By George R. Marek
Torre del Lago was, in the days that Puccini decided to make it his
home, a village of about one hundred and twenty inhabitants. It lies on
the shores of Lake Massaciuccoli, between Viareggio and Pisa. The lake
is small, shallow, and rather gloomy. It is surrounded by dark green
mountains which imprison the rain clouds. It rains often in Torre. With
all the cheerful, sun-drenched or dramatic landscapes of Northern Italy
from which to choose, Puccini chose as his " supreme joy, paradise,
Eden, the Empyrean, turris eburnea, vas spirituale, kingdom " (as he
rhapsodically wrote), a spot of no very great scenic beauty and of a
rather somber aspect. Three considerations prompted him. First, it was
not a celebrated resort and therefore a house could be rented—and later
bought at little expense. Second, it was inaccessible. Third and
most important, it was an ideal hunting ground.
His " vagabond companions " were both the simple people who lived in the
village and a small group of painters who worked in the region and who
had formed themselves into a " Torre del Lago group. " The pranks that
the men played, the language that they used, the studied contempt for
regular dress and regular meal hours which they professed, seem all to
be taken from La Vie de Bohème, Henri Murger's rich, episodic and
autobiographical novel.
This was the happiest time of Puccini's life. He was young, free of
money worries, his life with Elvira was still relatively untroubled, he
was still very much in love with her, and he was deeply immersed in the
creation of an opera of the worth of which he was sure from the very
beginning. Manon had given him confidence. La Bohème he knew was a
better drama, Mimi a more interesting girl than Manon.
After the success of Manon, it was logical that Giuseppe Giacosa and
Luigi Illica should be chosen as the librettists of the new work. The
two men complemented each other. Illica, the quick-tempered, was also
the quick-witted one. He cared very little about the exact word. This he
left to Giacosa, the better, the more careful writer.
The choice of La Bohème led to a break with Leoncavallo. The two men
were sitting in a café in Milan when Puccini said, " I have found a
libretto of which I am absolutely enamored. " " Which one? " asked
Leoncavallo.
It is based on a French novel, La Vie de Bohème." Leoncavallo bounded
from his seat. " What! Don't you remember, " he cried, " that I
suggested Bohème to you, thatyou told me you had no interest in it? When
you didn't want it, I decided to use it for myself. Yes, I am going to
set it to music, not you. "
" Then, " said Puccini, " there will be two Bohèmes."
Leoncavallo immediately ran to the editor of the Secolo to announce his
plans and to attempt to forestall Puccini. On the morning after this
newspaper informed its readers that Maestro Leoncavallo was at work on
an opera taken from Murger's novel. Another paper of the same day, Il
Corriere della Sera, carried the news that Puccini was at work on a new
opera to be called La Bohème.
Leoncavallo's opera appeared the year after Puccini's opera. It was
first given on May 6, 1897, at the Fenice Theatre in Venice. Though it
is a work of some quality, it never became popular. It was immediately
overshadowed by Puccini's masterpiece. It has some slight historic
interest because Caruso scored his first success in the Leoncavallo
work.
Illica's first distillation from the novel ran to no fewer than twenty
acts. Before these twenty were reduced to four, and before they were set
to satisfactory verses, there years were to elapse. After it was over,
Giacosa said, " I used up more paper for a few scenes of Bohème than for
the whole of any of my dramatic works."
It is December, 1895. The première of the opera is now fixed for Turin
for the coming carnival season. Other theatres are clamoring for the
work. Rome, Naples, and Palermo have definitely spoken for it. The
conductor for the world première has been chosen. Bohème is to be
directed by the new conductor of the Regio Theatre, Arturo Toscanini.
Toscanini—now twenty-eight years old—had already made a name for himself
in Italy.
The opening night of Bohème (February 1, 1896) was equally as well
attendend as that of Manon, its audience equally studded with
celebrities—including Mascagni but certainly not including Lponcavallo.
Bohème proved to be, that night, a success but not an overwhelming one.
At the end of the first act Puccini appeared three times before the
curtain: three curtain calls were hardly an overwhelming reception.
The second act pleased indifferently, the third act more so, the curtain
falling " amidst acclamations and applause. " The fourth act was the one
which received the most favor from the public. " Mimì's death scene,
listened to with the most ardent attention and in greatest silence,
created the most favo-
rable impression. The public jumped to its feet in great enthusiasm.
Puccini presented himself five times. Total fifteen curtain calls. "
(Fanfulla, February 3, 1896.) Fewer, indeed, than for Manon.
What was the reason that this wonderful opera, so easy on the ear, so
replete with melody, so ingenuous and direct in its subject, did not at
once induce the audience to hug it to its heart?
There must have been several reasons. As to the critics, they may have,
if only subconsciously, been prompted by the kind of truculent
skepticism which is occasionally advanced against the successful
composer. They may have decided that the new opera should be looked at
through sharp lenses. They were not going to be persuaded easily. This
is mere speculation. However, it is probable that many of the critics
were plainly jealous of Puccini's success.
It is possible that the première of Bohème took place at the wrong time.
Such things are possible in the world of the theatre, where mood is
influenced by many intangibles.
Bohème may have disappointed the critics (and, to an extent, the public)
because they had expected something on a grander scale, a weightier
work. Arturo Toscanini himself thinks that this may have been the reason
for the equivocal reception.
