Sunday Classics snapshots: Look, it's Violetta!

Joan Sutherland as Violetta in Act I of La Traviata

Act I of La Traviata ends with Violetta's great solo scene

[in English] Valerie Masterson (s), Violetta Valéry; John Brecknock (t), Alfredo Germont; English National Opera Orchestra, Sir Charles Mackerras, cond. EMI, recorded Aug.-Oct. 1980

by Ken

Last week I tried to explain that in order to continue with the second example I promised of Verdi depicting a conspicuously aging parent, we really needed to give some attention to the composer's triumphs and tribulations with the "double aria" form carried over from the bel canto period. It's what always used to be known as an "aria and cabaletta" -- the first aria typically situational and often reflecting on that situation; the second aria, in reaction to the first, ususally with some additional circumstances tossed in to alter the situation or the perception of the situation, typically more declarative, often energized for pyrotechnical display.

While Verdi was capable of using the format brilliantly, we have a pile-up of evidence that even as he was making his historicthe "breakthrough" into his middle period with the overlappingly created masterpieces Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, and La Traviata, all three operas contain evidence that cabaletta-for-the-sake-of-cabaletta was something that didn't much stimulate his creative juices. By way of demonstration, last week we took as our musical snapshots the celebrated arias for tenor and baritone with regrettable cabalettas tacked on at the start and finish of Act II, Scene 1 of Traviata, the scene in Violetta's country house (where she and Alfredo have been living idyllically), the cabalettas for Germont fils and père, respectively.

I did point out last week, though, that "if we think of the form as 'double aria' rather than 'aria and cabaletta,' then Violetta's "Ah! fors'è lui" plus "Sempre libera" at the end of Act I of Traviata may be the supreme example of the format." And having dropped that loaded statement in, even though we did listen to this great solo scene, which so starkly rounds out an act that began with perhaps opera's most rousing party scene in February 2011, we can hardly escape "snapshotting" it now.


SO HERE ARE THREE REALLY NICE PERFORMANCES

Leoncavallo's "Pagliacci" and the woman who understood the birds' song

Elizabeth Futral does her best at singing while she histrionicizes Nedda's recitative and Balatella. The chunk of recitative below, the first of three, occupies the first 57 seconds of the clip.

(1) "Qual fiamma avea nel guardo!"

How his eyes did blaze! I turned mine
away for fear he should read
my secret thought!
Oh, if he should catch me,
brutal as he is! But enough,
these are frightening nightmares and silly fancies!

Claudia Muzio (s). Edison, recorded Jan. 21, 1921

Gabriella Tucci (s), Nedda; Orchestra of the Accademia di Santa Cecilia, Francesco Molinari-Pradelli, cond. Decca, recorded 1958


"Nedda is at best an unthinking creature who allows her basic desires to get the better of her."

-- from the London Records booklet for the 1967 Decca Pagliacci

by Ken

Now it could be that our commentator means that in describing Nedda as "at best an unthinking creature" he has in mind a comparison with her husband, Canio, the master of their little troupe of itinerant players (or pagliacci), who is well known as a student of the dialogues of Plato. Or it could be that he has simply embraced the popular view of the function of art as a medium for making people even stupider.

We've been working our way through the opening scenes of I Pagliacci, starting several weeks ago ("On our way to focusing on Nedda's scenes with the two baritones of Leoncavallo's Pagliacci") with some attention to the statement of the "author" in the Prologue and to Canio himself and then venturing into the monologue Nedda sings when the rest of the troupe goes off with a band of villagers to enjoy a drink or two, leaving her alone -- except, importantly, the hunchback clown Tonio, who's now off grooming the little donkey. Then in Friday night's preview ("'He said, she said' in the opening scenes of I Pagliacci") we began taking a closer look at Nedda's monologue, starting with the chunk of recitative we heard again above.

If it's fully imagined and experienced, it already tells us an awful lot about the character, I think: about the closed-in, fearful way Nedda lives; about her husband's brutality (whose exact form we're left to imagine for ourselves, though there seems to me no doubt that she fears the worst); about the dangerous secret she's keeping; and then about her way of dealing with all the above.


THIS SETS THE STAGE FOR --

They say that falling in love is wonderful -- Tchaikovsky's Tatiana writes a letter

Renée Fleming as Tatiana in the Letter Scene

Are you an angel, sent to guard me,
or will you tempt and then discard me?
Resolve these doubts I can't dispel.
Could all my dreams be self-delusion?
Am I too innocent to tell?
Has fate prepared its own conclusion?

Renée Fleming (s), Tatiana; London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Georg Solti, cond. Decca, recorded Dec. 16-21, 1996

by Ken

Is there anyone who hasn't frenziedly punched out an e-mail and then, still in the grip of that frenzy, pressed SEND only to regret it as soon as the frenzy passes? It appears that for all the wizardry of the technology and the instantaneousness of communication, we 21st-century folk aren't that different from our technologically primitive letter-writing ancestors.

