.

Leoncavallo Fumes at the Premiere
of Puccini’s La Bohème, 1896

Damn Giacomo Puccini and his little La Bohème.
How dare he bring this sentimental clap–trap to the stage?
Especially after hiring me to help cut, stitch, and hem
Manon Lescaut’s libretto, page by undistinguished page.

And knowing I’d begun a La Bohème from Murger’s book,
he showed me no regard; he might as well have cast a stone
straight at me—why, the ingrate! And devoid of talent: look
at what he’s done: his Edgar made all audiences groan;

Manon Lescaut—a patchwork quilt of arbitrary styles
bound to torment professionals and connoisseurs alike.
Operas by amateurs surpass that strained mélange by miles.
Those hired to put it on should either quit or go on strike.

And now, his La Bohème … the critics love it, so it seems.
Oh, to be sure, it has its points, and far be it from me
to criticize unjustly any colleague’s work. It teems
with tunefulness, I’ll grant you. What it lacks is subtlety.

And then there is the problem of Mimi—the little sap.
Ah, the poor waif! What’s there in her to grip an audience?
When she’s on stage I yawn so, I should don a sleeping cap.
Cesira’s voice alone provides for this Mimi’s defense.

And so, this tepid new production from Puccini’s pen
will wither before long into a premature old age.
It will be given here and there a few more years, and then
fade gracefully (or elsewise), leaving no mark on the stage.

My La Bohème is meant for more discriminating taste.
Those who know Murger’s work will be appreciative, for sure.
Perhaps not all at once, but soon Puccini’s gooey paste
will cede its place to something much more likely to endure.

.

Poet’s Note: Ruggero Leoncavallo is famed today for a single opera, the one–act I Pagliacci (1892). Puccini’s Edgar premiered in 1889, Manon Lescaut in 1893. His La Bohème, from Henri Murger’s quasi–novel Scènes de la vie bohème (1851), premiered in 1896. Leoncavallo’s operatic version of Murger’s work was completed and first staged in 1897. The soprano Cesira Ferrani starred in the premieres of Manon Lescaut and, three years later, Puccini’s La Bohème.

.

.

Julian D. Woodruff writes poetry and short fiction for children and adults. He recently finished 2020-2021, a poetry collection. A selection of his work can be read at Parody Poetry, Lighten Up Online, Carmina Magazine, and Reedsy.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

14 Responses

  1. James A. Tweedie

    Julian,

    Another marvelous, entertaining and enlightening first-person historical narrative poem by the master of the genre!

    Although I once sang in the chorus of a West Bay Opera production of La Bohème back in my college days, I was unaware of this late 19th century operatic rivalry set amidst two dueling La Bohèmes.

    The opera is indeed sentimental to an extreme, but with the emotions woven into a tapestry of lyric melody and music that seamlessly carries us along as voyeurs of the unfolding tragedy (with the de rigueur tears at the extended, heart-wringing finale). The character of Mimi could be, I suppose, described as somewhat weaker than that of Marcello, Rudolfo, say, or Musetta, but she more than makes up for it by forcing divas to sing her final scene while lying in bed on their side.

    Critics seem to feel that the three Puccini operas that followed rose to even greater heights, but (perhaps because of my experiential bias) I will forever claim La Bohème as my personal favorite.

    Thank you, Julian, for creating such an engaging way to give us a glimpse into some of what was going on behind the scenes.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Thank you, Jim. For you to call me a master of the genre is humbling praise. I’ll keep working at it to make it as true as I can.
      I’d be curious to know any names you might recall from that production of La Boheme you mention. It’s remotely possible I might recognize one or more.
      You’re right, P is remorsely sentimental (probably the reason he is scorned by so many academics), but he is unarguably a master not only in his understanding of the human voice, but at getting to & holding an audience. (Boheme was the 1st opera I saw on the stage–SF Opera, ~1959; at the final chord there was a lump in my throat the size of a grapefruit.)
      I think Boheme is still audiences’ favorite Puccini–no big “Nessun dorma” or “Vissi d’arte,” but moments of clarity when each of its important characters get to shine.

      Reply
      • James A. Tweedie

        Julian, In the old days of LPs, you could have made a living writing jacket notes! West Bay Opera, which I referenced, is still an active presence in in Palo Alto. In 1973 it was large enough to attract a talented ensemble but small enough to utilize two pianos in lieu of an orchestra (orchestra was added the season following my involvement–which also found me in the chorus in La Traviata). Both the music director and second accompanist, who was a close personal friend, passed aways several years later during the AIDs epidemic. I can recall no names from the production and failed to preserve any programs.

