DON BASILIO, a music master Tenor
ANTONIO, a gardener Bass
BARBARINA, his daughter Soprano
DON CURZIO, counselor-at-law Tenor
Time: 18th century
Place: near Seville
First performance at Vienna, May 1, 1786
If Mozart’s Don Giovanni is the greatest of operas, as many musicians have testified, The Marriage of Figaro is surely the best-beloved of musicians. And not only of musicians, either, for it has the distinction of being the oldest opera in the permanent repertoire of virtually every lyric stage in the Western world (Gluck’s masterpieces being given more intermittently) and it has won the affections of countless thousands who do not greatly admire the standard fare of Faust, Aïda, La Bohème but make an exception for Figaro. Who, indeed, could fail to love Cherubino and Susanna or to relish a Figaro so much more elegant though no whit less vital than Rossini’s bumptious barber?
It is a little difficult, then, to remember that this adorable work was thoroughly revolutionary. The portrait of a group of servants mocking their aristocratic master, lightheartedly overthrowing his cherished droit du seigneur (the right to sleep with a nubile servant before turning her over to her servant husband), and making him beg for mercy at the end was something to frighten rulers at a time when the French Revolution was brewing. Beaumarchais’s play was in print a long time before it was permitted on the Paris stage, and Emperor Joseph sanctioned the operatic version only after the librettist, Da Ponte, had assured him that the more scandalously revolutionary lines had been deleted.
But the opera is no less revolutionary musically than it is politically. The famous finale of Act II (not to mention the one of Act IV) is the first example in operatic history of a long, complex development in plot and character entirely set to expressive music throughout. No recitatives, no set arias, no stalling with the action and character while some prima donna exhibits her wares or some tenor titillates with tessitura. It is all straight musical storytelling, such as Wagner strove after and sometimes managed to achieve, such as is still the ideal of virtually every modern opera composer. And what music!
But it is completely unnecessary to understand how revolutionary the work once was in order to love it. It was a smash hit from the beginning with audiences who doubtless did not appreciate its revolutionary characteristics either. Michael Kelly, Mozart’s Irish friend who created both tenor roles (singing under the Italian-looking name of Ochelli), reports its instantaneous hit in his Memoirs: every single number was encored, and a ruling had to be made in subsequent performances that only arias, not concerted numbers, could be repeated. When Mozart visited Prague the following year, he wrote to his father that he heard Figaro tunes wherever he went; they were the top numbers on the hit parade. And so it has been ever since.
OVERTURE
Originally, Mozart had considered an overture for this opera in the conventional Italian form, that is, a slow section sandwiched between two fast ones. But he discarded the slow section—even a slow introduction—and presented a swiftly moving, scampering little masterpiece just as tuneful as the opera itself and consistently high-spirited. It is a perfect piece of mood-setting.
ACT I
The opera begins with a duet between Figaro and Susanna. These are the two who are going to be married-according to the title of the opera. Both servants in the household of the Count Almaviva, they are preparing the room they are to occupy after the wedding. Figaro, it seems, is delighted with the room. But Susanna points out to him that the Count has shown her some interesting attentions—and that the room is very close to his. Thus challenged, the witty Figaro sings his aria Se vuol ballare, Signor Contino, that is, “If you wish to go dancing, my little Count, go right to it; but I’ll play the tune.”
Now a new pair of characters comes on—Dr. Bartolo and his housekeeper Marcellina. The doctor does not like Figaro on account of some past disfavors received; Marcellina, on the other hand, wants to marry the young man even though she is old enough to be his mother. In fact, she has lent him money and received in exchange a guarantee that he will marry her if it is not repaid. The dialogue between them ends with an aria by Dr. Bartolo (La vendetta) in which the old fellow swears to get even with Figaro. But before Marcellina leaves, she meets her rival, Susanna, and gets roundly trounced in a polite exchange of unpleasantries.
When the defeated Marcellina retires, we are introduced to one of the most charming characters in any opera. This is the young page Cherubino, who is perpetually in love with one girl or another—and it has got him into quite a mess, the Count having threatened him with dismissal for overzealous flirtation. He confides in Susanna and then sings his quick little aria Non so più cosa son. This expresses perfectly the breathless delights and bewilderments of half-baked crushes, his latest being on the Countess herself.
