will settle once for all the questions so often raised concerning the place and the date of Verdi's birth.
Anno Dom. 1813, die 11 Octobris.—Ego Carolus Montanari Praepositus Runcularum baptizavi Infantem hodie vespere hora sexta natum ex Carolo Verdi qm. Josepho et ex Aloisia Utini filia Caroli, hujus Parocciae jugalibus, cui nomina imposui—Fortuninus, Joseph, Franciscus.—Patrini fuere Dominus Petrus Casali qd. Felicia et Barbara Bersani filia Angioli, ambo hujus Parocciae.
In the long run of Verdi's life—which happily bids fair still to be preserved for an indefinite number of healthy and vigorous years—we do not meet with any startling and romantic incidents: everything seems to have gone with him, though not smoothly, yet with the common sequence of good and bad turns to which all mortals are liable, let their calling and station in life be what they will. Verdi's biography exhibits nothing heroic or startling, as some would have us believe it does. The connecting-link between his life and his works is indissoluble: the man and the artist proceed abreast, hand in hand toward the same goal, impelled and guided by the same sentiments and emotions. 'Homo sum et nihil humanum a me alienum puto' is the proper motto for the gate of his villa at S. Agata, and the title-page of each of his works. This 'humanity' of his is the reason and explanation of his life, as well as the key to the perfect understanding of his works, and to their popularity wherever there are ears to hear and hearts to feel.
M. Pougin, who, together with other difficult achievements, has successfully continued Fétis's 'Dictionnaire des Musiciens,' has written a biographical sketch of Verdi in the right spirit, confining himself within the strict limits of the plain facts. Of this sketch an Italian translation was made by a well-known Paris correspondent of the Italian papers, under the nom de plume of 'Folchetto,' with notes and additions, forming altogether a volume of more than 150 pages, full of accurate and valuable information. Through the combined shrewdness and skill of 'Folchetto' and M. Giulio Ricordi we are enabled to present to our readers the most important period of Verdi's career, in words that are almost the great composer's own. A conversation that he had with Giulio Ricordi was by the latter faithfully put on paper the very night following the interview, and sent to 'Folchetto' for publication. Such is the basis of the following article.
Unlike many musicians that have passed their infancy and childhood amongst artistic surroundings, Verdi's musical genius had to fight for its development against many difficulties. Nothing that he could hear or see was fit to give him the slightest hint of anything grand and ideal: the two hundred inhabitants of Le Roncole were poor and ignorant labourers, and the very nature of the country—an immense, flat, monotonous expanse—however gratifying to a landowner, could hardly kindle a spark in the imagination of a poet. Carlo Verdi and his wife Luigia Verdi Utini kept a small inn at Le Roncole, and in addition a little shop, where sugar, coffee, matches, tobacco, spirits, and clay pipes were sold at retail. Once a week the good Carlo walked up to Busseto with two empty baskets, and returned with them full of articles of his trade, carrying them on his strong shoulders for all the three miles of the dusty and sunny way. His purchases were chiefly made from a M. Barezzi, dealer in spirits, drugs, and spices, a prosperous and hearty man who was destined to serve as a bridge to Giuseppe Verdi over many a chasm in his glorious way.
Giuseppe, though good and obedient, was rather of a melancholy character, never joining his playmates in their noisy amusements; one thing only, we are told, could rouse him from his habitual indifference, and that was the occasional passing through the village of a grinding organ: to the child who in after years was to afford an inexhaustible répertoire to those instruments for half-a-century all over the world, this was an irresistible attraction—he could not be kept indoors, and would follow the itinerant player as far as his little legs could carry him. This slight hint of his musical aptitude must have been accompanied by others which the traditions of Le Roncole have not transmitted, since we know that even in early childhood the boy was possessed of a spinet. For an innkeeper of Le Roncole, in 1820, to buy a spinet for his child to play on, is an extravagance which we could hardly credit if the author of 'Aida' had not preserved to this day the faithful companion of his childhood. M. Ghislanzoni, who saw it at S. Agata, thus speaks of it:—
At the villa of S. Agata, I saw the first instrument on which his little fingers had first practised. The spinet emeritus, has no strings left, its lid is lost, and its keyboard is like a jaw with long and worn-out teeth. And yet what a precious monument! And how many recollections it brings back to the mind of the artist who during his unhappy childhood has so often wetted it with bitter tears! How many sublime emotions are caused by the sight of it!
I have seen it and have questioned it. I took out one of its jacks, on which I thought something had been written, and indeed I found some words as simple as they are sublime, words that while revealing the kind attention of a good-hearted workman, contain something of a prophecy. My readers will be grateful to me for setting before them the inscription in its original simplicity. It would be a profanation to correct the mistakes in its orthography.
'Da me Stefano Cavaletti fu fato di nuovo questi Saltarelli e impenati a Corame, e vi adatai la pedagliera che io ci ho regalato: come anche gratuitamente ci ho fato di nuova li detti Saltarelli, vedendo la buona disposizione che ha il giovanetto Giuseppe Verdi d'imparare a suonare questo istrumento, che questo mi basta per essere del tutto sodisfatto. Anno domini 1821'—
a quaint inscription which cannot be translated literally:—
I, Stephen Cavaletti, made these jacks anew, and covered them with leather, and fitted the[1] pedals; and these together with the jacks I give gratis, seeing the good disposition of the boy Giuseppe Verdi for learning to play the instrument, which is of itself reward enough to me for my trouble.
How the spinet happened to be in such a condition as to require the workmanship of M. Cavaletti to set it right, is thus explained by 'Fol-
- ↑ The mention of 'leather' and 'pedals' seems to show that the 'spinet' was some kind of pianoforte. [App. p.811 "omit note 1, as there is nothing in the mention of 'leather' and 'pedals' which militates against the instrument having been a spinet, as stated in the text."]
