Gaetano Donizetti

b Bergamo, November 29, 1797;                                          

d Bergamo, April 8, 1848

With nearly 70 operas to his credit, Gaetano Donizetti was the leading Italian composer in the decade between Vincenzo Bellini’s death and the ascent of Giuseppe Verdi. Donizetti was born in the northern Italian city of Bergamo to an impoverished family. After showing some musical talent, he was enrolled in the town’s Lezioni Caritatevoli where he had the good fortune to study with Giovanni Simone Mayr, maestro di cappella at Santa Maria Maggiore. Originally from Bavaria, Mayr was a successful composer in Italy during the era preceding Gioachino Rossini’s rise to fame, with dozens of operas to his credit. Though offered many prestigious appointments throughout Europe, Mayr remained loyal to his adopted community and greatly enhanced the local musical institutions. Donizetti arrived at a time when Mayr was writing his greatest operas, and his impression on the younger composer was pronounced. Throughout his life, Donizetti regarded him as a second father, though he would outlive his master by only three years.

When it came time, Donizetti furthered his education at the Accademia Filarmonica in Bologna (shadowing Rossini, who had once studied there). He had already penned several short operas before receiving his first commission in 1818 from the Teatro San Luca in Venice – this was Enrico di Borgogna to a libretto by Bartolomeo Merelli. (In later years, as impresario of La Scala, Merelli was instrumental in the beginnings of Verdi’s career.) Further works were produced in Venice, but Donizetti returned to Bergamo for a few years of relative inactivity. A letter of introduction from Mayr to poet Jacopo Ferretti led Donizetti to Rome, where in 1822 he would have his first unequivocal success, Zoraide di Grenata. His career was just getting started.

Later that year Donizetti settled in Naples and used it as a base for the next 16 years. He arrived just as Rossini was finishing his seven-year contract with the royal theaters. Like Rossini he had the ability to work at the increasingly rapid pace demanded by the Italian theater industry and was able to produce three to four operas a year for most of his life.

Many remain timeless gems. L’elisir d’amore (1832), La fille du régiment (1840) and Don Pasquale (1843) demonstrate his expert handling of lighter subjects. Lucrezia Borgia (1833),Gemma di Vergy (1834), Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), Maria de Rudenz (1838) and Maria Padilla (1841) display the composer’s mastery of the Italian melodrama fueled by impassioned and unrestrained literature of the Romantic period. His influence on Verdi cannot be underestimated.

Donizetti’s success in dealing with both comic and tragic settings was due in part to his own manic depressive personality. Well acquainted with personal misfortune, Donizetti lost in the span of eight years his mother, father, two infant sons, an infant daughter and Virginia Vasselli, his wife of seven years. He never truly recuperated after her death, locking the door to her room and refusing to utter her name again. His melancholia may have been induced by early symptoms of syphilis, which he contracted as a young man. It may have also been brought on by the responsibility he felt for harboring the disease that likely cost him his wife and children.

Donizetti made his Paris debut in 1835 with Marino Faliero at the Théâtre Italien and later premiered Les martyrs (1840) at the Paris Opéra. A French translation of Lucia made his name a household word, and in 1840 the composer captivated audiences with La favorite, which became hugely popular throughout Europe and North America. One of his very last works for the stage, Dom Sébastien (1843), was cast in the mold of French grand opéra and was extremely well-received.

The composer had hoped to assume Niccolò Zingarelli’s post as director of the Naples Conservatory, but when the 85-year-old composer died in 1837, Donizetti’s considerable musical contribution to the city was overlooked. Preference was given to a lesser composer, Saverio Mercadante, chiefly because he was a native Neapolitan. After his brief stint in Paris, Donizetti turned toward the Austrian state, where he became music director of the imperial theaters. Two of his final works had their premiere at Vienna’s principal venue, the Kärntnertortheater: Linda di Chamounix (1842) and Maria di Rohan (1843). After the success of Linda, he was appointed Composer to the Austrian Court, a position Mozart had held a half century before.

