ferdinando Provesi, who began to take great interest in the boy, and was the first one to understand his talent and advised him to devote himself to music. A Canon in the Cathedral offered to teach him Latin, and tried to make a priest of him, saying, "What do you want to study music for? You have a gift for Latin and it would be much better for you to become a priest. What do you expect from your music? Do you think that some day you will become organist of Busseto? Stuff and nonsense! That can never be."
A short time after this, there was a mass at a chapel in Busseto, where the Canon had the service. The organist was unable to attend, and Verdi was called at the last moment to take his place. Very much impressed with the unusually beautiful organ music, the priest, at the close of the service desired to see the organist. His astonishment was great when he saw his scholar whom he had been seeking to turn from the study of music. "Whose music did you play?" he asked. "It was most beautiful."
"Why," timidly answered the boy, "I had no music, I was playing extempore—just as I felt."
"Ah, indeed," replied the Canon; "well I am a fool and you cannot do better than to study music, take my word for it."
Under the good Provesi, Verdi studied until he was sixteen and made such rapid progress that both Provesi and Barezzi felt he must be sent to Milan to study further. The lad had often come to the help of his master, both at the organ and as conductor of the Philharmonic. The records of the society still have several works written by Verdi at that time—when he was sixteen—composed, copied, taught, rehearsed and conducted by him.
There was an institution in Busseto called the Monte di Pietà, which gave four scholarships of three hundred francs a year, each given for four years to promising young men needing money to study science or art. Through Barezzi one of these scholarships was given to Verdi, it being arranged that he should have six hundred francs a year for two years, instead of three hundred francs for four years. Barezzi himself advanced the money for the music lessons, board and lodging in Milan and the priest gave him a letter of introduction to his nephew, a professor there, who received him with a hearty welcome, and insisted upon his living with him.
Like all large music schools, there were a great many who presented themselves for admittance by scholarship and only one to be chosen. And Verdi did not happen to be that one, Basili not considering his compositions of sufficient worth. This was not because Verdi was really lacking in his music, but because Basili had other plans. This did not in the least discourage Giuseppe, and at the suggestion of Alessando Rolla, who was then conductor of La Scala, he asked Lavigna to give him lessons in composition and orchestration.
Lavigna was a former pupil of the Conservatoire of Naples and an able composer. Verdi showed him some of the same compositions he had shown Basili. After examining them he willingly accepted the young aspirant as a pupil.
Verdi spent most of his evenings at the home of the master, when Lavigna was not at La Scala and there met many artists. One night it chanced that Lavigna, Basili and Verdi were alone, and the two masters were speaking of the deplorable result of a competition for the position of Maître di Capelle and organist of the Church of San Giovanni di Monza. Out of twenty-eight young men who had taken part in the competition, not one had known how to develop correctly the subject given by Basili for the construction of a fugue. Lavigna, with a bit of mischief in his eyes, began to say to his friend:—"It is really a remarkable fact. Well, look at Verdi, who has studied fugue for two short years. I lay a wager he would have done better than your eight and twenty candidates."
"Really?" replied Basili, in a somewhat vexed tone.
"Certainly. Do you remember your subject? Yes, you do? Well, write it down."
Basili wrote and Lavigne, giving the theme to Verdi, said:
"Sit down there at the table and just begin to work out this subject."
Then the two friends resumed their conversation, until Verdi, coming to them said simply: "There, it is done."
Basili took the paper and examined it, showing signs of astonishment as he continued to read. When he came to the conclusion he complimented the lad and said: "But how is it that you have written a double canon on my subject?"
"It is because I found it rather poor and wished to embellish it," Verdi replied, remembering the reception he had had at the Conservatoire.
In 1833 his old master Provesi died. Verdi felt the loss keenly, for Provesi was the one who first taught him music and who showed him how to work to become an artist. Though he wished to do greater things, he returned to Busseto to fulfill his promise to take Provesi's place as organist of the Cathedral and conductor of the Philharmonic, rather big positions to fill for a young man of twenty.
And now Verdi fell in love with the beautiful Margherita, the oldest daughter of Barezzi, who did not mind giving his daughter to a poor young man, for Verdi possessed something worth far more than money, and that was great musical talent. The young people were married in 1836, and the whole Philharmonic Society attended.
