The chum, by the way, was named James Joyce.

In fact, Werfel was among the German intellectuals who helped jump-start a revival of interest in Verdi’s operas after World War I, then (aside from the big five or six) rarely performed outside Italy. It was Werfel who revived interest in the lesser-known works like Macbeth and Simon Boccanegra.

At about the same time, Werfel and Alma and her daughters settled in Venice, where the dank, ancient, legendary atmosphere of the city got into their bones and imaginations, and in time inspired Werfel to write a novel about the city and his favorite composer. Verdi: A Novel of the Opera is hard to find nowadays, especially in English translation. I found a first edition on the bookshelves of my long-dead opera-loving grandfather, but you can find a PDF of it here.

Of all the novels I’ve ever read about Venice, Werfel’s Verdi and Henry James’s The Aspern Papers are the two that really capture the morbid charm of the city of the lagoons.

The story begins in 1882. La Fenice is closed for a private concert, and the old doorkeeper spots a tall, cloaked figure outside the entrance. Warning him off, the doorman realizes it is none other than Giuseppe Verdi, aged and pretty much retired, on an incognito visit to the city, only to discover that the opera house has been taken over – and by whom? By his archrival and nemesis, Richard Wagner (obscure contemporary composer, you may have heard of him), who is presenting a concert of music from his newest piece, Parsifal, to a group of local partisans. Disgruntled, Verdi returns to his hotel.

The novel is the tale of Verdi mulling his career and his future, his successes and failures, while he encounters many a memento mori – the doorkeeper’s mad but musical wife; an ancient senator and Verdi fan whose young sons have capitulated to the Wagnerian camp; a 102-year-old opera-loving aristocrat who attends a performance every night; an unsuccessful opera composer who believes the world is a conspiracy to demolish himself and exalt Verdi; a lovely young spinto who sings La forza del destino in the new, “modern” style.

Eventually, having ruminated and meditated on his ambitions, Verdi grows irritated and summons his gondola. “The Palazzo Vendramin!” he says and glides through the grey, chill, February canals, recalling and resolving all the tangents of this fine, moody book. And when he arrives at last, determined to confront his rival –

A splendid book about the meaning of Venice and the meaning of opera, and what both of them may mean to many different temperaments and ages and views of the world.