Giacomo Puccini died in Brussels on November 29, 1924, at the height of his creative powers. As great as some composers before him were, such as Mozart, Wagner, and Verdi, perhaps only Puccini’s music can still shake the hearts of the living a hundred years after his death. The maestro left his Turandot unfinished, but, as few people know, he was already sketching out his next opera, which was to be called “Sogno Veneziano” or Venetian Dream. He spoke about this program with his closest friends. Among them were the ancestors of the author of a book by Carlo Vivaldi Forti published in Verona, which bears the exact title “Venetian Dream” This is a real treat for bel canto fans worldwide. Carlo Vivaldi Forti is a college professor from Pescia, Tuscany, and the author of numerous texts on history and sociology. We will not reveal the content of the reconstruction that Vivaldi Forti has undertaken in his book not wanting to spoil readers’ enjoyment. But here are a few passages.

“To reconstruct the entire panorama of relations between my family members and Giacomo Puccini, I had to piece together an authentic jigsaw puzzle of scattered memories shared with me by more or less close relatives and at different times, the pieces of which I had to patiently fit together. There was never an “organic course” on Puccini fabrics from which I could benefit. On the other hand, it must be emphasized once again that the presence of important personalities in our house was not an exceptional event. We were careful not to consider ourselves privileged because of this and only spoke of our friends out of sheer curiosity and only when we could think of a specific reason to do so. One of the first times I can remember hearing about the great maestro from Lucchese was on the occasion of an excursion to Torre del Lago that Dad and Mum organized on a Saturday afternoon in August 1953 to take us from our summer residence in Versilia, Villa Giulia in Viale del Secco, to the shores of nearby Lake Massaciuccoli.

– Today we’re going to Puccini’s house – my father said as he started the car’s engine. Not knowing who this gentleman was, but believing that he was alive and well, this prospect did not arouse any particular enthusiasm in me, as was always the case when I had to accompany the adults to a stranger’s house. Besides, shy and awkward as I was, I would much rather have gone to the beach to play with my little friends than lose a day’s vacation in such an insulting way. It was only when we found ourselves in the supposed friend’s apartment that I realized we were in a museum and that the owner had long since passed away. I walked through the various rooms, looked at the piano, the sheet music, photos, and autographs, went to the square in front, which was of course named after him, and to console myself for missing the afternoon at the beach, we sat down on the terrace of the famous Chalet Emilio, where I greedily enjoyed a huge ice cream mix with a parasol on top. Having become curious, I asked my father who this gentleman was who was so important that he even had to pay a ticket to enter his house. He then began to tell me in great detail what had prompted him to make this visit, which was characterized by nostalgia and regret for times gone by. As I don’t remember his exact words so many years later, I’ll just reproduce the content. Here it is. My grandparents Carlo and Luisa Vivaldi, whom I unfortunately never met in person, spent their summer vacations at the beginning of the last century in Marina di Pisa, where they owned a beautiful house and garden in Via dei Cavalieri di Santo Stefano. This was the golden age for the coastal town of Bocca d’Arno. At that time it had an extensive sandy beach, which was later completely consumed by the sea, and was frequented by the highest Tuscan society, especially Pisans and Florentines. His fame was enhanced by the presence of Gabriele d’Annunzio, by the texts he wrote there, and by his imaginative rides on the beach in the company of his lady-in-waiting, the Marquise di Rudinì. Carlo, who often loved to retire in peace, perhaps with close friends, to enjoy a few good glasses of Chianti, had also set up one of the typical fishermen’s huts on the banks of the Arno, some of which have survived to this day. At the end of the 19th century, he drove a Benz convertible on excursions along the coast, especially to Viareggio and Versilia, to test the vehicle on the winding, unpaved roads of the Apuan Alps, which put the driver’s skills to the test. He was under the illusion that he excelled in this discipline, but the facts repeatedly proved him wrong. A funny accident he caused in Lunigiana, in the center of Aulla, has remained proverbial with us, when he landed in the middle of the tables of a café because he could not swerve in time, amidst the cries of fear of the guests. Fortunately, nothing serious happened, apart from a dislocated shoulder for the driver! Even more memorable was another accident that happened to him on the mountain road between Pietrasanta and Arni, which also had comic aspects but could have had far more dramatic consequences. To understand the consequences, you have to bear in mind that in those years you could count the number of cars on the road on the fingers of one hand, especially in small towns. The lucky few who owned a car would meet in public places to discuss the performance of their cars and perhaps invite each other out for a drive. One of the busiest places was the Caffè Margherita in Viareggio. Customers parked their cars under the palm trees on the promenade and formed groups around the outdoor tables. The most famous personalities of the Riviera met here, whether locals or foreigners, including many cultural figures. Grandfather Carlo also got to know Giacomo Puccini, who was well-versed in various sports such as boating, hunting, cycling, and driving. The fame and wealth he acquired enabled him to buy magnificent cars of all makes and backgrounds. Polite and reliable in his manners, completely unsympathetic to his success and always in search of new experiences, he found the Florentine businessman to be a valuable interlocutor, especially when the latter informed him of his intention to move his vacation home to Viareggio, as Marina di Pisa was already beginning to decline due to the tendency of the currents to erode the coast.

