Now I will describe an evening pa.s.sed most pleasantly in those times.
One day some clever men came to see me--Prati, Aleardi, Fusinato, Coletti, doctor and poet, and others that I do not remember. They said to me, "Is it true that in Florence there are, as in the days gone by, _improvisatori_ poets? We [it was Prati who spoke] are curious to hear one, and have not the pretension, as you can imagine, to expect high flights, but only free verses, and really improvised. Here is Aleardi (whom I present to you), who is a confounded sceptic on the subject of improvisation, and says that these people commit to memory a great quant.i.ty of verses of various measures, and when the occasion offers itself, have the art of patching them together in such a way that the mosaic resembles a real picture. You must know, however, that my friend is very slow in composition,--much slower than I am, although he is a far abler and more graceful poet."
"I believe," said I, "I know just the person you are looking for, and Aleardi will be disabused of such a notion. It is a certain Chiarini, called Baco, who keeps a little stall under the Uffizi, and I have heard him many times, alone or in company of others. It was real improvisation; the flow of his ideas was not common or vulgar, and he invested them with a graceful and vigorous form. You shall hear him. I will take upon myself to invite him to come. Return here, and I will tell you when he is able to do so, for he is a man who has much to do.
During the day, as I have said, he attends to his little shop under the Uffizi, and in the evening he is engaged to go here and there on purpose to show his skill as an extempore poet."
[Sidenote: AN IMPROVISATORE.]
[Sidenote: DEATH OF BUONDELMONTE.]
The poet having been engaged, and an appointment made for my friends at the studio, trial of his improvisation took place; and he did not know who his listeners were, which was perhaps as well, for who knows how much the poor poet might have felt embarra.s.sed by the presence of such men? A table was constructed by laying a board on two trestles. I had invited, besides Prati and the rest, Ciseri the painter, Giulio Piatti, and some others whom I do not remember. The table was laid with great simplicity--some bread, sausages, and wine serving only as a sort of excuse for animating our poet with a little food and drink. Before anything else was done, Aleardi and Prati besieged the _improvisatore_ with questions to ascertain how far his culture went; and although he showed that he was familiar and well acquainted with the poets, beginning with Homer and Virgil down to our times--so that he could repeat by memory some of the most beautiful fragments--as far as history, geography, and critical works went, he really knew very little, or at least so pretended. Then without further preamble Chiarini said, "Some one give me a theme. I feel in the mood for singing;" and seating himself whilst waiting, he began a prelude upon his guitar, which was sometimes soft and mournful, and then again loud and stirring. Seeing that we delayed giving him a subject, he began to sing off verse after verse in _ottava rima_, and stringing together a series of piquant and pointed remarks against us, ridiculing our torpor and indifference. I cannot describe our hearty laughter in hearing the deluge of sarcasm and biting epigrams launched at each of us in turn by way of stirring us up.
The verses were so flowing, fresh, and spirited, that they really did not seem like improvisations, so that Prati, a little irritated, after a brief consultation with the others, gave out the following theme: "The death of Buondelmonte of the Buondelmonti." Our poet began as if he had studied the subject before in all its parts, situations, colouring, names, dates, and particulars, the circ.u.mstances and sad consequences of that tragic death, and sang with inspired freedom, and with always increasing warmth and pa.s.sion. The tender and pure love of the Amidei, the betrothal and pledges made between the two families, the insidious and malicious conduct of the mother of the Donati, the frivolities of Buondelmonte attracted by the saucy beauty of her daughter, the perjury and breaking away of the compact with the Amidei family, the marriage arranged with the Donati, the preparations for this marriage, the rage of the Amidei and their followers for such an atrocious insult and want of good faith, their schemes of vengeance, the conspiracy, the ambush and murder at the foot of the statue of Mars (where he interpolated in a masterly way the saying of Mosca--
"La.s.so! capo ha cosa fatta, che fu "l mal seme della gente Tosca")
--it seemed as if the whole thing stood there before him, not as a picture, but a living and breathing reality; while he, with his head and eyes uplifted, was heedless of our enthusiasm and shouts of applause.