  2. Margaret Coats

    Naturally, one composer would resent another who had knowingly “stolen” his material, and here is a characterization of Leoncavallo, who’s also seen Puccini’s work become a critical success. With “Fumes” in the title of your poem, Julian, and “Damn” as the speaker’s first word, readers can evaluate him as a choleric type, or at least one suffering from an uncontrollable fit of anger on the occasion of Puccini’s premiere. Your long lines seem exceptionally well suited to displaying this. Therefore his judgment is suspect, and we are aware that Puccini certainly outlasts him in fame. This conflict is reminiscent of the story of Mozart and Salieri presented in “Amadeus,” though those two men seem quite different in temperament and “Amadeus” probably helped restore attention to Salieri’s work. Leoncavallo’s objections to Puccini’s work as insubstantial, of course, apply to many opera libretti, and that would include his own La Boheme from the same source! Especially today when elaborate staging is out of fashion and exorbitantly expensive, it’s the music that makes the show.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Of course, you’re right, Margaret: I depict L as deficient in judgment–hopefully with a hint of comedy of which he is completely unaware. From the poem, one would suppose him to be victim to erratic judgment even in his most lucid moments (though I do think Pagliacci has a lot going for it).
      Also correct is the observation about music making the show these days: when movies & television are weighed down with special effects & actors’ fees, there is rarely much thought to delivering a literate script; so much the more so in opera, where the words are so difficult to catch, and where, even with mediocre music, there lies the bulk of a company’s financial burden.

      Reply
  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Fascinating recollection of an old rivalry fueled by envy and played out on the stage by operatic performances. Your background notes amplified disgust and disdain. Well-conceived, documented, and written.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Thanks, Roy. This is a sketch from a fascinating historical tidbit that I’ve never pursued otherwise. Just thought about the event occasionally, & eventually got it together to write the poem. (There was a long time, from the ~mid-17th to the early 19th centuries, when composers were regularly doing operatic settings of the same story, often using adaptations of the same libretto, so a scene like the one above might have been played out more than once.)

      Reply
  4. Joseph S. Salemi

    Mr. Woodruff certainly knows a good deal about opera! This heptameter piece brings back the story of a 19th-century artistic rivalry — one which (as is often the case with creative types) was very sharp.

    Leoncavallo did his own La Boheme, but it is true that among many critics and opera goers there was certain dislike of the libretto in both cases, since it touched on what some called “low life.” Many snobbish middle-class types did not want to hear a story about poor people dying of tuberculosis.

    My late aunt, Elisabeth Carron, was called “a ranking Puccini stylist.” She played Mimi in La Boheme, but her specialty was Cio-Cio San in Madama Butterfly. She also starred in Suor Angelica and Manon Lescaut.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Thank you for your kind words, Joseph. And for your observation concerning snobbish responses to the libretto. (I think that attitude is alive in the almost relentlessly elevated subjects that serve as the bases for operas being written nowadays.) But there’s no denying, folks eat up La Boheme, and I wonder if it isn’t in part because of its inherent visual appeal: I can imagine Morisot painting Rudolfo & Mimi together in Act I, Renoir doing the Act II scene at the Cafe Momus, & maybe Degas (on a particularly dark day) for Act IV.

      Reply
  5. Julian D. Woodruff

    Thank you, Evan, for digging up the excellent poster and cover art. (Out of curiosity, I went looking for similar ancillary art for Leoncavallo’s opera, but other than art connected with recordings, found only an uncolored lithograph for the program of the 1st production and a color-accented line drawing for a libretto. Maybe this says something about the money the house of Ricordi, probably very successful from its publications of Verdi, was willing to throw at the work of the proven talent Puccini.)

    Reply
  6. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Julian, thank you very much for this smoothly written and thoroughly engaging poem that smacks of burning fury. I can feel the heat rising from the page. I especially like the comparison with claws-out-cattiness in the closing stanza. Although I’m not an opera buff, I recognize the scathing spite of the smoldering composer – all down to your skill.

    I used to work in London and often walked through Covent Garden where trainee opera singers used to practice on the street, to everyone’s delight. There were a fair few coins thrown in their direction.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Thank you for such praise and encouragement, Susan. I’m sorry, I suppose I won’t win you to opera, but although I’ve written poetry on instrumental music, I find opera easier–partly because there’s more opportunity to lean on relationships, as here. Your appreciation of the ending is ingratiating to me. I thought it would be appropriate to have L muttering something similar to the cliche of being “on the right side of history.” My L is decidedly non-clairvoyant, just like so many would-be prognosticators.

      Reply
  7. Brian A. Yapko

    A very enjoyable poem, Julian, which puts a spotlight on the less-generous, ego-driven qualities of character which can drive the artistic type. I happen to love Musetta’s Waltz so I have a desire to tip the scale in favor of Puccini here. In fact, I’ve never heard of Leoncavallo so I’m grateful for the introduction and trust that the better composer won. The archetypal competition between artists of contrasting degrees of talent is well-represented here. As pure metaphor based on bad history, it would seem that Salieri never stops trying to poison Mozart.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Thank you, Brian, for a good observation about creative envy. I’m inclined to think that if anything it’s fiercer in the literary world than the musical. Nonetheless, there’s a thick Lexicon of Musical Invective, comp. by Nicholas Slonimsky, that you might enjoy.
      M’s waltz–I’ll express my own opinion, that in its way it is the most perfectly devised solo in the opera: P nails the character perfectly, while virtually compelling the listener (at least the male listener) to be utterly charmed. I think this is one of the things that so infuriates many academics about P.
      I’ll admit, I do not know L’s La Boheme, either. It gets revived now and then purely as a curiosity (not to deny it any musical or dramatic merits it may have). I Pagliacci, on the other hand, still holds the stage internationally, though perhaps a bit tenuously at this point. If you don’t know it, there are any number of recordings and probably videos to choose among. (The 1st movie version has Gina Lollabrgida–dubbed by whom?–and Tito Gobbi.)

      Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.