es with unflagging energy, denying himself all but the barest
necessities, and going sometimes without sufficient food.

A stroke of fortune now fell in his way; the place of organist fell
vacant at the Busseto church, and Verdi was appointed to fill it. He
returned home, and was soon afterward married to the daughter of the
benefactor to whom he owed so much. He continued to apply himself with
great diligence to the study of his art, and completed an opera early
in 1839. He succeeded in arranging for the production of this work,
"L'Oberto, Conte de San Bonifacio," at La Scala, Milan; but it excited
little comment and was soon forgotten, like the scores of other shallow
or immature compositions so prolifically produced in Italy.

The impresario, Merelli, believed in the young composer though, for
he thought he discovered signs of genius. So he gave him a contract to
write three operas, one of which was to be an _opera buffa_, and to be
ready in the following autumn. With hopeful spirits Verdi set to work
on the opera, but that year of 1840 was to be one of great trouble and
trial. Hardly had he set to work all afire with eagerness and hope,
when he was seized with severe illness. His recovery was followed by the
successive sickening of his two children, who died, a terrible blow to
the father's fond heart. Fate had the crowning stroke though still to
give, for the young mother, agonized by this loss, was seized with a
fatal inflammation of the brain. Thus within a brief period Verdi was
bereft of all the sweet consolations of home, and his life became a
burden to him. Under these conditions he was to write a comic opera,
full of sparkle, gayety, and humor. Can we wonder that his work was a
failure? The public came to be amused by bright, joyous music, for it
was nothing to them that the composer's heart was dead with grief at his
afflictions. The audience hissed "Un Giorno di Regno," for it proved
a funereal attempt at mirth. So Verdi sought to annul the contract. To
this the impresario replied: "So be it, if you wish; but, whenever you
want to write again on the same terms, you will find me ready."

To tell the truth, the composer was discouraged by his want of success,
and wholly broken down by his numerous trials. He now withdrew from all
society, and, having hired a small room in an out-of-the-way part of
Milan, passed most of his time in reading the worst books that could
be found, rarely going out, unless occasio