The public spoke more decisively at the second performance. They decided
not to agree with the critics. More and more were they charmed by the
opera. The enthusiasm grew. At each subsequent performance, Bohème's
success became more certain. By the time the season was over,
twenty-four sold-out performances had been given a remarkable number for
a new opera.
Bohème was introduced to the British public on April 19, 1897, not in
London, but in Manchester. With all its handicaps, the Manchester
representation was a success, and Bohème reached Covent Garden the
following season. Bohème's first appearance in New York occurred on May
16, 1898 at Wallack's Theatre. It did not reach the Metropolitan until
December 26, 1900. When it did, it was—here also— a success with the
public and a failure with the critics.
It is in my opinion the most successful of his operas, a work of genius.
It is surpassed in dramatic force by Tosca, there is more exciting love
music in Butterfly, there is to be found subtler orchestration in The
Girl of the Golden West, and Turandot contains musical thoughts of
greater sweep. Nevertheless, if one were to choose a favorite, the one
work most pleasing, the choice would light on Bohème.
Why? What are its special qualities? What is responsible for the charm
it exercises?
Taking, at first, a perspective and general view of the opera, one
perceives that Bohème is a highly individual work. It has often been
noted that a successful work of art creates its own world. Its style is
its own, distinctive from the styles of the other works by the same
artist, to which of course it bears a family resemblance. Its aura,
mood, and imagery are its own.
Two other characteristics are marks of a successful work. One is
rightness within the sphere of the work, a logical adherence to its own
law. The other is sufficiency of imagination, so that we, who listen or
read or look, get a complete impression. In both these respects Bohème
meets the test. The opera has perfectly distilled the flavor of Murger's
novel. Bohème is a work of artistic truth—that is to say, it is true to
itself and successful in portraying what it sets out to portray.
This truthful quality, I believe, is felt instinctively by listeners who
are not at all troubled by aesthetic considerations.
It is for this reason, perhaps, that most of the characters in the opera
posses vitality. Compare the Bohème personages to those in Madame
Butterfly. In Butterfly all Puccini's enthusiasm is expended on
Cio-Cio-San alone. The tenor who is a cad and the baritone who shakes
his head are merely a black-hearted tenor and a white-haired baritone,
hardly fascinating fellows. In Bohème, though Puccini adored Mimi, the
others are not stinted. The four friends are differentiated in the
music. Three of them, certainly, Rodolfo, Marcello, and Colline, have
real personalities. Schaunard is less sharply drawn. Musetta also is
interestingly treated by the music. Even the landlord, Benoit, shows a
certain spirit in his brief scene which lifts him above similar stock
comic figures.
Bohème is often compared to Traviata. The two operas actually have
little in common. Traviata is a romantic tragedy, Bohème is a romantic
comedy with a sad ending. Mimi is gayer, less careworn and more
charming. Violetta loves with truer love. Orchestrally, Bohème is the
finer work. In characterization and dramatic interest, it is perhaps
also superior to the older opera. On the other hand, Puccini could never
match the great tenderness of Verdi. Nothing that he has done can rise
to the level of the latter half of Traviata's fourth act.
We can now come closer to the music and state the obvious fact that the
opera owes its fame to its melodies. Wonderful melodies they are, soft
without being flaccid, sentimental without being flattened by the
mushiness which occasionally mars Puccini's music.
In orchestral mastery, Puccini's progress from Manon is remarkable. He
has now cast off his pseudo-Wagnerian shackles; and has found his own
method of orchestrating. He is no longer content merely to smear
orchestral color on to the melodic line, or to repeat the melody in a
sighing postlude. The entire movement is freer, his harmonies are more
expressive, his tone colors less garish.
He combines orchestra and voice in an effect which he learned from
Verdi: the voice part is written on one note, while the orchestra plays
varied harmonies. He uses this device every so often at the beginning or
the end of an aria, as a frame for the aria. He begins or ends in a
monotone, as if this were ordinary speech. The effect he seeks is a
quiet and natural tenderness.
The feeling of quiet sadness if often accentuated by another
characteristic of Bohème's style, the effect of silence. Not emptiness,
but silence. Silence in music is not best expressed by a cessation of
sound, but by a dropping of a phrase to incompleteness. It is
imaginatively suggested. Puccini does this superbly.I believe La Bohème
to be an immortal opera for as long as one dares predict, for as long
surely as romanticism remains an ingredient of the art that we cherish.
Yes, perhaps after all " immortal " is the word.
THE RECORDING
On February 3 and 10, 1946—fifty years since Arturo Toscanini stepped
into the pit of the Regio Opera House in Turin to conduct the world
première of La Bohème he led a distinguished cast of singers and the NBC
Symphony in two broadcasts given over to a complete performance of the
opera he introduced a half century before.In contrast to the Italian
première of the opera, these broadcast elicited acclaim from radio
listeners throughout the Western hemisphere and had critics coining new
superlatives.
The cast assembled to sing under Maestro Toscanini's baton at the
broadcasts was a distinguished one. Licia Albanese's Mimi and Jan
Peerce's Rodolfo recall memorable moments on the Metropolitan Opera
stage. Similary, the Marcello of Francesco Valentino, the Schaunard of
George Cehanovsky and the dual roles sung by Salvatore Baccaloni.
To make possible this recording of La Bohème, RCA Victor engineers took
off-the-line transcriptions of the broadcasts and subjected them to
technical processes that improved them acoustically. The transcriptions
were transferred to tape, from which masters were made. These in turn
were processed to provide matrices from which these records were
pressed. |