which Verdi's opera was to be put upon the stage during the next season at Merelli's expense—Verdi in the meanwhile making certain alterations in the score, chiefly because of a change of artists from those for whom it was originally written. Merelli was to divide with Verdi any sum for which the score might be sold, in the event of the opera proving a success. He jumped at the offer, for in those days the fashion was for impresarii to demand, and to receive, large sums from unknown composers wishing to have their operas brought forward. Tempora mutantur. Nowadays the difficulty with managers is to find the talent! Oberto was duly produced on the 17th November 1839, the principal singers being Mesdames Raineri-Marini, and Alfred Shaw, while Signori Salvi and Marini filled the tenor and bass parts respectively. The opera saw several representations, and a further proof of its merit is seen in the fact that music-publisher Ricordi gave Verdi two thousand Austrian liri, or about £70 sterling, for the copyright of the work.

Verdi's next experience was a commission. Shortly after the production of Oberto, impresario Merelli, who "ran" the Milan and Vienna opera-houses, approached Verdi respecting the composition of three operas—one every eight months, for the sum of £134 for each opera, with an equal division of any amount arising from the sale of the copyrights.

This contract came opportunely, for Verdi was on the verge of appealing to his father-in-law for a £10 loan wherewith to pay rent overdue for his modest apartment. Now, Merelli was asked to make an advance, "on account," but he would not. Weak and dispirited after a long illness, Verdi was greatly distressed at the thought of failing to meet his rent. Here, however, came man's blessed balm when desperate moments face him—in the womanly unselfishness of a brave wife. Seeing her husband's anxiety, Signora Verdi collected her trinkets, went out and raised money upon them, bringing it all to Verdi. "How she managed it," related Verdi afterwards, "I know not; but such an act of affection went to my heart. I resolved not to rest until I had got back every article, and restored it to the dear one."

Cloud and sunshine, these are the alternating portions of the mortal's lot. No sooner did Verdi begin to feel easier at the prospect of earning some four hundred pounds by these three operas than his home was suddenly darkened. With the swiftness of a rushing avalanche all that was brightest in his home was swept away. Ere he could realise it, he had lost his wife, son, and daughter. Verdi tells the terrible story as only the sufferer himself can. "My bambino (little boy) fell ill early in April (1840), and the doctors failing to discover the mischief, the poor little fellow got weaker and weaker, and passed away finally in the arms of his mother. She was heart-broken. Immediately our little daughter was seized with an illness which also terminated fatally. This was not all. At the beginning of June my dear wife was cast down with brain fever, until, on the 19th, a third corpse was borne from my house. Alone! alone! In a little over two months three coffins, all that I loved and cherished most on earth, were taken from me. I had no longer a family!"

Here was room for grief. What a situation for one tied by an agreement to compose a comic opera, the score of which was already overdue! It was impossible. Yet bills were flowing in, and to meet these Verdi must, despite all terrible anguish, fulfil his engagement. He did. Among the libretti which Merelli had submitted was one renamed Un Giorno di Regno. This Verdi set to music. It was produced at La Scala Theatre on the 5th September following his wife's death, and was a failure. No wonder that Verdi desponded, and begged of Merelli that he would cancel the agreement, which he did, tearing the document to pieces. Verdi's resolute intention was never to compose another note! Ah! By some force of fate Verdi, many weeks afterwards, quite by accident, stumbled across Merelli, and although the composer was still obdurate, ere the two parted a libretto by Solera was forced into Verdi's coat-pocket, upon the chance, as Merelli put it, of his looking at and being tempted to set the book.

Strange to say, this "Nebuchadnezzar" libretto took hold of Verdi. Arriving home, the composer tossed the manuscript on to the table. It opened of itself at a truly felicitous passage, "Fly, O thought, on golden wings," which so interested Verdi that he read on. Finally, the whole poem was in his mind, and so disturbed his rest that he determined to return the book next day to Merelli. The impresario would not have it, and told him to take the libretto away and keep it until he could find the will to set it.

Nabucco was replete with beautiful passages, which, one by one, were set by Verdi, until, in the autumn of 1841, the entire opera was finished. Two stipulations Verdi now insisted upon. Signora Strepponi and Signor Ronconi were to sing in Nabucco, and the work was to be produced during the Carnival time. Merelli declared he could not manage the scenery in the time; but Verdi would not hear of waiting for new scenery, and consenting to risk the production with whatever chance canvas the resources of the theatre supplied, Nabucco found its way into La Scala bills for the 1842 season.

The opera was given on 9th March, and both Signora Strepponi and Signor Ronconi sang in it.

"With this score," subsequently related Verdi to Signor Giulio Ricordi, "my musical career really began. With all impediments and difficulties Nabucco was undoubtedly born under a lucky star. All that might have been against it proved in its favour. It is a wonder that Merelli did not send me and my opera to the devil, after the furious letter which I sent him. The second-hand costumes, made to look equal to new, were splendid, while the old scenery, renovated by Perrani, might have been painted for the occasion."

Nabucco took everybody by surprise. It was a species of melodic vein and choral combination that the Milanese dilettanti had never before heard; such instrumentation, too; such novel and impressive effects were not within the memory of the oldest habitué of La Scala. The Italians could not resist its peculiar "carrying-along" power. The work was unanimously declared the true ideal of what a tragic musical drama should be. Little wonder that during its rehearsals the workmen stopped to listen to the music of the new piece. Many years afterwards, in his success, Verdi referred to this incident in sympathetic words:——

"Ah!" said Verdi, "the people have always been my best friends, from the very beginning. It was a handful of carpenters who gave me my first real assurance of success."

I scented a story, and asked for details.

"It was after I had dragged on in poverty and disappointment for a long time in Busseto, and had been laughed at by all the publishers, and shown to the door by all the impresarios. I had lost all real confidence and courage, but through sheer obstinacy I succeeded in getting commonly contracted in Italy—rehearsed at the Scala in Milan. The artistes were singing as badly as they knew how, and the orchestra seemed bent only on drowning the noise of the workmen who were busy making alterations in the building. Presently the chorus began to sing, as carelessly as before, the 'Va, pensiero,' but before they had got through half a dozen bars the theatre was as still as a church. The men had left off their work one by one, and there they were sitting about on the ladders and scaffolding, listening! When the number