Speranza
The idea that music is graced with poetic content is as old as the
mythical history of music itself.
In the above quote, Burnham makes a very interesting
observation.
Speech and music must have coexisted from the very beginnings of
cultural development.
Part of that cultural development was storytelling; this
pastime activity of early culture evolved into great forms of poetry: epic
poetry, tragedy and opera, to name just a few.
Before anyone can delve into
comparing characters from these three genres – which at first sight
might appear as fundamentally different in form, content and presentation – one must point out the similarities and differences that make such a
comparison possible. In the remaining pages of this introduction, I will attempt
to delineate some common elements between ancient Greek tragedy,
Tragedy was meant to
be acted out, both for the entertainment and education of the Athenian public.
Epic poetry was recited at festivities, again as a form of entertainment. Opera
combined word with music and theatre and created a unique art form. All three
share the same origins, and these origins I will try to point out. I intend to
show that the common denominator of all three genres is essentially the spoken
word, through which characters are conjured up into temporary existence and that
– even though the ends of each genre might differ from each other – the common goal of all three is the entertainment and education of
the spectator. Let us turn our attention first to ancient Greek
tragedy
Greek tragedy had its roots in
the choric dithyramb” (3), which makes two
Although from a
historical point of view it would be more appropriate to start with epic poetry,
I deliberately start with tragedy, because I am not interested in the history of
ancient Greek poetry in
points in one already
from the start: tragedy originated from some kind of poetry – the
dithyramb
– and its roots are also musical, the dithyramb being a sung
poem. Historians seem to agree that the man who changed the dithyramb into
tragedy was Thespis of Icaria, a “[p]laywright, actor, stage director, and
producer” (3) who also seems to have given the first actual performance of a
tragedy around 536 or 534 B.C. in the City Dionysia of Athens, after an
invitation of Pisistratus. The way then was paved for the three greatest
Athenian playwrights: Aeschylus (525-4 B.C.
– 456-5 B.C.), Sophocles
(ca. 495 B.C. – 406 B.C.) and Euripides (ca. 480 B.C. ca.
407 B.C.). Nagler quotes an anonymous biographer of Aeschylus, who explains what
innovations he brought to the theatre: Aeschylus was the first to advance
tragedy by means of a more exalted passion. He introduced scenic decorations – paintings, machinery, altars, tombs, trumpets, spirits, Furies
– whose splendor delighted the eyes of the audience. He also supplied
the actors with sleeved and full-length robes and heightened the buskins to
increase their stature. (5) It seems then from this report that Aeschylus was
the first to realize that tragedy required an elaborate show of elements
extraneous to the spoken word. Poetry alone was not enough to satisfy the
demands of the Athenian spectators. These technical innovations would also prove
extremely important in the future for the popularity of opera. When dealing
with tragedy, it is impossible to overlook what Aristotle had to say about it in
his
As Stephen Halliwell points out: “Aristotle’s Poetics occupies a highly special, indeed unique, position in the long history of
Western attitudes to literature” (3). This treatise on “both poetry in
general and the capacity of each of its genres” (1147a1) was composed two
centuries after the first tragedies had general. Where it is necessary in
the pages on Italian epic poetry, comparisons with ancient Greek epic poetry
will be drawn.
their premieres in Athens. During
those two centuries hundreds of plays had been performed, but still the most
important playwrights remained the original three. However, the genre had
existed long enough for it to have some unspoken rules of composition and
performance, rules that Aristotle attempted to analyze. As Kenneth
McLeish
observes: “Aristotle’s conclusions were nev
er meant to be prescriptive; they
were, rather, a summary of all evidence so far available, with conclusions drawn
from
it” (6) or as A. O. Rorty notes: “[…] the
Poetics
is a book of
technical advice, as well
as a functionally oriented anatomy” (3).
Aristotle’s contribution to tragedy should be
seen as a scientific
observation on poetry and not only as the ultimate course book on poetic
perfection. At this point, it would be reasonable to introduce that famous
definition of tragedy, as it is given in the
Poetics
: Tragedy, then, is
mimesis of an action which is elevated, complete, and of magnitude; in language
embellished by distinct forms in its sections; employing the mode of enactment,
not narrative; and through pity and fear accomplishing the catharsis of such
emotions. (1449b24-28)
Although most interpreters of this definition are
“most vexed” (17) by the term “catharsis”, which never truly gets resolved in
any of Aristotle’s works, I will not go
into the analysis of this part here.
Instead, I will focus briefly on the aspect of language that tragedy employs. As
Jean-
Pierre Vernant observes: “The Greek word
muthos
means
formulated speech, whether it be a story, a dialogue, or the enunciation of
a plan” (34). In tragedy, this formulated speech is “language
with rhythm
and melody, and
[…] some parts are conveyed through metrical speech alone,
others again through song” (1149b29
-30). Here again music interferes with
language. Poetry is enriched by it. So, even though tragedy required what we
today might call special effects, the
action was
achieved primarily through a metrical use of language and music. Poetry, then,
is a medium to represent and act out a special event. It is not at all strange
that everyday language was not considered to be the appropriate way to portray
an important action
2
. Again Vernant notes that “in contrast to epic and
lyric, where the
category of action is not represented since man is never
envisaged as an agent,
tragedy presents individuals engaged in action”
(33).
This last observation introduces us to the next poetic genre: the
epic.
Naturally, here again one has to refer to Aristotle’s treatise: “Now,
epic and tragic poetry […] are all, taken as a whole, kinds of mimesis”
(1447a13
-16). Elsewhere he draws a few comparisons between the
two
genres: epic and tragedy are “mimesis of elevated matters in metrical language”
(1149b8
-10); but the metre employed in epic poetry remains unchanged
throughout, whereas tragedy uses different kinds of metres (1449b10-11); also
different is their length, not just the length of the text itself, but the
duration of the described story (1449b11-16). Further down in the treatise
Aristotle explains that: As regards narrative mimesis in verse, it is clear
that plots, as in tragedy, should be constructed dramatically, that is, around
a single, whole, and complete action, with beginning, middle, and end, so that
epic, like a single whole animal, may produce the pleasure proper to it.
(1459a16-20)
Finally, a little further he states that: “epic, should
encompass
the same types as tragedy, namely simple, complex,
character-
based, rich in suffering; […] it requires
reversals,
recognitions, and scenes of suffering, as well as effective thought and
diction” (1459b8
-13). These extensive references, then, show that
tragedy shares many similarities to epic poetry; essentially that the two genres
are connected in many ways,
2
Aristotle observes of cou
rse that “the
iambic trimeter, more than any other metre, has the rhythm of speech”
(1449a23
-24). This however does not mean that ancient Greeks spoke in poetic
metres every day, nor created the kinds of elevated language tragedy used in
their everyday usage of language.
such as the use
of metrical language, dense plots, elevated episodes and characters that are
larger than life. However, these ideals were lost in obscurity for many
centuries after Aristotle had put them together. As a result, in the history of
Western literature, one can observe a very interesting evolution in the epic
genre, especially in Renaissance Italy. Naturally the poets closer to the
original sources of Homer, like Virgil and Ovid produced poems of similar
character. But, the important thing to keep in mind is that from imitation,
eventually new styles were created through experimentation. The great Italian
poets of the Trecento
–
Dante, Boccaccio and Petrarch
–
found their own personal voice and style, therefore moving poetry a step
further. When at last, during the Cinquecento Ludovico Ariosto (1474-1533) takes
the reins from Matteo Maria Boiardo (1441-
1494) to complete the latter’s
unfinished
poem
Orlando Innamorato
(1483 and 1495), Italian epic
poetry has almost nothing in common with the original ancient Greek works. We
are not talking about pure epic poetry now, but about
“narrative poetry”
(Marinelli 233) or “chivalric romance” (238). Ariosto’s poetry is pervaded by
“a sense of decorum” (238) and “[h]e had an eye diplomatically alert for
opportunities to bridge the gap between the world of his imagination and the
world of
daily reality” (238), being employed at the Ferrarese court.
Ariosto
is completely unaware of the Aristotelian demands on epic poetry.
Instead he is influenced by Neoplatonic theories as one can observe in the
different kinds of love that are
celebrated in his poem: “Two kinds of love,
destructive and creative, the
insania
and
amore umano
of the
Neoplatonists, are quite deliberately poised against each other as
balancing points of the large design” (235). What Ariosto’s poem is also
lacking, is the
absolutely serious style in which epic poetry needs to be
composed. Ariosto is
constantly making ironic
comments about his heroes, their actions, his own literary sources; and he is
making fun of himself as a narrator too: The poem is therefore Virgilian,
Carolingian and modern, and its creator, utilizing the unlikely medium of a
comic masterpiece ultimately springing from popular sources, aims to make it
the most comprehensive exemplar of the genre and to challenge the classical epic
as well. Boiardan, Virgilian and Neoplatonic influences, all of them important
in the culture of contemporary Ferrara, flow in upon the
Furioso
, which
absorbs and reconciles them all. (Marinelli 239) Ariosto writes not in order to
teach or educate his courtly audiences, but to entertain. Barbara Reynolds
remarks
on the subject: “The
Orlando Furioso
is above all a poem
to be enjoyed; the chief aim of its creator was to give delight” (11). At
the same time
however, he is leaving his distinctive mark on the genre of
epic or narrative poetry.
Additionally, as Marianne Shapiro notes: “
His
poem cannot be thought of simply as a transformation of myth into literature
that gives a concrete example of a decline in
value” (326). Ariosto is fully
aware of the society he writes for and about and presents
its vices and
virtues in a masked way, as only very observant artists can do.
Ironically,
Aristotle’s
Poetics
were rediscovered around the same time. Ariosto
escapes criticism
–
and there would be much, since his poem is indeed
very
distant from Aristotle’s ideal epic –
but Torquato Tasso
(1544-1593) falls right into the debate, which had as a result his revision of
his extremely successful epic
Gerusalemme Liberata
(1581), into the
complete failure of the
Gerusalemme Conquistata
(1593). Tasso himself
had the aspiration to become even better than all of his predecessors in the
genre. In the
Liberata
therefore, he borrows from popular sources and
uses the material in an entirely different manner than those before him. Two of
his poetic accomplishments stand out. First, his characters
–
protagonists and minor characters
–
are very well constructed,
as Marinelli points out, “[t]he
Liberata
is
at its strongest […] in the creation of characters, disposed in recurring
patterns and relationships” (247)
. His second accomplishment is in the
theatricality of the
descriptions: “The poet is fully conscious of the
dramatic aspect of his presentation” (248). He “conceives of the world as a
theatre with many stages. The concept of
theatrum mundi
, of life as
spectacle, occupies a central place in Tasso’s thought”
(249). This
worldview is wonderfully captured in his poetry, as Davie observes:
“Tasso
can be equally succinct in lines which encapsulate the dramatic intensity of a
moment in the narrative” (xxi). It seems then that Tasso finds a way to unite
epic
poetry with its offspring, tragedy, in a unique manner. Without
knowing it too, Tasso made it possible for music to find its way into epic
poetry in a fashion that would pave the way for the first opera some years later
3
. Mark Davies observes
that “i
ts qualities were recognized by
contemporary readers and its Europe-wide influence, not just on
poetry but
on music and painting as well, was immense for at least the next 250 years”
(xix). With this comment it is now high time to move on to the last genre in
this discussion: the
opera seria
. It is important to make two
observations immediately. First,
opera seria
is not to be confused with
the first operas
–
namely those by Jacopo Peri, Claudio Monteverdi,
Francesco Cavalli and their contemporaries
–
that were performed
between ca. 1600 and 1700. This first century of operatic compositions is
markedly different from anything that came after it; and of course, opera seria
is not to
be confused with what followed after Mozart’s
La clemenza di
Tito
(1791)
4
. We can understand then that the
opera
seria
–
serious opera
–
flourishes between ca. 1700 and
3
I am thinking of the
Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda
(1624) by Claudio Monteverdi, that implements three different voices to
represent Tancredi, Clorinda and the narrator. Its composition takes place of
course later than that of the
first opera, but in it we find the “tradition
of the virtuoso madrigal performance”
(“sondern steht in
der
Tradition der virtuosen Madrigalistik”)
(Schmierer 8), where music is
implemented throughout the piece.
4
Historically speaking, this opera is
considered by many musicologists and historians as the last
opera
seria
.
1759
5
. Second, we will be
dealing with a subgenre in the
opera seria
, which is the so called
Zauberoper
(magic opera
6
) and which signifies essentially the
subject matter of the works themselves. This means that certain elements that
apply to the
opera seria
, might be slightly different in the subgenre
that is being focused on. During the past few pages, we have strived to make
plain that there is a connection between tragedy and music and epic poetry and
music. The reason for this will be explained very briefly here. According to
popular legend, the idea for this new form of entertainment originated from a
quest to recreate the ancient Greek tragedy in
its absolute correct way of
performance. The “Florentine Camerata”, a group of
aristocrats,
intellectuals and artists at the court of Count Giovanni Bardi in Florence
operated under the assumption that: “Greek tragedy, even in the dialogue and
monologue parts, and not just during the choruses, was performed
in
song”
7
(Tr
ö
dle-Weintritt 41).
It could be a valid thought,
since, as Pavlos Kaimakis claims: “If we
had the chance to ask the ancient
Greeks how they perceive their own civilization,
they would probably speak
of a mostly musical civilization”
8
(10). This idea of the reason and the
persons that were involved in the creation of opera, has been treated with a lot
of skepticism in recent musicological researches
9
. However, since that
is not the subject of this paper, we will not go into it. Regarding the subject
matter of
5
1759 is the year of
G. F. Handel’s death. J. S. Bach
died in 1750, and this date is considered the end
of the baroque era and the
beginning of the classical in the history of music (Michels 301).
6
The
term was used by the great scholar Winton Dean. Unfortunately, the treatise in
which the term is introduced is out of print. However, Beate Heinel refers to it
in her book
Die Zauberoper: Studien zu ihrer Entwicklungsgeschichte anhand
ausge
wählter Beispiele von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn des
19.
Jahrhunderts
. Frankfurt am Main: Europäischer Verlag der Wissenschaften,
1994. Print.
7
“In der Annahme, dass die griechische Tragödie auch
über Choreinlagen hinaus gesungen worden sei” (41).
8
“Αν είχαμε
τη δυνατότητα να ρωτήσουμε τους αρχαίους Έλληνες πώς οι ίδιοι βλέπουν τον
πολιτισμό τους, θα μας μιλούσαν μάλλον για έναν πολιτισμό κυρίως μουσικό”
(10).
9
In short, there is not sufficient evidence to prove that the
attribution of the theoretical aspect of the project and the reason for the new
interpretation of an old genre are accurate. See Leopold, Silke.
Die Oper
im 17. Jahrhundert. Handbuch der musikalischen Gattungen.
Band 11. Germany:
Laaber-Verlag, 2004. Print.
opera at the
beginning, generally, during most of its first century, the themes were inspired
by ancient Greek myths and legends, actual historical events of Greece and Rome
and
–
by the middle of the 17
th
century
–
by such
Italian epics as
Orlando Innamorato
,
Orlando Furioso
,
Gerusalemme Liberata
and the poetry of Luigi Pulci and Boccaccio
(Leopold 108). Librettists chose episodes that included a lot of love,
sensuality and conflict. Episodes that had a magical hero
–
witch or
warlock
–
were preferred, because they gave the opportunity for showy
musical pieces and plenty of refined and extravagant sets that dazzled the
audience. To give just one example, Werner Wunderlich lists some operas inspired
by the Alcina episode in the
Orlando Furioso
: “Francesca Caccini’s
Liberazione di Ruggiero dall’ isola d’ Alcina
(1625),
Francesco
Cavalli’s
La Bradamante
(1650), Antonio Vivaldi’s
Orlando Furioso
(1727), Riccardo Broschi’s
Bradamante nell’ isola d’ Alcina
(1729),
G. F. Handel’s
Alcina
(1735) and Jo
seph Haydn’s
Orlando
Paladino
(1782)”
(77). In the case of the
opera seria
, we are
concerned primarily with its form
–
both musical and literary: the
libretto, which is the text that is being set to music, consists of recitatives
and arias. The recitatives can be either a poetic text written in metre or a
linear sentence. They can also be in the form of a dialogue with two or more
heroes interacting, or a monologue, where one hero expresses certain ideas
before plunging into an aria. The aria is most usually in the form of a
da
capo
: musically this means that the exposition
–
or part A
–
of the piece, will be repeated with ornamentations after part B has been
sung (Scharnagl et al 60). Poetically, the first part is usually a bit more
extensive than the second part, always in metre and sometimes even with rhyming
couplets, but the key characteristic is that certain words placed in the right
position, will be repeated during the aria. These words are almost always nouns
that express a certain kind of emotion (love, despair, hate, affection etc) or
an
invocation to the Gods. Following the new
directions constructed by the Accademia
dell’ Arcadia
10
the plot is
–
theoretically at least
–
directed again back to the
Aristotelian ideals for tragedy: “Unity of place, ti
me and plot,
observation of the appropriateness of style, according to which tragedy should
concern itself with people
of high ranks, comedy with low ranks […] and the
fact that these ranks must never intermingle” (Leopold 324)
11
. These
directions, along with a few more that concerned themes, plots and endings were
hardly ever kept by librettists and composers, who had to abide by the popular
taste of their audiences. All in all, however,
opera seria
was in the
end constructed like a tragedy, whether it wanted this or not. The heroes were
of high rank, they suffered losses and made tragic mistakes, they loved with
passion and hated with ardor, fought with valiant spirit and were
–
most of the times
–
magnanimous. But what they practically never
did, was die.
