Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today we are taking
on a titan of the stage, a man who became, well,
an accidental revolutionary and you could argue
the first true celebrity composer of the modern
age. Does that be very? When you listen to his
music, you know, the grand scale, the aching
drama, it's so... Easy to feel you know the man,
but the reality is far more complex. Indeed.
When you hear the name Verdi, you immediately
think of those massive, unforgettable Italian
melodies and dramatic duets, pieces that really
define the adocento. Right. But our mission today,
as we dive deep into this stack of biographical
and musical scholarship, is to look behind that
velvet curtain and uncover the intensely private
individual who crafted that public icon. That's
right. Our source material spans his entire life,
from his truly humble origins to his final, almost
philosophical masterpieces. And it reveals a
composer who was as savvy a businessman and landowner
as he was, well, a musical genius. We're going
deep into the stack to understand the real Verity
Wartzenal. Our mission for you, the listener,
is really multifaceted. First, we need to trace
his dramatic personal journey. I mean, a life
marked by overwhelming early tragedy, followed
by incredible financial success, and then punctuated
by significant domestic scandal that absolutely
affected his art. And second, we have to contextualize
his powerful, if sometimes reluctant, political
role during the fight for Italian unification,
the Risorgimento. His name literally became a
rallying cry, whether he wanted it to or not.
And third, and this is where it gets really fascinating,
for music lovers and anyone interested in theatrical
history, we're going to track the stunning evolution
of his musical language. We'll see how he progressed
through four distinct creative periods, consciously
dismantling established operatic structures,
what we call the Code Rossini, to create a new
standard of profound theatrical and psychological
realism. OK, let's unpack this from the very
beginning. We need to start by understanding
the soil in which this titan grew. When we talk
about 19th century composers, that rags to riches
story often begins with the struggling peasant.
Verdi certainly had humble beginnings, but let's
challenge that widely accepted peasant myth he
himself later encouraged. Absolutely. And that
myth was a powerful tool for him. It served his
image as a self -made man, independent of the
aristocracy. But the record tells a much more
nuanced story. Giuseppe Fortunio Francesco Verdi
was born in Augusta. October 1813 in Leroncol,
near Buceto, which was then, interestingly, part
of the French Empire. Oh, I didn't realize that.
Yes. And he usually celebrated his birthday on
the 9th, though the baptismal register is a little
ambiguous. It lists him as born yesterday on
October 11th, which, you know, could have meant
the 9th or the 10th. And crucially, his parents,
Carlo and Luigia, were an innkeeper and a spinner.
The scholarship is very clear on this. They were
of moderate means, not illiterate peasants. And
that distinction really matters because his father,
Carlo, was intensely ambitious for his son's
education, and that required some capital and,
frankly, foresight. That ambition meant Verdi
got an early formal education in Latin, Italian,
and the humanities, a really solid intellectual
foundation. Musically, he was... I mean, unquestionably
a prodigy. He was so skilled that by the astonishing
age of eight, he became the official paid village
organist, succeeding his own teacher. At eight
years old. At eight. To do this, he had to walk
several kilometers regularly from his village
to Buseto to attend an upper school for boys.
So he was invested in from a very young age,
not just discovered by chance. So his beginnings
were modest, sure, but they certainly weren't
deprived of education or aspiration. And this
structured start. leads directly to the figure
who really enabled his early career, Antonio
Barretzi. Barretzi was indispensable. He was
a wealthy local wholesale grocer and distiller,
a man of commerce, but also what the sources
call a manic dilettante of music. I love that
phrase. It's perfect, isn't it? A passionate
amateur who ran a music society. Barretzi saw
the potential in the young Verdi, took him in,
and became his patron, providing him with access,
instruments, funding. He later, of course, formalized
that relationship by becoming Verdi's father
-in -law when Verdi married his daughter, Margherita.
Barretzi facilitated the next big step, getting
to Milan, the undeniable cultural capital of
northern Italy. And this is where Verdi famously
applied to the Milan Conservatory. and was rejected.
A wonderful bit of irony, yes. For a composer
who would later define the entire Italian musical
canon, it's amazing. It was a huge setback, but
maybe a stroke of pure fortune. Instead of the
rigid academic structure of the conservatory,
Borezzi arranged for him to study privately with
Vincenzo Lavinia, who had been a maestro concertore
at La Scala. And what exactly does a maestro
concertatore do? Well, think of him as the chief
music director. He runs the rehearsals, leads
the performance from the keyboard. It's really
the highest level of practical musical leadership
in the opera house. So he was studying with someone
who intimately understood how opera was actually
made, not just the theory behind it. Exactly.
