Women in Music: The Case of Italian Opera

Abstract

Opera theater was, and still is, a powerful “school of feelings,” thanks to the ability of art music to represent “in the act” (as if we were witnessing them live) the processes of the psyche and the emotional mechanisms which, by affecting the characters in the drama, indirectly influence the audience, too. This sound representation is achieved through a specific organization of musical form which, even when not consciously objectivized by the listener, is always clearly perceivable. The article briefly illustrates three different instances of musical representation of disturbing states of mind in as many female characters of operas by Giuseppe Verdi.

FormalPara Key Points

• Art music in the Western tradition can express feelings and depict moods and psychic processes. Musical works of art can stage conflicts and passions which, although belonging to the past, still affect our lives today.

• Of all musical genres, opera displays the power to plastically represent the countless aspects of the passions, through definite, perceivable forms. In this way it functions as a kind of deep-reaching, albeit unconscious, “school of feelings.”

• Within a well-organized formal structure, a soprano aria like that of Elvira in Verdi’s Ernani allows women listeners to experience her anguished feelings and simultaneously observe them with the “involved” detachment afforded by a work of art.

• In his Macbeth Verdi has shown how far female hybris can push, what physical metamorphosis it can induce, and even just how powerful a woman’s influence on a man can be.

• Violetta’s aria in the third act of Verdi’s La traviata, through the clarity of its form, gives a sublime musical and theatrical representation of the “loneliness of the dying.”

Art music in the Western tradition, be it exclusively instrumental or associated with a verbal text, can express feelings and depict moods and psychic processes, even dysfunctional ones.¹ In this respect it can be a powerful vehicle of emotional education, for the young and less young, women and men.² But that is not all. Musical works of art, even from distant epochs, can stage conflicts and passions which, although belonging to the past, still affect our lives today: a conscious, thoughtful discussion, prepared by a guided listening of the music piece, allows to better analyze, understand, and interiorize them.³

In this process, a major role is played by two factors. The first is that music “presentifies” feelings and emotions, as if they were taking place before our very eyes, or even within us. The second is that it does this through definite, perceivable forms. Both factors allow listeners, on the one hand, to identify with the feeling represented by the sounds and, on the other hand, to become aware of it, by distancing themselves from it and observing it with detachment.

Of all musical genres, opera displays this power in the most evident way, by closely connecting word, music, and scene. The fact that opera theater has existed for four centuries and still shows no signs of decline may have to do with its ability to plastically and vividly represent the countless aspects of the passions and the infinite nuances of the psyche: this is why it played, and still plays, the role of a deep-reaching, albeit unconscious, “school of feelings.”⁴ Let us now look at three eloquent examples of this, drawn from operas by Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901).

First of all, I would like to discuss Ernani (1844), a masterpiece which the composer, in collaboration with librettist Francesco Maria Piave, drew from the Romantic drama Hernani ou L’honneur castillan by Victor Hugo (1830). The plot is set in sixteenth-century Spain, an epoch as remote from Verdi as it is for us today. In this mid-nineteenth-century Italian opera, the blooming of a feeling is formalized into a structure, referred to by musicologists as la solita forma (the usual form), which describes the inner organization of the “numbers” that make up an opera. As a rule, the solita forma comprises four movements: Scena, Cantabile (or Adagio), Tempo di mezzo, and Cabaletta. In duets and trios, between the Scena and the Cantabile, a so-called Tempo d’attacco is interpolated.⁵ The solita forma has both a musical and theatrical significance: it alternates between moments when the action is carried forward and others in which it stands still, to allow for the expression of “affections,” or feelings.⁶

I will now examine the entrance aria, which the female protagonist of Ernani, Elvira, sings when she first appears on stage. The young Castilian noblewoman, in love with an outlaw, Ernani, is waiting in anguish for the decrepit aristocrat Silva, her betrothed, in whose castle she is staying as a guest. The recited monologue of Elvira builds the Scena, the section in which we learn about the circumstances of the plot (“Surta è la notte, e Silva non ritorna … | Ah non tornasse ei più! …,” Night time is here, and Silva has not yet come back. Ah, I wish he would never come back!). The singing takes off in the Cantabile, when Elvira thinks about Ernani and cries out for him as if he were physically present (“Ernani!… Ernani, involami | all’abborrito amplesso,” Ernani! Take me away from the loathed embrace): here the action is suspended, and feeling prevails in a broad, passionate melodic phrase. Once the Cantabile is over, the Tempo di mezzo introduces the maids as they bring the wedding gifts of Elvira’s suitor (“Quante d’Iberia giovani | te invidieran, signora!”, My Lady, you will be envied by so many young Iberian women!). This new situation interrupts Elvira’s train of thoughts: the meeting with Silva approaches threateningly. Elvira again pours out her soul, this time in an impetuous Cabaletta, a swift, lively movement in which she gushes her love for the outlaw (“(Tutto sprezzo che d’Ernani | non favella a questo core)” I despise everything that does not talk to my heart about Ernani). Although her feeling is private, and Elvira expresses it to herself, the anxiety of the reluctant bride is noticed by the maids, who also make comments aside, a parte (“(Sarà sposa, non amante, | se non mostra giubilar)” She does not appear to rejoice, so she will be a bride, not a lover). The Cabaletta heightens and emphasizes this tension, amplifying the force of passion and eliciting applause. The individual movements of “solita forma” are neatly sculpted here, perfectly identified and distinct in their musical character and dramatic content. The anguish that torments Elvira both in solitude and during the rituals of court life is tangible.