About the year 1833-34 there flourished in Milan a vocal society called the Philharmonic, composed of excellent singers under the leadership of Masini. Soon after Verdi came to the city, the Society was preparing for a performance of Haydn's "Creation." Lavigna, with whom the young composer was studying composition, suggested his pupil should attend the rehearsals, to which he gladly agreed. It seems that three Maestri shared the conducting during rehearsals. One day none of them were present at the appointed hour and Masini asked young Verdi to accompany from the full orchestral score, adding, "It will be sufficient if you merely play the bass." Verdi took his place at the piano without the slightest hesitation. The slender, rather shabby looking stranger was not calculated to inspire much confidence. However he soon warmed to his work, and after a while grew so excited that he played the accompaniment with the left hand while conducting vigorously with the right. The rehearsal went off splendidly, and many came forward to greet the young conductor, among them were Counts Pompeo Belgiojoso and Remato Borromes. After this proof of his ability, Verdi was appointed to conduct the public performance, which was such a success that it was repeated by general request, and was attended by the highest society.
Soon after this Count Borromes engaged Verdi to write a Cantata for chorus and orchestra, to honor the occasion of a marriage in the family. Verdi did so but was never paid a sou for his work. The next request was from Masini, who urged Verdi to compose an opera for the Teatro Filodramatico, where he was conductor. He handed him a libretto, which with a few alterations here and there became "Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio." Verdi accepted the offer at once, and being obliged to move to Busseto, where he had been appointed organist, remained there nearly three years, during which time the opera was completed. On returning to Milan he found Masini no longer conductor, and lost all hope of seeing the new opera produced. After long waiting however, the impressario sent for him, and promised to bring out the work the next season, if the composer would make a few changes. Young and as yet unknown, Verdi was quite willing. "Oberto" was produced with a fair amount of success, and repeated several times. On the strength of this propitious beginning, the impressario, Merelli, made the young composer an excellent offer—to write three operas, one every eight months, to be performed either in Milan or in Vienna, where he was impressario of both the principal theaters. He promised to pay four thousand lire—about six hundred and seventy dollars—for each, and share the profits of the copyright. To young Verdi this seemed an excellent chance and he accepted at once. Rossi wrote a libretto, entitled "Proscritto," and work on the music was about to begin. In the spring of 1840, Merelli hurried from Vienna, saying he needed a comic opera for the autumn season, and wanted work begun on it at once. He produced three librettos, none of them very good. Verdi did not like them, but since there was no time to lose, chose the least offensive and set to work.
The Verdis were living in a small house near the Porta Ticinesa; the family consisted of the composer, his wife and two little sons. Almost as soon as work was begun on the comic opera, Verdi fell ill and was confined to his bed several days. He had quite forgotten that the rent money, which he always liked to have ready on the very day, was due, and he had not sufficient to pay. It was too late to borrow it, but quite unknown to him the wife had taken some of her most valuable trinkets, had gone out and brought back the necessary amount. This sweet act of devotion greatly touched her husband.
And now sudden sorrow swept over the little family. At the beginning of April one of the little boys fell ill. Before the doctors could understand what was the matter, the little fellow breathed his last in the arms of his desperate mother. A few days after this, the other child sickened and died. In June the young wife, unable to bear the strain, passed away and Verdi saw the third coffin leave his door carrying the last of his dear ones. And in the midst of these crushing trials he was expected to compose a comic opera! But he bravely completed his task. "Un Giorno di Regno" naturally proved a dead failure. In the despondency that followed, the composer resolved to give up composition altogether. Merelli scolded him roundly for such a decision, and promised if, some day, he chose to take up his pen again, he would, if given two months' notice, produce any opera Verdi might write.
At that time the composer was not ready to change his mind. He could not live longer in the house filled with so many sad memories, but moved to a new residence near the Corsia di Servi. One evening on the street, he ran against Merelli, who was hurrying to the theater. Without stopping he linked his arm in that of the composer and made him keep pace. The manager was in the depths of woe. He had secured a libretto by Solera, which was "wonderful, marvelous, extraordinary, grand," but the composer he had engaged did not like it. What was to be done? Verdi bethought him of the libretto "Proscritto," which Rossi had once written for him, and he had not used. He suggested this to Merelli. Rossi was at once sent for and produced a copy of the libretto. Then Merelli laid the other manuscript before Verdi. "Look, here is Solera's libretto; such a beautiful subject! Take it home and read it over." But Verdi refused. "No, no, I am in no humor to read librettos."
"It won't hurt you to look at it," urged Merelli, and thrust it into the coat pocket of the reluctant composer.