Lavinia's guidance was vital because he encouraged
Verdi to attend La Scala constantly. So Verdi
just soaked up the atmosphere hearing the dominant
operat composers of the time, Rossini and Bellini.
This exposure refined his dramatic and theatrical
sense outside the constraints of some academic
ivory tower, preparing him not just to compose
music, but to write for the stage. After studying
in Milan, he returns to Bucero, takes up a post
as maestro di musica, marries Margherita Borezzi
in 1836. Professionally, this period is one of
establishment, but personally, it's marked by
just a crushing sequence of tragedies that almost
stopped his career dead. The rapidity of a loss
is genuinely horrifying to consider. Between
1837 and 1839, he and Margarita lost both of
their young children, first Virginia, then Asilio,
who died in infancy. Oh my gosh. Then tragically,
Margarita herself died of encephalitis at only
26, shortly after the loss of their second child.
The sources are clear. Verdi was a devoted family
man. He was absolutely devastated by losing his
entire immediate family in such a brutal short
span of time. He'd experienced the greatest possible
grief, and then to compound that, his professional
life completely imploded just as he was tricked
to restart it. His second opera, a comedy of
all things, Un Giorno di Regno, premiered only
months after Margarita's death. And it was a
catastrophe, a total flop. It ran for only one
performance. I mean, can you imagine trying to
create comedy while consumed by that kind of
grief? No. The source notes that following this
failure and the emotional wreckage, Verdi allegedly
vowed he would never compose again. He just felt
creatively and emotionally bankrupt. So how did
this man, lost in despair, silenced by grief
and failure, transition into the creative storm
that would produce the next two decades of work?
This has to be the Nabucco turning point of 1842.
The credit really goes to Bartolomeo Amerli.
the La Scala impresario. Morelli had faith in
Verdi. He'd offered him a contract for three
works after the respectable run of his first
opera, Roberto. He saw the potential, and knowing
Verdi was suffering, he essentially forced the
issue. He basically compelled him to take a libretto
Nabucco that had been rejected by another composer,
Otto Niccolai. And Verdi himself tells this story,
right, in his autobiographical sketch. He describes
finding the libretto and focusing on that opening
chorus, va, pensiero. Yes, and he claimed he
wrote the music not in some burst of genius,
but in a slow, agonizing return to creation.
He said, this verse today, tomorrow that, here
a note, there a whole phrase. And little by little,
the opera was written. That slow, deliberate
effort culminated in just overwhelming success.
Immediate and immense acclaim. Nabucco premiered
on March 9th, 1842. Its revival later that year
at La Scala saw an unprecedented run of 57 performances.
This success didn't just salvage his career.
It immediately established him as the next great
figure in Italian opera. It set the trajectory
for his entire professional life. So Nabucco
wasn't just a hit. It really opened the floodgates.
It initiated the most punishing phase of his
career, a period he famously called his years
in the galley. It was a brutal workload, just
demanded by the structure of the Italian operatic
system at the time. After Nabucco, Verdi produced
20 new operas, and that's not even counting major
revisions, in the 16 years leading up to Un Bio
in Maschera. 20 operas in 16 years. He was the
engine, the industrial capacity of Italian opera
production, and he felt every minute of it. In
1858, looking back, he complained, Since Nabucco,
you may say, I have never had one hour of piece,
16 years in the galleys. That is just an astonishing
rate of production. Was he just composing for
survival at that point? Initially, yes, to establish
himself and earn money, but soon it was just
relentless demand. He felt trapped by his own
success, by the contracts he signed. In 1845,
he wrote this demoralized note saying he had
to write six operas, then adieu to everything.
And the source material suggests this frantic
pace often led to compromised quality or severe
stress. But this period also forged two other
crucial aspects of his identity, his financial
acumen and his status as a landowner. Let's focus
on that financial side, because that's where
we see the transition from struggling artist
to wealthy, controlling patriarch. Verdi was
a businessman in a way many of his peers were
not. Oh, absolutely. As his popularity soared,
he paid extremely close attention to his financial
contracts. He understood his value. For perspective,
major works like Ernani and Macbeth each brought
him 18 ,000 lire. And that wasn't just pocket
change. Not at all. This was enough money to
dramatically transform his social standing and
secure long term investments. We see this codified
in his contracts with a powerful publisher, Recordi,
starting around 1847. These agreements were meticulously
specific about what he would receive, not just
for new works, but for various arrangements and
first productions all across Europe. He was monetizing
every single aspect of his creative output. And
he used that money strategically to establish
himself as a wealthy landowner in his home region,
which feels like a direct response to the stress
of the galley years. It was. Being rooted in
the land gave him both financial security and,
importantly, social authority. In 1844, he bought
Il Pulgaro, 62 acres of farmland, initially for
his parents. Which all culminates in 1848 when
he purchases the property at Santa Gata near
Buceroland that had once belonged to his family,
which is a nice full circle moment. A huge moment.
