100 Great Operas and Their Stories

by Henry W. Simon

  The spectacular nature of the opera and the severe demands it makes on the leading soprano and tenor have given pause to many an imaginative impresario who has thought of reviving it, and many revivals of the past have severely modified the work in one way or another. Even then they have failed as often as not But in the mid 1950’s the Paris Opéra mounted it as a spectacle so grand that the wonderful score was, apparently, the smallest attraction for the huge crowds that went to see it. Maybe there really is no way to rescue the music from the rest of the show, excepting to play the overture and to sing the one great soprano aria at concerts. That is practically all that most of us ever hear of it

  OVERTURE

  Experienced concert-goers are so accustomed to the Oberon Overture as standard fare that they seldom think of the music as made up out of specific dramatic ingredients. Yet, on looking into the score of the opera itself or hearing it performed in its entirety, one finds that each of the thrice-familiar themes is associated with some dramatically significant part of the tale. Thus, the soft opening horn call is the tune played by the hero’s own magical horn; the quickly descending chords in the woodwinds are used to paint the background of the fairy kingdom; the excited upclimbing violins that open the allegro are used to accompany the lovers’ flight to the ship; the beautiful, prayer-like melody played first by a solo clarinet and then the strings turns out indeed to be the hero’s prayer; while the triumphant theme with a kind of gulpy effect, played quietly at first and then with a joyous fortissimo, reappears as the climax of the great soprano aria Ocean, thou mighty monster.

  ACT I

  Scene 1 In the bower of King Oberon of the Fairies, the monarch lies sleeping while a group of his supernatural attendants sings for him. That handy fairy-of-all-work, Puck, tells us that Oberon and his Queen Titania have quarreled, and the King has sworn never to be reconciled till he has found a pair of mortal lovers who will be faithful unto death or the next thing to it

  When Oberon awakens, repentant over this arrangement, Puck tells him about a young knight of legend named Huon of Bordeaux. This hero has, in fair fight, killed a son of Charlemagne’s, and that great monarch has sentenced Huon to go to Bagdad, kill whoever is sitting on the Caliph’s right-hand side, and marry the Caliph’s daughter. Oberon sees this as a opportunity for fulfilling his vow and, with his supernatural powers, magically produces Huon and his squire Sherasmin, both of them sound asleep. In their sleep, Oberon shows them a vision of the Caliph’s daughter, Rezia by name, who calls for help. When the vision has disappeared, Huon is awakened, told to rescue the girl, and given a magical horn to help him when there is need. The scene closes as Huon, musically assisted by the chorus, joyfully accepts the assignment. Oberon wafts him off to Bagdad.

  Scene 2 In a purely dramatic episode—that is, the lines are spoken and there is no accompanying music—Sir Huon rescues an unknown dark gentleman from a lion. When the danger is over, the stranger turns out to be a Saracen prince named Babekan, who is engaged to marry the lovely Rezia. Babekan, a nasty fellow, attacks Huon, calling on his followers for assistance, but our doughty hero and his squire defeat the unthankful villain.

  Scene 3 Huon meets an old crone named Namouna, who is the grandmother of Rezia’s pretty attendant, Fatima. Thus Namouna is in a position to know all the court gossip, and she tells him that Rezia and Babekan are to be married the very next day. However, it appears that the bride has seen Huon in a vision and has sworn to belong to no one but him. The scene, like the previous one, has been carried on in spoken dialogue up to this point; but when Huon is left alone, he has a long aria, and a very difficult one, in which he strengthens his resolution to win the girl.

  Scene 4 In her chamber in the palace of Haroun el Rashid, Rezia tells her handmaiden Fatima that she will never marry anyone but Sir Huon, and that she will die before being wed to Babekan. Fatima tells her that help is at hand; the two girls sing a duet; a march, sung off-stage, is heard; and Rezia sings joyfully over it.

  ACT II

  Scene 1 In the throne room of Haroun el Rashid a chorus is sung in praise of the fabled Caliph. Babekan asks that there be no more delay in his marriage to Rezia, and the fair bride, preceded by dancing girls, comes sorrowfully in. But outside one hears the sound of the rescuers. They fight their way in; Huon finds Babekan sitting at the Caliph’s right-hand side and slays him; he blows on his magical horn, thus temporarily paralyzing everyone else; and then he and Sherasmin run off with Rezia and Fatima.

