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Updated: May 6, 2025
"I believe you are all great Wagnerites in Boston?" "I'm a very bad Bostonian, Mrs. Mandel. I suspect myself of preferring Verdi," March answered. Miss Dryfoos looked down at her fan again, and said, "I like 'Trovatore' the best." "It's an opera I never get tired of," said March, and Mrs. March and Mrs. Mandel exchanged a smile of compassion for his simplicity.
There were four or five sunlight-destroying, sky-scraping office buildings in New York and elsewhere; nuisances of every kind that I could think of were put down the headquarters of the Beef Trust and a few of its sponsors; the editorial offices of the peevish and bilious newspapers, which deny principles and right motives to all save themselves; a regiment of alleged humorists who make jokes about the mother-in-law and other sacred relations of life; an opera-box full of the people who hum every number of Wagner and Verdi through, and keep other people from hearing the singers; row after row of theatre-goers who come in late and trample over the virtuous folk who have arrived punctually; any number of theatrical managers who mistake gloom for amusement; three or four smirking matinée idols, whose talents are measured by the fit of their clothes, the length of their hair, and their ability to spit supernumeraries with a tin sword; cab-drivers who had overcharged me; insolent railway officials; the New York Central Tunnel indeed, the completed list stretches on to such proportions that it would require more pages than this book contains to present them in detail.
No wonder things can grow, he thought. The rain forgives them. Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was at work. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf's presence faded, Oliver loved her too. They tried "Jesse" for a name, then "Jesse Woofwoof." "Woof" was what stuck. She was good natured and full of energy, forever trying to get Verdi to play.
But let Verdi tell his own story: "I lived at that time in a small and modest apartment in the neighbourhood of the Porta Ticinese, and I had my little family with me, that is to say my young wife and our two little children. I had hardly begun my work when I fell seriously ill of a throat complaint, which compelled me to keep my bed for a long time.
So soon as she had mastered these, Laura entered upon a new world of delight. Her taste in music was as yet a little immature Gounod and even Verdi were its limitations. But to hear, responsive to the lightest pressures of her finger-tips, the mighty instrument go thundering through the cadences of the "Anvil Chorus" gave her a thrilling sense of power that was superb.
A rugged bust of Verdi, over life size, modeled in plaster, stood in one corner. On an easel rested a spirited portrait of Maurel, done by himself. "My friends tell me I should have a larger studio, with better light; but I am content with this, for here is quiet and here I can be alone, free to commune with myself. Here I can study my art undisturbed, for Art is my religion.
In Verdi, passion too often misses intensity and becomes hysterical. He lacks the elements of tenderness and humor, but is frequently picturesque and charming by his warmth and boldness of color.
Then the two friends resumed their conversation, until Verdi, coming to them said simply: "There, it is done." Basili took the paper and examined it, showing signs of astonishment as he continued to read. When he came to the conclusion he complimented the lad and said: "But how is it that you have written a double canon on my subject?"
What the world lost by this decision, it is difficult to say; but if we remember the extraordinary development which took place in the style and methods of Wagner and Verdi, we cannot think without regret of the composer of 'Guillaume Tell' making up his mind while still a young man to abandon the stage for ever.
But Verdi is luscious." "Yes, Verdi. I quite agree with your assessment. And Mozart, of course, is beyond reproach." "Positively. But I generally prefer the intimacy of lieder myself." "German?" She laughed and pointed her fork at him. "Not only German chansons as well." "I'm relieved to hear it." Professor Bridwell then put one hand into his pocket, and withdrew his silver cigarette case.
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