Categories
Opera Plots

La Navarraise by Jules Massenet

There are not many French verismo operas; the genre was very much an Italian invention. But when composers from other countries began to see the huge success which composers such as Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Puccini, Giordano and Zandonai were having with their kitchen-sink dramas and short, shocking endings, Massenet could not resist writing one himself. The result was La Navarraise; it is unlike any of Massenet’s other operas and if you do not know it, it is well worth seeking out.

Épisode lyrique in two acts

Libretto by Jules Claretie and Henri Caïn after La Cigarette, a short story by Jules Claretie

First performed at Covent Garden, London, 20 June 1894

The action takes place in the village square of a small village outside Bilbao during the second Carlist war (more of a local Catalonian rebellion than a full-scale civil war), in the Spring of 1874. Rebel forces, supporters of Carlos, a pretender to the Spanish throne, under the command of Zuccaraga, have seized the city of Bilbao and the defeated government troops led by General Garrido are in retreat. They have stopped for the night in a small village: Garrido has hastily raised fortifications, commandeered a garrison building and posted guards; exhausted soldiers bring in the wounded and the dead. Cannon fire and gunshots can be heard in the distance. A small group of women pray in silence in front of a shrine to the Virgin.

Jules Massenet (left) was in his early fifties when he wrote La Navarraise: the libretto was written by Jules Claretie (centre) and Henri Caïn (right) (author’s collection)

Act I

General Garrido congratulates his officers on fighting bravely, but is furious that the enemy forces have retaken Bilbao – he curses the enemy general, Zuccaraga, and says that he wishes that he could meet him face to face, because with Zuccaraga dead, Bilbao would fall and there would be peace. The death of this one man would save the lives of so many. He signals some of his officers to join him and goes into the garrison. Several officers remain in the square, one of them is Ramon. A young woman approaches him, this is Anita, a girl from Navarre, who is in love with Araquil, a sergeant, but she has not seen him return from the fighting. Nervously, she asks Ramon if he knows Araquil, and if he has seen him recently. Ramon replies that he cannot give her any news, and Anita takes out from her skirt pocket a little statuette and launches into a prayer to the Virgin Mary for Araquil’s safety. A group of soldiers enter the square and the villagers crowd around them, including Anita. At the very end of the file of soldiers, Araquil arrives, and Anita greets him ecstatically. She tells him that she prayed for his safety and he replies that even in the heat of battle he was thinking of her and that her little statuette of the Virgin was protecting him.

As they tell one another how much they love each other, an older man arrives and greets Araquil. It is his father Remigio, and just as he tells Araquil how happy he is to see him safe, he turns angrily on Anita and asks her why she is always hanging around. Anita replies that she loves Araquil, but Remigio tells her that the son of a respected landowner cannot have anything to do with a girl of no breeding. Araquil remonstrates with his father and Anita tells of how she and Araquil first met two years previously. Remigio is obdurate and sharply tells Anita that when she can produce a dowry for Araquil as big as the one he is preparing for his son, then he might take her seriously. Anita asks how much a dowry should be and Remigio tells her two thousand douros. This is an impossible figure for her and she breaks down. Araquil begs his father to accept her, but Remigio merely says that she is out of her mind and than his word cannot be changed.

A postcard issued by the publishers of La Navarraise, Heugel in Paris, was a means of advertising that the music of the opera was sold by them. The scene appears to show Emma Calvé as Anita, probably in the first performance in Paris on 3 October 1895. It shows Remigio telling Anita to come back with a bigger dowry worthy of his son (author’s collection)

Garrido now comes out of the garrison building and, seeing Araquil and recognising him as a member of the troop that had been protecting the retreat, asks him about the recent battle. Araquil replies that they fought bravely and that all the officers were killed – the last one to die told him to take charge. Garrido thanks him and instantly promotes him to lieutenant. Remigio proudly salutes his son, but Anita comments sadly to herself that now Araquil is being drawn even further from her.

Remigio takes Araquil away, and Anita is left weeping in the square. Garrido too muses sadly on the officers who have been killed. Anita overhears Ramon reporting to Garrido about even more deaths and Garrido repeating his wish that Zuccaraga could be killed, saying that he would give a fortune to the man who will do it. Nervously, Anita asks if he would pay two thousand douros to have Zuccaraga dead, as long as he promises never to tell anyone about their agreement. Surprised, Garrido agrees and Anita rushes off. Garrido gives orders to strengthen the defences of the village.

Araquil now enters and sings passionately about his love for Anita. Ramon, idly smoking a cigarette, listens and then observes that if Araquil is singing about the pretty girl from Navarre with the black hair and the bright eyes, then he wouldn’t trust her an inch. Araquil asks why, and Ramon tells him that some wounded soldiers who have been brought in reported seeing a girl of that description asking the way to the Carlist camp and saying that she needed to get to Zuccaraga tonight. Araquil assumes that Ramon is implying that she is a spy, but Ramon adds that Zuccaraga is said to be very gallant, so that perhaps her visit was for something very different from spying. Araquil, distraught, leaves.

The tension is broken when a sergeant, Bustamente, and a group of soldiers who have liberated some wine to drink with their rations of broth (puchero) and beans (garbanzos) sing soldiers’ songs until, eventually, Ramon tells them that it is time for sleep.

This unusual drawing by GP Jacomb Hood shows the view from the stalls at Covent Garden over the orchestra pit and depicts Emma Calvé as Anita, a role written especially for her, in the first performance of La Navarraise: it appeared in The Graphic of 7 July 1894 (author’s collection)

Act 2

After an interlude depicting the dawn breaking (an essential element of a verismo opera), the soldiers are preparing themselves for the battle. Anita, dishevelled and covered in blood, approaches Garrido and demands her two thousand douros reward. Garrido does not believe her, but she describes how she allowed herself to be questioned by Zuccaraga and then stabbed him to death; she has raced back through the night, dodging the bullets of the rebel troops. A distant church bell tolls and Garrido realises that Anita is telling him the truth. He gives her the reward and swears that he will never reveal the truth about what she has done.

Delirious with happiness, Anita sings that there is nothing now that can prevent Araquil from marrying her, but her happiness is cut short when Araquil himself is carried in, mortally wounded. He tells her that she is the cause of his death, because he tried to follow her through the night to prevent her from selling herself to the enemy leader. Anita is horrified, and when the tolling of the distant bell starts up again, people begin to gather, including Remigio who says that the bell can only mean one thing – that Zuccaraga has been killed. Araquil, close to death, realises the truth and thinks that the bell is ringing for him and Anita. He dies, and Anita grabs the little statue of the virgin from her pocket and curses it, throwing it to the ground. Then, as she loses her mind, she picks it up again, kisses it and thanks it for protecting her, for helping her to win the dowry and for making it possible for her to be with Araquil. The crowd fall back in horror as she cradles Araquil’s head and laughs dementedly.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • Jules Massenet’s life and operas
  • Jules Claretie and his contribution to opera
  • Henri Caïn’s life and his librettos
  • the circumstances surrounding the writing of La Navarraise
  • the stew (puchero) and beans (garbanzos) which the soldiers eat in Massenet’s La Navarraise
  • Amontillado, which the soldiers find but which Sergeant Bustamente tells them is a wine only for officers
  • many other examples of verismo operas, and …
  • … Jules Claretie’s original story, and why it is entitled La Cigarette

© Roger Witts 2008

Categories
Opera Plots

Hérodiade by Jules Massenet

Although Massenet’s opera Hérodiade tells the same story of Salome and John the Baptist as the two Salome operas by Richard Strauss and Antoine Mariotte, the difference between them could not be greater. Massenet based Hérodiade very firmly on a short story by Gustave Flaubert, but added his own typical twist. Like Flaubert, he gave his opera a title which appears to make Herodias, Salome’s mother, the principal character, but Salome is the heroine, and as in so many of his operas, Massenet ended up writing music for a flawed young woman deeply in love, even though this meant ignoring history, the Bible, Flaubert and common sense: for instance, Salome and John are lovers! The opera is bizarre, but fascinating – and the music is exquisite.

Opéra in four acts and seven scenes

Libretto by Paul Milliet and ‘Henri Grémont’ (Georges Hartmann), developed from an original Italian text by Angelo Zanardini, based on the short story Herodias (1875) by Gustave Flaubert

First performed at the Théâtre de La Monnaie, Brussels, on 19 December 1881

Flaubert was inspired by a stone carving of the Salome story on the west front of the cathedral in Rouen, which he had known from boyhood. This sculpture from the cathedral in Amiens is equally inspiring (postcard in the author’s collection)

Act 1

The first act is set in an outer courtyard in Herod’s palace in Jerusalem – Massenet is not bothered about historical authenticity, and assumes that his audience will have heard of Jerusalem, but not in Herod’s palace at Machaerus, which is where Flaubert’s story is set. He describes the scene vividly – there are groves of oleanders, sycamores and cedars and the Dead Sea with the hills of Judea can be seen in the distance. It is dawn.

Slaves and merchants who have come from afar greet a new day – they have come bringing gifts for Herod, but as they realise all the different races which they represent, they begin to quarrel. Phanuel, a Chaldean, arrives and tells them to work together because a revolt against Roman rule is imminent and they must be ready to support it. The merchants leave and the palace officials take the gifts inside. Salome enters and approaches Phanuel. She does not know who her mother is (a secret which only Phanuel knows), but in her searches for her mother, she has been comforted by the prophet John (the Baptist), and has fallen in love with him, and followed him to Jerusalem. Phanuel tells her that her faith will be her guide, and as she leaves, a gaggle of dancing girls arrives, followed by Herod, who has become besotted by Salome since she arrived but is agitated that she is not with the dancers. His concern is interrupted by his wife, Herodias, who bursts in in a state of great anxiety. She has just been publicly insulted by the prophet, who called her ‘Jezebel’ and threatened her. She demands that he be beheaded, but Herod refuses, reminding her that the Jews revere John, and that he himself hopes to make use of John’s influence with the local people when the revolt against the Romans breaks out. Herodias tries to persuade Herod, reminding him both of the passion of their early days together and that she had left her young daughter behind in Rome in order to be with him. She accuses Herod of not loving her any more and he responds by telling her that his sole desire is power. John now appears and curses Herodias again; Herod and Herodias leave hurriedly. Salome arrives and tells John that she loves him. He is moved, but advises her to keep her emotions under control – he is looking forward to the arrival of a new saviour and he urges Salome to turn her thoughts to heaven. Salome, however, enraptured by John rather than heaven, falls to her knees in ecstasy.

Massenet (left) around the time that he wrote Hérodiade; Gustave Flaubert and (right) the two librettists who followed Flaubert’s story: Paul Milliet and Georges Hartmann

Act 2

Herod cannot sleep: he orders his dancing girls to entertain him and remind him of Salome while he sings of the constant dream of her which never leaves him (in the great aria Vision fugitive). One girl suggests that he take a powerful potion to make the vision more real. Phanuel arrives and Herod is brought back to earth – he asks Phanuel to help him get rid of his obsession with Salome but Phanuel tells him that there is no time for weakness when the kingdom is threatened. Herod replies that the alliances which he forged with the neighbouring countries against Rome will soon help to destroy the Roman empire.

In a public square in Jerusalem, Herod stirs the people into an anti-Roman frenzy and when the Roman pro-consul, Vitellius, arrives, the crowd demand the return of the Temple of Israel. Vitellius reassures them that Rome will consider any legitimate request. This piece of forked-tongue diplomacy wins over the crowd. John, with Salome among his supporters, arrives and as Herod points Salome out to Phanuel, Herodias seizes the opportunity to denounce John to Vitellius as a dangerous revolutionary. John is arrested.

Scenes from the opera on the front page of the periodical L’Illustration of 9 February 1884 showing (top left) Salome and Phanuel, (top centre) the final scene of Act 4, (top right) Salome and John the Baptist, and (bottom) the dance of the slaves (author’s collection).

Act 3

Phanuel gazes at the night sky and asks the stars to reveal whether John is just a man or is he a god. Herodias breaks into his meditation and demands that he show her the star which determines the fate of her rival for Herod’s love, adding that only a reunion with her abandoned daughter will bring her any peace. Phanuel reveals that Salome herself is Herodias’s daughter but Herodias refuses to believe it: Phanuel sends her away, telling her that she is just a woman, and not a mother.

As choirs can be heard singing the praises of Herod and Herodias in the temple, Salome has not been able to sleep: John has been imprisoned and she prays to God to save him. Herod arrives and she spurns his approaches, telling him that she loves another greater than him. Herod demands to know who this is and threatens to have him and Salome executed. The people gather to attend the unveiling of the Holy of Holies and when Herod, Phanuel and the Roman dignitaries enter the temple for the ceremony, the priests demand John’s death, accusing him of plotting against Rome. Herod still hopes to use John for his own ends and puts the priests off by telling them that a madman cannot be condemned of a crime. He tells John that he will save him if John agrees to back Herod’s plans for a revolt against Rome, but John refuses. Salome steps forward to prevent John from being rearrested and Herod realises that it is John who is his rival for Salome: he orders them both to be arrested and condemns them both to death.

The role of Herodias was created by Blanche Deschamps-Jéhan (left); Edmond Vergnet (right) sang John (author’s collection)

Act 4

Deep in a dungeon, John welcomes martyrdom, saying that his only regret is that he will have to leave Salome; he too asks God to reveal whether He has given John a divine mission or whether he is just a man after all. Salome joins him and John reassures her that death will enable them to be reunited in heaven. As John is taken away for execution, Salome is given a last-minute reprieve by Herod.

At a banquet, Herod, Herodias, Phanuel and Vitellius are celebrating Rome’s power: Salome enters and pleads for John’s life, telling everyone that it was John who comforted her when she was abandoned by her own mother. Herodias is moved and is about to tell Salome the truth when the executioner arrives with John’s severed head. Salome throws herself at Herodias determined to kill the woman who has brought about John’s death. Herodias begs for mercy and reveals that she is Salome’s mother: horrified, Salome stabs herself and dies.

–ooOoo–

Other related OperaStory articles are available on

  • Massenet’s life and operas
  • the lives of the librettists of Hérodiade, Paul Milliet and Georges Hartmann
  • the slightly compromised contribution of Angelo Zanardini to Hérodiade,
  • Gustave Flaubert and his contribution to opera
  • the background to the writing of Hérodiade
  • other operas on the story of Salome and John the Baptist, in particular the two Salome operas by Richard Strauss and Antoine Mariotte, both of which were based on the play by Oscar Wilde and not on Flaubert’s story
  • places to visit related to Massenet, Flaubert and Herod …
  • … and many other aspects of the story, including the imagery used by librettists and composers and Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils

© Roger Witts 2008

Categories
Opera Plots

Les Noces de Jeannette by Victor Massé

Described at the time as ‘reckoned with the best specimens of modern French opéra comique music’ and ‘full of spirit, melody and effective detail’, Victor Massé’s Les noces de Jeannette (‘Jeannette’s Wedding’) had everything going for it. The composer was fast developing a reputation for writing delightful, funny and tuneful operas, the singers who created the two principal characters were two of the best singers around – Joseph-Antoine-Charles Couderc and Marie-Caroline Miolin, and the work continued to pack in audiences for the next four decades: the 1000th performance at the Opéra-Comique was given on 10 June 1895. Its disappearance is therefore difficult to understand, and although it seems to be generally accepted now that Massé over-stretched his abilities by writing more serious operas in later years (something which audiences at the time certainly did not think), that is no reason to neglect his earlier works. It is given occasionally still in France, but if ever a delightful little opera deserved a wider revival, Les noces de Jeannette should be first in the queue.

