100 Great Operas and Their Stories

by Henry W. Simon

  SANTUZZA, a village girl Soprano

  TURIDDU, a young soldier Tenor

  MAMMA LUCIA, his mother Contralto

  ALFIO, the village teamster Baritone

  LOLA, his wife Mezzo-soprano

  Time: an Easter Day in the late 19th century

  Place: a village in Sicily

  First performance at Rome, May 17, 1890

  The title Cavalleria rusticana is usually translated as Rustic Chivalry. This is half ironic, as the behavior of most of the characters is anything but chivalrous. In fact, as Giovanni Verga originally wrote the story, it is downright barbarous—far more violent than in Mascagni’s opera.

  It is this quality—stark, naked passion, expressed in unabashed violence—that may partly account for the immediate success of the work. It is essentially, of course, a literary quality. Verga’s novelette is regarded as a minor literary classic, and Duse and other actresses used to have great success with the tale given as a spoken drama. It was one of the first and most prominent successes, in both literature and music, of the school of verismo—“the theory that in art and literature the ugly and vulgar have their place on the grounds of truth and aesthetic value,” to quote Webster.

  The little work was the first of three winners in a prize contest held by the publisher Sonzogno, and it catapulted its completely unknown composer, then aged twenty-seven, into overnight fame. It was not a local fame. Even in New York there was a bitter fight for its premiere performance. Oscar Hammerstein, years before he built his great Manhattan Opera House, paid $3000 for the rights only to be anticipated by a rival manager named Aronson, who gave a so-called “public rehearsal” of the work on the afternoon of October 1, 1891. Hammerstein’s performance took place the same evening. That was less than eighteen months after its Roman premiere. But before that all Italy had heard it, not to mention Stockholm, Madrid, Budapest, Hamburg, Prague, Buenos Aires, Moscow, Vienna, Bucharest, Philadelphia, Rio de Janeiro, Copenhagen, and Chicago, in the order named.

  For well over half a century Mascagni lived on the fame and royalties won by this little masterpiece. He never composed another opera remotely approaching the success of Cavalleria, but he died in 1945 full of fame and honors.

  PRELUDE

  The story takes place in a Sicilian village at the end of the last century. The time is Easter Sunday, and the prelude begins with quiet music, like a prayer. Soon it becomes more dramatic, and in the middle of it is heard the voice of the leading tenor, off-stage, singing a love serenade—the Siciliana. He is the recently returned soldier Turiddu, and he is serenading his mistress, Lola.

  THE OPERA

  After the prelude, the orchestra and chorus set the scene for us by describing a fine Easter Sunday morning on the principal square of a Sicilian village. Presently the village girl, Santuzza, asks old Mamma Lucia about her son Turiddu. Santuzza is badly worried because she is engaged to Turiddu, and some of his recent behavior has not been very fitting. The two women, however, are interrupted by the entrance of Alfio, a bluff, hearty, and popular young teamster, who sings a jolly song about his jolly life, as he cracks his whip (Il cavallo scalpita). He does not yet know that Turiddu has been making love to his pretty wife, Lola. A brief exchange with Mamma Lucia, in which he mentions that he had seen her son that morning near his house, makes Santuzza even more suspicious.

  But now some organ music issues from the church. Off-stage, the choir sings. The villagers all kneel, and with Santuzza contributing a fine solo, they join in a beautiful prayer, the Regina coeli. A religious procession enters the church and the villagers follow, but Santuzza keeps old Lucia outside to tell her story. In the aria Voi lo sapete she tells how Turiddu, before he went to the Army, promised to marry her, how he returned and deserted her, and how he is now paying court to Lola. Lucia is shocked but promises no help. Therefore, when Turiddu himself comes in, Santuzza appeals to him directly. He offers unconvincing excuses, and he is growing very angry, when they are interrupted by the subject of the quarrel. Lola, very prettily dressed, comes in, on her way to church, singing a ditty about love; and when she has gone, the quarrel breaks out again with renewed violence. Finally, Turiddu will stand no more of it. He hurls Santuzza to the ground and storms into the church as she cries a curse after him.

