In 1847 a spell of unusual industry overtook Verdi. Opera after opera came with remarkable rapidity. Macbeth was produced at Florence in March 1847, and immediately proved a success. It was Verdi's first effort with a Shakesperian subject. The Florentines were unanimous in their approval of the music, the interpretation of which was considerably aided by an admirable Lady Macbeth—Signora Barbieri-Nini. The score was taken to Milan, and pleased so much that the Milanese, among other doings, represented Verdi practically as having crushed all other Italian composers; while poor Rossini in particular was, dragon-like, under the foot of his great rival! Subsequently, the work was given in Venice, where it met with a reception which Verdi himself could scarcely have expected. It was just before the Revolution of 1848, and when Palma, as Macduff, sang the air:—
"La Patria tradita
Piangendo c'invita";
it so excited the Venetians that they joined in to the full of their voices and showed such other manifestations of uncontrollable feelings, that not only the police, but the military had to be called in.
The composer was now due with an opera for Mr. Lumley; a work to be written expressly for England, and I Masnadieri was the result. That persevering and to-be-pitied impresario's version of the affair runs thus:—
"Of the expected new operas to be produced on the stage of Her Majesty's Theatre, that of Verdi alone remained available. For many years I had been in correspondence with the young Italian composer, for the purpose of obtaining from him a work destined for the London boards. An opera on the subject of "King Lear" had already been promised by Verdi, the principal part being intended for Signor Lablache. But, on that occasion, the serious illness of the composer had prevented the execution of the design. Verdi now offered his I Masnadieri, composed upon the subject of Schiller's well-known play, Die Raüber, and with this proposal I was obliged to close. On Thursday, 2nd July 1847, I Masnadieri (after wearying rehearsals, conducted by the composer himself), was brought out, with a cast that included Lablache, Gardoni, Coletti, Bouche, and, above all, Jenny Lind, who was to appear for the second time only in her career, in a thoroughly original part composed expressly for her. The house was filled to overflowing on the night of the first representation. The opera was given with every appearance of a triumphant success; the composer and all the singers receiving the highest honours—indeed, all the artists distinguished themselves in their several parts. Jenny Lind acted admirably, and sang the airs allotted to her exquisitely. But yet the Masnadieri could not be considered a success. That by its production I had adopted the right course was unquestionable. I had induced an Italian composer, whose reputation stood on the highest pinnacle of continental fame, to compose an opera expressly for my theatre, as well as to superintend its production. More I could not have done to gratify the patrons of Italian music, who desired to hear new works. It may be stated in confirmation of the judgment of the London audience, that I Masnadieri was never successful on any Italian stage. The libretto was even worse constructed than is usually the case with adaptations of foreign dramas to the purpose of Italian opera. To Her Majesty's Theatre the work was singularly ill-suited. The interest which ought to have been centred in Mademoiselle Lind was thrown on Gardoni; whilst Lablache, as the imprisoned father, had to do about the only thing he could not do to perfection—having to represent a man nearly starved to death."[25]
Poor Mr. Lumley! For the benefit of a generation who will not set eyes on Signor Lablache, it should be stated that he was of Herculean proportions, a giant in height, and so portly that he made a superb Falstaff. His voice shook the walls of Her Majesty's Theatre, and he had a heart as big as some men's bodies.
It is well to know something of this "excessive" book. Two brothers, Carlo and Francesco, are the sons of Maximilian Moor, an old Bohemian noble. The younger brother Francesco is envious of the fortunate first-born, and poisons his father's heart against him. Carlo driven from home, joins a robber band, and Francesco impatient to reap the fruits of his wickedness seeks to accelerate the old man's death by telling him that his first-born has met with his death. Francesco's next scheme is to implore Amalia, the betrothed wife of Carlo, to marry him, but she resents his odious suit. Quite by chance she meets Carlo, to whom she tells everything, and as he, in one of his raids in the forest, has discovered his father almost starved to death in a cave, the desire for vengeance cannot be restrained. He summons his co-outlaws, who swear to avenge the wrongs of the infamous Francesco. This done, Carlo reveals himself to his father and bride, but the horrible revelation that he is a robber does not hinder their sympathy and tenderness towards Carlo. Amalia offers to marry him just as he is, bound by oath to outlawry. This is impossible. Maddened by despair, he thrusts his poniard into her bosom, and thus meets her appeals for relief by death. Thus ends this most tragic story; the music keeping pace with the varied emotions of horror, of melancholy, and tenderness, which the subject alternately excites.
There were beautiful numbers in I Masnadieri, or "The Brigands," notably the grand scena "Tu del mio Carlo al seno," with its cabaletta "Carlo Vive," which Jenny Lind could sing entrancingly; the duet between Amalia and Francesco; the air "Lo, sguardo," deliciously accompanied by the wind instruments; the quartet "Tigre feroce"; the tenor air "O mio castel paterno," wherein Gardoni's beautiful voice, and manner, were so noticeable; the trio in which the superlative powers of Jenny Lind, Gardoni, and Lablache were united; and, to name one more number, the air "Volasti alma beati," with its beautiful harp accompaniment. Notwithstanding many attractions, it was a dead failure, and only kept the boards two or three nights. "I Masnadieri," an authority afterwards wrote, "turned out a miserable failure, as it deserved to do, since it could but, at all events, as was rightly said, increase Signor Verdi's discredit with every one who had an ear, and was decidedly the worst opera that was ever given at Her Majesty's Theatre, the music being in every respect inferior even to that of I Due Foscari."[26]
All the critics did not decry the opera. Writing of I Masnadieri the Illustrated London News said of it:—"The story is in many respects a horrible one; it represents passions and crimes which, if they are unhappily not untrue to human nature, are yet better excluded from theatrical representation, and cannot be considered as within the scope of the tragic art; with all this, however, for the groundwork of an opera it is exceedingly effective, and admirably suited to the character of Verdi's music, which is here dramatic in the extreme, and somewhat excels the masterpieces of Meyerbeer and other composers of the German "Romantic School" of music.... The opera was highly successful. The talented maestro, on appearing in the orchestra to conduct his clever work, was received with three rounds of applause. He was called before the curtain after the first and third acts, and at the conclusion of the opera amidst the most vehement applause. The house was crowded to excess, and was honoured by the presence of Her Majesty and Prince Albert, the Queen-Dowager, and the Duchess of Cambridge."[27]