The affection and admiration for the composer also infected my father Bruno, who was himself a convinced Puccinian, so much so that he often hummed his operas in the morning in the bath or during walks on the beach in Versilia. The operas closest to him by far were Tabarro and La fanciulla del West, but Turandot also brought back his fondest memories of his youth. At the age of just 25, he was one of the lucky few who were able to attend the posthumous performance of Giacomo’s last work at La Scala in Milan on April 24, 1926, which unfortunately remained unfinished after his untimely death in November 1924. This historic premiere, which was attended by a qualified representation of the national elite, was accompanied by fierce political disputes, among other things. Arturo Toscanini, the conductor, had refused to play the fascist anthem Giovinezza as well as the Royal March. If he had been forced to do so, he would have left the podium. After a long tug-of-war with the authorities, Mussolini finally gave in and the evening went off without a hitch. Thirty years later, Bruno could not contain his deep emotion as he recalled the moment when Toscanini addressed the audience with the historic phrase “Here ends the unfinished opera” after Liù’s suicide. At this point, the maestro is dead.” There was an awkward silence in the hall as the audience stood up and remained motionless for several minutes. When the huge Lumiera was relit, a long round of applause broke out and everyone turned to the Palco Reale, where they greeted their son Antonio and his wife Elvira from the balcony, still clutching the handkerchief she had used to wipe her tears.

However, Puccini was not dead in the hearts of the Italians or in the minds of the government. The publisher Ricordi, supported in this initiative by the Minister of Culture Giovanni Gentile, called for a national competition among musicians to promote the completion of Turandot. At that time, the protection of art was a boast for the whole nation and no one would refuse the necessary funds. As we know, Franco Alfano’s project was chosen, which, despite the inevitable criticism from journalists and colleagues, was considered the closest to the author’s style, as it had been inspired by the earlier parts set to music as well as by some manuscript drafts of the finale.

If these are Puccini’s memories of Vivaldi, those of Mochi seem even more numerous and significant. The first contacts between my great-grandfather Luigi and Giacomo were made for professional reasons in the late 19th century when the former was appointed president of the Accademia degli “Affilati” of Pescia, an association of artists and cultural workers formed by the entire urban elite and active from 1715 to 1898. The management of the municipal theater depended on it, which was later named after Giovanni Pacini, a famous musician who was born in Catania but originally came from the Tuscan Apennines, as the same surname suggests. It should also be remembered that the city was a province of Lucca until 1927 and therefore had very close ties with the capital. For this reason, too, there were frequent exchanges between the respective intellectual circles: It was not surprising that the Pesciatini held positions in Lucca’s public institutions and vice versa. Once Puccini had established himself as a recognized young composer, he was invited by the academics of the “Affilati” to join the theater’s board of directors, which was made up of members of the leading local families; in addition to his father, they included his grandfather Pasquale’s three brothers: Carlo, Gino and Pietro

The maestro was again in Pescia, this time at the Palazzo Sainati in Piazza Grande, when news of the triumph of the same opera in Turin was telegraphed; shortly afterwards a cheering crowd gathered under the balcony of the building, from which he looked out to thank the audience. On other occasions, friendships were based on a shared passion for sporting activities, such as hunting, for which the nobleman Lorenzo Lavoratti and Count Raffaello Anzilotti-Gambarini, who were both his hunting colleagues, were passionate.

Then there was a historic pharmacy in Piazza Grande, the classic pharmacy from old prints, where home-made medicines, spices and rare perfumes were sold. The owner, Giulio Palamidessi, my grandfather’s first cousin, had turned the store into a kind of intellectual club where groups of friends interested in art and culture met outside of business hours. He himself cultivated the hobby of history, not amateurishly but almost professionally, so much so that many of his writings are still consulted by modern researchers. When Puccini was in the area, he often attended such meetings. Another almost obligatory stop for him was a visit to his dear friend Ferdinando Martini in nearby Monsummano, the colonial minister and governor of Eritrea, whose special secretary my uncle Carlo Mochi Sismondi later became.

At the Mochi house, Giacomo was often seen discussing theater problems with Luigi while he was alive and then with his sons who, although they held different positions, continued his functions. Sometimes, at the end of business meetings, he would linger in pleasant conversation, either to enjoy a good aperitif on the wisteria-covered terrace, where in spring you could breathe in the fragrant air of olea fragrans and acacia flowers from the nearby mountain, or to play a new creation that he would strum on the piano and ask those present for their opinion.

“Now I’d like to play you a piece from the opera I’m currently working on, Butterfly. Tell me with your usual openness whether you like it or whether you would change anything,” she asked the audience in all simplicity. The friendship was then strengthened by another common interest, that of cycling, which took its first steps at the end of the 19th century. Numerous clubs of enthusiasts had formed in various Tuscan towns. In Pescia, there were highly respected enthusiasts, including Dionisio Anzilotti, later Ambassador and President of the High Court of Justice in The Hague, the famous lawyer Davide Bartolozzi, Carlo Marchi, an industrialist of international renown in the field of chemical fertilizers, the Chiostri, the Lavoratti, the Sainati, the usual Mochi brothers and others. Puccini, who was also a sportsman, was co-opted as an honorary member, although he paid little attention to social initiatives as he was busy with his many commitments in Italy and around the world. He did, however, make a few exceptions; one of the most memorable was a long two or three-day journey through the dusty and steep roads of the Apennines, which was very comical and revealed what could be called his dual personality.”

Ambrogio Bianchi

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