  The last one to come to church is Alfio. Santuzza stops him, too, and almost before she knows it, has told him of the goings-on between Lola and Turiddu. Santuzza’s earnestness leaves no doubt in his mind that she is telling the truth. He runs off, swearing a terrible vengeance, and Santuzza, filled with remorse, follows him.

  With the stage empty, the orchestra plays the lovely, devotional Intermezzo. It is an ironically peaceful comment on the murderous passions that have been aroused.

  Now church is over, and the villagers pour happily out. Turiddu invites everyone to a drink and sings his gay Brindisi, or Drinking Song. But Alfio, in a menacing mood, comes on the scene and angrily refuses Turiddu’s offer of a drink. The two men confront each other, a challenge is exchanged, and Alfio imperturbably answers Turiddu’s violent threats by saying he will meet him in the orchard. It is now Turiddu’s turn to be filled with remorse. He calls his mother, bids her take care of Santuzza, takes a tearful farewell, and runs off. The terror-stricken Santuzza rushes in with some frightened neighbors, and a moment later a woman screams that Turiddu has been murdered. Alfio has won his duel.

  LA CENERENTOLA

  (Cinderella)

  Opera in two acts by Gioacchino Rossini with

  libretto in Italian by Jacopo Ferretti, based on

  Charles Guillaume Etienne’s three-act French

  libretto Cendrillon for operas by Niccolò

  Isouard and Daniel Steibelt

  DON RAMIRO, Prince of Salerno Tenor

  DANDINI, his valet Baritone or Bass

  ALIDORO, professional philosopher serving the Prince Bass

  DON MAGNIFICO, Baron of Monte Fiascone Bass

  his daughters

  CLORINDA Soprano

  THISBE Mezzo-soprano

  CINDERELLA (or LA CENERENTOLA, whose real name is Angelina), Don Magnifico’s stepdaughter Contralto

  Time: unspecified, but the manners and customs are those of the 18th century

  Place: Salerno

  First performance at Rome, January 25, 1817

  Listen, my children (if there are any children listening to me), and you shall hear—the story of Cinderella. It is not the same story you have heard again and again. It is not quite the one told of old by Perrault, by the French Mother Goose—or even by our own Walt Disney. There are no glass slippers in our tale; there is no kind fairy godmother, and there is no unkind stepmother. But there is a handsome prince; there are two silly old stepsisters; and there is, of course, pretty Cinderella herself.

  Perhaps if the opera had been written a hundred years earlier, it might have had a pumpkin changing into a coach, magically appearing and disappearing finery, and all the other delightful tricks of the fairy tale. At that time Italian opera houses had all the machinery to represent magic. But when Rossini started to write the music on Christmas Day of 1817, the Valle Theater of Rome was much more modestly equipped, and its manager concocted a simpler tale for the maestro. He was also in a great hurry to have the opera, and so the composer did as he often did—borrow a few numbers from other operas he had already composed. The really delightful overture, for instance, he took from La Gazzetta, which he had composed for Naples only a few months earlier. He worked so fast—and so did the cast—that the first performance took place a month later. Perhaps for this reason it failed at first. But it soon became a huge success and for many years ranked in popularity, among Rossini’s works, next to The Barber and William Tell. But in the past fifty years or so it has seldom been given. I am not sure why—maybe because it takes singers who can sing even faster and more accurately than are required in The Barber, especially a coloratura contralto for the role of Cinderella, There aren’t many of those around.r />
  ACT I

  Scene 1 Any good contralto, however, could sing the quaint little ditty (Una volta c’era un re—“Once upon a time there was a king”) with which she opens the opera as she cooks coffee for her two spoiled stepsisters, Clorinda and Thisbe. It is, appropriately enough, about a king who chose a poor little good girl for his bride instead of any of the high and mighty ones he might have had. Soon they have a visitor. He is Alidoro, the Prince’s guide, philosopher, and friend, come in disguise as a beggar. When Cinderella treats him kindly and the sisters the opposite, he knows at least one piece of advice he can give his master.