The story and the feeling embodied in this aria from Ernani through its “solita forma,” although obviously set in the sixteenth-century Spain, would certainly not be out of place in the nineteenth-century Italy.⁷ They apparently look very distant from our time. Yet a simple consideration is enough to modify this initial impression: even today, in many parts of the world, many women still experience a similar condition to that of Elvira—they are forced to marry a man they do not love, possibly much older, just because their family, social conventions, or traditions demand so. But even in the Western world today, it is far from uncommon for women to be subjected to pressure from their authoritarian fathers and brothers, which harm their physical and mental health. Within the well-organized structure of the “solita forma,” the soprano aria in Ernani allows women to identify with Elvira (who becomes the emblem of so many abused human beings), to experience her feelings and simultaneously observe them with the sense of “involved” detachment produced by a work of art. And it indirectly allows men to grasp the vicious mechanisms of coercion typical of a male-dominated society.

In another masterpiece, Verdi perfectly succeeds in adapting the “solita forma” to depict a deeply upsetting female character: Lady Macbeth. Here the musician draws from a sublime model, Shakespeare’s tragedy Macbeth. The same-titled Verdi opera was performed in 1847 in Florence and then reworked for the Paris production of 1865, with a libretto by the abovementioned Piave, which also includes substantial contributions by poet Andrea Maffei. In the Italian composer’s opera, the history of the Scottish nobleman and of his spouse who, out of thirst for power, do not hesitate to murder a king, reaches appalling heights of violence and cruelty.

One example will suffice. Let us reread the first monologue of Lady Macbeth in Shakespeare (act I, scene v): it expresses all the fierceness of this arrogant character who, in her euphoria, already sees herself on the throne and plans the killing of the king, who is a guest at their castle. In a macabre hymn to the night, Lady Macbeth calls upon the spirits to deprive her of her sex (“unsex me here”), annihilate the female virtues of mercy and love in her, and fill her with terrible cruelty (“And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full | Of direst cruelty”), thicken her blood (“Make thick my blood”), and turn the milk in her breasts into gall (“Come to my woman’s breasts | And take my milk for gall”), so that she may be more successful in pushing her husband to commit murder.

It is a blood-curdling soliloquy. Verdi’s libretto omits such cruel verbal imagery. The task of giving substance to this terrible character is assigned to singing, in her entrance aria (act I, scene v, number 3). This is achieved through an imperious, whiplash-like gesture in the Scena (after the reading of her husband’s letter, “Nel dì della vittoria io le incontrai…,” I met them on the day of victory …), which becomes even more aggressive in the Cantabile, “Vieni! t’affretta! accendere | vo’ quel tuo freddo core!” (Come! Hurry up! I want to light that cold heart of yours!), and finally through the frenzied excitement and bragging virtuosity of the Cabaletta, “Or tutti sorgete, ministri infernali” (Rise ye all, infernal ministers), immediately after the Tempo di mezzo (a march that provides the soundtrack for the servant’s dispatch: King Duncan is about to arrive at the castle). Tackling this impossibly demanding aria right off, with her voice still cold, is a challenge for the singer. Verdi knew it well: but he did not want a soprano with a “figura bella, buona” (who looked good, lovely), who could sing flawlessly, “alla perfezione”; he was looking for a Lady “brutta e cattiva” (ugly, evil), who would not sing, “non cantasse,” “una voce aspra, soffocata, cupa” (a harsh, muffled, dull voice), which had to sound somewhat diabolical, “avesse del diabolico.”⁸ These words show that the musician had fully grasped the extraordinary nature of the staged events and of the words of Shakespeare. Above all he showed to have realized how far female hybris can push, what physical metamorphosis it can induce, and even (this becomes evident in the rest of the opera) just how powerful a woman’s influence on a man can be, enough to weave a cocoon of euphoria around him, throw him into raving madness, and, finally, lead him to annihilation.