By 1845, symptoms of his illness had become incapacitating, and his erratic behavior could no longer be excused by overwork. With his family’s intervention Donizetti was placed in a French sanitarium at Ivry for 17 months, then transferred to a Paris apartment. There he was regularly visited by musicians and colleagues, including Verdi, but by this point he was paralyzed, disoriented and rarely spoke. In September 1847, friends arranged his return to Bergamo, where he passed his final days at the home of a wealthy patroness.

Minnesota opera opens Donizetti’s Anna Bolena on Saturday, November 10th, at the Ordway.

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The Beat Goes On

As you can imagine, the staff, board and performers are thrilled with the outcome of Saturday’s opening performance of Nabucco.

It’s so interesting to experience the bit of human nature that adds a now expected but never certain bit of performance “oompf.” The singers conjure up a bit more sound or someone on stage is seized for an extra second because of something their colleague did. Could have been a glance or an outstretched hand no one had discussed.

I’m in the fortunate position of knowing what they’ve rehearsed but then have to be ready for how we all live the performance in that moment. Very cool and almost inexplicable experience. There were definitely some of those performance moments on Saturday. Brenda Harris’ performance returned long applause mid-show. Everything stopped for that moment. Others normally entering as the aria ended tastefully started their arrival but froze when it was clear that the audience needed this moment – and Brenda deserved it.

It was a heck of night though, a very well done Gala dinner preceded the performance. A lovely dessert reception followed. It was great fun getting to know a whole new musical community. I was really proud of the whole company for simply hitting the ball out of the park to open the anniversary season. As I came into the office today for a New Works Initiative meeting there was lingering excitement from the box office folks as well as the production crew I met at various points through the Opera Center along with board members and administrative staff in attendance.

As my attention during the daytime focuses on our next production, Anna Bolena, I am also eagerly anticipating a trip back to the Phoenix Symphony to conduct the “Eight Seasons” of Vivaldi and Piazzolla with one of my favorite violinists, Karen Gomyo. Summer is breaking in Phoenix and I’ve happily noted temps below 100 predicted for next week. I have some favorite restaurants to get back to and a small list of southwest items to bring back.

After the symphony performance next Thursday, it’s off to Boulder for off-season Colorado Music Festival donor cultivation and staff meetings over the weekend. Although it can get busy, you’ll never hear me complain (well, I hope you’ll never hear me complain!). I am a very lucky guy and I count those blessings everyday.

- Minnesota Opera Music Director Michael Christie

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Bringing the Pieces Together

I admit freely that I am an aviation nut. Not only am I pilot but I am fascinated by the history that has connected our world via the air we breathe.

When it comes to these final days before opening night on Saturday, I am reminded of the enormous aviation hangars where massive unpainted aircraft fuselages are centrally perched off the floor with other components being joined from all sides before the hangar door opens to reveal a shiny, smooth vehicle that beautifully hides the cumulative hours of work, coordination and inspiration.

So goes opera this week as the Minnesota Opera moves its artistic and production operations from our spectacular Opera Center in Minneapolis to our performance home, the Ordway in St. Paul.

Monday night the cast and chorus meets the orchestra for the first time. In a rehearsal space down the hallway from the simultaneously occurring lighting and scenery work onstage tempos are tried and refined, balances are considered and trust is built.

We will start from the top and work through each of the four acts to see how the initial musical ideas of the past three weeks mix with the movement of fifty-five musicians of the Minnesota Opera orchestra.  Sometimes tempi that felt a little brisk with piano alone feel a bit different with plush strings contributing a bit of cushion but keeping the necessary momentum. Sometimes little corners that were easy to turn between a singer and pianist reveal themselves to be impractical with so many people participating. But more often than not the orchestra feeds off the drama and direction of the voice, and singers are buoyed by the mass of sound and instrumental color accompanying them.