But now the Count comes on, and Cherubino must hide himself. The Count’s advances to Susanna are, in turn, interrupted by Don Basilio, the music master, and the Count also hides. Basilio is little better than a common gossip, and what the Count overhears makes him step forward from his hiding place, for Basilio has been saying that Cherubino is too attentive to the Countess. As the Count relates Cherubino’s recent adventures with Barbarina, the gardener’s daughter, he discovers the young flirt himself—and a fine concerted number follows.
Presently Figaro re-enters with a group of peasants, singing a song in praise of the Count. The Count, of course, must receive them graciously, and peace is at least temporarily restored. Then, when the peasants have left, the Count gives Cherubino a commission in his regiment. This, he hopes, is a way to get rid of the young nuisance. And the act closes as Figaro, in the mock military aria, Non più andrai, ironically congratulates Cherubino on his impending military career.
ACT II
In her room the Countess Almaviva is singing unhappily of the lost love of her husband, the Count. The aria is the lovely Porgi amor. This is followed by a sort of conference between the Countess, Susanna, and Figaro, all of whom wish to make the Count behave better-that is, to leave Susanna in peace and to pay more attention to his wife. Susanna, they decide, is to write a note to the Count inviting him to meet her alone at night in the garden. But the page boy Cherubino, disguised as a woman, is to keep the appointment. Then the Countess is to surprise them, and thus they hope to embarrass the Count into behaving more to their liking. Cherubino himself comes in (for he has not yet joined his regiment) and sings an utterly charming song he himself has written. It is Voi che sapete—a love song, of course—and Susanna accompanies him on the guitar.
Susanna starts to dress Cherubino up as a woman, but she has difficulties because the young jackanapes tries continually to make love to the Countess.
Suddenly they hear the Count approaching, and Cherubino is hidden in the next room and the door locked. Unfortunately, he stumbles over something; the Count hears the noise; and he demands to know who is in there. When the Countess refuses to open the door, he goes for some tools to break it down, but Susanna saves the day by taking the place of Cherubino, who has jumped out of the window. Thus, when the Count and Countess return, they are dumfounded to find the servant girl behind the door, especially as the Countess has already admitted that Cherubino was there. A moment later Figaro enters to invite the Count to the wedding festivities but is temporarily nonplussed by the Count’s asking him who wrote the anonymous letter. With some dexterous help he manages to extricate himself, but things grow more complicated when the gardener, Antonio, arrives to complain about someone who jumped into his garden from the window of the Countess. The quick-thinking Figaro again almost manages to explain everything with a series of complicated fibs, but the Count is still suspicious.
Finally, to cap the complexities, in come Dr. Bartolo, Don Basilio, and Marcellina. The old woman insists that Figaro must marry her, not Susanna, and the Count announces that he himself will decide this matter later on. The act closes with a remarkable ensemble i
n which everyone comments at the same time on this very complicated situation.
ACT III
Scene 1 finds the Count badly confused by everything that has happened. But Susanna soon comes in and, in an exquisite duet (Crudel, perchè finora), assures him that she will do exactly as he wishes. (Of course, she does not really mean this, but the Count does not know it—yet.) Then there follows a sort of comic trial scene. Don Curzio, a local man of the law, has decided that Figaro must marry Marcellina on account of the promise he made in writing at the time he borrowed money from her. Figaro, of course, protests, saying that he needs the consent of his unknown parents. In the course of the argument he mentions a birthmark on his right arm. And the trial ends in a triumph of comedy, for that birthmark proves who the parents of Figaro really are. His mother is none other than—Marcellina herself! And the father? Marcellina’s co-conspirator, Dr. Bartolo! In the midst of the family reunion, Susanna enters to find her fiancé, Figaro, in the arms of her supposed rival. At first she is furious; but when she is told that Marcellina is no longer a rival, but her own future mother-in-law, there is a delightful sextet to end the scene.
Scene 2 begins with a brief and jolly discussion, in which it is decided that Marcellina and Dr. Bartolo shall be wedded the same day as Figaro and Susanna.
