On a May morning in 1831, a young man of an unusual appearance entered the building of the Milan Conservatory: he had rough peasant hands, yet his gaze was intensely spiritual. The professors were astonished: not only was he an overage applicant (the conservatory admitted students up to the age of 14, and he was already 18), but he also lacked aristocratic origins. He was denied admission with the justification of ‘insufficient talent’ [1]. Thus, fate challenged the rural youth, but by fortune’s decree, decades later, the Milan Conservatory would vie for the honour of bearing his name.
Nearly two centuries later, Verdi’s creations continue to grace the leading stages of the world. Yet, all this might never have been if not for fate. Verdi was born into a poor peasant family; his father was an innkeeper, and his mother spent her days and nights at the spinning wheel [3]. Young Giuseppe cared for his younger sister, assisted his mother with household chores, and delivered goods with his father. In the village church, he aided in the mass services, where he eagerly learned musical notation and played the church organ. Noting their son’s inclination towards music, his parents gifted him a spinet [1]. The boy was overjoyed. It was as if fate itself, by handing him this modest domestic instrument, had opened the doors to the world of music.
When Giuseppe turned 10, his father sent him to the town school in Busseto, where the boy met Antonio Barezzi, the chairman of the local Philharmonic Society [1]. His daughter was a competent pianist. Together, the young duo often performed piano duets at musical evenings. Barezzi recognised the boy’s talent—a fortuitous encounter.
Verdi travels to Busseto, to his teacher Barezzi and his daughter Margherita [2]. Seeing the grown-up beauty, Verdi was struck speechless. It was love, mutual and passionate, culminating in marriage. Soon the happy Giuseppe wrote the score for his first opera Oberto and the newlyweds moved to Milan, but fate consistently tripped him up. His creation was unwanted by anyone. At La Scala at that time, the soprano Giuseppina Strepponi shone; her voice enchanted with its beauty, and her acting talent was striking. Verdi decided to show his score to her. The opera thrilled the singer. And once again, fate smiled on him. The prima did everything to ensure it was staged at La Scala, and the premiere of Oberto was a resounding success. The composer received a new commission for the opera Un giorno di regno [1].
This was a happy time. Verdi had a beloved wife, two charming little children, and excellent prospects. It seemed that fate was favorable to him. But he could not imagine the terrible trials that lay ahead. Three losses in a row: an eighteen-month-old daughter, a one-year-old son, and his 26-year-old wife [6]. Such a tragedy is hardly bearable for a person. Why was fate so cruelly punishing him? Verdi was petrified with grief, having lost his family. One can only guess what was going on in the composer’s soul. Devastated and crushed, Verdi finished his second opera, but it was a disastrous failure. The composer decided—never to compose again. A reclusive, gloomy man wandered the streets of Milan. It seemed that his life was over.
And then fate gave him another chance. Verdi met an impresario who offered him another opportunity. Handing him the libretto for the opera Nabucco, he said, ‘If you don’t like it, you can return it’ [4]. The composer, having struggled all night, intended to return the libretto, but suddenly realised that new music was resonating in his soul. At that moment, Verdi the man was conquered by Verdi the composer. Fate decided to gift him the world in place of his lost loved ones.
From that time began the fantastic rise in the composer’s career. At that time, Italy was under the oppression of Austrian invaders and was struggling for its freedom. Working on Nabucco, Verdi clothed the biblical story in such music that it immediately became clear to all viewers: this opera was about them, about the Italians’ fight for freedom [3]. The success was immense. The role of Abigaille was triumphantly performed by his muse—Giuseppina. There it was, Fate! By its will, a simple village boy became not just a successful opera composer, but also a spiritual leader of the nation. Personal tragedy hardened him. Over the next 10 years, he would write 13 operas, each embodying the idea of Italy’s struggle for freedom [1]. In the ancient Hebrews or in the medieval Lombards, Italians recognised themselves. The pathos of Verdi’s operas boiled down to one thing—freedom will triumph. But this was a dangerous creative stance, and soon Verdi began to have problems with censorship.
The premiere of the opera I Lombardi alla Prima Crociata took place at La Scala in February 1843. The performance turned into a political demonstration. The final chorus of the crusaders was perceived as a call to arms. Verdi’s music spilled onto the streets of Italy. His operas began to be staged throughout the country. He became wealthy and famous. Almost after every performance, they chanted: Viva Verdi! This was a tribute to the composer’s talent and also a code of the anti-Austrian movement. The abbreviation was deciphered as: Vittorio Emanuele Re d’Italia [5].
In 1848, this opera was staged in Paris, and Verdi came for the rehearsal. Fate seemed to push him towards Strepponi, who at 30 had lost her voice and had been living in France for a few years, making a living by teaching singing. Seeing Giuseppina, Verdi realised he no longer wanted to part with her [6]. This woman, delicate, talented, and brilliant, was essential to him. She understood him like no one else. Grim, reserved, and lonely, he was ready to talk endlessly with her. They began living together in Passy, a suburb of Paris. Giuseppina called her beloved a wizard, maintained perfect order at home, but there was no talk of marriage. After a terrible personal tragedy, the word family inspired terror in Verdi. Giuseppina understood everything, but she even couldn’t guess the humiliations that awaited her ahead. Love changed Verdi; he created with enthusiasm, and the opera Rigoletto was written in just 40 days and became a favourite among the people, its melodies sung in the streets and town squares [1]. Critics wondered: what had happened to Verdi? It was love. In this uplift, he would write Il Trovatore and La Traviata though the latter would be tinged with a bitter note of life.
