Opera Books
THE OPERA
EDITED BY
ALBERT HILLERY BERGH
VOLUME II.
1909
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Verdi.
Several times in the history of music it has
happened that two great men have stood side by side, summing up the art
of their time in their own personalities, whatever minor differences
there may have been in their methods of procedure. It was so in the case
of Handel and Bach, and again later in the case of Mozart and Haydn.
Somewhat similar was the case of Wagner and Verdi, who worked side by
side, as it were, through the greater part of the nineteenth century.
Different as were the talents of the two, they had many points in common.
Both worked almost exclusively for the stage, and the genius of both
developed in so surprising and almost unexampled a manner, that it is
difficult to say whether a wider gulf lies between the earliest and
latest works of the one or of the other.
But in character the men were worlds asunder. Wagner was
essentially a theorist, building his musical system upon certain
definite literary conceptions to which he strove to give practical
expression. Verdi, on the other hand, was an artist pure and simple,
obeying an inner impulse which he would probably have found it difficult
if not impossible to explain in words. While Wagner was overturning
system and exploring untrodden paths, Verdi was content to work with
materials ready to hand, developing traditional forms to their
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highest attainable point of beauty and efficiency. Wagner’s influence
upon his contemporaries was immeasurably greater than that of Verdi, but
whether the actual musical legacy that he bequeathed to the world will
be more highly valued by posterity is another and a very different
question.
Giuseppe Verdi was born October 10, 1813, in the village of Le
Roncole in Italy. His parents were worthy villagers, his father keeping
a small inn and dealing besides in groceries and tobacco. The little
village of Le Roncole was one of the last places in which you would look
to find a boy such as Verdi. The population was made up of uneducated
hard-working laborers. The country was flat and uninteresting, and his
surroundings were of the most prosaic kind. But the fire of genius was
in the lad, and these unsympathetic environments were powerless to
extinguish it. The honor of first drawing attention to .the boy’s gifts
lies with a poor itinerant violinist, Bagasset by name. In his
wanderings he frequently visited Le Roncole. Little Giuseppe and he
struck up a friendship, and it was Bagasset who suggested that the boy’s
father should allow him to follow music as a profession.
In after years, when Verdi had become famous, he found Bagasset
again, then a very old man and poor, and, remembering the past, did all
in his power to help him.
It is known that in 1821, when eight years old, Verdi was the proud
possessor of an old spinet. This instrument he regarded with the
greatest affection, and to the day of his death it occupied a place of
honor at his estate at Sant’ Agata, near Busseto. There was an
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interesting and quaint inscription written on one of the jacks. It gives
particulars of certain repairs which had been effected, and ends: “This
I do gratis in consideration of the good disposition the boy Giuseppe
Verdi shows in learning to play on this instrument, which quite
satisfies me for any trouble.” Signed: “Stephen Cavaletti, A. D. 1821.”
This spinet meant everything in the world to the boy at this time, and
it was his enthusiasm in subjecting it to the expression of the latent
music that was in him that caused the damage necessitating the repairs
referred to in the preceding paragraph.
Once he was playing chords on it, and was delighted at having
discovered the major third and fifth of C. Trying to repeat this the
following day, he was unable to find the chord again. Try as he would,
he could not succeed, so in childish rage he picked up a hammer and
proceeded to demolish the spinet. His father came upon the scene at this
moment, and, taking the spinet’s part in this unequal encounter, gave
his son a blow in the head which doubtless sounded chords in little
Giuseppe’s brain which were a revelation to him.
According to another anecdote of Verdi’s childhood, he was one day
assisting the priest at Mass in the little church at Le Roncole. By this
time he was seven years old. At the close of the Elevation of the Host
the harmonies that flowed from the organ so impressed the child that he
stood motionless listening to them. “Water,” said the priest to his
acolyte; the request passed unnoticed, and again the priest said “Water,”
and again a third time. The child taking no notice, the priest turned
upon him and kicked him so brutally that he fell
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headlong down the steps of the altar, knocking his head against the
floor, and they brought him unconscious into the sacristy.
His first guidance musically was at the hands of one Baistrocehi,
the organist of Le Roncole, who at the end of one year declared that the
boy knew as much as he did, and that he could teach him nothing more.
Two years later he succeeded his master as organist at the village
church, a post he held till he was eighteen years old. About this time
he was sent to Busseto to school, that’s to the good offices of a friend
of his father’s, named Pugnatta, a cobbler. His fees at the principal
school in the place, together with his board, amounted to threepence a
day. During this time he still kept his post as organist at Le Roncole,
for which duty his fixed salary was 36 lire per annum. After the first
year this liberal increment was increased to 40 lire. There were other
little takings to be got from weddings and funerals, and a collection on
behalf of the organist at harvest time also brought in a few lire. One
night at this period Verdi was returning to his home on foot. It was
very dark, and, mistaking his way, he stumbled into a deep ditch full of
water. His cries attracted the attention of a peasant woman who was
passing at the moment, and but for her timely help the boy’s life would
probably have been lost.
Verdi worked patiently during the last two years at improving his
general education in addition to his music, and then was thrust out to
him the helping hand, to the owner of which he may be said to, in large
measure, owe his glorious career. Antonio Barezzi, of Busseto, a friend
of Verdi’s father, and a distiller in a prosperous
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way of business, took a kindly interest in the lad. He invited him to
his house, allowed him to use his piano, and in every way encouraged and
nurtured the phenomenal gifts which he discovered in the boy. This
Barezzi was no mean musician himself, and played several instruments
skilfully. The Philharmonic Society of Busseto met at his house, and
thus young Verdi was thrown among people who had a strong refining
influence on his life. Chief among these was Ferdinando Provesi, the
director of the society and the organist of the cathedral.
The boy’s Latin teacher, Don Pietro Seletti, himself a musician,
bore a grudge against Provesi for a certain poem the latter had written
against the clergy. The fact that Provesi encouraged Verdi to study
music was quite enough to make Don Pietro put forward every objection in
his power. “Why do you want to study music? You have a gift for Latin,
and it will be much better for you to become a priest. What do you
expect from your music? Do you fancy that some day you may become
organist at Busseto? Stuff and nonsense! that can never be.” But a short
time after this there was to be a Mass at a chapel in Busseto where
Pietro Seletti was the officiating priest. The organist was prevented
from attending, and Don Pietro was induced to let Verdi preside at the
organ. The Mass finished, Don Pietro sent for him. “Whose music did you
play?” said he; “it was a most beautiful thing.” “I,” timidly answered
the boy, “I—had no music, and I was playing extempore, just as I felt.”
“Ah, in deed,” rejoined Don Pietro. “Well, I am a fool, and you cannot
do better than study music, take my word for it.”
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Thus it turned out that Provesi took charge of Verdi’s musical
education and gave him a thorough grounding in his art. His teacher was
a composer of distinction, and, being a man of good all-round attainment,
the boy was very fortunate to have attracted his attention. Verdi
studied with him until his sixteenth year. Then he began to realize that
his surroundings were too narrow, his opportunities too limited. There
was that constant striving after greater things, that dissatisfaction
with past achievements, that invariably haunts the true genius. And so
he looked about him for fresh fields to conquer, and again Barezzi came
to his aid.
Pougin, in his interesting work on Verdi, tells how during the
seventeenth century a great plague lay waste the land, carrying off
nearly half the population of these parts. Some of the inhabitants who
had no relatives left, who could benefit by their possessions, founded a
Monte di Pietà, first for the relief of the poor, secondly to offer
facilities for study to young people lacking means, and to send them to
schools of Music, Medicine, Law and the other professions. Barezzi used
his influence with the council who controlled these funds, with the
result that Verdi was sent to Milan, then as now the principal music
centre in Italy. The sum allowed to each successful applicant was 300
lire a year for four years, but in Verdi’s case this arrangement was
modified, and they allowed him 600 lire a year, but only for two years.
Thus Verdi came to Milan, a city which will always be associated with
his great triumphs. A nephew of the priest Seletti was asked to take
care of and look after Verdi upon his arrival This man
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slowed him the greatest kindness, took him into his house, and treated
him as a son.
So many versions appeared of the story of how Verdi was refused
admittance to the Conservatoire by Francesco Basily, the Director, that
the following letter, written in 1880 by Verdi himself to a friend who
had approached him on the subject, is of considerable in terest:
“It was not in 1833, but in 1832, in the month of
June (I had not yet completed my nineteenth year), that I made
application in writing to be admitted as paying pupil at the
Conservatoire at Milan. In addition I went through a sort of examination
at the Conservatoire, producing some of my compositions and playing a
piece on the piano before Basily, Piantanida, Angeleri and others,
including the veteran Rolla, to whom I had been recommended by my master
at Busseto. About a week afterwards I called on Rolla, who said to me:
‘Think no more about the Conservatoire; choose a master in the town. I
recommend you Lavigna or Negri.’ I knew nothing more about the
Conservatoire; no one replied to my application, no one, either before
or after the examination, spoke to me about the rule, and I know nothing
of the opinion of Easily related by Fetis. That is all.”
This
should settle the question once and for all. So, the Conservatoire
shutting their doors on him, Verdi had perforce to seek for other
guidance in his studies. Alessandro Rolla (mentioned in the letter just
quoted), the conductor at La Scala, suggested that he should place
himself in the hands of Vincenzo Lavigna, a well-known composer of that
period. This he did, and derived much benefit from the arrangement. When
the Monte di Pietà at Busseto made the grant to Verdi, it was on the
understanding that at Provesi’s death he should succeed the maestro as
organist of the cathedral. For this reason he was called back to Busseto
in 1833. However, he found the clergy unfavorable to him on account of
the fact that he had studied secular and stage
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music. They put forward a competitor for the post, one Giovanni Ferrari
by name, and this resulted in Verdi’s loss of the appointment.
The members of the Philharmonic Society, who believed in Verdi and
sided with him, were furious. They were in the habit of assisting in the
orchestra, but considering Verdi had been unfairly treated, they as one
man took his part and withdrew their support from the services. They,
moreover, broke into the church and removed all the music belonging to
the society. The result of this dispute spread, and for years there were
riotous scenes between the opposing factions. All this time Verdi
continued to hold the post of conductor of this society.
In 1836 he was married to Margherita, his old friend Barezzi’s
eldest daughter. At this time he was twenty-three years of age. In 1838,
when his three years’ engagement with the Busseto Philharmonic Society
was at an end, Verdi with his wife and two children once more took up
his abode in Milan. During his first visit to Milan he had met Signor
Masini, the Director of the Milan Philharmonic Society, who had
commissioned him to write an opera for the Teatro Filodrammatico. The
libretto, Oberto di San Bonifacio, was by Temistocle Solera, a
young poet nineteen years old, and also a musician of some talent. Verdi
worked on this during the intervening three years at Busseto. It was on
the point of being performed at La Scala, but at the last minute Moriani,
one of the principal artists, fell ill, and the production was
indefinitely postponed. The opera was, however, eventually given in 1839
by Bartolomeo Merelli at La Scala. The principal rôles were
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undertaken by Madame Marini, mezzo-soprano; Salvi, tenor, and Marini,
bass. Its reception at the hands of the critical Milan public was
lukewarm, and, although further representations were given, it did not
survive long.