  Scene 2 Outside the palace the guards try to hinder the four fugitives, but Huon’s horn solves this problem for them too—though, in the confusion, he manages somehow to lose that valuable musical instrument. Fatima and Sherasmin find that they are falling in love, like their master and mistress, and sing a love duet, and there is also a quartet for all four of the lovers. They then board a ship.

  Scene 3 To make sure that his chosen sample of lovers-unto-death is the genuine article, Oberon has prepared another severe test. Puck and his fairy band raise a huge storm, causing the ship on which the lovers are fleeing to sink. Huon, however, manages to drag an exhausted Rezia to shore, where she recovers after a touching prayer sung by her lover. He then goes off in search of Sherasmin and Fatima, and Rezia is left alone to sing the most famous aria in the opera (Ocean, thou mighty monster), a long, varied, and very dramatic address to the ocean. At its close (which is like the close of the even more famous overture), she sights a ship. This, alas, turns out to be a pirate ship. The pirates land and are bundling up Rezia for an abduction when Huon rushes back and attacks. However, he is outnumbered; and as he has lost his trusty horn, he also loses the battle and is left on the shore for dead as the pirates embark with their captive.

  But the act closes on a softer note. Puck returns, bringing the fairies and Oberon with him. The two principals sing a duet; the fairies sing a chorus; everyone on the stage is satisfied with the way the machinations are going; and everyone in the audience is enchanted with the fairylike atmosphere projected by the music.

  ACT III

  The pirates have sold Rezia into slavery in Tunis, where Fatima and Sherasmin have undergone the same fate. The two junior lovers are, fortunately, working for a good-natured North African named Ibrahim (who never appears on the stage), and their duet indicates that they are not too unhappy in their captivity.

  Puck, according to plan, brings Huon in to them. He learns that Rezia is said to be somewhere in the same town, and so they plan to get him into Ibrahim’s service so that he may look around. (The whole situation here, as well as some of what follows, is strikingly similar to the happenings in Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio.)

  Scene 2 Rezia’s new master turns out to be the Emir of Tunis himself, whose name is Almanzor. At his palace Rezia is sorrowfully bemoaning her fate, when Almanzor comes in to tell her that, though he loves her, he will not force his attentions on her.

  Scene 3 In a brief scene, back at Ibrahim’s, Huon receives a message couched in the flower-language of the East, which Fatima has to interpret for him. It is from Rezia, who summons him to come to her. Ecstatically he goes.

  Scene 4 But at the Emir’s palace he is met not by Rezia but by Roshana, the Emir’s justly jealous wife. Roshana offers him herself and her throne if he will kill Almanzor, but not even the seductive dancing of the Emiress and her female attendants can mislead our faithful hero. He starts to rush from the room, but just then the Emir comes in with his guard and Huon is made captive. When Roshana tries, hereupon, to stab her husband, things look very black. She is led away, and Huon is condemned to be burned alive. Rezia tries desperately to plead for him, but Almanzor, who has now turned stern, only condemns her to the same horrid death.

  But somehow and somewhere Sherasmin has found the good old horn still in working order. He arrives on the scene at the critical moment, bringing Fatima with him; he sounds the horn; all the Africans are paralyzed; and the four lovers decide it is time to call upon Oberon for help. (After all, he is to bla
me for all their discomforts.)

  Oberon graciously appears, like the god out of the machine at the end of a Greek tragedy, and immediately transports them to the court of Charlemagne. Huon reports his mission accomplished; he is duly forgiven; and the opera closes with a grand chorus of rejoicing.

  Postscript for the historically curious: The only unquestionably historical figures among the dramatis personnae are Charlemagne, who flourished in the ninth century, and Haroun, who flourished in the eighth. No early Victorian like Planché could, unaided, have dreamed up anything quite so wildly romantic as the plot of Oberon. Most of its main incidents may be found in the thirteenth-century chanson de geste of Huon de Bordeaux, where our hero is an even more wildly improbable figure than he is here. A summary of the history of this hero of romance may be conveniently found in Bulfinch.

  ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

  (Orfeo ed Euridice)

  Opera in three acts by Christoph Willibald von

  Gluck with libretto in Italian by Raniero da

  Calzabigi based on Greek mythology

  ORPHEUS, a singer Contralto (or Tenor)

  EURYDICE, his wife Soprano

  AMOR, the god of love Soprano

  A HAPPY SHADE Soprano

  Time: Mythological antiquity

  Places: Greece and Hades

  First performance at Vienna, October 5, 1762

  Orpheus was the greatest human musician of Greek mythology. In fact, he was so great that a religion—Orphism—was founded, and Orpheus was worshiped as a god some twenty-five hundred years ago. Naturally, therefore, his story has always been a logical one for opera composers. In fact, the oldest operatic score in existence is based on the story—Jacopo Peri’s L’Euridice. It dates from 1600, and several more operas on the same subject were written soon after. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century composers continued to deal with it, and so has the modernist Darius Milhaud.

  But the only version often heard nowadays is Gluck’s—Orfeo ed Euridice. It is also the oldest opera in the standard repertoire, dating from 1762. On October 5 of that year the composer conducted the world premiere in Vienna. The language was Italian, and the role of Orpheus was sung by Gaetano Guadagni, a castrato—that is, a male alto. When, later on, the opera was given in France, where castrati were not acceptai on the stage, Gluck rewrote the part for a tenor. But in modern times, outside of France, the Italian version is usually used, and the role of Orpheus is sung by a contralto—a female contralto, of course.

  Gluck and his librettist, Raniero da Calzabigi, omitted many details of the legendary story, and so there is not too much action on the stage. Instead, there is a good deal of choral singing (especially in Act I), and a good deal of ballet. On account of the lack of action the opera is well adapted for concert form and for phonograph records.

  ACT I

  Orpheus has just lost his beautiful wife Eurydice, and the opera opens, after a rather cheerful overture, in the grotto before her tomb. First with a chorus of nymphs and shepherds, and later on alone, he bitterly mourns her death. Finally, he decides to win her back from the gods of the underworld by invading Hades armed only with tears, courage, and a lyre. But the gods have mercy on him. Amor, the little god of love (that is, Cupid), tells him that he may descend to the Inferno. There he must play his lyre and sing sweetly, and the local officials will be moved to give her up. Only one condition is made: he must on no account look at Eurydice before he has led her safely back to earth. It is a condition that Orpheus knows he may find hard to fulfill; and he prays for help as drums suggest the thunder and lightning that mark the beginning of his dangerous journey.

  ACT II

  The second act takes us to the underworld—Hades—where Orpheus first wins over the Furies, or Eumenides, and then receives his bride, Eurydice, from the Blessed Spirits. The chorus of the Furies is dramatic and fearsome; but gradually, as Orpheus plays the lyre and sings, the Eumenides relent. It is extraordinarily simple music that paints this dramatic contrast, for the same rhythmical pattern is used throughout. At the close the Furies dance to a ballet that Gluck had composed sometime earlier to describe Don Juan’s descent into hell.

  Then comes the very familiar Dance of the Blessed Spirits, with its eloquent flute solo. After Orpheus has departed with the Furies, Eurydice sings together with the Blessed Spirits of their quiet life in the Elysian fields. Then, when they in turn have departed, Orpheus comes in alone; and as he sings of the beauty of the sky and sun in this place (Che puro ciel, che chiaro sol!), the orchestra seems to play a hymn to the delights of nature. Drawn by his singing, the Blessed Spirits return once more, bringing Eurydice with them; and as the act ends, Orpheus leads her off, carefully averting his eyes, as the gods have decreed.