Opéra comique in one act.

Libretto by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré.

First performed on 4 February 1853 in the Salle Favart at the Opéra-Comique in Paris.

The curtain rises to show the inside of a country cottage; the village square can be seen through the window and the furniture is rustic and old fashioned. It is the wedding day of Jean and his pretty neighbour Jeannette and laughter and happy shouts can be heard from outside. Suddenly, Jean comes in and shuts the door behind him. He breathes a sigh of relief and explains that he has just had a lucky escape: the mayor was all dressed up to perform the ceremony and the church bells were ringing when Jean felt a sudden chill and ran off, leaving his bride in the lurch. He says that anyone who comes to see him will get a cold welcome and that his friends can all go home and the clerk can regard his job as finished. He muses over the events of the day: he woke up full of happiness and then all his friends began to arrive dressed for the wedding. The mayor and clerk turned up with piles of paperwork, and then Jeannette in a white wedding dress. He began to wonder what he was doing and he went numb with horror until, at last, he fled the scene and rushed home to carry on with his life as a bachelor. Other young lads take notice, he warns.

Suddenly his friend Tom appears at the window and tells Jean that all his friends are waiting for him at the village inn where they want to congratulate him. Jeannette has gone home, so have the mayor and the other guests, but Tom and his friends have kept the fiddlers and have gathered Rosa and a group of village girls left over from the wedding crowd, so there is some fun to be had. Jean says that he will join them all shortly. Tom goes off and Jean starts to change into more comfortable clothes. First he pulls out a drawer and loses his balance, then a leg falls off a chair when he tries to sit down. Jean curses, commenting that it is little wonder that everything is falling to pieces because it has all been there since his grandparents’ day. He hears knocking at the back door and assumes that it is Rosa come to collect him. He comments that he doesn’t want to bump into Jeannette because that would mean having to explain himself.

But it is not Rosa who was knocking, is was Jeannette herself, still in her wedding dress. She realises that he is about to go out and says that she will not keep him long because his friends will be waiting for him. Jean lamely agrees and says that Tom the wheelwright’s son is waiting, and Jeannette interrupts him, saying that no doubt Rosa and other girls will be there too. He says that what’s done cannot be undone and Jeannette asks him why he thinks that she might want to undo anything, but she asks him to explain his change of heart. She reminds him that it was he who had proposed to her, set the wedding day, hired the band and sent out the invitations, so why did he change his mind as soon as the clerk asked him to sign the contract?

Massé (left) as a young man around the time that he wrote Les noces de Jeannette: the title role was created by a young Marie-Caroline Miolan (right, but a bit less young) who went on to have a glittering career – which might have had more to do with the fact that she married an influential impresario than that she had cut her teeth on Massé’s charming little operetta (pictures from the author’s collection)

Jean finds it hard to answer her. She continues, asking him whether people have been spreading rumours about her, whether he fancies the other girls more, whether he didn’t like the way she looked in her wedding dress. Jean protests that he has alwys loved only her, but that the idea of being married scares him. It looks OK from a distance but when it comes down to the real thing, with all the official paperwork and with your friends all watching, well, there you are!

‘There you are precisely’ responds Jeannette, commenting that people usually expect the bride to break down in hysterics. Well, she won’t break down in hysterics – she has learned what she needed to learn so he might as well go off and join his friends. Jean is nonplussed at this. Jeannette presses on, telling him that she had plans to make the place a bit more comfortable – making the vegetable garden a bit bigger, fixing up the old barn and replacing some of the ancient furniture with some bits and pieces given to her by her godmother. Jean agrees that all this would have been nice. Jeannette reminds him that he clearly thought otherwise, so they should change the subject. To himself, Jean comments that he had expected her to drag him around by the hair. Calmly, Jeannette tells him that there are plenty more fish in the sea, and that she had said as much to her father when, despite his gout and his great age, he announced his intention to come round and kill Jean. Jean is alarmed, but Jeannette tells him not to worry because she has hidden the old man’s pistols.

Voices outside are heard calling to Jean and Jeannette tells him that his friends are growing impatient, so he had better go and join them. She hands him his hat, wishes him good-day and watches him leave.

The librettists of Les noces de Jeannette: Jules Barbier (left) and Michel Carré (author’s collection)

Left on her own, Jeannette breathes a sigh of relief, commenting that she had almost burst into tears. But now she knows that he does not blame her for anything, and although the thought of marriage frightens him he should have thought about it earlier. She now muses on her situation. Facing the mayor, she too might have said ‘No’, but she didn’t, she said ‘Yes’ because she thought that Jean loved her, but now she knows that he didn’t love her truly, and she has become a laughing stock in the village. She can hear singing from the inn, and she recognises Jean’s voice as the loudest of them all. He is singing about a pretty girl dancing gaily while the fiddles play; that his girl is true, that she loves her neighbour and will comfort him. Jeannette sees his wedding coat hanging on the hook – she removes the little bouquet and the wedding ribbon and fixes them to her own dress. Jean’s song continues about how his girl makes no unnecessary fuss, seeks no contract and pays no fee which would quench love’s ardour. Jeannette realises that this song is not about her; she is upset, cross and resolute all at the same time, but she won’t ask for pity and she will certainly make Jean regret what he has done. Through the window, she sees Jean coming back – with Rosa, and she leaves his house.

Jean now enters, not entirely sober. He isn’t quite sure why he has come and he staggers around a bit before he remembers that he has come back to get the wedding bouquet so that he can give it to Rosa, or to one of the other girls, he has forgotten who. Of course, he cannot find it because Jeanette has taken it, and while he is fumbling around, Jeannette returns, now in her everyday clothes. She tells him to close the door so that no-one might disturb them. Ignoring Jean’s objections, she tells him that she insists on full compensation for the upset that he has caused her and that she will summon her father to ensure that Jean complies. Jean is startled at this – he is convinced that a meeting with Jeannette’s father would end badly for him. He tells her that people have been saying that her father is ill but she tells him that this was a ruse, and that she has just seen him with a pistol in his hand. Jean is really worried now but Jeannette ploughs on: she asks Jean if he is beginning now to regret what he has done and if he is ready to make amends. She produces a piece of paper and tells him that if he signs it, she will immediately renounce all claims on him. ‘Is that all I have to do?’ asks Jean suspiciously; ‘just sign the paper and never hear talk of pistols again?’

In a duet, Jean realises the importance of signing the paper, despite being the worse for drink, and says that everyone will applaud his common sense, while Jeannette sings that she has trapped him nicely because his brain always fogs over after a drink, and says that everyone will acclaim her cunning. Jean quickly signs the paper, telling her not to think that he has signed because he is frightened of her pistol-bearing father, but because it suited him to. He hands the paper back to her saying, ‘Here, take it; I don’t even know what it says’. Jeannette comments that that is no surprise because he can’t read anyway, but that if he could, he would have seen that he has just signed a marriage contract. She reminds him that it was his decision to sign – because it suited him, and not because he was worried about her father’s pistols.

There is something of a stand-off, but then Jeannette shows him that there is only one signature on the document, because she has not signed it yet. She says that she has no intention of signing it because all she wanted was his signature so that she could show her friends that he had repented too late but that she had rejected him. She says that there is no way that she would have accepted him back – and that she will probably be married to someone else before the week is out.

The French chocolate company Guérin-Boutron issued a series of collector’s cards in the early 1900s depicting composers and scenes from their operas: This pretty scene showing Jean finally realising that Jeannette is an ideal wife was number 27 in the series of 78 cards (author’s collection)

Jean tries to laugh this off, but when Jean asks her to give him the back the wedding bouquet because he has promised it to Rosa, Jeannette coldly tells him to go into the garden and call her cousin, Petit Pierre, who is waiting there on her instructions. Jean reluctantly goes, and Jeannette muses on whether or not she should sign the contract because, she admits, Jean is actually quite a nice fellow underneath the bluster. Jean shouts that he is coming back, and Jeannette quickly signs the paper and folds it up.

Jean comes in with Petit Pierre and, without Jean seeing, Jeannette gives her cousin the folded paper and whispers to him that he must take it and show it to the mayor, to her father, to the notary and to everybody else. Petit Pierre runs off after directing a cheeky jibe at Jean. Jeannette tells Jean that the place won’t look so bad after she has sorted it out and that she feels really at home there. Jean asks her what she means and she tells him that they are now husband and wife because she has signed the contract as well. Jean is furious at the deception but Jeannette tells him that many lads would be delighted to be in his position. Jean announces that since they are now married, he is the master and she must obey him. He tells her that he will keep her under control, that she will never laugh and that she had better get used to being beaten. He will eat in luxury and drink as much as he likes and she will take her meals off to the stable and never taste wine; she will have no jewellery and no fine clothes, she will have to clean all the pots and pans and go to the market on her own, she will have to look after all the livestock, plough the land and have no time to sit around reading; she will have to do the laundry, weed the garden and feed the pigs while he spends his days in luxury. Jeannette listens to all this with a smile and then tells him that he is not as bad as he pretends to be and that once he has slept off the wine he will be fine. Jean demands that she tear up the contract, and when she refuses, he starts to break up the furniture, pulling down the curtains and tearing his jacket. He asks her if this is what she wants from a husband and stomps off to the hayloft to sleep.

Jeannette comments that all Jean’s furniture was useless anyway and that Petit Pierre will soon return bringing all her furniture, just as she had told him to do. She says that she intends to be so nice to Jean that he will soon come to love her, and she sets about sewing up his torn jacket, singing while she sews, and then weeping too, and commenting that when he sees her tear-stains on his jacket he will know that she mended it with love.

A cart laden with her furniture pulls up outside, and Petit Pierre and a group of villagers unload her furniture and bring it into the house, passing the old, broken furniture out through the window. Jeannette sings happily to her familiar things – her furniture, her crockery, her silverware, her lace and her pretty curtains. She pays the villagers and they leave, then she stands back and admires the cosy, tidy home. She asks Petit Pierre to help her to set the table for dinner. As they do so, Petit Pierre tells Jeannette that the priest has been asking when the church bells are to be rung again, but Jeannette tells him to hush because she has heard a noise from the hayloft. Petit Pierre thinks that it might be mice, but Jeannette tells him that it is her husband, and she drags him into the kitchen to help to prepare a meal.

Jean now reappears, much the better for his short nap. He comments on the new furniture and says that he had been dreaming that he was about to be married. He sees the table set for dinner and wonders if a fairy has visited the house – or, perhaps, a wife? Outside, Jeannette starts to sing a very pretty song about a bird singing in a hawthorn bush and Jean comments in amazement that she never told him that she could sing so sweetly. Jeannette comes in, carrying a basket of salad leaves and continues with her song, pretending not so see Jean. She sings that such pretty birdsong will waken love in every heart: trickling streams pause so that they can listen and the breezes and the leaves seem to be still so that they can enjoy the beauty. Jean looks at himself in a mirror and starts to tidy up his appearance, while Jeannette, still pretending that she has not seen him, carries on singing that the bird has come here to seek a home and a place to stay, and that its song will fill the air. She finishes the song and Jean approaches her, about to embrace her, but at the last minute he turns away, saying under his breath that people will say that he made it up. Jeannette turns and sees him, apologising for her song – Jean tells her that he never knew that she could sing like that, so she apologises again and tells him that it won’t happen again. She goes into the kitchen and Jean mumbles to himself that he isn’t really cross, she returns with plates and cutlery and begins to set the table. Jean comments that nobody expects to see his house turned upside down and that he was quite used to his old furniture. Jeannette asks him if he would like to have it all brought back and he glumly observes that there is no point now that it is all broken. Suddenly he smells food and looks at the plates on the table. He asks what it is and Jeannette tells him that it is an omelette. He asks ‘au lard?’, which sounds a bit non-pc these days, so a better translation might be ‘cooked in bacon fat?’ She assures him that it is and that she didn’t cook it for herself but for him. He asks her where her dinner is and she tells him that she has already had it – in the stable. Jean understands the joke and asks her what she is going to do next: ‘Wash up’, she replies and he tells her that she can do that later because right now he wants her to wait on him. Under his breath he comments that she really is as pretty as a picture, and laughing, he says that she must sit next to him and learn how to obey him. Jeannette is happy that his voice is softer now, and he says that she must sit with him for every meal. He slices the bread and gives her the larger slice – she says that she couldn’t possibly take it, then he says that she must have the glass of wine which she had poured for him, and gradually they soften towards one another. Eventually, Jean kisses her and she teasingly tells him that he should have asked first, or earned it. Jean says that if she gives it back to him, he will return it straightaway, and they embrace happily, singing of the joy that their kisses give them.

Suddenly, Thomas’s face appears at the window and although they berate him for interrupting, he reminds them that they are not properly married yet – the mayor still has to sign the contract. Thomas says that everyone is waiting for the good news, and he disappears from the window: Jeannette goes very pale and almost faints and Jean realises that she thinks that he will change his mind again. He calls out and Thomas, Petit Pierre and all their friends, accompanied by two fiddlers, come in through the back door. Jean introduces them to his wife, and Jeannette tells them that she now has a very loving husband. The friends sing of their happiness that Jean and Jeannette have finally got it together. Jeannette produces Jean’s wedding coat which she had mended and he sees the tiny tear-stain; Jeannette produces the discarded wedding bouquet and asks him if there is anyone else he would like to give it to. Jean hands it to Jeannette and asks heaven and all the angels to watch over them As they embrace, bells start to peal and village girls come forward to adorn Jeannette with her bridal garland and veil; the villagers welcome the ringing bells and the bliss which the young lovers have finally found.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • Victor Massé’s life and his operas
  • the lives and librettos of Jules Barbier and Michel Carré
  • the circumstances surrounding the writing of Les noces de Jeannette, the singers who created the roles of Jean and Jeannette, and the audience reactions to the first night
  • omelettes in opera, and many other egg dishes, and …
  • … there is a CD of Les noces de Jeannette, but don’t bother buying it; it was recorded in 1922 and the sound quality is so poor that it is impossible to listen to it. Instead, you can watch the whole opera on YouTube, where you will also find several clips of the Song of the Nightingale, one sung by Joan Sutherland;
  • and if you want to extend your enjoyment of this delightful little opera, you could go a restaurant at 14 Rue Favart in Paris, almost opposite the theatre where the work was first performed, entitled ‘Les noces de Jeannette’ where you can eat excellent French food at reasonable prices, probably listening to an accordion player at the same time. Look it up on-line – but don’t expect omelette cooked in lard, it is a bit more sophisticated than that;
  • There is a statue of Victor Massé in L’Orient, where he spent only the first few years of his life, but which is a town which is proud to remember him. There are streets named after him in various French towns, and at 32B Rue Victor Massé in Montmartre, in South Pigalle in Paris (an increasingly trendy district called Sopi by the locals), a street which was named after him in 1887, three years after his death, there is a Hotel Victor Massé which attracts mainly happy reviews from people who have stayed there. So he is not entirely forgotten.

