A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Boito, Arrigo
BOITO, Arrigo, an Italian poet and composer, born at Padua, Feb. 24, 1842. His father was an Italian painter, and his mother a Polish lady, which to a great extent accounts for the blending of northern and southern inspiration that is the characteristic of all Arrigo Boito's poetical and musical works. From an elder brother, Camillo, an eminent architect, critic and novelist, Arrigo acquired from his early years a taste for poetry. It may be said here that it was Camillo Boito who directed his brother's attention to Goethe's Faust as the proper subject for a grand opera, and this years before Gounod's masterpiece was written.
In 1856 Boito's mother left Padua and settled in Milan so that he might study at the Conservatorio there. Arrigo was admitted as a pupil in the composition class of the late Alberto Mazzucato. It is asserted on excellent authority that during the first two years at the school, he showed so little aptitude for music, that more than once the director, Lauro Rossi, and the examiners, were on the point of dismissing him, and it was only owing to the determinate and steady opposition of his professor that the decisive measure was not carried out. This fact, compared with a similar incident in the career of Verdi, who at a comparatively advanced age was refused admission to the same institution on the ground that he had no aptitude for the study of music, will not fail to strike the reflective mind, and to show how in some cases genius may be latent, and may reveal itself only after years of well-directed industry.
The musical lessons at the Conservatorio being over before noon, the young Arrigo would regularly spend his afternoons and evenings in the library of the Brera studying literature. The time thus spent was soon productive of excellent fruit: before he had reached his eighteenth year, he was familiar with the Greek and Latin classics, had acquired a perfect mastery of the Italian and French languages, and his first essays in the Italian and French press at once attracted the attention of scholars in both countries to him. Some articles on a French review were the cause of Victor Hugo's writing a most flattering letter to the unknown author, while in Italy Andrea Maffei and others publicly complimented him on his early poems.
It is a custom at the Conservatorio of Milan that the most successful pupils of composition on leaving school should write either an operetta or a cantata to be performed on the occasion of the annual distribution of prizes. On leaving the Conservatorio, Arrigo Boito and Franco Faccio set to work together and produced a cantata, 'Le Sorelle d'ltalia' (the Sisters of Italy), the poem by Boito, the music of the first part by Faccio, the music of the second part by Boito. By the time this cantata was performed, musical circles were greatly interested in the two pupils, as it was known that Faccio was already far advanced in his opera 'I profughi Fiamminghi,' and that Boito had already written and composed several numbers of his 'Faust,'—the garden scene, just as it now stands in 'Mefistofele,' belongs entirely to that period.
'Le Sorelle d'ltalia' was an enormous success, so much that the Italian government, which is perhaps the least musical in Europe, and the least inclined to patronise art, found itself almost forced by the current of public opinion to award the two maestri a sum of money, besides the gold medal, to enable them to reside for two years in various capitals of Europe.
As some twenty years ago the staple, and we may almost say, the only paying article in the music market in Italy was operatic music, there was not the remotest thought of publishing the cantata, successful as it had been, and only two short duets for female voices, the one by Faccio and the other by Boito were printed. Unluckily the manuscript score, which ought to be deposited at the library of the Conservatorio, through the carelessness of the keeper of the library and of the director Lauro Rossi, was lent and never returned, so that, unless chance throws the manuscript in the way of some musician, no hope can be entertained of ever hearing again that interesting work, the authors themselves having kept no copy.
The subject was an allegorical one, intended to represent the four sister nations, Italy, Hungary, Greece and Poland, in their struggle for political independence. The cantata was in two parts, preceded by a prologue and concluded by the stirring 'Hymn of Tirteo,' from the original Greek, by way of epilogue; the peculiar and spontaneous blending of northern and southern inspirations, already hinted at, was conspicuous in the poem. The first part, 'Italy and Hungary' was, musically speaking, as characteristic of Faccio's genius as the second, 'Greece and Poland,' was of Boito's. Those who heard the performance twenty-five years ago, remember still the 'Litanie dei Polacchi,' a choral number which opened the second part, new in treatment and grand in conception. The theme of the final chorus reappears in a somewhat altered condition in the fourth act of 'Mefistofele.'
