The Collins Guide To Opera And Operetta. Michael White
with Rinaldo, the otherwise thriving musical life of the capital had witnessed very little Italian opera. Handel effectively created his own market, and within a short space of time it was so buoyant that London could truly be described as one of Europe’s leading opera centres – a magnet for the greatest singers of the Baroque stage who came, conquered and ruled the whole process of opera production from start to finish.
THE STARS OF THE BAROQUE
It was in the 18th century that the phenomenon of star singers travelling throughout Europe in pursuit of massive fees first materialised. They tended to be Italian, ensuring that opera continued to be written and sung in their native language, even when it was being performed in England, Germany or Austria. And by now they included women in prominent roles, although the true superstars continued to be the castrati, whose abnormally high voices in roles that designated them great heroes or great lovers contributed to the pantomime-like gender anarchy of Baroque sung theatre. As men had once played women’s roles, now women frequently played men. And the element of the surreal in all this was heightened by the way that standard-form Baroque opera presented Classical subjects in a bizarre synthesis of ancient and modern dress. Puffed breeches, crinolines and breastplates, plus a lot of ostrich feathers, were the uniform. But although the genre was called opera seria – meaning ‘serious’ – and usually involved stories of chivalric duty and high moral tone, it had no choice but to make allowances for occasional elements of comedy.
THE CONVENTIONS OF OPERA SERIA
As the singers literally called the tune in Baroque opera, its ultimate function was to flatter them with vehicles for vocal display; and the vehicles were solo arias, strung together one after another in a way that turned the whole thing into a costumed concert. Each character (there were usually six) had a specified number of arias according to his status in the piece. Each aria was meant to illustrate a particular temperament – anger, sorrow, jealously, delirium – as a calling card for the singer’s sensitivity to that emotion. An aria came in three sections: part A, part B, and an embellished repeat da capo (‘from the top’) of part A. At the end of the aria the singer left the stage, to signify that his concert-in-miniature was over and to encourage rapturous applause. The tortuous absurdity and length of opera seria plots was largely caused by the requirement to accommodate these endless monologues-with-exit.
Otherwise, the conventions also took in freer arioso singing that was melodic but without the set-piece formal stature of an aria. The linking recitative came in two forms: secco (dry), with minimal accompaniment, and accompagnato, with more instruments and fuller texture. Ensembles and choruses were rarely used. For the most part, opera seria only gives you one voice at a time.
However, back in Italy not everything was seria. The ever-expanding lifelines of opera had spread from Venice to Naples, and in both cities a new kind of comic theatre emerged in the early 1700s in the form of intermezzi, which, like the old Florentine intermedi, were originally filler-pieces that played between the acts of larger works. Over time they had come to acquire an independent existence as artisan comedy (commedia dell’arte), featuring stock, low-life characters and situations. Refined into crafted opera by writers like Goldoni or composers like Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–36), they established a looser kind of writing that wasn’t so focused on the virtuosity of individuals and accordingly took more interest in developing ensemble style. Because of its grounding in earthy humour, it became known as opera buffa, and in its genial way it was on the attack.
REFORM
In fact, the excesses of opera seria and the singers who performed it prompted counterattacks in many quarters. In England they came with ridicule, through parody pieces like John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera. In German-speaking countries the response was more earnest: a considered call for reform. The most celebrated reformer was Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714–87) who, with his librettist Calzabigi, published a manifesto for the cleaning up of operatic malpractice and propagandised the ideal of ‘beautiful simplicity’. No more over-decorated da capo arias. No more deadening rules to govern how a score must be constructed. Just a broad intention towards elegance and modesty.
Between them, Gluck and the Italian intermezzi shifted opera’s goalposts at a crucial time, because around the corner, ready to exploit the consequences, was a youthful genius.
WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756–91)
Making an early start in opera, at the age of twelve, Mozart understandably began to write according to the conventions of opera seria, complete with all their formal requirements and high tone. But he soon broke free into a less prescribed world, coloured generally by comedy and infinitely more than an embellished string of arias. The list of everything he brought to opera would be long and headed, no doubt, by his matchless gift for melody. But of hardly less significance was a dramatic energy and intelligence that rarely failed him. He created characters who lived and breathed, whose actions were dictated not by artificial rules but by the natural consequences of their situation. They are truly human (for the most part) and they truly interact, with vocal lines that interweave and build into astonishing ensembles. It’s still ‘number’ opera, capable of analysis in terms of arias, recitatives, choruses and so on, but the numbers often merge, accumulating into long, near-seamless tracts of music like the massive finale to Act II of Le Nozze di Figaro, which begins about a third of the way into the Act and just rolls on – brilliantly – with barely a pause for breath.
The genius of Mozart is essentially comic, indebted to the tradition of Italian opera buffa, and most of his mature stage works explore some aspect of comedy, from the knockabout humour of Die Entführung aus dem Serail to the ideological pantomime of Die Zauberflöte. Even Don Giovanni is a comedy of sorts, described by the author as a ‘dramma giocosa’. But Mozartian high spirits marked an end rather than a beginning in the history of Austro-German opera, not to say the whole history of Europe, because Mozart’s death coincided with the French Revolution.
ROMANTIC IDEALISM
The French Revolution (1789–99) fed a new and very serious Romantic idealism into Western European consciousness. In the new France, opera was uncomfortably associated with the old order and had to reinvent itself in radical, politically high-moral terms to survive. Rescue operas involving the righting of wrongs and epic libertarian themes became the Paris fashion, championed by Cherubini and Spontini, and the fashion spread to Germany, where Beethoven’s one and only opera, Fidelio, adopted a politically-driven rescue plot already set to music by the Frenchman Pierre Gaveau.
But by then, the centre of gravity in the opera world had shifted once again to Italy. The great Austro-German composers of the 19th century looked to the concert hall rather than the opera house, and those that did dream of operatic success, like Schubert, generally failed. The major exception was Carl Maria von Weber (1786–1826), whose fireside horror-story Der Freischütz became the definitive statement of German Romanticism – and, like Fidelio, it was written to be sung in German.
The one supreme reason for Italy’s return to the top of the operatic pile in the early 19th century was Gioacchino Rossini (1792–1868), whose fame through Europe was so all-embracing that it left little room for any would-be German rivals to raise their heads. Rossini was not untouched by Romanticism, and much of his work sets grand, quasi-historical stories adapted from authors like Sir Walter Scott, whose novels had a fervent international following. But the Rossini operas that survive in repertory and are deemed his best are comedies; and they exemplify a kind of singing loosely called bel canto. What the term means is a matter of debate, but it implies the decorative virtuosity of coloratura singing, highly embellished with (in Rossini’s case) a steely glitter that tends to prize exquisite technique above spontaneous emotion.
Of Rossini’s two heirs and successors, Gaetano Donizetti (1797–1848) is arguably the closest in spirit, with a brilliant light-comedic touch balanced by moments of pathos, most obviously the famous (and fashionable at the time) Mad Scene in Lucia di Lammermoor. Donizetti set derangement so effectively that his own subsequent descent into madness was poetically appropriate.
But the master of bel canto emotion was the other heir, Vincenzo Bellini (1801–35), whose truly passionate