  Instead of a stepmother, as in the familiar story, Rossini supplies Cinderella with a stepfather. He is a pompous old fool; and though he is already rich, he would like to be still richer. Don Magnifico is his name; and immediately on his entrance he tells his daughters of a silly dream he had. He dreamed he was an ass, and a very wealthy ass, too. The aria (Miei rampolli femminini—“My feminine offspring”) is much in the style of the Largo al factotum from The Barber of Senile.

  When everyone finally leaves Cinderella alone to do the cleaning up, in comes the Prince. He is in disguise, and he is looking for a bride who will love him only for himself, not because he is a prince. Of course, he at once observes the attractive Cinderella working like a servant around the house. She, for her part, is so much startled at seeing a handsome young man that she lets a tray of dishes drop. At once they fall in love! Neither tells the other, of course, for that would end the story right there. Instead, they sing a charming duet together. It is interrupted at the end, for Cinderella’s two unpleasant stepsisters call to her to serve them. But Prince Ramiro’s heart has been captured—he does not know the girl’s real name.

  And when Cinderella has gone off to serve her sisters, enter still one other man in disguise. This is Dandini, the Prince’s valet, who has changed clothes with his master. As he tries to pose as a prince (by misquoting Latin texts), Cinderella begs her stepfather to be allowed to go to the ball every girl is invited to. Naturally, her family unite in refusing the permission; but the act closes with Alidoro returning to promise our heroine help-just as the fairy godmother does in the fairy tale. All this gives Rossini a chance to write a wonderful concerted number to close the scene, complete with members of the Prince’s court who come in for no better dramatic reason than to swell out the sound and make a mighty effective finale.

  Scene 2 takes place in the palace, where everyone is urging Dandini (still disguised as the Prince) to choose his bride. And who should come in but Clorinda and Thisbe, Cinderella’s very homely stepsisters? Both of them try to find favor with Dandini, for, of course, they think he is the Prince. He flees from them to another room, where he reports to his master. In a very quick and funny duet he tells him what he thinks of these two girls. They are just terrible, he says. But the relentless girls come running after Dandini, and, to get rid of them, he explains that he can marry only one. The other he says, must marry his valet. That, of course, they cannot think of. The two men are laughing at the girls, when a mysterious lady is announced by Alidoro. The wise old philosopher has dressed up Cinderella beautifully and brought her to the palace. No one recognizes her, because she is masked; but everyone sees how beautiful she is, and all the court knows at once that this is the girl the Prince ought to marry. As they all sing about how they feel, the act closes with a wonderful chorus.

  ACT II

  Scene 1 Only the two fatuous sisters do not share the sentiments of the final chorus in the first act. They think the stranger looks so much like Cinderella that the Prince could not possibly be in love with her. Rather, each thinks she herself is going to win the marital sweepstakes—and, accordingly, they quarrel. Meanwhile, Dandini himself has fallen in love with Cinderella. Still disguised as the Prince, he proposes to her; but she tells him she has fallen in love with his valet. The Prince overhears this admission and (still disguised, of course, as Dandini) comes forward to propose marriage. She admits that she loves him, as she said; but first he must find out who she is. She gives him a bracelet that matches one she is wearing, as a clue—a sort of counterpart to the slipper business in the familiar story. As for Don Magnifico, he is certain that one of his daughters, either Clorinda or Thisbe, will marry the Prince. The silly old fellow is beside himself with happiness. He imagines how powerful he will be, how everyone will be begging favors of him, and how he will kick them all out. All this he tells us in the aria Sia qualunque delle figlie—“Whichever of my daughters.” But the old fool is in for a quick disappointment. He, like everyone else, thought that Dandini, the valet, was really the Prince, just because he was wearing princely clothes. Now Dandini comes in and tells the old baron who he really is. Don Magnifico is outraged—angry—hurt. But Dandini, having given up Cinderella, is only amused.