During his residence abroad, Boito spent most of his time in Paris, and a considerable part of the rest in Germany. Strange as it may seem, Wagner's operas, which he had now an occasion of hearing for the first time, did not alter in the least his musical opinions and feelings: a change came over his mind many years after, when he began the critical study of the works of Sebastian Bach. He left Milan holding Marcello, Beethoven, Verdi and Meyerbeer as the greatest composers in their respective fields, and when he came back he was even strengthened in his belief, though he had had many opportunities of hearing excellent performances of the best music. Yet—perhaps unconsciously—he did not feel at one, on musical subjects, with the majority of his countrymen. His genius, his keen appreciation of the beautiful, his devotion to Beethoven and Marcello, had enlarged his ideas beyond the limits that were imposed upon an operatic composer, and whilst leisurely working at his 'Faust' he could not bring himself to give it the fashionable and only accepted form of the Italian opera. He was too modest to preach a new faith, too honest to demolish before knowing how and what to build, and too noble to write with the sole end of amusing his fellow creatures. This, and the success of Gounod's 'Faust' in Milan, a success that obliged him to give up any idea of having his own 'Faust' performed, gave gradually a different turn to his mind, and he eventually found himself more busy with literature than with music. All his lyrics bear the date from 1861 to 1867 (they were afterwards published at Turin in 1877: his novel, 'L'Alfier Meno,' was also written in these years. He started, together with Emilio Praga and other friends, a lively, brilliant but short-lived newspaper 'Figaro'; he contributed critical essays to Italian and French reviews, and was one of the most active and valuable contributors to the 'Giornale della Societa del Quartette di Milano,' a musical paper edited by Alberto Mazzucato, whose aim was to excite an interest in, and spread a taste for, the study of instrumental music.
Englishmen, accustomed to numberless concerts where music of the great composers may be heard, will hardly realise what the condition of Milan—by far the most advanced musical town in Italy—was twenty-five years ago. Music and opera were synonymous words, and no one cared for anything that had not been or could not be performed with success at 'La Scala.' Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Schumann, were as much unknown as if they had never been born. Even as late as ten years ago, the only copy of Beethoven's Symphonies to be had at the library of the Conservatorio, was a cheap edition printed at Mendrisio, and so full of mistakes as to be in some parts unintelligible. This state of things was absolutely alarming, and several more enlightened persons, amongst them the publisher Ricordi, Mazzucato, Boito, Filippi, etc., decided to start a Society of Concerts and a newspaper in order to improve the public taste, and make it at least possible for the new composers to have a chance of being heard and appreciated.
Boito did much useful work in this direction: his articles were full of enthusiasm, and were interesting and readable. Amongst various miscellaneous articles he contributed one essay on 'Mendelssohn in Italy,' published by instalments, in which he spoke of his hero in such a manner that it was considered disrespectful towards Italian composers and the Italians at large, and led to a duel, wherein the ardent musician was worsted, and in consequence of which he had to carry his right arm in a sling for several weeks afterwards.
In 1866 the war with Austria put a stop to all musical business, and Boito, Faccio, Tagliabue, Emilio Praga, and others, joined the volunteer corps under the command of General Garibaldi. During the campaign they fought bravely, some of them even receiving a special mention for military valour. When the campaign was over, Boito felt tired of the comparative idleness of artistic life in Milan, and decided to leave Italy and take up iris residence in Paris: Victor Hugo encouraged him to do so, and exhorted him to join the Parisian press, and gave him the warmest and most affectionate introduction to Emile de Girardin. Accordingly Boito went to Paris in the spring of 1867, fully determined to give up music and throw in his lot with French journalists.
