NABUCCO

Nabucco, based on the biblical history of the Hebrew captivity in Babylon under the rule of Nabucco (Nebuchednezzar), was Giuseppe Verdi’s first great success. The composer himself was to write in later years, “With this opera, you can truly say that my artistic career began.” Verdi told the newspaper critic Stafford of the Daily Graphic in January, 1893, years after Nabucco’s premiere, of the difficult circumstances of its La Scala premiere: “The artistes were singing as badly as they knew how, and the orchestra seemed bent only on drowning the noise of the workmen who were busy making alterations to the building. Presently the chorus began to sing, as carelessly as before, the Va, pensiero, but before they had got through half a dozen bars the theatre was as still as a church. The men had left off their work one by one, and they were sitting about on ladders and scaffolding listening! When the number was finished, they broke out into the noisiest applause I have ever heard, crying ‘Bravo, bravo, viva il maestro!’ and beating on the woodwork with their tools. Then I knew what the future had in store for me.”

In later years, Verdi claimed that the producer Merelli forced Temistocle Solera’s libretto for Nabucco on him in spite of Verdi having determined to give up his career following the deaths of his wife and children as well as the failure of his second opera. As Verdi threw the manuscript onto a table, the libretto fell open at the page with the opening lines of the Chorus of Hebrew Slaves, “Va, pensiero, sull’ali dorate” (“Fly, thought, on golden wings”). Unable to resist reading the rest of the libretto immediately, he then reread it several times that evening. Whether Verdi’s mythologizing later in life is true or not, the premiere audience vociferously insisted on an encore of Va, pensiero (in spite of the Austrians’ having banned encores in the theaters, fearing any spontaneous political demonstrations). The chorus has remained one of the most loved pieces of music in Italy. Sung by the captive Jews as they labor by the banks of the Euphrates, awaiting death at the hands of their Babylonian captors, the chorus – described by the composer Rossini as a grand aria sung by sopranos, contraltos, tenors and basses – resonated deeply with an Italian public under the yoke of Austrian occupation. The Hebrew slaves yearn for the sweet air in their fatherland so beautiful and lost. Remembering the time that was, they pray to the Lord for the strength to endure.

OTELLO

Following the success of Aïda in 1871, Verdi claimed to be retired from writing for the stage and resisted all attempts to change his mind. Knowing that only a great libretto would entice the composer, his long-time publisher Giulio Ricordi took advantage of Verdi’s enduring love of Shakespeare. Rather than trying to revive Verdi’s interest in the long-abandoned libretto of King Lear with which he had struggled for years, Ricordi planted the idea of Shakespeare’s Othello (shrewdly initiating a conversation blaming a librettist for ruining Rossini’s operatic version of the same play). Ricordi suggested that Arigo Boito, who was considered an Italian authority on Shakespeare, was interested in writing the libretto. In spite of his demurs Verdi was clearly intrigued, and the seed for what is perhaps his dramatic masterwork was sown – although it was slow to grow. To the many clamoring for a new Verdi opera, it may have appeared that Verdi had retired to the life of a gentleman farmer, although it is hard to describe a period that included the composition and a European tour of his magnificent Requiem, as well as major revisions of La forza del destino, Simon Boccanegra and Don Carlo (all of which Verdi conducted and/or directed) as “retirement”. Boito’s successful reworking of the libretto of Simon encouraged Verdi to consider him as a collaborator. (Remarkably, Boito was preparing the premiere production of his own Mefistofele simultaneously with his work on the Otello libretto.)  Boito would go on to write not only the libretti of Otello and of Verdi’s last opera, Falstaff, but to become a close friend who was with him during his last illness and death. It took 16 years from Aïda’s premiere (eight years after Ricordi’s suggestion and Boito’s initial scenario) until Otello’s triumphant premiere at La Scala in Milan in 1887. Verdi had completed his last tragic opera and supervised its production at the age of 72.