Tuesday evening costumes, wigs and makeup are revealed onstage for the first time and the company begins to orient to the slightly larger on and off stage space. It will also be an important opportunity to see the twenty-one grand hand-painted scenery drops and working with those images. The orchestra is not required for this nor the Wednesday afternoon rehearsal sessions as these hours are occupied with moving people into the best areas for lighting or coordinating entrances around the enormous number of people the opera requires onstage.

With hopes that most of the logistics are worked out the orchestra convenes in the pit Wednesday evening and we truly bring all the pieces together. Thursday evening is our last crack at it with the opportunity to stop if absolutely necessary.

Then, the hangar door opens Saturday revealing a project that is polished and proud.

Heartfelt thanks to everyone backstage in areas like costumes and wigs, props, the scenery and paint shop and our administrative and artistic teams for allowing us to take a bow on your behalf.

- Minnesota Opera Music Director Michael Christie

 

Visit Minnesota Opera’s Blog every week for Monday Music with the Maestro.

The “Mystical Experience” of Live Performance

This is when the rehearsal process gets interesting.

What I always find so compelling about working in opera is seeing what singers bring to their characters from the outset, and how those portrayals evolve with input from the director and responding to their colleagues’ concepts.

Since singers have their roles memorized, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that they are deeply connected to the morality and motivation of their characters. The dynamic at Minnesota Opera is very special in this regard.  For this production we have two stage directors who are superbly balancing the conventions of the art form such as placement on stage to accommodate a proper balance with the orchestra, in tandem with the internal and interpersonal relationships that are so important to portray.

It’s this portrayal of characters that seems to separate the men from the boys, so to speak. If the group of singers either can’t or won’t weave their characters together, the opera will go on, but the power of portraying that particular aspect of humanity won’t “read” to the patron. I’m very excited that this production seems to be hitting that sweet spot where the characters are starting to read by themselves and interact with each other.

Now, the other key “character” (the orchestra), has to be brought into the mix. On Tuesday morning we have the first of three 3-hour orchestra rehearsals. During these rehearsal, we will naturally be working on matters of ensemble, but that extra layer of drama and character that I love so much in opera has to be expressed by the instruments as readily as the singers who have costumes, motion and text.

As it all comes together, I aim for the portrayal of these characters to be a full sensory experience. This, after all, is the world in which we live. Live, in-the-theater performance has the challenge of not being able to do a multi-angle camera zoom to show the subtle evolution of a character’s experience. However, we have the advantage of the music and the almost mystical experience of watching another human being standing some number of feet away, performing in our space.

That’s the miracle we are working toward and why it matters.

- Minnesota Opera Music Director Michael Christie

 

Visit Minnesota Opera’s Blog every week for Monday Music with the Maestro.

A Piece of Puccini

Giacomo Puccini

b Lucca, December 22, 1858; d Brussels, November 29, 1924

Puccini was born into a family of court composers and organists in the historic city of Lucca, Italy. With a strong feeling of tradition in the Puccini family, it was expected that Giacomo would assume his deceased father’s position as maestro di cappella when he came of age. By 14 he already was playing organ in a number of the town’s churches. At age 18 a performance of Verdi’s Aida inspired him to devote his life to opera. In 1880, Puccini began composition studies with Amilcare Ponchielli at the Milan Conservatory of Music. There he was introduced into the professional artists’ circle, to which he would belong for the rest of his life.

 

Puccini was not a prolific composer. Unlike most of his contemporaries, there were long intervals between his operas, partly because of his fastidiousness in choosing and modifying his subjects. Often he would abandon them after only several months. His constant demands for modifications of the texts frequently delayed the progress of his projects. Much of Puccini’s time, too, was spent hunting in the marshes around his home and traveling abroad to supervise revivals of his works.