The whole tone of the music changes as the Countess Almaviva sings her second sad soliloquy, the beautiful Dove sono, in which she again laments the lost days of her love. But when her maid Susanna enters, she brightens up and dictates a letter for Susanna to write. This confirms the maid’s assignation in the park with the Count which the disguised Cherubino is to keep instead of Susanna. This Letter Duet, with the two feminine voices first echoing each other, and then joining together, is of a sweetness that with any lesser composer must have descended into saccharinity.
Now everyone comes on the stage—including the chorus-to prepare for the marriage festivities of the evening. A group of peasant girls offers flowers to the Countess, and in the group is the page boy Cherubino, disguised as a girl. The irate gardener, Antonio, spots him and pulls off his wig. He is about to be punished, when the peasant girl Barbarina steps forward. She reminds the Count that he promised her anything she wished—and she now wishes to be married to Cherubino. Now there is dancing to some stately Spanish ballet music, and in the middle of it the Count receives and opens Susanna’s letter. Figaro, who does not know about this part of the plot, notices this and becomes suspicious too. But the whole scene ends with rejoicing by everyone as the happy couples are about to be married.
ACT IV
A great many things happen rather quickly in the last act, and the musical numbers fairly trip over each other’s heels. It takes place at night in the garden of the Count’s estate, and the first music heard is Barbarina’s worried little aria about losing a pin that Susanna is sending to the Count. Figaro discovers her secret—and his suspicions about his bride and his master are confirmed. Then the music master, Don Basilio, makes some ironical comments to Dr. Bartolo on the subject, and these are followed by Figaro’s great aria, Aprite un po’ quegl’ occhi, in which he warns all men against the machinations of women. Finally, there is sung another great aria, Deh vieni, non tardar, in which Susanna ecstatically sings about her approaching love. Figaro overhears this and it makes him still more jealous.
Now Susanna and the Countess exchange costumes, and the action speeds up swiftly and furiously. The page boy Cherubino starts to make love to the Countess (thinking her at first to be Susanna). The Count, coming to his own rendezvous with Susanna, sends the boy packing–and starts to make love too. (He is, of course, wooing his own wife, but he does not know it.) And Figaro starts to make love to Susanna (his own wife, disguised as the Countess), much to her chagrin. He has, however, really penetrated the disguise, and after he has enjoyed her anger, they have a fine time making things up.
At the end the Count is shown up as having made a fool of himself. In a noble melody he begs pardon of his wronged and neglected lady, and the opera ends on a wholesome note of rejoicing by everyone.
MARTHA
(Marta)
Opera in four acts by Friedrich von Flotow
with libretto in German by W. Friedrich (pen
name for Friedrich Wilhelm Riese) based on
Lady Henriette, a ballet-pantomime with scenario
by Vernoy de Saint-Georges and some of
the music by Von Flotow
LADY HARRIET DURHAM, Maid of Honor to Queen Anne Soprano
LORD TRISTRAM MICKLEFORD, her cousin Bass
NANCY, her waiting-maid Mezzo-soprano
PLUNKETT, a young farmer Baritone
LIONEL, his foster brother Tenor
SHERIFF Bass
Time: early 18th century
Place: in and about Richmond, England
First performance at Vienna, November 25, 1847
Although the composer and the language of this opera were originally German, its origin, character, and appeal are all pretty international. First of all, it was composed in Paris, where Flotow spent most of his musical life. Secondly, its libretto, by Friedrich Riese, is based on a French ballet libretto. Thirdly, the story takes place in eighteenth-century England and is quite, quite British. And fourthly, it used to be sung at the great multilingual opera houses mostly in Italian. In fact, it afforded one of Caruso’s best roles. And the two most familiar arias are known to us, not by their German names, but by their Italian and English names. They are, of course, M’appari and The Last Rose of Summer.
OVERTURE
The overture, a familiar number in pops concerts, is made up chiefly of music for the Richmond Fair scene in Act I and the broad melody from the finale of Act III.