In last night's preview we set the scene for what we're going to be hearing tonight: the scene in which young Tatiana Larina, in the wee hours of the morning, declares her love for Yevgeny Onegin, the visiting friend of her sister Olga's fiancé, Lenski. We heard the intense Prelude, the opening quartet, set in the garden of the Larin country estate, in which the sisters sing a duet from inside the house while their mother and nurse listen and reflect outside, and we heard some interactions between the paired young people and Lenski's ravishing declaration of love for Olga.

TATIANA WRITES HER LETTER

Now it's several days later, and an intensely excited Tatiana, alone in her room, figures out what to do. We're going to listen to the whole of Act I, Scene 2, where the "Letter Scene" proper is bracketed by scenes between Tatiana and Filipyevna, the nurse. In fact, we're going to break it down into manageable bits with the assistance of one of our CD versions, but I thought we now might just take the plunge.

Here are three performances -- very different but, I think, quite effective in their distinctive ways.

TCHAIKOVSKY: Yevgeny Onegin, Op. 24:
Act I, Scene 2, Letter Scene, Tatiana

TATIANA's room, very simply furnished with old-fashioned whtie wooden chairs covered with chintz, and window curtains of the same material. A bed, over which is a bookshelf. A chest of drawers, covered with a cloth, and on it a mirror on a stand. Vases of flowers. At the window, a table with writing materials.

TATIANA has told the nurse, Filipyevna, that she can't sleep, and had Filipyevna set up her writing table with writing supplies. The nurse has left. TATIANA remains for a long time lost in thought. Then she rises, very agitated and with an expression of resolute determination.

[Note: What follows is the singing translation by David Lloyd-Jones used in the Welsh National Opera English-language recording we're going to be hearing.]

TATIANA: To write is foolishness, I know it,
but as I love him, I must show it.
And though I languish evermore,
I'll learn what rapture lies in store!
Desire has poisoned me with longing;
all day I only think of him.
For though I hide in my despair,
my fatal tempter finds me there;
My tempter haunts me everywhere!
[She goes to the writing table, sits down and writes, then pauses.]
No, that won't do! I'll start another.
[She tears up the letter.]
What's wrong with me? I'm all on fire.
I can't think how to start.
[She writes again, then pauses and reads over what she has written.]

"I had to write, my heart compelled me;
What is there more that I need to say>
Henceforth I know that you'll disdain me
for acting rashly in this way.
But if you'd only show compassion
and think how wretched I must be,
you'll surely not abandon me!
At first I meant to hide my secret;
believe me, I had hoped that you would never know it;
never know, never know!"
[She lays the letter aside.]
Oh yes, I'd sworn that I would hide my love.
And not betray this madness that consumes me.
But now I can't subdue my passion any more;
fate will decide what whatever lies in store.
I shall declare myself and trust in my confession!
[She writes again.]
"Whatever brought you to this lonely place?
For since I live here in seclusion
I would never have seen your face,
or would have known such bitter torment.
My heart would soon have grown contented,
and then as time went by, who knows,
I might have chanced to find another,
agreed to honor and respect him,
and made a faithful, loving wife . . ."
[She becomes lost in thought, then rises suddenly.]
But no!

No, there could never be another
to whom I'd give my love!
My life is bound to yours forever;
this is decreed by heaven above.
Now my existence has a meaning,
that noble soul for which I sigh.
I know that God above has sent you
to guard and to love me till you die!
Often I'd seen you in my dreaming;
your face and form had long been dear.
Nightly you whispered in my ear;
your words disturbed me with their meaning.
And then . . . that dream of mine came true.
For when we met, I straightaway knew you,
and in that instant, beating wildly,
my heart cried out to me: "Love him, love him!"

For you were always there beside me
when, sick at heart, I knelt in prayer.
Your noble presence seemed to guide me
when I would help the poor and
needy in charity.
Yes, it is your beloved vision
that comes in this moment of decision
to stand beside me as I write,
and fill my heart with new emotion,
with whispered promise of devotion
that brings me comfort and delight.
[She goes to the table and sits down again to write.]

"Are you an angel, sent to guard me,
or will you tempt and then discard me?
Resolve these doubts I can't dispel.
Could all my dreams be self-delusion?
Am I too innocent to tell?
Has fate prepared its own conclusion?"
[She again rises and and walks about pensively.]

"No, come what may, I'm now resolved
to lay my worthless life before you.
Pity my burning tears and grant me
your protection, I impore you,
I implore you!
Imagine, I am all alone;
there's no one here who understands me.
[She comes downstage.]
I fear my reason will desert me;
to find release I'd gladly die.
I long for you,
I long for you to be my savior;
one word can set my heart on fire
or simply stifle my desire,
to leave me desolate and wretched!"
[She goes quickly to the table and hurriedly finishes the letter. Then she stands up and seals it.]
It's finished! Dare I read it through?
For shame and terror now assail me.
But since his honor is my pledge
I boldy trust he will not fail me!

