As the story goes, the great maestro Arturo Toscanini was asked by a group of aspiring young conductors as to what tempi he took in this particular scene or how he gauged the tempo for a certain aria. His reply was: “Guarda la dramma!” (Look at the drama). Toscanini was also known as “Signor Come Scritto” (Mister How It’s Written). His mission to rid opera of years of bad performing traditions and interpret the music in the way the composer wrote it has been chronicled in many books and by the personal experiences of those who participated in his productions. I begin with Toscanini’s example because this article should not be read by anyone who does not accept the premise that the arbiter of the interpretation is the composer’s music and not the whims of the gimmicky, tyrannical stage director, the overbooked, highly paid singer or the spineless conductor who knowingly joins the antics of the two aforementioned musical criminals. To determine how the composer interpreted the drama, we must look to the clues he has left in the music. I begin the search for these clues in two famous Verdi soprano arias: “Caro Nome” from Rigoletto, and Violetta’s “Ah, fors’e Lui” from La Traviata.
The first stop is Gilda’s aria “Caro Nome” which unfortunately seems to attract three misinterpretations. The first one occurs in the introduction to the aria as Gilda sings: “Gualtier Maldé.” The first mistake is a lack of attention to the accuracy of the 16th note rhythm and Gilda’s true mood.
Because the musical introduction sounds so ethereal and soft, the tendency for the soprano is to mimic that quality. Yet, I would call the singer’s attention to the preceding duet between Gilda and the deceitful Duke (whom she believes is merely a poor student). The duet ends with a very excited stretta with the words: “Farewell, farewell … only you will be my hope and spirit … my love will live unchangeable.” While the aria’s musical introduction does suggest a dreamy state, Gilda is hardly comatose. On the contrary, the previous duet has colored her emotions so that she is in a barely contained excited state. Since the female of the species is said to mature earlier than the male, the “hormonal release of her womanhood” into the first 16th note and the soft dramatic quality of the following 16th notes of the next line carry a bit more “juice” than the shy, shrinking-violet approach one often hears. Remember that in the last act she volunteers herself to be murdered in the Duke’s place!
In a letter concerning the tempo following the ten bar introduction, Verdi wrote: “Perhaps you haven’t understood the tempo which ought to be Allegretto molto lento (the vocal score has allegro moderato).” At a moderate pace and sung sotto voce, it shoulýn’t give the slightest difficulty. Unfortunately, the tendency today is to take the tempo so slowly that the “moderate pace” Verdi referred to becomes a snail’s pace instead. The singer must become aware that this music is a gavotte. This approach will aid the singer in realizing Verdi’s intent and prevent her from turning the aria into “anything you can sing, I can sing slower!” The final misconception concerns the 8th note rests between the sung 8th notes on the words: “nome che il mio,” and the following rhythmic patterns occurring every other bar. Time and time again I have heard coaches and teachers exhort the singer to take gasps of air on each 8th note rest to portray Gilda’s excitement and girlish longing for her true love. It has been my experience that it can be an impediment to the vocal health and dramatic intent of the aria to “overbreathe” these notes. If the singer takes in too much air there is the distinct danger of having an overabundance of air, creating vocal tension which can poison the stamina of the singer. The Italian musical scholar and composer Abramo Basevi (1818-1885) called this type of vocal line “melodia staccata.” That is to say that the 8th notes between the 8th rests create the impression of a legato, and each note in turn seems to lean toward the next.
Breathing between each note has the effect of how a rider on horseback, in preparing to jump a fence, pulls up on the reins—stopping the horse’s momentum every few feet. If the singer will trust that Verdi knew what he was doing, observe the rests as merely rests and only take the breath before the dotted half note of the next bar, I believe the singer will achieve in this gavotte a much more believably elegant style.
The final stop is Verdi’s aria: “Ah, fors’e Lui” which offers a classic example of misinterpretation. If Violetta’s very first words of the recitative: “E strano, e strano!” are delivered in an introspective, perplexed manner, the result usually sounds like a chicken being strangled. Some years ago I witnessed a performance under the direction of Mr. Frank Cosaro at New York City Opera. The well-known soprano, at the conclusion of the chorus which directly precedes the aria, waited for what seemed an eternity as she began a soulful, introspective search for the meaning of her navel and then began the recitative with her pale little navel as motivation. It may have been the viewpoint of the singer or the desire of the director to put his or her individualized stamp of gimmickry onto the music, but none of it had anything to do with Verdi’s clear musical directions. I present as evidence Verdi’s first musical marking: Allegro. Allegro, according to Grove’s Dictionary of Music, means “lively, primarily in the sense of quickness.” Secondly, the rhythm of the opening line is filled with impassioned and dramatic 8th and 16th notes. How did Verdi reach the conclusion that Violetta was excited and overjoyed when she begins this recitative with the tempo marking of allegro? The answer is to be found at the end of the previous duet between Violetta and Alfredo. As they sing their last “addios,” the excitement of the music must be maintained and not allowed to slow as has been heard so many times in the past.
Ideally, as Alfredo exits, Violetta is in a state of wonderment as she utters the words: “E strano, e strano!”(Notice also the exclamation point at the end of “strano.”) Here the Italian verb “è” means “It’s strange” not, “He’s strange!” The chorus following the duet is only a slight intrusion into Violetta’s emotionally intoxicated state in which she believes she has just found the man of her dreams and that his words of love are carved into her heart. In this chorus, Violetta is not even aware of the hubbub surrounding her as she murmurs goodbye to her departing guests. Thus, her “E strano, è strano!” is an excited outburst and a continuation of her joy at the end of the duet. The artist would find it valuable to first practice singing the end of the duet and then jump immediately to the recitative. The next task would be to maintain that mood throughout the chorus that comes between the duet and aria. Where is it written that art was supposed to be easy?
In the two arias I have discussed there is a common thread: You must get the aria off on the right foot from the beginning by “looking at the drama” and honoring the written instructions of the composer. As a young conductor with Seattle Opera in the late 70’s, I will always remember a production of Aida with Martina Arroyo and James McCracken. The fervor by which they never took the musical instructions of the composer for granted was exemplary and a model for the way all artists in the operatic world should conduct themselves. Musical integrity in the service of the composer is a rare and valuable thing. It is rare because it requires commitment and courage on the part of the artist to be willing to defend what one rationally believes to be correct in spite of the fear of not being hired back or being labeled as “difficult.” It is valuable because at the end of the rehearsal only you can earn your own artistic self-esteem.
