Verdi composed the music between 1890 and 1892, and the opera was produced for the first time at La Scala, Milan, on 9th February 1893. It was hailed, and justly so, with enthusiasm, as one of the most remarkable works that ever met the ear inside the walls of that historic opera-house. Musicians from all parts of the world sped to Milan to hear the score concerning which gossip had long been busy—so busy, as to be annoying to Verdi, who wished this, his first comic opera, to burst as a surprise upon the musical world in its complete and final form, instead of being made the subject of anticipation and discussion for at least two years beforehand.
Boito's libretto is, perhaps, the best written and planned book ever presented to a composer. The subject is one of Shakespeare's best, and the librettist has throughout kept Shakespeare to the front, respecting the great dramatist in the most laudable manner. There is little new and little missing in the story, and our old Windsor friends, as jovial and merry as ever, are with us, even in their quaint, fanciful Italian language. There is the jovial, noisy, conceited, amorous Sir John; the villainous, time-serving Bardolph and Pistol; the upright, but jealous Ford; the fussy Dr. Caius; the sentimental Fenton; the truly sweet Anne Page; and last, but not least, the gay, joke-loving, "merry wives," Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.
In all there are three acts, opening with the interior of the Garter Inn, and closing with the midnight revelry at Herne's Oak, the belabouring of Falstaff, etc. Did we state that the music is fully worthy of Shakespeare's comedy, that would express the matter in a few words, yet something more needs to be told of a work that may be cited as a companion opera to Wagner's Die Meistersinger. Falstaff is an astounding tour de force, reflecting alike the artistic versatility of the librettist, and the consummate, matured powers of the composer. On this point the critics—and it might be added, the musicians—of all nations are agreed. The Shakespearean spirit has been caught by the composer in wonderful fashion, and the English flavour is found and preserved throughout the opera to an unmistakable degree.
One who was present on the eventful night of its first performance wrote:—
"Even setting aside the Milanese themselves, it would be impossible to conceive an audience more representative of the best elements in music, art, politics, and society. Critics were there from all parts of Europe—indeed, one might almost say from all parts of the world. The Italian Royal family were represented by the Duke of Aosta and Princess Letitia; the Government by Signor Martini, Minister of Public Instruction; the 'new school' in Italy by Signor Mascagni, to whom, as it was with Verdi himself, honour has come early; and society in general by MM. Leon Cavallo, Bazzini, Marchetti, Puccini, and a host of other notabilities. The ladies had done honour to the occasion, in characteristic fashion, by donning their most elaborate dresses, and thereby adding immeasurably to the bright and cheerful aspect of the house. The performance began amid absolute stillness, the more desirable as, like Otello, the new opera has neither overture nor prelude."
"This is the last work of my life," he said angrily, striding, a tall, gaunt figure, up and down his large drawing-room, and pushing back the long gray hair from his wrinkled forehead with an impatient gesture. "I am writing it for my own amusement; the public would have known nothing at all about it, had it not been for that Mefistofole of a Boito." This little joke of his own, more perfect in Italian than in English, put him into a good humour again, and on my asking him what his complaint was against his clever librettist, he told me the whole story. They had been dining at the Hotel Milan with Ricordi, the music publisher, his wife, and one or two more. When dessert was on the table Ricordi, turning to Boito, inquired when his "Nerone," an opera for which the Italian public has been waiting for the last five years, would be ready. Boito replied that it had been laid aside in view of a work of much greater importance, and then rising, with his glass in his hand, looked towards Verdi and said, laughing, "Here's to your fat-paunched hero." Inquiries, of course, followed, and in this way the subject of the new opera became known. "I should not have forgiven Boito his indiscretion," Verdi continued, "had he not written me a first-rate libretto. The music that I have put to it is in some passages so droll, that it has often made me laugh while writing it."[65]
The artists entrusted with the first rendering of this chef d'œuvre were Signora Pasqua (Mrs. Quickly), Signorine Emma Zilli (Mrs. Ford), Virginia Guerrini (Mrs. Page), and Adelina Stehle ("Sweet Anne"); with Signori Garbin (Fenton), Pini-Corsi (Ford), Pellegalli-Rosetti (Bardolph), Arimondi (Pistol), Armandi (Caius), and M. Maurel (Falstaff). Signor Mascheroni conducted, and one after another the successive beauties of the work were poured forth amid a scene of excitement such as can only be witnessed in La Scala, and which was unprecedented even there. The interest of the audience was arrested from the first scene; but, as climax after climax was reached, the enthusiasm of the brilliant assemblage began to lose bounds, until, at the close of the opera, there was such a tumultuous applause, such calls for Verdi, as to be deafening. No fewer than thirty times was Verdi called on during the performance.
There was but one admission to make—Verdi, doyen of composers, past-grandmaster of music, had crowned his artistic career with the finest, the most scholarly work that ever issued from his pen. Little wonder that the people almost carried him back to his hotel, that they cried for him from the crowded streets, that they called him, time after time, to the balcony of his apartment in order that he might receive their acclamations.
King Humbert sent the eminent composer the following telegram:—"The Queen and myself, being unable to attend the first performance of Falstaff, anticipate the applause about to greet this fresh proof of an inexhaustible genius, by sending you our best wishes and the expression of our great admiration. May you be preserved for many years to come, to the honour of art, to our affections, and to enjoy the recognition of Italy, which, even in her saddest days, found patriotic comfort in your triumphs."
From that day to this, interest in Falstaff has never ceased, the point most dwelt upon being the remarkable freshness, the youth and gaiety, the fun and frolic, on every page of the music. Could it be old-age work? or, was it that with his decline in physical powers Verdi's mental capacity was reaching greater perfection, suggesting perhaps the splendid spectacle of an after condition when, it is to be hoped for all of us, the mental portion of these sorry frames of ours will be doing its perfect work undeterred, unhampered.