Thus Boito's career as a musician would have absolutely been over for ever, but for a succession of unforeseen and trifling incidents. When he arrived in Paris, Emile de Girardin, who was to act as his sponsor on his entering the Parisian press, was the hero of a political cause célèbre attracting for the moment the interest of all France, and the introduction had no practical consequences. After some time spent in vain suspense, Boito went to visit a sister in Poland.
The monotonous, tranquil, humdrum country life, and the many forced leisure hours he had there, put him again in mind of 'Faust,' and just to please his own fancy he sketched a musical setting of an arrangement of the entire poem, from the Prologue in Heaven to Faust's Death, and also completed some of the principal scenes.
While he was waiting for the autumn to go back to Paris and try his fortune again, Signori Bonola and Brunello, the managers of La Scala, who were making arrangements for the operas to be produced in the ensuing winter season of 1867–68, and had already secured two novelties, Gounod's 'Giulietta e Romeo' and Verdi's 'Don Carlos,' heard that 'Faust' was again occupying Boito, and they managed to obtain the opera, so that when the general public was thinking that Boito was on the staff of some Paris newspaper, unexpectedly the advertisements announced 'Mefistofele' as the new opera d'obbligo for the next season.
No doubt in the interest of art it was well that Boito entered into the engagement, but it was nevertheless a very rash step on his part, of which the effects were demonstrated by the memorable first performance of the original 'Mefistofele' which took place at La Scala of Milan on March 5, 1868. It must be fairly owned that the public was not ready to understand the new language he intended to speak, nor did the poet and composer know clearly what he was going to say to them. There is no denying that the original 'Mefistofele,' though poetically and philosophically admirable, was, taken as an opera, both incongruous and amorphous. It was an interminable work, with very deficient and feeble orchestration, no dramatic interest, and composed without the most distant thought of pleasing the taste of opera-goers. The conception was sublime and the outline bold and startling; but it was little more than a sketch, or a cartoon for a fresco, and the real work was absolutely wanting. It would have taken at least a year to get it properly ready, if the author had chosen to follow up the original scheme; but Boito found himself with very few months before him, barely sufficient to put the materials together. The process of rehearsing at La Scala is a very long one, as it is done in the most conscientious manner: in the case of Mefistofele it was extraordinarily long, owing to the enormous difficulties the chorus and the orchestra had to grapple with; partial and general rehearsals amounted, if we remember right, to fifty-two, and during the many weeks spent in this way, all the interpreters had grown so accustomed to Boito's style, and his music had become so clear and familiar to them, that their heart warmed toward the young composer, they thought him the greatest composer in Italy, and answered to the numerous questions directed to them by known and unknown persons about the merit of the new opera, 'a second Guglielmo Tell.' 'Mefistofele' had absorbed the attention of all Milan, and of all musicians and amateurs of Italy: all seats and standing places had been sold weeks before the performance, and never after or before has been witnessed such an interest taken in the production of a young composer's first, opera. In order to centre entirely the public interest in Boito, it was decided to make a breach of custom and let the composer conduct his own work; and another breach of custom was made by publishing and selling the libretto a few days before the performance. The first edition was bought up in a few hours, and eagerly, almost savagely, read, commented on, dissected, submitted to the most minute analysis. Boito, in poetry as well as in music, belonged to the advanced school, so-called 'dell' avvenire': as everywhere else, in Italy also, the poet's 'dell' avvenire' were not looked at very kindly, and in Milan less than in any other Italian town, because the Milanese were justly proud of their great citizen Alessandro Manzoni, the author of 'I promessi sposi,' who at that time was still to be seen taking his afternoon walk on the bastioni every day, and of whom it was given out that the poets of the new school did not entertain a sufficiently reverential opinion—a statement which, if it was in a certain measure true as regarded some of the young poets, was not so for Boito. An incident may be related here which will show at once the natural modesty of Boito, and his keen and quick appreciation of what is really beautiful in itself even when expressed in the style of a school diametrically opposed to his own. A few months after his poems had been published, or rather republished, in Turin, he was one evening walking with a couple of friends and the talk was of poetry. One of his friends, alluding to the justly famous stanza by Manzoni in 'Ermengarda's death,'
O Masa errante, o tepidi
Lavacri d' Acquisgrano, etc.,
made some remarks and said it was a little old-fashioned: 'Well, it may be so,' interposed Boito, 'yet I would rather have written that single stanza, than all my Libro dei versi.' Notwithstanding, his poems created in the general public and in old Alessandro Manzoni himself an excellent impression, and since the poet had fully come up to the great expectations of the public, the curiosity to hear what the musician had done was kindled to the highest degree.
