100 Great Operas and Their Stories

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100 Great Operas and Their Stories Page 5

by Henry W. Simon


  ACT I

  The story takes place in the Vienna of 1860. An impoverished ex-army officer, Count Waldner, has brought his family to a hotel suite in Vienna, hoping that by gambling or by marrying off his elder daughter advantageously he may recoup his fortune. This elder daughter is Arabella, and it takes money to keep her in clothes and to exhibit her at dances. That is why the younger daughter, Zdenka, is disguised as a boy and known as Zdenko. It’s cheaper that way.

  All this necessary background we learn during the opening domestic scene that takes place in the living room of the expensively furnished hotel suite occupied by the Waldner family. The Count’s wife, Adelaide, is having her fortune told, and little Zdenka skillfully handles some dunning tradesmen.

  When Zdenka is left alone, one of Arabella’s most eligible and most ardent suitors comes to call. His name is Matteo, a gallant Italian officer, and he confides in the girl he would like to think of as his future sister-in-law. He tells her that if he had not had a truly wonderful letter from Arabella a couple of days ago, he would be on the verge of suicide. Arabella, it seems, has not even looked at him for days on end. He leaves a bouquet of flowers for his beloved, and when he is gone, we learn the true state of affairs from Zdenka’s soliloquy. Secretly she is herself in love with Matteo, and it is she who has written that “truly wonderful” letter to him, letting him think it came from her sister.

  But Matteo is clearly not the “right man” for Arabella. We learn her thoughts on this subject—and several others—in a long duet between the two sisters, one of the finest passages in the score. She thinks, rather, that the right man may be a mysterious fellow she has never met but only seen a number of times around the hotel. Zdenka loyally urges the suit of Matteo, and Arabella, just as loyally, urges Zdenka to doff her disguise and get herself a man. Then Arabella muses about really falling in love. “And when the right one comes … neither of us will doubt it for a moment,” sings Arabella. Her tune (an old Croatian one) starts with the four notes of the familiar tune we know as “How Dry I Am.” After the duet the girls leave to get Arabella ready for a sleigh ride.

  Now, their father, Count Waldner, has had no luck with his gambling. As a last resort he has written a letter to a wealthy old friend, a bachelor named Mandryka. He hopes Mandryka will come through with a loan, and, as a sort of encouragement, he has enclosed a picture of Arabella. What Waldner does not know is that his old friend is dead and that his name and all his wealth have gone to a nephew, a tall, dark, handsome young man. This younger Mandryka has fallen in love with Arabella’s picture, has come to Vienna to meet her, and is about to call on her papa.

  Mandryka, a strange, formal sort of gentleman, tells Waldner he has sold a forest for this journey; he implies that he is practically ready to marry Arabella; and he offers—in the politest way possible—to lend Waldner a couple of thousand-florin notes. He then retires, saying that he will call formally upon the ladies later in the day. Waldner is delighted; he can scarcely believe his good luck; he shows off his new-found wealth, first to a waiter of the hotel and then to little Zdenka.

  Arabella is now ready for her sleigh ride, and she thinks over the men she does not want to marry—including the fellow who is about to take her out. And (as the orchestra plays the melody of “the right man”) she thinks about the mysterious stranger. He is—as the listener might guess, but as Arabella has no way of knowing—none other than Mandryka. Meantime, Arabella thinks of the ball at which she will be queen tonight. The strains of a Viennese waltz are heard, and the act closes as she goes off with her sister, Zdenka.

  ACT II

  The second act takes place the same evening, at a big ball. Arabella is the queen of that ball, turning down suitor after suitor who asks for a dance. But then she meets Mandryka. At once she recognizes him as “the right man,” and he proposes marriage even more promptly than Romeo did to Juliet. In fact, their meeting at a ball, their falling in love at first sight; and their ardent first duet are in many ways parallel to the great passage from Shakespeare.