After this, Merelli, seeing possibilities in his new find, drew up
a contract. Briefly, its terms were that Verdi should furnish him with
three operas, one each at intervals of eight months, to be given at La
Scala or the Imperial Theatre of Vienna. The composer was to receive
4,000 Austrian lire for each, the profits from the sale of the score to
be divided. Verdi was considering various librettos, when Merelli came
again to him and said he must have an opera-buffa for the following
autumn. This was in the spring of 1840. He at once got to work on this,
but was hampered by a severe attack of angina. As he was recovering from
this attack, he remembered that the rent of his modest little house was
falling due. His illness had prevented him from making the necessary
arrangements to meet it, and there was no time to apply to his
father-in-law at Busseto. His young wife saw how the enforced inaction
was worrying him, and, gathering up a few small valuables she had, one
day went out, and returned shortly with the necessary amount. And then
followed for Verdi a time of terrible trial, but we give his own account
of it:
“But now terrible misfortunes crowded upon me. The
beginning of April my child falls ill; the doctors cannot understand
what is the matter, and the dear little creature goes off quickly in his
desperate mother’s arms. Moreover, a few days after the other child is
taken ill, too, and he, too, dies; and in June my young wife is taken
from me by a most violent inflammation of the brain, so that on the 19th
of June I saw the third coffin
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carried out of my house. In a very little over two months three
persons so very dear to me had disappeared for ever. I was alone—alone!
My family had been destroyed, and in the very midst of these trials I
had to fulfil my engagements and write a comic opera”
Fancy writing a comic opera under these appalling conditions! Un
giorno di Regno was, however, produced, but was a hopeless failure.
Who can wonder! Verdi became very despondent after this, and, seeking
out Merelli, entreated him to annul the contract he had signed. The
impresario did all in his power to dissuade him, but without avail. The
agreement was handed back to him by Merelli, who added these words:
“Listen, Verdi. I cannot make you write by force. My confidence in
you is not lessened. Who knows but that one day you may decide to take
up your pen again? In that case it will be enough for you to give me
notice two months before the beginning of the season, and I promise that
any opera you bring shall be put on the stage.” But Verdi was hopelessly
disheartened, and would listen to no suggestion for fresh work.
Not long after the failure of Un giorno di Regno he chanced
upon Merelli in the street. The latter told him that he was in great
need of a suitable opera. He had engaged Xicolai to write one, but the
libretto entitled Nabuccodonosor did not please that composer.
Verdi replied: “I can get you out of your ‘difficulty. Have you
forgotten the libretto of Il Proscritto which you gave me?
I have not yet written one blessed note of it. Give it to Nicolai.” They
went on together to the theatre to look for the manuscript of Il
Proscritto. The copy was found, and as Verdi was leaving Merelli
handed him the one Nicolai had rejected. “Look here,” he said, “here is
this beautiful libretto by Solera; take
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it and read it over.” Verdi, to end the discussion, put it in his pocket
and went home. Arrived there, he threw it on the table. It fell open,
and he glanced carelessly at the page before him, lie became immediately
interested. He read the whole thing through, and again. The next morning
he knew it by heart.
Later in the day he went again to the theatre to return the
libretto to Merelli, who anxiously asked him if it was not beautiful. “Yes,”’
he agreed, “it is wonderful.” “Well, set it to music.” “I won’t.”
Merelli got up, thrust the libretto into Verdi’s pocket, and, taking him
by the shoulder, pushed him out of the door, which he locked behind him.
Verdi went home still firm in his purpose not to compose a line;
but the old charm came over him, and by degrees he set to work upon
Nabuccodonosor. On March 9, 1842, it was produced in Milan with
every sign of success. The principal singers were Madame Strepponi, whom
Verdi afterwards married, and Signor Ronconi. This opera virtually
opened Verdi’s career as a composer. He had to fight against very great
difficulties, but he always considered that Nabuccodonosor was
born under a lucky star. “But,” to use his own words, “it is not always
safe to trust to the influence of good stars. It is a truth which I have
discovered by myself in after years, that to have confidence is a good
thing, but to have none is better still.” In Nabuccodanosor he
scored a triumph which echoed far beyond the frontiers of Italy.
The operas which followed Nabuccodonosor include I
Lombardi at La Scala in 1836; Ernani in Venice in 1844;
Idue Foscari in Rome in 1844; Giovanna d,Arco
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in Milan in 1845; Attila in Venice in 1846; Maebeth in
Florence in 1847, and I Masnadieri in London in 1847.
I Lombardi
greatly enhanced Verdi’s reputation, and with the production of
Ernani he found himself, while still in his thirty-first year, the
most popular composer in Italy. It is not difficult, even for those who
are least in sympathy with the style of Verdi’s early operas, to trace
the causes of his instantaneous success. Upon ears accustomed to the
long-drawn sentimentality of Bellini and the conventional airs and
graces of Donizetti, the manly vigor and directness of Verdi must have
struck with irresistible eflect.
Much of the music that he wrote at this period of his career is
open to the charge of vulgarity, but its spirit and energy are
undeniable. Not seldom, too, there are traces of a power of
character-drawing, afterwards developed in Otello and Falstaff
in a manner unprecedented since the days of Mozart, which must have
seemed a new thing, indeed, to those whose musical experience was
bounded by Bellini and Donizetti.
It must be borne in mind, too, that the political situation counted
for something in the tale of Verdi’s triumph. The Lombard population,
writhing beneath the iron heel of Austria, greeted with rapture a
musician who gave voice to their passionate yearning for liberty. It was
not until some years later that the Milanese discovered that the letters
of Verdi’s name stood for “Vittorio Emanuele Re d’Italia,” but from the
first they hailed the new composer as the Tyrtæus of awakened Italy. The
Austrian censorship was wary and skilful, and did its best to eliminate
from the librettos
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of Italian composers any words that could be twisted into a patriotic
significance; but sometimes their vigilance slumbered, and it happened
that several passages in Verdi’s earlier works rang in the hearts of his
countrymen in a sense very different from that which their context
suggested.
The famous chorus in Nabuccodonosor, “O mia patria si bella
e perduta,” ran like wildfire from lip to lip, and was sung in the
streets of Milan with an enthusiasm certainly not begotten by any
sympathy for the sufferings of Jewish captives. In I Lombardi the
chorus, “va pensiero eull’ ali dorati,” also had a great effect upon the
awakening patriotism of the Italians. The singing of one of his operatic
duets, “La patria tradita piangendo c’ invita,” was the invariable
signal for a demonstration upon the part of the audience which as often
as not ended in the curtain being lowered, the lights turned out, and
the turbulent patriots dismissed into the streets to cool their
enthusiasm under the stars. But even such words as these would not have
roused Verdi’s countrymen without the magic of his music to enforce
their meaning. There was something about the broad sweep of his melodies,
his vigorous rhythms and the stirring climaxes of his concerted pieces
that seemed to harmonize with the restless spirit of the times, and gave
him and his works a place in the affections of his countrymen which
could hardly have been won by a man of less masculine genius or by music
of more delicate fibre.
Most of the operas which Verdi poured forth after Ernani, in
response to an irresistible demand of the public, are now forgotten.
Probably he wrote in haste
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and was content to repeat himself to a certain extent. Yet even among
the least meritorious of these early operas there is hardly one that
does not contain music of sterling value. Of late years there has been a
marked revival of interest in Italy in the productions of Verdi’s early
manhood, and several of them, such as I Due Foscari, I Masnadieri,
and Macbeth, have been performed with no little success.
Compared to his later works they are crude in method and superficial in
treatment, but they are full of magnificent tunes, and often the
handling of dramatic situations is surprising in its vigor and intensity.
Macbeth is
interesting as being Verdi’s first attempt at a Shakespearian theme. The
libretto is a poor piece of work, and could never pass muster with an
audience that had any respect for Shakespeare; but much of the music is
fine, and as a whole the work deserves to rank as the first of Verdi’s
second period, in which he emerges from the Sturm und Drang of
his youth, and shows a more delicate sense of color and contrast in
character-drawing, greater freedom in rhythm and melody, and a wider
knowledge of the effects to be drawn from the orchestra. In all these
respects Macbeth is stronger than its predecessors. The handling
of the voices in some of the more dramatic scenes suggests the methods
of Rigoletto rather than those of Ernani, and the
sleep-walking scene is carefully written and highly impressive in
performance. Macbeth was rewritten in 1865 for its production in
Paris, and the best proof of the advance that Verdi had made since
Ernani is that the older scenes do not appear at all out of keeping
with such wholly new passages as the great battle scene in the
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last act, which is as vigorous and striking a piece of orchestral music
as Verdi ever wrote.
I Masnadieri
was specially written by Verdi for the London stage, but, although
interpreted by such great artists as Jenny Lind, Lablache, and Gardoni,
its reception was no more than “friendly.”
While Verdi was in London he received a very liberal offer from
Lumuley, then manager of Her Majesty’s Theatre, to accept a three years’
engagement as conductor there. Verdi was inclined to accept it, but at
the time was under contract to write two operas for Lucca, the Milan
publisher, who refused absolutely to release him. He, therefore,
returned to Milan. He produced Il Corsaro at Trieste in 1848, and
La Battaglia di Legnano at Rome in 1849. Neither of these two
operas was very successful.
Luisa Miller,
adapted from Schiller, had a success when produced at San Carlo, Naples,
in 1849. Stiffelio was produced at Trieste in 1850.
The typical work of Verdi’s second period is Rigoletto,
first given in Venice on March 11, 1851, an opera which through all
changes of fashion has never lost its popularity, and unquestionably
represents the highest point of achievement before he reached in Aida
his third and culminating period. Wide, indeed, is the gulf that
separates Rigoletto from Ernani, though it is one that had
been bridged by gradual stages, not leapt, as it were, like the gulf
between Lohengrin and Das Rheingold.
The progress of Verdi’s musical development was the more
gradual, as was natural in the ease of a man who worked out his own
salvation, so to speak, in terms of
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music and music alone. Wagner, on the other hand, as we have seen, was a
more self-conscious reformer. His musical development was largely the
reflection of his widening views on politics and life, and as such moved
by strides that cannot well be compared to the progress of a purely
artistic genius. But even in Verdi’s case there were influences other
than purely musical at work. In some recently published letters of his
we find him impressing upon a librettist the necessity of choosing a
subject in which the interest lies in variety of character and the clash
of conflicting personalities. “My own experience,” he writes, “has
confirmed me in the ideas that I have always entertained with regard to
theatrical effect, although at the outset of my career I had not the
courage to act upon them altogether. For instance, ten years ago I
should never have risked writing Rigoletto. The truth is, that
Italian opera in our day sins by monotony, so much so that I should now
refuse to set subjects of the character of Nabuccodonosor and
I Due Foscari. They present certain interesting situations, but they
lack variety. One note runs through all of them; a noble one, if you
will, but always the same.”