ACT I
Scene 1 Lady Harriet Durham, our heroine, is an aristocratic lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne of England. That places the story in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and the opening scene takes place in milady’s boudoir. She is such an aristocratic lady-in-waiting that she has her own staff of ladies-in-waiting to wait on her. And she is bored. Oh, terribly bored. She is even bored by the charming little chorus they sing for her, and so she dismisses them. That is, all except one—her special favorite, Nancy. Nancy suggests, in an aria, that maybe Harriet is in the dumps on account of love. No, says Harriet, it’s nothing like that. Just plain, horrid old boredom. (As a matter of fact—from all I’ve read about it—Queen Anne’s court really was a pretty stuffy sort of place.) Anyway, the two girls liven things up a bit with a pyrotechnical coloratura duet on the subject of ennuie. And then, in comes one of the causes of the boredom—Sir Tristram Mickleford. This middle-aged dandy imagines that Harriet is in love with him. Nothing could be further from the truth, wherefore the two girls amuse themselves by making fun of him.
Just then a troupe of girls is heard going past the window, singing. It turns out that they are on their way to the Richmond Fair, where they intend, according to the custom of the day, to offer their services as maids to those farmers who ask for them. “Fine idea,” thinks the bored Harriet, and she immediately suggests that she and Nancy should disguise themselves and join these girls. Sir Tristram is to join them, himself disguised as a country squire. The old fool objects strenuously, but the girls cajole and bully him into it; and as the scene ends, they are rehearsing a country dance and leading the old gentleman out to catch up with the others.
Scene 2 takes us to the famous Richmond Fair. It’s fine, sunny, British sort of weather, and all the girls and farmers are out, melodiously explaining the business of the day in the jolly opening chorus. That is, a girl makes a bargain with a farmer to serve him for a wage they agree on, and once the agreement is made, it is binding for a whole year.
Now enter the two heroes—Lionel and Plunkett. They are there to get servants for their farm, and it appears that they are foster brothers. Through a very melodious duet we learn the following important facts: Lionel’s father had appeared with the little boy at the farm of Plu
nkett’s parents, and soon after he had died, without ever revealing his name. But he had left a ring for the little boy—a ring which, if shown to the Queen in time of need, would get help from her. The two boys had been brought up together as brothers, and now they are jointly running the prosperous farm that Plunkett’s parents had left them.
This important piece of exposition being tunefully disposed of, the Fair begins. Maids offer, themselves, reciting their accomplishments; farmers make bargains with them. Meanwhile, the disguised Lady Harriet, Nancy, and Sir Tristram look on, amused. Plunkett and Lionel are attracted by the girls and come over to inquire about their services. Sir Tristram tries to get the girls away, but they are attracted by these two handsome fellows, and by the joke as well. In a fine quartet a bargain is struck. The girls will serve these farmers for one year. Wages: fifty crowns per annum, porter to drink on Sundays, and plum pudding on New Year’s. Lightheartedly they agree, and they even accept the initial binding fee. But then, when they think that ends it and wish to go home with Sir Tristram, the men insist on their bargain. All the farmers—and the Sheriff as well—join in on the side of sound business. The act ends as the two men take off the two girls in their farm wagon. Sir Tristram tries desperately to intervene, but the whole chorus holds him back.
ACT II
Lionel and Plunkett have brought home their newly acquired servant girls, knowing them only as Martha and Julia. It does not take long to realize that there are going to be some labor troubles in this household, for the two girls not only seem unable to perform any tasks, they actually refuse to do them. Two fine quartets develop out of this comic situation. The first expresses the farmers’ original amazement and may roughly be translated as “Well, what do you know about that?” The second is known as the Spinning Quartet, in which the employers try to show the girls how to work a spinning wheel. The result is complete futility so far as work is concerned and complete delight for the audience with its musical expression. Plunkett gets really angry and chases the supposed Julia out of the room. But Lionel has been smitten with his “Martha,” and he speaks very gently to her. In a duet he promises never to ask her to do anything she does not want to do; all he asks is that she sing him a folk song. Touched by the handsome young man, she obliges. It is the Irish song The Last Rose of Summer that she sings. He is so much moved by it that he impulsively asks her to marry him, but she only laughs. Then, seeing his seriousness, she is once more touched. Just at that moment Plunkett returns, dragging in Nancy. Then the clock tolls twelve, and there is a sudden change in the charged atmosphere. Everyone grows quiet, and they sing the lovely Good Night Quartet.
100 Great Operas and Their Stories Page 28