  After their duet Arabella leaves Mandryka for the time being, claiming that she wishes to say farewell to her youth, to all the things that made up her girlhood. Together with an overdressed coquette known as the “Fiakermilli” (who sings her a brilliant polka) Arabella is the cynosure of all eyes. She bids farewell to each of three noble suitors, but the fourth suitor, Matteo, is desperate. Zdenka, still disguised as a boy, fears that her loved one may commit suicide, as he has threatened. She therefore presents him a key, with the implication that it comes from Arabella; and she says definitely that it will admit him to the room of the one who sent it. Mandryka, unfortunately, overhears this conversation, and he believes that Arabella is already planning to betray him. Cynically he calls for wine and gaiety; he flirts with the Fiakermilli; he invites the coachman to drink champagne; and at the end of the act he leaves angrily for his hotel.

  ACT III

  Back at the hotel Matteo discovers he has been tricked. His rendezvous has been with Zdenka, not with Arabella. But when he sees Zdenka—now with her hair down, a beautiful girl, and one who really loves him—he is happy. He forgets Arabella.

  As for Mandryka and Arabella—well, that misunderstanding is now also cleared up. She offers him a drink. If he smashes the glass, that is a symbol of their engagement. Of course, he does smash it; of course, he takes her in his arms; and of course, they kiss. As the curtain goes down, she breaks away from him and trips up to her room. Tomorrow is another day.

  ARIADNE AUF NAXOS

  (Ariadne on Naxos)

  Opera in prologue and one act by Richard

  Strauss with libretto in German by Hugo von

  Hofmannsthal

  CHARACTERS IN THE PROLOGUE

  THE MAJOR-DOMO Speaking Role

  MUSIC MASTER Baritone

  THE COMPOSER Soprano

  THE TENOR (later Bacchus) Tenor

  AN OFFICER Tenor

  THE DANCING MASTER Tenor

  THE WIGMAKER Bass

  A LACKEY Bass

  ZERBINETTA Soprano

  PRIMA DONNA (later Ariadne) Soprano

  HARLEQUIN Baritone

  SCARAMUCCIO Tenor

  TRUFFALDINO Bass

  BRIGHELLA Tenor

  CHARACTERS IN THE OPERA

  ARIADNE Soprano

  BACCHUS Tenor

  Three nymphs

  NAIAD Soprano

  DRYAD Contralto

  ECHO Soprano

  ZERBINETTA Soprano

  HARLEQUIN Baritone

  SCARAMUCCIO Tenor

  TRUFFALDINO Bass

  BRIGHELLA Tenor

  Time: 18th century

  Place: Vienna

  First performance in original version at Stuttgart, October 25, 1912

  First performance in “new” version at Vienna, October 1916

  Ariadne auf Naxos, partly classical mythology, partly commedia dell’arte, and partly eighteenth-century Viennese satire, was first thought of, by Strauss and Von Hofmannsthal, as a little gift. The gift was for Max Reinhardt, the great stage director, who had stepped in and saved the premiere of Der Rosenkavalier. In its original version Ariadne was intended to be the special entertainment given by Monsieur Jourdain for his guests in the Molière comedy Le bourgeois gentilhomme. So that the evening would not be too long, a good half of Molière had to be sacrificed. The resulting entertainment was, nevertheless, still very long, rather inconclusive in its effect, and very expensive to put on. It required, not only a whole opera company, but a whole dramatic company as well.

  At any rate, the mixture was not considered successful, wherefore Molière was dropped completely, a prologue was written and composed, and the opera slightly changed. It is this revised version that is generally given today and described in the following paragraphs.

  PROLOGUE

  The prologue takes the place of the Molière story, but the scene is now in the home of a very wealthy Viennese bourgeois gentleman of the eightee
nth century. This anonymous gentleman is planning an elaborate entertainment for his guests, and the various artists involved are having troubles backstage. For instance, immediately after the orchestral prelude, a pompous major-domo tells the Music Master that a comedy is to follow the opera. And when the Music Master has to tell this to his pupil and protégé, the Composer, that young fellow is quite distraught. It is not his only trouble. He wants a rehearsal with the leading lady; he wants one with the tenor; and he even thinks of new and lovely tunes to put into the work at the last moment. Meantime he meets the leading comedienne, Zerbinetta, and is at once smitten with her. For a moment he is almost reconciled, but now the Major-Domo comes back with a really shocking rearrangement. The master does not want the comedy to follow the opera; he wants them played simultaneously! And they mustn’t take longer than the opera would have taken alone.