This estate became his permanent retreat. He
lived there from 1851 until his death, continually
expanding the grounds and the house, now known
as the Villa Verde. By establishing Santa Gata,
he cemented his status as a rentier cum estate
owner. So not just a composer, he's a landlord.
He's an aristocratic landlord, earning passive
income from his land and property, which allowed
him to control his later musical output and fiercely,
fiercely guard his privacy. Beyond the business,
this punishing period also solidified his key
professional and personal relationships. It's
where he begins a crucial collaboration with
the librettist Francesco Maria Piave. Piave was
instrumental. He collaborated on numerous operas,
including Ernani and Ai Dufascari. He was a reliable
craftsman, which was essential for keeping up
that pace. But maybe the most enduring and intimate
professional relationship was with Emanuele Muzio,
whom Verdi took on as his only pupil in 1844.
And Muzio was so much more than a student, wasn't
he? He was an indispensable amanuensis, an assistant,
eventually a trusted friend, an executor. He
really embodied the devotion Verdi inspired in
those close to him. There's a wonderful letter
from Muzio to Brezzi highlighting this. He wrote,
I seem more like a friend rather than his pupil.
We are always together at dinner, in the cafes
when we play cards. All in all, he doesn't go
anywhere without me at his side. That's incredible.
And Musio later became a conductor of Verdi's
works outside Italy, managing the foreign premieres.
It just illustrates how Verdi cultivated loyalty
and competence in his professional circle. And
then there is the personal relationship that
defined his maturity, Giuseppina Straponi. Their
relationship began around 1843. She was a famous
soprano whose voice was declining, and she was
known in society for her amorous relationships
and many illegitimate children. And that background,
combined with their decision to live together
openly without marriage at Senagata for years,
well, it becomes a massive social and moral factor
in his life. The scandal they generated leads
directly into the next period, and critically,
into the subjects he chose for his greatest operas.
The public artist was beginning to reflect his
complex private life. While that private life
was brewing with controversy, professionally
his mastery was deepening, culminating in some
major international triumphs. You singled out
Macbeth as a key indicator of his evolving style.
Yes, Macbeth from 1847 was uniquely important
to him. He dedicated it to his patron Barretzi
and valued it above all my other operas. This
work showed a conscious attempt to depart from
standard formulas, focusing instead on stark
dramatic realism. He even asked his singers not
to sing beautifully. He wanted the dramatic effect.
And we see his musical mind working in these
complex ways, like his approach to key signatures.
Precisely. For instance, he generally used sharp
keys for the Macbeth themselves, representing
their ambition and their moral sharpness, while
the witches often sang in flat keys. It was a
very novel, atmospheric, and psychologically
informed approach to characterization. That attention
to the tinta, or the color of the piece, is evidence
he was already thinking well beyond simple set
pieces. Then in 1847, he's conducting the premiere
of I Mas Nadieri in London, which was a royal
affair attended by Queen Victoria and Prince
Albert. This really solidified his status as
a European commodity. And he was always pragmatic
about that status. When he adapted I Lombardi
for the Paris Opera, it became Jerusalem. And
sources detail that he had to make significant
changes, critically adding an extensive ballet
scene. This was a mandatory requirement to meet
Parisian expectations for the genre of grand
opera. So he was willing to compromise on structure
if the market demanded it, which just confirms
him as this savvy professional who knew how to
earn money and maintain influence in different
markets. And we can't forget the flash of intense
patriotism that capped this period around 1848.
Hearing the news of the five days of fighting
in Milan that temporarily drove out the Austrians,
Verdi raced back. Drunk with joy, he channeled
that revolutionary energy directly into his work,
writing to Piave, urging him to banish every
petty municipal idea. We must all extend a fraternal
hand, and Italy will yet become the first nation
of the world. Which led directly to the Battaglia
di Legnano in 1849. It premiered shortly after
Rome became a republic, featuring a tenor hero
proclaiming, whoever dies for the fatherland
cannot be evil -minded. Those are the early explicit
moments when his art and politics became powerfully
intertwined, setting the stage for his incredible
middle period. The next phase, roughly 1849 to
1860, is Verdi's middle period, and it's characterized
by the three operas that really form the foundational
core of Italian opera worldwide. These are the
triple peaks of fame, Rigoletto, Il Trovatore,
and La Traviata. This era solidified his international
dominance. And importantly, Verdi was now successful
enough to dictate terms rather than just fulfilling
commissions. Il Trovatore, for example, was the
first opera he wrote without a specific commission
since his very first work. He had finally achieved
creative independence. Which allowed him to choose
subjects that deeply resonated with his own worldview.
