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 Pieta, 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 Maitre
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.