Verdi had always been interested in “la parolla dramatica” – the dramatic word – as a crucial part of his work, and not just a frame on which to hang splendid melodies. As both his fame and his skills increased, he became a consummate man of the theater and developed a firm hand in all matters having to do with his work. (For Otello, he dispatched the proposed designer to Venice to study the works of Bellini and Carpaccio in order to properly prepare the sets and costumes.) As with Aïda, Verdi was very demanding of his librettist in matters that affected not just the verse, but atmosphere, dramatic structure, everything that made an opera a piece of theater rather than concertizing. Verdi and Boito adhered to the major plot points of Shakespeare’s original, and the “master of the chorus” heightened the effect of the soldiers, courtiers and Cypriot populace to great dramatic effect.

Otello, the heroic Moorish general who governs Cyprus on behalf of Venice, has survived landing in a horrible storm on Cyprus after his sea victory over the Turks. As Otello steps onto shore, he tells the people to rejoice (“Esultate!“) that Venice has won glory, and the proud Muslims have been buried in the sea. The overjoyed Cypriots, Venetian courtiers and soldiers acclaim Otello by celebrating his victory and the extermination of the enemy. The people are exultant that the Turkish ships are buried on the ocean floor, and that their only requiem will be the lashing of waves and the turbulence of hurricanes.

As the returning soldiers and the townspeople celebrate victory, they admire the joyous bonfire they have built (“Fuoco di goia“). As the cheerful blaze drives away the night with its splendor, flashing, sparkling, crackling and flaring up, it floods their hearts with fire as well. Looking first like young girls, then like butterflies, vague shapes dance in the burning palms and sycamores. But the golden flames burn as quickly as the fire of love, pulsing, then growing dark, the last sparks flashing and dying.

As part of his plot to destroy both his rivals –  Otello and his chief adjutant Cassio – Iago plies Cassio with drink. Proposing a toast to Otello and Desdemona which Cassio can’t refuse, Iago says that all must drink with him, and the crowd eggs Cassio on by joining Iago in multiple toasts (Brindisi). As the toasts become ever more fantastic and Cassio ever drunker, the soldiers and townspeople laugh at his stumbling condition while Iago incites another rival of Cassio’s, Roderigo, into goading Cassio into a disastrous brawl.

Iago has successfully convinced Otello that Desdemona has betrayed him with Cassio. Otello, half-mad with jealousy, violently humiliates Desdemona in front of the entire court and sends her to their bedchamber to wait for him. In the opera’s final act, the innocent Desdemona cannot understand the change in her beloved husband and her own sense of foreboding. She instructs her servant Emilia to lay out her bridal garments and to make sure she is buried in them if she should die. She recalls her mother’s beautiful young servant Barbara, who was abandoned by her lover and would sing a sad song over and over – a song which floods Desdemona’s memory on this fateful evening (The Willow Song). The song tells of a lonely girl singing and weeping with her head fallen to her breast, calling to the weeping willow (“Salce“), “Let us sing! The willow will be my funeral garland.” As the brook flowed between the flowering banks, so did a bitter wave of tears flood from the broken-hearted girl. The birds flew down from the dark branches, drawn by her sweet song, and she wept so much that even the stones by the river pitied her. Desdemona recalls that Barbara used to end the song by saying, “He was destined for glory, and I to love him and to die.” Desdemona sends Emilia to bed, wishing her “good night”, and then “farewell”.

AIDA

Verdi had declined an invitation to write a celebratory hymn for the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, although his longtime friend and assistant Muzio had directed the music for the Canal’s opening, as well as Rigoletto for the opening of the new Cairo Opera House. The Egyptian leaders persisted, however, and Verdi agreed to write a new opera for Cairo provided it would have an Egyptian story and setting. The prominent French archeologist and Egyptologist Auguste Mariette promptly provided a scenario, and Verdi engaged Antonio Ghislanzoni (the librettist of the revised La forza del destino) as librettist. As he insisted for all of his libretti, Verdi constantly reminded Ghislanzoni that he wanted the “theatrical words” – i.e., the words that would develop characters or story, and not just high poetry arranged in a conventional way. (As usual, Verdi didn’t hesitate to rewrite the words when he felt the need. If he found a lyric too highly wrought, he would sharpen it to a more direct statement suited to the character.) Staging and rehearsals were undertaken in Paris rather than Cairo so that suitable singers could be engaged and production values closely monitored. The long siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War delayed the opening of the production in Egypt until 1871, when it proved a great success. This was followed by Aïda’s premiere at La Scala in 1872, vigorously overseen by Verdi, fiercely resisting all management attempts to “strangle” the premiere by haste or false economy and relentlessly insisting on attention to ensemble work and staging. In spite of Verdi’s usual pessimism, the premiere proved everything he could have hoped, and he was rewarded with an extraordinary personal ovation upon his return to a city and an opera house he had avoided for years.