Exactly. But control over the music didn't mean
control over the morality police. This era is
defined by his intense battles against the censors
who found his subjects too volatile too. Regicide
adjacent or just too sexually problematic for
the conservative European stages. The censors
were indeed his constant antagonists. His operas
to Felio failed partly because they took offense
at the perceived adultery of a clergyman's wife.
But the major fight, the huge one, was over Rigoletto,
based on Victor Hugo's Loas Amus. Right. The
censors in Venice were just outraged by the planned
murder of royalty and the overall sordid nature
of the story, centered on corruption and vengeance.
And Verdi refused to budge on the core element
that made the tragedy work, the character of
the hunchbacked hero. he was completely unyielding
he wrote to his team i see the hero has been
made no longer ugly and hunchback why a singing
hunchback why not if they are removed i can no
longer set it to music He argued that the moral
qualities of the character, his capacity for
passionate love and grief, lay beneath that outwardly
deformed and ridiculous exterior. He eventually
had to substitute a duke for the king, but he
kept the essential moral contradiction of Rigoletto
intact. He did. The ultimate vindication, of
course, was the music itself. And this brings
up one of the most famous anecdotes in music
history, confirming Verdi's early recognition
of a potential viral hit, or what we now call
an earworm. La Donna Immobile. We're talking
about La Donna Immobile, Woman is Fickle, the
Duke's instantly memorable song from Act 3 of
Rigoletto. Verdi knew this melody was so insanely
catchy, so irresistible, that it presented a
significant commercial risk. And what was his
masterful strategy to protect his intellectual
property? He deliberately excluded it from full
orchestral and cast rehearsals. He rehearsed
the tenor separately and under strict secrecy,
instructing him not to whistle or hum it outside
the rehearsal room. that if the melody got out
before the premiere, it would be pirated instantly
by street musicians, hootie -gootie players,
music publishers, you name it. It would cut into
the novelty and the financial success of the
opera. Completely. And the strategy worked. The
audience heard it first in the theater, and by
the next morning, it was being whistled all across
Venice. It ensured the opera's immediate overwhelming
success and protected Verdi's financial interests
in an age -before robust international copyright.
It's an incredible insight into his business
mind. This professional shrewdness and the intensity
of his dramatic choices, it brings us back to
his complex private life. The tension between
the globally acclaimed artist and the private
man is perfectly encapsulated in the subject
matter he was choosing. We talked about Verdi
living openly with Giuseppino Straponi at Santa
Gata without being married. Despite his fame
and fortune, this arrangement led to Straponi
being socially shunned by the deeply conservative
Bussetto community. And while Verdi might have
put on a brave face, Straponi certainly felt
the sting of that moral judgment. And critics,
drawing a direct line between the composer's
life and his art, have identified a remarkable
thematic pattern here. Which is? The observation
is striking. Six of the eight operas written
during this middle period, from Louisa Miller
through La Traviata, feature heroines who suffer
grief, death, or social ruin because of sexual
transgression, actual or perceived. So Violetta
in La Traviata, the courtesan dying of consumption
and social isolation. Gilda in Rigoletto, whose
life is destroyed by the Duke's licentiousness.
All of them? The subjects center on the suffering
of women judged by society. The argument is that
these deeply resonant tragedies were not just
random choices, but a way for Verdi to channel
the societal judgment that he and Straponi faced
in their own home. He's fighting societal norms
through the medium he controlled best. Precisely.
He took the emotional reality of his difficult,
unconventional relationship and placed it front
and center on the world stage, validating the
passion while exposing the hypocrisy of the judging
society. Musically, this period marks Verdi's
decisive break from the previous generation's
established structures, what you called the Code
Rossini. The Code Rossini essentially defined
early 19th century Italian opera. predictable
structures based on standardized set pieces.
For example, an area would typically follow a
four -part structure. A slow, lyrical introduction
called a cavatina, a middle section, a fast,
brilliant conclusion called a cavaletta, and
a final flourish. And Avery found this predictable
and dramatically stifling. Completely. He explicitly
wrote that he would be happy if one could avoid
beginning with an opening chorus because he wanted
immediate drama, not formal ceremony. He was
moving away from the large -scale oratorio characteristics
of his early works towards continuous musical
flow, individual psychological action, and intense
theatrical intrigue. La Traviata being a prime
example of this new adventure. It was revolutionary.
