Family Conversations of Arturo Toscanini

AT = Arturo Toscanini, WT = Walter Toscanini, MD = Marcia Davenport (American writer, daughter of the soprano Alma Gluck), CFT = Cia Fornaroli Toscanini (former principal ballerina at La Scala, wife of Walter Toscanini)

AT: What day was it?

WT: March 14.

AT: Fifty years. Of ’03. And I went to America. Because the day after I left La Scala… ah, yes, I left after the second act of Un ballo in maschera. I went home without a hat and without an overcoat - it was still winter. I got home, Carla looks at me - I was in tailcoat - and says, “Where did you leave your overcoat?” “I left it at the theatre.” I didn’t go back onstage because I was afraid they wouldn’t let me leave - because they would shut the door on me, and… I left the theatre, greeted the orchestra, slipped out the exit and went home. Then after a moment […] my lawyer Morpurgo came and said, “Maestro, would you like to wait to begin the third act?” “You conduct it. I’m going to bed; tomorrow morning I leave for South America.” And that’s what I did.

MD: But was that the reason?

AT: Because of encores, because of the scandals there… I paid for everything: after all the good discipline I introduced, I paid for it out of my own pocket… The following year Campanini went, and there was a scandal during Rigoletto, because they wanted an encore of “La donna è mobile,” and then he made it forbidden - but when I was conducting, Boito would come, always pretending to show up by chance, meanwhile lighting his cigarette like this: “But last night - what happened last night?” “Maestro, the usual story. They wanted an encore.” “But why didn’t you give it?” “Ah, because I am not obliged to give encores. I am obliged to conduct as well as I can,” and so on. “But Maestro Verdi himself…” “He was a man of another age; I am a modern man.” I always answered like that. “I am a man who understands the theatre in a modern way. I know that encores - at the premiere of Otello Verdi allowed three encores” - at the premiere of Otello, yes! And I - I don’t know, encores: the woman had to repeat the “Ave Maria”; she had already gone to bed, after that last violin note she came back, knelt down, and sang again. And that’s nothing! Tamagno came in with the double basses, eh? When the double basses finished, we gave an encore of the double bass solo, and Tamagno had to come back again. Ahhh… You see, they brought me Verdi as an example. But I said, “Verdi is a genius, Verdi is much older than I am; he was born many years earlier; he was a son of his time. I am a son of mine, and this is how I understand theater. And I will never give an encore. They will boo me, but…” They booed me in Palermo, even the women booed me, the guards […] - everyone booed, eh.”

[Someone asks him about the double bass encore] Right after the “Ave Maria.” They had already given an encore in the first act of the chorus “Fuoco di gioia,” and then they wanted an encore of the brindisi - and in fact I forgot, imagine, because of the affection, the love I have for Verdi, I forgot that at the end of the brindisi, since there’s an orchestral break, they come in [sings] “Capitano, attende la fazione al baluardo” - and there the audience let loose, “Viva Verdi! Out with Verdi!” and so on - and Verdi did not appear, and we didn’t give the encore. That I remembered as an example of fine Verdi theater, but I had completely forgotten that they had given the double bass encore. Then the year comes - 1913, the centenary of Verdi’s birth - and The Life of Verdi comes out, commissioned by Gatti-Casazza, by - what’s his name, he’s still alive - Gatti. And I read, and I read that it says there was an encore of the “Ave Maria.” I, furious, [shouts] “Eh, this clown, what is he saying, lies!” I go straight to Casa Ricordi, to Clausetti: “Listen, Clausetti, do you people have the newspapers of the time…?” “Yes, yes, we have all the articles.” I was stunned - it was true. I had remembered the encore of the chorus, but this - when we had reached that point… And he kept bringing me Verdi. But Verdi is fine. You know, another thing: if I were to write a bit about my life - if it were interesting [others laugh] - there would be things to tell, to tell, because I lowered the orchestra pit: there was a commission with me, Boito, Puccini, Gallignani, and a physics professor - yes. We discussed it for five or six sessions. Naturally everyone was with me. Boito was against me; he said we were courting the Germans, that we were copying them. I said, “Maestro, no. I have never courted the Germans, never. I am very Italian. But here I understand how right they are in Bayreuth - not to see that clown conducting in the middle of the orchestra; not to see, for example, as we do, the trumpet swelling to make a forte, the double basses sawing away, the harp… In the midst of the poetic field of drama, we see all these people working; the audience just sits there watching everyone… Therefore I think not seeing the orchestra - the music must be heard, not seen, not watched to see where it comes from!” Fine. At the last session, where we had to report on our work - I for the majority, he for the minority, since he was alone - he comes and presents a letter by Verdi. You know, he [Boito] was not a man for speeches; he wrote poetry, librettos, but he never made speeches. They found one he had prepared for Giacosa’s death, I think, but he never delivered it. So he reads this letter, in which Verdi was against lowering the orchestra. And when he finished, he said to me, “Now Maestro Toscanini will reply.” And I have never lacked an answer in my life, never. So I say, “Well, Maestro, I understand perfectly, but I am a devourer of correspondence. I have read all the letters - I learned, for example, that he didn’t like seeing, at the baths, those women’s bare feet with calluses, bellies - and I also hated that sort of thing: I went bathing once, in the sea, in Senigallia, in ’90 - I was there conducting Cavalleria rusticana. After that I never even went to look, I never went to the sea to see that ugly sight - because children are beautiful, but men, those old men with calluses walking, women with bellies, and so on.” [The others laugh, then AT laughs too.] “And so I say, I devour letters. I know of many changes of opinion by great writers, who thought one way in their youth, but with maturity changed their minds. It may be that Verdi also changed later. Besides, Maestro, don’t worry. At La Scala we will lower the orchestra; since behind my place there is a famous echo [claps], which is a masterpiece like a Stradivarius violin, if sometimes, by removing a tile or a… [claps again] we feel that… then we’ll put everything back as it was.” And so we lowered the orchestra. In ’13 that volume we all have came out, Verdi’s Copybooks, and there is a letter that says exactly what I have just said! I could have gone to Boito, but you see, I cared very much for him - he could have been my father - and he cared for me; I cared for him. I could have gone to him: “Here is that letter I mentioned that time - here is Verdi” - my words, that confusion […] in the midst of poetry… But I went through everything…