© Roger Witts 2018

Categories
Opera Plots

Colomba by Alexander Campbell Mackenzie

The chances are that as an opera enthusiast, you associate the name Prosper Mérimée with Carmen – and quite right too. But if you have never actually read his original story of Carmen, then you are in for a treat. And the chances are that if you invest in a modest paper-back (in English) entitled Carmen and other stories, you will find a treasure trove of short stories by Mérimée, some exciting, some sad, some funny, some very thought-provoking, but all of them very entertaining: one of them is Colomba. Of the several operas based on this story, Alexander Campbell Mackenzie’s is probably the least obscure, although it has not yet been performed, far less recorded, in modern times. If you have ever heard any of Mackenzie’s orchestral music, you will realise what a pity this is. So read on to find out the story of his opera, then dig out Mérimée’s original story and read that, and then lobby anybody who has any influence in an opera company to get Colomba rehabilitated. A revival of interest is long overdue (although it has to be said that the libretto is a bit Victorian-stuffy with some strained rhymes).

Opera in four acts.

Libretto by Francis Hueffer based on the story of the same name by Prosper Merimée, which was first published in the Revue des Deux Mondes on 1 July 1840 and then in a single volume in 1841.

First performed by the Carl Rosa company in the Drury Lane Theatre in London on 9 April 1883. After a successful opening run in London, it was performed in Hamburg and Darmstadt (in a German translation) in 1884 and was subsequently revived in London in a three act version in 1909 and then again in 1912.

Prosper Merimée (left) was 37 when he wrote Colomba and Mackenzie (right) was 36 when he turned the story into his first opera. In his memoirs (A Musician’s Narrative, 1927), he recalled with remarkable candour that ‘… fairly started on the composition, a desire to visit Corsica seized me and I left home with that object. Why I went to Piombino and crossed over to Elba instead is not now within my recollection. But … I saw Corsica – from a distance’. So much for detailed location research. Gladstone’s daughter attended the first performance and advised her father to see the opera. The distinguished politician did so, and he approved of the music, although he did comment that the libretto was ‘presumably a translation from the German’. He informed the composer that he himself was ‘three parts a Mackenzie’: a few days later, Mackenzie was invited to breakfast with the prime minister at 10 Downing Street, which was much more enjoyable than some of the reviews which the opera received. (pictures from the author’s collection)

Act 1

It is 1816. In the harbour at Ajaccio on the island of Corsica, a newly-arrived French frigate lies at anchor. As sailors unload the cargo of heavy bales and piles of luggage, market women arrive and start to call out their wares (in surely the most mouth-watering opening chorus in the whole of opera):

Fresh fish from the sea to bake or fry;

Trout and perch from the Lake of Crena,

Pesce spade, triglia, murena.

Lemons and figs and pomi d’oro

Oranges round as monte d’oro,

Apples and melons, a soldo the price,

Sweet almonds straight from paradise.

The women are intrigued by the luggage which is being unloaded and gather round it commenting on its quality and the embroidered coronet upon it, and wondering what beautiful clothes it must contain. They ask a Sergeant of Marines who it belongs to and he roughly tells them to keep their hands off it. A local brigand, Savelli, and his daughter Chilina, disguised as well-to-do country folk, are watching and Chilina ironically tells the women to ignore the sergeant because he is French and has French manners, and the local Corsican lads haven’t yet learned how to scare old women. The sergeant softens and comments that when someone so pretty asks him such a question, he cannot decline. He tells the crowd that the frigate has brought to Corsica His Excellency the Count of Nevers, recently appointed Governor-General of Corsica by the French king, and his daughter Lydia. He goes a bit dreamy as he mentions Lydia’s name, and then continues to tell them that another arrival is Captain Orso della Rebbia, a Corsican soldier who saved the Count’s life at the battle of Waterloo and was rewarded by being appointed to the Count’s staff. He then hints that Orso is shortly to become the Count’s son-in-law as well. At this news, Chilina announces haughtily that that is a lie – no Corsican would look at a French woman, even a beautiful one. The crowd sense a good story and ask to know more, but Chilina’s father warns her to say no more because the crowd are like the French sergeant and know nothing of Orso’s circumstances. He explains that in the village of Pietranera, Orso’s father’s body, with a bullet through his heart, had been dumped on the doorstep of the family home; Orso’s sister, Colomba, had sworn never again to pray, to smile or to love until her father’s murder is avenged by yet more bloodshed. The crowd ask who the father’s murderer had been and Savelli says that for generations there has been a feud between the Della Rebbias and the neighbouring Barracini family. He tells the crowd that on the day that her father was buried, Colomba sang a song which still strikes fear into the hearts of the Barracini: Chilina prepares to sing it for them, and when someone in the crowd calls out that the cops might be listening, she tells them that law or no law, the song has to be heard. She sings the song, which is about a dove (colomba in the local dialect) which has lost its mate and now only has one hope for revenge. Shouts are heard as the crowd believe that the police are coming and they all melt away.

But it is not the police; the Count of Nevers now arrives, accompanied by his daughter and Orso. Shouts of ‘Long live the new governor’ break out and he turns to acknowledge them. Orso tells Lydia that now that he had brought her to his homeland, there is only one thing that he wants to hear her say, but she asks him not to press his suit too hard: she recalls how he had described Corsica to her, with its birdsong, its snow-capped mountains and its waterfalls and he too comments that everything seems to whisper ‘I love you’. The Count interrupts them and asks what they are talking about; Lydia tells him that she was asking about a song which she had heard just now and which she had heard the sailors singing on the voyage and which had stopped whenever Orso had come into earshot. The Count asks Savelli if he can answer the question but the bandit prevaricates, saying that the tune was familiar but the words have been forbidden by law, and looking straight at Orso, he says that when a man has been charged with taking revenge (he uses the phrase ‘to give the rimbecco’), the law becomes meaningless. Orso angrily tells him to keep his clumsy jests to himself, and he tells Lydia not to be offended by such a clown, because the words are simply a local ballad of revenge commonly sung on the island. Savelli retorts that if he were the son of Orso’s father, he would rather hear that song than all the sweet songs of the nightingales. Chilina tells him not to waste his breath, but then she hears the jingling of bells and comments that someone is coming now who most certainly can explain the words of the song.

A young woman dressed in black arrives on a mule, accompanied by two armed peasants on horses. This is Colomba. Orso moves forward to embrace his sister, commenting that she has grown more beautiful in the ten years that he has been away. She moves towards him, but then stops, and draws back. People in the crowd comment on this and the Count suggests to Lydia that they should perhaps leave Orso and his sister alone, but Orso asks Lydia to stay, saying that Colomba is so distraught at their father’s murder that she cannot even speak about it to her brother – but she might confide in a new friend (particularly one whom he hopes will become her sister-in-law). Colomba retorts that she has waited for him night and day to come and avenge their father’s death, but that now he has come, she cannot show him any affection because of the vow she has made. Orso tells her that he had been told of his father’s death, but had understood that it was by his own hand, to which Colomba tells him that a dishonest lawyer was responsible for that lie. Orso tells her that he is aware of his responsibility but must understand the full circumstances.

Lydia, beginning to understand the tension between Orso and Colomba, begs him to think of his comrades who fell in France and of the honour which he owes to them, and not to be swayed by the passionate but idle words of a child. Colomba is incensed at this and says that she will tell Lydia the truth of the situation; she rushes off and Lydia turns to Orso and tells him that she could never give her hand to an assassin. Before he can reply, Colomba returns with Savelli, Chilina and a group of villagers from Pietranera. Publicly, she invites them to rejoice with her that her brother has returned home to unravel the truth and to take his family’s revenge, even though he does not yet know the full story. Savelli tells him that the court of public opinion and the voice of the Lord hold the Barracini responsible for his father’s murder. Colomba says that she was only an innocent girl when the crime was committed, but that she heard a voice from heaven, the voice of the dove in the song, and that she will sing it for Orso now. She begins the song quietly, adding verses which call a wronged brother home from far away to rip out the hearts of the vultures who killed his father; she finished on a crescendo of ‘Vendetta, vendetta!’ and Savelli and the village men take up the cry. In a powerful quintet, Orso, Lydia, Colomba, Savelli and Chilina contemplate what this means: Orso asking whether he too must now become a murderer, Lydia begging him to leave with her now and never return to Corsica, Savelli and Chilina commenting that they can see the shame burning on Orso’s forehead and anticipating a swift revenge, and Colomba repeating her wish that he will rip out the hearts of the Barracini. The crowd observe that all this talk of blood will harm a peaceful man, and they turn away. As the curtain falls, Colomba tells Orso that she will return to their family home in order to prepare a welcome for him.

Act 2

In the village of Pietranera, a large mulberry tree covers an open square between the houses of the Della Rebbia and the Barracini families; the branches of the tree are festooned with withered garlands of flowers and laurel wreaths. On a bench under the tree, Colomba muses on her unhappiness and on the hope which has been rekindled now that her brother has returned. She takes off one of the garlands and starts to pick it to pieces, commenting that she might well be goading Orso to his death and thereby doubling her grief, but, she says, the die is cast and she must have vengeance. She goes into her house and a group of village maidens turns up to celebrate May Day and one of them hangs a wreath of white flowers in the tree. To the accompaniment of the village musicians, the Count now arrives, with Orso and the two Barracini brothers and Giuseppe Barracini explains to the Count the village custom of decorating the ancient tree. The Count announces that this happy day is a suitable time to end the feud between the Barracini and the Della Rebbia families and announces that Orso will shake the hands of the Barracini and accept that there was no foul play involved in his father’s death. Giuseppe Barracini, tells Orso that although Orso’s father had supported Napoleon and the Barracini had been royalists, the thought of violence had never occurred to them – he is a scholar and a lawyer, he says, and Orso’s father was a soldier. The crowd begin to murmur that a lawyer cannot be trusted but Orso accepts Giuseppe’s word and comments that Corsica has been a place of violence and hatred for too long. The Count announces that news of this reconciliation must be spread and he tells Orso that when Lydia arrives tomorrow, she will be delighted to hear of it. Orso and the Barracini brothers sing of their happiness at the end of the feud and the two groups of family supporters approach one another with friendly gestures, but before Orso can take Giuseppe’s outstretched hand, Colomba bursts out of the house and throws herself between them. She cries out that Giuseppe Barracini’s hand is stained with her father’s blood. The Count, in a grave but kindly tone, asks her what evidence she has for this accusation. Colomba replies that she does have a witness, but that he needs immunity from the law before he will speak. The Count replies that if this witness speaks the truth, he will not need to fear the law and he tells Giuseppe that his innocence is more likely to be proven if a hearing is granted to his enemies.

Colomba now emerges from the house with Savelli and the crowd are surprised that the bandit has the temerity to come down from the mountains. Giuseppe tells the Count that he has been duped – Savelli cannot give evidence because he is wanted as a common robber and an assassin. Coolly, Savelli responds ‘If the cap fits, wear it!’ He admits that he has killed, but says that it was done as a vendetta, in daylight and not by sneaking up on his victim in the dark. He stares at Giuseppe and continues that he had acted honourably and not deprived a family of its head. Yes, he had fled to the open country (the macchia), but he had had to leave behind his young daughter, and that Colomba and her father had taken the girl in and protected her. He explains that he had always been a trusty servant to Della Rebbia, at home and on the battle-field, and that it was him who had held the dying man: the bullet which had killed Della Rebbia had missed him by a fraction, but the murderer had fled so quickly that there had been no chance for him to avenge his master’s death; as he says this, he grasps Orso’s hand.

Giuseppe Barracini tells the Count not to listen to such a half-witted, malign tale, adding that Savelli could not possibly have seen the murderer because it was dark. Savelli announces that Barracini must have been there to have known that it was dark, but he goes on to explain that his dying master, unable to speak, had tried to write a last message to his son. He turns to Orso and tells him that it was to deliver this last message from his father that he had gone to the harbour in disguise, but that Orso had given him no opportunity to speak: he hands a bloodstained pocket-book to Orso, who looks at it in horror; he starts to read ‘Giuseppe Barra-‘ but cannot continue. Colomba orders him to read it out clearly for everyone to hear. There is a moment of stunned silence.

In a great sextet, Orso sings that he now sees clearly where his duty lies; Colomba urges him on and tells the Barracini to tremble, to trust no-one and to prepare themselves for the vengeance which is to come. The brothers tell one another that their actions have been exposed and that they must face Orso’s vengeance; Savelli too sings that Orso’s duty is to avenge his father’s murder, and the Count wonders what will happen now – will there be more murder, or will Orso’s desire for reconciliation prevail. Giuseppe tells the Count that the whole story is a hellish plot, adding that he has been proclaimed innocent in law and that he will not fall victim to the accusations of a woman and a bandit.

Orso says that there is a higher court that that of men, and that it is in that court that the Barracini will answer to him. Behind the crowd, men enter both houses and begin to seal the windows and close the verandas in preparation for defending the houses. Orso announces that his ways are not the ways of the murderers and he will not take vengeance in secret. He challenges Giuseppe Barracini to a duel to the death, telling him that if he is too much of a coward to accept, his life will be spared, because Orso is a soldier and not a murderer – he does not kill cowards. He turns away and Savelli tells him that if he needs to flee to the macchia he will find friends there. They leave, and the supporters of the two families withdraw into the two houses, making threatening gestures and waving their guns at one another, shouting ‘Barracini’ and ‘Della Rebbia’ as they do so.

Act 3

As the church clock in Pietranera strikes seven in the morning, Orso arrives at a deserted spot on the road leading from the village; he is wearing traditional Corsican costume and carrying a double-barrelled gun. He has arranged to meet Lydia there without her father and Colomba knowing about it, and he muses on the way that he has not turned into an assassin but has kept his honour intact by challenging his adversary to an honest fight. He looks down the lane and remembers how often he had sat in that place as a boy, looking down the road and wondering whether luck would come along, and now, here he is, waiting for the woman he loves to arrive. He sings a tender Corsican love song about how a lover first doubts that his beloved will come and then swears that whatever happens, he will be true to her.

Unseen by him, Chilina’s voice is heard, singing an old ballad about a lover who went on his way and although his beloved came and waited for him, he never returned, and how although lovers’ hearts may be true, they must beware that powder and ball are stronger that they are; she sings of how the lover dug a grave for her beloved but she dug it for two, and now they rest together for ever, understanding that powder and ball are stronger than they are. Orso acknowledges the meaning of her song and, although he cannot see her he calls out to ask what danger means to someone who thinks only of Lydia and of love.

He starts to move, but suddenly Giuseppe Barracini emerges from the trees and confronts him. Orso tells him scornfully that he had been waiting until night the previous day, expecting Giuseppe’s witness to come to agree a time and a weapon for the duel, but no-one came and the law of honour has now passed – Barracini has no honour now. Giuseppe mocks him for the law of honour and for his talk of love for Lydia, he adds that Orso will not kill him because he boasted ‘Your ways are not my ways’ when he should have been careful not to anger a Barracini as his father had done, and he explains that although he did not pull the trigger himself, he certainly ordered the murder of Orso’s father. Orso, incensed at this boast, asks his father for strength to act with honour and not let him soil his hands with the blood of an assassin. Giuseppe calls out loudly that he had Orso’s father murdered not far from where they are now, and that Orso, like his father, will die the death of a fool. He raises his hand and a shot rings out: Orso stumbles and his left arm falls to his side. With a great effort, he raises the gun with his right arm and fires at Giuseppe, who falls to the ground. After a pause, a man’s head appears from behind a wall – it is the other Barracini brother, Antonio. Again Orso fires, and the sound of a body falling is heard as Antonio drops from sight. Orso collapses in a faint.