Returning from France, the couple returned to their homeland, and Giuseppina immediately felt the contempt of those around her: a mistress, a kept woman, how dare she openly live with Verdi! Acquaintances, noticing her, would cross to the other side of the street, taunts followed her, and at the market, vendors refused to sell to her. Verdi was infuriated by this situation, but he did not speak of marriage. He simply needed her to be by his side [6].
In 1852, the couple attended a performance of The Lady of the Camellias in Paris. Verdi was struck by the story: the fate of a courtesan ruined by public opinion. The composer could not help but see the parallels to Giuseppina’s situation, but instead of marrying her, he wrote La Traviata dedicated to the courtesan Violetta. The premiere in 1853 in Venice was a failure. It was another blow from fate. The conservative opera audience was not accustomed to seeing their contemporaries on stage and booed the production. Verdi was stoic. The failure of the opera upset him, but it did not break him.
After 11 years of living together, in 1859, when no one expected it, Verdi overcame his fear and proposed to his beloved [6]. They formalized their marriage in Geneva. Verdi never forgave his neighbors in Sant’Agata for those 11 years of harassing his beloved woman. He built a high wall around his estate and did not interact with them.
Verdi’s music resonated throughout Europe when the Egyptian government approached him with an unusual proposal—to write an opera for the opening of the Suez Canal [3]. Verdi initially declined due to the ready-made libretto, but fate intervened again. He learned that the commission had been offered to Wagner, and Verdi could not allow that. It was said that everything came easily to Wagner, that Verdi could not match him [1]. Thus, motivated by their unseen rivalry, Verdi agreed—their relationship was always marked by an unspoken competition [4]. The composers disliked each other and never met.
In the libretto of Aida, Verdi found everything he loved: love, vivid characters, passion, and the recent addition to his life, burning jealousy. Giuseppina sensed something had changed: her magician, who once belonged only to music and her, began to grow restless in her company and seemed to be waiting for someone. Indeed, he was waiting. This was a young Bohemian singer, Teresa Stolz. The maestro had met her shortly before heading to Cairo, and she became the first performer of Aida [6].
The premiere in Cairo was a resounding success. The opera was recognised as an unequivocal masterpiece. Audiences greatly appreciated the beautiful, varied melodies combined with a vivid dramatic performance. Critics could not ignore that from Verdi’s early works to the monumental Aida, there was a vast distance [1]. Verdi had managed to merge fidelity to tradition with bold musical innovations. ‘The genius old man Verdi in Aida and Otello is paving new ways for Italian musicians’, wrote Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky [7].
Verdi took a 16-year hiatus; only in 1886 did the composer write Otello [5]. The reason for such a long separation from opera is shrouded in mystery. Some believed he was irritated by the dominance of Wagnerianism in music, others claimed that the ‘musical Garibaldi’ was depressed by the reactionary phase in Italy, and some were convinced that the musician was too engrossed in his relationship with Teresa Stolz to write [4]. It seemed Verdi could rest on his laurels, but fate seemed to whisper, ‘You can still do it!’ And he did. At 80, he wrote Falstaff based on Shakespeare’s play, after which even the strictest critics acknowledged his genius.
Whether Verdi had a passionate affair with Teresa or merely a tender creative friendship is not definitively known, but the singer visited the maestro up until his death [6]. He died in a Milan hotel, and to ensure the noise of wheels did not disturb the elderly Giuseppe, all the nearby streets were covered with straw by the carriage drivers [1].
How are titans in art born? What predetermines their emergence? Talent? Colossal effort? Strength of character? Or all of these combined? But Verdi’s example proves that Fate also guides the artist, and if he does not bend under its blows nor melt under its caresses, then it elevates him to the very pinnacle of the pedestal, where for two centuries it has resounded: Viva Verdi!
Bibliography:
[1] Martin, George. 1984. Verdi: His Music, Life and Times. New York: Dodd, Mead and Company.
[2] Parker, Roger. 1998. Verdi, Giuseppe. In Sadie, Stanley (ed.). The New Grove Dictionary of Opera. Vol. 4. London: Macmillan Publishers.
[3] Rosselli, John (2000). The life of Verdi. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
[4] Werfel, Franz and Paul Stefan. 1973. Verdi: The Man and His Letters. New York: Vienna House.
[5] Phillips-Matz and Mary Jane. 1993. Verdi: A Biography. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
[6] Kerman, Joseph. 2006. Verdi and the Undoing of Women. Cambridge Opera Journal. 18 (1): 21–31.
[7] Tchaikovsky, Pyotr. 2013. Autobiographical Account of a Tour Abroad in the Year 1888. Edited by Rosa Newmarch. London: Vincent Press.
