A Love of Art

Maria Callas

There’s a reason daytime dramas are called ‘soap operas’.  Adolescent emotions, labyrinthine plot-twists and bad-acting are elements all too often present in that more venerable medium: Grand Opera (as a relentless lover and advocate of the art-form, I can get away with saying this).
And yet, unlike daytime TV, there are examples of grand opera that are in another category all together.  Un Ballo in Maschera is one of these.  Guiseppe Verdi, also known for his rollicking tunes, generous use of horns, and penchant for the melodramatic, has, nevertheless, left us a sensitive and compelling musical ‘case-study’ of the human condition.

Love, honour, betrayal and grief (along with a cheeky page named Oscar – good name!), combine to create a moving, human story – gloriously presented through gutsy, evocative and supremely enjoyable music.

To set the scene
In a nutshell?  Amelia is married to Renato.  Renato is in the secretary of Riccardo.  Amelia loves Riccardo and he her.  Despite ardent revelations and avowals, both are too bound by honour to act on their grand passion.  In the midst of upholding his best friend’s honour, Renato discovers Amelia’s betrayal (and refuses to believe her innocence).  Riccardo is (somewhat surreally, the Governor of Boston) and Renato has been approached to help overthrow him.  This he steadfastly refuses – until he learns of his wife’s perfidy.  At the Masked Ball he stabs Riccardo who dies, but not before pardoning his anguished friend.  Scene.

There’s more to it, of course, but those are the key elements.  It starts to get really interesting when you examine the story from the points of view of the 3 main characters.

Human frailties
Take Amelia.  Should she really be held responsible for having fallen in love with Riccardo?  Can we help it if our heart strays?  Her sole crime is admitting her illicit love, but she never yields physically.  How she resists Guiseppe di Stefano’s passionate entreaties is beyond me. (check out the 1957 La Scala live recording with Maria Callas as Amelia – astounding).  And Riccardo?  Despite his power and position – you’re telling me that it would have been difficult for him to have Renato, say, sent off to the wars, in order to be with his love? – he protects Amelia’s virtue and Renato’s honour by deciding to send them both away – it’s actually a promotion for Renato.  He sacrifices his own happiness for friendship and honour.

And poor Renato.  A steadfast and honourable fellow, he lashes out when it’s made painfully clear (at least to him) that he’s a cuckold.  Remember the year (1859).  Remember the country (in reality? Italy).  While we can’t these days sanction this kind of machismo, at the time it was hardly surprising.  Besides, regardless of gender, how many of us, having learned of our best friend’s betrayal with our wife (or husband) wouldn’t hunger for revenge?

The point is, the story revolves around honourable, multi-faceted characters mired in a sticky, tragic situation.  All are blameless.  All are human.  All sing fabulously.

Musical underpinning
And the music.  Remember what it felt like to sit next to that boy (or girl), you were infatuated with?  The touch of their hand?  Anticipating a first kiss?

And later, attraction that builds when every cell in your body seems attuned to the presence of your beloved?  Desire that suffuses your entire being so that you can’t get enough of the object of your affection.  I hope you’ve been lucky enough to experience this passion – this is what the music of Joe Green evokes in me.

Is there anything more compelling than unrequited love?  Is there anything more heart-breaking than the shock of betrayal?  Love, friendship and honour – can’t we all relate?

The grand duet between Riccardo and Amelia that occurs at the top of Act II contains, musically, a translation of all these elements.

Beautiful misery
Amelia starts singling an impassioned entreaty to god to spare her these feelings.  In fact, she is there, until the gallows, at midnight, to pluck a particular herb that will drive all thoughts of Riccardo from her heart (she has been turned on to this, by the way, by the requisite witch , Ulrica – Verdi DID love his melodrama).  Back to our tenor: through various crafty means (he follows her from the witch’s hut, in disguise, of course) Riccardo finds Amelia.  And then the duet.

Back and forth the phrases build.  Riccardo is relentless.  He knows that Amelia loves him, but he wants to hear it.  Finally she admits her love.

His answering, “M’ami” (you love me) is a soaring vocal line supported by an avalanche of sound by the orchestra.  This is strictly an experience of ‘the moment’.  He isn’t thinking of what a proclamation of love may mean to his friendship with Renato.  He is not thinking of the personal grief it may cause.  He is suffused with wonder, thankfulness and passion and the music mirrors all of these emotions.  It is a perfect moment, a musical climax that evokes the forbidden physical one.

And for me?
This is one of the moments that, through the music,  I can relive over and over again – anticipation only makes the experience richer, more poignant.

Love, passion, denial – isn’t this what a life truly lived, truly experienced, is all about?  Shouldn’t we embrace the fullness of emotion when we can?  Verdi’s music in Un Ballo is an example, for me, of the kinds of gifts I wish for my son.  The reason I love opera.  The reason.  The why.  The point of it all.

Give it a listen.