Chilina’s voice is heard again, calling her father to hurry, she says that she tried to warn Orso about the ambush and that now he is dead. Chilina and Savelli arrive and as Orso begins to come round, Savelli checks the bodies of the Barracini: He finds that Giuseppe is dead, shot between the eyes, and then he finds the body of Antonio, equally dead; he comments that bagging a lying lawyer with both barrels is an excellent response to their insults. He tells Orso that he had invited him to the macchia and that now he can embrace him just as he did many years earlier but that now they can argue about who is the best shot in Corsica. He and Chilina support Orso, now barely conscious, and lead him off.

Colomba, accompanied by the Count and the villagers from Pietranera now arrive – they have come to welcome Lydia. The count sees Giuseppe’s body and asks what has happened; Colomba coldly tells him that by the law of just retaliation, it is the corpse of a man who has now paid his debt. The Count realises what has happened and turns sadly away. Word of the shooting has got back to the village and as the villagers examine the two corpses, other people arrive with two biers and some monks. They load the bodies onto the biers and start to carry them back to the village; the monks chant a sombre Requiem.

Colomba watches all this impassively and when she is alone, she says that her family is now avenged and that no amount of chanting will bring the dead back. The voice which she had heard predicting vengeance has come true – the royal eagle has returned and ripped out the hearts of the vultures. She walks off towards the village.

Act 4

The night is dark and stormy, and illuminated by frequent flashes of lightning, Colomba and Lydia are seen making their way down the steep side of a narrow valley; Lydia is weary and afraid, but Colomba encourages her, telling her that she has known these hills since she was a child and that they are nearly there and that a sister’s love will guide them. Eventually they see a white rock on the valley floor and Colomba tells Lydia that this is the place where the brigands meet. They hear Orso’s voice weakly calling Lydia’s name and they find him lying asleep on a rough bed of rushes. The two young women stand silently watching him, then Colomba says that she must go and find Savelli.

The role of Colomba was created by the American soprano Alwina Valleria and that of Lydia by Berthe Baldi for the first performances of Colomba at Drury Lane in 1883; Orso, lying wounded, was sung by Barton McGuckin (pictured below) (author’s collection)

Lydia is alarmed, she does not want to be left alone with the wounded Orso, but Colomba reminds her that it is her that Orso is dreaming about. Lydia replies that he had dealt the blow which must separate them for ever, but Orso murmurs her name again and Colomba reminds Lydia that she is being even more cruel than the Corsicans are thought to be – at least they allow an accused man to give an explanation of his actions. Colomba leaves, and Lydia looks down at Orso and says that no explanation is necessary because men will sacrifice love a hundred times for the sake of revenge and hatred. Orso continues to mumble and then grasps Lydia’s hand and tries to kiss it; he suddenly wakes up and she pulls her hand away and tells him coldly that she has only come because his sister had asked her to come to say goodbye to him for ever. Orso apologises for Colomba’s rashness, adding that it is not seemly for the governor’s daughter to be in the place where outlaws meet. Lydia protests that she is not afraid, but that what has caused her change of heart is Orso’s violence despite his promises of love to her. Lydia is adamant; love expressed in words and then destroyed by actions is worthless, and that by aiming at his enemy Orso has pierced her heart too.

Orso now admits that they must part, but he explains to her what actually happened. He had resisted the urge to seek revenge when he had been confronted by Giuseppe Barracini and he had challenged him to an honourable duel. But Giuseppe had acted dishonourably, turned up without a second to witness a fair duel, openly admitted his responsibility for Orso’s father’s murder, and scoffed at Orso’s love for Lydia. Even then, thinking of Lydia, Orso had held back from killing him, but when he himself was shot from behind, he had fallen and fired entirely in self-defence.

Lydia is moved; she kneels and tells him that her heart is entirely his – they must not part, she will love him forever. Orso realises that this cannot happen and he urges her to leave but Lydia tells him that his danger is now her danger too. He tells her that he will be charged with murder and she replies that she will speak on his behalf and that they will face the future together. He accepts her willingness and they sing a passionate duet declaring their love for one another. They are interrupted by Colomba, who runs up, followed by Savelli and Chilina; they tell Orso to flee because soldiers are coming for him. Savelli says he will support him and Colomba and Chilina can follow but Orso refuses to leave – he tells Colomba that Lydia’s love means everything to him and that he will declare his innocence to the world. Savelli warns him that among the soldiers there may well be some Barracini supporters who will not hesitate to shoot him but Orso says that God will protect him and Lydia says that she will stay with him whatever happens. Colomba tells Savelli that she and he must divert the soldiers and although Savelli has misgivings, there is no time to debate the issue. Colomba, Savelli and Chilina leave, and Orso and Lydia remain in one another’s arms. Shouts are heard and men and soldiers can be seen and heard shouting to one another across the valley, shots ring out.

A peasant now comes upon Orso and Lydia, leading a detachment of soldiers who arrest Orso despite Lydia’s attempts to stop them. As they start to lead him away, the Count arrives with yet more soldiers and some village women. He gestures for Orso to be released. He tells Lydia that he knows that she could not resist the pleas of a desperate sister and he tells Orso that Chilina had witnessed the ambush and has confirmed what really happened; he himself had been close enough to hear the shots – a carbine first and then the deeper tone of his own gun which he had advised Orso to take earlier that morning: so everything is clear – Orso was attacked and in defending himself, he has rid the island of two murderous villains.

The happiness at Orso’s exoneration is short-lived: Chilina and a soldier arrive, supporting a mortally wounded Colomba. Chilina tells them how Colomba had stood firm in the middle of the fire-fight, waving and shouting to divert the soldiers’ attention, but she was hit. Colomba is laid gently on the ground and Orso and Lydia kneel by her side – she tells them that she can die happy; her father’s murder is avenged and her brother is free; she asks them both to remember her in their happiness. She dies.

The Count is deeply moved: he tells everyone that Colomba had a hero’s spirit in a woman’s body and her life was one of sacrifice: after avenging her father’s murder, all she wanted was Orso’s happiness. He leads everyone in a prayer for her soul.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • the life and operas of Alexander Campbell Mackenzie
  • the life and the contribution to opera of Francis Hueffer
  • the life of Prosper Merimée and his contribution to opera
  • a handful of other operas based on the same story of Colomba, including Giovanni Pacini’s La fidanzata corsa of 1841, Axel Grandjean’s Colomba of 1882 and Vittorio Radeglia’s Colomba of 1887
  • the plots of many other operas based on the stories of Prosper Merimée, especially Carmen
  • other operas which tells stories of revenge
  • the lives and operas of many of Mackenzie’s contemporaries, all keen to establish an operatic tradition in Britain
  • places to visit linked with Mackenzie, with Merimée and with the real-life Corsican woman who inspired the story, Colomba Carabelli …
  • … and many opera plots and other stories linked to operas at the end of the nineteenth century

© Roger Witts 2011

Categories
Opera Plots

Don Sanche ou Le Château d’Amour by Franz Liszt

Liszt’s contribution to opera was considerable. He was Kapellmeister at Weimar between 1848 and 1859 and as a conductor and innovator there he introduced many new operas, including Cornelius’s Barber of Baghdad, Wagner’s Lohengrin, Tannhauser and Der fliegende Hollander, Schumann’s Genoveva, Schubert’s Alfonso und Estrella and Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, and as a composer of opera transcriptions he created piano versions which brought opera into the homes of millions, much the same as recordings do today. So it is surprising to know that he only actually wrote one opera, that he was only thirteen years old at the time, that it was given only three performances and that it was presumed to have been lost completely for seventy-eight years until a score was discovered in 1903. Don Sanche or the Castle of Love is typical of its genre – a soppy story of knights in love guaranteed to appeal to a teenager: the style is old-fashioned and reflects the musical influences on the boy composer – it is not yet full-blooded nineteenth-century romantic and has echoes of Schubert and Beethoven in their prime and of Rossini reaching the end of his composing period. When it was composed in 1825, Paris audiences had not yet developed their mania for grand opera. But Don Sanche is more than a childish pastiche. Some commentators have observed that the whole work may have been written by someone else, but the score contains errors and stylistic clues which can only have been created by a child. Liszt must, however, have been helped in the orchestration, and the most likely person to have done this was his tutor, the experienced composer Ferdinand Paër. The characterisation is apt and vivid but not psychologically demanding; the music is full of fresh melodies and good ideas, and it is put together in a satisfying and surprisingly mature way: Don Sanche is a curiosity, but an interesting one. It is performed occasionally and there is a good recording available (and if there wasn’t one, we would no doubt wish that there was). It is well worth listening to.

Opéra-féerie in one act and two parts.

Libretto by Marie-Emmanuel-Guillaume-Marguerite Théaulon de Lambert (aka Emmanuel Théaulon, who also wrote under the pseudonym Léon) and a Madame de Rancé (otherwise unknown, unless this too is a pseudonym), based on a story from the middle ages which was elaborated in the late eighteenth century by Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian, best known for his many fables for children in the style of La Fontaine.

First performed on 17 October 1825 in the Théâtre de l’Académie Royale de Musique in Paris (not at the Paris Opéra, as some dictionaries claim). It was given only three performances and then apparently lost (Liszt claimed that it had been destroyed in a fire at the Paris Opéra). Even after the discovery of a score in 1903, it still had to wait until 1977 for a revival at a Liszt Festival in London.

The overture has no musical links with the opera and may well have been composed some time earlier: in the previous July (1824), the child prodigy was touring in Britain with his father (much as Mozart had done) and at a concert in Manchester a full orchestral Grand Overture was performed. This was what was to become the overture to Don Sanche although Liszt himself commented later that nothing came of it after this performance, and that all composers would be wise to reflect on its fate.

The most familiar portraits of Liszt show him in old age, although there are pictures of him in his twenties and thirties. This picture of him as a teenager (right), around the time that he composed Don Sanche, is shown, without any attribution, in the leaflet which accompanies the only CD recording of the opera.

Part 1

It is night and the Castle of Love is bathed in moonlight. There are no barriers here and the only criterion for admission to the castle is that couples should be mutually in love. A chorus of knights, ladies and lovers of every social class sing of their joy, and when Don Sanche arrives expectantly at the gate, a page tells him that he cannot enter without a partner who has sworn life-long love for him. Don Sanche wistfully comments that if the only requirement was for one person to love another, then he would be admitted immediately and he sings of his love for the hard-hearted Elzire (not ‘marble-breasted’ as the translation of insensible in the CD libretto has it); a love which is sadly unrequited because she simply laughs at his sufferings. The page reminds him of the conditions for entry, tells him to give up trying and refuses to admit him.

With the chorus of happy lovers ringing in his ears, Don Sanche, convinced that he will never win Elzire’s love, resolves instead to die fighting as her champion. The lord of the castle, Alidor, now turns up and tells Don Sanche that he will not die, but that Elzire is in great danger and it is up to Don Sanche to rescue her. Don Sanche is only too willing to act in her service. Alidor explains that although he established the castle of love as a monument to his own great shared love, he nevertheless has some sympathy with unrequited lovers. He predicts that Don Sanche will fight for Elzire, but that she is destined to have a royal husband in a country far away. Don Sanche vehemently swears that this dismal prediction will never come to pass.

In a duet, Don Sanche and Alidor comment on the torments of love and Alidor explains that Elzire is travelling to Navarre and that their route will take them through a nearby forest, so he will divert Elzire and her retinue towards the castle. Don Sanche worries that his efforts will all be in vain. Alidor says that he will conjure up a storm and that this will reveal Elzire’s real feelings: in a fearsome aria, he magics up a storm, which sweeps in dramatically.

The storm is a success and Elzire arrives at the castle. Alidor comments that if she continues to resist the power of Don Sanche’s love, then he will take the form of a pursuer and get her to reveal the secrets of her heart. Accompanied by thunder and lightning, he returns into the castle. The members of Elzire’s retinue comment on the suddenness and power of the storm and the urgent need to find shelter. Elzire’s lady-in-waiting Zélis has seen the turrets of the castle and sends some of their party ahead to arrange for them to take refuge there. The storm abates and the Page emerges from the castle and asks Elzire why she has come. She replies that they are seeking shelter from the storm but in an aria, the Page tells her of the castle’s rules, and that unless she returns love which is offered, she can clear off. Elzire is horrified by the harshness of the rules, but the Page is adamant.

The role of Don Sanche in the only three performances of the opera during Liszt’s life was created by Adolphe Nourrit. Already one of the most distinguished tenors in the world, he created several roles in Rossini’s Paris operas, including the title role in Le comte Ory (1828) and the cruelly demanding role of Arnold in Guillaume Tell (1829). Still only twenty-three when he sang Don Sanche, he was wracked by illness, depression and weariness at his perpetual rivalry with the tenor Duprez and he committed suicide in 1839 by throwing himself from the top floor of the Hotel Barbaia in Naples following a benefit concert. (postcard in the author’s collection)

Elzire tries to pull rank, announcing that she is of royal lineage but the Page is steadfast, telling her that although her status is honourable it doesn’t matter if she is the offspring of gods; rules is rules and she can only be admitted if she returns Don Sanche’s love. The storm starts up again and Elzire’s retinue scatters to take shelter under the trees. Zélis reminds her mistress that the reason for their trip to Navarre is that Elzire is being pursued by a determined knight named Romualde, and that it might be sensible to give in to Don Sanche’s love. But Elzire is determined to go on to Navarre, where she is convinced that she will find a defender. In an aria, she reminds Zélis that she is destined to wear a crown and knows that the champion of her dreams will not let her down. Zélis acknowledges this predicted destiny but comments that Don Sanche himself was born close to the throne and that despite his declarations of love, Elzire has shown him nothing but cruel contempt.

Don Sanche now joins them and in a trio he tries to persuade Elzire to accept his love. He says that the storm has not gone away and that it is already night-time; he and Zélis try to persuade Elzire that if she loves him for ever, they can enter the castle together and she can be safe. Elzire will have none of it; even the motto on Don Sanche’s banner, ‘All for love, all for honour’, fails to impress her.

Alidor now uses magic to conjure up a sheltered grassy bed. Elzire is puzzled by the sudden appearance of this refuge but grateful, and decides to rest there before resuming her journey to Navarre. Don Sanche settles down to watch over her while she sleeps, commenting wryly that his dream will be a happy one but the awakening will be cruel.

Part 2

Dawn rises and the Page, accompanied by pairs of happy lovers, comes out and they all praise their castle, then dance their way back in. A lengthy march announces that Romualde is close, and the chorus urges Elzire to accept Don Sanche’s love and thus be able to enter the safety of the castle because it would be futile to challenge her pursuer. Don Sanche reassures Elzire that he will protect her.