This brings us back to that “vexed” term in Aristotle’s
definition of tragedy: “catharsis”. Catharsis is not understood as a happy
ending in tragedy. It is simply the
return to the natural order of things,
where the hero is punished for his misdeeds or rewarded for his kindness. It is
also understood as an uplifting of the emotions of the
spectator: “It is
evident throughout the
Poetics
that pity and fear are regarded as apt
and indeed necessary emotions to be felt towards the suffering characters of
traged
y”
(Halliwell 18); having suffered together with the heroes for a
while, the spectator can
now be purified of this psychological pain: “in
some sense [catharsis] completes [Aristotle’s] account of the genre by framing
the experience of it as psychologicall
y
rewarding and ethically
beneficial” (19). Ancient Greek tragedy, to that effect, allowed
10
This
group of artists, intellectuals and aristocrats was founded in the autumn of
1690 and played an important role in improving the studies on Italian literature
and discourse, as well as setting some rules for the operatic libretto (Leopold
322).
11
“Die Beachtung der Einheit von Ort, Zeit und Handlung, die
Einhaltung der Stilhöhenregel, nach der die Tragödie von hochgeborenen, die
Komödie von niedriggeborenen […
], sowie das Verbot, diese
Ebenen zu
vermischen.”
deaths, murders and suicides
during the performance. The
opera seria
on the other hand shunned
on-stage deaths. They disrupted the
lieto fine
–
the happy
ending. It is a well known fact among musicologists that this term
–
much like the term of catharsis
–
is extremely controversial and
not as simple to comprehend as it may seem. F. W.
Sternfeld observes that
“[f]ew periodical or dictionary articles deal with the term
or the concept
specifically; rather, its discussion is buried in monographs on such topics as
opera, libretto, finale or ensemble
”
(“lieto fine”). This is
particularly striking,
especially if we take into consideration that most
operas during the first two centuries of the genre
’
s existence, ended
happily (Sternfeld). This
lieto fine
also takes various kinds of forms
in its representation, which will not concern us here. What is important to keep
in mind is that great composers and librettists often bent the rules, but did it
in such a manner, that the
lieto fine
was nevertheless upheld
12
.
I would like to maintain that the
lieto fine
may not exactly serve the
same function for
opera seria
, as did catharsis for ancient Greek
tragedy. However, the happy ending signifies the return to the natural order of
things, where the lovers can finally be joined and the conflicting powers be
appeased. Before I turn my attention to the three heroines that are the subject
matter of this analysis, I will give a brief summary of some of the
characteristics of the
Zauberoper
, as they are stated by Beate Heinel:
On the other hand, Winton Dean in his work on
Handel’s operas used the term
MAGIC OPERA and
defined it as a subgenre or a variation of the opera seria.
[...] However, in his analysis of the individual operas, he emphasizes the magic
that is being conjured up through scenic effects, instead of focusing on the
12
For example, deaths of all kinds
–
murders, combats,
suicides
–
happen
quite often in Handel’s
greatest operas, as
well as in operas of his contemporaries. But they happen because otherwise the
lieto fine
would not be fulfilled. This is unfortunately a very long
and entirely different matter that cannot be tackled here.
musical characterization of the magical action or the
reactions that are produced as a result. (12)
13
Heinel may be
somewhat negatively preoccupied by Dean’s definition that excludes
the
musical aspect of the magic scenes, but one has to keep in mind that the
audience of a London theatre of the early 18
th
century would be most
surprised and dazzled by tricky set changes and extravagant usages of the
available machinery, rather than the musical aspect ascribed to a particular
scene
–
even if that music was by Handel himself! She goes on by
listing some more elements of the
Zauberoper
: “[t]he magic
figure”
14
(28) and natur
ally, the “magic object”
15
(28),
“the magical action”
16
(34)
which in turn is divided into the
“conjuring of spirits”
17
(34), the “spell of horror and
love”
18
(35) and other forms of magic spells. These elements of the
Zauberoper
are clearly poetical
–
as in the spell that a
witch or warlock evokes to achieve something magical; musical
–
as in
the music that will dress the poetry into a magical and possibly frightening
piece; and representational
–
as in the wands and costumes, masks and
other artefacts that denote the magic in an iconic fashion. Now that the
evolution of the genres has been explained, I need to address the issue of
chapter order in this work. There were obviously two ways of ordering the
chapters concerning the witches: the first would be to put Medea at the
beginning
–
since Euripides predates Ariosto and Tasso
–
Alcina second, for the same reason, and Armida last. In a sense I would
discuss the texts as they appeared in history. But Handel did not compose his
operas in that order and so the dilemma arose: perhaps I should place the
chapters in the order that Handel composed his operas? Again a new
13
“Zum anderen prägt Winton Dean in seiner Arbeit über die Opern
Händels den Begriff der MAGIC OPERA und definiert diese als Untergattung bzw.
Variante der Opera seria. […] Doch setzt auch er bei der Analyse der einzelnen
Opern den stärkeren Akzent auf die durc
h Zauber hervorgerufenen
szenischen Effekte, als auf die musikalischen Ausprägung der magischen
Aktionen bzw. die dadurch
ausgel
ö
sten Reaktionen.
”
(12)
14
“Die
magische
Gestalt”
(28)
15
“Zauberrequisit” (28)
16
“Die magische
Aktion” (34)
17
“Die Beschwö
rung de
r Geister”
(34)
18
“Schreckens
-
und Liebeszauber” (35)
problem came up: What of
Rinaldo
? Handel
re-worked this opera at least five times and there is one version from 1731 that
has significant changes in the end of the work. Which version should I choose?
Thankfully the answer to that final question was delivered to me by all the
opera houses that have ever performed a
Rinaldo
: it seems that only the
first version of 1711 gets to be performed, clearly because it is a lot funnier
than the 1731 version. To the observing eye, however, it is clear that there is
an evolution of sorts within these four operas (including the 1731 version of
Rinaldo
); and because I am interested in the inner workings of their
creation, I decided to place the chapters in the order of the composition of the
operas. To put it all in a nutshell, the attempt to show that
Tasso’s
Armida
,
Euripides’
Medea and
Ariosto’s Alcina have any relation
to their operatic counterparts in Handel’s
Rinaldo
,
Teseo
and
Alcina
respectively, is not invalid from a comparative point of view.
It is my opinion that the three genres I have analysed, operate on common
grounds and
–
most importantly
–
communicate through the
centuries with each other. I will now turn my attention to the comparison of the
texts, and the evolution or backformation of the characters in their different
realizations.
Armida: a fortunate failure and
Handel’s lucky witch
Oh you, who take Part of me with you, and leave
part behind, Take one or give the other back, or make Both die.
Gerusalemme
Liberata
, XVI, 40
19
Ah! Crudel, Il pianto mio deh! Ti mova per
piet
à
! O infedel al mio desio proverai
La
crudeltà!
20
Rinaldo
, Atto II, Scena VIII As I have explained in
the introductory chapter, I will turn my attention first to the literary text
that historically seen, comes last. The discussion then will begin
with the
examination of Armida, Torquato Tasso’s powerful sorceress and Handel’s
first attempt at the genre of magic op
era. Tasso’s Armida is clearly a
major character
in his
Gerusalemme Liberata
(1581) and it is not at
all strange that she inspired composers to important masterpieces
21
. At
the same time Armida has been analyzed as an interesting symbol regarding the
evolut
ion of epic poetry in Tasso’s time; a
point that will be
discussed briefly here as well. However, it is my intention to focus
more on
Armida’s failures in Tasso’s epic and to analyze her unique position in all of
Handel’s operas that contain a sorceress.
It was observed in the
introduction that Tasso stood at a crossroads when he
began composing his
epic poem. In the aftermath of Ariosto’s
Orlando Furioso
it was
difficult for any aspiring Italian poet to establish himself. Not only that, but
the rediscovered Aristotelian doctrines regarding epic poetry forced Tasso to
take a more restricted stance in his composition, moving away from his
predecessors. As Edouard
Roditi explains: “it thus becomes clear that Tasso,
as a neoclassicist, really sought to
conform with principles of taste which
he himself had helped to establish and wished
19
The English translation
that I use as a primary source is by Max Wickert.
20
“Ah! Cruel man,
let my tears move you, have pity on me. Else, infidel, you will know the cruelty
of my spurned desire” All t
ranslations of the Italian libretto are taken
from the
Rinaldo
DVD as cited in the Works Cited.
21
For more
information on composers inspired by
Tasso’s Armida, see Silke
Leopold
and Robert Maschka as cited in the Works Cited.
to illustrate, striving to move away from licenses that he condemned, from
the
‘romanticism’ of Ariosto and Boiardo” (237). As a result, his
Gerusalemme Liberata
is very different from the two epics by Boiardo and
Ariosto; at the same time,
however, it retains certain elements that depict
clearly Tasso’s connection to his
immediate literary past. One of the things
that are markedly different in Tasso is the subject. His poem was based on
historical facts, conforming to a rule he himself made up
–
a rule
drawn also from Vergil’s
Aeneid
–
as Helen M. Briggs
comments: Consequently both the
Aeneid
and the
Gerusalemme
conform to the rule laid down by Tasso that the argument
shall, in the noblest kind of epic, be drawn from history. The poet must not,
however, treat his material after the manner of the historian, otherwise his
work will become nothing but a versified chronicle. (458) This new form of epic
then would retell a historical fact, enriched with new elements, both realistic
and unrealistic. Also in keeping with Aristotelian rules, this new epic would
have a limited stage where the events unfold. I am referring to the unity of
place, which “is respected by Tasso much more than by Ariosto” (Roditi
239). A very
interesting fact we need to comment upon briefly, is that Tasso
revised his
Gerusalemme Liberata
a few years later, and turned it into
the
Gerusalemme Conquistata
(1593); the new version, a result of severe
mental illness and criticism the poet had suffered regarding his first version,
was a complete failure. The second version conformed absolutely to the rules of
epic poetry that Tasso had helped to establish and Tasso himself considered it
better than the original. However, as Anthony Oldcorn observes:
“In spite of
the poet’s premature comparison of this latest
offspring of his genius
–
the obstetrical metaphor is Tasso’s own –
to the
transfigured
Beatrice […], the
Conquistata
was still-born. The text
posterity has chosen to
remember is that of the
Liberata
” (496). The new version was stripped of all elements
that
had raised the
Liberata
to the pantheon of classical writings. The
Gerusalemme Liberata
may be an epic about the first crusade, but at the
same time it is also a fictitious adventure. Part of this adventure for the
Christian knights is the confrontation with the sorceress Armida, who is the
niece of Hydraoth, the Lord of Damascus (IV, 20, 23). The introduction of Armida
is one of those elements that make the epic something more than just a simple
retelling of historical
facts. Helen M. Briggs emphasizes this point by
saying: “For the first reason [
i.e. that it is based on historical facts]
Tasso introduces into the
Gerusalemme
the story of Armida, for whom
there is no
historical warrant” (458); and Armida is truly an
intriguing
character, to say the least. She dominates the beginning and the end of the
poem.
Armida’s first appearance happens in the fourth canto. The poet
describes her
in a lovely and at the same time d
ark fashion: “all the
Orient/no beauty to outshine her
beauty shows./Each darkest trick, each
subtlest blandishment/a woman or a witch can
ply she knows” (IV, 23);
further down the description continues: “Like gold her hair
one moment
gleams, lovely/throug
h veils, then unveiled glitters from each tress” (IV,
29) or one stanza down: “A tint of roses in her fair face plays,/sprinkled on
ivory, mingling with the white;/but on her mouth, warm with love’s breath, there
glows/alone in simple ruddiness the rose” (
IV, 30). A very characteristic
element of Armida is the game of veiling and unveiling she plays with the
knights in order to seduce them. The
“secret places” (IV, 31) are partly
hidden and partly exposed “so Mind will in her
daring penetrate/the veiled,
forbidden regions, and, these won,/roam through them
freely, there to
contemplate/the truth of countless marvels, one by one” (IV, 32).
Sergio
Zatti observes on this instance:
The figure of
Armida marks the entrance of Eros as the art of seduction into Italian poetry:
Armida represents Eros in all of its aspects, with its unpredictable mutations
and contradictions. Actually, Tasso has invented a figure quite
different
from Virgil’s Dido or the various Medeas of
classical antiquity. Neither
Dido nor Medea was a temptress, whereas Armida plays this role in the
Liberata
from the beginning. Her political strategy is made up of a
cunning verbal simulation (her false words form
a mantle
and
a veil
disguising her true intentions) that is not different from her erotic
seduction, conceived as a teasing game of ostentation (nudity) and feigned
reluctance (covering), and played as an illusionistic transparency behind her
mantles
and
veils
. (207)
He also continues by making an
intriguing connection between Armida’s fluidit
y and
the general aspect
of baroque ideology: “The protean nature of her being is that of the baroque
universe itself, split between ‘being’ and ‘appearing’: Armida can assume an
endless variety of identities, metamorphosing herself according to
circumstances and
the person she addresses” (208). This ability is displayed
throughout her narration to
Goffredo of Bouillon, the leader of the
crusaders, of her misfortunes at the hands of her uncle and her plea to Goffredo
to assist her (IV, 39-64). The actual purpose to this invented story Armida
tells, is to seduce Goffredo and his knights and lead them away to other kinds
of conquest, removing the threat the Christian army poses to the heathen
warriors, locked up behind the walls of Jerusalem. Sergio Zatti confirms this,
making also another point about Armida being a symbol of dissimulation: In the
Liberata
most of the negative uses of dissimulation are embodied in the
figure of Armida, who manipulates her weapons of seduction and sorcery to
achieve a single end
–
that of drawing the crusaders, and in
particular their leader Goffredo, away from their holy mission and into the trap
of Venus. (206)
Here we have her first failure. Goffredo is not the least
bit impressed by “Armida’s ‘mortali dolcezze’ (lethal charms)” (
Zatti 179),
because he is protected by divine powers and is impervious to any form of
seduction. The same thing happens with
Tancredi; he
too remains unaffected, but for an entirely different reason
22
. However,
even though Armida does not succeed in her initial mission, she manages to take
from Goffredo a significant number of his best knights and removes them from the
camp (V, 77-84). She also brings discord to the camp, which has as a result the
self-imposed banishment of Rinaldo, the champion of the crusaders, in order to
redeem himself after murdering one of the other knights (5.19-59). Indeed Armida
fails in her primary goal, but not everything is lost for her cause, since she
manages to capture good warriors and remove them effectively from the
battlefield.
Armida’s next failure happens in the seventh canto. She has
locked herself
and her knights inside a magic castle. There is however no
evidence of her indulging in amorous games with her prisoners. By all accounts
she keeps the knights imprisoned, without sexually using them. When Tancredi
arrives at her castle, she simply sends out her champion
–
one of the
former crusaders
–
to stop him. Armida
“perched on high, […] sits
at ease,/hid where, though unseen, she both hears and sees”
(VII, 36) and
protects her champion once he gets into serious trouble unable to defeat
Tancredi. As a result, Tancredi is lured into the magic castle and remains a
prisoner of the sorceress. When at last Armida is ordered by Hydraoth to deliver
her captives to him, the knights are saved by Rinaldo while on the way to
Damascus (X, 70-72). Armida then fails for a second time. She is unable to keep
the knights in her palace and then deliver them as slaves to her uncle.
Armida’s third failure is probably what makes this charac
ter so
incredibly alive and interesting. She vows to avenge herself on Rinaldo, who has
released the captive knights and comes up with a magical plan: to lure him to a
barren island and
kill him. The poet describes this accordingly: “Like a sly
huntress no
w Armida
22
Tancredi’s extreme passion f
or
Clorinda protects him from Armida
’s charms
.
lurks/for Rinaldo at the ford” (XIV, 57). Once Rinaldo is lulled to sleep on
the
desolate island she approaches him, but cannot strike the blow because
she falls in love with him: But when she fixed those eyes on him to see his calm
face as he drew breath, soft and light, his eyes that seemed to smile so
charmingly, though closed (if they now opened, what delight!), she halts,
transfixed, and next him presently sits down to gaze, feeling her rage and spite
stilled as she hangs above him, marveling,
[…]
Thus (who would credit
it?) the slumbering heat hid in his eyes melted the ice that made her heart
harder than adamant, and lo! she has turned lover who was once his foe. (XIV,
66-67) Her passion is so strong that she also decides to take Rinaldo away; thus
she transports him to the Fortunate Isles, where she creates a perfect
illusionary garden and palace and hides with her lover (XIV, 69-70). In the
creation of the magic palace
–
and its subsequent destruction again
through Armida
–
the reader gets a taste of her true magical
potential, as Robert Durling points out:
The art of Armida’s palace is
magic. Writing in the tradition
of Boiardo and Ariosto, Tasso consciously
tried to outdo them in his treatment of the enchantress theme. Part of the
novelty of his treatment lay in his Virgilian picture of the pleading Armida,
but he also tried to outdo them in his
enchantress’ magical virtuosity.