In this case, too, the literary text and the musical work are distant from our age. But the themes of passion for power and unrestrained ambition are always relevant, and neither men nor women are immune from it. A legitimate drive to succeed should always be brought in harmony with our deep humanity. Women in particular should be aware of just how powerful their influence on the innermost feelings of men is, for good or for bad. While Ernani offers us a portrait of male violence, Macbeth visualizes a story of extreme misuse of power by a woman, which fuels the couple’s delusion of grandeur and leads to the collapse of their psyche.

While the structure of “solita forma,” which I have identified here in two famous arias, is one of the fundamental formal devices in Italian opera, it is not the only one. There are other models of musical form that are used for representing situations and feelings with sounds: what is never absent is, indeed, the constructive role of form. This is clearly perceivable even to untrained listeners, who, without realizing it, let themselves be carried away by it: opera theater is conceived to immediately produce a strong impression, and a distinctly recognizable form is instrumental in achieving this purpose.

My last example is drawn from one of the universally known masterpieces of Verdi, La traviata (1853), from the novel La dame aux camélias by Alexandre Dumas fils (1848). First let me make a short introduction. In Romantic opera, the hero or heroine usually dies. Whether it occurs in the presence of the other, dismayed characters⁹ or face to face with a distraught relative,¹⁰ the event of death generates a mournful echo in those present. In La traviata Violetta dies of consumption chez soi, in front of a few friends who have rushed to her bedside.¹¹ Before the end, in the third act, we witness a moment of vertiginous emotion, “Addio del passato bei sogni ridenti” (Farewell you beautiful, cheerful dreams of the past). Over a subdued “tremolo” in the strings, Violetta, alone, is reading (not singing!) the letter she has received from Monsieur Germont, the father of her lover (“Teneste la promessa … La disfida | ebbe luogo,” You kept your promise … The duel did take place): her Alfredo will come to her, to ask for forgiveness and to be reunited with her. Throughout this short melodrama,¹² the violins whisper the love theme, which in the first act had been sung in full voice. It is as if sound turned into a memory and spoke to us softly of an endless, lost love. The woman looks at herself in the mirror and sees the pangs of illness on her face. Joy and sorrow are about to end; the grave is where we are all bound to. She then bids farewell to life in a simple form: two couplets,¹³ or stanzas, with the same meter (six double hexasyllables plus a final hexasyllable functioning as a refrain: “Or tutto finì,” It is all over now) and the same music. Both stanzas are introduced successively by the aching chant of an oboe, like an alter ego of the mind as it contemplates a vanished past.

Violetta thinks that she, a high-class courtesan, both desired and rejected, will receive neither flowers nor a cross. She prays God that he may accept her soul. The first couplet in each stanza has a dirge-like melody, a sort of slow waltz that livens up and expands in the third and fourth verses. Her supplication to the Lord is vibrant, urgent: “Ah della Traviata sorridi al desio; | a lei, deh perdona; tu accoglila, o Dio!” (Ah, smile at this lost woman’s yearning; alas, forgive her; accept her, o God!). Eventually the singing slumps down—con “un fil di voce,” in a whisper, writes Verdi—above the final refrain, “Or tutto finì!” (It is all over, now!). This look at the past, expressed in the melodrama and expanded in the aria, especially through the clarity of its form, gives us a picture of a very young person who, with clarity of mind, disillusion, and sadness, looks back at her life and prepares for imminent death. It is an existential and emotional situation which many young women still experience today, despite the impressive progress of medical science. “Addio del passato” is the sublime musical and theatrical representation of the “loneliness of the dying.”¹⁴ This is why we are moved by it even after the umpteenth listening.

In conclusion, I have presented three pieces from Verdi’s theater, although I could have selected any other great composer. What I have written aims at showing how Western art music, if transmitted and understood correctly, can help us reflect on ourselves, develop our relationships ethically, and even become aware of how we relate to the crucial moments of existence. In other words, it can benefit our mental health.