It pushed toward true theatrical realism by setting
the drama in the contemporary world with contemporary
dress. Although for the premiere, management
forced him to set it back in the 18th century,
fearing the scandal of contemporary Parisian
courtesans would be too much for the audience.
Even with that forced historical change, the
music achieved the realism. Yes. The ending,
where the heroine, Violetta, dies realistically
and intimately from consumption. That was unprecedented
on the operatic stage at the time. It was a non
-heroic personal death depicting suffering with
musical subtlety. And his growing command of
contrasting elements is masterful here. Oh, absolutely.
Think about placing the cynical, flippant La
Donna Immobile immediately before the deeply
emotional and complex quartet Bella Figlia dell
'Amore in Rigoletto. That juxtaposition highlights
changing moods and moral confusion with staggering
efficiency. So by 1853, with these triple peaks
behind him, Verdi had achieved everything. fame,
wealth, critical acclaim, artistic independence,
he enters a phase of consolidation and greatly
reduces his output. A significant pivot point.
He wrote 16 operas in the 11 years before Traviata,
but only six new works for the stage in the following
18 years up to Aida. He had earned the right
to step back focusing intensely on his estate
and his financial security. He really settled
into the role of the aristocratic landowner.
He described his life then as a total abandonment
of music, a little reading, some light occupation
with agriculture and horses. That's all. He became
the definition of the powerful, private country
gentleman. And the social factor with Giuseppino
was finally resolved in 1859. After years of
public scandal, they married secretly. The ceremony
was small, taking place in Calanche -sur -Salève,
then part of Piedmont. And the guest list speaks
volumes about their desire for privacy. Minimal
is an understatement. Only two witnesses were
present, the coachman who drove them there and
the church bell ringer. After all the public
drama, the composer and the soprano finally solidified
their relationship quietly on their own terms.
While Verdi was remodeling Santa Gata and acting
the part of the agriculturalist, his music was
being used for the massive political movement
of the 19th century. The Risorgimento, the Italian
unification movement. Right. His political identity
and his art became inseparable in the public
eye. His music was intensely identified with
unification, but it's crucial for us to separate
the enduring patriotic myth from the historical
reality, especially regarding the most famous
chorus of all. The Course of the Hebrew Slaves
from Nabucco, yes. The myth is that the audience
demanded an encore of it in a nationalistic frenzy,
openly defying an Austrian ban on encores, turning
the theater into a revolutionary hotbed. But
that's not quite what happened. The truth, based
on meticulous scholarship, is a little less dramatic,
but still powerful. The piece that actually got
the encore that night was the hymn Imenso Jehovah.
However, and this is a key point, the chorus
did resonate profoundly with patriots. The lines
lamenting the loss of a homeland, oh my country
so lovely and so lost, spoke directly to the
Italian desire for freedom. So the chorus quickly
became an emotional cultural anthem. So even
if the origin story is a little embellished,
the cultural impact was absolutely real. But
the most explicit political use of his name came
with that infamous acronym that started circulating,
especially in Naples in 1859, the famous Viva
Verdi slogan. Exactly. It wasn't simply shouting
long live the composer. It was a coded message,
a simple but brilliant act of political signaling.
Verdi stood for Vittorio Emanuele Re d 'Italia,
meaning Long Live Victor Emmanuel II, King of
Italy. That's truly fascinating. It was a safe
way for patriots to express their revolutionary
sentiments in public, using an artistic hero
as a kind of shield. Precisely. And after unification
was achieved in 1861, many of his earlier operas,
even conventional love stories, were retrospectively
reinterpreted as having hidden revolutionary
messages. Verdi became a symbol of Italy itself.
And he was pulled directly into the political
arena by the architect of unification, Count
Cavour. Cavour saw the immense symbolic power
of having the nation. greatest artists involved.
Verdi was elected to the first Italian parliament
in 1861. He later accepted an appointment as
a senator in 1874. But the source material is
very clear. Verdi was an artist, not a bureaucrat,
and certainly not a full -time legislator. If
he was so reluctant, was his involvement purely
symbolic? Primarily symbolic, but he didn't neglect
his duties entirely. He accepted the role from
Cavour out of profound respect for the man and
the cause, but he confided that he would resign
after a few months. He attended only a few sessions.