 

Puccini’s first work for the stage, Le villi, was originally submitted to a contest sponsored by the music publisher Edoardo Sonzogno. The one-act opera did not receive even honorable mention, but Puccini was certain of its merit. He and librettist Ferdinando Fontana began to canvass the opera to the broader circle of the Italian intelligentsia. One of these individuals was the highly influential Arrigo Boito (at that time in correspondence with Verdi about the preparation of the libretto for Otello), who was instrumental in getting Le villi staged.

 

The reception to the new work was mixed, but the revised two-act version was staged in a number of cities outside of Italy, a remarkable feat for a virtually unknown composer. Puccini’s next opera, Edgar, was a resounding critical failure. However, the astute publisher, Giulio Ricordi, found fault in the libretto only, yet promise in the music. He pitted himself against the shareholders of his publishing house, who demanded that Puccini be released from retainer. Ricordi’s confidence was rewarded with Manon Lescaut, Puccini’s first true success.

 

During the 1890s, Puccini began working with Luigi Illica, who worked out the scheme and drafted the dialogue, and with the poet and playwright Giuseppe Giacosa, who put Illica’s lines into verse. Although they had participated in Manon Lescaut (as part of a string of several librettists), their first real collaboration was La bohème in 1896, followed four years later by Tosca and then Madame Butterfly four years after that. Giacosa died in 1906, putting an end to the successful team that produced three of Puccini’s most enduring works.

 

Puccini’s later operas were quite varied in their styles and subjects. La fanciulla del West, set in the American West, is notable for its advanced impressionistic orchestration and composition. La rondine was designed to be a sentimental musical comedy in the Viennese style. Il trittico was a mixed bag of one-act operas: Il tabarro, a tip-of-the-hat to Italian verismo; Suor Angelica, a nun embroiled in a battle for the future of her illegitimate child; and most popular of the three, Gianni Schicchi, a comic masterpiece that features Puccini at his most exuberant.

 

Turandot was Puccini’s last (and arguably his greatest) opera. Unfortunately, he died before completing it. Another composer finished the job, but at the premiere Arturo Toscanini set down his baton and refused to continue past Puccini’s last note.

 

Puccini has been much maligned for his flirtation with popular culture, but he had an uncanny feel for a good story and a talent for composing enthralling yet economical music. Like many of his contemporaries, he constantly was experimenting with tonality and form, though his experiments were always subtle and without controversy. Having produced only 12 operas, the composer’s personal life was plagued with self doubt and laborious perfectionism. Still, Puccini profoundly influenced the world of opera with a deep understanding of music, drama and humanity.

Madame Butterfly: Synopsis

Act I

 

Outside a little house overlooking the Nagasaki harbor, Pinkerton, an American naval officer, is making the final arrangements with the marriage broker, Goro, for a Japanese wedding. According to law, the marriage will not be binding, and Pinkerton revels in the carefree arrangement. The American Consul, Sharpless, warns Pinkerton that his bride, Cio-Cio-San (called Butterfly by her friends), is serious about the marriage.

 

Butterfly and her relatives arrive. She tells Pinkerton about herself, her family and her age – which is only 15 – and shows him the few possessions she has brought, including the ceremonial dagger with which her father killed himself. The brief ceremony is performed and as the celebration begins, an ominous figure appears. He is Butterfly’s uncle, the Bonze, a Japanese priest, who curses Butterfly for abandoning the Japanese gods in favor of Christianity. All the relatives side with the Bonze, and they turn on the young bride. But Pinkerton orders them all away, and in the long and tender love duet that closes the act, Butterfly forgets her troubles. Together, Pinkerton and Butterfly enter their new home.

 

Act II

 

Part one  Three years have passed since Pinkerton sailed for America, but Butterfly remains loyal and describes to Suzuki her dream of his return. Sharpless, knowing that Pinkerton has taken an American wife and will soon be arriving in Nagasaki with her, attempts to prepare Butterfly for the shock, but she is too excited by news of Pinkerton’s return to listen. Goro enters with the wealthy Prince Yamadori, who is courting Butterfly. When Goro and Yamadori leave, Sharpless gently advises her to accept the Prince. That is out of the question, she insists, and she brings in the reason for that impossibility – her young son, named Sorrow. But, she adds, he will be called Joy when his father returns. Defeated, Sharpless leaves, promising to tell Pinkerton of the boy.

