Part 20 (1/2)

”Rigoletto,” produced in the year Eighteen Hundred Fifty-one at Venice, is founded on Victor Hugo's ”Le Roi s'Amuse”; and the music has all the dramatic fire that matches the Hugo plot. Verdi's devotion to Victor Hugo is seen again in the use of ”Hernani” for operatic purposes. ”Il Trovatore” and ”La Traviata” followed ”Rigoletto,” and these three operas are usually put forward as the Verdi masterpieces. The composer himself regarded them with a favor that may well be pardoned, since he used to say that he and his wife collaborated in their production--she writing the music and he looking on. The proportion of truth and poetry in this statement is not on record. But the simple fact remains that ”Il Trovatore” was always a favorite with Verdi, and even down to his death he would travel long distances to hear it played. A correspondent of the ”Musical Courier,” writing from Paris in Eighteen Hundred Eighty-seven, says: ”Verdi and his wife occupied a box last evening at the Grand Opera House. The piece was 'Il Trovatore,' and many smiles were caused by the sight of the author and his spouse seemingly leading the claque as if they would split their gloves.”

The flaming forth of creative genius that produced the ”Rigoletto,” ”Il Trovatore,” and ”La Traviata,” subsided into a placid calm.

The serene happiness of Verdi's married life, the fortune that had come to him, and the consciousness of having won in spite of great obstacles, led him to the thought of quiet and well-earned rest. The master interested himself in politics, and was elected to represent the district of Parma in the Italian Parliament. He proved himself a man of power--practical, self-centered and businesslike--and as such served his country well.

The sentiment of the man is shown in his buying the property at Busseto, his old home, which was owned by Signore Barezzi. He removed the high picket fence, replacing it with a low stone wall; remodeled the house and turned the conservatory into a small theater, where free concerts were often given with the help of the villagers. The adjoining grounds and splendid park were free to the public.

The master's attention to music was now limited to enjoying it. So pa.s.sed the days.

Ten years of the life of a country gentleman went by, and the Shah of Persia, who had been on a visit to Italy and met Verdi, sent a command for an opera. The plot must be laid in the East, the characters Moorish, and the whole to be dedicated to the immortal Son of the Sun--the Shah.

It is a little doubtful whether the Shah knew that operas are produced only in certain moods and can not be done to order as a carpenter builds a fence. But it was the way that Eastern Royalty had of showing its high esteem.

Verdi smiled, and his wife smiled, and they had quite a merry little time over the matter, calling in the neighbors and friends, and drinking to the health of a real live Shah who knew a great musical genius when he found one. But suddenly the matter began to take form in the master's mind. He set to work, and the result was that in a few weeks ”Aida” was completed. The stories often told of the long preparation for composing this opera reveal the fine imagination of the men who write for the newspapers. Verdi seized upon knowledge as a devilfish absorbs its prey--he learned in the ma.s.s.

”Aida” was first produced at Cairo in Eighteen Hundred Seventy-one, with a grand setting and the best cast procurable. A new Verdi opera was an event, and critics went from London, Paris, and other capitals to see the performance.

The first thing the knowing ones said was that Verdi was touched with Wagnerism, and that he had studied ”Lohengrin” with painstaking care. If Verdi was influenced by Wagner it was for good; but there was no servile imitation in it. The ”Aida” is rich in melody, reveals a fine balance between singers and orchestra, and the ”local color” is correct even to the chorus of Congo slaves that was introduced at the performance in Cairo.

All agreed that the rest had done the master good, and the correspondents wrote, ”We will look anxiously for his next.” They thought the stream had started and there would be an overflow.

But they were mistaken. Sixteen years of quiet farming followed. Verdi was more interested in his flowers than his music, and told Philip Hale, who made a pious pilgrimage to Busseto in Eighteen Hundred Eighty-three, that he loved his horses more than all the prima donnas on earth.

But in Eighteen Hundred Eighty-seven, the artistic and music-loving world was surprised and delighted with ”Otello.” This grand performance made amends for the mangling of ”Macbeth.” James Huneker says: ”The character-drawing in 'Otello' is done with the burin of a master; the plot moves in processional splendor; the musical psychology is subtle and inevitable. At last the genius of Verdi has flowered. The work is consummate and complete.”

”Falstaff” came next, written by a graybeard of eighty as if just to prove that the heart does not grow old. It is the work of an octogenarian who loved life and had seen the world of show and sense from every side. Old men usually moralize and live in the past--not so here. The play flows with a laughing, joyous, rippling quality that disarmed the critics and they apologized for what they had said about Wagnerian motives. There were no sad, solemn, recurring themes in the full-ripened fruit of Verdi's genius. When he died, at the age of eighty-seven, the curtain fell on the career of a great and potent personality--the one unique singer of the Nineteenth Century.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WOLFGANG MOZART]

WOLFGANG MOZART

Mozart composed nine hundred twenty-two pieces of which we know. He is considered the greatest composer the world has ever seen, judged by the versatility and power of his genius. In every kind of composition he was equally excellent. Beside being a great composer he was a great performer, being the most accomplished pianist of his day. He was also an excellent player on the violin.

--_Dudley Buck_

WOLFGANG MOZART

Apology: The Mozart ”Little Journey” was written, and as over a month had been taken to do the task, the result was something of which I was justly proud. It was quite unlike anything ever before written. The printers were ready to take the work in hand, but I begged them to allow me two more days for careful revision; and as I was just starting away to give a lecture at Janesville, Wisconsin, I took the ma.n.u.script with me, intending to do the final work of revision on the train.

All went well on the journey, the lecture had been given with no special tokens of disapproval on part of the audience, and I was on board the early morning train that leaves for Chicago. And as my mind is usually fairly clear in the early hours, I began work retouching the good ma.n.u.script. We were nearing Beloit when I bethought me to go into the Buffet-Car for a moment.

When I returned the ma.n.u.script was not to be seen. I looked in various seats, and under the seats, asked my neighbors, inquired of the brakeman, and then hunted up the porter and asked him if he had seen my ma.n.u.script. He did not at first understand what I meant by the term ”ma.n.u.script,” but finally inquired if I referred to a pile of dirty, dog-eared sheets of paper, all marked up and down and over and crisscross, ev'ry-which-way.

I a.s.sured him that he understood the case.

He then informed me that he had ”chucked the stuff,” that is to say, he had tossed it out of the window, as he was cleaning up his car, just as he always did before reaching Chicago.