Verdi’s appreciation of variety in a libretto undoubtedly helped
forward the development of his genius. By the time he had reached the
Rigoletto period, his genius had gained in flexibility as much as in
command of emotional expression. In the days of Oberto he could
as little have given us his incomparable picture of the gay,
light-hearted Duke, sketched with so easy and deft a grace, as. that of
the passion-tossed jester, rushing
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from heights of wild buffoonery to depths of passion and revenge.
But in the merely technical side of his art Verdi’s advance in
Rigoletto is worth study. The more declamatory scenes, such as the
jester’s great monologue, are treated with a freedom that might almost
be called Wagnerian, except that in those days Verdi cannot possibly
have heard any of Wagner’s music, if, indeed, he even knew of his
existence; and the Cavatina-Cabaletta tradition—the slow movement
followed by the quick—which had been the backbone of Italian opera for
so many years, is often set entirely at nought, as in Rigoletto’s scene
with the courtiers, in which the arrangement of the movements must at
that day have appeared an unprecedented piece of audacity. In his
treatment of the orchestra, too, Verdi was in Rigoletto a very
different man from the composer of Oberto. The “big guitar” is
not altogether discarded, but in many scenes, and especially in the last
act, the composer’s use of the orchestra adds very much to the general
effect, though of course it still gives but a foretaste of what he was
to do with it in his latest works.
Soon after Rigoletto came Il Trovatore, produced at
Rome on January 19, 1853, and La Traviata, produced on March 6th
of the same year, two works which in their time did as much as any of
Verdi’s operas to carry his fame to distant lands. Neither of them can
for a moment be compared to Rigoletto. Il Trovatore has
extraordinary energy and vivacity of expression. Scarcely any work of
Verdi’s exhibits so triumphantly his amazing fertility of invention, but
the plot is the very frenzy of melodrama and the characters are the
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is of more delicate fibre, and contains passages of charming grace
and tenderness, but the story is a sickly piece of sentimentality, and,
indeed, the most curious thing about La Traviata is that Verdi,
who throughout his career had dealt almost entirely with the robuster
passions, should have succeeded as well as he did with Dumas’
drawing-room tragedy.
The popularity of Rigoletto, Il Trovatore and La Traviata
was so great that for some years Verdi’s time was almost completely
taken up in superintending the performances of these three operas in
various opera houses all over Europe.
Verdi’s pre-eminence among operatic composers was duly acknowledged
in 1855 by the invitation to compose a work for the Paris Opera to
celebrate the opening of the Universal Exhibition. Les Vêpres
Siciliennes served its purpose in giving the necessary élat to the
season, but its success was transient. Simon Boccanegra was
brought out at Venice in 1855, but it was not until the production of
Un Ballo in Maschera at Rome in 1859 that Verdi again did himself
complete justice. So far as form is concerned, it cannot be said that
Un Ballo shows much advance upon Rigoletto, which in many
ways it resembles, but in none of the works of his second period is the
flexibility of Verdi’s genius more triumphantly displayed. Un Ballo
abounds in the striking contrasts in which Verdi delighted. Scenes
of light-hearted and irresponsible gaiety jostle passages of poignant
tragedy. All are treated with equal mastery, and in the scene in which
the jealous fury of an injured husband and the terror
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and remorse of a guilty ‘wife are combined with the mocking laughter of
a band of conspirators, Verdi may justly be said to have surpassed even
the dramatic intensity of his famous quartet in Rigoletto.
In connection with the production of Un Ballo in Maschera
an incident occurred which brings into strong light Verdi’s ardent
patriotism. These were times of great political unrest in Italy, and the
Revolutionary party were very active. The opera was originally called
Gustavo III. A short time prior to its production, Orsini, who was a
tool in the hands of the Revolutionary party, had made an attempt upon
the life of Napoleon III. The title was objected to by the police, and
Verdi was ordered to immediately alter it and the words of the opera.
This he flatly refused to do. The people of Naples, where the work was
to be performed, were furious at this interference with their favorite.
They acclaimed him on every occasion, and followed him through the
streets shouting “Viva Verdi!” i. e., Viva Vittorio Emmanuele, Re
di Italia.
This cry of “Viva Verdi!” was frequently heard all over
Italy during the Italian War of Liberation. However, to return to
Naples, the matter was settled by a Roman impresario undertaking to
produce the opera in Rome. The offending names of the characters were
changed, and the work was rechristened Un Ballo in Maschera, and
all objections being now removed, it was finally brought out with great
success.
Shortly before he wrote Un Ballo Verdi had thought of making
an opera out of King Lear, and an interesting correspondence
between him and his prospective librettist has recently been published,
which conveys a
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remarkable impression of Verdi’s literary culture and knowledge of stage
effect. The scheme unfortunately came to nothing. The attempt to reduce
that tremendous tragedy to the dimensions of an opera libretto was
perhaps doomed to failure, but it is disappointing, in view of what
Verdi subsequently achieved in Otello, to think of the
masterpiece which he might have had in King Lear.
La Forza del Destino,
brought out at St. Petersburg in 1862, and Don
Carlos, brought out in 1867 at Paris—the only operas which Verdi
produced during the sixties—are works of transition, remarkably
interesting to the student of his musical ‘development, though neither
can be ranked among his most successful efforts. His earlier manner was
beginning to hang heavily upon his shoulders. In both works there are
scenes which overshadow the greater freedom of form and more symphonic
use of the orchestra which are typical of his’ latest period. Don
Carlos, in spite of the many beauties that it contains, is now
practically forgotten, but La Forza Del Destino still holds the
stage in Italy, and if it were not for the melodramatic extravagance of
its libretto there might still be a future for this remarkable work.
But all Verdi’s previous triumphs were cast into the shade by the
production of Aïda, which was written for Ismail Pasha’s new
opera house at Cairo, and produced there in 1871. The gradual progress
of his development was here hastened by the subject of his new work, so
remote from the ordinary operatic groove. The possibilities of Egyptian
local color tempted his genius to fresh experiments, while his command
of melody remained
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as inexhaustible as ever, and his touch in the handling of dramatic
situations was strengthened by experience. The novelty and freshness of
Aïda seduced many critics into accusing Verdi of imitating
Wagner. There is little in the charge that needs rebutting. Verdi’s own
development previous to Aïda proves that there was no need to
look for external influences to explain the change in his manner. The
human voice was still the center of his system. The statue was still on
the stage and the pedestal in the orchestra. He had gradually learned
the value of the orchestra in giving color to the dramatic picture, and
he had gradually learned also to rid himself of useless conventions
which at first he had employed half unconsciously. The germ of Aida
was in .Rigoletto. It only needed the fostering influence of
time and experience to bring the bud into blossom.
Verdi’s next triumph lay in a different field. His Requiem,
written in memory of Manzoni in 1874, won the admiration of all save a
few pedants by the intensity of its feeling, its extraordinary dramatic
power and its imaginative splendor. Hans von Bülow and a few others made
merry over what they called its contrapuntal blunders; but it is
significant that Brahms, the most learned of Verdi’s contemporaries,
admired it unreservedly.
The history of Verdi’s latest years reads almost like a fairy tale.
The Requiem once fairly launched upon its successful career, he
bade a formal farewell to the world of music and retired to his property
at Sant’ Agata to live the quiet life of a simple country gentleman. He
was then some years over sixty, his life
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had been strenuous and ardent, and he had fairly earned a peaceful
evening to his day of toil. Who could suppose that he was on the
threshold of triumphs still more dazzling than those already won The
first symptom of renewed activity appeared in the revival in 1881 of
Simon Boccanegra, a failure of twenty years ago, the libretto of
which was revised by Arrigo Boito and the music in part rewritten by the
composer. The revival was successful, though the new music, much of
which was superb in invention and design, harmonized but imperfectly
with the old.
But the significance of the incident lay in an association for the
first time of Verdi with Boito, one of the most gifted scholars, poets
and musicians of the period. How much Boito had to do with the latest
phase of Verdi’s activity, which is almost without precedent in the
history of music, it is not easy to state. It is certain that without
Boito’s fostering aid we should never have had Otello and
Falstaff in anything like the shape they now wear. Not only did the
incomparable skill of Boito, in weaving librettos from Shakespeare’s
plays fire the inspiration of the venerable Verdi to scale heights far
beyond any that he had previously attempted, but the musical influence
of the collaborator counted for almost as much. The influence of Boito’s
Mefistofele may be traced in many scenes of Otello, and it
is plain that the business of collaboration was far from finished when
the poet handed his librettos to the composer.
In the arrangement of Otello for operatic purposes Boito
ignores the first act as given by Shakespeare, and the curtain rises on
the island of Cypress. The first
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performance of Otello at La Scala in Milan on Feb. 5, 1887,
created a furore, and Verdi was escorted hack to his hotel by a
huge crowd of people, who cheered him far into the night.
While Verdi had been at work on Otello, the villagers of his
home, with whom he came into frequent contact, noticed that his manner
was brusque and short. He was so entirely wrapped up in the task of
expressing the gloomy tragedy in music. After it was finished a change
came over him, and his manner towards them was quite different.
Falstaff was in his brain. For a long time before he actually set to
work upon it, he had expressed a wish to find a really good libretto of
Shakespeare’s comedy. In this case Arrigo Boito again came to his aid.
The work was written between 1890 and 1893. Boito excelled himself in
this libretto, and the way in which the Shakespeare spirit was preserved,
both here and in the music, was nothing short of marvellous, and showed
the deep study that both Verdi and Boito had made of the immortal Bard.
Once when approached on the subject of Falstaff, the veteran
composer answered: “This is the last work of my life, and I am writing
it to amuse myself. The public would have known nothing about it but for
that Mefistofele of Boito.” This reference to Boito refers to an
occasion when the latter, at a dinner at which Verdi was present,
turning to the composer of Falstaff, lifted his glass, and said:
“Here’s to your fat-paunched hero!” And thus curiosity was aroused and
the secret came out. “And,” added Verdi, “I should not have forgiven
Boito his indiscretion had he not written me such a splendid libretto.”
Verdi is reported to have
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said that frequently, while composing the music of Falstaff, he
was overcome with laughter at the drollery of his own melodies.