The long-expected day came at length, and though the performance was to begin at 7.30, shortly after 2 o'clock the fortunate possessors of unnumbered seats could already be seen to gather near the large doors, in order to secure the best places. Boito's appearance was the signal for an applause as spontaneous as it was unanimous, that began simultaneously in all quarters of the house, and lasted several minutes. During all the prologue perfect silence pervaded the whole house, and an attempt to applaud the 'vocal scherzo' was instantly suppressed; the chorus and orchestra sang and played magnificently, and the effect seemed irresistible, and yet even towards the very end not the slightest guess could be given as to the result, so that the nervousness of all the admirers and friends of Boito was increasing every minute; but when the choir gave out the last chord of E major, there came such a sudden thunder of applause that the last bars were perfectly inaudible, though played fortissimo by the full orchestra and military band. Six times Boito had to bow his acknowledgment, and yet the sound of applause still rang for minutes through the house; the cheering was taken up in the piazza outside the theatre, and it even reached the surrounding caffès, where hundreds of musicians had gathered with their friends to be in advance of any intelligence.
The friends of Boito were wild with excitement, and prophesied the triumph of the opera; but these prophecies were not destined to be realised. We have already alluded to the intrinsic reasons that made the original 'Mefistofele' unfit for the stage; in addition to these there was a very powerful accidental one that hastened the fall of the work, i. e. the utter inadequacy of the interpreters of the chief characters.
The first act did not produce any impression, only it went a good way to cool down the enthusiasm: the garden scene in the second act displeased the public, who contrasted it with the parallel scene in Gounod's third act, and found Boito's music decidedly inferior: the 'Sabba Romantico' turned the scales altogether. At the moment of Mefistofele's coronation the wizards, witches, and all the infernal crews knelt down, and satirising the ceremonies of the Roman Catholic Church, sang the plainsong of the 'Tantum ergo.' From a poetical and musical point of view it was a splendid effect, but it was unquestionably in very bad taste to parody one of the most popular hymns of the church. The audience considered it as irreverent, lost all patience, and began to hiss as lustily and heartily as they had applauded before. Boito's partisans stood him in good stead, and kept up to the very end of the opera a strong opposition to the majority, but this of course served only to increase the disturbance. Challenges were exchanged, resulting in duels the next morning, the confusion and clamour in the theatre reached such a pitch that during the fourth and fith act it was at times utterly impossible to hear either chorus or orchestra. When the curtain fell for the last time, all the members of the orchestra rose to their feet like one man and enthusiastically cheered the unfortunate composer; a rush was made from the pit into the stalls, and a shrieking and howling crowd hissing and applauding wildly rushed forward toward the orchestra. The house was cleared and the frantic audience fought it out in the streets until the next morning. The performance had lasted nearly six hours.
During the week another performance took place: one night the prologue, 1st, 2nd and 3rd acts were given; on the following night prologue, 4th and 5th acts; but the conflicting parties could not agree, and at last the chief of the police thought wise to interfere, and 'Mefistofele' had to be withdrawn by order.
