With the very opening phrase of the recitative, the singer can establish the conflicting pressures on Banco. He correctly suspects that danger is lurking. On the one hand, he must convey to his son the necessity to flee; on the other, he must avoid raising his voice and alerting others to his presence. While we do not know the exact age of Banco’s son Fleanzio, who is silent throughout the opera, in Shakespeare’s original play, Banquo addresses Fleance as “boy,” and I think that Banco may effectively address him with the special solicitude we give to a child. Since the phrase is unaccompanied, nothing prevents us from singing it extremely softly — but urgently. We can add force to the imperative “usciam” (“Let’s get out”) by making the first syllable very short, increasing the stress on the second syllable. “Un senso ignoto…” to the end of the recitative is a single clause, and I recommend that Verdi’s indicated crescendo be reinforced by an accelerando to help bind this thought together. The crescendo climaxes in an octave descent (“presagio”), and both sections of the aria climax in octave drops as well — ”sventura” and “larve.” Verdi is especially prone to give such descents to the bass voice as a means of dramatizing low notes. (In the role of Sparafucile in Rigoletto, the octave drop is virtually a leitmotif.) Perhaps you wish your low notes were louder — everybody does — but hold them out proudly nonetheless: confidence can go a long way toward producing the illusion of amplitude. The adjective “tristo” (“pien di tristo presagio”) is stronger than “triste” (sad). Banco has a foreboding not of unhappiness, but of disaster. (His presentiment concerns even more than the personal fate of his son and himself — also at stake is the royal succession of his family line as kings — precisely the reason why Macbeth has resolved to kill them.)
Beginning with “Duncano” in the minor key segment, the aria contains five markings of fortissimo. These must be understood to be outbursts where fear overcomes Banco’s self-control. But is it plausible that Banco would really so forget himself? Of course not. The dynamics depict his feelings; they do not indicate that the character is shouting. This is exactly the kind of operatic convention that some profess to find ridiculous. But is film not as full of equally unrealistic conventions (slow motion, close-ups, flashbacks, and voice-over narration) which we accept unthinkingly, having grown up with them?
At “e il mio pensiero…” the changes to major mode and cantabile style provide musical and vocal contrast. But we may make dramatic sense of this change too if we regard it as Banco’s attempt to regain composure. The smoothness of the line is subverted by accents both on the third syllable of “ingombrano” (i.e., the stress is intentionally misplaced) and on the unimportant preposition “di.” Unless these seem little involuntary shudders of horror, they will seem arbitrary, and the section bland. In several places, the doubling of the melody in the orchestra demands a strict observance of rhythm: the double-dotted rhythm of “di terror” following rehearsal 10 and the distinction between eighth and sixteenth notes in the phrase “mille affannose…sventura” must be exact for the sake of ensemble.