To say that the world was astonished with the opera when produced
at La Scala on February 9, 1893, is to put it very mildly. A sensation
such as is seldom witnessed was the result, and those present will never
forget it. La Scala had before been the scene of many triumphs, but this
was the greatest of all. Thirty times did the “Pride of Italy” come to
the front of the curtain at the close of the performance to bow his
acknowledgments to the house, that rose at him again and again. All
through this, the crowning triumph of his life, Verdi remained the same
modest, quiet gentleman that he had always been. Success never spoiled
him.
Otello and
Falstaff stand like the twin peaks of Parnassus to mark the zenith
of Verdi’s career. Different in essence as they are, the one touching
the limits of tragic ‘emotion, the other bubbling over with the spirit
of pure fun, they are alike in their gem-like perfection of outline, in
their inexhaustible fertility of invention and in the masterly
directness of their utterance. They are the very apotheosis of
stage-craft. Musically and dramatically alike they are clean-cut and
finished to the finger-tip. The respective librettos are miracles of
condensation, and the music is the very incarnation of concentrated
energy and high-strung feeling.
Otello has
been criticised on the score of this very alertness of movement, and on
its lack of symphonic development, and it must be admitted that in its
nature it is not an ideal subject for music. There is in
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it too much action and not enough pure emotion. Yet here the skill ‘of
both librettist and composer is most happily displayed, in the manner in
which they hasten over the merely dramatic passages and linger upon
scenes in which speech under stress of feeling rises naturally into
song. There are scenes in Otello in which the music is of
secondary interest, and it is just here that Verdi’s inimitable sense of
stage effect is most conspicuous. Where a less skilful musician would
retard the action with symphonic development he, working in the spirit
of Mozart if not in his form, hurries his dialogue along, underlining
each word with suggestive harmonies and figures, but setting no check
upon the progress of the action. Thus the purely lyrical passages and
the scenes of emotion which lend themselves to legitimate development
are given their proper value in the general scheme, instead of being
drowned, as it were, in one vast ocean of symphonic harmony, and the
methods of Mozart as exemplified in Don Giovanni are once more
triumphantly vindicated.
In Falstaff a somewhat similar method is pursued, though the
general scheme of the work is more in favor of symphonic development
than in Otello, in many scenes of which the dialogue is of such
supreme importance that the orchestra is not permitted to distract the
attention of the audience from it in any way. Falstaff is in a
sense more Wagnerian in structure than Otello, a point of which
much has been made by critics anxious to convict the Italian composer of
Germanizing tendencies, but in essence it owes little if anything to
Wagner. The voice is still the centre of Verdi’s musical system, though
around it he weaves a prismatic
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web of orchestral intricacy such as in his earlier days he never dreamt
of, and Wagner’s elaborate system of leading-motives, for all the use
that Verdi makes of it, might never have existed. Each scene in
Falstaff is complete in itself, the music as it trips along
mirroring each passing shade of expression with the most delightful
freshness and lucidity of inspiration. :Mozart is rather the master that
Verdi’s Falstaff recalls. It has his exquisite lightness of touch,
his rhythmic fertility, his command of a perennial flow of delicious
melody, and his charming snatches of tenderness which make so welcome a
contrast to the ebullient high spirits of the work as a whole. Viewed
from any and every point of view, Falstaff approaches the
miraculous, not least in this that it was written in his eightieth year
by a man who until then had dealt almost entirely with subjects of the
most tragic description.
Falstaff was
Verdi’s farewell to the stage, but actually his last work was a set of
Pezzi Sacri, which included a setting of the Laudi alla
Vergine from Dante’s Paradiso for female quartet, a Stabat
Mater and a Te Deum for chorus and orchestra. In these noble
and beautiful pieces there was still no sign of failing power. Compared
with the sensuous beauty of the Requiem, they seem stern and
severe, but they are to the full as typical of Verdi’s profound
intensity of feeling, of his amazing directness of expression, of his
scorn of mere cleverness for cleverness’ sake, and what is perhaps most
characteristic of the composer, of his unequalled knowledge of effect
and certainty of touch. If one had to sum up Verdi’s musical character
in a word, this is perhaps the point upon which it would be essential
most
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strongly to insist. Other men have possessed a nobler creative instinct
and a more soaring imagination, but no writer of operas has surpassed
him in that sense of means to an end which is one of the rarest as well
as the most precious of artistic gifts. Verdi’s music always “comes
off.” His work never gives a hearer the impression that the composer
would have done better if he had expressed his thought in a different
way.
As a thinker and as a creative artist Verdi cannot be compared with
Wagner, but where in Wagner the actual means employed are often
experimental and even ineffective, Verdi always goes straight to the
mark. Verdi was not one of the great ‘revolutionists of the world of
music. His’ mission was not to open new paths, but to build with the
materials bequeathed to him by the generations that had gone before. He
talked little and wrote less; he was a man of action, not of theory; but
in his work he has left us a nobler gospel than if he had filled the
shelves of a library with disquisitions upon the principles of music and
the ethics of art.
Verdi’s death took place quite suddenly at the Hotel Milano, on the
morning of January 21, 1901. He had spent Christmas at the house of
friends in Milan. Among others present were Arrigo Boito, Teresa Stolz,
the famous singer, and Pascarella, the poet and humorist, who kept Verdi
laughing till far into the night. Everyone was struck by his good health
and spirits. On the morning of his death he got up as usual, not
complaining of feeling ill in any way. While engaged in fastening a
button, his servant, noticing that his fingers seemed to have lost all
power, was in the act of helping
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him when Verdi waved him aside, saying, “What does it matter, ‘one
button more or less?” With these words on his lips he sank to the ground,
and never recovered consciousness.
The Government took steps to accord him a State funeral on an
enormous scale; hut when his will was opened it was found that the
composer’s wish was that his funeral should he of the simplest possible
character, and that the hour chosen should he at the break of day, or
sunset. Moreover, there were to be no flowers or music, nor did he
desire that cards should be sent to any one. Obedient to his wishes, the
body was quietly removed to the Church of San Francesco da Paola, in a
second-class hearse, with a cross, two candles—and a solitary priest!
The coffin was placed in the crypt, where it rested for a month. It was
afterwards taken to the home of Rest for Musicians, where it now lies.
This last rite, however, was conducted with great ceremony, the people
insisting upon an opportunity being given them of doing honor to their
idol.
During his lifetime Verdi was the recipient of many social,
political and professional honors. He was elected a member of the
National Assembly, and in 1861 he was appointed Senator. In 1871 he was
made Minister of Public Instruction. In France he was elected a member
of the Legion d’Honneur and a member of the Académie des Beaux Arts. He
was appointed Officer of the Order of the Crown of Italy, and numerous
other marks of distinction in the form of titles and exalted decorations
were bestowed upon him by the rulers of Germany, France, Russia, Austria,
Turkey, Egypt, and other countries.
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Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by Solera.
Characters: Orotaspes, the High-priest; Nabucodonosor; Hydaspes;
Fenena, daughter of Nabucodonosor; Abigail, an Amazon; priests and
courtiers; soldiers and townspeople, etc.
Place, Babylon. Time, Sixth Century, B. C. First produced at Milan
in 1842.
As the curtain rises Orotaspes, the high priest of Isis, is
discovered in the temple of the goddess, surrounded by the frightened
townspeople. They are praying for divine aid against their enemies, the
Assyrians, who are besieging the walls, led by Nabucodonosor. Orotaspes
hopes to negotiate for peace through Fenena, the captive daughter of the
Assyrian king. Hydaspes, a prince of Babylon, is violently in love with
the girl. A company of Assyrians suddenly enters, led by Abigail, a
woman who conducts herself as an Amazon, and is supposed also to be a
daughter of Nabucodonosor, although she is in reality only a woman of
the people who has risen to the king’s favor through her daring. So
deeply infatuated with Fenena is Hydaspes that he forgets even his
patriotic duties, and at the appearance of Nabucodonosor himself, while
the old priest is threatening Fenena with death in event of her father’s
perseverance, he is disarmed by Hydaspes. No longer having cause for
mercy, the Assyrian destroys the temple.
Abigail is attracted by the youthful ilydaspes, and seeing a rival
in Fenena her love turns to hatred, and she desires revenge. She is
further infuriated by the discovery that Nabucodonosor has simply used
her as
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a means to his success, and that he intends to send Fenena back to
Assyria to act as Governor during his absence.
Fenena is a votary of Isis, and as a religious duty has released
the Babylonian prisoners. Nabucodonosor is reported dead, and supposing
this to be really the case, Abigail assumes command of the Assyrians.
Kabucodonosor at this juncture suddenly reappears, and in his rage
defies his own deities and those of Babylon. He is punished for his
impiety; his crown is struck from his head by lightning, and he becomes
insane.
Quick to take retribution on the king Abigail seizes the crown, and
announces herself to be the sovereign. Established as temporary ruler
she sets up an idol for the Babylonians to worship. Nabucodonosor, mad
and in pitiful condition, is compelled to sign a proclamation for the
slaughter of the citizens, and as Fenena has become a Babylonian by
embracing the religion of Isis, her death is assured.
But Nabucodonosor comprehends the situation, professes his
conversion to the faith of Isis, his reason is restored, and he
reassumes his lost power. Fenena is rescued, the idol set up by Abigail
is destroyed, and the life of the arrogant slave is ended by poison.
Opera in three acts by Verdi. Libretto by Solera.
Characters: Pagano; Arvino; Pirro; Accianus, prior of the City of
Milan; Orontes; Viclinda; Giselda; Sophia; crusaders, soldiers, citizens,
etc.
Place, Lombardy and the Holy Land. Time, Eleventh Century. First
produced at Milan in 1843.
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Pagano and Arvino, two noblemen of Lombardy, brothers, are each in
love with Viclinda, who has been betrothed by her parents to Pagano, the
elder. The maiden’s affections are given to Arvino, the younger brother,
whom she subsequently marries. Driven by jealousy, in the Cathedral of
St. Ambrosio Pagano stabs Arvino, although not wounding him mortally,
and fleeing from the country lives for many years abroad as the captain
of a company of bandits.
Meanwhile Giselda, daughter of Arvino by his union with Viclinda, has
grown to womanhood. Pagano, returning to his native country, pretends
remorse and repentance for his former crimes, and asks his brother’s
forgiveness. Arvino grants it, and eternal friendship is sworn between
the brothers in the cathedral, the scene of the attempted murder.
Patano’s wicked passions, however, are not yet extinct.
Assisted by Pirro, leader of a band of robbers, he attempts to carry off
Viclinda, and to assassinate his brother. Arvino escapes, but the
enraged Pagano, having set fire to his brother’s house, kills his own
father in the confusion. Horror-struck by the discovery of his deed the
assassin again leaves the country, and becomes a wanderer on the earth.