Armida, at first overcome by
her incontinent passion for Rinaldo and later
enraged by his departure, both builds and destroys her palace instantaneously by
means of black magic. (343-344)
The palace and garden too are close
references to Ariosto’s sorceress, Alcina. Those
gardens in turn are modeled
on actual gardens the poet had himself seen; and Edouard Roditi explains that
those gardens were inspired by a completely different source, retaining an
invisible thread of subjects that span from Arthurian legends right into
Armida’s enchanted garden:
The Arthurian cycle remains, however, more
evident: it is recalled by such incidents, now thoroughly endemic to Italian
heroic romance, as the supernatural other-
world of Armida’s garden, itself
borrowed from Alcina’s garden in Ariosto,
which, in
turn was but an unconscious adaptation of a Celtic theme and, to some extent,
also a stylized description of gardens that the poet had actually seen, such as
the pleasure-dome of the Este family, the Belvedere built on an island in the
Po. (242) Armida then is perceived once again as a symbol of continuity and
novelty at the same time within the literary tradition. Apart from the
magnificent garden, the palace itself is a very well constructed place. Robert
Durling gives us an account: Tasso describes in detail the various defenses with
which
Armida’s palace is equipped. It stands on a s
teep mountain; its
approach is guarded by wild beasts; in the plain outside
the palace itself
is placed the ‘fonte del riso,’ the taste of
which induces fatally
uncontrollable laughter; two sirens are
stationed in the lake formed by the
fountain’s waters; Armida’s garden is in the center of a labyrinth of heavy
walls. (336)
Everything attests to Armida’s powers and her exceptional
strategic s
kills, fending off any intruder who might disturb her bliss with
Rinaldo.
Armida’s third failure, as we described it
above, is there
simply as a test for Rinaldo and the two knights that go after him, Carlo and
Ubaldo. The idea behind this is quite simple. Rinaldo is an accomplished warrior
in every way, even before he is captured by Armida. Being youthful and very
inexperienced in matters of emotions and honor
–
let us recall here
that he had a very short temper, a result of which was his banishment from the
crusaders army
–
he needs to be educated before he can liberate
Jerusalem. He must learn temperance and self-control. Armida, with her excesses
and lasciviousness is the perfect teacher. This idea is confirmed by a few
scholars as well;
David Quint says that: “Before [Goffredo] can conquer the
Moslem defenders of
Jerusalem, he must restore unity in his own ranks,
particularly with regard to the hero Rinaldo, whose defection and eventual
return to the Christian army imitates the model
of Achilles and gives the
poem its generally Iliadic shape” (2
-3); Sergio Zatti
continues the
thought by stating: “Thus, the hero of the
Liberata
, in order to reach
the
Christian temple, must perforce pass through the ‘pagan’ garden of
Armida” (198);
finally, Giovanni Da Pozzo comments
that: “the aim of the episode is to recover the lover that must be taken back to
the battlegrounds” (328).
Therefore Armida’s failure
to kill Rinaldo
is part of a well constructed plan to restore the champion of the Christian army
to his senses.
The fashion in which Carlo and Ubaldo find Rinaldo on
Armida’s island is strongly reminiscent of Ruggiero’s state wh
ile with
Alcina; a fact that shows how much Tasso was under the influence of his poetic
precursors. The poet ascribes such
power to the lovers’ passions that
nature itself is partaking in the whole act: “It seems
all earth and waves
and skies above/breathe the sweet scents and the sweet sighs of
love” (XVI,
16). Inside this garden of wonders the couple is immersed in lustful
games,
completely unaware of the two intruders: Lo! Between branch and branch meanwhile
their sights pierce through the gloam and see, or seem to see, then clearly see
the lover and his lass, he lying in her lap, she on the grass. Her veil parts at
her bosom, and her hair, loosed to the warm breeze, lets its ringlets dance. She
swoons in his caress, cheeks flushed and bare, while silver beads of sweat their
charms enhance. (XVI, 17-18) Rinaldo is entirely stripped of his manhood; this
transformation begins already in the
fourteenth canto, when the hero,
listening to the sirens’ lullaby, falls asleep and thus into Armida’s trap.
Melinda Gough emphasizes that: “The songs performed by Armida’s Siren in canto
14 not only lull Rinaldo to sleep, however. They also have ‘lulled his manhood,’
a point the narrator underlines by informing us that in Armida’s enchanted
garden Rinaldo’s ‘sword, (not
to speak of other things)’ has been ‘made
effeminate at his side by too much luxury’” (530). Rinaldo is forced to realize
the
pitiful state in which he has fallen with the help of a shield that
Ubaldo carries with him. This is necessary for the education of the hero
because, as Robert Durling
comments: “Both Rinaldo and Armida are overcome
by passion, and the mission of
Carlo and Ubaldo
represents the reinstatement of reason to control over the appetite,
most
probably by means of natural persuasion” (340).
In his reflection on the
shield
Rinaldo sees “his sword, his very sword, ablaze/with womanish gauds,
to luxury
succumb./Adornment makes it seem a useless toy,/not the fierce
tool a soldier might
employ” (XVI, 30). Once the knight gets over his
initial fee
lings of shame and remorse he decides to leave the island
immediately and return to the conquest. In the remainder of the sixteenth canto,
Tasso portrays masterfully the deep love that Armida harbors for Rinaldo. Once
she realizes that he is escaping her, she follows him and catches up with him
and his liberators. She confronts him in a highly unusual and most unexpected
way. Instead of using her magic skills to imprison him and his companions, or
even of inflicting some kind of harm upon them, she tries to convince him to
take her with him. She offers to become his willful slave and appear
in
front of everyone as another spoil of war: “When victors go, their captives do
not
stay./Make whole your triumph, let your army see/one final trophy on
your glorious
way” (XVI, 48). This unexpected turn of events, even though it
might appear as
somewhat untrue and unrealistic, is a clear reference to
Deuteronomy and a way for Tasso to preserve his sorceress in a comely fashion.
Melinda Gough observes: From the moment
of Rinaldo’s attempted departure
from the temptress’ garden in canto 16, the poem portrays Armida as
not only
a traditional enchantress but also a captive woman like that of Deuteronomy, a
figure taken up by writers such as Jerome and Boccaccio in their defenses of
pagan poetry. By first transforming his sorceress into a pagan captive and then
modifying the treatment this lovely captive should receive at the hands of the
conquerors, Tasso finds a way to avoid
sacrificing Armida’s beauty and her
poetic powe
rs to the exigencies of Christian epic. (534) What is meant by
this is that, unlike Alcina who in the end is exposed as an ugly and very old
woman, Armida may remain beautiful to the end. The repercussions of such a
choice, that moves Tasso away from his predecessors,
are seen in the end:
“Tasso’s
striking refusal to imitate his literary
precursors by depicting his enchantress as a hideous hag appears to be a
conscious aesthetic choice, one for which he compensates, if uneasily, by
transforming Armida into a willing captive pagan woman who is then
literally
converted to the Christian cause” (526). Her evil power is not the fact that she
uses magic to make herself appear beautiful, but simply the fact that she
stalls
Rinaldo: “Armida, after all, does little more than keep Rinaldo from
his duty” (Durling 338). Her magic powers are so perfect that they “work[…] like
art” (Zatti 210);
something extremely important to Tasso, who seems to be
identifying sometimes his sorceress with the process of artistic creation. Again
Melinda Gough observes on the
connection between Armida’s beauty and the
process of literary composition: “Tasso
insists on associating Armida with
pleasures and dangers both erotic and literary. But equally insistently he
refuses to unmask her beau
ty” (530). In Armida’s soliloquy to
Rinaldo in
this canto the reader understands also that the sorceress has truly fallen in
love with Rinaldo, and that
–
contrary to what might have been the
impression up to that point
–
she was a virgin before she met
Ri
naldo: “To let one’s virgin flower be plucked, to tame/a man to kneel at
beauty’s tyrant feet” (XVI, 46) is Armida’s
exclamation to Rinaldo. Galileo
Galilei, quoted in John Black, observes this as well:
“Armida is a young and
beautiful virgin, who is truly
enamoured of Rinaldo; full of sentiment, they
spend their hours in those repetitions of love, which are not repetitious to the
heart; and their retirement, far from mankind, to the Fortunate Isles, has a
certain romantic charm which it is impossible to de
scribe” (377); and Robert
Durling draws a comparison between Spenser’s Acrasia, Ariosto’s Alcina, Homer’s
Circe and
Armida based on their uses of men: Acrasia and Alcina are true
Circes, while Armida remains virtuous until she falls in love with Rinaldo.
A
lcina’s lovers are transformed into plants, streams or beasts, and
Acrasia’s
into beasts; but Armida has no lover but Rinaldo, and the
beasts outside her palace seem to have no connection
with the knights she turns into fish in
G. L.
, x, 65-66. Acrasia is
similar to Armida, however, in not owing her beauty to enchantment, as does
Alcina. (335) And we also get the impression that Rinaldo too harbors feelings
for her in his
response: “Armida, your distress/grieves me. Ah, that I might
assuage your woe/and
eas
e the unwise ardour you confess!/I feel no
hatred, do not scorn you, no!” (XVI, 53).
He knows, however, that he cannot
take her with him, and thus abandons her on the island. Armida, before falling
unconscious to the ground, curses him and claims she will follow him
wherever he goes “a vengeful ghost” and “a blazing Fury” (XVI, 59).
A
truly heartbreaking scene follows, when Armida, returning to her senses,
realizes she has been abandoned for good and tries to decide upon a course of
action:
‘Is he gone then,’ she said, ‘and could he go
and thus
forsake me with my life in doubt? […]
And yet, do I still love him? Should I
keep this shore and, unavenged, sit down and weep?
‘What more have tears to
do with me? Have I
no other arts, no other weapons then? I will pursue him;
no place, neither sky nor the abyss, shall see him safe again. (XVI, 63-64)
Eventually Armida decides to take immediate action and destroying everything she
herself created on the island, leaves and joins the Egyptian army that is
preparing to
assist the besieged Muslims of Jerusalem. Which brings us to
Armida’s last meeting
with Rinaldo and her final failure. The final canto of
the
Gerusalemme Liberata
is essentially the last and greatest battle of
all. On account of the number of the characters involved it clearly tops every
other conflict or combat that took place during the previous nineteen
canti
23
. In the heat of the battle, Armida, who is fighting along the
Egyptian army, attempts to kill Rinaldo with her bow and arrows. When she sees
him for the first time
23
Although personally I consider the greatest
combat of all, even greater than this final battle, the combat of Tancredi and
Clorinda in the twelfth canto. Some elements are clearly hastily done in the XX
canto, because Tasso was under pressure to finish the epic and print it. For
more information on this last issue, see the Introduction of Mark Davie to
The Liberation of Jerusalem
.
again:
“Wrath trembles in her eyes, and mad desire” (XX, 61); she takes aim and –
amid a lot of hesitation
–
she releases the arrow: “The arrow
flew, but with it flew her
prayer/that it be spent in vain upon the
air./She even wished the sharp dart would
return/and pierce her own heart”
(XX, 63
-64). Naturally and although the shot is very good, Rinaldo is unhurt
and continues to fight against the Muslims. Armida, enraged once again, releases
a whole volley of arrows, but again as she send
s “dart after dart to wound
his heart or head,/but as she shoots, Love wounds her heart instead” (XX, 65).
One by one the heathen warriors are killed by the crusaders and Armida, who
by now has ceased any attempt to kill Rinaldo, retreats alone to a place away
from the
battlefield: “She meanwhile reached a dark and sheltered spot,/apt
for the solitary death she sought” (XX, 122). However, the poet does not allow
her to succeed, not
even this time. Armida fails to commit suicide, not
because she falters, but because Rinaldo has followed her and stops her before
she can pierce her heart with her arrow. Their reunion is described in a very
dramatic way: averting her disdainful eyes from the dear face and fainted
instantly. She fell, a flower snapped in half that lies with limp neck bent;
while, like a column, he with one arm propped her side as she sank down and at
her bosom loosened her rich gown,
and bathed the wretched lady’s lovely
face
and lovely breast with many a pitying tear. (XX, 128-129) What follows
is one of those puzzling moments that occur often in texts like that:
Rinaldo offers to become Armida’s champion once again and procure for her a
kingdom, under the condition that she be baptized; on the spur of the
moment, apparently, since there exists no further preparation in the text,
Armida accepts the terms.
This extraordinary resolution of the Armida plot
is the result of Tasso’s break
with tradition. Melinda Gough explains:
Unwilling to unveil his sorceress and reject as false
her loveliness, Tasso must devise some new way to temper the erotic and poetic
dangers she embodies. The story of
Armida’s conversion to Christianity
constitutes such an
innovation, substituting assimilation for the usual
repudiation
that would have been Armida’s lot had
she been exposed as an
ugly crone. (533) At the same time, since Armida accepts the terms she is a
novelty in the genre:
“Taking up this position of submissive, captive woman
and evoking the cutting of her
own hair, Armida in effect becomes the first
ench
antress who offers to unveil herself”
(539). But this conversion has
also received some serious criticism, particularly on the
basis of the last
words Armida utters in the epic: “‘Behold your handmaid,’ says she, ‘let your
will/dispose of her and be her master still’” (XX, 136). The allusion is
obvious: Armida uses the words the Virgin Mary addressed to Gabriel in Luke
1:38.
Peter Marinelli criticizes: “At the end of the
Liberata
, […]
we must cope with the
problem presented by the final redemption of Armida,
who uses the words of the
Virgin to Gabriel: a solution as astonishing as it
seems distasteful” (247). It is indeed
interesting that Tasso took such a
great risk with his sorceress. It is even more intriguing, if we consider the
fact that the love affair is left suspended in mid-air. There is no satisfying
answer as to what happens to Rinaldo and Armida in the end. Rinaldo offers
himself as her champion, but there is no discussion of marriage or any kind of
romantic allusion. One can of course claim, as have some critics, that in doing
this, Rinaldo is asking Armida to marry him: “The knight, however, soon
declares his devotion to Armida in what many critics have taken as an offer of
marriage” (Gough 545). But still “[t]he exact nature of Rinaldo’s promise
to
Armida remains notoriously
unclear” (545). Rinaldo’s last words to Armida
are there to appease her, as Giovanni Da Pozzo explains: “Still, in canto XX
Rinaldo’s final speech to Armida can be
remembered, when he wishes her a
definitive serenity and her
sweetened response”
(329). It does not
necessarily mean, however, that he is going to marry her as Gough
suggests: “The fulfillment of Rinaldo’s chivalric oath
should be marriage” (546). It is
left to the imagination of the reader and
his/her own personal feelings towards the
sorceress to decide her fate.
Armida’s treatment by Tasso is surprisingly humane, but
again, this does not
explain her conversion to Christianity, nor make the reader entirely comfortable
with the idea that she might end up marrying Rinaldo, as Gough
again
observes: “the sorceress has been portrayed so sympathetically that her debased
submission to Rinaldo, even if it does result in marriage, strikes an
untenably jarring
note” (548). Perhaps it would have added to the character
if she w
ere to suffer like her predecessors for a doomed love affair.
Torquato Tasso’s epic is filled with intriguing episodes and characters. One
of those characters is Armida, a beautiful young virgin, who falls
desperately in love with her enemy and is torn between love and duty. It is also
interesting that through her failed attempts to kill Goffredo first and then
Rinaldo, she evolves into a very sensitive and deeply vulnerable being. Although
her final appearance may not be as magnificent as one might expect, she survives
with dignity and honor
–
despite the attempted suicide. And it is no
wonder that so many artists were inspired by her and treated her subject in
various other forms. One treatment of this plot will be discussed in the
following pages, when we
devote ourselves to Handel’s first magic
opera.
By 1711, Handel’s fame as an operatic composer had already reached
a
relatively high point in all the cultural centers of Europe. He had been
employed in the opera of Hamburg for two years and during his tour of Italy he
was welcomed everywhere as a great composer. The decision to leave his steady
employment with the Earl of Hannover
–
the future King George of
England
–
and move to London was certainly a bold move. But Handel was
a man who clearly thrived in the face of
Kaimaki
28
adversity
and enjoyed a good challenge. London certainly would prove to be his greatest
challenge ever. The genre of the Italian
opera seria
was definitely a
new one in England; one that was embraced by the London audiences, but still
lacked the popularity it enjoyed in other European countries. The main reason
for this weak presence was mostly the absence of good composers who would give
the audience something to feast on musically; because where good composers went,
good singers would follow
–
something that again was not the case with
London. Handel, who had an acute sense for business, realized very soon that he
could devote himself to the composition of operas and make a lot of money, if he
moved to the London stage. He did not let the opportunity pass. For the
production of
Rinaldo
Handel worked together with Aaron Hill and
Giacomo Rossi. Hill, who was a theatre owner and an amateur writer himself, came
up with the general idea for the plot. Rossi then took this idea and turned it
into the libretto. It is obvious that the story is based on the
Gerusalemme
Liberata
by Torquato Tasso. However, Hill undertook some changes that
affected the structure and the
characters greatly. Winton Dean and John
Merrill Knapp explain: “Hill multiplied the
love interest by inventing the
affair between Armida and Argante and the entire character of Almirena, but
gravely weakened the relationship between Rinaldo and Armida, comparable in its
stormy and devouring passions with that of Ruggiero and
Alcina in Ariosto’s
Orlando Furioso
” (172). Also, due to the great pressure Hill was
under, the libretto was a hasty work, not well thought through, including a
lot of strange scenes and superfluous characters
–
like Eustazio
–
that greatly weaken the
characterization
of the protagonists
24
. Despite the bad quality of the libretto, the
opera was a huge success with the London public, both on account of the music
and the extravagant scenic effects that were utilized for the first time in such
a manner. Paul
Henry Lang observes in regard of the music: “The success was
tremendous, and
rightfully so, because in spite of the hasty composition and
the many borrowings,
Rinaldo
is one of Handel’s great operas” (119)
and Dean and Knapp too say: “The opera was an immediate success with the public”
(181) and “
Rinaldo
, thanks to its sensational qualities and the fact of
primogeniture, had 53 performances in London during H
andel’s life, more than
any of his other operas” (183). As far as the text goes, David Alden gives an
extremely accurate description: “The libretto of
Rinaldo
is a frightful
mixture of the worst clichés regarding Power, Love, Honor and so on, but the
funct
ion of the text in itself was of an inferior
category”
25
(12). What David Alden means is that in the case of the
first Handelian operas, the text was the last thing to be considered: first came
the music and then the scenic effects that could be employed, in order to dazzle
and amaze the audience. Even so, there are some elements that make this opera
stand out in the repertoire and one of these elements is the character of
Armida. Silke Leopold explains why this particular sorceress has inspired so
many composers: In the ranks of all the sorceresses that play their demonic
games on the operatic stage
–
preferably from an elevated position
–
Armida has given wings to the imagination of composers. This is
probably the result of the fact that already in the original literary source
from which she comes, she is
depicted as more ‘human’ than all her sisters
in sorcery like
24
The librettist, Giacomo Rossi, complained that Handel
was to blame for the hasty poetic composition, because he composed his music
with the speed of light. What Rossi did not know was that Handel was mostly
reusing tunes he had composed for previous works in Italy and Germany (Dean
& Knapp 172).
