So… one of the most performed operas of all time, jammed pack of famous tunes, what more is there to say?
Well, there are some interesting facts about the whole shebang you might need at a dinner party, so, here goes…
Puccini was just coming to the fore as a leading opera composer when he hit the ground hobbling with slow burner of a hit La Bohème. And not without some prior scandal and hesitation and a lot of argument either.
Leoncavallo, Puccini’s rival (and trust me, Puccini was insecure enough to see him as such), had offered Puccini a libretto for an opera based on Murger’s novel Scènes de la vie deBohème. Puccini had pooh poohed it, and now Leoncavallo was writing it himself. When he discovered Puccini’s intention to write one too, he was not best pleased and took his story to the local press. Shortly after the Secolo published Leoncavallo’s intention to present a new opera entitled La Bohème;Corriere della Sera published Puccini’s – needless to say it was a little bit messy.
Things were only made messier by the fact that Puccini kept getting fed up with writing La Bohème, and was pretty busy travelling from opera house to opera house to oversee various productions of ManonLescaut.
In fact he told many people he was packing Bohème in on various occasions.
At one point, he and one of the librettists working on Bohème, Illica, got in such a tiff about the project that Puccini upped sticks and went on a sojourn in Sicily to try and write another opera, La Lupa.
Puccini wanted to get rid of Mimi and Rodolfo’s great break up and have them still together at the start of Act III; Mimi dying in the shabby garret. Illica said, no deal, rightly surmising that this would undermine the complexity of Murger’s original and turn the whole thing into a kitchen sink drama, or, in his words: “a pitiful story…a tear jerker…but not La Bohème...[which is] more complex than that.“
Eventually, Puccini gave up on La Lupa (much to his publisher and benefactor, Ricordi’s, annoyance) and work on La Bohème (now very overdue) continues. But all was not well between composer and librettists. Puccini even tried to hire a new librettist through the back door, without even telling Ricordi. Plus, the second librettist on the project, Giuseppe Giacosa, was having trouble coming up with a libretto for Act III that anyone could agree on.
Anyway, when La Bohème finally did get up and running it was hardly an instant success. The premier in Turin had terrible reviews, but it seemed to pick up steam with each new production.
Then, Leoncavallo’s version of Bohème premiered in Venice, and was a flop. Puccini was unbecomingly smug about this, even composing a poem about his friend’s failure (and they say schadenfreude is a German thing).
Puccini had, perhaps unknowingly, composed a masterpiece. What seemed like a none-story was to become one of the most performed and touching operas of all time.
It’s taken on many, many guises – from a televised film version with Anna Netrebko to a shabby heart wrencher in a North London pub – but the Jonathan Miller version that is about to start (once again) at the ENO is a classic of a classic. It has everything you want from a La Bohème and no directorish ego in the way. Many people say Miller is a genius, I am not sure about that – I think he is just very good at doing exactly what is on the page, and seeing as Puccini, Illica and Giacosa were pretty good at their jobs, that’s quite enough!
Another Christmas, another La Boheme at the English National Opera. One of Puccini’s most famous operas, you could say it needs no introduction, especially Jonathan Miller’s acclaimed production.
It’s not the most tricky of plots, so let’s whistle through it…
This is the story of Rodolfo, Mimi, Marcello and Musetta and a few other young students, and their precarious existence in Paris in the early nineteenth century.
It is Christmas Eve and Rodolfo (the writer), and Marcello (the painter), are awaiting the return of their flatmates: Colline (the philosopher), and Schaunard (the musician). They are complaining bitterly (but also playfully) about the trials of the bohemian life. They have no money, and not enough talent it would seem, as they decide that Rodolfo’s latest novel is best served burnt in lieu of firewood.
The other flatmates return and Schaunard has some hard cash. He tells the story of how he earned it – playing to a parrot.
At this moment the landlord, Benoit, arrives demanding the rent. Instead of paying up while they are in the black, they get him drunk and blackmail him, throwing him out of the house.
They all go off to the local café to drink away some of Schaunard’s money. Rodolfo stays behind as he needs to finish up a piece of writing he is actually getting paid for. There is a knock on the door. It’s Rodolfo’s attractive next door neighbour whom he has never seen before. Her candle has gone out and she is asking for a light. He obliges; off she goes while he stares puppy eyed after her.
