Montemezzi is one of those composers who was absolutely unknown outside of his own country until L'Amore dei tre re was heard in New York in 1914. With little heralding the Metropolitan Opera House produced his work; there were rumors of certain influences being responsible for its being done. Many shook their heads at its chances of being accepted by the public. The final rehearsals were not completed when it was recognized by a few gentlemen of the press that here was a new composer who, though he had nothing wholly original to say, was a man who could speak his lines with distinction. The première came and the little opera was acclaimed. It was at once seen that Signor Montemezzi was a man who harked back to the poetic drama as a basis for his musical structure, that he had no patience with the veritists in opera. He had, as it were, a finer soul, a loftier spiritual outlook than the rank and file of his countrymen who had tried to win in the field of opera within the last fifteen years.
Italo Montemezzi was born in 1876. His works, all operatic, are: Giovanni Gallurese, produced in Turin at the Victor Emmanuel Theatre on January 28, 1905, Hellera, at Turin at the Regio Theatre on March 17, 1909, and L'Amore dei tre re, in Milan at La Scala in the winter of 1913. It is rather strange to note in this composer a total freedom from the long-drawn phrase made so popular by Mr. Puccini. Montemezzi seems to abhor it; and it is to his credit that he can work without it. His earlier operas were less refined, but to-day it is always possible to recognize his restraint in working up his climaxes and his mastery in the highly imaginative orchestral score which he sets down. Nothing that modern orchestration includes is unknown to him, but he is sparing in his use of the instruments: he avoids monotonous stopped brass effects—which modern composers dote on to the distress of their listeners—he speaks a poetic utterance like a man in whom there is that spark that bids him contribute to the art-work of mankind.
But with all his talent he does not possess genius. The man in Italy who has that is Riccardo Zandonai, whose place is at the head of the leaders in his country's music. Signor Zandonai is in truth young. He is but thirty-two to-day (1915), and he has already done an unquestionably important work. When you know the music of this man you will realize that Italy's place in the music of the future is to be a glorious one. For his followers will be path-breakers like himself. Already one has appeared on the horizon. Of him we shall speak later. To Dickens and his 'Cricket on the Hearth,' which the Latins call Il Grillo del Focolare, Zandonai first gave his attention. This opera was first given at the Politeama Chiarella in Turin on November 28, 1908, followed by his Conchita at the Dal Verme in Milan on November 13, 1912. We pause here to speak of this opera, which though received with an ovation at its every premier performance, barring New York, does not seem to have held its place in the répertoire. The libretto, which is after Pierre Louys's La Femme et le Pantin, is not one that interests the public. Conchita was given, as we said, in Milan, then in London at Covent Garden, then in San Francisco by a visiting company which came over to give a season of opera; Cleofonte Campanini produced it in Chicago and Philadelphia and then brought it to New York for one of the guest performances in February, 1913. No further performances in New York were planned. To pass judgment on it from that performance—which is what actually happened in the case of the newspaper reviewers—was idle. Only Tarquinia Tarquini, the young Italian mezzo-soprano, for whom the composer wrote the rôle, was adequate. The tenor who sang was already losing his best qualities, and the other parts were only moderately well done. The chorus was fair and the orchestra likewise. Mr. Campanini labored to put spirit into the performance, but it seemed that the score was a little too subtle for his rather obvious powers of comprehension.
One New York critic agreed with the present writer that in spite of the performance Conchita was the most interesting novelty that had been brought out since Pelléas. Since then everything that this composer has done has been watched with the greatest interest. Conchita was accused of lacking melody, of being 'patchy,' of being overscored in spots. None of these things are true when one knows the work. A week's study of the score reveals among the most gorgeous moments that modern Italy has given us, moments which cannot fail to impress any fair-minded person with their composer's genius. Zandonai is an ultra-modern and he writes without making any concessions to his forces. Conchita may not be a work that fifty years hence will know, but it is far too good an achievement to be allowed to lie on the shelf in these days of semi-sterility in operatic composition.