25
“Das
Rinaldo
-Libretto ist eine
erschreckende Mischung der schlechtesten Klischees von Macht,
Liebe, Ehre
und so weiter, aber der Text war in seiner Funktion ja auch nur drittrangig”
(12).
Circe, Alcina, Melissa, Arcabonne,
Urgande, Logistilla or even Medea.
26
(37) It is clear, mostly from the
music, that Handel too felt a certain sympathy for her and even though his first
sorceress is not as well characterized as is his Melissa or especially his
Alcina, she stands out over all the other characters in the opera and once
again demands the audiences’ attention.
Armida’s first
entrance
in the fifth scene of the first act is impressive in every way: she
appears on a chariot driven by two dragons, singing an
arioso
of
magnificent
fury and passion: “Furie terribili, circondatemi, seguitatemi
con faci orribili!”
27
(26). She arrives at the plains in front of
Jerusalem, where her lover Argante has just signed a truce of peace for a few
days with Goffredo, the leader of the crusaders. Argante, a powerful man, is in
desperate need of some good news, because his campaign against the Christian
army is failing. Armida, his advisor and connection to magical creatures
and
powers, informs him that she has consulted Hell’s powers to find a way to defeat
the Christians: “Signor, se ben confuse son gli enigmi del fato, io con note
tremende
pur forzai quell
’abisso a scior in chiaro suon distinti
accenti, ed a mie brame ardenti rispose in tuono amico: ‘Se dal campo nemico
svelto fia di Rinaldo il gran sostegno, spera pur d’Asia il desolato
regno’”
28
(28). Armida also informs Argante that she will personally
see to the fulfillment of this prophecy, removing Rinaldo herself from his
comrades. She then plunges into an impressive aria, where she expresses her
certainty
in the turn of events that will be in her favor: “Molto voglio,
molto spero, nulla devo
26
“Unter all den Magierinnen, die auf der
Opernbühne und bevorzugt vom Schnürboden herab ihr dämonis
ches Wesen
treiben, hat Armida die Phantasie der Opernkomponisten am nachhaltigsten
beflügelt. Das mag damit zusammenhängen, dass sie schon in der
literarischen Quelle, der sie entstammt, “menschlicher” als alle ihre Schwestern
im Zaubern wie etwa Kirke, A
lcina, Melissa,
Arcabonne, Urgande,
Logistilla oder gar Medea dargestellt ist” (37).
27
“Formidable
Furies, encircle me, escort me with flames of terror!”
28
“My
lord, the enigmas of fate are obscure. With imperious imprecations I commanded
Hell to give
me a
n answer in clear words and to my burning desire, it
gave a friendly answer: ‘If the enemy loses the vital support of Rinaldo, then
there is still hope for desolate Asia’”
dubitar.
Di mia forza all’alto impero saprò il mondo
assoggetar”
29
(29-30). Dean and
Knapp make a comment on Armida’s
first appearance on the stage, that could have been a lot more powerful and
different had the libretto been better prepared: “Armida
in turn wastes her
sensational first entry on her lover and then kidnaps Almirena
instead of
Rinaldo, whom she scarcely meets till the second act” (172
-173). Indeed
Armida after her first aria disappears for a couple of scenes, only to reappear
in scene VII, where during a small and unimpressive recitative she kidnaps
Almirena in front of
a stunned Rinaldo. She exchanges only a couple of
sentences with Rinaldo: “Al valor del mio brando cedi la nobil
preda!”
30
and to Rinaldo’s refusal to do so she replies: “Tanto
ardisci, arrogante!”
31
(38). Then she disappears again and does not
reappear for a long while.
Armida’s next appearance is in scene VI of the
second act. A huge interval of
other scenes have taken place, where the
witch is only there as an idea, not an actual presence. Her plan to kidnap
Almirena, however, has succeeded in removing Rinaldo
from the Christian
camp. What she is not counting on is that both Almirena’s father,
Goffredo,
and her uncle, Eustazio, have gone with him
32
. Armida, despite being off
stage, lures Rinaldo away from his two companions with the help of two sirens;
at the same time her lover is falling desperately in love with the captive
Almirena, whom he
is supposed to be guarding, because she makes the lovely
mistake of singing “Lascia ch’io pianga,” which is one of those typical
heartbreaking melodramatic pieces of
music that belong in the evergreens of
musical history. Enough of that, however; we
29
“Great desires and
hopes have I, so I have no doubts at all. With the power that i
s mine I
shall subdue
the world”
30
“Surrender your noble prize to
the courage of
my sword!”
31
“Such audacity and
arrogance!”
32
Here is yet another inconsistency in the plot: if
things were for real then the two heathen leaders were handed the perfect
opportunity to destroy the crusaders, since their leaders and their champion had
abandoned them in search of Almirena. But this is not an opera of war, rather an
opera of love, so this little strategic mistake on the part of the librettists
may be excused.
return to Armida and Rinaldo,
who has just arrived on her island
33
. It must be remembered that in the
first act Armida exchanges very few words with Rinaldo and it is implied that
she does not get a good look at him while she speaks with him. Otherwise it
makes no sense that now, seeing him for the first time clearly, she falls
immediately in love with him! Her gasping exclamations in the dialogue
–
delivered aside
–
show her rising emotions of love: “(Splende
sù quel bel volto un non sò che, ch’il cor mi rasserena.) […] (Con incognito
affetto mi serpe al cor un amorosa pena.) […] (Ma d’un nemico atroce sara trofeo
il mio core?) […] (Son vinta sì; non lo credea si bello)”
34
(64).
Without hesitation she expresses her love to Rinaldo, who is not interested
however and does not listen to her entreaties. Their dialogue before their duet
is rather amusing, considering the circumstances: Rinaldo demands the return of
Almirena, expresses his detestation at Armida’s love and shows himself
completely unaffected by Armida’s pitiful cries (64). What follows is one of the
most lively duets in Handel’s operas –
and in my opinion one of the
funniest too: ARMIDA: Fermati! RINALDO: No, crudel!
ARMIDA: Armida son
fedel, io son fedel! Sì, sì, Armida son
fedel! RINALDO: Spietata, infida,
no, no, crudel! Lasciami! ARMIDA: Pria morir!
RINALDO: Non posso più
soffrir!
ARMIDA: Vuoi ch’io m’uccida?
35
(65-66) Although the
words themselves are rather hard, especially on the part of Rinaldo, the music
is diametrically different, perhaps heralding already the happy and absurd
33
Th
e locations in this opera are also very obscure. Armida’s
palace is on an island, on which island is
also located the cave of the
Christian sorcerer, who helps Goffredo and Eustazio in the third act. Again it
is highly improbable that something like this would ever happen in real life,
but we are talking about an absurd opera, not a work of verismo.
34
“(Something in his beauty softens my heart.) […] (A strange
emotion, a pang of love, creeps into my heart.) […] (Will my heart be the trophy
of a detested enemy?) […] (I am vanquished, yes… I did not expect him to be so
handsome)”
35
“A: Stop… R: No, cruel woman! A: Armida is true,
yes, and faithful! R: No, she is cruel and faithless! Let me go! A: I’d sooner
die! R: I can bear no more! A: Do you want me to kill
myself?”
ending of the opera. Armida threatens to kill herself,
but in this particular context, with this particular music, it is highly
improbable that she will actually do so. The story continues with Armida playing
some neat magic tricks on Rinaldo, appearing to him in the semblance of Almirena
and accusing him of abandoning her for a more lascivious life. Rinaldo falls for
the trap at first, but he soon realizes his mistake and leaves in search of the
real Almirena. Armida is left alone for the first time in the opera and she
contemplates her position. She sings a heartbreaking
recitativo accompagnato
and an aria immediately after that, which show Handel’s
great musical
skill at depicting deep emotions and making his heroines more alive than
they should be; the aria too is a precursor to Alcina’s great aria, which is
Handel at
his
best. Dean and Knapp comment on this particular scene:
“‘Ah! Crudel’ is scarcely less profound than ‘Ah! Mio cor’ as a revelation of
the anguish in the sorceress’s heart, torn between involuntary love and anger,
and makes its point by similar means” (1
74).
Armida’s accompagnato is
essentially an internal monologue, in which the
sorceress realizes she has
been abandoned and tries to distinguish between her emotions of hate and love
and whether to perform some vindictive action or remain inactive: Dunqu
e i
lacci d’un volto, tante gioje promesse, li spaventi d’Inferno, forza n’havran
per arrestar quel crudo? E tu il segui, o mio core! fatto trofeo d’un infelice
amore! No! si svegli’l furore, si raggiunga l’ingrato, cada, a’miei piè
svenato! Ohime! Che fia
! Uccider l’alma mia? Ah! Debole mio peto, a un
traditor anco puoi dar ricetto? Sù, sù, furie, ritrovate nova sorte di pena e di
flagello! S’uccida sì,… Eh! No, ch’è troppo belo!
36
(70-71) After she
has concluded these thoughts, she begins her mournful aria, where again,
utilizing the form of the da capo aria to emphasize Armida’s inner thoughts,
we see a
36
“So neither the charms of a face which promises so much
joy, nor the terrors of Hell are strong
enough to capture that heartless
man? Yet you go after him, my heart, you are the trophy of an unhappy love. No:
let my anger arise! Find the ingrate! Make him fall lifeless at my feet! Alas!
How can I do this? Can I kill my very soul? Oh, my feeble heart! Can you shelter
a traitor still? Arise, Furies! Invent
new forms of punishment, let him die,
yes! Ah, no, he is too handsome!”
sorceress
as human as possible: “Ah! Crudel, il pianto mio deh! Ti mova per pietà! O
infedel al mio desio proverai la crudeltà!”
37
(72-75). With the closing
of this aria, where Armida is exposed as a scorned and abandoned woman
–
incidentally it is the third and last most profoundly deep moment in this
particular opera, the other two
being Rinaldo’s “Cara sposa” and Almirena’s
“Lascia ch’io pianga” –
Armida immediately devises a new plan to lure her
object of desire back to her. Once again she
assumes Almirena’s appearance
and awaits Rinaldo’s return. Instead of Rinaldo,
however, she gets her
actual lover, who, believing her to be Almirena, exposes himself to
her.
Armida is furious and accuses Argante of treachery: “Traditor! Dimmi: è questa
del mio amor la mercede? […] Io, ch’il mio cor ti spiego con affetto! […] Io,
che l’inferno, oh altero, slego a tuo prò! […] Tradirmi! […] I fulmini vedrai
del mio furore”
38
(77). By contrast to Armida’s dialogue with
Rinaldo, in this case the
dialogue resembles more the quarrel of a couple
with marital problems. And another
side of Armida’s magic is shown as well:
the power that turns against the hopes and
expectations of the one who uses
it.
Jürgen Schläder
puts it very nicely and juxtaposes
the heathen
couple to the Christian couple as well: “Armida’s infernal powers turn
unexpectedly against the beautiful sorceress, because it is only this power
that is under her control
that reveals Argante’s unfaithfulness.
Here
again does magic operate as a catalyst of understanding, because Argante and
Armida form the negative counterpart
to the ideal couple, Rinaldo and
Almirena”
39
(109). Armida closes the second act with a great
aria di
vendetta
, turned against everyone who has offended her: “Vo’ far
37
“Ah! Cruel man, le
t my tears move you, have pity on me! Else,
infidel, you will know the cruelty of
my spurned
desire!”
38
“Traitor! Is this the reward for my love? […] I who
gave my heart to you! […] I, arrogant man, who set Hell loose for you? […] You
betrayed me! […] You will see the thunderbolts of my fury.”
39
“Armidas
Höllenkunst kehrt sich unversehens gegen die schöne Zauberin selber, weil diese
Kraft
ihrer eigenen Manipulationen erst Argantes Untreue entlarvt. Auch hier
fungiert die Zauberei als Katalysator der Erkennt
nis, denn Argante und
Armida bilden das negative Gegenstück zum idealen Liebespaar Rinaldo und
Almirena” (109).
seem to be of importance to
this play: “the tragedy of love grown cold, the mysteries of that area of human
behavior which is ruled by the goddess Aphrodite” (Musurillo 54) and
“the
whole plot construction revolves around Medea’s children;
additionally
the child in general and the relationship of man and woman
towards the child is a pattern that resonates
very often, even in the parts
of the chorus” (Schlesinger 39)
49
. Other important elements of this
tragedy are the oaths taken before and during the play. It is a well
established fact that ancient Greeks valued oaths highly, having even
established gods as protectors of those oaths. As Anne Burnett observes:
“Oaths stood
like the primeval pillar that supports the sky, a link that
could at the same time hold off
a possibly angry weight” (13). In short
Euripides creates a tragedy about human affairs
with cataclysmic results.
Medea is introduced to the audience through the Nurse’s monolo
gue. In it
the whole story of how Medea came to be in Greece in the first place is quickly
brought to mind and immediately condemned. Also in that speech the audience is
acquainted with
some of the relationships that already exist: Medea is
Jason’s obedien
t wife (12-14) and an exile (11), but she has been betrayed
by her husband (16-17). Already here we understand that Medea has fallen victim
to an illusion created by her passionate
emotions towards Jason. As Carolyn
Durham observes: “Medea acts not for her
self but for Jason, and Medea
believes that Jason will honor her love and the actions she
performs in its
name with the fidelity he has sworn” (55). This unconditional devotion
she
displays before arriving in Korinth turns to extreme hatred during the play.
The Nurse also gives the listener the impression that Medea is suffering like
any betrayed
woman would suffer: “Scorned and shamed,/
She raves,
invoking every vow and solemn pledge/That Jason made her, and calls the gods as
witnesses/What thanks she
49
“die ganze Handlung sich um die Kinder
der Medea dreht, und darüber hinaus ist das Kind im allgemeinen und das
Verhältnis von Mann und Frau zum Kinde ein M
otiv, das immer wieder,
besonders auch in den Chorpartien, anklingt.”
All translations from
German are my own.
has r
eceived for her
fidelity” (19
-22). The Nurse makes another important observation about her
mistress before going on to
different matters: “A frightening woman; no one
who makes an enemy/O
f her will carry off an easy victory” (37
-38).
This side note is not only a very accurate characterization of Medea, but also a
sort of prophecy in regard to the outcome of the plot.
Euripides delays
Medea’s appearance on stage for quite a while. However the
protagonist is
ever present, through exclamations that she makes off stage which again
reveal the distressed nature of Medea: “Death take you [children], with your
father, and perish his whole house!” (113) she pleads and further down again:
“Oh, how I
hate living! I want/T
o end my life, leave it behind, and die”
(146
-147). Euripides puts
harsh words in Medea’s mouth while she is
still off stage. These curses, combined with Jason’s betrayal, make Medea a
sympathetic character to the audience. In the
ideal case of a completely
unaware audience, her off stage remarks should cause the audience to support
Medea and not Jason. This also means that the expectations of the
audience
regarding Medea’s first
physical appearance on stage are entirely different
from what Euripides gives. The audience expects a weeping, fragile and weak
woman, whose only power lies in cursing those who have wronged her. But when she
at last
appears on stage in line 214, she is “cool and self
-
possessed” (23). Aristide Tessitore observes on Medea’s portrayal:
“Euripides’ initial presentation of Medea is
striking in
its restraint”
(589). Thus, a completely new image of Medea is introduced. Finally, the
audience can hear her address the female chorus. This great monologue is a
testament to Athenian orators, as it is well structured and succeeds in its
goal. Medea pleads her case by describing her own misfortunes, but she also
makes a social comment on the
status of women in Greece: “For women, divorce
is not/
Respectable; to repel the man,
not possible” (237
-238). In
this monologue one finds also that much commented line:
“I’d rather stand three times in the front line than bear/
O
ne child”
(249). Up to this
point Medea keeps pushing the limits of her own sex by
making remarks totally unacceptable by the society where this play was
originally performed. Her words are a violation of the expectations men have of
women. This gender reversal is pursued even more when Creon enters the stage. He
admits openly: “I fear you” (282) and also further down he says: “You’re a
clever woman, skilled in many evil arts” (285).
The audience can confirm his
fear and
Medea’s powers, for evidence o
f all those accusations have been
given already by the Nurse. Usually it is not men that fear women, but the
other way around. But Creon is careful and realistic. Judith Fletcher makes a
poignant observation in regard to
Medea’s capability to appeal to both men
and women through her speeches: “She can appeal to a shared bond of women’s
oppression one moment and negotiate like a man
with other men the next,
although her negotiations are laced with the seductive magic of
peitho
dolia
or ‘tricky persuasion’” (33). This is precisely the case with Creon.
She
manages to appease him and trick him into allowing her to stay one day
in Corinth, to prepare herself and her children for exile. She revers
es all
his fears of her: “So you,
Creon,/Are afraid
–
of what? Some harm
that I might do you?/D
on’t let
me
alarm you,
Creon. I’m in no
position
-/A woman
–
to wrong a king. You have done me no
wrong” (303
-306) and appeals to his nature a
s a father to
“make
provision/For my two sons, since their own father is not concerned/To
help them. Show some pity: you are a
father too” (345
-347). Creon makes
the mistake of believing in her innocence and allows that extra day.