 

Part two  A cannon is heard, and Butterfly and Suzuki see Pinkerton’s ship coming into the harbor. Butterfly jubilantly prepares for his return, filling the room with flowers and again donning her bridal costume. As night falls, Butterfly, Suzuki and the child wait, motionless.

 

Part two  Dawn finds Butterfly, Suzuki and Sorrow just where they were at the close of the last scene, except that the maid and the child are fast asleep. Butterfly takes her sleeping son into another room, singing him a lullaby.  Sharpless enters with Pinkerton and his wife, Kate. Suzuki almost at once realizes who this is. She cannot bear to tell her mistress, and neither can Pinkerton. He sings a passionate farewell to his once-happy home, and leaves. But Butterfly, entering, sees Kate and realizes the painful truth. With dignity she tells Kate that she may have her boy if Pinkerton will come soon to fetch him. Left alone with the child, she makes an agonizing farewell, blindfolds the boy and goes behind a screen where she stabs herself. Pinkerton comes rushing back, but it is too late.

Are you Ready for Lucia di Lammermoor?!

Here’s a synopsis to get you excited ahead of time about seeing Lucia. Hurry and get your tickets today if you haven’t yet! To order, call the Ticket Office at 612-333-6669 Mon.-Fri., 9am-6pm.

Act I

Scene one – the grounds  Enrico expresses to Normanno his deep concern. His position as Lord Keeper of Lammermoor is a tenuous one, and the ousting of its previous owners has made a bitter enemy of Edgardo, the last surviving heir. The political tide of Scotland alternates between Catholic and Protestant leaders, again putting his seemingly powerful situation at risk. Enrico has arranged a marriage between his sister, Lucia, and Arturo, a union that can only improve his status. Raimondo, the chaplain, cautions that she is not ready to love, citing her grief over her mother’s recent death. Normanno counters that she’s hardly grieving but full of ardor – she is in love with another man, one who saved her from a rushing bull. She has since seen him every day at dawn. Though his identity is not known, Normanno suspects it is in fact Edgardo. Enrico is furious at the news – Edgardo will pay for this insult with his own blood.

 

Scene two – the fountain  Lucia waits with Alisa for the arrival of Edgardo. She tells her companion of the mysterious lore that surrounds the fountain – it was there that a Ravenswood, burning with jealousy, stabbed his beloved. She fell into the waters and remains there still. Her ghost is said to haunt the fountain and once tried to speak to Lucia. Alisa advises that only peril can follow such an experience and encourages her friend to forget Edgardo. Lucia cannot – he is her only happiness in a world filled with tears. Alisa withdraws, and Edgardo appears. In the wake of Scotland’s political turmoil he has been called to France. He plans to extend to Enrico his hand in peace and ask for her hand in return, but Lucia fears her brother’s wrath. They exchange rings as a token of their secret bond, and Edgardo promises to write while he is away.

 

Act II

Scene one – the chamber  Several months have passed with no word from Edgardo. Lucia reluctantly has agreed to marry Arturo, and preparations are being made for the ceremony. Normanno confirms with Enrico that he has been able to intercept every one of Edgardo’s letters, and in their place a forgery has been produced. When Lucia is presented with the fake letter, she faints after reading its contents – Edgardo has taken up with another woman and no longer loves her. Enrico berates his sister for pledging her faith to such a vile seducer and betraying her family’s honor. Raimondo provides further evidence of Edgardo’s abandonment – the chaplain has seen to it that every one of her letters reached him, yet there has been no reply until this day. Raimondo encourages Lucia to resign herself to the union.