Romaulde (who is actually Alidor in disguise putting into practice his plan to get Elzire to reveal her true feelings) arrives and tells Elzire that she is cruel not to accept his love, but that he will continue to pursue her and will take her by force if necessary. Elzire rejects him scornfully, calling him a disgrace to chivalry, and Don Sanche challenges him. In a duet, Don Sanche and Romaulde threaten one another and then go off to fight.

Zélis comments on the fight: she describes the glint of fury in their eyes and how they approach one another. Elzire comments that she has been far too cruel to the young hero who is prepared to die for her; she regrets her indifference towards Don Sanche and prays that he will be saved, and gradually, in a moving and contrite aria, revealing that she really does love him after all. Zélis and Elzire’s followers continue to give a running commentary on the fight, and when Don Sanche is apparently mortally wounded, she realises that she is responsible for his death, and asks her followers to leave her. A knight comes to tell her that Don Sanche is not yet dead and that his last wish is that Elzire should close his eyes for the final time.

A funeral march accompanies Don Sanche’s arrival. Zélis suggests some careful nursing, but Elzire tells her to request immediate admittance to the castle – if it can save Don Sanche, she will lovingly devote her life to him. Three echoing trumpet calls ring out and the Page asks Elzire what she wishes; Elzire replies that it is her wish to love Don Sanche for ever and begs entry with him to the castle. The page replies that all Don Sanche’s sufferings will be over if Elzire is willing to be united with him in marriage in the castle of love.

Alidor appears and asks for Elzire’s forgiveness; he explains that he was Romualde and that by getting her to reveal her true feelings, he has relieved the young knight of his torment. Don Sanche is restored to health and he and Elzire ask Alidor to accept their pledges of love, promising that they will be the very model of devoted lovers. To the delight of the chorus of lovers and the accompaniment of a little wedding march, Don Sanche and Elzire are married and everybody observes that faithfulness is the highest virtue of all.

–ooOo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • the life of Liszt and his contribution to opera
  • the life and librettos of Emmanuel Théaulon
  • the stories of many other operas written by teenaged composers …
  • … and many more plots of operas, well-known and much loved operas as well as obscure and forgotten operas.

© Roger Witts 2013

Categories
Opera Plots

Dante by Benjamin Godard

If you like the idea of spotting a new opera trend, keep an eye on Benjamin Godard. There are now several recordings of his orchestral and chamber music and the occasional extract from an opera, all of which will leave you wanting more. There is a DVD (available online from Premiere Opera) of a televised concert performance of Dante which will certainly take your breath away. In several of his operas, Godard went for a swirling, grand Italian historical theme, and Dante is the most typical of these and the most accessible. There are many enthusiasts for Godard’s music around, so it should not be too long before his operas become more widely known. He died young, and he fell between two schools of composition – he was too impressed by Wagner’s music to ally himself with the French composers who actively sought to move away from the pervasive German influence (such as Lalo, Saint-Saëns, Franck and Chausson), but the emotional content of his music was not sufficiently strong to link him with any new trend in French music. He was what he was, and it does him a disservice to overlook him because he does not exactly fit a genre. Had he lived longer, he might have been more influential – but that does not diminish the beauty of what he did write.

Épisode lyrique in two acts.

Libretto by Édouard Blau.

First performed at the Opéra-Comique in Paris on 13 May 1890

The action takes place in Florence in 1300: two rival political factions, the Guelfs and the Ghibellines, are engaged in fighting over the issue of Papal control and the city is in turmoil.

Act I

In a public square in Florence, in front of the government palazzo, groups of Guelf supporters led by Corso shout abuse at equally vociferous groups of Ghibellines led by Fieri; ordinary citizens watch in bemusement. It is the day of the election of the chief magistrate of the city, the Prior of Florence, and both of the factions are confident that their candidate will be successful. The poet Dante arrives and reproaches the two parties, suggesting that they put their rivalry aside and concentrate their combined efforts in order to address the threats posed by enemies of the state. In a wonderful aria, he sings of the beauty of Florence. Both factions laugh at him, but the people listen to his words and try to persuade him to stand as an independent candidate in the current election. He turns down their entreaties and the people, together with the still-arguing Guelf and Ghibelline supporters, pile into the palazzo for the election.

Left alone, Dante hopes that the vote will produce a leader who will be up to the task of governing such a divided city. A friend, Simeone Bardi, crosses the piazza on his way to the election; he sees Dante and welcomes him back – clearly Dante has been away from Florence for some time. Dante replies that during his visits to Bologna, Padua and other cities, he never forgot his home city. Bardi tells Dante that he has become betrothed to a woman whom he has loved for a long time; he launches into an idyllic description of her, saying that he must borrow Dante’s poetic language to do her justice. Dante asks her name, and when Bardi tells him that he already knows her – it is Beatrice Portinari, Dante is mortified; he asks how Bardi managed to win her heart and Bardi tells him that he had saved Beatrice’s father from the revenge of the powerful Donati family whom Portinari has managed to offend, and Portinari offered Beatrice’s hand to him in gratitude. In an aside, Dante’s reaction reveals that he has been in love with Beatrice himself for a long time, and he regrets ever leaving Florence. Oblivious to Dante’s distress, Bardi leaves him to go into the election. Alone again, Dante is in despair; he sings of his broken heart and his lost happiness, and then resolves to speak to Beatrice to see whether there is any way that he might win her back. He leaves.

Benjamin Godard (left) was 40 when he wrote Dante, the sixth of his eight operas; the librettist Édouard Blau (right) was 54 (author’s collection)

Beatrice herself, accompanied by her close friend Gemma, now emerges from a nearby chapel. They have been praying for strength for Beatrice to get through the marriage to which Beatrice’s father has committed her: Gemma urges Beatrice to expect help from God, but Beatrice comments that when she emerges from that chapel as a wife, she will be wearing the white cloth of a shroud and not a wedding dress. She tells Gemma that she has never loved anyone but Dante, and Gemma urges her to put all thoughts of him behind her. Beatrice sings fondly of the childhood that she and Dante had shared and how they had used to do everything together, but she assumes that Dante, being a bit older than her, had forgotten those times. Gemma tries to comfort her, saying rather pointedly that she knows how painful unrequited love is.

Animated groups of people emerge excitedly from the palazzo and from all around the square – the election is over, and the people have voted overwhelmingly for Dante Alighieri to be the new Prior of Florence. Beatrice realises that Dante has returned to Florence. When Bardi leads in a rather bemused Dante, however, Dante asks what the people want of him. He says that he is not a leader and knows nothing of the cut and thrust of politics; he is a quiet dreamer, a reader of Virgil, a poet. Bardi encourages him to accept the post and defend his native city, but Dante says that instead of giving support to the people, he would himself need support. The people in the crowd urge him to accept, and eventually, Beatrice steps forward and, watched by an entranced Dante, tells him that when the people of Florence face danger, they will need a leader who will be strong, and that he will be surrounded by tender affection: she tells him to know that he is loved and that he must accept his duty. Spurred on by the hidden meaning in ‘to know that he is loved’, Dante looks straight at Beatrice and, as the chiefs of the Guelfs and the Ghibellines lower their banners in acceptance of Dante’s election as Prior of Florence, he accepts the position. Beatrice murmurs ‘He loves me still’, and Dante is invested with the cloak of office: he declares an end to civil discord and urges the people of Florence to unite in their dream of greatness and liberty.

Act 2

In a room in the palazzo, Bardi is reviewing a table loaded with documents. He is apprehensive about the consequences of Dante’s action in exiling the leaders of the rival factions because they have now appealed to Charles de Valois, the brother of the French king, to enter the city and remove Dante from office. But it is not just the fate of the city that worries him – he recalls the look in Beatrice’s eye when she told Dante to know that he is loved, and cannot believe that she would betray him. Gemma joins him and he asks her if Beatrice has yet agreed to a date for their wedding. Gemma, however, asks him to give up his love for Beatrice. Bardi is not surprised – he had already expected such a request. Gemma tells him that he is too quick in accusing Beatrice of betrayal – she has come to ask him to make this sacrifice without Beatrice’s knowledge, because she can see how Beatrice is weeping more and more each day. Bardi responds angrily that if he releases Beatrice she will run straight into Dante’s arms. Gemma says that Beatrice has loved Dante ever since they were children together and when Bardi tells her that she doesn’t know what she is talking about because she knows nothing about love, Gemma reveals that she herself has loved Dante for a long time but that all she wants is to see happiness in the smiles of the two people whom she loves and again she begs him to forgive Beatrice and release her. Bardi is adamant that he will not, and with Gemma continuing to beg him to show some compassion, the two of them leave.

Beatrice now emerges from behind a tapestry – she has heard all this and she now despairs that her love for Dante is impossible. In a touching aria, she sings of her sorrow that Dante will never be hers and that Gemma’s secret love will also come to nothing. Dante now enters the chamber, at first unaware of Beatrice’s presence. He is filled with joy at seeing her, but she tells him that he will never see her again. Dante replies that although her words say farewell, her heart does not. Beatrice tells him that she has an obligation to Bardi, but that the number of happy days that she will enjoy with him will be very brief; sadly, she tells Dante that the glory which he will achieve as a poet will soon wipe her from his memory. Dante tells her that the only reason that he has sought reward from his writing is to bring it to present to her, and that without her, he will never write again. Beatrice rejoices at this and Dante tells her that a storm is gathering around him, and that it is only her love which encourages him to go on. Together, they sing of their love and Beatrice falls into Dante’s arms.

Bardi, together with Vieri and a group of leading Ghibellines and Guelfs, enters and ironically ask Dante to receive them; he attempts to lead Beatrice away, but the Ghibellines block their way. Bardi tells Dante that it pleased him to exile the Ghibellines, so it can now please him to welcome them back and the Ghibelline and Guelf chiefs tell Dante that the warring factions have indeed united, but against Dante. Dante asks what traitor has given them access to the palazzo and as Beatrice tries to run, Bardi announces coldly that there is no point expecting help because everyone in the palazzo has either been disarmed or has joined the rebels. At a sign from Bardi, the rebel chiefs draw their swords and advance on Dante. Beatrice pleads for Dante’s life and Bardi tells her that she can save him if she submits to being confined in a nunnery. Dante says that he would rather die but Bardi forces Beatrice to promise to agree, saying that if he cannot have her, then God can. With no other choice, Beatrice agrees and makes the vow which Bardi has demanded, and as Dante and Beatrice rail against God for punishing their love so cruelly, Bardi gloats that he is satisfied with the vengeance which he has exacted from the lovers.

Beatrice swears to obey Bardi; from the first performance of the opera, with Cécile Simonnet as Beatrice, Paul Lhérie as Simeone Bardi (cloaked, right of centre) and Étienne Gibert as Dante (recoiling, left of centre) (from Le Monde Illustré of 24 May 1890; print in the author’s collection)

Bardi tells the rebel chiefs to sheathe their swords, but Dante tells them all that they are foolish to let him live because he will make sure that they all pay for depriving him of his love. They just laugh at him, and a great tumult is heard outside the palazzo – Bardi tells him that Charles de Valois has just entered the city. A fanfare of trumpets is heard and then a French herald announces that in the name of the king of France and with authority granted by the pope, Charles de Valois has declared Dante an exile and that if he ever returns to Florence in defiance of this ban, he will be executed. The Guelf and Ghibelline chiefs mockingly tell Dante that they have learned from him that the first act of anyone taking power is to banish all rivals. Dante collapses in despair and as Beatrice staggers towards him he whispers that an oath given under duress is null and void and tells her to follow him. Horrified, she says that she has made a promise and she bids Dante farewell for ever.

Act 3

At the tomb of the ancient Roman poet Virgil, groups of shepherds, students and country folk have gathered to dance and celebrate the poet. It is evening, and they sing songs of praise to Virgil and lay flowers and sheaves of corn at the tomb. Gradually they melt away and as the evening darkens and the tomb is left in quietness. Dante arrives in deep despair; he sighs that another day has ended without any respite for his misery and he longs for comfort of a tomb. He settles on a rock near Virgil’s tomb and implores the shade of the poet to rise and recall for him the glories which poetry can bring; gradually, he falls asleep.

In Dante’s dream, the tomb opens and Virgil emerges, clothed in a long white robe and wearing a laurel crown. He tells the sleeping Dante that human happiness is a fragile thing and that although Dante’s has been shattered, the Muse has not deserted him and will come to console him. Dante wakes up and tries to rise, but as Virgil extends his arms, Dante falls back and his eyes close again. Virgil’s shade tells him that he wants Dante to write once more, and that even though his poetry will be the darkest that he has written, it will be the most beautiful. A veil of clouds rises behind them and Dante sees the ominous message ‘Abandon hope, all ye that enter here’.

Act 4

Still at Virgil’s tomb, Dante is still sleeping and as day breaks, a shepherd-boy leads Bardi in. The boy moves on and Bardi gazes at Dante for a few moments without approaching him Slowly Dante wakes and comments on his wonderful dream, then he sees Bardi and wonders if he is still in hell. Bardi, however, tells his former friend that he has realised how many people his blind jealousy has harmed and he asks Dante to forgive him. Dante asks him if he is truly sorry for the torment which he has caused and Bardi says that he is, and explains that Gemma appealed to him for pity and that he found out where Dante had gone and has come to seek forgiveness. Dante asks him where Beatrice is and it emerges that she is in a convent in Naples; Dante tells him that when he sees Beatrice again, he will not just forgive Bardi, he will give him his blessing.

In Naples, in the convent garden, Gemma watches anxiously as Beatrice, pale and exhausted, follows a procession of nuns into the chapel. Gemma prays that the nuns will not accept Beatrice into their order: she knows that Beatrice is still mourning for a lost love and that surely the Lord will not want to take her. Gemma wants to hold her friend’s hand and pleads that the angel of death will pass on because one more flower will not make the tomb any more beautiful. Beatrice emerges from the chapel and tells Gemma that she cannot kneel without fainting, so the vow which she is determined to take has been postponed until she is stronger. Gemma urges Beatrice not to lose the will to live because Dante will always love her. Beatrice, however, responds that she is exhausted by all the weeping and that death will come to her as a blessing. A nun appears with a message for Gemma, and left alone, Beatrice wishes that she could see Dante just one more time before she dies.

Gemma returns and tells Beatrice that there is someone who wishes to see her – it is Bardi come to beg her forgiveness for his cruelty. Beatrice replies that she will forgive him, but has no desire to see him again – Gemma tells her that she will want to see the man who has come with him, and Beatrice realises that it is Dante. The poet rushes in and takes Beatrice in his arms. Gemma and Bardi watch the lovers and all four join in a quartet: Dante and Beatrice proclaiming their profound happiness at last, Gemma overjoyed that Beatrice’s misery is over and Bardi remorseful at the consequences of his pride. Dante tells Beatrice that Bardi has released her from her vow – she extends her hand towards Bardi who kisses it gently and then, with Gemma, moves away, leaving the lovers alone.

