Almost Everyone Underestimates
Donizetti
By Warren
Boroson
Franz Schubert
and Gaetano Donizetti had a good deal in common—even though the first is famous
for his symphonies, the second for his operas.
To begin, both were born in 1797. Second,
they were geniuses at creating magnificent melodies. Here’s an example of a
memorable aria in Donizetti’s opera, “Lucrezia Borgia”:
Il segreto per esser
felici, Sigrid Onegin,1928 & 1921
Then too, as composers they were
overshadowed by one of their contemporaries: Beethoven in Schubert’s case,
Rossini (and perhaps Bellini) in Donozetti’s case.
Both composers were marvelously
prolific. Schubert wrote so much music of
different kinds that I recently heard a Schubert scholar say that he was
“unclassifiable.” As for Donizetti, the better-known of his 70 or so operas include “Anna Bolena,” “L’Elisir,”
“Lucrezia Borgia,” “Maria Stuarda,” “Lucia de Lammermoor” (perhaps his best), “Roberto
Devereux,” “Daughter of the Regiment,” “La Favorite,” and “Don Pasquale.” He also wrote church music, string quartets, and
orchestral pieces. Oh, and 16 symphonies, 19 string quartets, 193 songs, 45 duets, 3
oratorios, 28 cantatas, instrumental concertos, sonatas, and other chamber
pieces. Once, told
that Rossini had written an opera in a mere two weeks, Donizetti said, well, he
was always lazy.
One possible reason both men were so
prolific: Both were ill and perhaps were racing against time to record their
music.
Their chief illness, as it happens, was
the same. Syphilis.
***
Among
great composers Donizetti has been shamefully neglected. During his time, and
for many years thereafter, he was looked down upon because he was so prolific. The
composer Hector Berlioz even lambasted
him because his operas dominated the opera houses of Paris. (He wrote about
Donizetti: “… [he] is a tall, handsome young man, but cold and without a shred
of talent….”)
Even Donizetti’s father, a workingman, was
dubious about his son, telling
him, “It is impossible that you will ever compose, that you will go to Naples,
that you will go to Vienna.” Gaetano did compose, he went to Naples, he went to
Vienna, he even went to Paris.
Another
reason Donizetti is neglected, I believe, is that his life was so tragic. And
the media, understandably, would rather not remind people of what a miserable
life Donizetti led by writing about him. His three children died soon after
birth. His wife died at 28. He himself went stark raving mad. Various opera
singers came to visit him late in his life, and sang his lovely arias to him.
He usually showed absolutely no recognition. Though at one point he went over
to a piano and tried to play—but his fingers were too gnarled.
There’s also the myth that Donizetti wrote
only a few good operas—“Lucia” and “Daughter of the Regiment.” Actually, his
lesser-known operas seem always to be rediscovered and revived. The author of a
superb biography of Donizetti, William Ashbrook, who taught at Indiana
University, believes that the composer’s best opera may be “Don Sebastien,” which
hardly anyone knows.
My own favorite aria by Donizetti is
from the last act of “Lucia,” here sung by the Irish tenor John McCormack:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYqlXXcDn78&list=PLFE635AC47151E30D
*****
Donizetti lived
from to 1797 to 1848. It was the era of Rossini and Bellini, and while
Donizetti was an admirer of his two rivals, Bellini was positively paranoid
about Donizetti.
The musical scene in the early 19th century
was very different.
It was the heyday of “bel canto”: florid
singing, lots of very high notes, lots of ornaments.
There were no operas played year after year—there
was no “repertory.” When an opera opened, it might never be performed again. So
it had to be immediately successful for the composer to make money. Things changed
with Rossini, whose operas were so popular that they WERE revived, launching a true
repertory.
Musical pirates abounded. They would copy the opera scores, then put on the operas themselves—without paying
the composer anything. Two musicians in Donizetti orchestra were caught copying
the scores.
Composers were generally looked down on.
Famous singers, like Pasta and Rubini, were paid maybe ten times more, and they
felt they were even entitled to alter the score. Some singers interpolated
arias written by other composers into the operas they were singing!
Even so, opera was a key part of life in 19th-century
Italy and France—and Donizetti might be carried back to his hotel by grateful
opera-goers after a popular new opera of his, and the singers, chorus, and
orchestra might serenade him under his window. But if the audience didn’t like
an opera, or part of an opera, they would WHISTLE. Berlioz, the French
composer, penned nasty reviews of Donizetti operas. So Donizetti wrote about
Berlioz that audiences were always whistling at his music—which is why, Donizetti
wrote, he could understood why he was so critical of Donizetti’s own ever-popular
music.
In
those days, illness delayed many an opera. No one knew why illnesses were a c
constant threat. Singers from all over the world came together to perform, and
naturally they exchanged germs—which people knew nothing about. (Daniel Defoe,
author of “A Journal of the Plague Year,” thought it absurd that some people
actually thought that invisible creatures caused disease. Today we know them as
bacteria and viruses.)
It was a time when sometimes an opera wasn’t
well attended simply because so many people had left for the country because of
fear of contracting cholera.
A
time when censorshp was so strict (in Italy, especially) that royalty had
always to be treated with profound respect. Ashbrook writes: The Neopolitan
censors of the 1820s and 1830s wanted to protect royal sensibilities and
suppress plots dealing with conspiracies or religious characters. “They
sincerely believed that plots should be morally uplifting, and that the
depiction of violence on stage was detrimental to the public welfare.” The
censors also preferred happy endings, now called Hollywood endings; “…[they
believed they affirmed the status quo….”
