One by one they introduce themselves, shaking hands.
Nabucco, La Traviata, Rigoletto, La Forza del Destino, Otello. I was meeting
the members of the Club dei 27, a Verdi appreciation society unlike any other. Every
Thursday, they gather in a vaulted wine cellar in Parma, the central Italian
city that celebrates the opera maestro in a particularly spirited manner.
Verdi was born 40km away in Busseto, but that’s close enough
for the Parmigiani to have adopted the man who changed Italian opera, and was
the inspiration behind a wonderfully elaborate opera house that rivals La Scala
in Milan.
The men of Club dei 27 – and it’s only men – have been
meeting since 1955 over a glass of wine, sharing their love of Verdi and
genially arguing over his music. They each take the names of Verdi’s 26 operas
– plus his Requiem – which makes the introductions somewhat surreal and sweetly
amusing. Un Giorno di Regno (real name: Enzo) ushers me into the vaulted meeting
room, where wooden chairs are neatly lined up against the wall. It’s not their
usual Thursday, and about a third of them have made a special exception to meet
me on a Monday.
As we all shuffle into the room, Un Giorno di Regno says:
“This is what we do when we welcome guests.” The lights dim, and the club
members line up in front of me. Someone has turned on the CD player, and the
sound of the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves" from Nabucco seeps gently into the
room.
The men begin to sing along to the recording, quietly at
first. Their eyes are half closed, moved by the music as it crescendos. I am
too, and I can feel my eyes pricking slightly. It is one of the most evocative
pieces of music Verdi ever wrote, in which he transposed the 19th-century Italian
desire for statehood to biblical times.
I’m still enveloped in the cocoon of sublime music when Un
Giorno di Regno tells me about the other work that the Club dei 27 does. Its
greatest pride is the education programmes it runs in local schools. Children
as young as six are introduced to opera in an entertaining and unintimidating
way, which has proved a huge success. Some have gone on to study classical
music and opera formally at a conservatoire, Un Giorno di Regno tells me with a
beaming smile.
“So Placido Domingo was here too? And did you greet him the
same way you greeted me?”
“Yes,” the men answer.
“But wasn’t it a bit daunting to sing in front of one of the
world’s greatest tenors?”
“No,” says Un Giorno di Regno, in all seriousness. “Singing
this aria is like singing our national anthem. We sing it with the same sense
of pride, and no fear of who might be listening.”
Opera for the masses indeed.