  In a great hurry—and with considerable confusion—a compromise is worked out so that both things can go on at once. Just how this is done will be seen in the description of the opera itself. Meantime, however, the Composer is more and more attracted to the coquettish Zerbinetta, and there is a very attractive love duet between them. But it is time for the show to go on. The Music Master summons everyone; the Composer sings a happy hymn to music, and comes down to earth only at the last moment. He sees the vulgar comedians preparing to ruin his opera, and he runs off in despair.

  THE OPERA

  In Greek mythology we are told that Ariadne, Princess of Crete, had helped Theseus slay the Minotaur. Naturally, she therefore fell in love with the hero; and, equally naturally, he carried her off with him. According to one legend (the one followed in this work), he unceremoniously abandoned her on the island of Naxos. Here we find her when the opera begins. She is watched over by three so-called “elementary beings,” Naiad, Dryad, and Echo, who marvel over her beauty. She sleeps a good deal, but when she is awake, she yearns, in fine Wagnerian fashion, for Death, expecting somehow, to be carried off by Death as though by her lover, Theseus.

  The coquettish, comical, earthy Zerbinetta and her friends try to cheer the neurotic demigoddess. These friends, who come directly out of the commedia dell’arte, are a male quartet named Harlequin, Scaramuccio, Truffaldino, and Brighella. First Harlequin (the baritone of the quartet) tries—to no avail. Then all four try, with both dance and song. Still no luck. Finally Zerbinetta joins them. And here she has a long recitative and aria—the most difficult music, bar none, ever composed for a coloratura. She tries—gaily, melodiously—to teach Ariadne her own philosophy of life and love, which is always to feel in love with and faithful to one man, but at the same time welcoming the next. It has been this way with a whole list of men, some of whom she names, and sometimes she has carried on with two of them at once. Her aria, with its wide jumps and decorative roulades, is pure nymphomaniacal coloratura. Ariadne remains uninterested; in fact, she retires into her cave before the aria is over. And at its end the unembarrassed Zerbinetta gaily acts out her philosophy of love. She flirts outrageously with three of the men at once-only to abandon them all and take up with the fourth.

  Now Ariadne’s three attendant nymphs come on. They have seen a beautiful god approaching, and they summon Ariadne from her cave. Off-stage is heard the voice of the young god Bacchus. He has just escaped from the enchantress Circe and is singing of this triumph. Ariadne at once hails him, taking him for the long-awaited messenger of Death. Bacchus, however, is anything but that: he is the god of wine. Ariadne and he fall in love at once; they sing a long and powerful love duet; and they retire, at its end, into the cave. (Eventually, we are told by mythology, they were married.)

  But just before Bacchus utters his final words of love, from within the cave, Zerbinetta appears for a brief moment and reminds us that when a new man—or god—comes along, ladies are likely to find him pretty wonderful.

  THE BARBER OF SEVILLE

  (Il barbiere di Siviglia)

  Opera in two acts by Gioacchino Antonio Rossini

  with libretto in Italian by Cesare Sterbini,

  based on the comedy of the same name by

  Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais

  DR. BARTOLO Bass

  BERTA, his housekeeper Mezzo-soprano

  ROSINA, his ward Mezzo-soprano

  BASILIO, her music teacher Bass

  FIGARO, a barber Baritone

  COUNT ALMAVIVA Tenor

  FIORELLO, his servant Bass

  Time: 17th century

  Place: Seville

  First performance at Rome, February 20, 1816

  The Barber of Seville was not the original title of this opera, though it was of the Beaumarchais play on which it is based. It was Almaviva, ossia l’inutile precauzione (Almaviva, or the Futile Precaution). The reason Rossini took the futile precaution of retitling the work was that a Barber of Seville set to music by Giovanni Paisiello had been popular on the operatic stage for more than thirty years, and Rossini did not wish to offend the respected and irascible composer of over a hundred operas, who was then seventy-five years old.

  Despite the precaution, Paisiello’s followers (some say inspired by the old man) set up such a din of shouting and catcalls at the premiere of Rossini’s work that it was a bad failure. Rossini, who had conducted, slunk out of the theater; but when his leading lady later called to console him, she reported that he was imperturbably asleep in bed.