 

Scene two – the reception  Wedding guests celebrate the impending nuptials. As Arturo is received, Enrico assures him of Lucia’s willingness to marry and that he should not be discouraged by her sorrow, which is clearly the result of her mother’s passing. As Lucia is presented to her bridegroom, Enrico berates her mercilessly in a series of asides. She begrudgingly signs the wedding contract, and moments later Edgardo bursts into the room. Lucia swoons and everyone is filled with shock and remorse – like a wilting rose, she hovers between life and death. Believing that Lucia still loves him, Edgardo is stunned when shown the marriage contract bearing her signature. In despair he offers his own life, but Enrico orders him out.

 

Act III

Scene one – the tower  Alone in the spare remains of his family’s estate, Edgardo rues his dismal fate as a storm rages outside. Enrico pays a return visit, needling him with details of the wedding ceremony and the reminder that Arturo and Lucia are at this very moment consummating their wedding vows. He then challenges Edgardo to a duel, to which the latter heartily agrees – he had promised on his father’s grave to avenge the family name.

Scene two – the party  The wedding festivities are interrupted by news from a badly shaken Raimondo. He heard screams from the bridal chamber and opening the door, found Arturo in a pool of blood with a wide-eyed Lucia clutching the knife that killed him. Lucia stumbles before the guests, obviously delirious, looking for Edgardo. Everyone is horrified by the tragic outcome of the day.

Scene three – the tombs  Edgardo waits for the duel’s appointed hour, intending to surrender himself on Enrico’s sword. He soon learns of the prior evening’s calamity and is told that Lucia has gone insane. Broken by the news, Edgardo takes his own life.

 

How Well do you Know Donizetti?

Gaetano Donizetti

b Bergamo, November 29, 1797; d Bergamo, April 8, 1848

Lucia di Lammermoor
With nearly 70 operas to his credit, Gaetano Donizetti was the leading Italian composer in the decade between Vincenzo Bellini’s death and the ascent of Giuseppe Verdi. Donizetti was born in the northern Italian city of Bergamo to an impoverished family. After showing some musical talent, he was enrolled in the town’s Lezioni Caritatevoli where he had the good fortune to study with Giovanni Simone Mayr, maestro di cappella at Santa Maria Maggiore. Originally from Bavaria, Mayr was a successful composer in Italy during the era preceding Rossini’s rise to fame, with dozens of operas to his credit. Though offered many prestigious appointments throughout Europe, Mayr remained loyal to his adopted community and greatly enhanced the local musical institutions. Donizetti arrived at a time when Mayr was writing his greatest operas, and his impression on the younger composer was pronounced. Throughout his life, Donizetti regarded him as a second father, though he would outlive his master by only three years.

 

When it came time, Donizetti furthered his education at the Accademia Filarmonica in Bologna (shadowing Rossini, who had once studied there). He had already penned several short operas before receiving his first commission in 1818 from the Teatro San Luca in Venice – this was Enrico di Borgogna to a libretto by Bartolomeo Merelli. (In later years, as impresario of La Scala, Merelli was instrumental in the beginnings of Verdi’s career.) Further works were produced in Venice, but Donizetti returned to Bergamo for a few years of relative inactivity. A letter of introduction from Mayr to poet Jacopo Ferretti led Donizetti to Rome, where in 1822 he would have his first unequivocal success, Zoraide di Grenata. His career was just getting started.

 

Later that year Donizetti settled in Naples and used it as a base for the next 16 years. He arrived just as Rossini was finishing his seven-year contract with the royal theaters. Like Rossini he had the ability to work at the increasingly rapid pace demanded by the Italian theater industry and was able to produce three to four operas a year for most of his life.

 

Many remain timeless gems. L’elisir d’amore (1832), La fille du régiment (1840) and Don Pasquale (1843) demonstrated his expert handling of lighter subjects. Lucrezia Borgia (1833), Gemma di Vergy (1834), Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), Maria de Rudenz (1838) and Maria Padilla (1841) displayed the composer’s mastery of the Italian melodrama fueled by impassioned and unrestrained literature of the Romantic period. His influence on Verdi cannot be underestimated.

