GUISEPPE VERDI, the successor at once of Bellini and of Donizetti, but whose energetic style bears a far greater resemblance to that of Donizetti in his later works (Maria di Rohan, for instance) than to that of Bellini, was born near Parma, on the 9th of October, 1814. His father was an innkeeper in a humble way of business, and Verdi's first lessons in music were taken from the local organist. In 1833, thanks to the assistance of a rich patron of art, he went to Milan, where for three years he studied under Lavigna, musical conductor at the Scala Theatre. It was not until 1839 that he succeeded in getting his first opera, Oberto, Conte di San Bonifazio, produced. But the manager of the Scala, where it was performed was so satisfied with its success that he gave the young composer an order for three other works. Unfortunately at this juncture Verdi lost a wife whom he had recently married and to whom he was tenderly attached. He had just undertaken the uncongenial and now hateful task of composing an opera buffa entitled, Un Giorno di Regno; and, as might have been expected, this work was somewhat deficient in comedy. It failed; and so complete was the fiasco that the director of La Scala felt himself justified in declining to receive from Verdi the two other operas which he had agreed to take.

The unhappy composer had now to begin his career again; and as the first step he passed a year without writing a note. He then set to work once more and composed his well-known opera on the subject of Nebuchadnezzar, called familiarly Nabuco. Nabucodonosore, produced in London, where the biblical subject had been objected to by the censorship, under the title of Nino, was the first work by which Verdi became famous out of his own country; and the success of Nabuco became in due time European. Nabuco (1842) was followed by I Lombardi (1843), and Ernani (1844); and the three works by which Verdi established his reputation in Italy were all given without much delay at Her Majesty's Theatre. The first production, in fact, of Verdi's works dates from immediately before the secession which led to the establishment of the Royal Italian Opera. An opera on the subject of the Two Foscari was brought out at Rome in 1844, and some three or four years afterwards was given at the Royal Italian Opera, with Ronconi in the principal part. Ernani, however, at both our rival opera houses was for some time the most admired and the most often played of the new composer's works.

At this time Verdi's music met with but little appreciation from critics, who declared it to be noisy and commonplace, and who were particularly offended by so much brass being employed in the orchestration, and by so many of the choruses being written in unison. The new composer was accused, moreover, of passing too abruptly from one piece to another, of not sufficiently preparing his effects, and so on. We have seen how Rossini was attacked when his operas were first produced in England; and the Lord Mount-Edgcumbes of 1848, and indeed of many years later, were thoroughly dissatisfied with Verdi, whom it was the fashion to represent in the newspapers of the day as a sort of melodramatic mountebank. Even as late as 1856, when the richly melodious, and in many respects highly dramatic Trovatore was given at the Royal Italian Opera, the talent, or rather the genius of Verdi, was still systematically denied. The style in which Verdi's operas were habitually executed in London may have had something to do with the charges pressed so energetically against him. Those, however, who have heard Verdi conduct his own works are aware that though his scores may contain parts for a considerable number of brass instruments, yet the brassiness of the orchestra is kept down and a proper balance of sonority maintained. Fully informed as to why Verdi's works ought not to be admired, the public of London persisted in admiring them; and it may be here mentioned that for some years Verdi was not much better treated by the critical press of France than by that of England. M. Scudo, writing in the Revue des deux Mondes found in Verdi the same faults already mentioned as those of which he was habitually accused in England. Il Trovatore, however, did much towards converting M. Scudo; and the success of that work, if not the work itself, did much to shake the faith, or rather the unfaith, of those English critics and connoisseurs who had previously disbelieved in Verdi. The production of Rigoletto at the Royal Italian Opera a year or two later, with Madame Bosio (most charming of Gildas), Signor Mario, and Signor Ronconi in the principal parts, made those who were still sceptical as to Verdi's high merits appear somewhat ridiculous. La Traviata, with its questionable story derived from the younger Dumas's novel and play of La Dame aux CamÉlias, was a good deal blamed by reason of its libretto; and also on account of the alleged triviality of the music, which, however, thanks to the tone of genuine emotion in many of its strains, still lives, and is now, indeed, more popular than ever.