She is soon back, having accidentally dropped her key in his flat. Both their candles go out. They scrabble in the dark to find the key. Rodolfo finds it but pretends he hasn’t so that he can by time to chat up Mimi, who reveals she is a seamstress who loves making silk flowers.
The (now inebriated) friends turn up under the window and call for Rodolfo to get a move on. He tries to convince Mimi to spend the evening in the flat with him instead, but she meekly asks why she cannot just come out with them. He agrees and away they go.
Act II opens amid the chaos of Paris at Christmas: screaming children, jabbering mothers, street sellers etc. Rodolfo buys Mimi a pink bonnet.
Inside the café everyone is enjoying themselves when in struts Musetta with an old rich man in tow. She is Marcello’s ex-girlfriend and is on a mission to make him jealous. She does so by singing to the whole bar about the power she has over men.
It works. She sends the old rich man off to get her shoes fixed and lumps him with Marcello’s bill, and the students, Mimi and Musetta all go and watch the Christmas procession.
Swiftly on to Act III. Mimi and Rodolfo’s relationship is undeniably on the rocks. Mimi has come to try and find him at the bar where Marcello and Musetta are now living while the painter finishes painting all its signs, and Musetta sings to the clientele.
Mimi begs Marcello for help. Rodolfo is jealous and moody and the whole thing is falling apart. He tells her they should split up because they are clearly not suited; he boasts about how amazing he and Musetta’s relationship is. She agrees they must call it quits, but explains that whenever they try to part, they end up back together again.
Rodolfo begins to wake up and Marcello shoos Mimi away, he doesn’t want a scene at his new place of work. Rodolfo pours his heart out to Marcello, saying he is trying to get Mimi to leave him for a rich man because she is terribly sick, and he can’t afford to heat their room or to buy her the decent food she needs to get better. In fact, he explains to Marcello, he is convinced she is dying. Unbeknownst to either of them, Mimi has overheard it all. She is unmasked by a coughing fit.
Rodolfo and Mimi agree to stay together until the Spring. While they move towards reconciliation, Marcello overhears Musetta giggling with the clients in the bar and goes into a jealous rage. By the end of Act III the tables are turned. Mimi and Rodolfo are as strong as ever and Marcello and Musetta are in a mess.
And finally…Act IV. All couples are parted. We are back in the student’s flat. Marcello can’t stop painting Musetta and every time Rodolfo tries to write he is plagued by Mimi.
In come the rest of the lads and there is cause for merriment, they have a mock banquet with the pitiful food they have. They begin play-fighting and the dual is in full swing when Musetta barges in. Mimi’s rich boyfriend has abandoned her and she really is dying. She is trying to get up the staircase to the flat.
They bring Mimi up. Musetta runs to buy her some gloves. Colline rushes out to pawn his old overcoat to buy her medicine.
But it is all in vain. After some beautiful music…
…she dies, as Rodolfo cries her name.
If you watch this from about 8:50 you get the final Mimis!
Now on at the good old ENO is The Marriage of Figaro (Le Nozze di Figaro but I’ll refer to it in English as it will be sung in English). And, if you want to know a bit more about why it’s often hard to catch singers’ words in opera, have a read of this:
We’ll try and mix some history and context in this time.
So more Mozart…
Undoubtedly one of his most famous operas, The Marriage of Figaro tells the story of the servant girl, her fiancée, his boss, his boss’ wife, the old battle-axe who wants to marry the fiancée, her lawyer and one time lover and a few bumbling tenors.
It’s basically a good old fashioned farce, but there is a good deal of really powerful drama in there too. The libretto is loosely based on a play by Beaumarchais which was censored for being to salacious. In Mozart and Da Ponte’s opera the sauciness is definitely bubbling away, but the comedy comes from the true silliness of being human.
The opera starts a few years after Rossini’s The Barber of Seville (also based on a Beaumarchais play) finishes. Count Almavira is married to the lovely Rosina, and it is his best friend Figaro’s turn to get hitched, to one of the Count’s longest serving maids, Susanna.
The Count has given them a huge suite in his palace which Figaro is measuring with glee because he wants to know if the huge bed his ‘friend’ has also promised him will fit in the middle of it – his mind is clearly no longer in his head. Meanwhile, Susanna is preoccupied with her new wedding bonnet. Basically, they are a right pair, the perfect match, and very different protagonists from Mozart’s regular high minded ladies and gentlemen (musically as well as dramatically).