He sang for almost two hours; and when he had finished, all bathed with perspiration, he put down his lute and drank. Prati and the others embraced him with effusion, only regretting that, owing to the rapidity and rush of the poet"s inspiration, they had been able to retain but a few lines. Prati, however, repeated and perhaps somewhat refashioned a whole verse in _ottava rima_, and not content with expressing his admiration in words, wished to prove it to poor, tired, and excited Baco by dictating an improvised sonnet to him, of which I remember the first four and the last three lines.
[Sidenote: PRATI"S IMPROVISATION.]
In order, however, to understand Prati"s verses, it is necessary to know that in those days the Capponi Ministry had fallen, and Guerrazzi come into power. Prati, who had suffered some persecution from him, owing to having in his harangues before the Circolo Politico Moderato fulminated Pindarically against this t.i.tan from Leghorn, whilst praising the _improvisatore_, lashes out against the opposition. Here are the verses, and I regret I have only retained these in my memory:--
"S"improvvisan ministri alla recisa; S"inalzan nuovi altari a nuovi dei; Ma un improvvisator come tu sei, Per la croce di Dio! non s"improvvisa."
"One soon may improvise new ministers, Unto new deities raise altars new; But an improvisator like to you, By G.o.d"s own cross! one cannot improvise."
And the last three lines are:--
"Felice, Che almen tu vivi alla febea fatica, Ne sei di quelli che una nuova Italia Tentando improvvisar, guastan l"antica."
"Happy you live in your Phoebean toils, Not one of those that our new Italy Striving to improvise, the antique spoils."
And, placing his signature at the bottom of it, he presented it to Chiarini, whose face, when he had read it and seen by whom it was signed, a.s.sumed an expression of admiration mingled with regret touching to behold.
[Sidenote: REPLICA OF THE ABEL.]
The evening pa.s.sed gaily. Prati also improvised, encouraged (which is saying a great deal) and accompanied by Chiarini, and, despite his puffing and blowing, said some very fine things. At last we separated, engaging our _improvisatore_ for another evening in another place; but this I shall omit.
This symposium of artists was one of the few pleasures of those days, when my interest and enthusiasm for Art were relaxed, and I had no opportunity to work, as I have before said, because, except retouching in wax the Abel and Cain, and some few portraits, I had absolutely nothing to do. In connection with these statues that the Grand Duke had ordered in bronze, let me say that, having finished in marble the Abel, the Grand Duke saw it, regretted that he had not ordered it himself, and that it was to go away from Florence. I proposed, to satisfy his wishes, to make a replica; but he was set upon having the original. It was in vain I said that any replica made by him who had originally made the model is always and substantially original, the artist in finishing it always introducing modifications and changes which make it an original and not a copy. His Highness was not satisfied with this reasoning, and preferred that it should be cast in bronze, making the mould upon that which was already finished in marble.
I answered, "In order to do that, I must have the permission of the owner."
[Sidenote: CAST OF ABEL FOR THE GRAND DUKE.]
"Right," he said to me; "and if, as you a.s.sure me, the marble is not injured by making the mould, I am certain that permission will be given."
I wrote to the Imperial household of Russia that his Highness the Grand Duke wished to have a cast in bronze of the Abel, taking the mould from the finished marble that I was making for his Imperial Majesty (the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Marie having presented both this statue and the Cain to her father the Emperor Nicholas). The answer was precisely this: "If the Abel is finished, have it boxed up and sent immediately."
I showed the answer to the Grand Duke, who smiled and said--
"One cannot deny that the answer is not very gracious; but now, as I really desire to have this statue in bronze, tell me, could not a mould be taken from the plaster-cast?"
"Your Highness, yes; and for this, only the consent of the artist is required."
"And do you give this consent?"
"I prefer to take the mould from the plaster-cast rather than from the marble, because the cast is the more accurate--in fact, is the true original."
And so it was settled. And at the same time, he ordered also the Cain, from which I removed the trunk that served as a support in the marble, bent a little more the arm and the hand, which was upon the forehead, and remodelled it almost entirely in the wax.
