VOL. XLI.

NUMBER 6

G

IUSEPPE VERDI, whose rare musical talent is unprecedented by any Italian composer of this century, was a man who may justly be called the antithesis of musicians moulded in the shape with which we are all so familiar. Lacking the necessary qualifications of a true Bohemian, he preferred the simple life of the common people. A child of the contadini, he became, by the sheer force of his genius, not only the composer of thirty operas, but an Italian Senator, "musical politician," philanthropist and three times over a millionaire. Honored and respected by the civilized world, his countrymen ever looked to him as a deliverer from their national oppression and many times this modest, retiring man held within his grasp the power of a king. Placing the tumult of his soul into each note of pathos, Verdi may justly be credited with having drawn politics into his music. Rossini styled him, "the musician with a helmet," and probably no composer has so well deserved this distinction.

But aside from his musical ability, Verdi held and still holds that magic power and personal charm which death itself cannot efface. Strange as it may seem, no complete English biography has yet appeared to do homage to the memory of this octogenarian composer. His love of seclusion and unaffected horror of posing as an idol of the

people long barred the more intimate facts of his personal life from the public. Since his decease each successive year has but strengthened the ardor and admiration we have for this creator

of Italian song. Realizing the force. of such a personality, it is impossible for the average person to visit Verdi's native haunts,-especially the city of Milan,-without feeling that his spirit has permeated every cobble-stone of the ancient Lombard town with that indescribable beauty of soul which one pursues, yet never overtakes.

It is difficult to imagine Verdi, with his innate shrewdness and practicability as being the composer of operas; yet the creator of Il Trovatore has sounded an harmonious chord in the heart of all nations. Lovers of Italian opera will long remember Milan as once the musical centre of the world. Your Baedeker will tell you that the chief attractions are the Gothic Cathedral with its two thousand statues and Leonardo da Vinci's famous painting, "The Last Supper." But this intelligence appears quite forgotten by the musical enthusiast, as he walks the streets of the city, casting benign glances at each native, dark-haired Manrico, who softly hums in his sweet, rhythmical language, the familiar refrain of the Miserere.

Giuseppe Verdi first came to Milan when nineteen years of age. He had

already felt the humility of poverty and want. Born in the desolate village of Roncole, a small settlement at the foot of the Apennines, the child passed his youth in a modest country inn, kept by his parents. Soon after his birth, when but a babe in his mother's arms, this lonely town became the scene of pillage and bloodshed.

It was in 1814, about a year after Verdi's birth, that the Austrians and Russians sacked the peaceful village of Roncole, scattering terror and death throughout the land. The women and children, thinking to be safer near the shrine of the Virgin, took refuge in the church. But the allies soon forced their way into the sacred edifice, ruthlessly slaying both women and children, until the floor was covered with the blood of their innocent victims.

One of the women, wiser than the rest, amid mingled screams and entreaties for mercy, fled to the narrow staircase, leading to the belfry. Groping along in this narrow passageway, she crouched in the farthest corner of her somber fortress, the helpless babe still clasped to her breast. Here the terror-stricken woman remained until the last sound of the enemy had died away. The woman was Louisa Utini Verdi, mother of the infant Giuseppe. It is pleasing,-not only to Italians, but to all nations, to believe that, by some magic power of the gods, the life of this child was spared, that he might glorify his country and, through his master-genius, help to lift the oppression which a disheartened people had long endured.

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Self-denial and the closest economy were daily practiced by Verdi's parents, whose income seemed hardly adequate to supply their frugal needs. Although the family was never duced to abject poverty, yet the child Giuseppe was not surrounded with an atmosphere to inspire the poetic or the beautiful. Notwithstanding all this, Verdi seems to have enjoyed a perfectly natural childhood, with no visible sign to indicate his coming fame and glory. His musical aptitude was first shown whenever a street-organ

was heard in the village of Roncole. His favorite musician in these early days was a tottering violinist, who often appeared before his father's homestead. These events gave little Verdi the wildest delight and he immediately became an attentive auditor. Whenever a strolling artist of this type invaded the town, Verdi would eagerly follow from door to door, never dreaming that, some day, he would furnish sparkling melodies for like instruments of torture and need an Act of Parliament to regulate their use!

Verdi senior soon recognized the musical possibilities of his son and determined, in spite of poverty, to secure a spinet for the child's use. The itinerant violinist, whose melodies first inspired Verdi, urged the innkeeper to make a musician of his son. This proposition seems to have met with hearty approval. Already Giuseppe had shown an aptitude for the profession, his time being absorbed in discovering chords and harmonies on his spinet.

At eight years of age we find him at Bussanto, a small town about three miles from his birthplace. Here, for the munificent sum of about six cents per day, the youth entered an academic school, where he remained two years, pursuing those branches of study which the son of a locandiere deems sufficient for his station in life.

Three years after the installation of the spinet into the house of the innkeeper, young Verdi became parish organist at Roncole, with a salary of thirty-six lire per annum,-or less than sixty cents per month! This meagre sum naturally proved insufficient to supply the necessities of a student; and, besides, his first maestro, one Baistrocchi, had already confessed his inability to longer guide the young aspirant in his favorite study.

It was now apparent that some means must be found whereby the youthful Verdi could add his mite to the family coffer and, at the same time, continue his study of music. Even a musician must have food and raiment, and in order to provide these requisites,