Verdi's success in England was confirmed, and more than confirmed, by the production at the Royal Italian Opera of Un Ballo in Maschera (founded on the same subject as Auber's Gustave III.), with an execution which was above all remarkable for the style in which the part of the Duke, vaguely described as "Il Duca," was played by Signor Mario, and that of Renato, whose wife the Duke betrays, by Signor Graziani; and for the last twelve or fifteen years it has been considered bad taste not to admire Verdi's music. Indeed, since AÏda, his latest, most serious, most studied, and, in the true sense of the word, most dramatic opera, it has become the fashion in some musical circles to place him above all other Italian composers, to contrast the significance of his melodies, the characterisation of his personages, and the forcible construction of his scenes, with the careless, haphazard stringing together of meaningless, if singable tunes, and of ingenious rather than dramatic concerted pieces which mark the style or want of style of so many Italian composers. It is only fair, however, to remember that Verdi has not yet surpassed William Tell, that he has produced nothing superior in the way of concerted finale to the celebrated one which closes the second act of Lucia, and that he scarcely could have treated the last act of La Favorita more dramatically, or with a greater abundance of melodic ideas than Donizetti—here by the way, writing at times very much in Verdi's own manner.

In pursuing the story of Verdi's constantly increasing success among the English we have departed from the general history of his career. It must be mentioned, however, that many of Verdi's operas which gained great favour in Italy have either never been given in England at all, or have been performed in this country without exciting much enthusiasm. Nor was any great impression made in England by the work which, under the title of Masnadieri, Verdi wrote expressly for Her Majesty's Theatre in the days of Jenny Lind, with Jenny Lind herself, Gardoni, and Lablache in the principal parts. No one seems to have suggested that Verdi's King Lear should be performed in England; but from time to time there has been some talk of producing his Macbeth, of which a French version was brought out, not unsuccessfully, at the ThÉÂtre Lyrique of Paris, with some additional music, and especially some new ballet scenes by the composer.

It is scarcely worth while to recall Verdi's failures: but Luisa Miller and La Forza del Destino must in fairness be reckoned among the number. Luisa Miller is based on the theme of Schiller's pathetic but over-dolorous drama Cabale und Liebe. For the basis of La Forza Verdi did not have recourse to Schiller as in the case of Luisa Miller and I Massdieri, nor to Victor Hugo as in that of Ernani and of Rigoletto (Le Roi s'amuse). His librettist borrowed the subject from a most sanguinary melodrama by a Spanish author of some distinction, though with such bloodthirsty tendencies that he brings almost every character in his play to a violent end, while one of the leading personages, after apparently meeting his death, is restored to life to be killed again. In La Forza del Destino the composer has so neglected the concerted music that the work does not include one regularly constructed concerted piece. It contains, however, some beautiful melodies for the solo voice, including one in particular assigned to the prima donna, which Verdi, from having inscribed it beneath one of his best portraits, would seem to regard as characteristically his own. Of Verdi's Requiem, composed in memory of Manzoni, little need be said except that it is melodious, impressive, and often very dramatic—dramatic, however, in the style of AÏda not of the less thoroughly dramatic, but more stagey works of Verdi's youth.

Verdi, now (1880) in his sixty-seventh year, has by no means renounced musical composition; and he is understood to be actively engaged on a new Othello, of which Signor Boito, author and composer of Mefistofele, has furnished the libretto, and which is to be brought out as soon as completed under the title of Iago.

Unlike other composers, Verdi has played a certain political part, which, however, seems in a great measure to have been forced upon him. In the days before Italian unity it was discovered that the letters composing his name might, in due order, be regarded as signifying "Vittore Emanuele, Re d'Italia"; so that "Viva Verdi!" came to be accepted as an aspiration for a united Italian kingdom with Victor Emanuel on the throne. When Macbeth was brought out, all sorts of political allusions were discovered in the libretto; and nothing would satisfy the electors of Verdi's native town but to make him a member of the National Assembly of Parma. After the formation of the Italian kingdom Verdi became a member of the Italian parliament; and in 1874 the king made him a senator.