Based on a number of sources, the story of Aïda suited the intense interest in Egyptian history aroused by the archeological finds of the 19^th century (presaging the Egyptian mania later produced by the discovery of King Tut’s tomb) as well as the opening of the Suez Canal. Seemingly the quintessence of grand opera due to the majesty of the setting and intense historical struggle of the principals, Verdi outdid himself in using the elaborate musical and theatrical frame to concentrate on the intense personal drama of the leading characters. The daughter of Amonasro, the King of Ethiopia, Aïda has been captured by the Egyptians, who are ignorant of her royal status. She is now the slave-girl of Amneris, the daughter and heir of the Egypian king. Amneris loves the young officer Radamès and is not only unaware that Aïda is a princess but that she and Radamès are secretly in love. Discovering their love for each other, Amneris vows to overcome her rival. Radamès triumphs over the Ethiopian army, returning with booty and prisoners. Aïda is shocked to see that her royal father Amonasro is one of the captured. Amonasro signals to her not to betray his royal status and persuades his captors that he is one of the Ethiopian generals and that his king died on the battlefield. To honor Radamès’ valor, the Pharaoh spares the prisoners’ lives and grants Amneris to Radamès as his bride. Aïda submits to Amonasro’s demands that she save her country and betray Radamès by obtaining his plan to crush the Ethiopian army once and for all. Rather than defend himself against the subsequent charge of treason, Radamès goes to his death to find that Aïda has secretly joined him in what will be their living tomb, leaving Amneris to repent her jealousy and mourn her loss.

In Act I, the Ethiopians have regrouped forces and are preparing to attack Egypt again. In the palace at Memphis, the Egyptian high priest Ramphis has advised Radamès that the goddess Isis has selected a new commander of the Egyptian troops, and Radamès prays that he is the one chosen. His dreams of glory inspire a paean to his heavenly Aïda (“Celeste Aïda“), crowned with light and flowers, the queen of his thoughts, the splendor of his life. If he returns triumphant, he will return her to the beautiful sky and sweet breezes of her native land, and raise for her a throne close to the sun.

In The Judgment Scene in the final act, Amneris has tried in vain to persuade Radamès to defend himself against charges of treason. Despairing and wishing to die, she wonders who can save him. Blaming herself for Radamès’ capture and trial, she curses her terrible jealousy that will cause his death and her eternal mourning. Watching with dread the procession of the fatal ministers of death as Ramphis and the priests of Isis descend to the underground judgment chamber, she wishes their pale ghosts would disappear. Ramphis and his acolytes pray that the spirit of Isis will descend on them and guide them to a just decision. Ramphis charges Radamès three times -first, with betraying the secrets of his country, second, with deserting his army on the eve of battle, and third, with perjuring himself by breaking his vows to his country, his king and his honor. To each charge, Radamès refuses to answer and the priests declare that his silence confirms that he is a traitor, as Amneris begs the goddess for mercy. The priests sentence Radames to be buried alive beneath the altar of the goddess he has scorned. Amneris rejects the priests’ claim to be ministers of heaven and says their bloodthirstiness insults the earth and their goddess. The priests insist that the traitor must die. Amneris appeals directly to Ramphis and warns him that the curse of her tormented heart will fall on him but he is unmoved. Amneris calls on heaven to rain down revenge on their wickedness.

In Act I, Radamès learns that he has indeed been chosen to lead the Egyptian troops against the Ethiopians. In the second scene, he stands before the altar of the god Fthà to have his mission consecrated. The High Priestess leads the other priestesses in a prayer invoking mighty Fthà (“Possente Fthà“), creator and animator of the world, the source of fire and light, and the priests invoke great Fthà as the life of the universe and the source of eternal love.