Beatrice faints in Dante’s arms just as they are restored to one another, while Gemma and Bardi watch in horror (print showing the final scene of the opera a few days after its première; from l’Univers Illustré of 17 May 1890; author’s collection)

Beatrice and Dante are ecstatic and sing joyfully of their restored love and resolve to go somewhere far away where they can be together for ever. As they move off, Beatrice stumbles and puts her hand over her heart; her head falls onto Dante’s shoulder. He realises that she has fainted and calls for Gemma and Bardi who both come running back. Beatrice recovers a bit and tells Dante that her dream of happiness was too beautiful for heaven to allow it to come true on earth; she draws up all her strength and starts to make her way towards the chapel, saying that she is going to where the angels collect tears and turn them into stars. Dante recalls hearing these words in his dream, and Beatrice tells him that they will be together for ever in heaven and then falls dead. Dante begs death to take him too, but Gemma tells him that he still has his muse and that he will find consolation in his poetry: Dante cries out that God had made Beatrice immortal, but that through his poetry, he will immortalise her memory.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • Benjamin Godard’s life and operas
  • the life and librettos of Édouard Blau
  • the stories of some of Godard’s other operas
  • other operas which tell the story of Dante and Beatrice (not that there are many)
  • other operas which tell the story of real-life poets, including Sappho, André Chénier, Boccaccio and the fake but nevertheless real-life Thomas Chatterton …
  • … and other nineteenth-century French composers who have slipped below the horizon but who, like Godard, deserve to be better known (such as Victorin Joncières, Ferdinand Poise, Victor Massé and Félicien David)

© Roger Witts 2008

Categories
Opera Plots

Gwendoline by Emmanuel Chabrier

Chabrier’s Gwendoline is a French composer’s attempt to depict the consequences of a Viking raid on the English coast at the time of King Alfred, and it is also a tribute to the composer’s enthusiasm for Wagner. Chabrier wrote some comic operas and he also produced some delightful and very funny piano homages to his hero, but in Gwendoline he went for a full-blooded, serious Wagner tribute, and despite its unusual and slightly strained libretto, it certainly deserves to be better known. There are not many operas which are set in Anglo-Saxon England and which chronicle the struggle between the native English and the Viking invaders. There are two different Italian operas featuring Alfred the Great (both entitled Alfredo il Grande) by Mayr and Donizetti, which both try, with different degrees of success, to maintain some sort of historical accuracy, and there is Thomas Arne’s entirely English Alfred, which was intended not to tell a historical tale but to flatter Frederick, Prince of Wales, on the accession of his father George I to the English throne, by linking him with King Alfred’s military victories and praising the increase in British sea power (which is why it includes Rule Britannia): there are also a handful of obscure English operas which sound like Saxon/Viking sagas but aren’t (such as Frederic Cowen’s Thorgrim). Sadly, none of the Alfred operas include the story of him burning the cakes. But in Gwendoline the invaders’ boats get burned, along with the Anglo-Saxon heroine and her unexpected Viking lover. It has all the necessary ingredients to make a full-blooded adventure opera, and it is well worth exploring: a CD recording of a production in Paris in 1977 is available online from Premier Opera.

Opera in three acts.

Libretto by Catulle Mendès, with contributions from Pierre Bonnier-Ortolan writing under the pseudonym ‘Elzéar’.

First performed in the Théâtre la Monnaie in Brussels on 10 April 1886.

Act 1

The libretto describes the setting as ‘Great Britain in barbarian times’, but it is in reality the east coast of Anglo-Saxon England during the period of the Viking invasions, between 800 and 1066AD.

At dawn, in a village just inland from the coast, a group of young men and girls happily welcome the new day. Outside the house of Armel, the elderly local chieftain and leader of a fishing community, his daughter Gwendoline encourages the men to take to their fishing boats and the girls to go out into the fields. Armel kisses her tenderly and prepares to lead his men away. Gwendoline warns him about the very real possibility of an attack by the Viking raiders who are devastating the area. Armel tells her not to be afraid and reassures her that his boat is strong, then he and his men leave; the local girls tease Gwendoline about her premonitions of attack and a dream that she has had of being carried away across the sea by a Viking, asking whether he was strong and handsome. They tell her that whether or not he is a Viking or a pirate, a lover is always irresistible. She remains convinced that what she has seen in her dream will turn out to be true and that a Viking raid will leave their fields covered in corpses and the air full of smoke. Gwendoline observes that the raiders are far from their own homes, their wives and girlfriends, and perhaps they miss their tender voices in the night-time. Then she stops herself and reminds her companions that the invaders are cruel enemies and their ships are decorated with terrifying dragons. And she is right – just as her companions point out that the lookouts have not spotted any sign of enemy sails, they hear the sound of fighting and raise the alarm. The Saxon fisherman suddenly return in total disarray – they have been caught unprepared in a sudden attack by a Viking force and are in retreat – Armel calls out to one of his men, Aella, to hide his daughter and all the girls scatter to their own homes. The Vikings sing cheerfully that they are like fierce polar bears driven across the ice by hunger. The leader of the invaders, Harald, urges his men on to spill as much blood and create as much carnage as possible, and reminds them that if they fall, they will simply laugh and go off to drink beer and mead with the gods, and the battle ends with many Saxons dead and Armel and his men taken prisoner. A Viking warrior points out to Harald that Armel is the Saxons’ leader and Harald tells the old man that the fortunes of war have made him their conqueror and orders Armel to tell him where the village gold is hidden and when the old man stubbornly refuses, Harald tells him that he will burn down the whole village. Armel simply tells him to set to work with his fire-brands so Harald prepares to execute him.

This French postage stamp was issued in 1942 to celebrate the centenary of Chabrier’s birth and to raise money for the Musician’s’ Aid Fund: the nominal value is 2F but there is a 3F surcharge for the charity. The image is taken from a tableau by Fantin-Latour and shows the composer with the first page of the score of Gwendoline (the two other pieces of music underneath Gwendoline are España and the unfinished opera Briseis). If you would like one of these stamps, 1,225,000 were produced, so the chances of you getting hold of one for a few pence are pretty high. For the record, the perforation is 13 (author’s collection)

Gwendoline steps between her father and the Viking and Harald is immediately enchanted by her beauty and her courage. She begs him for mercy and he wonders about the unknown delight that he is feeling. The two of them stand immobile between the two groups of fighters and then Harald orders his men to leave them alone together; his men move away, puzzled by this change in their leader. At first, Gwendoline is frightened, but Harald apologises for his rough nature and reassures her that he only wants to see her better. He asks her name, and she tells him: he comments that it sounds like the gently sound of waves lapping at the sandy beach at night. He tells her that his name, Harald, is like the sound of a wave beating against a rock, and then he asks her if she is still afraid of him. She tells him that she is still a bit frightened, and he asks her who she is. She replies that she is a woman, and he asks if all women have hair the colour of honey and eyes which sparkle like flames; he goes on to explain that he lives in a bitterly fierce whirlwind; he was born in a ship and his fellow Vikings joke that his mother was a storm and his father was the wind, and that when they set sail on a voyage of pillage he can drink the beer and the mead of the gods. Gwendoline asks him if he has never heard a girl laugh and he replies that it has long been his dream that one day, when he falls in the fray covered in blood, perhaps then he will be carried up to Valhalla by a Valkyrie who appears from the clouds in her golden helmet on a white horse, and his heart will beat faster at the sight of her marvellous beauty reflecting the sun. Gwendoline coyly asks if she herself is anything like this beautiful warrior maiden of his dreams and he tells her that she is just as lovely, just as brave and maybe even sweeter. Gwendoline responds that sweetness is an attribute of young girls who take no part in fighting.

(left) Emmanuel Chabrier in later life; (right) the librettist Catulle Mendès (cards in the author’s collection)

Harald asks her how she passes her time if she does not fight. She tells him that their lances are needles and that they spin their yarn without a care in the world and sing as the spinning wheel turns – and to amuse themselves, they make themselves chaplets of wildflowers. She shows him how they pluck wild white roses, sometimes pricking their hands, and twine them with lily of the valley, periwinkle and jasmine to make a chaplet with hanging tendrils of bindweed. She asks him to help her to pick some flowers and make a chaplet, and then she presents it to him, asking him if he thinks that it is pretty. Harald tells her that the perfume and colours of the flowers remind him of her, then, suddenly, he realises what he is doing and throws the chaplet down and rejects the tenderness that it represents; he tells her that he will return to his real life, on the high seas, free and fierce. She chides him and, commenting that it looks rather like a rosary, tells him to pick the chaplet up. He refuses, but eventually obeys, and Gwendoline tells him that in order to please her he must be gentle, never show anger, and, above all, obey her. She tells him to give her her spinning wheel, and when he picks it up roughly, she tells him to be careful because it is fragile. She shows him how she spins and sings a spinning song for him which says that there is nothing in the world as strong as love.

One of the gentlest moments in the opera, Gwendoline’s spinning-wheel aria, is depicted in this illustration from a supplement to the magazine Annales politiques et Littéraires of 7 January 1894 following the first performances of the opera at the Paris Opéra and shows Lucy Berthet as Gwendoline and Maurice Renaud as Harald. In her memoirs, Lucy Berthet recalled that on her visits to Chabrier at home to rehearse her part, ‘his gaze would suddenly become wild, he no longer saw the score and improvised strange fantasies at the keyboard while I, ever docile, continued to sing Gwendoline’; Chabrier was unimpressed by Renaud’s performance as Harald and in a letter to a friend he described him and another singer, Albert Vaguet, as dregs rejected by Reyer and Massenet (author’s collection)

Harald is entranced, and tells her that her voice is lovely and that the sun has put its gold into her hair. She tells him that it is now his turn to spin and to sing the song. Harald is reluctant and tells her that the song he sings is one of fighting and of spilling blood over the fields, the shore and the sea. She says that his song frightens her, and that he must sing hers instead. Eventually, Harald sits at the wheel and starts to spin, but before he can start to sing, some of his men return and, seeing him seated at the spinning wheel, ask him what has happened to his pride. He tells them that he is their master still and that even the savage bear should not risk raising his anger. He asks Gwendoline if the old Saxon is her father, and when she nods, he calls Armel forward and asks him for his daughter’s hand, telling him that if he consents, Harald the cruel, the victorious, will become his friend in peace.

Armel replies that Harald’s request is unexpected and asks what his daughter herself wants. Gwendoline replies happily that she and Harald want the same thing. The Saxon men are shocked, and ask Armel if he really is going to give his consent, but he tells them under his breath that in the evening, during the wedding feast, the Vikings will have put down their weapons and their armour and will be weakened by drinking, so that the Saxons can slaughter them easily without any danger to themselves.

Unaware of this plan, Gwendoline confirms to Harald that she really does want him, but that her agreement depends on how well he obeys her: she tells him to sing the spinning song. His men are stupefied and the Saxon girls comment that the invincible leader has been trapped by a pretty smile. The Saxon prisoners secretly look forward to wreaking the revenge on the drunken invaders, while Gwendoline and Harald, oblivious to everything, sing the spinning song together.

Lucy Berthet and Maurice Renaud, who created the roles of Gwendoline and Harald (author’s collection)

Act 2

In a great hall, the wedding celebrations are under way. The Saxon girls welcome the bride and bridegroom, but Armel is sitting on his own to one side, observing what is going on. He is joined by Aella and asks if everything is in place; Aella reassures him that their men are ready and that firebrands, oil and pitch have been hidden close to the Viking longboats. Erik, another Saxon leader joins them and confirms that the Vikings suspect nothing and have disarmed themselves: Armel looks forward to being able to take vengeance for the insults which his honour has suffered. Aella comments that the revenge will be terrible and Erik adds that the Vikings are nevertheless their guests; Armel spits back that they are guests in the same way that a ravening lion is a guest in a sheepfold, and that the Vikings swept down on their settlement like a winter torrent and took from him everything that he held dear, his daughter, his treasure – all of it taken, so what kind of guests are they! So – he offers them a wedding day full of joy and then he gives them the hospitality of the tomb.

The Saxon girls and their menfolk repeat the happy wedding welcome and Gwendoline and Harald arrive, full of happiness: the girls raise Gwendoline’s veil and take her cloak of rose-blooms from her. The Saxon men bid Harald to put aside his weapons and abandon combat for a sweeter victory and the girls urge Gwendoline to emerge from her veil like a lily, to think how happy baby birds are in their mossy nests and not to tremble. Both groups urge the couple to be united like oak trees and fragile nests, blossoms on rose bushes, flames in hearths, and then Armel extends his arms and gives his blessing to them both, calling on the gods to ensure their love until jealous death takes them; Gwendoline and Harald solemnly repeat this prayer. Armel says that he has gifts for them and produces an ancient goblet which the kings of the tribe drink from and he offers it to Harald, who graciously accepts it and drinks. Armel turns to Gwendoline and, unseen by Harald, gives her a dagger. She is horrified, but he tells her that the blade is sharp and that if Harald somehow escapes the planned massacre, she must stab him as he sleeps in her arms. He forces her to take the dagger, and when Harald asks what it is, Armel tells him that it is nothing, that she was surprised by a jewel which he had given to her. He then tells everyone, Saxons and Vikings alike, to drink mead happily together until dawn. They all go off to do precisely that and Gwendoline checks that they have all gone and then falls into Harald’s arms.

Immediately, she tells Harald that he must leave, but not by the same route as everyone else, he must use the stairs, get to the shore, and sail away, never ever to return. Harald is bemused and asks her if she doesn’t love him anymore; she tells him that she does love him, but that she fears something terrible, and that after her happiness of that morning, when she loved him like a young god, the evening will bring a foul ambush, which is why he must leave. Harald agrees, but says that she must leave with him; Gwendoline tells him that it is her love for him that means that he must flee and never come back. He asks her what the danger is, and she starts to tell him about her father’s plot, but realises that she is about to betray her own people, and just tells Harald to go and not to ask her anything else. Harald is not convinced, and tells her that his men are close by and that they will not fall for any attacks or any tricks; his crews can be heard singing that after all their sea-borne raids, there is no greater joy than a good celebration. Gwendoline observes to herself that it is true that the Vikings are many and strong, and that maybe she is wrong to be alarmed about her father’s plot. Harald tells her to forget her worries and enjoy the moment, because the colour in her cheeks has risen like the sun rising on the shore. She is still worried, but Harald just wants to breathe in the honey of her hair; he tells her that he did not know what love is but that now, like a glacier melted by a sunbeam, he is intoxicated by her eyes. She replies that it is his eyes which flash like fire, and they rejoice in their love together, like two wings on the same bird.

Suddenly, their reverie is broken by the shouts of his men that they have been betrayed and that the Saxons are attacking them with their own weapons. Harald leaps up, and Gwendoline realises that her fears have been fulfilled. He calls his men to him and then realises that he too is unarmed – Gwendoline gives him the dagger which Armel had given to her, and with a final kiss, Harald rushes off, leaving Gwendoline to follow him with her arms outstretched, crying that if he dies, she will die too.

Illustration from Le Théâtre Illustré in the days following the first night of the opera on 10 April 1886, showing the sets and the costumes of the three principal singers: Elisa-EugénieThuringer as Gwendoline, Charles Berardi as Harald and Pierre-Émile Engel as Armel, as well as pictures of the composer and librettist (author’s collection)

Act 3

The fight has shifted from the hall to the tree-lined seashore: the Viking boats are there, and on a rise there is a single bare tree-trunk dominating the scene. The darkness of the night changes as the clouds part to reveal a blue moon. The Vikings, still unarmed, are being pursued by the Saxons, carrying fire-torches and bearing the Vikings’ own weapons. As the first of the Vikings desperately try to set the sails on their longboats, others try to hold back the Saxons face-to-face. The Saxons call to one another to set fire to the boats and kill their crews, and the Vikings call for Harald; the fighting is fierce and the Saxons are killing the Vikings and firing the boats. Harald, arrives, wounded, with the dagger broken in his hand; Armel and his men are pushing him hard. He makes it to the outcrop and stands with his back to the tree-trunk, crying out that the Saxons out-number them a hundred to one; he is losing blood and has only a dagger to fight with. Urged on by Armel, the Saxons surround Harald and Armel delivers a mortal blow, gloating that it is Harald’s own sword which kills him. Harald reels, and then pulls himself upright, starts to laugh, calling the Saxons to look at him as he dies laughing.