Appendices

Appendix 11.1: Francesco Maria Piave—Giuseppe Verdi, Ernani (Venice, La Fenice, 1844)

Verse

Verse Atto I, scena III Ricche stanze di Elvira nel castello di Silva. È notte. Elvira Surta è la notte, e Silva non ritorna!... [Scena] Ah non tornasse ei più!... Questo odiato veglio, che quale immondo spettro ognor m’insegue, col favellar d’amore più sempre Ernani mi configge in core. Ernani!... Ernani, involami Andantino piuttosto vivo [Cantabile] all’abborrito amplesso. Fuggiam… Se teco vivere mi sia d’amor concesso, per antri e lande inospite ti seguirà il mio piè. Un Eden di delizia saran quegli antri a me. Scena IV Detta ed Ancelle, che entrano portando ricchi doni di nozze. Ancelle Quante d’Iberia giovani Allegretto [Tempo di mezzo] te invidieran, signora! Quante ambirieno il talamo di Silva che t’adora! Questi monili splendidi lo sposo ti destina, tu sembrerai regina per gemme e per beltà. Sposa domani in giubilo te ognun saluterà. Elvira M’è dolce il voto ingenuo che il vostro cor mi fa. (Tutto sprezzo che d’Ernani Allegro con brio [Cabaletta] non favella a questo core, non v’ha gemma che in amore possa l’odio tramutar. Vola, o tempo, e presto reca di mia fuga il lieto istante; vola, o tempo, al core amante è supplizio l’indugiar.) Ancelle (Sarà sposa, non amante, se non mostra giubilar.) (partono.)

Appendix 11.2: Francesco Maria Piave/Andrea Maffei—Giuseppe Verdi, Macbeth (Florence, La Pergola, 1847)

Verse

Verse Atto I, scena V Atrio nel castello di Macbeth, che mette in altre stanze. Lady Macbeth, leggendo una lettera. Allegro [Scena] “Nel dì della vittoria io le incontrai… [declamato] “Stupito io n’era per le udite cose, “quando i nunzj del Re mi salutaro “Sir di Caudore, vaticinio uscito “dalle veggenti stesse “che predissero un serto al capo mio. “Racchiudi in cor questo segreto. Addio.” Ambizïoso spirto [recitativo] tu sei, Macbetto,… alla grandezza aneli, ma sarai tu malvagio? Pien di misfatti è il calle della potenza, e mal per lui che il piede dubitoso vi pone e retrocede! Vieni! t’affretta! accendere Andantino [Cantabile] vo’ quel tuo freddo core! L’audace impresa a compiere io ti darò valore; di Scozia a te promettono le profetesse il trono… Che tardi? accetta il dono, ascendivi a regnar. Scena VI Un servo, e la precedente. Servo Allegro [Tempo di mezzo] Al cader della sera il Re qui giunge. Lady Che di’? Macbetto è seco? Servo Ei l’accompagna. La nuova, o donna, è certa. Lady Trovi accoglienza, quale un Re si merta. Scena VII Lady Macbeth sola. Duncano sarà qui?... qui? qui la notte?... Or tutti sorgete, — ministri infernali, Allegro maestoso [Cabaletta] che al sangue incorate — spingete i mortali! Tu notte ne avvolgi — di tènebra immota; qual petto percota — non vegga il pugnal.

Appendix 11.3: Francesco Maria Piave—Giuseppe Verdi, La Traviata (Venice, La Fenice, 1853)

Verse

Verse Atto III, scena I Camera da letto di Violetta. Nel fondo è un letto con cortine mezzo tirate; una finestra chiusa da imposte interne; presso il letto uno sgabello su cui una bottiglia d’acqua, una tazza di cristallo, diverse medicine. A metà della scena una toilette, vicino un canapè; più distante un altro mobile su cui arde un lume da notte, varie sedie ed altri mobili. La porta è a sinistra; di fronte v’è un caminetto con fuoco acceso. […] Scena IV Violetta che trae dal seno una lettera e legge. “Teneste la promessa… La disfida Andantino [Scena: melologo] “ebbe luogo; il barone fu ferito, “però migliora,… Alfredo “è in stranio suolo; il vostro sagrifizio “io stesso gli ho svelato. “Egli a voi tornerà pel suo perdono; “io pur verrò… Curatevi… mertate “un avvenir migliore; “Giorgio Germont”… È tardi!... (desolata) [Scena: recitativo] Attendo, attendo… né a me giungon mai!... Oh come son mutata!... (si guarda nello specchio) Ma il Dottore a sperar pure m’esorta!... Ah con tal morbo ogni speranza è morta!... Addio del passato bei sogni ridenti!... Andante mosso [Couplet 1] le rose del volto già sono pallenti; l’amore d’Alfredo pur esso mi manca, conforto, sostegno dell’anima stanca… Ah della Traviata sorridi al desio; a lei deh perdona! tu accoglila, o Dio. Or tutto finì. Le gioie, i dolori fra poco avran fine; [Couplet 2] la tomba ai mortali di tutto è confine!... Non lacrima o fiore avrà la mia fossa, non croce col nome che copra quest’ossa! Ah della Traviata sorridi al desio, a lei deh perdona! tu accoglila, o Dio. Or tutto finì. (siede)