As a senator, he was almost completely absent,
though he used his wealth and influence for major
philanthropic causes later on. Professionally,
this late middle period is defined by the massive
shadow of French influence, specifically the
genre of grand opera. This was a necessity for
international success. Grand opera meant longer
works, five acts, huge scope, large cast, complex
historical plots, and critically, an extensive
ballet scene. The operas from L 'Evepe Sicilienne
through Ada really reflect this shift. This shift
introduced more colorful orchestration and greater
spectacle, but what distinguishes Verdi's grand
opera from, say, Meyerbeer's? Unlike some of
his contemporaries who might use spectacle purely
as decoration, Verdi integrated it deeply into
the drama. Even in works like Don Carlos, the
sheer spectacle, the massive crowds, the political
machinations is essential to the drama. The music
remains taut, and he uses the scale to amplify
the personal tragedy, not distract from it. This
all culminated in Aida in 1871, which has one
of the most interesting origin stories, linking
his work directly to global events. Aida was
commissioned by the Egyptian government for the
new Cadivial Opera House, built to celebrate
the opening of the Suez Canal. Verdi was paid
the enormous sum of 150 ,000 francs. A staggering
amount. A truly staggering amount. And despite
this financial incentive, he confessed that ancient
Egypt was a civilization I have never been able
to admire. A classic Verdi grumble, showing his
focus was always on the drama and the musical
execution, not the exotic setting. And the triumphal
march in Aida is the ultimate expression of that
grand opera influence. Absolutely. It's grand
opera at its peak. But what makes it Verdi is
that even within that spectacle, the drama remains
personal. The emotional weight rests on Aida,
the slave, forced to choose between her love
for the general and her loyalty to her country.
Verdi ensures the massive scale amplifies rather
than dwarfs the emotional core. Amid supervising
the intense Italian productions of Aida, where
he was effectively the producer demanding high
standards, he produced his most unusual and only
surviving piece of chamber music. The string
quartet in E minor. written during rehearsals
in Naples in 1873. It's an anomaly. It stands
as his sole surviving chamber work and the only
major 19th century quartet by an Italian composer.
It's a lively, sophisticated piece. And the last
movement, a technically complex fugue, shows
he hadn't lost the academic skill he learned
from Lavinia decades earlier. Following Aida,
we get the monumental Messa di Requiem in 1874.
This piece is often criticized as opera in ecclesiastical
dress. Why did critics apply that label and why
is it maybe unfair? It was completed to honor
the great Italian poet Alessandro Manzoni. And
critics applied the label because it was scored
for operatic forces, massive chorus, huge orchestra,
star soloists, and because the musical techniques,
the dramatic vocal writing, were so clearly drawn
from the operatic stage. But the purpose and
the execution are distinct from the stage, correct?
Precisely. It's profoundly theatrical in scale,
but the emotions are distinct. Critics have noted
its fundamentally troubled tone and distinct
lack of consolation. One said the prospect of
hell appears to rule. It captures human anxiety
about mortality, fear and judgment. Profound
universal human drama, not necessarily the solace
you expect in liturgical music. This work also
solidified his personal association with the
spinto soprano Teresa Stoltz. What exactly defines
a spinto soprano? A spinto -soprano voice. It
means pushed or driven. It requires the lyrical
quality for romantic roles like Aida, but also
the power and dramatic punch to cut through a
massive orchestra during intense dramatic scenes,
or in the case of the Requiem, the immense dies
irae. Stoltz, who premiered Aida in Europe and
was the soloist for the Requiem, fit this mold
perfectly. She remained a companion to Verdi
until his death. The Requiem cemented Verdi's
status as the undisputed presiding genius of
Italian music, and by the time it premiered,
many people thought he was finished composing.
But the greatest surprises of his career were
still ahead. For over a decade after the Requiem,
Verdi seemed content to live the life of the
aristocratic landowner. But then, in his 70s,
he surprised the world with an astonishing return
to the stage. This final period is defined by
his late career partnership with a man who had
once been his public critic, Arrigo Boito. This
partnership is fascinating. Boito, a poet and
composer, had been part of a younger generation
that criticized Verdi's earlier reliance on formula.
But the publisher, Giulio Ricordi, engineered
their reconciliation, knowing that Boito was
maybe the only librettist talented enough to
challenge Verdi. Boito proposed an opera based
on Shakespeare's Othello. The composition was
slow, highly secretive, delayed by Verdi's revisions
of earlier works like Simon Bucanegra and Don
Carlos. But Otello finally premiered triumphantly
in 1887, 16 years after Aida, proving his creative
powers were not only intact, but had deepened
considerably. The musical world was watching.