Meanwhile, Godfrey of Bouillon, having aroused Christendom to the
conquest of the infidels in possession of Palestine, a large company of
Crusaders leave Lombardy, led by Arvino. Giselda follows her father’s
fortunes, her mother having died. The Crusaders eventually reach Antioch,
where Accianus reigns as king. During the march of the Christians
Giselda is captured by a party of Saracens,
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and placed in the harem of Orontes, the son of Accianus. The prince
fails in love with the beautiful captive, and his passion is returned,
but the maid declares that his religion is an insurmountable barrier
between them.
Pirro, struck with remorse at the result of Pagano’s plots,
journeys to Antioch, and becomes a renegade to his religion. On account
of his daring spirit he is given the command of the city walls. Tortured
by his conscience, however, he seeks a Christian hermit who lives in a
cave in the mountains near Antioch. He asks absolution, and receives it
on condition that he will betray the city to the Crusaders. He agrees to
this, and Antioch passes into the hands of the Christians. Accianus is
slain, and his son Orontes left for dead on the battlefield. Arvino
recovers his daughter, who believes her lover to be dead, and in her
delirium curses the success of the Crusaders.
Recovering from his wounds, Orontes, after wandering through
various countries, finally reaches Palestine, and by the time that the
Crusaders arrive in Jerusalem is living in a cave near that city.
Accompanying the Lombards is the hermit, who assumes armor and performs
prodigious deeds of valor. It is not long before the two lovers, thus
once more brought near each other, meet. Giselda makes preparations to
accompany Orontes on his wanderings; but it soon happens that the
presence of Orontes is discovered by the enraged Arvino, who has noted
his daughter’s absence. Orontes is fatally wounded, and dies in the arms
of Giselda, just as he renounces the Mussulman faith and becomes a
Christian.
Giselda, overwhelmed with grief, sees her dead lover
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in a vision among the saints in heaven. The war continues, and Jerusalem
falls into the hands of the Crusaders. The hermit, who has several times
saved the life of Arvino, falls in battle. Dying, he discloses the fact
that he is Pagano, asks and receives his brother’s forgiveness, and
expires in peace.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto adapted from
Victor Hugo’s drama by F. Maria Piave.
Characters: Don Carlos, King of Spain; Don Ruy Gomez, grandee of
Spain; Elvira, his niece and affianced; Johanna, her nurse; Ernani, a
bandit; Don Riccardo, armor bearer to the king; Tago, armor bearer to
Don Ruy Gomez.
Place, in Aragon, Aix la Chapelle and Saragossa. Time, 1519. First
produced at Venice in 1844.
The story is an adaptation of Victor Hugo’s famous play. Ernani, an
Italian rebel of obscure parentage, is the accepted lover of Donna
Elvira, the high-born niece of Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Grandee of Spain.
Donna Elvira is also coveted by Don Carlos, King of Spain, and by her
old uncle Silva, who is about to wed her, much against her will.
Ernani comes to Silva’s castle in the garb of a pilgrim, and finds
the King in Donna Elvira’s room, trying to lure her away. Here they are
surprised by de Silva, who, failing to recognize his sovereign,
challenges both men to mortal combat. When he recognizes the King is one
of his foes, he is in despair and humbly. craves his pardon, which is
granted to him. At the
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same time Don Carlos sends Ernani away on a distant errand, hoping to be
rid of him once for all; but Donna Elvira vows to kill herself rather
than belong either to the King or to her uncle, and promises unwavering
constancy to her lover, Ernani.
Nevertheless the second act shows Elvira on the eve of her wedding
with her uncle de Silva. Ernani, once more proclaimed an outlaw, seeks
refuge in de Silva’s castle, again disguised as a pilgrim. But when
Ernani hears of Donna Elvira’s approaching marriage, he reveals his
identity and demands to be given up to the King, telling de Silva that
his ‘life is forfeited and that a reward is offered for his capture. De
Silva is too generous to betray his rival; he orders the gates of the
castle to be barred at once. While this is being done, Ernani violently
reproaches Elvira for having played him false. She answers, that she has
been led to believe him dead, and they embrace tenderly. Thus they are
surprised by de Silva, who, though for the time being bound by the laws
of hospitality, swears to destroy Ernani, wherever he may find him.
For the moment, however, he conceals his foe so well that Don
Carlos’ followers cannot find him. Though the King threatens to take the
‘old man’s life, the nobleman remains true to his word, and even makes
the greatest sacrifice by delivering Elvira as a hostage into the King’s
hands. Left alone, he goes to Ernani’s hiding-place and challenges him
to fight, but when the latter proves to him that Don Carlos is his rival
and wants to seduce Elvira, de Silva’s wrath turns against the King.
He accepts Ernani’s offer to help him in frustrating
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the King’s designs, but at the same time he reminds him that his life is
forfeited. Ernani declares himself satisfied and gives de Silva a bugle,
the sound of which is to proclaim that the hour of reckoning between the
two foes has come.
The third act takes place at Aix-la-Chapelle. The King has heard of
the conspiracy against his life. While the conspirators assemble in the
imperial vaults, he is concealed behind the monument of Charlemagne, and
frustrates their designs by advancing from his hiding-place and
proclaiming himself Emperor. At the same moment the people rush in and
do homage to him as Charles V. Ernani surrenders to his foes, but Elvira
implores the Emperor’s pardon, which is granted, and Charles crowns his
gracious act by uniting the lovers and creating Ernani Duke of Segorbia.
Both Elvira and Ernani go to Seville to celebrate their nuptials.
But in the midst of their bliss Ernani hears the sound of his bugle, and
de Silva appears and claims his rival’s life. In vain the lovers implore
his mercy, de Silva is inexorable and relentlessly gives Ernani the
choice between a poisoned draught and a dagger. Seizing the latter,
Ernani stabs himself, while Donna Elvira sinks senseless beside his
corpse, leaving the aged de Silva to enjoy his revenge alone.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto adapted from
the tragedy by Shakespeare.
Characters: Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor; Lady Macbeth; King Duncan;
Banquo; Fleance, his son; Macduff;
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Malcolm; the witches; Scotchmen, ladies and gentlemen of the court,
soldiers and servants.
Place, Scotland. Time, Eleventh Century. First produced at Florence
in 1847.
The first scene of the opera is that of the well-known interview of
the Thane of Cawdor with the witches on the heath near his castle. The
second scene discloses Lady Macbeth reading aloud a letter from her
husband in which he announces to her the acquisition of his new title.
Macbeth enters, and his wife divulges to him her scheme for making him
King of Scotland. The rightful king, Duncan, is expected at the castle
that night, and she urges him not to let his courage fail. The king
arrives, is entertained by the plotting Macbeths, and retires for the
night. Macbeth leaves the stage, and returns with bloody hands,
announcing himself to his wife as the murderer of the king. Lady Macbeth
goes out to smear the sleeping grooms with blood, to disarm suspicion,
and the first act closes with the general discovery of Duncan’s
assassination.
In the second act Macbeth, now crowned king, determines to rid
himself of Banquo, who suspects the truth. The nobleman and his son are
waylaid by Macbeth’s hired assassins, and he and his son Fleance killed.
The act closes with the famous. banquet scene.
In the third act the witches appear again, this time around the
cauldron. Macbeth enters, and as in the play the apparitions pass before
him. Macbeth faints, and on being restored by the spirits vows vengeance
against Macduff.
The fourth act opens with a chorus of Scotch exiles lamenting the
fate of their country. The scene changes
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to Scotland. Macduff calls upon Malcolm, Duncan’s son, and the Scotchmen
to take arms against Macbeth. Lady Macbeth’s sleep-walking scene in
Dunsinane Castle follows. Macbeth enters, and is told by the attendants
that his wife is dead. His soldiers then rush in, and cry out that
Birnam Wood is advancing upon him. The English and Scotch soldiers
appear, carrying boughs of trees before them, in fulfilment of the
witches’ prediction that Macbeth will fall when Birnam Wood comes
against him. A battle ensues. Macduff and Macbeth fight, and Macbeth
falls, mortally wounded. Malcolm is proclaimed king, and the curtain
falls.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by Maffei,
adapted from Die Räuber, by Schiller.
Characters: Count Massimiliano Moor; Carlo, Francesco, his sons;
Arminio; Rolla; the Pastor; Amalia; soldiers, robbers villagers, etc.
Place, Saxony. Time, Sixteenth Century. First produced at London in
1847.
The first scene introduces Carlo, discovered reading in a tavern on
the frontier of Saxony. He is absorbed in a copy of Plutarch, and
expresses his impatience with the degeneracy of his own times. He has
written home for his father’s forgiveness for his crimes, and meditates
upon the joy he looks forward to in revisiting his home. A troop of his
comrades enter with a letter which contains his father’s refusal of
pardon. Carlo, in despair, forms a band of brigands, and is chosen for
the leader.
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The scene changes to the home of the Moor family. Francesco, the
younger son, expresses impatience at the long duration of his father’s
life, although rejoicing that he has got rid of his elder brother.
Arminio and he enter into a plot to make a false statement as to the
alleged death of Carlo. The chamber of the old Count Massimiliano, who
is sleeping watched by Amalia, is entered by Francesco and Arminio, and
on hearing of the death of Carlo the Count swoons.
In the second act Amalia is discovered approaching the tomb of the
Count. A chorus behind the scenes announces the joy of Francesco on
succeeding to his father’s estates. Amalia is then delighted by the news
that Carlo still lives. An offer of love from Francesco follows, and is
rejected by Amalia. The opera then presents incidents connected with the
rescue of Rolla and the destruction of Prague, the act ending with the
arrival of the soldiers, who have surrounded the band of brigands.
The third act opens with an impassioned interview between Amalia
and Carlo. A glimpse of the robber band in the forest follows; and
finally Count Massimiliano, still living, having been imprisoned and
concealed by the wicked Francesco, is rescued by Carlo and his followers.
The brigands swear to avenge the wrongs of the Chief’s father.
The fourth act presents the terror of the conscience-ridden
Francesco after a frightful dream. The Pastor enters, issuing his pious
warnings, and Francesco prays, while the shouts of the brigands, who are
besieging the castle, are heard without. There follows a scene between
{297} Carlo and his father. The death of
Amalia, killed in desperation by the hand of Carlo, ends the opera.
Opera in three acts by Verdi. Libretto by Cammarano.
Characters: Count Walter; Rodolfo; Wurm; Miller; Luisa; Frederica,
Duchess of Ostheim; Laura; ladies attending on the Duchess; pages,
servants, archers, and villagers.
Place, Germany. Time, Seventeenth Century. First produced at Naples
in 1849.