To Zandonai's list of operas we must add Melenis, which first saw the light at the Dal Verme in Milan on November 13, 1912. It was not successful. Then did Zandonai set himself his greatest task, for he began Francesca da Rimini, using as his libretto a reduction of d'Annunzio's superb drama, the work of Tito Ricordi, the noted Italian publisher. It was done at the Scala in Milan in the spring of 1914 and was a triumph. The following summer brought it to Covent Garden, London, where its success was again instantaneous. The Boston Opera Company had planned to give it in the winter of 1913-1914, but the illness of Lina Cavalieri postponed it. Then Mr. Gatti-Casazza was rumored to have taken it for the Metropolitan Opera in New York for the season of 1914-1915, but it has not been forthcoming.
Of Francesca we can only speak through an acquaintance with the published score. We have not sat in the audience and gotten that perspective which is, perhaps, necessary in estimating a new music-drama's worth. But the impressions thus gained may be recorded here at any rate. A magnificent drama, containing everything that the musician who would accomplish the wedding of the two arts requires, Mr. Zandonai must have gotten much inspiration in working on it. And the results are plainly there. The full, Italian rich melodic flow, which in Conchita was not always present, the apt sense of illustrating the dramatic moment in tone, the masterly command of modern harmony and a vital pulsing surge are in this music. If Mr. Zandonai ever surpasses the love-scene of Paolo and Francesca he will go down in history as a giant. If he does not he will already at the age of thirty-two have made a distinguished place for himself. Personally we know nothing in modern French, German or Russian music-drama that compares with this, unless it be the great moments in Richard Strauss's Salomé and Elektra. As for the orchestral score of Francesca, we have heard Mr. Zandonai's orchestra, know how he employs his instruments and are certain that in the time between Conchita and this work he has, if anything, progressed. That wonderful sweep which he had at his command in the earlier opera must be present again in this newer one. Should it not be we still feel sure that the work will win on the merits of its distinguished thematic material.
Rumor has it that Zandonai is now engaged on setting Rostand's La princesse lointaine. Some day he may do Cyrano, too, since his publishers acquired all the Rostand dramas two years ago for operatic use. And we may rightly expect important things from him, for he is a musician of the first rank, Italy's genius of to-day. That he is not only a composer for the stage will be explained in the next chapter when we shall treat of his noteworthy art-songs and his orchestral works.
The follower of Zandonai who has been mentioned though not named, is the boy Vittore de Sabbata. We have learned that he has completed an opera which has made his publishers skeptical as to what he will do in the future. It is said to be so modern in its mode of expression, so difficult to produce, that it has not been definitely decided whether or not it will be undertaken. The score of his Suite for orchestra, written at eighteen, has made us marvel at his ingenuity and his pregnant musical ideas. What he will do is not to be gauged by any rule. He may prove to be a prodigy whose light will have been extinguished long before he is thirty. His health is reported to be very poor and so he may be taken from us before he achieves anything definite. At any rate his name deserves recording, for he may be one of those men who will figure prominently in bearing onward the legion of the Italian music-drama of the future.
Vittorio Gnecchi, born in 1876, has done two operas, Cassandra and Virtù d'Amore. Cassandra was first produced in 1905 at the Teatro Communale in Bologna and has since been heard at Ferrara in 1908, in Vienna at the Volksoper in 1911 and in Philadelphia in 1914. Gnecchi's instrumentation has been much praised, likened in fact to that of Richard Strauss. On its American production several critics found in the scoring of Cassandra much that recalled that of Strauss's Elektra. When they were reminded of the date of production and composition of Cassandra, Gnecchi was soon vindicated from the charge of having copied the Munich composer's orchestral writing.
Worthy of record are Giuseppe Bezzi (b. 1874) with his Quo Vadis, Renzo Bianchi (b. 1887) with his Fausta, Renato Brogi (b. 1873) with Oblio and La Prima Notte, Alessandro Bustini (b. 1876) with Maria Dulcis, Arturo Cadore (b. 1877) with Il Natale, Ezio Camussi (b. 1883) with La Du Barry, Agostino Cantu (b. 1878) with Il Poeta, Leopoldo Cassone (b. 1878) with Al Mulino and Velda, Roberto Catolla (b. 1871) with La Campana di Groninga, Giuseppe Cicognani (b. 1870) with Il Figlio Del Mare, Domenico Cortopassi (b. 1875) with Santa Poesia, Alfredo Cuscina (b. 1881) with Radda, Ferruccio Cusinati (b. 1873) with Medora and Tradita, and Franco Leoni with Ib e la Piccola Cristina, L'Oracolo, Raggio di luna, Rip Van Winkle and Tzigana.