Upon
Creon’s leav
ing Medea gives us a glimpse of what she plans on doing
for
revenge. Her ironic comment “I have in mind so many paths of death for them,/I
don’t know which to choose” (417
-418) brings back to memory the many murders
she
Kaimaki
44
has committed so far. Anne Burnett reminds us
that: “Far from
being of testified innocence, this agent of revenge has
already been guilty of the worst crimes known to
humanity” (10). Indeed, her
revenge is going to be ruthless, because, as Schlesinger observes: “Revenge is
part of her own nature. That is why she nece
ssarily desires it and she is
well aware of that fact. Revenge and consequently infanticide
–
since
that is its core part
–
is a closed subject” (30)
50
. Medea
requires the Chorus’
s consent for what she has in mind and of course
receives it. At this point the playwright finally introduces Jason.
Jason’s
first appearance on stage assumes the form of a quarrel between a
married
couple, where each part throws the blame on the other. The difference with all
normal married couples that go through the same situation is that the woman is
as
powerful as the man and seems to be having the gods’ assistance. Jason’s
infidelity is
essentially to
an oath he took on foreign soil. So Medea’s
claim that he has not only
broken his oath to her, but most importantly to
the gods is a valid one (492-494). Also, once again a gender reversal takes
place: Medea reveals it was she and she alone that made it possible for Jason to
take the Golden Fleece, essentially portraying Jason as a weakling and
definitely not the hero everyone thought he was (476-483).
Jason’s claims in
his monologue that all he does, he does for the sake of his family
fall on
deaf ears (547-567). When this scene between husband and wife is resolved
–
not in a peaceful manner
–
the Chorus breaks out into a
lamentation about the state of refugees in general and in particular about
people trying to escape love. This introduction serves the playwright to bring
forth, exactly in the middle of the play, Aegeus, the King of Athens. Medea has
planned her just
–
up to this point
–
revenge, but still
there is some doubt as to what will happen to her next. She is well aware of
50
“Die Rache ist ihr in gewissem Sinn auferlegt durch ihre eigene
Natur. So muß sie sie notwendig wollen, und das weiß sie sehr wohl. Die Rache
u
nd damit der Kindermord, denn dieser ist ihr
wesentlichster Teil, ist
eine beschlossene Sache” (30)
that. She has
not received any divine signs that she may continue with her plans.
Fletcher
explains in regard to the issue of revenge and Aegeus’ arrival: “Zeus
Horkios
[…] is ultimately responsible for punishing Jason’s perjury,
but his power is evidently congruent with Medea’s revenge, appropriately
facilitated by the opportune arrival of
Aegeus whose subsequent oath,
precisely in the center of the play, guarantees Medea
sanctuary in Athens”
(32). So, it is clear that Aegeus is the divine sign that Medea
has been
waiting for, in order to set her plans in motion. This scene has caused a huge
amount of commentary from scholars, most importantly because it breaks certain
rules of tragedy, as described by Aristotle. However, Euripides is in full
control of his play, and even though this scene might seem to break the dramatic
cohesion of the play, in fact it strengthens it. The best explanation for the
use of
Aegeus is given by Herbert Musurillo: “For Medea, we
should
recall, is still operating as a mere woman, and cannot proceed further in her
plans without the assurance of a haven and a refuge” (58). Indeed, so far
Medea has
appeared as larger than life in the eyes of the audience, but
still remains a woman, condemned to exile. A single mother in exile would have
extreme problems finding a place to stay and start a new life. Aegeus gives her
the opportunity she needs. He promises to protect her in Athens, when she
arrives there. Medea, true to her character, makes Aegeus swear that he will
grant her sanctuary (732-
755). Aegeus’ oath will be
kept, but
–
as is testified by mythological reports of events to come
–
that
oath nearly destroys him as well; we are remi
nded by Tessitore that: “She
who will be received into the hearth of Athens as a giver of life is in reality
a harbinger of destruction”
(601). Medea, who has assumed an entirely
controversial gender role throughout the play, makes Aegeus swear, again
raising herself above the female sex and into manliness. This break with
tradition once more will result in future problems, because
as Judith Fletcher explains: “Euripidean oaths
tendered by women lead to a disruption of the status quo” (30). Also in the
Aege
us scene Medea conceives the plan of infanticide. Aegeus is himself
childless and was on a mission to get a prophecy on how to conceive an heir
(672-686). Medea realizes that the offspring
–
and in particular the
male offspring
–
is of extremely high value to the man. Schlesinger
confirms this: “She realizes what the child means to the man”
(42)
51
and also: “This
same case makes her understand that she
can hurt Jason the most, if she murders his children. At this point she has the
first thought of infanticid
e” (42)
52
. Medea not only decides finally
to destroy her entire family, but she has acquired for herself a sanctuary. The
Aegeus scene is resolved very quickly, and Medea can conclude her act of
vengeance. Although a great deal happens before the end, these scenes simply
confirm
Medea’s character as we already know her. Medea kills the young
princess and her
father through the use of poisoned clothes, so the first
part of her revenge is over. A Messenger describes the horrible scenes to a very
pleased Medea and the shocked Chorus (1135-1231). We learn nothing new about the
character of Medea in these scenes; we are only reassured of her potent magic
powers and extreme hate. And this murder is only an affirmation of what Shirley
Barlow so aptly discerns
: “She
has killed before and she will kill again
without a second thought
. There is drive and resolve in her
determination to avenge and to preserve her won honour and avoid
humiliation” (162). There are only two more scenes that are of interest to
our discourse
now: the scene of the infanticide and Medea’s departure
from Corinth.
The actual infanticide takes place off stage. What is
important is the final on stage meeting Medea has with her offspring. At first,
one hopes that Medea will spare
51
“Sie erkennt, was das Kind für den
Mann bedeutet” (42)
52
“Aber dieselbe Sache zeigt ihr auch, daß
sie Jason am empfindlichsten treffen kann, wenn sie ihm
seine Kinder
tötet. Sie empfängt hier die erste Anregung zum Kindermord.” (42)
her children, since they may remain in Corinth, after
the princess took pity on them. But in her ensuing monologue Medea is torn
between love and hatred. Her monologue proves that she is not entirely certain
of the action itself. First she loses her strength and resolves not
to kill
her children: “Women, my courage is all gone. Their young,
bright faces
-
/I can’t do it. I’ll think no more of it” (1045
-1046). Immediately
however
she changes her mind again, and tries to talk herself into the act:
“I must steel myse
lf to it. What a coward I am,/E
ven tempting my own
resolution with soft talk” (1052
-1053). No sooner have the children reached
the door to the palace, when Medea again
cries to herself: “Spare your
children!” (1058), while one line further down she
changes her mind
aga
in: “No! No! By all the fiends of hate in hell’s depths, no!”
(1059).
The audience has witnessed two murders, which she performed with steady
resolution. It has seen how she tricked men into trusting her, without ever
showing a sign of weakness. But now she almost refrains from completing the task
she herself
has brought into motion. Shirley Barlow explains: “For in
relation to her children at
least, if not to Jason, she is uncertain,
fearful, emotional, aware of her own
vulnerability and wrong” (164) and
Aristide Tessitore adds: “When the moment for
the final and most brutal act
of revenge arrives, Medea is torn asunder by feelings of
maternal love”
(594). When Medea finally performs the infanticide, then Schlesinger very
accurately points out that: “Medea,
the human being, is dead; in her stead
the
triumphant Goddess of Revenge has emerged” (51)
53
. Furthermore
she has become a strange and repulsive kind of being that does not belong in
human civilization.
Aristide Tessitore observes: “As the terrified
scream
s of the children give way to
deadly silence, the once sympathetic
heroine has become a repulsive and alien being”
(591). The murderess of her
own children is completely rejected by society,
53
“Der Mensch Medea
ist tot; an ihre Stelle ist die siegreiche Rachegӧttin getreten.”
(51)
represented in the play by the Chorus: “The Chorus
finds the infa
nticide alone unacceptable
–
in fact, absolutely
condemnable” (Durham 56).
After having rejected her own nature even, the
audience expects that she will be punished. However, Euripides in yet another
twist of dramatic genius, allows her to escape with divine assistance. Her third
and final encounter with Jason is the ultimate culmination of the tragedy:
MEDEA: What god will hear your imprecation, Oath-breaker, guest-deceiver, liar?
JASON: Unclean, abhorrent child-destroyer! MEDEA: Go home: your wife waits to be
buried. JASON: I go
–
a father once; now childless. MEDEA: You grieve
too soon. Old age is coming. JASON: Children, how dear you were! MEDEA: To their
mother; not to you. JASON: Dear
–
and you murdered them? MEDEA: Yes,
Jason, to break your heart. (1388-1397) Here again, in this final scene, Medea
triumphs, although her triumph is a
short one. The gender reversal takes
place one more time, since “it is the man who is
weak, the woman strong; the
man begging for mercy, and the woman triumphantly superi
or” (Musurillo 73).
At the same time however, Medea knows she too has lost
something extremely
important to her. Her revenge was towards Jason, but in a sense, she punishes
herself as well. She escapes on her dragon chariot, but the psychological
burden she carries with her is certainly more terrible than a life in prison.
Barlow
observes regarding this: “Medea may escape physically unpunished at
the end, but
there is irony because the mental and emotional punishment she
has inflicted on herself more than c
ounterbalances this apparent freedom”
(170) and Burnett adds quite significantly that: “The murder of the boys is an
act of violence against herself with which Medea the erinys punishes the woman
Medea” (22
-23). This self-inflicted punishment then is the only
satisfaction the audience can hope as a punishment for the protagonist.
Before continuing the comparison of Euripides’ and
Handel’s Medeas, I must
brief
ly turn my attention to the divine and
magical element in Euripides’
Medea
. Throughout the play we are
constantly being reminded that Medea is a potent sorceress. However no actual
incantation takes place on stage and the murder of the princess through the
poisoned clothes and diadem is something which a deep knowledge of herbs and
poisons might easily
pull off. Medea’s magical powers then in
this play
are mostly associated with her intelligence and not so much with actual magic
scenes. Of course, all her intelligence and divine powers do not prevent her
from throwing her life into the abyss. Carolyn Durham explains and I do agree
with
this opinion that: “Originally the source of her superiority, magic
becomes in Euripides’ ‘humanized’ view of Medea a metaphor for intelligence in a
world in which female intelligence is little valued” (56). Medea’s only tr
ue show of force happens during her escape, where a chariot drawn by dragons
makes its appearance. Even then it is not certain whether she herself summoned
this, or it was a divine intervention, considering that she is the granddaughter
of Helios. Another question that remains partly unanswered is whether Medea is
a goddess or a semi-goddess or a mere mortal. S. P. Mills gives us a little
insight in this matter: One of these functions [assigned to deities] is the
establishment of cult. Thus Medea in the role of
deus
ordains the
commemorative ritual for her children, with the result that
by the
murderess’ own dispensation her guilt and sorrow for
her crime are
transferred onto the city. Medea will first
establish the children’s tomb in
the
temenos
of Hera Acraea; then, in return for this impious murder,
Corinth is to observe for the rest of time a solemn festival and ritual in the
children’s honor.” (295)
In this act then of “establish
ment
of cult” Medea is presented as a divine entity. Thus it
is explained
through and through why Medea keeps escaping punishment for every crime she has
committed and for every crime she is going to commit in the future.
Euripides, in his Medea, crafted a character so
controversial and powerful that it is impossible to do her justice in such
little space. A lot has been left out and only a small portion of what has been
said about her can be found here. It is clear however that Medea has layers upon
layers of elements; all of which make her such an appealing character. And
although Aristide Tessitore is right in observing that:
“Medea is hardly a
character whom one could love” (587), she is definitely a character
that can
inspire. Such is
also the case with Handel’s sequel.
It is only natural
that a character as rich and extreme as Medea should inspire composers to
important operas. However, as we have pointed out already, Medea possesses a
very complex personality, which in turn creates a lot of problems for
anyone
attempting to expand the storyline. Silke Leopold observes: “Within the
magically endowed women in opera she
–
brought to shame without
being guilty, the murderess of her own children
–
is
the most
problematic” (277)
54
. This difficulty can
be clearly observed in G.
F. Handel’s version of
Teseo
(1713)
55
. Handel had suffered a
failure with his opera
Il Pastor Fido
in 1712 and needed a quick
success to rebound from that financial and artistic disaster. He
changed his
librettist, employing Nicola Haym. Lang comments on Haym’s contribution that:
“like da Ponte with Mozart, [Haym] studied his composer, carefully
estimating his gifts and leanings. The libretto he prepared,
Teseo
,
was a ‘heroick’ piece designed to bring out the best in Handel. Haym’s sagacity
was rewarded with a resounding success” (128). This “resounding success” however
cannot be attributed to the libretto itself, but mostly to Handel’s musical
skill
s and the scenic representation. Nicola Haym did not write an entirely
new libretto for this opera. Instead he adapted
54
“Unter den
zauberkundigen Frauen in der Oper ist sie –
die schuldlos gedemütigte
F
rau, die
Mörderin ihrer Kinder –
die problematischste”
(277)
55
Handel finished the composition of the opera in December
1712, however the premiere took place in January 1713 (Dean & Knapp 248).
Vittima sarà l’empia al mio furore.
(47)
68
Medea threatens the couple in the exact same way she threatened
her former husband and his new bride. She resorts to the same methods she has
always used; and she gives us a glimpse of what she is like when she is vexed in
a very dramatic way. Her
aria di vendetta
that closes the act is merely
the confirmation of her previous words and
Dean’s and Knapp’s comment that:
“Medea is a fearsome creature in this mood” (
241)
emphasizes this. Medea
vows to either be happy or kill Agilea: “O stringerò nel sen quel ben’ che
adoro, o la rival cadrà, con l’ira mia” (48
-49)
69
.
It is in the
final three acts that Medea’s magical powers unfold in all their
splendor
and horror. During the fifth scene of the third act Medea literally kidnaps
Agilea with the help of a demon she has summoned and transports her to a
magical place. Before doing this, she attempts to convince Agilea to marry Egeo
and become Queen, rather than provoke Mede
a’s rage upon her: MEDEA: Romperò
questo amore.
AGILEA: Cruda sarai l’impresa.
MEDEA: Bramo portarti al
trono.
AGILEA: N’abborrisco l’onore.
MEDEA: Vuo che cangi pensier.
AGILEA: Ciò non fia mai.
MEDEA: Proverai l’ira mia.
(61)
70
Agilea naturally does not change her mind, thus forcing Medea to
use magic. Medea
plunges into an incantation scene that is “one of the
grandest of Handel’s incantation
scenes and strongly prophetic of
Alcina
” (Dean & Knapp 241)
71
. The act closes with
Medea’s aria “Sibillando, ululando”, which is a “spectacular showpiece”
(241) and once again points out Medea’s raging character. In the second part of
the aria Medea
68
“Anger, Disdain, and Fury/Rise up within my Soul,/O
cruel Jealousy!/That a contemned Lover
/Cannot unrevenged find
Repose:/I’ll invent new Tortures,/Contrive new Inchantments/For perfidious
Lovers;/And if he cruelly neglects my Grief,/She shall be
the Victim to
my Rage.”
69
“Thus shall I win back the Heart that has deserted
me, or my Rival shall go down with my Rage.”
70
“M: I must
confound this Passion
. A: The undertaking will be cruel. M: I would set you
on the Throne. A: I abhor the Honour. M: You must change your Mind. A: It is
impossible. M: Will you provoke my Rage?
71
With the difference that
Medea’s incantation succeeds in summoning the demons and Alcina’s fails
, as
we shall see in the next chapter.
exclaims: “Nè
à punirla vi stancate, ch’il tormento fà contento questo cor ch’ella tradi”
(68)
72
. Disappearing with the stunned Agilea into the darkness, this
extremely powerful sorceress has stunned not only the other characters on
stage, but the audience itself.
Three scenes remain to be discussed. The
first is Medea’s second incantation
scene in act four, scene four. The two
rivals are in a magical place, where Medea brings Teseo, who has fallen into a
magically induced sleep. While Agilea attempts to wake him up, Medea summons her
demons who bring forth a knife and a torch. Her short summoning aria is an
impressive piece
of music: “Dal cupo baratro venite, oh furie, quelle mie
ingiurie a vendicar” (76)
73
. The plan is to blackmail Agilea into giving
Teseo up by claiming that the demons will kill him. The plan works. Medea wakes
Teseo from his sleep and disappears from the scene, to see whether Agilea will
keep her word and reject Teseo’s amorous advances. Of course Agilea is
unable to do
so and the two lovers are reunited and promise to die together,
if Medea decides to destroy them. At this point we have one of those extremely
unrealistic moments that often occur in opera seria and are the result of the
lieto fine
convention. For some unexplained reason, Medea, who has
overheard everything, decides to let them be:
“Non vi lagnate più, fidi
amanti! Non lungi il tutto intesi, finger non è più tempo. […] Teseo, t’amo, e
lo vedrai frà poco. Stanca de’falli miei nodo si grato apprezzo; se vana è l’ira
mia contro tanta virtù, ch’in voi risede, felice almen faro d’un altra il core,
giacchè felice non mi vuole Amore” (83
-84)
74
. To the
18
th
century audience this sudden change of heart would not have come as
a surprise; but to a contemporary
72
“Do anything to punish her,
since my reviled
Heart knows no other Bliss, than to magnify her
Torment.”
73
“Come, o Furies, from the dark Abyss to avenge my
wrongs.”
