The character of Figaro was initially created by the French playwright (and multi-talented character himself) Pierre Beaumarchais around 1765 (when Mozart was a teenager). This gentleman who started his adult life as a watchmaker (and was actually granted a patent for an original escape mechanism for a watch) was many things, from author, playwright, entrepreneur, spy, diplomat, all the way to suspected poisoner. But the world of classical music knows him as the writer of several plays featuring the character of Figaro, a barber. The Barber of Seville (Il barbiere di Siviglia, by Rossini, 1816, based on the play Le Barbier de Séville, 1773) recounts how the young Count Almaviva engages the services of the town barber Figaro, to seduce and later marry the lovely Rosina. Rossini's delightful opera showcases Figaro's mischievous nature, but the play and the opera are true to the Feudal sentiments of that time (even if there may be foreshadowings of the fact that the authority of the aristocracy was a lot less absolute than they wanted to think it was). Note that the earlier play was made into an opera much later than the later play, something I had not known until recently.
The sequel, The Marriage of Figaro, was written in the rather different social context of 1784. The American Revolution was under way by then, and the bells were tolling the death of Feudal society in Europe, and though Beaumarchais was too much of a cynic to be wholeheartedly committed to the philosophical ideals of the revolution, the play had elements of protest against aristocratic excesses, most specifically the rights of a feudal lord over the women of his household. The play was passed by the official censor, then recalled, then passed again, according to Wikipedia. At any rate, it came to the attention of Mozart and his librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte (who is said to have subsequently emigrated to the USA, and enjoyed a career in education at Columbia University), who obtained permission to write an opera based on the play. As the play Amadeus depicts it, this permission was not obtained without significant effort, but it was finally given.
The story opens with Figaro measuring the room he is to share with his beloved Susanna, with whom he is to be married very shortly. The room they have been assigned, in the opinion of Susanna, is really too conveniently close to the bedchamber of the Count. "Ting ting," the countess will ring her bell, in the middle of the night, to send Figaro on some errand, and then "Ding Dong!" will sound the bell of the Count, for poor Susanna.
This possibility has not occurred to Figaro, who is furious at the idea. Now that he thinks of it, the Count has been planning to seduce his little Susanna all along, it is perfectly clear, the villain! The couple is convinced that their wedding day is to be the occasion on which Susanna is visited by the Count, as part of his traditional feudal privilege, to have her maidenhood.
Figaro, in this play, is not the cunning fox he was portrayed to be in the earlier "Barber"; his clumsy plots are hilarious, but backfire as often as not. It is Susanna whose intelligence keeps their plans on the rails.
While Figaro furiously beats his brain, Cherubino, a goofy page enters the scene. Cherubino is in love with not only his little girlfriend Barbarina, but also with Susanna, and even with the Countess herself. (This performance is by the legendary Frederika von Stade, one of the most delightful Cherubinos of the 20th Century. Here is another version, by Veronique Gens.) While he is made to run errands for all of the women in the place, he swoons over each one, and in a diverting interlude, is trapped in the Countess's closet, as a cover for Figaro, who was plotting with the women when the Count marches in. You have to realize that this is basically a French farce, which means that everything goes deliciously wrong in the most hilarious way, and the principal clown of the piece --Figaro, in this case-- has to give the most outrageous explanations of what is going on. It is all part of the genre. (To add to the confusion, an elderly woman of the household believes that Figaro has written her a love-letter, and the elderly Dr Bartolo claims that Figaro owes him money. This pile up of confusion upon confusion has the features of a stretto fugue, where voices enter with the fugue subject before the previous entry has completed its statement.)
The Countess, feeling that her husband, Almaviva, has lost interest in her, tearfully confides in Susanna, who is more a friend than a mere maid to the Countess. There are lovely, tender duets of Susanna and the Countess, tinged with little bits of mischief, but full of pleasant girl-talk.
The great denouement of the opera has to do with an assignation the Count makes with Susanna for the evening of the wedding. The assignation is backed by blackmail on the part of the Count, and Susanna is initially on the brink of tears, but they put their heads together, and come up with an idea. The plan is for the Countess herself to make the appointment, disguised as Susanna. Predictably, everything goes wrong, but Susanna saves the day with her intelligence and tact, and the fond support of her friend the Countess. Here is the Countess (Kiri Te kanawa) singing Dove Sono, a sad aria deploring the Count's changing feelings. Mozart, inspired by the brilliant play, and da Ponte's excellent libretto, and with this subject so in tune with his character, writes music so ineffable that it is in a class by itself.
In contrast to many operas in which the overture has a poignant thematic relationship to the opera that follows, the overture to Figaro simply creates a lot of excitement. It is nothing but a sequence of orchestral flourishes, but nevertheless manages to invoke in our minds the mood of the plot. (Contemporary sources recount that it was written in a few minutes on opening night, which is a bit hard to believe, but--anything is possible with Mozart.) The score is rich in ensemble vocal writing (as Mozart describes in Amadeus) --duets, trios, quartets, etc, each one a treasure, both musically and comedically. And, unlike the original play --which, I must confess I have not read-- which is reputed to be a lot edgier than the opera, the opera manages to defuse the dastardliness of the Count, and redeem him, leaving no bitter aftertaste.
Figaro is by no means the only good opera Mozart wrote. Cosi fan Tutte, another of his comic operas, is utterly delightful, even if one has to ponder the point of it a little, and one is never sure what Mozart intended to be the moral of the story. Don Giovanni, based on the character of Don Juan, the legendary indiscriminate lover of women, has some amazing music in it, as do all Mozart's operas, up to The Magic Flute, whose meaning Mozart lovers love to argue about, a description of a custody battle in a fantastic magical setting. I plan to write about some of these in the course of the Summer.
arch
No comments:
Post a Comment