When Susanna discovers that this is the room they have been designated in the house she is not happy. She tells Figaro that the room is far too close the Count’s room for her liking and that she is very uncomfortable about it because the Count keeps making advances. She explains that Figaro’s so-called best friend has been sending her love songs etc. through her singing teacher (a ruse Almavira played to win his wife Rosina in Barber), and wants to reinstate his feudal right to have first dibs on the wife-to-be of his man-servant. Figaro, needless to say, is displeased and vows revenge. He sings (for the first time) one of the most famous little melodies in the whole damned thing…
…this roughly translates as “If you wanna dance ‘little’ Count, I will play the little guitar.” Casting-wise, Figaro should be a big butch soldier and the Count a skinny aristocrat.
Cut to Marcellina and Bartolo. Figaro isn’t the most honourable of cads himself and has borrowed a large sum of money from the old maid Marcellina. If he doesn’t pay it back, he has to marry her. She’s turned up the day before his wedding night to claim her dues (which, of course, he doesn’t have). She has appointed her former boss, Bartolo, to be her lawyer. Incidentally, the same Bartolo that, in The Barber of Seville, wanted to marry Rosina before Figaro’s tricks tied up her marriage to the Count. Unsurprisingly therefore, Bartolo is only too happy to help Marcellina out and, in so doing, take revenge. He sings about it in fact…
In comes Susanna, just as Bartolo leaves, and her and Marcellina have a good old fashioned “age before beauty” cat fight. It’s a wonderful little duet, roughly it translates as “no, no, after you…” Being snide has, apparently, been around for centuries.
Just as Susanna is waving her fists after Marcellina, Cherubino comes in. The whole collection of human life would not be complete without a randy teenage boy. It turns out that this particular young scallywag has been caught canoodling with a randy young teenage servant girl and that the Count has dismissed him. Cherubino is basically on heat and fancies anything in a skirt, but the Countess is undoubtedly his favourite. Here he is singing about his sexual frustration…Oh, and by the way, he’s played by a girl (would have been a castrato)…
Just as Cherubino is about to head off he spies the Count coming in. Cherubino is not meant to be in the Palace, let alone in Susanna’s bedroom. So he panics and Susanna hides him behind the large sofa that is the only piece of furniture specified as being in the room.
The Count starts coming on to Susanna pretty strongly, she attempts to rebuff him. And then, low and behold, someone is coming. The Count doesn’t want any trouble so he decides to hide behind the sofa as well. Susanna stands between the two stowaways, Cherubino runs round onto the sofa and hides under a dressing gown. In comes Basilio.
To cut a messy scene short, Basilio then starts chatting up Susanna. The Count becomes increasingly irate. Eventually it is all too much and up he jumps and a rather accusatory trio begins. During it, Susanna faints and Cherubino is, yet again, discovered by the Count, right in the middle of him telling everyone how he discovered the youth with Barberina in the first instance.
After which the Count is pretty angry at both Cherubino and Basilio. This is when Figaro turns up with a bunch a country-types all singing about how great the Count is for getting rid of the feudal rights. He scores points for guilt tripping his old mate, certainly.
Everyone leaves apart from Figaro and Cherubino. Cherubino has now been told he must join the army by the Count. Figaro sings him a song of army courage, pointedly designed to make him feel far worse about it al,l as a punishment for chatting up Susanna.
So, the one character we have not met yet is the boss’ wife. There is a reason she does not enter the chaos of Act One. Every character in the opera is somehow boisterous, self-serving and flawed. The Countess is like a breath of fresh air. This is not to say she doesn’t have her own wiles, but she adds a new dimension to the drama; poignancy.
Her first aria is wonderfully still. It translates as – Grant me, Love, some remedy for my grief and my sighs. Return to me my treasure or leave me to die.
After she’s broken the audience’s hearts the madness returns in the shape of Susanna and Figaro and a rather confusing plan to take revenge on the Count. Basilio will give the Count a note, that appears to be from a lover to the Countess, this will get him thoroughly baffled and in such a rage that he doesn’t have time to start helping Marcellina to marry Figaro before Figaro is already married to Susanna (still with me?). Meanwhile, to make sure Marcellina cannot succeed on her own, Susanna will give the Count a hint that she will meet him for a secret triste. Cherubino will turn up in Susanna’s place, dressed as a girl, and the Countess will catch them in the act. In this way, the Countess will be able to get whatever she wants out of her husband, including the money to pay off Marcellina if necessary.