74
“Complain no more ye Faithful Lovers; Not far from
hence, I’ve overheard you: ‘Tis time, no longer to dissemble. […]
Theseus
, You soo
n shall see my Love. Tir’d with my Contrivance, I
approve this happy Union. My Anger’s all in vain against thy shining Virtues. At
least I’ll make another bless’d, tho Love denies his Happiness to me.”
audience this seems entirely out of character for
Medea. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the whole must be understood as a
theatrical convention, nothing more. The two lovers must at the end of the opera
be united and the biggest obstacle to their union cedes her place.
This
little exhibition of benevolence on Medea’s part
does not last long. The
second scene that concerns us is in the very beginning of the fifth and final
act. Medea is alone once again
–
as she was in the beginning of the
second act
–
and this time her thoughts are not of Love and Peace, but
of Revenge and Death. In a long recitative she decides finally to destroy Teseo
and Agilea and
–
since she will have lost everything
–
finally die herself. The last sentence of the recitative is ominous:
“Teseo mora, giacc’il suo amore oblio” (89)
75
. After this recitative
follows Medea’s last aria in the opera: “Morirò, mà vendicata! E Vedrò pria di
morire lacerate, trucidata la rival e l’infedele, che crudele m’oltragiò”
(91
-93)
76
. She decides to make Egeo kill Teseo. It must be
made
clear here that Egeo is still unaware of Teseo’s true identity: the King does
not
know yet that Teseo is his son. Medea easily convinces Egeo to poison
Teseo, since both are still in love with the same woman. But, luckily for both
men, Egeo quickly recognizes his son by his sword and throws the poisoned cup
away. He also blesses the union between Teseo and Agilea, thus renouncing his
claim on the girl. Medea loses. This brings us to the last scene that is of
interest and stands in direct contrast
to Euripides’ ending. Medea appears
once more above the palace in a chariot driven by
dragons
–
probably the one she used when she escaped from Corinth
–
and
sends
curses all around: “Essenti del mio sdegno ancor non siete; preparate
queste pompe non furo a favorire un abborrito amore. S’armi dunque l’inferno!
S’armi pien doi
75
“
Theseus
shall dye, since he has forgot
his Love.”
76
“I go to my Death, but I will have Revenge first.
Before I dye I will destroy, wound, annihilate those ungrateful people that
outraged me, my Rival and her Lover.”
rabbia
e furore, strugga ciò che fù mio! Così partendo fò l’ultimo addio”
(105)
77
. While her dragons carry her of towards new adventures, the
entire palace seems like it is on fire. But this time the gods do not stand idly
by. Minerva, the protector of Athens, sends her Messenger, who declares to
everyone that they are under her
blessing and Medea’s charms immediately
cease to have any power. Once more the
lieto fine
is upheld. At this
point, one may pose the logical question: Why did not Medea marry Egeo
–
as was the original plan all along
–
and stay in Athens and thus
the opera would have an even happier ending? The answer is quite simple: the
lieto fine
allows for some structural inconsistencies, but there is just
so much that an
opera seria
can take. If Medea, after everything she had
done to Teseo and Agilea, were to be rewarded with Egeo, then we would have a
really serious breach of operatic decorum!
To further this argument however
and return to Euripides: Medea in Euripides’ version
escapes unpunished and
that clearly is a violation of the rules of tragedy; why cannot
the same
thing happen in Handel’s version as well? The answer to this question is clearly
connected with Handel’s position in London in 1713 and the expectations his
audience had of him.
Teseo
was only one more opera he composed for
London at the beginning of his London career. He had not yet established
himself so firmly as both to demand a different ending from his librettist and
to go that extra step in breaking with conventions, as he was to do in 1733 with
his
Orlando
78
.
There is perhaps another, deeper reason to
this
; a reason that is directly connected with Handel’s sense
for
dramaturgy and theatricality
. Clearly Handel’s Medea is a sorceress that
impresses
the audience. Essentially she is the true protagonist of this
drama. As Beate Heinel observes:
77
“As yet you are not freed from my
Rage; This Pomp was not prepar’d/To grace a hated Love.
/Hell is
then
arm’d/Full of Rage and Fury,/Of my own Contrivance./Thus parting I bid ye the
best Farewell.”
78
Which was a financial disaster for Handel and
almost ruined him!
Despite the horrible things
the sorceress does, the audience finds itself more attracted to her than to any
of the other leading characters, as is the case in so many other magic operas,
where she is the essential protagonist, even though the work does not carry her
name in the title. (137)
79
If Medea then is the true protagonist of this
opera, then Handel has already breached the conventions; his protagonist remains
unrewarded in the end, desolate and filled with hate. What more realistic
situation then could emerge from such a plot, other than the one Haym and Handel
prepared? Naturally someone has to be left out. It has to be Medea, because she
is not integrated into the kind of society that the Athenians represent in the
opera. She is rejected because she is different, not because she is evil. Some
last comments need be made now for both heroines. Euripides took a popular myth
of his time and turned it into a grim vision of disorder. Pietro Pucci
observes in this respect: “Euripides’ Medea m
ay be said, in sum, to be
the incarnation of disorder. Social order, civic order both fall before her
triumphant
anomía
” (109). At the same time his Medea is a model of the
contemporary human being: “Medea too is
a rampant individualist, ruthlessly
declining to set aside one whit of self-interest to
subscribe to the
familial and civic codes which are the fabric of social living” (110).
No
one can deny that our society today is driven by individualism and that many of
us are willing to sacrifice familial and civic bonds, in order to succeed.
Without knowing it Euripides depicted in his heroine a fairly realistic image of
our contemporary society. This could be one reason why this particular play is
so popular today. Handel on the other hand had to work with a
libretto that
is certainly weaker than Euripides’
play. It served a certain purpose
–
as we have already said
–
and it served it well.
Albeit a sequel to Euripides’ version, this particular opera has some strong
points as
well and they are all located in
Medea’s character. This Medea
is the expected
79
“Trotz der Grausamkeiten der Magierin fühlt sich
der Zuschauer deshalb, wie in
vielen anderen Zauberopern, eher zu ihr
hingezogen, die ja stets, wenn auch die Oper nicht nach ihr benannt ist, die
eigentliche Protagonistin ist, als zu den anderen Hauptpersonen.”
continuation of Euripides’ heroine. She too is
cunning, clever, powerful and desires vengeance. Her only differences with the
original version are that, unlike Euripides’ Medea, Handel’s Medea is clearly
only a
woman; she never breaks any gender boundaries and limits and all her
actions are typical of a scorned woman; and (again unlike the first Medea), she
fails in everything she sets out to do; even the gods, who in Euripides are
almost co-conspirators, turn against her in the opera. I would even go one step
further and claim that
–
despite the obvious weaknesses of the
libretto
–
Handel’s Medea is far more human than Euripides’ in
every aspect. I am also certain that Handel’s version contributes a great deal
t
o the character of the sorceress, allowing her to evolve into something
more familiar to the audience that can relate to her passion, without feeling
guilty for doing so. There exists a strangely parallel line between Euripides
and Handel. In his time, Euripides was the rebel among tragic poets; he was the
playwright who refused to follow the paths that Aeschylus and Sophocles had set
out in their works. His
Medea
was a failure when it premiered. Even in
later generations he would always have to compete with the other two tragic
poets and he was severely criticized, most prominently by Friedrich Nietzsche
(Pucci 13) for breaking tragic conventions. His plays however have managed
somehow to reach deep into time; his heroes, with all their human flaws inspired
other artists who developed them even further. In the end, Euripides managed to
escape oblivion and precisely the fact that so many controversial things have
been said about him, is what matters most: he is important; his views matter.
Handel on the other hand was extremely popular in his own time. After his death
however, he was all but lost
–
save for those anniversary performances
of his
Messiah
and that incredible evergreen “Ombra mai fu” from
Serse
. When he was rediscovered sometime in the 20
th
century he
always stood in the shadow of J. S. Bach,
Kaimaki
61
his
contemporary and fellow German
80
. It took the musicologists a lot of
time to
realize that there was more to him than just the “Hallelujah”. He
too however has
returned to the place where he belongs: the stage. And just
as
in Euripides’ case, we
are always eager to hear what he has to say.
80
Incidentally, both composers where born in 1685, only a few
kilometers apart, but Handel was by a few months older than Bach and he died
nine years later.
************************** ALCINA E RUGGERO
Alcina represents the illusion of love
and the reality of loss.
Her loss lamenting, shedding bitter tears,
And many
times she longs with her own hand
To all her suffering to put an end.
------ Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, Canto X, 55
ah, io cor, cchernito sei.
stelle, dei, nume d’amore.
Traditore, t’amo tando; puoi lasciarmi
sola in pianto, oh Dei!
(Alcina, Atto II, Scena VIII)
One
of the most interesting episodes from Ludovico Ariosto’s "Orlando
Furioso" (1516) that draws a lot from Boiardo, "Orlando innamorato" – albeit a rather small one, comprising only
three and a half canti (VI, VII, VIII and a few stanzas in X) – is,
without a doubt, the episode that takes place on the island of the great witch
Alcina.
It is most peculiar that an incident that takes place at the beginning
of this great epic – a total of forty-six canti as the result of a
twenty-five year labour (Reynolds 18) – and is scarcely remembered
throughout the remainder of the epic, should capture the
readers’ imagination and turn it into a story that can stand on its own.
Handel too seems to have been captivated by this particular story, turning it
into one of his last successes.
Through the comparison of the
literary figure of Alcina and her operatic counterpart, Handel’s probably
most powerful female character, we intend to point out the elements that
make Alcina stand out in both works, particularly as the symbol of material
values, vanity, and illusion.
Ariosto places the action on a
far-away island, suggesting from the outset that the Alcina episode
will be a significant digression from the main plot of the poem
Alcina’s character is introduced through
the direct narration of the knight Astolfo – who has been turned into
a myrtle bush (speaking Mirto) –to Ruggiero (VI, 32-53).
This is particularly
interesting for two reasons.
The last mention of Alcina’s name happens
in the XII canto.
First, Ariosto abandons the immediate first person narration that governs most of
the poem.
For all the major events of
his poem Ariosto is himself the narrator”
Second it increases the
reader’s expectations about this very powerful witch.
Astolfo’s
experience of Alcina is narrated from his point of view and not Ariosto’s,
because it is
a secondary plot.
Ariosto always refrains from intruding into a
function from which he has temporarily withdrawn.
What Astolfo
describes to the stunned Ruggiero is indeed marvelous.
Alcina is the sister of Morgana, the wise and just Logistilla and last but not least, King
Arthur himself (VI, 38, 45) -- that's why she keeps the ashes of Merlin.
She is also the invention of ATALANTA's imagination. Atalanta creates Alcina to divert Ruggero from fulfilling his prophecy of death.
She is also cunning, treacherous and “the
fruit of incest” (VI, 38, 50, 43).
Her powers are so great that even
beasts of the sea obey her will.
The dolphins at her call come quickly
leaping.
The tunneys flounder, gasping at her feet.
Sperm whales and seals
are startled from their sleeping”
(VI, 36).
But her greatest power is
that of her female charms.
Astolfo warns Ruggiero of the danger, reminding him
of his own fate:
“On you Alcina will devolve her sway
And bliss
beyond all mortal joy award
But, be advised, the time must surely come
When
rock or tree or fountain you become (VI, 52).
There is no need to
point out that Ruggiero, despite all of Astolfo’s warnings, is duped by the
witch.
His fall from grace, as one could call it, is not entirely unexpected.
It
is also accompanied by certain losses:
-- MASCULINITY or manliness
-- virtue
-- fidelity and constancy and most
importantly
-- since he is bewitched, his memory of his one true love, Bradamante, who is a contrasting
female character to Alcina.
Alcina’s spell is so powerful that:
The
image of the Maid whom he so loved
Was in his heart no longer to be found.
The
sorceress by magic has removed
All trace of any former amorous wound.
By her
alone the cavalier is moved,
By her his heart engraved. (VII, 18)
As a symbol, Bradamante always represents the virtuous
and pious woman, who is at the same time valorous, beautiful, just, pure and
carries many MASCULINE qualities, as she is herself a very potent warrior, who often
defeats male knights during her own adventures
BRADAMANTE, being Rinaldo's sister, also represents
the Western ideal of a good wife that keeps her virginity for her destined
husband.
By contrast, Alcina represents lavishness, excessive beauty,
sensuality, sexuality, injustice, impurity, trickery, and base
emotions.
However, for the duration of the Alcina episode – until at
least Ruggiero is returned to his senses with the help of Melissa and the ring that Melisso gives, Bradamante becomes the sickness and Alcina the
cure.
Bradamante stands for a
reality that is violent, unpleasant, hard and inevitably leads to death, whereas
Alcina is loving, pleasing, and sweet.
The Western world that Bradamante represents
is the reality from which Ruggiero is trying to escape,
without realizing it
on his own.
Alcina represents
neither carnal delectation simply nor unrestrained sensuality totally, but
rather an alternative, and a wholly attractive one, to Ruggiero’s destiny which is nevertheless, like Achilles, an early death as the readers of Ariosto’s poem would
know
Ruggiero is the character who
most completely embodies deferral with his irresolute, undecided, and often
interrupted behavior, forever at the crossroads between Logistilla (REASON) and
Alcina (LUST).
This inability to choose is the result of magic that works all
around Ruggiero for the most part of his early journeys.
Alcina’s MAGIC spell is one of these things that keep Ruggiero from having his own free
will.
That is also the reason why the narrator excuses Ruggiero’s inconstancy while on the island.
See
for example canti: IV, 16-26; XIII, 45; XXII, 71-75; 96-97; XXXII 72-77; XXXIII,
66-69; XXXV, 47-50; XXXV 67; 68; 69-72; 79-80; XXXVI, 16-20; 46-50.
In canto IV, 29, the warlock ATALANTA explains to Bradamante who has
just defeated him that he is trying to protect Ruggero, who will meet an
untimely death soon after he has converted to Christianity.
“That by a
traitor’s hand he’ll meet his death
Ere long, converted to the Christian
faith.
Ruggiero must exonerated be
Of any blame for his inconstancy
(VII,
18). What precedes this small excuse is a lengthy description of Alcina’s charms.
the most beautiful by far” (VII, 10); or “
her person is
as shapely and as fine
As painters at their most inspired can show” (VII, 11);
and she possesses
"a face of perfect symmetry" (VII, 11); her smile is “a
paradise” (VII, 13); and
“[h]er bosom, pure as milk, is large and full” (VII,
14).
generally her body is from head to toe perfect and “no blemish or defect
disfigures it” (VII, 15)
Essentially the witch is a moving man-trap:
“In every part of her there lurks a snare” (VII, 16). As a result Ruggiero
is – naturally – smitten.
Ruggero is captured by the perfect
illusion that Alcina has created; an illusion that extends to the gardens and
the palace itself
What follows is the consummation of their
love, where Alcina’s attractions are veiled in the imagery of flowers seen
through glass.
Here is no doubt that Alcina is one of the
most exquisite femme fatales of Italian literature; and like all such women,
she has an evil plan.
Clearly, Ruggiero has found himself in a very difficult
and compromising situation.
Bradamante needs to seek help for him, before it is
too late.
This help comes in the form of the witch and prophetess Melissa, who
tricks Ruggiero back into reality by giving him the magic ring of princess
ANGELICA, that possesses the power to break any magic spell (VII, 64). This is connected to the urn containing Merlino's ashes.
The
outcome of this is that both Ruggiero and the reader acknowledge for the first
time the true countenance of Alcina and of her land.
Ariosto was inspired for the descriptions of the realm and
gardens of the island by the great architectural achievements that were all
around him in Ferrara.
The narrator first used the
most beautiful language to describe the once perfect projection of female
beauty.
Alcina the woman is abandoned by her
lover, she suffers.
Alcina tries unsuccessfully to win Ruggiero back, by
sending out her entire army to the realm of her half-sister Logistilla, to whose
kingdom Ruggiero has fled (VIII, 10).
The narrator observes that: Alcina, who
has meanwhile heard the news of how Ruggiero forced the outer gate […]
reviews,
Dismayed, the desperation of her state.
She rends her clothes; in
torrents of abuse
She blames her own stupidity, too late. (VIII, 12)
The once
powerful witch is now left completely on her own.
The narrator is not inclined
to show her any kind of sympathy, at least at this point.
It seems that the
narrator believes she needs to be punished for the illusions she has created and
the fact that she took up lovers indiscriminately and then turned them into animals when she had had enough of them – just like
Astolfo.
The last significant mention of Alcina in the epic happens right after Logistilla’s army has defeated Alcina’s invading force and her attempt
to regain Ruggiero has failed completely.
Here at last we have a very subtle
tone of compassion on the part of the narrator:
She flees; and her ill-fated
company Have died by burning or are prisoners.
Yet, of them all, the worst
calamity
Is that Ruggiero is no longer hers.
By day, by night, she grieves most
piteously,
Her loss lamenting, shedding bitter tears,
And many times she longs
with her own hand
To all her suffering to put an end.
But sorceresses cannot
ever die,
Long as the sun revolves and planets tread
In age-long style their
pattern through the sky. (X, 55-56)
In regard to
this change in tone, she suddenly becomes
a human-like figure demanding more compassion and far more attention than she usually gets.
Truly, an observable change happens in
this last mention of the witch.
Now, finally, she represents all the women
in the world that have fallen deeply and truly in love, and are eventually
abandoned by their lovers.
Unfortunately for her, her suffering will be eternal,
since she is an immortal in Ariosto’s universe.
In regard to all the other
symbolic features of the heroine, as Ruggiero
returns to Italy, Alcina is left behind as an enduring symbol of those impulses
and tendencies that man cannot and, more to the point, will not wholly
reject.
