Verdi admittedly had written another grand opera, and the great problem was how, at the age of seventy-four, the composer could produce such a masterpiece. In design and execution it was equal if not superior to Aïda—far surpassing in construction any of his First or Second period works. No dissentient voices could be raised in the general chorus of praise, the opinion being that from first to last the music was as extraordinary as it was magnificent. There was grandeur, as there was learning; and when the technical skill did not attract the attention, it was the surpassing beauty, the seemingly inspired nature of the music that won both heart and ear.
It is not surprising that all the European capitals clamoured to hear a work of such masterly force and skill, and it is creditable to our country's art instincts to find that the opera was given at the Lyceum Theatre in July 1889, or within little more than two years after its production at Milan. The chief singers included Signora Cataneo (Desdemona), with Signori Tamagno (Otello), Paroli (Cassio), and M. Maurel (Iago). Then an excellent exposition of the work resulted.
On this occasion the Athenæum stated:—"Verdi in Aïda cut himself adrift from the conventionalities of Italian opera, and produced a work almost perfectly beautiful, glowing with Oriental colour, and dependent to a very slight extent upon the special devices of Wagnerian music drama. In Otello we miss the special characteristics which lend such a charm to Aïda, and are disposed to judge it with severity on account of the composer's rashness in selecting a Shakespearean subject.... The first point that strikes the hearer with regard to the music is its essentially modern character combined with its freedom from direct Wagnerian influences. Verdi in his latest score has adopted even less of Wagner's peculiar methods than he did in Aïda. Much has been made of the so-called 'kiss' motive, and we may note a harsh progression in consecutive fifths and octaves which appears two or three times, and is apparently intended to suggest the torture of jealousy, but of Leitmotiv in the accepted sense there is not one.... From hence to the close the music is fragmentary, but intensely dramatic, and as impressive as any operatic music ever penned. An exquisitely touching effect is produced by the use made of the love theme from the first act, and, speaking generally, this final scene is a worthy crown to a work which, if not the finest Verdi has written, is at any rate a splendid example of modern Italian art."[63]
Yet, if such criticism were insufficient to prove that there was, as there had been all along, something of merit in Verdi and his music, we find it accentuated two years later when Otello was given at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden. On this occasion we are told:—"If the score is less equal in inspiration and less remarkable for glowing picturesqueness than that of Aïda, it is worthy to rank with that beautiful work, and moreover affords ample proof that a composer of genius can satisfy the requirements of modern opera; that is to say, give full play to the dramatic flow of the story without slavishly following the special devices of Wagnerian music drama. In this sense Otello may be regarded as a model for composers of opera seria apart from its own intrinsic value, which is very great."[64]
On the 12th October 1894 a French version of Otello was given at the Paris Opéra, when Verdi himself attended, superintended the rehearsals, and conducted. All Paris was strongly represented on this gala occasion, and no pains or expense were spared upon the performance. The presence of the veteran composer in the conductor's seat naturally gave zest to this performance, and it is doubtful whether a more enthusiastic reception was ever experienced by Verdi. Applause followed applause, until it was abundantly clear that Verdi had secured another triumph, and that Paris, as well as London and Milan, had approved of the composer's masterly achievements in Otello.
Wherever performed, the especially beautiful numbers of the work have speedily been detected. In the first act, which sounds somewhat on Verdi's conventional lines, the storm prayer, the festal music, and a love duet are particularly fine. The second act includes a great scene for Iago, a duet between Cassio and Iago, and a quartet, the whole finishing with a stirring duet between Otello and Iago. This act is full of declamation, which though helped on by the cantilena passages, and beginning with the garden fête to the sound of mandolini, seems a little monotonous. The quartet, however, between Desdemona, Otello, Iago, and Emilia, is extremely interesting, and supplies as fine a piece of choral writing as Verdi has ever penned. In the third act is an abundance of picturesque theatrical music, such as Verdi could well write, for it is one of his great gifts to know exactly what the public prefer. An interpolation in the original text now provides the "handkerchief" trio for Cassio, Otello, and Iago, which in music and poetry is one of the best pieces in the opera. This is followed by a pathetic duet between Desdemona and her jealous lord, and after much fine dramatic writing, suggested in the main by the masterly additions which Boito has made to the original text in this act, we reach the conclusion where Iago, with his foot on the Moor's heart, answers the chorus with malignant triumph. "The lion is here!" This is a highly dramatic, superb situation in the opera, and never fails to elicit the loudest applause. Desdemona's "Willow" song, with its horn and bassoon accompaniment, has rarely been equalled by Verdi; while the "Ave Maria," partly in monotone, and partly in cantilena phrases accompanied by the strings, is of most exquisite heavenly nature. In the fourth and concluding Act, Otello kills his wife, spares Iago, and stabs himself, and this is generally acknowledged as the finest part of the work. It abounds with beautiful, luxuriant music, in Verdi's choicest vein, while its intense dramatic character is unsurpassed by anything in the range of opera music. In it, Verdi and all his vast dramatic-musical powers rise to their fullest height.
Considered as a whole, Otello must be accounted a very fine opera, a model of opera seria amid all the influence, fashion, and revolution in modern music. Its various beautiful soli pieces, its bold and vigorous choruses, the grand finales, the highly finished duets and quartets, and lastly, but not least, its declamatory music, with the striking and effective recitatives—all this renders the vocal portion well-nigh beyond criticism. The orchestration is particularly remarkable. Here Verdi has surpassed himself, and given us page after page of dramatic tone-painting of the highest order. Rarely has any opera composer shown us anything so dramatic as the finale representing the reception of the delegates from Venice, and the Moor's insulting treatment of his wife. In the first act, the tempest music is wonderfully effective and well conceived, and the second act is full of masterly instrumental device and combination. The grand workings of the orchestra in the "Credo" in this Act could not be surpassed. This same high standard is, on the whole, maintained throughout the third act; while the composer's vocal and instrumental work in the fourth and concluding act is admitted by all judges to be one of the grandest instances of modern orchestral manipulation.
Great as Verdi had been before the production of Otello, and greater still as he became through Otello, there remained yet a further measure of greatness for the justly-famed Italian art king. Those who appreciated and wondered at, to say nothing of listening with delight and amazement to, the superlative musical beauties of Aïda and Otello, had yet greater things in store for them. When the composer was busy upon the Otello music, the villagers and others in and around Busseto knew that the master was employed upon serious music. He wore a troubled look, and the expression of his face was one of tragic austerity. Brusque, wrapped up, impatient, he was far from pleasant to deal with, so different from his usual courteous manner and bearing towards the residents. Later, there was a change. A smile played about the composer's lips, he was jovial, open mannered, happy. The peasants and others about the hamlet declared that the composer was in a merry mood; they surmised, and rightly enough, that he was engaged upon some comedy music. This was Falstaff.
The idea of a lyrical comedy taken from Shakespeare haunted Verdi some time before he wrote Falstaff. He spoke to M. Maurel about it, and the latter, in 1890, sent him the version of The Taming of the Shrew arranged by Paul Delair for Coquelin the elder. Verdi returned the manuscript, and wrote from Genoa, saying it was superb, and that he envied the musician whose lot it would be to compose to it; but, as far as he was concerned it was too late. Nearly two years afterwards he told Maurel why it was too late: "Boito and I had planned a lyrical comedy, now nearly finished. It is to be called Falstaff."