Gwendoline runs up, and cries to Armel that with the same blow, he has wounded her. Armel, shocked, asks if this is the punishment for her betrayal. He rushes towards his daughter but falls back, sobbing, among his men. Gwendoline reaches Harald and the Saxons stand and watch the dying couple as they embrace by the huge tree-trunk in the strange light of the blue moon. Harald and Gwendoline sing ecstatically that they will die together and unafraid, giving up the marriage celebrations which last only a moment so that they can share eternal love.

The moon is suddenly obscured, and through the darkness, the sound and the sight of the burning boats fill the air and provide a glorious and terrible background to the two lovers, standing together on the rise. The flames reach the tree-trunk, and Harald calls out to Gwendoline to follow him and that the fire will carry them both to Valhalla: she replies that she is now the proud Valkyrie with the golden helmet on the white horse appearing in the cloud, just as he had always imagined. Together, they exult that the flames will carry them off, uniting their bodies, their hearts and their souls for ever. As they stand in a final embrace, the huge conflagration consumes them and all those watching wonder at their journey to the palace in the heavens where they will take their places at the triumphant table of the gods.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • the life and operas of Emmanuel Chabrier
  • the life, the librettos and the strange death of Catulle Mendès
  • other operas telling of Anglo-Saxons fighting Viking invaders, including two about Alfred the Great
  • other operas with spinning songs
  • other operas in which fire has a crucial influence
  • other operas which feature flowers which you can plant to create your own OperaGarden …
  • … and many, many opera plots telling stories of lovers who meet glorious ends together.

© Roger Witts 2013

Categories
Opera Plots

I due Figaro, ossia Il soggetto di una commedia by Michele Carafa

This wonderful opera is a clever sequel to The Barber of Seville; all the characters have grown a bit older, and Cherubino returns, pretending to be another Figaro. Operatic sequels are surprisingly rare – probably because the death of the main characters made them impossible, but the three plays which form the Figaro trilogy by Beaumarchais are a different matter because they already tell a sequential story. Paisiello was the first composer to see the operatic potential (and it is not widely appreciated that Beaumarchais originally intended his texts to be librettos rather than plays) by setting the first of the three plays, Il barbiere di Siviglia, in 1782, but it was eclipsed by Rossini’s version of the same story set to a different libretto in 1816. Mozart and da Ponte set the second of the three plays, Le nozze di Figaro, in 1786. The popularity of the story about a servant who consistently gets the better of his masters was inevitable in a Europe which had been shaken by the French revolution, and composers were keen to cash in on the considerable box-office appeal of operas featuring Figaro. Over thirty were written, with titles such as Il nuovo Figaro (Paer in 1794, Ricci in 1832), La figlia di Figaro (Rossi in 1846), Il testamento di Figaro (Cagnoni in 1848) Chérubin (Massenet in 1906) and le marriage de Rosina (Herberigs in 1925), but it was not until 1966 that Darius Milhaud set the third of Beaumarchais’s plays, La mère coupable, as the ‘real’ sequel to the first two operas. Felice Romani’s witty and appropriate sequel libretto I due Figaro (‘The Two Figaros’) was written for Carafa, but was reused by four other composers over a couple of decades. It picks up the story fifteen years on, and although many of the familiar characters are still there, the original Figaro has now become as bad as his master and the grown-up Cherubino has to put him in his place. It is a delightfully witty and tuneful opera which has lost none of the barbed social comment of the original and which really does deserve to be better known. Fortunately, it has been issued on DVD (the only one of Carafa’s operas which we can enjoy in this form) and it will make you laugh out loud; it will also make you want to hear more of Carafa’s wonderful but forgotten music.

Melodramma buffo in two acts.

Libretto by Felice Romani, based on a five-act comic play by Honoré-Antoine Richaud-Martelly (1795).

First performed on 6 June 1820 in La Scala, Milan.

Act 1

The action takes place fifteen years after the end of The Marriage of Figaro.

Outside Count Almaviva’s castle at Aguas Frescas, a crowd of estate workers and villagers has gathered to celebrate the arrival home of the Countess (whom we know to be formerly Rosina) and her daughter Inez. Figaro is still the Count’s servant, and he has hatched a plan with a visiting servant named Torribio to trick the Count into agreeing to a marriage between Inez and Torribio by disguising Torribio as a wealthy nobleman masquerading under the name Don Alvaro. Also hanging around is a playwright named Plagio to whom Figaro has promised a good plot for his next comic play.

Don Alvaro and Plagio are waiting for Figaro – the one looking forward to getting his hands on Inez’s dowry (which he has agreed to share with Figaro), the other convinced that Figaro can supply a plot which will amaze the critics. Figaro emerges from the castle and the villagers praise him as their master’s faithful servant, the smartest man in the world, who sees everything, knows everything and fixes everything. Figaro congratulates the villagers on the preparations for their mistress’s return and quietly reassures Don Alvaro that the wedding/dowry plan is already in the bag and Plagio that the plotline for his play is going to be a winner. He then launches into an aria which explains his various strategies to crown his career: he will dupe the Count into accepting a son-in-law who is exactly like himself and then win a share of the dowry, he will get the better of three nagging women, and he will ensure that the whole plan is recorded in a new play – all it needs is a Figaro to achieve all this, and he will excel in the role!

He then tells Don Alvaro that the Count has expressed a desire to meet him and warns the disguised Torribio not to admit that he knows Figaro, because Figaro himself will actually pretend to be against the marriage. He sends Don Alvaro off to await an official summons. He then outlines to Plagio the very plot he has set in place – a smart servant has set up a plan to get his master’s daughter married off to fellow servant so that the two of them, after a few twists and turns, can divide the substantial dowry between them. Plagio naively asks why nobody stops them and what unforeseen events are likely to trip them up. Figaro reassures him that the plot will work, and Plagio wanders off, convinced that he is being advised by a genius. He then sees the Count approaching and hides.

The Count is reading some papers, and announces that he has made up his mind – Inez will marry the worthy Don Alvaro. He has checked up on Alvaro’s family background and has a reassuring letter from a gentleman (Figaro, in hiding, tells us that it was him who wrote that letter of recommendation), and goes on to say that Figaro’s attempts to discredit Don Alvaro are fruitless, and he dismisses the possibility that Inez herself will find Don Alvaro unattractive as a husband. He muses on the folly of marrying for love, reminding himself that he once loved Rosina passionately – and then he married her: affection disappears so quickly that it is better not to bother with it. Figaro emerges and asks the Count whether he is now determined that Inez will marry Don Alvaro. The Count replies that he certainly is, and Figaro tries to convince him that Don Alvaro has a serious character flaw – he is far too generous with his considerable wealth and is always making donations to widows, orphans and the blind. The Count is delighted to hear this; he tells Figaro that he is an idiot and announces that this very evening he will introduce Don Alvaro to the Countess and get the marriage arranged immediately.

Susanna, Figaro’s wife, arrives after the Count and Figaro have left. She explains that she wouldn’t change places with even the grandest of ladies because she has more than a thousand suitors courting her and she can play them all along, she can lead her master the Count by the nose, and her husband is a bit of a clown – she offers to show all ladies how she does all this, and then she sees the Countess and Inez arriving and the welcoming committee of villagers breaks into song. Inez is, naturally, upset about marrying a man she has never met, but the Countess and Susanna tell her not to be too downhearted because Cherubino (who has grown up since The Marriage of Figaro and is now a dashing and successful soldier and Inez’s own true love) will doubtless come to rescue the situation. Susanna muses on the folly of women – first, caresses and tears then swooning are all excellent ways of winning men, but then a bit of firm resolve and the ability to say ‘no’ are vital. They agree that between them they must come up with a plan. Figaro rolls up, bows greasily to the Countess and tries to kiss Susanna, who tells him that she would lay odds that he is behind the proposed marriage. Haughtily, Figaro tells her that he has just been trying to persuade the Count not to go ahead with it, but that the Count is rocklike in his determination. Even so, Figaro promises to do all he can to help, and as the Count, unseen, listens, Inez says that she would rather die than marry a man she does not love. The Count steps forward and reminds everybody that only he gives the orders, and that he must be obeyed at all times. He sends Figaro off to fetch the notary and the three women begin to despair.

A servant announces the arrival of a stranger; it is Cherubino, but dressed as a servant, very much like Figaro himself. He bows respectfully to the Count and hands him a letter which he says is from a gracious colonel. The Count reads it and exclaims that it is from Cherubino asking him to take the bearer of the letter into his service. The Countess and Inez start to get excited but Figaro mutters that he does not like this turn of events. The Count asks the new arrival what his name is, and Cherubino announces that his name is Figaro. The real Figaro exclaims with surprise that that is his name, and Cherubino tells him that fate has brought them together and that the name of Figaro has brought him both fortune and honour. The Count agrees that he can stay, and as the Countess and Inez whisper their excitement and Figaro seethes with rage, Cherubino offers his services to the Count and Countess and suggests that Figaro can take a break since he will undertake all the necessary duties himself. Everybody reacts as might be expected, and before the Count sweeps out with Cherubino in tow, he tells Figaro that he is very lucky not to have been sacked on the spot, and tells the women to get ready for the marriage.

Left alone, Figaro laughs out loud, commenting that the Count can’t see any further than his own nose, because although he thinks that he is in charge, he is actually just following Figaro’s plan.

Inside the castle, Cherubino relaxes a bit – no-one has recognised him, and he is now in a position to keep an eye on everything that is going on. Inez joins him, and they embrace tenderly. Inez asks him what escape plan he has, and he replies that he doesn’t yet have one. Unseen by them, Figaro enters and overhears them discussing the situation. Inez says that Figaro is bound to take her father’s side and Cherubino replies that he will use Figaro’s own tricks against him. Inez then spots Figaro as he sneaks away, but Cherubino tells her that because she did not use his name, Figaro still doesn’t know who he really is. Figaro returns with the Count and they hide, but Cherubino, aware of their presence, announces very clearly that Inez’s father loves her very much and knows well what he is doing on her behalf. Inez starts to cry, and says that if Cherubino refuses to help her, then she will just have to obey her father and marry a man who she does not love. The Count, satisfied with this pantomime, accuses Figaro of making it up and tells him to stop being mean. Figaro is furious, aware that the fake Figaro is beginning to outwit him. The Count shows himself, and congratulates the fake Figaro on his loyalty and sense; he tells Inez to listen to the new servant and start to respect her father, and he tells the real Figaro not to slander Cherubino again. As Figaro starts to bluster, Cherubino explains that he was the wounded party but that he asks the Count to let Figaro off. This causes the Count to comment that Cherubino has sent him a jewel of a servant, and that he will keep him on the staff. Inez and Cherubino stifle their laughter and Figaro is determined to get his revenge. Cherubino continues with his exaggerated support of Figaro and the Count announces that he wants everybody to know that he trusts the (fake) Figaro unreservedly. Again, the lovers laugh together at Figaro’s discomfiture and Figaro seethes with rage and tells himself to calm down and work out how to get the last laugh.

Left on his own, Figaro analyses the situation; he tries to work out who can have sent the fake servant – not Inez (too young and innocent), not the Countess (too timid and hesitant), but perhaps Susanna, she’s an old vixen who likes to manipulate things. He realises that he will have to keep his wits about him. Piagio now joins him and tells him that he needs the last scene for his plot-line, and that he has reached the point where the notary arrives. Figaro says that the notary is a bit premature because there is more to come – and that a new character has joined the story, one who is plotting with the wife and the daughter to deceive the father. Piagio asks what the hero of the plot is doing about that and Figaro tells him that the hero is trying to identify the newcomer. Piagio suggests that perhaps he might be a lover in disguise, and Figaro realises that this is exactly the case; as Piagio tries to scribble down the latest plot twist, Figaro announces that he now knows how to make his enemies grovel before him. Piagio is entranced and Figaro rushes off to reveal his finding to the Count.

The Countess, meanwhile, is furious that her husband is fixing a marriage for their daughter without even consulting her, and announces her determination to ensure that Inez marries a man who she loves. She muses on the strength of a bond built on love and hopes that a faithful lover will turn up and save the day.

In the garden, Susanna reassures Inez that Cherubino is on the ball and that Figaro is sniffing around like a fox-hound, but that the two of them should not be seen talking. They leave, and the Count comes along, with Figaro, who has told him about the disguised lover theory. The Count is unconvinced, and says that if Figaro is simply causing trouble again, he will have him thrashed. Figaro persists, and the two of them decide to hide and see what happens. Cherubino and Susanna now turn up, decide that they are unobserved, and discuss how successfully Figaro has been outwitted. They decide to hide out of sight and discuss what to do next, but the Count and Figaro emerge and challenge them. Before Cherubino can escape, Figaro grabs him and calls for help from the villagers. Several estate workers rush in, and so do Inez and the Countess. The Count demands that the disguised loved should be arrested and Cherubino, realising that his true identity has still not been realised, claims that he is there as a lover in disguise because of Susanna’s charms. This stops everyone in their tracks, but Susanna cottons on quickly enough to go along with the story and does her best to look despairing and guilty. Figaro is dumbstruck, and everyone comments that he looks as if he has been struck by a thunderbolt. Cherubino throws himself at Susanna’s feet and urges her to beg her husband’s forgiveness, and Susanna throws herself at Figaro’s feet and pleads with him not to be angry. Furious, Figaro drags them both to their feet and tells them that the devils himself cannot save them now, but the Count weighs in and tells Figaro to be his usual philosophical self and forgive Susanna. Everybody, including the crowd, urges Figaro to forgive Susanna and eventually he capitulates. They all agree that the matter must now be buried, because gossip can grow from a single drop into a mighty torrent, so a ‘no publicity’ policy is best for everyone.

Beaumarchais (left), who created the character of Figaro; Felice Romani (centre), who wrote the libretto for this particular sequel; Carafa (right) who set it to delightful music (author’s collection)

Act 2

The estate workers and villagers wander off, talking amongst themselves about how they are not going to carry on talking about it. Piagio hears the women gossiping about a secret lover and the men trying to stop them. He begs to know what has happened because it is essential to the success of his play, but they all tell him that nothing at all has happened. They try to shake him off, but he follows them away, still pleading for information.