About this time Giuseppe Verdi came to Florence to bring out his "Macbeth." If I mistake not, it was the first time he ever came among us; but his fame had preceded him. Enemies, it is natural, he had in great numbers. I was an admirer of all his works then known, "Nabuco,"
"Ernani," and "Giovanna d"Arco." His enemies said that as an artist he was very vulgar, and corrupted the Italian school of singing; and as a man, they said he was an absolute bear, full of pride and arrogance, and disdained to make the acquaintance of any one. Wishing to convince myself at once of the truth of this, I wrote a note in the following terms: "Giovanni Dupre begs the ill.u.s.trious Maestro G. Verdi to do him the honour of paying him a visit at his studio whenever it is convenient for him to do so, as he desires to show him his Cain, that he is now finishing in marble, before he sends it away." But in order to see how much of a bear he really was, I carried the letter, and represented myself as a young man belonging to the Professor"s studio. He received me with great urbanity, read the letter, and then, with a face which was neither serious nor smiling, he said--
"Tell the Professor that I thank him very much, and I will go to see him as soon as possible, for I had it in my mind to do so, wishing to know personally a young sculptor who," &c.
[Sidenote: VISIT OF VERDI.]
I answered, "If you, Signor Maestro, desire to make the acquaintance as soon as possible of that young sculptor, you can have that satisfaction at once, for I am he."
He smiled pleasantly, and shaking my hand, he said, "Oh, this is just like an artist."
We talked a long time together, and he showed me some letters of introduction that he had for Capponi, Giusti, and Niccolini. The one for Giusti was from Manzoni. All the time that he remained in Florence we saw each other every day. We made some excursions into the neighbourhood, such as to the Ginori porcelain manufactory, to Fiesole, and to Torre del Gallo. We were a company of four or five: Andrea Maffei, Manara, who afterwards died at Rome, Giulio Piatti, Verdi, and myself. In the evenings he allowed either the one or the other of us to go to hear the rehearsals of "Macbeth;" in the mornings he and Maffei very often came to my studio. He had a great deal of taste for painting and sculpture, and talked of them with no ordinary ac.u.men. He had a great preference for Michael Angelo; and I remember that, in the chapel of Canon Sacchi, which is below Fiesole, on the old road, where there is a fine collection of works of art, he remained on his knees for nearly a quarter of an hour in admiration of an altar-piece said to be the work of Michael Angelo. I wanted to make his bust; but for reasons independent of his will and mine, this plan could not be carried into effect, and I contented myself with taking a cast of his hand, which I afterwards cut in marble and presented to the Siennese Philharmonic Society, to which I have belonged since 1843, when, as I have before said, I went to Siena. The hand of Verdi is in the act of writing. In taking the cast the pen remained embedded in it, and now serves as a little stick to my sketch of Sant"Antonino.
[Sidenote: VERDI.]
Verdi seemed to be pleased with the Cain, the fierce and savage nature of which he felt in his very blood; and I remember that my friend Maffei endeavoured to persuade him that a fine drama, with effective situations and contrasts of character, with which Verdi"s genius and inclination fitted him to cope, could be made out of Byron"s tragedy of "Cain,"
which he was then translating. The gentleness of character and piety of Abel contrasted with that of Cain, excited by fierce anger and envy because the offer of Abel was acceptable to G.o.d; Abel, who caresses his brother and talks to him about G.o.d--and Cain, who scornfully rejects his gentle words, uttering blasphemies even against G.o.d; a chorus of invisible angels in the air, a chorus of demons under ground; Cain, who, blinded by anger, kills his brother; then the mother, who at the cry of Abel rushes in and finds him dead, then the father, then the young wife of Abel; the grief of all for the death of that pure character, their horror of the murderer; the dark and profound remorse of Cain; and finally, the curse that fell upon him,--all formed a theme truly worthy of the dramatic and Biblical genius of Giuseppe Verdi. I remember that at the time he was much taken with it; but he did nothing more about it, and I suppose he had his good reasons. Perhaps the nudity was an obstacle. Still, with the skins of wild beasts, tunics and eminently picturesque mantles can be made; at all events he could have set the subject to music if it offered him situations and effects and really attracted him, for Verdi has shown in his many works that he possesses that sublime and fiery genius which is adapted to such a tremendous drama. He who had conceived the grand and serious melodies of "Nabuco,"
the pathetic songs of the "Trovatore" and the "Traviata," and the local colour, character, and sublime harmonies of "Aida," might well set Cain to music. Should Verdi at any time read these pages, who knows what he may do?