 

Donizetti’s success in dealing with both comic and tragic settings was due in part to his own manic depressive personality. Well acquainted with personal misfortune, Donizetti lost in the span of eight years his mother, father, two infant sons, an infant daughter and Virginia Vasselli, his wife of seven years. He never truly recuperated after her death, locking the door to her room and refusing to utter her name again. His melancholia may have been induced by early symptoms of syphilis, which he contracted as a young man. It may have also been brought on by the responsibility he felt for harboring the disease that likely cost him his wife and children.

 

Donizetti made his Paris debut in 1835 with Marino Faliero at the Théâtre Italien and later premiered Les martyrs (1840) at the Paris Opéra. A French translation of Lucia made his name a household word, and in 1840 the composer captivated audiences with La favorite, which became hugely popular throughout Europe and North America. One of his very last works for the stage, Dom Sébastien (1843), was cast in the mold of French grand opéra and was extremely well-received.

 

The composer had hoped to assume Niccolò Zingarelli’s post as director of the Naples Conservatory, but when the 85-year-old composer died in 1837, Donizetti’s considerable musical contribution to the city was overlooked. Preference was given to a lesser composer, Saverio Mercadante, chiefly because he was a native Neapolitan. After his brief stint in Paris, Donizetti turned toward the Austrian state, where he became music director of the imperial theaters. Two of his final works had their premiere at Vienna’s principal venue, the Kärntnertortheater: Linda di Chamounix (1842) and Maria di Rohan (1843). After the success of Linda, he was appointed Composer to the Austrian Court, a position Mozart had held a half century before.

 

By 1845, symptoms of his illness had become incapacitating, and his erratic behavior could no longer be excused by overwork. With his family’s intervention Donizetti was placed in a French sanitarium at Ivry for 17 months, then transferred to a Paris apartment. There he was regularly visited by musicians and colleagues, including Verdi, but by this point he was paralyzed, disoriented and rarely spoke. In September 1847, friends arranged his return to Bergamo, where he passed his final days at the home of a wealthy patroness.

“…The juxtaposition of sin with sanctity.”

Music Monday

Read the background notes from Minnesota Opera dramaturg David sander on our upcoming opera Werther.

Set design by Allen Moyer

Werther stands alone in Jules Massenet’s wide-ranging oeuvre of operas. The appearance of a male protagonist submerged in the interior, realistic doom and gloom of Germanic Sturm und Drang is unique to the composer’s typically glittering and vibrant artifice of fin-de-siècle France. Several people claim credit for its genus. Naturally, librettists Paul Milliet and Édouard Blau would like to believe they were the impetus (though several adaptations of Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s literary masterpiece had already seen the stage), and their resulting product stands out among the volumes of typically lackluster French libretti. Milliet encouraged the composer to forget complicated, stagy plots of the earlier generation in favor of those with intense passions unrelated to dramatic events. Massenet’s publisher, Georges Hartmann, recalled how he skillfully arranged everything when he and the composer travelled to Bayreuth to see Wagner’s Parsifal in 1886. During a side trip to Wetzlar where Goethe had written The Sorrows of Young Werther, he produced the novel for Massenet’s immediate perusal, discouraging his interest in adapting Henry Murger’s Scènes de la vie de bohème(later set by Giacomo Puccini and Ruggero Leoncavallo).

Massenet would recall years later that it was his own conception to write Werther, an idea he fostered at the beginning of the 1880s. Composed shortly after his return to Paris, he lobbied for a premiere at the city’s second theater of rank, the Opéra-Comique. Though already renowned for programming serious works (Bizet’s Carmen would be the most notorious example), the impresario, Léon Carvalho, found the subject too somber, and a deadly fire in 1887 put the project in limbo (and Carvalho temporarily in jail for the resulting human death toll). Werther would sit on the shelf for four more years while an earlier work, Manon, would take Europe by storm. It was Manon’s success at Vienna’s Hofopera that would draw attention the Massenet’s “German” opera and it was finally staged in 1892.