In the Finale to Act II, the Pharaoh and his court have come to Thebes to greet the triumphant Radamès following his victory over the Ethiopians. As the captured soldiers are brought forward, Aïda has inadvertently exclaimed, “My father!” Amonasro signals to Aïda not to betray his royal status and informs the Egyptians that he is indeed Aïda’s father, a soldier in the service of the Ethiopian king, and that the king was killed in battle. The people hail the glory of Egypt, their sacred protector Isis, and their king, and cheer the conquering hero as they lay laurel and flowers in his path. The women twine laurel wreaths for the army as they call on the young girls to dance like the stars in the sky. The priests give thanks to their army and the god who has brought this lucky day. To the sound of Verdi’s famous Triumphal March, Radamès enters the city gates. As reward for his success, he asks the king to spare the lives of the captured Ethiopians and grant their liberty. The priests call for death to the prisoners, but the people join in Radamès’ plea for mercy. The high priest Ramphis protests that Egypt’s enemies will always seek revenge and pardon will allow them to return to fight again. Radamès says they are safe now that the Ethiopian king is dead (having been fooled by Amonasro’s subterfuge). The king bows to Ramphis’ advice that Aïda’s father at least be held as a hostage. As Radamès’ reward, the king decrees that Radamès shall marry Amneris and one day rule Egypt with her. Amneris is triumphant and dares Aïda to take Radamès from her. The priests and the people salute Isis and ask that fate always smile on them, while the Ethiopian prisoners praise the merciful Egyptians for granting them freedom and a return to their native soil. In the general triumph and jubilation, Aïda is devastated that Radamès’ triumph has stolen her desperate hope for his love, while Radamès is thunderstruck and realizes that the throne of Egypt is not worth losing Aïda‘s heart. Meanwhile Amonasro tells Aïda to take heart, that he sees a hopeful end for their country and his hope of revenge.

MEFISTOFELE

Arrigo Boito was a respected poet, critic and novelist as well as a leading member of the Italian avant garde and the companion of Eleonora Duse. Although trained as a composer, he is perhaps best known as a librettist, notably for Verdi’s Otello and Falstaff and Ponchielli’s La Gioconda. Mefistofele was Boito’s first opera (the only one performed in his lifetime) with the distinction of being the first opera performed at La Scala for which the libretto was written by the composer. His second opera, Nerone, was premiered at La Scala in 1924, six years after his death. Aside from these, he composed little else, although he apparently completed but destroyed another opera, Ero and Leandro. In spite of the brilliance of his libretti for Verdi, we have good reason to lament that he wrote no other operas aside from the two mentioned above, based on the genius displayed in Mefistofele. The opera was premiered unsuccessfully at La Scala in 1868 (when Boito was only 26); its premiere aroused riots and duels over its supposed “Wagnerism” and perceived anti-religious viewpoint, and it was closed by the police after two performances. However, Boito condensed and extensively rewrote the opera (six hours in length at its premiere), including transforming Faust from a baritone to a tenor. It met great success upon the premiere of the revised version in Bologna in 1875.

The enduring legend of Faust, in which a learned man sells his soul to the devil, inspired the plays Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe and Goethe’s two part play in verse, Faust, as well as a number of operas: Berlioz’ La damnation de Faust, Busoni’s Doktor Faust, and the most famous of all, Gounod’s Faust. Boito drew on Goethe’s work when he wrote his own libretto for Mefistofele and set it in a prologue, four acts, and an epilogue. Unlike the other operas based on Goethe’s Faust, which draw almost exclusively on Goethe’s Part 1, Boito’s libretto uses both Parts 1 and 2 as the basis for his story, and adheres more closely to the philosophical and spiritual viewpoints of the Goethe play. Faust is an aged scholar who yearns to comprehend all experience, and promises his immortal soul to Mefistofele in order to do so. In the process, he will find love and abandon it, and once again an old man, mourn his past life. Faust appeals to heaven to save him from Mefistofele, and he dies to a triumphant song of the celestial choir, as Mefistofele loses his wager with heaven.