On reaching home, Verdi pulled the manuscript out and threw it on the writing table. As he did so a stanza from the book caught his eye; it was almost a paraphrase from the Bible, which had been such a solace to him in his solitary life. He began to read the story and was more and more enthralled by it, yet his resolution to write no more was not altered. However, as the days passed there would be here a line written down, there a melody—until at last, almost unconsciously the opera of "Nabucco" came into being.
The opera once finished, Verdi hastened to Merelli, and reminded him of his promise. The impressario was quite honorable about it, but would not agree to bring the opera out until Easter, for the season of 1841-42, was already arranged. Verdi refused to wait until Easter, as he knew the best singers would not then be available. After many arguments and disputes, it was finally arranged that "Nabucco" should be put on, but without extra outlay for mounting. At the end of February 1842, rehearsals began and on March ninth the first performance took place.
The success of "Nabucco" was remarkable. No such "first night" had been known in La Scala for many years. "I had hoped for success," said the composer, "but such a success—never!"
The next day all Italy talked of Verdi. Donizetti, whose wealth of melodious music swayed the Italians as it did later the English, was so impressed by it that he continually repeated, "It is fine, uncommonly fine."
With the success of "Nabucco" Verdi's career as a composer may be said to have begun. In the following year "I Lombardi" was produced, followed by "Ernani." Then came in quick succession ten more operas, among them "Attila" and "Macbeth."
In 1847, we find Verdi in London, where on July 2, at Her Majesty's Theater, "I Masnadieri" was brought out, with a cast including Lablanche, Gardoni, Colletti, and above all Jenny Lind, in a part composed expressly for her. All the artists distinguished themselves; Jenny Lind acted admirably and sang her airs exquisitely, but the opera was not a success. No two critics could agree as to its merits. Verdi left England in disgust and took his music to other cities.
The advantage to Verdi of his trips through Europe and to England is shown in "Rigoletto," brought out in Vienna in 1851. In this opera his true power manifests itself. The music shows great advance in declamation, which lifts it above the ordinary Italian style of that time. With this opera Verdi's second period begins. Two years later "Trovatore" was produced in Rome and had a tremendous success. Each scene brought down thunders of applause, until the very walls resounded and outside people took up the cry, "Long live Verdi, Italy's greatest composer! Vive Verdi!" It was given in Paris in 1854, and in London the following year. In 1855, "La Traviata" was produced in Vienna. This work, so filled with delicate, beautiful music, nearly proved a failure, because the consumptive heroine, who expires on the stage, was sung by a prima donna of such extraordinary stoutness that the scene was received with shouts of laughter. After a number of unsuccessful operas, "Un Ballo in Maschera" scored a success in Rome in 1859, and "La Forza del Destino," written for Petrograd, had a recent revival in New York.
When Rossini passed away, November 13, 1868, Verdi suggested a requiem should be written jointly by the best Italian composers. The work was completed, but was not satisfactory on account of the diversity of styles. It was then proposed that Verdi write the entire work himself. The death of Manzoni soon after this caused the composer to carry out the idea. Thus the great "Manzoni Requiem" came into being.
In 1869, the Khedive of Egypt had a fine opera house built in Cairo, and commissioned Verdi to write an opera having an Egyptian subject, for the opening. The ever popular "Aida" was then composed and brought out in 1871, with great success. This proved to be the beginning of the master's third period, for he turned from his earlier style which was purely lyric, to one with far more richness of orchestration.
Verdi had now retired to his estate of Sant'Agata, and it was supposed his career as composer had closed, as he gave his time principally to the care of his domain. From time to time it was rumored he was writing another opera. The rumor proved true, for on February 5, 1887, when Verdi was seventy-four years old, "Otello" was produced at La Scala, Milan, amid indescribable enthusiasm. Six years later the musical world was again startled and overjoyed by the production of another Shakespearean opera, "Falstaff," composed in his eightieth year. In all, his operas number over thirty, most of them serious, all of them containing much beautiful music.
At Sant'Agata the master lived a quiet, retired life. The estate was situated about two miles from Busseto, and was very large, with a great park, a large collection of horses and other live stock. The residence was spacious, and the master's special bedroom was on the first floor. It was large, light and airy and luxuriously furnished. Here stood a magnificent grand piano, and the composer often rose in the night to jot down the themes which came to him in the silence of the midnight hours. Here "Don Carlos" was written. In one of the upper rooms stood the old spinet that Verdi hacked at as a child.
Verdi was one of the noblest of men as well as one of the greatest of musical composers. He passed away in Milan, January 27, 1901, at the age of eighty-eight.