100 Great Operas and Their Stories: Act-By-Act Synopses (47 page)

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

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.

ACT II

Act II of Boito’s libretto follows quite closely the plot as it is given in Shakespeare’s Act III. Cassio wants his commission back, and as the act opens off a garden in a hall of the palace, Iago pretends friendship to Cassio and offers some good advice. Go to Otello’s wife, Desdemona, he says, and ask her to plead for you. Cassio acts on this advice at once, going into the garden to await the lady. At this point the libretto makes its most striking departure from the play. Iago sings his great
Credo
, in which he tells the audience quite frankly that he believes in a god—but it is a cruel god, and Iago acts accordingly.

And now—almost as though in answer to a prayer—Iago has a piece of rare luck. Otello comes by and sees Cassio in the garden, pleading with Desdemona. “Ha—I like not that,” says Iago, and he begins to sow the seeds of doubt in Otello’s mind. Maybe Cassio is spending a little too much time with Desdemona, he suggests. Oh, he does it ever so reluctantly, ever so politely, and in ever so friendly a fashion. But the poison is surely there. A chorus in praise of the gentle Desdemona is now sung by her ladies, by some sailors, and by some children. It almost persuades Otello that he is foolish to doubt his lovely wife for a moment. Unfortunately, when they meet she immediately pleads for Cassio, and Iago’s poison begins to work. Otello becomes angry with his wife, and when she tries to wipe his perspiring brow with her handkerchief, he snatches it from her and throws it to the ground. A fine quartet occurs here, for the scene has been watched by both Iago and his wife Emilia, who is Desdemona’s lady-in-waiting.

When the women have left, a powerful duet develops between Otello and his false friend Iago. The villain pretends to soothe the wretched General, but before the scene is over, he has suggested a way in which Desdemona may be tested. He says that he has seen Desdemona’s handkerchief in Cassio’s possession. (Of course, Iago has it himself at that very moment, for he has recovered it from Emilia, who picked it up.)
If Desdemona cannot produce the handkerchief, suggests Iago subtly, Cassio must have it—and have Desdemona’s favor, too. The poor, passionate Otello is now in a fever of doubt and jealousy, and the act closes as their voices join powerfully in a vow of vengeance.

ACT III

Shortly after the curtain rises, Iago promises to let Otello overhear a conversation with Cassio—Cassio, the man whom he thinks to be Desdemona’s lover. But even before this eavesdropping can be arranged, Otello gets more food for his jealousy. Desdemona again asks that Cassio be restored in Otello’s favor. Enraged, the General asks for his wife’s handkerchief, and when she cannot produce it, Otello is more than ever convinced of her guilt. He accuses her boldly, while poor Desdemona, utterly bewildered, pleads her innocence. Finally, he rudely orders her away, and he is badly shaken when Iago returns. The scene is set—says the villain—for the eavesdropping. As Otello hides behind a pillar, Iago engages Cassio in light talk. They are really talking about Bianca, who is Cassio’s light-of-love, but Otello, overhearing only snatches of the conversation, thinks they are speaking lightly of his own wife. When, toward the end, Iago produces Desdemona’s handkerchief, Otello naturally jumps to the wrong conclusions.

Thus, when an ambassador from Venice is announced, Otello is in a terrible mood. He decides to kill Desdemona that very night. Ironically, at that moment an off-stage chorus hails Otello as the “Lion of St. Mark,” and the Ambassador from Venice, Lodovico, enters with the whole populace. There is an order from Venice for Otello to return, and for Cassio to take over the governorship of Cyprus. As Otello reads this order, he keeps a wary eye on his wife. He overhears her commenting on Cassio to Lodovico, and before the whole assembly he strikes her and hurls her to the ground. Everyone is deeply shocked, and a fine, impressive ensemble develops as each expresses his own feelings. Finally, Otello orders them all away.

Left alone with Iago, he rants for blood and vengeance. So
excited does he become that he falls down in a convulsion. Off-stage, the crowd is again hailing the “Lion of St. Mark.” But on-stage, Iago triumphs over his fallen General.
Ecco il Leonel
—“Look at the Lion!” he cries with a poisonous arrogance, and the curtain falls.

ACT IV

The brief, touching, violent, and tragic last act is really a combination of two different scenes from Shakespeare’s play. It takes place in Desdemona’s bedroom, where, with Emilia’s help, she is preparing for bed. She sings a sadly appropriate ballad
(The Willow Song)
about Barbara, whose lover went mad. Otello apparently has done the same thing. When Emilia leaves, Desdemona utters her very touching prayer—the
Ave Maria
. She then goes to bed, and a moment or two later (with a sinister passage in the double basses of the orchestra), Otello strides in. He puts out the candle; he kisses her to the melody of the first-act love duet; and then, with a heavy heart, he asks whether she has prayed. Quickly she realizes what is on Otello’s mind: he plans to kill her. All her pleas are in vain; everything she gently or fearfully urges is misunderstood; and finally, in a terrible rage, he strangles her.

Silence. Then a knock at the door. It is Emilia, who sees at once what has happened. Yet, Desdemona, with her dying breath, says that she has killed herself. “Liar,” cries Otello, “ ’twas I that killed her!” And when Emilia tries to maintain the innocence of the dead, he threatens her, too. It is only when Lodovico, Cassio, Iago, and all the others are summoned by her cries that Otello finally learns the truth. Aghast and heartbroken, he lays down his sword. He goes to the bed, looks tenderly at the wife he had so dearly loved, and takes out a dagger and stabs himself. “
Un bacio—un altro bacio,”
he sings softly, as he takes a final kiss to the music of the earlier kisses.

PAGLIACCI

Opera in two acts by Ruggiero Leoncavallo
with libretto in Italian by the composer