We can conclude from this then, that the exotic, mystic
and forbidden will always appeal to mankind and mankind will always struggle
against it, in an attempt to both assimilate and condemn it.
As for Ruggiero he feels no sympathy for the suffering Alcina.
Instead, he tries to escape
her as quickly as possible and enter into a kind of apprenticeship to
Logistilla, who is supposed to teach him – what else – logic!
As it turns out in fact the
separation will be relatively painless.
Ruggiero will have to struggle
some more before he can finally unite with his Bradamante, but at the same
time the reader knows that once he does that, his bliss will be cut short,
because the prophecy of his early demise still stands.
Throughout the narration
concerning Alcina and her realm, it is true that the reader can observe what is
closest to the animalistic nature of human beings.
It is the contemplation
of things ‘base’ and terrestrial that has produced the greatest poetry and music
in the Alcina episode.
Essentially what happens in Alcina’s world is that reason and rational thinking are abandoned and only the
strongest instincts find expression.
Those instincts being eating, drinking and
preserving mankind through intercourse.
For a very brief moment the reader is
reminded of the ancient matriarchal communities that
existed before males
dominated politics.
Of course Ariosto’s matriarchy is twisted and evil,
because he lived in a male dominated world and the ideal woman in those times
had to be more like Bradamante and less like Alcina.
In the end, however, what
Ariosto achieved - perhaps without even desiring it – is a
lasting impression of a scorned woman, whose life expanded greatly and managed
to find her way into other works of art.
To one of those examples we now turn
our attention.
In the introduction we made a reference to the most famous
operas that were inspired by the Alcina episode before the classical period in
music sets in.
While the subject was used as early as 1625, in FIRENZE, by the Caccinis, it only reached its
musical culmination in 1735, in G. F. Handel’s opera of the same title.
The
history of the creation and performance of this particular work is almost
legendary.
Handel, forced to move his theatre business to the newly opened theatre run by one John Rich, had acquired a very good Italian singer – Giovanni Carestini, who was no match for Farinelli, but still
could satisfy the demands of the English audience – and a dance troupe
under the infamous
French ballerina Marie Sallé, who caused a lot of
controversy during her stay in England.
As for the Italian (of course! The English nobility did not want the masses to understand what was going on on stage) libretto of "Alcina itself, it is impossible to pinpoint who composed it and when
Handel first acquired it. He most likely borrowed from Italy, never to return it!
The first question has still not received a satisfying
answer.
Regarding the second question, nowadays most scholars seem to agree upon a year of acquisition: 1729.
Riccardo Broschi’s opera "Ruggero nell'isola di Alcina" was Farinelli had been employed by the
Opera of the Nobility, the competing company to Handel’s own, to which company
most of Handel’s old singers had defected.
John Rich’s new theatre gave Handel the opportunity to regain for a while the upper
hand in the operatic scene of London.
See Vickers, David. “Handel’s Alcina”. Accompanying CD Booklet. Handel, George Frideric.
Alcina. Perf. Joyce DiDonato, Maite Beaumont et. al. Cond. Alan Curtis.
Rec. 9/2007. Archiv Produktion, 2007. CD and Dean, Winton. Handel’s Operas
1726-1741. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2007.
Handel’s immediate source was a libretto by an unknown author, "Ruggero nell'isola di Alcina”, first performed in 1728 in Rome. Not to be confused with the 'palazzo incantato'.
ATALANTE provides three disgressions for RUGGERO:
The iron castle
The island of Alcina
The enchanted castle.
Handel was in Italy early in
1729, in search of new singers for his company.
If those accounts are
true, and they seem to be, the composer must have had the libretto and
possibly Broschi’s music in his hands as early as 1729.
Yet, for six years,
he never sat down to work on it.
It seems that only after his operatic business
was beginning to deteriorate, did he decide it was time to give a few MAGIC operas again.
The first was "Orlando furioso" (based on the love triangle ANGELICA-ORLANDO-MEDORO) in 1733, that turned out to be a
flop, and two years later his last magic opera, "Alcina".
When at last he
decided to develop a project out of it, the result proved that it was well worth
the wait.
Again it is very difficult to say exactly when he began composing the
music for this new opera, not that it matters.
On musicological
evidence, the composition began sometime before April 1735.
Also during the last
week before the premiere on the 16th of April, Handel took the liberty
of adding the character of Oberto, in love with Morgana, and an army officer in the kingdom of Alcina, a crucial change in the original libretto he
had in his hands.
We have already mentioned that the libretto was by an
anonymous author and even though the changes between Broschi’s and Handel’s
operas are not extreme, they give us a possible insight into Handel’s way of
thinking and are further proof of the genius the composer
possessed.
It is now almost certain that Handel himself made the
changes to the libretto, that consist of moving arias from one hero to another,
moving pieces from one act to another, reducing parts for some heroes and adding
parts to others and performing one gender change, allowing for the use of a
bass, instead of yet another high voice
Handel improved the “dramatic content” of the original
text without external collaboration.
It is difficult to find serious fault with this libretto as
Handel set it.
The final result, and by final I mean the score that
is today's.
Let us not forget that he composed very quickly, as the
incident from "Rinaldo ed Armida" informs us.
Handel’s "Melisso" (a male) was originally a
Melissa (a female) in Broschi’s opera.
preferred by
most conductors when performing this opera, is probably the closest to what
Handel had given his audience in 1735: a powerful story, with well designed
characters and a strong, at times heart-wrenching music.
The introduction of the
witch in this opera happens in the most impressive style, immediately
capturing both Alcina’s magical powers and the beauty of her realm.
We are
informed by the score that the “desert Place [with] high craggy Mountains” that opens the scene of Bradamante and Melissa’s arrival on the
island, is transformed into the “beautiful Palace of Alcina” where she sits
“adorning herself”, surrounded by servants
At her side are pages,
servants and both Ruggiero and Oberto.
In her first recitative with the
newcomers, Alcina presents herself as a benevolent and kind queen.
It is
important to remember here that, unlike Ariosto’s Ruggiero who is warned
about her, the audience of this opera knows very little about Alcina.
Especially
nowadays, where it is not a common thing to have read the "Orlando
Furioso" before going to the opera. Alcina’s language is calm and
seductive.
Also, without shame, she asks Ruggiero to show the newcomers
every place where they have
expressed their love for each other:
“E tu odi,
Ruggiero, anima mia, mostra lor la mia reggia, e caccie, e fonti.
Veggan dove
scoprimmo all’ombra amica d’un scambievole amor fiamma pudica” (21)
Immediately after, she plunges into a love aria, where she openly declares her
love and passion for Ruggiero:
Di’, cor mio, quanto t’ amai,
Mostra il
bosco, il fonte, il rio,
Dove tacqui e sospirai,
Pria di chiederti
mercé.
Dove fisso ne’ miei rai,
Sospirando al sospir mio,
“And you, Ruggiero, my dearest, show them my palace, the
chase, the springs. Let them see where,
in the friendly shade, we shyly
discovered the chaste flame of mutual love.”
Mi dicesti con un sguardo:
peno, ed ardo al par di te.
(22-25)
These words clearly show a woman that enjoys the act of love
making.
There are only few references to a DEPPER emotion.
At this point Alcina
only speaks of the carnal pleasure of love, not the psychological.
In this
respect Handel’s Alcina is still a lot like Ariosto’s.
We are only beginning
to realize the tragic outcome of this piece.
The heroine then disappears for
four scenes.
Upon her next entrance at the beginning of scene IX, the illusion
which she has created for herself is already beginning to crumble.
First, RUGGERO, still under the magical spell, accuses Alcina (due to some gossip from ORONTE) of infidelity with Bradamante/Ricciardo.
She attempts to appease
him, but her words in the recitative show that she is slowly losing power
over Ruggiero’s false love:
“Mio tesoro, mio ben, anima mia! Chiami
Alcina infedele?
Tu geloso m’offendi, e piaci ancora”
When a few seconds later Bradamante/Ricciardo enters and compliments her on
her beauty in front of Ruggiero, she immediately clarifies:
Bello è sol per
Ruggiero.
But Ruggero still doubts Alcina's constancy, because he prefers to believe the gossip by ORONTE.
At this point, the
heroins begins a sorrowful lament, attempting to change Ruggiero’s cruel
accusations to love again:
Sì, son quella, non più bella,
Non
più cara agli occhi tuoi;
Ma se amar tu non mi vuoi,
Infedel, deh! Non
m’odiar.
Chiedi al guardo, alla favella,
Se son quella, dillo ingrato
Al tuo
core mentitore,
Che mi vuole rinfacciar. (43-45)
Tell them,
dear heart, how much I loved you,/show them the grove, the spring, the
brook,/where I sighed in silence/before asking for your pity./Where, gazing into
my eyes,/your sighs answering mine,/you told me with a look:/I suffer, I burn
like you.
“My dear, my darling, my heart’s delight! You call
Alcina false? […] Jealous man, you offend me and yet I am fond of
you.”
“Lovely only for Ruggiero”
Yes, I am still
true, though no longer beautiful,/no longer dear in your sight./But if you can
no longer love me,/faithless man, oh, do not hate me!/Ask my gaze, my words,/if
I am true, tell it to your/lying heart, ingrate,/that would reproach
me.
Already we observe a change in Alcina.
From the happy, lustful first aria, she now loses the ground beneath her feet.
The accusations are something she never expected, because she was confident in
the illusion of love she has created.
But her magic has played a nasty trick on
her.
Yes, Ruggiero was falsely in love with her, but she is actually truly in
love with him.
Alcina has created a spell that she lost
control over.
Alcina on the contrary has
never experienced true love; instead she would take up lovers and then turn
them into something else, ridding herself of the problem altogether.
What this
shows is an inability to compromise, to take up responsibility, to admit defeat.
She still clings onto her magic powers.
Therefore, this second aria gives the
audience a glimpse into the effect those true emotions have on her.
Alcina then
exits the stage, and returns only in scene IV of the second act.
The second act
is a very interesting one, from a dramatic point of view.
The action now
focuses on Ruggiero’s release from Alcina’s magic powers.
Melissa hands him
the magic ring that has the power to destroy any magic spell.
Ruggiero returns
to his original state of mind.
But he must continue to PRETEND, unethically, love to Alcina,
in order to ensure his escape from the island together with
Melissa and Bradamante/Ricciardo.
Alcina’s part, until the last scenes then,
is reduced to simple recitatives and dialogues, but no big showpieces.
In
the fourth scene, where the witch reappears, she prepares to turn
Bradamante/Ricciardo into a beast, to prove her constancy to Ruggiero.
She never
finishes the spell, because both Morgana, her sister, and Ruggiero stop her.
When she is left alone with Ruggiero, again in the recitative she exclaims her
love, while
allowing him to go hunting: “
Al tuo voler sempre s’unì mia
mente.
Vanne, ma sia per pocco: e pensa al mio martiro.
Temo; partir ti lascio,
e ne sospiro” (75)
For the first time in the opera, Alcina admits
that she is afraid to lose Ruggiero.
The thought that had been crossing her
mind, but was never openly expressed is finally out in the open.
At this point
we could even claim that her instincts warn her that something is going to
happen.
However, she lets Ruggiero go.
After Ruggiero has left, we have one
important scene between Alcina and Oberto.
As mentioned above, the part of
Oberto was a last minute addition by Handel himself. OBERTO is
Astolfo’s son – who in this opera is turned NOT into a myrtle bush, but a LION, more alla Circle.
Oberto is constantly in search of his father, while at the same time
enjoying the many enchantments of the island.
In the second act, he has one first
encounter with Alcina.
One wonders why Alcina does not turn Oberto into a
magical creature, but in their small scene here, the answer is obvious.
She
feels like a mother to him.
When Oberto admits that nothing can make him happy,
unless he is reunited with his father she exclaims:
“Al mio materno amore
così mal corrispondi?” (79)
. Feeling pity for OBERTO, she also
promises him that he will see his father soon:
“Ascolta: vedrai in breve il
tuo padre, io tel prometto” (79)
. The insertion of Oberto
“My mind was ever at one with your desires. Go; but do not be long
away; think of my torment. I am afraid; I let you go, but sigh for
it.”
“Do you repay my maternal affection so
unbecomingly?”
“Harken: you will see your father soon, I
promise you.”
by the composer was clearly a
stroke of genius.
Alcina assumes through this a more human aspect, a more female
kind of character; something that Ariosto’s heroine lacks completely.
The illusion is reinforced through this.
Alcina desires a family, but can only
achieve it through magic, there is no viable reality in all of this.
Only her
emotions, which will very soon overpower her and make her come to a tragic
downfall.
The news of Ruggiero’s betrayal reach Alcina at the beginning of
scene VIII in the second act.
What follows is one of the most beautiful arias
in the history of opera.
Roughly for ten to fifteen
minutes – depending on the speed the conductor chooses to perform
it –
this aria is a heart wrenching piece, with very simple words,
that target directly the soul:
Ah! Mio cor, schernito sei!
Stelle, Dei! Nume
d’amore!
Traditore, t’amo tanto;
Puoi lasciarmi sola in pianto,
Oh Dei, perché?
Ma, che fa gemendo Alcina?
Son regina, è tempo
ancora:
Resti, o mora, peni sempre, O torni a me.
(82-87)
It is
difficult to explain with words the emotions that this aria can produce in a
receptive listener.
Yes, the heroine complains about losing her lover.
She
implores the gods and the heavens to restore him to her.
She is unable to
understand why this happens.
In the second section she reminds herself of her
royal pedigree and tries to be cruel.
But the ritornello of the da capo – sung a capella – haunts her immediately and takes her back to the
abyss, a place she reaches for the first time.
During the slow first part
of the aria, the singer repeats key words like “sola”, “oh Dei”, “traditore” and
of
Oh, my heart, you are scorned!/Oh, you stars! Oh ye gods! Deity
of love!/Betrayer! I love you so;/how can you leave me alone, in tears?/Oh gods!
Why?/But what is Alcina doing, complaining?/I am a queen, and there is yet
time./He shall stay or die,/suffer eternally, or return to me!
course “perché”.
Ultimately however, the heroine
understands painfully that she is alone with her pain to keep her company.
The
act closes with Alcina having composed herself a little and attempting to use
her magic powers to bring Ruggiero back.
The recitativo accompagnato in scene
XIII is a tribute to conjuring scenes in magic operas (Heinel 171).
Tthis time
however, the spirits and furies do NOT obey their mistress.
By the end of this
recitative, Alcina admits defeat: “Vinta, delusa Alcina, e che t’avanza?”
(100)
The Italian word “delusa” is an excellent choice at this
point; Alcina feels deceived.
She fails however to recognize that the
instigator of this whole illusion was herself, not someone else.
A tragic irony,
no doubt.
The aria di vendetta that follows is directed towards the disobeying spirits and not Ruggiero.
Alcina’s powers are tremendous, but not
even she can defeat or control the greatest power of all: that of Love.
As a
result, she loses command over her spirits.
In the end, she breaks her
“verga”, since it cannot provide any help any more.
. The third act
resolves pretty quickly for everyone involved.
However, the change that has
begun for the witch, is completed here.
She has the chance to display her
jealousy to Ruggiero at the very beginning of the act, where she accuses him of abandoning her for the sake of another woman:
“Fuggi da me, per darti ad
altra amante” (115)
and warns him in her aria that he will receive
only cruelty from her, when he returns to her, after spending some time in
the real world: “attendi pur da me / rigore e crudeltà”
(116 -118)
In her last aria she is stripped of everything she
once
“Defeated, deceived Alcina, what have you
left?”
Donna Leon suggests a different reading of the word
“verga”, since it has a double meaning in
Italian: both magic wand and
penis.
However, the imagery of Alcina holding a phallic symbol and breaking it
is not favored by the rest of the libretto, nor the music itself.
The idea of
castrating the lover for abandoning the woman is somewhat extreme,
especially since the “verga” appears only this once in the entire opera.
“You are deserting me for another lover.”
“look
only for harshness / and cruelty from me.”
had.
Ruggiero in addition to abandoning her, has also defeated her troops.
Not only does she lose her lover, she loses her kingdom as well.
The only thing
she has left, are her tears:
Mi restano le lagrime,
Direi: dell’alma i
voti,
Ma i dei resi ho implacabili,
E non m’ascolta il ciel.
Potessi
in onda limpida
Sottrarmi al sole, al dì!
Potessi in sasso volgermi,
Che finirei così
La pena mia crudel. (129-132)
Here, finally,
the witch longs only for a hiding place.
She possesses nothing and feels that
even this small thing, to be able to disappear from the face of the earth, is
being denied her.
She wishes to resort to magic, only to do to herself what she
had been doing to her lovers.
But she has broken her magic wand and her spirits
do not obey her anymore.
Completely desolate, she wishes to end her
suffering, but, just like Ariosto’s Alcina, she cannot do that.
Another
tribute to Handel’s genius is the fact that he delivers the final blow to
his heroine not through Ruggiero, but through Oberto.
Immediately before
resolving the opera, Oberto appears once more, in search of his father.
Alcina
is not in any mood to accommodate Oberto.
Instead she summons the lion that is
Astolfo and orders Oberto to kill it.
Oberto recognizes his father and turns
instead to face Alcina.
The witch is now ready to face her executioner.
But
Oberto spares her, only to prolong her suffering.
The final showdown takes place
in front of the magic urn (with Merlino's ashes) that contains Alcina’s powers.
There she makes one
last attempt to gain Ruggiero’s trust again.