  The second and subsequent performances that week went better; but the initial failure made for a slow start for the long and wide popularity of this work. As for Paisiello, he died three and a half months later and never knew that Rossini’s work would completely overshadow his own. As a matter of fact, when Paisiello’s work is occasionally put on today by some opera workshop, one is struck by the many outward similarities; yet the vigor, the vitality, the musical humor that have made the younger man’s work survive many thousands of performances are found in much smaller quantities in the Paisiello score. Rossini’s won not only the love of millions but the genuine respect and affection of such utterly differently oriented composers as Beethoven, Wagner, and Brahms.

  OVERTURE

  The overture that we always hear nowadays was not the original overture to the opera, which consisted of a mélange of popular Spanish tunes. That one, somehow or other, managed to get lost soon after the first performance. Rossini, a notably lazy fellow, thereupon dug up an old overture from his trunk, one that he had composed seven years earlier for a forgotten tidbit named L’Equivoco stravagante. It had also been useful when he ran short of overtures for two other operas, Aureliano in Palmira and Elizabeth, Queen of England. And though its gay, tripping tunes would scarcely seem to serve well for a tragedy about the Queen of England, it serves so well for The Barber of Seville that certain musical commentators have imagined they saw in it musical portraits of Rosina, Figaro, and Lord knows what else.

  ACT I

  Scene 1 On a street in Seville a hired band of musicians gathers to accompany young Count Almaviva as he serenades his lovely Sevillian inamorata, Rosina. It’s a very pretty, florid serenade the Count delivers (Ecco ridente). No use, though; the music fails to summon Rosina, who is closely watched by her old guardian Dr. Bartolo. The musicians are dismissed with considerable trouble by the Count and his servant, Fiorello, and presently a jolly baritone is heard tra-la-la-ing offstage. It is Figaro, the barber, sounding off in praise of himself and telling us how indispensable he is to everyone in town. This self-endorsement is, of course, the delightful Largo al factotum. It quickly turns out that Figaro has known the Count a long time. (There aren’t many people around town he does not know.) The Count—with the aid of a bit of ready cash—enlists Figaro in his purpose to marry Rosina, and they begin to make plans. But they are interrupted by Dr. Bartolo, who leaves his house muttering that he plans to marry Rosina himself that very day.

  Now the two conspirators have to act quickly. With Bartolo gone from the house, Almaviva tries another serenade, and this time he identifi
es himself as Lindoro. Also this time he gets a response. Rosina begins to answer favorably from the balcony, when she is forcibly drawn back by someone inside. The quick brain of Figaro at once hatches a plot. Almaviva shall disguise himself as a drunken soldier and gain entrance into the house by saying that the army has billeted him there. The idea appeals to the Count, and the scene ends with a jolly duet as the lover expresses his delight over the prospects of success while the barber expresses his delight over the prospect of getting paid.

  Scene 2 Things happen pretty fast and furiously in the second scene, which takes place in Dr. Bartolo’s house. Perhaps the best way to keep them in mind is to make special note of the big arias and concerted numbers. First, then, there is the famous coloratura aria Una voce poco fa. In it Rosina first admits her love for the unknown serenader Lindoro, then vows to marry him despite her guardian, and goes on to tell what a fine, docile wife she could make until thwarted. Under such circumstances she can be as devilish as any other shrew. (Usually, in modern performances, this role is sung by a coloratura soprano. That, however, is not the way Rossini wrote it. He intended it for a coloratura mezzo-soprano, a rather rare phenomenon in the twentieth century.) After her aria she has a cordial little talk with Figaro, the barber, and a less cordial one with Dr. Bartolo.

  The next big aria is known as La calunnia—in praise of calumny or vicious gossip. Don Basilio, a music master, reports to his old friend Dr. Bartolo that Count Almaviva has arrived in town, and that he is Rosina’s mysterious lover. How is he to be discredited? Why, says Basilio, by calumny. And that is the occasion for the aria, in which evil whispers are graphically described as developing into a veritable storm of disapprobation. Following this comes a long and rather coy dialogue between Figaro and Rosina in which the barber tells the girl that a poor young man named Lindoro is in love with her and she had better write him a note. Rosina, as a matter of fact, has already written the note, and she gives it to the barber to be delivered. There is then another dialogue—a short one—in which Rosina tries to mislead her old guardian with a half a dozen lies, all of which he sees through.

 

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