The idea of having the score of the original 'Mefistofele' printed, has been unfortunately abandoned, yet it may be hoped that in time the scheme may be carried out. For even if the thought of having the original opera performed in its entirety were to be dismissed, it would be a matter of regret that musicians should not have the opportunity of becoming acquainted with that grand conception, either by reading it or by partial performances. The 'Mefistofele' in its present form bears the same relation to the original work as a recent performance at the Lyceum to Goethe's masterpiece: it is an adaptation for the stage, of more practical use than the original, but of far less artistic import.
The only decided improvement in the rearrangement is the assignment of the part of Faust to a tenor instead of a baritone: the absence of a tenor makes an opera acoustically dull and engenders monotony, especially in a long work. The parts that have suffered more by the alterations are the scene at Frankfort in the first act, and the 'Sabba Romantico' in the second act. These two parts were much more freely developed, and might now-a-days be performed by themselves as cantatas; and the same applies to the grand scene at the Emperor's Palace, now entirely abandoned. A strikingly original 'intermezzo Sinfonico' (a clever arrangement of which by Marco Sala, for piano duet has been published by Messrs. Ricordi of Milan) stood between the fourth and fifth acts; it was meant to illustrate the battle of the Emperor against the pseudo-Emperor, supported by the infernal legions led by Faust and Mefistofeles—the incident which in Goethe's poem leads to the last period of Faust's life. The three themes—that is, the Fanfare of the Emperor, the Fanfare of the pseudo-Emperor, and the Fanfare infernale, were beautiful in conception and interwoven in a masterly manner, and the scene was brought to a close by Mefistofele leading off with 'Te Deum laudamus' after the victory.
From the spring of 1868 to Oct. 4, 1875, when the revised Mefistofele was for the first time performed at the Teatro Comunale of Bologna, thus beginning its popular career in Italy and abroad, Boito worked hard and in good earnest, yet of the two grand operas which took up most of his time at that period none but a few privileged friends have heard anything. They are 'Ero e Leandro' and 'Nerone.' 'Ero e Leandro' when finished, did not please its author; at one time he contemplated the idea of having the libretto performed as a poetical idyll with musical intermezzos and choruses, then he dismissed the subject altogether, and gave the libretto to Bottesini, who set it not unsuccessfully to music. Of Boito's music nothing remains except four themes; two he made use of in his 'Mefistofele,' one he had printed as a barcarola for four voices, and the other he adapted to an ode he had to write for the opening of the National Exhibition of Turin in the spring of 1882 (unpublished). 'Nerone,' so far, seems to be the opus magnum of the artist's life, but no one can say positively when it will be performed. For a long time the work has been so far advanced that if the author chooses it may be got ready in a few weeks, but there are excellent reasons for not giving the finishing touches to it; these reasons of course are not made public, but it is not difficult to give a guess at them in the right direction. Another work, of no less importance than 'Nerone,' on which Signer Boito is now bent, is 'Orestiade,' but this is surrounded by a still deeper mystery than that in which 'Nerone' is wrapped, though it is perhaps more likely that 'Orestiade' may be submitted to the public earlier than the other.
It is rather early days to pronounce ex cathedra an opinion as to the place which Arrigo Boito will take amongst the great masters; yet one thing is beyond doubt, and that is, that Boito has a right to a conspicuous place amongst the greatest living artists. There are certainly in Europe, and perhaps even in Italy, poets of higher attainment than he: and confronted as a musician with Brahms, Goldmark, Dvořák, Saint-Saëns amongst foreigners, and Sullivan, Stanford, and others, amongst Englishmen, it is very probable that he will not bear off the palm; yet amongst these few privileged artists who, like the Provençal troubadours, can say 'trove il suono col il moto'? Boito, since Wagner's death, has no rivals, and it remains still to be seen whether, when 'Nerone' is brought within reach of criticism, it will not ultimately be accepted as the greatest musical drama of the 19th century. This is not a groundless supposition; the greatest part of the poem of 'Nerone' is not unknown to the present writer, who is supported by the opinion of an indisputable authority, the late Italian dramatist Cossa. Signor Cossa, who had won his fame by his tragedy 'Nerone,' was allowed by Boito to read his libretto. His opinion was as follows: 'Vi sono dei momenti degni di Shakspeare; il mio Nerone, in confronto al suo a roba da ragazzi.' (There are conceptions worthy of Shakspeare himself: my Nerone compared to his is mere child's-play). In later years Boito became a fervent admirer of Wagner, and particularly of 'Lohengrin' and the 'Meistersinger,' but he was not in the least influenced by the German master's work: he admired but did not follow him. The only influences that acted strongly on him were those of Beethoven and Marcello, and a careful and diligent study of 'Mefistofele' will corroborate this assertion. About the time when 'Mefistofele' was given in Bologna, he began to' devote himself to the works of Sebastian Bach, who has since then reigned supreme in his estimation. Only the future will show what influence this study has brought to bear on his musical conceptions.