She tries to convince him to
stay on the island, because his life is destined to be short, once
Only tears remain to me,/tears that I would call my heart’s
desires,/but I have made the gods
implacable/and heaven is deaf to me./If
only I might hide myself/in limpid water from the light of day;/if only I could
change myself into stone,/thus ending/my cruel suffering.
he leaves.
Her warnings fall on deaf ears.
Both
Bradamante and Ruggiero ignore her and degrade her. They must found the House of D'Este in Ferrara.
At this point, Alcina is no
longer a threat, nor is she trying to win Ruggiero back for herself.
She knows
she has lost him.
But she also has seen his future and knows that he will meet
an early death
Che inganni? Anzi ho pieta; piango il suo
fato”
; she tells him of his early death:
“A morir tu ten
vai”
and further down
to Bradamante she says:
“Tu, vedova
dolente, lo piangerai”
In the beautiful terzetto that follows
this confrontation, where the ménage a trois is resolved she explains:
“Non
è amor, né gelosia, è pieta, è desio che lieta godi. non t’offendo non t’inganno (140-143)
Finally, Ruggiero strikes down
the magic urn and essentially destroys Alcina’s island, releasing all
her doomed lovers from their enchanted forms.
What happens to the witch remains
a mystery.
Handel simply makes her and Morgana abandon the stage.
The audience
remains with the question: does Alcina die?
Or is she like Ariosto’s
heroine, forever mourning her fate, cursed never to die?
Alcina is the most fully developed of Handel’s sorceresses and one of
opera’s great tragic heroines.
There is no doubt this statement is
true.
Handel took a very popular literary figure and created an entirely new
and very realistic work, where the protagonist suffers for real.
Ariosto’s
Alcina is two-dimensional.
She has some moments of humanness, but she never
really reaches out to the reader.
Handel’s Alcina on the other hand is
Again Donna Leon suggests
that Alcina is trying to win Ruggiero back through cunning words and
false
promises. But Alcina’s words both in the recitative and the terzetto are true
warnings, not cunning words and false promises.
“What lies?
Indeed, I am filled with pity and bemoan his fate.”
“You are
going to your death.”
A grieving widow, you will weep for
him.”
“This is not love nor jealousy, but compassion…[…] and
concern for your happiness. […] I mean you no harm […] I am not deceiving
you!”
very different.
Perhaps she is older
than Ruggiero, perhaps she is not.
Nothing in the libretto or the original stage
directions even suggest that Handel had the age difference in mind.
For Handel
she is yet another scorned woman, one that does NOT deserve the things that
happen to her.
It is not only the good libretto that Handel possessed, but
primarily his music that makes the audience feel for Alcina.
Handel portrays the development of Alcina from a self-assured
mistress, all the way to complete hopelessness musically, in ways that nearly
break the borders of the opera seria genre with an almost explosive emotional
intensity and reaching far out into the future with a capacity to enter into the
psychological elements of the character.
To this statement
I feel that the observation on the heroines’ music makes a perfect
addition.
Alcina’s voice controls, in the area of emotions, the immense
register that goes from superiority to despair and from tenderness to fury.
Taking the “voice” of Alcina as the final starting point
in this comparison, there is yet another contrast between the literary and the operatic figure.
Ariosto’s Alcina never speaks directly.
The
reader never hears her voice; save for one moment, during the original narration
of Astolfo, where he retells some things she said to him, in order to seduce him
(VI, 39-40).
Nowhere else does she come to any kind of speech, which is very
interesting, especially when she is seducing Ruggiero.
On the other hand, an
operatic heroine cannot be mute
–
unless she is
Dvořák’s Rusalka, who spends an
entire act in silence.
Handel’s
Alcina speaks directly to the audience.
We hear her voice and her music.
We
allow ourselves to be seduced by it; and we suffer alongside her for her
fate.
This is not to diminish Ariosto’s incredible literary skills.
On the
Mit einer die Grenzen der Gattung Opera seria nahezu sprengenden
emotionalen Intensität und
einem weit in die Zukunft weisenden
psychologischen Einfühlungsvermögen zeichnet Händel die
Entwicklung
Alcinas von einer selbstegewissen Gebieterin bis hin in die totale
Hoffnungslosigkeit musikalisch nach.
“Im Bereich des Gefühls
beherrscht Alcinas Stimme das gewaltige Register, das von der Souveränität bis
zur Verzweiflung reicht und von der Zärtlichkeit bis zur Raserei.”
contrary, if his own imagination were not complete
enough, then his epic poem would have failed to inspire so many people.
Critics
have recognized the immense power the character of Alcina has, both in her
literary form and
her operatic counterpart.
While Ariosto’s heroine is the protagonist of a side story, she does not fail to convey many symbols and
meanings to the reader: vanity, superficiality, eillusion are
all things that have excited our imaginations for millennia.
But attributing the
wrong amount of importance to them, we become entrapped in a self-made illusion.
Alcina is the warning sign of what can happen if we immerse ourselves too much
in this, and forget reality.
I would like to conclude this essay with the – probably – most quoted lette in the history of
criticism of Handel’s Alcina – one might even substitute
Handel’s name and put Ariosto’s in its place.
Mrs. Pendarves, a close friend of
the composer, was privileged enough to attend a dress rehearsal of the
opera, before its premiere.
Afterwards, she wrote:
I think it the best [opera]
he ever made, but I have thought so o so many that I will not
say positively
'tis the finest, but tis so fine I have not
words to describe it. Strada has a whole scene of charming recitative – there are a thousand beauties.
Whilst Handel was playing his
part, I could not help thinking him a necromancer in the midst of his own
enchantments.
Anna Strada del Pò was the first singer
who portrayed Handel’s Alcina.
Lieto fine?
“Händel konnte den ganzen
Kosmos menschlicher Gefühle in Musik
umsetzen. Er brannte für die Oper. Das faszinierende ist, dass er wie Mozart
den stärksten dramatischen Effekt erzielte, wenn er seinen Helden für die
Momente des Schmerzes
und der Trauer langsame, ruhige und damit ums
o
intensivere Musik schrieb.”
116
Vesselina Kasarova, “Arias for
Carestini” (7)
It was pointed out in the introduction that one of the most
important elements of the
opera seria
genre is the
lieto fine
.
As a result, most of the plots are very loose, highly improbable and almost
never psychologically valid. The emotional changes a character can go through
during the opera are so many and happen so quickly, that a modern day audience
can only laugh at them; one might call these serious operas farces instead. The
lieto fine
, however, was not just a rule every composer had to abide
by; it was an ideology that sprang from the stylized life aristocrats and upper
class families had cultivated for themselves. While the poets who composed the
libretti for the operas were under their patronage, the plot had to portray an
ideal that was embraced by the patrons: the aristocratic heroes of operas would
brave any kind of difficulty and come through triumphant in the end. It is not a
coincidence that many dramaturgic rules of the
opera seria
genre were
–
covertly, most of the times
–
broken by Handel, who is
considered as the first composer-businessman, working as a freelance
entrepreneur and often taking high financial risks. He did not have to please an
aristocratic audience that could fire him, if the plot was not standard. In this
use of
the absurdities of the genre lies Handel’s great gift to mankind, as
Sir Peter Jonas observed: “The great skill of Handel, however, is that this
element of farce is always
juxtaposed with moments when time stands still,
because the characters suddenly change into being people who portray the agony
of a love in such a moving way that
116
“Handel’s music expresses a
whole world of human emotions. He was consumed by a re
al passion for opera.
What is so fascinating is that like Mozart he achieved his most powerful
dramatic effect when he wrote slow, calm and correspondingly intense arias for
his heroes at times of anguish and
grief” Translation is by Stewart
Spencer.
the audience is breathless.”
Handel’s witches certainly manage to take our breaths away…
This break with
tradition is obvious in his magic operas. One might wonder why only there he
chose to tread on different paths and did not do this in all his operas. The
answer to that is, in my opinion, a simple one: a magical creature does not
abide by the rules of society; therefore it is not subject to the rules of
poetry and opera. At the same time the magical creature can potentially be made
more human than the actual human being, because there the emotions are being
experienced in a more innocent, a more direct kind of way that has all the
elements of uniqueness and novelty. Strangely enough it is through magic that
people often realize the importance of being human. So, what does Handel do with
his witches? His first witch, Armida, is the only one that gets out of the
twisted and unrealistic plot almost unscathed. But only in the 1711 version of
Rinaldo
. In 1731 she leaves the stage, together with Argante, cursing
the Christians who have defeated their heathen forces. A much more realistic
ending, that took Handel two decades to realize. It is curious that Handel did
not demand from his literary collaborators this kind of ending as early as the
first version
117
. Perhaps he felt that the audience would respond better
to a complete and total victory of the Christians against the heathen or perhaps
he simply was so busy planning his first London appearance that he dismissed
the issue as quickly as he composed the music. Yet one year later this position
changes dramatically: his Medea
–
the true protagonist of
Teseo
–
fails to obtain her goals. She is the first significant
break with
117
Two reasons stand out: first, Handel never drastically
altered plots of his operas when he re-worked them; he only changed music and
arias. Second, even though there might be some truth in the claim made by Dean
and Knapp that he was too young to be able to demand things of his librettists,
I believe that a man of his convictions would not be afraid to state his mind;
especially since his sense for dramaturgy and theatre was so well developed
already.
the tradition of the
lieto
fine
; however, since the opera was not named after her, the audience is not
entirely disappointed. Not only that, but Medea, even though she is undoubtedly
the strongest character in the opera, is portrayed in a darker light; true, the
audience has some moments when it feels sympathy for her, but both the
prehistory of the character and all the awful things she attempts during the
opera bias the audience more negatively than positively towards her. At the same
time, however, Medea is not entirely a suffering woman: she is far too powerful
and a distance is developed between her and the audience. The balance was not
perfect yet for the libretto and the music to work wonders. This balance is
somewhat fine-tuned with the next magic opera that Handel composed which was not
part of our discussion, but will concern us briefly here. In 1715 the opera
Amadigi
premiered in London with some success
118
. The plot
focuses around Amadigi and his destined love Oriana and the plans that are
construed by
Dardano, a knight and main rival to Amadigi for Oriana’s love
and the sorceress
Melissa, who keeps Oriana locked up in a magical tower and
falls in love herself with Amadigi. By the end of the opera Dardano is killed by
Amadigi and Melissa commits suicide in front of the couple, in one of the most
beautiful and tragic moments in the entire history of opera. Again the libretto
has several weaknesses, but this time the plot is slightly more consistent than
in the two previous cases. Melissa is once again
the highlighted character:
“She has a good deal in common with Armida and Medea, but is a more subtle
creation than either because she is so much more human” (Dean
& Knapp
278). While again the plot is filled with inconsistencies and improbable
resolutions, Melissa manages to capture the audiences’ imagination. I find
it
impossible for anyone to remain neutral to her suffering, especially in
her death
118
It was performed for at least two more years, but was
dropped from the repertoire in 1717 (Dean & Knapp 287-289).
agonies, while she still sings her “Addio, crudo
Amadigi” and “Io gia sento”
.
Melissa demands the composers’
attention and the treatment she receives is worthy of
her character. That
happens because, as Sir Peter Jonas has said,
I’ve always thought that Bach
is music for the Gods and
Handel is music for mankind, for
Menschen
, for people. I’m a
person and I can relate much more
directly to Handel,
because he is music for human beings. […] Certainly for
the
theatre it is indisputable that Handel was one of the greatest theatric
composers that ever lived and I say that without any apology to Mozart, Wagner,
Strauss (R) or Verdi. With
Amadigi
,
and more particularly with
Melissa’s character, Handel came one step
closer to the perfect analysis of
the female soul. He almost succeeded in unraveling the mystery that emotions
hide and once again composed music that touched deeply the human
–
not
divine
–
soul. But then, something strange happened: Handel stopped
composing magic operas altogether! This is extremely peculiar, since his magic
operas were important successes that made a lot of money for him. For some
reason, after 1715 he only revisited magic operas he had already composed, never
attempting to write a new one. What is also interesting is that from 1715 to
1732 when at last he brings
Orlando
to the stage he has no scenes of
magic; there are no invocations, no summoning of furies, no talking busts or
even ghosts! Nothing remotely magical happens during that time. This does not
mean, of course, that the operas he composed during those years are not
import
ant or even magnificent; certainly not, since the ‘20s were his most
productive
period with operas such as
Giulio Cesare
(1724),
Tamerlano
(1724) and
Rodelinda
(1725). But it is interesting,
considering that he was composing for a public that was extremely
well
acquainted with magic on stage, both from Shakespeare’s plays and
119
Unlike other heroines that sing and sing and never die, de
laying
their departure from this “world”,
Melissa dies gracefully, without any
grandeur or pompousness. Indeed her suicide is one of the most realistic moments
in the history of operatic deaths, making this situation truly dramatic, without
any hint of irony or farce.
from Henry Purcell’s
masques and one semi
-opera
120
. It is also improbable that he was not
provided with at least a few libretti featuring magic, because the magical
element was extremely popular in every sense. If he was given the opportunity by
his librettists
to compose a magic opera in the ‘20s and he did not, I have
to assign the fault with the
texts, not the lack of inspiration.
Unfortunately, this huge gap cannot be explained adequately and one can only
guess. Thankfully he would compose two new magic
operas in the ‘30s, both of
them exceptional pieces
121
. With both these last magic
operas Handel
returns to what Winton Dean says: “Handel had shown long before in
his first
London days a particular susceptibility to magic subjects, which released an
exceptionally fertile, even a romantic strain in his imagination and at the same
time
helped him to bring out the intense humanity of his characters” (241).
Also in these
two last magic operas
–
both of them great hits in
our modern times
–
we find
Nicholas Hytner confirmed: “I think
what contemporary audiences have discovered,
particularly in Handel, is his
simultaneously ironic and deeply sympathetic way with the human heart,
particularly with the female heart. He is not a teary-
eyed romantic.”
Handel’s greatness as a reader of the “female heart” is exemplified in his
Alcina
. I have already pointed out in my discussion of
Alcina
that Handel had the libretto in his hands as early as 1729 and
that, by all accounts, he made the changes that resulted in this magnificent
piece himself. Without a doubt this particular heroine
is the culmination of
Handel’s achievements in characterization. She comes at the end
of a line of
strong and passionate women
and tops them all. Alcina’s suffering is
deeper than any of the other heroines of Handel
–
both magical and
non magical; and
this intensity of her suffering is the result of the
composer’s own magic touch upon the
120
I am referring to
King
Arthur
,
The Fairy Queen
and of course
Dido and Aeneas
.
121
His
Orlando
, based again on Ariosto, is a work with a great
deal of musical innovations that were not appreciated by his contemporaries, but
nowadays it is cons
idered one of the “most original of Handel’s operas in
design. It is also one of the richest in musical invention” (Dean 242).
text. It seems to me that everything that preceded
Alcina
in Handel’s operatic work
was merely the preparation
period that would eventually result in this dramatic masterpiece. Inevitably, I
have to talk about the ending of this opera. We have no clue
whatsoever as
to Alcina’s fate after Ruggiero
destroys her magic urn. She disappears from
the stage, leaving a terrible void. The remaining characters rejoice in
happiness, but their first choral piece is more dramatic than happy, whereas
the final Coro is clearly an ironic comment by the composer. These people are
not happy; they might be for a short while, but in the end they will all suffer
losses and die an unhappy death: the sorceress has predicted the outcome. Where,
then can the
lieto fine
be found? An uneasy reality emerges in these
four characters: one may be happy for a while, caught in an illusion that is
Love. But that illusion can easily be destroyed, when reason and realism catch
up. At the same time, through these magic operas, Handel makes yet another
ironic comment towards every other work
–
both his and those of his
contemporaries
–
that conforms to the
lieto fine
. True, his
Caesar marries Cleopatra, but history tells us that the romance was doomed from
the start; his Arianna is united with Teseo by the end of
Arianna in
Creta
(1733), but mythology informs us that she was later abandoned by her
lover on a desolate island; his
Agrippina
(1709) succeeds in her
political schemes against her husband, placing her son Nero on the throne of
Rome, but she too suffered a terrible death at the hands of him who was so
favored by her. Georg Friedric
h Hä
ndel did break the rules of
opera
seria
more often than most musicologists give him credit for. The problem is
that he did it in such a great
manner that one can hardly perceive the
“unlawfulness” o
f his actions; and he also decided to do so more openly in
his magic operas than in his more down to earth ones. By following the literary
origins of his witches and keeping true to their respective
endings
–
Medea fleeing Athens, Armida
converting to Christianity and Alcina abandoned
122
–
Handel
found the perfect means to express his concerns about the genre and leave
everyone wondering about his true intentions. This wondering about him is still
around, even after so many centuries of
Handel’s music. Altho
ugh we seem
to know a lot of things about Handel, simultaneously we are unable to answer
some key questions about him and his work; something that is not the case with
Johann Sebastian Bach, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Ludwig van Beethoven, Giuseppe
Verdi, Richard Wagner or Richard Strauss.
Only the time machine would be
able to satisfy our curiosity about the “caro Sassone”, the “dear Saxon” as his
Italian worshipers called him. Handel was the first true citizen
of a
unified Europe; unified in arts, not politics, in a time when art and music were
still regarded as a vital part of human culture and education. As Dieter
Schickling
observes: “His time was the early 18
th
century. […]
his time has not
yet arrived
again”
123
(267). Perhaps, when we
finally decide to li
sten carefully to the witches’
laments, we might
discover the true magic contained in life and music.
122
Melissa is a
unique operatic creation. She is an amalgam of certain magical characters that
appear in the original texts by Mo
ntalvo and Ariosto’s benevolent witch of
the same name (Dean & Knapp 275
-276).
123
“Seine Zeit war das
frühe 18. Jahrhundert. […] seine Zeit ist noch nicht wieder da.”
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