Especially because Richard Wagner's influence
was at its peak, many critics sought or claimed
to find Wagnerian aspects in Othello, the continuous
music, the complex orchestral texture. But the
analysis shows he wasn't embracing the new German
school. He was synthesizing decades of his own
dramatic practice. Why did his approach remain
so fundamentally Italian? Well, while the musical
texture is continuous, Verdi always prioritized
the vocal line and dramatic climax above systematic,
light -motivic theory. His music was driven by
dramatic realism, not philosophical manifestos.
You see this in the powerful, unique storm that
opens the opera in medias, re -splunging you
right into the chaos. And the concept of tinta,
that golden thread of musical color, is used
so profoundly here. Absolutely. The memory of
the love duet from Act 1 is recalled in Otello's
dying words in Act 4. This provides emotional
and psychological continuity, Verdi's tinta,
without resorting to the dense, systematic leitmotifs
associated with Wagner. He took what he needed
from modern orchestral practice, but remained
fiercely committed to the Italian emphasis on
the voice as the vessel for passion. After achieving
such profound tragedy with Otello, Verdi, now
approaching 80, decided he needed a lighter note
for his finale. He famously joked that after
having relent - And even in his old age, Verdi
embraced the project with just extraordinary
enthusiasm. He wrote, so be it. So let's do Falstaff.
For now, let's not think of obstacles, of age,
of illnesses. Yeah. And using his own capital
letters and exclamation points, reflecting his
sheer joy, he wrote, what joy to be able to say
to the public, here we are again. Come and see
us. Falstaff in 1893 was a crowning achievement,
a truly dazzling finale. Royalty, aristocracy,
leading critics all attended the premiere. Musically,
why is Falstaff considered such a monumental,
forward -looking achievement? Well, one critic
notes that the listener is is a miracle of energy.
Another describes it as Verdi miniaturizing himself
and the previous forms of romantic Italian opera.
Instead of long arias, you have these short,
crystal -clear phrases that embody complex feelings.
It's a non -stop rush of ensemble singing and
musical wit. And it ends with that profound philosophical
statement, an opera buffa fugue that sums up
his entire life philosophy. The famous concluding
fugue features the lines, Tutto nel mondo è burla,
ma ride vinci l 'era risata final. Everything
in the world is a jest, but he laughs well. Who
laughs the final laugh? It's a witty, detached,
final curtain call for a composer who specialized
in the intense drama of human folly. In his last
years, Verdi turned his attention wholly toward
philanthropy, securing his legacy as a man who
used his wealth for the common good. His crowning
philanthropic achievement was planning, building,
and endowing the Casa di Deposo per Rizzichisti,
the rest home for musicians in Milan. It was
a final, massive act of generosity to his professional
community, ensuring dignity for aging artists.
He also built a hospital in Villanova Salarda.
His final major composition was the choral Four
Sacred Pieces in 1898. Verdi died in Milan in
1901 after a stroke. The scale of the public
grief reflected his stature as a national, almost
mythical figure. His body was initially buried
privately, but a month later it was moved to
the crypt of the Casa de Opozo. The demonstration
of national mourning was immense. Arturo Toscanini
conducted a chorus of 820 singers performing
Va, Pensiero. The sources estimate that 300 ,000
people were in attendance, a monumental send
-off that affirmed his place not just as a composer,
but as a symbol of united Italy. Lift, pull back
now and look at the man behind the music and
the myths he so carefully cultivated. The source
describes him as an intensely private man who
built legends about himself and was, frankly,
a bit of a grumbler. John Roselli sums him up
with admirable honesty. Verdi was an intensely
private man who deeply resented efforts to inquire
into his personal affairs. He fostered legends
about his peasant origins and was characterized
by some as an autocratic rentier, cum estate
owner, part -time composer, and seemingly full
-time grumbler. So he had become so wealthy and
controlling that he ran his estate and his musical
output like a powerful independent landlord.
Precisely. Yet critics agree that beneath the
grumbling and the carefully constructed facade,
a deep integrity runs beneath his life. He was
awkward as society, preferring the quiet of Santa
Gata to the intrusion of journalists and high
society. What about his spiritual life? He wrote
the Monumental Requiem, but was he a man of faith?
His religious beliefs were vague at best. Straponi
wrote in 1871 that he was not much of a believer,
though in that unique blend of pragmatism and
traditionalism, he did build a chapel at Senegheta.
The troubled tone of the Requiem is telling.
It focuses on the terror and anxiety of judgment
rather than offering Christian consolation. Shifting
to his unique musical spirit, the philosopher
Isaiah Berlin classified Verdi as a naive artist.