As we said above, all Boito's best poems are to be found in 'Il libro dei Versi,' a little book of less than two hundred pages. With the exception of 'Re Orso' they are short poems, full of originality and character. Opinions differed widely on their merit, but admirers and detractors agreed that either as an ornament or as a blemish they stand by themselves in Italian literature, and that he is no imitator. 'La mummia' 'George Pfecher' and 'Ad Emilio Praga' have always been considered the best, and 'King Orso' a fiaba, in two legends, an intermezzo and a moral, stands like a sphinx in the way of learned critics. What the poet meant by it no one knows, but leaving apart the drift of the poem there are in it flashes of light, dazzling, wild and sweet. The fifth number of the second legend, where the author narrates the thirty years' wandering of the worm that by fate had to enter the sepulchre of King Orso, is a marvel in its kind, and the troubadour's song (legend 1, no. 7) is unsurpassed in gentleness of thought and sweetness of expression, so much so that it is a wonder that song-writers have not yet seized upon it.
Boito is the author of several librettos or, better, of dramas for music, as it would be unfair to rank these literary gems on a line with the old-fashioned librettos of Italian operas. They are:—'Mefistofele,' 'Nerone,' 'Orestiade,' set to music by himself: 'Ero e Leandro' (Bottesini), 'Amleto' (Faccio), 'Gioconda' (Ponchielli), 'Alessandro Farnese' (Palumbo), 'Tram' (Dominiceto), 'Otello' (Verdi). Of these, only 'Mefistofele,' 'Gioconda,' 'Amleto,' 'Otello' and 'Ero e Leandro' have as yet been published, and each of them constitutes a perfect work of art by itself, independently of the musical setting. He is likewise the author of several translations, which include Wagner's 'Tristano ed Isolta,' 'Rienzi,' and 'Cena degli Apostoli,' Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and some smaller works by Schumann and Rubinstein.
Arrigo Boito has, since 1867, resided in Milan, where he lives with his brother Camillo. He does not occupy any official position, and leads a quiet and retired life. Though he is good-humoured, a pleasant companion, and of a kind and cheerful disposition, he carefully shuns fashionable society. The Italian government has conferred upon him first the title of 'Cavaliere,' then of 'Ufficiale' and lately of 'Commendatore'; but though he does not make a cheap show of pompous independence in refusing these titles, he does not like to be addressed otherwise than by his simple name, and even on state occasions he is never known to have worn the decoration to which he is entitled. Once, upon arriving at Venice, he went with a couple of friends to hire a piano. Having agreed on the instrument and on the price, he gave his name and address to the shopkeeper: reading the well-known name the good man began to 'Cavaliere' him at every other word, much to the annoyance of Boito. 'I did not know it was you, signor Cavaliere, I had the honour to serve,' the man proceeded, 'but being for you, signor Cavaliere, I shall make it five francs less a month.' 'My good fellow,' interposed one of the two friends, 'make it five francs more and don't call him Cavaliere, and it will be all right for both.'