Oddly, Goethe’s works would achieve success in the hands of foreign composers rather than those from his homeland, Faust being the most notable example. Rather than relying on supernatural witches and devils or heaven and hell, the writer turned to an actual experience from his past. As a young man, he fell madly in love with Charlotte Buff, the fiancée of Johann Christian Kestner, a young diplomat. Realizing his one-sided affection for the young woman would not amount to anything, he left Wetzlar, devastated and suicidal. He maintained correspondence with Kestner, from whom he soon learned that a mutual acquaintance, Karl Wilhelm Jerusalem, had in fact taken his own life over his own unrequited love for a married woman. Goethe was overwhelmed by the incident and wrote his novel in just one month.

Goethe unfolded his tale in a series of epistles, personal and troubled confessions mostly written to his trusted friend Wilhelm. A few letters are dedicated directly to Charlotte herself and reveal a search for identity through love. Toward the end, however, Goethe shifts the narrative from Werther’s first person to an omniscient editor who sifts through the protagonist’s final writings. The mood is a combination of intense emotionalism and an adoration of wilderness (touched upon lightly in Massenet’s Act I aria for Werther, “Ô Nature, pleine de grâce”), two important components of the blossoming Romantic Age. Eighteenth-century objectivity was falling victim to subjective expression and spontaneity of feeling, as the importance of the individual superseded rational thought. Suicide was the last refuge of Weltschmerz, or the weariness of life to the misguided, agonized intellectual, an affront to the tenants of the Church (consequently, Werther, who renounces God’s benevolence, is notably not buried on consecrated ground). The popularity of Goethe’s novel actually made the taking of one’s own life (or verging on it) a fashionable image – young men adopted Werther’s dress and carried their tears in glass vials, veritable “Emos” of their era. To this date, the “Werther Effect” remains a psychological term for imitative suicide.

Massenet had to make some changes to make Goethe’s piece a little more stageworthy. In the novel, Werther is already informed of Charlotte’s betrothal from the start, and she is unaware (until the very end) that he loves her, but in Act III of the opera, she is given an intensely heartrending scene as she waivers between fidelity to her husband and feelings for Werther. In Goethe’s original, she does not visit Werther as he lays dying – having shot himself just above the right eye, he does not regain consciousness and takes a full twelve hours to expire (significantly on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year). In the opera, we see the rational Albert’s transition from amiable to suspicious to coldhearted as he orders Charlotte to send Werther the pistols. In the novel, he remains Werther’s friend to the very end and is the one to discover and dispense with his body. In contrast, Charlotte’s character is dignified a bit more in the opera as she has promised her deceased mother she would marry Albert and acts as a surrogate parent to the hoard of her siblings. Her casting as a mezzo-soprano fortifies this maternal role. Another added bourgeois touch, no doubt satisfying a demand of the audience, was to include the incongruous singing of Christmas carols as Werther slowly dies – he may not get a Christian burial, but there is still some hope for redemption.

Part of Werther’s complexity is the contrast between light and dark – the happiness of children singing, the comic relief of Schmidt and Johann’s drinking song, the frivolity of Sophie’s ariette, the festivities of the pastor’s golden anniversary – all characteristics expected by Paris’ theatrical crowd. Still, they were puzzled at the French premiere in 1893 by the sharp contrast of idyllic youth with adult gravity and the juxtaposition of sin with sanctity. As a result, Werther was slow to gain acceptance. Still grappling with their first complete glimpses of Richard Wagner at the Paris Opéra in the final decade of the 19th century, likely viewers were unable to see Werther’s true depth – a one-sided Liebestod, an ever-worsening love drama that rushes incessantly toward its dire conclusion.