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Updated: June 1, 2025
"It was always my dream to sing at the Metropolitan, and my dream has come true." Claudia Muzio said the words with her brilliant smile, as her great soft dark eyes gazed luminously at the visitor. The day was cold and dreary without, but the singer's apartment was of tropical warmth.
Anna Case says: "I never practice when I am tired, for then it does more harm than good. One must be in good condition to make good tones. I can study and not sing at all, for the work is all mental anyway." Muzio states she gives practically her whole day to study, dividing it into short periods, with rest between.
When the last sound died away the moon went behind a cloud, it suddenly grew dark in the room.... The husband and wife dropped their heads on their pillows, without exchanging a word, and neither of them noticed when the other fell asleep. On the following morning Muzio came to breakfast; he seemed pleased, and greeted Valeria merrily.
He must bring it to the knowledge of the Duke, of the judges ... but how was he to explain, how was he to narrate such an incomprehensible affair? He, Fabio, had slain in his own house his relative, his best friend! People would ask, "What for? For what cause?..." But what if Muzio were not slain?
The portrait was almost finished; it only remained for him to complete the face by a few strokes of the brush, and then Fabio might feel justly proud of his work. When Muzio departed to Ferrara, Fabio betook himself to his studio, where Valeria was generally awaiting him; but he did not find her there; he called to her she did not respond.
When he first used the piano, he practiced on the imperfect and feeble Silbermann instrument. When he died, the magnificent instruments of Erard, Broadwood, and Collard, to the latter of which his own mechanical and musical knowledge had contributed much, were in common vogue. Such was the career of Muzio Clementi, the father of piano-forte virtuosos.
And it would be too idiotic and professorial to refuse such an invitation; the lady must be worth knowing who can forge sixteenth-century letters like this, for I am sure that languid swell Muzio never could. I will go! By Heaven! I'll pay them back in their own coin! It is now five how long these days are! Dec. 18th. Am I mad? Or are there really ghosts?
"Il Trovatore" was stupendously successful; "La Traviata" made a woful failure. Verdi seems to have been fully cognizant of the causes which worked together to produce the fiasco, though he was disinclined at the time to discuss them. Immediately after the first representation he wrote to Muzio: "'La Traviata' last night a failure. Was the fault mine or the singers'? Time will tell."
Fabio shuddered, and rushed into the pavilion.... Muzio was standing in the middle of the room, playing on his violin. Fabio darted to him. "Thou hast been in the garden, thou hast been out, thy clothing is damp with rain." "No.... I do not know ... I do not think ... that I have been out of doors ..." replied Muzio, in broken accents, as though astonished at Fabio's advent, and at his agitation.
But when he set to calling out tame snakes from a covered basket by whistling on a small flute, when, wiggling their fangs, their dark, flat heads made their appearance from beneath the motley stuff, Valeria became frightened and begged Muzio to hide away those horrors as quickly as possible.
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