Luisa, the daughter of a veteran soldier, Miller, is visited by her
lover Rodolfo, son of Count Walter. The youth has concealed his real
name and rank from the soldier and his daughter, and is known to them
only as Carlo, a peasant. Tier father instinctively feels that only evil
will result from their affection for each other, and his fears are
confirmed when he is told by Wurm, the Count’s steward and confidant,
that Carlo is none other than the Count’s son. Wurm is himself in love
with Luisa, and has already obtained her father’s approbation of his
suit, provided that he can win her love. At the time the Duchess
Frederica arrives at the castle. She is the niece of the Count, and
cherishes an affection for Rodolfo, with whom she had been reared. They
have not seen each other for several years, as she had been compelled by
her father to marry the Duke of Ostheim. Frederica is now a widow,. and
on the invitation of Count Walter, who has proposed marriage with his
son to her unknown to Rodolfo, she
{298}
comes to the castle expecting immediate union with her cousin.
Raving been informed by Wurm that Rodolfo is paying court to Luisa,
the Count resolves to break off the intimacy, and directs his son to woo
the duchess. Rodolfo, however, confides to Frederica that his love is
given to the soldier’s daughter, and he also reveals his identity to the
girl and her father. The Count interrupts an interview between the two,
and, angered by his son’s persistance in clinging to Luisa, calls in the
guards, and is about to thrust Luisa and her father into prison. He is
stopped by Rodolfo, who threatens him with the disclosure of a secret
which he has learned by chance—that the Count, assisted by the Wurm, had
assassinated his predecessor for the purpose of obtaining the title and
estates.
Miller, having afterwards been seized and imprisoned, Luisa, to
save his life, consents, at the behest of Wurm, to write a letter
addressed to him, in which she declares that she encouraged Rodolfo in
his love for her only for the sake of his rank, and that she consents to
fly with Wurm that very night. The Count and Wurm artfully arrange that
this letter shall fall into the hands of Rodolfo, who, maddened by the
supposed treachery and faithfulness of the woman he loves, agrees to
marry the Duchess, and subsequently resolves to kill both Luisa and
himself.
Luisa has also determined to destroy herself, but, dissuaded by her
father, she plans to leave that part of the country with him. In the
absence of Miller the Count’s son enters, and, after wringing from Luisa
the avowal that she wrote the letter, he pours poison into a cup,
{299}
which she, unknowingly, offers him. Afterwards at his request she also
tastes the contents of the cup, and the lives of both are sacrificed.
Knowing that she is about to die, Luisa feels released from an oath
sworn to Wurm that she would not reveal the circumstances under which
she wrote the letter, and tells Rodolfo all. In his last moments Rodolfo
kills Wurm, and the two lovers die in the presence of their horrified
parents.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto adapted from
Victor Hugo’s Le Roi s’Amuse, by F. Maria Piave.
Characters: The Prince of Mantua; Rigoletto, is court jester; Gilda,
Rigoletto’s daughter; Count of Monterone; Count of Ceprano; Countess
Ceprano, his wife; Marullo, cavalier; Borsa, a courtier; Sparafucile, a
bravo; Maddalena, his sister; Giovanna, Maddalena’s companion; an
officer, a page.
Place, Mantua. Time, Sixteenth Century. First produced in Venice in
1851.
The story of Rigoletto is as follows: The Duke of Mantua, a wild
and debauched youth, covets every girl or woman he sees, and is assisted
in his vile purposes by his court jester, Rigoletto, an ugly hump-back.
We meet him first helping the Duke to seduce the wife of Count Ceprano,
and afterwards the wife of Count Monterone. Both husbands curse
Rigoletto and swear to be avenged. Monterone appears unexpectedly in the
midst of a festival, and hurls such a fearful curse at him, that
Rigoletto shudders.
The jester has one tender point. It is his blind love
{300}
for his beautiful daughter Gilda, keeping her hidden from the world and
shielding her from all wickedness. But the cunning Duke discovers her
and wins her love under the assumed name of a student, named Gualtier
Maldé.
Gilda is finally carried off by Ceprano and two other courtiers,
aided by her own father, who holds the ladder, believing that Count
Ceprano’s wife is to be the victim. A mask blinds Rigoletto, and he
discovers, too late, by Gilda’s cries that he has been duped.
Gilda is brought to the Duke’s palace. :Rigoletto appears in the
midst of the courtiers to claim Gilda, and then they hear that the woman
they believed to be his mistress is his daughter, for whose honor he is
willing to sacrifice everything. Gilda enters, and though she sees that
she has been deceived, she implores her father to pardon the Duke, whom
she still loves. But Rigoletto vows vengeance, and engages Sparafucile
to stab the Duke.
Sparafucile decoys the Duke into his inn, where his sister,
Maddalena, awaits him. She, too, is enamoured of the Duke, who makes
love to her, and she entreats her brother to have mercy on him.
Sparafucile declares that he will wait until midnight, and will spare
him, if another victim should turn up before then. Meanwhile Rigoletto
persuades his daughter to fly from the Duke’s pursuit, but before he
takes her away he wants to show her lover’s fickleness, in order to cure
her of her love.
Gilda comes to the inn in masculine attire, and overhearing the
conversation between Sparafucile and his sister, resolves to save her
lover. She enters the inn, and is
{301}
instantly put to death, placed in a sack and given to Rigoletto, who
proceeds to the river to dispose of the corpse. Then he hears the voice
of the Duke, who passes by, singing a love song. Terrified, Rigoletto
opens the sack, and recognizes his daughter, who is able to tell him
that she gave her life for that of her seducer, and then expires. With a
cry of agony the unhappy father sinks upon his daughter’s body. Count
Monterone’s curse has been fulfilled.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by Cammerano.
Characters: Count di Luna; Countess Leonora; Azucena, a gypsy;
Manrico; Ferrando, Luna’s vassal; Inez, Leonora’s confidante; Ruiz,
friend of Manrico; an old gypsy; a messenger.
Place, Biscay and Aragon. Time, Fifteenth Century. First produced
in Rome in 1853.
The story upon which Il Trovatore is founded is traced back
to a very old Spanish drama, by Galtierez, and the incidents are laid in
the Middle Ages, when man’s inhumanity to man filled the world with
mourning.
Two men of entirely different station and character woo Leonora,
Countess of Segaste. The one is Count Luna, the other a minstrel, named
Manrico, who is believed to be the son of Azucena, a gypsy.
Azucena has, in accordance with gypsy law, vowed revenge on Count
Luna, because his father, believing
{302}
her mother to be a sorceress and to have bewitched one of his children,
had the old woman burned. To punish the father for this cruelty Azucena
took away this child, which was vainly sought for. This story is told in
the first scene, where we find the Count’s servants waiting for him,
while he stands sighing beneath his sweetheart’s window. But Leonora’s
heart has been captivated by Manrico’s love songs and his valor in
tournament. She hears his voice in the garden, and in the darkness
mistakes the Count for Manrico, who, however, comes up just in time to
claim her. The Count is full of rage, and their follows a duel in which
Manrico has an opportunity to kill the Count, but hesitates without
being able to account for the impulse, and consequently is himself
dangerously wounded.
In the second act Azucena, nursing Manrico, tells him of her
mother’s dreadful fate and her last cry for revenge, and confesses to
having stolen the old Count’s son, with the intention of burning him.
But, in her despair and confusion, she says she threw her own child in
the flames, and the Count’s son lived. Manrico is terrified, but Azucena
retracts her words and regains his confidence, so that he believes her
tale to have been but an outburst of remorse and folly.
Meanwhile he hears that Leonora, to whom he was reported as dead,
is about to take the veil, and he rushes away to save her. Count Luna
appears before the convent with evil designs. Manrico arrives in time to
liberate Leonora with aid of his companions, while the Count curses them.
Leonora becomes Manrico’s wife, but her happiness is shortlived.
{303}
In the third act Azucena is captured, and is recognized as the
daughter of the gypsy who was burned as a sorceress. She denies all
knowledge of the Count’s lost brother, and as the Count hears that his
successful rival is her son she is sentenced to be burned. Ruiz,
Manrico’s friend, brings the news to him. Manrico tries to rescue her,
but is seized, too, and condemned to die by the axe.
In the fourth act Leonora offers herself to the Count as the price
of freedom for the captives, but, determined to be true to her lover,
she takes poison. She hastens to him, announcing his deliverance. Too
late he sees how dearly she has paid for it, when, after her assurance
of love and fidelity, she falls dead at his feet.
The Count, finding he has been deceived, orders Manrico to be put
to death instantly. He is led away, and only after the execution does
Azucena inform the Count that his murdered rival was Luna’s own
long-sought brother.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by Piave,
adapted from La Dame aux Camélias by Dumas, fils.
Characters: Violetta Valery; Flora Beloix; An-nina, servant; Alfred
Germont; Georgio Germont, his father; Gaston de Létorières; Baron
iDouphal; Marquis d’Orbigny; Dr. Grenvil; Joseph, servant.
Place, Paris and vicinity. Time, period of Louis XIV. First
produced in Venice in 1853.
{304}
The scene is laid in and near Paris. Alfred Germont is passionately in
love with Violetta Valery, one of the most frivolous beauties in Paris.
She is pleased with his sincere passion, openly tells him who she is,
and warns him against herself; but he loves her all the more, and as she
returns his passion she abandons her gay life and follows him into the
country, where they live very happily for some months.
Annina, Violetta’s maid, dropping a hint to Alfred that her mistress
is about to sell her house and carriage in town in order to avoid
expenses, he departs for Paris to prevent this.
During his absence Violetta receives a visit from Alfred’s father,
who tries to show her that she has not only destroyed the happiness of
his family, but also that of his son by allowing Alfred to unite himself
to one so dishonored as herself. He succeeds in convincing her, and,
broken-hearted, she determines to sacrifice herself and leave Alfred
secretly. Misinterpreting the reason for this inexplicable action,
Alfred is full of wrath, and resolves to take vengeance. He finds
Violetta in the house of a former friend, Flora Bervoix, who is in a
position similar to that of Violetta. The latter, having no other
resources, has returned to her former life.
Alfred insults her publicly. The result is a duel between her
present adorer, Baron Dauphal, and Alfred.
From this time on Violetta, who is in consumption, declines rapidly,
and in the last act, which takes place in her sleeping-room, we find her
dying. Hearing that Alfred has been victorious in the duel, and
receiving a letter from his father, who is now willing to pardon
{305}
and to accept her as his daughter-in-law, she revives to some extent.
Alfred, who at last hears of her sacrifice, returns to her, but only to
afford a last glimpse of happiness to the unfortunate woman, who
expires, a modern Magdalen, full of repentance, and striving tenderly to
console her lover and his now equally desolate father.
Opera in three acts, with prologue, by Verdi.
Libretto by Piave.
Characters: Simon Boccanegra, a Corsair; Paolo; Pietro; Fiescho;
Gabriele Adorno; Maria Fiescho; Amelia Grimaldi; ladies and gentlemen of
the eourt, soldiers, etc.
Place, Genoa. Time, the middle of the Fourteenth Century. First
produced at Venice in 1856.