It’s a bit farcical and long winded, but they all agree to it.
Out goes Figaro to another snippet of “If you wanna dance.” In comes Cherubino, ready and willing to be dressed as a girl, but not before a fair bit of flirting with the Countess. He even sings her the song he told Susanna he had written for every woman in the palace. Susanna accompanies on the guitar…
It’s a bit a of a cheeky song – you who know all about love, see if I have it in my heart – and Susanna should probably box his ears for it, but instead they start getting him dressed. Susanna dashes off to get the Countess’ bonnet when there’s a knock on the door.
Whoopsie daisy, it’s the Count, with a letter from the Countess’ fictional lover, and she happens to be alone in her bedroom with a half dressed Cherubino. What does she do? Lock him in the cupboard of course.
A rather amazing and vicious fight scene follows. The Countess tells the Count that Susanna is in the cupboard trying on wedding dresses and that he cannot go in because she is worried about her servant girl’s honour when the Count is about. Just as the Count starts shouting at the cupboard door, unseen by either Count or Countess, Susanna enters. Realising that the Countess’ honour depends on her being in the cupboard she hides from them both. A rather horrid trio begins in which the Count gets pretty musically violent towards the Countess. It would be very nasty if it weren’t for the fact Susanna is also in the mix, singing out from behind a piece of furniture and injecting some humour.
So the Count says fine. Both he and the Countess can go and find something to break into the cupboard, and he will leave the bedroom door locked. They’ll be back soon enough to find out if it’s Susanna in the cupboard or not. Deflated, the Countess takes his arm and off they go.
Of course, Susanna now comes out of hiding, gets Cherubino out of the cupboard. He jumps out of the window. She takes up her position in the cupboard, and, low and behold, to everyone’s surprise, when the Count comes in, all ready to find the Countess’ lover, there is Susanna after all.
Everything looks fine. The Countess and Susanna tell the Count that Figaro wrote the love letter to the Countess as a joke to make him jealous. The Count is feeling very silly. Then, in comes Figaro, who the ladies have to get him to admit it. That done, again, it all looks fine. Then in bursts Antonio, the gardner, railing that he just saw the Page, Cherubino, jump out of a window and ruin the flower-beds. So Figaro convinces the Count that Antonio is a drunkard and definitely didn’t see anything of the sort. Everything is nearly fine again when in burst Marcellina and Bartolo to declare that Figaro must marry Marcellina.
And on those chaotic notes, Act Two comes to a close.
PS. In my travels I discovered that a rather upper-middle-class Eastenders adaptation of the whole thing was made by the BBC in 1994. It’s pretty ridiculous. Here’s their version of the Act II Finale. It’s good fun…
Act Three opens with the Count alone in the palace hall, all decorated for the wedding. He muses on what a scandal the whole afternoon has turned into. Meanwhile, the Countess has concocted a plan of her own. She and Susanna will trick the Count. Susanna will arrange the secret meeting he so desires, and, when he turns up for some extra-marital fun in the dark it will be not Susanna, but the Countess waiting. And, unbeknownst to him until after events, it will actually be marital fun after all.
So in goes Susanna who scores the bargain. The Count will give her the dowry he promised and she will give him her body. It’s not the most comfortable conversation Susanna has ever had, to be sure…
The Count, seeing Susanna gloating about how everything is now fine for her beloved Figaro, then sings a horrid little jealousy aria, through which he decides to rule against Figaro in the Marcellina case that he has agreed to be the judge of.
That done, one of the funniest scenes ever written in an opera begins.
Marcellina, her knees already trembling at the thought of marrying Figaro, rocks up with Bartolo. The court begins. Bad as his word, the Count rules that Figaro must pay Marcellina, or marry her. Just as it appears that all is lost Figaro takes a new line of argument. He tells the assembly that he is a nobleman and therefore cannot be married without his parents’ consent. The Count initially laughs this off, but as Figaro begins to tell everyone his reasons for believing his nobility, the eyes of both Marcellina and Bartolo grow wider and wider, until the revelation that Marcellina is, in fact, Figaro’s mother. There follows a quintet, which becomes a sextet as Susanna walks in, only to see her fiancee in the embrace of her rival Marcellina…really, it speaks for itself…
Marcellina and Bartolo then proceed to give Figaro all the money he could need (for a while anyway).