[Sidenote: CAIN, A SUBJECT FOR AN OPERA.]
And here perhaps it is best for me to make a slight digression, in order to speak of the character and disposition which specially belong to every artist independently of everything else--of his studies, of what he copies, and of the fashion of the day. Who would have thought that so sweet and strong a painter as Giotto would ever have risen out of the harsh and coa.r.s.e mosaic-paintings of the Byzantines and the teachings of Cimabue? Variety of character, truth of movement and expression, broad and flowing draperies, colouring at once temperate, airy, and strong, were, it might be said, created by him, and took the place of the hardness, and I could almost say deformity, of the Byzantines and the dryness of the works of Cimabue. Nor did Fra Giovanni Angelico show less originality and individuality in his works. He lived in the full noon of the naturalistic school of Masaccio, Lippi, and Donatello, and his pure spirit drew its inspirations from the mystic and ideal sources of heaven, the Virgin, and the saints, not only in his subjects, but in their treatment. Michael Angelo, solitary in the midst of a corrupt, avaricious, and lascivious civilisation, by his temperament and will was conspicuous for his purity of morals, his large liberality, and his intellectual love; and despite of Raphael and Leonardo, those most splendid planets of Art, he maintained his originality, and his great figure towers like a giant among them.
[Sidenote: CHARACTER OF THE ARTIST.]
The artist by nature, developed by study, becomes original and has a character distinct from all others, and in no way, not even in the slightest characteristic, can, despite any exterior influence, be different from what he is. For if Giotto had been born and educated in the sixteenth or seventeenth century, he would not have painted the vain pomps and the archaic frivolities of that period; nor would Fra Angelico at the school of Giulio Romano have given himself up to the lasciviousness of his master; nor would Michael Angelo have been warped, nor was he warped, by the strength of those giants Leonardo and Raphael.
The artist, then, is what he is and such as he is born, and study will only fertilise his genius, his nature, and his propensities, nor can he with the utmost force of his will conceive and create a work contrary to his nature and to his genius. Michael Angelo would never have been able, even with a hundred years of the most powerful effort, to create a Paradise like that of Giovanni Angelico; and Fra Angelico would never have imagined even one of the figures of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. I remember--and this is my reason for this digression--that one day Rossini, speaking to me confidentially of Art in general, and upon this subject and all its bearings (and he was a competent judge), came by degrees to speak of music, and of the individual character of the composers he had known, and in regard to Verdi he spoke thus: "You see, Verdi is a master whose character is serious and melancholy; his colouring is dark and sad, which springs abundantly and spontaneously from his genius, and precisely for this reason is most valuable. I have the highest esteem for it; but on the other hand, it is indubitable that he will never compose a semi-serious opera like the "Linda," and still less a comic opera like the "Elixir d"Amore.""
[Sidenote: ROSSINI"S VIEWS OF VERDI.]
I added, "Nor like the "Barbiere.""
He replied, "Leave me entirely out of the question."
This he said to me twenty-two years ago in my studio in the Candeli, and Verdi has not yet composed a comic or semi-serious opera, nor do I believe that he has ever thought of doing so; and in this he has been quite right. The musical art and Italy wait for a "Cain" from him, and they wait for it because he himself felt the will and the power to create it.
I remember also another judgment and another expression of Rossini"s in regard to Verdi. One evening after dinner I stayed on with him, because he liked to have a little talk. He was walking slowly up and down the dining-room, for he did not like to leave the room, the unpleasant odour which remains after dinner giving him apparently no annoyance. The Signora Olimpia, his wife, was playing a game of cards called _minchiate_ with one of the regular friends of the house--I mean one of those inevitable sticks that old ladies make use of to amuse them and help them to pa.s.s the time at cards.
[Sidenote: ROSSINI ON VERDI.]