Now that term sounds almost insulting for a genius
of his stature, yet it's a profound philosophical
categorization. What did Berlin mean? It's based
on a dichotomy developed by Schiller. A naive
artist is one who embodies their artistic vision
naturally, without needing self -conscious theory
or philosophical manifestos. They simply do the
vision, intuitively reaching dramatic truth.
This contrasts sharply with the sentimental artist,
the category where Wagner sits. Exactly. Wagner
sought to recreate nature based on internal philosophy,
detailed aesthetic theories, a constant need
to explain his revolutionary intent. It makes
perfect sense, considering Verdi was recorded
as expressing genuine confusion about philosophical
music. He focused solely on dramatic truth and
passion, not academic justification. And this
commitment to dramatic truth is unified by his
key musical concept. Tinta, literally meaning
color. Verdi himself called it the golden thread
that binds all the parts together of an opera.
And we can see how tinta works in practice in
Rigoletto. The tinta there isn't just one melody,
but a pervasive atmosphere. The most striking
example is the recurring, powerful musical motif
associated with Monterone's Curse. This motif,
a dark, descending figure, is not a Wagnerian
leitmotif. It's an emotional symbol. It appears
immediately after the curse, often in the orchestra,
binding Rigoletto's subsequent paranoia and tragedy
throughout the entire opera. It ensures the piece
is a cohesive, unified theatrical experience
built around the consequences of a single fateful
action. This insistence on musical and dramatic
unity transcended the traditional formulaic structure
of early Italian opera. Finally, let's look at
his enduring legacy. He was esteemed at his death,
but how does his work resonate culturally now,
120 years later? He remains globally esteemed.
All of his 29 operas are recorded and frequently
staged worldwide. And his cultural reach extends
far beyond the opera house, popping up in fascinating
modern contexts. Like Jonathan Miller's famous
1982 production of Rigoletto, which set the story
among modern American mafiosi. Which demonstrates
that the themes of corruption, revenge, and the
abuse of power are just timeless. or the solemn,
powerful use of excerpts from his requiem at
the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, in 1997.
The theatrical scope provided the appropriate
emotional weight for a global tragedy. Perhaps
the most visceral example of his continuing political
symbolism occurred in 2011. That event was extraordinary.
During a performance of Nabucco in Rome, conductor
Riccardo Muti stopped after Va Penthiro to address
the audience about cuts in state cultural funding.
In a spontaneous, powerful act of unity, the
entire audience, including parliamentarians,
join Muti and the chorus in an encore, reminding
everyone that this music is still a living symbol
of national identity. And even popular culture
gets in on the act. Katy Perry wore a dress embroidered
with music from La Traviata to the Grammys. Proving
his melodies remain part of the global cultural
lexicon. So what does this all mean? We've traced
the complex tapestry of the man. the financial
genius who secured his independence through land,
the grieving widower who channeled personal tragedy
into his art, the reluctant politician whose
name became a revolutionary acronym, and the
innovator who consciously shattered the confines
of traditional Italian opera to create profound
realism. He achieved wealth, authority, and immortality,
all while remaining stubbornly resistant to the
public glare. He took the established forms of
the autocento and imbued them with a new psychological
truth, ensuring his characters, however flawed,
sang with authentic, passionate voices that speak
to us still. As we wrap up this deep dive, let's
go back to one of the most interesting business
moves of his career, the secrecy surrounding
La Donna Immobile. Verdi knew this tune would
be a massive hit, and he withheld it from all
but one tenor to prevent piracy and ensure the
initial commercial success of the opera. He was
a consummate realist, intensely focused on financial
security and the integrity of his artistic products.
He had an eye not just for a good tune, but for
its value, its market potential, and its proper
application. So, given that Verity valued knowledge,
application, and critical thinking above all
else, what would he make of this early maneuver?
Was it simply business savvy and early recognition
of the power and danger of a viral earworm? And
if Verdi, the shrewd businessman and realist,
felt the need to manage the release of his most
valuable creative assets 170 years ago, how might
that philosophy inform how modern creators and
media companies manage creative assets today,
in a world where piracy is instantaneous and
viral success is fleeting and immediate? That's
a great question. That idea of controlling the
release of intellectual properties seems more
relevant now than ever. It absolutely does. It
suggests that the strategy of prevention is better
than cure, whether you're dealing with 19th century
street musicians or 21st century file sharing,
is a timeless principle for the successful creative
professional. He was simply ahead of his time
in understanding commercial value. That's a fascinating
question for you to ponder. That's all the time
we have for this deep dive into the life and
works of Giuseppe Verdi. Thank you for joining
us.