“Juhé Juhé” – It is Easter Sunday and a crowd of peasants gathers in the town square to celebrate. They sing of the young men joining in a mad dance with the maids of the town. Servants and masters join in the dance, laughing, turning and tripping round and round, faces burning with excitement.

In the Prologue, choirs of angels have exalted God, the lord of supreme love. Mefistofele appears in heaven and sardonically echoes their rhapsodic chorus. Greeting God (“Ave Signor“), he derisively begs pardon if his slang is unsuited to paradise, and if his face doesn’t shine as gracefully as the angels’. He mocks the foolishness and arrogance of people on earth who believe in the call of Reason, and says they’ve fallen so low that he doesn’t have the heart to tempt them to evil. The angelic choir asks if he is familiar with Faust, and Mefistofele calls him the most bizarre madman that he knows , with a curious way of serving God and an unquenchable lust for knowledge that makes him miserable. His wish to go beyond human knowledge is unbounded by science. Mefistofele resolves to lure Faust into his snare, and asks if God wants to wager on his success. Receiving acquiescence to embark on his rude joke, Mefistofele gloats that he will triumph over the King of Heaven once Faust has tasted the fruit of vice. The angels recoil from his villainous glee, while Mefistofele muses how pleasing it is to see God occasionally. As the devil says at the end of his visit, it’s a beautiful thing for God and the Devil to converse in such a civilized way.

“Salve Regina” – With their tears and their song for salvation from the blind world below, a chorus of earthly penitents appeals to the queen of heaven. They are comforted by a celestial choir, who tell of the dance of the angels that they perform on behalf of those in the hour of need. The penitents, cherubim and celestial spirits join in a chorus of praise to the lord.

LA TRAVIATA

La traviata is set to a libretto by Francesco Maria Piave based on Alexandre Dumas fils’ novel and play La dame aux camélias (more popularly known in English as Camille), and remains one of the most popular operas in the world. Set in the Paris demimonde of the 19^th Century, it is the star-crossed love story of the glamorous Parisian courtesan Violetta Valéry and an innocent young man from the provinces. The first scene takes place in August at a party at Violetta’s house. Violetta has welcomed her guests, including Alfredo Germont, a young man who has loved Violetta from afar for some time, but whom she has never met. As supper is served, Alfredo proposes a toast, the famous brindisi “Libiamo” (“Let us drink from the joyous chalice”), to beauty in flower, to the voluptuous intoxication of fleeting time, to the sweet tremors of love. The other guests join him in his call to drink so that the wine will warm their kisses. Violetta responds that everything in the world is folly and all that matters is pleasure. She tells her guests to enjoy themselves, for the joy of love is momentary, like a flower that blooms and dies quickly. Her friends vow to enjoy the wine and the song, the beautiful night and the laughter, until the new day discovers them in their paradise.

LA PÉRICHOLE

Now best known for his final work, Les Contes d’Hoffmann, Jacques Offenbach was famed in his lifetime for his light operas, bringing the form of what we now call operetta to the peak of its popularity and style. Founding his own theater in 1855, he reveled in social and political satire while frequently parodying grand opera. Described by Rossini as the “Mozart of the Champs-Elysées”, Offenbach wrote almost 100 light operas, of which Orpheus in the Underworld, La belle Hélène, La vie parisienne, The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein and La Périchole remain popular 150 years later. La Périchole is an opéra bouffe in three acts with a libretto by Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy loosely based on a novel by Prosper Mérimée. Set in far-away Peru, it features two penniless street singers, the beautiful La Périchole and Piquillo, who love each other but lack even the funds for a marriage license. The lecherous Spanish Viceroy is entranced by La Périchole and attempts to fool her into a liaison, including plying the starving young woman with food and drink. In “Ah! Quel diner je viens de faire!”, La Périchole exclaims over what a meal she’s just had, and what extraordinary wine. So much wine, in fact, that perhaps she may be just a little bit drunk. She admonishes her audience not to tell anyone. After all, if her speech is a bit muddled, if she meanders while she’s walking, and if she should appear a little naughty, well, it’s only to be expected.