Susanna appears, determined to put a stop to all the gossip about her. She would far rather have not been involved in Cherubino’s ruse, but she sees him coming and decides to look innocent. Figaro joins her and congratulates her on the little scene she just enacted; he tells her that he knows her too well, and that he can tell that she is up to something. Susanna tells him that it is all in his imagination and that he should stop being jealous. Figaro tells her to admit that her admirer’s name is not Figaro, but despite his insistence she refuses; they sing a duet complaining that it really is a terrible thing to have a wife/husband who does nothing but torment you. Their argument is prevented from turning nasty by the arrival of Piagio who calls Figaro his ‘famous Apollo’ and tells him that even his poet’s creativity could not have thought up a plot-line like this and while Piagio badgers Figaro with ideas to improve the plot, Susanna takes advantage of the diversion to escape; Figaro follows her. Left on his own, Piagio muses on the fate of artists who depend on patrons for their living.

Inside the castle, in a dressing room between the Countess’s suite and Susanna’s room, Susanna and Inez are hiding; Susanna tells Inez that the Count and Countess are occupied arguing about her, and that Figaro is getting everything ready for the wedding. Cherubino joins them and Inez quickly locks the door and reminds him that the day is moving on and they haven’t got a plan yet. Cherubino tells her that he has seen Don Alvaro and that he will soon be sent packing, so she needn’t worry about having to marry him. Suddenly, Figaro knocks on the door and calls Susanna. In a panic, Susanna hides Cherubino in one wardrobe and Inez in another while she tries to stall Figaro. When Cherubino and Inez are safely out of sight, Susanna opens the door and in response to Figaro’s angry questions about why the door was locked, she tells him calmly that she was trying to avoid him. He tells her that he needs his cloak because he is going out to fetch the notary. Susanna prevaricates, saying that he will freeze to death and Figaro starts to get impatient because it has only just started to drizzle. The Count’s voice is now heard telling the Countess that he has had enough of Inez’s strange behaviour, locking herself in her room; he comes in and tells everyone that the farce has gone on long enough – what he wants is exactly what is going to happen: he orders Susanna to go and fetch Inez. Under his breath, Figaro smirks that the crazy women cannot prevent the contract from being signed and under her breath, Susanna says that she dare not leave because if she does, Figaro will sniff out the whole story. She leaves, but comes straight back in again to suggest that since Inez might put up a resistance, it would be better if they all want to get her. Figaro loses patience and says that he will go to get the notary – but of course, his cloak is in the wardrobe. Figaro, exasperated, pushes her aside and opens the wardrobe door – revealing Cherubino. He begins to realise what is happening and looks in the other wardrobe and finds Inez. Figaro is exultant, the Count is furious at the way he has been duped and expresses his delight at Figaro’s loyalty. Susanna, Inez and the Countess fear the worst and Cherubino is temporarily at a loss. He recovers his wits, and under attack from both the Count and Figaro, he announces that he has come to reveal Figaro’s treacherous plot to deceive an innocent and beautiful girl. In a general uproar, the Count orders Cherubino to leave the castle immediately, swears to force the Countess and Inez to obey him and banishes Susanna. Figaro is overjoyed at the turn of events, and they all sing about the torments that they enduring.

Alone together, the Count now apologises to Figaro for doubting him and Figaro tells him that seeing the Count played along by the disguised trickster had made him furious. The Count tells him that Susanna has to leave his service and Figaro agrees, commenting that she really deserves a worse punishment. The Count sends him off to fetch the notary and they both leave.

Inez is distraught. Everything has been lost in an instant; robbed of her lover, all that she has left are tears and sighs.

The Count restates his determination to be obeyed and Susanna, unseen and about to leave, wonders if she has spotted a get-out clause: she approaches him full of contrition, weeping, forsaken by her beloved master. The Count begins to soften and offers her a purse of gold to tide her over until she can get another job. Susanna turns it down and says that what is really breaking her heart is that she will never see him again. The Count reminds her that it is her own fault. Cunningly, Susanna says that she does not want his forgiveness, but just one small favour, that he will at least not hate her. The Count tells her that he does not hate her and Susanna immediately grabs his hand and starts kissing it. Then she says to herself that she can see a tear in his eye and that she has almost got him where she wants him. The Count, also to himself, says that he can’t resist her – he once loved her and she too loved him. Susanna starts to leave but the Count stops her and tells her that he will forget all about it, and that she can stay and serve him with love. This is what she wanted to hear and she says that she is delighted to be reunited with her dear, good master who is too kind ever to be cruel (but under her breath she comments on what a story she now has to tell!).

Outside, Cherubino muses on his situation as night falls. He decides that his love is too strong to resist and that he will go back to the Count to appeal one last time for Inez. Some passing villagers on their way home from work come across him and wonder how anyone can look so sad when there is a wedding in the offing and they are all going up to the castle to celebrate it. This galvanises Cherubino into action and he too sets off for the castle.

Inside, the Count welcomes Don Alvaro and introduces him to the Countess and Inez as Inez’s husband-to-be. They are distinctly unimpressed. Piagio now turns up and to everyone’s surprise offers to the Count his newly-written play and asks for his patronage. The Count starts to read the play idly, but is immediately transfixed – it is, of course, a play about a cunning servant who is trying to persuade a nobleman to marry his daughter to a disguised fellow servant so that the two servants can share the dowry. But before he can make any comment, Figaro turns up with the notary and at the same time, Cherubino arrives – he and Don Alvaro immediately recognise one another. Infuriated, the Count asks what is going on; Cherubino reveals his true identity and also announces that Don Alvaro is in reality Torribio, a servant who was until recently actually in Cherubino’s service, and that he is part of Figaro’s plot to get hold of Inez’s dowry by fraud, and that the whole farce has been turned by Piagio into a play. Torribio, Figaro and Piagio all try to bluster their way out of these revelations, and as Figaro begs for forgiveness, Piagio announces that this is precisely the final scene he was waiting for. Susanna, rather half-heartedly, begs the Count to be merciful to Figaro, but this time he will not be moved. Eventually, however, he relents, but he tells Figaro that just to annoy him and underline his failure, Inez and Cherubino can indeed be united. Everybody praises the power of love and comments that all hearts which are united by such tender bonds will indeed enjoys love’s sweet delights.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • the fascinating life and forgotten operas of Michele Carafa
  • the life and librettos of Felice Romani
  • the life of Beaumarchais and his contribution to opera
  • other operas based on the same libretto as I due Figaro, particularly that of Mercadante which eclipsed Carafa’s version several years later
  • the stories of other operas intended as sequels to the Figaro operas …
  • … and many opera plots and other stories linked to operas at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

© Roger Witts 2011

Categories
Opera Plots

Venus and Adonis by John Blow

Operatic history contains many famous duels: the rival versions of La Bohème by Puccini and Leoncavallo, for example, or the three settings of Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni, Gastaldon and Monleone, or the rival Salome settings of Oscar Wilde’s play by Strauss and Mariotte, or the 1786 competition between German opera and Italian opera set up by Joseph II between Salieri’s Prima la musica e poi le parole and Mozart’s Der Schauspieldirektor. But there is one particular duel closer to home which is pretty one-sided: Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas and John Blow’s Venus and Adonis. Purcell’s opera had an intriguing origin, being composed for a girls’ school, and although Blow’s opera was written for performance at Charles II’s court, it was given only one performance outside the royal circle (at least, as far as is known), and that was at the same girls’ school, but five years before Purcell’s work. Blow took a bit of a risk, casting the king’s former mistress as Venus and her nine-year old daughter by the king, Lady Mary Tudor, as Cupid, especially as Cupid delivers a bit of lecture on marital infidelity! History, Victorian sensibilities, and the fact that the score of Blow’s work was lost for more than a couple of centuries, have led to Purcell’s opera taking pride of place. Most people hearing Purcell’s and Blow’s operas close together, however, do not hesitate to declare Venus and Adonis the better work. Quite apart from the fact that it is one of the earliest English operas, it is well worth exploring in its own right.

‘A Masque for the entertainment of the King’ in a prologue and three acts.

The librettist is unknown, but the story is taken from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book X.

First performed at the court of King Charles II at some time between 1681 and 1683, probably in January, February or March 1682.

John Blow (1649-1708): Venus and Adonis was his only work for the stage: what a richness of operas we would have had if he had gone on writing stage works (author’s collection)

Prologue

After an overture, Cupid appears and addresses the audience, explaining who he is and how he can fire his arrows into every human heart, and then he asks the audience to welcome the God of Love. A chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses decide to be ‘willing, lovesome, fond and gay’ together; one shepherd expresses the wish that every girl who refuses a lad should end up with a feeble lover when she does finally get round to it. Cupid openly criticises the courtiers for their amorous affairs, saying that the women are only faithful until they see another man, and that only ‘an aged lord or two’, and the foolish, ugly and old are the ones who remain faithful. He then urges all the shepherds and shepherdesses to disappear into the woods and ‘do what your kindest thoughts inspire’.

There are many images of Venus and Adonis; famous paintings by Titian (1560), Carracci (1592), Rubens (1635) and Vouet (1642) and several versions by Luca Giordano appear regularly on Valentine cards. This image comes from a vase painting on postcard with the title ‘Memories of Ancient Greece’ (author’s collection)

Act 1

The curtains open to reveal Venus and Adonis entwined in one another’s arms. Adonis suggests that they too should find a shady spot and ‘never disappoint expecting love’, adding that Venus never fails to provide him with something new. But before things go too far, hunting calls are heard. Venus urges Adonis to join the hunt, but he says that he has already caught the prey that he wants today. Venus persists, telling him that a bit of absence will kindle new desire, and anyway, she likes to keep her man happy. Adonis muses that there are some men who enjoy being fettered but Venus tells him that they are fools, and repeats that she freely offers him ‘pleasant days and easy nights’.

Adonis is still reluctant, but a group of huntsmen arrive, singing about the excitement of the hunt; one of them explains that there is a fierce wild boar around which has already savaged the best of their dogs, and Adonis is persuaded to join them and the huntsmen happily agree to let Adonis lead them in the hunt, and one of them does a jolly little dance.

Act 2

Venus and Cupid are surrounded by lots of little cupids. Cupid tells his mother that she is wise to give her lover his freedom. She settles him on her lap fondly and asks him if he has been taking his lessons seriously. He says that he has, but that he really needs to learn how to bring down those who scorn him. He then launches into a spelling lesson with the little cupids, giving us a unique insight into a seventeenth-century schoolroom. They learn how to spell ‘mercenary’ and make fun of insolent, arrogant and silly people who tease them. Cupid comments that love is a school, and that those who ignore what it can teach them will suffer the consequences.

Venus then asks Cupid how she can keep Adonis’s affections, and Cupid replies, ‘Use him very ill!’ Venus laughs, and calls all the little cupids to dance. After their dance, the cupids play hide-and-seek and other games of the time until Cupid puts on a scary mask and frightens them away. One by one, they creep back, and watch as Venus and Cupid summon all the Graces, who appear and sing that mortals below and cupids above all sing the praises of the queen of Love. They then perform a series of stately dances while the little cupids adorn Venus with garlands.

Act 3

Venus, in a posture of despair, is calling for Adonis; a cupid dressed in mourning shakes his arrow at her sadly. She has heard that Adonis has been injured and is awaiting his return from the hunt in a state of deep grief. The wounded Adonis is carried in; he tells Venus that he came as quickly as death would let him, but that his wound is so great that he cannot survive. Venus begs death not to take one so young and Adonis sadly observes that even love’s dart cannot defend against death. He feels that love is restoring him to life, but Venus sees the death in his eyes and holds him tenderly as he dies in her arms.

Venus calls on the cupids to carry Adonis to heaven where he can be her companion for ever. The opera ends with a mournful dirge bewailing his death and calling on Echo to mourn too because she can no longer repeat his sigh and vows of love ‘in this forsaken grove’.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • Ovid’s story of Venus and Adonis, and the history of the performance and subsequent loss of Blow’s only opera
  • other operas based on stories from the works of Ovid (there are more than you might think)
  • the plot of Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas, both companion piece and rival to Blow’s Venus and Adonis
  • the appearance of wild boars in operas, with a few recipes for cooking boar
  • hunting dogs, and other dogs, in operas, as well as composers’ dogs …
  • … and many more operatic lovers whose lives don’t quite work out well.

© Roger Witts 2009

Categories
Opera Plots

La Fiancée des Verts-Poteaux by Edmond Audran

Edmond Audran’s father was an opera singer and he was brought up surrounded by singers, composers and all manner of opera people, so it was inevitable that after something of a false start as an organist and composer of church music, he would make his career in opera. He had many runaway successes and his music was generally regarded as delightful, and enough of it has been recorded to prove that that judgement still holds good today. One of his less successful early pieces was La Fiancée des Verts-Poteaux, which at least one critic rather sniffily thought had been rehashed from his other operas and from works given in London; even so, he described it as delightful and full of pretty melodies. It is forgotten now, and its story is pretty silly, but someone, somewhere might one day breathe new life into it.

Opéra-comique in three acts.

Libretto by Maurice Ordonneau.

First performed at the Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs in Paris on 8 November 1887.

Edmond Audran (left) and Maurice Ordonneau, the composer and librettist of La Fiancée des Verts-Poteaux (author’s collection). The role of Rose was created by Clara Lardinois; she was 22 at the time, but had started singing at the Opéra-Comique at the age of fifteen. She achieved greater fame after she changed her name to Blanche Arral.

Act 1

In a grocery and hardware store in Angoulême, a grocer named Rigaud has promised his daughter Rose as a wife for a café proprietor named Benoît, who is neither handsome nor young. Rose, however, has already chosen a fiancé who is both handsome and young – a composer whose name is Octave, who has just offered an opéra-comique to Angoulême’s Grand Théâtre.

Rigaud realises Rose’s intention to defy him and tells her to take forty-eight hours to reflect on the situation. Rose, however, announces to him that she is in love with someone else. When he demands the name of this ‘someone else’, Rose avoids having to reveal her secret love for Octave by telling her father that the name of the object of her love is ‘Jean Bernard’ – a name which she just invented.

At this very moment, a well-dressed young man turns up at the shop to buy utensils for cooking fish, and his name just happens to be Jean Bernard. He tells the grocer his name and address and Rigaud, Benoît and Rose, in a lively trio, do a bit of research and end up dumbfounded: this Jean Bernard is the son of a very wealthy countess who owns a vast estate in a place called Verts-Poteaux. Rigaud is beside himself with excitement, the young Jean Bernard whom his daughter claims to be keen on is overjoyed and when his mother the countess learns about Rose, she is impressed because the father of the girl with whom her son has fallen in love is presented to her as a Mexican admiral. The hapless composer Octave now has no chance of competing with his replacement and he disappears from the scene, but not before commenting bitterly on his rejection.

Act 2

The situation has now been restored (and one critic commented that the music had become less inventive): the countess has discovered that Rigaud is only a grocer and has forbidden her son to have anything more to do with the family, Rose has announced that that she doesn’t want Jean Bernard as a husband any more than she wants Benoît, and the young composer has now been accepted by Rose and her father – his opera has proved a success, his career is secure and Rigaud gives his blessing to Rose and Octave’s marriage.

–ooOoo–

Related OperaStory articles can be found on

  • the life and the operas of Edmond Audran
  • the plots of several of Audran’s operas
  • the life and librettos of Maurice Ordonneau
  • the lives and works of other librettists who worked with Audran, including Édouard Blau, Henri Chivot and Alfred Duru
  • other operas with stories just as silly as La Fiancée des Verts-Poteaux, and …
  • … many more delightful operas and operettas written in France at the end of the nineteenth century.

© Roger Witts 2008