Barberina and Cherubino flit across the hall, purely to remind the audience that he is dressed as a girl.
Enter the Countess, who is, quite frankly, doing her nut. Susanna hasn’t come back from giving the Count the ‘go’ (she has probably been distracted by her new in-laws), and the Countess is in a proper state. The aria that comes out of it is stunning. It combines purity and simplicity with all the complex twists and turns of the Countess’ emotions. Part eulogy for a lost past, part fervent pledge for a brighter future; here it is…
Another little snapshot recit…this time to tell us that Antonio knows Cherubino is still in the palace and, with the Count, is out to get him.
Then a letter writing scene. A beautiful duet between Susanna and the Countess in which the Countess dictates a love letter which Susanna will send to the Count, sealed with a pin. It is at once delightfully cheeky and heart-breaking as you can bet your bottom dollar that these are exactly the sort of letters Rosina and Almavira exchanged before they got married and it all went wrong.
It’s finally time for those weddings we’ve all been waiting for (did I mention Bartolo and Marcellina have decided to get hitched as well so it is now a double date?).
Some country types have come to give their blessing to the Count and Countess before the ceremonies begin. One particularly charming girl takes the Count’s fancy and he calls her over, only to discover it is Cherubino. Furious, the Count vows to punish him. Problem is, Barberina intercedes telling everyone that while the Count was kissing her the other day he promised her any wish in the world if she would only love him. This embarrassing revelation made, she tells the whole party that if the Count now let’s her marry Cherubino she will love him ‘like her kitten.’ Oh…Dear… The Count and Countess are, unsurprisingly, not amused, but, nothing-to-be-done, the weddings begin.
During the dancing Susanna’s letter is handed to the Count, pin and all…all the marriages happily made, Act Three comes to a close.
So, Act Four…what’s left to sort out? Seems all wrapped up right? Wrong.
Barberina is in a pickle. The Count gave her a pin to give back to Susanna and she has lost it. She knows it is important and, being young, it feels like the end of the world is nigh.
Enter Figaro with Marcellina and Bartolo in tow. He notices how sad Barberina is and asks her what’s wrong. She tells him and, putting two and two together and making six he becomes extremely angry.
Marcellina, who changes her tune and now becomes the opera’s biggest feminist, then takes sides against her new found son (behind his back of course), defending Susanna’s honour. She sings a nice little aria (very often cut) about birds and beasts and the wickedness of men.
This is shortly followed by another often cut aria. Basilio hasn’t had one yet, and being a tenor it’s about time. After he and Bartolo have had a quick chat about how headstrong young men are, he sings a little ruse about how men mellow with age.
(Act Four is a bit of a repository for set pieces to keep singers happy. You may find they are not in many productions).
Then we are back to the plot. Susanna is in the pavilion waiting for Figaro. The Countess is dressed as Susanna and awaiting the Count. Figaro is in a right old rage and sings about that.
Then, on the other side of this dark, dark garden, Susanna worries about what should happen if Figaro doesn’t come and begs that the pleasure of her wedding night should come soon. It’s really quite sweet…
Then the chaos beings. Cherubino turns up at the wrong moment (again) and begins chatting up the Countess (dressed as Susanna) when the Count arrives and begins to chat up the Countess (dressed as Susanna as well). Susanna is hiding in the bushes watching (dressed as the Countess), and Figaro is hiding in the bushes getting increasingly worked up. Cherubino dispatched, the Count and Countess go off for a dalliance. This leaves Susanna and Figaro. Figaro soon realises Susanna is Susanna and not the Countess, but instead of telling her this, decides to punish her by pretending to be chatting up the Countess. She gets angry and beats him round the head to some very Mozartian slapping music. He convinces her he knew it was her all along.
Then the Count appears again, stumbling around looking for Susanna (a.k.a. the Countess in disguise) who has run away from him. Running into Figaro and Susanna he declares foul play and calls for guards as he thinks they are coming to get him. They try and calm everything down to no avail. everyone is revealed and the Count is spitting snakes when finally, out comes his wife, dressed as Susanna and he realises what a complete and utter tool he has been.
And that folks, is the end of that! – Apart from that Darius Milhaud composed an opera for the Third Part of the Figaro Trilogy, La mère coupable, in which the Countess is pregnant with Cerubino’s baby…but that my friends, is a different story to be told a different time!
Opera Miscellany 