[…]

AT: I was born for music and for the theater. But just think - Boito: he came to hear Tristan to see me conduct. I said, “Maestro, woe betide me if I could see myself while conducting - I would run away.” [laughs] Once he showed me - Walter had filmed - I was conducting the Ride of the Valkyries - there were the movements but I couldn’t hear the music: “Do you see that clown moving?” - that was me! Damn! All right, all right. I don’t love conductors. I mean, I conduct, I have the good fortune of turning my back to the audience, and I’m very happy. Because if I had to look at the audience while conducting, I wouldn’t conduct. You know, I think in a certain way - I am a piece of music, truly, a piece of music, in every sense. And I have always been like this, always. The first applause I ever received, I got as a cellist, and I ran away with the cello - I was in the Ridotto in Parma, in the Parma theater, in the last room, and I didn’t stop until I hit the wall. And I never wanted to play the cello again. I was 17, and I am the same now, at 86. Do you understand? No, no. He [Boito] came to see me… ah, and then he told me: “I wrote Mefistofele, all right…” Ah: that scrim La Scala has now is one I had installed in ’98…

CFT: The yellow one.

AT: The beautiful one with gold fringes, velvet - it’s red, no, it’s red, red.

CFT: You had the yellow one installed.

AT: Ah, that’s another matter. It’s the scrim that comes down in the opera, in short, after […] the little sets, as we call them, the ones that come between acts. Anyway. So he says, “I wrote Mefistofele, and at the end of the Greek act, I had the curtain come down, with the pianissimo tremolo of the violins, like this, slowly, slowly - and I immediately [unclear].” And when it reached the head, it cut off the head of the woman, of Faust and of Helen - isn’t that so? - and I saw the legs and the rest. It was quite a sight. “Excuse me, Maestro, was it really a fine sight - to see severed parts, to cut off the head…? Whereas I think the scrim could descend gently like this, they remain in the middle, and when they approach […]… Isn’t that more beautiful, Maestro?” You know, they were taken aback, but when they brought the scrim there were eighteen people - the Council then had eighteen members - and everyone had his say: one, “Eh, but with that enormous weight, the…” [AT, angrily:] “Oh, be quiet, talking nonsense!” It was the president of the society, that society on Via Giuseppe Verdi - his name was Meazza, Meazza, anyway. “Be quiet, what are you thinking about…? When we have operas, and stage scenes, and ballets up in the air, just imagine - far more than that scrim!” In short, it finally came, and it is still there, they’ve kept it until now. But it was a dog’s life, a dog’s life. That’s why I earned the reputation of an impossible character (laughs), and so on. Because the characters - the ones who always say yes, yes, yes, who always compromise… I have never compromised, never, never. Eh, I was right, wasn’t I? But still (laughs), it was quite something to cut off Helen’s head and… embracing, and then slowly on, until you see the feet, the two… Ah, but let’s leave it.