The prologue, which precedes the action of the opera, introduces
Simon Boccanegra, a famous corsair supported by the Republic of Genoa,
at a point when he is induced by his friends Paolo and Pietro,
instigators of a conspiracy, to return to Genoa from Savona, and be
proclaimed Doge of the city. He at first refuses to lead the populace
against the patricians, but reconsiders upon hearing that his wife, whom
he has believed dead, is a prisoner in her father’s house in Genoa. She
had eloped with the corsair, but be had lost all trace of her and of
their child, a girl who bore her mother’s name, Maria. He believes that
the father of his wife will not refuse to restore her to him when he has
been made Doge of Genoa. Simon Boccanegra assists his friends in
carrying their conspiracy to a successful conclusion,
{306}
but learns, at the moment of assuming the robes of office, that his wife
is dead.
The first act begins with incidents which are supposed to have
transpired twenty-five years later than those related in the prologue.
In the Grimaidi palace Amelia is awaiting the arrival of her lover,
Gabriele Adorno, a Genoese nobleman very much averse to the election of
Boccanegra as first Doge of the city. Amelia Las been made aware that
the Doge favors the suit of Paolo, his former confederate, for her hand.
She is anxious to frustrate his hopes by marrying Gabriele. Simon
Boccanegra presently appears as an emissary for Paolo, and bears with
him a pardon for the wrongs of the house of Grimaldi against the popular
cause.
Amelia reveals to him that she is not a daughter of the Grimaldis,
but the issue of the marriage of Simon Boccanegra and Maria Fiescho.
Bier father learns with regret that she is in love with Gabriele, his
patrician enemy, and informs Paolo that he must abandon the hope of
winning Amelia. Incensed at this refusal, Paolo lays a plot to abduct
Amelia. One of his retainers is appointed to carry out the plans, but
Amelia manages to escape. While the Doge is holding council in the
palace news of the plot is carried to him. Gabriele’s quick jealousy
urges him to believe a story circulated by Paolo, and, accusing the Doge
with the rape of the virtuous Amelia, attempts to stab him. Gabriele
fails in this endeavor, and is seized by the guard. Paolo succeeds in
communicating with Gabriele, and induces him to make another attempt
upon the life of the Doge. Blinded by jealousy, be is on the point of
stabbing Boccanegra while he is asleep, when
{307}
Amelia, now known by her mother’s name of Maria, rushes in, and,
revealing the secret of her birth, reconciles the two enemies. Meanwhile
the Guelfs attempt unsuccessfully to overthrow their new Doge. Paolo is
implicated in the conspiracy, and tries to poison Boccanegra. He informs
Fiescho of this new plot, who warns Boccanegra, although too late. The
expiring Doge bestows Maria’s hand upon Gabriele, adding to it the ducal
crown; which he lays upon the young man’s head before he dies.
Opera in three acts by Verdi. Libretto by Somma.
Characters: Count Richard, Governor of Boston; Renato, his
secretary; Amelia, wife of Renato; Ulrica, fortune teller; Oscar, page;
Silvan, sailor; Samuel and Tom, conspirators.
Place, Boston. Time, latter part of the Seventeenth Century. First
produced at Rome in 1859.
Un Ballo in Maschera
was to have been produced at the San Carlo in Naples
during the Carnival of 1858, but, owing to Orsini’s attempt to kill
Napoleon III., the performance was prohibited, as the opera contained a
conspiracy scene. Verdi then changed the scene to Boston, Mass., during
the colonial period. The libretto was rewritten by Somma from a libretto
that Scribe wrote for an opera by Rossini entitled Gustav III., or
the Masked Ball.
The plot reveals that Count Richard, the governor of Boston,
loves Amelia, the wife of his secretary, Renato. After a scene in a
fortune-teller’s hut, in
{308}
which Riccardo’s death is predicted, the lovers meet in a desolate spot
on the seashore. Thither also comes Renato, who has discovered a plot
against his chief and hastens to warn him of his danger.
In order to save Riccardo’s life, Renato resorts to the
time-honored device of an exchange of cloaks. Thus effectually disguised,
Riccardo makes his escape, leaving Amelia, also disguised, in charge of
her unsuspecting husband, who has promised to convey her home in safety.
Enter the conspirators, who attack Renato. Amelia rushes between the
combatants, and at the psychological moment her veil drops off. Tableau
and curtain to a mocking chorus of the conspirators, which forms a
sinister background to the anguish and despair of the betrayed husband
and guilty wife.
In the next act Renato joins the conspirators, and it is resolved
to murder the Prince. In the last act Amelia meets the Prince at a
masked ball, and implores him to fly. The Prince, however, declares that
he must protect her against the charge of wifely dishonor. Then Renato
appears on the scene and stabs the Prince. Before he dies the Prince
declares Amelia to be innocent, and pardons his assassin.
La
Forsa del Destino.
(The Force of Destiny.)
An opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto founded by
Piave on a Spanish drama by Saavedra de Rivas.
Characters: Don Alvares, of Peru; Marquis de Calstrava; Don Carlos
de Vargas, his son; Leonora de
{309}
Vargas; the Prior; monks, soldiers, messengers, villagers, etc.
Place, Spain. Time, the Sixteenth Century. First produced at St.
Petersburg in 1862.
As the opera begins Don Alvares, son of the Viceroy of Peru, has
arrived in Seville to obtain pardon for some of the transgressions of
his family. He has met Dona Leonora de Vargas, and has fallen in love
with her. The young lady loves him in return, and at the opening of the
first scene has just consented to follow him to Peru, when her father
suddenly appears menacingly in the doorway of the apartment. At sight of
Don Alvares he arms himself with a pistol, but upon Leonora’s cry of
terror flings it aside. Rebounding from the ground the weapon discharges,
and the ball strikes the :Marquis, who is mortally wounded. Leonora
believes her lover guilty of the death of her father, and in the second
act has fled from the Chateau de Vargas, and from her brother, Don
Carlos, who threatens to revenge their father’s death upon Leonora and
her lover. To escape her brother’s pursuit Leonora, disguised as a
cavalier, knocks at the door of the Convent of Nuestra Señora de los
Angeles, begging from the Prior the privilege of ending her days’ in an
adjacent monastery. Her request is granted.
In the third act Don Alvares has become the Captain of the Spanish
Grenadiers campaigning in Italy. Hearing not far away the clash of
swords, he flies to the assistance of an officer attacked by brigands.
He puts the latter to flight and rescues the officer. This is none other
than Don Carlos de Vargas. Each preserving their incognito, they
exchange fictitious names, and
{310}
leave in company to take part in a battle about to be fought with the
Austrians. Shortly after, Don Alvares, badly wounded, is brought into
camp on a litter. Don Carlos will not leave his new companion-in-arms,
who entrusts to his keeping a sealed packet, asking him to swear that he
will burn it in event of his death. A suspicion has entered the mind of
Don Carlos, and on receiving the packet, to which a locket is attached,
he opens it, and finds his sister’s miniature. Certain of not having
been mistaken in his suspicions, he gives Don Alvares time to recover
from his wound. He then reveals who he is, and calls upon Don Alvares to
draw his sword. Destiny again decides the result of the duel, and
Leonora’s brother falls, apparently mortally wounded.
Five years are supposed to have elapsed between the third and
fourth acts. Don Alvares has buried his sorrow in the Monastery of
Nuestra Doña de los Angeles. Don Carlos has survived his wounds. Still
intent upon vengeance, he besieges the door of the monastery, seeking
the murderer of his father, whose retreat he has discovered. In vain Don
Carlos plies his enemy with insults; Don Alveres, now Father Raphael,
responds with humility. At last an insult more terrible than the others
arouses the manhood of Don Alvares. True to his instincts as a nobleman
and warrior, he seizes the sword offered him by his opponent, and a
combat takes place at the very door of the hermitage which has been
Leonora’s refuge from the world. Don Carlos is stabbed to death before
his sister’s eyes. He does not die, however, without accomplishing a
part of his revenge, for before his death he thrusts his dagger
{311}
into Leonora’s heart. At this dreadful spectacle Don Alvares flies
distractedly to the summit of the mountain, and throws himself into the
abyss.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by Mery and
Du Lode, adapted from Schiller’s tragedy.
Characters: Don Carlos, Crown-Prince of Spain; King Philip; Marquis
Posa; the Grand Inquisitor; Queen Elizabeth of Valois; Princess Eboli;
Countess Aremberg; an arquebusier of the Royal Guard; ladies and
gentlemen of the court, soldiers, servants, etc.
Place, Madrid. Time, Middle Ages. First produced at Paris in 1867.
Don Carlos, Crown-prince of Spain, comes to the convent of St. Just,
where his grandfather, the Emperor Charles the Fifth, has just been
buried. Carlos bewails his separation from his stepmother, Elizabeth of
Valois, whom he loves with a sinful passion. His friend, the Marquis
Posa, reminds him of his duty, and induces him to leave Spain for
Flanders, where an unhappy nation groans under the cruel rule of King
Philip’s governors. Carlos has an interview with the Queen, but, beside
himself with grief, he again declares his love, though having resolved
only to ask for her intervention with the King on behalf of his mission
to Flanders. Elizabeth asks him to think of duty and dismisses him. Just
then her jealous husband enters, and finding her lady of honor, Countess
Aremberg, absent, banishes the latter from Spain. King Philip favors
Posa with his particular confidence, though the
{312}
latter is secretly the friend of Carlos, who is ever at variance with
his tyrannical sire. Posa uses his influence with the King for the good
of the people, and Philip, putting entire confidence in him, orders him
to watch his wife.
The second act represents a fête in the royal gardens at Madrid,
where Carlos mistakes the Princess Eboli for the Queen, and betrays his
unhappy love. The Princess, loving Carlos herself, and having nurtured
hopes of her love being returned, takes vengeance. She possesses herself
of a casket in which the Queen keeps Carlos’ portrait, presented to her
before her marriage, and surrenders it to Philip. The King, though
conscious of his wife’s innocence, is more than ever jealous of his son,
and seeks for an occasion to put him out of the way. It is soon found,
when Carlos defies him at an auto-da-fé of heretics. Posa himself is
obliged to deprive Carlos of his sword, and the latter is imprisoned.
The King has an interview with the Grand Inquisitor, who demands the
death of Don Carlos, asserting him to be a traitor to his country. As
Philip demurs, the priest asks Posa’s life as the more dangerous of the
two. The King, who never loved a human being except Posa, the
pure-hearted knight, yields to the power of the church.
In the following scene Elizabeth, searching for her casket, is
accused of infidelity by her husband. The Princess Eboli, seeing the
trouble her mischievous jealousy has brought upon her innocent mistress,
penitently confesses her fault and is banished from court. In the last
scone of the third act Carlos is visited by Posa, who tells him that he
has announced to the King that it
{313}
was himself, Posa, who excited rebellion in Flanders. While talking,
Posa is shot by an arquebusier of the royal guard. Philip enters the
cell to present his sword to Carlos; but the son turns from his father
with loathing and explains Posa’s pretended disloyalty. While Philip
bewails the loss of the best man in Spain, loud acclamations are heard
from the people, who, hearing that their prince is in danger, desire to
see him.