The first performance of Donzetti’s opera, “Maria
Stuarda,” was actually cancelled because of its use of the word “bastardo”—Mary,
Queen of Scots called Elizabeth that because Elizabeth was the daughter of Anne
Boleyn, whom Henry XIII had divorced. Lucrezia Borgia ran into trouble because
Lucrezia was related to some important people, including a pope. It was because
of this wacko censorship that Donizetti began writing for French opera houses,
disillusioned as he was by Italian opera houses.
Another example of silly censorship: He
wrote an opera, “Maria Padilla,” for La Scala, an opera in which the heroine
commits suicide. The censors wanted the ending changed. Suicide, they had decided,
“was not an edifying spectacle and that the herone should…die of joy! “
Donizetti was disgusted but he had to go
along.
*****
Why
did Donizetti have such an unfortunate life? Syphilis or the pox. It was considered shameful ever since it debuted
in the late 15th century—until 1943, when doctors began treating it with
penicillin. Its progress could be slowed but the disease was never cured.
Mercury or quicksilver was considered the best treatment—even though it had
nasty side-effects.
There
are three stages of syphilis. The first stage: lesions. The second stage: pain,
severe depression. The final stage: headaches, changes of mood, usually
concluding with paralysis, dementia, rages.
Some
victims of sylphis waste away gradually, like Frederick Delius; some die quickly,
before the onset of insanity, like Franz Schubert. And some go insane, like
Nietzsche, Schumann, Hugo Wolf, and…Donizetti.
The people with syphilis who died before they
went insane were fortunate. “Franz Schubert was one of the lucky ones,” a music
scholar has written. He died at only 31.
****
Donizetti was
born in Bergamo, a province of Lombardy. He came from a poor family; they lived
in a basement apartment with no windows. His father discouraged him from being
a composer, telling him, “It is
impossible that you will ever compose, that you will go to Naples, that you
will go to Vienna.” Gaetano did compose, he went to Naples, he went to Vienna,
he went to Paris.
As a youth he was fortunate to have
acquired a gifted music teacher, Simon Mayr, who took him under his wing and
helped him for the remainder of his life.
He
had written 30 operas before one of his them met with success: “Anna Bolena.”
One reason: It had a very good libretto. Here’s what he wrote to his wife after
the sensational opening of “Anna Bolena”: “I am pleased to announce to you that
the new opera by your beloved and famous husband has had a reception that could
not possibly be improved on.
“Success, triumph, delirium; it seemed that
the public had gone mad. Everyone says that they cannot remember ever having
been present at such a triumph.
“I was so happy that I started to
weep, just think! And my heart turned toward you, and I thought of your joy had
you been present….
“Even though I had faith in a
favorable reception…I was suspended between heaven and hell during the first
quarter hour …. Now I am in heaven and I cannot express my happiness to you. I
lack only a kiss from my Virginia, which I shall come to collect at the first
opportunity…..”
As
a young man, growing up in Italy, he had developed syphilis—before his marriage
to Virginia. They had three infants, none of whom lived. Ashbrook writes that a “regrettable
conclusion seems unavoidable: that Gaetano infected Virginia, as her difficult
pregnancy and the premature birth of their deformed child who lived not two
weeks would seem to bear out. Tragic as these circumstances were, it is only
fair to point out that because Donizetti suffered from syphilis he was not
necessarily any more of a libertine than a man of his time, his disposition,
his profession, his opportunities might be expected to be.”
He
fell madly in love with his future wife, Virginia, writing about her: “She is
the daughter of excellent parents, educated as a lady, one who without making
an issue of it knows how to adapt herself to every situation, one who has never
got herself talked about, one who respects me and loves me both when I am far
and near.”
Donizetti
thought she had died of measles. Ashbrook writes: “Distasteful as the
suggestion may seem, it is difficult to rule out the possibility … in the face
of what evidence survives, that instead of measles she succumbed to severe syphilitis
infection.”
Donizetti was grieved by her death. He
remained in bed for several days, unable to rise. From then on he didn’t want
anyone to mention that he was a widower. He would never speak or write Virginia’s
name again. He closed the door to her bedroom and never reopened it.
Later
in life, he became more and more demented. He would stop in midsentence, having
lost track of his thought, and just stare,
He might explode in a rage. Eventually he had trouble just holding up
his head. He had delusions, insisting that he had been poisoned. “He would drink
a bowl of soup,” someone wrote, “which he lapped up like an animal.” His
friends and relatives tried to keep Donizetti’s dementia a secret, but word got
out. Famous singers came to sing his music to him, but he was usually
unresponsive. Even Verdi, much
influenced by Donizetti’s music, paid him a visit.
Ashbrook sums up his take on Donizetti:
“[He] emerges from the cumulative evidence of his time as an admirable person,
in some ways even noble, and in all ways intensely human.”
After he died, he was buried where he had
been born, in Bergamo, in front of a Donizetti monument.
There’s a Donizetti Society today, and
not surprisingly the Society has doubts that he ever suffered from syphilis.
###
Joseph Schmidt, “Una
furtiva lagrima”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FD-yzw7ExY4
Caruso, Galli-Curci, et al. in the Sextet from “Lucia”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14tdvxUvxFU
Joan Sutherland, Mad Scene, “Lucia”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3_8wz_xNI0