Galina Vishnevskaya (s), Tatiana; Bolshoi Opera Orchestra, Boris Khaikin, cond. Melodiya, recorded 1956

Leontyne Price (s), Tatiana; London Symphony Orchestra, Fausto Cleva, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded June 1970

[in German] Ljuba Welitsch (s), Tatiana; Philharmonia Orchestra, Walter Susskind, cond. EMI, recorded May 22, 1948

RECORDING NOTES: The Price and Welitsch recordings are stand-alone excerpts; the Vishnevskaya is from the 1956 Bolshoi Opera complete Onegin . . .

Manon and des Grieux go their separate ways, or try

Natalie Dessay sings Manon's farewell to her table from Act II of Manon, from the same 2007 Barcelona performance from which we saw Rolando Villazón sharing des Grieux's dream with her in last night's preview. (Isn't it wonderful that you can sing like this and still be a star?)

by Ken

We're going to hear more of the full scene, but for now, to try to wash away the taste of the above performance, here's just the aria sung in Italian, as "Addio, o nostro picciol desco."

MASSENET: Manon: Act II, Manon, "Adieu, notre petite table" ("Farewell, our little table") (sung in Italian)

[Approaches the table, laid for dinner.]
Farewell, our little table,
that brought us together so often.
Farewell, farewell, our little table --
so big for us, however.
We take up, it's unimaginable,
so little space . . . especially while squeezing each other!
Farewell, our little table!
The same glass served us both.
Each of us, when we drank,
searched for the other's lips on it.
Ah! poor friend, how he loved me!
Farewell, our little table, farewell!

Mirella Freni (s), Manon; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Peter Maag, cond. Live performance, June 3, 1969

As I wrote in last night's preview, today we're focusing on music that Massenet found to portray the pain of separation felt by both Manon and des Grieux. And as I also mentioned, we're filling in here some knowledge that Manon possesses already when des Grieux shares with her his ravishing dream, a dream that might not seem nearly so dreamy to her even if she didn't know that he's about to be abducted from their cozy little love nest by emissaries of his father, the Count des Grieux.


AS ACT III BEGINS, THE FORMER LOVERS
HAVE GONE THEIR SEPARATE WAYS

"The (Hi)story of the Chévalier des Grieux and of Manon"

MASSENET: Manon: Prelude to Act II

New Phliharmonia Orchestra, Julius Rudel, cond. ABC-EMI-DG, recorded July 1970

by Ken

This isn't an excerpt you're apt to hear often outside the context of the opera (it's not meant to stand alone, of course), but I've plunked it in here, not just because it's such a lovely two minutes' worth of music, but because it directly follows the chunk of duet we heard between Manon and the Chévalier des Grieux in Friday night's preview, when they declared so joyfully that they would live in Paris, tous les deux, tous les deux. Because as Act II begins, they are indeed living in Paris, tous les deux, and for this while at least, they're blissfully happy.

Without worrying about dramatic context for a moment, let's jump to later in the act, near the end, in fact, and hear des Grieux share with Manon a dream he's had -- one of the most celebrated and beautiful specimens of the lyric-tenor repertory, often known simply as "The Dream." (Not to worry, in the click-through we're going to hear it in proper dramatic context.)

Manon: Act II, Recitative and aria, des Grieux, "Instant charmant, où la crainte fait trêve" ("Enchanting moment, where fear is dispelled") . . . "En fermant les yeux ("On closing my eyes")

DES GRIEUX: Enchanting moment, where fear is dispelled,
where we are just the two of us.
Listen, Manon, while walking
I just had a dream.

On closing my eyes, I see
in the distance a humble retreat,
a little house,
all white, in the depths of the woods.
In its tranquil shadows
clear and joyous streams,
in which leaves are reflected,
sing with the birds.
It's Paradise. Oh, no!
Everything there is sad and morose,
for there's one thing lacking there.
Still needed there is Manon!
Our life will be there,
if you wish it, o Manon!

Jussi Bjoerling, tenor; orchestra, Donald Voorhees, cond. NBC Radio concert, Jan. 8, 1951

Léopold Simoneau, tenor; Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra, Paul Strauss, cond. DG, recorded 1953

[in Italian] Beniamino Gigli, tenor; orchestra, John Barbirolli, cond. Live performance, London, June 26, 1931

In good time the story of Manon and des Grieux (as told originally by the ex-Benedictine Abbé Prévost in his 1731 novel L'Histoire du Chévalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut, bearing in mind that the French histoire conveniently means both "story" and "history") will turn not just wrong but horribly, disastrously wrong. For this week, though, I want to focus on what's right about the relationship, from the standpoints of both participants, as I'll explain in a moment.


BACK IN ACT I, ENTER MANON