  ACT III

  The last act begins with Orpheus leading his wife back to earth through gloomy passages, twisted paths, and dangerous, overhanging cliffs. Eurydice does not know that the gods have decreed that he must not once look upon her before they are safely back on earth. She is slowly changing from a Blessed Spirit (which she was in Act II) into a real, living, warmblooded woman, and she bitterly complains of her husband’s treatment. Does he no longer love her? she asks. As Orpheus alternately urges her on and complains to the gods, she becomes more and more urgent. Finally, she tries to send him away: she prefers death to this treatment, and their voices join together at this dramatic moment. At last, Orpheus defies the gods. He turns toward Eurydice; he takes her in his arms; and the moment he touches her, she dies. Now comes the most famous part of the opera—the aria Che farò senza Euridice—“I have lost my Eurydice.” In desperation Orpheus is about to stab himself; but at the last moment, the little god Love, Amor, appears, brings Eurydice back to life, and restores her to her husband. The gods, he says, have been so much impressed with his constancy they have decided to reward him.

  The final scene of the opera, which takes place in the Temple of Amor, is a series of solos, choruses, and dances in praise of Love. It is a far happier ending than the one given us by mythology. In that one Eurydice remains dead, and Orpheus is torn to pieces by a band of Thracian women who cannot bear his constant mellifluous mourning. The eighteenth century, however, liked to have happy endings to its tragic operas.

  OTELLO

  (Othello)

  Opera in four acts by Giuseppe Verdi with libretto

  in Italian by Arrigo Boito based on

  Shakespeare’s play

  OTELLO, a Moor, general in the Venetian Army Tenor

  DESDEMONA, his wife Soprano

  IAGO, his ensign Baritone

  CASSIO, his lieutenant Tenor

  EMILIA, Iago’s wife Mezzo-soprano

  RODERIGO, a Venetian gentleman Tenor

  LODOVICO, Ambassador of Venetian Republic Bass

  MONTANO, predecessor of Otello in Cyprus Bass

  A HERALD Bass

  Time: end of 15th century

  Place: Cyprus

  First performance at Milan, February 5, 1887

  In the history of opera Verdi’s Otello is really something of a miracle. In 1871, Aïda had been produced. Close to sixty then, and full of honors, the composer had apparently retired. Younger men were coming up. Verdi no longer competed. Some even thought him a little old-fashioned. Then—fifteen years later—on February 5, 1887—Otello was produced. It was a new opera, in a new style, full of vitality—and the composer was in his seventy-fourth year!

  Verdi had, as his collaborator, one of those very composers who once thought him old-fashioned. This was Arrigo Boito, composer of Mefistofele (see this page). But this time Boito did not compose a note. He was the librettist; that is, he adapted Shakespeare’s great tragedy for Verdi’s operatic masterpiece. A fine job he did, too. In most operatic adaptations of Shakespeare very little is left of the great poetry and drama, but Boito managed to maintain most of the dramatic qualities of the original, and Verdi’s music is completely worthy of one of the finest tragedies in any language.

  ACT I />
  As it takes longer to sing anything than to say it, Boito had to condense Shakespeare’s play. He omitted (excepting for a few references) the entire first act, and so the opera opens on the island of Cyprus. A terrific storm is raging as the population watches Otello’s ship battling its way into port. Finally he arrives safely, and he comes on the stage announcing a victory over the storm, and over the Turks, with his great cry, “Esultate!” Then, after a pleasant chorus sung as the people build bonfires, the familiar plot develops quickly enough. Iago, the officer who is jealous of his Moorish general, Otello, is, of course, the villain. He has the support of a foolish young man, Roderigo, who hopes to seduce Otello’s beautiful bride, Desdemona. Iago is particularly angry because Cassio, another officer, has been promoted above him, and he now proceeds to get Cassio drunk. It is at this point that Iago sings his drinking song, an appropriately cynical passage in which others join in. Iago, furthermore, manages to provoke a quarrel between Cassio and Montano, another officer, and at the height of the racket, when Montano is wounded, Otello returns to the scene. He dismisses the drunken Cassio for such unsoldierly conduct, and he orders Iago to take over and bring quiet to the city.

  And then, when all have gone, the act closes with one of the most beautiful love duets in all of opera. Otello is reunited with his young and deeply loved bride, Desdemona. They recall the details of their strange courtship, and the duet ends as the skies have cleared and the stars shine out.