THE STUDENT PRINCE

Of the numerous operettas composed by Sigmund Romberg, notably The Desert Song and The New Moon, the most famous remains The Student Prince. With book and lyrics by Dorothy Donnelly, the original New York production ran for 608 performances after its premiere in 1924. Prince Karl-Franz leaves his kingdom of Karlsberg to attend school in Heidelberg, where he falls in love with the innkeeper’s daughter Kathi. Upon the death of his grandfather, Karl must return to his kingdom and assume his role as king. He unwillingly accepts his fate and agrees to marry someone of his own station, as he and Kathi recognize that their love must be denied in honor of duty.

As he excitedly prepares to leave for the university, Prince Karl tries to persuade his tutor Dr. Engel to join him, reminding the tutor of the many stories he’s told of his happy younger days in Heidelberg. As Engel reminisces about the students singing by the River Neckar, he realizes he cannot resist joining Karl in Heidelberg and reliving his Golden Days.

DUETTO BUFFO DI DUE GATTI

The master of Italian music in the generation before Verdi’s, Gioacchino Rossini remains widely popular as the creator of such comic masterpieces as Il barbiere di Siviglia, L’Italiana in Algeri and La Cenerentola, but he was also renowned not only in Italy but throughout Europe for his serious operas, songs, cantatas, symphonic pieces and sacred works as well. (Upon Rossini’s death, Verdi called him “the glory of Italy”.) Duetto buffo di due gatti is one of his most popular concert pieces. Although it would be presumptuous to attempt a translation that could do justice to its extraordinary verse, Rossini’s brilliant musicality expresses the meaning of the song so plainly that it should be clear even to those who speak no Italian whatsoever.

THE MERRY WIDOW

Franz Lehár was born in Hungary but found lasting success as a composer in Austria. He wrote dozens of operettas, a few operas (mostly unfinished), several film scores and innumerable orchestra works, especially marches and waltzes. Initially not a huge success either with the public or the critics, The Merry WidowThe Merry Widow was rapidly presented all over Austria and Germany, then the world; at one point there were five separate productions running in Buenos Aires – in five different languages. It has spawned three glossy film versions (one of them a silent, which bears witness to the appeal of the plot as well as the music), a ballet, and even an ice show. The Merry Widow was a loose adaptation by Victor Léon and Leon Stein of a French play by Henri Meilhac, co-author of the libretti for Carmen, Manon and many of Offenbach’s most popular operettas (including La Périchole). survived thanks to the tenacity of its producers (who had no other productions ready to take its place). After a run of several months, it went on to sell out every night for years and remains Lehár’s most famous and popular work.

Sonia, the widow of the richest man of an impoverished country, Marsovia, has inherited her husband’s fortune. Baron Popov, the Marsovian ambassador to France, is fearful that Sonia will be swept off her feet by a non-Marsovian while she is visiting Paris. He tries to enlist their countryman Prince Danilo to marry Sonia so that Marsovia will not be left bankrupt. As it happens, Danilo and Sonia were once in love but his uncle forbade his marriage to a poor commoner. Although they clearly still love each other, Danilo refuses to woo Sonia, as he believes it will look as if he is only a fortune hunter. Sonia vows she will not marry him until he says “I love you”. When Sonia announces that she will lose her fortune if she remarries, her other suitors quickly fade away, but Danilo is delighted and asks her to marry him. Upon learning that she meant that she would lose her fortune because it would pass to the control of her new husband, he good-naturedly surrenders, ensuring the continued solvency of Marsovia as well as securing his true love.

In the midst of the romantic obstacles that Danilo faces with Sonia, he’s not the only man having trouble with the ladies. It seems Popov and the other Marsovians, not to mention some amorous Parisians entangled with certain wives who aren’t their own, are fed up with the whims and foibles of their women. If only they could live without them! They vent their feelings in the March Septet.

To prove that her heart is still with her country, Sonia has invited her compatriots to a real Marsovian party. She harks back to their native land by singing a Marsovian song – the story of “Vilia“, a forest nymph who falls in love with a mortal.

We conclude our 25^th Anniversary performance with two enduring favorites, “Oh, come away” and the famous Merry Widow Waltz – “I Love You So“.

Tony Arn