  Scene 2 takes us back to the Don’s house. Cinderella repeats her little ballad about the king who chose a wife for her goodness only. For she still does not know that it is the Prince, disguised as his own servant, who has fallen in love with her. A storm rages outside. (Rossini liked to write storm music, and this is an excellent example.) During it the Prince and Dandini, now each in his own costume, seek shelter; and Cinderella, trying to hide her face, lets the Prince see the bracelet on her arm. He steps forward, and at last Cinderella learns that the man she loves is not a servant at all, but really Prince Ramiro. Ramiro takes her by the hand and says that she, and only she, shall be his bride. Her relatives—Don Magnifico, Clorinda, and Thisbe—are all shocked and horrified, and they will not speak to her. But finally Don Magnifico decides to ask Ramiro for forgiveness. The Prince wants to have nothing to do with him, but the good, kind Cinderella, in the brilliant rondo Nacqui all’affanno—“Born to sorrow” pleads for the relatives who had treated her so shabbily. The Prince gives in to his radiant bride, and the opera ends with everyone rejoicing—and everyone, I presume, living happily ever after.

  THE CONSUL

  Opera in three acts by Gian-Carlo Menotti with

  libretto in English by the composer

  JOHN SOREL Baritone

  MAGDA SOREL, his wife Soprano

  HIS MOTHER Contralto

  SECRET-POLICE AGENT Bass

  THE SECRETARY Mezzo-soprano

  applicants in the Consul’s office

  MR. KOFNER Bass-baritone

  THE FOREIGN WOMAN Soprano

  ANNA GOMEZ Soprano

  VERA BORONEL Contralto

  NIKA MAGADOFF, a magician Tenor

  ASSAN, friend of John Sorel’s Baritone

  VOICE ON THE RECORD Soprano

  Time: after World War II

  Place: somewhere in Europe

  First performance at Philadelphia, March 1, 1950

  Gian-Carlo Menott’s first full-length opera was greeted, during its first year, with a three-gun salute by prize-giving groups. It received the Pulitzer Prize for 1950 as the most distinguished musical composition of the year, the New York Drama Critics Circle citation as the best musical play of the season, and the Donaldson Award as the best musical play of 1950. It enjoyed a good run on Broadway, and during 1951 it was produced in London, Hamburg, Zurich, Milan, and Vienna.

  How long it may survive on the stage is a difficult question. It struck many hearers like a blow between the eyes, for it deals with a peculiarly moving problem that occupied a great deal of space in the newspapers, magazines, and editorial comments of the early 1950’s. And though its problem is by no means finally settled as these words are written in the year 1956, the handling of it already suffers from changes in the world picture which make the libretto read a little like last year’s newspapers. Perhaps in another five years or more the sin of topicality may be removed and the libretto read like history. Let us devoutly hope so. And at such a time the merits of the score and the personal tragedy of Magda, John, and their family may stand out all the more sharply poignant.

  ACT I

  Scene 1 John Sorel does some unidentif
ied work for some unidentified underground group in some unidentified country of Europe. The curtain rises on an empty room in his poor home early one morning as a neighboring phonograph plays a French jazz song, “Tu reviendras” (“You Will Return”). John staggers into the room; Magda runs in to bandage the leg where he has been shot; and he explains to her and his mother that the police had nicked him while he was escaping from a meeting that had been broken up. Through the window Magda sees police coming, and John just manages to get out of the window and climb up to a ledge before they enter.

  The mother sings a bitter lullaby to the child in the cradle as the Police Agent begins to ask questions. The interrogation is all the more ominous because it is carried on with decent politeness, though with scarcely veiled threats. Magda, however, succeeds in giving them no information worth having, and when they have left, John briefly returns. He knows now that he must get away; but when there is a message from him, the window will be broken, he says, and they must send for the glass cutter, Assan. The scene closes with a desolate farewell.

  Scene 2 In the antechamber at an unidentified consulate various pathetic figures are waiting, hoping to get visas to leave the country. Each of them runs up against the pitiless red tape represented by a businesslike secretary. One must get photographs of a different size; one must fill in forms and wait two months (though that may be too late); and Magda is not allowed to see the Consul. Nobody may see him. (In fact, nobody does—not even the audience, who are vouchsafed just a shadow of him at the end of the second act.) As Magda fills out blanks, Magadoff, the conjuror, does a few simple tricks to try to impress the secretary. That doesn’t help either, and the scene ends with a quintet in which all the applicants express their sense of frustration.