In the last act the Queen, who promised Posa to watch over Carlos,
meets him once more in the convent of St. Just. They are surprised by
the King, who approaches, accompanied by the Grand Inquisitor, and into
his hands the unhappy Carlos is at last delivered.
Grand opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto by
Ghislanzoni.
Characters: The King of Egypt; Amneris, his daughter; Aïda, an
Ethiopian slave; Radamès; the {High-priest;} Amonasro, King of Ethiopia.
Place, Egypt during the reign of the Pharaohs. First produced at
Cairo in 1871.
The scene of action is alternately Memphis and Thebes, and the
story belongs to the period when the Pharaohs sat on the throne. In the
first act we see the King’s palace at Memphis. {Ramphis,} the {High-priest}
of Pharaoh, announces to the Egyptian General Radamès that the
Ethiopians are in revolt and that the goddess Isis has decided who shall
be leader of the army sent out against them. Radamès secretly hopes to
be elected, in order to win the Ethiopian slave Aïda, whom he loves,
{314} not knowing that she is a King’s
daughter. Enter Amneris, daughter of Pharaoh. She loves Radamès without
his knowledge and so does Aïda. Amneris, suspecting this, swears to
avenge herself, should her suspicion prove correct. The King’s messenger
announces that Amonasro, the Ethiopian King (Aïda’s father), is marching
to the capital, and that Radamès is chosen to conquer the foe. Radamès
goes to the temple to invoke the benediction of the goddess and to
receive the sacred arms.
In the second act Amneris, in order to test Aïda’s feelings, tells
her that Radamès fell in battle, and finds her doubts confirmed by
Aïda’s sorrow. Amneris openly threatens her rival, and both hasten to
receive the soldiers who return victorious. In Radamès’ suite is King
Amonasro, who has been taken prisoner, disguised as a simple officer.
Aïda recognizes her father, and Amonasro, telling his conqueror that the
Ethiopian King has fallen, implores his clemency. Radamès, seeing Aïda
in tears, adds his entreaties to those of the Ethiopian; and Pharaoh
decides to set the prisoners free, with the exception of Aïda’s father,
who is to stay with his daughter. Pharaoh then gives Amneris to Radamès
as a recompense for his services.
In the third act Amonasro has discovered the mutual love of Aïda
and Radamès, and resolves to make use of it. While Amneris prays in the
temple that her bridegroom may give his whole heart to her, Amonasro
bids Aïda discover the secret of the Egyptian military plans from her
lover. Amonasro hides himself,. and Aïda has an interview with Radamès,
in which he reveals all to her. She persuades him to fly with her,
{315} when Amonasro comes forward, telling
Radamès he has heard all, and confessing that he is the Ethiopian King.
While they are speaking, Amneris appears and denounces them. Amonasro
escapes, with his daughter, while Radamès remains in the hands of {Ramphis,}
the {High-priest.}
In the fourth act Radamès is visited in his cell by Amneris, who
promises to save him from the awful death of being buried alive, if he
renounces Aïda. But Radamès refuses, though she tells him that Aïda has
fled into her country, her father having been slain during their flight.
Anmeris at length regrets her jealousy and repents, but too late!
Nothing can save Radamès, and she is obliged to see him led into his
living tomb. Amnneris curses the priests, who close the subterranean
vaults with a rock. Radamès, preparing himself for death, discovers Aïda
by his side. She has found means to penetrate into his tomb, resolved to
die with her lover. While she sinks into his arms, Amneris prays outside
for Radamès, imploring peace and eternal happiness in his behalf.
Opera in four acts by Verdi. Libretto adapted by
Boïto from Shakespeare’s tragedy.
Characters: Othello; Tago; Cassio; Roderigo, a noble Venetian;
Lodovico; Montano; Desdemonia; Emilia, Iago’s wife.
Place, Cyprus. Time, Fifteenth Century. First produced at Milan in
1887.
The action of the opera opens in Cyprus, amid the fury of a tempest.
Othello arrives fresh from a victory
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over the Turks, and is greeted enthusiastically by the people, who light
a bonfire in his honor. Then follows the drinking scene. Cassio, plied
by Iago, becomes intoxicated and fights with Montano. The duel is
interrupted by the entrance of Othello, who degrades Cassio from his
captaincy, and dismisses the people to their homes. The act ends with a
duet of flawless loveliness between Othello and Desdemona, the words of
which are ingeniously transplanted from Othello’s great speech before
the Senate.
In the second act, Iago advises Cassio to induce Desdemona to
intercede for him, and, when left alone, pours forth a terrible
confession of his disbelief in the famous “Credo.” This, one of the few
passages in the libretto not immediately derived from Shakespeare, is a
triumph on Boito’s part. The highest praise that can be given to it is
to say, which is the literal truth, that it falls in no way beneath the
poetical and dramatic standard of its context.
Othello now enters, and Iago contrives to sow the first seeds of
jealousy in his breast by calling his attention to Cassio’s interview
with Desdemona. Then follows a charming episode, another of Boito’s
interpolations, in which a band of Cypriotes bring flowers to Desdemona.
Othello is won for the moment by the guileless charm of her manner, but
his jealousy is revived by her assiduous pleading for Cassio. He thrusts
her from him, and the handkerchief with which she offers to bind his
brow is secured by Iago.
Left with his chief, Iago fans the rising flame of jealousy, and
the act ends with Othello’s terrific appeal to Heaven for vengeance upon
his wife. In the third
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act, after an interview of terrible irony and passion between Othello
and Desdemona, in which he accuses her to her face of unchastity, and
laughs at her indignant denial, Cassio appears with the handkerchief
which he has found in his chamber. Iago ingeniously contrives that
Othello shall recognize it, and at the same time arranges that he shall
only hear as much of the conversation as shall confirm him in his
infatuation.
Envoys from Venice arrive, bearing the order for Othello’s recall
and the appointment of Cassio in his place. Othello, mad with rage and
jealousy, strikes Desdemona to the earth, and drives every one from the
hall. Then his overtaxed brain reels, and he sinks swooning to the floor.
The shouts of the people outside acclaim him as the lion of Venice,
while Iago, his heel scornfully placed on Othello’s unconscious breast,
cries with ghastly malevolence, “Ecco il Leone.”
The last act follows Shakespeare very closely. Desdemona sings her
“Willow” song, and, as though conscious of approaching calamity, bids
Emilia a pathetic farewell. Scarcely are her eyes closed in sleep, when
Othello enters by a secret door, bent on his fell purpose. He wakes her
with a kiss, and after a brief scene smothers her with a pillow. Emilia
enters with the news of an attempt to {assassinate} Cassio. Finding
Desdemona dead, she calls for help. Cassio, Montano, and others rush in.
Iago’s treachery is unmasked, and Othello in despair stabs himself,
dying in a last kiss upon his dead wife’s lips.
Opera in three acts by Verdi. Libretto adapted by
Boïto from Shakespeare’s comedy, The Merry Wives of Windsor.
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Characters: Sir John Falstaff; Ford; Alice, his wife; Nanetta, her
daughter; Fenton; Dr. Caius; Bardoiph and Pistol, servants of Falstaff;
Mistress Quickly; Mistress Page.
Place, Windsor. Time, Fifteenth Century. First produced at Milan in
1893.
There are three acts, each of which is divided into two scenes. The
first scene takes place in the Garter Inn at Windsor. Falstaff and his
trusty followers, Bardolph and Pistol, discomfit Dr. Cams, who comes to
complain of having been robbed. Falstaff then unfolds his scheme for
replenishing the coffers through the aid of Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page, and
bids his faithful esquires carry the famous duplicate letters to the
comely dames. Honor, however, intervenes, and they refuse the office.
Falstaff then sends his page with the letters, pronounces his celebrated
discourse upon honor, and hunts Bardolph and Pistol out of the house.
In the second scene we are in Ford’s garden. The letters have
arrived, and the merry wives eagerly compare notes and deliberate upon a
plan for avenging themselves upon their elderly wooer. Dame Quickly is
despatched to bid Falstaff to an interview. Meanwhile Nannetta Ford, the
“Sweet Anne Page” of Shakespeare, has contrived to gain a stolen
interview with her lover Fenton, while the treacherous Bardolph and
Pistol are telling Ford of their late master’s designs on his wife’s
honor. Ford’s jealousy is easily aroused, and he makes up his mind to
carry the war into the enemy’s country by visiting Falstaff in disguise.
The second act takes us back to the Garter. Dame Quickly arrives
with a message from Mrs. Ford. Falstaff is aroused at once, and agrees
to pay her a visit betwen
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the hours of two and three. Ford now arrives, calling himself Master
Brook, and paves his way with a present of wine and money. He tells
Falstaff of his hopeless passion for a haughty dame of Windsor, Mrs.
Alice Ford, begging the irresistible knight to woo the lady, so that,
once her pride is broken, he too may have a chance of winning her favor.
Falstaff gladly agrees, and horrifies the unlucky Ford by confiding the
news to him that he already has an assignation with the lady fixed for
that very afternoon.
The second scene is laid in a room in Ford’s house. The merry wives
are assembled, and soon Falstaff is descried approaching. Mrs. Ford
entertains him for a few minutes, and then, according to their
arrangement, Dame Quickly runs in to say that Mrs. Page is at the door.
Falstaff hastily hides himself behind a large screen, but the jest
changes to earnest when Mrs. Page herself rushes in to announce that
Ford, mad with jealousy and rage, has raised the whole household and is
really coming to look for his wife’s lover. The women quickly slip
Falstaff into a huge basket and cover him with dirty linen, while
Nannetta and Fenton, who have been indulging in another stolen
interview, slip behind the screen. Ford searches everywhere for Falstaff
in vain, and is beginning to despair of finding him, when the sound of a
kiss behind the screen arrests his attention. He approaches it
cautiously, and thrusts it aside, only to find his daughter in Fenton’s
arms. Meanwhile Mrs. Ford calls on her servants. Between them they
manage to lift the gigantic basket, and, while she calls her husband to
view the sight, carry it to the window and pitch it bodily into the
Thames.
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The first scene of the third act is devoted to hatching a new plot
to humiliate the fat knight, and the second shows us a moonlit glade in
Windsor Forest, whither he has been summoned by the agency of Dame
Quickly. There all the characters assemble disguised as elves and
fairies. They give Falstaff a mauvais quart d’heure, and end by
convincing him that his amorous wiles are useless against the virtue of
honest burghers’ wives. Meanwhile Nannetta has induced her father, by
means of a trick, to consent to her marriage with Fenton, and the act
ends with a song of rejoicing in the nature of a magnificent fugue in
which every one joins.
Last updated February 09, 2007